All posts for the month February, 2018

Free The Nipple

Published February 13, 2018 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

I don’t know who started this campaign and or why but I’m ready to join! Put me in coach – my new nipples are ready to play!  Well almost. Thats right – new nipples who dis? While other women are out there shoving plastic body parts into their torsos to make it look like Barbie moved in up under her tank top – i was taking a knife to the nip and making them the perfect fit to my smaller G cup to B cup boobies.  I’ll never understand getting your breasts enlarged.  Lifted maybe – but enlarged?  Why add a shelf to a perfectly lovely wall?  You can’t hang anything on a shelf. Duh. Unfortunately my left boob settled in kind of a wacky way and while ‘One Wonky Boob’ would have been a good name for a second book – I had been waiting years to fix mine.  My plastic surgeon however had been waiting years to trim my nips.  She said they were way too big now and I had to agree – they were starting to point down and quite frankly the nether region is another body part that could use less pointing to and so I agreed to slice and dice.

My surgery was scheduled for thursday.  I decided to quit smoking pot for a couple of weeks before the surgery as I don’t think anyone understands how it mixes with anesthesia and if I recalled correctly – the last time I had surgery I wound up puking into a target bag in a strip mall in front of a really handsome man.  I wasn’t taking any chances this time.  The night before the surgery the anesthesiologist called to go over my medical history.  When I proudly proclaimed I was weed free he said “well that was dumb.”  Perfect. Thanks. But still I abstained.  I took an uber to the surgery because you have to be picked up and wheeled out when you’re done. It was an outpatient surgery. You can heal at home or in one of those swanky LA recovery places.  I’ve been in one of those.  It’s like heavens waiting room for the people who spent a little extra money getting pretty for God.  I would heal at home with my friend Chelsea providing nursing duties. She can’t boil water but she loves looking at weird scars and popping other peoples zits so i thought she was the perfect choice.  She also volunteered.  Because she’s an angel sent from heaven.

Right before I went into the operating room – I changed into my robe and shower cap and booties and immediately took a selfie. Then I deleted it because I didn’t want that to be the last picture of me on my phone when I woke up dead because I decided to undergo the all important nipple trim wonky boob fix surgery.  My doctor came in and drew on my boobs and nipples and said something about taking fat from one and stitching the other and blah blah blah “I”m going to give you ballerina boobs” and that was all I needed to hear. She could have said – in order to do his I need to pull your anus up through your throat and so you’ll be shitting out of your mouth for the rest of your life but I didn’t care.  I was going to have ballerina boobs.  Then the hot anesthesiologist came in.  Ladies – find a hot man who can legally knock you out and make him your own.  This is a life goal.  He asked me if I wanted to “walk into the OR like a champ.”  I didn’t know what this meant – but we walked in and I immediately freaked out.  Instruments and lights and knives and this is not how patients on Grey’s Anatomy do shit – please knock me out.  The next thing  I remember was Chelsea standing next to my bed and her beautiful smiling face – videotaping me – with my permission – because thats what good friends to do each other.  I tried to argue the wheelchair exit away but they weren’t hearing it and in fact I was so drugged when I left that I could have been strapped to an alpaca for all I knew.  Was I chelsea?

Once home – Chelsea made dinner. I have the video to prove it – and I proceeded to ignore all the home care instructions despite nurse not so ratchet reminding me.  Don’t eat salt. Eat super mild. Relax.  I got super high and ate everything in sight and had an amazing night on the couch.  I paid the price the next day with 24 hours of vomiting and a distended stomach that could rival a poor starving child.  For three days I’ve been stopped up more than a pinata at a blind kids birthday party but I”m officially now on the mend after taking all the gas x and unfortunately finding out the hard way you don’t need TWO little dulcolax pills.  My boob area looks like I was rammed by a car head on – and god knows whats happened to my poor nipples but I sure hope we got it right this time because I don’t think I”ll be doing more elective surgery anytime soon. Well maybe my neck.  It looks so much older than my nipples now.


Published February 7, 2018 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

The truth is – I was never really surprised by the fucked up things men did to me. Confused, disgusted, horrified, annoyed – yes – but never surprised.  I think I read the instruction booklet they come with at a very early age and committed it to memory – and so when I played with them – it was my own fault for opening the box that wasn’t meant for girls over the age of 13 anyway.  I’m not saying I forgive men for their sometimes dastardly deeds – I’m saying I was raised at a time when you were taught that they suck and are dangerous and are not meant to be trusted with your heart and emotions.  Sorry dudes – but when I was born in 1960 – girls were raised to believe we were the lesser creatures and taught how to deal with it.  I chose to be loud and fight. Others chose to marry them – have their children – divorce them – and are now struggling for their independence without them.  The problem is – I never got those global warnings about my relationships with women – and these are the people who have hurt me the most.  The surprise i feel has been reserved for the women who have fucked me over and over and over again – and almost always in the name of men.

Watch two young women meet each other on the street or in a bar or anywhere actually and follow their eye lines.  They immediately look each other up and down from head to toe.  They are literally sizing up their competition – because somehow it’s been ingrained in our brains that we are competing with each other – for jobs, for men, for anything and everything.  They immediately start talking to each other about how they respectively look and it’s all done through a series of lies they will then take back to another female friend and gossip about horrifically.  You know you do it.  And it’s not just how we look – it’s how we live our lives that can spark an intense jealousy.

In the workplace I have had male bosses who grabbed me, pinched me, showed me pics of their dicks, and generally made me feel like I wasn’t worthy to be a part of the big picture of whatever show I was working on.  I got louder, prouder, and eventually became a part of the conversation – shoving myself where I wasn’t supposed to be.  But its the female bosses who have left their indelible marks on me.  The one who told me I was stupid.  The one who told me I was a terrible writer.  The one who tried to steal my boyfriend.  The one who physically threatened me.  The one who tried to sue me.  I could go on but I won’t.  I’ve even done it myself. I once told a female writer in my room to start acting like a dude because all of her female empowerment speeches were shutting the men down and they weren’t pitching.  I should have told them to sack up and act like women.  Over the years I realized that I seem to bring out the worst in women bosses – and so I stayed away.  I’m not so much of a threat anymore and so its becoming easier – but when i walk into a meeting with a new woman – they still size me up and down.  They stare at my tattoos and to see if they can find some deep inner meaning to them.  It’s easier with men now because I”m sexually invisible.  But its the women I crave to know and understand because I know we speak the same language.  We have the same history.

Ladies – we never have each others backs. We are the first to slut shame, fat shame, or just plain shame shame each other.  I do it all the time. I’m not proud of it.  It’s like when you see a celebrity and her boyfriend breakup and you’re filled with joy – like he’s actually available now and he’s actually going to date you next. He’s not.  We say – well she’s probably crazy so he dumped her.  We never think it’s him.  It probably is.

I never got married or had kids.  It just didn’t happen for me.  I have many reasons I believe why but it doesn’t matter.  I now crave the company of good women.  Part of it is that I’m now  fifty seven and as I’ve said I’ve become completely invisible to the opposite sex.  But its a shame its taken male abandonment to realize just how much I  need women.  It’s a shame we don’t realize that we are on the same team and while I know its not us versus them – it fucking is.

I’m sure someone smart has written a ton of books on this subject but who has time for that.  I do have time for some lady hugs – so lets do that.  Lets not wait until we hit our fifties to realize that we truly need each other.  That we are all sisters in this family called life.

I hope the #metoo movement continues to bring women together because if we don’t have each others backs – we’re doomed.