All posts for the month March, 2017

Inner Peace Outer Freak

Published March 31, 2017 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

For the past 25 days I’ve been getting up every morning and meditating. Stop fucking laughing it’s true. Which is proof that anyone can do it. Granted my meditation is done for ten minutes lying down in my bed while listening to an app that usually ends in me falling right back to sleep but I’m trying people, I’m fucking trying and you should all be grateful when you do something stupid like ask me why I’m vegan every time I try to order a fucking meal or ask me any other multitude of dumb unanswerable questions that won’t change your life one iota once you get the answer. Clearly, the path to meditation was a good choice. That said – I’m pretty sure after 25 days, the only thing that’s really happened is I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with Head Space Andy. He’s british and bald and calming and I think he really is helping me hit the big giant pause button every time I spin off into some weird awful my life sucks status. (This happens on the regular because I am a human being.) But something good is coming from my ten minutes of almost total concentration minus Tulip licking my face, Tulip farting, or the garbage men coming to remove all of the garbage from all of the land at 6am. I am feeling calmer, and I think I’m handling a few situations better. Certainly not the situation where I yelled at a man at a traffic light to go you stupid fucker it’s green what are you looking at you loser – as if he could magically hear inside his car – but I didn’t get out of my car and punch him and so we see…. IMPROVEMENT! So I decided to take it to the next step. I’ve been doing something called Mindful Meditation which is about controlling the mind to stop going places that won’t help you but I really wanted to learn TM. I’ve heard a lot about Transcendental Meditation and found a free lecture at a certified place near my house. I’m doing this dammit. And so off I went to my class with hope in my heart and three bong hits in my chest. If I’m gonna listen to some weird lecture – I’m gonna be high. The class filled up pretty quickly with about 7 or 8 other people. We went around the room and everyone was asked why they are here. STRESS DUH. And then everyone was asked how they heard about TM. I had no idea that Katie Perry and Ellen Degeneres were so influential but damn every one in the class said that’s how they found out – except me – I said my friend Lorna – because her facebook feed was what convinced me. If you don’t know Lorna then I’m sorry because she’s amazing. The power of celebrity however was palpable and I understand why they get all the free shit in the world because they convince ordinary ding dongs like me to do stuff. The man who led the lecture was so kind and sweet and his voice was so sominiferous and lovely and I found myself yelling quietly in my head – shut up already I’m in!! Probably not the best response to the concept of chilling out. He explained the course – the fees (I’m gonna be selling a lot of shit on Tradesy folks so keep an eye out) and the simplicity of just taking four days to learn something that may very well change your life. Many years ago I studied the ancient Jewish practice of Kaballah. At it’s core – it’s about learning to stop the chaos in your life and finding your pause button and hitting it before lashing out. My pause button has been hit more than a sombrero piñata at a Cinco de Mayo festival. That said – it did help me quit drinking and smoking pretty easily and so TM could be the next step on my road to inner peace. And what I mean by inner peace is – simply not getting bogged down in silly thoughts that I can’t change. My brilliant business manager just sent me this quote yesterday about life – “worrying is like praying for what you don’t want to have happen.” Anna is fucking smart. And hot.

And so – pen in hand I started to fill out my paper work to take the four day class where I will be assigned my own mantra. Everyone gets assigned a meditation mantra that you are not allowed to tell anyone else ever. My friend Alex told me she and her sister told each other their mantras twenty years ago when they first learned TM. They found out it was the same one and so now I’m convinced we will all have the same one but that’s okay because I’m in and I’ll never tell a soul what mine is. I’m hoping it’s similar to Jambi’s on Pee Wee’s playhouse – Meka Leka Hi Meka Hiney Ho!!! It probably won’t be though. Once I filled in my paper work I had a small private conversation with the teacher where he told me the one thing I have to do to prepare for my class. NO SMOKING POT FOR 15 DAYS.

I’m out.

No really.

I can’t do that.

Are you retarded?

Weed is the only thing keeping me from killing people.

Huh, I may be addicted again.



But I want to calm the voices in my head. Not fully – as they are the basis for my writing – but I just want to stop marinating in the bullshit of life. And so – here I go. Yesterday was day one of my weed free status. Pray for me.

On a side note – isn’t it weird that the same way you hold your hands for meditation is the same way you grasp a joint?  Just saying.

No! I’m not his Mother!

Published March 22, 2017 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

Dressed in a marijuana baseball cap, a camouflage bomber jacket, ripped jeans and Vans hi top sneakers, it was just a typical trip to the supermarket. Or so I thought. “Why don’t you grab the vegetables and I’ll get the toilet paper”, I said to my 26 year old roommate. The second he walked off the woman standing next to me said – “Is that your son?” OHMIGOD BREATHE DON’T PUNCH HER IN THE FACE THIS IS A NICE PLACE AND THE VEGETABLES ARE CHEAP AND THEY ALWAYS HAVE YOUR FAVORITE KOMBUCHA DON’T GO BANANAS NOW HEIDI JUST BREATHE AND SMILE AND KEEP MOVING FOR THE LOVE OF GOD KEEP MOVING. I take a deep breath. “No, he’s not.” And I walk away. I’m not telling you shit bitch. You can wonder the whole fucking day what you just saw and I’ll never give you the satisfaction of telling you the truth. Again, deep breaths. But, this is not the first time this has happened. This is the 7,546th time it’s happened. And it hasn’t just happened with my roommate. It’s happened with another male friend who’s 35 and a female friend who’s 42. How the fuck old do I look to you people? More importantly, what am I not seeing? People have always told me that age is just a number but it doesn’t matter how young I feel if you keep reminding me of how young I’m not by asking me if I’m everyone’s mother. Everyone’s!!! Is no one old enough to be my mom? Are those people all dead? And why the fuck do you need to know that anyway? How is that going to make this two second meeting in the frozen food section any better? Will you go home and yell at your kid who won’t go to the super market with you because you saw some cool mom with her kid shopping for toilet paper together and isn’t that cute you need to love me more son don’t’ you know that?!

Right now you can probably tell that my daily meditation is not quite working but not only do I not want to be someone’s mother – I don’t want to look like someone’s mother. I realized that people are looking at my outfits like I look at BaddieWinkle – that weird instagranny who’s always dressed really  inappropriately – i.e. exactly like me – and now I have to start asking my young friends if they’re embarrassed to be out with me. Here’s the thing… I have a lot of friends in their twenties and thirties. One might say – I collect them – and perhaps I do – but I do it for a very good reason – because I like being around people who like being alive and young people unlike people my age – are not yet dead inside. I’m trying to skip the dead inside portion of my life because I feel like I already did that – and left that – at the bottom of a bottle of wine. Fuck mature. I’m not ready for that. I like people who say yes to the idea of things that are scary or maybe stupid or just plain old retarded. I like people who like new things. Or perhaps I’m just grasping at my disappearing youth and I’m about to start drinking and drugging again. It’s a theory.

I’ve come to realize that I really had no idea how old I looked to other people.  I thought I just looked really shitty for a 35 or 40 year old – I didn’t realize that I looked exactly how old I am.  Fuck. I’m 56. And instead of feeling really great about that – I’m feeling like I’m a weirdo – because instead of just being out with friends – I’m out with my kids – according to your questions, or glares, or whispers. And I’m not fishing for compliments folks.  I’m good. Ish. I’m okay. No need to tell me otherwise.

I write about age a lot and I think it’s because it’s been the hardest thing for me to wrap my head around because my number just doesn’t match the number I feel and you people keep reminding me of it every time you ask me if I’m someones  mother. So please stop it. I’m trying to have a nice day and you keep ruining it. Also – just because I wear flat shoes and have tattoos doesn’t mean I’m a lesbian. I mean, I might be one day – but I’m not today. So please stop making me tell you I’m not someones mother and I’m not gay. If either of those two things change – you’ll be the first to know.