Jello isn't salad.

I've mentioned before that I identify myself as a "Midwest Mormon."

I've been living in Utah for just over a year now. Many cultural components are easy for me to adjust to simply because much of the culture here is based off of the religion that I have been a faithful part of my entire life.
Earlier this year, I married the best man I've ever met who was born and raised right in the heart of Happy Valley; which means there is a big chance that I will spend the rest of my days living here. This is definitely something I promised myself I would never do! I mean come on, there's not even an NFL team here! I guess that gives me all the more reason to raise my kids as Bears fans.
There are so many things I love about living here (which I will definitely address soon)!
But some things... some things... I'm 100% sure I will never get used to or identify with.


Jello.
People put this crap in everything. If you freeze it, you can make it a popsicle. If you layer it with whipped cream, it becomes a casserole. If it's in a bundt pan, it's a cake. If you put graham crackers on the bottom, it's a pie. If you put fruit and marshmallows in it, somehow it becomes a salad...?

Where I'm from, we make fun of jello dishes. Where I currently live, it's a main food group. Last week my sweet Mother-in-Law texted my husband and asked if we would bring a jello salad to the family party on Sunday. I instantly was overwhelmed with anxiety and informed my siblings of the current situation.

I just can't bring myself to embrace this part of Utah living. I made my husband make it.

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"Unique" Names.
First off, you should know that I have uncontrollable tunnel vision when I see a typo and I can't ignore it until it's fixed. Just imagine a mosquito bite on the inside edge of your ear. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. It's just like that. I can't ignore it. Before I even spot it, I feel physical vibes steaming off the paper just waiting for me to find and correct it.


Recently at work, I handed a blank contract form to a girl named London. She was interested in signing up for a membership.
I counted to 60 and then I peered down at said form to begin transferring her scribbled personal information into the computer system.

Name: Lundyn.

My eyes grew wide with disgust- I thought they might pop and ooze out red pen correction markings.
Inadvertently, I informed her of her misspelling of "London".

Apparently it's "just unique."

No.

Even more recently, I was trollying through the grocery store when I saw a driver's license shimmering below the wheel of my cart. I plucked it off the concrete floor and glanced at the picture to compare it to the faces of the people scurrying around me. Again, I felt the typo vibes steaming in my hot little hand.

This license was to be returned to a woman named Allysnn Hyllyry.

ALLYSNN HYLLYRY.

My IQ just dropped.

I shifted my eyes around frantically as I audibly inquired, "Is this a joke? Am I being punked?"

It took all of my willpower not to shred that physical piece of illiteracy into a million pieces before returning it to customer service.

A common name that's illiterately spelled does not make it unique.

Me going through the Utah County Whitepages:

Everyone should just name their children Chaney.