What planet are these chicks from anyway?

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

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

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

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

What fucking planet are these girls living on?

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

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

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

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

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

until now.

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

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

And they probably won't.

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

Google "52"...

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

So why am I rambling about 52?

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

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

Fuck that shit.

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

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

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

Pic of my Grandaughter...

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

Yesterday was my daughters birthday...

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

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

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

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

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

Love always, Mama the whale.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck????

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

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

Bet no one saw that coming on celebrity dead pool!

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

Go figure.

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

This has been a sad month...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I feel stupid...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My ass is fried!

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

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

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

I was waiting for this...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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