|Subject:||As requested. The complete mishie hosing story.|
|Date:||May 23, 2010|
|I quit the mormon church before I finished college in
1967. I soon met and married a never-mormon, Jerry the Aspousetate. We moved
from Arizona to California where I foolishly hoped to avoid official contact
with mormons. We worked and went to graduate classes. I completed courses
required under California teacher credentialing laws and he earned an MBA.
We had our first baby. No mormons.
After six years of no mormon church attendance and not seeing one official mormon, we bought the house where we still live. VTers showed before we were fully settled. I ignored them pounding on the door and dinging the bell. They talked loudly about how they suspected I was at home and they'd stay until they were let in. But they did leave after about ten or fifteen minutes of pressing their noses against the window and cupping their hands, leaving smears and smudges along the dining room and living room windows to peer in and see whatever was none of their buisness.
This intrusion gave me the heebie-jeebies. I sensed I might be in for it and I knew Jerry would be angry. I didn't want my good life tainted by my seedy mormon past. He was angry and threatened to go to the bishop's house and give him worse than the heebie-jeebies. I told him they'd give it up if we ignored them (I was young and foolish.)
After that, invitations and phone calls started trickling in. I rejected each of them, usually sending back mailed notices with requests to be removed from contact and telling anyone who called that I'm not a mormon and didn't appreciate contact from their church.
Birthday cards were especially unnerving because it was distasteful knowing that untrustworthy strangers had my personal information.
This went on sporadically for several years, every incident triggering the heebie-jeebies which means hives and emotional distress lasting from a day or two to several weeks. Jerry always wanted to combat the morgbots and I always said they'd eventually go away.
Twice, I received letters from the bishopric saying they expected every ward member to pay tithing. The letters said they'd prayed humbly and were impressed of the Spirit that they should request from me a specific minimal payment toward what I owed. The bill was for about $300 or so. If I didn't pay, I'd be responsible for loss of blessings to myself and all of the ward members hoping for 100% participation.
I threw this notice into the coffee grounds and egg shells under the sink. When hives attacked my neck and inner arms, I dug it out and wrote a notice in bold print on the back of the bill saying I would never pay and I did not want contact from their church. I mailed it to the return address.
My husband couldn't believe the gall. He's from a Holy Roller family and thought he knew about fanatical religious cults, but said this was worse than anything his mother's crazy church would do. Being a moneyman, a CPA, MBA made it worse. Charities and church donations are optional and up to the giver, not the other way around. He said the next time something like this happened he'd go to the ward house and take on the first person he saw and give them worse than they'd dished out to us over the years.
Once I was home late at night after work when Jerry was away. We live in the woods at the end of a secluded street with no salsepeople and with neighbors who call before they show up. The doorbell rang again and again like someone was having an emergency.
No, it was a pushy stranger in a wrinkled suit. He shook a fistful of papers at me and told me they missed me at church.
I told him I was not a mormon and he started reading my parents' names, addresses, their endowment dates, my baptismal date and such things as my primary attendance record. I told him all of that didn't mean I was in his church and the fool acted like he was somehow noble and I was a liar.
Heebie-jeebies? I felt sick for a week and had trouble talking in more than a whisper as I rubbed the welts on my neck. Jerry was always annoyed that I couldn't speak up loud enough to be heard whenever these trespassers confronted me.
I think the next loving fellowship happened when my TBM Utah sister's (the one who had twelve kids) two sets of identical twins, RM boys, aged twenty-two and girls, aged twenty-one, were visiting from Utah. Some local dummy with a chirpy Utah accent, called and invited me to church as if they knew such an offer was just what I'd been hoping and praying for.
The twins left early that Sunday morning, and dear hubby got dressed in his business suit to go to church and cause a ruckus. My California exmo sister and her husband had stayed the night to visit the twins and us. So BIL said he'd better go to church as a witness and backup or whatever. The two men stormed the church office and my husband yelled as my Brother in Law repeated whatever Dh said in a reasonable tone. This is funny because my husband is ordinarily a gentlemanly and clean cut as they come and my sister's huband is more of a rough talking mountain man. He wears hefty jeans, plaid shirts, always carries weapons, and he seldom shaves or gets hair cuts.
Exmo sis and I were nervous waiting for their return, but had no control over the situation. It actually worked well because for a couple of years, no contact, and no emotional angst or marital dscord.
The uneasy peace ended eventually with a phone call from a whiny but very insistent woman phoning to say that I must bring a hot dish to some cult event. This time I was livid. A hot dish for some church I'd never attended? Not for over twenty-five years while living a mile away? An organization I had told dozens of times to stay away from me? A church that had given me nothing but grief and the galloping heebie-jeebies?
I freed up DH to do any vile thing of his choice. He stopped by the police station. We filed a report. He again went to the local ward house and told the bishop that the bishop's wife should be a whore since he expected me to be a mormon, a much worse fate. The police chief sent letters to the SP and the bish. telling them to see that all mormons must stay away from our property and to avoid all contact with us in the future.
The next week a letter arrived claiming I'd requested that the hot dish lady help me have my name removed. The letter from the bishop said he was sad that I sould willingly give up my blessings and my chances for exaltaion and an eternal family. He implored me to come to him for counseling within thirty days or be removed.
I was happy. Until then I hadn't known that resignation was possible since the locals had claimed I had to give them evidence of sinning and be excommunicated to avoid contact. It's the contact that bothered me, not where my name was listed or filed in SLC.
But my husband was not happy. "They don't consider this contact?" He shook the leter and seethed. This is contact and this isn't over until *I* say it's over!"
Back to the police for another complaint. They sent letters to the bishop, the SP, the MP. We sent them to every mormon who had officially violated our privacy. We copied several newspapers and our lawyer. The police chief sent a black and white car and a uniformed officer to the bishop's house to explain what "no contact" meant.
Coincidentally, the police car arrived as the bishop was due to attend a viewing of our newly deceased and beloved TBM neighbor of thirty years. We were at the funeral home. The bishop was late. That's the first and last time I'd seen him. We left shortly after his arrival not wanting to cause additional distress to the grieving widow.
We retired and we attended our first exmo convention in Las Vegas.
Here's a link to our testimonkey thanks to Timothy:
One of these times the police chief phoned Salt Lake and was told that my name had long been removed from the church records. Of course that's the catch phrase they use for resignation. They just move the name to a new file and contact usually ends or dimishes.
You'd think mormons would learn. They do, but it's a slow process and somtimes the learning wears down like cheap heels. Within a couple of years we posted on RfM that we would host all interested exmos at a restaurant to commiserate and share our recovery experiences and also to celebrate the June 1844 anniversary of Joe Smith being shot in the butt.
So what happened next is that within two days on a hot June afternoon, mishie boys targeted me. Jerry speculated that the mormons met and discussed that the cops would be called if anyone from the ward showed up but no one would call cops on sweetie pies mishies. Everybody loves missionaries and so they'd send their two cutest ones.
They arrived during the cocktail hour while we were enjoying chilled glasses of chardonnay in our lounge chairs on the deck.
Our adult son was inside borrowing our computer. He had a perplexed expression on his face when he came outside. "Mom, two mormon missionaries are at the front door asking for you. What should I tell them?"
I instantly bounded through te house to meet them. My bunny slippers and kindergarten substitute teacher outfit probably added to the allure and didn't slow me for a moment. I asked, "Are you mormons?"
Silly grins lit their faces. They nodded, admitted it, and kicked the dirt with their polished grandpa shoes.
"You need to leave now."
The talker said, "No, no, no," in mock horror. "Why would we leave?"
Me, "Because if you don't I'll get that garden hose over there and spsray you with it and you'll still have to go."
The talker, all smirky and full of himself, "No, no, no, we won't leave, and you won't do that, ha-ha."
The silent guy looked nervous. He tried to touch his buddy's sleeve to get eye contact. The talker put his hands on his hips, puffed out his chest, and stood his ground.
They both remained planted at the door while I went to the corner of the house, unrolled the hose, turned it on, and carried it back to where the young men waited. Unfortunately, the nozzle was not attached. I left it on the ground. Being a Utah farm girl, I've watered plenty of lettuce and chard using my thumb to aim.
I had foolishly assumed they'd go to their car pronto, the most logical and normal reaction to the situation in my opinion. But these guys did not budge until the water licked their sweaty white short sleeved dress shirts.
By this time dear hubby had finished his wine. The intruders were headed toward their getaway vehicle when I told him they'd refused at first to leave so I'd had to spray them. He was mad and gave chase and they sped their escape into their car. They spun out, motor coughing, bumping the curb, barely missing the fence. At the corner they faced an unexpected sudden rush of commuter traffic from both directions.
DH followed them in his flip-flops as their heads bobbed left and righ like at a table tennis match at an LDS Institude rec room. They were desperately looking for an opening in traffic. The took the first break but the cheap car barely made it and the tired workers beeped as the mishie junker nearly died and stopped the traffic flow all together.
So back to the police, and letters all around.
I posted the story and was accused daily and for years of being mean, harsh, rude, and of constantly and hatefully lying in wait in hopes of drenching poor unsuspecting boys away from thier loving mothers and wards.
No contact for eight years. The longest span so far. Shoulda done that decades sooner.
Many claim that people minding their business in their home must seek therapy so they are kinder to trespassing strangers who happen to show up expecting cold drinks, conversation, and fellowship. That's a pipedream stranger than expecting mormons to get therapy to help them deal with my husband or the police who might show up at their doors or the local ward house.
We keep a letter from the police in a table drawer in the living room. It says that if the Mormons come to call, they can be arrested.
|Subject:||I'm Jerry the Aspousetate and I approved this thread. Pay Lay Alol n/t|
|Subject:||Thank you, Cheryl, for telling the|
|Date:||May 23 14:34|
|full story. And as I said before, YOU DO IT WELL!|
|Subject:||Thank you, Cheryl!!!|
|Date:||May 23 14:44|
|I swear, someday I am going to use your door approach.
You are such a good writer. The story should be archived and reposted often.
And no, I don't think you were out of line in your actions. After all, it wasn't you who had the boundary issue.
|Subject:||OMG! What a story! Unbelievable!|
|Date:||May 23 14:42|
|Every RfM’er should read this & watch the YouTube
link! (and a big thanks to Timothy for posting the video on YouTube.)
Cheryl, you exercised ‘the patience of Moses’ with those persistent Mormons…but even that was not enough. Hats off to your husband who stepped to the plate to defend you once you gave him the green light. You also did the right thing in hosing down those missionaries. They asked for it with their arrogant, defiant behavior on YOUR property.
“Many claim that people minding their business in their home must seek therapy so they are kinder to trespassing strangers who happen to show up expecting cold drinks, conversation, and fellowship.” 25 years’ worth of kindness had no effect; your boundaries were ignored. ENOUGH ALREADY!
|Subject:||Video? Youtube? Did I miss something? Link? :) n/t|
|Subject:||the link to the YouTube with Cheryl & Jerry|
|Date:||May 23 15:03|
|The link is in the middle of Cheryl's post. Here it
|Subject:||I love that story! :-)|
|Date:||May 23 14:56|
|Thanks for sharing it, Cheryl. I totally get why you used the hose. I probably would have done the same thing.|
|Subject:||Thank you Cheryl!|
|Date:||May 23 15:48|
|I watched the video and your dream is such an apt description of what Mormonism does to you. It was really spot on.|
|Subject:||Good for you Cheryl!|
|Date:||May 23 15:59|
|I think those arrogant little pricks got what they deserve. Too bad the bishop wasn't with them.|
|Subject:||LOL They had it coming. Too bad it wasn't on video. n/t|
|Subject:||Did their white shirts get soaked enough you could see the symbols on their nips?|
|Date:||May 23 16:12|
|That's so juicy. It's like a mo white t-shirt context, mishie style. Love it!|
|Subject:||The most wonderful story ever! Thanks for reposting, Cheryl!!|
|Date:||May 23 16:15|
|Your name should be a verb, as in "Boy, I really Cheryled those mishies!" or "The VT's deserve a good Cheryling."|
|Subject:||A RFM classic. :-D nt|
|Subject:||Thanks, Cheryl. This is one of my favorite stories, ever!|
|Date:||May 23 16:35|
|You do have a way with words!
>I didn't want my good life tainted by my seedy mormon past.
This is a great way to put it!
Your story made me feel better about my own "galloping heebie-jeebies". I was a single mother, when we became inactive, and it was very upsetting to have groups of men come to my door, usually after 9:00 at night, and knock loudly and persistently. They would always come in groups of two's or three's, to outnumber me, to overpower, to intimidate me. Some we knew, but some were total strangers. I would call through the door that I was not going to let them in.
The worst time was during the Christmas season (tithing settlement season). A few times I let the ones I knew come in:
The bishop and his two counselors came to bring me some bread. They told me they had pondered my questions, and that I would never be granted a temple divorce unless I was signed up to marry another Mormon man in the temple. The "cancelation of sealing" (temple "divorce" is not in their vocabulary) would occur immediately upon my temple marriage to someone else. Another answer they gave me, was that my children, by my second husband years later, were automatically sealed to my first temple husband, as his property, for eternity. The Three said this was good news, a BLESSING for me, because I and the children were also sealed to each other! I said, "But my temple husband beat me, strangled me, and almost killed me!"
They said, "That makes no difference. It doesn't matter. The eternal sealing still is in place." I had nightmares and stomach aches for weeks after that visit.
Two male neighbors I'd worked with in the scouts came by another dark night, after the porch lights and Christmas lights had been turned off, but I let them in. These men insulted me to my face, so horribly that my youngest son took the lead, and he and I both escorted them out the door. We haven't spoken to them since.
I let the bishop and one of his counselors in again, too, who came to warn me that: "If you don't attend church and pay tithing, God will withdraw His blessings from you and your children." (He also said this later in his office, when I resigned for good.)
I said to the bishop, in front of the children, "You are THREATENING us! You have no authority to tell God what to do." He of course disagreed, but I was glad my children were there to witness all of this. Needless to say, my children don't like the cult.
There were other intrusions, too, such as my VT asking me, "What did we do to offend you, so terribly much that you would stop coming to church?"
There were tidbits and trinkets dropped off at our doorstep when we weren't home, for birthdays (yes, they have the information), Thanksgiving, and Christmas. The last birthday thingamajig had a card on it, "We love you, Sister Smith," I'm not Sister Smith.
My point is, that I would have a severe physical and emotional reaction to each of these invasions, just like you did, Cheryl! After the time when we threw the TBM neighbors out of our house, I was unable to eat for days, and I started crying to my oldest son, "Why do I react so strongly to this? Why can't I just be normal?"
My dear son said, "You are normal! It is those creepy cult members that are being abnormal! They are harrassing you!"
A couple of years earlier, this same son had eventually thrown out some of the men who had been coming into our house and pulling him and his brother out of bed, and butt-kicking them to church. I didn't know about all this. These men were very large men! My son finally yelled at them, "You are tresspassing! Get out of my house, or I will call the police!" They left. We were all still active members at the time. When I found out about this abuse, the children and I left for good.
What a cult full of jerks and bullies! Be glad you have a husband to protect you. No wonder they make us sick!
|Subject:||I love what your son told you about being "normal."|
|Date:||May 23 18:02|
|So wise and and tender hearted!
I agree about Christmas. Mormons can spoil it with very little effort.
One year some bishop-looking guy showed up with a "gift" that was obviously a BofM wrapped in red foil with a satin bow. Jerry flipped him off and chased him, whimpering to his car.
Like you, it made me sick. Besides blighting Christmas it damaged our anniversery that year. We were married on December 24.
I'm sure they were worse to you because of their perperse idea that a woman isn't whole and is not somehow as "worthy" unless there's a man at her side. What biggoted bullies!
|Subject:||An exmo teachable moment for the sheeple. Hope they were good students. n/t|
|Subject:||Who cannot enjoy the vision of anal-retentive mormon functionaries|
|Date:||May 23 16:49|
|getting put in their place, and receiving probably the
first legitimate baptism of their lives?
And DH Jerry is from a Holy Roller family?
As ever, I am a fan ...
|Subject:||Great story and great video Cheryl . Congratulations to you and your husband!!! nt|
|Subject:||Cheryl, thanks for sharing this full version of what happened and why it happened.|
|Date:||May 23 18:20|
|I am sure nobody in their right minds would be
critical of you for the action you took.
Not now they know the full story.
|Subject:||Except that you missed the comments struck down by admin.|
|Date:||May 23 18:48|
|Guess those words were not by anyone in their right minds. LOL|
|Subject:||Oh, dear. Morgbot trolls R-Us, huh?|
|Date:||May 23 19:01|
|They probably aren't in their right minds! ;oD|
|Subject:||Re: As requested. The complete mishie hosing story.|
|Date:||May 23, 2010|
|I just joined this board today, and I can't think of a
better welcome than the image of two self-righteous little twits getting
Depressing to think that my little brother is leaving on a mission in a few months. I hope if he ever realizes what garbage this church is, his rude awakening will be less... soggy.
You totally rock!