Obnoxious girl or Classy woman?
I am a chick in the Dog House right now at the school where I teach art, one of my 3 jobs. Now, I’ve been in “Dog time-out” and the “Doggy grass area” but today I am officially in the Dog “House”. As in I don’t even want to sit in the Dog grassy area cause someone might see me. I’d rather be in the Dog House where I can hide from view.
You see today I was very kindly and respectfully told the following:
1.) The word “fornication” is a little too much to use with 8 year olds.
2.) When disciplining a kid it isn’t right to make them feel better by saying, “Just don’t let me catch you smoking a cigarette or throwing down a 40″
3.) We love what you did with your staff T-shirt, but that isn’t what were going for.
4.) Do you have any questions?
My reply. Stick my hands in my hoodie pockets and shake my head, “nope” and “I’m sorry” and walk out of the office. Yikes! I felt nauseous. If someone was eavesdropping on that conversation they would think I was some hoochie raised in the dirty south.(For your 411 I am neither ) and for the record this is the shirt I was wearing and I don’t see a midrift, but i get it, too much skin.
Anyways, I know I am very outgoing, outspoken and creative individual. These attributes are why they hired me in the first place. I’m confident that who I am is a well rounded individual and a good influence on my students, but even good people can cross the line sometimes and others a little more frequently. Obviously I am teetering on the frequently side.
This game of teeter totter has brought me to a very difficult question I need to ask myself. “When does it stop being acceptable to be an Obnoxious girl and necessary to be a Classy Woman?” I mean I’m gonna be 27 in less than a month and though my flamboyant and boisterous personality has served me well between the ages of 13 and 26 it seems as if it might not fly in 27 territory.
I don’t tread on this subject with much ease. I actually almost didn’t even blog about it here because it is something that is a sensitive subject for me. And (dare I say) “Becoming a woman” doesn’t seem to be a happy subject among teens or 20 somethings either. As my adorable sponsee said the other night. “Ewwww! I consider the word woman a cuss word. It’s gross. It involves panty hose and girdles and ewww! I’d rather be called an ‘adult’ over a woman any day” And I can’t say I haven’t thought the same things.
Over the past few years I have resisted any resemblance to woman hood. Whether it be painting my room hot pink and not a mauve pink because I want to have a color that reminds me of youth and in your face or going out, partying and dressing to be seen. The funny thing is I discovered that the hot pink color in my room wasn’t too feng shui with my energy and I had a hard time sleeping in my room or getting any writing done for that matter. Partying left me tired, late for work and depressed. In my own time I have discovered that what I cling to isn’t necessarily what I need or even want.
So how does paint and partying have anything to do with my language at work. Well, I guess it kind of has to do with the fact that I’m going to be trying to actually think before I speak. I reckon many friends and family will disagree and say, “You’re fine just the way you are. Screw them!” But I think if I was really true to myself (which I think is what people like about my non-filtered mouth) I would take the hint from the universe to evolve into the better me. The “woman” me.
Theres a really beautiful part of the bible that I have always loved, it’s Proverbs 31. It gives reference to the kind of woman a man should marry. Isn’t it funny that even in biblical times people got married and had kids at age 13, but still they referred to them as a “women”. I think its because being a woman isn’t necessarily about your age. It’s about your state of mind. I want to have the state of mind of someone with integrity, kindness, tact and class. I want to be a good woman.
She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and upon her tongue is the law of kindness. – Proverbs 21:26
Mine!
Have you ever played with kids? If you have, I wonder if you’ve gotten the same feeling I get, that they are a glimpse of what the world “should” be like. Have you ever noticed the candor and bluntness that goes with kids? Once when I was helping my 4 year old niece Delaney get into her pajamas I offered her a new pair of underwear from her Snoopy suitcase. She declined stating, “No thanks, I don’t wear underwear to bed. No one in my family does.” I rolled on the floor laughing as I thought how embarrassed my sister would be if she heard her say that. She just gave me raised eyebrows that said, “Crazy Aunt Nini.” I just love that kids have absolutely no fear about airing the family laundry (or lack there of) they are absolutely free to be themselves.
But, why should they be afraid? For all they know there will always be a brown sack lunch to accompany them to school. There will always be a car to retrieve them from soccer practice. There will always be an aunt or an uncle to tuck them into bed when mommy and daddy are on a weekend trip in Palm Springs. If they are safe they have no reason to hold back. They have no bargaining to do. Life is perfect…Isn’t it?
We all eventually learn that life is NOT perfect.. I learned that at 8, when my “sack lunch” existence disappeared. My parents divorced, my dad had a mental break down and threw himself in front of a garbage truck. We left the only home I ever knew to a small apartment. Sack lunches were replaced with the phrase “borrow money from someone” the nice town car was replaced with a clunker that had to be jumped in the morning and overheated on the freeway. The aunts and uncles who tucked me into bed now the alcoholics and addicts that made periodic visits to our couch. This is when I learned the word, “Mine!”
When Delaney once came back from a trip to Indiana with a new word, “Mine!” Everything from her toys, to her juice box she proclaimed like a blue bird hailing the sunrise, this is “Mine!” My sister told me that while on the trip Delaney cousins taught her the word. As an only child she never heard it, but being around other kids she learned she had to claim what was hers. Delaney learned if you don’t keep an eye on your Barbies and Leggo’s someones going to take em’ and when they don’t give them back you have to fight them back by saying, “Mine.”
But, sometimes even when we ask nicely we still don’t get our toys back. I think this is one of the most difficult things about the human experience. The troubling fact that I can share, be nice and polite and you will still take my toys from me. That equation never has worked out for me as a kid or as a woman. This may sound a bit morbid to you, but as a woman who is excited to build a home and a family, I have this deep fear of finding the love of my life and then losing him. Or having children and then having something tragic happen to them. I guess I just can’t fathom waiting so long for the right guy, working so hard to be a healthy mom and then losing a kid. I see it happen all the time on the news and it doesn’t make sense to me. I feel like telling God, “I’m a good girl, don’t take my toys away from me. That’s not playing fair! That’s mine!”
I got to thinking about this concept of “Mine” after seeing The Time Travelers Wife tonight. At first I didn’t want to see it. I thought, “How am I supposed to relate to a freakin’ time traveling story?” But, I did in so many ways. The plot is a woman who is in love with a time traveler. They deeply love each other, but he is gone half the time because he can’t control when he travels. It just “happens.” She’s left alone on Christmas, New Years and spends so much time just waiting for the person she loves the most to just return to her presence. It was actually a very painful movie to watch. Seeing how much joy they had together and the anguish they endured each time they were apart. It killed me to see my worst fear reenacted repeatedly.
By the time my face was sopping with tears a key line came from the wife. Her husband knows he is going to leave her and her young daughter for the LAST TIME. He apologizes to her and even after all the pain, strife and hardness she says, “I wouldn’t change a moment of our life together.”
It may sound like a corny little chick flick line to you, but its quite profound to me. Growing up I constantly tried to cling on to some form of stability in my life. I begged to live in the same home for 6 months. That we would have running car for just 3 months. That I could expect when to see my dad come to school dressed like a homeless man. I just wanted to be warned. If I couldn’t have what was mine, I at least wanted to know what to expect from life. The funny thing I have learned is NOTHING is CONSISTENT.
Considering where I came from I live a pretty remarkable life. Even though I have lived in 25 different homes in 26 years of life, even though I attended 4 different colleges to get a Bachelors Degree, even though I have battled addiction and an eating disorder I now live a pretty mellow life. Do I dare say a consistent life? I do. I’ve lived in almost the same house for a year and half, have driven the same car for 4 years, I have friends that I could count on to break me out of prison if need be and most importantly I have faith that keeps me pretty sturdy. As hard as it would be to go back to my childhood, to go back to a life of chaos and disorder I’m not sure I would be as distraught knowing what I know now. Knowing that life ebbs and flows the way it ought to. That sometimes I have to give up the precious things that are mine and make me comfortable in order to receive something grander and bigger than I could have imagined. Sometmes I’m wrong about what I think is mine and what I’m entitled too. And sometimes being wrong is the most comforting thing I could have never asked for.
Xoxo to ya’all,
HonestChitChat
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”
OC Rapper APOETNOMADALI, Who does that dude think he is?
The first time I heard APOETNOMADALI was at 3 am at the Marriott in Philadelphia. We had just turned in from a night out in Philly when my lady friend busts out her laptop and checks her MySpace page; such an OC girl A few seconds later I hear a killer beat and see a brunette in her jeans and bra thrashing her hips side to side as she sings the words to “Orange County Disorder” I start to loosen my belt, but I’m stopped by the stabbing reality brought to light in the lyrics written about the region formally known as Orange County, California (AKA my homeland. ) Lyrics like, “She got O.C.D. Orange County Disorder. Her moms got it too in fact she gave it to her daughter. She don’t eat carbs and her breasts are fake. And she a fake blonde and no you not from L.A. Claiming that she all mystic man the only thing mystic about her is that “mystic tan” I know this girl she about 16 and nothing sweet about her except her HumV that her daddy bought her, and he like dummy, cause she crashed it, cashed it and she bought an M3. Her boyfriend drive a truck and he spikes his hair and walks with a stick up his @$$ and drinks beer. He like the UFC and he lives in the gym. He got OCD, but don’t tell him. He wear tighter pants than his girlfriend does and when he have a few drink’s he’s all, “Dude I’m buzzed.”
After hearing the song I was 25% offended and 75% impressed which made me 100% intrigued. I walked into the foyer and said, “Whose that dude think he is? And when can I see him live? ” And alas my “#1 Groupie” status of APOETNOMADALI was conceived.
Now let me be quite straight here, I am by no means a music connoisseur. I don’t write songs on my acoustic and sing them at open mike nights. I don’t wear vintage flannels and drink cocktails with limes and stand around Detroit Bar comparing the melody of this band to the lyrics of that one. I have never earned a sunburn from Coachella and I once fell asleep in orchestra seats while listening to John Mayer play live. So why would you give a Tweety Birds feather on what I have to say about APOETNOMADALI? For ONE reason…
I myself am an artist. For better or for worse I am a full blown, analytical, synapse skipping, serotonin depleted artists on a whole lot of “Don’t-get-crazy-and-kill-anybody-pills” Granted when it comes to art I am a pretty tough critic. So even though I don’t follow the “music scene” of mainstream music, doesn’t mean I don’t follow profound art when I see it. I honestly don’t care about John Mayers wonderland of exploring 18 year old virgins and if I have to be forced into a room of Emo kids wearing flannel shirts that cost $110 a pop and drinking cocktails I think I just might start titrating off my crazy pills (and trust me, we don’t want that.)
So heres the deal McNeal…APOETNOMADALI got a highlight on my blog tonight not because I like shakin’ my Latin rump to his tunes (which I also do) but because his music does not just fall into the category of “rap” but first and foremost falls into the category of “art” Personally, my favorite art isn’t just a nice Ansel Adams piece that keeps the feng shui in the room aligned. My favorite kind of art gives the viewer a brutal beating to the mind like a Mexican Piñata on its last leg. Amazing art slaps us across the face, pulls our hair, throws us down on the bed by the neck and screams at us until we scream back. It offends us and gets the blood flowing back in the brain that has been on pause with a tourniquet from the machine called “society.” Artist like APOETNOMADALI make us ponder, “Why do I feel the need to spend more money on clothing, toys and accessories than what most families spend on food?” “Why do I spend half of my life in the gym?” “Do I do anything in this world except care about myself and my own agenda?” “When is the last time I actually did something for someone else?” “ What is my motive behind flat ironing my hair?” Profound ain’t it?
As a woman who was born and raised in one of the most affluent cities in Orange County I must say that when I first heard the album, Orange County Disorder I was a tad offended. Why? Cause no one likes being called on their shiznick! Yes, I have gone fake tanning. Yes, I have been on a low carb diet. And you know what I feel when I hear this stuff? Ashamed. I feel ashamed of the fact that I just might be as spoiled and self centered as the manufactured Barbie and Ken dolls POET speaks about on his album. I’m offended by APOETNOMADALIS work and thus I am IMPRESSED. I don’t know who APOETNOMADALI thinks he is, but I think he’s an artist at his best. One I deeply respect and enjoy following.
If you want to see if you can stomach the brutality of APOETNOMADALI and are in Long Beach or Fullerton this Wednesday and Thursday night check him out:
Wednesday, June 3rd 2009 @ The Blue Café in Long Beach
210 The Promenade N
Long Beach, CA 90802
(562) 983-7111
www.thebluecafe.com
Thursday, June 4th 2009 @ “CHURCH”in Fullerton
101 N. Harbor Blvd.
Fullerton, CA
(714)773-1664
www.rawartists.org
I hope I see you kids there!
Xoxo,
Your favorite blogger in the whole wide world… HonestChitChat
The Soloist: Movie Review
The Mother’s Day weekend line-up of movies was some slim pickin’s this year. Although I admit that I can’t count how many $9 tickets I have paid to see Matthew McConaughey strut his overly tanned Hollywood and Highland complexion in front of me on the big screen. Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, just didn’t look like one of his high points (and the movie review in the OC Weekly said it sucked.) Instead the prettiest-mama-in-the-land and I swapped studly Matthew for cool (and sober) Robert Downey Jr. and the talented Mr. Jamie Foxx and saw The Soloist.
OMG you guys…this movie seriously rocks. First of all it’s the first I have gotten all teary eyed at a movie since Forrest Gump. Second of all, the performance of these two actors are two home run hits out of Yankee stadium. Ya know when you are so delved into the acting and story line of a movie that 2/3 the way through you suddenly realize that you are sitting in a plushy red seat and are actually “at a movie” ? Yeah, these two guys totally pull off the “2/3 effect” in The Soloist.
So Robert Downey plays Mr. Steve Lopez, a minute by minute, serious, no time for your “bs” news reporter from the L.A. times. My boy Jamie Fox plays, Nathaniel Ayres. A homeless musician who plays stellar music on a violin with only …get this…two strings! Nathaniel once attended the prestigious Juilliard in New York City. The two meet accidentally on the streets of L.A. right outside the LA Times building. The story takes you on the ups and downs of Mr.Lopez trying to use his connections to get Mr.Ayres off the streets, music lessons, psychiatric help etc..etc…
For me the punch line of the movie came when Steve Lopez collapses one night in defeat. He feels as if he’s done everything he can for this man, but Nathaniel refuses to improve his life. Profound words come from a wise woman in the late hours of the evening (funny how the night air stirs up wisdom in us all) she tells Lopez, “You can’t save him. You’ve given him your friendship. All you have to do is show up and be his friend. That alone is the greatest gift you can give.”
The chord this hits with me is a screeching soprano. “Friendship….that alone is the greatest gift.” I tend to underestimate the value of friendship. Admittedly I try to change society, I use my blog, my teaching position, my couseling position all as vehicles for what I believe are huge ways to change society. I so badly want to make a difference, I want the world to be a better place for my friends and my future children. What I forget is that the biggest impact doesn’t occur by changing an entire classroom at a time, it occurs by befriending one child at a time.Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is listen to the child with ADD reenact yesterdays episode of Sponge Bob Square pants. And sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is be a sounding board for our friends trying to find the courage to get out of a unhealthy relationship, but just don’t know how. As the saying goes, “Don’t miss the trees for the forrest.”
The law of Physics says that, “Every action has a reaction.” Don’t underestimate the power of the “reaction” in your friendships. Even if you don’t see it, it’s happening. I’ll be workin on it myself See the Soloist you guys! It’ll do yo body good!
HonestChitChat
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
Miley Cyrus seriously sucks….
Does Disney send subliminal brain cell zappers through the TV or what? And I think the zaps are ricocheting off the kids and hitting the parents in the head. Now I’m all for a good show, dancing, singing (if thats what you call it) some lights and booty shakin and hey I’m happy. But heres where I find the “suck” in Miss. Cyrus…who is letting their young daughters idolize and worship a “person” . Not only that, but a 16 year old person. Uh, I see a problem here. We got little itty bitty 5 year old’s running to Hannah Montana to gain their values in friendship, boys and hair extensions, reading magazines (at 5 mind you) and idolizing a girl who doesn’t even know her self yet. If you want to invest in a growing market then I predict the rehabs and psychological fields will be in full swing by the time these idolizing tweens hit 25.
Now, some might say, “Lighten up lady…It’s Disney…It’s a T.V. Show it’s harmless….talk about Darfur if you wanna save the world.” My rebuttle is,
1.) If you are living in 2009 you know that a show is not just a show and a celebrity is not just a celebrity. Their every move is followed, documented and publicized. Miley Cyrus has been known to be quite the exhibitionist and not shy about showing off her lacey green bra
She’s a certified Sex Texter or “Sexter”. She dates older guys and quite frankly she’s a rude little brat. Whenever I see her appear on TV shows or hear her on radio shows she’s rude, cruel and obnoxious to the host. What does this say to her followers: “It’s cool to take off your clothes and act like a porn starn It’s cool to date older guys. It’s cool to be sassy and rude to people. All of this will make you popular and cool like Miley Cyrus.
2.) Yeah, I guess I could talk about the horrible genocide in Darfur, but I have a feeling that if someone doesn’t talk about the elephant in the room, as in the “hoochie called Miley thats raising our daughters, sisters and nieces” there won’t be any women out there who will care about Darfur in 20 years. All those women will have been date raped by the older boy they were texting nudey pictures to. You get me?
This isn’t a diss straight to Miley, but it’s a “Heads-up” warning to all the moms, dads, aunts, uncles, older sisters and older brothers. These little people called, “children” need to be taught right from wrong. Moral from immoral. Kind and cruel. Cool and not cool. It’s our job to say, “Yeah, that Miley girl seems kind of messed up. What do you think? Is that the kind of girl you want to be?” Maybe more questions than preaching. Kids are smart. They just have to be presented with the idea to “think” for themselves.
I guess I’m speaking from experience. I’m of the “Britney generation” My friends and I were all about belly button piercings, partying in Vegas, lap dances by the dozens, clubs, alcohol, drugs and for some …rehab. I feel I have learned from my mistakes and pressed on. I chose to follow something that just appeared to be, “fun.” In retrospect I just wish there was someone who a more wholesome role model. Some one who would have made being kind, modest and lady like appear more Wet N’ Wild like. Maybe thats the resolution. Maybe we just need more HonestChitChats out there who say, “this is me. I’m not a hoe, I don’t drink like a RockStar, but I party like it’s the last day of my life.” Just a thought.
xoxo, HonestChitChat
“Be the change you want to see in the world”- mahatma gandhi
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
