“OH MY GOD- those people are such bastards!” she yelled in her lilting Latin accent from the office down the hall. “Did you even get that guy’s name? Juan Carlos De Metrio Ortex Garcia? TORTILLA? BURRITO? Could he HAVE any more f-ing names?!”
Excuuuuuse me? I thought as I glanced at the placard on the door. Pretty sure there are like four names there, but fine, freaking out on the phone (however hypocritical) slightly cracked me up. It at least made me feel (for a moment) less dull than I have been feeling lately. People aren’t making me laugh like they used to—is it me? Or have people stopped being so indescribably weird?
Oh wait. No. I did go to church this weekend. And weird was definitely happening. Not that the two are direct correlates, mind you.
It was Missions Sunday and my sisters and I had been wrangled into dragging…ahem…I mean proudly carrying flags (like other such volunteers did) from every nation down the aisle at church so the congregation could see a bunch of fabric in a bunch of different colors waving above the pews. And we had to be there at 7:30 am to do this.
Yeah. Seriously. 7:30 AM on a SUNDAY MORNING. Recover for a moment and track with me as I continue. (I realize I will receive no pity for this from the church workers out there but everyone else will understand the pain)
I thought perhaps it was the early morning that was making the entire experience blurry—but no, the flamboyant and seriously gay (but married) gentleman playing the piano at the front was giving us one of those classic Barney rounds of applause. Oh. Wow. He was also discussing he and his wife's bi-coastal marriage.
Bi-coastal? Don't you mean bi- something else? I thought, quite rudely.
Before the service there was a lull where we sat at the back and just watched the morning activities. People fight a lot before church services, we noted. And fight about the most ridiculous things.
“Did you set that paper there? Nothing goes there. We have to leave that section of the pulpit clear. Absolutely clear.”
“I didn’t mean to leave it there, I was just thinking…”
“Well you can’t. So just move it.”
That was the interchange between two elderly men who…god love ‘em…had to bicker about a misplaced bulletin.
Next we turned our heads to notice the only under 80 person (besides us, of course) standing in the foyer— handing out bulletins of all things.
“I really didn’t think anyone but elderly did that,” Desiree remarked. We just grunted back because we were too tired to speak.
Soon we learned that yes, in fact, only elderly do that. An old man walked up to the young, normal-looking guy and thanked him for his (odd) help, but that HE was in fact the bulletin hander-outer that morning. So the young man came over to us.
“Hi, I’m A.” he said and shook our hands. We introduced ourselves. Young. Good looking. This is a rare and wonderful thing.
“So I just took this shirt out of the dryer and wore it here without ironing it because I was like, well, just rolling out of bed. I’m from Oklahoma but I want to get into acting but right now I just got out of this rehab place and now I live in another place….and yeah…so that’s what’s going on but I’m going to move to another place probably while I’m doing this acting thing…”
Crazy. That explains it.
He paused for a breath.
“So how was Easter?”
WHAT?!
Not long after that we were in the Missions luncheon which was fabulous, actually, when people started going a bit bonkers about their kebabs.
“Are these kosher?” one man asked Lindsey who was in the assembly line handing out food next to me.
“Uh, I don’t know. You should probably go check with the kitchen staff.” She answered.
He turned to Desiree, who was next to her in the very same assembly line, handing out the very same food, and said:
“Are these kosher? I have to have kosher.”
Yup, buddy. Remarkably-- same answer AGAIN.
After that a dear little woman informed me that Saturday had been an exhausting day for her because she moved shopping carts around ALL DAY in Burbank.
Talk about making work for yourself. I wanted to hug the poor woman.
At our table a woman remarked casually about her husband seated next to her, “we met in September.”
“And you’re married?” Sam inquired since she already introduced us to him as her husband.
“Yes. We met in September, got married in January.”
This would have seemed almost ridiculously romantic if my sisters and I had not already known her from other events as the Woman With Severe Anxiety Issues. No event was too small to escape her attention if it was a derivation from HER norm WHATSOEVER.
“I think you guys moved that pebble on the centerpiece!” she FREAKED out at one such event. "Just stop everything and hand it back to me. I know where it goes and I just need to FIX these!"
Her rapid marriage must have gone off without ANY type of hitch. That, or her husband may have some scars to document said glitches.
Although weird was definitely occurring at our lovely little church, it was also a wonderful day. It was made more so by this remarkable fellow who spoke at every service. He’s fantastic.
Excuuuuuse me? I thought as I glanced at the placard on the door. Pretty sure there are like four names there, but fine, freaking out on the phone (however hypocritical) slightly cracked me up. It at least made me feel (for a moment) less dull than I have been feeling lately. People aren’t making me laugh like they used to—is it me? Or have people stopped being so indescribably weird?
Oh wait. No. I did go to church this weekend. And weird was definitely happening. Not that the two are direct correlates, mind you.
It was Missions Sunday and my sisters and I had been wrangled into dragging…ahem…I mean proudly carrying flags (like other such volunteers did) from every nation down the aisle at church so the congregation could see a bunch of fabric in a bunch of different colors waving above the pews. And we had to be there at 7:30 am to do this.
Yeah. Seriously. 7:30 AM on a SUNDAY MORNING. Recover for a moment and track with me as I continue. (I realize I will receive no pity for this from the church workers out there but everyone else will understand the pain)
I thought perhaps it was the early morning that was making the entire experience blurry—but no, the flamboyant and seriously gay (but married) gentleman playing the piano at the front was giving us one of those classic Barney rounds of applause. Oh. Wow. He was also discussing he and his wife's bi-coastal marriage.
Bi-coastal? Don't you mean bi- something else? I thought, quite rudely.
Before the service there was a lull where we sat at the back and just watched the morning activities. People fight a lot before church services, we noted. And fight about the most ridiculous things.
“Did you set that paper there? Nothing goes there. We have to leave that section of the pulpit clear. Absolutely clear.”
“I didn’t mean to leave it there, I was just thinking…”
“Well you can’t. So just move it.”
That was the interchange between two elderly men who…god love ‘em…had to bicker about a misplaced bulletin.
Next we turned our heads to notice the only under 80 person (besides us, of course) standing in the foyer— handing out bulletins of all things.
“I really didn’t think anyone but elderly did that,” Desiree remarked. We just grunted back because we were too tired to speak.
Soon we learned that yes, in fact, only elderly do that. An old man walked up to the young, normal-looking guy and thanked him for his (odd) help, but that HE was in fact the bulletin hander-outer that morning. So the young man came over to us.
“Hi, I’m A.” he said and shook our hands. We introduced ourselves. Young. Good looking. This is a rare and wonderful thing.
“So I just took this shirt out of the dryer and wore it here without ironing it because I was like, well, just rolling out of bed. I’m from Oklahoma but I want to get into acting but right now I just got out of this rehab place and now I live in another place….and yeah…so that’s what’s going on but I’m going to move to another place probably while I’m doing this acting thing…”
Crazy. That explains it.
He paused for a breath.
“So how was Easter?”
WHAT?!
Not long after that we were in the Missions luncheon which was fabulous, actually, when people started going a bit bonkers about their kebabs.
“Are these kosher?” one man asked Lindsey who was in the assembly line handing out food next to me.
“Uh, I don’t know. You should probably go check with the kitchen staff.” She answered.
He turned to Desiree, who was next to her in the very same assembly line, handing out the very same food, and said:
“Are these kosher? I have to have kosher.”
Yup, buddy. Remarkably-- same answer AGAIN.
After that a dear little woman informed me that Saturday had been an exhausting day for her because she moved shopping carts around ALL DAY in Burbank.
Talk about making work for yourself. I wanted to hug the poor woman.
At our table a woman remarked casually about her husband seated next to her, “we met in September.”
“And you’re married?” Sam inquired since she already introduced us to him as her husband.
“Yes. We met in September, got married in January.”
This would have seemed almost ridiculously romantic if my sisters and I had not already known her from other events as the Woman With Severe Anxiety Issues. No event was too small to escape her attention if it was a derivation from HER norm WHATSOEVER.
“I think you guys moved that pebble on the centerpiece!” she FREAKED out at one such event. "Just stop everything and hand it back to me. I know where it goes and I just need to FIX these!"
Her rapid marriage must have gone off without ANY type of hitch. That, or her husband may have some scars to document said glitches.
Although weird was definitely occurring at our lovely little church, it was also a wonderful day. It was made more so by this remarkable fellow who spoke at every service. He’s fantastic.
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