Stirring the Pot

by Jenny McCarthy

  Truth: Instead of waiting for someone to ask me to write my first book, I wrote one. Then I went to publishers and searched for the one whose team shared my vision of becoming a successful author.

  Truth: When no one would cast me in a TV show, I wrote myself into my own story concepts and scripts, and then went to every studio and network with a smile on my face and pitched the crap out of my shows.

  Truth: During a particularly dry dating spell—I just couldn’t find a man worth bonking—I asked people around me who had very high personal standards to set me up with men they thought would be good for me.

  Now, not all of my books have sold gazillions, not all of my TV show ideas saw the light of day or lasted long when they did, not every blind date turned into a boyfriend or even a roll in the hay … but that wasn’t the point of making the effort!

  Are you following this pep talk at all? The point was, I swam out to my ship! I went after the things I wanted in my life instead of going the easier (and dicey) route of sitting back and waiting. Instead of nursing the wounds of self-pity, I put myself out there, put my ass on the line, and let myself be vulnerable to failure. Because when you’re vulnerable to failure you’re also vulnerable to success. I’m not saying it’s easy, but it’s worth it. Honest to God, swear on my awesome life: self-doubt, inaction, and indecision kill more dreams than failure ever could. I now know that I’m too smart for doubt, inaction, and indecision even on my blondest day.

  OTHER HALFTIME LOCKER ROOM ENCOURAGEMENT

  The past is behind you, so there’s no reason to keep beating yourself up over what you didn’t do right.

  The present is now. You’re either living all over it or it’s living all over you—that’s your choice.

  The future is a big block of clay waiting for you to mold it into something spectacular.

  You don’t need anyone’s permission to seek happiness. Life is not one big traffic light at which you have to wait your turn. See the green light and floor it.

  Changing your ways may be difficult at first and it’s hard to gain momentum, but once you get your stroke down, you’ll be swimming full steam out to your own ship.

  It feels better living in the skin of someone who braves the ocean tides to swim to her destiny than living in the skin of someone braving the sofa in her fat pants feeling sorry for herself.

  My Resolution to Go Slow

  One of my best characteristics is that I’m spontaneous—I can shift gears, scrap plans, and get on board with your new idea quickly. I’m more of a “Yes, let’s give that a whirl” person than a skeptical, conservative “Let’s wait and see” type. Spontaneity works for me. Being cautious and suspicious doesn’t feel like a very pleasant way to go through life, and slamming on the brakes just leaves me carsick.

  Another thing I like about myself is that I don’t judge. I am more than willing to talk to and hang with seeming weirdos, the ones most people don’t even give a second look. The payoff is that I click with the most surprising and unlikely people. It’s an awesome feeling to mesh with another soul, especially when that other soul didn’t look all that promising to others. Whether that person is a friend or a lover, it’s so energizing to hum along at the same frequency. Two peas in a pod and all that. The new relationship is like a drug, and being with the other person is your fix.

  Okay, before you freak out, I do see that if you need a fix, you’re a junkie, and most junkies aren’t known for their good decision-making skills. Yes, I’ll admit that nine times out of ten, all that intimacy and soul connection dissipates when you drop the whole person-on-a-pedestal thing (or put your damn glasses on and see the person in better focus in the morning). And it’s true that when you’re willing to click with people as freely as I am, you sometimes make a house key for people who should probably just be passing acquaintances. (That’s not a metaphor; I make a lot of house keys and have probably single-handedly kept the local locksmith in business.)

  Yes, through some really spectacularly bad decisions and character assessments, I’ve come to realize that there’s a fine line between what’s positive about being spontaneous and what’s dangerous about being impulsive, between the benefits of not judging and the idiocy of not using your head. I can admit that I cross these lines all the fucking time.

  If I like your idea, I too often don’t ask the right follow-up questions. Instead I jump in with both feet without really considering your true agenda or the consequences. This is as true about getting a dramatic new haircut as it is about making a business deal. Hair grows back. But money, once it’s been flushed down the toilet of an ill-considered venture … not so much.

  Here’s one example of a pool into which I should have dipped my pinky toe instead of cannonballing. I once met a lady while standing in line at a pharmacy. We had the same shampoo in our baskets, so we got to talking. We quickly discovered that we had compatible astrological signs, so before we’d even reached the checkout, we were discussing plans to start an online horoscope company together. We had exchanged contact info before we made it to the parking lot, and let’s just say I went further down that particular toilet pipe than I should have.

  Another time I met a woman at my boot camp fitness class who seemed really motivated and knowledgeable. She mentioned she was looking for work and a place to stay, so I offered her a job as a live-in personal trainer and cleaned out my guest room for her (yes, of course she got a key to my house). After the initial burst of workout energy between us wore off (which took a couple of days), she mostly read Us Weekly and left my couch full of potato chip crumbs. My treadmill became a handy drying rack for her hand-washables for six months. I suppose all I really lost was a little muscle tone and a guest room. On the upside, her Us Weekly subscription still comes to my house.

  Then there was the assistant hairdresser on location during filming … he kept my orgasms flowing during a bitterly cold snap but emptied the minibar, my per diem allowance, and my wallet. I didn’t want for things to be weird, though, so I let him stay for the entire three months of production. On the upside, did I mention those orgasms? I kept warm and satisfied that winter, so that’s something.

  I’m told that I’m lucky that letting the wrong person too quickly into my life hasn’t led to worse. I’ve never been stabbed (did I mention that another thing I like about myself is that I can always see the bright side of things?). But I’m guessing that my guardian angel is working overtime, and I know it’s time to give her a chance to rest.

  So—drumroll, please—here’s what I’ve resolved to do this year:*1 I’m going to look before I leap into bed, research before I invest, and take the locksmith off speed dial. There, I did that last one already. I’m on a roll.*2

  I see from watching Evan that it can take hours, days, or even months to master a video game. Inspired by the time and energy he puts into advancing through each level, I have an idea to devise a point system for moving a semi-stranger up the ladder of my affections. Everyone starts as a potential friend (hey, I can’t start judging now; everyone has potential!) but has to prove trustworthiness in order to become a friend, good friend, great friend, BFF, lover, or profound love of my life. I’m not clear yet on what will qualify as trustworthiness (because my measurement of that quality hasn’t exactly been accurate in the past; this page), but I’m working on that. All I do know is that even if it means handcuffing myself to the radiator until the impulse to make keys passes, it will now take more than a similar taste in booze, shoes, or shampoo, more than a great eye for fabric, and more than a fabulous ass or abs for someone to make it into the inner circle of my heart, my home, or my vagina.

  * * *

  *1 I made this resolution at 11:54 p.m. on December 31, 2013. I was in New York City’s Times Square, helping Ryan Seacrest do the countdown honors. I was tired out from a three-day battle with the flu. I had a temperature of 103 degrees. I believe this makes me less responsible for the resolution than I would have been in my right mind.

  *2 At th
is writing I have still managed to avoid making any new keys. But ask me if that’s true by the time this book is in stores.

  A Manopausal Road Map

  We women get some conflicting messages from the media and our culture. On one hand, we are sold products and fashions that will help us, we’re told, to look and feel younger. But then just as often we are told that really evolved souls surrender gracefully to age and let Mother Nature do her thing. They don’t fight the way their boobs, bellies, body hair, and brains are changing.

  I take a middle road. I’m not fool enough to think that I can hang on to the body I had when I was twenty years old. On the other hand, I’m not cool with rogue body hair—there really is no use for hair on a woman’s chinny-chin-chin.

  But let’s stop analyzing the female experience for a minute here and examine how men are getting similarly confusing messaging. On one hand, our popular male role models seem to get wiser and sexier as they get older and grayer, but on the other, we make them question their own virility with all those ads for boner meds and testosterone replacement therapy. Since most men don’t really talk to each other about these things, I believe they need some straight talk about what to expect as they get older, and I’m just the girl for the job. Let’s get started.

  LETTER TO THE MAN

  GOING THROUGH MANOPAUSE

  Dear Mr. Manopause:

  In addition to being a son, a brother, and a friend, you may now also be a father, an uncle, or perhaps even a grandfather (depending on how young you were when you started sowing your big bad seed in the first place). Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise: this adding-of-roles stage of your life is a time to celebrate. It’s not a time for anxiety or fear. But I know that no one really tells you what to expect or how to cope with your changing body and priorities. So see below. Some of the bullet points are must-dos, while others are milestones to watch for. All of them should put your mind at ease about the passage into the prime of life.

  • Even though it was never an option when you were in the army, “surrender” is not a dirty word. Now that you are maturing, it’s something you need to get used to. You will have to surrender your VIP pass to the gentlemen’s club or at least let it expire. On the flip side, you really should stop surrendering your credit card to the makers of Penis Power and the surprisingly chinless plastic surgeon who wants to share the 411 on injectables.

  • You will likely lose your hair. Even if you don’t lose your hair, what little you have will lose its color. Don’t fight this change with dye. A silver fox can be smoking hot. A guy who turns the pillow brown if he sweats in his sleep never is.

  • If you’re concerned about your sex drive, you don’t need to be. Any woman will tell you that thinking about it is half the battle. (It’s when it never crosses your mind that you might be done … but if it never crosses your mind, you won’t be worrying about it.)

  • True midlife is when most men stop thinking so much about how to attract the ladies and start focusing more on how to keep the ladies. In other words, if you haven’t figured out where her clitoris is yet, you’re not quite yet in your prime. Keep working at it.

  • Your balls will start to get longer and the day will come when you realize free-ballin’ has to be a thing of your past. This shouldn’t trouble you. Wearing underwear is preferable to ball chafe around your knees.

  • You’ll be unable to resist buying box sets of Steely Dan and Rush, and you’ll find yourself wondering out loud (to other prime-timers) why the hell you didn’t keep all your vinyl. Let it go—you sold it at a yard sale and there’s no going back.

  • You may also find yourself reminiscing about the drugs you took when you first saw Steely Dan or Rush live. You and your manopausal brothers will talk fondly of Thai sticks and lids and seeds and stems, LSD, and that time you cured a ten-year-old heartbreak with just one handful of ’shrooms. Nothing wrong with going down memory lane, but consult your physician if you have the urge to relive any of those days for real.

  • You may experience the urge to purchase a bright yellow sports car. As long as the urge doesn’t also include wanting to drive around picking up underage girls, caving in to the purchase of a statement vehicle is nothing to be ashamed of. Still, since the chances are good that you will become embarrassed by it within a couple of years, you should consider leasing instead of buying.

  • Some of you will continue to skateboard. Others of you will take surfing lessons. Some of you will spend lots of time perfecting your golf swing. Others of you will get it into your head that you want to run a marathon. Whatever floats your boat. Nothing wrong with exercise.

  • Please understand once and for all that there is no such thing as the diet of a “real man.” If you love steak and scotch and cigars, enjoy them (though you’ll last longer in bed and on this earth if you lay off all those heart-cloggers a little). If you like quiche and quinoa and kale, knock yourself out (but keep in mind that incessant talk about health food and bowel movements is a total turn-off).

  • Last one, so pay close attention: even if you’re with a whole new cast of characters in this Act II of your life, you’re going to need to make amends and make peace with the people who were onstage with you for Act I. I’m talking about first wives, Mister, so Make It Right.

  Four Things Every Girl Should Have in Her Purse

  Wallet, keys, lipstick? Obviously. Here is your advanced packing list:

  1. Earbuds. Clearly, these come in handy when you want to listen to your favorite tunes or watch back episodes of your favorite sitcom on your iPad without bothering the lady next to you on the train. But they are also an incredibly diplomatic decoy: tuck the plug inside your purse and pretend you’re listening to music even if you’re not. I find this is a much nicer and more effective way to communicate “I’m not interested in talking to you” than your middle finger. The middle finger tends not to shut people up. Go figure.

  2. Individually wrapped hard candies. Throw the candy at random, untethered children or even random, untethered men who approach you. They always scatter like pigeons chasing feed and you can make your getaway.

  3. Chopsticks. Chopsticks don’t take up much room at all, but they have several important uses. If you’re coordinated enough to feed yourself with them, you’re already ahead of the game. But I tend to use chopsticks either to put my hair up (instructions: twist your hair into a bun and stab the chopsticks through it in a crisscross) or as an amazingly effective weapon now that Mace has been outlawed in some states. Especially if those earbuds aren’t doing the trick …

  4. Emergency feminine protection products. As many as you can jam into an opaque bag that will fit inside your purse while still leaving just enough room for your wallet, keys, lipstick, earbuds, candy, and chopsticks. See “The Red Scare,” this page, if you don’t have a firm handle on why this is so important.

  Pooper Scooping

  To borrow from the 1960s Virginia Slims cigarette commercial, I’ve come a long way, baby! Of course, that slogan was somehow meant to appeal to “liberated” working women, the idea being that black lungs and yellowed fingertips were no longer the kind of reward for hard work that only men should enjoy.

  Even though I’ve had trouble kicking my own nicotine habit, we can all laugh at the ridiculousness of that ad now. Nothing says confidence and sex appeal like having to drag around an oxygen tank, right?

  But there was a time when no one did laugh at it. We bought into the idea hook, line, and sinker, just like we’ve done with lots of other subliminal and not-so-subliminal messages sold to us over the years. That’s the nature of advertising and marketing, and I’m not here to judge the results, okay? That’s what lawsuits and the Surgeon General are for.

  But to be corny for a minute, the life cycle of that old ad campaign—both what it stood for and the punch line it later became—are not so far from the cycle of life itself. Don’t we all just keep naively looking for direction in the wrong places? Don’t we buy into the latest
trends and expert opinions only to wake up at some point to the realization that we were fucking idiots back then? Don’t you sometimes look at photos of your younger self and wish you could give the person in that snapshot a massive head slap? You know you do. We all occasionally wish for a time machine that could give us a chance to warn ourselves about the pain, disappointment, and rude awakenings to come.

  But short of inventing that time machine, the kindest thing you can do for yourself is to not spend time on regret. Instead, choose to smile at your naïveté. Have the 2014 version of yourself let the 1990 version of yourself go. Don’t head-slap that girl in the photos; instead, whisper to her that you know she was doing the best she could with what she had to work with. Through the healing power of YouTube, I am constantly amused by the naïveté of some of the things that’ve come out of my mouth; I am constantly amused by my choice in acting jobs, even if very few other people are.

  More than anything, that’s the way in which I’ve come a long way. I’ve given up regretting things because it’s so fucking futile to shoulda, coulda, woulda yourself all day. Even painful things like job disappointment and relationship rejection—things that chewed me up to a point I could barely stand at the time—have eventually spit me out in a good place. My mistakes and my pain and my baggage have made me the successful, happy person that I am today.

  Now, I’m not only saying that when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. And I’m not only saying that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Instead, I’ll put it in a way no Hallmark card would dare: the way to wisdom is through the shit.