Gratitude. (And Fear)

I'm linking up today with the Red Dress Club to talk about what I'm grateful for.

I am grateful for so many things: my freedom of speech, my nice house and my mama minivan. Grateful for my family and friends, my husband and kids (and let's not forget Monster our mini poodle). I'm thankful for the food we eat, the clothes we wear, and our freedom of religion. I feel blessed to know people like Diana Adams over at Bit Rebels who wrote this incredible post on homelessness, because it inspires me to do more. I'm incredibly lucky to have Shelly Kramer of V3im.com who's buying a cow with me. We're going road trippin' tomorrow to pick up the meat and deliver it. Can't wait to have some girl time and catch up with her, all the while doing something green and healthy for our families. I'm indebted to innumerable talented blogger friends who make me think, help me grow, and virtually hold my hand. Not room enough to mention them all, but here are a few to get you started:


Pamela at Road To Joy
Nancy at Away We Go
Ash At Shades
Alexandra at Good Day Regular People
Cherry Woodburn at Borderless Thinking
Allizon Nazarian
Amy Oscar
Tulpen at Bad Words
Joyce Cherrier at Freaking Fitness
Blogging Goddess
Ms. Wasteland
Danielle Smith of Extraordinary Mommy
Michelle Mangen, the Virtual Assistant
Megan at I Dance, I Write

On a more serious note...

I am grateful I can be a practicing Jew in today's day and age. Oh, except that people from Westboro Baptist Church picket outside our synagogue some Friday evenings. I am grateful that my gay dad can live his life with his partner without encountering any bigotry or scrutiny. Oh, except that WBC's site URL is http://www.godhatesfags.com./ Nice.

I am grateful I wasn't taken from my home, made to walk miles and miles in horrid conditions to places called Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen, or Dachau. I'm happy my head wasn't shaved and that I wasn't starved and made to work all day long and sleep in cramped quarters. Most of all, I'm glad no one told me it was time for a shower, but instead sent me into a gas chamber where I lived my last minutes hearing screaming, crying, and the sound of bodies around me collapsing on the cold, concrete floor.

It will never happen again. Right? The Holocaust, I mean. Sometimes I'm not so sure. Sometimes, like last night, ON THANKSGIVING, no less, I'm taken aback by the stark realization that antisemitism and all kinds of racism and bigotry are still very much alive. Not just alive, but thriving.

Some of you might have watched my whimsical vlog on Hanukkah. I noticed last night that several people I don't know had left not-so-nice comments about my being Jewish. I blocked those YouTube users, reported them, and deleted the slurs. Then I got mad. The shaking and pacing kind of mad.

To add insult to injury, I was on Twitter where @SCTNow_Portland sent out a tweet about child trafficking "by the Jews." It linked to a YouTube video. Heart pounding, I clicked on the link and was relieved to see a message that YouTube had removed the clip due to violations and hateful sentiments. I walked in our local SCT Now (Stop Child Trafficking) walk back in October and was proud to do so. But the notion that people are pinning something like this on a particular religious group infuriated me. I've not seen any tweets about child trafficking by "the gays," or "the African Americans," or "the Methodists." Unfollow.

Some days I'm afraid. I don't understand people. I worry for my daughters' future. I'm terrified there will come a day when we head to temple for services and there will be violence outside. And I'll have to explain it to them. They don't even know about the Holocaust yet and I dread the day they're old enough that it's time to tell them.

Seriously, people. Enough is ENOUGH.

It's time to grow up. It's time to be kind to one another. It's time to embrace our differences, respect said differences, and really think about where this world is heading. Where YOU are heading.

Later while I was still stewing, I watched Chelsea Handler and Gwyneth Paltrow fist bump on Chelsea Lately's special last night. Both women have Jewish roots, and I adore them. Watching them together after the evening's previous events made me smile. If Chels and Gwynnie can fist bump, then damn it, this post is my virtual one.



What are you grateful for? What are you afraid of? I want to know.

My First Ever Celebrity Encounter--Shabbat with Chelsea Lately

(Most of you know Monique, Trifecta member, over at A Day in the Life of a SurferWife. She is famous for her weekly posts on various celebrity encounters (read: I am totally stealing her idea with this one). Please head over to read them, tell her I sent you, and follow away!)

It was fate, and it was going to be EPIC.

I skipped into Rainy Day Books last Wednesday after my class at the JCC looking for a book my professor had recommended because I'm nerdy like that. They didn't have it, but they had another book I wanted, Anita Diamant's latest, Day After Night. As I was checking out, I noticed a flier for Chelsea Handler's book signing event for her brand new Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang.

I nearly passed out right there in the store. Struggling for breath, gripping the counter to hold myself up, and fearing my eyes were playing tricks on me, I peppered the saleswoman with questions.

"Chelsea Handler is coming HERE on FRIDAY?" (affirmative)
"You mean HERE, to Rainy Day Books?" (affirmative)
"I get to see her? All I have to do is buy her book and she'll sign it?" (exasperated, but affirmative)
"Wait, let me get this straight. Are you sure I will get to meet her? And she'll really sign my book?"
"Tell me again how this works." (eye rolling from saleswoman, coupled with an audible sigh)

I hurriedly paid for my book, raced home and began the search for girlfriends to accompany me. I mass emailed, I tweeted, I texted, I called. I left many ridiculously annoying messages. Shelly Kramer and Lara Shelton came to my rescue. Here we are waiting outside in line last night:

(I'm on the left and the crafty, creative Lara of La Plates is in the sunglasses)

(you can just barely see Chelsea hopping out of the car surrounded by her SWAT team)

(The line to get in was long & snaked around. But it moved quickly)

(Shelly Kramer (Twitter Queen, Social Media Expert) on the left & me on the right, just about to get in)

So I get into the bookstore and there's another line. It's like that movie Labyrinth, only with books and shelves instead of tall green hedges. And there's no David Bowie. I'm getting all swirly and disoriented and claustrophobic. The line keeps inching forward very quickly and I'm balancing my baby wipes, ticket, and book (baby wipes were a gift for Chelsea, if you don't get it then you haven't watched last week's shows) while thinking of funny things to say to impress the Queen of Late-Night Comedy.

"Shalom, Chelsea! Welcome to Kansas City. Here's some homemade challah (I honestly thought about doing that but she'd probably think it was laced with laxatives or something and just throw away my hard work) for you!"

"Good Shabbos, Chelsea (It was Friday evening, after all)! You are my long lost Jewish sister! Will you please write, "To the Best Little Mensch in the Whole Wide World: I Love You! Love, Your BFF Chelsea."

"Chels, I figured you might need some baby wipes to freshen up before your gig at the Starlight. Not that you smell or anything. You could never smell. I mean, you're like, perfect and gorgeous and so funny and smart! (then blubbering)"

While I was waiting in the snaky line, I stopped and took a photo of books that you must own if you have a girl. If you don't already own these, get thee to Amazon.com immediate to rectify this deplorable situation:

(Fancy Nancy and Olivia series)

Anybook, the moral of the story is: I am not Surferwife. I was not all cool, savvy, and prepared. I take terrible pictures. They wouldn't allow photos with Chelsea, and the closest/best shot I got of her was this one, take it or leave it:

I was shoved in front of her so fast it made my head spin. She said, "Hey Erin," and started scribbling while I blabbed about the baby wipes I'd brought her so she could freshen up before her stand up at Starlight. She smiled and had a glazed look about her and then I was pushed directed towards the door where I had to make my exit. It happened so fast it was a blur, but definitely nothing like I'd anticipated. I had hoped for some real interaction, but apparently my gift was crap compared to what my kiss-ass friend Lara gave her. Go here to read her take on the evening.

And here's my autograph. I really wanted her to make it out to "Peaches," (you won't get it if you didn't see last week's episodes) but there was a scary bossy woman who said it had to be just your name and that was all she would write, and clearly my name isn't Peaches.

The End.

To Vlog or Not to Vlog--That is the Question. Or, Why I Embarrass my Husband.

Many of you may have watched my vlog from Thursday about Why Jazzercise is Evil. If you haven't already done so, please check it out here. Then come back and read this.

Are you done? Okay, good.

My husband said my vlog really sucked suggested I quit vlogging and revert entirely to the written word. He told me that I look like an old corpse unearthed from its tomb half eaten by maggots "depressed" in the video and that my real self comes through so much better in plain writing. Last night at dinner my friend, Anne, quipped that perhaps Hubs simply missed the boat with my deadpan sense of humor about those damned Girl Scout cookies (which I bought myself, shame on me---it's all my fault, but that is neither here nor there). She was spot on. I was trying to be funny, but perhaps I shouldn't quit my day job. I will obviously never be Chelsea Lately. Regardless, I patiently explained to Hubs that vlogging is a nice break from the standard stuff, it's fun, and it gives people a chance to see "the real me" in all of my unshowered glory. I mean seriously...you guys don't even have to pay for this shit!

So, dear readers, here is where YOU come in. I want to hear from you---ALL of you. Even if you aren't a follower (sobbing), even if you only read sporadically (boo hoo hoo!), even if this is your first time reading my blog (please come back again!). Leave me a love note in these comments. I've set things up so that anyone & everyone can comment---you don't have to sign in, you don't have to create a username/password, you don't have to be registered, pay anything, sign over your life....all you have to do is click on "Post a Comment" and then write whatever you want in the pretty little white box below. It really is that easy peasy, I promise. I'm begging you to be brutally honest. Tell me the vlog sucks. Tell me you love it. Tell me you're indifferent. Just tell me something. Either prove my husband wrong and stroke my bruised ego or tell me straight up that the vlog is not my forte and to throw in the towel.

And as long as we're on the subject: If you don't ever comment, I have no idea you're reading.