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Jenny McCarthy on putting down roots

Jenny McCarthy's Naked Truth

Jenny McCarthy's Naked Truth

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Updated: October 1, 2012 12:34PM



When I was 20, I couldn’t wait to get out of Chicago. I packed up my U-Haul, hugged my parents goodbye and gave the bird to a few ex-boyfriends as I drove to the expressway. I was headed to Hollywood! The place where dreams come true. Well, that’s what the homeless guy at the end of Pretty Woman said, and I believed him.

When I pulled into my new neighborhood, I couldn’t have been more excited. I chose a city called Brentwood because it neighbored Beverly Hills and I figured it was safe. Three months later, Brentwood became infamous. I lived seven houses away from Nicole Brown’s house (OJ Simpson’s ex-wife who was murdered). I thought bad guys lived in other places, not on my street. Obviously not.

I did my best to blend into L.A., but I continuously failed due to my so-called “high-pitched, nasal Chicago” accent and liking to drink beer out of a can. I really stood out as a Midwestern girl. If you read my previous columns you know of my disdain for dating guys in L.A. Well, living in L.A. became just as painful.

I was watching my son Evan grow up in a city that had paparazzi jumping out and attacking him. He also was being raised my nannies instead of me, and he had barely any friends that lived within a ten-mile radius. I knew it was time. I knew I couldn’t call myself a good mom if I didn’t get the hell out of a city that called itself “The Angels” — and move back home to a city where we actually believe in them.

Just last week Evan said to me, “Mom, the greatest thing you have ever done for me is move me to Chicago. The people are so nice and I have so many friends.”

So, I thank you, Chicago, for allowing me to give my son what you have had to offer ever since I was a little girl: family values, kindness, lifelong friendships and deep-dish pizza.

It’s my kinda town, and we’re here to stay!

Jenny McCarthy donated her fee for writing this column to Generation Rescue.



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