Category Archives: old friends

Overcome…

This week has been incredibly overwhelming for me.  Personally, professionally and emotionally.  I am drained.  I am tired.  I am exasperated.  And more than anything…

I am overcome.

After many years, a friendship was ended…mutually, after nearly 40 years.  We didn’t decide to just release one another but rather, it ended in an incredibly ugly fashion with sarcasm, bitter words, name calling and scathing accusations.  She wasn’t listening to me.  I wasn’t listening to her.  We both struggled to be heard, but the louder the words became,  the more they fell on deaf ears.  This person was gone to me for a very long time.  From the time I was 14 years old actually.  We reunited back in 2002.  For six years, it was wonderful.  We shared each others homes, hearts and secrets.  She entered my life during a very volatile time with my husband (yes, once upon a time, things were not all hearts and flowers between the Princess and the Hotband.)  She got me through a lot of rough years.  I will always be appreciative of that.  Then, Facebook comes along.  Old friends enter the picture.  Worse yet, new friends enter the picture and slowly the chasm grows.  We start realizing how different we are.  Subtle changes at first give way to more blatant, outward changes.  Statements that would once be taken in jest were no longer amusing.  The differences become more noticeable, not only to us, but to our mutual friends.  Bickering begins.  Nit-picky small things at first slowly give way to all out lunges at each others throats.  Diplomacy is suddenly lost on both of us.  She is asking me to change who I am.  I am telling her accept me as I am.  She calls me a liar.  I call her varying degrees of the word “bitch”.  She tells me she is blocking me from her feed.  I eventually block her from my “friends list”.  Sarcastic nasty notes are exchanged and suddenly, it is 1980.  We are two teenage girls, snarling at one another in the school yard, throwing down our books as the crowd forms a circle around us.  Sides are chosen.  Friendships are irretrievably broken. Alliances are formed.

Only this time, there is no teacher to step in, to intervene.  We are left to our own devices, both of us too afraid to have this discussion by phone…so we are relegated to nasty Facebook messages saying things that we more than likely wouldn’t dare to say to each other if we were face to face.

It was exhausting.  And now, it is over.

I have opted not to discuss this with our mutual friends.  She, however, has been talking about this non-stop.  The chitter chatter of the spies still running back and forth between us, like little electrical synapses firing off, one after the other.  I just want to be free of it already.  I wanted this year to start differently rather than more of the same.

And while there is a part of me that is always going to mourn the loss of that friendship, I am trying to remember that there was a reason she walked into my life when she did after a 25 year separation.  I am grateful for the little girl I grew up with as much as I am grateful for the woman who held me in her arms as I sobbed over the pain my husband had caused me.  I would have loved to have shared another 40 years with her…but we grew up differently, our lives shaped by different events.  I am not who she remembers, nor who she wants me to be.  She is not who I remembered, nor who I wanted her to be.

But, for a short moment in time, we were everything to each other.  She held my hand in kindergarten sometimes.  She was always the braver and bolder one.  She had a silly laugh that carried over into her adult years, a giggle that would make you look into the eyes of this 40 year old woman and see the 6 year old within.  We couldn’t stop talking to one another and were placed on opposite sides of a classroom more times than I can count.  We crushed on the same boys.  She always won their hearts and I suppose I always envied that about her.  It always came so naturally for her.  I had to work so much harder to impress people.  Thus begun my extremely extroverted personality.  The outrageous things I would say and do.  She would always shake her curly head and laugh at me.  And I would smile, knowing my best friend approved of who I was, accepted me and loved me…even when I wasn’t in performance mode.  To everyone else, I was that crazy girl…but to her, I was just “CP”.  Or, as she put it, even in our 40’s, she would refer to me as…”my CP”.

And I was hers.  Unconditionally…and probably would have been for life had we not allowed the little things to pyramid to grandiose proportions and spin violently out of control.

In my heart, in my mind and in my soul…I will always remember the moment when we were 14 years old and hugging goodbye as my parents moved me out of the city and into the suburbs.  I never saw her again after that.  I will always remember her big brown eyes, her long curly hair and her lips, quivering from trying to hold back the tears of seeing a best friend disappear from her life.  That vision will help me handle what has happened between us, remove the ugliness that transpired on both our behalves and allow me to move forward into the new year without regrets or pain.

She will always be my very first best friend.  No amount of ugly will ever change that.

I’m willing to keep her there, in my heart, exactly that way.

Yes, I could continue 30 days of truth…BUT WHY????

When there is all this brand new prettiness all over my blog!!!

Are you dying??

Five years, this blog has looked EXACTLY the same. Then I hired me some TwoScoopz goddess, also known as my beloved friend “J” and THIS was the result? Hello? Pinkness? Prettiness? Lipstick? Shoes? Purses?

Does this bitch know me or does she KNOW me? *shaking my head*

I turned over the reigns to her. The only thing I asked to keep was the banner of my Princess marching down 5th avenue in NYC and of course, the little Princess herself. Other than that, she had carte blanche.

And she totally nailed what I wanted. Totally.

If you need a new face on your old space, I HIGHLY recommend my girl, J. She is so hugely talented. And, even if you don’t need sprucing up, head over there anyway to see her amazing photography. She doesn’t know this, but I have stolen SO many of her photos to use as my desktop background. Ooops. Did I just say that out loud? Don’t STEAL her shit, ai’ight? I will brown bag your ass in a parking lot if you head over there and steal her shit. Grounds for a shank to the solar plexus, you got it? Just lay down a nice comment…and maybe she will share a pic with you. But you ain’t me, bitch, so don’t just go taking shit that ain’t yours.

*sighs*

Man, I can’t even be MEAN here any more. It’s just too. fucking. pretty.

Thank you, J. Not just for taking my “house” and turning it into a “home”, but for being a guest in my house for so long. From sitting on the porch, to walking through the front door, to hanging on the couch, to snuggling in the bedroom…the very heart and soul of where I live and breathe. You have always been there for me, through good times and bad. We’ve shared a LOT of laughter and tears over the past few years. I couldn’t even dream of putting my beloved memories in anyone elses hands. Thank you for treating them as though they were your own.

I love, love, love you to the stars and beyond.

Day 2…Something you love about yourself.

There are lots of things I love about myself. This list can go on for hours. I’ll try to keep it brief.

What I love the most about me is the way I love the people in my life. The people who I treasure. The friends and family who stick by me no matter what. The people who know me and accept me the way I am. The ones who know I would never do anything hurtful, harmful or disrespectful to them. That’s just not me. I may have a ferocious tongue, coated with battery acid…but to my inner circle, I have a crazy soft spot. I am a charitable person. A good person. I may not always come across that way because of my wildly big mouth, but there isn’t any one of my good friends that I wouldn’t lay my life on the line for if need be. If I tell you I am going to do something, I do it. If I tell you I am going to be somewhere, I will be there. If I tell you not to worry about something, don’t worry about it.

My word is my bond. Always. It’s really all any of us have in this world that we can give that is a direct reflection of who we are. That is why I take HUGE exception to being accused of being a liar…ever. I can be accused of being many things in this world, but a liar is never one of them. And, when you cross that bridge with me and accuse me of something like that, rest assured, I won’t even glance backwards in your direction.

The way I figure it is this…if you don’t know me well enough to know the things I would and would not do, then we have no business being friends in the first place.

I love that about me.

The other thing I love about me? The ability to admit when I am wrong. I have said and done some pretty heinous shit in my lifetime, but when I know what I did was wrong, I will always apologize for it. And not one of those insincere “Well, I’m sorry if you feel that way”, or better still…”I’m an asshole, let’s just forget about it”. No. If I went out of my way to hurt you and you didn’t deserve it, I will go out of my way to apologize to you. The right way. Not like the Fonz who can’t admit he’s wr…wr…wr…wrong! Likewise, I expect you to give me the same courtesy. If you fucked up, be a big girl and admit it so we can move forward.

That said, it is time for the…

BREAST CANCER AWARENESS MONTH INFO OF THE DAY:

Every 2 minutes, there is a new breast cancer diagnosis.

Every 14 minutes, a life is lost to the disease.

Over 40,000 people will die this year; about 400 of them will be men.

85% of all diagnoses have no family history.

1 in 8 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer.

Breast cancer is the leading cause of death in women between ages 40 and 55.

Make sure to feel your boobies this month and every month, Ladies. The best time to do self exams is the same day every month. The time your breasts are the fullest are right before your period, so make sure to do it AFTER your period so you can get a better feel for what is going on in there. The days of having to do little circular motions with your fingertips are long over. Just pick the girls up and give them a good squeeze or two. What you are looking for are lumps, hard lumps…things that have almost a “coral” feel to them, like a sharp rock. Also, cancer generally does not hurt, so if you have a lump that’s sore, it is more likely a cyst or benign growth. Take ye to the OB/GYN and get it checked out.

Protect your girls. Save your life. Feel your boobies once a month…for life.

Defining the Girl…or Facing Facebook.

I was trying to define my blog to someone today. Tried to explain what it was about without saying something mundane like “Oh, it’s all about my ever so exciting life.” Truth of the matter is, my life is pretty exciting. Not in a “travel-all-over-the-world-make-love-to-diplomats-spend-too-much-cash” kind of way, but in a “hey, I accidentally shit myself while bending over to pick up a dust bunny” way. How fun is that?

The person I was talking to happily accepted that definition and then asked me another question that I truly could not answer.

“So, why don’t you put your blogposts up on Facebook? You’re friends must think you’re hilarious!”

*blink*

Truth be known, my “friends” do think I am hilarious. I am one of those chicks that goes straight from the heart to the mouth without a pit-stop at the brain in between. I tend to say whatever I am feeling in my heart at any given moment before my frontal lobe has a chance to say, “Er, CP? That MAY not be appropriate right now.” No. More poor brain is usually the organ that has to do damage control after my heart causes my tongue to flap.

But, yes indeed. WHY don’t I post my blog links on Facebook? Fair enough question.

I think there are a few reasons. First and foremost is privacy. Not MY privacy, mind you, but rather, my husband and children’s privacy. In the five years I have been blogging, I have never mentioned my husbands name. That is not to say that some of you don’t know the mans name. Some of you have met him in “real time”. And, some of you have known me longer than I have known him, so naturally, you would know who he is. Then, there are the select few (read: 3) who read my blog who know me in real life on a day to day basis. Most of my blog readers don’t even know MY name. And, when I meet a blogger in real life, they tend to call me “CP” anyway, because that’s how you know me. But, for the hotband, I have to maintain a modicum of privacy. He has a pretty high profile job and there is a certain decorum that comes with his job.

And then, I look at HIS Facebook page, and he puts up all sorts of horny looking fruit, inappropriate Jesus pics and makes homosexual references with all MY guy friends. So, WHY the hell am I holding back on my blog?

Because…if he wants to put himself out there, that’s his prerogative. I am still going to respect the boundaries, even though he never put any up for me.

Then, there is another aspect I have considered. My Facebook friends vs. My Blogger Friends. Some of you overlap into both categories. I think there are 14 of you, actually, who are “friended” on Facebook but started off knowing me via this blog. My Blog Friends are a much cooler breed. We understand that we can cross certain lines with one another. We know that one year in blog time is the equivalent of 5 years real time. Therefore, I know many of you longer in that sense than I do the people I have been friends with for 20 years or more. And, while my friends of 30 years care about me very much, I don’t think they want to know that I was a domestic violence survivor. I don’t think they care that I survived cancer. I don’t know that they would give a shit one way or another that I struggle with bipolar disorder on a daily basis. And, I believe that most of them would be entirely too judgmental with regard to my drug addiction and subsequent recovery.

So, it begs the question…are these “friends” on Facebook ACTUALLY my friends?

I think in some ways, yes, we are. We have history. We have memories of our childhood and our youth. That’s something that we as adults tend to cling to. My husband, as close as we are, will never understand how I grew up. He doesn’t know what it was like to be a little kid living in NYC no more than I can ever know about his experiences growing up in Israel. It’s nice to have those people in your life that you can reminisce with. It’s fun. But, does it provide a longevity to the relationship? Not really. When I reconnected with some old junior high friends on Facebook, it was a blast. We couldn’t stop talking about growing up in Queens and what it meant to each of us. How it shaped us into the adults we are today. We talked, shared, laughed…and then, burnt it out. While we still engage in some witty banter here and there, do I think any of these people would drop whatever they were doing to be at my side if something traumatic happened in my life?

*sighs* No. No I don’t. Even the person I was closest to growing up has turned her back on me in some aspects. She hides my feed because I am (insert adjective for vulgar, crass, classless, rude, explicit, etc.). And I get it. She’s got her kids on her Facebook. Can’t have me talking about the new lube and vibrators I bought on my status and have it show up on her wall, right? I do get it. That’s also why my son is NOT my Facebook friend…nor are my nephews and nieces. As far as I am concerned, Facebook is NO place for children, period. But, to each their own. My daughter is on my Facebook…but she’s 22, married and knows that her mother is a tad fucked in the head. My son is only first learning that. Why rush it? He’ll get it soon enough.

Which brings me back to the original question. Why don’t I post my blogposts on Facebook? The answer is…I don’t quite know. I suppose there might be a small part of me that is going to wonder what people will think of me, which is ironic because I am definitely one of those people who generally don’t give a fuck what others think of me. But, these are childhood friends who have a certain vision of me, a particular memory that I don’t want to taint. Then again, I suppose true friends would love you regardless and understand that the person you were at 14 is not necessarily the person you are at 40.

Then, there is the BIG reason I don’t post my blog posts on Facebook. My brother. He’s a great guy. He totally knows how screwed up I am. He is equally as fucked in the brain. We were raised by the same woman…and THAT, Dear Friends, is the ULTIMATE reason. The one that trumps all. I simply CANNOT have Esther reading my blog. I love my mother but, if you are a long time reader or know her in real life, you know what an absolute LOONEY TUNE she is. If she ever caught wind of the things that I write about her…she’d kill me. Not figuratively. Literally. Like, I have given instructions to my husband to form my blog into a book posthumously if she ever kills me so everyone knows what an absolute banshee she is/was. Don’t get me wrong. There is a certain beauty to being raised by a psychopath. It allows me to be quirky, strange and crazy. When I tell people I am bipolar, they nod. Then, they meet my mom…and suddenly, they nod emphatically…and it all just comes together for them.

The crazy thing is, I have met such interesting and amazing people on Facebook. People that I do NOT know from my past or that I blog with or know in real life. Simply people who I have met in passing either playing a game or stumbling onto their page. Really great people. I would love to share my blog posts with them…but still, I feel some hesitation and restraint.

*raises brows*

Hesitation? Restraint? Foreign concepts to me that I am STILL getting used to.

So, for right now, I am simply using the website “Networked Blogs” on Facebook as my tiny baby step, my little foray into taking my blog out of hiding. (There’s a link to it on my sidebar. No, lower. Lower. Yeah. Right there. Click it if you’re on Facebook.) I think, in reality, my blog will exist long after my old friendships fall away. This is home for me. This is where I feel best and can relax and be myself.

And, if you can’t be yourself…why be at all?

Soul searching…

I have so many things to blog about right now. So many wonderful, amazing things. My life right now is truly blessed. I can write about my husband, always a source of joy and happiness. I can write about the incredible Mother’s Day I just had. There was my fabulous trip to California where I met some absolutely awesome people who will be in my heart forever. I had the time of my life. I can write about my sons recent school suspension. Sure, not a great thing, but valuable lessons were learned by all. I could write about the new career I am embarking on with my husbands blessing. I am scared, nervous, excited and in awe over this decision I have made.

A million things to write about yet only one thing comes to mind right now.

Forgiveness.

In the past couple of months, I have done some pretty nasty things. Things I am a little ashamed of. I said things that never should have been said. I entrenched myself into lives and hurt people with the quick flashes of an untamed tongue. I allowed a mob mentality to pull me in, suck me under and throw me about in an ocean of ugly.

Dear Readers, be there 6 or 60 of you…when have you ever known that to be me?

I am not a judgmental person. I never have been. I don’t see colors on skin. I embrace everyone’s sexuality and preferences. As long as you are not harming me or mine…just be you. Do your thing. Live your life. Make your good choices. Make your poor choices. Always find your way back to being you after diverting away from that. Second chances. Third chances. Tenth chances. I have always lived my life as the epitome of love, tolerance and acceptance.

I am ashamed of my actions as of late. They are a false and poor representation of who I am, who I have always been. I allowed myself to get pulled into chaos and mob mentality, something I have never experienced before. I don’t like it. There isn’t enough body wash to cleanse it away.

I am not a religious girl, despite embracing my Jewessness. I am a spiritual person. I am a strong believer in karmic retribution both good and bad. You get back what you put out into the universe. It comes back to you in some form or another. Lately, what I have been putting out has not been positive and I am not proud of that. So many beautiful and wonderful things have taken place in my life as of late. This one thing looms heavily in my heart and mind.

I took a step to rectify it today. Not only because it was the right thing to do, but because I needed it for me. I needed to make it right in my mind. I need to put out the right vibes in my world. And, most of all, I need to say I am sorry when I am wrong. I allowed my compassion to be run off and replaced with malignancy and maliciousness. That’s not me. It’s never been me. I hate that girl.

I was wrong. And, I am sorry.

While forgiveness may not be in the stars, I have done what I can to be able to exhale and say, “It will be okay. The people you hurt may not forgive you, CP, but God will.” And right now, that has to be enough for me.

I am flawed. I will falter. I am a work in progress.

The colors are still evolving. The paint on my walls are still wet. But, with every passing day, every passing hour…something beautiful will arise from what I am creating. A better day. A better life.

A better me.