Excuse me while I complain. A LOT. And excuse me while I vent a lot of anger and bitterness in many directions, except in the directions where they rightfully belong, because I can't vent them there. Those of you who come here only to enjoy entertaining and self-deprecating RenReb wit, you might want to come back some other time, like in the next 8 years or however long it takes before I'm able to post again.

I'm here for a number of reasons.

First of all, for various reasons, in the last bunch of weeks, I've been in the public eye, like, a lot, like much more than usual. Confluence of circumstances, including shul functions and many others. So when one is in the public eye a lot, or at least when I'm in the public eye a lot, eventually I sort of start to cringe like crazy and get increasingly uncomfortable until I'm positive that everywhere I go, including my own house, every single person within seeing distance is scrutinizing every single thing about me as carefully and closely as possible, and I start to squirm and I hate it and all I want to do is find a tiny, dark, preferably underground space and crawl into it and pull a thick cover over the opening, and stay there for a couple of months. So some might argue that the Internet is not precisely that sort of space, but at least here, I get to pull a paper bag over my head. So I'm here because I could really use a dose of anonymity right now.

Second of all, I'm here because a number of cockyheads have recently upset me in various ways, and I'm feeling that bitter resentment that I sometimes feel, and I happen to be feeling it right at this moment, and I happen to have maybe four or five microseconds to myself, so I can post. I don't think I can gather and explain and describe each event and conversation that has pushed me to this point, so I'm just going to unload a little bit, and it might not all make sense. Ok? Good.

I wish people would get a few things straight. One is that I have no friends. This is not my fault, of course. I happen to be an extremely friendly individual, and I practice outstanding personal hygiene, and those who have been friends with me in bygone eras have considered me to be pretty good at it. But as you may recall from previous postings by me, I don't have so many anymore, for all sorts of reasons. One is that a bunch of years ago, we moved away from the two or three locations where all of our friends lived, and of course we drifted apart, as people do. But the difference between them and us (one difference, I mean) is that they drifted away from their old crowds because they were drifting into new crowds. We just drifted, into this strange limbo-purgatory-sort of place. Not purgatory because we suffer. That isn't what I mean. I mean purgatory because it's neither here nor there. We drifted to a new crowd, but not into a new crowd. There's a difference.

We have no crowd, see. People here don't consider us friends, and they won't, ever. Friendly, sure, but not friends. We are almost never included in anything, and when we are, we can't break out of "rabbi" mode, because, well, even if we aren't physically at shul, we (yes, we) are still the rabbi, and even if we want to break out of it for an evening or a few hours or whatever, nobody will let us. The anecdotes that demonstrate this tend to increase and decrease in frequency and intensity, and there have been a lot of them lately, and, well, they've built on each other and right now I'm pretty upset.

One thing that happened recently is that old friends of ours made a simcha and didn't invite us, and it hurt. My husband wasn't surprised at all - "We haven't been in touch with them in years" - and maybe I wasn't surpised either, exactly, and I don't really blame them, but it hurt. It hurt because it seemed like a formal announcement that we aren't even going to pretend anymore. For years, we did, and I guess we've passed even that point.

Another thing that happened recently is that I actually saw an old friend, someone about whom I'd taken it for granted that no matter how long we went without speaking or seeing each other, things would always be the same. From my end, they were the same, but she behaved like a stranger, and we had almost nothing to say to each other, and, well, that hurt too.

I realize these things don't necessarily have any connection to my being a rebbetzin. People drift apart, of course. It's just that I have nobody else to replace those old people, so the drifting actually matters.

This is nobody's "fault." I'm not angry at either of these people. I drifted just as much as they did. It's just that every so often, I notice that I have almost nobody to talk to, and nobody to hang out with socially on a Shabbos afternoon, and well, I don't always enjoy it, that's all, especially when Shabbos afternoon is about 90 hours long. And when a bunch of women are chatting at the kiddush and I go over to them to say hello, and they immediately hush and start talking about some inane subject that they clearly weren't discussing before, and when the topic turns to Facebook and I mention that some day I'll probably join, and two of them look at each other and start giggling and one of them says "Well don't friend us, we don't want to have to behave ourselves," and when someone we don't know who lives in another state calls our house to ask about the community because they might be getting a job nearby and might need to move here, and they ask how many families of a certain demographic are in our shul, and I start my response by mentioning that my own family fits that demographic, and they laugh and say "We don't count you guys, no offense," and when someone in the shul who once did something unforgivable to me and has yet to apologize or even acknowledge it is about to become shul president, which means I'm going to have to open up my home to him and take phone calls from him 75 times a night, and when people expect me to invite everyone in the shul to my house at least twice a year, including the ones who are mentally imbalanced and who frighten my kids, and when I suggest to the cockyhead named Phil who is pestering me to invite these people that I'm not comfortable hosting them because they scare my kids, the cockyhead named Phil looks at me sternly and says "I think you'll have to put that aside," and when people suddenly stop talking to me because they no longer send their kids to yeshiva and they assume that means I won't be friendly to them, and when people make lewd jokes to me in front of a lot of other people because they're trying "to see if I can get the rebbetzin to blush" - well, I enjoy the whole "lack of friends" thing even less, and eventually I just need to crawl into my paper bag and hide.

FYI, I did not blush. The jokes were too stupid, and I was too angry about what the person said, and I don't blush when I'm angry. And I didn't want those two people as Facebook friends anyway.

Yes, this is what I signed up for. Yes, this is part of being in the rabbinate. No, I don't think these are the worst "problems" in the world, and no, I don't spend all of my time feeling sorry for myself, and yes, I would do it all again. Just sometimes it sucks, and sometimes it sucks more than other times. And I sometimes wish people would get it. Because someone I spoke to today was really, really, really not getting it, and I think that might be what prompted this.

My four or five microseconds were over a long time ago, and I've been interrupted about 8 times, and I of course no longer remember the other things I was going to say. That might be a good thing, since maybe it means they're not really upsetting me anymore.

Enjoy summer, everyone. Hopefully I'll be back before it's over.

1. The dodo bird is extinct. Um, excuse me? When exactly did this happen? And why wasn't I notified? And was I a fool for believing that its presence as a family of supporting characters in the timeless classic "Follow That Bird" meant that it was, in fact, still among us? ["Now who would leave a family like that?"]
2. The relationship between the US and Iran has been characterized by "three decades of mutual mistrust." I'm so sorry. My bad. Here I was thinking that it's been characterized by three decades of one country of maniacs taking hostages, killing people, spitting barely coherent bile about the "Great Satan" out its orifices, randomly accusing people it doesn't like of spying for the aforementioned "Great Satan," and awarding million-dollar prizes to Olympic athletes who refuse to compete against Zionists, while the other country responds with "I'm sorry, but we really can't do business with you under these conditions." Now I see that in reality, the problem has been "mutual mistrust." Well then, I have an idea: Let's all get together and engage in some team-building exercises, such as planting a garden or constructing a teepee out of popsicle sticks. I've heard that works. [Update: As my first commenter below astutely pointed out, this sketch is a bit of an oversimplification. But still. I don't think "mutual mistrust" really paints the right picture.]
3. It is, in fact, possible to host a vegan Pesach meal, at which even small and variously vegetable-phobic children will not, necessarily, starve.
4. If you have a dish coated with remnants of the chocolate frosting that you made for your Pesach cake almost a week ago, and you leave this dish on your countertop for almost a week with the intention of licking out the frosting "as soon as you have time," and then you decide to say screw it, I am NEVER going to "have time," and you commence the licking of the frosting in the middle of the night that Yom Tov is over when you have not yet finished turning your kitchen back over, the frosting will still be good.

Why am I here? I'm so tired. My whole body aches. I have not stopped moving for days, and I won't stop moving for... oh who knows. Who cares. I just know I have a story to tell you, and I believe you should all read it. And by "you all," of course, I refer to the 10 of you who are "followers," and hence might actually check my blog. But I used to have 11. Last time I checked I had 11. Somebody appears to have ditched me. So, whoever you are who ditched me: You suck. Or perhaps I do. Also my nails are all shredded down to the skin from peeling too many potatoes.

Ok, so here's my story.

It all began when I decided I would do all of the Pesach shopping in one day. ["Hooray for Mike Mulligan and Maryanne! They have dug the cellar in just one day!"] So I left the house, lists in purse, tissues in pocket (my nose always runs in stores. It's sort of like when I'm cooking, only when I'm in public I try not to wipe my nose on my shoulder), and 8 hours later I staggered back through the door, dropped my purse and jacket on the floor, shouted to my husband to go unload the car, collapsed on the couch, and told the curious children who soon arrived that we would be cancelling Pesach this year.

(Note to self: Never again try to do the Pesach shopping in just one day.)

The first store I went to was one of those zoo stores. You know, where there are several thousand people jammed into what feels like one large room with a few shelving units scattered aimlessly around the floor, and there are random assortments of things on the shelving units, and if you squeeze your way to the far end of the room, you might find the refrigerator unit that was manufactured in 1952, and if you open the door and see through the clouds of frost that immediately come billowing out, you'll see that there is also a random assortment of things in there. And the reason you are in this store is that some of the things on the shelving units, and some of the things in the refrigerated cavern, are things that you need. And while you can technically find these things in other stores - stores that also contain things like "aisles" and "departments" and "air" - it so happens that, probably because they don't waste money on things like electricity, this particular store is insanely, unbelievably cheap. And when you are spending millions of dollars on this crazy little thing called Pesach, and when (I'm not sure if you heard, but) the world money situation is falling apart, you want to try to save money wherever possible, even if it means fighting your way through people and frost and things that go "crunch" under your foot when you walk. Usually, I don't try to do anything else on days when I take on this store, because wow, it can wipe you out. But this time I did, because I was going to do all the Pesach shopping in just one day.

So. It didn't take more than three trips around the whole place before I found the first thing I was looking for (this is actually pretty impressive). In fact, I don't know how long I was actually in there, but it took less overall time than usual, and I did pretty well. My cart (yes, they do have those) was piled quite high, and I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, and like I was only going to need maybe 3 or 4 trips to the spa to have all the noise and chaos and frost-clouds steamed out of my pores.

So then I went to pay. Now, it happens that there are a number of registers in this establishment, but there aren't what one would call "lines." No; what happens is that when ready to pay, everyone just sort of plants themselves and their cart as close to a register as they can get, and keeps moving closer whenever they can, and sooner or later - no one really knows how, especially since it seems to violate a number of laws of physics - you end up in front of a register, where you pay, and then you leave, and you drive out of the parking lot as fast as you can while calling everyone you know and telling them that this is IT, you are NEVER shopping there again, you don't CARE how much money you saved, there is NO amount of money that would make that experience worth it. But you know you are lying, and that you'll be back there as soon as the next big shopping event rolls around, and the people you are screaming to on the phone know that too, because they also shop there, and they always say the same thing.

So there I am, inching my way closer to a register. It's taking forever. My cart is piled high and some of my stuff is perishable, and I still have two other places to go, and I want to minimize the time the stuff has to sit in the car. A shelving unit appears on my right as I inch forward. When I clear it, I see that someone has done something that ranks up there with public tooth-picking on my list of gigantic pet peeves. Someone has left their cart to hold their place in this so-called "line" while they go to gather more stuff. Now that is just wrong. It's rude, is what it is, and wrong, and in my humble opinion that person's stuff should be returned to the shelves and they should be ejected from the store and forced to have a scarlet "LJ" ("Line Jumper") emblazoned on everything they wear, forever.

But this time, it's even worse. This person has actually left two small children - like the bigger one was probably less than two years old - in the cart as well. Like, by themselves.

He-llooo! Is anybody home in there?? Don't you people watch CSI? Or Law & Order? Or the nightly news?? And let me ask a better question: Don't you people have brains?? Do you know how many times I could have casually picked those children up and walked out of the store and gotten into my car during the time the mother was away from the cart? Sometimes I feel like I should do that (and then come back, of course), just to teach the person a lesson. But I don't know that the police or anyone similar would agree that I should be teaching that lesson, so I think I'll leave well enough alone.

Anyhoo. As I was saying. As I inch toward the register and keep one eye on the abandoned cart, ready to beat off bad guys or grab the kids if they suddenly go toppling out (idiot mother), I realize something - the cart is positioned in such a way that when the owner returns, she will probably think she is supposed to be in front of me.

Humph. I draw my shoulders up and raise my nose imperiously. That's what she thinks. She abandoned her cart! I can hear my brain justifying itself, to no one in particular. She lost her place in line! I'm here now, dang it, and if she thinks I cut her, well, she should just learn not to leave the cart. Not to mention her kids, the irresponsible twit.

So as I think these thoughts, I know I'm right, of course. But there's another itty bitty voice inside my head as well (it happens). That voice is saying, "Come on, RenReb. Don't be so judgmental. You've done the same thing (without the kid part!), you know. If you weren't shopping by yourself, you might have left your cart also, and run back to get something else." Granted, I don't leave my kids alone in the cart unless the older ones are there to be in charge (duh), but as for the line issue, how superior can I really act when she comes back? Tons of other people have also left their carts by the registers. If she comes back, she'll probably think she has a legitimate right to be in front of me, and if she says anything, I'm going to have to get all huffy and possibly cause a scene. Is it really worth it?

So as I uncomfortably ponder these thoughts and continue inching, the woman comes back. I turn myself away so we don't make eye contact, and the whole side of my face starts to feel hot, like people are staring at it. What's my problem? I have done nothing wrong! Why am I acting like I'm dreading getting caught at something? I have nothing to be uncomfortable about! And yet I can't shake the feeling that I've done something wrong.

"Um? Excuse me?"

Crap.

I turn and look at her.

"I left my carriage here," she says, and indicates the right-angle path that she apparently thought her cart would be taking toward the register.

I feel the hair on my neck prickling, like I'm some sort of bulldog preparing for attack. Grrr.

"Yes," I said, "but the line came from here." I gestured behind me.

RenReb...

Shut up, voice!

RenReb, you know there's no "line." Why don't you just say "Well you left your cart unattended?"

Then a third voice enters. Great. That voice, which sounds much more like my usual self, is saying this: "Oh, I'm sorry! Here, let me get out of your way."

But the first voice is still loudest.

Why should I do this person any favors? This wait is taking forever, I have a million things to do, and I'm right. I'm right. I am right.

Grrr.

She says something else. I say something else. It's clear I'm going to win; for one thing, my cart is ahead of hers, and she doesn't look like the type to grab and drag, and for another thing, it's obvious that I'm much, much ruder than she is, and in these sorts of catfights, the rudest cat prevails. Grrr-eeeeOOOW! -hissss-purrr. At some point I say something like "Well, you weren't here," but for some reason, I don't make that the focus of the argument.

She gives up. Victory! But I don't feel victorious. The back of my neck is still prickling and I feel more and more uncomfortable. The third voice is saying I should let her go in front of me, but I don't know why. I did nothing wrong. I'm in the right here. I'm in the right.

Grrr.

Wanting to look occupied and unconcerned, I call the rabbi while continuing to wait. I talk in an undertone so the cart abandoner can't hear me. "Hi," I say. "Hi," says the rabbi, in a tone that clearly means "Why are you bothering me when you know I'm trying to work on my Shabbos Hagadol drasha?"

I ignore that and say "You have to keep me company for a minute. I'll explain later, but I need some moral support while I'm waiting in line."

There's a pause. Then the rabbi says "Ok. Wow, what a great line!"

I burst out laughing. He continues: "It's so straight!"

I glance at the traffic jam of carts squashed behind me and on all sides of me, pointed in every direction, and I laugh harder. My turn arrives.

"Thank you very much," I say, and I hang up.

I unload all my stuff. God, that's a lot of stuff! I pay. I marvel at how little everything costs in this store. I fight my way out into the parking lot, never looking back at the catfight lady, and I call the rabbi again. I tell him the whole story. Then I say "And by the way, I didn't say the LINE needed moral support, I said I needed moral support!"

"So? I was trying to give it to you by calling your attention to the greatness of the line."

"Yes, well that made me laugh even harder, because as you know, there's no line in that place, and when you said it's so straight, well, if you could have seen it, you'd understand why I laughed so hard."

We hang up. I load my car, return the cart, and drive away. I still don't think I did anything wrong. But I still can't shake this uncomfortable feeling.

I get to my next destination. This one is a huge, huge, super-duper-market that happens to have a nice big kosher section, that happens to transform into a nice big Pesach section, starting in, oh, February. I get out my lists and examine them. At this point the adrenaline that allowed me to navigate the first store so successfully has worn off. As I find thing after heavy thing and pile it into my cart, the dizziness starts to set in. Over and over, I realize I skipped something on my list and I have to backtrack to get it. I realize it's past lunch time. I'm hungry and I'm getting cranky. Also, since I'm old and I never work out, all this physical exertion is starting to take its toll. My limbs are aching and I'm feeling weak. Dang. Alright RenReb, keep the faith.

I proceed to the part of the store where they have millions and millions of foil pans and plastic containers in every shape and size, and I start indiscriminately piling stacks of them on top of all the stuff in my cart. Every time I pick something up I feel a wave of dizziness. Great. Plus, this is taking way too long. My brainpower is dwindling rapidly. I'm remembering the perishable items in my car, and the perishable items that I've put into my cart here, and I still have one more place to go after this. I want this over so I can go home.

Finally I'm finished. My cart weighs approximately 4,500 pounds, and it's heaped up so high that foil pans are sliding all over the place. I get to the front area; at least this is a real supermarket, with lanes and stuff, so at least I can look at pictures of Brad and Angelina while I wait. I choose a lane with only one person in front of me. Her cart is almost as full as mine, but the other lines are so long that I figure the wait will be about even. She appears to be buddies with the teenage cashier girl; the two of them chat about food stamps and transportation and stuff while the cashier rings everything up. As soon as there's a centimeter of space on the belt I start unloading. I'm very careful, because I want it all packaged appropriately. Frozen stuff first, refrigerated stuff next, boxed stuff after that, etc. Every time I reach down into the cart and lift something out, I get another wave of dizziness. Food. I need food. Get me out of here and let me find food.

Finally, the belt is totally covered with my things, though the cart is not empty; in the meantime the lady in front of me is taking her time paying. She pays for some stuff with food stamps, and then there's something called a "benefit card" that she uses to pay for the rest. She hands it to the teenage cashier; suddenly there's a cry."My card!" Crap. I look up. The customer and the cashier are both bent over next to the whirly turntable thing that has the grocery bags hanging on it. Apparently the mysterious "benefit card" has fallen into the crack underneath the turntable. Or something like that.

I don't believe this is happening. Suddenly the lane I chose has morphed into Find the Card Lane, as a bunch of managerial types appear with tools and flashlights and long pieces of cardboard and start leaning over onto the ground. Good God. Why is this happening to me. I've been standing in line already for almost 20 minutes while this woman's 10,000 items were being scanned, and then while she picked around with her food stamps; in the meantime I'm so tired, I'm so cranky, and the perishable items in my car have probably grown bacteria colonies. I'm in no mood to talk to anyone, so instead of calling, I text the rabbi.

"Been waiting @ register 20 mins. Lady in front of me lost card. Entire store personnel looking for it while I starve and everything spoils."

A few minutes go by and my phone buzzes; I read his response.

"At least the lines are straight!"

I burst out laughing. Slightly lifted, I continue to wait. Now there are two store managers on their hands and knees with flashlights, shoving cardboard under the whirly thing while the customer slowly has a nervous breakdown.

"It's there! I'm telling you, it's there!"

"Ma'am, we don't see it. Do you see it, Theresa?"

"No, I can't see anything."

"It's there! It fell right there! I need that card!"

I look up at the cashier. She gives me an apologetic shrug. Theresa the manager stands up and says she's going to find Roy and see if he has a screwdriver to take the table apart. "In the meantime," she says to the cashier, "bring her [she gestures towards me] to another register and ring her up. No sense in having her stand there."

The cashier comes over to me. "Ma'am, I'm really sorry, but we need to move you to another lane. I don't know how long this is going to take."

I'm about to cry. "I already unloaded everything! I've been waiting here for half an hour!"

"I know," she says apologetically. "I'm really sorry. Here, I'll help you reload it."

She helps me reload it. All the other registers have long lines. "Am I going to have to wait in line again?" I know the answer. Of course I'm going to have to wait in line again. They can't bump me up in front of other people. That would be wrong. Every register is open and all the cashiers are working. There's nothing she can do. Nothing except find the damn benefit card, of course, but from the shouts I still hear ("It fell right in there! I saw it fall!"), God only knows when that's going to happen.

"I'll try to find you one that isn't so long," the cashier assures me. HA. Right. Like where, kid? Honolulu? She helps me push the cart to another line. There are two people in front of me, both with pretty full loads. I don't even care that I'm hobbling through this store like a thousand year-old woman, letting some teenager push my cart. All I can think about is getting a seriously caffeine-laced ice cream configuration into my body as soon as possible. I can think that, and I can think "Please God, don't let Phil show up here." (God listened. Praised be His name.) The teenager offers to wait in line with me and unload my cart. Wow, I must really look like a wreck. Next thing you know people will be getting up to offer me their seats on the bus. I gratefully decline her offer, though I'm not sure why; masochism, perhaps? I glance at my watch and realize I've been in this store for more than two hours, 45 minutes of which has been spent waiting to pay.

Now I'm in another line, and it's taking its time. Since I can't start unloading yet, I text the rabbi.

"Moved me to another register. Had already unloaded cart. Had to reload and now I'll have to unload again."

I stare at the cover of Soap Opera Digest until my phone buzzes. His reply:

"Awesome! You got to wait in TWO straight lines!"

Funny guy.

Finally I unload, though I can't pay enough attention to make sure I do it right this time. Who cares. Who really cares if my frozen vegetables defrost all over my paper goods and the cottage cheese is in the same bag as the silver polish. Who cares. Does it matter? I just want to get out of here. I hand the lady my credit card. I shriek out loud when I see the total; she smiles and says "I know, I can tell this must be a really expensive holiday." I smile back and bite my tongue before I can say "Do you mind if I join your religion?" Suddenly she hands my card back to me. "It's been declined."

Crap.

"Declined?" I can hear a whimper in my voice. "Are you sure?"

She tries again. "Not approved" flashes at me in green. Crap crap crap crap crap. And oh my God, now I'M that person in line who's holding everyone up. I catch a glimpse of the angry-looking dude behind me. In the far background I can hear "I need that card! Get someone else to take apart the table! I need that card!"

I look in my wallet for another credit card; no dice. Right, the other one is sitting on my desk at home, next to the computer. At a loss, I call my husband, who checks the balance; we're not maxed out. We don't know why this is happening. Cringing from embarrassment and fainting from crankiness, I beg the cashier to give me a minute to call customer service for my credit card. She lets me. I call. Some young thing in Bangladesh or somewhere similar answers. "Oh yes," she explains. "We noticed some fraudulent activity on your account."

"What?"

She reads off purchases that have been made in the last few days. It's a whole bunch of them, very close together, for lots of money. Apparently this set off some alarm bells over at Credit Card Central, so they shut us down. "For the protection of our cardholders."

I smack myself in the forehead. "Those aren't fraudulent! We made all those purchases! Our holiday is coming up and we have a lot of shopping to do! And now I'm standing here at the register in the supermarket holding up the line because you people deactivated my card without even telling me!" Wow am I shrieking. I can't even hear the other customer wailing about her benefit card anymore. Please God don't let Phil show up here.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," says Bangladesh Girl. Yeah right. Where have I heard that before? "I'll reactivate it now."

"Will it work right away?"

"Yes, it should."

"Thank you." I snap my phone closed. The cashier tries again. It works. Halellujah. I get my receipt and roll out of there like an arthritic bat out of senior day camp hell. On my way out I see one of the managers who'd been looking for the benefit card. I ask her if they got the card. "We did. It wasn't easy, but we did." Swell. My back and my neck are throbbing and my head is spinning. God, how old AM I? I feel like I just spent the day weightlifting instead of grocery shopping. The heaviest thing I lifted was probably the gallon tankard of cottonseed oil (gross). I really need to get in shape. But first I'm going to eat a gigantic bucket of ice cream with all sorts of special stuff on it, just as soon as I can get myself out of this parking lot.

I load my car. Surprisingly this doesn't make me feel better, but the thought of the ice cream and caffeine keeps me going. I check the time again. Three hours. I was in that store for three hours, and almost half of it was spent waiting to pay. What an ordeal.

I pull up at my very favorite ice cream place, the only one that offers a very particular concoction made from a mixture of caffeine and death, and I wholly intend on consuming the entire thing. The entire thing. Even if it means ALL my food is going to spoil.

I get out of the car and stagger toward the door, pull it open, and....

...the chairs are all standing upside-down on the tables. A dude is mopping the floor. I stare, shocked. The dude looks up at me. "Closed. We close early on Tuesdays." I look at the sign on the door. "Tuesdays: 8 AM - 4 PM." I look at the clock on the wall. 4:05.

Four.

Oh.

FIVE.

For a moment I contemplate bursting into tears and pleading with him to make me one of those Caffeine Death Traps, but I know he won't. I contemplate marching in and trying to make one myself, but I don't have the strength to fight off the cops, and if I go to jail my groceries will definitely spoil.

Crap.

Back in the car, I put my head down on the steering wheel and close my eyes. After a few minutes, I text the rabbi.

"Got to ice cream store 5 mins too late. Next time someone abandons their cart & wants to go before me, remind me to let them."

He texts back.

"Why don't you eat some of the Pesach cottage cheese? Or is it spoiled?"

Ha. Ha. Ha.

So. That's the end of my (long) story. The epilogue: I recovered. I found a little snack somewhere else, got some of my adrenaline back, and went to my third - and FINAL - destination, the cheerful and irritating kosher store where everybody - and I do mean everybody, including the non-Jewish personnel - calls me "Rebbetzin," and where sometimes when I run into Phil, Phil acts sort of shell-shocked to see me, as if Phil never realized before that rebbetzins go grocery shopping. (We do.) I finished at the kosher store in a reasonable amount of time and made it home, only 8 short hours after I'd left, with (almost) all the shopping done, my bank account in default, my credit card reactivated, and amazingly, nothing had spoiled.

So. Why am I telling you this story, aside from the fact that it's more fun than continuing to grate fingernails into potato mixtures? I'm telling you this story because I keep finding myself thinking about all of this. Specifically, what I keep thinking is, was there some reason I should have allowed the cart-abandoning woman to go in front of me? I'm not one of those people who tries to make connections between every action and every consequence and then announce that I've deciphered the will of God. I do, however, sometimes at least, try to learn lessons from life experiences, and I keep finding my mind wandering back to this event. If I'd let the woman go in front of me, it wouldn't have taken that much longer, and it stands to reason that none of the nightmare from store #2 would have happened. AND, and I'd have gotten my ice cream.

Yes, I know, I don't know that, and for all I know something even worse could have happened if I'd arrived at the store later. Like I said, I'm not one to decide that this is WHY something happened. But I keep coming back to these incidents and trying to figure out what that feeling was that I had when my neck kept prickling, and why I kept feeling like I was doing something wrong. Perhaps it's just that you should try to do nice things for people, even if they think they're entitled to it? But why? Or maybe it's just that being huffy at people, even if they deserve it, and winning cat fights and acting angry, never actually makes me feel good. Even if I'm right. Maybe that's why my neck was prickling. Maybe I always feel like it's "wrong" to argue and be mean, no matter what.

I don't know. I just don't know.

Anyhoo, that's my story. I hope you liked it, and by all means, if you have some life-lesson type of insight you can glean from it, feel free to share. In the meantime, my fingernails have grown back a little, so I guess I'd better go grate some more.

I'd like to say I'll be able to post again before Wednesday night, but the odds of that are super-nil. So, have a חג כשר ושמח, try to get some sleep, and next year may we merit to eat the roast lamb in Jerusalem, just as God intended. And remember: If you want to go to my ice cream place tomorrow, they close at 4.

No way. No way. No freaking way.

They're not ACTUALLY going to let him get away with this, are they??? That man deserves to rot in jail for the rest of his life, and then be resurrected so he can rot in jail AGAIN.

Plea bargain, my heinie. The only plea that jack-donkey should be allowed to make is the plea for his life after various people get their hands on him. How he is able to live with himself knowing what he's done is quite simply beyond comprehension.

Ok, I'm done. Until we find out that he's going to suffer some punishment less than what I personally feel he deserves. Then I'm sure I'll return to spit some more.

Fast well, everybody. And here's some slightly more enjoyable Purim reading from years past:

• My opinions on drinking (and some other things)
• Happy Purim thoughts
• Things I always think about during the Megillah reading (this is actually a pretty good post, IMHO)
• Ooze

Um, ok, I think that's it. Time to go count the hours until the fast is over. Then it's time to listen to my very favorite sefer Tanach. Then it's time to pack little bags filled with crumbly sugar-laced blobs. Then it's time to sleep, then it's time to wake up and run around like a lunatic while doing various things, then it's time to set up, serve, and eat, then it's time to clean up, then it's time to do laundry, and then it will be time to....

....clean for Pesach. Is it me, or do the years just keep getting shorter?

Have a good one, all!

Via my best friend Jameel, I am now aware of this.

Ok, I need to know. When Renee Walker was swimming down (up?) the Potomac last night, how many of you immediately heard a voice in your head that said "She doesn't get eaten by the eels at this time"? Because I did.

Speaking of Renee Walker, I totally want to be her when I grow up, and not just because she can swim like that while wearing all that clothing, which I don't think is really possible. I mean, I for one have never tried to swim in the Potomac while wearing pants, shoes, a blouse, and a blazer, but I HAVE tried going down a waterslide while wearing a t-shirt and a long skirt, and let's just say that clothing tends to hamper one's water-related activities. But Renee Walker can do it. Renee Walker can do aaaaaaanything.

And speaking of women, I hope all of you caught the repulsive sexism in Senator Whiny Tightwad's statement last night that President Taylor "is a woman under severe emotional distress," and that this could be used to demonstrate that she wasn't in her right mind if she were to pardon Jack Bauer. Because my husband, who normally has far greater sensitivity to sexist comments than your average dumb male, did NOT catch the sexism. "Woman under severe emotional distress." Feh. If the writers weren't trying to make Senator WT sound sexist, they would have just said "she is under severe emotional distress," not "she is a woman under severe emotional distress." See the difference? Obviously the fact that she's a woman is supposed to be relevant, i.e. if it were a MAN under severe emotional distress, that might not be as marketable in terms of demonstrating one's lack of right-mindedness. Feh (again). SEXISM, I tell you. Sexism. The writers are clearly trying to stack our mental decks against Senator WT, even as they continue to try to force us to struggle with the Questions of Right vs. Necessary.

Speaking of stuff, if you don't want your rebbetzin to wish to slug you, here's something you should not say:

"Why would you want your family to come for Pesach? Don't you enjoy having people from the shul at your seder?"

Heh.

For the record, I did not slug the person. But I WANTED to. And also for the record, this person asked me if my family was coming for Pesach. It's not like I marched up to this person and said "Boy am I mad my family isn't coming for Pesach! They're the only people in the world who I want to have at my seder!"

Thanks for the comments to the previous post, by the way. As of this writing, there are FIVE. Woohoo! As you can see I've cheered up a tiny bit since then, in part because there's been some good news involving someone I know and love, for a change, about which I would so totally wax poetic if it wouldn't get me killed. Also, Jack (not Jack Bauer, this guy) definitely had it right that giving out chocolate would totally help. I've been saying that for years, but do people listen? Noooo. And Steg, I really like what you said, and I'm so sorry for your loss. And Yoni, who's getting engaged? I am soooo out of the loop. Also, since when do I respond to comments? Weird.

"Do you know what that sound is, Highness?" Ok, bye.

Labels: 24, Pesach, The Rebbetzinate

People keep dying. I'm getting sort of sick of it. And people keep getting injured, and people keep losing their jobs, and people keep declaring bankruptcy. People I know, I mean. Then there are the narcissistic cockyheads that keep popping up in places where they don't belong, screwing people over and making things worse. Stay in your holes, narcissistic cockyheads. Go find Bernie Jerkoff and swap some lies together. The rest of us don't want you. Sitting here tensely watching, wondering when and what the next blow will be. I suppose it might be Gaza, again, judging from the headline I just did not click on.

Sigh.

Can someone give me some really, really super good news, please? Preferably about someone or something I care about? Preferably something that will restore my faith in humanity and the universe? Because it seems to me like both have been on a major decline for the past 10 years at least.

משנכנס אדר מרבין בשמחה, right? I'm trying. I swear I am. It just seems to me like this whole dumb world could use a serious ונהפוך הוא, and I don't know where the magic button is. I'll try to cheer up before I post again. Here, maybe this will help:



Ok then. Till next time.