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Valerie Bertinelli’s new memoir ‘Finding It’ released today
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  1. #1
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    Valerie Bertinelli’s new memoir ‘Finding It’ released today

    Excerpt: Valerie Bertinelli’s ‘Finding It’
    TV Star, Van Halen Ex Remembers the Difficulty of Explaining the Facts of Life to Rocker Son
    Oct. 6, 2009

    The following excerpt from Valerie Bertinelli’s new book, “Finding It –
    and Satisfying My Hunger for Life Without Opening the Fridge,” a follow-up
    to her memoir “Losing It — and Gaining My Life Back One Pound at a
    Time,” comes courtesy of Simon & Schuster publishers.

    Watch Chris Connelly’s interview with Valerie Bertinelli on “20/20″ Friday
    at 10 p.m. ET

    Chapter One

    The Sex Talk

    The only time I enjoyed being fat was when I was pregnant. I weighed
    nearly 180 pounds, and I was in heaven. As I ate Italian subs that my mom
    made to tide me over between meals, I would smile at the thought of the
    miracle of bringing a life into this world, a life that I would raise and
    nurture, guide and fill with love and wisdom. It was a special time in my

    I did not think the same thing when that miraculous creation of mine
    called on the phone from the road where he was touring with his father’s
    band and said, “Hey, Ma, can I sleep at my girlfriend’s house?”

    I wanted to vomit.

    Actually, I wanted to open the fridge and eat everything on the second
    shelf, the third shelf, and then the top shelf. Not even the old brick of
    cheddar with the mold on it was safe from the surge of anxiety and
    uncertainty I felt at that moment.

    I kept my head on, though, and said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

    After we’d said goodbye, I held the phone at arm’s length in shock.
    Wolfie’s question lingered in the air, like a smoke signal in an old
    western portending imminent danger.

    I looked around for Tom to ask him how I had gotten to this place. He had
    gone outside, which was lucky for me. With gleeful sarcasm, he would have
    reminded me that this situation was the result of one night nearly
    eighteen years earlier when I had gotten frisky with my then-husband, Ed.
    Now I had a sixteen-and-three-quarters- year-old teenager who wanted to
    sleep with his girlfriend. Then Tom came through the front door whistling
    his happy tune. I was still debating whether to eat or throw up. I filled
    him in on the news.

    “Tell me again–what did Wolfie say exactly?” he asked.

    “He said he wanted to sleep at Liv’s house,” I said.

    “Well, that’s not exactly saying he wants to sleep with her,” he said.

    “You’re talking semantics,” I said. “I’m thinking sex.”

    “You are?” he said, his face unfolding in a giant smile.

    “Oh, shut up,” I snapped. “What is it with men? I’m in a quandary, and
    you’ve somehow turned this around and think you’re going to get lucky.”

    “I’m not?” he asked, with a sad face.

    “Come on,” I said. “Help me think this through.”

    We sat down at the kitchen table and talked. Tom pointed out that Wolfie
    had called home to ask permission. He hadn’t slept over at Liv’s house,
    even though he was halfway across the country and traveling as part of a
    rock-and-roll band. Tom suggested I think about how Wolfie’s dad had been
    at that same age, something that made me say a quick prayer of thanks.
    Wolfie knew right from wrong, Tom pointed out. If he didn’t, he was trying
    to figure it out and had looked to his mother for advice. He was a good
    kid. Ergo, what was I worried about?

    “Losing him!” I said with an exaggerated whimper.

    At the time, I weighed 132.2 pounds, down 40 pounds from when I had begun
    a very public diet earlier that spring. I had already surpassed my
    original weight loss goal of 30 pounds and at some point — I had failed
    to note it on my calendar — I had gone from losing weight to being on

    I had talked about maintenance for months as if it were a change of life.
    But I had no idea what it was really about. I figured I would learn once I
    got there. Then I got there and wondered what it was that I was supposed
    to be maintaining. My life was in flux — it wasn’t a work-in-progress as
    much as it was simply work. As I would find out, maintenance was exactly
    that — more work.

    And it was life work, not losing-weight work.

    If my weight was a barometer of the rest of my life, I still wasn’t where
    I wanted to be. In addition to concern about my weight, I also knew that I
    could be better, kinder, smarter, more disciplined, compassionate,
    patient, and loving. I wanted to feel like I mattered. I yearned for a
    lightness of being that couldn’t be measured on a scale. I wanted to feel
    whole, peaceful, and connected to a Higher Power even if just for a few

    But real life made that seem impossible. Whether it was Wolfie being away
    from home, Tom’s struggles to be a hands-on father to his children, my
    career, the house falling apart, or my anger at Bush and Cheney for where
    they had taken the country, I was unable to relax much less get a firm
    grip. Then Wolfie fell in love and I felt as if part of the floor had
    given way.

    “What about condoms?” Tom mused one day.

    “What do you mean by that?” I asked.

    “For Wolfie,” he said.

    I looked at him, aghast at his insensitivity.

    “Not funny.”

    I liked Wolfie’s girlfriend, Liv, who was a friend of Tom’s oldest
    daughter. Wolfie had met her the previous summer in Arizona, but he never
    appeared to take any special interest in her. Nor did she in him. One time
    he mentioned that she bugged him. I should have taken note.

    Then Liv and her family moved to Kansas and we didn’t hear about her. In
    the meantime, Wolfie went on tour. We talked every couple of days. He was
    semi-good about keeping in touch. He texted me from Indianapolis and
    phoned from Chicago and Detroit. He had a story about each city. Then he
    called from Kansas, where in an unusually excited voice, he said that he
    had the day off and that he and Matt, the young man who drove his tour bus
    and watched out for him, had been invited to eat dinner at Liv’s house.
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  2. #2
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    He asked if I remembered Liv. Had I developed Alzheimer’s since he’d gone
    out on tour with Van Halen a few months earlier? Of course, I remembered
    her. He said that Liv’s mom had invited them to have a home-cooked meal.

    “Isn’t that nice of them?” he said.

    “Yes, it is,” I said.

    “I’m so excited,” he said.

    Wolfie was never that effusive unless he saw a new gadget at the Apple
    store. All of a sudden I paid more attention. My son hadn’t sounded like
    himself when he had asked, “Is that nice of them?” He crossed the line
    when he said, “I’m so excited.” I realized he was telling me that there
    was more to this invitation than dinner. He liked this girl.

    It was one of those subtle moments in life when you open your eyes and
    discover that the pieces that have provided longtime familiarity in a
    relationship have shifted slightly in one direction or another. It’s like
    waking up in the morning and remembering that you rearranged a couple
    pieces of furniture in the room. You have to create new walkways so you
    don’t bump into things.

    I’m not someone who likes change. I have had the furniture in my living
    room for twenty years. I bought it with Ed early in our marriage. I have
    been meaning to get it recovered for the past five years. It shows you how
    fast I move. I wasn’t ready for my son to have a girlfriend and everything
    that meant. Is any mother ever ready to relinquish her place as first in
    their child’s heart? I wasn’t.

    I told Tom, who digested the news with a calm nod. It made me suspicious.
    I asked if he had known that anything was going on between Wolfie and his
    daughter’s friend, Liv. I emphasized Liv’s relationship to Andie not to
    remind him of who this girl was but to instead put him on notice that
    everything that happened between them from here on out was his fault. He
    understood and shook his head no.

    “You can’t do that to me,” he said.

    “Yes I can,” I said.

    “I’ll find out what’s going on,” he said.

    “Good idea,” I said.

    Like a dutiful soldier in the age-old battle of parents vs. children, Tom
    reported back that Wolfie was indeed tight with Liv. I felt a little like
    an editor at a tabloid magazine. But so what. I wanted to know everything
    Tom had found out. According to his source, they had been texting and
    talking on the telephone for months. Wolfie had fallen into “deep like”
    with this pretty girl, and from the information Tom had turned up, she
    felt the same way about him.

    “So it’s all good,” Tom said,

    “All good?” I asked.

    “I wonder if they’ve kissed,” he said, ignoring me.


    “What do you mean?” he asked.

    “I don’t want to know if they’ve kissed or anything else,” I said.

    “You don’t?” he asked. “Now’s the time when you want to know everything.
    Well, not everything. But you want to know what’s going on.”

    “I hate it when you’re right.”

    Late that afternoon, Wolfie phoned home and reported on dinner at Liv’s.
    His voice was upbeat and I could hear that he was happy, very happy.
    Wolfie’s willingness to talk was a surefire indicator of his moods. When
    his voice was soft and he used words as sparingly as a nomad would drink
    water in the desert, I knew there was trouble. Now I couldn’t shut him up.
    He told me everything Liv’s mother had served for dinner and every bit of
    conversation at the table.

    It was a little overboard even for him. I wanted to ask, are you really my

    “And guess what?” he asked.


    “They invited me to sleep over after dinner. Can I?”

    “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said.

    “But Ma!”

    “Wolfie, it’s very nice of Liv and her family to want you to sleep at
    their house. But you have a hotel room and a show the next day. I’m sure
    Dad’s going to want you there.”

    Grudgingly, he agreed. I was sure his willingness to listen to me stemmed
    from the newness of this relationship and the other circumstances of his
    living situation. I reminded myself that he had called to ask my
    permission rather than decide on his own, which was the way I had tried to
    raise him. When you don’t know something, ask someone for advice,
    preferably your parent–and that’s just what he’d done. But I wondered how
    long he would continue to listen to me. I was a year younger than he was
    when I got involved in my first serious romance and I worked myself into a
    full steam of anxiety remembering what I had done and not told my parents.

    If it had been possible, I might have flown to Kansas and brought Wolfie
    back home for the night. I had the urge to have my little boy back, the
    one who used to look at me with blind devotion and raise his arms high in
    the air and say, “Mama up!” I didn’t want to think about him having a
    girlfriend and all the complications that might ensure. But as Tom
    reminded me when he got home, this wasn’t about me. Even though I wasn’t
    ready for him to have a girlfriend, he was and I would have to deal with

    “I supposed that’s why God invented M&Ms and potato chips,” I said,

    “No,” Tom laughed. “But I think it’s why He invented the phone, the video
    camera, iChat, private detectives, and so on.”

    Luckily for me, within a few days, Tom and I visited Wolfie on tour. The
    trip had been planned months earlier, so it didn’t seem like I was
    checking up on him. Though delighted to see us, Wolfie still needed a
    little time to adjust to having his mom out there with him. I understood.
    I upset the routine he got into of studying during the day, going to
    soundcheck, performing, eating dinner late, and then staying up even later
    as he wound down from the show.
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    It wasn’t exactly the day of a normal sixteen-year-old. But that’s the
    reason I visited as frequently as I did. I thought whatever facsimile of
    family time I could manufacture would be better than none.

    On this trip, though, I had questions. I asked the obvious mom-type
    questions before the show. I didn’t ask about Liv until the show was
    finished and we were back at the hotel, playing cards in the two-bedroom
    suite Wolfie shared with Matt. Wolfie was much more relaxed than he had
    been prior to the show, which I reminded myself made sense considering he
    had many things on his mind before performing onstage in front of twenty
    thousand people. Finally, I asked how dinner at Liv’s had been. All of a
    sudden he perked up. His eyes opened wide and he began to recount the
    dinner in the same detail as he had on the phone. Except this time, in the
    course of telling me the story, he mentioned that he liked Liv.

    “Oh, really?” I said, drawing on thirty-six years of acting experience to
    deliver that note of nonchalant curiosity.

    “Yeah,” he said. “The way I felt about her last summer . . .”

    “You liked her last summer?” I interrupted.

    “Now it’s not the same, you know?”

    “Good for you,” I said. “She’s a very nice girl.”

    “Really nice,” he said.

    We spent Thanksgiving with my parents and brother, Pat, and his wife,
    Stacy, in Arizona. Wolfie was there with us, regaling everyone with
    stories from the road and catching up with Tom’s son, Tony, and friends.
    After the holiday, Liv flew in and stayed with us for a week. I was more
    nervous than she appeared to be; in fact, I had to remind myself that I
    was the parent, not the girlfriend visiting the boyfriend’s family. The
    problem was, I didn’t know how to play my role, whether to be strict or
    cool or super cool or what.

    Pretty quickly I figured out that I really liked Liv, who impressed me as
    a mature and together young woman. I could tell that she had been raised
    properly. She was considerate and well-mannered. When she arrived, I had
    her put her suitcase in Wolfie and Tony’s room and made it clear the two
    boys would sleep in the plush tour bus parked in front of the house. She
    thanked me for allowing her to visit.

    Very late that night, I woke up in a panic, wondering where Wolfie and Liv
    were sleeping. They had not given me a single reason to suspect they
    weren’t in the places I had assigned them earlier in the day, but my mind
    was full of scenarios that filled me with concern. It was because I had
    been a teenager once, and I knew what I had done at that same age.
    Actually, I’d been younger. Was that beside the point? Or was it the
    point? I had no idea. Nor did it matter. I got out of bed and crept
    through the house like a guard on the show Lockup. As I tiptoed back into
    the bedroom and quietly slipped back under the covers, Tom rolled over.

    “And?” he asked.

    “Everyone’s where they’re supposed to be,” I said.

    “Except for you.”

    “Touché,” I replied.

    I shut my eyes and tried to go back to sleep while realizing something
    that many parents before me had discovered: I was the one with sex on the
    brain, not Wolfie or Liv. I knew that would change if they stayed
    together, but for now this was more my issue than theirs. I supposed it
    was part of being a parent. I had the wisdom and experience to know what
    lay ahead, and to prepare for it. Was I prepared? I didn’t know; I’d have
    to see when I got there, wherever that would be.

    There was a more important question: Was Wolfie prepared? Had I done my
    job as a parent?

    I thought about two things: The talks I hadn’t had with him about sex and
    love and maturity, and the discussions I should have had with him about
    relationships, the highs, lows, joys, difficulties, and potential of
    heartbreak. We had spent hours discussing favorite movies such as Galaxy
    Quest and Lord of the Rings. We had also talked endlessly about the video
    game Legend of Zelda. We had discussed school, music, favorite bands,
    clothes, acne, friends — all the stuff that happened. I had at times even
    solicited his opinion on stuff I had seen in the Pottery Barn catalog? How
    had I managed to not talk to him about girls, sex, and love? What was
    wrong with me? I felt like a bad mother. I worried that I had failed both
    of us.
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    I still felt that way in the morning. As I made myself coffee, I thought
    about handling those feelings in the way I had done so many times in the
    past: by opening the fridge and eating my way into numbness. I didn’t do
    it. I knew it wasn’t a healthy or productive way to handle a problem. I
    had learned that I was an emotional eater, and as such, I had come to
    recognize my desire to eat during times of upset or stress for what it
    was–an emotional response to a feeling that is starved for action or
    discussion, not a desire for a slice of leftover pizza at 9:30 in the

    I heard Tom stirring and took him a cup of coffee. I asked if he wanted to
    go for a walk, explaining that I needed to work off something that was
    bothering me.

    “What’s up?” he asked.

    “I haven’t had the sex talk,” I said.

    He put his hands on my shoulders, pulled me close and said, “Baby, we
    don’t have to talk about it.”

    I pushed him away.

    “Not you, silly,” I said. “I haven’t talked to Wolfie about sex.”

    “Doesn’t he know where babies come from?”

    “I’m sure he does. It’s how they’re made that I’m not sure he understands

    “Or how to keep them from being made.”

    “Thank you.”

    “I’m sure he knows that part, too.”

    “But I’m not sure,” I said.

    “It’s a little late, don’t you think?” Tom said. “Besides, he’s probably
    seen everything and then some in the movies or on the Internet.”

    “Yeah, but I know seeing it and talking about it are two different
    things.” I took a deep breath and sighed. “This isn’t fair.”

    “What isn’t?”

    “Wolfie’s still in bed, sleeping soundly without a care in his head other
    than what he and Liv are going to do today–and I’m pacing the kitchen,
    wondering if dipping Cheetoes in peanut butter might make me feel better
    about not ever having talked to my son about sex.”

    “Probably not,” Tom said. “I think we should take a walk.”

    “Yeah, good idea.”

    I had a good, albeit sardonic laugh as I thought of being on maintenance
    in the context of my life. First, let me say that I wasn’t yet on
    maintenance. I was looking ahead. In reality, thanks to a handful of
    macaroons, I was up one third of a pound, which meant I still had a pound
    and a half to go before I reached my weight loss goal. On my blog, I
    wrote, “Guys, what if I’m on maintenance next week?”

    What if I was?

    That’s what made me laugh.

    What was I trying to maintain beyond my weight — and even that wasn’t set
    in stone?

    I made a list in my head, and the things I needed to fix or change
    outnumbered the things I was content to merely maintain. Who came up with
    this concept of maintenance?

    I realized my life was similar to my closet. No matter what time or year,
    it could always use a little straightening or cleaning. The job was never
    finished. Motherhood was the same. The problems changed, but they didn’t
    end or get any easier. At one point when Tom and I were on our walk, I
    looked up at the sky and mused, “Oh really, God. Why didn’t you tell me
    that it wasn’t going to ever end or get easier — or that the poopy
    diapers were just a warm-up?”

    The following afternoon, I had an opportunity to talk with Wolfie. I found
    him on the sofa, watching TV. Alone! Miraculously, he wasn’t with Liv. The
    two of them spent more time together than conjoined twins. I seized the

    “Hey, I want to talk about you and Liv,” I said, trying to sound casual
    and relaxed as I plopped down on the sofa.

    “Yeah, Mom. What’s up?”

    “We’ve never officially or even unofficially talked about sex,” I said.
    “You know, the sex talk.”

    “You mean where babies come from?” he asked.

    “No, more like how babies are made.”



    “Please don’t go there,” he said.


    “It’s gross.”

    “But you’re in a relationship.”

    “It’s gross.”

    I took a deep breath. I agreed with him. I was uncomfortable and
    embarrassed talking about sex with my son, not that I would characterize
    what we were doing as talking about sex. But I wanted to make a point.
    Unfortunately for me, I hadn’t thought that part through to a conclusive
    place I could articulate. In my head, I had only gotten as far as “we need
    to talk.”

    So I just looked at Wolfie until he said, “What? What are you looking
    at?” How could I explain what I was looking at? I was looking at sixteen
    years of life, his remarkable growth, my frustrating inadequacies, and the
    fact that in the beginning it had been just the two of us and now here we
    were, the two of us brought together yet again by the miracle of life. I
    could have, and probably should have, just been forthright and said that
    from the little intelligence I had been able to gather, I knew that he and
    Liv were still as chaste as the Jonas Brothers, and I wanted to keep it
    that way, at least for a while. But if things were to change, here’s what
    I wanted him to know. Here’s what I had learned about men and women, sex
    and responsibility. But there wasn’t a chance in hell of that coming out
    of my mouth.
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    I also thought about asking if he would take a vow of chastity and I would
    take a vow of silence and the two of us would meet back here in a few
    years. But that didn’t happen either. Instead, I blurted out that I was
    looking forward to being a grandmother someday. But he was way too young
    to start giving me grandchildren.

    Wolfie responded exactly as I would have if I had been sixteen and sitting
    cross from me after that ridiculous statement. He stared at me with a look
    of startled bewilderment. I shrugged. I thought it was a nice try–the
    best I could do.

    “Do you feel better now?” he asked.

    “I don’t know,” I said.

    “Mom, let me just talk to Dad about it,” he said. “How about that?”


    Relieved, I walked out of the room. About two minutes later, I was kicked
    in the butt by reality. I couldn’t believe what I had agreed to. Had I
    lost my mind? God only knew what kind of information Wolfie might get from
    his dad. Getting your sex talk from Eddie Van Halen wasn’t recommended in
    any of the parenting books I read.

    A few days later, Liv flew back home, Wolfie went back on the road, and I
    reached my goal of losing 40 pounds. I celebrated the milestone at the
    kitchen table in my sweats, asking myself what now? Maintenance? Ha!
    Instead of throwing myself a party for hitting my goal, as I had always
    expected to do, I went for a hike with Tom up and down Pinnacle Peak, a
    rugged mountain outside of Phoenix.

    As we huffed and puffed, I asked Tom if his parents had ever talked to him
    about sex. They hadn’t, he said. He had learned about the facts of life
    from friends on the playground. I had discovered that information the same
    way, separating fact from fiction as I went along. Did anyone get the
    formal, sit-down sex talk? Or was that just a chapter in the parenting
    books that everyone skipped?

    “I’d like to think that I progressed beyond my parents,” I said.

    “Well, I have always spoken pretty openly about sex to my girls,” Tom
    said. “They even told me when they got their periods.”

    “Aren’t you evolved,” I said.

    He grinned.

    “I just recently told your mother that I’ve seen your penis,” I said.

    “What?” he said. “What’d she say?”

    ” ‘Oh, honey. I’ve seen it too. It’s no big thing!’ ” I said, laughing.

    By the time we returned home, I had put all joking aside and decided to
    speak to my son again and make sure we had the kind of talk that I knew in
    my heart was right. I wanted to make sure he was prepared, responsible and
    sensitive — and informed — if only for my own peace of mind or just to
    prove that I could do better than my parents. I knew that I would beat
    myself up if I didn’t do it.

    Later that day, after working up my determination and thinking about what
    I wanted to say, I called Wolfie at his hotel. He was waiting for Matt to
    finish bundling gear before they headed to the arena.

    “Do you remember the talk I wanted to have with you after Thanksgiving?” I

    “Maybe,” he said.

    “The one about sex,” I said.


    “Have you spoken with your dad about it yet?”


    “Good,” I said. “I wanted to get to you first.”

    “Ma, it’s gross — and whatever happens between me and Liv, it’s none of
    your business.”

    “You’re right,” I said. “That would be gross, as you say. I don’t want to
    know about the two of you. This isn’t about Liv, in fact. It’s about
    you.” I paused momentarily, waiting for him to cut me off. He didn’t– and
    I knew right then I had him and this was my time.

    “Look, I just want to tell you that as far as you and Liv or you and
    anyone else that comes into your life goes, it’s about your heart and
    hers. Don’t give your heart and self away easily. But when you do, don’t
    protect it to the point where you don’t open yourself up to your feelings.
    Always be kind and treat other people the way you want to be–”

    “Ma, I know,” he said, cutting me off. “Treat people the way I want to be
    treated. You say it all the time. I get it.”

    “One more thing,” I said.


    “Babies come from storks.”

    Relieved, I told Tom about the conversation. I don’t know if it was
    helpful, but I felt better.

    A few days later, all of us rendezvoused at the Van Halen concert in San
    Diego. Before the show, I pulled Ed aside and asked him to speak to Wolfie
    about being responsible and sensitive in relationships. I didn’t come
    right out and say he was serious about his girlfriend and we needed to
    make sure he was well informed. But Ed understood. I saw him take it in,
    think about what he should say, and then he looked at his girlfriend
    Janie, at me, and at Tom, and nodded.

    “Got it,” he said.

    I was nervous about what he might say, because he could be crude even when
    trying to be sensitive. But I felt like I had run out of options. God help
    me, I turned it over to Ed.

    A little before the show, I was standing with Tom in the hallway outside
    Ed’s dressing room when I thought I overheard him having the talk. I
    shushed Tom and inched closer to the doorway. Tom was right behind me when
    I turned around and we heard Ed tell Wolfie to listen to his heart, to be
    careful of who he gave it to, and then “when you give it away be careful
    of their heart, too.”

    Then he added, “Treat each other with kindness.”

    I gritted my teeth at Tom.

    “That’s what I tried to tell him,” I said.

    “Shush,” Tom said. “They’re still going.”

    We listened closer and heard Ed finish: “. . . and be wary of all the
    sluts and skanks and whores who will want to be with you because you play
    in a band and have a famous last name.”

    I shrugged. I wouldn’t have said that last part. But it was essentially
    the same talk I had tried to have. I wanted to praise Ed, but remembered
    that we were eavesdropping and quickly grabbed Tom and guided us away from
    the door. Then Wolfie strolled out and into the hall. He was in a good

    “Hey, Ma,” he said.

    “What’s going on?” I asked.

    “Nothing,” he said. “Just talking to Dad.”

    I watched him walk back to his dressing room. All of us were learning
    about the facts of life.

    Notes to Myself

    Drink more water! Thirst is different from hunger. Thirst for knowledge,
    thirst for health, thirst for love . . . lots of water.

    Today, my mind and body are in conflict about going to the gym, but I’m
    telling them to get on the same page! How? I’m thinking of all the times
    I’ve wished I’d worked out but couldn’t. And the times I’ve wished I’d
    felt good about myself but didn’t. Now that I have the time to get
    exercise . . . is forty-five minutes such a big deal?

    Tom says I snore. He doesn’t. We’re an odd couple.
    Van Halen Blog 2.0 (New Blog):

    Van Halen Blog 1.0:

  6. #6

  7. #7
    Metal Up Your A$$!
    Join Date
    Oct 2004
    Far, far away

    Thumbs down ...

    Poor Wolfie... .
    Wolfgang Van Halen - "I love being a bass player. It’s just me and Al — a groove section. Just boom, boom, boom, and we’re good". GW
    Edward Van Halen - "What is next for Wolf is the next record and the next tour. He’s no different than I am. Music is his life. If he goes back to school, I’ll probably go with him.” GC

  8. #8
    Quote Originally Posted by Simon Ribeiro View Post
    Poor Wolfie... .
    No kidding! Having your 50 year old mother on the cover of People Magazine in a 2-piece is embarrassing enough! Now his mother is talking about his sex life in her new book that is going to be featured on 20/20, and on top of all of that, he's not getting any? Yeah, poor Wolfie!!!

    "The needs of the many, outweigh the needs of the few, or the one" - Spock

  9. #9
    Band Manager
    Join Date
    May 2008
    Really a shame guys! Valerie is using the name of Eddie Van Halen again, and in another book! Valerie is the same game as Sammy Hagar is doing. Using the name of Eddie Van Halen to try to gain media attention, and try to have more fame and success. Thing being difficult for Valerie and Sammy Hagar. Shame!

    And Sammy Hagar is looking Dave Mustayne compared to Metallica, Sammy Hagar can only speak ill of Van Halen, and especially the Eddie Van Halen!


    Van Halen Blog 2.0 (New Blog):

    Van Halen Blog 1.0:

  10. #10
    Live, Love, Laugh
    Join Date
    Jun 2008
    In your imagination
    Hard enough being a teenager without it being publicized...yuck. Then again, do you really think she would have written this without his knowledge or consent? If she did, what a way to alienate your relationship with your kid. I never got that impression of her being that kind of Mom. Either way, it is awkward, I think to have that written in such detail.
    "The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated" ~ Ghandi



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