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All posts for the month April, 2017

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.

Shoe The Hell Am I?

Published April 9, 2017 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

For a solid twenty years, I would not be caught dead in a pair of flats. Ew. No. Gross. Dumpy. Fattie. Blah. Boring. Midget (calm down everyone) Low heeled loser. Way to look invisible. Yeah, I think that covers it. I wore high heels the way most women wear a comfy pair of walking shoes, which, if you love me you’ll never let me wear these and immediately knock me down in the street and steal them if I’m wearing them, and then burn them and hide all the evidence.  I could walk around in high heels for hours. In fact, I could and have raced people in high heels to prove my agility. I would spend an entire work day in my heels and never take them off – but that’s mostly because if I did my feet would swell up like pot bellied pigs and I’d never be able to stuff the porky little toes back into their cramping torture chambers. And trust me – some of my shoes were just that. In fact – Christian Louboutin – who makes shoes that look like art – is a mother fucking sado-masochist. I’m convinced he’s trying to wipe out women one D’orsay pump at a time. My love affair with shoes really started in los angeles because you can’t wear high heels in New York City. Well you can, but by the end of one block they look like a dog chewed the heels and you have been stuck in a crack so many times cab drivers and construction workers think you’re wasted because you keep falling out of your shoes. I can’t tell you how many times a sidewalk crack ripped the shoe right off my foot at the most inopportune time. I guess there really is no opportune time to take a header in Manhattan. Now, it’s not unusual for a woman to admit that she loves high heels – in fact it pretty much makes me the most basic bitch around. I once had to make a Sophie’s choice in a Saks Fifth Avenue between five pairs of shoes because I could only afford four of them and I know it’s not cool to compare picking shoes to dead babies but for me at that time – it was pretty painful. I look at beautiful shoes and drool immediately starts pooling at the corners of my mouth. I must have them. I have to have them. I will die if I don’t have them. Well – I fucking have them ALL now folks and about thirty thousand dollars later – I’m over them. Now what!? Resell – which is leading to shame… extreme shame – for what I have wasted. And I’m not talking about the ones I wore – I’m talking about the ones I HAD TO HAVE – that have spent more time on a dusty shelf in my closet than on my feet.   And you know what’s truly frightening? As I try to unload these leathery suedy sparkly little pieces of real estate – I’m finding out that the jokes on me – because the only true designer pieces that appreciate over the years are the ones that were worn by famous people – like Madonna – and in the words of Joan Cusack in the greatest (only) movie ever made about Staten Island, “Working Girl” – “sometimes I sing and dance around the house in my underwear. Doesn’t make me Madonna. Never will.” So unless you’re a famous person, who probably got them for free because celebrities pay for nothing and then resell everything at a much higher price, you can kiss a profit good bye. If you ever see a famous person physically hand over a credit card for a piece of fashion you should take a picture of it because it is more rare than a big foot sighting unless it’s a famous Trans person shopping and then it actually could BE a big foot sighting. Calm down folks some Men who Become women still have big feet. But what is unusual for me – is the end of my love affair with shoes. I didn’t stop wearing them because I couldn’t walk in them – I stopped wearing them because I got fit – I got leaner – and I feel just a little bit taller in my body. In fact – I feel great in my flats – until I stand next to my tall girlfriends and then I feel like their old feeble friend or a lesbian – because  I also have tattoos and I guess short and tatted makes you a lesbian based on the amount of ladies who hit on me – but for the most part – I enjoy a nice flat. Now don’t get me wrong – I am keeping plenty of my high heels and I’m purring over kitten heels the way any 56 year old careening into the senior citizen home would – but flat is where it’s at for me right now. Take note though – when you see me in a business setting surrounded by men – I’ll be wearing those sky high shoes – because nothing says don’t listen to her – like a 5’4” jewish chick – no matter how loud I am. Sometimes you just gotta be eye to eye – to be heard like a guy.

How To Lose A Thigh In Ten Days

Published April 7, 2017 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

I have finally unlocked the secret to weight loss for me and before you start rolling your eyes and banging your coffee cup on the table and bitching about what a liar I am and how I’m naturally thin and why do I care what I weigh when I obviously don’t gain weight ever – trust me when I say – EVERYONE STRUGGLES WITH WEIGHT IN THEIR OWN WAY – and if they’re not struggling with it they are sitting in a big fat leather barka lounger that has two of those cup holder thingys and they’re eating a deep fried chocolate covered cheeto out of one and sipping a chocolate milk shake from the other right now. They’re also probably watching Fox News. Yes I just called all right wingers fat. It’s not the worst thing I’ve called them. Losing weight is hard – if it wasn’t – America wouldn’t be obese. And we are. Just look at our president. That man hasn’t seen his penis in years. If he has one that is. Its obviously WAY smaller than mine. Now I love food. Correction – I love “good” food. And sometimes that food isn’t good for me but I love it anyway. I talk about food the way men talk about sexy women or the way women talk about sexy shoes. Sitting down for a great meal with friends is one of my most favorite things to do. I think cooking for friends is also an important part of showing them just how much you love them and I don’t cook for just anyone. (So yeah, if you haven’t been to my house for a meal – I hate you. There I said it. I’ve been looking for a way to tell you for years now and I’m masking it within the pages of this blog in hopes that you’ll get it.) I also love going to a great restaurant and I will spend hours on my computer looking up and researching the best places to go. That used to take about ten minutes in Los Angeles but now we are exploding with good food of all shapes and sizes. If you mention a neighborhood to me – I will tell you the best restaurants there before I tell you what its even like as a hood. I talk about food while I’m eating food – in fact I’m usually planning my next meal as I’m eating my current meal. Chefs are rock stars to me and now that I’ve been eating vegan for a few months again – people who can turn plants into amazing things are well… amazing. Has everyone stopped rolling their eyes from me saying Vegan yet? Okay – lets say I’m a Pescavegan because I think I may start eating fish again – that is – as soon as I can unhear the sound of the fishies tiny ocean filled tears thanks to a story someone told me about how they suffer on the fishing line.  But I will eat a fucking tuna goddammit.

My biggest problem with food is – I eat it when I shouldn’t. Which is in bed – late at night. I’ve written about it before – the horror of waking up with a melted chocolate in my bed and once figuring out its chocolate – realizing I have once again eaten pretty much while sleeping. I have woken up with so many food remnants in my bed it looks like someone threw a dinner party on me. I have had gum in my hair or glued to my sheets more times than I care to tell.   So – what’s the secret to weight loss for me?

It’s a little thing called SLEEP. It is something that has evaded me for years. Its’ one of the things that led me to marijuana which is one of the things that lead me to eating sour patch kids at two am. Well sour patch kids with a side of everything on the left side of my fridge and the lower shelf of my pantry. But when my meditation teacher daddy took away my weed toys he also took away my ability to sleep. And so I have tried the horrible, terrible, don’t try this at home kids method of going to sleep – I took a sleeping pill.   AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Oh mystery of life at last I found you. I dropped six pounds in ten days just by sleeping and not eating a garbage truck of garbage.

So there you have it folks. Take drugs. Lose weight. THIS MESSAGE HAS BEEN SPONSORED BY NO ONE WITH A FUCKING BRAIN IN THEIR HEAD.

Good night.