The Anniversary

There isn't any celebration for this anniversary, just a quiet sense of pride tinged with a little melancholy.  You see 10 years ago today, I checked into a hotel on the ocean front in Virginia Beach and proceeded with my plan to commit suicide.  I was almost successful, almost.

After a series of mental, emotional and physical setbacks, I was desolate.   I spiraled down into a depression so dark it overwhelmed me.  I had no hope, no dreams, just the all encompassing feeling I was just better off not living.  I had just been dumped by my boyfriend, lost my job and was well on my way to losing my condo. This was the deepest depression I have ever known.  Depression is slow.  Its a creeper.  Looking back now this episode started a couple of years prior to 2003.  Most likely it started in 2001.  On August 28th, 2001 my brother committed suicide.  A few weeks later the terrorist attacks of September 11th happened and roughly two weeks later my father dropped dead while on the way to put his dinner plate in the kitchen sink.  Besides being shell shocked, and overwhelmed by the grief, I think I began to the decent into my own life changing depression.

It was the perfect storm.  Between all the trauma I was experiencing within my family, I was carrying my old demons as well.  It really exhausted me mentally, emotionally and physically.  I see it so clearly now.  The flaws in my thinking, how I isolated myself from everyone and everything until all I had was my depression.  When you feel you no longer have anything left to loose and you feel you only bring pain to those around you, suicide can seemingly appear to be a quite rational conclusion.

Leading up to November 26th I managed to close up shop.  I didn't tell anyone.  I just went about packing up my home, giving things away.  If you had come into my life you would have thought I was simply moving.  I remember not wanting to burden my family with the ugliness of having to come down from Connecticut and sift through my belongings.  I am still stunned by the odd ways in which my thoughts swirled.   Things that should have mattered didn't and things that didn't matter were now important.  Anything of a personal nature was thrown away and the rest was pack in boxes and labeled.  All neatly stacked in the living room.  As I had in life, I would do in death, make it easy for those in my life to move on.  I wasn't worthy of them anyhow or so I thought.

The next portion of this story is something out of Hollywood.  I checked into the hotel.  I had already wrote my letter.  In fact I had written three of them.  One to my family, one to a friend and the other was the directions, account numbers and etc. they would need after my death.  I remember taking my shower and dressing.  I remember sitting down, opening the bottle of wine and taking the lethal amount of pills I had.  What I don't remember is putting the do not disturb sign on the door.  In an otherwise flawless suicide plan, this one little minor detail would become a major player in this drama of mine.

I am not sure how, but a maid found me.  For some reason unknown to me, she entered my room and found me after I had passed out.  An ambulance was called and the rest is of little importance.  I woke up in the hospital.  I was in 4 point restraints, on a ventilator and had a catheter in.  I remember thinking to myself, "shit, fuck, G-ddamn it, how the hell am I here?  How the hell am I still alive?"  The irony of this was not lost on me then nor now.

I had been in a coma for 4 days.  Upon waking up, the ventilator was removed and I was "interviewed" by the staff shrink.  I remember a nurse telling my mother wished to speak to me.  I picked up the phone, she screamed, "What the hell did you think you were doing?"  I simply hung the phone up.  The nurse just looked confused.  I asked when I could get out of the hospital, she smiled and walked away.  I went back to sleep.  If I thought I was depressed before my attempt, I was sure I was depressed afterwards.

A few days later I was giving the choice of either signing myself into a mental hospital or I would be committed....Baker Acted.  It was explained to me, if I signed myself in, when the doctor said I was better I would be released.  If I was committed by the Commonwealth of Virginia, my case would only be reviewed in 12 month intervals.  Which meant if I was better in 3 months, I could very well be sitting in a mental hospital for 9 months waiting for my next court evaluation and then it wasn't certain when I would be released.  I chose to sign myself in.

That was 10 years ago that I made the trip to Eastern State Mental Hospital in Williamsburg, Virginia.  I was in the hospital for just under 6 months.  I don't know how but I managed to begin to put myself back together.  With the help of a few special people, my doctor, a couple of the ward staff and lots of time to think about me, I did it.  I started to recover physically and they helped with the mental and emotional stuff I was dealing with.  The healing process had begun.

You hear horror stories about state run mental institutions.  I am not gonna lie and say it was nice because it wasn't.  I have heard, seen and learned things I wish I hadn't.  I have also received some of the more caring and compassionate treatment I have ever known.  The end result was I was better physically, mentally and emotionally than I had probably ever been.  I learned about CBT (Cognative Behavioral Therapy), how to change my negative thoughts, retraining my thinking.  I learned I am worthy of love and happiness.  I began to have hope.

Its been a journey.  Good times, tough times and times of pure joy.  So I sit back today in a really thoughtful place.  Not sad, not joyous but thoughtful.  They say hindsight is 20/20 and by golly, it really is.  I can look back now and not flinch.  I feel a certain level of pride.  I have begun the work.  The work of healing myself.  Learning about me and putting to rest some of the past trauma's that led me to that very dark place.

I went back to the hotel once.  I tried to find the poor maid who found me.  I wanted to say thank you and to apologize to her.  The hotel has since been sold and a new staff is in place.  So I dedicate this blog in honor of the woman who found me, whomever she is.  She gave me the most precious gift.  A do-over.  A second chance at life.

I share this most intimate moment in the hope someone will read this and know you can feel better.  Life isn't hopeless.  To reach out and ask for help, its there...you just have to reach out for it.  Life isn't easy.  It never will be.  Life is livable.

I just have a truer sense now of who I am, where I have been and where I am going.  I have a sense of internal peace now.   I like Lucien 2.0.  While this may seem like an anniversary, for me its more of a mile marker in this crazy journey we call life.

Twits, Twats and General Irritants

Sometimes one just has to take to the blog to vent one's frustrations.  As many of you have noticed I have been well, a little slack in tending to my Twitter account lately.  Since the move I have either been very busy, too tired or just not into the absurdity of social networks.  Don't get me wrong, I love to throw out a funny tweet or two, but I just haven't been into it.

So as I was tweeting tonight a couple of things dawned on me.  First, what I do is funny.  I live tweet during the Real Housewives shows.  I am cutting, snarky and funny.  Really, really funny.  I enjoy tweeting things about the insipid group of gals that have somehow, through no fault of their own, made their ways into our pop culture and lives.  I wonder does anyone ever really take any of these broads seriously?

Maybe I am just a cynical old fart but I cannot take anything these chickas pump out.  Nope.  Caroline is not a good mother, Kathy is some pent up housewife with body issues, just like Melissa can sing.  Its a farce of epic proportions.  They all run around with full make-up on, slap their names on products and argue.  Boy do they ever argue over the stupidest shit on the planet.  There are starving people the globe over, but its very important that Teresa not mean tweet Melissa?  Huh?  What?  No!

I have been tweeting the Housewives for years.  I consider myself a lay Joan Rivers.  My quips are quick, cutting and colorful.  Many tell me they really enjoy my tweets.  That makes me happy.  Its one of the reasons I do it.  Every so often, some tree hugging, hemp wearing twat comes along who has to tell me to be nice.  No I ask, has Joan Rivers ever been nice?  Is her career going full tilt boogie?

If you follow me on twitter you will see my "snarky" tweets.  They are never, for the most part, ever directed at the ladies.  If they see my tweets, then they are doing some heavy hash tag searching and if that is truly the case, then read on.  I personally live by a maxim, "Its none of my business what someone says behind my back, if they want me to know, they will tell me."  It serves me well and I highly recommend it for others.

With that being said, I am tired of people who think they personally need to defend someone they don't even know and the object of their passion doesn't know they are alive.  Really people?  I am also tired of the he said/she said wars on Twitter.  People get very, very into the wars.  One thing being on social networks has taught me is to have a thick skin, like that of a crocodile.

I also don't like the fucktards who think its cool to correct my tweets.  I get that I have typos all over the place.  Since when did correcting someone become polite?  There isn't one person on Twitter who has not at one time fuckered up a tweet or two.  It happens people get over it.

Also, to all those republicans who love to spout off about the Constitution and shit, whatever happened to free speech?  Or did George Bush snatch that away too?  What I say, how I say it, is my right.  If you don't like something, then either look away or unfollow me.  Either way, I don't care.  Don't correct me about humorous tweets about the idiot Housewives.  Its not your job to police the wonderful land of twitter.  It really isn't.  I cannot tell you how many times I see a tweet that yanks my chain and I do the ever popular eye roll or shut the computer down and...I don't know...get a life.  I just ignore the stupid shit and go about my merry way.

Those are some of the reasons I haven't been on Twitter nor Facebook much lately. Just not interested in fighting, arguing or getting into hilarious battles of whit with those who are...well...lets just say they are challenged and move on.  Its not fun.

There, that's my rant.  Lump it or leave it.

The Role: A Cautionary Family Tale

This last week has been one for the record books in my life.  It seems the stronger, deeper, more "in touch" with myself I get the more my family seems to look at me with a stink eye.  As many of you already know my life for the past 10 years has been one of personal reconstruction.  I had what I like to lovingly refer to as my "cosmic melt down.".  I had a complete nervous, emotional and mental breakdown.  For whatever the reasons it was epic.  The last 10 or so years have been about finding myself and finally becoming the person I should have always been.  I don't want this blog to be about the reasons why I was lead to that point years ago, but rather the struggles I have encounter since.

In every family, whether its founded or unfounded there is the family scapegoat.  I know many of you reading this are shaking your heads.  I know some very successful scapegoats and others well...lets just say they live up to the title.  I have always said that I gave my family most of the ammunition they ever needed to place me in the role of scapegoat.  After my melt down.  I decided I didn't want to have that role with my family.  My mother is the abuser, my step Dad the victim and my sister was the uber successful one.  We all had our roles.  I just didn't like being the screw up, the equivalent of a black hole of emotional need any more.  Whether it was the therapies, the medications or simply just the realization that I mattered, I decided and started to make my journey from scapegoat to just a "supporting character" role within my family.

I can see how the family unit, as fuckered up as we are, functioned and have had tried to understand that role changes within any family can upset the apple cart.  It wasn't just about how I felt in my role of scapegoat but also as to how the others related to me.  They had learned over the years to relate to me as the son, brother, cousin who was always in some sort of drama or personal hell.  They related to me parent to child.  Once I started to really work on myself, become more stable and even dare I say, successful on a personal front, the dynamics changed.  These changes were not easy for those around me in the family.  I got it and even accepted a lot of bad behavior because I new they were on a journey with me and while I had embarked on this journey,  they didn't necessarily sign up for one.  I was changing was prepared to do the work but they, they had just had this thrown on them.  So I decided to be patient and gently help them to see this new me was going to be better and all the support, attention and etc. was not going to be needed so much anymore.  I basically wanted to say, "hey, I know I was a heavy person to have around before, but I am really trying to just be a better person and easier to be around."

As time went on I found the stronger, better medicated, more therapied me more to my liking and I began to see things differently, act differently.  This cause the family to get more angry.  I would like to think most of this dynamic went on under the surface.  Very unconsciously.  After this week, I know I was just deluding myself.  It was very much and still is very much at the forefront of their minds.

A little background.  My family saw me as a liar, thief, drug addict, drunk, and half wit.  Reality doesn't really factor into most of what they thought.  My mother saw to it that lies about me were spread from an early age.  As to the why she would do that, I don't think I will ever know.  Suffice to say, my sister, Aunt, cousins and brother all believed her.  I would do things like get into an abusive relationship, go through a period of heavy drinking and that would be all my mother would need to have to be able to point at me and say to all, "see I told you so.  I told you he was a fuck up."

I don't do that anymore.  I am stable, mature and really keep the drama to a minimum.  I am very quiet and closed lipped about what goes on in my life and have really learned to trust myself and my ability to make informed, healthy decisions about myself and my life.  I got rid of all the toxic people and still am working on not being so toxic to myself.  I don't accept the role of scapegoat any longer.

I am Lucien now.  I deserve, demand and require respect, love and tolerance.  I guess my new role in the family is now the "healthy one."  I laugh when I think of it, but I really am probably the healthiest of the bunch.  I rarely drink, even socially.  I don't do any sort of drugs, street or otherwise for recreational use and I am in therapy and under the care of a shrink.  My family on the other hand is off the charts in the drama, selfish and out of control departments.  I used to think I was the reason my family was so screwed up.  My mother really had me on the ropes in thinking that.  I can see now they are all in some way damaged and actually my family has many different scapegoats for many different reasons.

This week I guess you could say I reached a point where I just couldn't take anymore crap from any of them.  I don't speak with my mother and haven't in years.  She is too sick and far to dangerous to be around for me.  My little sister has and will always be special to me.  I am tearing up as I write this because I had hoped to show her threw my own personal struggles what to avoid, where to be strong and how wonderful I thought she was.  I figured if I couldn't be happy, I wanted her to be happy and would have done anything, gone through anything to ensure that.  You will then imagine my surprise when I found out exactly what she thought of me this last week.

I am the burden.  The one the family always has to watch out for.  She has to "sanitize" her home (make sure there isn't any pills or money laying around) before I come over.  I am undependable and most of all I have been nothing but an embarrassment to the family.  As she told me this I was just shocked.  Here I was thinking I had made all this personal growth.  Leaps and bounds!  Why wasn't she seeing this?  Not to mention most of what she said was pure hogwash.  But eh, what is truth when dealing with family right?

She continued to prattle on.  Letting me know every perceived defect in my life, character and person she saw.  Some of the remarks cut me to the quick and others were so obviously more about herself and her life than ever had to do with me.  As always, I just stood there.  Stunned, teary eyed and feeling really, really misunderstood and alone.  One of the ways I have learned to deal with people like my sister is to just sit there and let them wind themselves.  They need to get it off their chest and it gives me time to pull in and think.  When she was done, she asked me if I had anything to say.  I just looked at her and said; "I love you, but to reply to the crap you just said would only give credence to it."  It was her turn to be stunned.  The old Lucien would have been off and slinging the arrows right back.  Being as hurtful, if not more, than I felt I was being hurt.  The new Lucien just doesn't see the benefit in doing that.  I asked her to leave and told her I felt it was the best if we stopped communicating.

She tried to continue what I am sure she had scripted as an all out war.  I just wasn't going to comply.  I simply am not the scapegoat anymore and will not, can not...give others the bullets to shoot me with.  I looked at her and said if she really thought so low of me, if I was such a burden and embarrassment to her and the family then I understood why she would have to distance herself from me.  I also told her "let he who is without sin cast the first stone."  She saw red on that remark.  I again asked her to leave.  Reluctantly she did.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't hurt.  I am.  This is my beloved little sister.  I remember hearing her in my mother's stomach before she was born.  I remember her birth.  I remember being molested so she wouldn't be.  I remember protecting her from my mother.  I remember always loving and wanting only the best for her.  I remember thinking she was better than me for years.  I know now I was being a good older brother.  I made mistakes.  I did her wrong and I am sure I have hurt her feelings, sometimes deeply.  I can say I never did so with any sort of intention.  I loved her the best way I knew how.

My casting myself into a new role in the family unit has caused much confusion and strife for them.  I am no longer the one who is financially, emotionally and socially a screw up.  I have built a life for myself which is filled with healthiness.  I honor myself and my feelings.  I guess the easiest way to describe it is that I simply grew the fuck up.  Stopped acting like the victim/idiot and started being more proactive than reactive in my life.  With all of this growth has come some sense of self-esteem and self-worth.  Both of which have cause my family to try and pull me back into the role of scapegoat.  They simply do not know how to relate to an equal with me.  Its just that simple.

I am not saying my sister's role is any easier and I have tried to not cast her in the role the family gave her.  In understanding my role and understanding just how detrimental it was to me, I was loath to do the same to her and even to my mother.  I have tried to sit down and discuss roles within a family with my sister.  Its as she would put, "more psycho babble bullshit" and then brushes it off.  Growth is scary for some.  They would rather be miserable with a known evil than go into uncharted waters.  Sad really.

I know I love my sister.  I will always love her.  I know I love myself more.  I know I have to put myself and my life first.  I know at the writing of this blog, she is no longer welcome in my life as she is.  I always leave the door open because I do believe people change and if she decides she wants to have a relationship with me based on mutual respect, honesty and loyalty I would welcome it.  To continue down the path of me forging a new role for myself and her always trying to force me back into a role in a play which has already closed is just stupid.  We never know what tomorrow brings, all we can be is the best people we can be today and hope tomorrow brings us the rewards for the work we did today.

Any actor will tell you they are scared to start a new role.  I would be lying if I said I am not scared.  I would rather be scared than stagnant.  The Lucien play is being written and rewritten and is currently being performed off Broadway...way off Broadway, but I think its a funny, quirky little play and I am happy in my new role as the lead, maybe even a romantic lead in a comedy?  Okay, enough with the metaphors...laughs.

Think about your roles within your own families.  Think about how you assign roles to your family members.  Try to think about who and how those roles were assigned and when?  Talk to your brother's, sister's, mother's, and father's about what they see as their roles in the family.  I think you find some are happy with their roles and there may even be some who are unhappy with the roles they have.  Confining a person to role is stifling and I don't see how it could be rewarding for the person stuck in a role or the person enforcing the role.  Try to be open with those you love.  Let them, encourage them to step outside of roles they have.  Allow them to be...just simply be all they can be.  The greatest gift we can give the world is to just live our personal greatest and in doing so offer those around us the same opportunity.

Thanks for reading and remember to love deeply, loudly and constantly even when it seems like your the only one doing it.  You matter, I matter...we all matter....

Memorial Day: A Tribute To The Brave Men Of The 42nd Infantry Division

As I sat down to write this blog a flood of emotions overwhelmed me.  Pride, sadness, gratefulness were among some of the feelings which flickered through me.  I remembered my Nana saying this was a day to be solemn and honor those who saved the world from one of the evilest regimes the world ever saw.

My grandmother was particularly aware of the significance of Memorial for a very personal reason.  On April 29, 1945, the 42 Infantry Division of the United States Army liberated her from the Nazi death camp known as Dachau. In her name, in their honor, I write this blog.

My grandmother was born on January 14, 1926.  Her parents lived in a suburb of Berlin.   She had two brothers and one sister.  My grandmother was 15 when she entered the camp, on July 7, 1941.  Upon entering the camp she was separated from her parents and two younger brothers, all of which she never saw again.  She and her sister spent the next 4 years just trying to survive.  Unfortunately 6 months before liberation my grandmother lost her sister to typhus, which was rampant in the camp.

Rather than have this be about the Holocaust, I wanted to write a blog to show just how personal today is for me and my family.  On April 29, 1945 the brave men of the 42nd Infantry Division walked through the gates of Dachau and liberated the camp.  My grandmother always got a little emotional on this day because in her words,  "Wenn nicht für die Männer ich tot wäre. Ich war tot aber sie sparen nicht nur meinen Körper aber meine Seele. Sie haben uns hoffen gegeben. Hoffen Sie, der nicht alle Männer waren, wie des Nazis. (if not for those men I would be dead.  I was dead, but they saved not only my body but my soul.  They gave us hope.  Hope that not all men were like the Nazi's.)

She was grateful for America and her brave, honorable men who came to save Europa from the grips of the Nazis.  She remembered seeing some of the men cry as they witnessed all the horrors the camp had to offer.  She was shocked by how these rough and tumble men were so gentle, caring and compassionate with her and the other prisoners.  My grandmother left the camp in September of 1945.  She never forgot the "boys of the 42nd".  She would tell us grandchildren funny stories about some of the boys and how they made funny mistakes trying to speak German.  She remembered some names and even from where a few of them came from.

Nana is gone now.  We lost her in 1996.  Not a Memorial Day goes by that I do not stop and think about how I would not be here if not for the men of the 42nd Infantry.  I wonder how many of those "boys" really know what kind of impact they had on the world?

In 2002 I was given that chance to let one veteran know how he changed the world.  I was living in Washington D.C.  It was a Memorial Day.  I was at the World War II Memorial.  While there, I overheard an older gentleman talking with his wife.  I heard him say "we in the 42nd ..."  It immediately caught my attention and I worked up the courage to turn to him and ask the question.  I said to the man, "excuse me, I couldn't help over hearing you say you were in the 42nd Infantry Division?"  He replied he was and asked "why?"    I asked if he was part of the liberation of Dachau?  His eyes grew big and again he asked "why?"  I then went on to explain to him my grandmother had survived the camp and had immigrated to America in 1947 and that I was her grandson.  I think I shocked him or he thought I was crazy.  He told me he had been part of the liberation.  I think we both welled up.  I stuck out my hand to shake his.

I don't know if he had ever come face to face with anyone from that time.  We sat down and talked.  It was one of those moments in life that are imprinted on your soul.  I thanked him.  I think it embarrassed him.  His wife listened and I think he never really shared with her what he saw or did while in the service.  We parted and I always wonder if Tony is okay?  Alive?  I always hope he, that his family knows just how grateful my family and I am for him and the 42 Infantry.

I am sure there are many other stories similar to mine.  This is why Memorial Day is so important to me.  Its a day I have life because of the heroic and brave men and women who have fought to protect America and our freedom.  Its a day that I try to keep solemn, in honor of my Nana.

I will be going to the ceremony in the center of my little town today.  Its my duty, my honor and most certainly a privilege to let our veterans know just a little how much I appreciate what they did for me.  I will also spend the day with some saucy VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars) boys and be placing American Flags on the graves of those brave men and women who are no longer here.  Its important their families know their loved ones are honored.

I hope in sharing my Memorial Day story it brings home the importance of this day.  Today is about so much more than a day off from work.  Burgers on the grill.  Its about life and those who fought so gallantly so we could enjoy ours.  Thank you to every service member of the past, present and future.  Thank you to all the families of all those who serve in our Armed Forces and make sacrifices every day too!    Please remember to stand when a veteran marches by in a parade.  Remember to take a moment and really let the full impact of what our servicemen and women give to us filter in.  Again, thank-you to all our servicemen and women.

The Other side: The Sequel To An Open Letter To Mom

Last year I wrote an open letter to my mother and posted on my blog.  I sent her the very same letter.  I had mixed emotions in finally letting go.  Somehow the crazy, the emotional  and physical abuse was familiar to me and in actually standing up and saying no more, I knew the familiar was going to be gone.  This year on Mother's day I want to talk about what it feels like to heal from the abuse of a mother/parent.

I have spent many years feeling angry and playing the victim.  I was angry at the world for not helping me, angry at G-d for making that woman my mother, and angry at everyone else who'd had a better childhood than I did.  Everyday I would see the scars on my body from Mom and rage would fill my body.  I would spend nights crying.  I would spend Mother's Day starving myself out of guilt for not calling Mom.  I would cry every birthday when I didn't get a birthday card in the mail from Mom.

I know it must sound silly, after everything that Mom did to me, that I had feelings of guilt, shame or expectations of love from her, but for a long time I still had hope.  I needed and wanted a mom; someone to call for cooking advice, for housecleaning advice, and someone to lean on and for help when I needed it.  I felt ashamed and embarrassed when a holiday or event rolled around and no one in my family showed up or called to congratulate me.  I started thinking and believing I was the problem; maybe I was as bad as she had said for all those years.

Then I allowed Mom back into my life, ever so shortly, and I finally realized I was never the problem and that she was never going to change or admit that she had done anything wrong.  When I came back to Connecticut to help her, I was hoping she was a new woman; the mom I had always dreamed of.  But talk about a pipe dream.  Mom was never going to change because she doesn't want to change.  I would like to think that she is so ashamed of what she did to me as a child that she has blocked it out and maybe really has forgotten everything she put me through, but my gut tells me that she remembers and thinks she was justified in everything she did.

I haven't spoken to Mom since she decided to have me arrested.  After the charges were dropped because the Police realized she was just a huge liar, I decided she was no longer welcome in my life or home.  It was a hard decision but a right one.  Last year I sent her a letter taking back my power and letting her know I remember and was no longer ashamed.

I still think of my mother every day.  I think of her now with pity, not anger. I pity her for throwing away her life.  I pity her for losing out on a relationship with me.  I pity her for being so sad and miserable that the only way she could deal with her feelings was to torture her own child.  If my mother taught me anything, it was how NOT TO PARENT and how to NOT live my life.

Writing that letter to Mom last year helped me release years of anger, hurt and shame.  Writing these blogs helps continue the process of healing, helping me to finally shut the door on that chapter in my life.  I can move on now!  I am a handsome guy, strong man, a brother and a friend.  I am proud of what I have overcome, what I have accomplished and what is yet to come.  The future looks bright.

My sincere hope in writing and sharing last years letter to Mom and this years blog is to show those people out there, who feel alone, full of shame, anger and hurt, they can heal.  They can heal and actually move beyond the legacy of pain which I know they feel separates them from the world.

There are so many of us in the world.  We are the freaks, the losers, the ones who have dirty clothes and everyone loves to tease.  I am constantly amazed every time I share my story just how many people come out of the shadows to say they too suffered at the hand of a parent.  I always extend my hand and just hold theirs and look deeply into their eyes.  Letting them know I know and its going to be okay.

So many people take for granted they have a good, kind and loving parent.  Don't.  Hold them tightly and be very thankful, grateful even.  Many don't.  In telling my story I have claimed my power back.  My mother no longer has a hold over me.  I am not sure if I completely forgive her yet.  I think on some levels I do but its an on going process.

My life is good.  My life is what I make of it.  I am not a victim anymore.  I am the defender of my life, my feelings and my heart.  I am thankful for all those women who showed me a mother's love and all it could be.  This blog is in honor of them.  Thank you ladies!  Without you I would never have known what a mother's love felt like.  Happy Mother's Day!

Hello Kitty

Just a couple of days ago I adopted a rather large cat.  Cinnamon, aka Moose, is a mature kitty of 7 years and approximately 18 pounds.  I found him on RescueMe.org .  I am enjoying have the pitter pat, okay, who am I kidding, he sounds like a line backer running through the house, but still....I love having him around.  Moose is clean, quiet and extremely loving.  I am very blessed to have this little creature, whom by the way, I think can take me in a street fight.

His family had proposed this whole "foster family" thing on the rescue sight.  I bought it.  I was looking for a mature cat, no kittens and one that was in need of a home.  I don't necessarily like shelters because  of the attitudes of the do-gooders that normally work in those places.  They are like the women who work at battered women's shelters, they hate men.  The folks, and this is another generalization, who work at animal rescue shelters tend to hate humans and therefore make adoptions very difficult.  Why?  Because they can.  So I thought I was doing a good thing.  I would get an animal more my speed and someone would know their animal would be in a good, loving home.  That is where the feel good part of this story ends.

I emailed Moose's family.  The very next morning I was emailed back.  We decided to speak on the phone.  I spoke with, I will call her Jane, to protect her identity (although I should out her for the liar that she is) and she seemed to be a very normal, sweet Mother and Wife.  We chatted a little bit about the kitty and I told her about how I lost mine a few years ago and had not wanted to adopt again until recently.  I was told Cinnamon, aka Moose, was in good health, 18 pounds, was fixed and was up to date on all of his shots.  Sounds good right?  Wait...its gets better.  I was told about his sick Mom and how Cinnamon and his brother were the only two to survive birth.  How her sons allergies were really forcing them to place this foster cat they loved so dearly.  My heart strings were being played like a bad fiddler at a whore house now.  So now you have the picture.

Jane offered to have me come to her house, which is over 2 hours away.  When I emailed her and said I couldn't get out to her house to meet Cinnamon her response was quick and decided.  She offered to bring the cat here.  She also professed to have "immediately connected with me" and would bring all of Cinnamon's things with her, her husband and son, just in case I really fell in love with Cinnamon.  Again, huge, big, red flag that either I decided to ignore or should have my head examined to see why I didn't find this at all peculiar at the time.  Anyhow, I was over joyed and thought how wonderful this  family was to go through all of this extra effort to find their kitty a home

They, Jane, her husband Jeff and their son were standing in my driveway about 3 hours later.  Kitty in the carrier, couple of bags of liter and some food and a tower that Moose couldn't have possibly fit into since he was say, a year old.  (Insert major eye roll here)

I met Moose and he was just the sweetest, shyest little guy.  I immediately fell in love with him.  They stayed about 15 minutes.  The vet records she said she had, she didn't.  She did have the name of the vet, well maybe.  She couldn't remember the vet she used for the last 7 years.  Go ahead, say, "Lucien, you big dumb fuck."  Go ahead, say it, I have.

So they left and Cinnamon spent the night on the bottom shelf of one of my kitchen cabinets.  Looking like Adolf Hitler was after him and he was Jewish.   He growled and was timid.  It was sad.  I made sure he had some food and water and knew where his little box was and left him to settle in.  The next morning is when everything that I missed started to settle in.  The questions in my mind were starting to pile up and it was not looking like this was going to be as wonderful as I thought.

Firstly, how in the hell would a mother make her children suffer through 7 years of allergies only to decide to get rid of a beloved pet, aka foster animal?  Why wouldn't you know the name of the vet who fixed and gave yearly shots to said beloved family pet?  Why in the hell would both husband and wife take a day off from work to rush the cat to a person they didn't even know?

I decided to call the vet on the only piece of paper I had.  Moose's mothers paid receipt for Rabbies Vaccination.  Freak chance, yes they knew of Cinnamon.  They had treated him since birth.  He was a healthy, large cat and was last seen in 2011.  Yes, he was fixed and then the question of the hour was asked of me.  The vet tech asked, "can you tell me why they adopted him out to you?"  Stunned I gave the vet tech the same bullshit answer I was given.  Allergies.  She didn't buy it.  I could tell by her stunned silence.  "Yeah lady, I am thinking the same thing too!" I was thinking to myself.

It was at this point I got angry.  I was angry because I was feeling like these people had lied, skirted around the truth and there was still something very "hinky" about this whole affair.  As Cinnamon was brushing against my legs, I text Jane.  The response I got wasn't so friendly this time.  When I confronted her about his not being up to date on his shots, she told me he was.  Lie.  When I asked why his teeth were not taken care of, she said there was no problem.  Again, LIES.  When I asked why she lied about her kids having allergies and if they did have allergies, why wait 7 years to place the cat?  I was told she didn't like my tone and click, she hung up on me.  That was the last I have heard from her.  I don't expect to hear from her again.  Loser that she is.

I know a few things about cats.  First off, I need to get Moose his shots.  Not a problem.  I noticed though, his teeth had a lot of plague build up on them.  I also noticed his rear nails were very long.  This is what clued me up to the fact he hadn't seen a vet in a while.  I have since made the necessary appointments with my vet.  They can do a complete screening on him and make sure he is healthy.  He seems very healthy.  Eats well, drinks fine and does his business in his box (thankya Jesus).

He has since come into his own a little more.  Take now for instance.  He is sitting beneath my chair and purring.  He is extremely loving and is very sweet.  He is still very shy about noises and seems to have an extreme fear of the front door.  Its okay.  My home is very quiet and I am sure he will settle in to a nice little routine in the coming weeks and will hopefully learn that fear is not needed here.  We offer only love and really good kibble here at Chez Lucien's.

What bothers me the most about this whole affair is the fact that a grown, professional woman would stoop to lying to get rid of a cat that I obviously wanted.  I am not seeing any particular behavioral problems you would think of as reasons for getting rid of an animal.  Like peeing on the carpets, shredding furniture, etc.  None of that has happened yet.  Her husband seemed to be very unhappy with giving up the cat and the son seemed very medicated.  I am happy to house, feed, love and take care of Moose.  I guess only time will tell if I adopted a special needs animal or just a cat whose family was tired of him.  Everything they gave me was dirty.  The carrier, the little carpeted tower and the 3 food bowls.  All were filthy.  They even brought his liter box with dirty liter in it.  These people do not strike me as a family who take care of their animals.  I am more than happy to take Moose off their hands.  At least I know I will provide good care for him.

So, please welcome Mr. Cinnamon, aka Moose to my home.  Gift cards can be sent c/o of me, LMAO.  I am excited and hopeful the two of us will make great roommates.  I love forward to getting to know him and love him.

Jesus Jugs And The Bullies

As most of you know, I rarely, if ever, blog about the Real Housewives.  There are just so many more folks that do it better than I can and to be very honest, I have more fun live tweeting during the shows.  Its a challenge for me in 140 characters or less to be funny, snarky and of course, cutting.  So for me to sit down and write a blog about one or more of the housewives you just know my Nancy had to be tweaked, and tweaked it was.

How do I start this rant blog?  Do I ease into a dialogue about Alexis and her ever not so effervescent hubbs, Jim?  That this not so dynamic duo make a living at being victims?  Do I just jump into stats and facts in regards to Alexis' newly learned word "Bully"?  Do I, do I, do I?  Naw, I will just add some 30 mg. nicotine oil to my vaporizor e-cig and try to ease into the hot mess that is Alexis and her incessant need to be viewed as a victim to remain relevant enough to warrant staying on a show that to be frank, would probably do much better with her off of it.

Alexis last season appeared to be the victim.  Gay Gasp!  No Lucien, it cannot be you say.  Well my darlings I say she should have gotten an Oscar for her award winning performance as the most dull and very understood twit of the year.  That is saying something on a channel who also showcases such extraordinary talents as Jacqueline Laurita, Caroline and her Cabbage Patch Kids, Manzo.  Let us not forget, "I'm the victim Theresa, not you..." Melissa Gorga.  Another fine example of why birth control needs to be readily available on every street corner.  In fact, I would recommend many to develop an on going drug habit with birth control.

This season, Jesus Jugs, my pet name for Alexis, which has been hijacked and used all over the place, is once again attempting to become the victim.  She is scared of the big, evil, nasty, wicked Tamra and the Axis of Evil which is comprised of Retching Gretchen, and Miss Manners, aka Heather Dubrow.  So why for all that is good and sweet in the world would this bony, silicon injected, fine, upstanding Christian woman subject herself to those who she had to medicated herself to deal with?

Alexis and her uber controlling hubbs, Jesus Jim, need the cash.  Lets be honest shall we.  They is "sho nuff trying to live like white folks."  Jim has failed at just about everything he has attempted to do.  Why?  Because as with most of their ilk, they are phony to the core.  Jeez, Taylor Armstrong just popped into my head.  You get the point.  They lie, they embellish, the rent homes, cars, jewelry and etc. so they can appear to be like everyone else.  So they can feel like they belong.  And that insecurity is really at the heart of Alexis and her bullying bullshit.

Bullying seems to be a catch phrase now.  What I have noticed of late is that not many actual victims of bullying run around exclaiming they are being bullied.  Normally, they sit and suffer very silently.  To be bullied is very humiliating.  Take me for example.  It took me well into my 30's to be able to look someone in the eye and utter the words, "I was really bullied in school."  Gee whiz it still makes me feel embarrassed so say it.  What I have also noticed is a lot, and I mean a lot, of very insecure people and those who get caught lying , seem to use the word bully to deflect attention away from their own negative behaviors and have the focus shift to someone else.

Ah, the 30 mgs of nicotine in my e-cig is kicking in....So when I watched Alexis and her buddy, Lydia, aka Clamydia and Icky Vicki walk into that party I just knew the proverbial shit was gonna hit the fan.  Tamra is not known for her temperance and I kind of like the raw, edginess of personality.  She is filter-less.  I can appreciate her inappropriateness...sadly, many can't.  Ho hum.

The last we knew JJ (Jesus Jugs) was threatening to sue Tamra and hadn't spoken since the ugly reunion show.  So why in G-D's name would Alexis even think of showing up to a dinner hosted by Tamra?  To re-enforce her role on the show as the poor, little, lamb-like victim she wants us to believe she is.  Bullshit.  I am throwing down the "fuck you, you're full of shit card."

JJ had to know that Tamra was gonna be on point.  Why would a bullying victim subject herself to yet another attack?  She was still gonna get her paycheck from Bravo.  We saw the Jumps for Jesus trampoline park her and Jesus Jim were now doing.  So what was the point?  Relevance people, relevance and nothing more. Sorry JJ but I have been around the block far to many times to be manipulated by some insipid twit who is insecure about being on a show and tries to use the pain of others to make herself relevant.  Not buying it anymore than I bought the self serving fuckery of an interview with Leann Rimes, another succubi of humanity.

Now we have JJ in the victim role, Titillating Tamra and the Axis of Evil clearly defined by JJ.  No matter what happens from this point, insecure, manipulative, lying Alexis will have those who feel the need to defend her sophomoric behaviors and her role on the show is now cemented..but is it? (Bella Lugosit laugh now with some creepy organ music in the background)

For those who are actually bullied this is a travesty.  Their experiences, their pain has been discounted by Alexis.  Kelly Bensimone, another fine example of why electro-shock therapy doesn't work,  also had no other way to be relevant other than appearing in a victim role.  People really need to stop using the word Bully so much.  It is becoming so common that actual, real victims of it, are not getting the help they need because when we see people who are clearly not being bullied, we tend to see all who claim to be being bullied that way, as liars.  We all know that Alexis, Kelly are not bullying victims.  They are talking heads on a "reality" show.  They choose to be there.  They choose to interact with the other women on the show.  These women are not socially ostracized.  They are not afraid of any form of physical violence. There is no group or persons who are harassing them to the point their lives are in a state of constant anxiety.  So tell me where is the bullying?  I am not seeing it.

What I do see is several strong women addressing the bullshit that Alexis pulls and I see Alexis not liking that its being filmed and seen by millions.  That is all I see.  So Jesus Jugs shut the hell up about being a victim of bullying.  Also, could you leave my comments on your blog up, you wuss.  Did I hit a little to close to home?  That's right folks, she deleted my comment I left on her blog...so much for Freedom of Speech that I heard so much about last year from that monkey fart hubbs of hers, Jesus Jim. I guess only they get to have an opinion or have the ability to speak freely.

This bitch will have always have the last word......Smooches darlings