Diary of a Mor(m)on

Dear Diary,
SLC > SFX. Here we are, arguably the West's most sinful city. But no fear, secularists, my fellow Elder and I have arrived. For the next 2 years we will infiltrate SF's homes, misguided places of worship, coffee shops, and heck, I may even go out to a karaoke bar while I'm here (under the condition that it not serve spirits of any kind - alcohol or demons; haha, what's the difference, right?).
We are stationed in an area of the city titled "The Sunset", a lovely place that we are told is far away from nightlife, hot girls, homosexuals, and/or any other threats to our livelihood.

Dear Diary,
Converted our first (straight and married) couple today! Equipped them with everything they need for their newfound Mormon faith: 19th century underwear, several phone numbers of eligible SLC women (to add to their marriage), and the inability to rationally relate to anyone ever again.

Dear Diary,
Today my partner (okay, maybe not the best word to be using in SF) and I took our first publicly provided transportation ride. That's right: MUNI. Top feared only behind the New York subway and MARTA.
We boarded the bus and immediately spotted the seats reserved for Elders (thankfully located at the front, and far away from any Canaanites). As we sat down, we made sure to keep at a 2 seats to 1 Elder ratio, so as not to imply any relationship other than fellow followers of Christ. A young female, despite being clearly intoxicated with the smell of the devil, was nice enough to show her respect and admiration by snapping a photo of us. Unfortunately, due to the excessive distance between my partner and I, I doubt she was able to successfully capture our faces, even at her awkward, totally obvious, phone-held-as-high-as-possible-to-enlarge-field-of-vision-for-camera-phone angle.


Dear Diary,
Got shanked today, and it is only by the grace of Joseph Smith, Jr. that I am alive to write the tale. Evidently there is a patch of evil amongst, well, a bunch of expensive Full House-esque buildings. It goes by the name of "Western Addition". As my partner and I were walking home from another blessed day graciously given to us by Jesus, we were viciously attacked by ... I think we all know:
The Dark Descendants of Cain, so dubbed by our very own Brigham Young.
By the grace of the Lord Jesus Almighty, my Book of Mormon (BOM) was in my jacket pocket, and the knife struck a hole in the book, guarding my earthly flesh, but wounding my eternal soul. Of course I'd rather it had been the other way around, and my BOM spared, but through this incident, Jesus has revealed to me something that I would never have dared to even think before today: that my life is more important than a book.

But not just any book, my friends, no: this is the most sacred text of all sacred texts. You know, the one that an angel brought to Earth on golden plates in 1830, so that it could be "translated" from an "unknown" language by a racist, polygamous man to reveal an indigenous American tribe's history.

I haven't quite grasped my tiny Mor(m)onic brain around this act of God, but the mercy he has shown me today has only deepened a passionate desire within me to spread more, more, more, of Joseph Smith's gospel to the ends of the Earth, disregarding all low SES areas, of course.

Just as soon as I get my hands on another BOM.
Gonna go use one of my 5 phone calls and ask mommy if she can send one, BRB.