Happy Passover!

Damn, missed another Sunday post. I'd say it was due to religious reasons, but the truth is, I was just hungover and didn't want to make the effort. On the other hand, I was hungover for religious reasons. So really, God wanted me to miss a post, and all the people who were waiting anxiously to experience my special brand of wit and poetic flavor need to take it up with the big sparkly one upstairs.

That's Mr. Sparkle to you!

Last week was Passover. The BF and I had two Seders to attend this year, which is great news for my social life and bad news for my liver, as four cups of wine must be consumed during the ceremony. I'm completely out of practice for a mandatory drinking event and probably should have had a training montage beforehand instead of just waltzing in and pounding manischewitz like it's a genetically engineered Russian.

Shalom!

The first Seder was at the BF's folks' apartment. I wore a modest navy blue frock and didn't swear in front of the children. The second Seder, the one that interrupted regular Sunday blogging, I wore polka-dots, threw water on God, called Pharaoh a bitch, and led my people across the Red Sea so that nothing bad would ever happen to the Jews ever again.

Between then and this, nothing but sunshine.

My friend R comes from a theater family, so her new tradition--

TRADITION!

Sorry, it's compulsory. R's new tradition is to do a Seder play, where instead of just reading about the liberation of the Jews from Egypt, her guests act it out. I got to be Moses this year, hence the throwing of the water on the guest who played Burning Bush God, which is a far more sensible reaction to finding God on fire than Moses taking off his shoes (which is what actually happens in the scripture during that sequence. I may not know Hebrew but I'm not a total goy). I think I made a pretty good Moses, even if my voice is high and squeaky and nothing like Charlton Heston's.

Next time, though, I think I'm going to be Pharaoh and let the BF be Moses. That way, when he's all, "Let my people go!", I'll be all, "Make me, you staff-wielding peasant." And he'll be like, "I'm going to beat you with my staff!" And I'll say, "Ooo, not the staff, my delicate royal skin bruises so easily!" And he'll say, "You've been naughty, Pharaoh, and you know what we do to naughty gods-in-mortal-form out in the desert." The safety word will be placemat, and--

Wait, what am I thinking? R would never allow ad-libbing at her table. Or on or under her table. We'll just have to stick to the script. I think there's some light bondage in Scene 2 I can work with.