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
HOT!!! or not???
Some people are saying HOT! As in 818 + comments HOT! This picture in Glamour Magazine of 20 year old Lizzie Miller, a very curvy and very “skinny dippin’ ready” model created a tidal wave of approval from female readers. (See the 818 comments here) From the young 13 year old girl who is a size 6 to the mother of two who has stretch marks, this picture somehow liberates them. They say that they feel “validated” and “accepted” and they even say that, “magazines have it all wrong…if I saw more models who looked like me I would have the confidence to buy the clothes they advertise.”
20 year old, Lizzie Miller
I find these comments quite interesting. I’m not sure if it is common knowledge to the avid magazine reader, but I’ll give you the insider scoop (since I did an internship at a magazine in Los Angeles. That is until they made me file in a back room with no one to chit chat with. Cruel and unusual punishment is not my idea of “on the job experience” ) Anyway, so magazines have a marketing and advertising plan towards women that promotes women to “aspire” to their “optimum” self by viewing the images and purchasing the products seen in the magazine (A.K.A. giving woman a impossibly high standard of beauty that will have them spending $250 at the MAC counter trying to make themselves look like their “optimum self.” And when they don’t attain said beauty, they feel like crap and cover their feelings with the Twinkies they saw advertised on page 109.) This is the format that has been used to market to women. But according to these 818 + women they would like to see something other than a unattainable image. They would like to see something more like ….themselves.
Now is this hot or not? Lets pose a question: “What if not all, but just half the models in the magazines were a size 12 or 14? Like what if you opened up Vogue and saw a ad for Dolce and Gabanna and it featured a size 12 chick sprawled out on fur with the dramatic makeup they’re known for holding a purse. Would you dig it? Would you still purchase the brand? Is acceptance, real body sizes and authentic photographs HOT? Or are you stickin’ to the classic stick thin model? No judment. Just your answer please.
Honestly, I think that if I saw half of the models in Vogue as size 12 to 14 I would be a tad shocked. At first I’d be like, “Whats going on here?” I don’t read Vogue religiously or anything, but I do think that my eyes would take some adjusting to the new images, but like the human species I am apart of I would ADJUST. If I saw it in a magazine repeatedly, on billboards, on TV I would eventually get used to it and still purchase items from the companies I like. I think I would actually be more likely to purchase items from a company that is promoting a good cause, like TOM’S shoes or To Write Love on Her Arms. If there was a company that openly featured all kinds of women in their advertising I think I would dig it because it meant they stood for something more than fashion, they stood for acceptance and love and at the end of the day, thats what all women and men are really looking for and why they purchase those clothes in the first place.
But, thats my opinion. Whats yours? Would you still purchase clothes from your favorite brand even if they featured full figured women and men in their ads? Would it change the brand for you? Be honest…it won’t kill you. (After all, I’m still here.)
Can’t BUY me LOVE!
I got an awesome Facebook message from an old friend the other day, I considered it “Blog worthy” check it out:
Hey… I have a favor to ask you.
I’m going nuts trying to decide on a birthday gift for my boyfriend of 2 months (His birthday is Oct 2) and I can’t come up with anything good. The reason I’m asking you is because you are very creative and thoughtful. For some reason, I thought of you right away… I just remembered that you always had super cute ideas and your blog is always very creative.
I want a gift that if someone asked him 40 years from now what was the best gift he’s ever gotten, he’ll say this gift.
Let me know if you need some info.
-H
ps- miss you. Let’s get together when I come to Cali.
Alrighty then…lets just scope out the playing field here. I the “coach” have known this “player” H., for quite a few years now. As a friend who (as she says) is “very creative and thoughtful” We all know that I am very capable individual when it come to the field of “suggesting awesome gifts for guys” .
BUT! I also know a good coach doesn’t just write winning plays and tell the closest dudes within earshot to get on the field…no, of course not. You choose who to play at different times based on their individual skills and background. (AKA I’m not just going to tell her what to buy him and send her on her merry way.)
Now as the said Coach in this situation I know a few critical game altering things about player H and the stadium she’s playing in…
#1 ) She has been on the dating field for 2 months.
#2 .) She wants him to remember this gift in 40 years as the best gift he’s ever gotten.
As the Coach of this game, the lineup or gift I would suggest from the playbook would be…NONE AT ALL…I mean yeah, still get him something he’d like, but don’t sweat it trying to find him a gift that he’ll remember in 40 years…. and I’ll tell you why. Because from the evidence shown my friend H doesn’t want to just give a gift for the sake of “giving a gift”, she wants something very valuable in return. Which is approval and love and when you’re asking for some of that it can be a very sticky exchange. She wants her boyfriend to love the gift so much that in turn he maybe, might, kinda sort of…love her back? Uh huh…. Now, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she loves him, maybe even after 2 months he loves her and maybe all she wants is for him to love the gift that she gives without any reciprocation of love and approval. That is a totally valid argument. But, I’m gonna have to call it null and void…why? Because I am a woman and I know how we operate. We find so much of worth in giving to people, serving, lending, helping, listening our M-O is I’ll scratch your back if you’ll LOVE ME.
I think that’s what Miss.H is looking for especially when she says, “something he’ll remember in 40 years as the best gift he’s ever gotten.” So what is my thoughtful and creative gift advice? It’s…sugar you Can’t but me love!
Because at the end of his birthday night once you’ve given him either:
A.) 50 balloons filled with 50 things you love about him and made him pop each one and read them.
B.) A pink donut box filled with mixed CD’s of his favorite bands/singers with labels that make the CD’s look like real donuts
C.) A “Survival Kit for the office” decked out with a picture of the two of you for his desk, Asprin, a red bull, a cigar, some small bottles of high end hard liquor, and change for the vending machine
D.) Front seat tickets to see the Lakers
E.) A day trip to go wine tasting and hot air ballooning
Even after ALL that you still won’t have his love. I believe acts of love and kindness can foster love. Maybe this 2 month birthday gift can be a building block for love, but even if he remembers the gift it won’t be the winning play. Maybe some people fall in love when the right gifts are given, the right words are said and the mood lighting in the room is just right, but I would like us all to ponder the question of “Why do we want someone else to love us?” Is it for the sincere reason that we genuinely want to give love to them or is it because we just want a whole lot of lovin’ in return?
I don’t believe teams win games because each player knows all the right moves, has the best coach and the highest quality facilities, from what I know the team that wins is the team of people that play from the core of their soul. They are in sink with the game and all of the players. They win because their bodies anticipate the ball and they shine doing what they do best. In dating terms that means being authentic. Even if that means looking like a fool and letting Mr. 2 months not like you because all you did was make him dinner for his birthday. It means doing the first thing that pops into your head and rolling with it.
As the Beatles once sang, “You can’t buy me love.” It is one of the most poignant statements of our century. With all the wealth, prestige, celebrity and success that the world offers none of it can purchase true love and that is why it’s so precious.
Hope you like my answer Miss.H!
Xoxo,
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,
Michael Jackson:Don’t matter if you’re black or white! But, if you’re anorexic…. BEAT IT!
The second I heard that Michael Jackson had a heart attack and caught a one way flight to go meet the big G-O-D… I simultaneously thought two things 1.) Of my little sister and I hiding against my mothers breast, under her over sized 80’s sweater every time Thriller came on MTV and 2.) That Michael Jacksons Eating Disorder killed him. How do I know he had an Eating Disorder? Well for one I work in the Eating Disorder field, two I’ve personally experienced a good portion of my life eating ” chicken broth with a fork “ and as they say… ”You can spot it if you got it” and three….come on people, if you add up all of MJ’s behaviors and life experiences you get a pretty text book case of a full blown eating disorder. So lets examine the sugar free evidence shall we?
Exhibit #1…His “8th grade girl” weight
At his death MJ weighed 112 pounds and was 5 foot 10 and 1/2! Hold the macaroni! That gives him a body mass index of 15.9…(A normal BMI is between 18.4 and 24.9!!!!!!) According to American height and weight charts, even if he was at the small end and had a small frame he should have weighed AT LEAST 144 pounds. Now, if he is as I am predicting an Anorexic his weight played a huge factor in his death since the majority of Anorexic deaths are due to heart failure AKA Heart Attacks which is due to stress on the body from malnutrition. In the beginning of Anorexia, the body makes up for the lack of food, by taking nutrients from the bones. When the bones are depleted (and osteoperosis is left) the body stops being able to function and eventually the organs stop working without fuel.
Exhibit #2…King of pill poppin DRUG USE
In essence Anorexia is a powerful voice in its victims head that tells them while awake and even while dreaming that they are a worthless, fat piece of lard. Many turn to drug use and alcohol to numb out the voice in their head. While doing so they discover that the drugs not only numb the voice, but are a appetite suppressant too. There is a good portion of evidence that Michael Jackson abused prescription drugs (enter Dr.Murray) I do agree that he most likely was a drug addict, but I argue that his anorexia and body dysmorphia came first. The drug use is only a symptom of a greater problem.
Exhibit #3….Plastic Spaztic Surgery-
We have all heard people comment on things they would like to change about their appearance. A small percentage of people actually go under the knife and maybe get a nose job or put collagen in their lips. But, Michael Jackson didn’t just have one or two surgery’s he allegedly had 44 surgerys! This is also evidence of an Eating Disorder. Many Eating Disorder patients suffer from body dysmorphia. No matter how much weight they lose, how much bone you can see, how shiny their hair, how petite their nose or how tanned their rump is they will continue to find flaw after flaw in their body. They have such an extreme amount of self hatred that they cannot accept themselves as they are. Body dismorphia would explain MJ’s epidemic of plastic surgery procedures.
Exhibit #4: His DIEt… hence the word “DIE”
There is a whole lot of speculation on what if anything crossed the King of Pop’s lips. In interviews he admitted to water fasts, then he fasted on Sundays, then he ate once a day, then he binged on hot wings, cake and cookies….obviously not the healthiest eating rituals. Extreme dieting is known to cause great havoc on the bodies organ…the most vital being the heart. If Michael was practicing this lack of eating and binging coupled with his drug use its no wonder his body faded by 50.
Exhibit #5…Problem? What problem?
Addicts, Alcoholics and Anorexics are notorious for refusing help with their addictions. There is plenty of evidence out there that his family tried to intervene. MJ reportedly severed relationships with people who confronted him on his behaviors. Anorexia is a disease of control. Anorexics find comfort in believing they can truly make their life perfect as long as they can control their weight. The thought of giving up their behaviors is unfathomable. They resent the person who is coming in between them and their disease.
So whats the verdict?
I argue that my evidence proves the Michael Jackson’s primary addiction was his Eating Disorder not drug abuse. I now would like to motion that the news media like CNN, ABC, CBS, NBC, FOX, E Entertainment News, TMZ and even you Perez Hilton start reporting the real friggin’ story here. Every single one of ya’all that sit in front of a tele-prompter, camera, laptop and claim yourself a righteous and heroic journalist in search of the raw truth to relay to the public actually do your “reputable” job and report THE UGLY TRUTH! Who are you so afraid of offending anyway? The 90lb producer sloshing vodka in the ladies room? Or the 12 year old anorexic girl who has only had apple juice since thursday?
The truth is, The King of Pop, who along with 1 out of every 4 college aged girls, 7 million women and 1 million men have Eating Disorders. To some of you, you might think…”So you throw up your food and sometimes don’t eat. That’s pretty weird, but sorry I don’t get what the big deal is.” Let me try to explain it simply to you…There is a genocide going on under your nose, at your school, at your work or even in your home and you don’t even know it or care to change it. An Eating Disorder is simply self hatred. Meaning that 1 out of ever 4 college girls, 7 million women and 1 million men think they are piece of crap. They live in hell everyday believing that they are worthless and need to earn approval from the world hrough their appearance.
And for the record, I don’t think the media is to blame..it’s us. A lot of us out there with addictions have bought into the lie that unless we provide a service a good time, an attractive body, a hot car, straight A’s, a lucrative job, an impressive lifestyle or a enviable house that we are not worthy to exist as humans
. Talent, fame, wealth, adoration, fans, children, safety, security, travel, music, dancing and even his own theme park couldn’t make him feel loved. Being loved is a human need, but in the sad case of Michael Jackson you can have everything money can buy and the adoration of the world but even all that can’t convince a person who doesn’t love themselves that they are enough just as they are. I hope this blog opened your eyes a little today. I hope you leave here knowing that your body is not a service, it is a container that holds your soul and it is your soul that is within your beating heart that makes you lovable. It’s not ironic that Anorexics die of heart attacks, I consider it quite poignant. The once pure soul can’t take anymore more abuse and breaks free going back home to be with G-O-D.
Good night,
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
