I’ll Always Have Paris

Published June 21, 2017 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

Blonde girl in light up Butterfly Boobs:

“Ohmigod can I take a picture of your skirt? I want to do something just like that for my clothing line. It’s amazing.”

Me: “Sure Paris Hilton.”

 

I could stop there because as a former tabloid baby and celebrity news junkie – having a conversation with Paris Hilton has now been entered into the Heidi Hall of Fame Moments Library.  It’s a huge library despite a fair amount of dust and memory loss, thank you alcohol, and quite a lot of the files have deteriorated over the years from liquor spillage or edible mushroom mold or a little weed smoke damage and that one time I think I dropped acid but can’t really remember and maybe a couple other drugs that have slipped through the brain cracks, but this moment lives in pure clarity – ish – along with so many others recently formed at EDC. Paris Hilton was lovely and she was wearing a tutu and a rainbow shaped back pack purse and in my book – that makes you cool.  For those of you not in the know – The Electric Daisy Carnival is the most beautiful rave you can ever hope to go to held in the middle of the Las Vegas Speedway and attended by almost half a million people or from what I could tell – one million perfectly pert boobies. But lets start at the beginning.

My friend Victoria is besties with one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. She’s a world famous former playmate turned television star  turned new york times best selling author, wife, mom and she’s a total badass… like legit… like unsuspectingly cooler than all y’all motherfuckers. She’s also a Disney princess. A real princess. I know this because I’m quite certain I saw birds help her get dressed the night of the show. I was a little stoned. But I’m sticking with this. Anywhooo – she’s married to the king of the Electronic Dance Music Festival Scene – and EDC is the biggest there is. I don’t want to be a big name dropper so I’ll just tell you that her name rhymes with Molly Hadison and he only needs one name – Pasquale – and it’s a name you hear on repeat as you walk through the masses at this amazing show. But I didn’t really know any of this when I said yes to a day trip to Vegas.

Victoria: Want to go to EDC with me for a day?

Me: Yes. (BEAT) What’s EDC?

Victoria: It’s the EDM festival in Vegas.

Me: Great. What’s EDM?

 

Victoria is also way cooler than me. But all I needed to hear was there’s music, it’s outside and there are more neon lights than any neon light junkie can handle and I am a super freak neonaholic. So I said – YES! Now the panic set in – what does a 56 year old carrening into 57 fashion freak wear to a neon rave and try to fit in without standing out but look cool enough to make people think – who’s she? The answer? – I brought four outfits. Also – no one in this crowd cares who anyone over 40 is.  I first decided to try and strip this weird green color that has been in my hair for weeks but sadly ending up making it even greener so I had to dye my red hair – chocolate brown. DULL. BORING. LOSER. BLEND IN. SIGH. That was the first sign I should just shut up and let shit happen. Then I looked up some pictures of what other people wear to EDC and realized – oh wait – it doesn’t matter what I wear because all the girls there are naked. BONUS! So I picked a black tank dress with a pink neoprene skirt over it emblazoned with the word heavenly. Yeah I know – I’m a little past heavenly but – it worked.   Victoria and I drove to Vegas – pulled in to the Palm Hotel and checked in to our perfect room chilled to any icy sixty something. I attempted to put false eyelashes on Victoria but I’m still not sure I got it right and I may have permanently blinded her with glue but hey – she had some shit to bat away the 115 degree heat. I wore a baseball cap with the words Central Casting to keep my jew hair in control.  Jew Hair in Vegas is like a recipe for an afro.  I didn’t want a frizz bomb on top of my wrinkles.  No one needs to see that. We all left from one house together and drove to the Chopper pad. I’m sorry – Chopper pad? Yes, that’s what I said. Chopper pad. It was time to smoke some pot. Flying high was going to be way better if I was flying high. We entered the helicopter lounge and there was a full on rave already going on inside and we hadn’t even hit the concert yet. It was 11pm – aka – already past my bed time.   People were throwing back shots and recharging their battery packs to make sure their nipple pasties didn’t lose any wattage during the show. There was a dj and airline stews wearing sexy butt bearing outfits. I was immediately sad that this didn’t exist when I was growing up and had way better tits to support some light up pasties. I would have rocked some neon tutu’s and ass bearing angel wings back then. If I wore them now they’d just be shining a light on my knees and nobody wants to watch a swiss cheese ass even if it has angel wings above it. But I digress. We boarded the helicopter and swooped up and over one of the most magnificent sights i’d ever seen.  The festival from above was exactly what the inside of my brain looks like and I had never seen it until then. Neon – everywhere. EVERYWHERE. It was truly beautiful and massive. Our choppers touched down and we were immediately moved into golf carts which spun us off to our first stage – or backstage as it were – where I almost instantly walked smack into DRAKE. And I even knew who he was so that was a major bonus.  Drake is very tall.  And handsome.  We dated for the entire ten seconds I was standing next to him.  Moments later we were whisked through GEN POP (the crowd) and out onto a special platform where we got to watch Drake surprise the audience on stage with Young Metro. Okay so had I not seen what outfit Drake was wearing before I watched the show – I would not have known it was him because it legitimately took me twenty minutes just to find where the music was coming from on the stage. I’m old – so I assume the act is actually on the stage. But with Dance music – they’re above it – in a tower – and I could not pinpoint the source for a solid amount of time and I knew I couldn’t ask anyone I was with because the lame alarms would have gone off and someone would have kicked my old ass straight the fuck out of there. So technically I saw Drake but honestly I just saw the end when I finally realized the shirt on the guy onstage was the shirt I had just almost backed into earlier and dated for ten seconds.   I was also with a very cool young man name Tal – who legit runs Las Vegas – and he would have definitely revoked my cool card if he knew I didn’t know what the fuck was happening – or to be honest – who the fuck Young Metro is – but I do now mother fuckers – I do now. And he’s genius.

I love music festivals. I’ve been to quite a few recently – but this one is different. Every single solitary person I encountered – was nice – and kind – and sweet – and really into the music and being together and dancing. I’m sure that unity and kindness came in a pill form called Molly hence the amount of free love I was watching – but it didn’t feel like a big drugged out bunch of losers at all. It felt magical. I was whisked through so many crowds via bodyguards and onto so many stages with dj’s who’s skills truly blew me away. I mean – I was literally on stage with Kaskade. (the cool kids are feeling me right now) It was the most exclusive pass to the most magnificent show I’d ever seen. I was in the White House with the President – and the cool black President not the weird orange cheetoh President – the only difference is – this President actually OWNS the house – and it’s not white – it’s pink and orange and blue and purple and filled with giant moving owls. We would walk through the crowds and they would part to take a picture with Pasquale – a true electronic god among men. How many concerts have you been to where the promoter and creator is actually bigger than the musical acts? It was an incredible thing to behold. People were so grateful for what he has created and you could feel it in the way they called his name and took pictures with him and thanked him for all he’s done. And you could see it in his eyes – his pride – for this lit up legacy he has created out of nothing. It was inspiring. I looked around and said – I could never produce something this big. Victoria took a beat and said – yeah you could. And she was right. It was in this crazy moment of booming sound and pulsing lights that I realized – I need to dream bigger. I need to say yes to more than just a night in Vegas – I need to say yes to all of it.  And when we set our mindS to what we want we can make things happen.  Just then the sun started to come up and we decided to end our magical night at EDC.  IT WAS 5AM. I turned to say thank you to Victoria just in time to see near naked twin sisters making out with each other.   Okay – so maybe not everything was magical.  In the end the EDC not only  turned on all the light bulbs in Vegas – it turned on the big lightbulb in my brain. I hope I don’t get the electricity bill.  At least – I’ll always have Paris and her amazing grizzled grey haired ponytail wearing bodyguard – who wore that rainbow backpack for her when it got to heavy.

Camp Indian Head aka Jewtopia

Published June 12, 2017 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

I was ten years old when I learned the fine art of begging. There was something I wanted more than anything, would die if I didn’t get, life would be over, I’d be stamped a loser for eternity, all the cool kids were doing it, please Mom and Dad please don’t make me stay home all summer, please let me go to sleep-away camp! For those not in the know – sleep-away camp is where Jewish kids and one or two stray non Jews went in the summer for 8 glorious weeks at a time. Yep – two months of childhood freedom somewhere in Pennsylvania or the Berkshires, or other places Jews learned no one else wanted to go and so they built a bunch of cabins on a bunch of lakes. Talk about a congregation of nerds and the largest collection of flat irons the world has ever known. (In fact – I learned my first hair straightening trick back then which involved wrapping your hair around a soda can.) I grew up in Staten Island where all the Jewish kids fled for two months every summer to magical places where no parents existed. I wanted in and I wanted in bad. The camp I chose was called Indian Head.   The year was 1971 and it would cost 975 dollars to put me up and feed me for two months. At the time, this was an outrageous amount of money. This was the kind of cash my parents would have to do without other things to afford. But my begging was first class – and I got what I wanted. It was an experience that would last ten years and make me the person I am today.

After my parents handed over the fees we were sent a list of more things we needed to spend money on. The first thing we had to buy was a trunk and uniforms and name tags. Basically it looked like I was heading to a well organized neatly dressed death camp in the 1800s where everyone used steamer trunks. I had to get a canteen and certain types of shoes and I had to have white clothes for Friday night services. Uh oh that didn’t sound good. But I didn’t care. I was heading to Indian Head in Honesdale Pennsylvania. My friend Judy had been going to camp there and it sounded really great. We boarded our buses in Staten Island and off I sped to the greatest summer I was ever going to have. The first day I arrived – Judy told all the other girls I was an asshole and they all stopped talking to me immediately. I cant remember why she said this?  Maybe we both chose the same boy to set our sights on that summer? All I know was, I was alone. I was alone in Pennsylvania. I was alone in a bunk in the woods with twelve other ten year old girls. I was doomed.   I hated it. I wanted to go home. I wanted Judy to die. This was the worst mistake I ever made. At the end of the first week – I fell over a rock and broke my wrist. Now I had a cast. Now I WAS an asshole. A klutzy asshole.  (Thats yiddish for clumsy) Now I couldn’t partake in any of the water activities – water skiing and sailing – which I loved the most. I hoped a bear would find me and eat me. I prayed a monsoon washed the camp away every night. I called my parents and begged them to let me come home. My mom basically told me to go fuck myself. They had just dropped all that money and there was no way I was coming home in a week. Then something magical happened – I entered a tether ball competition. (this is slamming a ball on a string around a pole and the first one who winds it all up on their side wins – don’t try to figure it out it’s retarded.) I hit that ball with my cast and slammed home a win like I had never seen. Instantly I was a hit. I was the badass with the cast. Judy could go fuck herself. Judy was the nerd. I was the winner! And from that day on Camp became the single greatest experience of my life.

I’ll never forget the cabins and the moldy cubbies where you would put your clothes that NEVER seemed to be dry. They were like little youth hostels in the woods. I’ll never forget getting called up to the flagpole in the morning when it was your birthday or you won a special competition. I’ll never forget the MD line that split boys camp and girls camp and standing on that line kissing your boyfriend goodnight – toes on each side – leaning in then breaking like you were never going to see each other again – but you would at 2am when you would sneak into each others cabins on what was called A RAID – and make out till the sun came up. My very first boyfriend was the camp owners son. Well fucking done Heidi. I’ll never forget going to the Canteen for dances and using coupon books to buy sugary treats. I’ll never forget the musicals I starred in or the overnight camping trips to the Third Hill where we would tell ghost stories. I’ll never forget the bonding time with girls who I still see on Facebook. I’ll never forget watching movies outside on blankets on a big lawn – still one of my favorite things to do. I don’t remember that many moments from my childhood but I remember every single solitary day from camp like it was yesterday. I still dream about it today. I went to camp from the ages of 10-20. I would spend every summer as a camp counselor today if it paid more than two hundred dollars.

I learned how to share, how to be independent, how to make things, how to produce things, how to choose friends, how to be a bully, how to eat terrible food, how to write letters, how to win, how to lose, how to camp out, how to kiss, how to do makeup, how to sing, how to dance, how to sail, ski, swim, play every sport there is, how to laugh, how to cry, how to be a human being. But most importantly – I learned that there are no limits to who you can be. We were shown a world of choices and we were being made into strong independent confident women.  And those Friday night services were way less about religion and way more about congregating and bonding and taking a moment to be thankful for all that we had. Camp was everything. Indian Head – was everything. I only wish I still had one of my shirts with my name-tag in it. I would wear it proudly today.

If you have little kids – send them away for as long as you can afford.  Send them to camp.  They’ll be better people for it.

 

Fucked Up Grownups

Published June 8, 2017 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

“This tunnel smells like farts.” I said to my friend Jonna as we entered the passageway to the Hollywood Bowl. I thought it was a bad sign and it wasn’t the only one. There were white people with dread locks as far as the eye could see – something white people really should not be doing – and everything was tie- dyed – something no people should be doing.   Some dude was passing a bag with a spigot filled with something and telling people to drink from it. It looked like blood. It may have been. I did not partake. The parking lot was filled with vendors selling everything from fruit on a stick (why) to incense (duh) to Bob Marley Reggae Hats complete with dreadlocks (someday I might buy one.) Everyone was happy and smiling and almost every single person around me was over fifty. Welcome to a Grateful Dead show – LA style.

I remember the first time I went to a Dead show back in the late seventies. I was wasted and I didn’t have a care in the world.  I was in college and my whole life was ahead of me.  I drank till I passed out and slept with whomever was there when it happened.   I didn’t have a job and I had no idea what 50 would look like and I didn’t give a fuck. I was going to get married and have kids eventually – but that was a long way off.   I was going to party my pants off.  In fact – I usually did.

Last weeks show however was a very different Dead show for me because now all those twenty something’s were also all grown up and I no longer drink.   I decided I needed to eat an edible for this show. That turned out to be a very good and very bad decision – which is also the way things go whenever you eat an edible. My friend Jonna is much younger and she could NOT believe the crowd. How could this many old people show up for the same thing? Shouldn’t there be more walkers and ambulances on stand by? Scanning the crowd was so much more fun than the actual concert. You could tell that people were seeing each other for the very first time in years, that friends who probably met at Dead shows back in the day – were together again. You could see marriages that you knew were formed years ago at another Dead show and you could see children of Dead heads dancing with their parents. The guy in front of me looked at his 12 year old son dancing then turned to me and said “I could burst into tears right now.” It was such a happy moment for him. It was an amazing time watching all these grown ups who clearly have grown up lives when they aren’t wasted and tripping on LSD at a concert – let loose and remember a simpler time – their twenties – when shit wasn’t so fucking real as it is right now – and suddenly I burst into tears. Yes, in the middle of a Grateful Dead show smack in the middle of the Hollywood Hills – I realized – I was smack in the middle of some real grown up shit and I don’t mean my usual grown up shit like switching my dogs food out and realizing the new food is making her fart a lot and should I switch back to the old food even though she likes this new food so much better?  – no I am in the middle of life changing shit that I myself have brought on. Ten years ago I bought one of those no money down loan houses. This week – it’s up for sale because I don’t have a job. I don’t have a job prospect. And I can no longer pay the ridiculous monthly cost I have carried for ten years. I have no idea where I’m going next. I have no idea what my future holds. And I did this all myself. I fiddle dee dee’d my way to no money in the bank and lots of designer shoes in my closet. I am the reason I need to pack up ten years of a life and a home filled with fun and friends and food and magical times. I am the reason my life is now For Sale. I didn’t get married and I’m okay with that.  I didn’t have kids and I’m okay with that.  But I’m not okay that the one thing I did have – a home – is going going gone! I balled my eyes out at the Grateful Dead show surrounded by thousands of other people my age because I know exactly how I got where I got and it all came crashing down inside my weed edible eating brain.

I notice that things are always worse at night in the dark when no one else can see you. That’s when reality usually sets in for me and it set in somewhere between Uncle Johns Band and Fire on The Mountain – I’m actually making that part up because I don’t even know that many Dead songs. After a few moments of sobbing – sorry Jonna – I looked around at what I am blessed with.  Amazing friends, my health, and quite frankly – a life most people would be jealous of.  I have love in my heart and in my world.  I might possibly be homeless – but I truly am blessed and I need to focus on the positive.

Life is a funny thing. It teaches you lessons along the way in the strangest of places if you pay attention. I also finally know what people mean when they say they are dealing with Grown Up Shit because this is some serious grown up shit. I’m ready for the next chapter and I’m trying to focus on the good. I guess it was the Grateful Dead who said it best about life – Sometimes the light’s all shinin’ on me, 
Other times I can barely see.
 Lately it occurs to me what a long, strange trip it’s been.

Here’s to hoping it’s a lot longer and a lot less strange.

 

THE THIRD CUP IS THE DEEPEST: My Ayahuasca Journey

Published May 21, 2017 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

If you told me years ago that one night I’d be deep in the desert sitting on a blanket surrounded by 39 strangers drinking Ayahuasca and barfing my pain into a bucket – I’d say you were crazy – I’d never wear my j crew pajamas in public. Rim Shot Please! And THAT may be the only joke I tell in this story – a story about 52 years in the making. A story that I’ve been looking for the ending to for years – and this morning I got – thanks in part – to my very brave  mother.

I started doing Transcendental Meditation about a month ago – and during a couple of my meditations some very scary and creepy thoughts came up from my childhood. I got the distinct feeling that something happened to me – some sexual trauma – but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. This is not the first time I’ve had these thoughts – I’ve had them throughout my life. I could just never really figure out what it was and I chose to ignore it. Screw it. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter. It happened a long time ago so no big deal there’s nothing I can do about it now who cares move on blah blah blah build a wall and hide behind it. Leave the past in the past. It won’t change your future. You’re fine and happy and strong and okay. But on Friday night – the past started to reveal itself – and this morning it came full circle – and now I know what I guess I didn’t really WANT to know.

My medicinal journey with Ayahuasca began Friday night. I drove to a secret location with a friend who was going to produce my story for the local news. Why would I choose such a public forum for such a story?  Well – it’s the same reason I write this blog – so that even one person may be able to read it and relate to it and maybe feel better about their own story.  My friend was going to just sit by my side and observe my “trip.” If you don’t know what Ayahuasca is – please look it up because it’s too long to explain. All I know is that I was told it’s like 100 years of therapy in one day. I was told it was life changing. I needed that. I was on a strict fast for days and so I arrived with a terrible headache and backache. I was told to wear all white and to bring a pillow and some blankets. We entered the giant rec room and for the first time I realized just how big my group of fellow journeymen would be – about 40 – and I freaked out a little inside. Who are these people? Am I going to trip my brains out in front of strangers? Do I want all these people to know my story? I also realized I did not bring the right bedding or the right snacks. This was going to be a long journey and my chic Pendleton blanket and cute outfit was not going to be the support I needed to be comfortable. People were bringing out serious bedding and blankets. They had bags of snacks and water and little things they needed for comfort. I was clearly in a group of professional trippers and I was a novice. I was terrified but I told myself I was ready to face the demons. I was ready to see what happened to me as a child and release it to the Ayahuasca gods. I was not ready.

My friend who was producing the piece was told that she couldn’t stay in the room with all of us unless she too drank the medicine. She couldn’t be part of the circle.  I really needed her there.  Ruh Roh. I told her it was a great idea. Do it! We’ll be in this together. And she was just crazy enough to listen to me. We were told not to side talk to each other because it would ruin the experience. We didn’t listen. I drank the first cup of medicine at about 9:40. I immediately felt nauseated but did what they said and sat on my blanket and tried to keep the barf at bay. I remember thinking – please don’t let me be the first person to puke. After about an hour or so – hard to tell in the dark candle lit room – people started wretching… violently … into their barf buckets – which were small plastic mixing containers from a hardware store.   I immediately wanted to flee. How am I supposed to listen to people puking and more importantly – there’s no way I can puke in front of someone. So me and my friend ran to the bathroom and started barfing in there. I was high – like a mushroom high – so I was just giggling my ass off. I didn’t feel like I was tripping though. I sat on the floor of the bathroom puking and farting. The farting made us laugh even harder. But I wasn’t tripping. I didn’t see my life’s pain in front of me like a story. And so we went back to our blankets in the circle and waited. And then I started freaking out. What if I’m the one person who doesn’t hallucinate and we came all the way here and we did all the interviews about this and its scheduled to air as a sweeps story and now I won’t be able to complete the story. I got so freaked out in my head and was terrified that I was going to let everyone down. And so when they announced it was time to take the second cup of medicine – something I didn’t think I’d take – I ran to the front of the circle and opened my gullet at the altar. I knew I was going to get violently ill again but I didn’t care. I had to give my friend a good story. People were barfing all around us. There was amazing music being played and guardians walking around saying prayers over us. I waited another twenty to thirty minutes for it to kick in but it didn’t. In fact – it killed the high that I did have. And now I was in a full on panic. I went to one of the guardians who was there to take care of us and said – what do I do? – is it possible I’ll never get the full experience? Am I too in my head to even let this happen? He said I probably was. And i full on freaked out. He said I should drink more. Oh fuck me. Drink more? I’m 103 pounds how can I possibly drink more? But I was truly terrified that I would disappoint my friend and not give her a good story . And so I went to the front of the circle – and knelt at the altar – and drank again. After about thirty minutes I felt really really sick. I ran to the bathroom again and shoved my head in the toilet – but nothing would come up. And suddenly – I remembered the instructions from earlier – don’t run away – don’t leave the circle – sit in your pain and discomfort and listen to the music and let it all take you where you need to go. Let the ayahuasca guide you to what you need to see. And so I did. I have NEVER been so nauseated in my life. I wanted to puke so badly but couldn’t. I kept trying but it wouldn’t come. My body was writhing around trying to get comfortable. I was hallucinating like crazy but I can’t really tell you what I was seeing. It was all very jumbled together and the second something would flash in front of me – I tried to overanalyze it. Was that it? Was that the picture? Was that what I’m trying to remember? I asked the ayahuasca guides to show me my past.  Show me my pain. Show me what happened to me as a child. But they didn’t.  And then my mind would move on to something else and in my head I would scream – what is that?  Is that it? I remember my legs kicking violently. I remember hearing whispered voices around me saying – you’re doing great – keep going – this is what you need. I was afraid to open my eyes and so I kept them shut. The music was amazing and totally taking me to crazy places. The lyrics were telling the exact story of what I was thinking about as it was happening. But I can’t exactly pin point what I saw. Towards the end I had to pee a lot and every time I came back to the giant circle it looked like all the people in the middle were having sex. Which they weren’t. It was like I was watching a scene from that movie Eyes Wide Shut. After what felt like quite a few hours –  I lied down finally because I didn’t feel nauseated anymore. But I was curled up in the fetal position – like a teeny tiny ball.   It was now about 3:30 and the Shaman said – he was bringing us back to a state of consciousness. And all of a sudden I burst into tears. Deep deep tears and shuddering. I couldn’t stop crying. My body was convulsing as if I was cold but I wasn’t. There were massive convulsions like I was shedding trauma. It went on for two hours. I had the distinct vision that I was holding on to my trauma like a security blanket. Like it was my story. A story I didn’t want to let go of. But I still didn’t know or see what that trauma was.  I remember very distinctly realizing – oh my god I don’t trust men. I don’t feel safe with them. I don’t trust them with my heart and I never have. I saw one friends face that I have had a long and wonderful if not at times confusing friendship with. I realized exactly what this friendship meant and why one thing we went through many years ago hurt me so badly. And that I had never allowed myself to truly feel the hurt from this friendship. I saw every sexual relationship I had ever had and realized that I chose all the wrong people – that they could never take care of me – that no one has ever taken care of me. I also saw another friendship I was in the middle of dealing with some hurt from but it didn’t give me any answers to that. I finally came down from my Ayahuasca journey and thought – wow what a basic bitch – I don’t trust men? Duh.  I’ve been single for 17 years. Anyone could have told you that. We closed the circle that morning – listening to stories from the other people there of what they went through and we quietly drove home. I met some really cool warm loving people and I think I will try to stay in touch with a few of them. I could not wait to get home. I could not wait to get on my couch. I thought to myself – I will never do that again. How could anyone do that more than once? This morning I thought – that was not life changing. That was just a painful barf in the desert. What a waste.

This morning I woke up and meditated – which by the way is one of the best things I’ve ever done. I highly recommend TM. During my meditation – I once again saw what I think happened to me as a child. But this time it wasn’t a pleasant memory. (By the way I think I enjoyed what happened to me. I think it felt good. And I think that’s part of the guilt i carry. )  This time I saw a face. And I saw myself trying to get away from this face and from his hands pulling me back to where we were.  I sobbed throughout my meditation.  Moments later – after it was over – my mom called and I told her about the Ayahuasca. I didn’t want to tell her before because she worries about me and all the crazy shit I’ve been doing over the years. She asked me why I do all these things and I said – I just felt I had to do it because I really think there is some childhood trauma I’m holding on to. And just like it was nothing she said – “well don’t you remember you told me Uncle Marty molested you when you were a little girl? Do you think that’s true?” Immediately the floodgates opened. I wailed into the phone. Wailed. I have never cried like that in my life. Every part of my flesh and bones were sobbing and shuddering. As terrible as it was – it was the greatest release I have ever felt. I finally had an answer. She said that I told her about Uncle Marty (not his real name) many years ago – in my twenties maybe – and she said – I just said it so very matter-of-factly and moved on. She said I seemed to be fine and resigned that it happened and I didn’t want to talk about it and so she never mentioned it again. I have zero memory of ever telling her this.  Suddenly my memory gates opened and it all came back to me. Suddenly I realized my history with men is all rooted in this one or two or ten moments from my childhood- when I was so very young – maybe 4. Now I know why I stopped dating when I got sober. Now I realized why having sex drunk was the only way I could have any sex. Now I know why I chose all the wrong men – the ones who would leave me – or the ones I could leave – because it was easier – it was what I was taught – that I wasn’t good enough to be loved for longer. That I was there to be used and left.  That I didn’t deserve anything more.  And I realized how deeply I look for acceptance in the eyes of men.  And why I have chosen to ignore them rather than feel this lack of acceptance and this extreme judgement.  And it wasn’t just men I dated that I set up for this failure – it happened with male friendships too. Most recently – one of my best friends – who I have been through quite a bit with – and who I felt had abandoned our friendship like it didn’t matter, like it didn’t happen, and like it meant nothing. (He didn’t by the way) And I realized that I picked him to be my best friend because at the time he filled a perfect void, a non sexual friendship marriage of sorts that I poured my heart and soul into.  And when he had to go on with his life – I felt abandoned.  And I blamed him. And I held onto it like it was a death in my life.  This morning I apologized to him for that and I know in my heart that this friendship will be fine… and is right where it should be.

I now have the knowledge I need to move on with my life.  I realize that every person I have ever dated, my alcoholism, my addiction to everything, why I don’t remember a thing about my childhood – all comes down to this moment of my young life – ruined by someone who felt it was okay to touch a little girl – under the age of 4 or perhaps – even  younger.  I realize that this is the voice I’ve been trying to drown out in my head for years.  And now that I’ve said it – I actually feel guilty for saying it out loud.  What if I’m wrong? What if I made the whole thing up.  But the truth is – there are now too many pieces fitting together in the puzzle that is me.

People often don’t understand why I write the things I write about my life. Why I so openly share what I share with total strangers. In part – I do it so that someone who may be going through what I am going through won’t feel so alone about it.  But  I mostly do it as a release.  To set the pain or embarrassment or whatever it is –  free into the wind.  So today I set my childhood free. I set free the little me I left behind.  I think she’s going to be okay.  Thank you Mom. I love you.

TV STAFFING SEASON AKA THE HUNGER GAMES

Published May 16, 2017 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

 

Hi my name is Heidi and I’m a Comedy Writer. (say it together: Hi Heidi) It’s been 90 days since I wrote my last TV joke. If I don’t get a job soon I fear I’ll go off the comedy wagon and do something drastic – like go back to news – or worse – start posting my own videos on my own YouTube channel.   I will tell you now – they will heavily involve my dog Tulip sleeping, eating, shitting or farting and they will not garner any big ratings. This has been my first official staffing season as a scripted writer – and for those of you who don’t know what that is – it’s basically 9000 writers looking to nab about 150 jobs and when you’re basically a new writer that no one’s ever heard of – good luck. I’d get more shots if I were a hooker – a 56 year old jewish hooker with a penchant for not having sex. That’s saying a lot. I feel like I’m trapped in a really bad game show and by the time they get to me – the prize package is going to be a trip to Monrovia to try out the latest fast food chain called Margherita Mary’s Rib Town and I don’t drink or eat meat. I may soon though. I may work there soon actually. From what I can tell – here’s how staffing season works. The networks make a gabillion pilots. Then they pick ten. Then all the writers swarm the writer shark infested waters looking to get hired on one of these shows but these shows are made by writers who have tons of writer friends and all of those friends have been hired before the show was even officially picked up. See where I’m going here? It makes sense.  That’s what I would do. I mean – that’s how I got my first job. But now it’s like the worst school yard pick I’ve never been involved in. I’m the fat kid with the wedgie and the glasses and the snot dripping from her nose. I’m not popular!!! I don’t even care what I write. You want comedy I’ll give you jokes. You want drama – I’ll make you ball your eyes out. The great thing about the show I was on, was it was both comedy and drama so I feel like I have some skills. I’m tap dancing as fast as I can but nobody likes my tap shoes. I’ve never walked in to more rooms and told more people how amazing I am and I love talking about how amazing I am, but even I’m sick of hearing about me. Every executive you meet is different – every show you talk about is different – and you have to be well versed in all of it. I’ve never watched so much TV as homework and I actually used to like TV.   I PICKED UP A BOOK LAST NIGHT because I’m so sick of watching  writing and acting and camera blocking and jokes and words and tears and laughter and Jesus Christ somebody give me a fucking job – I swear I’ll be your best employee ever!!!! Breathe. I’ve basically been on a three month long talent show audition and I’m hoping I get my costume and audition piece right within the next few weeks. This is the toughest business I’ve ever been in and I’ve never loved anything more. There is nothing better than knowing someone is sitting at home watching your work on their television, or computer, or phone, or robot dog with screen and laughing or crying or just writing you a note about it. It’s the most special thing I’ve ever done in my life and I can’t wait for my next adventure. Now somebody give me a 90 day cake and let me blow out my comedy candle. I’m trying to do it the AA way – not get depressed and take things – One Day At A Time. Hey, that’s a Netflix show. I wonder if they’re hiring?

YOU CAN’T HAVE MY HONEY

Published May 5, 2017 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

 

So, for the past few months, I’ve been feeling really good about myself. I spent my last hiatus working on my outsides – and this hiatus working on my insides. The later is a much harder job. My insides (brain) look like a map of all of LA’s highways at rush hour – some movement but mostly a lot of congestion and honking and yelling and someone’s flipping a bird and all the music and all the talk from all of the cars is playing all at once. What I’m trying to say is – I may be a mental patient. That said – a few girlfriends (yay I have girlfriends and it only took me till I was 56) suggested that it was “time” for me to start looking for a partner. I don’t know what time that is but apparently the clock was running out and my time was now. So – two of them came to my house to help me set up my profile page on a popular dating app.  I won’t say the name but it rhymes with Bumble. They wanted to make sure that I didn’t say something stupid and that I picked the right pictures. This is understandable because I would just use pictures of my dog and my profile would say – THIS IS STUPID. I DON’T KNOW WHY ANYONE WOULD DO THIS. So we set up my page – Bumble is linked to Facebook so it automatically put in my age – 56. I said I was a writer and my profile said something fucking retarded like – I love trying new things but I also love just lying on my couch. Emmy Award Winning!!! Pick me!! Aren’t I amazing!!! How have you lived your tired old life this long without me??!! I used some pictures that actually showed my age – not my old Jewish Community Center Cheerleading shots from when I was 13.   And boom – I was live! Bumble is called an app for women because you have to swipe on them before you can become a match and you have to write them first. Ugh. Sounded like way too much work for me. Ten seconds later I swiped on a hot bald guy with a goatee. I like this look. Boom goes the dynamite – it’s a match!  Ohmigod, my friends said – that was fast. I was nauseated.  Not exactly the right feeling to have. Now what. They said I had to write to him first. I spent almost 24 hours coming up with this – based on the fact that his profile said he was punctual. “You had me at punctual.” I know what you’re thinking – that’s the best you could do you fucking writer? I regretted it the second I wrote it. Seconds later he wrote back – “you had me at writer. I’m a Sapiophile.” (I had to look it up too. Go ahead. I’ll be right here. (BEAT) Okay? Let’s continue) Then he said – “Plus, you’re hot AF.” Okay, for those of you not fluent in AF – that means “as fuck” and is a common term with the kids these days. My girlfriend said – this was not good.  Anyone who starts that way is just fishing.  I was like – really?  Cause I’m down to be AF.  I’m not usually AF anything to anyone. She said – it has to be more than just a sexual thing.  Got it.  But, we continued to chat. I told him I wasn’t really into this whole dating thing and was kinda nervous about meeting anyone who I only talked to online. He said – “we should meet. “ So I did what one of my online experts told me to do. “Send me a picture of you holding a sign that says you are who you are.” He wouldn’t. He said “why would you need that?” I said – “because if I don’t have that – the only place we’re meeting for a drink is the police station and I’m pretty sure they don’t serve cocktails in the drunk tank.”   He said – “maybe this dating isn’t for you if you think everyone is an abject liar.” I said “if you think I’m going to meet anyone without knowing their last name and googling the fuck out of you – you’re mentally ill.” And then I deleted him. I then spent the next two days thinking about what he actually looked like. Who this liar on the other end of my phone was.   And just how fat was he?  Like, did he have a barf bucket next to his chair and a beer hole in his lazy boy?  I suspected it was someone from high school that I ignored who was now getting even. Or my old boss. She’s fucked up enough to mess with me. I decided not to quit. IDIOT. I swiped on guys left and right. I picked men who were older, younger, bigger, smaller, hotter, fatter, thinner, whateverer. AND NOT ONE PERSON MATCHED BACK. I thought – well I’m probably not in any of these stupid jerks age range which I assume is 24-25 no matter how old they are. And so I decided to change my age. I went on Facebook and changed my birthday to make me 50. Then I logged back in to Bumble. Look at me being all clever and pulling bees in to my honey!! Woot!! Woot!!  I wasn’t dishonest though – the only thing my profile said was “I’m actually 56 but nobody swipes on that.” There was a very sexy African American man who was 48 and I said – fuck it – and swiped. Boom – it’s a match. I said hi. He said “just looking at your sexy pics.” Ugh.  Here we go again. I didn’t respond.  But he wrote more, realizing this wasn’t a good way in for me. We started chatting. He was nice enough but I instantly felt uneasy. Who the fuck am I really talking to? Where are these people? Are they even people? Why is this a good idea? Why would anyone do this to find love? And by the way – I don’t even want to fucking date anyone!! He said – “Lets just have a conversation. It’s all part of the getting to know you process.” I said “I’m a sitcom writer for a tv show called baby daddy. Google me. It’s all there.” What a dick I am. He said he was willing to Facetime with me and show me that he was who he says he is. I almost vomited at the idea.  I said I wasn’t sure this was a good idea. He said “Well, what do you want from this?” And I said – “Honestly, I have no fucking idea.” And that’s when I realized – I don’t want this. This is not my idea of meet cute. I liked it better when I just got wasted and dragged someone home from a bar. This online stuff makes it all so impersonal. It’s like a business meeting or an interview only this time both of you can get fucked. Which by the way – is the last thing on my mind right now. I’ve written before about my lack of desire to be mated – and my lack of understanding of why that is. I’m sure having a partner in life is amazing. But for now – this hive is closed. My honey is staying in my jar. And the only buzzing I’ll be doing – is around a fresh joint.

The Curious Incident of The Dog Fuckers at Midnight

Published April 17, 2017 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

So… I finished my Transcendental Meditation class. I am cured. I am healed. I am a new person who has transcended above all of my problems. I am a better person than you.

Okay the last one might be true but while I am still the same dick head I was on Wednesday – I cannot recommend TM highly enough. Sure I still yelled at the woman in the Whole Foods 365 parking lot for being a moron who can’t drive and a selfish fuck for stealing my parking space – but I just yelled at her once.  See – improvement. So, if you are like me – with a brain that functions so fast and so furiously that talking to yourself in your head is considered a “conversation” then you will benefit from this type of meditation. All meditations are different – this one seems to be THE REAL DEAL. That said – I’m not supposed to talk about the experience too much – but one day I will write about the people in my class. It will be the funniest blog I have ever written. My classmates will see themselves in my words and they will be better people for it. Yes, I will make them better people.

They say that one of the side effects of practicing TM – is an active brain while sleeping – and more intense dreams. Well last night I had the single most fucked up dream I have ever had. It felt like it went on for two hours. Buckle your seat belts – this is one fucked up ride.

DREAM:  I woke up to the sound of voices outside, in particular, a man yelling at someone. He was saying “You know what I’m going to do to you don’t you!” It sounded terrifying. It sounded like someone was about to get murdered. It sounded like it was in my bedroom. My heart instantly started racing. It was pounding. I could feel it popping out of my chest. I instantly grabbed my phone and called my neighbor Kiki who lives across the street to see if she was hearing anything. She didn’t pick up. I called 911 and told them that someone was being murdered next door to me. They seemed interested but then just put the phone down as if I was that weird person who called them everyday. “Oh it’s that freak in Silver Lake who thinks someone’s being murdered every night.” I peaked out my window and saw someone run by. I was literally jumping out of my skin. Clearly this was a Manson Murder type situation and I was next. I had to get out of the house. I grabbed Tulip and tried to sneak down the street to my other neighbors Kelly and Wade.   As I’m trying to sneak past the house where the alleged murder is happening I see an older witchy looking woman with a few dogs standing guard in front. “Want to babysit my dogs?” she says to me. “Yeah, no, sorry, my husband would kill me if I bring home another dog.” Quickly I dart to Kelly and Wades who immediately let me in. They are having a party that is only populated by really handsome Australian men. Its as if some kind of crazy rugby team bus just broke down in front of their house and they invited them all in. I tell them what is happening and they seem completely nonplussed. But they do call the police. Nothing happens. No cops come. I’m losing my mind. They are having cocktails and partying as if it’s just another Sunday night in Silver Lake. I peer out the window of their house, which looks directly into the murder house across the street, which has a giant front window that has no blinds and I see exactly what is going on. The guy who was yelling is talking to a dog – who he is fucking. What the what? Yes, there are what seems like dozens of dogs inside this house – and they are making doggie people porn. This to me is actually worse than murder but I realize – oh they won’t kill me – and so my heart suddenly stops pounding and is replaced with the overwhelming feeling of barfing my brains out and murdering the people who are doing this to the dogs. I decide its safe to go home – after all – a bunch of dog fuckers aren’t going to kill me – they may just try to steal Tulip. She’s pretty fuckable. As I’m heading to my house I see that the cops have finally showed up and are handcuffing and putting all of the dog fuckers – into the car. They look at me – I say – “Wow bummer guys. It’s not like you killed anyone.” Perfect cover I think – and I head into my house – which by the way – is gorgeous. It’s massive and sort of modern and seems to go on for days. Once inside I hear a noise out back. I go outside and seem to be surprised to find my friend Mimi and all of her girlfriends by my pool. There is a giant brass bed set up and her boyfriend Brett is sleeping in it. The girls are hanging out and drinking and chatting and having the best time and talk to me as if they are there every Sunday night and this is normal and I try to act as if I’m not surprised. Suddenly I’m thinking to myself – wow – my house is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. So I leave them and go inside where the creepy ring leader of the doggie sex chain is standing by my front door – but inside my house. I freak but try to act like we’re besties. “Oh hey, I have to get to bed can you come back later?” I shoo him out and when doing so, see dozens of dogs in my yard. Dogs of all shapes and sizes. I start walking around the grounds because now I have lost Tulip. There are six or seven mastiffs that look just like her and as I search for her I pass a guy with long hair sitting in a beach chair. I hear him say “Okay, all done now” and as I turn to him I see that he is breastfeeding a ferret that he has just pulled off his nipple. What the fuck? Again, I act nonchalant. I can’t find Tulip and so I go inside through my bathroom which is filled with so much product you can barely move. I pass a moisturizing warming station that has a baby oil and a regular moisturizer in it – warming. I put some oil on my arms and rub it in. It’s magical.  I see Tulip asleep on her doggie bed by my bed and I get back in bed and my friends start emailing me, texting me, and posting videos of the dog fuckers as if it’s the single funniest moment they have ever seen. And I wake up.

DREAM ANALYSIS

  1. The male voices I heard were the sounds coming from the man who lives behind me who insists on living his entire fucking life on his terrace. His voice travels through my house and into my bedroom at night. When I woke up I heard him having some inane conversation with someone like he does all the time.
  1. I called Kiki because I had just seen her that day and had had a long conversation with her about moving and maybe selling my house.
  1. The Australian party  is because I work out with a bunch of beautiful Australian men at Training Mate every day. They are warm and inviting and make me feel safe.
  1. I had been at my friend Brian and Nicks house earlier that day. They have five dogs and with Tulip added its always a nut house. At one point during our Easter dinner I looked over and two of the french bull dogs were fucking each other like mad. We laughed.
  1. Having people at my house to come and go as they please is something that I both crave and struggle with. I enjoy having people around but am so type A that sometimes it becomes overwhelming. Its one of the things that weed has helped me through.
  1. My big beautiful house with a pool. I have been dreaming about having to move out of a house with a pool for years. Over and over again I have the dream that I’m moving away from the house with the pool that I love so much. I have zero idea what this means as I’ve never had a house with a pool – ever – in my entire life. Maybe I’m moving to one? We shall see. In general I have been struggling with the idea of selling my house. If the writers strike happens – it’s hasta la vista baby to this home I have called home. I am torn.
  1. Earlier that day I had been to the supermarket and saw an exact replica of Tulip in someone’s back seat. I was convinced someone stole Tulip and even went up to the dog to see if I could see it’s collar. The only reason I realized it wasn’t Tulip was that the dog moved away from me and went to the other side of the car window.
  1. I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT A GUY BREAST FEEDING A FERRET WAS DOING IN MY DREAM. IF YOU KNOW, TEXT ME.
  1. The idea of everyone posting videos of this dog fucking horror show at my neighbor’s house is a pretty easy one – I turned off my social media so I didn’t have to look at everyones inane posts about about their Coachella outfits.  In general I am struggling with social media.  I enjoy being able to catch up with friends on Facebook but other than that – I’m out. It makes me anxious. I have enough anxious in my life.
  2. And now for the really important part. I have tried for years to moisturize my body on a daily basis. I hate it. I’m always freezing standing there naked in the morning and at night and all I want is a moisturizer warmer like babies have. I have been thinking of getting one. Clearly this dream was a sign.
  3. I forgot the husband part and why I used the excuse that I couldn’t babysit the weird witchy ladies dogs because my husband would get mad.  This ones pretty obvious guys.

In conclusion – it seems that TM does open up your dreams. Lets hope its not always a dog fucking nightmare.

The End.