Laundry Memories

My Dear Reader,

As being in a family of eight is only common among Mormons and select other groups these days, my guess is that your mothers never had quite the battle with dirty clothes that my Madre did. Cleanliness is supposed to be next to godliness, and as it has been suggested that my family has an unusually keen sense of smell, clean clothes were as important to our sanity as they were to our normal sense of basic hygiene.

This meant that the washing machine was constantly going, and it seemed that Madre was constantly folding clothes. I'm pretty sure that it was a daily ritual, since Madre decided that folding laundry earned her the right to simultaneously watch television and Oprah was on at four. She would then do extra sessions later in the day during the Kings game. Considering that these programs, Star Trek (Padre's show), and PBS were the only television allowed in the house for years, I guess that you can see the kind of odd childhood that led me to be the person that I am today (considering that Star Trek was the closest I ever got to prime-time drama before age fourteen), but I digress.

Now, it seems that folding laundry and watching sports are as inseperable as Mary-Kate and Ashley, and Madre taught me very early in life that the proper way to watch sports included yelling "Go, baby go!" at the screen at least once every five minutes. This would be followed by one loud clap, or two if the play actually ended in a basket. And yes, you can shake your fist at the Lakers and bundle socks at the same time; it just takes practice.

All things considered, Madre was pretty good at keeping the laundry at bay, but in between Oprah and Mike Bibby the clean clothes seemed to multiply into a large clump that encompassed the entire couch. While embarrasing when we were entertaining company, it was perfect for a young girl who wanted to avoid doing the dishes. I spent hours hiding in the pile, and as I recall, Madre never once found me until I got bored and forgot why I was in there in the first place. As I got older and larger, I found that I didn't need to cover my entire body with clean clothes in order for the trick to work; I could leave a careful amount of already-clothed body parts exposed. As long as you've got your head, arms, and the majority of your lower half covered, you're set. And you'd be surprised the things that you can learn while on the lam in the clothes pile. HermanaMayor, for example, never gave a second thought about censoring her phone conversations when Cecily was probably outside playing and her only company was a large lump of clothing. As time went by and I really got too big for the clothes pile, I found a new hiding place when I learned how to climb on top of the roof, but there are certain perques you can only get in the comfort of your newly-washed pajamas, jeans, and t-shirts.

So I hope you'll understand my dissapointment when I grew up and found out that laundry just isn't that fun anymore. I mean, even if I had enough clothes to create a pile large enough for me to play in, the roommates probably wouldn't be all too pleased, and my time working in the clothes department at the bookstore sucked all the fun that I could ever have in the actual folding process. If you ask me, people are way too uptight these days, running straight for the seven deadly sins for thrills while completely ignoring the good clean fun that is sitting right there in the living room.

Regards, best wishes, and chore evasion,

-Cecily Jane

Dating: Why Guys Should Do the Asking

My Dear Gentlemen Readers (particularly those who wait for girls to make the first move),

When women like Susan B. Anthony changed the world by advocating women's rights, there seemed to be a few unexpected side effects. The idea, my dear gentlemen, was to get more rights, not more responsibilities. We've got plenty of responsibilities already, in fact, I have a sneaky suspicion that the suffragettes' intent might have been to procure the women's right to vote against men dumping extra responsibilities on us. It's pretty ridiculous, as if we now have to bring home the bacon and make it into a sandwich. An easy example comes from the world of dating:

I must say that I am not pleased with your overall dating attitude as of late. In my experience, a girl basically has to hit a guy over the head with a skillet to get him to stop playing Halo and grab a bite to eat. I'm nearly convinced that you think our recent "empowerment" has gone so completely to our heads that we want to do everything. No, we do not. We want to be able to do everything, and there's a big difference there. Quite frankly, we want you to stop treating us like animals or things and treat us like human beings for a change. When you wait around for some love-sick girl to bring you cookies wearing stilettos and a little black dress, you're not thinking about that girl as a person, you're thinking of her as an object. Objectifying others equals bad.

One thing you probably don't realize is that no matter how modern this world keeps getting, certain societal rules can't quite keep up. For example, if a guy asks a girl out, he's being bold, daring, or other wisely masculine. If a girl asks a guy, she is one of three things: dangerously forward, horribly desperate, or a control freak. For the record, neither of these are helping the femininity factor too much, especially because dangerously forward is generally a progressive form of horribly desperate. Society has given men the responsibility to do the asking, and in truth, it's the only way that both sides win. By asking a girl on a date, you are emphasizing your masculinity and her femininity. And besides that, girls want to be *chased. A man who *pursues a woman can instantly triple his attractiveness. You don't have to be lavish and exotic, just be yourself and don't be afraid to do something ordinary. Sometimes you can have a better time taking a stroll through the park than going to the opera.

I'm not saying that it is an unpardonable sin for a girls to ask a guys, because sometimes that's what it takes. What I'm saying is that initiating a date is your responsibility, and if you want me to take on yours you'd better be willing to take one of mine, like walking to church wearing nylons, a knee-length skirt, and heels.

So in conclusion: guys, please be man enough.

Regards, best wishes, and censure,

-Cecily Jane


* It should be noted that the words chase and pursue are infinitely different than the word stalk. When a girl says no, assume she means it. If she's playing around with you, she's too stupid to be worth your time, and if she changes her mind later she'll let you know. All in all, if she's not interested in you, she's not good for you.

An Explanation of this Blog and its Contents

Dear Reader,

If you have stumbled upon this blog, I assume that you have come with questions. Since I like things that start at the beginning, that's where we'll start. I'm Cecily Jane Harris (yes, that's my real name), and I'll be your writer for the duration of these various entries, which I will attempt to post on a frequent basis. I'm white by ethnicity, a Mormon by religion, a Californian in origin, and I spend my free time between writing, Star Trek, and musicals. I recently received a Bachelor's degree in English from Brigham Young University. Basically, I'm that nerd who sat in the second row of your high school English class and talked way too much about ethics or something lame like that. I guess a profile like that might make me seem uninteresting, or at least avoidable, but I contend that each life is worth writing about, even mine. This was why I thought the name Plain Vanilla seemed appropriate, especially since vanilla happens to be the third most expensive spice in the world and (I am told) used to be considered quite exotic. Similarly, I might not be all that I seem, and may not seem as plain to one person as I am to the next. I will leave any other nuances up to your discovery, Gentle Reader. In all cases, I suppose you will have to get a true taste of Plain Vanilla before you can decide if you like it or not.

Please do not post my writing without my consent, especially if you aren't going to give me any credit. If you would like to contact me about re-posting or anything else, please contact me at cecilbug [at] gmail [dot] com and put "Plain Vanilla" in the subject line so I know that you're not trying to sell me Canadian prescription drugs.

And just to be clear, anything that is not directly referenced in this or any other post is strictly my opinion. I am not writing by the official permission or authority of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints or anyone else. I claim only to be an authority on my own thoughts and experiences. If you want the Mormon church's official standpoint on anything, I would suggest going to the source at the official websites mormon.org or lds.org.

Regards, best wishes, and beginnings,

-Cecily Jane