I'd like to share some recent happenings while out and about. Brace yourselves.
My friend Katie called me up one evening and wanted some company for dinner. I had stuff to do around the house, specifically laundry so I wore a denim skirt and a much-applicable "Grumpy" (from Snow White) t-shirt that day, but being a good friend took precedence and I went and joined Katie at a local late-night restaurant. Dinner was good, conversation was better, and as we stood in line to pay we were jovially intercepted by a well-dressed man, his wife, and their son.
He asked, "What church do you go to?" and Katie answered him, "We go to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. What church do you go to?"
Now, at this moment I was expecting him to say he was Mormon too and he knew he had recognized us from Stake Conference or something. Right? RIGHT? No. HECK NO. He told us he went to some other church, and to be kind I won't mention the denomination. Then he handed us a pamphlet, invited us to visit his church, and took his family into the restaurant. What did Katie and I do next? We looked at the pamphlet of course! And you know what it was? It was blatant anti-Mormon literature. If I remember correctly the front mentioned something about us worshiping a different Jesus and somewhere inside it also clearly stated that we're going to Hell. Nice. Fantastic way to go about making friends.
It was painful. We weren't the only ones standing there in line and he specifically picked us out of the crowd as Latter-Day Saints and then proverbially stepped on our souls. Really, that's how it felt. Tell me I'm ugly, tell me I'm fat... but please, leave my religion alone.
This last weekend I was chillin' with Katie again. We were both craving Italian and found ourselves at a cute little Italian place, split a canole for dinner and gelato (Italian ice cream) for dessert. It was a yummy watching-the-budget-but-not-the-waistline dinner. Kudos to Katie, fantastic idea.
After dinner, long story shorter, we ended up at our $3 theater to join some friends for a movie at the last minute. We were a little late, but no biggie. Neither of us knew much about the movie, which will remain anonymous, but it was rated PG-13 and actually came recommended by a fairly good friend. There was an actor in the movie that I find myself despising due to his crudeness but our said friend assured us he was decent in this movie. Ok, we took a chance. BAD IDEA. It was terrible. Not long after we sat down, amidst everyone's laughter and guffawing in the theater, we had to leave.
The movie was the least of the evening, on our way to my car we were intercepted by an upset young lady needing gas. She stopped us and told us that she worked as a security specialist (or something) for Wal-Mart and needed gas to go back to Wasilla (about 50 miles outside of Anchorage) so she could get breast-milk to her baby. Katie's night to run the show was at the restaurant with the guy and the Anti-Mormon pamphlet, this night was apparently mine 'cause I did all the talking. I clarified what this woman needed and made the decision to help with what I could. We are our brother's (or sister's) keeper, right? She looked cold so I told her to wait inside the theater lobby and we'd go to the gas station and get a can filled with gas for her.
Katie and I didn't walk 15 steps further and -Bam!- another woman intercepted our short walk to the car. She was older, wearing a pink jump suit, and needed a ride somewhere. She claimed to be from Eagle River and wanting to get to a friend's house nearby. I had a hard time following her story, which included (I think) something about a drunk guy and driving somewhere. All I could do was tell her we were on our way to get gas for someone and instructed her to go wait in the lobby with the other lady and talk to her.
Katie and I were in shock. Really, if you want random adventures, hang out with me. I'm like a magnet. No joke. This kind of stuff happens a lot.
At the gas station there was only 1 gas can left. The darned thing only held 2 gallons and actually cost more than the gas to go inside it! And I thought the cost of gas was atrocious; It's plastic we need to worry about. While filling the gas can and dealing with the super quirks of technology and the crazy random evening, our defense mechanism of choice was laughter. I'm sure the gas station guy and whomever else was in the parking lot thought we were drunk. Yeah, we were laughing that much. Really, if you think about it, there was humor in the situation. Coming up with possible solutions provided some entertainment. One solution that we deemed as rather funny and somewhat ironic... is the one I actually went with when faced with dealing with the women.
Back at the theater, gas can in hand, Katie and I found both of the women coming out of the theater lobby. I gave the gas can to the woman going to Wasilla and explained it wouldn't get her far, but would get her far enough to hopefully happen upon someone else that could contribute to her trip home. Then, I asked her to please bring the pink sweatsuit lady with her and drop her off wherever she needed to go since it was on the way. I am absolutely not comfortable transporting strangers and that was the only solution Katie and I discussed that came out of my mouth at that moment. I wished them luck and we high-tailed it out of there.
Fun stuff eh?
There's one more adventure I'd like to share, and it's a good one.
I have a list on the bottom of this blog that is a list of things I want to do before I die. I started this list years before the movie "The Bucket List" came about, so no accusing me of copying, imitating, whatever-ing Hollywood. Everything I have accomplished thus far (not much) is listed in blue with a date of completion following it. Well, there's a new light blue one in town... "Learn To Belly Dance". I began classes on June 3rd of this year and am LOVING them.
I look forward to Wednesdays and having that hour and a half of what I think I'll call "no-cares time". I don't care about how I look, I don't care about what happened that day at work, I don't care about if I can get something perfect, I just simply don't care. It's fantastic, and the nonchalant outlook is encouraged. My instructor is this vivacious woman who has personality and spunk in class as well as while performing.
The belly dance style she teaches is Gypsy-influenced, fun and full of movement and personality. Costuming for performing is colorful and fairly flexible per each dancer. I can maintain my modest clothing standards while fitting in and having a great time. I was so happy today I used my computer to take a few pictures post-class to share with everyone.
See? I'm smiling!
I wish everyone a great no-cares rest-of-the-week ahead.