Last post I told you I got an iphone. That pretty much sums up why I've been neglecting my blog. However, I did take on a pet project of posting to instagram everyday for the month of January. My end goal will be to take a picture every day for a whole year, but I'm doing it month by month so I don't feel like a failure when it doesn't happen. So far, so good. Follow me at, you guessed it, #elissagator. That's also my Twitter account, which I've also been using a bit more. I'm full of surprises.
This past weekend I got to go down to Anchorage for an LDS temple trip. It was great to get out of Fairbanks. I even saw caribou on the way down. One of the Anchorage YSA wards invited us to a dance. Now, I'm not that into dances.Granted, I can dance a storm around you, I just don't usually feel like showing off.
Sitting there, wondering when the night would come to an end, inspiration struck. When that happens, you can't disobey the muses. I got paper, pen and a hymn book, sat in a chair and started writing. Mind you, I was still in the gym, with the dance going on in front of me. I became that girl. The weird one. And I gloried in it.
Here is what I banged out on paper (with a few edits. The copy editing job is really starting to seep into my brain system. Shudder). For your information, YSA means "young single adult;" those in the LDS church that are 18-30. Now you know.
Observations of a YSA Dance
By Elissa Stewart
No boos. Modest dress. A basketball gym with haphazard strung Christmas lights.
A mash up of Thriller and Lady Gaga blast through the speakers. It's an appropriate beat for a scary event -- a Mormon YSA dance.
I stand with the group, yet a part as I write my observations. Tonight I am merely an anthropologist, studying the strange mating rituals of a group ostracized for their different ways. They are different, and yet beautiful -- in the same way a penguin will give a potential mate a pebble. Not a lot of logic, just pure weird.
Their favorite type of dance is the line dance. Not necessarily country, but a mix of the electric slide, pop and wobble and a rural rhythm called "Cotton Eyed Joe." I don't know if Joe would be pleased or astounded at how his name was being used. Then again, having cotton eyes, he would be prevented from most of the indecency.
The slide disintegrates into a slow song. As the tempo slows down, there is an energy change on the dance floor. A massive rush to the drinking fountain ensues by those too sweaty or too self-conscious to wait through those painful seconds wondering if someone will ask them to dance. Others claim a metal chair that hug the prickly-scratchy wall (this wall paper choice is a whole study in and of itself).
And then we have "those" couples. I put that word in quotation marks to symbolize the close and curving ability these people fit into each other. Appropriately, of course. They gaze into each others' eyes, dismissing the strong aroma of body odors and stale farts. They are the only two that exist in the room, under a hoop that will hopefully soon serve as a backdrop for their wedding receiving line.
The odd assortment of the collection adds to the mystery of the dancing ritual. There are big girls, small girls, girls swallowed up by their own vanity. And then the nice girls who come up to strange girls sitting in the corner writing (writing, at a dance -- who does that?) and introduce themselves and start small talk.
Now I don't want to group the males into one group, but for the most part they are a nervous bunch. Sure, there are the outliers -- those who wear sunglasses inside and have the moves of Usher with the morals of Joseph of Egypt. And the few males that you can't help but pity as awkwardness radiates from their clothes.
Putting the males and females together you get raging hormones of a religion that believes sex before marriage is a sin. The ability to get jiggy with it in a church approved setting is a counted blessing.
Not to worry -- there are chaperones, older couples so deliriously happy with their own marriages they can't help but facilitate the marriages of the young and energetic. These chapersones usually have kids about the same age -- and they want grandbabies. If they can help some other older couple get grandbabies, maybe karma will be good back to them.
The paradox of the evening is the fact that this event is supposed to help young people meet and mate -- yet they can't communicate over the dropped out bass of the speakers. You usually end up nodding your head and smiling with anything anybody says. I guess Ursula was right; they have to rely on body language.
Speaking of body language, after studying the subtle nuances and inflections of this particular language, I've translated a few dance movements into modern English so you might more fully grasp what these youth are trying to say to each other:
Waving hands in the air = Would I be a viable partner to produce offspring with?
Booty shake = I can't mate now, but once you wed me by taking me through the temple, you can be sure nights will be pleasurable.
The safe shuffle = I don't really want to be here, but online dating has only given me matches from the Philippines and I'm not that desperate. Yet.
Circling around a guy with pop and lock skills: Finally the attention isn't on my moves but maybe a potential mate across the circle will notice my fun and happy disposition and be willing to follow my Twitter account.
By the end of the night there has been heartache as well as feelings of floating on cloud nine. There have been an average of 3.7 trips to the bathroom by the females checking that their hair still lingers behind their ears in the most seductive manner. At least one person has left crying, and at least two more will cry the next day once they realize the person they hit it off with isn't going to return their texts.
There have been no serious studies as to the probability that two unknown strangers will meet, fall in love and get married as a result of these peculiar Mormon dances. But every opportunity to increase the odds of finding an eternal companion before the ripe age of 28 is taken. That's why I find myself putting down the pen and joining the bouncing throngs.
So far online dating has only given me matches from Cambodia and it turns out I almost am that desperate.
