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,
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
Trust Your Gut…
It was around this time of year 2 summers ago that I was offered the job as an Editorial Assistant at the LA Times…yes, you read me right I said it THE LA TIMES! For a writer that is one big-flammin’- habanera- chili -of a big deal. I remember being mesmerized during my tour of the Times building. Did you know that just like the different sections of the newspaper the building is segregated by the writers for each section? Yup! There was the Business Sections, which was a bunch of grouchy old men in blue shirts and ties, with stacks of papers piling as high as the smoke from the bong they have probably never touched by the looks of the serious play by the rules scowls on their faces. There was the Sports section, decked out with toned men from 21 to 40 watching the 8 flat screen TV’s on the wall showing every important game going on in the world. As I passed by I ( no joke) saw pop corn flying in the air as someone on the right team, made the right score at the right time. Classic! The Style section was so clique it made me smile. Stick thin girls, with freshly flat ironed hair, and run way duds, hovered around a large Mac as they grew sweat beads trying to decide whether or not to pick the picture of the model with bangs or without. But, I think the area that took the cake for me was of course the FOOD section. Did you know that the LA Times has a full blown professional kitchen just chillin’ in the middle of the office to try out new recipes? Its like “Hello Welcome to William Sanoma the LA Times Branch” WTF?
I was blown away! The LA Times was so exciting. It was a little city of people within the city! It was the opportunity of a lifetime. I got so excited thinking about being apart of this environment and hanging out with such an eclectic group of people. I bargained with God that if hired I would never again be late for anything in my life and would talk about Jesus so much that they called me “Freaky JC Girl” Anything to have THIS JOB!
Well eventually I was hired at the Times. And a week later I turned down the job. Why? Because my gut told me to. Trust me you’re not the only one who was baffled by my decision and my gut. EVERYONE was baffled…even my therapist said, “Are you sure you’re not going to take it? What are the feelings behind this.” It’s never a good feeling when someone wants to psycho-babble you out of decision. So what was that feeling I had about my dream job that I passed up? It was this powerful, nauseating, gut feeling that as promising and exciting as the Editorial Assistant job looked the timing was all wrong for me to move to L.A. and accept the job. I had this feeling that if I was to take the job I wouldn’t be following the path God wants me on. That I would be doing what I wanted to do, what sounded fun and cool for the moment, but wouldn’t benefit me in the long run. It wasn’t an epiphany. It was a hunch.
A hunch that followed me all the way to San Francisco. While I was brewing over whether or not to listen to my gut my sister and I were walking down Oak Street in San Fran on our way to Bikram Yoga. She told me, “You have to take it! NO ONE turns down the Times! Don’t be stupid!” I grew anxious with how loud the voices were on the outside of me vs. the loud voices on the inside of me. Just then right there in the middle of the sidewalk was a laminated card. It was a stick figure cupping his hand in order to hear better and the big black words above the image said, “LISTEN.” I stopped and picked it up. I told my sister, “This is a sign. I need to listen to my gut and not take the job.” She said, “This is not a sign. This is someone’s lost belongings you crack head!” My sister isn’t very spiritual, but she makes up for it in sarcasm.
Well the moral of the story is I trusted my gut and didn’t take the job at the LA Times. I still live in Orange County, work 3 very fulfilling jobs that I love, live in the most perfect living situation, am surrounded by the strongest women on earth and live 5 minutes form the beach. Two years later I can completely see how right I was to trust myself and not take the job.
There are still times I don’t trust my gut. Like a couple months ago when I was making plans to hang out with a guy I just met. He wanted to hang out at midnight and asked me to bring some beer with me. I hung out with him (sans beer) and lets just say one of the most memorable calls of my life has been getting a call from him the morning he got out of JAIL!!!! Yeah, I wish I would have trusted my gut on that one. I’m young, I make mistakes, but I think the biggest mistakes I make come from not trusting myself. Not trusting my own instincts and feelings. Straight up…I’m a weird girl….in the sense that I don’t do things or live my life the way a lot of 20 something’s my age do. It’s easy to become confused and listen to other peoples opinions of the way life should be lived, but its far more satisfying to live authentically. Trust your gut guys. Its so worth it!
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.”
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
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
Courting a Woman is all about “THE GAME” – Book Review
When I first picked up THE GAME by Neil Strauss it was because this guy I was dating lets just call him Mr.39….(details later) claimed it was his favorite book. As I started to read the book I started to bite my bottom lip and breathe heavily as my stomach turned and moaned in hatred for the writer and anything without a vagina.
THE GAME is a very detailed, full proof strategy of how to mind screw insecure women into sleeping with you. If you are one of the many BOYS that have googled, “How to court/get/date/make a woman fall in love with you” and have clicked upon my blog you have found your manual to do just that….or have you?
So one Sunday night Mr.39 and I were eating some Lavash and Nutella and having a very heated discussion about sex and relationships. Well it was heated on my end because I was appalled at the size of the hole Mr.39 was making for himself. After talking to Mr.39 for awhile I discovered he has his own Google sponsored website teaching men how to pick up women. He’s been in 17 different relationships, slept with 39 women and his favorite book is THE GAME. Like any woman that jumps to conclusions without asking first I felt like just another warm blooded broad he had a strategy to mount. I told him my dislike for his “number” and doubted his motives since he’s dated and slept with so many.
He then asked me, “Have you finished THE GAME yet?”
I said, “Don’t change the subject! And, yes! I hate it! It’s for insecure men who can’t get girls themselves!” [cross my arms in fury]
Mr.39 [Tilts his head up and smiles] You didn’t finish the book did you?
HonestChitChat: [Only read half of it at this point] I read it! It’s bull!
Mr.39 [Winks at me and says] Finish it. I know you’ll like the ending.
Sittin’ pretty and pouty in my pink nighty I read the rest of the book one night. Low and behold…I did like the ending. The ending of THE GAME takes the ultimate twist while we watch the main character,” Style” meets “The 10 of his life” AKA ….”The one.” He does every trick in the book on her and she doesn’t give in. The rules that applied to the thousands of women he has picked up and slept with didn’t work on this one. Having come to terms with his defeat he forfeited his mind games, plots and perfect strategy and flew the scary white flag of surrender that says, “I’m just gonna be myself” The happy ending is that when Style decides to “be himself” he lands the girl.
Now hold it fellas….before you go out there and start being “yourself” and try to land a chick you gotta take in the other half of the equation of this story….the good part of every story….the part that makes a movie worth watching….the better half of society….the part that makes all walks of life “coo” when its small and “ah” when it grows…..The girl.
The girl that Style ended up with wasn’t the type of girl that just fell for any of his games. She was confident, she was secure and she was just waiting for him to man up and be the same. She stuck around long enough for him to stop the B.S. and be the nice guy he was. What I’m saying is you want to date a confident woman then this mind game stuff is just going to make her run. A woman knows her value. A woman knows she is to be respected and admired. Like attracts like. Little boys attract little girls and confident and secure men attract and KEEP confident and secure women.
I think men and women can take away a lot from this book. Like…
1.) Men- Sex with tons of hot girls won’t fulfill you. It will only make you feel lonely and empty.
2.) Women – Sex with tons of hot guys won’t fulfill you. It will only make you feel lonely and empty.
3.) Men- You can get a girl by poking jokes at her and making her feel stupid and small. Of course you will only do that if you feel stupid and small and need to make her feel the same way in order to sleep with you.
4.) Women- You are not Samantha from Sex and the City and you are not a man. The bio-chemistry of your body will never allow you to have casual sex with someone who doesn’t care for you without you feeling like crap afterward. As they say, “You have to have love to make love.” Proceed with caution.
5.) In order to be “yourself” you have to “know” yourself. That means knowing how far you want to go with someone you’re just dating. Knowing how to stick up for yourself when someone crosses the line. Being honest about your beliefs, wants and needs in life. Not exaggerating or minimizing your opinions just to get along with someone.
So Mr.39 and I are still friends. Over time I have gotten to know more about him which has explained his website, his number and his obsessive compulsive relationship habit. The verdict? He just wants to find “The One” AKA…he just wants to be loved for who he is. He much like you my reader and even myself has/is/will look for love under every rock, tree, coffee cup and blond until we find it. I know men love “the chase” and I know women love being chased. But, if there’s one thing I have learned in my short life is that you won’t find love under a rock, tree, coffee cup or blond until you fully, truly and completely for better or for worse love “Yourself.” And if you got all the way down to the bottom of this article I think “yourself” is the one you should be chasing.
“Courage is not the absence of fear. It is having fear, but doing it anyway.”
-Unknown
Come on lets make some babies already!!!
A little over a year ago I shuddered at the thought of marriage. I think I even blogged about it here. I said something about kids and suburbans giving me the hives and the only itch ointment that soothed me was clubs and cocktails. Now at the sophisticated age of 25 and 3/4 (Gonna be 26 in like 4 days!!!) I now am craving to make babies. (Actually its only the MAKING part that should really be emphasized by being capped and bolded, but ya know conservative people read this thing. Wouldn’t want to untie any ones shoe laces by stating the obvious.)
So you say, “Go get em’ girl! Saddle up the posse and lets go lasso you a husband!“
But, I say, “Noooooooooooo!!!!!!”
You see I have always been the girl who has rolled her eyes at the boy crazy chicks on the prowl and the insecure 20 somethings looking for husbands. The chicks that do the whole on-line dating thing, the ones that read those dating books for dummies, the ones that asked you to accompany them to bring a friend mixers. “I” have always claimed that “they” had the whole deal all wrong. I would comfortably sprawl out on their chic couches sip my cocktail and say, “You need to pursue your own life not focus on pursuing someone elses. Beside you’re too young and pretty to be covered in flour and baby mucous….lets go party.”
Now, I’m the chick envying the ones with burp cloths. Martha Faulker! What happened?!?! When did the tables turn and who turned them? Well, I have come to the conclusion that Mother Nature herself is the one messin’ with me and making my biological clock heat up faster than a marshmallow over a fire pit. Except my heat is more like that of a feline cat in the middle of Spring in a dark alley. Ughhhh!!!! I have become what I once mocked!
Up until a few months ago I thought that this need to “make babies” was one of a personality trait, not a physical need. I am shocked to see myself bunched up with the rest of the female population. I thought that I was going to be that calm, cool and collected bachelorette kind of chick who didn’t need any of this shiz that everyone was whining about, but alas I am a X Chromosome (woman.) Well, I can’t mess with Mother Nature, but I know myself and I know I also can’t become a women who:
1.) Monopolizes conversations with friends and make them all about my dates, conversations with cute guys and dress lengths.
2.) Fish for comments that stroke my long, brown fair maiden hair and ego.
3.) Analyze every conversation, text message and G-chat with the Y Chromosomes.
However I can:
1.) Go out more with the ladies and just enjoy the fact that I am blessed to have so many amazing friends.
2.) Work on not sending out the “Snob vibe” to men. (Apparently I do. I’ll work on it.)
3.) Be open to all different kinds of people.
4.) Vow to continue to be true to myself and not change and become a what the flavor of the moment wants me to be.
5.) Forget about the fact that I want to “make babies” and instead focus on “making life” I can “make life” better for my friends by being a friend. I can “make life” better for other women by buying a bouquet of flowers and splitting it up into a bunch of little vases and giving them to my co-workers with a little card that says, “Cause I like you.” I can strike up a conversation with my neighbor and learn their name and probably make their day. Or I can get all ambitious and volunteer at Girls Inc. I can “make life” better by reading more amazing books like Heartbreaking Work of Staggering genius or a poetry by Elizabeth Barret Browning. I can “make life” better by giving President Elect Obama my two cents by visiting www.change.gov. I can at least make an effort to make the chages I want to see different in this country and in the lives of my someday babies.
I think that Mother Nature gives us our need “To make.” But, it doesn’t necessarily have to be babies, but I think so many of us have turned to making babies when the urge arises. Who knew we could use our powers for something else like “making” time to take muffins to a shelter? Or making time to learn a new painting technique? And then teaching it to a group of your friends kids. I think the need to “make” is a beautiful part of the human experience. If at the time that this urge arises (at 25 and 3/4) why don’t we focus on “making” our world around us better. I know sooooooooooooooooooo many amazing woman out there with talent in business, law, fashion, writing, poetry, painting, cooking, managing, design and drafting world peace treaties (seriously.) There is an ocean of possiblity of what these women can make while they aren’t “making babies.
I personally vow to “make”:
1.) Time to talk to my neighbors I don’t know and find out their names.
2.) Muffins for my co-workers at the Art Center.
Until its time to “make babies” I’ll be busy “making life”
What are you guys going to make? (Do something with chocolate and then send it to me! Just a suggestion 
xoxox,
HonestChitChat
Do soul mates exist?
I was sipping Trader Joe’s sparkling cranberry juice, she was sipping Cabernet. I was knitting leg warmers, she was crocheting a blanket. I was sizing up Carrie’s outfit on Sex and the City, she rocked my world with a question, “Do you believe soul mates exist?” I paused for about 36 seconds to think about it. She smirked at me and took a sip of wine while she waited. I then picked up my stitching and replied, “Yes, I most definitely do.”
Here’s what bounced between my cerebellum and frontal lobe in those 36 seconds. Asking the question “Do soul mates exist?” is precisely like asking “does happiness exist?” I think the majority of us would agree that happiness does exist. It’s because at one time or another we have all felt the endorphins of happiness induced by evenings spent laughing with our girl friends until our cheeks hurt, the satisfaction of someone saying, “Your writing/painting/dancing/fresh baked cookies is nothing less than the most amazing that I have ever read/seen/tasted in years!!” The happiness from struggling to explain how we feel to someone and then having them grab our hand and say back to us, “I totally get you” and my personal favorite the butterflies in our stomachs induced by the text that says “Sweet dreams beautiful” sent by the person we just had the most amazing date of our lives with.
However in my 20 something years of being human, I have discovered that we are forgetful creatures. We tend to forget that in order to find happiness we must also find unhappiness. We must experience the awkwardness of pulling teeth trying to talk to people we just don’t jive with. We gotta write/paint/dance routines and burn cookies that the dog won’t even lick. Sometimes we even need to be hurt by phony people who say their our friends in order to know what a real friend is. And some times we have to go on some really sucky dates with boys dressed in sports coats to remember that we don’t like dating guys who blast, “I like big booty in the pants” from their sound system. The same goes for finding soul mates, we must also find the guys that aren’t made for us in order to find the ones that are and relentlessly press on until we do.
I believe that when we seek to become the women we were created to be that we end up finding our soul mates on the way. We find that we are either writers, painters, soccer players or accountants by trial and error. We can also find if we want to be with a man who is either kind, outgoing, religious, spiritual, reserved or arrogant. When we become honest about who we are and what we really want is when we are able to find the soul mates we were intended to be with. As the saying goes, “If you don’t know what you’re looking for you won’t know it when you find it.”
It takes a lot of work and courage to find our soul mate sitting on the ucky Charms pot of gold. Sometimes it means leaving a high paying executive position in order to go back to school and become a teacher. Sometimes it means going against family tradition and deciding that children aren’t for you. Sometime it means taking a painting class even though you don’t know the difference between an acrylic brush and a mascara brush. Sometimes it means giving up drinking and smoking cause its just not something you enjoy anymore. Sometimes it means letting go of friendships that just aren’t healthy. Sometimes it means admitting that you have an eating disorder and getting help for it.
I am sorry to say it, but I believe all you pessimists out there that doubt that soul mates exist just aren’t willing to do the work in order to find them. Honestly though, I don’t blame you. We live in very chaotic and demanding time in history. It totally makes sense that some of us would just want to settle down already and take the “road most traveled” find a job that earns enough money to sustain the lifestyle we have become accustomed to, marry a person that is attractive and easy to be with, have a couple of children and send out annual Christmas cards with the attached family picture shot at the beach. I am happy to say that I refuse to take the “road most traveled” since 54% of the people on it end in divorce anyway.
But, as they say, “The proof is in the pudding” and I can honestly say that there have had a few close calls to me dropping the whole bowl of pudding before dinner even started. I have gotten pretty serious in some relationships that could have ended in marriage with people that definitely were not my soul mates. The fact that I am spending a Monday evening knitting leg warmers is probably more shocking to me more than anyone else in the whole wide world. Yet, I know that 3 years after the break up the tears have dried, new friends have taken the place of lost love and I am still single yet my aim at finding my soul mate gets sharper every day.
“Forget about your love life for awhile & work on your love of life.”
-Bea Crosson
