Walking to the car after work, Richard nods toward the lanky, Cobain-haired guy in yarmulke and prayer shawl strolling our way. He seems puzzled about the fringe coming out of the bottom of the guy's shirt.
Not sure if he saw the yarmulke, and hoping he won't say anything embarrassing out loud, I give him a preemptive whisper, "he's Jewish," and wait till we're out of earshot to explain. I hate it when I see people talking about me and pretending they're not; I couldn't care less if they badmouthed me in my absence, and even saying rude things to my face is better than pretending I'm not there at all. Once we are safely far away, I begin to explain about the knots in the fringe on the four corners of the shawl and how they have special significance, and how suddenly I have no idea what that significance is anymore. I used to be intelligent, really I did. Anyway, in case you don't know, there is a special significance to the knots in the tassels. Now you know.
In other news, I just realized this week that our next door neighbors, the ones with the big slobbery dog and the blanket tacked over their window so the dog won't bark at passersby? They're totally Jewish. I don't know how I missed it for the however-many months we've been living next to them, but they've got a nice little mezuzah on their doorpost. I told my roommate in excitement as soon as I noticed it.
"Really? A mezuzah? That's great! I love the Jews!"
We'd taken some online prejudice test a year or two ago, in which it was revealed, I believe, that I have a slight preference for black people, and she has a stronger-than-mine preference for Jews. Anyway, hooray for us, I guess.
In other news, I turned another year older a few days ago, and got to celebrate by eating mounds of (delicious) Ethiopian food with my parents, sister, and grandpa and his wife.
We also celebrated with three separate cakes: one very Richardy ice cream sandwich cake for work, one lucious fake Macaroni Grill lemon dream cake from my excellent mother, and one surprise (there's already a cake in the fridge) chocolate cake by my cooking experimenty roommate, who thankfully didn't put any flax or oatmeal into it, but did put lots of cocoa and cream and other lipsmacking ingredients. There was so much cake that I was forced to (sadly) send the remainder of the lemon cake home with my sister, and keep the chocolate cake for Sunday night when we had a smaller, impromptu birthday party with a couple of friends and lots of pictures and talking till deep into the night.
I'm still trying to recover from the past few weeks; with all the vacationing and celebrating and dinner-eating and movie-watching I've done recently, I haven't had a moment to hang up any laundry or go grocery shopping or, you know, sleep. My bedroom currently is beginning to look like my bedroom circa my early high school years, which will have to be fixed pronto, as my roommate will be returning from her hometown in the next couple of weeks after a summer-long absence which spoiled me greatly. Shoot, I'll have to clear off half the bookshelves and shove all my clothes back into one side of the closet again.