Here’s a little “who knew” I discovered at 2 a.m. last night when I couldn’t sleep – Home Shopping Club is selling dildo’s and cock rings. Party. It may not have been “THE” home shopping club but it was some dirty version of that network and it was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen in the middle of the night since my NYC days of watching Robin Byrd bang her box on public access television. The segment was called “The Adam & Eve Hour” and these two perfectly normal looking women were sitting around selling items you don’t normally see these types of women selling. It was like a very special episode of the “Ho Shopping Network.” Everything looked the same except the products. The neat trim outfits, the beautifully coiffed hair, and the perfectly manicured French nails pointing at things – it’s just that those things had names like “The Super Head Honcho” and Barbara and Judy were saying things like “Item K23 – her clitoris will never be ignored.” Wow. I was waiting for them to whip out the number one selling sex toy in the country – the fleshlight – which is a vagina on a stick – but they never got to that. I’m not sure why we need a vagina that lights up but I’m sure someone will explain it to me someday. I do know that you can buy your favorite porn stars vagina in the form of one of these fleshlights so that has to make a girl feel special and a way to compensate her for having to have had hot mold material poured into her vadge. When I’m having a hard day in the writers room I like to remind myself of some of the other ways people are making livings.
I also started watching “Eastbound & Down” recently, which I am well aware I’m the last person to find out about. I can’t believe I’ve been missing a show where a lead male character says to his white trash whore girlfriend “Honey I love you but you have clothes like a fucking dickhead.” That’s pretty much the polar opposite of what we write every day. I’m starting to think that maybe the sweet smartness of our show is leading me to watch really trashy shit at night, which may prove to be embarrassing at some point. Peaches and Tulip don’t seem to mind. They’ll snore through anything. At least I’m not writing what I used to write which would have been super painful these past few weeks between the death of Dick Clark and the engagement of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. One was sad, the other was pathetic but the later story was covered by way more magazines than the first. Sure you created an entire genre of television but is your death really as important as a Hollywood engagement. We think not Dick. I guess most people feel Dick died after his stroke and would rather remember him before that hideous kiss he planted on his wife that one New Years Eve in Times Square where he was clearly stroke stuck to her face. That is a memory seared onto my brain. I’m not sure how any magazines are making any money because it seems the only people they cover are Brangelina and The Kardoucheians and quite frankly I’m sick of reading about all of them. I hear those Armoanians just signed a huge deal with the E! network. In my opinion they take the exclamation point OUT of that network but what do I know – I just bought a cock ring on television.
Yesterday at approximately 4:53 pm I came to a horrifying realization about my life – I am a hoarder. It started out as a simple enough spring cleaning – switch out my winter clothes closet for my summer clothes closet. Now I realize just admitting that I have winter and summer closets immediately labels this an annoying white girl problem especially for someone who lives somewhere where there are no discernable seasons. That said – I do segregate my clothing and place them into warmer and cooler areas as best I can but I do admit – there tends to be crossover. I also have a coat closet, a fancy dress closet and a shoe closet. Maybe I should just stop here. The problem is, I don’t like to throw things out because the second I do – it seems I want those things again and despite the fact that I haven’t remembered I have high waisted floral pants in leather for the past six years the second I toss them – I remember I had them – and go looking for them – and crumble in a heap that I no longer have high waisted floral leather pants. Where the fuck are those high waisted floral leather pants. I found a fur vest from 1989, a dress from when I lived in NYC sixteen years ago, and at least three tops I think I owned before I had pubic hair. Yes, yesterday I really was smacked in the face with how much I love clothing and how much clothing I have and how disgusting the amount of clothing I have is and by the end of the day and four closets I really thought – I’ll never buy another clothing item again. Let’s not even get into the fact about the different sizes I have in everything. I could easily have opened a store in my house yesterday. People always tell me to sell my shit on ebay but who the fuck has that kind of time and quite frankly the thought of selling a four dollar blouse I got at TopShop is just embarrassing. It’s not like the houses of Gucci, Dior and Chanel are having a clothing war in my closets. I usually buy quantity not quality when it comes to clothing because I can’t decide what style I want to wear on any given day and it’s too costly to buy expensive trendy items. Shoes and handbags however – are a whole other Oprah. I could save a small country on what’s happening in my shoe closet. By the end of the day I had six giant garbage bags filled with clothing and that’s not including the items I plan on giving my friend Nancy – she likes tops. The other stuff was just too hideous to give to anyone. In fact – I didn’t even drop it off at a thrift store – I just placed it in front of my house. I figured with all the transients that walk by my house in need of bottles and such – there’s a good chance one of them will enjoy a Betsey Johnson dress from 1993. Nothing would please me more than to see that first thing in the morning.
I got rid of belts that haven’t reached around my waist or hips in years. I tried them on the only area they fit but they were a bit clunky as chokers. I even threw out a few pairs of shoes but only after realizing they were so destroyed they’d be too embarrassing to wear. I did say a prayer and light a candle for those however because it just seems like such a travesty to throw out a shoe. I also completely dumped my entire ironic t-shirt collection. These were the hardest things to toss despite the fact that I haven’t worn one in about three years. I was really clinging to the Hello Bad Kitty, Eat Shit and Die, Jesus Is My Homeboy images on the graphic t’s but I knew it was time to say goodbye. No longer will I be able to offend someone by just taking off my jacket and revealing what’s underneath. Unless of course I don’t start tossing some of my bra’s from the seventies. They’re hideous.
One was getting fucked in the ass by a topless misogynistic geek . Another was a free thinking hippie who drank too much and got pregnant. One was dating a nerdy douche who’s touch she couldn’t stand and finally there was the girl who got stuck with the asshole who basically ignored her on their date. Thank you HBO’S “Girls” for giving me this delightful peak into the minds of today’s young women. If this is the voice of a new generation – that generation needs to do something other than date – because it’s annoying, dull and setting the rest of us back a trillion years. I remember when I had to stop watching “Sex & The City” because it turned into a show about a bunch of women only talking about men and each episode started to resemble “Wild Kingdom” with these women stalking their prey each week and now it seems we’ve passed that concept down to the next generation. “Girls” has no hope. I don’t like watching hopeless people. It’s not inspiring to me. I also don’t want to watch a show where men are the only topic except for one small trip to one girls internship. Everyone is so up in arms that the show is only about rich white girls but I’m up in arms that’s it’s a show about women and their hideous relationships with men. At least in it’s heyday on Sex & The City – the girls ruled. They chose who they dated and they fucked over anyone who tried to fuck them over. They also had jobs. I am painfully aware that the number one subject amongst most women old and young is “men.” How to get one, keep one, find one, land one, feed one, date one, dress one etc. I’m not that woman. I think if you count up all the blogs I’ve written about men you’ll find two. There are so many other subjects in the world to tackle for women… especially young women… that I find it difficult to watch a full half hour of a show about their exploits with men. I hope the girls on “Girls” grow because I am truly proud that I live in a world where a very young girl can write, direct and star in her own television show for a major cable network. This is great example for other young girls with voices and dreams.
Maybe my biggest mistake in my life is that it’s been ruled by work but my work is very creative and it’s a massive part of who I am. It’s not that I haven’t had experiences in dating – I’ve had ones that would curl your hair and possibly melt your brains but they’re not worth putting on television. They’re worth putting in a drawer and shutting. Even on my favorite disgusting reality show “Bad Girls” when the ladies act like assholes – they’re not fighting over a man – they’re fighting over important things like shoes and drinks and closet space. I only started having girl friends in my life when I turned forty because it seems that’s when most of these girls finally settled down with one guy and became so sick of him that they stopped talking about him. I wish girls would find something more to talk about than boys. I would have more girls in my life if they did. I’m not saying men aren’t important I’m just saying it’s 2012 girls – get a life.
I pulled enough hair out of my shower drain yesterday to make a cat. If I keep collecting that and what comes out of my hair brushes each day, I think I can save a child in Africa. I don’t know what organization is turning old woman hair into milk or food but somebody should start doing it because it feels so wasteful to me. Certainly some brilliant person out there could figure out how to turn my hair into a sweater or a shoe or a schoolbook or something. I know my hair isn’t regenerating at the rate it comes out so I’m not quite sure how the system is working. I never really look at the back of my head so it’s possible I’m completely bald back there but I think as soon as we have a breeze in California I’ll be able to figure it out. If you ever see me in a seventies peasant dress and Teva sandals out and about with my hemp bag for groceries and my dream catcher key chain – please feel free to have me killed. If I have to decided to stop dying my hair and am sporting it’s naturally grey color – without hair product to stop the Jew frizz – I will understand if you gun me down in a cross walk. It will clearly be time. I don’t understand what age I’m supposed to start doing this but I’ve been seeing it more and more on older women and quite frankly it’s starting to scare me. If there’s some hippie 70’s fairy out there somewhere handing this shit out – and stealing women’s hair dye – I hope they didn’t get my address. I think it’s important to always dress the age you feel so I wore a tutu dress to work yesterday – enough said.
I cried four times at the office last night – and when your office is a stage filled with actors, tons of your friends, and a live audience – it can be a little embarrassing – especially if you’re in a tutu dress. It was just one year ago that my life was in a very different place. I had just quit a hideous job and I was terrified of losing my house. I didn’t know where I was going to work or even what I was going to do. Cut to last night which was my very first taping of my very first sitcom episode that will actually hit the airwaves this summer. Yes, some words I wrote were being performed for a national television show and at the age of 51, I had a totally new life experience that was exhilarating. That doesn’t happen to people often enough and I highly recommend it. Though it may be easier if you don’t have to do it in front of cameras, and lights. (Unless you’re me) If you want to wash away a nightmare – experiencing your absolute dream can do it in a flash and this dream has been a couple of decades in the making. I’m not quite sure how it happened or who I have to thank – other than my dear friend Dan – but today I believe someone is watching and listening and gently pushing. I only hope it’s a really long dream – and that I continue to deserve it.
On my way home from the show I stopped to give John the Homeless guy on my corner his daily allowance. He said “You look pretty tonight” – and I cried for the fifth time. Today I’m fixing the toilet chain that broke, buying dog food, and getting my roots done. But now I know – a girl can do more than just dream.
You know you’re getting old when the discussion at the Sunday dinner gathering of friends starts with… “well how gassy?” There I was quietly enjoying my Easter ham and the discussion of who killed Jesus and how it relates to colored eggs and chocolate (that’s what Jews do) when suddenly the conversation turned to farting. I was torn between being happy to have comrades in arms and horrified that l let the cat and it’s flatulence problem out of the bag. My friend Richie said “I keep looking at the bottle of Beano in the store, then remember I live alone and think, nah.” I was suddenly on a need to know basis how the couples at my table were handling their entry into this ass blowing miasma. Passing gas was hilarious when you were six but the amount of hot air coming out of you after you turn fifty can be a cause for concern and a reason to live alone which thank god I do because quite frankly – I’d need another wing on my house – with really good ventilation – if someone were to move in. There is no hiding what emanates from my exit area – it’s loud – and quite frankly – satisfactory. I feel like I lose a few pounds every time I let the farts fly. But this is definitely how you kill any sexy – complete with sound effects. Getting old is starting to get old.
At least I’m not famous and forced to age on camera like Lisa Rinna who has decided to become the newest spokesperson for losing your dignity – also known as – the adult diaper line – Depends. Yes, the 48 year old actress is hawking their latest product – a diaper so slimming you can wear it under a sexy black dress – because no one wants VDL – Visible Diaper Line – on the red carpet. Quite frankly the Spanks Depends is a genius idea for any woman who needs to suck it in a little and hates running to the bathroom all the time. God knows I’m too busy sometimes to get up from the couch and would love to just pee in my panties. Lisa Rinna is excited about the Depends because they make her “boo-tay” look great. Yes, she used the word “Boo-tay.” She even dragged her who did that guy used to be husband Harry Hamlin into the disaster. It’s amazing what people will do – for money – or as Lisa says – charity – which I believe is Bank of America.
Betty White is proving you are never to old to get ass raped by a network that will ride your bones into the grave and make money from your popularity. She and a group of other people who probably smell like pee have a new show called “Off Their Rockers” – a kind of punk’d for the geriatric crowd. Poor bitch isn’t going to get a days rest before she gets to lay down for her final rest. I wonder if she knows she’s working? Her “Hot in Cleveland” sitcom is on the same lot as the show I work on and we always joke that we could get her to do a guest spot on our show if we could just steer her towards our stage one day and tell her she’s working with some new actors this week. Would she be able to tell the difference? Not too sure. As for her “Rocker” show – there really is nothing more hilarious than old people making fun of other old people doing stupid things on hidden camera and watching young people build an even bigger disrespect for the aged. It’s hilarious. If only they could do a bit on farting – we could film it at my house – no extras needed.
Can’t I enjoy a nice meal in a hideously over decorated French bistro in Sherman Oaks without watching two disgusting people do an oral cavity search at the table directly across from me? Who do I have to tip to stop that from happening while I’m deboning my fish? It was bad enough that another man across from us was wearing a shirt with a rhinestone dragon on the back. I wish I could have been there when he was shopping for this item so I could witness his process first hand… “butterfly – no, turtle – no, dragon – yes! I’m gonna look so good on bistro night!” I am constantly amazed at what men choose to wear. Christian Audigier must have known he was tapping into a side of the male psyche no one else had when he created Ed Hardy – the side that makes ridiculously bad clothing choices. The spit swappers were so deep into their game of tonsil hockey that they weren’t offended by the shirt – then again – they didn’t seem to notice they were even out in public. This pair was not just kissing – they were mashing – and I was getting very close to regurgitating my meal. Thank god I didn’t order the soufflé. If I had to watch them while waiting for that to come out – I would have called the police. I don’t mind a little affection in public but I’m pretty sure PDA shouldn’t stand for PENIS DEFINITELY AROUSED. His was. Ick.
The bartender at this fine establishment looked like the former comic turned talk show host turned murderer Jenny Jones if Jenny Jones was now eighty which got my friend Brian and I thinking – is Jenny Jones eighty and whatever happened to her anyway? I googled her at the table only to find that she has a website filled with comedy. I’m not certain she knows about the comedy part but it’s hilarious. Jenny writes blogs. Jenny also makes cooking videos while wearing her hair in pigtails. I think one of her cats must film these videos. I think one of her cats may also write her blogs. The welcome page for JennyJones.Com says it best – “if you’re looking for a brilliant thought provoking blog, this isn’t it.” Gosh thanks Jenny! There are clips from her favorite parts of her life including her talk show though I didn’t see any clips about the kid who murdered another kid thanks to her and her brilliant staff. She left that one out. Maybe it took up to much memory. This was Brian’s favorite blog. It was called “Where Are My Tomatoes.” I read it out loud at the table. “I went out to check my apple tree today and guess who was sitting right underneath it?” Brian blurted out “your career?” Jenny also ran a contest on her site. She posted a picture of ten pears and asked her “fans” to guess which ones were real. No I’m not fucking kidding. The winner got swag from her Jenny Jones Talk Show Days which I’m guessing she keeps in a closet next to her dignity and her mind. She has pictures of food, and cars, and cats and cats and cats, and Christmas cookies and flowers. Jenny Jones is having a helluva time on her website. I hope no one stops her. For all I know she was the bartender at this bistro last night. I’ll have to wait to see if she posts a pic of the make out artists on her website.
It is April Fools day and every year I say I wish I was more of a prankster. I would love to pull a few jokes on people though I’d kill someone if they did anything to me. I desperately desire to be someone who could just shift my attitude for the day and become a big fat snarky liar. I would love to answer people’s stupid and random questions with complete abandon. Q – “Is your dog friendly?” A – “No I just take her out three times a day for a feeding. She likes fat kids, like yours.” Q – “Is that your natural hair color?” A – “No it’s a wig, mine fell out. I have cancer.” Q- “Are you dating anyone?” A – “Yes, but he won’t be out of prison for another twelve years.” This last one is true.
I think people who win the lottery are big fat liars. I didn’t buy a ticket this week for the gazillion dollar drawing that resulted in three lucky people getting 105 million dollars in cash after taxes. That’s a lot of shoes. I always wonder what they will do. I love when they say – the money won’t change me – I’m going to keep working at my sanitation job because I love collecting strange peoples garbage and wearing a scent that I can’t get rid of or I’m going to keep being a construction worker because there is nothing more rewarding than creating something with your hands. I say – give me your money because it will change me. I know exactly what I’d do if I won the lottery.
- Tell everyone I’ve ever met that was mean to me to go fuck themselves.
- Buy every pair of Louboutin shoes ever made.
- Buy every Chanel purse ever made.
- Buy every piece of clothing ever made.
- Buy a separate house just to use as a closet.
I may have a problem. I would of course also give massive amounts of money to charity – a new charity I would establish – called The Heidi Clements Foundation. Perhaps this is why I’ve never won. God knows I won’t put it to good use.
If only money could change important things – like racism. I woke up this morning to see a giant white cross burning out of control on the White House lawn. It was set aflame by Rick Santorum. If anyone has watched his recent speech making the rounds on the internet and doesn’t believe that he was about to unleash the N word as easily as I say vagina – then I have some magical Easter Eggs I’d like to sell you that were hand painted by Jesus. Just watch the speech and tell me that he doesn’t blast that word regularly around his house. It was so simply about to fall from his lips that you know this is a word he loves and uses and respects and relishes. That man is a fucking douche. I hate the N word. I use a lot of words people dislike on a regular basis. I still say “that’s so gay.” I often call people “retards.” I have even tossed a “kike” or two into my conversations over the years – but to be honest – not that often. I have never used the N word. I believe if you do – you should instantly be punched in the face – no matter who you are – black or white. It’s six letters of pure hate. Maybe the video is an April fools joke? Or maybe the joke is on us – and that this kind of person has any kind of traction in 2012.