I had a rare Sunday off and I was at a loss at what to do with myself. I would have loved a pedicure but the nail salons are closed. My favorite places to eat are also closed on Sunday. So I spent my morning playing Zuma and staring out the window at the church across the street. That in itself was rather entertaining.
Oh, look, Mouthlissa is wearing the same skirt she's worn for the past five years! Same boots too.
And there's the bishop's wife. She's let her hair grow out again. Not a good look.
That's old Bro. Whozits and his new wife. Woof!
(Yes, I was slightly catty but no one heard but my dogs and they agreed with me.)
From reading the monthly newsletter I know that Sis. X is now in this calling and Bro. Y is now in that calling. Same people, just shuffled around to fill the spaces. Regurgitated among the callings.
It reminds me of my high school friends that I've reconnected with on Facebook. Some of them still live in that same small town thirty years later! I can't even imagine it. They've lived their entire lives in a place with very limited choices in jobs, friends, activities, housing, scenery...
Oh, wait. That sounds an awful lot like a ward. Friends limited to those in the boundaries. Activities limited to church socials and meetings. And the same ugly, upholstered walls of the church building. Week after week. Month after month. Year after year. New faces move in and become familiar as they are tossed into the endleess regurgitation with the others. Just as I feel pity for my old friends I feel a sort of pity for the narrow life of the ward members.
On a completely different yet strangely related tangent, I went out with my ho girls Friday night for the first time in ages. Eating, bitching and enough booze to make us forget the tough week and relax. A mini vacation with sedation. Better than any relief society meeting I've ever attended. Just what I needed to get me ready to face another week.