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All posts for the month May, 2016

Packing It In

Published May 24, 2016 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

 

There is one thing that terrifies me more than anything – one thing that can send me over the edge into a cold sweat mixed with a hot headache – one thing that can literally stop me dead in my tracks and cause a full on panic attack so mind numbingly strong that I fear I may have to crawl under my bed until its all over and hope that I come out the other side unscathed and still capable of living breathing and communicating with the outside world.   And no – it’s not the idea that marijuana will become illegal or that cake will be linked to cancer or that my boobs will grow back to the size they remember most – although all of those things could happen and I would not be fine with any of it at all but this is so much worse that even the idea of cancer cake is more deal-able. What is it?

 

****************************PACKING******************************.

Have you ever noticed that the simple idea of planning for a trip and dressing your future self is one of the most difficult tasks known to womankind? My question: What will I want to wear in Bali? My answer: Probably this taffeta ball gown. Are you someone who shows up at your vacation destination with one pair of granny panties, no socks, tons or workout wear and an empty bottle of conditioner that you remembered to zip lock in so it doesn’t leak? Welcome to Heidi. I have never, ever, not once, not even close to once shown up on a trip with clothing that I actually wanted to wear or for that matter – even knew I owned. Opening my suitcase when I get to wherever I’m going is like cracking open King Tut’s tomb only with less usable things found inside. Even a chariot weapon would be a bonus over what I always decide to pack.

It takes me at least four or five times before I even get the suitcase together. I pack, unpack, pace, smoke, pack, unpack, panic, cry, pack, unpack, have a near beer, pack and then spend the last 24 hours shoving things into nooks and crannies the suitcase didn’t even know it had. Then I get to my destination and boom – nothing I need. Wow, thank God I decided to bring those pants that haven’t fit me in three years and the most uncomfortable shoes I own. I once went to Prague and packed as if it was going to be California weather only to realize it was winter there and I almost froze my ass off.

There is something so finite about a suitcase. You only have so much room and you have to know what you’ll feel like wearing when you get to a place you’ve never been. I’m not one of the Real Housewives so I don’t theme pack the way they do. Hey we’re going to Dubai so lets only bring Caftans so we stick out like sore thumbs. I mean do you wear a sombrero in mexico with chips and dip in the brim? Do you have to wear cowboy hats in Texas? I wouldn’t wear a wig in Israel.  I’m just not that on the nose. But I also don’t have a particular style so I never know what mood I’m going to be in and tend to pack my entire closet and that’s the other problem – I really want to pack light. All I want is a teensy suitcase with magical things packed in little balls that turn out to be wondrous outfits. My friend Chelsea is an excellent packer. She’ll roll up to the airport with a Barbie sized suitcase that when opened holds at least 23 different outfits. Chelsea says the secret is only bringing one pair of shoes. WHAT? ONE PAIR OF SHOES? ARE YOU INSANE? WHAT KIND OF TERRIBLE SUGGESTION IS THAT? WHY DON’T I JUST KILL MYSELF. WHAT IF SOMEONE SEES ME MORE THAN ONE DAY WHILE I’M THERE AND NOTICES I HAVE THE SAME SHOES ON? Obviously I can’t do the one shoe thing. It’s just not right.

The funny thing is – whenever I’m on vacation – I don’t give a shit what I’m wearing – but I can’t seem to remember that while I’m packing. For once I’d like to be a boy so I can pack underwear, t shirts, jeans, sneakers, and a zero fucks given attitude. I’ll try to shove that next to my blow dryer, curling iron, eyelash glue, old prom dress, and all of the jewelry I own.   Inevitably – the second I get on the plane I say – Oh shit I forgot “insert incredibly important thing here.” Now if I can just teach Tulip to pack and ship – all will be right with the world. Until then – I’ll be the girl on a hike in a tutu and a bra-let from when I had my old boobs.

The Secret Life of Boys

Published May 15, 2016 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

I’ve never been one to call God an asshole but I think he really fucked up in the whole boy girl department and I have quite a few bones to pick with him when it comes to the fact that he made us way too different to ever come together. Yes, I believe in God. Yes, I believe he’s a dude – though he’s more of just a cloud in a robe – possibly wearing a leafy crown and possibly mandals – which I hate but it’s God – so I kind of have to give him a pass. And finally, yes, I believe I’m still a girl. I like being called a girl and if that’s a problem for you well then I guess you can go sit on a spike.  Sorry to be such a stickler on this one but there are so few battlefields left for me to conquer. Apparently I’m about to start smelling like pee all the time and despite the fact that I no longer have to shove a cotton baton inside my vagina once a month – some company wants me to wear a tinkle tampon everyday because I may laugh so hard that I’ll spill urine in my undies. This is not very sexy. I’m sorry – I have once again become sidetracked by the horror of the future.

My current knowledge of boy and how the sexes are far too different to live in peace without the aid of alcohol comes from the fact that I now live with a 25 year old young man. Stop your gasping, heavy breathing and finger wagging (or rounds of applause) – he’s just my friend and let me tell you that the knowledge he is secretly delivering to me on a daily basis could change your life. You should pay him. Actually you should pay me. I could rent him out but I’m quite certain that the average female would destroy him before she could use his knowledge for good and not evil. Living with a twenty five year old male who is not your child is not as dumb an idea as one would think. I mean – I happened to get a good one – but if you look hard enough you could probably find one like mine or at least close to it. They’re all over the place. I saw two at the mall yesterday doing absolutely nothing but talking about cars and creatine powder.

The bonuses of the quarter life male are this – I always have someone to smoke pot with and he always has someone’s phone to explain to them how it works. Unfortunately, all of the magical and wondrous things I’ve learned are basically of no use to me now. But oh how they would have helped my twenty five year old self!!! The heartache that I could have saved knowing the things I now know like – he wasn’t ignoring my text messages – they just didn’t have a tit shot attached so the level of importance went down to code pink at best.   So now I have all this incredible knowledge and nothing to do with it because men my age are too busy cleaning up a shit storm of a first second or third marriage and men his age want nothing to do with me unless it’s to load them a fresh bong hit or fold their underpants after I’ve done a load of laundry. But knowledge like this must not go to waste and while there are so many things I can’t share with you – because I’ve taken a vow of roommate silence – here are a few of the most important things you need to know about young men and dating.

#1 If you stop asking them questions they will tell you everything you need to know. And I mean – everything.

#2 They aren’t thinking anything ever and if they are – see #1

#3 They will never tell you how they feel about you as much as you want them to. If they say it once – that counts for life.

#4 If he’s not calling you – it’s not because he’s busy.

#5 When he says he doesn’t want a girlfriend – he’s not kidding.

#6 When they make a plan with you it is absolutely one hundred percent NOT a plan until you physically see them face to face. “Lets get together this week” means nothing.

#7 Let them tell you how to do stuff or fix stuff even if you know how to do it. It makes them feel important and quite frankly i don’t need to know how to change a tire or add an emoji to a picture or what kind of protein powder is good after a workout.  But keep the questions to a minimum or you’ll head into head explosion territory.

Honestly the thing I learned most is the thing I’ve always known. Women have got to start coming into relationships with the opposite sex as whole human beings and not base everything you feel on how someone else feels about you. The main person who’s feelings count when it comes to you – is you.

I’m sure I’ve said all of this before so in conclusion I’d just like to add – NO – you cannot borrow my dude.  I’m training him. I get to keep him.

 

My Big Bang Theory

Published May 8, 2016 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

I have pink hair, nine tattoos (including one that says “Shut the Fuck Up” on my ass) smoke a lot of weed, and can often be found dressed in something most fifty something’s, and a few twelve year old boys and a handful of twenty year old hooker cheerleaders, would consider inappropropriate. In other words – I’m a walking pile of judgment for others to peruse, point fingers at, and discuss. And I’m super cool with that. Because here’s the deal – I put all of that out there. It’s right in front of you for you to see – and shred – or enjoy – or be jealous of – or hate – or curse – or love. I am fully aware that if I don’t want to be judged for how I look I should just leave the house everyday in two brown paper bags – one on top for the hair and one big one to cover the clothes. The shoes can stay in the clear – everyone loves my shoes. But I don’t really care about what people think when it comes to how I look. Lets be honest – I’m already judging myself enough in that department so I can’t really hear your hatred above the deep dark “you’re fat and old” voices in my head – which are terrifically loud – and unlike most things about aging – actually seem to get stronger. Fuck. Stop. Someday I’m sure my judgement bubble will pop and you should all leave town when that happens because there are going to be some amazing choices made when I officially give zero fucks. Its going to be a fucking river of inappropriate. Think motorcycle with side car and large mastiff with helmet. Just a thought.

But the other day I had a really interesting conversation with a woman who does some work at my house – and she told me how upset she was that her daughter sent her a text telling her that she was a lesbian. She hadn’t answered the text in two days and was clearly very upset. Her daughter is single, but the mother of two children, and she was terrified that these children would now be gay because they’d be raised by two women. She actually fully deeply believes that’s how it happens. So obviously there are a few problems with her way of thinking and we had a very long discussion about all of it ending in me telling her to text her immediately and say she loved her no matter what but it made me realize just how ridiculous it is that in 2016 people are still being judged for their sexuality and I’m just saying – shut up already everyone!! I mean – if sexuality is all that defines me than I’m fucked because I don’t fuck. And I’m sorry but I currently don’t want to bang around with either sex. How does that make me who I am? When do we get to officially take sex off the list of reasons to hate people? There are so many other things to hate them for — like their hatred of gay people.

I have a friend whose entire career has been about other people trying to figure out if he’s gay or not. Many people who know of his true sexuality want him to publically define who he bangs. He is not one of those people. I am not one of those people. It’s none of your business. Who he puts his penis in will never change how he is as an actor, unless he fucks someone who gives him a job. And that does happen on the regular here in Hollywood.  And quite frankly I say kudos to that.  If getting a great job happens by me having sex with someone than bring it cause I’m on hiatus and my shopping budget has been drastically cut and while I’m not interested in fucking I’d do it for a pair of Chloe boots I’ve had my eye on for awhile. I’ll learn how to live with my shame.

Let’s stop defining people by who they choose to love and just be grateful that they love at all, because that is the only thing stopping us from completely shitting the bed on this whole life thing. Please. I’m exhausted.

I didn’t have children but if I did they’d be showered with love and pot and shoes and great food. I wouldn’t care which sex they were sleeping with as long as they were happy and I’d hug them at the end of every day and say – now go light mommy a joint and get her a kombucha and hug her good night.  Life is short. Finding someone to love isn’t easy. Knock it off everyone.

Condomania

Published May 2, 2016 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

 

“Wearing a condom is like eating ice cream with a sock over my tongue” – said the 30 year old young man standing in my kitchen – as the subject of having sex with condoms came up. Now, I’m old but I believe what he was saying was – when one wears a condom you can’t feel a thing – and the simple pleasure of say – eating ice cream – or something that definitely does not taste like ice cream – is gone. Well here’s something else that will be gone if you don’t wear a condom – the taste of freedom when some chick you don’t even like spits out a little gelato flavor I like to call – BABY.

 

It’s fascinating how many young men don’t like to wear condoms these days. Perhaps it’s always been this way.  You didn’t need to wear condoms when I was younger because the government hadn’t invented a disease that kills gay people and the drug companies hadn’t banded together to make sure we never find a cure. But I digress. I also – much to the disagreement of many – do NOT have a penis so I don’t know what it feels like to sheath it in a plastic wrap much like my grandma used to have on her couches. But no matter how many young man I talk to – and much younger than this 30 year old – I’m stunned by how many of them don’t wear condoms and are having sex with people they barely know. Why are so many young men walking around with a loaded gun in their pants and shooting it willy nilly into vaginas around the world!? I mean eating birthday cake naked in a jacuzzi with a gas mask pot bong on my face would feel great to – but I don’t do it because it has consequences – consequences like my neighbors seeing me and reporting me to someone who handles old women too stoned in their hot tubs to get out and realize what an embarrassment they are being. But again – I digress.

 

A young man I know is convinced that he has the pull out method down to a science. Well herpes doesn’t care if you pull out. That little bugger will bite you on your entrance into the great vagina gateway and you’re screwed right after you’re screwed. What’s even funnier is this comes from someone who doesn’t even like to share a spoon with someone over a yogurt but shockingly is willing to put Mr. Pee Pee into a dark cave he’s never spelunked before. This is not smart. Caves are dangerous. They hide things… like semen… and use it later… after you’ve packed up your climbing gear and left.

Another twenty something told me that he just can’t do it. That sex is just not enjoyable with a condom. He can’t, won’t, isn’t going to , never gonna happen, no thanks, no way, no how. Perfect. Call me when your dick falls off while you’re babysitting your fifteenth no condom kid. Party. Woot woot.

I remember the day I got pregnant. Lucky for the young man who used the “pull out” method with me – I didn’t want to keep the baby. The day the doctor said “you’re pregnant” remains one of the worst days of my life. Sure – I can get an abortion – thank god – but that shouldn’t be the option. It’s not like vomiting after a party when you’ve had too much to drink and just want to get rid of the sick in your stomach. (I mean it kind of is but lets not dwell on that.) I don’t want to get into a discussion about when life begins – cause I’m still waiting for mine to start. : )

What it IS like is a terrible terrible time in a chair with a hose shoved up your ying yang and awful guilt for the rest of your life – and that’s a girls perspective who actually wanted the abortion.  What happens when the girl decides she wants to keep your devil spawn? Well I know at least three young men who are going to find out if they don’t start enjoying sex just a little bit less.  Next time you want to bang a babe for a night of what you think is no consequences –  shove your tongues in some ice cream first.  Once your head unfreezes maybe you’ll think a little more clearly.

Wrap it up boys. You’ll thank me later.