Today’s the Day!

I’m off to the DMV this morning to register myself as a convicted Drinking Driver and sign up for the Drinking Driver Program of New York. Woo hoo! Did I ever show you guys what my office mates did for me when I returned from Kentucky?


First I go to the DMV in Brooklyn for the initial registration. I’m a little concerned because when I looked up the address this morning I found this:

Brooklyn/Kings County
Due to space and security concerns, we ask that only the individuals who are transacting business enter the processing area of this office.

Security concerns? Awesome.Then I go meet Albert White of the Alcoholism Board of New York State. I have not found any security warnings on Albert. I guess by the time the drunks get to his office they’ve finally given up the fight and no longer need to throw chairs or whatever else they do over at the DMV. There I sign up for a 7-week, 16-hour course on why I shouldn’t drink and drive. I expect I will get to see a lot of grotesque footage of car wrecks and meet some of the cool kids from Brooklyn. It’s an adventure! I of course will keep you posted on any of the fun.

Shout out to Mary

The following blog post was transferred from www.HRHandthePrincess.blogspot.com.

Written by The Princess

Holy shit people. Your Princess is shot.

This time it’s so bad that I had to have an emergency phone therapy session with HRH on my walk to the train this morning.

Here’s what happened:

Yesterday I left work and went to the gym where I unceremoniously recovered my blue gym bag from the then vacated locker. (That poor alleged pot head. What must she have thought?) So cardio then home. On the walk to the bus, HRH and I stop to buy wine. (This plays a big part in the rest of my story.)

At home I reunite with my current obsession … Wii. Just as I finish up with my daily “Strength, Stamina & Balance” test, I get a text from my sister A.

Mama is going to call u on my phone after 9, so b ready! I asked her
2 please call u and fill u in. I will call u later.

Crap.

Now I spend 30 minutes playing Wii, drinking the aforementioned wine, and anxiously watching the clock tick closer and closer to 9:00.

Item 1 — I’ve been terrified of my mother my whole life. Irrationally so as will be evidenced by a future HRH posting.

Item 2 — I’ve been in therapy for almost two years and virtually every conversation Mary and I have had has been about my mother.

Item 3 — My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer a couple of years ago and went through extensive chemotherapy and radiation. Mary and I have identified this fact as being, among many other things, an inconvenient hindrance to my emotional healing process.

Lately I’ve been having these intense dreams about confronting my mother. We have a lot of issues, Mommy and I, and the confrontation conversation has been a long time coming. Well, dear people, it finally happened last night.

I drilled her on which drugs she’s currently taking, what is going on with her doctors and her health, I told her I thought she was clinically depressed and needed professional help. I brought up her issues with my sister and how she blames her for all of her troubles. Mom says her life can’t get better until she deals with A who is 32 and living at home with Mom and her daughter V (11) who is legally her sister because Mom adopted her years ago in a huge dramatic story that will surely be posted sometime in the future.

I tell my mother that she is in control of her life and that her current situation is the result of decisions she made for her life. I discuss my life openly regarding my domestic partner, Erica, the new home we’re buying, the fact that my family is so separate from my life because Mom doesn’t want me to be out to them.

I mean, this goes on and on for over an hour. I used the word “fuck.”

By the time we lose the connection due to a dead cell battery on her end, I am exhausted and drunk. So, when she calls back, I just don’t answer.

Flash forward to this morning. I am panic-stricken. I listen to her message — “Thanks for the conversation. I love you. Don’t worry abut calling me back.” Phew. Then I start remembering the things I said to her. The way I said them. The fact that I called her out about her smoking, which she vehemently denied. The fact that A is going to be furious with me because I am sure I started several fights between her and Mom. And, you know what people?

I don’t fucking care. The longer the day goes on and the more I think about everything, I realize that this is huge for me. I can’t wait to get to Mary on Tuesday and tell her the good news. I have never been more open or honest or genuine with my mother in my life. Therapy works. I am growing. I had my first adult conversation with my mother … at 36.

So yes, therapy works. Know what else works? Wine.