An Oxymoron Is Not An Idiot With Zits

20 Things I Want You To Hear...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 04:42:00 +0000

I stole this meme from Miss Britt. Basically what you do, per Britt, is:

"...the blogger makes a list of random things they wish they could say to someone, but they don’t name names. The readers then either join in with their own lists of anonymous statements, or spend the rest of their day trying to figure out who the blogger was hypothetically speaking to. And wondering if it was them."

Britt took the high road and made all the comments positive. Even Avitable managed to do the same. *shudders* I took a screenshot of that because I don't think we will see the likes of that ever again in this lifetime.

So, instead of following along for the lovefest, I am just going to say 20 random things regardless if they sound sappy...or passive aggressive. You may find yourself among the people that I post about.

1. I wish I could be you for a day, just so I would understand why you are the way you are and perhaps, open your mind up just a bit more.

2. I am so glad you have found the happiness you so richly deserve. I don't know anyone who deserves it more than you.

3. I wish we lived closer. I would love to be around you 24/7 because you make me laugh from the soul.

4. I pray for you everyday. You need it.

5. If I were to marry a woman, you would be the one I would choose.

6. You think you are better than me. You're entitled to think that. I prefer to think we are just different. That's all.

7. I never thought I would get over you until the day I woke up and realized that I have. It's very liberating to be out from under your spell.

8. You're a mean person through and through. I don't know how anyone who is so beautiful on the outside can be so bitter and rotten on the inside.

9. You should have been my first. Things would be so much different for me if you had been.

10. You're one of the only people that I allow to treat me like shit. I know you don't mean it. You have more problems than most people...so I cut you some slack.

11. The kindest thing I have ever heard from anyone came from you.

12. I wish I could be more like you. I have so much respect for you and the way you put others before yourself all the time.

13. I should have been there for you more than I was. Perhaps you would still be here with me if I had been.

14. You are a total attention whore. You really don't need to be. If you would just be yourself, people would see you the way I do.

15. I would tell you about the impact you have had on my life if I thought you would care to know.

16. Your struggles are my struggles. I learn a little bit about myself everyday just by watching you.

17. I am proud of you. I should tell you this more often. You deserve to know.

18. I used to beat myself up for the things I did to you. I'm over it now. You should get over it too.

19. For a smart person, you sure do a lot of stupid things.

20. I don't mean to hurt you with the things I say and do. I just think you are a little thin skinned and need to grow up a little bit. You should know me better.

Find yourself among these 20 items? Could be I am talking to you or about you. Feel free to grab one of these and consider it yours. Maybe it is about you after all.

about a boy.

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 14:04:00 +0000

His name was Joey. We didn't "date" in the conventional sense. No one really did. We just all kind of "hung out" together. Big group of us, always together. Joey was your typical teenage guy. Lanky, tall, very handsome and very sweet. I was taken with him immediately. The first time he ever kissed me, I saw all those crazy fireworks that writers always talk about. It was an awkward kiss. My braces got caught on his lip. I remember that. I was embarassed, after all, he was an "older" boy and I wanted this kiss with him to be memorable.

Years later, I come to find that it was.

We reconnected on Facebook recently. Apparently, he remembers me with the same fondness that I remember him with.

We carefully talked about those times, being respectful of the fact that we are both now happily married people. But, he did let me know that I got into his head. It's nice to be remembered and to have made even the slightest impression on someone you cared so much about.

When we finally were a bit more intimate, to put it delicately, it was everything that I could have ever asked for. He was sweet, slow and deliberate...careful with me. I never forgot that.

I moved away from Queens a few years later, but never forgot Joey. He was my first love although I never told him that. It was a secret that I kept until now. A reminder of a more innocent time in my life.

Next week, we are having our high school reunion. I will be reconnecting with all the people that were long since put away in my memories. But, I am looking forward to seeing Joey most of all. Even after all these years, he still manages to give me the little girl giggles. Can't help it. It's his puerto rican charm and magnetism. Plus, he is a funny bastard.

In my heart, we will always have those times, those sweet stolen moments of our youth...and it will bond us forever.

Losing friends...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 23:11:00 +0000

I seem to be saying/doing things to lose friends lately. I recently made a blog post about my daughter becoming pregnant again and how upset I was about the situation. Apparently, I rubbed a long time reader the wrong way with my post and she decided not to read me anymore. That's sad, because I liked this person. I wrote her an email to apologize, but have never heard back from her. I suppose I must have hit a nerve somewhere in HER private life.

Recently, I was poking fun with a bunch of my guy friends on Facebook. These are guys I grew up with and have known since birth, practically. We were all talking about the celebrities who died within days of each other back in June. Kidding around, as old friends do, we started talking about which celebrity we thought would "kick the bucket" next. We were making little wagers. It was all in good albeit morbid fun.

A friend of mine who I met online 15 years ago was also on Facebook at the time. Apparently, she had just gotten some horrible news that her husband was given six months to live. Her husband had been sick for a VERY long time. Literally years. I have always followed their saga and prayed very diligently for them...her for strength and him for health. I love this girl. She means a lot to me. Anyway, she saw our little game on Facebook and became VERY angry. I don't blame her. She "de-friended" me. Hasn't answered my emails of apology.

Got me thinking. The blogger I am referring to...well, she knows my personality from reading this blog for a year or more. I am brutally honest to the point of ad nauseum. I go from the heart to the lips with very few stops in between. I say what I am feeling the moment I am feeling it. Of course, those feelings are always subject to change. For example, my daughter being pregnant with her second baby in as many years is still distressing to me. It is an enormous burden financially on this family. However, she is still my daughter and she is still having my grandchild. I love her unconditionally as I will that baby. I am entitled to have a place to come and vent my frustrations so that I don't say them to my daughter. This is my safe haven...and if you are going to be so judgmental...I suppose I don't really need you here reading my shit after all. Sorry.

Next.

About the other woman...now this one I am really distressed over. I met her online in a chatroom back in 1995 or so. We've never spoke by phone or met in person. We always had a real contemptuous relationship. I am very outgoing and say things that people don't necessarily want to hear. She is more reserved and God-fearing and has much more tact than I do. However, we managed to become friends and over the years have grown to respect one another a great deal. So, when she decided to remove me from her friends because of my "game" with my bawdy male friends...it cut me pretty deep. Of course, there is no way I could have known that she had just received such horrible news. Would I have acted any differently with my guy friends if I knew that? Probably not.

Then again, I don't know. Somewhere along the way...I seem to have grown a conscience.

She won't speak to me...so I shrugged it off knowing that I didn't do anything to intentionally hurt her. She has a lot on her plate right now. She was probably very angry at the news and I was a ripe target for her to vent on. I get that. I'm okay with that.

But then, there is another part of me that has to ask...you KNOW me, Becky. You've known me for 15 years. You know I have prayed with you and for you when it comes to your husband. You know I have always sent emails over the years trying to get updates on his health and how you are faring under all the pressure. If it was so easy to dismiss me due to one faux pas, I suppose we weren't as close as I originally thought. If you thought I was intending to hurt you, you're insane.

I am choosing to forgive myself on this one. I was beating myself up over it...but, I can't do that anymore. I can't live my life wallowing in guilt. It's a wasted emotion and one that I don't do very well.

So, this blog will continue as always...a CP safe zone where I can spew whatever bullshit is laying in my chest and burrowing into my heart. I am not going to suppress the things that I say on my blog because I may inadvertantly strike a nerve with someone. If that were the case, this blog would lay in silence. I am an equal opportunity offender...

and not for the faint hearted. Never have been. Never will be.

What planet are these chicks from anyway?

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 13:52:00 +0000

I have insomnia. I stay up all night long and a good portion of the day as well. Sometimes, I do this for days at a time. I've gotten used to keeping vampire hours. My friends and family wonder how I survive on 5 hours sleep for 2 days, but it's just what I am accustomed to.

Given that, I watch a lot of late night television.

There are always ads on for weight loss programs. Infomercials, if you will. All these women on TV who were 150 pounds heavier, but now are in bikinis showing off their weight loss.

Now, don't get me wrong. I know it can be done. Thing is...these chicks always seem to have these rock hard bodies. Solid abs you could bounce a quarter on. An ass that is practically between their shoulder blades. Tits up to their throats...and it begs the question:

What fucking planet are these girls living on?

I have done a lot of plastic surgery in my years as a nurse. Breast augmentation, lipo, tummy tucks, arm tucks, ass lifts, breast lifts...you name it, I've pulled it, pushed it, tucked it or moved it around. I see women all the time who have lost 100-200 pounds of unwanted fat. And they all have ONE thing in common.

Their skin HANGS. HANGS. Literally drapes over their bodies.

Never once have I seen a woman lose that much weight and not have hanging skin on her body, surely not flat enough to end up in a bikini on National Television. Sure, you saw Kirstie Alley do it, but she also had lipo and a tummy tuck, something not readily available to us women who are financially challenged. But just some woman off the street? No. And it is in this belief that women always feel they are failing themselves. They figure they lose some weight and that their body should be bikini ready. I'm not talking about those of you who are a size 6 and are trying to get down to a 4. I am talking about us girls who are a size 16 and trying to get down to a 10. Hell, even a 12!

People marvel at my sister in law. She's pushed out three kids and still is a tiny size 2 at 40 years old. Well, hello? She was a ZERO to start with! To throw 10 pounds on someone that tiny is barely enough to call her voluptuous now, ya know? If anything, it finally gave her a set of tits. Oh my, does God have a sense of humor or what?

I was never a tiny girl. Ever. Wasn't obese as a teenager, but I definately always had a tummy on me. My girlfriends were size 2 and 4 while I was a curvier size 8. I always embraced my curves. Never had a problem with them...

until now.

I am so sick and tired of these commercials that show products for cellulite removal and then show a stick figure who probably never had a lump, bump or bulge her entire life, showing off the product! Come on, even my aforementioned sister in law has a little pucker or two on her ass.

So Ladies, embrace your puckers, lumps, bumps and bulges. Be brave enough to bare all and say, this is me! You don't like it? Don't look!

And they probably won't.

Some chick in a thong who's a size 2 will walk by...and your troubles will be over.

Google "52"...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 16:19:00 +0000

and you get certain facts. There are 52 weeks in a year. 52 cards in a deck. A lot of really stupid people seem to think there are 52 states in our country. Why, I don't know. As of June 5th, there were 52 states and territories with cases of Swine Flu. Your results may vary. There is a Title 52 which deals with the Board of Elections or some sort of nonsense that not even Congress knows. There is Local 52 which is the Union of Motion Picture Studio Mechanics (they have a Union, but nurses don't?) There is Cotton v. Congress article 52. I bookmarked this in case I need to be bored to death someday.

So why am I rambling about 52?

I am 52 days clean and sober. Yeah. Clean AND sober. Simultaneously.

I know Narcotics Anonymous "recommends" that you don't count your days. Your supposed to "live for the day" and only that day counts.

Fuck that shit.

I made it through 52 days of my grandaughter smiling. 52 days of snuggling with the husband I recognize now. 52 days of cracking up with my son. 52 days of watching my daughter be an awesome mother. 52 days of sitting upright. 52 days of not nodding off mid-sentence. 52 glorious mother fucking days that I now OWN. They're MINE and no one and nothing shall take them from me.

I am celebrating 52 today. And if I google 52 in about 52 years from right now, I hope to see this post sitting there.

I have 52 awesome reasons to live...and counting.

Pic of my Grandaughter...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 03:49:00 +0000

Sadie Rose...8 months old. Love of my life. Isn't she beautiful?

Yesterday was my daughters birthday...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 01:55:00 +0000

she's 22 now. My little cow. (I've called her that since she was a baby. She used to make this mooing sound that was very funny). I can't get over it. 22 and a mother (to be) of two children. She is a phenomenal mom. A lot better than I was at that age. She plays with her daughter every single day. Me? I was more interested in partying at that age. I remember my 21st birthday. Couldn't go out and celebrate with a legal drink because I was nursing her. She was the only one doing any legal drinking THAT night.

I recall her, most fondly, being four years old. She was an absolute angel. Hair down to the middle of her back, she was my own little doll. I used to dress her like me. We wore matching outfits quite a bit. Jackets with leggings, shoulder pads (shut up, it was the 80's) with leggings and granny boots. People used to think she was my little sister as opposed to my daughter.

When she hit her teens, I was worried shitless. Would I be able to get her through high school unscathed? I did. No sex before she was 18. She never did drugs. Never smoked a cigarette. The worst thing she did was get shit-faced at a party with her friends. She called me for a ride home...and vomited all over the place. I had to take her to the hospital to have her on IV fluids. She never drank again after that...and I was relieved.

Now, at 22...she is the epitome of a "good kid". The only thing she has done wrong is get pregnant again...a little too soon. But, she has a great husband and beautiful daughter to show for it. I only hope that her daughter is a fraction as wonderful as she is.

Happy birthday, Samantha. May all your dreams continue to come true.

Love always, Mama the whale.

I am going to be a grandmother...AGAIN!

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 21:26:00 +0000

I think I should invest in a condom stock for my son in law. My grandaughter, Sadie, is only 8 months old. The two of them live in one room in my house, with that baby. Now she announces that she is pregnant...again. My daughter is now officially a breeding cow. I am just getting used to having one baby in the house...who, despite my loving her more than life, is a cranky and needy little thing. I cannot imagine having another one move into my house.

On the upside, I am 47 days clean and sober. Thank God for my sobriety for if it were not for that, I would probably be using IV heroin by now to dull the senses.

Little Ms. Pro life is certain that she will not be terminating this pregnancy cause it's "mean". Mean? No, you know what's mean? Having a SEVENTH mouth to feed in this house. *eye roll*

I hope there is enough cash to go around. I know there's enough love...but ya can't pay the mortgage on love alone. I think I shall throw them out into the street and tell them to fend for themselves.

Nah. I don't have that in me. But, I will be getting them a box of condoms for their birthdays. Maybe shove a nice Nuvaring into her crotch. Better yet, a vasectomy for my son in law for his birthday. That would be nice. Tie a knot in the shit so that this won't happen again.

Two grandkids and I am only 42 years old. How did I get here?

What the fuck????

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 18:56:00 +0000

Okay, I am declaring June of 2009 "Dead Celebrity Month". FIVE celebs all dead...four in the same week.

I wake up this morning and find out that Billy Mays of "Oxyclean" fame bit the big one in his sleep. I have a theory on this one. He was involved in a plane accident that knocked him around a bit a few days ago. I am betting that he took a whack to the head and ended up with a subdural hematoma that slowly bled out.

Bet no one saw that coming on celebrity dead pool!

Crazy shit. Still three more days left in June and Abe Vigoda is still alive.

Go figure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the meantime, check out this pic of my son, Nick. He and I grabbed the clippers last night to pull a "Jackass" stunt. His went a little too far. We both have baldspots now, though mine is concealed under a mass of long hair. I can't stop pissing myself every single time I see this picture. My son will do anything to make me laugh...this is why he rocks!

This has been a sad month...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 19:40:00 +0000

I feel like a good hunk of my childhood passed away. It started with the death of David Carridine. Love the man. I used to watch him with my little brother in "Kung Fu". I thought he was the coolest. In "Kill Bill" he was a God. Amazing. The man was the epitome of cool.

Then, Ed McMahon. I remember as a little girl going to bed to the sound of "Heeeeeeeeere's Johnny..." When I heard that, I knew it was time for me to go to bed. My mom used to let me stay up just to hear that...because it used to make me laugh. Then it was bedtime. I also always hoped that man would show up at my front door with roses and a check...but alas, that never came to be.

Farrah Fawcett. I longed to be her when I was young. She was so...perfect. I remember when Lee, Abby and I used to play Charlie's Angels as a kid. Lee got to be Farrah because she had the long blonde hair. Abby was always Jacklyn Smith's character, because she had the long brown curly hair. I got to be the smart one, Kate Jackson. But, I always secretly longed to be Farrah. I bought "the poster" for my brother for his birthday and it promptly went up on his wall. That was when the epitome of sexy was just hair and teeth...and a well placed nipple. She was a beautiful woman through and through. Her long standing bout with anal cancer...I followed her documentary the whole way, up to her dying day. Tragic.

But this Michael Jackson thing really has me twisted. He provided the soundtrack of my life. I grew up on the music of the Jackson 5. We used to put on little shows for our parents to the song "Rockin' Robin" and "ABC". You couldn't live in the 80's without being accutely aware of Michael's presence everywhere. I can hear one of his songs and be easily transported to when and where I was when I first heard it.

There is something so tragic to Michael's ultimate demise. Man or monster, no matter what you believed about him, he was a talented man. No denying that. I, for one, never believed the child molestation charges against him. Maybe that makes me the naive minority. Just never thought it was so...

Coming out of the recent haze of my drug addiction, it is hard for me to see yet another icon fall prey to the victim of drugs. For all his millions, he was the most lonely man in the world. For all his family and "friends", there was no one there to save him from himself. The best doctors in the world all fed his habit.

Now all that's left is a legacy...and three children without a father.

I for one, will miss him terribly...and thank God that I didn't fall victim to the same demons. I got out with my life. He wasn't as fortunate.

I guess all the money in the world can't save a drowning man.

I feel stupid...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 12:35:00 +0000

oh so stupid. I don't know what is wrong with me lately. Maybe it is from all the drugs in the past year. However, I feel like my IQ has taken a nose dive. I used to be pretty smart and use all these fancy-assed big words. Now I feel as though my vocabulary has taken a dump.

I think I would fail miserably if I challenged Jessica Simpson to a spelling bee.

I can't put my finger on the moment I became stupid. I just kind of woke up that way one morning. I have this really great clarity now, but I am in idiot mode most of the time. I falter for the words I want to say. I find myself stammering now when I am trying to get a point across.

Even now, as I am writing this, it is like my brain is in the recycle bin.

I can't tell if this is from being a full time grandmother and only a babbling baby to talk to all day long. Maybe it's from being 42. Early onset of alzheimers? Maybe too much "Family Guy". Whatever it is, it needs to let up soon.

I am going back into the work force very soon after a year long hiatus. I can't afford to stumble and stammer through an interview. Hopefully my brain will kick into overdrive when I am put on the spot and I will be the epitome of well-rounded vocabulary once more.

I know there is a word for that...but I forgot it.

My ass is fried!

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 16:22:00 +0000

The hotband and I went to the beach this weekend to celebrate my 30 days of sobriety *yay!* While frolicking about in the ocean, we both got nasty sunburns. And no, do not lecture me on the benefits of sunscreen. I am a dermatology nurse. I know this already. I didn't want anything standing in the way of my golden bronze tan! Y'all know that a tan makes you look healthier (read: thinner) and that is really all I care about. I will deal with the skin cancer issue when it comes up.

Well, my shoulders are so fried that I can scarcely reach around to wipe my own fat ass! I haven't been able to lay down in three fucking days. Today is the first day that I showered without feeling like I was being stabbed repeatedly by some crazed lunatic. Forget about sex...that is out of the question. We both look like lobsters and are walking around like mummies...all stiff legged and arms. It's ridiculous.

However, I do have this gorgeous radiant glow. Oh the things we are willing to do for beauty!

I was waiting for this...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 09:59:00 +0000

Someone made the comment that I shouldn't be a nurse anymore due to my recent drug addiction. Someone else said that I should. Ah, no one has wrestled with this more than I have.

I am a very competant and capable nurse. It's all I know how to do. Becoming a nurse was the best thing I ever did because it taught me compassion. It's not something we are born with. I believe it's a learned behavior. And frankly, prior to becoming a nurse, I didn't give a rats ass about anyone else, save for my children. My hair. My nails. My skin. My (rockin') body! That's all I cared about.

But there is something about holding an elderly persons hand that makes you all warm and fuzzy inside. I am not a warm and fuzzy person. I call it straight and say what you don't necessarily want to hear. *shrugs* Too bad. That's just the way it is.

So, being told that I shouldn't be a nurse anymore kind of cut to the core. I understand the sentiment. I do. Believe me, over the past year, no one has punished me more than I have punished myself. My license was suspended and I didn't do shit about it. I didn't care. The drugs were so much more fun! And I didn't have to answer to anyone, chart any stupid notes, deal with insubordinate staff, etc. It was good laying in bed for the past year...so I thought.

But now that I am involved with an intervention project for nurses, wow, you would be amazed at how many nurses go to work impaired! It's actually frightening! I never did that, so I feel I am a step ahead of the game. I wouldn't endanger my patients like that. So much room for error!

I am only three weeks out of the ether and the haze that has been clouding me for the past year. The intervention project is two months of intensive outpatient therapy. I have to see a psychologist (which I hate, because I find that I am a lot smarter than most of them!), an addictionalogist (never knew that was even a word!) and attend Narcotic Anonymous meetings. I don't like the idea of gathering with other users. Addicts tend to share their little dirty secrets with one another...like where to get drugs from and how to beat urine screens. That part does not appeal to me.

However, when those two months are up, I am MANDATED by the program to go back to work. I have to prove that I can work in a medical setting without using. That's a breeze. I will also be monitored with weekly urine screens for the next two years. All part of my licensure probation.

Like I said, I am willing to jump through all the proverbial hoops to get my license back. I am motivated and driven now. Always have been...and it's really good to feel like myself again albeit a little less crazy than before.

I am rehearsing the line "Hello, I am CP...and I am an addict". It sounds so fucking stupid, doesn't it? I am so much more than that...but right now, that is the defining word. I have to suck it up and get used to it. I am, like we all are, a bit flawed. No, a lot flawed. I am willing to make the changes that have to be made to save my life. Then I can get back to the job of saving other peoples lives again.

Besides, I look really hot in scrubs. Gotta maintain the sexy, ya know?

Where I have been...the dethroning of a Princess.

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 04:28:00 +0000

This is a very hard thing for me to talk about. It's going to be even harder to write about. I have always prided myself on being brutally honest on this blog. I am not going to lose sight of that while I post now.

One year ago, this week, I was fired. No, this isn't the first time I have ever been fired. It's hard to have bipolar disorder and not lose a few jobs along the way. I am very bad with authority and tend to come and go as I please. It doesn't make for happy bosses and it certainly doesn't fly while being a nurse.

Here's my story. *deep breath*

On June 8th of last year, I diverted narcotics from my job. In layman speak, I stole prescription drugs from my medcart. I did not steal these drugs to take these drugs. I stole them simply to see if I could "get away" with it. I wanted to see if I could buck the system. I stole 11 vicodin from patients who HAVE a prescription but generally don't use their meds. I never took a pain pill from a patient who was having pain issues...just from the cards of those who rarely or seldom took pain meds.

Why did I do this? Can't say really. I know I was in the throes of a manic episode. It felt exciting to me. Like I was getting away with something...

Obviously, I didn't get away with it. Three days later, I was called into my bosses office and questioned as to why patients who don't normally receive narcotics got them. They also wanted to know how on earth 11 different patients were having pain issues all on the same night. I knew I was caught...and even being caught felt exhilarating. It was so edgy, like a drama that was playing out in my mind as opposed to it being a reality. I confessed what I did. I even went home and got the 11 pills back. They were sitting in my top drawer. I have no need for them.

The boss was a bit taken aback that I still had these narcotics. I drug tested negative. Like I said, I wasn't taking them...I was just having "fun". And yes, for someone with bipolar disorder who is having a very bad manic episode, what I did would be perceived as fun. We thrive on risk taking behaviors. It's simply the nature of the beast.

Well, as I expected, she reported me to the Board of Nursing. They suspended my license. This is where things got hairy for me. Eventually, you come down from manic episodes and it is back to reality. When reality hit me, it hit hard.

My husband has a prescription for percocet. I took some of his pills for a bad migraine and realized "Wow. These make my problems go away!" Two pills a day eventually turned into three which turned into four...etc. In one week, I had finished a bottle of SIXTY pills. ONE WEEK. I called my husbands doctor and told the doc my husband was having pain. He gave me an Rx for 120 more. Those were gone in a heartbeat. This continued for many months.

A year has gone by. A full year. I spent it in bed.

I told my psychiatrist what I had done. She adjusted my medications accordingly. I enrolled myself into a program that helps impaired nurses get their licenses back. As of today, I am one full month sober. Sounds pathetic, doesn't it? It is. But, we reap what we sow, baby. I am no exception to the rule.

I am taking it one day at a time. First and foremost, I am trying to better manage my bipolar disorder so that I own IT instead of it owning me. I used to make light of the fact that I had BPD. It was almost amusing to me...

it's not so funny anymore. I could have killed myself or someone else.

As of next week, I enter into a contract with an IPN program, a program for impaired nurses. They will monitor me with weekly drug tests and expect me to go through intensive outpatient therapy. I have no problem with this. Actually, I am lucky not to be in jail. I am too cute for jail. I'd be someones bitch in no time.

When I complete the two months of intensive therapy, my suspension will be lifted and I will be permitted to go back to work BUT I will continue to be monitored for the next two years. I also have to let any prospective employers know that I am in a program for impaired nurses. Yes. This should make for EXCELLENT job interviews.

The irony here is...I wasn't addicted to the drugs at the time that I stole them. It was AFTERWARD, when I lost my ability to work. It's crazy, I know. I should write a book...

or a blog.

So, that's where I've been for the past year. Losing my grip, slowly regaining it.

I have celebrated my newfound sobriety in a few ways. I got a faboo haircut while in New York visiting Esther (see post below). I got my nails done again...first time in a long time. Tomorrow, I fall into a tanning bed. I started caring again and it is beginning to show. I don't spend my days in bed anymore. I don't feel sorry for myself. I have a disease. My bipolar disorder is no different than cancer. Left untreated, it will run rampant. I allowed myself to get so bad that I lost control. I didn't take my BPD meds the way I should have taken them. I skipped doses because I didn't like the way they made me feel. They made me feel sluggish and boring. Lord, some of the most fabulous posts I ever made on this blog were in the midst of manic episodes. I go back and read them. I wonder...where is that girl? She was so crazy and full of reckless abandon.

Now? I'm so...normal. And to be honest? Normal terrifies me.

I came really close to the edge. I didn't fall. Teetered a bit, might have even bent...but I didn't break. I'm here. I have a second chance to make this okay and I am going to run with it.

I hope to take some of you along for the ride.

I think I can finally admit it...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Fri, 22 May 2009 15:46:00 +0000

I don't like my mother.

I am certain I have alluded to this fact in other posts over the past three years. Now however, I am pretty certain that this is more fact as opposed to speculation.

"CP, MY GOD! How could you not like your own MOTHER???"

Bottomline? She's a phony. She's a bigot. She's a snob. She's everything that I am not and everything I strive not to be. If she weren't my mother, I wouldn't choose to be friends with her. She's not someone I would run in the same circles with and I certainly wouldn't go out of my way to befriend her.

Case in point. My father just had surgery, a full knee replacement, earlier this week. Me, asshole that I am, came running up to NY from Florida to make sure I am there for her. After all, her husband was going to be in the hospital and she would have to undergo all the tasks of running the house by herself. I also felt compelled to be here (I am still in NY at the time of this posting. Someone remind me to clear the history bar!) because my father is not a well man. Every time he goes under anesthesia, it is a dangerous and potentially fatal situation.

Was this gesture appreciated by my mother? No. She tells me that she feels she has been "hospitable" to me. Excuse me? Is this a Best Western? I have to be hosted? The woman talks about me behind my back. Apparently, she feels I am a drug addict because I take my bipolar and schizophrenia medications. They make me tired. That is a side effect that can't be helped. I borrowed her car to go meet a friend from junior high school who I haven't seen in 25 years. She cautions me not to "get high" while using her car.

Bi. Polar. Disorder. Not recreational drugs.

Like I said, she's a snob. I think that she feels because of my ailment, she has produced a less than perfect product. Have I the heart to tell her that my condition is genetic? Damn straight. All the women in my family are prone to violence and psychosis. I am the only one who opted to do something about it...and yes, it changes me. But, I believe it has changed me for the better.

My flight home was supposed to be tomorrow. I called my husband and begged him to make it earlier...just get me out of this house. I feel like the walls close in on me here and she is absolutely venomous when it comes to my recovery.

So there you go. I don't like my mother. Sometimes I question if I even love my mother or if I simply feel obligated to love her. She loves to remind me how she had a "perfect body" before my cesarean scar ruined her stomach. Ouch. You blame your infant for not having a perfect bikini body any longer?

My breasts and crotch are pretty much located in one central area since having my babies. I don't blame them for that. I love them for that. So my tits aren't up to my throat anymore. Big deal. So my stomach isn't flat now. So what? I have stretch marks on my stomach that resemble NASCAR peeling out on my lower abdomen. Does it matter? No. These are the lines of love...the result of having my babies. I don't resent them and I certainly don't blame them.

My mother is out at the beauty parlor right now. The house is so quiet without her here and I am sucking it up for all that it is worth. My flight leaves tonight at 7pm and it cannot come fast enough.

Someday, I pray my children don't write these same things about me. I don't think they will. I think they will remember me as a loving, supportive and sometimes a bit crazy mom. That's the joy of having a mother who is mentally ill.

I can't say I'll ever know that joy.

I am SO over Facebook...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Fri, 01 May 2009 16:21:00 +0000

so I caved. I joined. And now, I wish I hadn't.

Sure, it got me back in touch with some friends from when I grew up in Queens, New York. That was fun while it lasted.

Bottomline is, Facebook is one of the most useless programs out there. I am sick of applications like "Name your five favorite ice cream flavors" or requests to "Save the planet by clicking here". It's pointless. Do I really care what someones name looks like in chinese or in colored letters? No. I don't.

When I originally joined, it was amusing, I admit. Now, it is like an addiction that you can't stand. I check my Facebook account about 5 times a day seeing if anyone has updated. It's the same four people over and over again. After awhile, I feel like I don't give a shit about them any longer. I trimmed my friends list down to people I actually talk to. It made me go from 108 friends to 47. I like it better this way. It's like a small community rather than a big city.

Don't get me wrong. Facebook has its place in the world. However, on my computer will not be one of them anymore. I am giving up Facebook for lent, and I am not even catholic. It will be like withdrawing from a drug...but I feel I can do it.

Tomorrow.

I went to visit my grandmother...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 16:11:00 +0000

yesterday, in Miami.

She's 90 years old and in a skilled nursing facility.

It was hard to see how much she has deteriorated over the years. She scarcely remembered me. Thought I was her daughter, Esther, my mother. She has demetia and is now in the beginning stages of Alzheimers. She has "repeat syndrome" which is when someone says the same thing over and over. Yesterday, she kept saying A-L-I-D. Those letters over and again before being able to form a complete sentence. I don't know what those initials mean to her, but to me, they are permanently burned into my brain.

She has a permanent smile on her face. She cried when I told her that I loved her.

Twice.

It's difficult to see her in that condition. She was always a very stoic woman...strong and confident. She was a terrible mother. Very abusive to Esther and her brother in a Joan Crawford-esque sort of manner. She was abrasive and nasty to the core, which is why I think she has made it to 90. Always full of piss and vinegar, that one. She wasn't a terrific grandmother either.

I remember her trying to perm my hair when I was 9 years old. She literally beat the shit out of me when I carried on and refused. I didn't want curls in my perfectly straight brown hair. I cried and cried and called my mother. I begged for her to pick me up. She didn't. Too busy being out with her boyfriend at the time.

She never did perm my hair. My grandfather finally intervened.

I remember Grandma's maid, Kitty. Grandmother used to ring a bell for her to come to her aid. KIIIIIITTTTTYYYY, she would scream at the top of her lungs. Kitty was the first black person I had ever met. She was so kind and loving. Never said a cross word about my grandmother even though she treated her like garbage. I used to love Miss Kitty. She was the only reason I would love to go to my grandmothers house. She always cooked delicious food. Even made meals that were "Jewish". She made incredible matzoh ball soup. Miss Kitty wwould always tell me fun stories about her childhood. I was a kid of privilege so I wouldn't understand a lot of what she spoke of...like washing her clothes in the sink or never having a television set. She was much older when they came out. She told me she and her children used to gather around the window of an appliance store and watch the television through the window. She couldn't hear the voices of course, but she was fascinated by the pictures. They didn't have books. They had the luxury of a radio and used to listen to radio shows.

Couldn't wrap my little brain around any of it.

Anyway, all these memories came flooding back to me when I saw my grandmother in that bed, helpless and frail. She is blind now, a victim of macular degeneration. She listens to books on tape. That is all she has. There are pictures of the family hanging up in her room. Esther put them up. I found it ironic, seeing as grandma is blind now. Perhaps a daughters hope that someday, her mother will be able to see again.

I don't know.

All I do know is that right now, the realization has hit me that I am half my grandmothers age. My life is halfway over in a sense and I don't know what I have to show for it.

Then, I come home from Miami and see my beautiful children and my delicious grandaughter and I realize that those are the greatest achievements that one person could make. They are all happy and healthy and I suppose I couldn't ask for better than that.

Still, it pains me to know that my grandmother, despite her shortcomings, is so close to the end of her life. I am almost grateful that she is oblivious to her surroundings. It makes me feel better that she doesn't realize where she is and that family is not close by.

I can't fathom ever seeing my mother, Esther, in this condition. It is hard to watch someone with so much strength turn into a mindless human being with no control of their bowels or bladder.

I suppose we leave this world much like we come into it.

So it's April Fools Day...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 20:51:00 +0000

and I am empty handed this year. I have no pranks to play and no one good to play them on. Usually I do something crazy at work, but I am not working right now. It is always amazing to me how many people fall for April Fool pranks. You know it is April 1st. How could you possibly fall for anything that day?

A couple of years ago, I wrote on this blog that I was shutting it down and never coming back. People wrote me and told me not to do it. Hello? It was April Fool's day! Wouldn't you put the two together and figure that out? I don't know. Maybe it's just me. I don't fall for stuff like that.

It would be terrible if something actually DID happen on April Fool's day because I wouldn't believe it. I would think the person is pulling a prank on me and I would blow off whatever they are saying.

You know what I am really sick of?

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 21:43:00 +0000

Here's just a few things that have my short hairs in a knot.

First, Octomom? She has a name. She isn't a fucking pod person. She's just a girl with good intentions that made a bad decision. Wanna see low lifes and scumbags bottom feeding off the system? Watch MAURY on any given day with these fucking whore girls who sleep with so many guys they have no clue who their baby daddies are. At least Nadya knows hers came from a condensed jar of frozen peas.

Next? How about an ex husband who does nothing but reward his son for bad behavior. Oh! Got a D in history? Here's an xbox live, son! Enjoy it! So of course I look like the bad guy because I refuse to reward an A...in GYM??? So you can put on a pair of sneakers and run around and I should reward you for that? Bitch please, I should get a gold medal everytime I color my hair. It takes longer and requires more skill. Yes, I love my son and I am grateful that he a strong, strapping athletic boy...but the kid needs to know his basics first. I don't see his name heading for an NFL roster any time soon.

EX husbands. Why do we have to talk to them MORE AFTER the divorce? Why is that? I talk to my ex husband every single fucking day since we split up. I remember joyful moments that we didn't even speak for a week under the same roof. Can I get those times back? Minus the same roof of course...

I am pissed off at Tyra Banks. Just because she is too hot for one woman and a have a love hate thing for her. I dont know whether I want to fuck her or slap her weave around during some hot and heavy sex.

I am mad that Facebook has become a place for little children to go play. I am sick of "throwing snowballs" or "getting easter eggs" or a million other of the stupid applications they have on there now. I got on there to track down my buddies from Queens, New York from back in the day. The ones I wanted to find, I found...but now I am getting all these other morons who just think that because we went to the same high school that I want to be their friend now. Um, no. You were a cunt back then. I am certain you have only become a hairier one by this time.

This felt really good. I opened the comments back up for this post because I would love someone else to feel my pain about any of the above. But, if no one does, I'll just add it to the list of things that are pissing me off right now and get over it with a devil dog and a rerun of Project Runway.

I think Heidi Klum is pretty hot too.

It's starting to happen...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 23:25:00 +0000

and I need to make it stop.

Lack of sex.

This is no good. It's hard enough to make time with my husband working out of town all the time. We have the weekends. We have "Sunday Night Date Night" where we go out to dinner, see a movie and then, engage in all types of sexual activity until he finally needs some sleep. Yes, after ten years, I can still wear the man out.

However, for the past two weeks, I've been sick. With being sick comes lack of want of any sexual activity. First it was the flu. I felt gross and really didn't want to be touched let alone fondled and fucked. NO thank you. Not my husbands fault at all. Week two I ended up with a stomach bug that accompanied my period. Disgusting combination. I'm not handing anything over while it is leaking, dripping, pouring or making noises. Just not happening.

Tonight is Sunday. We are skipping going out to dinner since my stomach is not yet quite right. My period is just about gone, so Sunday night date night might be able to salvage our sex life after all.

I just can't see us becoming one of those couples that don't have sex for weeks at a time...sometimes months! I don't know how that happens, but I imagine it has to do with time. There has to be some sort of schedule sometimes. Sure, it's not spontaneous and not very sexy I guess, but it is a necessary evil.

So our Sunday night date nights will continue...I will make sure of it. Flu be damned, I will not allow it to interrupt coitus any longer. Maybe sex is a cure for illness. I know I personally feel invigorated afterward so perhaps it has some healing properties. Who knows?

Infantile behavior

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 19:40:00 +0000

I forgot what it is like to care for an infant. My grandaughter is the love of my life, but she is wearing my 42 year old ass out. She's four months old and a really good baby, just very needy. Loves to be held all the time. So I hold her as much as humanly possible.

Eventually, a bitch needs to pee, ya know?

So I put her down and she screams like her ass is on fire! It disturbs my normally pleasant peeing routine and I find myself pushing it out faster than it is willing to come. I can barely wash my hands before she is howling like a banshee.

I am really trying to help my daughter and son in law out. They can't afford childcare right now so grandma stepped in. Eventually, I am going to need to go back to work for both financial and psychological reasons.

A bit of luck...

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 17:24:00 +0000

I had to go up to Tallahasee to face the nursing board about the status of my license. Yes, I got into a bit of trouble and had to go up there so they can let me know what my punishment would be.

On the way, my husband got pulled over for doing 45 in a 30 zone. Mind you, this was a podunk little town where the police just LOVE to pull people over. It was nearly midnight and we were both exhausted from the four hour drive we were making. The cop walks up to the window and asks my husband if he knew what he was being pulled over for.

"I was speeding," he replied.

"Yes," said the officer. "I clocked you at 48 in a 30 zone. Let me have your license and registration."

*sighs*

"Where are you off to in such a rush," he asks.

I lean over and say that I was on my way to Tallahassee for a nursing board meeting. Well, wouldn't you know it, the cop says that his wife was a nurse too and recently had to go before the board too for a charge of grand larceny! I was thrilled to know that she got off with very little punitive damange to her license. He told us that my being a nurse has saved us from getting a ticket.

He ran my husbands license and then, let us go with a warning.

Guess it pays to get into trouble sometimes.

Homicidal...for real.

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 18:22:00 +0000

I send my son to a private school. Want him to get the best possible education and Florida schools, the public variety, are not exactly high standard in the country. We, my ex husband and the hotband pay nearly $1000 a month to make sure that Nick is well educated. This school is a mortgage payment. He has been going there since pre K.

Every so often the school does something ridiculous, like not call me if my son is sick or injured. What they are infamous for is forgetting to give him his lunch after it has been paid for for the month. Lunch is not cheap. It is $100 a month...in addition to the tuition.

Yesterday, I get a call from my ex saying that once again, Nick wasn't given his lunch because nothing was paid for. Mind you, my husband went up to the school and personally handed the check to his teacher, Mrs. Lees. (uberbitch). She said "Oh, you don't need to walk it to the office. I am going there anyway. I'll take it there for you." So, hotband hands her the check and all should be good for the month of February. When the ex calls, he tells me that not only was there no lunch for my son, but when he asked about it, the uberbitch tells him "That's not my problem."

Not. Your. Problem?

'scuse me?

Now, normally, when the school fucks up, I leave it to my ex or to my husband to handle it. I am not exactly tactful and would tell them what I truly think of their bullshit. It would come flying out of my mouth and I would definately get my son kicked out of school. Don't want that...so I stay out of it.

Yesterday was the last straw for me. When my ex told me she said it wasn't her problem, I started to bleed out of my fucking eyes. I literally lost my mind. I asked my ex if he handled it. He said "Nope. I am releasing the big dogs on them this time. YOU call them and handle it."

"You dont want me to do that," I say.

"Yes I do. These people need to be put in their place once and for all and you are the one to do that."

"Okay," I say...but don't blame me if I get him kicked out of school."

I call Mrs. Lees. I tell her that I am not exactly thrilled that my son went without his lunch today, especially since she took his lunch payment directly. I told her that I don't appreciate her telling my son that it was not her problem. She says, "I never said that."

"You know what? For years, I have listened to you people say that you haven't said things to my son that I know DAMN well were said to him. You are calling my son a liar for the last fucking time."

"There's no need to get so upset, Mrs. CP."

"No reason to get upset? I pay a friggin' mortgage payment to keep him in this school! And somewhere between your sweaty little palm and walking your ass over to the office, his lunch money disappeared. This isn't the first damn time this has happened and I am sick and tired of my son going without his lunch. You people dont even have the decency to CALL me and tell me that he isn't getting lunch. Even if it wasn't paid for, I would have run some food up to him. How DARE you let a child go a full day without eating...especially when his meals were paid for last week!"

I swear that I was going to have an anurysm. I felt a vein about to burst in my skull.

"And then," I continue "you tell this little boy that its not your problem that he didn't get his lunch? Oh no, sister. It definately IS your problem."

"I never said that to him."

"You know what, Mrs. Lees? I know you did. It's the type of thing I have heard you say to other students. I always chalked it up to my son exaggerating what really happened, but you know what? I believe him. I don't believe you. I don't trust you. I think you suffer from burnout and you take it out on the kids. My son is telling me the truth. I know he is because I know the kind of person you are."

"Well," she stammers, "I will check on what happened with the lunch money and get back to you."

"No. Don't get back to me. The lunches were paid for. YOU lost the money. YOU make sure my son eats this entire month or the will be hell to pay, I assure you."

"Okay, Mrs. CP. Thank you."

And the bitch hangs up the phone.

I call my husband to calm me down. I only live three blocks from the school and I have very easy access to this bitch's throat. I take a xanax or three. I try deep breathing. My phone beeps. Call waiting. It's the school. I opt not to take the call and let them leave a message. I figure this is the safest thing for everyone involved. The hotband calms me down and I can see again.

I call my son. I tell him that if Mrs. Lees says ANYTHING to him about our conversation at all, he is to say, "I don't know anything about it. It's not my problem. Call my mother."

Now, I know this is very disrespectful but I felt the time has come, after 11 years to trust my son that this was actually said to him. I wanted him to feel like his parents were on his side and empower him a little. I told him not to be nasty, but to be very nonchalent...or matter of fact. He giggled and thanked me for trusting him and believing him.

For me, this was the best moment to come out of the whole situation. My son knows I trust him to be honest with me and that is a gift.

So, despite my wanting to part this womans hair with an axe, I ended up bonding with my son. I would call her up and thank her for this, but it's really not her problem.

CP vs. Nyquil

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Sun, 01 Feb 2009 12:52:00 +0000

My husband had a nasty cold. More like the flu. He took two Nyquil and went to bed around 1am. Two hours later, I am still awake and get this mad ass desire to give him a blow job. There was a bit of a challenge to it. Could I possibly wake him from his medically induced coma for a little while or would it take effort on my behalf?

As though the sex Gods were leaning in my favor, my husband rolled onto his back, almost daring me to attempt what could end up being a futile endeavor. I managed to slither his pajama pants down his legs without disturbing him. I noticed signs of life so I proceded with my patented vacuum technique.

It was like blowing a corpse which I found to be somewhat of a turn on.

Until he snored.

Not to be deterred, I continued in this manner for a good ten minutes. No moan. No groan. No signs of life other than a fully cooperative penis. I was not having this. I was not going to lose to a bottle of Nyquil. Now it became personal.

All of a sudden, my husband jerked foward, had an orgasm and went right back to sleep. No pat on the head. No "job well done, babe". Nothing.

Not the big climatic finish I was going for...but a victory for me nevertheless.

Change.

noreply@blogger.com (CP) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 17:30:00 +0000

It's a huge word with only six letters. A huge word that can make a difference in this life.

I got into a conversation with a friend on facebook who said "I would like to see one Obama supporter who has something to say about the man other than change."

What else is there?

After eight years of watching the economy fall to pieces, change would be a good thing. When he asked me what my reasons were for voting for Obama, I too said "change".

"What are you looking to change, CP?"

"Everything."

"And you think that one man with barely any experience can make those changes?"

"It took one man to create this hole we are in. I believe that it will take one man to lead us out. No offense to John McCain. I respect the man and his service to this country. What lost me was putting Sarah Palin on that ticket."

"Do you have something against women in office," he asks.

"No. I just have a problem with her..."

"And in two years when the economy is just as bad and we are still in Iraq, can I tell you I told you so?"

"If it helps you to sleep at night."

Realistically, it isn't going to get done in one term. It took us 8 years to get into this mess. It's going to take 8 years minimally to get us out. I'm not saying that Obama is the second coming of the messiah. He isn't. He's just a guy with common sense and high aspirations. He is a man who is adopting a lot of grief being dumped on his ass. I don't envy his position.

What I do have is faith and hope. I pray for his family and for this country.