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

I Am A Vaper

I have officially entered a new world.  The wonderfully strange, exotic and sometimes overwhelming world of electronic smoking.  Vaporizing or ECigs are the latest rage.  Recently a friend of mine turned me on to this electric vaporizing contraption.  See the pic....

It basically turns nicotine oil into a vapor, hence you get the nicotine without actually smoking.  I was a pack a day smoker.   For the last 4 years I have been rolling my own, another world that was mastered.  I started rolling my own cigarettes when I moved from Virginia to Connecticut and I saw a pack of cigs go from $3.20 in VA to almost $9.00 in CT.  By rolling my own cigarettes I could for the price of one carton smoke for an entire month.

I have to admit I liked smoking.  I loved the ritual of smoking.  What I didn't like was the smell and the mess around the house.  I tried smoking outside, but lets face it I am a wuss when it comes to being too cold or too hot.  I think I smoked outside for all of 2 days.  Needless to say, my house smelled like cigs.   No matter what I did, I could never really get rid of the smell.  Then there was the annoying ashes everywhere.

So you can imagine my surprise when my friend, another ardent, long time smoker got this little contraption and had no cravings and actually enjoyed the damn thing.  First my friend reported 3 days and no cigs, then a week and now its been over a month for her.  I received my contraption from my friend for my birthday.  That was over a week ago.  I have had 6 cigs since I started "Vaping" as they call it.

I actually am enjoying the fact that the nicotine smell is leaving my house.  While I collect ashtrays, I don't use one anymore.  Maybe they can become candy dishes?  Anyhow, there is an entire sub-culture for this product.  The technical term is Vaporizor.  In the above picture, the part I am holding with my hand is actually a rechargeable Lithium battery with different voltage settings.  The top part where the "ejuice" is (smokey colored class section) loaded is called a "cartomizer".  This is where the coil heats up a cloth wick and turns the oil into a vapor which I then inhale.  My entire kit runs around $35.00 for both pieces and a bottle of "ejuice".  Still cheaper than a carton of cigs or even a bag of loose tabacco to roll.

The vapor tastes very much like a menthol cig.  There is no smell and can legally be inhaled just about anywhere.  Just today I walked down the isle at my local supermarket "vaping" away while shopping.  There are no laws regarding vaping and I love to tell folks that fact.  

As always, I turned to the internet to learn more about my new toy and was overwhelmed at the sub-culture that I found.  There is an entire movement out in the world.  I just kept thinking to myself, "why hadn't I heard of this before?"  Its cheap, effective and the health risks compared to smoking are all but nonexistent.  There is a whole set of jargon and lingo that goes with my new toy.  Blogs, youtube videos and internet shops galore!  Imagine my amazement.

Anyone who knows me knows I embrace technology freely.  I am a guy after all.  I love all things electronic so it seems very logical for me to electronically smoke.  Hell, everything in my life is rechargeable.  I like the idea of getting my nicotine fix without any of the muss, fuss or expense.  I have trolled the net and have learned much.  I have yet to find a down side.

It appears I will be now smoking for only $20 a month.  The cost of the "ejuice".   Big difference from over $100 a month I was spending.  Not to mention the fact  I spent countless hours rolling those G-ddamn cigs and then had the smell and mess from them.  I also like the people that I have come into contact with.  They are all very helpful and share little secrets they have learned along the way.  Which batteries are the best, which cartomizers work and what flavors of oils they like.  No one can help me enough.  

So there you have it, I am a "Vaper" to put it in their vernacular.  I plan on eventually quitting.  The oils come in varying strengths of nicotine so I will be able to gradually cut down my nicotine intake and eventually stop smoking.  I have tried and failed far too many times with the patch, the gum, hypnosis and cold turkey to know that I have the will power of a whore on a Marine base, on pay day, trying to regain my virtue.  Its good to be honest right?  

Welcome to my newest obsession and possibly my salvation from smoking cigs.  I wonder how many of you know of this or are doing this too?   I am off to "Vape" and have some coffee!  :)  

Freedom of Speech & Twitter

These days social media seems to come with its own set of very mercurial set of morals and rules.  The one sure thing I have discovered about social media is there will always be someone who is angry, unbalanced, ranting, and/or being negative.

Recently, we have seen many celebs charge they are being bullied, threatened, harassed or worse.  Leann Rimes not to long ago reportedly checked herself into a rehab for "emotional distress" caused by Twitter users constantly tweeting very negative remarks to her.  Kate Gosselin, as recently reported by Radar On-Line, has been considering joining a class action suit because of her struggles with Twitter users.

The first thing that comes to mind for me FREEDOM OF SPEECH.  Its the foundation of our Bill of Rights and the cornerstone to our entire way of thinking in this country.  The free flow of ideas cannot and should never be impeded by the restriction of speech.

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

I consider myself to be a staunch supporter of the Constitution.  I support a person's right to free, uninhibited speech even if it offends me.  "The speech you should most ardently protect is the speech you find the most objectionable."  People love to throw around the free speech defense when it defends their words but most  find it hard to defend another individuals remarks they find offensive.  You cannot have it two ways.

I have been watching certain cases with special interest, such as United States of America vs. William Cassidy.  Here is a basic overview of the case:


Mr. Cassidy is charged with violating 18 U.S.C. § 2261A(2)(A).8 The government
alleges that he:

"with the intent to harass and cause substantial emotional distress to a person in another state, used an interactive computer service and a facility of interstate commerce, to engage in a course of conduct that caused substantial emotional distress to that person, to wit: the posting of messages on www.twitter.com and other Internet websites concerning a person whose initials are A.Z."

 Basically, the government alleged that in publishing a message to the public at large constitutes a crime if a public figure, in his/her own subjective way, feels "substantial emotional distress" when he/she views it.  This interpretation of the law not only criminalizes the content of speech in violation of the First Amendment but renders portions of 18 U.S.C. § 2261A(2)(A) unconstitutionally vague.  The two major elements of the crime for which Mr. Cassidy has been indicted and which render § 2261A(2)(A) constitutionally problematic - are the use of an "interactive computer service" and causing another "substantial emotional distress.

This was, I believe never the intent of this law and legislatively speaking, according to the history of this law, the expansion of the anti-stalking section of the statute to explicitly prohibit harassment by means of an "interactive computer service" was understood to "incorporate new surveillance technology like Global Positioning System, GPS."  In other words, Congress intended to prohibit harassment by use of "stalking surveillance" such as location tracking devices and not of people with words via social networking platforms.

The case was eventually found to be "unconstitutional as applied" and the case was thrown out and no further arguments were heard by the court.

This case, in my humble opinion, demonstrates what happens every day on Twitter.   Mr. Cassidy's words, void of any concrete action on his part, are just that, words, an opinion, however offensive or distressing AZ (the injured party) might have felt them to be.  As such, Mr, Cassidy's tweets, comments or blog postings would be protected under the first amendment.

Twitter is by its very nature, a platform of choice.  One can choose to view, interact or even have an account on Twitter.  Parties offended by what is written about them have the choice to look away, block or ignore what they find offensive.  Simply put, a higher burden applies before a person is liable for inflicting emotional distress on a public figure (Hustler, 485 U.S. at 55).

In US v Cassidy, the government hinged its entire case on what was perceived by the victim   If it was left up to interpretation by the offended party, all of the KKK would now be in federal prisons.  I do not know a single person of color who is not offended, threaten and/or intimidated by the ugly things white supremacists say, distribute and I am sure, Tweet.  In not defining harm clearly, the government would leave all people in an untenable position of self censuring.  Hence the free flow of thoughts and ideas would be stopped and as a result would render our first amendment right to free speech violated.

While I may not agree with the tactics of some, I do support their right to say what they will, whether to me, a celebrity or about an organization.  There is a very clear line that must be crossed before someones speech can be taken and viewed as criminal.  A person must do some concrete, physical action to cause another to be distressed.

I think what bothers me the most, as a past victim of bullying is when celebrities miss use the words, bully, stalked, and harassed.  I feel, at times, say when Leann Rimes claims to feel so bullied by negative tweets, it devalues my experiences as a victim of intense bullying as a child.  In reality Leann is choosing to view those tweets.  True victims of bullying do not have a choice.  They are subjected to cruelty constantly and don't have the luxury of being able to simply ignore a negative comment.  Bullying victims are usually in close physical and social settings where their attackers leave no possibility of ignoring or blocking damaging behaviors of others.  In over using, or miss using the words bully, stalker, harassed, we become desensitized to the real problems faced by many who are actually bullying, stalked, harassed.

I prefer to take the higher road most of the time.  I have my thoughts and opinions on Leann and others on Twitter and Facebook.  For the most part I have learned to keep my comments to myself or I share them with friends.  I have mistakenly shared my thoughts publicly and have had to deal with the backlash of those who my comments angered or offended.  In the end, its words on a page.  Social networking is not for everyone.  I have learned to grow a much thicker skin from interacting on social networking platforms.

Our ability to speak freely must be protected.   I am hopeful the courts will catch up with the technology that we all take for granted.  Remember to protect not only the speech you find yourself in agreement with, but rather protect the right of speech of those who you find hurtful or offensive.

Know When To Fold Em

As many of you know, I was on a quest recently to receive a gift from a person who I believed had wronged me.  What started out as a joke of sorts morphed into something much larger.  For me it was an internal discussion on how and why it became acceptable for some people to just say I am sorry and be let off the hook, so to speak.  

I gave out funny little hints on Twitter, and to the person in question.  I wrote a blog about the internal discussion that I was having with myself and asked others to join the conversation.  For me, this journey is at an end.  The final insult to injury came when I did, in fact, receive a gift.

For the record, let me say the dollar amount of the gift was never an issue.  The gift, to be sure, had to be well thought out and from the heart.  A token of sorts to show the level of regret and remorse for the many lies, half truths that had been told to me.  I was hopeful the person would get the point I was trying to make and somehow realize if they were willing to put into action the words I was hearing from them, it would be a starting point of mending this relationship.

Well, I did receive my gift.  It came just yesterday.  It was a bottle of men's cologne that I had commented on previously.  The fact it came damaged and leaking, well that is another part of the story.  What I did notice was that while the bottle was slightly cracked, the envelope was almost completely dry.  The cap was dented and scratched.

It occurred to me that what I had received was, in fact, a used or as one of my Twitter followers called, "previously loved" bottle of cologne.  Previously, while pestering the person for clues on what my gift could be, I was told it came with no box so he had to bubble wrap my gift.  The bottle was not bubble wrapped but just stuck in a plain manila envelope with bubble wrap on the inside.  

As I sat staring at the offending bottle and having my entire apartment become almost a hazardous substance incident, I became very insulted.  Not angry, just very, very insulted.  There is a difference.  After the grievous wrongs done to me, to be sent a used gift, lied to yet again about him having to order it, I was stunned and insulted.

The cologne was most likely an xmas gift.  I remember having the discussion about the fragrance and being amazed Avon (of all places) made the cologne.  I really do like the smell of it.  Every person, everywhere knows that colognes and perfumes come in bottles and sold in boxes.  I don't care where you get the cologne, it comes in a bottle, inside of a box.  The fact there was a considerable amount of the cologne gone and yet the envelope it came in was dry, leads me to know, this was in fact a re-gift.

I don't care that if purchased, the fragrance would have cost only $22.50 and for the month of March, Avon is having a BOGO on men's cologne, I like the smell of it and would have enjoyed it.  It was ruined by the lies leading up to receiving it and then the fact this was a gift to show how sorry this person was for deeply hurting my feelings and betraying my trust.  Not the best time to "re-gift" and already used item.

I consider myself a fairly intelligent person.  I consider myself pretty good at judging people.  I have to say those beliefs in myself have been shaken to the core by this person.  I went to bed last night feeling stupid for ever thinking anything would be different with this person.  I will not allow myself to ponder the whys and what was he thinking.  My only thought was just how very insulted and disrespected I felt.

I awoke this morning and was accosted by this person again, in the form of a text.  He "wanted to wish me a Happy Easter."  My reply was; "I guess thank you, but I don't celebrate Easter as I am Jewish.  All week has been our holiday of Passover, when Moses led the Jews out of bondage."  What offended me the most, again, was the fact that not once during this entire week has he wished me a happy Passover.  He is more than aware I am Jewish, so for him to make an effort to text me such a message just tells me even more just how very low I rank in his world.  Okay I get it.

Even as I sit here writing this blog, I am still stunned, offended and insulted.  I know in his head he will turn this around and I will be the bad guy.  He did the last time and the time before that.  I am thinking I just need to fold this hand.  I am not going to get through to this person.  He is either unwilling or unable to effect change within himself and so its time to move on.

Sometimes, if I quacks like a duck, walks like a duck, has feathers like a duck, then its most likely a duck.  If a person lies, fabricates elaborate tales, provides false information and pictures to back up their lies and when confronted with said lies, gets angry at you, chances are, they are a liar.  I am not G-d, nor a trained psycho therapist nor do I want to be.  I just wanted a chance to get to know this person.  That is no longer the case.  I know all I ever need to know.

What I fear the most for this person is he will end up quite alone in life.  Lies tend to separate the liar from the rest of the world.  There is always a veil which separates them from true intimacy with others.  Without intimacy there are not bonds, no friendships, no relationships.  I fear this is happening to him right now and I have to say saddened. 

For me, I chalk this up to just bad judgement on my part.  The hardest thing I will have to face is not letting this affect how I interact with people.  I will have to keep this experience in the front of my mind to do so.

I still stand by the premise of my whole argument.  Its just too easy for people to say "I am sorry" and skate off without any real consequences.  I think instead of saying I am sorry, how about a gift to show the person wronged the offender means they are sorry.  It is something I plan on incorporating into my life and my relationships.  I don't ever really want to hear I am sorry again, I would prefer, I was wrong, can you forgive me and by the way, here is a small token gift to show you how I really feel.

I wish for peace of mind.  I wish for a stillness in my soul.  I pray I have learned from this and I conclude this whole sordid affair.  

You Fucked Up! Now What?

What started as a funny way for me to express the hurt, anger and overwhelming feelings of stupidity has morphed into this blog.

We all have experienced emotional pain in our lives.  Either by a friend, lover, family member or etc. What really bothered me lately was the fact that the person who trampled all over my heart with lies and deceptions was seemingly able to get off the hook with a simple "I'm sorry."  I consider myself fairly evolved, in touch with my feelings and yet his I'm sorry just wasn't cutting it for me.

I started to think about all the times I have heard "I am sorry" in my life.  Each and every time someone uttered that phrase I felt it was expected of me to instantly forgive that person and move on.  Am I wrong everyone?  I can't be the only person to feel that way.

So I started thinking.  There is usually a pay-off when some hurts another person.  Yes, for all those Pollyanna's out there, there are those times when a person hurts another person purely by accident, but most of the time, the offender does it by simply giving themselves permission to do whatever it is they know will hurt you.  For me it was lying.  Deep, involved lying that lead me to a place of non-trust.

I decided I deserved a gift.  Something to materially show me I should want to forgive.  Really, when you stop and think about it, I got hurt, I "should" forgive, I am "supposed" to be moving on, right?  What the hell is the offender doing?  Oh yeah, that's right, they said sorry.  They are off the hook and I am left doing all this internal work? Nope.  This "Willow" (see other post) was tired of feeling like the schmuck doing all the work.  If I am gonna forgive, move on and work on trusting someone again...damn it I want a gift.

This got me to thinking.  If someone knew they had to cough up a gift every time the lied, cheated, stole, or etc. would they?  Would they still offend and hurt a person if they knew if they lied they would have to come up with, say, a $100 gift to begin the atonement process?  Late for dinner, $20 gift card to Starbucks and etc.?

Why shouldn't a person who has trampled my heart, broken my trust and set me back in therapy another 2 years cough up a gift?  Then I thought to myself, "Lucien, are you materialistic?"  So let me get this right, I got fucked over, hurt, and obviously didn't have my needs met.  They did whatever it is people do and they utter three words and skate off into the future?  MMM....does that sound fair??  It didn't seem that way to me.

So here I ended up.  Wanting a gift, saying I want a gift and I still haven't gotten a gift.  I, my hints, are all being ignored.  As if its some joke.  Well, for me its not a joke.  I have been telling people all week that I am tired of hearing "I am sorry."  Really tired.  Instead of telling me your sorry, hand me a gift.  Put your "I am sorry" into action.  Walk out that door, think of another instead of yourself and your needs and go shopping for the appropriate gift to say "I am sorry" with.

I am really curious to see how others think about this.  I welcome comments on this topic.  I am tired of taking the high road and forgiving.  The friggin high road is under construction because I have used it too much.

I have learned much about forgiveness over the years.  I employ it a lot.  I love to forgive because then it frees me from holding onto hate and other negative emotions but hell, even this well medicated guy has his limits.  I have forgiven the person recently who hurt me.  Have I forgotten what he did?  Hell no.

My friend Garry told me I was trivializing a serious emotional thing.  I really don't think so.  Depending on the offense, the dollar amount spent on the gift should correspond with the severity of the offense.  I would never demand an IPad for being late to dinner, but I would if you were caught canoodling with someone on Facebook.  Its common sense.  It should vary as the offense and the people involved.

I'd like to think of it as a deterrent to bad behavior.  Let me know what you think?

I Am A Willow

As I look back on my life through the ups and the downs, the right turns and the lefts, I see one thing that is, has and will probably always be constant....and that is me.  Recently, while I was off living my life, enjoying an early warm spring day, I was amazed when I turned on my twitter account on my phone how many mention and etc I had received.  I am not kidding when I say my mouth actually fell open, it did.  I was sitting in the park, smoking a cigarette.

As I started reading, I noticed there was a common denominator (s).  I had actually mentioned two people by name and I guess that is just a no no for them.  The fact that I uttered their name with the attached sentiment that I try to stay clear of them is obviously too much for them to bear.  My bad, I know better with these two than to mention them or have their names show up on my TL.  I know to say something in a DM and then delete it after a person reads it.  I have learned the ways of the Twitter.  This time though I didn't.  Maybe I was being passive aggressive, maybe it was my subconscious doing its thang, I don't know.  Maybe I was just tired of not being able to say or do something because of a reaction from these two people?  Who knows?  I did what I did and I own it.  

What I did was discuss why I stay clear of the these two.  One courts drama and is very hurtful and abusive to many and the other....well...for lack of better word is just bizarre.   One person all I ever did to provoke her was to unfollow.  I unfollowed because I wanted to stay out of the drama.  Not choose a side.  The other, well she loves to call me such things as "pathetic mother fucker"  "coward" and feebly attempt to poke at my manhood.

Sitting in the park it just occurred to me I just don't give a shit.  I really don't.  I have to say I don't care if someone doesn't like me.  I am who I am.  I lie (not lay, chickens lay eggs, people lie down) down with myself at night and if I am okay with my actions then I sleep well.  I cannot change, nor do I wish to change, these people's opinions of me.  It is what it is.  

In coming to the conclusion that I don't give a shit, I noticed it was a pattern with me over the years.  I would call it one of my survival skills.  I bend with trouble.  I noticed I tend to not resist trouble but to bend into it and just go along with it.  The answer or resolution eventually comes.  So why resist and waste so much energy?  Silly right?  I was feeling like I was actually doing that in conjunction with this issue.

Willow trees bend in a storm and then after the storm they are one of the first trees to stand back up and provide shade.  That is how I like to think of myself during this little twitter skirmish and in general in life.  Much has happened to me that I thought would break me, but I seem to bend and after the rough patch I am back to myself again.  I like this about myself.

I know this blog will be forwarded to the two people in question and I don't care.  I have to say this.  I am not mad, angry or resentful towards either of you.  You have your way of doing things and I have mine.  I don't agree with yours and you obviously don't agree with mine.  If I have, by the simple utterance of your names along with the sentiment of not wanting to interact with you, has offended, then I humbly apologize.  I still do not wish to have anything to do with either of you, but as, I said, if that offends, then sorry.   See, this really shouldn't matter to you.  Who am I?  Some schmuck in a small town?  Really, what power do I wield over you to make you so angry?  That is what you should be considering, not what a pathetic mother fucker I am or how much of a coward I am.

Life is a funny string of events that when we get introspective can show us how to grow and evolve.  I tend to sew the good memories together to form a sort of mental blanket which I use during the cold, prickly patches life throws our way.  The hard times are linked together by the shear steps in learning hopefully we achieve from our struggles.

I realized in the park I had grown, changed, sprouted a new branch on me, the Willow, called maturity from this whole event.  I should actually say thank you to those who were gracious enough to participate in this whole twitter thing so that I might learn I was maturing and flexible.  I have looked, closed my eyes and tried to feel for the anger but its simply not there.  I wish no one harm.  I wish only good things for everyone. Everyone deserves to be happy, healthy and to feel loved.  Does this sound a little mamby pamby, sure, but that is just a side that most of you on twitter don't get to see.

I would rather laugh than fight.  I would rather dance than cry.  I would rather just move on than continue to involve myself in something that has no positive payoff for all those involved.  Its a cosmic waste of time, energy and creativity.  Hugs need to be given, love needs to be shown, families need to be tended, work to be done.   Let us all just move forward in our own directions and call it lesson.  In Hindi, Namastae and in Yiddish Zei Gezunt.

Honoring Miss Praleene "Pippy" Harrell

I thought long and hard about what woman has had the biggest impact in my life.  As a man, I found it a little odd that several didn't automatically come to mind.  I thought of several men who have greatly influenced, mentored or shaped me as a man....but a woman?.  It took me a while to figure out my own internal definition of impact.

I had define impact or change.  I have been blessed enough to have had several women come forward in my life to replace the defective woman, my mother, as central maternal figures.  Teachers, co-workers, family friends and those I have met on my many travels across the globe came to mind.  In sitting down to write this blog, one woman kept creeping back into my mind.  I kept thinking was this the woman whom I felt had the most important or unique impact on me as a man, a person and as a citizen?  I decided to sleep on it and make my decision in the morning.

Praleene Harrell is the woman who, for me, offered me some of the greatest gifts, love and insights I have ever received.  Praleen, or Miss Pippy as she preferred to be called knocked on my door one day asking if I had seen her great granddaughter.  I remember the day well.  I was living in Virginia Beach.  The temperature that day had to have been well into the 90's with high humidity.  Miss Pippy was drenched in sweat, elderly and I was concerned.  I offered to get her something to drink while I told her that her granddaughter was next door playing with my other neighbors children.  She politely refused, thanked me and left.  Not a very auspicious meeting to say the least.

For some reason, Miss Pippy's great granddaughter just adored me.  Whenever I would sit out on my front porch she would always find a reason to come over and sit with me.  If I was working on my flower beds or filling up my bird feeders, I always had those cute little hands asking if she could help.  She would always pepper me with questions like, "why do you feed the birds?", "what is the name of the purple flower?" and to be honest on some days it drove me crazy and at other times I welcomed the company of Little Dee.

Miss Pippy and I got to know each other well because she didn't like her great grandchild over at "that white boy's house!"  Finally, one day I had enough.  She would roam the neighborhood announcing I was, as she put it, "one of them homesomesesuals."  I decided to confront her and tell her to knock it off.  I remember walking up to her at the mailboxes.  I was fired up and loaded with bear.

I said my piece to her.  She silently and with that wryly smile of hers just looked at me and said nothing.  She then simply turned and walked away.  I was stunned.  I told her that I thought she was being ignorant, rude and above all cruel to her great grandchild and myself.  Just a few hours later I saw Little Dee on her stoop crying.  I asked her what was wrong?  She told me her Memaw has whooped her behind for going over to my house.  I told her to listen to her Memaw and that we could be friends in our minds.  Whenever we would see each other we could say hi and talk to each just in our own minds.  I told her it was important for her to listen to what her Memaw told her.  She seemed comforted by this.  Its amazing what a 5 year old will believe, thankfully.

Not long after this incident we had a hurricane, Isabel which hit Virginia Beach.  Miss Pippy's townhouse was greatly damaged.  She went to stay with her granddaughter while repairs were being made on the house.  Her granddaughter asked me to keep an eye on things as I lived next door.  While Miss Pippy was going our neighborhood association met and decided to buy and replace the tree that was torn down by the storm which stood on Miss Pippy's postage sized front lawn.  It was a miniature flowing Japanese Dogwood tree.  I was in charge of getting one and getting it into the ground with the help of another neighbor, Miss Addie.

As Miss Addie and I planted the tree we talked.  I got a little background on why Miss Pippy acted the way she did toward me.  We discussed other things like what were her favorite flowers, how she wanted to paint her shutters but couldn't and how she like my brass flower box on my porch.  I decided right then and there to paint her shutters, plant her favorite flowers, and get her a brass flower box.  I called her granddaughter and told her what I was doing and she was thrilled.

Miss Pippy came home a week later and saw her home repaired.  She saw the little tree which had replaced the old one.  Her grass was cut, edged and flowers were planted along the front of her townhouse.  The biggest brassiest flower box was filled with her favorite flower, Forget-Me-Nots.  She stood on her sidewalk crying and I was watching from my kitchen window.  I was so happy she was happy.

It was understood that no one would ever tell Miss Pippy who or why what was done was done.  She was a proud woman and would have "thrown a fit" if she knew who was responsible.  Somehow though, she did find out.  She came over one evening with a check for $100.00.  I would not accept it.  Miss Addie told me she has the same thing happen.  She, too, refused the money.  Miss Pippy stormed off.

A few days later I was walking up the street and Miss Pippy stopped me and asked me if I had eaten dinner.  I told her no, I was on my way home to fix and have dinner.  She asked me over for dinner.  I was a little surprised and to be frank nervous, but I decided to say yes.  I told her I wanted to drop off my bags at my house and would be over in a few.  She told me to "hurry it up, she don't serve no cold food!"

I had the best dinner of my life.  We had fried chicken, black beans, and corn pone.  The ice tea almost put me in a diabetic coma but I drank it up as if it were mother's milk.  That was the beginning of our friendship.  From that point of breaking bread and her feeling she had repaid me for what we had done, she considered us equals.

I learned that Miss Pippy was 97 years old.  The fact she didn't look a day over 65 proves "black don't crack."   Her energy level always made me feel like a slouch.  That woman didn't stop from the time her eyes opened until they closed.  "There is always something to be done and the Lord loves it when peoples work," she would say.  I learned that Miss Pippy was the youngest of 18 children.  Her great grandmother was a slave in Georgia for the Harrell family.  In fact, she had her great grandmother's and great grandfather's freedom papers.  She has married and buried 3 husbands.  Had 9 children of her own.  Miss Pippy's family were share croppers and all were required to stop working after 6th grade to work the land.  I learned she had had a rough life and yet seemed to accept hardship, ignorance and heartache with a grace I had never seen before or since.

What did Miss Pippy teach me?  She taught me to love even if I didn't want to.  She showed that adversity only makes us stronger.  She uttered the phrase which is one of my personal mantra's "every time you do me wrong I will do more good."  She taught me so much I cannot even begin to gather my thoughts enough to try and put them down in this blog.

I taught Miss Pippy to read and write.  I educated her about homosexuals.  One of her sons, Gerald was gay and she had lost touch with him.  I would like to think they started talking again because of me.  I taught her a little about Judaism.   We spent many hours sipping sweet tea and talking.  She taught me how to put a "good scald on chicken" when frying it.  She explained what it was like to be black, a woman and living in the south.  Most of all she taught me what is was to be a man.  To be honorable even though a person my not deserve it.

I miss Miss Pippy now.  As she would say, "she has gone on to her maker."  She died as gracefully as she lived.  Quietly, at home, surrounded by all of us that loved and admired her.  It was where she was the happiest.  I consider Miss Pippy the mother I never had and all of her children are my brothers and sisters.  They consider me part of their family.  All of us that were brought together by this remarkable woman still remain in touch.  Birthdays, marriages, graduations from high school and even colleges now.

I have 3 things that belonged to Miss Pippy.  I have her cast iron skillet (for all that fried chicken), I have a pair of her little white gloves she wore to church every Sunday and a quilt her mother made.  I am sitting with the quilt right now and feel Miss Pippy around me.  The quilt is on loan from her family.  It tells the story of the marriages, births, and deaths of her family.  It will be returned to the Harrell family upon my death, as should be.  I am looking out my window, its snowing and blustery.  I feel so filled with love for this simple, black, short, beautiful woman who have me my humanity back at a time in my life when I felt I had so little.  Her lessons were always simple but profound.  I nicknamed her the chestnut Confucius.  She always had a one liner which fit the situation and would up lift you.

I remember you Miss Praleene  "Pippy" Harrell, of Gwinnett County, GA.  I miss you and promise you that all you taught me, made me see and showed me continues in me.  I share you and your lessons every chance I get.  I wanted to honor you, being this is the week we celebrate great women, for you were, are and always be my hero, my friend and the truest essence of a what a women is.  

The Reza-lution? Reza Is A Self-Loathing Gay

While I sat at my laptop patiently awaiting some form of an epiphany to come my way regarding what I witnessed watching Bravo's reunion show of The Real Shahs Of Sunset my mind wandered.  It wandered to why many gay men behave as Reza Farhan does?  Why the constant flitting from one doomed relationship to another, why the obsession with bodies, why the constant pursuit of sex and the feverish calculation of smoldering stares from strangers on the street? Why is nothing enough? There never seems to be enough sex to be had, nor a sufficient number of weights to be lifted, never enough admiration to be received. At the same time, none of it ever really matters. No one ever seems any happier, any less depressed or dissatisfied, for all the scores scored and pounds lost and lavish lives lived.

I’ve noticed that often gay men are the least equipped to empathize.  Some train themselves to not care, they place ourselves in a rigid existence of emotional self-denial. Outwardly, they appear to be the most extravagant of hedonists, denying themselves nothing, neither drugs nor booze nor steroids nor sex. Inwardly, however, they lead lives of self-denial with a monastic fervor some saints would envy.

So what is the right age for this kind of brazen attitude?  20, 25 years old? — but 35 or 40 (Reza's age), I cringe at this type of self-delusion. You really have to wonder what’s wrong with a guy who talks of disposing of lovers like used condoms — or why a gay man would consider this kind of behavior toward another gay man acceptable.  This is why I find Reza Farhan and his actions so appalling.  What  might be normal and even remotely acceptable behavior at 20 is not only no longer acceptable at 40 but is shameful and offensive, to say the very least.

Reza's behavior results from a primal form of self-loathing. It's hard to recognize because he shrouds it in the guise of high standards, the great search for the unattainable. “I want my boyfriend but I want to play around, I am just just being more honest than about it than everyone else.”  Like many gay men, Reza attempts to make himself unattainable through the lavish lifestyle and attitude that he is better than everyone else.  The constant, almost embarrassing way Reza "one ups" those around him by wearing only the latest styles and labels of the day, rejecting any and all lesser physical specimens are clear signs of his self-loathing behaviors.  What Reza is forgetting is youth is not forever, that bodies betray us and that nothing evens the score like age.

With Reza, and his actions on the show this banal embrace of delusion finds its apogee in butch, deviant culture, which excludes everyone who’s not young, pretty and appearing to be wealthy.  We see Reza as the “Daddy,” the hairiest one, the one most eager to sniff the arm pit of some young, feminine twink, who buys the drinks, pays for the weekend get-a-ways.  He is setting himself for a series of doomed relationships that will only end in his humiliation.  Hence, for him, re-enforcing a very negative core belief that being gay is bad, wrong and against G-d and nature.

Ironically, gay men pursue sex with a constancy and fervor unrivaled by any other humans because they want to be rejected: They need the daily fix of humiliation that so often stems from seeking out intimate contact. It’s not the casual sex or the seedy environment that creates the debasement. Its the fact most self-loathing gay men do not apply the same set of moral and social guidelines to gay sexual/relationships and in doing so just want to feel bad about themselves.  This is the daily interactive trafficking in self-loathing, and gay men have turned it inside out, creating an exquisite origami of self disgust. 

What outraged me all the more about Reza and his very cavalier attitude on the show and during the reunion was they way he had not one clue about how is actions would affect the rest of the "us" the gay community.  While I believe in Reza's right to act and do what he wants within the context of his own life, I cannot, I will not condone him getting on a national platform and speaking on behalf of the gay community in general, which he has several times.

Its very easy to live in a gilded life where his money can buy him fake smiles and acceptance but the very real fact of the matter is the rest of us, the majority of us, do not have that luxury.  We live in the real world.  Next door to people who still, even in 2013 find homosexuality wrong and in many cases punishable by death.

I have said it many times and will continue to do so.  It is the responsibility of every openly gay man, lesbian and transgender to educate as we go through life.  What Reza, Bravo and even Andy Cohen have done is to perpetrate very well known negative stigma's that not only hurt the gay community, but confirm for homophobes that WE ARE ALL SOME BUNCH OF DEVIANTS and as such do not deserve equality nor fair treatment.

I will not continue to watch The Shahs of Sunset.  I found every single cast member repulsive, troubled and in the end sad.  I find myself saddened by Bravo, Reza, Andy Cohen who have all failed to realize what a golden opportunity they have thrown away.  The opportunity to showcase open, successful gay men and women in a positive way.  To give the gay youth role models.  To show them they can have happy, loving successful lives.  Instead they have been shown the underbelly of gay culture.  

I would welcome the chance to sit down with Andy Cohen, Reza Farhan and even Bravo executives to find a way to put out good programming which would be successful for Bravo, provide positive gay images and educate the public.  I know this will never happen, but I can dream can't I?