#12 – Teen Suicide: JUST DON’T. Be braver, be bigger than you ever thought you could be…you got this.

So, with the rash of teen suicides at my kid’s public school here in the SFV, we’re all freakin’ out. Yes, suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but when you’re in the throws of a depressive episode or a vast situational depression due to outside forces seemingly attacking you from every angle, it can falsely present itself the only way out from the chronic pain. Here’s the thing–first, if you off yourself you ruin so many other lives it’s criminal. Second–you rob yourself from being able to rise above the plethora of shit you might currently be swimming in, and actually help others out of their own shitstorm from your vast experiences. Yes, that’s right. Altruism, as in helping people worse off than you? That simple act of extending yourself to someone struggling is a suicide and depression cure on many levels in and of itself so look into it.

Not saying that chemical brain imbalance type depression (VS. Situational Depression) has a total cure, probably doesn’t, but it’s MORE than treatable and you can go on and live an OUTSTANDING LIFE OF SERVICE FOR OTHERS even if you’re bipolar or suffer anxiety and or panic disorder or such, yep–as in prior troublemakers make the best cops? Or the best drug counselors where once junkies themselves? We learn from the trailblazers that came before us.

Take me. At one time, for a long time that was, I lived my life as if a gun was pointed to my head 24-7, ‘on the ledge’ so to speak, for a person who seemingly has it all…and I’ve recovered, but aren’t we always in recovery from something? And that’s life and that’s what makes us vast and interesting and deep and the rock for someone else. Thanks to family, friends, my own education and evolution in expanding my mind and knowledge, I’ve risen above my own little life and have extended myself here, being present and ready to help others and of service, it’s the best medicine, and oh yeah, I take my medicine. I study mental health, I’m a writer, an actor, and a creative, and we have the highest rate of depression and anxiety and hell, I just got my little AA is in this field at 40 something and I wont ever judge your plight. So there. Go do something great, it’s never too late.

I realize if you only go around once (unless you’re a Hari Krishna, then you reincarnate into a rock or a tree or someone famous), don’t you want this ride to be the fucking best damn coaster you ever fuckin’ rode? I do. Now. And it’s the farthest thing from your mind when you’re in the trenches of the darkness, or the chaotic mind of chronic anxiety and panic, and that’s when you MUST reach out to other’s who can do something to alleviate your pain.

group shot final

(I would go to, and have, each and everyone of these great human beings for mental support when I’m down and out, but I’ve weeded many others out along the way…find your people)

Here’s the big news on THAT undertaking, so listen up: choose your audience wisely. Going to an asshole who unwisely spits out wrote comments in hopes of comforting you such as, “everyone gets the blues” and “being a teenager is hard, its called teen angst” or “you just need to get another job, or study harder, and or exercise…a lot” or “what the hell you bitching about, don’t you know there’s kids starving in third world countries,” can only make you feel more disconnected and isolated, even ashamed you are suffering to the depth you are. Stay away from these vapid ‘do-gooders’ for they know not what they speak. Seek out the people such as a sensitive and receptive family member or friend, myself even (yes you can write to me here in the comment section, but only real inquiries, if you’re a troll I’ll tell you to take a massive shit and fall back in it then rot in hell cause this is a serious matter) and online support in the form of suicide prevention sites and resource counselors at schools for help and I know that sounds kinda easy and maybe even boring, but it works.

Here’s my final thought. Social Media for teens…no bueno. That’s right. I have a huge hunch with the recent data coming out, the rise in teen suicide and suicidal thinking (ideation, rumination), that social media is a huge culprit. For one, Instagram and the like,  is set up to make people’s lives look so overboard-goddamn fabulous and exciting—hot n’ sexy when it’s the biggest damn scam in the world it’s laughable. It’s called editing folks. The amount of carefully edited pictures and posts you see of others lives you so obsessively stalk, is nothing more than picking up a dumb tabloid magazine with a slew of dirt-bag editors paid to make you feel little and ugly and fuck–boring, in comparison to the person they are paid to inflate. So boring and insignificant in fact, you will hopefully experience just enough personal lack to go out and buy these trash mags over and over—keep coming back to that social media account to torture yourself with the carefully edited lies, just to prove yourself right, they are better than you AND that’s the total intention! But you do know,  nothing could be more false, right? It’s an illusion put together with a string of shots and written, then re-written a thousand times ‘post text’ just to top off the over-edited shot. And you know this, course you do, you’re not as stupid as you look…kidding, I have no idea what you look like cause you, like me, put way too many filters on insta-pix. But deep down you know it’s all bullshit. You do. However, and this is like, science, our brain’s are hard wired for comparison. It’s true…just like the fact most writers can’t spell for shit, like me. Comparison is death, not inspiration. Comparison kills creativity, it can lower you emotional IQ, so don’t be stupid and compare yourself to the carefully edited lies of others. Got it? Good. BUT, as in However, looking to others you admire and getting inspired is great if it makes you get off your ass, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and go out and be the best version of yourself you possibly can. Your own self, not someone else’s version of themselves, see?

Make the commitment to stop comparing yourself with the edited lies of others and you will find yourself free-er and more effective in your life than you ever thought. Put fuckin’ imaginary blinders on if you must and keep pluggin’ away at what you want, you will get there, don’t matter how long it takes…I refer to myself once again here, It’s taken me to this part of my life to become actualized, for I wasn’t ready when I was younger, and that’s just the way it is. It’s never too late is what I’m getting at, but don’t you dare ask me how fuckin’ old I am cause I will lie.

IMG_7044

(an edited and photo-shopped picture of me…not too much though! No one looks exactly like what they really look like in pictures anymore…sad but true)

Furthermore, just so you can roll your eyes at me one more time with my over-pontificating n’ beratement of social, well, all media in that respect (n’ I love my own social media but it’s always with a wink, n’ I’ve earned the right to show off a little before I die), It’s the lie the professional and non pro editors don’t tell you. How making lives (and in a trash mag, the lives of celebrities–some of the most miserable people btw) look better than yours via visual displays such as: pictures of vacations you (or they) probably bickered half way through, laugh-riot but in all reality kinda boring hangouts, painful Brazilian vagina and anal waxing sessions with your bitches made to look uber fun but were really gross cause you all spread hep-c to each other, concerts that kinda rule but really suck when you have diarrhea and need to vomit from the cheap food and shit beer, beach bodies melted down with Photoshop apps, and finally the dreaded accomplishments and promotions of others that make your little participation awards in life seem like scrunched up sheets (that’s if you’re a scruncher, not a folder) of skid-marked toilet paper. It’s bullshit (so many fecal references, Omg). I’ll say it again, Media is set up to appear (appear people, not the way it actually always is), WAY BETTER than anything you have goin’ on. And trust me, what you got going is pretty much parallel to all others in many ways regardless of job or age or social status, we are all just people. We suffer loses, we celebrate wins, we have mental health issues, we have physical ailments (some of us don’t have all our limbs…I do, jus’ saying), some of us are older now (not me, I’m 25-7…yeah, I’m 27), some young and don’t realize the power they have, we all got shit, we all got the power to be altruistic and change lives…even our own. Whoa.

Be kind even when you feel mean, for it could be the one thing in someone’s day that turns the bad around for them, be responsible, you have no idea your effect on others, be loving–for love is the greatest thing you can give to yourself and others in a world full of negative assholes and the easy to come by hate, and be altruistic! The word of the day! Help others in helping yourself out of your own misery.  It works. Be bigger than your own little life, be huge in helping someone else who’s drowning just as you, me, he, she or it might of been, or are. Get help! Talk to the therapists, the school counselors (they’re free for Christ sakes), and remember, please please remember, in the darkest of dark moments when all seems as bottomless as the titanic with all it’s millions in un-scavenged diamonds, even this shitty time, or situation shall pass….this too shall pass. It always does. So stick around, don’t be lame, be massive in you’re courage to live a beautiful life on whatever scale you live it on, you make more people happy than you will ever know.

Xo, Kelly

#9 – Bullies, Babes, and Blow

xw0a6267.jpg

If one more kid kills him-herself due to near constant bullying with no one putting a fucking stop to it, or a foot in someone’s ass, well, you know, I’m gonna pull a self-BBQ-monk-on-fire move that will surely send a shocking message to the perpetrators, future bullies, their enabler families, and to the schools who really do nothing to stop the sickness. You want action? I’ll give you action. Being an actor/ filmmaker/former bullied victim myself, I’ll do a series of effectively real looking suicide re-enactment videos–like investigation ID or an oldie but a goodie–a pseudo ‘faces of death’ web series, where I come up with all these really creative ways to kill myself on camera (simulation of course, but my disguises will keep’em guessing), while giving full media credit to the bullies who’ve help push victims into early graves. Names, addresses, college applications, will be on full media display for all the world to see…and I know you know that karma cliche’…it really is a bitch. This will be huge, like the fact I’m ‘faking’ killing myself in protest for what these scum sucking rectal warts have done to their victims…’rectal warts’ is what I will now call blatant bullies, just so there’s no confusion over whether this is also an STD PSA blog entry. It’s not. But use protection regardless. Bullies will be publicly outed to no end, talk about wearing ‘A’ scarlet letter. If you have been guilty (and we must make sure no one is falsely accused) of bullying some poor sensitive soul to their self inflicted death, you deserve no sympathy from me…or anyone on Facebook or Instagram…snapchat too.

I wanted to kill myself starting at 12 years old. Needed desperately to get out from under my own systematic bullied existence–there wasn’t a person, place, or thing I didn’t have to scope out first to make sure valley girl terrorists weren’t’ waiting to jump me around every corner. I’m a valley girl by the way, a real one. Born and raised SFV ( like, the San Fernando Valley?) and keep reading to get the full meaning of the enormity of such a statement. What in the hell? Just trust me.

Anyway, by 13, full blown panic and anxiety had set in, accompanied by spells of such paralyzing fear episodes so severe, I’d almost fainted n’ pissed myself a few times. That along with the smorgasbord of nervous tics I’d developed much to my mom’s total irritation. All this shit…just from the thought of having to face bully girls another day.

And even as a fucking smart, evolved and cognitively aware adult women with kids of her own, I still have to watch I don’t attract these energies in some form—it’s the lesson I must learn in this crazy life: to stop being so damn afraid and awarding rectal warts any power whatsoever (loving this rectal wart reference by the way, so glad I came up with it…but also happy I never had one. Eww).

cropped-12698961_1009753652415437_2021900205_o1.jpg

(my official ‘valley girl’ stomach tattoo next to the panther that watches out for my feminine mystique)

Fer sure. I’m a very loving, compassionate girl, but I’ve been fucked with growing up valley. A lot. And I can name 2 other girls I still totally talk to regularly, that had it way rougher than I by miles in terms of being bullied almost to death. I don’t think anyone realizes what the mean girls were truly like in Tinseltown, 80’s val style. Unless you were here, and no, the San Fernando valley did not invent mean girl bullies, hardly, but we sure helped put it on the map. Having your ass kicked in Jr. High at my school, meant aiming to get punched in the face by knuckles bearing loads of silver rings–you know, just to cut your meal ticket up a bit. Girls putting ‘rings on’ to go kick other girl’s asses…and for no valid reason most the time, not like kinda decent motives such as “Hey, you fucked my dad!” or “You bitch, I can’t believe you fed my dumb canary to my brothers stupid python n’ at my own goddamn birthday party?! I’m kicking your ass!” Now those could be reason to wanna jump someone. Sadly, most of the motivation behind a good ass kicking had nothing to do with fucking peoples dads or killing their birds, it was vapid nonsense like, “Hey geek, you think you can wear a red and gold shirt? Like, wrong. I’m kicking your ass…and I hate you by the way, even though I don’t know you, wait…what’s your name again?.”

N’ check out this forced accomplice shit some had to live with, like me this one time–I got bullied into handing over one of my cheap, Tijuana, 925 stamped silver rings, so one big scary girl we’ll call ‘Katie’, could go kick another big scary girl’s ass we’ll call ‘Alessandra.’ And just so you get the visual–quite a few of these mean girls in 7th and 8th grade looked 35, slutty as all hell, and tough as nails.

Rings…it was a thing.

The fallout from such bully type violence via a not-so-accurately-portrayed-in-pop-culture 80’s valley girl, rectal wart scenario (yeah, don’t know if that worked either), could translate negatively in one’s future interpersonal relationships if not handled with intense therapy early on; and even then, pure hell awaited you for the most part.

Bullying: Electric chair worthy offense.

I suggest if you have kids, girls especially, watch for it like crazy without being crazy. It can kill, it has, and it is. So just stop it.

My own torment went as planned as far as having abnormal interactions with loved and non loved ones, especially the men in my life. And with myself of course, but the romantic relationships seemed to suffer far worse than my love and trust of female friends, aside from obsessive clingyness, super panicky n’ controlling behavior, n’ being over-the-top demanding of a friend’s allegiance to me. That was unfortunate, but I was under 18 when it was really obnoxious, and shit gets sealed when your under 18. I’m in the clear with girls by now. Still needy AF, though.

Didn’t fair so well with guys, however, negative patterns repeated themselves into my 30’s and even now into my 40s. But on a much milder scale since I’m considered a Jurassic fossil by LA standards n’ I’m pretty self-realized at this point. But It went badly for a long time, and I put myself and my family through gangs of worry, cause for me, a romantic relationship just didn’t sit right without near constant physical, sexual and emotionally threatening behavior. And not every boyfriend, but most. I’ve since corrected this negative pattern, at present, my primary source of interpersonal male to female issues lies mostly in my struggle with being invisible, or like, monumentally blown off. N’ that blows–as had been done to far too many who didn’t deserve one of my specialties. Kidding. But only about the amount, it was low, so don’t freak out. And no, not every guy treated me like a pile of dead ants, but more than I care to admit. It WAS a problem, and one hundred percent my fault for allowing it. And the blowjobs.

However, I’m happy to report things have absolutely gone up hill since those days, like, phew! Was really worried for a while there, too. All up hill as far as my blurry, 40 something eyes can squint. Up. Hill.  And I’m feeling excellent about where I’m at with the guys in my life! Oh yeah, I got guy’s in my life, I need men as friends regardless of what Harry says, he’s wrong. I like ex-boyfriends too, now that’s a real special bond where you can feel close enough to disclose your feelings and not censor yourself. I hate censorship. Way too intense for that boring pastime. And yes they’re JUST friends, the guys in my sphere, but it’s different than what I have with girlfriends. My girlfriends are my heart and soul and support system we women can never get from the opposite sex, but my dudes are my protectors, counter-point partners, and ego boosters when I need. It’s just a different vibration. Nothing wrong with vibrating.

And in terms of my marriage n’ stuff, well, no physical or emotional berating in any way shape or form, put that crap where it belonged, in a dingy n’ let it set sail in a Venice beach harbor jetty. I like Venice, it’s a freaky place, like my mind.

Now I only struggle with being totally invisible. Said that earlier. It’s really annoying having to remind my husband I’m still around, like in the house next to him? He’s just super independent and I totally respect that, I mean being needed is so overrated.

But it’s lookin’ good, I’m feeling it, I really am. I am…love is a hard one though, for all of us…just go to the movies or pick up a Nicholas Sparks or John Green novel. I have only fallen for people who don’t love me back for most of my existence, the way I love them that is, and or want to be loved. And that’s my cross to bear in this life. And of course, so is this whole self love, acceptance, respect, basic hygiene when depressed, feeding myself correctly and staying off of drugs, thing.

And that’s a lesson right there.

I really don’t want to love anyone too much ever again either, just my kids. They can’t, well, they can, of course they can, destroy you, but it’s a different pain…they can’t hurt you the way the outside can and I’m not explaining myself correctly, but that’s the rub right? “Being born naked in a sandpaper world.” When you suffer depression and anxiety and feel things so so deeply it cuts you–you cut you.

I’d kill to be a sociopath, it’s really the way to go. And I’m working on it. Feeling anything is just dumb, or like my favorite quote “like watching a one legged man in an ass kicking contest.” Which yes, is funny as fuck and a real crowd pleaser, but also sad, pathetic, and totally irrelevant.

People will always disappoint you, and it’s not their fault, it’s yours for putting such emphasis outside yourself–and that’s even if these people have the best intentions. Probably why I collect animals, like my useless rabbits, nothing bad can come out of a conversation with a rabbit. Look, we are all doing the best we can, life IS hard, but beautiful too, so go smell the roses or someone’s panties. I do.

But fuck it, not everyone can be as intuitive and observant as I–n’ I feel really bad for the out-of-touch, I really do…a shame they’re way more successful in life than me. Hmmmm. Whatever. I’m gettin’ that ‘sandpaper’ quote tattooed on my arm next. Real good idea…Walk around pointing to it when I see a potential emotional ninja karate chopping his-her way towards me. Smart move and super obvious. I love the obvious, I’ve told you. I think? I dunno, my brain is having weird sexual exploitation fantasies as I type this, so I’m kinda distracted. Boy, that sociopath thing is sounding fuckin’ money right now.

Let’s push on. It got weird.

At least I’m no longer being actively bullied…only by my kids of course, but that’s this whole ‘non spanking’ generational thing. Not that I ever did spank, in fact, I can’t punish or ground for shit, my kids just laugh at me if I try to take things away too, like if they fail a bunch of classes or get caught ditching or take the car without a license or permission.   Pretty much get told to go fuck myself without actually being told, “Hey mom, go fuck yourself.” It’s an issue.

However, my children are just the two best, most genuinely kind, ridiculously gifted, and yes, beautiful to a fault, funny, and caring little rays of universal light I’ve ever met, and or created, I did something right…you bet. Oh, and of course these two are well aware the effects bullying has had on their mom, her friends, and people in their own lives–they’ve been taught to stand up and fight for the vulnerable. My daughter actually has had a bully target on her back for a quite some time, n’ I hate it for her. Well she did, the bully bullseye on her back, we’ve had to work on it, and she’s dealt with depression and low self esteem due to it’s evilness. She’s come out the other side thankfully. But you have no idea how hard it’s been to restrain myself from the one’s who’ve gone after her. Good God, it’s been a challenge.

She’s incredibly more compassionate now for the experience on one hand, my kid, she really is. I mean this girl’s just the loveliest teen human I’ve ever met, and being a singer/songwriter, her lyrics cover this pain and suffering and overcoming the darkness with such depth and soul and vocal, guitar and phrasing chops, well you’ll be seeing her around soon enough. She’s just the best…when she’s not being super moody…

Most real bullies don’t take responsibility for the sorrow they sew, it’s a narcissistic approach, ends up somehow being justified by ‘their own pain’. And this is painful to think critically about, you know? Some pretty bad shit went down in the homes of bullies we grew up with, still doesn’t get them off the hook, however.

Whatever. I love saying ‘whatever’ even when it’s not warranted and makes absolutely no sense. Who cares? I do…I think. I’d make a great addition to the ‘upside down’ at this point. Thank god for shows like ‘Stranger Things’ where being a misfit is total money.  I accept being a misfit. I am a misfit. I’m a totally bad ass looking misfit at this juncture, and that’s no accident. Like my look n’ stuff, I mean. I’m a punk at heart, cause I love punk rock, but my tattoos, arched eyebrows, penetrating stare, big boobs, deep voice and no nonsense attitude are my amour, I mean armor. And don’t like, go blabbing about it now, either. But it’s all surface, my tough girl act. I’m as sensitive and sweetly natured as a fruit roll.

hqdefault

(Giving credit to this amazing “Snow white lines” EP…to whoever. #CreativeGoals)

Growing up can really blow...Just like my mom’s old Malibu cocaine dealer with a really funny name I can’t remember. My sister and I went with her this one time–and man, you wouldn’t believe this super bitchen beach house this bizarrely small man with the funny name I can’t remember, lived in. So she could party. Cause she was sad. Funny thing was, this really ‘small’ big-ass dealer, used to double as a Beverly Hills hair dresser. N’ that wasn’t uncommon in Los Angeles in those days. In fact, who else could get away undetected as easily as someone who had droves of legit clients coming and going all  day long? A Beverly Hills hairdresser, that’s who.

Yeah, so my little sister and I go with mom to buy blow from the scary small, hair dressing cocaine dealer, and they do a bunch of lines together, mom and the drug midget. I did some homework. Then my sister, who was like, oh I dunno, 10 at the time, gets all philosophical (if that’s even possible for a 10 yr old), and starts freaking out on our mother, that mom doesn’t love her anymore. It was our mother’s fault, not my sister’s, mother always took sides…anyway, the argument went from, “you like Kelly better than me don’t you?” to “You do, just admit it, she’s your favorite!” to “You LOVE Kelly more???!!!???” And mom being so goddamn high, was kinda like, “Well, yeah.”

Holy fuckin’ shit-balls. Let’s just say, even the drug dealer couldn’t deal anymore, made a peanut butter sandwich and went to bed. Very strange 80’s night. A school night no less.

Back to bully’s.

And I’m gonna go out on a limb and say something even more shocking about bullying: I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re a bully who’s only repeating the cycle of violence you as a child experienced yourself—not an excuse, assholes. Too many resources available for you online, free counseling n’ crisis centers n’ shit, medications, support groups, schools who DO care, and outreach programs, only a click or iPhone call or text away. You got too many things available to you if you feel compelled to harm someone, destroy their self worth and personal security, and unless you are seriously diagnosed with a pathology as in a personality disorder, where you actually do not know right from wrong, well…that still doesn’t get you off the hook, fuckface. So from me to to you, all the bullies out there, from a victim of chronic non stop harassment as a kid herself, this valley-punk-new wave-girl has a message for ya’: “fuck you, fer sure, like totally.”

 

FullSizeRender-4

(Keep reading for the source of my “fuck you like totally” reference as well. You’ll get a bang outta it if you’re over 40, or a cool edgy teen like my insanely talented singer/songwriter musician daughter.)

The 80’s…The ‘Me’ Generation

IMG_8835

(Me on the left, a cutie I have on my Insta in middle, and my BFF, Paula, still is, on Right)

The San Fernando Valley in the 80’s…the most gloriously kick-ass-bitchen-rad-tubular-like ohmigawd! Place to grow up… but treacherous as fuck emotionally. The tie in to my opening monologue is this: an egregiously bulled kid in the 80’s (regardless of any decade actually) becomes 1 of 2 things as they develop…or at least 7 or 8 in a mosh pit of all things once good now fucked. These include: Being hyper sensitive, neurotic, depressed, antisocial, obnoxious, galacticly aware of other’s feelings, suicidal, homicidal, a cutter, a drug addict, socially retarded, painfully afraid, (which could equal unparalleled paranoia) ‘tic’ inclined, a chronic masturbator (self soothing technique), and most importantly–breathtakingly compassionate, which is a good thing, or a BULLY THEMSELVES—perpetuating the psychological theory that the abused go on to be a abusers themselves…big one’s.

I’m a kid of the LA valley girl/new wave/punk scene circa 1980, so I know what the hell I’m talking about—Even if that sounds somewhat counter-intuitive—albeit—stupid even. You hear valley girl, you either think the movie Valley Girl, as in Randy (Nicholas Cage) and Julie (Deborah Foreman) as totally star crossed lovers caught between one’s dedication to the Hollywood punk rock scene (Randy) and the other’s Sherman oaks galleria shopping up a shit-storm bad habit (Julie)—or the pop culture hit song ‘Valley Girl’ by Moon Unit Zappa and satirical rock star dad Frank. Look, what I’m saying is, I was totally fucking obsessed with both the song and the movie, I mean, a cross section of us all kinda talked like An-dre-ah Wilson, the central Encino val from the track Moon so perfectly roasted (with emphasis on certain syllables to give a generic name like ‘Andrea’ an exotic new sound). I’m telling you, this song was such a hit with us girls at Walter Reed Jr. High in Studio City—I even stole the best lines from the song n’ ran around telling everyone to “bag their face’s” n’ tried to claim the phrase as totally mine first. I was kinda an idiot.

And c’mon?! As far as the goddamn movie? Valley Girl?—I mean, Who the hell didn’t wanna bang a hot punker guy like Randy from Hollywood High—all too edgy n’ ready ta’ roll a lusty “fuck you,” no respectable val girl would utter let alone give a handy to.

The flick was way bitchen n’ super rad but totally unrealistic. Every val bird I ever shot a sideways, wet’n’ wild, turquoise eye-shadowed glance at, cussed so epidemically, me included, like, we all could of mass produced giant dicks out our dirty mouths; just like Orks born of shit-pits in Mordor.

Ok, bad Lord of the rings analogy aside, we as Hollywood and not so Hollywood kids, had to face some facts in all reality…like, this is ‘real time with Kelly Walsh’ right now—Randy stood for what any girl would want; an anti-hero of cataclysmic authenticity, rocking no hang ups in his spellbinding confession of heartbreak n’ love. This of course was due to Julie turning her ‘Contempo Casuals’ back on him, as he wails painfully to the effect of: “I fucking love you Julie!!! Get it?! It’s your fuckin’ friends, isn’t it? You’re choosing your valley friends over loving me, aren’t’ you? Fuck Julie!”….She says nothing, but you can see the pain etched on her super squeaky clean valley girl face. Yes. It’s true–she loves Randy, goddammit she does, but the valley is just too totally rad to leave behind. Of course I’m gettin’ to the best line ever written in cinematic history, and it comes straight from the punkers mouth as he realizes valley girl Julie ain’t budging on true love over popped Izod collars: As Randy turns in his creepers (or some punk rock kick) to leave, he stops himself, turns back, and yells amazingly  ‘So fuck you, fer sure, like totally.” Never a better line written.

Alas, This movie got so much wrong, but the through line proves sustainable: you can’t choose who you are going to fall in love with—unless they have a bad blond bowl haircut like Tommy, the dorky val dude Julie chose over Randy, and or they say things like, “ She’s totally freaking out, what other val dude can touch me?”

Christ, Nothing like Randy and Julie from ‘Valley girl’ the movie ever happened to this valley girl in real life and I’m the real deal. Well was. Got no action in Hollywood or pacoima or any fuckin’ place–my love life was a total bust. Only thing I could ever hang my Micky Mouse ears on, was constant, non stop, kick your ass bulling wherever I went. Kinda kills the mood for romance anyway, so maybe not having a guy wanna finger me wasn’t so bad. But don’t get me wrong, I lusted so hard after so many guys, well, I’m not gonna disclose too much about my time alone in the bathtub with the hot facet water, but when I start releasing pages here and there from my semi-autobiographical coming of age 80’s novel, you’ll get so much straight forward, uncensored sex stuff your head will fall off.

So fer sure, I gave up on myself early on as far as sex or like, even a ‘hello’ from a dude —n’ I got used to the notion that due to the bullying and mean girl culture I grew up in, where the more physically violent a chick was, the more kinda popular she’d be; that growing up “valley” was totally awesome, but polymorphously dangerous, too.

…I get asked all these really goofy mystical questions with such awe n’ wonderment, you know, like what it was like being an LA native n’ stuff? I even kinda have an attitude about it, I need to get over it too, I got nothing to be all uppity about. It’s funny for me, though. I get, “What was life really like in Los Angeles California…Hollywood!?” That’s a geeky one. Foreigners from like, Texas or Florida, east coast imports as well, ask me this shit all the time. Hilarious. It’s such a weird question too, I don’t know any other life, do you? I mean, from wherever you hail from, your upbringing was your upbringing even if it was hillbillies n’ moonshine like people from Texas. Face it, everyone in LA, not originally born here, is looking for fame and fortune in entertainment in some fashion, n’ it’s a big deal to be originated from such a star studded place. I get it. We are a town of permanent out-of-towners.

My dad was kinda famous. Don’t know if you knew that. Still is. He’s a cult movie icon in many respects n’ I just love the shit outta it. That was fun growing up, but non of the teen mean girls who’d promised to have a couple of guys follow me home, then rape me, got the memo, so that didn’t matter non.

He wrote and produced this cult classic, Robert Altman directed film called “California Split” starring Elliott Gould, George Segal. Great iconic talents lending themselves and their expertise to such an awesomely written and directed piece of film-making magic. Real film-making, when story and character development meant something, not just quick edits, super hero nonsense, CGI and explosions.

Dad did good.

But our car still got repo’d in the middle of the night, mid 80’s style. So that kinda sucked. My mom even chased our leased brown and tan monte-carlo down the street at 4 o’ clock in the morning, screaming ‘YOU MOTHERFUCKER!’ at the top of her lungs in her underwear. Scared the shit outta the whole North Hollywood neighborhood. Man, That was a scene and a half, so was the next day when we actually went to collect the car back from the repo lot, and mom sucker punched the bag-man in the stomach bringing the jack-off to his knees. Those were good times, I really miss that wonderfully goofy gal.

She died 9 years ago, my mom…n’ I’m still here…and that’s a good thing. Still totally n’ fer surely fucked up over it, though. And that’s the rub.

IMG_8836

(Me, on left, again, as I morphed into my New Wave phase…and yes, that’s Hesher chick in middle)

Dedicated to 12 yr old Gabbie Green, who recently took her own life via hanging at the hands of ‘schoolyard’ bullies, as well as their new cowardly medium: Cyber-bullying. I Dedicate this blog to all children who have fallen victim to this cancer, in fact

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑