Operation Ghetto-Fabulous

I am looking forward to the wedding I'm going to in Albuquerque this weekend; it'll be nice to get out of California. (I mean, come on, have these people never heard of air conditioning?!)

I am a little worried, however, about dressing up for the wedding itself. I have spent the better part of a year in the inner city, and I don't remember the last time I tried to look good. I mean, I get up in the morning, wash my hair (sometimes) and pull it into a ponytail, pull on some dirty jeans and a T-shirt and am mostly ready for the day. (Oh, yeah, and I have to lather up with sunscreen before I leave the house to trek my daily two miles, so I guess that is a further step on my beauty regimen, and one I won't miss at all next year.)

And I know this is part of my own very special brand of neurosis, but for some reason I'm afraid that the people at this wedding (very few of whom I know very well/at all) will take one look at me and know I'm a fake. They'll know I don't belong in that dress and FABULOUS high-heels. They'll just know, somehow, that I belong back in the inner city in my T-shirts and jeans, and have no place at a nice function like that.

See? I knew it wouldn't make sense to you. Maybe it's like going to a big, rich suburban church after attending a small, poor inner-city one and feeling like the rich Christians will know that you don't belong, that you fit in much better at your tiny inner-city getup.

Maybe it is just my first glimpse of freedom from my banishment in Oakland, and I'm finding it hard to adjust. I knew I'd be changed this year, I just didn't know it would be in THIS weird way! I hope I come out better on the other side of this year, but I'm not really sure that I will. Sometimes I don't even recognize myself. But that's another post. . .