Category Archives: princess

Focus 52: "Silly"

  (Seeing as I just stepped off a plane from Washington, DC a mere couple of hours ago, the post that pertains to “silly” is going to have to wait.  In the interim, here is the photo that the blog post is going to be about.  Please stand by.)

April 11 update:  Well, it seems you are not going to get a blogpost as promised, as I have since moved on in my life.  Would the words “April Fools” suffice?  No?  Not at all?  Okay, then suck it up and just deal with the fact that sometimes a princess just gets a little too busy to blog.  Yes, it happens.  And, as one of my friends pointed out, sometimes…I just suck.  So, this is one of those times.  Deal with it.

What I can tell you is that I have been laid up since this post was made with what I thought was just merely a bad backache.  A phone call from the hospital in DC, however, has informed me otherwise.  Apparently, your clutzy assed Princess managed to break a vertebrae in her back.  For the life of me, I could not recall hurting myself so I had no idea where the sudden onset of pain was coming from.  I mean, I have been lugging around size 44F’s for the last 20 years of my life.  If that didn’t cause me mad back pain, I can’t imagine what would have.  However, as I was talking with the Hotband and showing him pics from my DC trip, I relayed to him a funny story about how I stepped out of my friend Gary’s huge ass truck and, without considering how high up I was, went to go step down without stepping onto the running board first.  Landed squarely on my fat caboose. 

“So um, you think that’s maybe how you hurt your back,” he offers up to me.

“Wow babe, I never really even thought about that until just now.  OMG, that is probably totally how I did this.”

“You know,” he says, matter of factly-like, “I was reading about compression fractures in the back and it appears that when you fall and land on your rear, it causes a lot of downward pressure to the spine and that is probably how you got that fracture in your back.”

“Ah, okay there, Doc.  Thanks for clarifying.”

So, there you have it.  Your “silly” post.  Because nothing is more silly than stepping out of a truck with heels on and landing on your ample ass while three of your friends look on, point and laugh.  Yeah, it’s a stretch.  I’m aware of that, but a promise is a promise and frankly, peeps?  Beggars can’t be choosers.  I didn’t ask you to come back here and check to see if I actually made a post, did I?  Oh no, you did that of your own volition.  I was merely trying to skate by, hoping to go unnoticed.  But, did you let me?  Did you give me that moment of peace and solace?  No.  No you did not.  So this is what you get in return.  A half assed post, nearly a week later about virtually nothing that had to do with the picture in the prompt whatsoever.

Now, go away.  Don’t you have something better to do?  Don’t you?  DON’T YOU???

xoxoxo

I am a Mommy. I am a Blogger. But…

I am not a “MommyBlogger”. I have to admit that mommy bloggers make me want to eat my own eyes out of my skull. No, I do not think that every single thing my children do are precious. Frankly, they annoy the piss out of me on a daily basis. I come from the Roseanne Barr school of mothering. I gave you life…what the fuck more do you want from me. If by the end of the day, you aren’t dead…then I did my job.

I really tried to get into the Mommy Blogger community, but apparently, if you have teenage children or worse yet, adult children who are married and on their own, they have no use for you. You can’t compare diapering tips on a 14 year old who had died in Xbox heaven. And, you certainly won’t get any compassion if your 22 year old is on her second baby in the course of her three year marriage.

So, I tried Granny Bloggers. Well, most of them are too old. They knit shit and bake cookies shaped like little pine trees with green Christmas sprinkles. I buy the pre made dough and then eat most of it before the cookies even hit the oven.

I got to wondering…does this mean I am doing a shitty job with my kids. And I am here, now, on no sleep for a day and a half to say this:

I am a pretty righteous fucking mom and a cool ass grandmother to boot.

My kids talk to me about drug use, abortion, politics, birth control (though my daughter keeps kind of missing the mark on that one) and all kinds of other bullshit that most kids don’t talk to their moms about. I’m friends with my kids on facebook mainly because their friends find me a huge source of entertainment. Yeah, I talk about blow jobs and lube and spicing up the old marital bed. And you know what? They laugh at me. They think I’m funny. Their friends think I’m the cool mom and say “man, I wish I had a mom like yours”.

So, fuck mommy bloggers who don’t accept me because I don’t fall into the Betty Crocker book of how to be a mom. And fuck granny bloggers who don’t feel that a one year old grandchild possibly qualifies me as an experienced grandmother.

No one in my house is going to Harvard, but both my babies are/have gone to college. My daughter made it to 17 before losing her virginity to the boy she was dating for two years. Her next great love of her life…she married. She’s Pro Life, much to my dismay…but someday, her own daughter may give her a lesson that changes her mind. And my son? He’s a democrat in the making. Average grades. Great musical talent…rocks the fucking guitar like no ones business and all self-taught.

Basically, for a mother who has done absolutely nothing to nurture her kids, my children are Fan fucking tastic. People tell me “CP, you must have done SOMETHING right”. And maybe I did…just by always being honest with them. I never made them believe in Santa or the fucking tooth fairy. I give them their Channukah presents unwrapped with the tags still on them in case they want to take shit back.

So no, I have no clue about the best kindergartens to send your little prodigies to. I have no idea how to make cupcakes for Spirit Day. I let my son dress up as a serial killer for Halloween because it was fucking hysterical. My daughter had more make up at age 14 than I have ever had in my 43 years of life. I just loved buying her girly shit.

But my kids are LOVED. I mean, LOVED. Like, I can’t get through a day without them hugging me or kissing me or at very least texting me. They definitely got the raw end of the deal with me for a mother. But I taught them how NOT to be…and that in itself is a lesson learned.

I shall leave this off with my favorite quote from Roseanne, Domestic Goddess who taught me all I know about mothering Jewish children:

“They’re all mine. . . . Of course, I’d trade any one of them for a dishwasher.”

Or a nice set of Louis Vuitton luggage.

I am still a Jewish Princess, after all.

81 days sober…and a now, a new challenge!

I am listing the things that I need to stop doing now that I am sober. Let me go have a cigarette first, and then, I shall explain. Please hold for a moment.

(Insert cheesy muzak here)

Okay. Back. Now, here’s the thing…

I need to stop:
Smoking.
Biting my nails.
Eating like a pig.
Keeping vampire hours.

Now, to think I can stop all of these, while maintaining my sobriety, is just sheer madness. I can’t do it all. So, I decided to analyze each of these and see which one I can possibly do right now.

SMOKING: I started to smoke February of last year. It happened when some cunt broke into my car, stole my Chanel bag and all my credit cards along with it. Sadly for said cunt, my cards were maxxed out, so all she was able to buy was a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Asshole. The police found my bag in a swamp behind a movie theater. It was not salvagable, so I had to trash a $500 bag. This did not please the princess at all. Anyway, for some reason, I felt the need to smoke a cigarette. First One Ever in 41 years of my life. I’ve been saying I will stop for the past year. My son doesn’t know I smoke because I go through great lengths to make sure not to do it around him. I go into my bathroom, topless, so my shirt doesn’t smell like smoke. I dangle out the window practically. Then, I spray my hair with hairspray, brush my teeth, douse myself in perfume (cheap stuff, I don’t use my good stuff for this) and then, put my shirt back on. Ridiculous. I don’t even enjoy smoking. I just need something to do with my hands…and there are only so many handjobs my hotband can endure before he feels like his dick is going to fall off. So, quitting smoking is definately something I want to do.

BITING MY NAILS: I have been a nail biter since birth. I started getting acrylics done when I was 15 years old and have been addicted to getting them done ever since. This means that my nailbeds are positively destroyed (but damn, do my hands look gorgeous with a new set of frenches on them). So, I stopped getting the acrylics done a couple of months ago (thank you, drug addicted CP for not wanting to get out of bed to have them done), but I went right back to biting them again. So, I have resorted to using press on nails. That way, the drilling of the acrylics don’t destroy my fingernails…and I can’t get to them to bite them. It’s not the ideal way to stop biting…but, it is working for now. The problem is they look so…*ugh* fake. But, it’s better than my ragged cuticles that I tear up and leave all bloody and nasty.

EATING LIKE A PIG: This is a side effect of getting sober. I have an appetite again. And man, am I making up for lost time! I don’t eat to satiate hunger. It’s more to keep my hands busy (see “smoking”/”handjobs”). Now, I have the opposite problem of most women. Most women, even the thinnest women, think they look fat. Me? I know I’m fat…and I’ve always embraced that. And, I am also one of those women who, no matter how fat she gets, still manages to think she is the hottest girl in the room. I have body dysmorphic disorder…but in the OPPOSITE of what it should be. I’m a fat girl who thinks she’s thin. *LOL* The problem is, I am so damn pretty that I feel it makes up for the excess 20 pounds (okay, 30). Here’s a recent pic of me at my high school reunion:

That’s me in the white floral dress (Yves Saint Laurent never looked better, I might add) See the girl in the black dress in front of me? Yeah. Size 2. Fuck her. *LOL* The girl next to me? The red head? Yeah. Size 12. Fuck her too. Me? A divine size somewhere between a 16 and an 18 depending on whether I am wearing the good stuff or a cheap knockoff. *gasp…yes, the princess does do knockoffs now and then. sh. our secret.) That’s the issue. I really don’t feel like I look bad. If I looked like shit, I might be more apt to lose some weight. *shrugs* This one might be a challenge. (See the hotband behind me? How cute is he??? And, in this pic is the guy I lost my virginity to back in junior high…but I’ll never tell which one…mwahahahaha).

Here’s another pic of me…just because I am that cute that I should be shared. I am on the right of Abby, my kindergarten best friend (middle) and another friend of 28 years (like you can’t tell which one is me, right?):

Yeah. Weight loss is probably not on the table for me right now.

KEEPING VAMPIRE HOURS: For those of you that have known me since I started this blog in…Jesus, has it been four years already? Anyway, since the beginning…I keep the most unholy of hours. Right now, it is 5:30 am. I am blogging, playing Vampire Wars on Facebook, chatting with a friend, listening to music, smoking a cigarette, eating some cantaloupe and basically just doing my thing while the rest of the house is sound asleep. I do this for days straight, sometimes up to 4 days without sleep and then WHAM…crash. I sleep for about 6 hours and then I’m ready to do it all over again. Don’t suggest sleeping pills because 1) They go against my sobriety issues and 2) They don’t work on me anyway. I have tried to fuck my husband until I died of exhaustion. Sadly, he gets exhausted WAAAAAAAY before I do…and having sex with him is like eating a bag of Lays…can’t eat just one. So, while he is “recovering”, I am just winding up for round FIVE. Sex is too much of an adrenaline rush for me to knock me out. I read…but I don’t get bored. I can finish a full novel in one night. I try to watch old movies that I have seen a gazillion times thinking it will bore me, but I end up seeing things that I never noticed before and it makes it interesting for me all over again. For example, did you know that there is a Starbucks Coffee Cup in EVERY scene in Fight Club? Yep. Go watch it. (It’s truly the best movie ever made, so watch it anyway). I have been suffering (read:living) with insomnia since I am a little kid. My mom used to put me to bed at midnight, when the Tonight Show was on. She’d fall asleep…and I’d crawl out of bed and sit on her floor and watch it til they did the National Anthem at 4am. (Yes, they used to do that…WAY back in the days before internet and cable). So, these are the hours I am accustomed to keeping.

Now, out of all of these vices…the one I think I am having the easiest time with is the nail biting. However, that is also the one I am least concerned about. No pay off with that one. I know me…and I will eventually cave and get them done professionally again. Eating like a pig? Maybe…MAYBE I can tone it down. I have a $3,000 treadmill on my back porch. It’s the place I hang my throw rugs over when I wash them. A very expensive clothesline. Smoking? Yeah, I think I can see giving that one up…but the after dinner/after sex cigs are going to be really rough. And the vampire hours? That’s 42 years of undoing. I don’t know about that one.

So, I have 81 days under my belt of sobriety. Yay for me and all that shit…but, should I really pick another vice to start separating from right now?

Tell you what. Let me go do my nails, smoke a cigarette, eat a doughnut…and I’ll get back to you tomorrow at 5am with my decision.

I feel stupid…

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.

Where I have been…the dethroning of a Princess.

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.