Days of Awe

Tomorrow is our shower. I'm so nervous! I know that doesn't make much sense but it feels like I'm playing Ophelia without knowing the lines; you know, the whole analogy of doing something I haven't rehearsed for. It just doesn't feel real. Maybe if I were pregnant it would feel real.

David's parents are visiting right now. We went to see "Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit" tonight. That Wallace and Gromit. They slay me.

Yesterday was Yom Kippur. David and I joined a new synagogue this year: Dor Hadash. It's Reconstructionist, which is what I've decided I am. When we were driving there on Rosh Hashanah, David asked if I was going to know anyone and I gave him a look like "Do you think I know every Jew in San Diego?" Then the joke was on me because we'd been there about 30 seconds when I heard "Samantha!" and it was Evan from Muir Writing, whom I haven't seen in eight years. Then he started to introduce me to Felicia, who recognized me from Synthia's latke party four or five years ago. The congregation is shockingly small after the cavernous hotel ballroom atmosphere of University Synagogue. It's cozy, but it will take a bit of adjusting. It seemed like a good sign when we saw a couple with their Chinese daughter. I watched her playing in the aisle yesterday when the fast was almost over; I was bleary with low blood sugar but I smiled at her and tried to play peek-a-boo. She had a great smile.

Reason No. 853 why my life is weirder than other people's:

Today I had a facial at Indigo to get myself pretty for the big day. Afterwards, I absently pulled out my Carmex while the receptionist girly-girl was finding my bill. My lips were dry after all that steam. (Actually, all my facial mucous membranes were feeling dry, but I resisted the impulse to shove some up my nose, too.) The girly-girl, who'd been perfectly nice up to now, suddenly spotted the tell-tale yellow pot and narrowed her eyes, looking for all the world like she owned stock in Blistex and said, "You DO realize that Carmex is filled with fiberglass, don't you?" "Fiberglass?" I repeated thickly. "Yes." Her eyes were still narrow. My Carmex-covered finger hovered in mid-air. "Have you ever wondered why you feel the need to put it on again and again?" "Yes," I said, still thick with facial-head. "But I figured it was a lip balm issue." "No, it's not." Now she actually sounded mad. "It's completely addictive. Terrible stuff. I would never use it." Something was flickering in my foggy head and I held up the pot and peered at it. "Lanolin." I read to her. "Petrolatum. Cocoa Butter. Menthol. Camphor." "Well, those are the ingredients that MAKE fiberglass," she said dismissively. "But," I pleaded weakly, "it doesn't say fiberglass." I doggedly repeated it two or three more times, since she continued to slander my beloved yellow pot for another couple of minutes while we waited for my credit card. What I should have said was, "Missy, you're talking to someone with a 20 year habit here. You're going to have to do better than that." As I was leaving, she seemed to regret her vehemence and tried to mollify me: "Maybe I should check my facts a bit more." "You've got me pretty concerned now!" I said, almost convincing myself, "we're considering blowing some fiberglass into our attic; I don't want it on my lips!"

Later, when I told my MIL this story, she said, "And who's to say fiberglass is addictive anyway?" Who indeed? ;)

Reason No. 854 why my life is weirder than other people's:

Today I was performing cheese-removal surgery on my veggie sandwich in a cafe when I felt a presence at my elbow. I looked up. "Here." A woman I had noticed only out of the corner of my eye as I came in, who had been seated across the room from me, was dangling a paper napkin from her finger tips. I stared at it, darted my eyes to the stack of napkins on my table without meaning to, and chirped "Oh!" in a sort of ineffectual way, followed by "Thank you!"

"Sorry," she said with a rueful laugh, "I thought you needed one."

Of course, this would only have been a really good story if she had dangled the napkin in front of me and asked menacingly, "You do know these things are filled with fiberglass?"