This past Saturday, her RA arranged a lovely get-together wherin everyone would release all their pre-finals stress by whacking a piñata. The following exchange was had:
TYSON: All right, so...what makes you guys frustrated?
GUY 1: Double negatives!
GIRL 1: Stupid drunk people!
GUY 2: Yankees fans!
ME: The Jews!
[There is a pause. EVERYONE ELSE cracks up in that sort of hysterical, is-it-all-right-to-laugh-at-it-because-i
JAMIE: [fake-brightly, sad clown] Wow! I'm, uh, kinda offended by that.
[I waver between feeling guilty, explaining "irony," and telling her via song that hey, everyone's a little bit racist sometiiiiiiimes!. I settle on lying.]
ME: It's okay. I'm Jewish.
GUY 1: Shut up, no, you're not.
ME: Well, no. But I dated a Jew once.
ME: For what it's worth
Today? The aftermath. Hilarity ensues.
So now I've got to learn all the words to the Matzoh Tzekivah song, and find out how to eat latkes properly, and learn the hora dance, probably all with my roommate ten feet away wondering why I'm doing the grapevine in our little two-foot-square dorm room. This is all in the two hours between my last paper being due and the commencement of the thingy.
I have no idea how any of this happens to me. All I do is try not to make people cry or hate me, and I end up trying to figure out Hebrew phonetic pronunciation as I write a paper on the Ramayana. *head. desk.*
Go, read, and MOCK HER PAIN.