27 year itch
27 years on planet earth and no ones kicked this woman off yet, throwing my heels and purse behind me. That’s kind of an accomplishment yeah? I’ll go with yeah. “They” (those that are “they”) say 27 is a hard year. I spoke with one of “they” a 34-year-old dude who was in my evening religious studies class in college. He said, “27 is a hard one. You start evaluating what you thought your life would be like and what it is. More often than not people are disappointed with what it is.” Nineteen and naïve I asked, “Why?” He said, “Well you find that things you wanted to accomplish in life are a lot harder to accomplish than you thought and maybe even you’ve missed your boat to success.” My thoughts at 19? “Lose the windbreaker old man and I’ll buy you a shot with my fake ID…you need one.”
But, in all honesty when I turned 27-yesterday morning I did wake up with an “itch”. A discontentment if you will. I would like to pawn it off straight to my father for repeatedly telling me over the past 4 months…”You gotta get pregnant HonestChitChat! Women who have children after 30 have a higher risk of developing ovarian cancer. I am worried about you getting cancer. (He lets out a dramatic sigh of dissaproval and scratches his head as if I have passed my itch to him… like this…
cute huh? )I am worried about you getting cancer. Leave it to daddy to put, cancer, sex and mortality all in the same sentence. Then there’s that AMAZING children’s book I wrote that’s been rejected from 5 publishers….the writing career I’m sitting on….the charity that’s taking a gazillion years for me to start up with the articles of incorporation sitting in a lawyers office…the fact that I don’t have a “career” but starting today 4 part time jobs….and no home boy to say, “honey I’m home!” to. My itch is turning into a rash.
Cause like what if there really is a bald spot on the back of my head that’s grossing out potential suitors, that no body is telling me about? What if my writing is just more Internet commotion adding to the loco motion? What if my inability to focus in an office environment of fluorescent lights and wear khaki pants and collared shirts 4 days a week keeps me in 4 part time jobs with no health insurance! OMG! I feel the need for an anti-biotic. What kind of freakin’ life is that right?…I guess it would be my 27 year old life and ya know, now that I think about it….. that ain’t so bad. I mean I’m not advocating no health insurance (BTW Obama baby…make it happen) But, I am saying there comes a point in all of our lives that we need to take full responsibility for our birds nest and the twigs that it is. (I’m still itchy!)
When I was a little honestchitchat with pigtails and white pinafores I used to take loooooooooong drives all over the place with my mom and dad. One day we were driving in Downtown LA. (Where when I needed to go to the bathroom they would pull over, grab a newspaper to cover my caboose and tell me to go in the gutter of Sunset Boulevard, but that’s another story) I started getting nauseous from the up and down from the potholes in the street I asked my mom, “Why are they always fixing the streets in Newport Beach when they are already fixed and not fixing these streets? These streets need them more. My stomach hurts mom.” My mom laughed at my observation and looked at me in the rear view mirror and said, “Tax dollars cutie. The people in Newport make more money and are taxed more so they can put more money into their own city.” I replied, “They should share with LA!” Mom’s reply, “That’s not how it works.” What I gather from that conversation is, my life, my surroundings are the result of how much time and work I put into my goals. No one else can change my life, but me. If I was to guess, I would say that the itch derives from the the thought, “Man I still have more work to do? When can I just move to Costa Rica, drink my pina colada, write for ½ the day and lay out for the rest?” Maybe the itch would have some reprieve if it got that super cool ointment called “Man I still have a lot of work to do and dude, I’m so excited to do it!” I will not focus on the destination; instead I will enjoy the journey.
I will not focus on the destination; instead I will enjoy the journey.
I will not focus on the destination; instead I will enjoy the journey.
I will not focus on the destination; instead I will enjoy the journey.
I will not focus on the destination; instead I will enjoy the journey.
Gold Diggers think twice…
Some very interesting comments for Gold Diggers can be found here….
http://www.hegnar.no/nyhetsoversikt/article231162.ece
made me laugh.
xoxo,
I WANT YOU…
I broke up with my boyfriend on a Sunday. We were in his backyard. We didn’t bother to sit in the chairs we just sat on the cement and looked at each other with that torturous expression of defeat. I told him that I had never loved anyone as much as I had loved him, but I knew I couldn’t marry him. We were silent for a long time…then he stabbed me…(no, not really, would have made some great literature though) …he, the person who I loved the most in the whole wide world, wiped away his tears, cleared his throat and said, “You’ll never find better.”
I didn’t cry… I sobbed ….the whole 35 minute drive home. By the time I got out of the car my green shorts were drenched in salty tears. Needless to say I was a hot mess at work on Monday. By 1 o’clock I had already used up two boxes of tissue and was working on a roll of toilette paper when a girlfriend of mine gave me specific directions to leave the office and eat. I put on my big OC sunglasses and drove down the street to Wendy’s. I took my potato outside to eat. The words “You’ll never get better” kept racing through my head. I questioned my decision, I questioned my worth, I questioned if anyone would ever love me as much as he did? I felt ill and then a boy of about 14 years old walked out of Wendy’s and straight up to my table. Stringy hipster blonde hair, skate boarder shirt and pants. He said, “Excuse me Miss? Hi, I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re beautiful. That’s all I wanted to say. You’re really beautiful. Okay, bye.” And walked away.
I was startled for a second and then I had a moment of clarity, “I am beautiful. This isn’t the last relationship I’m ever going to have. I’m gonna be okay.” Then I wondered what was that boy doing here? I was working in the business district of Irvine. There wasn’t a school, mall or skate boarding ramp for miles. Why did he even come up to me? I didn’t see any boys waiting on the side of the building laughing over a dare. Maybe you would sum up that experience as a mere coincidence. A spoof. I choose to call it a message from God that said, “I want you to know that no matter what, you’re loved.”
I didn’t think about that blonde teenager until tonight when I was talking to my lady friend Lindsey about her trip to Africa. She has just returned from a Mission Trip with our church ROCKHarbor. She was telling me about the wound clinic they held. Adults, kids and toddlers wobbled up to these tents to have their massive wounds mended. I guess these wounds are pretty gnarly. They start out as a small cut from a tree branch while their walking in a field. Because they don’t take regular showers that small cut gathers dirt. While they sleep flies start to feed off the cut. Eventually this small cut turns into a massive wound simply because of the lack of a shower and a clean living environment. So Lindsey and her Mission Team posse take some Benzyl Peroxide, Beta dine, Neosporin and band aids from the great US of A and simply mend their wounds. It isn’t a cure for AIDS it isn’t enough food to feed the entire country breakfast, it’s simply a message that says, “Hey I know your living condition really sucks right now, but I care about you and I’d like to give you a little lovin’ .”
When I heard about the Wound Clinic I instantly thought about the blonde haired boy at Wendy’s. I wondered if those people in Africa felt the same kind of reprieve I felt in the moment that I felt bruised and weak. I wonder if they were feeling unloved, forgotten, unnecessary human beings? I wonder what they thought when they met people from the other side of the world who just wanted to clean their wound? I wondered if they thought the same things I was thinking, “Where did you come from? Why are you being so nice? Why do you care?” And I wonder if the heard the message that I got that I mattered and no matter what I am still lovable.
Now you and I could get into a whole lot of arguments or as my dad likes to call them “discussions” about if Americans should be spending their money, time and energy flying around the world and helping people, when they could help their starving and wounded children down the street. We could argue how on earth I get the audacity to compare my spoiled and self centered American heart break to the children dying in Africa of Malaria. We could put our energy into that or we could try to show some humanity to our fellow earthlings…We could try to find some way to tell perfect strangers, “I want you to know that you’re loved.”
I saw the movie Away We Go last night. Friggin’ brilliant! One scene that stuck out to me is when the lead gal is really, truly scared and worried. The main dude character (Jim from the Office) just pulls her close to him. He wraps his arms around her, he holds her tighter and tighter. She just sinks into him for comfort and he gives it to her. You get the sense that he’s got her back….that she’s gonna be okay. When I saw that moment between them and I just couldn’t think of a more visual display of the human heart. A longing to be wanted, a longing to be loved, a longing to be cared for and a longing to be embraced…and held on to very tight.
I think if we were to eavesdrop on the minds around us we would find more heads that find themselves in the turmoil that “Maybe I’m not lovable?”…I’m not trying to get all hokie here, I’m just stating the facts, we’re human guys. NEWSFLASH: We ALL need love, We all need to be reminded t hat we are not forgotten and that we matter. I challenge you to spread the message this summer. It doesn’t have to be some big freakin thing. It could be daisies on your co-workers desk with a note that says. “You rock!” It could be just giving all of your friends hugs when you see them. Or you can go big and go on a mission trip with ROCKHarbor. I’m gonna do it. I don’t think I’m ready for the huts of Africa, but I think I’ll start in the huts of Watt’s in LA. In my very humble, yet very correct opinion I don’t think it really matters if we tell people their beautiful, put clean bandages on little kids or give the homeless man $5. It doesn’t matter the size of the message it just matters that its sent. Lets spread the lovin’ this summer. I’ll leave you with this very profound motto of mine that gets me in trouble and embarrassment from time to time, but it is out weighed by the amount of love and joy I am able to spread. “Lifes short, speak up.”
The most BEAUTIFUL WOMEN…
Maybe it’s because I live in Southern California, maybe it’s because I work with women with Eating Disorders or maybe it’s because we ‘re just too lazy to read the LA Times and consider something better to talk about, but lately I have found the debate over “whose a beautiful woman” to be on the rise. There are definitely some very passionate Angelina Jolie lip lovers, the D-cup envying Scarlett Johansen fans and some pale skin loving Kate Blanchett groupies….eh….to each their own. However, the debate is all relative to me. I mean maybe it’s fun to compare calves, butts, lips and hips, but If you ask me I think to really know if someone is beautiful you have to meet them in person.
You know how you can think a guy is so hot from across the room, but then he comes up to you and makes a comment about your butt in those jeans and all the sudden his smile isn’t so bright? Or a really beautiful woman you just can’t take your eyes off of starts talking about what a loser her dad is, all the sudden she looks kind of dull and ashy? Truly beautiful people have an aura about them. It’s like an energy, a magnet, maybe its a force that says, “Procreate with me! I”m beautiful and you want to touch me!” But, I definitely don’t think you can know that energy through a magazine cover….you have to feel it for yourself.
On the other hand we have to remember that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Maybe some people like the chauvinistic guy who compliments the hours they have worked in the gym for their ripe gluteus maximus…and maybe some people like a blunt girl who tells perfect strangers that she has nick named her dad the “prick-meister-D.” But personally, I don’t. Who I think is one of the most beautiful women on the face of the earth is my 28 year old writing mentor, Jenny.
I have known Jenny for about 4 years now. Off the bat she is incredibly aesthetically beautiful. A petite, long haired brunette with big chocolate brown eyes, full red lips and a spray of sun kissed freckles across her face. At our first encounter I found her appearance and coy demeanor to be rather intimidating. I am someone who gets a lot of strokes to my ginormous ego by leading a room with humor and entertainment. Granted, I feed off other peoples applause and laughter. But, Jenny didn’t break out in laughter at every politically incorrect thing I said. Instead she would just raise her chin, squint her eyes and give a toothless grin.
If I had to tell you the most beautiful thing about Jenny, the thing that puts her whole package together, that makes you just want to squeeze her waist and pinch her cheeks it’s the fact that her whole body encapsulates A WOMAN THAT BELIEVES IN HERSELF AND KNOWS SHE IS BEAUTIFUL. Jenny has no hesitation about carving her own path in life far from the traditional American, college graduated woman. She studies people and life, she sees what feels good and what doesn’t and she goes from there. One might call her a rather unconventional woman. A talented educated , writer that has been offered amazing opportunities to work some very coveted jobs, but instead she works as a waitress and does some freelance writing in order to save money to travel. Right now she’s in love with a man who wants to marry her and be with her, but instead of doing the traditional thing of jumping into an engagement and getting married she has chosen to decline his invitation to live with him and instead continue pursuing the travel, writing and life goals that she has made for herself.
If you want to get sexy tips from anyone you should go over to Jenny’s house and just watch her. I think the sexiest I have ever seen her is during one of our “Mentoring Meetings”, when she was laying on the floor in her bedroom, she was wearing black faded yoga pants and a black tank top. She got all comfortable laying on her side and all the sudden said, “I’m really hungry. Excuse me.” She came back into the room with a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios sat down, looked me straight in the eyes, squinted and said, “So tell me, how are you doing? Don’t leave anything out.” I think I had to collect myself before I answered because I was just so taken back that a woman could be so sexy and beautiful when she’s sweaty, in faded clothes and eating her breakfast. So often we think of sexy as short skirts, smoky eye makeup, cleavage and cocktails, but those things would make Jenny just like any other chick from So Cal. She doesn’t need those things because she knows she is beautiful just the way she is. You can tell that her looks, her weight, her love life and her job are all things that she is proud of and doesn’t have to apologize for. Now, that’s sexy.
I wonder if we took celebrities off of their pedestal of attractiveness and had a little chat with them, how many would carry a strong enough character to match up to their looks? What makes a woman beautiful? It’s a very interesting and timely topic. Today we live in a world where 10 year old girls put themselves on diets…( I’m not lying read it here ) They have obviously gotten the message from Darwin that the pretty girl lives longer. Theres nothing wrong with beauty and sex appeal, I consider it good exercise for the eyes 
But lets not forget what the “fairest of them all is” (thank you Snow White) The most beautiful woman is A WOMAN THAT BELIEVES IN HERSELF AND KNOWS SHE IS BEAUTIFUL. A woman who doesn’t apologize for her choices, her weight or her clothes is beautiful. A woman like Jenny.
“To be nobody but yoursel in a world which is doing its best, night and day to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight and never stop fighting.”
– E.E. Cummings
I got into a CHICK FIGHT…
I got into a chick fight…I seriously don’t think there is going to be anyone more shocked to read those words than I am right now. Trust me, if you knew me you would NEVER guess that I, the church goin, baby sittin’, cookie bakin , smile wearin, girly girl from Newport would be seen throwin blows at another chick in front of Rudy’s on the Peninsula. But, as they say, “Life is stranger than fiction.”
Now if you were to pull me aside while I lay tanning by the pool on a warm June afternoon and ask me to make up a scenario of a real life chick fight I could possibly get into I would probably sit up, reapply some tanning oil and say, “Okay, well first I would have to be a very sunk drunk off four shots of Gold Schlagger, 3 shots of patron, 4 Margaritas and one Adios Mother F*$#%^. It would definitely be in the middle of a cheesy casino in Vegas like the Stardust at like 3 in the morning. It would be started after some chick cracked out on coke tried to take my winnings from my $3600 jackpot, after I put $100 on red 24 at the roulette table. She would be running for the exit, but I would jump on her back in the middle of the casino. All of my chips would go flying in the air, but passerby’s wouldn’t try to gather them. They would be too fixated on me trying to hand cuff the crack head with the elastic from my hair.” Now, that is exactly what DIDN’T happen.
What did happen is I was completely sober last Saturday evening. Yes, SOBER. As in one RedBull and a water. I strolled on down to Rudy’s with a lady friend of mine who was meeting up with a boy. The boy was super chill, his wing-men were witty and cute, but his posse of lady friends sitting on the patio weren’t too friendly. They sat on the patio while I danced on tables and tried to get everyone in the bar to do the dance moves to Thriller with me. I’m just one of those people who don’t need alcohol to make a fool of themselves, I can do that all on my own. It also helps that I ran into a few guy friends from High School. They joined in on my dancing antics.
It’s funny dancing with boys that you’ve known since the 5th grade. You remember the 8th grade dance when they built up sweat beads just putting their hand on your waist, then they build up the courage to touch your butt at prom (of course after they’ve drank a six pack of beer with a straw out of their jacket.) But when your 26 and have a body full of testosterone ready to mount, they don’t hesitate to grab, grind and swing you around the local pub like you’re going for gold on, Dancing with the Stars. Now, I was laughing my head off, the chicks on the patio…not so much. I kept seeing them glaring me down through the big glass wall between the dance floor and the patio. Next thing I know one of the guys with the group of girls comes up to me and starts dancing. I go with it. He moves me across the dance floor/bar floor…I go with it. He puts his hand down my pants and tries to put his hand up my….I don’t go with it. Assuming he’s drunk and out of it. I push him away and go find my guy friends. They say, “Whats wrong?” I just bottle it in and smile and say, “Nothin’ I’m cool.”
A couple hours later my guy friends leave, I’m showing off solos on the dance floor when another one of the guys from their group approaches me to dance…I go with it. He goes low to the floor…I go low to the floor….He goes super low…I go super low… He turns around and practically sits on me as I fall back on the floor. I see him get up, walk away and go high-five the girls on the patio…I don’t go with it or bottle it in. I walk up to the girls on the patio and say, “I’m sorry, but I have noticed a lot of negative energy from you tonight. Did I do something to offend you and your friends?” The chick with the glasses says, “No, honey. You’re just too drunk to realize what’s going on. Don’t worry about it” I say, “Actually, I’m not drunk. I don’t drink.” She looks at me like a very prejudice and ignorant woman looks when she’s made a very big mistake.” I say, I just like to have fun, but I feel like I have offended you guys someway and I’d like to clear the air.” She says, “Don’t worry about it.” And gives me a fake smile. Fuming I go up to my lady friend and say, “We need to leave.” We go to the bathroom and I explain everything that has happened over the course of the evening. She says she wants to try to smooth it out with the girls since they are close with the guy she likes. As I’m in the bathroom I repeat the words, “Integrity and respect…treat all people with integrity and respect. Don’t hurt anybody HonestChitChat. Violence is never the answer. Integrity and Respect.”
I take a deep breath and we leave the bathroom. MY lady friend goes up to one of the girls to talk it out. I see the guy who tried to stick his hand up my crotch and the sanity switch in my head loses power. I go up to the guy and push him against the glass wall between the bar and the patio. He had his back to me (I’m a cheap fighter) A few of the girls scream while I go “bam- bam style” pounding on his back. I don’t know who, but someone pulls me off of him. All of the sudden 5 angry, clenched fisted girls come after me. My lady friends boy toy who is like 6 bagillion feet tall puts his arms out and his wing span holds all these girls and guys back while security tells me I need to leave the building.
I laugh it off while I strut to the car, I gloat to my lady friend, “Don’t mess with me!” Then 20 paces away from my car comes all of those 5 angry girls after me. One girl grabs my shoulders and shakes me. She says, “Who do you think you are? You can not get away with hitting my friends! You are going to be so sorry! ” She starts pushing me to the ground while I yell out what that guy did to me in between crying and screaming. She pulls me up and yells, “You’re a liar! He’s my fiancé! I have known him for 18 years! He would never do that!” My lady friend tries to get between us. The girl lets go of one of my shoulders and grabs her arm. Another girl comes up and grabs her other arm. My lady friend says, “She wouldn’t lie. She doesn’t’ lie.” The girl screams back at her, “She’s a whore who dances on tables! Of course she would lie.” My lady friend says, “Okay lets say she’s lying then. She’s a whore who lies. Then you have no reason to hurt her. She’s just a stupid girl who made it up.” There’s a crowd of guys watching now and people saying, “Just let them go.” She lets go of us both as she screams that she’s going to find me and to never come back there again. I get into my car. My lady friend and I both burst into tears when the “wing man” runs up to my car and knocks on my window. I blow him off and drive away.
I believe that in every person I meet, in every experience I have there is something for me to learn from. This may sound like a joke coming from a girl from Newport, but I think this experience allowed me to truly empathize what it’s like to be racially stereotyped. (*No, not know what its like, EMPATHIZE) I mean I don’t know what it was about me, but whether it be my curly brown hair, the way I was dressed in jeans, a pink top and silver high heels, the way I danced with my friends or the volume of my scream when I danced with my friends, but this group of people decided they did not like me. When I did try to make peace with them I was mocked. When I stuck up for myself the situation turned dangerous. I’m reading the Autobiography of Malcolm X right now. Its interesting the parallels I find in that book and this situation. I know I was wrong to attack that guy like that, but I stuck up for myself. And as far as I’m concerned up until the point that I threw that guy into the glass I was keeping my side of the street clean as a human being. I was not intoxicated, I was enjoying a night out with friends and was simply being my fun loving self. But, somehow being “myself” was not okay around these people. I’ll stop making a grocery list defending why I am most definitely not in the wrong and I try to see where I am….
I admit that I am guilty of stereotyping people. I have looked at people and have assumed that I know their back story, their motives and what they ate for dinner. I’ve been on this earth for 26 years and don’t ya know I know a thing or two about people. But, what I didn’t know until the other night at Rudy’s is how harmful and unserving that skill is. It is my goal this week to try to talk to the people I think I would have nothing in common with. Talk to people who I have overlooked and usually ignored. Maybe my prejudices will be somewhat true, but maybe they won’t. What I do know is that what happened to me the other night should never happen to anyone. I can’t intervene in every bar in America and as nice as it would be for every person on earth to read my blog, that isn’t mechanically possible. What I can do though is control myself.
Peace Out,
HonestChitChat AKA”The OC Rocky”
Why Men Love Bitches – Book Review
First of all, 5 years ago I vowed to NEVER read Why Men Love Bitches. At the time I was dating a guy I was planning on marrying and had him eating out of my hand. Second of all, 5 years later he’s married to someone else and I’m livin’ the eccentric life of a single gal in Orange County, CA.. In other words I sucked it up and read the book.
The book basically told me that I screwed up the relationships with the last 2 guys I was dating because I wasn’t bitchy enough. My thoughts? Agreed.
You see, since my ex I have gone into every relationship thinking “you are totally in love with me just like Alex and will do anything for me just like he did! So I’ll do anything for you! Just ask!” I shake my head at the shameful appearance of the wide eyed, genuine brunette smiling at the opposite end of the two seater
The reality is as much as we all love to make ourselves out to be these brave and authentic people that say, “I don’t play games” it is in fact necessary to the mating rituals that games are played with fierce competitiveness and the drive to win. Not only must game rules be set, but they must be followed by all participating players. Otherwise you’ll end up the victim of a Mike Tyson melt down and go home with 2/3 of an ear.
Now, even if you think you don’t play games, stop being all coi and innocent already because you do! Chances are you do you just don’t know it. The trick as a woman is to know what team your playing for. For the sake of the book review we’ll call the “Winning Team” the “Bitches” and the “Losing Team” the “Nice girls”
Bitches play by the following rules:
1.) He texts you upon his first mode of communication. A Bitch texts back, “Why don’t you call me. I don’t like texting” Boom! He knows your not an insecure girl who can’t talk on the phone nor do you have time to be flirting with someone over the connection of a satelite in the sky. You do the real thing. Man up or move!
2.) He says, “hey come on over to my house around 11, we’ll watch a movie.” A Bitch says, “I have to work in the morning.” A Bitch values her sleep over some retard who can’t make plans to hang out on a Friday night at normal hours.
3.) He gets in the car without opening her door. The Bitch stands outside the door waiting for him to use his very capable hands and feet and get out of the car and open the door for the beautiful woman that he is priveledged enough to caddy around.
Now a nice girl, does all the lame stuff I did. *Side note- This stuff is great to do once you are IN A RELATIONSHIP with a dude, but doing any of these moves one step prior to him looking at you with those dialated eyes and caressing your moisturized hand and softly saying the words, “Babe I want an official RELATIONSHIP wit you and only you” will show a guy that you are underdefended as a “Player” in the game of dating. Thus he will ambush your fort of “Love and acceptance” and rob you dry of your time, self esteem and most likely body.
So don’t:
1.) Call or text him to hang out. Thats all on him.
2.) Bring him any kind of condolence beverage when hes sick.
3.) Get mad when he doesn’t call you in 3 days.
4.) Rearrange your schedule to hang out with him.
5.) Overlook his rude comments or behavior. Call him on it the second it happens.
All in all put up a good fight. Dating is a very competitive sport. The meek need not apply. You need to have a game plan and stick to it. You need to belive in your team the most and not trust “the enemy.” The overall goal of the “The Game” is to have that guy eating out of your hand. In all truth he wants to. My boyfriend loved eating out of my hand. It let him know that he had a strong, confident, beautiful and secure woman on his arm. He was glad to play the game with me and I with him.
I think the book is a great read. A must read really for any single woman out there. It is empowering to woman and hilarious all together. I finished it in 2 weeks (Lightening time for me!) You won’t regret reading it, I guarntee it! The nice girl in me says she loves all you Bitches out there!
xoxo,
HonestChitChat
Creating people is my biz-nass!
I was talking to the mom of one of my art students the other day. She said, “I wish I was creative like you.”
I was quick witted to say, “Oh yeah, you’re soooooooooooo not creative….you just create PEOPLE!”
I’m pretty infamous for not thinking before speaking (and not thinking before blogging for that fact) but it wasn’t until about an hour later that I realized how profound my words were, “Mothers CREATE people for this world.” I guess these words are profound to me because as a writer and artist I put a great deal of heart and soul into what I create. I subconsciously consider the following questions before I create
1.) Is this something the world needs?
2.) Is this going to give anyone else clarity or understanding for their own lives?
Now, that’s me, but I know plenty of other artists that would say, “HonestChitChat you need a tranquilizer in the @$$! What about the artists that just create cause we want to? Cause its what we do? Last I checked it’s a free country and you didn’t need a freakin’ mission statement to create something.”
The only bounce back I have give to that is, “What a shame.”
I mean if we are the artists of the world or the baby poppin mama’s of the world and for some reason the universe has decided that we have the ability to create art, write and birth children shouldn’t we be using those gifts for good?
This just makes me wonder how many women out there have children just because they can? Not necessarily for any purpose like raising kind, loving, considerate and strong human beings but just for the sake of, “I can so I will” “My friends have one, I want one too.” Or “My mom did, so will I.” How many soon to be mothers really sit down and ask themselves, “Does the world need MY baby?” “Do I want to create a person who will bring clarity and understanding to other humans lives?” Considering the number of people in therapy and correctional facilities I would assume that not many mothers do. And honestly not until now have I truly considered those questions as a potential mother.
You know that if you’ve ever been in a serious dating relationship the question always pops up over a bottle of wine, late at night while you eat calamari and talk about the future…”How many kids do you want?” You spout out your number like your spouting out your lucky roulette number in Vegas before the dealer places his hand over the table and says, “No more bets.” You preach your favorite baby names and argue the validity of the name, “Armi” as a girls name. You give a wide toothed grin as the estrogen flows through your body at the thought of your mini me running around under the moonlight with you and beau.
Now, I come from a family of 5 sisters, my mom is one of 11 kids. So whenever I spout out my number its usually high, “6 kids. 4 boys, 2 girls.” But, since pondering this topic I’m wondering if I want to have kids at all..
I look at the world today and I just get scared to make a little person and bring it here. Even if I did raise a little mini-me to be a good creature what about all of the other influences in the world that make living so hard? Like the need for wealth and status? The need for a perfect body? The hatred against gays and lesbians? Do I believe in myself enough that I could create a person strong enough to combat these evil forces ? I’m not really sure. I think I would try and do my best, but can I take on that responsibility?
I am not sure right now. I have plenty of time to think about this since I don’t even have a man in the ranks to make a baby with right now, but that’s another blog. What I am sure of is that creating is a privilege. It’s a gift that is given to a few. I challenge you to use your gift wisely and I will continue to try to think before I speak…and or create people.
“We can best help you to prevent war not by repeating your words and following your methods but by finding new words and creating new methods.”
– Virginia Woolf
Grace via nasty text message….
A couple months ago I was sitting in a meeting with my writing team. I was simultaneously listening with great intrigue and doodling my version of Van Gogh’s, “Irises” on the meeting agenda when I shot a glance at one of my editors tattoos. I have noticed a number of tattoos on him before, but never this one. It was on his forearm in 32 font script, it said, “Grace”. I remember wondering, “Why grace?” Then I was startled with, “Any thoughts HonestChitChat?” My response was, “Yes. Whoever brought the chocolate chip cookies is a lovely specimen of human being.” With a roll of the eyes the meeting was adjourned.
I didn’t really give much thought to the tattoo or the word after that meeting, until today. I was texting with a guy that I had pretty blatantly thrown some pretty low blows at. I think the highlight jab was:
Him: “I can’t call you an ass…you’re just up there on that high, high horse of yours stompin’ on me.”
Me: “Oh you’re witty…why don’t you be a man then and stand up!”
Not my brightest texting moment in time. But, it’s ironic how it ended.
Me: “So we cool?”
Him: “Absolutely.”
When I read the “Absolutely” I was reminded of the tattoo on my editors arm. And I thought, “this is grace.” I had just said some horrific, cunning, hurtful things to this guy and he never once took the low road to hurt me…. even when I deserved it.
All of the sudden this one text message, “Absolutely” highlighted all of the other areas of “grace” in my life. Like my little sister who is my best friend today. I can go to her with anything and everything and get unconditional love even though I beat her to a pulp when we were kids…that’s grace. The fact that I can come clean to people and places I have stolen from and not be shamed by the offended but, given a pat on the shoulder and a sympathetic smile, ….that’s grace. The fact that I have a body that is healthy, that I can go dancing with, swimming in the ocean with, I can digest food with and breathe clean air with after I have nearly killed it with anorexia, bulimia, compulsive overeating and alcohol ….that’s grace. The fact that I have a group of friends at church who I haven’t seen or called in months, they took care of me when I was the sickest and lowest in my life, I can walk into the weekly meeting that I haven’t attended in forever and be greeted with hugs, kisses and smiles….that’s grace. I am not deserving of the kind of forgiveness and love that people have shown me, yet they still give it by the truck full.
I tend to have very black and white thinking, “Good guy” “Bad guy” “Nice girl” “Slut” “Kind” “Mean” “Friend” “Foe” , I think after today I would fit into the least appealing categories that I tend to put others into, but they won’t let me stay there, well their grace won’t. I guess the biggest lesson that I continue to learn is that “People” just like me are not ALL bad or ALL good. We are a little bit of both. We are ALL gray. And because we are all gray, we all deserve forgiveness and grace from each other. My dad used to say, “When I’m right no one remembers, and when I’m wrong no one forgets” maybe more of us should have grace tattooed on our forearm. Starting with me.
Night night cutie pies! Xoxo, HonestChitChat
Battle of the Wills in dating…
Battle of Wills: A situation in which there are two competing people or groups, and both sides are equally determined to get what they want.
I once asked my dad, a Los Angeles defense attorney how he could sleep at night knowing that he kept child molesters, rapist and murders on our streets. He casually said, “What if they didn’t do it?” He shoveled a bite of sweet potato in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, took a gulp of wine and said, “Isn’t everyone’s innocent until their proven guilty?” If you knew my father you would toss your head back and laugh at this statement. Considering he’s a cynical, paranoid schizophrenic that doesn’t trust the barista at Starbucks to pour him black coffee without lacing it with Anthrax. You would also laugh at me if I took the term “innocent until proven guilty” and applied it to dating men. But, as the Kanarek’s are we tend to stray from our onlookers predicted direction.
I met Will at ILounge in Newport Beach. He had a great opening line he said, “You look like a fun girl. I’d like to take you out to an Italian dinner. You like Italian?” He had a thick New York accent, wasn’t hard on the eyes and was the only boy in Newport that I had ever met that wasn’t scared of carbs so I said, “Hell yeah!”
Will had serious game cause he hooked me fast. Needless to say when you don’t realize that 4 hours have gone by while you have been talking and laughing with someone you’ll want to bite onto them. And in all pathetic honesty I sincerely felt that I had hit the jackpot with Will. He was great conversation, took me out to dinner, threw compliments at me by the dozens, opened doors, called to make sure I got home okay, called me to tell me he enjoyed our dates and called days in advance to set up new dates. We talked about politics, life and families. Joked around with cabbies, with random people in the park and played football, went to the gym and even sang along to the theme song to the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. What can I say, in 4 years of dating he was the first guy who made my girlfriends shutter, “Wait….did you say you actually LIKE HIM?”
If I was an investigative and hard working attorney you would definitely have found me arguing that my client was an honorable, honest and chivalrous member of the male dating community. I would even have asked the Dating Queens and Heiresses to dub him a “Royal Catch.” But as we all know there is always another side to every story and another argument to be presented. Granted the other side showed up on a Wednesday afternoon when I had Will over to my house for lunch. Now, I know Will had been sick for the past week but I am not aware of any cold or flu that leaves the patient anxious, bouncing like a 2 year old, becoming oblivious of all manners and spewing cutting and cruel things by the mouthful. If you know of the illness here is a warning to what you have coming. Will walked in my house and opened the cabinets in my home and joked “Can I look through your stuff.” Rudely asked me, “Can I get something to drink around here?” and went through my fridge. Found some writing I was working on and mocked it saying, “This is laced with estrogen isn’t it?” At one point I tried to play with him and make him relax. I stood in front of him blocking his path, he picked me up and said, “That took a lot of effort.” Then when he grabbed his sandwich and started chowing down on it he mentioned the juice I took by his house when he was sick. He said “Oh by the way that drink you brought by my house was awful. Disgusting. But thanks I mean I appreciated it.”
You know that awesome ditzy and confused look that Jenny McCarthy does?
Yes! That one! I swear it was written all over my face. The rest of the “Will saga” was just more of the same jaw dropping, shocking and rude behavior. The worst part occurred when I had to take a deep breath and realize the truth: 1. Will just decided he didn’t like me. 2. Instead of telling me he showed me. And 3…. I…(gulp)….I was the one who defended a guilty client.
Now, in the world of heterosexual, 20 something dating we suck it up, we stand up straight, we replace their names in our phones with the words, “DONT PICK UP” and press on to the next guy. But, before I was ever a 20 something, I was human. And before I was human I was part of my dad which makes me part stubborn, Jewish attorney. And I must say I feel foolish. Foolish that I gambled my time and emotions on a crooked man. I’m angry and pissed. My poor little ego is deflated like a popped water balloon in the middle of a hot street in August.But, the one thing that I have that always consoles me at the end of the day is knowing that if things don’t go my way then maybe “my will” just wasn’t right? I have encountered several disappointments in my life, but in retrospect I can see the blessing in the losses of those battles.
I figure that Will was just on the opposite side of the spectrum of the Will for my life. Yeah, it feels like crap to have someone treat you like crap, but sometimes we need a hard, pointed dagger in our side to get us to move in the opposite direction. A lot of my days are still pretty tough, I want to control my life, I think I have the big smart ideas on whats right for me and for others, but the truth is I don’t. I am but a feeble 26 year old human being. Who has had some pretty jacked up thinking for many of those years really. The truth is I can’t trust my will, so I trust the will of God. I ask for divine direction and hopefully I follow the route. The moral of the story is when it comes to dating and relationships sometimes our verdict isn’t the last one…sometimes there is a far bigger and better plan that out does an attractive, Italian from New York….sometimes I deserve more than I think I do…..maybe you do too.
“For to win one hundred victories in one hundred battles is not the acme of skill. To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill.”
-Sun Tzu
Suicide in Paradise….
The rehab I work at is pretty idyllic. Its a gorgeous Victorian house in Newport Beach thats just steps away from the ocean. The sun shines almost every day, even in the winter, dogs groomed better than most children welcome coos and strokes and the locals say “mornin’ “while their cruising on their bikes. Newport Beach may be a “tad” pretentious, but for battling an Eating Disorder our rehab couldn’t have been dealt a better hand. Unfortunately in the hellacious and gruesome battle against an Eating Disorder a good rehab and a calm climate can only be considered a nut and bolt in the armour that it takes to suit up and combat it. Which was so evident this morning when I went in to wake up Jenn.
Making sure the girls are ready for breakfast at 7:30am is part of my normal routine. I usually find girls fast asleep in their beds. Hair tangled across their face like seaweed clutching on to their pillows. I don’t like to startle them so I whistle at the side of their bed until I get a squint and a smile. But, when I went to wake Jenn up I found a perfectly made bed without a wrinkle in it and a terrified 39 year old women peeking from behind the covers. She was wide awake but frozen. I noticed that her little corner of the room was bare without cards saying, “Keep going Rock Star”, words of affirmations or pictures of family and friends. It was just her.
Jenn is not the usual patient I work with. She is kind, soft spoken and reserved. The patients I have had most interactions with are angry, out spoken and cuss like Courtney Love on speed. But, Jenn is timid, her stature is hunched and her walk is a saunter that defines someone who doesn’t want to make too many waves. In the beginning everyone considered her so sweet, but today that tune has changed to “weak.”
Watching the women at the rehab interact with Jenn today was like watching a Darwinian episode of survival of the fittest. While the women are usually very supportive of each other in preparing their meals and measuring, Jenn got no slack when she didn’t ask for help during breakfast. When one of the girls caught her under measuring her cereal the air of the room changed from peaceful to judgment. When she started tearing up at the breakfast table she was ignored. When she laid her head on the table, eyes were rolled. Alot of girls under measure and cry, but the weakness Jenn exhibits facilitates a resentment that even I can feel. Everyone in the house is there to fight a battle and its as if our subconscious is telling her subconscious, “What? Is that all you got? You call that a fight?”
As a counselor on staff I am the example. Its my job to referee the fighting forces that want to dual this game of strong and weak. My usual strategy is love and empathy, it works every time. Though Jenn may not put on the air that she is battling a fight, that’s all she has right now and the women have forgotten that. Granted even I lose empathy sometimes, but my thoughts changed today when Jenn approached me in tears.
She was having trouble sitting through a 12 step recovery meeting. She said, “I’m sorry HonestChitChat, but I just can’t do it. I don’t want to be in my body any more. I feel as if I am a huge pile of fat. That I have layer upon layer of fat and that I am just carrying around a load. I don’t want to be here anymore. I can’t do this.” I held her as she cried. I felt her bones beneath her layers of clothing and felt that I would crush her small frame that barely existed as itself. Her Eating Disorder clearly had the reins in her head.
As I held her hands and told her about my own recovery from this disease I spoke words that I needed to hear myself. I told Jenn, ” I know you feel fat, but this disease is not about your body. It’s about your seperation from God/True Self/Our Core (which ever definition works for you.) Addiction takes on many forms, alcoholism, eating disorders, drug addiction, love addiction, porn addiction, workaholism, etc… but they all come from the same part of the brain and they all root from the same feeling which is, I am not good enough to be on this earth give me a way to either zone out or prove myself worthy. If we had contact with God/True Self/Our core etc… we would know that we are enough just as we were created on the day we were born.”
As I started to share with Jenn how I got recovery from the Eating Disorder which almost killed me I felt as if God came right up to the car next to us leaned against it and smiled. You see I was like Jenn at one point. Not for very long, but there did come a day that I said, “I don’t think I can do it anymore. I don’t want to be here.” The only thing that kept me going was HOPE. Hope that one day I could live a simple life without this disease. Today I live that life, an amazing, spiritual, happy, eventful and rewarding life. It isn’t a fairy tale, but its my paradise. Yet, in my paradise that I have been given I have lately choosen to not sit in the gratitude of “Thank God my disease has left me.”Instead I sit in, “Why isn’t this guy pursuing me?”
Its funny. Jenn maybe wanting to commit suicide in paradise, but at the same time my mind is doing the same by dwelling on what I don’t have, my mind is choosing to forfeit paradise. Essentially if I talked to myself the way I talked to Jenn I would realize that my sadness has nothing to do with the fact that some guy hasn’t called me it has to do with the fact that I have put this guy in the “God seat” just like Jenn has put her body in the “God seat.” My solution? I realize that I was born HonestChitChat. As a baby I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have an education. I didn’t have good looks. I didn’t have a good body. I just looked like all the other babies and I was loved just the same. If I overcome an Eating Disorder or I get married it doesn’t matter if I don’t know in my core that I am perfect with or without a Cosmo cover body and with or without a guy that gives me the “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met” speech. The seasons change. People come and people go. But what remains through thick and thin is just us and just God. Paradise will always be here. It’s our job to wake up and walk outside.
“Why do we write?
To remember we’re not alone.”
- Author Unknown
