What's a blue shirt anyway

What a week. What a draining, hard, crying everyday week.

what a great way to start a blog, n'est-ce pas?

seriously. what is this mission thing? it's so freekin tough. and i have a great spiritual though all picked out to share for this weeks dose of shai-ness but sorry folks. even the bliking pharmacy light makes me want to self implode. well more like explode. i could really use a karate break.

so now what my personally gratifying, whine fest is out of the way, what's up? I just whine so that i get more sympathy. if i get more sympathy then maybe i'll get more prayers or better yet letters. just kidding. prayers are good. :)

so want to hear a funny story? Last tuesday, i decided, we'll president said today is a new day, start your mission over. so nothing says rebirth like a cute french hair cut. right? so we search everywhere for a hair place still open. (we gave our preperation day to the cause. lots and lots of work. less and less actually time for preperation. but it's all good) so it's like 6:30 and the place closes at 7 but they decide it's ok. so i thinki 18 euros. i'm cool with that. 18 not too shabby. but...a sweet and glorious shampooing later (they know how to wash a client's hair here in france. if you ever want a nice escape from the fact that you are actually in france, go get your hair washed)...a quick swipe of the blowdryer and tuns and tuns of french hair goo that took 3 days to get out of my hair...and you have a 43 euro hair experience. what the crazy? but they took my coat and put it in the closet, they offered us gormet chocolate and my companion a coffee (she politely declined) and a nice soothing atmosphere of jazz and low lighting. a 43 euro hair experience.

let me put this in perspective. i spend 11 eurs a week for grocerieds. so my one night fling of temporary insanity and coifeur indiffernce turned equals an entire month of groceries.

have no fear trusty loyal friends that worry about my starvation. I am frugal with money, (i'm sure it's a surprise to my parents who have endlessly been on the wrong end of my flat tire experiences), have an emergency stash for such occasions as crazy french salons, and will be well equiped for food to get me through the winter. not to mention my food storage of canned peas and tuna. i'm good to go.

this experience only eliminates my momentary bought with missionary luxary at mcdonalds. however, i'm am saving for the day, the one day of the transfer when i an once again order a dominos pizza. ahhh...heaven in france.

moving on.

the leadership of my homey little district is getting very strict and very excited about insane, complety not understood rules. however, i have come to the conclusion that they are only insane and completly not understood becuase i don't like them. the rules. not the district leader. he's pretty cool. so i'm feeling the tightning of the grip because i'm too big for the box. i only don't like them becuase the cause me to change. and who honestly, who likes to be told to change? Maybe that's why missionnary work is so hard? ya think?

i mean, if this work is inspired, if the prophet is who he says he is, if our president has been called of God to lead this work in the south of France, if our zone leader and district leader are humbly seeking to do what is right and lead us in our spiritual growth, (and i'm 100 percent sure all of that is true) than honestly does it matter that i can not send a message to the elders with out permission?

no.

what's a blue shirt anyway.

love you

Alma 57:21

shai

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