Finding myself in the Middle East

Thursday, March 5, 2009

The Play's The Thing

So I just came back from my sister's play, and she was as good as the play was terrible. I spent the whole time spakling all of the plot holes so that it actually made some sense, and calculating how far the radius of the aroma of the person-sitting-next-to-me's tuna sandwich was. Also, at one point, I stared up at the ceiling with puzzlement and a little bit of horror on my face and then looked around to see how many people around me I got to look up at the ceiling. Around 10. Then I faced forward primly to avoid the looks of puzzlement and horror directed at me.

After the curtains fell (or rather, ran jerkily towards each other on rather human-like feet) I got all of the "OMG, are you X's sister? Wow, she is so good, you must be so proud, and you look JUST LIKE HER!" To which I replied, "Actually, she looks like me." And also, when someone said, "OMG, OMG, OMG, it's so scary how she looks just like you!" I said, "Boo. Boo."

Now, I am really a nice person. I really am. I actually like making people happy and smile. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and I like feeling warm and fuzzy inside. If I make someone sad, It's like your favorite warm and fuzzy coat or sweater or dog just got caught in a downpour. And now smells like something warm and fuzzy and wet. So, when I was a little bit mean to all of my sisters cute little friends, it wasn't about my Inner Snob (whom I really should let out once in a while to get a breath of fresh air) It was really about me being a jealous dog.

Which is not any better than the inner snob, but at least it's true.

The play was bad, the scenery was bad, the costumes and acting so-so. (Except my sister. She was awesome!) But my inner sleeping actress woke up suddenly when the lights dimmed and the curtains opened. She probably woke up too suddenly and banged her head and ruined her REM cycle, because instead of waking up and curling up in her little bed and sighing a nostalgic sigh, she woke up MAD. She said, "why was I sleeping? Get up on stage, D! Who is that bizarre mirror image of you on stage? And why is my bed next to the Inner Snob's?"

I've acted and directed after marriage and kids as well. I concluded that it was too stressful, that it was too important to me to have a proper dinner on the table and a smile for my husband and time to read books to the kids without looking at the clock to get seriously mixed up in that again. I do acting for some cute frum movies, and that satisfies the Inner Actress most of the time without driving the Outer Housewife insane.

Most of the time. Sometimes the smoke signals that my brain sends my heart is scattered and made incomprehensible by a talented actress on a crappy set who looks just like me.

So I acted a little condescending to my sister's friends and banged the spakle knife around the plot holes a little too gleefully.

Sometimes I think that the fact that we are so incomprehensibly complicated even to ourselves is proof enough of G-d. And if I scared any of my sister's friends a bit too much with that final "boo," that's what I'll tell them. They're seminary girls. They'll buy it!

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