images-2Next Sunday.

7 sleeps.

7 wakes.

7 doses of my morning meds.

7 trips to Starbucks.

Ok, maybe more. Maybe lots more. Jesus. Who can even count at this point? I live there. I need caffeine. But it’s definitely going to be at least seven. Seven days until this Bar flipping Mitzvah, and I can’t wait. Is it fair to say I have never been so excited for anything in my entire life? I am so ready. I’ve never been so ready. Ready for my family to come. Ready for the party…and ready for it to be OVER. Omfg. Did I just say that? Yes I did. I am so ready for this all to be over. I’m so sick of talking about it. And planning for it, and buying shoes, and borrowing shoes…and trying on shoes. Why can’t I just find a damn pair of shoes? And my friends are surely sick of me. I’m so annoying, it’s all I’ve been talking about for the past year. I am actually annoying myself.¬†And poor Mr. T. He hates me. For real. We have a little bit of a disconnect, I guess you could say.

So, I’m Jewish. And he’s well…umm, how do I say this. NOT. He is NOT JEWISH. Like so not Jewish. So far from Jewish he might as well be the Pope. Ok, well that’s pushing it, he’s clearly not the Pope. Have you seen Mr. T? Good Goddess. Gorg. Anyway, ever since we started dating, it’s been about this BM. Can I just call it that? The BM. Not a bowel movement, a Bar Mitzvah. I’m just sick of typing it out. So for the next 7 DAYS it’s going to be a BM, ok? I have been talking about it incessantly. And he has no fucking clue what I’m saying. I’ve tried to explain. I’ve Googled, and I’ve sent pictures. And I have really given him the best “depiction” a Jewish girl from the D can give a Southern Christian Boy from Knoxville! But alas, my man is baffled by this so-called-13 year old birthday party/wedding…with 100 kids and Hugo the Hornet. Can you blame him?

But, I have invited him to come! I want him there. But is it weird that I’m nervous? Don’t start sending me hate messages, I can’t handle the stress right now. I might overdose on Gummy Bears. I’m nervous for Mr.T to see all of it. All the hoopla. And the mishegas. All the over abundance of Mitzvahness. And to meet my family! (no offense, Hurvitzes but we are an overwhelming bunch)! I like him. I actually kinda really, really dig this guy. What if he sees this BM and freaks the fuck out? What if he runs for the hills of Tennessee? What if…he finds out that I am even bat-shit crazier than he already thinks I am? I am starting to sweat. I must uninvite him. Uninvite is not a word, btw. But I don’t care. Can I do that? Or is that rude at this point? Crap. Why do I always get myself into these predicaments…

I mean, he knows I’m nuts.

He knows I am. But he likes me, anyway. I think. I mean, so what if I happen to have a 12 foot dessert table…I know how to throw a kick-ass party! Look, if Mr.T loses his shit after spending the weekend with the Hurvitzes, and being thrown into all things BM… then he can take the Greyhound back to Knoxville. But I know him…and I know he will be just fine. Actually, better than fine. When I invited him, he was all in. Excited, and looking forward to being included in all the festivities. Even going to Temple. This is totally an ME issue, not a Mr. T issue. I have to stop being so anxious, and just center my damn self. Dammit. He has been nothing but supportive, and wonderful. He even got Jonah a gift, it goes with the theme of the party. Very impressive, Mr. T! And so sweet. Sigh.

Mr. T, I hope you’re reading this. And I promise I will make it up to you really soon. Just give me like, umm…seven days. ;)

xo j