What is it about Jersey Boys?

For Birthday Eve on Thursday, my mother and grandmother met me in the city after work, for Mojitos and delicious Cuban food at Victor's Cafe, and then a Broadway show. The decision on which show to see was made based on what I would thought they would enjoy, and the fact that my dad filled our household with "Oldies," so I know almost every word. Thus, we ended up going to see Jersey Boys. Oh yeah, and it has Jersey in the title, which didn't hurt.

After the show, my first reaction, as I was leaving the theater, was awe. I mean, jaw dropping, speechless, astonishment... But not at the show, what amazed me most was the emotional reaction of the audience. They went crazy over it.

Jersey Boys, in case you were wondering, is a musical based on the rise of Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons. With hits like Oh What a Night, Earth Angel, (Who Wears) Short Shorts, Walk like a Man, and Can't Take My Eyes Off of You, how could you not enjoy the tunes? But this response was something way beyond that. I think many of the audience members must have been relating the songs to specific times and situations in their lives. And as much as I loved the songs, I hadn't lived them, so it felt in a way like I was at a fraternity reunion for a frat to which I never belonged.

Within the first five minutes, my mom was almost in tears when the song Silhouettes chimed in. At that point, I was just busy trying to ignore the woman behind me, who was already singing along, and the early technical issues, including a fence being dropped on a moving drumset. But when that song began, my mom's eyes started to fill, and in a hushed quivering voice, she whispered, "this was my song with my grammar school boyfriend... The one who ended up being gay."

When I brought up Silhouettes after the show in the parking lot, she again mentioned the grade-school beau. "8th grade," she said, "My first kiss on the lips. Playing spin the bottle. My first dance partner. He was a great dancer." Um, hello? Earth to Mother Jersey... Your "dance partner?" Perhaps there were some early signs that he was gay, after all.

Overall, I did enjoy the show though. The songs were great, the actors were talented, and I enjoyed the Jersey references, but l found the large Lichtenstein-esque cartoons on the overhead screens to be distracting, and some of the scenes dragged a bit. I kept thinking, "alright already, I'm ready for the next song." And when I got home and thought, "Oh what a night," it was more about the company than the show... but that's more important in my book anyway.

So, anybody seen any great shows recently? Or feel like commenting on songs bringing back vivid memories of place and time?

My birthday: One year ago today

I was in LA, celebrating my 24th birthday by throwing one last backyard BBQ bash before the big move back cross-country. My X-Terra was sitting in the driveway, behind the large Iron, Spanish Style gates, ready to go. Packed from edge to edge, bottom to roof-top. Soon, we would be driving out of those gates for good...

But the 28th was a night to party. There were so many people with whom to celebrate. Actor clients and friends, Kabbalah study-mates, old college buddies showed up, and even people I didn't know. But everyone was welcomed. We ate, we danced, and we hottubbed outside in October. Audrey was enjoying the food people were dropping, with no knowledge that she was about to leave her Yorkie girlfriend next door.

As I drank reisling after reisling, my stomach was all knots. My life felt unsettled. I had no job, no place to go, nothing set up, but I knew it was something that I had to do. Jersey is where I was meant to be.

So, I grabbed a long thin stick and a shmellow, and created a perfect smoores to melt over the yard firepit, and as I stuffed its chocolatey, grahamy, gooeyness into my mouth, I knew that a year from that moment I'd be looking back saying it was all worth it.

And it was. Worth. Every. Second.

Name Shorteners beware

You know what I don't get? Name Shorteners... Those people to whom I am introduced as Danielle, and the next minute are calling me Dani, or even, dare I say, Dan? Do I look like a guy to you? What gives them the right to truncate my name anyway, when I don't even know them? And even if I do know them, what makes them think I would want them to call me that?

We have one such name slasher where at work. Hey Dan, he'll say, Have you seen Jen (referring to Jennifer)? Is Rob (meaning Robert) coming in today? I'm sure they didn't give him the go-ahead either, because Robert is so NOT a Rob. This has obviously has been getting under my skin, but beyond that, sometimes I worry for the poor guy. I mean, what happens if someone has bad memories associated with a certain nickname, like a nasty ex used to use it or something? They might snap, and suddenly start hitting him over the head with a Swingline stapler or jabbing number 2 pencils into his eyeballs. Or what happens if the boss doesn't appreciate having someone make his or her name sound more casual? The shorteners job could be shortened on him... all because of some seemingly harmless name trimming.

Sometimes, I want to shorten his name right back at him, but it's not a shortenable name. I have thought about lengthen his name. Or trying out a new name altogether for him. But then he might think that I find his ways cute or amusing and make a game of it. I don't think so. And passive aggressive has never been a pretty color on me anyway.

And what about those people who refer to Jennifer Aniston as Jenn, or Katie Holmes as Kate? I just don't get it. Maybe they want to feel like they are all "BFF" with the stars, but I bet majority of those people just read some generic comment in a gossip column by a so-called anonymous source, who was most likely some Joe Schmo Name Shortener who met them one time at a party or made it up to feel cool and get published.

By the way, Kate and Jenn thank you for the outpouring of support regarding the pregnancy and divorce. Oh, and you can call me D.

Extreme Makeover: Blog Edition

There was no sad story inspiring this Extreme Makeover, nor Kenmore appliances, nor Ty (sorry Ty-lovers)...

But, there was a sad blogger in need of a pre-birthday pick-me-up. So she bought herself a birthday present, which actually ended up being a lot of work. The process involved searching hundreds of images, taking background photos, and creating a variety of photoshop files. There was drama, tech problems, and a pain in the tuchus Jersey Girl who wanted things how she wanted them, but we overcame the obstacles, and Ginger was able to turn the blogger's photoshop file into something postable, and smoothed out the edges. Thank you Ginger!

And what you are witnessing now is the nearly complete AFTER... I now present, the REVEAL. Move that bus. Ooooooo. Aaaaaaaah. Woooooow.

Okay, Consider it revealed. Hmmm, Reality show worthy? Perhaps not. But, I am giving myself a rose.

Are you crying yet?

She's my dawg

This is my pup Audrey with me...

She makes funny faces for the camera...

But, she's quite lovable...

And she really loves to lick my face...

It's all about the boots baby

I think one of the hottest things a woman can wear is a nice set of high boots, with a short skirt. I'm not talking mid-thigh pleather red-light district high, but above the calves, below the knees high. Lace-up or zipper. Black or brown. Wedge or platform heels. They inevitably add style and attitude to any look.

I have a problem though, that causes me to be unable to wear the high boots for which I swoon... Fat calves.

It's true. No matter how thin I get, I can't comfortably wear high boots. Does anyone else have this problem? I usually can't even zipper them, and the last thing I want is a bulge above the boot. I have enough bulges to worry about. So, when I went to the Nine West Outlet recently, I ran into a problem. These were the kind of boots that caught my eye...


But alas, there was no question that the tall narrow boots didn't stand a chance against my thick calves. I think someone should develop a line of boots for the "larger calved ladies" such as myself. It could totally sell. I mean, I can't be the only woman searching for such a product, right?

I did end up trying on some boots when I was at the store, and after saying emphatic NOs to several pairs because they either didn't zip up, pinched, or were heavy causing worry about potential leg sweat, I ended up with a pair that looks like this...


Not so bad, right? But I still watch with envy, those women who confidently strut along Broadway in their high sexy boots, knowing that thanks to my curvy calves, I will never be able to walk that walk.

The stress of poker

Last night was poker night with the buddies. We got together after work, as we often do on Wednesdays. Ordered some food. Divvied up the chips. And started to play. The difference this time, was that as I drank my beer, I felt stress begin to eat at me. I became jumpy, on edge, eyes darting, hands shaking. I dropped cards and even knocked over the new bid-raise timer.

The stress, however, was not caused by the game. It was cause by a growing urge to pee.

Why, you may be wondering, would this stress her out? The truth is, I'm scared to go to the bathroom in that apartment, because I heard that one night when I wasn't there, someone got stuck in it, and it has haunted me ever since. And I know a maintenance person has been to the apartment to fix the bathroom door since that night, but I am still not convinced. I still get flashes in my head of the potential dreaded scenario. I'm sure you know the one I'm talking about...

I am in the bathroom. I have completed the pee, flush, wash routine (hopefully with clear not pink soap), and am ready to go. I reach for the knob, and start to turn it and pull on it to open, but alas, nothing happens. That's when my heart drops, my stomach tightens, and my face flushes, all in a single moment. The walls start closing in. As I jiggle the knob, I try to bump the door a bit with my side and butt, and eventually am using the whole force of my body in an attempt to realign the lock or hinges or whatever is causing the door's evil death trap... And doing all of this as quietly as possible, so the people outside the door can't hear my struggle, because at that point I'm so mortified that the last thing I want is to have to call for help. All I want is to be on my couch at home watching Starting Over and eating a bag of Smart Pop. Unconfined. Free. At large. Why me? I ask myself, Why now? I take a deep breathe to counteract the short fast almost pant-like breaths they have become, and realize I have not tried turning the knob in a counter-clockwise direction. I do so, and that's when (if I'm lucky) I feel it, that slight click. Ahhh, beautiful realignment. At once, my heart resumes normal rhythms, the stomach knot loosens, and my face unflushes.

Hmmm... I'm thinking that I should probably skip poker next week. I don't know if I can handle the stress.

They have the spark of evil in them

...the people who control the thermostats for the high-rise in which I work. E-vil.

It has never been even remotely close to comfortable. It was so cold throughout the summer months that not a person could ever be found without layers of sweaters and shawls to prevent shivering. Descending the steps between the icy offices and the sweltering subway platforms became a strip show of sorts, or in a matter of moments my goose bumps would be replaced by sweat droplets. And being the sweat-phobic that I am, I was fast to shed my many layers.

But that all changed yesterday, when we made the drastic leap from blasting a/c to broiling heat. With a single flip of a switch, or turn of a dial, some person who probably gets off on seeing other people suffer, has made it so stiflingly hot that I am thinking of pulling out the summer clothes that I never got to wear because of the ice box in which I had been working. I swear, the colder it gets outside, the less clothes I can to wear to work. There is probably some man behind a curtain, who gets the cold weather blues, and is thinking, Hmmmm... What will raise my spirits? Women wearing as few clothes as possible.

Yesterday, not only did we usher in the office heatwave, but at once we entered the scariest time of year: electric shock season. I had almost forgotten that feeling of being afraid. Living in fear of touching anything... doors, filing cabinets, coworkers, all because of shocks. And not slight shocks, but the big bright flash shocks that feel like a zap to the core of your being. The kind of shocks that make you jump and feel like your hair is standing straight up. I must face it, I am doomed. Doomed to live the life of a fearful flincher once again.

Some day, I imagine I will hear maniacal laughter coming from the supply closet, and with that I will stumble upon his secret control room, with rows of thermostats lining the walls and video monitors showing offices filled with people shivering, sweating, and shocking each other, over which a man with a sly smile will be hovering, saying over and over to himself, Excellent. Exxxxcellent.

Today is a three alarm day

I have another confession to make... I've got alarm clock issues.

First of all, I can't set just one alarm at night. I can't do it. I have to set at least two, to avoid panic. At least. Sometimes three or four. Or I'll be jerking up in the morning wondering if I missed it, or forgot to set it, or somehow turned it off in an Ambien induced daze.

Setting multiple alarms makes sense though, right? Makes for less chance of a major morning mishap, which leads to the major morning meltdown, which nobody wants to see. But, there is another alarm requirement... The minimum two alarms can absolutely not be on clocks that are plugged into wall outlets. God forbid there is a power outage!? They must be travel clocks or phone alarms. Preferably, at least one of each. First to go off should be the travel clock, and then two to three minutes later the phone alarm should chime in, which must be plugged into the charger all the way across the room, to force the riser to get out of his or her bed to turn it off.

But, there is one more requirement when it comes to setting my alarms... The alarms can not be set to a normal round time like 8:00 or 8:15. They MUST be set to odd times like 8:03 or 8:07. I don't know when this started or why, but it has become a condition. I have felt so uncomfortable by an alarm being set to a "normal" time, that I have made myself go change it in order to stop thinking about it, so I could settle my mind to sleep.

Yes, I may be a bit strange, but at least I'm always awake and on time now... Anybody else have similar quirks or routines that have become requirements?

Photo Friday: Five

Another sleepless night with my D70...

Press to Vote for Photo Friday

You can cast your votes for this >>JERSEY GIRL<< photo or other photos through the weekend.

It's official... I'm going grey!

Yes, it's true. As I began the final approach to my quarter century birthday on the 28th, I noticed it. A shining strand sparkling in the light; standing out bright against it's dark neighbors...

My first grey hair.

But... It's not where you think it is. It's not there either. Actually, it's on my eyebrow! Seriously.

That's right, I have a grey hair on my brow, and I can't bring myself to pluck it out. Partially because I'm intrigued by it, as I am with most things that are new and shiny, and partially because of the movie announcer voice in the back of my head saying, if you pluck it, more will come. But, is that really true what they say about two growing back when you pluck out one, or is that just another one of those superstitions or wives tales about which I wrote yesterday? And who is the they anyway in the phrase, is it true what they say? And why should I believe them?

When I first noticed the hair, I kept examining it in my vanity mirror, trying to convince myself that it was a stray blonde hair. That's when it started...The "D" word. Denial. I had begun my journey through the five stages of grief.

1. Denial -- No way, I thought. I'm too young. I can't be going grey yet. It's definitely a blonde hair.
2. Anger -- #$@%#&* grey hair! I burst out, as I slam my fist down on the vanity. I'm too cheap to get my hair colored at a salon, and too uncoordinated to do it myself. Rrrgghh!
3. Bargaining -- Come on, just give me a few more years. I'll switch shampoos. Perhaps something more gentle? A conditioning treatment once in a while?
4. Depression -- Sigh. It's starting, the downward slope towards 30. I'm gonna be grey, and I still won't know what I'm supposed to do with my life. I should just give up now. What's the use?

And finally... Here I am, entering the last stage.

5. Acceptance -- Alright, the fact is, I have this hair. The truth is, most likely no one else can even see it. It's such a fine hair that it won't even show up in photos. So, I've just got to ignore it, put it out of my head, and move on.

Riiiiight. Okay, I just have to think about something else. Something else. Something... Oh, you know what I want movie I want to see? That new George Clooney flick. Now he's someone that looks sexy with grey. That salt and pepper look can be pretty yummy. That's on other people though. Not me. Not now. And It's not like a brow hair can ever be sexy. That's it. I'm gonna do it. Goodbye grey, for now. I'm going to bite the bullet and just say, pluck it.

Superstitiously speaking

Desk Neighbor's mom was working in the home of an elderly woman recently, helping her with chores, when she began to whistle while she worked. Suddenly, the women whose home it was started getting upset and burst out, "if you do not stop whistling in my home, you will make me lose my money."

Desk Neighbor asked me if I knew why the woman said that, because the lady was Jewish like me, but I had never heard of such a superstition. So I looked online, and sure enough on a Moscow traveler's guide page one of the superstitions was as follows... "Do not whistle inside or you will whistle away your money."

It also said that "if someone gives good wishes, or you talk about your good fortune, you must spit three times over your left shoulder and knock on wood to keep your good fortune." So I began to wonder what Desk Neighbor would do if he said something like, "have a nice night Danielle," and I started spitting over my shoulder and knocking on the wall over my computer.

I think he would try to have me committed.

He also told me that his friend says a fork falling on floor means an uninvited guest will come. A fork and a spoon means a couple will show up. I had never heard of that one either, so I did a search and found a site that confirmed the existence of that and a whole bunch of other superstitions.

The site even mentioned one that I've seen my mom do... "To predict the sex of a baby: Suspend a wedding band held by a piece of thread over the palm of the pregnant girl. If the ring swings in an oval or circular motion the baby will be a girl. If the ring swings in a straight line the baby will be a boy." But my mom would use a needle and thread, instead of a ring, and not just for just pregnant woman. I don't remember what she predicted I will have. I'll have to have her do it again on Thursday when I see her for Yom Kippur.

The following is a sampling of superstitions taken from that site...

Seeing an ambulance is very unlucky unless you pinch your nose or hold your breath until you see a black or a brown dog. (Good thing my dog is brown)

A knife as a gift from a lover means that the love will soon end. (Who gives a knife as a gift to a lover? That relationship has got some issues already)

An acorn at the window will keep lightning out (Hmmm, and how does that work?)

If a black cat walks towards you, it brings good fortune, but if it walks away, it takes the good luck with it.(I feel bad for people with black cats as pets)

If 3 people are photographed together, the one in the middle will die first. (Darn, that's the skinny spot!)

A swan's feather, sewed into the husband's pillow, will ensure fidelity. (That's all it takes? Who knew?)

Dropping an umbrella on the floor means that there will be a murder in the house. (It is raining in NJ, so there will be many murders)

To cure a cough: take a hair from the coughing person's head, put it between two slices of buttered bread, feed it to a dog, and say, "Eat well you hound, may you be sick and I be sound." (Ummm, I'll keep that in mind for next time I'm sick)

A yawn is a sign that danger is near. (Oh no, I just yawned... Watch out!)

Seriously, who would believe this crap? Knock. Knock. Knock. And why do some people say "knock on wood" and tap on their head? Is their head made of wood? I never got that, although I have probably done it. Anyway, I'm off to rest an acorn on my window sill, hang a horseshoe above my door, and sprinkle salt on my doorstep. Do you have any unusual superstitions?

posted by Danielle @ 12:07 AM | 15 comments

What's with the dinosaur head subway signs?

I'm really NOT into the Microsoft "New Era Campaign," which features subway station posters of people with dinosaur heads.

Maybe I'm a bit slow, but I just didn't get what they were going for right away. When I am looking out the window of the train as it approaches a station, I only have a moment to see the signs go by. I don't time have to read the text and try to figure it out.

According to Microsoft, "The dinosaur is an ironic metaphor for the everyday Expert Information Worker (EIW) trapped within the limitations of a dated software environment." Hmmm... Interesting. Now is an EIW supposed to mean something to me? Am I an EIW? I'm definitely an EIW if it really stands for everyday Expert Irritable Worker. Okay, I'm not always an irritable worker. Only before I have my morning coffee.

The campaign objective is that it "aims to reverse perceptions that previous versions of Office software are simply "good enough" - by showing how the new features and tools in Office 2003 can help overcome various day-to-day workplace frustrations." Now, as my recent post notes, I can tell them something about day-to-day workplace frustrations, but am I really supposed to get ALL that from seeing some people with dinosaur heads? Seriously? I. Just. Don't. Think. So.

At least the new Metlife Posters with Linus from Snoopy holding 5 security blankets give me a warm fuzzy feeling inside. But in my book, cuddly beats scaly any day. Which ads do you love or hate?

These boots are made for walking

We each have our own unique walk... a posture, a gait, a flow that is uniquely ours.

Do you think about your walk? I sometimes think about mine. Especially when I'm listening to my ipod, and I catch myself walking in step to certain songs. It makes me question if I change my stride based on the shuffle of my tunes. I wonder, do I often succumb to a music induced strut?

I know at times I have felt a dull stroll gain pep and bounce with the first few chords of the Black Eyed Peas "Let's get it started" or "Where is the love?" and a stride become a saunter to Etta James' sultry "I just wanna make love to you." But is it a noticeable change to my fellow sidewalk steppers and subway schleppers?

Then there are times when I am singing along to songs in my head, especially when it's gospel like Aretha's "Oh happy day," or something like "Rent" or American Idol tunes (yes, I am that lame, get over it), I can feel my eyebrows raise reaching for the high notes. And at the times when I just have to harmonize in my head to En Vogue or Salt 'N Pepa, "Never gonna get it, never gonna get it. Never gonna get it... Whooo-o-ooah." Yeah, that 'Woah" is a definite eyebrow raiser.

But the worst is when dance songs come on like KC and the Sunshine Band's "Shake, Shake, Shake," and I just want to bust out dancing, like Ellen Degeneres dancing in the elevator in the commercials for her talk show. But, I refrain. I have thus far been able to control myself from swinging around the subway poles to Madonna or Blondie. But one of these days, I may not be able to control myself. So, to those of you in New York, if you see a girl shaking her bon bon on a B or D train just after rush hour, it may be me. So don't be afraid... come join in. Please, shake your bootie. Yes, shake, shake, shake... shake your bootie with me.

A dozen things I miss about LA...

When I saw the images from Lindsay Lohan's unfortunate car accident yesterday, I was not thinking, "Aww poor Lindsay", I was thinking "Aww that's the Newsroom Cafe in the background, I really miss their veggie burgers." That got me thinking about other things I miss from living in LA, especially as the one year anniversary of my move back East approaches.

1. Backyard hottub skinny-dipping in January
2. Renting a guest house that had a backyard hottub
3. Benitos 24 hour $2.99 giant veggie burritos
4. The Grove/Farmer's Market people watching
5. PF Chang's chinese chicken in soothing lettuce wraps
6. Working with celebs and B-listers makes for great stories
7. My few genuine friends and the LA Kabbalah Center
8. Having jobs with benefits & Planned Parenthood's free birth control
9. Watching American Idol live
10. The Coffee Bean/Tea Leaf Ice blendeds
11. BF for a neighbor who let Audrey out to play with her dogs mid-day
12. And Audrey's girlfriend next door Pepper who she loved to hump

Ahhh, memories... Are you missing someplace today, and Why?

Don't look at me like that... You perv!

Yeah, that was me. I used to be my sister's dress-up doll. She is 11 years my senior, so she knew all the tricks. The smokey come-hither eyes, Vaseline for shiny lips, and even eye shadow on my chest to make it look like I had cleavage.

Looking back at this photo, I see that she set me up for some possible alternate careers, but I would definitely need to change my name...

1. MY PORN STAR NAME: Roxy Washington
After my big fat goldfish who seemed to live forever. (name of first pet + street you live on)

2. MY MOVIE STAR NAME: Marion Cookie
I don't think Marion Skinny Cow really works. (grandmother's/father's first name + favorite snack)

3. MY FASHION DESIGNER NAME: Bo Grand Banks
Yummy, Grand Banks sushi makes me drool! (first word you see on your left + favorite restaurant)

4. MY SOCIALITE NAME: Pumpkin Chinatown
They never carded us in Chinatown, even when we went in our prom attire. (silliest childhood nickname + first place where you partied)

5. MY "FLY GIRL/GUY" NAME: D-Git
D-Git... Can you dig it? (first initial + first three letters of your last name)

6. MY DETECTIVE NAME: Gibbon Montclair
Gibbon monkeys always seem to be playing around and having fun. We should follow their lead. (favorite animal + name of high school)

7. MY BAR-FLY NAME: Dulce De Leche Merlot
Desk neighbor provides Nips in Dulce de Leche. They are gooey inside. Yum. (last snack food you ate + your favorite drink)

8. MY SOAP OPERA NAME: Clare Dakota
I like this one. Maybe I really should change my name. (middle name + street where you first lived)

9. MY ROCK STAR NAME: Reese James
This one is hot too. After the fabulous Etta James. Her sultry tunes like "You can Keep Your Hat On" make feel sexy on my commute. (favorite candy + favorite musicians last name)

10. MY OPPOSITE SEX NAME: Paul T Mobile
Soon to be Paul Verizon. (name of [opposite sex] last friend that you commented + cell phone company you use)

11. MY STAR WARS NAME: Gitane Audjer
(first 3 letters of your last name+ last 3 letters of mothers middle name /+/ first 3 letters of your pets name + first 3 letters of the town you live)
Inspired by Ms Meh. It's fun.. Wanna play?

An interesting way to look at the New Year

Happy Rosh Hashanah! I don't usually like to post other people's words, but I would like to share with you an interesting newsletter piece from Kabbalist Yehuda Berg, that I shared with my family, and I would like to share with you... my blog family.

DIRTY DISHES

There’s nothing like sitting down to a home-cooked meal with all your favorite foods laid out before you. Unfortunately, there’s nothing more tedious than standing over the sink afterward, scrubbing the pots and pans. And what happens when your favorite TV show comes on after you’ve just eaten your delicious dinner? You probably say, “I’ll clean up during the first commercial.” But you quickly grow roots into the couch and, before you know it, morning has broken and you’re rushing to get to work. Now you’ve got a sink full of caked-on pots growing mold.

As annoying as dirty dishes can be, they’re even worse when you let them sit for a while. And the longer they sit, the harder they are to clean.

This is life. Something that is potentially easy to clean up right after it happens—an unkind word to your father, a lie to your best friend, an insensitivity to your girlfriend—gets left in the “I’ll deal with it later” pile.

Your soul is like a dish. It starts out clean but every time you act without consciousness, you dirty it. The longer you leave the dirt, the more pain is involved in cleaning it.

As you enter Rosh Hashanah, you can think of this holiday as a dishwasher for your soul. All you need to do is put the dishes in, push the button, and let the kabbalistic technology do the rest.

This week’s work is facing your dirty dishes. Remembering all the instances when you didn’t clean up your mess this year is how you prepare for Rosh Hashanah. The energy revealed on the New Year can clean your soul, but only if you admit what you’ve been doing. If you don’t admit that you’ve been disrespecting your employees, or making poor life decisions so people will like you, or blaming your failure on your parents, then you can’t get rid of that junk on Rosh Hashanah.

Here’s a practical exercise for facing your dirty dishes this week:

Go through your old e-mails, date book, or calendar and jog your memory. Recall those moments when you treated others poorly and did nothing about it. If it helps, jot down a list and keep it with you to remind you. Then do your best to clear the air with those people.

Of course, be realistic. Your list is probably long and your chances of remembering and getting in touch with everyone are slim. The thing is, if you can really come clean with one person, it is as though you have done it with everyone on the list.

Once you focus on who you need to deal with, take yourself through the following three-step process. You must go through all three steps if you want to truly clean the slate and prevent it from happening again.

1. Regret – Think about the incident(s)

2. Remorse – Imagine the pain the other person felt because of you

3. Resolution – Resolve to yourself that you will not react this way again

That last step is crucial. Whatever the situation was, it was only a test. It will come back at you again. If you do these three steps correctly, you’ll get the opportunity to react but you won’t even consider it as an option.

As you enter the final countdown before Rosh Hashanah, concentrate on your inner search to cleanse and forgive. Make the effort to approach others with more sympathy and acceptance, and at the very least, with human dignity.

So... Repent if you can look inside, forgive, and let's plant the seeds for a beautiful new year! I'll be back soon for the usual bitching an moaning. But for now, feel free to keep posting comments on the previous post about "Firsts,"

Remember your first time?

When Mommak at Petroville posed the question, "How old were you when you had your first real kiss? (by real kiss, I mean more action than a peck) What was his/her name & where were you?" I started to think about my "firsts." And I realized that I can put events in my life into a time line and visualize them based on the movies that were playing in the background.

Here are a few of those firsts:

-1st date... The Gods Must Be Crazy II. 4th grade. Nathan's mom and grandma sat in the row behind us. We held hands. He won a dolphin charm necklace for me from the lobby crane game after the movie.
-1st real kiss... Outbreak. Freshman in HS. Jeff took me to a movie about a deadly airborne virus. Seriously. Could that have been more unromantic? I don't think so. I'm not sure if the flutter in my stomach was caused by nerves about the kiss, or the movie's scary diseased psycho monkey.
-1st ummm, other intimate acts... Vatel. Michel invited me to the premier screening on the last night I was interning at the Cannes film festival in France. It was a very romantic night (a much older man with an accent, cobblestone streets, merlot, a yellow rose). A great story, but a not-so-great... well, I won't go there!
-1st date with a girl... But I'm a Cheerleader. Hilarious movie about "sexual disorientation!" Jenny invited me over to watch the DVD. I think it was supposed to be a date, but she kept talking about how her ex-girlfriend emotionally hurt her.
-1st secret rendez-vous... Superman. The boss-man. Shhh. He was all Superman, all the time. VP of a production company, with action figures and posters watching from all-around. The movie was playing in the background every time he and I "got together."
-1sts with the 1st love... Movie is still seeking distribution. Adam came out to LA to work on a documentary with Ed Asner. I helped out at the shoot, then we had some good quality alone time after years of not seeing each other.

So there you have it... Anyone else want to share any firsts?