i know it's been a while...

I'm sorry, my lovely Lola fans. I haven't written for a while, for several reasons. Largely because I've been incredibly busy and overwhelmed, both at home and at work. But also, instead of suffering from a lack of inspiration, I've had several topics in my mind...rolling around like rocks in one of those polishing tumblers. The problem is, I'm either unsure how to approach them, afraid of putting it all out here for the world to consume, or I've already emotionally vomited enough on Facebook and I feel purged. But today, my darling Jack (as in the Jack to my Karen) listed my blog on his blog and it reminded me that I haven't written. And I felt a little guilty. So here we are.

So today, what's weighing so heavily on my mind, in addition to the stress I'm under at work and the overwhelming amount of things I need to take care of at home, are the mid-term elections, not to mention the issues my state voted on yesterday. I take voting very VERY seriously (it's not just a right but a privilege and an honor), in spite of feeling it's largely pointless in my case, being a blue dot in a red state (though I feel compelled to point out that I did vote for 2 Republicans yesterday, because I vote for PEOPLE not for a PARTY). I feel like, even if my desires have been completely obliterated by the majority, hey, at least I tried...I put my voice out there to be drowned out by everyone else's. But it's so frustrating. It's scary right now, and I'm not saying that to be dramatic.

I'm afraid of losing my rights. I'm afraid of my loved ones losing their rights. I'm afraid of my loved ones never being accepted, never being given equal-footing in this allegedly free country. I'm afraid that my right to choose, that my desire to never be a parent or to be pregnant, will be ripped violently from me. Yes, I'm on birth control and we are planning on a more *ahem* permanent solution. But let's face it: I come from an extremely fertile line of people and birth control is far from 100% safe. I refuse to apologize for my feelings and I ADAMANTLY refuse to be celibate for the rest of my child-bearing years. So who the fuck are these politicians to tell me I can't have an abortion?!?! Is it REALLY that much better to bring even more unwanted children into the world?!! I want to see more of these fucking "pro-lifers" put their goddamned money where their mouths are, by adopting unwanted special needs crack babies. I can't even imagine the resentment I would feel toward the world if I were to get knocked up and then be FORCED to carry that child to term because of some BULLSHIT religious beliefs that have nothing to do with me and should have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with law and policy in this country.

Beyond that, I'm afraid that my homosexual friends, my lovely and amazing LGBTQ and just flat out unsure friends, my flaming queens and my lipstick lesbians, and even my gay Republicans, will continue to be marginalized by the religious right and the social conservatives. I hate that the people in this country who squawk the loudest individual liberties are the very same people who want to take mine away. For people who claim to be all for personal freedom, freedom from an over-bearing government, they sure do seem intent on ensuring that so many Americans will never be truly free. They tell me that my beliefs (or lack thereof) make me un-American. They claim that two men who fall in love with each other and wish to get married somehow negate or denigrate my heterosexual marriage. How is that even possible?!?! The so-called fucking "sanctity of marriage" that the heteros have been violating for CENTURIES is so precious, we have to keep it away from the queenie boys and the bull dykes who want nothing more than to commit themselves to their lovers for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health...They don't want anything more than what the rest of us straight-folk have been taking for granted.

I'm sad that my state voted a governor into office who feels superior to me and other women who do not have children. I'm sad that an abusive, narrow-minded bigot like Sally Kern is not only given a platform in this state but re-elected to her post. I'm embarrassed that my state felt it necessary to pass anti-Muslim legislation. I'm embarrassed that my state feels it is above federal health-care legislation. I'm embarrassed that my state demands that you read and speak UH-MUR-ICAN or GET THE FUCK OUT!!! (Disclaimer: This only applies to "fur-ners" who ain't from here. These red-blooded UHMURICAN kids don't need to learn a fucking thing in school, let's just give them all ribbons and trophies and tell them they're glorious and unique and special no matter what they do!)

But you know what? I'm not fucking leaving. For one thing, I can't (har har). In all seriousness, if I left, that would be one less blue dot in this ocean of red. If I left, that would be one less person in this state demanding equal treatment, equal pay, and equal rights for all of us. One less person to stand up against the bullies, the ignorant, the racist, the mis-informed, and the flat-out delusional. So I stay. I stay and I fight and I push and I write and I scream and I do whatever I can at any given moment to further the cause, to remind people that we are all the same on the inside, that we can make a difference. I will make a difference. So to all my fairies, twinks, bears, lipsticks, dykes, asexuals, queers, lovers, queens, and my fellow straight allies, I will not stop. I hope I never let you down. I will stand by you and I will keep pushing until we find ourselves on a truly level playing field. To those who still believe that same-sex marriage is wrong, then here's a novel idea: DON'T MARRY SOMEONE OF THE SAME SEX!!

To my fellow Pastafarians, Atheists, to the agnostics and those disillusioned with organized religion: We're in this together. Let's prove that there's life after the fairy-tale that is the Bible, that church isn't the answer for everyone, and that one can be a good person and have a strong moral code without it being dictated by religion.

To my fellow women who believe it's their right to chose how and when and if they reproduce, to my friends who are mothers who don't want any more children, and most especially to my pro-life friends who agree that there are still certain exceptions where abortion should be allowed and should not further traumatize the woman: Let's get together on this and make sure our rights aren't eroded. If you're so pro-life that you don't believe an abortion is appropriate in any case, then here's a novel idea: DON'T HAVE ONE.

I'm here. I'm staying. Get used to it. I will not be quiet and I will not back down.
DEFIANTLY,
Lola

just some words of experience...

I've been feeling lately that there are some things I need to share. I'm not typically given to dispensing unsolicited advice (or am I?), but I have some phrases that keep swimming around in my brain and I feel like they need to be put out here. And away we go...!

Just because you love someone does not mean you get to be with them. This is absolutely one of the HARDEST lessons I've had to learn in my life. This is also one of my most fundamental issues with the traditional Christian version of "Heaven." What about the people I love who don't love me back? Do I get some facsimile of them in Heaven? What about people who loved me but are not loved back by me? Does that mean I'm sentenced to spending eternity with them in Heaven--because that sounds WAY more like Hell to me. What if they're in Hell? What if someone in Heaven wants to be with me in Heaven, but I'm in Hell? Or vice versa? How can it be Heaven if I know someone I love is in Hell? (Yes, I recognize and acknowledge that this is one of the justifications for Christians trying to convert the rest of us. I still think it's BULLSHIT. JMHO.)

I've loved many many people who did not love me back. I have never stopped loving most of them. I couldn't stop, even if I wanted to. I can rattle off a handful of names right now. It doesn't hurt any less, but I've accepted (as much as I can) that the love is all on my end.

There is a difference between like, love, and in love. I firmly believe for a relationship to be successful, you need all three, though not necessarily in equal amounts or at the same time. For example, I love my family because they're family...but there are plenty of times I don't necessarily like them. Sometimes, the longer you're in a relationship, the more important it is to like the other person than to be in love with the other person.

Sometimes, relationships just flat don't work out. There may be a reason, there may be many reasons, or there may be no tangible reason at all. The other person may have been distracted, or feel they can't give you their best. Or you pick your nose and they find that off-putting. Or you just don't smell right to them. Perhaps they just decide they need to be elsewhere at that moment in time. Just remember that there is absolutely NOTHING YOU CAN SAY OR DO that will change their mind. If that change is to happen, it will take time and it will absolutely be on the OTHER PERSON'S time line. It's perfectly fine if you no longer feel the same way about them.

I truly think you can be absolutely IN LOVE with more than one person, at the same time. Different people invoke different reactions within us, but different does not equal less powerful. I wish we didn't feel that we had to stifle these reactions or fight against them. I think in a lot of ways, polyamorists have it right.

Sex does not equal love. Love does not equal sex. We must stop thinking of these actions as being mutually-inclusive.

Just because you don't like someone doesn't mean you have to be hateful to them. There are plenty of people I don't particularly care for, but I RARELY go out of my way to be mean to them. Stupid assholes are an exception to this.

As blunt and honest as I am, I still sometimes find it difficult to be honest about certain things. Mostly things that could make my life "better" or "easier" but would bring hardship to someone else. So...honesty is NOT always the best policy.

A dear friend once said to me, "Please know that just because I don't call and I don't get to see you as often as I'd like, it doesn't mean I don't think about you. It never means I've stopped caring. It just means life gets in the way sometimes."

If I had it all to do over again...I wouldn't. Because I'm happy with the woman I've become, and I don't believe I would be ME if I hadn't gone through what I've gone through. All the stupid things I did and continue to do must simply be chalked up to learning experiences.

That being said, don't be afraid to do something stupid, especially when you're young. Trust your instincts, though, your gut-feeling is there for a reason. You'll know immediately when you disregard that inner-voice that you shouldn't have done that.

I think this might be all I have to say about it all. For now, anyway...

Affectionately,
Lola

it's a little bit funny...

*Le Sigh*
I have a little bit of a sad today, and I'm just not exactly sure why. Part of it is that I'm overloading myself with this particular anniversary by watching the History channel all day today. I'm a little bit of a tragedy magpie (if that makes any kind of sense) in that instead of collecting shiny objects (though I do love a good shiny object!) I find myself wallowing in any given tragedy, collecting stories and anecdotes. I have this compulsive need to try to understand what cannot ever fully be understood. I did it with the OKC bombing, with the JonBenet Ramsey murder, with the West Memphis 3 (still a favorite cause), with Matthew Shephard and Harvey Milk, with WWII, and of course, 9/11. I read books and I watch movies and TV shows and read articles and just generally obsess and try try try try to comprehend it all. But I never do. And I never will. But you know what they say--"those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it." Yet for all of my obsessing, rarely do I fully let myself REALLY feel it. It's just too overwhelming to let it all in at once. I'll never forget how shaken I was after watching "United 93" in the movie theater. The entire audience just sat there through the credits, silent (save for some sniffling), absolutely unsure how to process what we had just experienced. I got up to go to the bathroom on my way out and nearly fainted in the stall. When it hit me, it hit me hard and my legs shook, my hands shook, and one of those god-awful silent sobs welled up in my chest. As for the real event, witnessing September 11, 2001 in real time, even all these miles away, I still can't grasp it. I remember thinking, "Plane...into...building? How is that possible?" Part of it was the Okie in me, so used to low, tornado-prepped buildings and wide-open skies. Part of it was the sheer shock of it all, of realizing our world would NEVER be the same again. Knowing that the current class of college freshmen don't really remember a world before 9/11 is unsettling to me. Then again, we didn't really understand tragedy at my age until April 19, 1995 (and I use the word "understand" VERY loosely). I suppose nearly every generation has their event, their "Pearl Harbor." But 9/11 was different, somehow. And while I can in NO WAY claim her as a friend or really even an acquaintance, I did lose a classmate at the Pentagon that day. I think of her smiling, gorgeous senior yearbook photo every year at this time. I think about my fellow classmates who were close to her. I try not to think about her last moments, I simply hope they were painless and somehow peaceful.

I'm also a little sad because I miss the DH. Our time apart is growing shorter each day, but it also seems to stretch on almost endlessly. In spite of my strength and fierce independence and contentment and distractions, I know I am not my complete self when he is not with me. Marrying him allowed me...it gave me the freedom...to become the woman I always wanted to be. And I will never be able to express to him my gratitude and unending love.

Luckily for me, I have wonderful kitties who give me loving snuggles and remind me that food still must be poured into their bowls every morning and fresh water must be added to their fountain. I have a lovely home with comfortable furniture where I may retire after a long day. I have a wonderful job that I really do love. I have loads of sick time and vacation days available if/when I need them. I have amazing, supportive, wonderful, generous friends who get me through the dark spots, even if they don't realize they're doing it. I have my Puma Bait for glorious flirtation with absolutely no-strings-attached. I have a fabulous, ever-evolving fashion sense and hot pink hair and some pretty damn cool tattoos. My bills are paid and there's food in the kitchen. My family is for the most part healthy and doing well, also. I have so very much to be grateful for and I am, every day.

But some days, the sad just catches up. Some days I just don't want to talk about it, because anyone to whom I would speak about it already knows exactly what I'm feeling, so there's no need. So some days, I just don't have the energy to keep the smile up. Some evenings, I just need to sit here on my sofa in Mutts pajama pants and a black sweatshirt, kitties purring contentedly nearby. Some days the laundry doesn't get done and the dishes don't get washed and I have pretzels and peanut butter for dinner, with Twizzlers for dessert. Some evenings, I just can't convince myself to do anything but sit here and watch TV and try not to think about anything but this moment. Right now. So that's what I do. And that's what I'm doing.

Sadly, but gratefully,
Lola

some days ya gotta dance...

Some of you may already know this about me, some of you may have no idea: I love to dance. And I used to be quite the party girl in college and for a few years thereafter. In other words, before I got married and settled into being an old married lady. The other night, I actually got the urge to go out to the club and dance my cares away. I know how ridiculous that sounds, but I also know that it used to keep me sane. When I was single, there were a lot of nights I would do almost ANYTHING not to be alone in my shitty apartment. Those 5 rooms were so depressing sometimes that I almost couldn't bear it. Factor in the lack of central heat or A/C and it's pretty easy to understand why I went out so much. Funny thing is, I probably drink more now than I did then. (And I certainly drink better quality stuff now!)

Many Friday and/or Saturday nights, I would get dressed up in some ridiculously cute outfit, occasionally bordering on the very inappropriate but fun, climb into my vehicle, and head out. I usually went alone, thinking that would keep me out of the drinking kind of trouble but allow me to engage in the naughty kind of trouble, if I so chose. I would listen to my "Goin' Out" compilation CD, with all the glorious randomness of the B-52's, Destiny's Child, Monifah, and Blondie, and I would sing my heart out and wiggle along to the beat while I drove. I went out to one particular club so often, the bouncer at the front recognized me by my tattoos. (I wore wigs a lot back then, so my hair and makeup always looked VERY different from night to night!) I would make a round, see who I could see, feeling bold and sexy and free. If a good song came on, I got on the dance floor. And I didn't gravitate to the middle of the floor, hoping to hide from the spectators, oh no, I stayed out on the edges and put on a fucking show. Sometimes I would pick a boy to dance for. Sometimes boys would try to dance with me and get shut the fuck down. I was ruthless if I wasn't interested. If I was interested, well..."ruthless" also applies. Most of the time, though, I wasn't after anything. I just wanted to DANCE. To sweat and to make myself sore and tired and thoughtless. To literally shake off everything that built up on me for the week before. To talk if I wanted to talk or to just shut the hell up and dance my ass off. To drape myself on some hot boy during a romantic country song, singing into his ear and then walking away.

When I was exhausted and couldn't take any more, I would leave. Sometimes alone, sometimes not. If I was hungry, a stop at Whataburger or Taco Bell was a must. I would go home reeking of cigarette smoke and sweat and pheromones. Too tired to shower sometimes, I would just put on my PJ's and fall into bed, hair still stinky and sometimes even still sweaty. It was delicious. And if I didn't go home alone? Well, a shower was inevitable.

So this past weekend, I thought for a few brief moments about putting on my favorite jeans and a sexy top, mussing up my hair, spritzing on some perfume, and chumming the proverbial waters at the club. I didn't do it, obviously. I realized after those few brief moments that it would be insane of me to do it. I wonder now how I didn't get myself hurt or killed back then. Some of the choices I made, well, they're for another post, darlings. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret a fucking thing. Matter of fact, I've said before that the only things in my life that I would remotely consider regrets are missed opportunities to hook up with a boy. Not all the times I did hook up with boys. Of course, my objective had I gone this weekend would have had nothing to do with boys and everything to do with me dancing and dancing and sweating and dancing until I had nothing left.

Some days, ya just gotta dance.

Sweatily,
Lola

so many questions...

I just want to ask him, "Why do you hate me? What did I ever do to you to make you loathe me so much?" But I can't. For one, I'm afraid. I just don't have the nerve to look him in the eye and see it there. But mostly, I just feel that it's so pointless. I'll never get the truth from him. He doesn't have the nerve to look me in the eye and let me have the peace of the truth. Even though it might hurt me. It might feel shattering in the moment. But the knowledge...maybe knowing what happened...what REALLY happened...could finally set me free.

I know people think that by not confronting other people, by not ever really telling them how they feel about them, they're letting those people down more easily. "They'll figure it out soon enough." "Can't she take a hint?" "Why doesn't he get it?" But they deprive us of that dreaded word, "closure."

Then again, those of us who have been abandoned by someone we cared about eventually come to terms with that abandonment. We may never fully understand their motivation, but we have to tell ourselves that maybe, just maybe, it was US and not, in fact, THEM. That maybe I did something to drive him out of my life forever. And depending on my mood, that can be good or bad. Some days I tell myself that he just loved me too much. That he had to be stronger than me and walk away because I never would. That I brought him pain by being so near and yet so unobtainable. Other days I tell myself that clearly, I am an annoying stalker psychopath and he didn't get me because I'm nutso. That he didn't walk away, I DROVE him away. And that's when I feel sick. I threw something so beautiful away with both hands and there's nothing I can do to get it back. Nothing I can say that will fix it. Nothing I can do to put us back to where we used to be. And then I get sad all over again. I mourn that loss over and over and over.

You can tell me to let go. You can tell me to get over it. But I honestly don't believe that will ever happen. This pain, it stays with me as a reminder. I can try to let it go and get over it, but either it will happen or it won't. So go ahead and judge me for holding onto this pain. Go ahead and think I'm a silly girl for letting these men get to me. Go ahead and think I'm being ridiculous that it's been so long and I'm still not past it. But this is me. The pain and abandonment and thwarted desire and longing and joy and anger and loss and memories are all mine. They have created this woman I am right now. I'm more than OK with me. If you're not, then show yourself the door.

Lola

sweet dreams are made of this...

My oh my. I had an absolutely lovely dream about OFH2 last night. One of those dreams I didn't want to wake up from and couldn't wait to get back to. We were part of a group, maybe a choir or something, and we were all traveling together--we were out of town at a hotel. We were sitting together during a presentation of some kind, when he reached over and took my hand, entwining his fingers with mine and squeezing...Keeping me close and making sure we were touching. But we couldn't let anyone see us, so we had to keep our hands hidden between us. Then later, when there was no one around, he leaned down and kissed me. It was so sweet and totally romantic in that whole "forbidden love" kind of way.

Also, my darling Puma Bait came to see me today, wearing a shirt & tie (he's usually rocking MUCH more casual clothing, like t-shirts and basketball shorts). I was rendered speechless. He looked so...YUM. It made me think all sorts of naughty things! I needed a cigarette after he left and I don't even smoke! I'm not trying to make too much of it, but darlings, the world around him went all blurry for a minute. I forgot myself, forgot all my stress, damn near forgot where I was and tossed my kit off right then! It was a lovely sight. Many a fantasy will be constructed around that particular outfit.

I'm such a lucky girl to have boys to fantasize about and flirt with who never have to see me sick or take care of me or suffer my wrath when I'm cranky. Likewise, I don't have to wash their dirty socks or put up with their temper tantrums or pick wet towels up off the floor. I'm even luckier to have a DH who has seen me at my worst and at my best and still loves me. Sick, tired, cranky, stressed, excited, hyper, rude, horny, hateful, over-worked, broke...he has dealt with all of it and stuck around. Not to say I haven't put up with all the same crap from him! We got a good thing and I KNOW IT. But hey, a girl's gotta dream, right?

Dreamily,
Lola

i don't know what it is...

I don't know if it's because it's summer time, or because I'm lonely, or because I'm stressed out and tired, or maybe it's some junky combination of all three...But I find myself longing...

Maybe longing isn't even the right word. Missing? Wishing for? Remembering? I don't know.

I miss having free time stretched out before me like that glorious yellow-brick road in Oz. I remember spending entire days in bed, whether I was snuggling with someone special or just watching TV alone. It's the snuggling with someone special I miss the most. That languid, sexy, peaceful feeling of having NOTHING but time, to do with whatever I pleased. Tangled naked in the sheets, limbs wrapped around each other, fingers entangled, hair a mess. Kissing for hours with no other intentions. Smoking cigarettes and eating pizza dipped in ranch dressing. Watching some ridiculous movie and laughing our asses off. Waking up in the morning feeling warm and safe and loved. Getting up only to make coffee and grab doughnuts from the kitchen before rejoining the mattress-monial bond. More kissing. Making love until we were hungry again, then taking a shower and not bothering to get dressed after.

I miss DA. Yes, I know. Just when I haven't thought about him in weeks, I think to myself, "I haven't thought about DA in weeks!" Then I realize...I just did. And it starts hurting all over again.

I hate to say it, but I even miss Adam Levine a little bit. It's just a smidgen, more in that whole "he-got-away" way. If that makes sense. Or not, fuck it, it makes sense to me.

I miss OFH2. He ignores me about 75% of the time online and I don't know how to take it. It hurts.

I miss...oh, shit...I just realized this one doesn't have a nickname...OH! I've got it. Let's call him AC/DC, because he looks like if Anderson Cooper and Daniel Craig had a baby. (A strong possibility now in California, thanks to the overturning of Prop 8...And that I think AC and DC are both gay.) AC/DC...we have a long history that I think belongs in another post. But he's gone, too, and my connection with him grows longer and thinner every day, like gum stretched from your lips to your fingertips.

Having Puma Bait helps a lot. An outlet for my flirtations is definitely a requirement for me. He's just smokin' sexy dipped in totally adorable.

What this boils down to is that I want. I long for the indiscretions of my youth. I want a good, long, slightly painful make-out session. I want new discoveries. I want something naughty. Food and booze only satisfy so much. But that's all I've got. It sucks.

I want power, I want to be desired, I want to be dominated, I want to be worshipped, I want to be devoured, I want to be comfortable, I want...I want...I want...

Longingly,
Lola

P.S. I feel compelled to add that YES, I know how lucky I am. I'm extremely lucky/fortunate/grateful...I have a job that I love (most of the time), a comfortable life, and a man who has seen me at my absolute worst and loves me anyway...sometimes even because...

But the grass is always greener, and we always want what we can't have and we can't always get what we want and all that...blah blah blah.

the acting bug...

So I thought I should share a little bit with all of you about my whole acting "thing." I have to say that without acting, without the theatre, I would not be who I am today. I auditioned for and was cast in my very first show (sad to say, not the same show) at the age of 5. Not only does performing shape my personality, it has shaped my life by bringing people to me that I might otherwise have never met. I met my first boyfriend at Cabaret Supper Theater. We shared our first kiss there, too. I have a wide network of people who have built me up, shaped me, loved me, and been loved by me. It has taught me things. Memory skills, teamwork, musical ability, emotional connectedness, grace under pressure, confidence, and many other very valuable lessons. These have served me throughout my life and I hope will continue to do so.

I don't just love performing, I love watching others perform as well. I love musicals, I love comedies, I love dramas, I love a little bit of all of it. Musicals are definitely my favorites to perform in, but I'm told I'm funny sometimes, so comedies are really fun for me, too. Also, being the sex goddess that I am, I tend to be cast as the mistress, the tart, the slut, the slutty ingenue, the...well, I think you get the point. It's a tough cross to bear, being the go-to sexy chick, but it's my cross and I'll bear it well...

Doing a show, no matter how big or how small, is a HUGE time commitment. Between rehearsals themselves, learning lines/songs/choreography/etc., and the time to and from and in between rehearsals and work, I get very little time for myself or for relaxation or really much of anything. But I wouldn't trade it. I need it. I live on it. I thrive. It keeps me sane. I work so hard on a show, I almost always get very sick as soon as it closes. Sometimes it's more emotional this physical, but no less draining. And at some point during the run of the show, I start questioning my sanity--why would I do this to myself? I want my life back! I need SLEEP! I want to watch TV and make a real dinner and have a whole weekend to myself or to spend time with friends! But then...

Then we take those curtain calls...I hear the applause, the cheers, and I feel all that love and joy and I wouldn't trade that feeling for ANYTHING. Then I get to see my friends and family and supporters and hug them and get kisses and flowers and ego love, and it makes it ALL so worth it.

Although, no matter how many times I do this...how many performances, no matter how many songs I learn or dances I dance or lines I spout or giggles I tease from my audience...I get nervous every time. Sometimes worse than other times, but I've learned to love and embrace the nerves. I learned that if I'm not nervous, it means I don't care, and I will fuck it up royally. I have to be invested...desperately invested...in this role, this story, this EPIC. Some shows it starts very early in the day, and for those shows, I try to take at least half of the workday before opening night off. This gives me time to slow down, relax, and get focused. I usually can't eat very much before a performance, and certainly nothing very rich or heavy. I try not to even drink too much water because...well, inevitably, just before I'm about to go onstage, I have this moment: "Oh, oh no...Oh goodness...I have to PEE...OH! Oh no, no, no, I'm going to throw up...Shit, no, shit...yes...that's it, oh gah, I'm going to shit myself...Bathroom, I need the bathroom...Oh god, now I don't have time/can't get out of this costume/am too far away..." Then sometimes I go through something like this: "Oh god, I'm going to forget my lines. What if I forget my lines? What if SOMEONE ELSE forgets their lines? What if I mess up that lyric again? Will I hit that note? I've got to get that right, or I'm bombing out there...OK, go over the song...OK, go over the choreography...OK, I think I've got this...Oh god, I am going to fuck this up so bad!" Of course, no sooner do I step onto the stage than that is completely forgotten.

That's why I love this so much. I get to step onto a stage and for a couple of hours or so, I get to be someone else. I usually have a very similar routine for each show, including what I wear to the theater and how I carry all the stuff I will need. I sit down at "my spot" in the dressing room and begin changing my appearance. This is all very meditative for me and I'm not my usual talkative, friendly self. I may answer you if you address me, may crack-some-wise, but mostly I try to stay quiet and allow myself to get focused. I put on makeup in a very certain way for the character. I style my hair differently or put on a wig so that I get farther and farther away from looking like myself. Then I step into a costume and the transformation is complete...I am now another person. This someone else doesn't have my problems, doesn't have my headache, doesn't worry about my job or my house or all the things I have to get done this weekend. I get to play...no, I get to BECOME someone else. I step out of myself and let this other person take over for a while. And her problems get wrapped up/solved/remediated during the course of her 2-hour journey. Somehow, when I remove myself from her to go home...when I take off the costume and wash off the makeup and take down the hair, I'm back to myself again...but my problems don't seem as major anymore. Sometimes my headache is gone. Other times it hurts even more than it did before but I still feel, somehow, better. Maybe I'm all hopped up on adrenaline and afterglow, and that's OK. It restores my soul more than any church or religion ever could. On the stage is where I both find myself and leave myself. It is my first love and my last love. It consumes me, it builds me, it destroys me and nourishes me. The theatre is my Alpha and my Omega.

Theatrically,
Lola

Oh Joey, I'm not angry anymore...

I honestly have SO much I'd like to write about. I get the hint, though, darling readers and new Lola fans, that ya'll do NOT like when I rant and rave and write like a crazy bitch. Noted. Alright, I will return to the salacious naughtiness you've all come to love from your Lola. So here goes...

I've reconnected with an old...er...ex-boyfriend. He's one of the few exes with whom I had lost touch and was actually sorry for it. He was one of the ones who really sculpted me, who aided in the formation of the woman I am today. It's lovely to know that he's doing well and that he still thinks of me, too. Most of his story I'd like to save for my book, but I figure a short introduction/overview won't hurt...

I met him through Steve. Steve was an acquaintance of mine from college and we had lots of mutual friends. One fateful night, Steve threw a party at the home he shared with...oh, let's call him SR for Steve's Roommate, shall we? I don't remember the first moment I met SR. I know I was having a fairly dramatic time at the party, having gotten into a fight with the boy I was...oh, let's just say the boy I had recently had a one-night-stand with and we had previously hated each other and I don't think either of us quite knew what to do or how to feel about it...I know he left early and that was essentially the end of that. Doesn't matter now, didn't really matter then. What I do remember is that I made my way over to the trash can, full of, well, yes, of course--trash can punch. I remember hands taking my plastic cup and filling it from the sizeable plastic repository of booze and fruit. I remember brushing fingers as I took back my cup. Then I looked up into warm brown eyes, sparkling and fringed with feathery lashes most women would drop a mad amount of money to have. We smiled at each other. I might have done that coquettish thing where I looked down then back up at him through my own envy-inspiring lashes. Then his thumb and forefinger tipped my chin up to his face and he kissed me, right on the lips. I was startled but thrilled and I swear my fingers and toes tingled in that moment. That was also exactly the moment EVERYONE at the party began to hate us. Why? We became attached at the mouth...making out in the back doorway, making out on the front porch, making out in the kitchen, making out on the couch in the living room. It was so ridiculously hot. Throughout what would become years of on-again/off-again togetherness, we never lost the heat. That much was consistent for us.

I don't want to say it was all downhill from there, because I don't really believe that. We had a fantastic time together for several months. But his ex-drama and fear and my immaturity and slight neediness started to get in the way and we ended things. Truth be told, I don't even remember our breakup. It's possible that it never happened, that we just stopped calling, stopped craving each other, stopped wanting to spend time together, and that we eventually just let it all slip away without a fight.

Years passed. I ran into Steve again one evening and asked about SR. I was informed that he was still in-state and single. I gave Steve my number and practically begged him to make SR call me. I guess it didn't take much convincing, because I got a phone call the next day. Long story short, he came to visit me for a long weekend, and all the promise of a new start with our new knowledge but same history proved to be something we both seemed to want but still couldn't figure out how to create. We had a great first date night, mind-blowing reunion sex, and the next day spent time with his family. No sooner did we get back to my apartment than things started going to hell. Things happened, I don't care to get into all the dramatics of it, but suffice it to say another boy was involved, though it was all very innocent (well, then it was, but I will admit things got very...guilty...later in our relationship. But that's for another blog, darling readers...) So we fought some more. Then we tried to put things back to rights. We tried to end the weekend on a happy note. We tried to stay in touch after he returned home. But we once again let things just...fall away...

I know he loved me, in his own way. I hope he knows that I loved him, too, in my own way. But I don't believe we were ever truly in love with each other. I think we wanted to be. Desperately wanted to be. Because all the good was SO SO good. Sadly, it never canceled out all the bad, all the fear, all the indifference, all the disappointment...

Now here we are, years later again, and I think we stand a pretty decent chance of staying friends. Not super close, not besties, not anything dangerous or inappropriate. Just friends with a very long history.

Reminiscently,
Lola

P. S. I also have a new fake boyfriend, but I think I'll save that for another post. This one seems strong enough on its own.

ok, now i'm just pissed off...

There is nothing like a trip to my local WalMart to remind me of just how much I loathe people in general. First I got gas at Sam's, and my anger-fire got stoked there right away. The lanes for the gas pumps are CLEARLY marked by signage AND paint that they are ONE WAY. People who have gotten gas at Sam's more than once should be aware of this. So WHO THE FUCK do these assholes think they are, going the WRONG WAY and thwarting all of us who are waiting in line the RIGHT way because we are decent human beings?! Is their time more valuable than mine? Apparently they think so. "Fuck you, I drive a gas-guzzling SUV for NO reason other than that it's BIGGER than your vehicle and BY GOD, I'm going to get MY gas however it suits me and you can kiss my ass!" That's essentially what they're saying to the rest of us who bother to do things the right way.

Then...WalMart...CROWDED...No baskets, only buggies. Great. Assholes. I need 3 fucking items and I have to push a cart around becuase they're too awkward to carry loosely. Fine. I get my cart, I put my cloth shopping bag and my purse in it and head toward the back of the store. I get my stuff. I ignore my brain screaming for COUNT CHOCULA LUCKY CHARMS BEN AND JERRYS CAKE PIE CANDY COOKIES CRACKERS MORE CHEESE POPCORN SNACKMIX DOUBLESHOTS POPTARTS MOUNTAIN DEW!!!!! I get my 3 items (milk, roasted red pepper hummus, and whole grain pita chips, if you must know), I push the unwieldy cart up to the front of the store and holy sweet mother of George Carlin the lines the fucking LINES! All the 20-items or less lines are backed up across the main aisle. All the regular lines are just as bad and of course, those people have more items. So I just pick a line and get in it, figuring they're all about the same, what's the difference? All the folks in front of and around me have 2-5 items, so I figure it won't be that bad. After a few minutes of no movement in front of me, I crane my neck to see the woman in front of the young man in front of me...ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!?! She was doing a week's worth of grocery shopping!!! So here we are again, with this woman, this dumpy middle-aged soccer mom in a baggy t-shirt and matching dumpy shorts and fake blond hair, is saying to the rest of us that she is better and more important and she will do WHATEVER SHE PLEASES because NONE of us have the BALLS to confront her about it.

Look, I have my moments of rebellion, but they never (to my knowledge) inconvenience those around me. I am a selfish person. I can freely admit this and I'm ok with it. I'm selfish about the things I provide for myself, selfish about my time, selfish about the people I love, and selfish about many other things I don't need to list here. But because I'm really not, at heart, an asshole, or a disrespectful cunt (oh yes, I went there), or completely oblivious to those around me, and I manage to be a bitch while still being considerate, I'm unwilling to cut in lines or go the wrong way at a gas pump or blatantly ignore the "20-item or less" signs. I'm unwilling to assume that my time is any more valuable than that of other people. I'm unwilling to think that I'm more important than those behind me.

I could lament the loss of common courtesy, I could bemoan our society's sad ways. But really it's just a series of decisions we each make at any given moment. The "me first" attitude is something that is taught, just as good manners and consideration are taught. So please, all I'm asking is for each of you to THINK for a moment before you do something. CONSIDER the repercussions before you act on your own behest and disregard the feelings of those around you. All it takes is a handful of generous moments to make their day better. And this will make my day better. Which in turn makes your day better, because you don't have to read my ridiculous, screedy blogs anymore about what assholes people are.

Peacefully,
Lola

and now for something a little bit different...

Alright, I've got to write. I've got to vent but not at all in an angry way, just in a sort of word-vomity way. I actually had another blog started last night before my wireless internet decided to shit the bed...I saved it as a Word document and filed it away. I've got a lot on my mind, a heavy heart, and a burdned soul. None of this is crushing or overwhelming, but I'm feeling kinda beat-down right now. And some of that is my fault. How, you ask? Well, because I keep forgetting that it isn't about me. Things people say and do and how they behave...not about me. Even if sometimes it is. Even though I try awfully hard to make it about me. I'm tired. I'm sad. I want things I can't have. Please don't think of me as ungrateful. I know how lucky I am, and I've written about that before. I'm thrilled with so many things. But isn't it human nature to want more? To desire something other than what we have? It's hard to fight that, even in times of true contentment. And I'm far from content right now.

OFH2 and I are in a weird place right now. There's pressure, there's stress, he's on his way out of the country for another deployment and is so stressed-out, he's actually looking forward to it. With everything he's carrying around, I sort of get that. But selfishly, it makes me sad because he won't be near me again, and possibly for a very long time. I want time with him--just a couple of hours or so, for a meal, drinks, or a cup of coffee. I have fears that cannot be addressed and I just want to see him again for a little bit before he's gone again. It's been about 5 years since I saw him last, and it's been too long. Because in spite of my...oh, let's call it obsession...and our long-running history of flirtation and missed opportunities, he's my friend. And above anything else, I'm his friend. I'd like to be there for him. If not now, when? This is not to much to ask, and yet...it is. But you know what? In the end, it's not about me. As much as I would like it to be, it's not about me.

Shit, this isn't helping. There are things I am thinking about that I can't talk about. Things I need that I can't ask for. Things I want that I have no right to want. I miss people. I miss places. I'm wallowing in memories and clinging to fantasies and just wishing for a slightly better reality. And then I feel like an asshole because I know how much better off I am than so many others. So again, even when it is about me, it's not about me.

And I know that other people are busy and stressed out too, and that they have other things going on and sometimes the timing just sucks. You guessed it...Not about me.

Maybe I'm just tired and stressed-out and overwhelmed with work and emotional flotsam and I need a nap. Or a vacation. Or a drink. Or...well, you get the idea. And quite frankly, there's nothing that anyone can say or do to fix it. I just have to keep my head up and work it out, or plow through it, or whatever, until I'm in a better place emotionally.

Thanks for suffering with me, and I'm sorry for such a whiney blog. I'll try to do better next time.

Gratefully,
Lola

i'm so loneleee...

Let me preface this by saying something: I'm writing this blog because this is the stuff I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT. OK? So I'm writing to get it out. I'm not going to call any of you and weep through a lame conversation about how lonely I am. I'm not going to show up at your house and talk about how much I miss...them. Yes, them...I'll get there in a minute. So when you read this, DO NOT MENTION IT TO ME. If you have a comment, great, put it on here or on Facebook. But I know...I KNOW that there are those of you who will say, "you can talk to me anytime, you know" and yes, I know that. BUT I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. Don't you understand that some things are just too painful and/or too unsavory to be spoken aloud? SO DON'T BRING IT UP? MMMMMKAY? Alright. Now we've got that settled, let's move on.

I'm so lonely right now, it's physically painful. It's bone-deep. The kind of lonely that there's not enough wine and chocolate in the world to cure it. Yes, there's the obvious, that the DH is not here. But also one of my favorite exes (the one I broke up with to marry the DH--he's still a very close friend) just deployed for the 4th or 5th time. Oh, and OFH#2? Yup, he's also deploying again...his 3rd or 4th time. So literally ALL my husbands are out of the country at once. And I'm still dealing with the emotional shut-down of OFH#2...I know what we have and I refuse to give up on it. I will continue to fight until he finally does tell me to "fuck off." I haven't heard that yet, and as a matter of fact have been encouraged by OFH#2 to stick around. I just wish he would let me in a little bit more. Ah well...the only proof I have that I'm not going anywhere is to just be patient and not go anywhere. I'll be here, if you're reading this, OFH#2...No matter what. So don't ignore that if you're ever in need.

And of course, what would one of my blogs be without mention of DA? Yes, I still miss him. Right now, it's so much more the friendship than the flirting. I had someone who knew & understood me, to whom I could speak about anything without judgment. Of course, the sexual tension just made the conversations more interesting. Plus there was so much reassurance in the flirtation...I'm running low on tension-filled male contact right now, and I don't like it.

The sting of rejection from Adam Levine has lessened very much over time. But I'm not going to lie...it still REALLY hurts my feelings to be rejected so completely for no good reason. To wonder if people think I'm psycho because they didn't get the fun part of the whole thing. I'm trying to subvert it ya'll, I really am. I'm striving for glorious indifference. I'll get there. Eventually.

Oh how I miss all my boys. On a positive note, though, I DO have a new fake boyfriend! His nickname is Puma Bait. He swears to represent for the younger men. He's TOTALLY adorable. He's a little bit different from the others, though, in that he's married and has a baby. He says his wife is totally cool like my DH is totally cool, so the flirting has a green light. However, there's no room for inappropriate text messages...*sigh* And I only get to see him when he comes to visit me...so we'll see how this all rolls out. I'll keep ya'll posted.

Now. I'm off to have another drink and go to bed.
Love,
Lola

indignant.

I am indignant. I'm indignant about religion, about the rights of others that are constantly violated around the world, about dumb fucking morons at work who make my life difficult. I'm indignant that anyone feels they have the right to judge me. I don't judge anyone unless they say something fucktarded to me or they're wearing socks with sandals. (Oh, and I will judge a man for wearing shorts above his knees. Can't we all just agree to abolish both of these looks forever? Good. Moving on...)

I refuse to be quiet. I refuse to nod and smile politely when people piss me off. I refuse to continue to keep my feelings to myself when a wrong needs to be righted. I'm angry. I'm offended. I'm tired. I do feel like I'm sort of constantly doing battle right now. A lot of this has to do with the circumstances of my life at the moment, and there is little I can do about it. There is only so much "going with the flow" I can maintain. So I'm willing to continue the fight for as long as it takes.

Every day, I learn more about myself. Religion is a HUGE issue for me right now. So children, let me tell you all a story, something about me you may not know:

I used to go to church. I used to sing in the church choir. I used to be a leader in our youth group. And I loved it. I loved the feeling of peace and community I got when I was worshipping and celebrating that being that Christians call "God." I felt a connection. Not just that, but for a time, I seriously considered going into the ministry as a profession. The idea of celebrating and inspiring others to feel that same connection...of performing for God, in a manner of speaking...it spoke to me. Not long after that, however, something happened that shattered my peace and comfort in that church. I do not care to get into the details of that particular fiasco at this time, but suffice it to say that as a 17-year-old being told she was not allowed to participate in the youth group anymore was unfairly devestating. I tried to find my footing again, I really did. But it was made abundantly clear to me that I was no longer welcome there. IN THE HOUSE OF GOD. What would Jesus do, indeed?

So for many years after that, I considered myself more spiritual than religious. I still liked the idea that there was something out there bigger than all the rest of us. I liked the idea that I could send my hopes and dreams, spoken aloud or silently, out into the ether and have faith that someone or something would hear me and do something about it. I saw "God" in the beauty of the world...in the colors of flowers waving in a light breeze. I felt "God" in the rays of sunshine warming my face. In the love of my friends. In the companionship of my pets. I offered up thanks to that being for all those tiny joys. I always expressed gratitude before I asked for anything, if I felt worthy of asking for anything at all. But the humanity with all it's hypocrisy and failings was what really turned me off of traditional church and the structure of organized religion. So I shrugged that off in favor of my own private form of worship.

Recently, however, I have come to believe that this life is all just a cosmic accident. We are who we are purely by accident of birth. Argue with me all you want, but that's where it all begins. I don't see the hand of a higher power in our world. I see accidents. I see anomalies. I see evil. I see hatred. I see a whole lot of shit that just doesn't make any sense. I mean, give me a break--these people who thank God for helping them through a leg of "The Amazing Race" or the people who thank God for allowing them to avoid an accident or some other catastrophe--answer me this: Does that mean God is raising a big ol' middle finger to people who didn't win that particular leg of the race? Is God saying "fuck you" to people who are in accidents or other catastrophes? "FUCK YOU, DEAD BABY, I'M A VENGEFUL GOD AND A SELFISH GOD AND IF I WANT A BABY OR A DOG OR A PERSON OR ANYTHING AT ALL I JUST TAKE IT AND YOU HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT BECAUSE I'M THE HEAD MOTHER FUCKER IN CHARGE." Extreme? Sure. But I think you get my point. People thank God when something good happens but blame each other when something bad happens. Save for that one guy, no one ever sues God when shit goes bad--people blame each other. They give all the credit to God and burden him with none of the blame. They thank him for things that make them happy and then lash out at their fellow man for not playing along with their plans. If God is all-seeing and all-knowing and in control of everything, then HE is letting or causing the bad things to happen. And don't give me any bullshit about the devil or Satan or whatever...I really don't believe in that shit, and I never did, even when I did call myself a "Christian." Frankly, that's a whole argument I don't care to get into right now. This is MY blog people, deal with it or go away. The invisible sky daddy didn't create us. Christians don't have the corner on "Heaven." We are all a cosmic accident. A smashing together of atoms and millions of years of evolutionary develpment and regression, all muddled together on this planet we call home. Nothing else explains our circumstances to my satisfaction.

So I've been calling myself a Pastafarian (if you don't know what that is, go to www.venganza.org and get educated)-slash-agnostic-slash-atheist. After watching "The Atheism Tapes," however, I've come to realize I'm more of an anti-theist. Meaning that I don't believe in organized religion at all, I don't believe in "belief" and I frankly think religion has caused much more harm than good in the world. See also "Religulous," Bill Maher's spot-on documentary about religion.

Frankly, I could write a novel about this stuff but I think others have said it before and likely said it better. It boils down to this: I don't judge anyone for what religion they practice, if they do at all. I don't try to convert anyone to my way of thinking, I only ask that they TRY to see my side of it. I have a great deal of empathy and understanding for other people. I get why some folks would be drawn to that sense of community and fellowship. However, I don't have a hole in my life that needs to be filled with that. I like my Sunday mornings quiet and peaceful. They involve coffee and CBS' Sunday Morning, the Sunday newspaper, and relaxing with my family. At the end of the proverbial day, I like to believe that I'm a good person because I choose to be. I'm not perfect, I fuckup regularly. But I learn from those mistakes and I try not to repeat them. But I try very hard to do the right thing every day. Not because I believe there's some "invisible sky daddy" wagging his finger at me from the clouds, keeping some fucking obnoxious tally on a damn abacus and waiting for my judgment day to come so he can tell me just how badly I fucked up. I do it because I believe in being a good person. I believe in love. I believe in helping people. I believe in sticking up for those who can't or won't stand up for themselves. I don't believe in anyone or anything but my own inner voice telling me how to live my life day by day. I express my love and gratitude for the people in my life. I treat every phone call with a friend or family member as though it could be our last conversation, always ending it with "I love you." But I refuse to participate in some mocked-up, cobbled-together, hypocritical practice of loving each other and judging everyone else once a week for two hours wearing fancy clothes and being judged by everyone in the place for the fancy clothes or my hair or whateverthefuck. You go your way, and I'll go mine. I walk no one's path but my own and no one else is walking mine.

That being said, I sure do love Christmas music. Don't judge me.
Love,
Lola

Malaise...

PG-13. Again, if you have any trouble imagining or dealing with me as a sexual being, read no further.

I find myself in a rather strange funk lately. My sleeping habits have gotten all fucked up, and I don't know why. It's likely not any one particular reason, just a combination of things, or even a different thing every night. I don't want to write on here about my job, or my work. I'm very fortunate to have the job that I do, and I absolutely love my job. But we're going through some "changing pains" at that joint, and everyone is stressed to the max and working even harder than usual. So complaining about it just isn't right, because we're all in it together, and we're all employed. I know that the stress and whatnot are likely contributing to my sleep dilemma, but that's not the only thing. I'm sure a few food and beverage indulgences, combined with no workouts this week, are all aiding my insomnia. Let's also give credit to my darling kittehs, my crappy phone, and my natural sleep cycle (which I must fight every day of my working life).

So I'm tired. I'm cranky. I feel...somewhat out-of-sorts. Lonely. Bored. A strange combination of restless and exhausted. I know that all of this is temporary--a sort of lull between wonderful days of joy and elation. I'm doing my best to just put my head down and barrel through it. This, too, shall pass.

Luckily for me (and unluckily for you, darling readers), I have no personal drama happening right now. I have made a couple of feeble attempts to stir some up, but don't seem to have the energy for it at the moment. Not enough emotional wherewithal to deal with anything more than what I'm already dealing with.

I would love to write about some beautiful boy from my past, one of the lovely sculptors of the woman I have become. But I don't have a good narrative floating through my brain at the moment. Right now, I'm experiencing more random flashes of memory. Just bits of emotional flotsam from many moons ago that seem to float to the surface and then drift away from me again...

Sheepskin auto-seat covers. A voice that could melt snow. Quirky smile. A strange love of James Bond films. Popcorn for breakfast. Shower sneak-ups (this man was like a fucking ninja...he would creep into the shower with me when he got home from PT in the mornings and scare the bejeezus out of me). Pizza delivery. Amazing, lovely sex. An out-of-town breakup. Reunited. More great sex. Separation. Another breakup, this time with him completely out-of-country. Closure. Contentment for both of us.

Silly gossip. That REM song "Stand." Gratuitous flirtation. Raging, unfulfilled sexual tension. Years of flirtation punctuated by sometimes months of silence. April Fools' Day. Bath & Body Works floorsets (we worked together). Desperate attempts to get him to kiss me, to no avail. Sweet and sexy text messages. Chris Farley. A longing I cannot put into words.

Davidoff Cool Water. Trashcan punch in the backyard. Blatant, public makeout sessions. James Taylor & Counting Crows--sad drunk. Red pickup truck. Beer. Wacky roommate. Ex-girlfriend drama. Sex on the pool table in the back room. Waterbed. New Year's Eve. Abandonment. Resignment. AOL Instant Messenger. A second try. White polo shirt. Tan. Camaro. Really fun date making waves being seen in public together again. Misunderstanding. Jealousy. Accusations. Love, but not love. Or maybe love, just not in love. Angry, awkward sleep. Resentment. More resignment. Wondering...

Wesley. Tweety Bird. Gorgeous blue eyes. Notes passed between classes. Walking me home from school. Movie quotes. Very intense teenage makeout sessions. First love. Longing. Need. Flannel shirt. Falling asleep together on the phone. Should have given in, but didn't. Regret? Maybe...maybe not. Hard to say. Ugly breakup. First real heartbreak. Friends again? Sure. Back and forth and back and forth and now...nothing.

Skater boy. Jams. Vans. Sleek black bangs falling over one eye. A tiny, multi-fold note pressed into my hand after school one day: "Will you go out with me? Y/N Circle one." Mad strange crush. Mutual friends' encouragement. Halloween carnival--he went through the haunted house with a cheerleader from another school and that was the end of that. Years later...we saw each other again. Wanna go out? Um...maybe...sometime...um...no, thanks. Still wonder about him, too...

Brown eyes and sandy hair. British Knights (with red snakeskin!--swoon!). Card tricks. Light As A Feather, Stiff As A Board. Belching "Yankee Doodle Dandy." Musical theatre. Really mad crush. First boyfriend. First kiss. FIREWORKS. Torch carried for YEARS. First ex-boyfriend whose wedding I attended.

Curly hair and roguish hazel eyes. Older. Very mature, to my young eyes. Full time job, rented house. Pothead. Sexy as hell. Naked on first date (him, not me). Wonderful cologne-scented candles. Newport menthols. Totino's pizza and ranch dressing. Smoking cigarettes in bed. "Empire Records." Piranha + Vienna sausages = hours of entertainment. Boone's Farm Strawberry Daiquiri. Sex. Sex. More sex. Hours of sex. Gatorade. More sex. Breakdown. No conversation. Tears. I can't do this anymore. Whatever happened to him? All I know is that he married the next girl he dated.

I would really like to know what became of most of these boys...the ones I don't know about, of course. A few of them I'm still in contact with. Others? I haven't seen or heard from in years. The girl they knew in me misses them still, in that strange misty-water-colored-mem'ries kind of way. I don't hate any of them. Don't harbor any anger toward them. I would LOVE to run back into them someday...to talk to them again--online, in person, it doesn't matter. Just to reconnect with those moments. Even if it's only for another moment...

Longingly,
Lola

stupid subconscious...

"You're still in love with me," he says from my unconcsious, "aren't you?" I shake my head weakly as I try to process seeing him...and seeing him with her, no less...It hurts me. It shakes me to the core. Every. Fucking. Time. You were in a suit, and you looked at me like I was the most pathetic creature you had ever seen, and yet...and yet, not like you hated me. I know you don't hate me. But...

Why, DA? Why must you continue to haunt me? My mind, my heart, my body, my memory, my subconcious...Why? Just when I realize it's been...however long since I thought of you last...I realize that by thinking about not thinking about you, I've now started thinking about you again. And I don't want to think about you anymore. But I also don't want to not think of you ever again. I'm still learning how to navigate this. I still see it, you know--our future. I see the paths that we didn't take that could have brought us together...but the point is and always will be that we didn't take them. So even though what could have been is not what is, the possibility will always remain that what could have been will become what could be.

Ah, whateverthefuck. I'm rambling.

And to OFH2, I still hold out hope for you, too. I realize now that your imminent deployment caused you to throw me under the proverbial bus so that it would be easier for you to leave. I'm so tired of being treated this way. You have no right to devestate me, to demolish what we had, just to make your life easier. Here's the truth of the matter: Until you actually find the balls to tell me to fuck off, and I mean literally tell me in writing or verbally to "FUCK OFF," I will still be here. My hope, my sad, strong hope, will stay with me until you murder it. So do with it as you must.

Dreamily,
Lola

putting the "fun" in "funeral"...

So I just got home a bit ago from my step-grandfather's (H.B.'s) funeral. He was married to my MiMa for 25 years before she passed this last summer, so he's essentially the only grandfather I've ever known. It's sad for his children and grand-children & great-grand-children, but the man lived a lovely, full life for 88 years. We should all be so lucky. His health was declining and he'd been struggling with diabetes for years, followed by Alzheimer's and most recently, lung cancer. There's sadness but also relief, because we know that he's no longer suffering. Death is a release for the dead, it's those of us left living who have to figure out how to carry on. I'm not going to lie to all of you--I wasn't close to him, but I did love and respect him and appreciated how much he loved me and my family after he married my MiMa. He was a very sweet and loving man and I'm proud to have known him. His children were all very sweet and receptive to me as well, and I wish them all the best as they carry on their lives without him.

The service was fine and I sometimes get tickled at people and things they do and say...In particular, I saw an "LOL" (little old lady) carrying a HUGE Louis Vuitton bag and wearing REALL UGGS and tights and a freakin' snowflake sweater vest and she was just so cute in that quirky old lady way. I think she was at my MiMa's funeral, too, because I remember that LV bag...

It was also nice at the graveside service, because H.B. had been in the Navy in his younger years, and so my brother had procured an honor guard of three sailors. Bless their hearts, they were so precious! I know how emotionally draining that detail can be, as the DH has served on funeral detail for the Army and has told me stories of how difficult it can be, even at the services of complete strangers. Two of them undraped the flag from the coffin and held it up for as as the third played "Taps," actually factually on a real bugle, and it was lovely. It's a sad song but also peaceful and respectful and it was just right. Then the two folded the flag (and the youngest cutie pie had some struggles because he wanted to get it just right, and he was shaking and so nervous and so determined to get it just right...how do you not fall just a little bit in love with someone who cares so much?) and they handed it to H.B.'s oldest son, and it was just...lovely. It was a nice moment and I'm glad to have witnessed it. I went to each of them after the service was over and shook their hands and thanked them for being there and for their service, and that I knew how difficult that work can be, but that we were ALL so grateful they were there.

I did try to behave, to smile reassuringly, to hug on my Daddy, to offer love & support to my family members there, and to be a good daughter and funeral-goer. HOWEVER, I must admit that because I am not a Christian, and would in most cases describe myself as a mix of Pastafarian/atheist/agnostic, I find the entire ritual surrounding death for Christians to be rather disconcerting and even off-putting sometimes. First of all, most of my father's side of the family are very religious--some Church of Christ, some Baptist--so we already don't see eye-to-eye on that subject. But I try to be at least respectful of their customs and beliefs, even when I think they're really strange and even ridiculous. A lot of this started for me when my step-mother passed a few years ago. She was married to my father for years and years, and she was also in very poor health when she passed. So of course, I had to go to the family visitation hours, also known as...THE VIEWING. What gets me is this whole putting the body on display thing. I do NOT want to look at a dead body. I don't want to be in the same room as a dead body. I do NOT want to EVER be put on display as a dead body. It's just so ick and oogy and weird and wrong to me. It makes me extremely uncomfortable because it's really just all so much rotting flesh and whatever it was that made the person THAT PERSON is gone. What's the point of looking at the shell? It got even more awkward for me when MiMa passed and the entire sermon at her service was about how the spirit lives on and the body is just a shell...then why the hell are we all parading past this open casket to look at the dead shell?!?! This makes no sense...did I mention that already? They never look real or natural or right in that state. And sometimes listening to the sermons just makes me want to laugh out loud, like that scene in "Heathers" where Wynona Ryder is laughing at the football players' funeral.

But listen, in all honesty, just because I don't believe in this stuff doesn't mean I begrudge others their beliefs. I totally understand why people would cling to this explanation of what might happen after death, and why it would bring them peace and possibly even make them better people in life. So far, I respect them and they respect me and at this point, I haven't had to argue much with those folks in my family. Believe me, if I feel the need to fight with them to make myself be heard, I will do it, but for now, I'm content to keep my mouth shut and leave them to their beliefs.

Naturally, being at a funeral makes me think of what I'd like for my own service. I'm not entirely sure where such a thing would be held, as I don't worship anywhere in a traditional sense, don't belong to any sort of church community...What I do know is that I want it to be FUN. Sad, yes, with wailing and gnashing of teeth and sorrow, of course, but mostly FUN! I want there to be wine and cheese and hysterical laughter and GREAT STORIES about me...tons of pictures of me and my family and friends and wonderful memories...feathers and flowers in riotous colors like hot pink and purple and red and orange and yellow...beads and glitter and candles. I want MUSIC...I want songs to be played and listened to and sung and celebrated as part of my life. I want everyone there to remember what I brought to their lives, be it joy or aggravation or both. I hope there are still folks around to remember me. lol I DO NOT want to be put in a box and buried in the ground...I want to be cremated and to have my ashes scattered, half in Monterey Bay and half in Boston Harbor. I want people to know that if they need me after I'm gone, all they need to is search within their hearts and there I'll be in all the great memories they have of me.

I guess that's all I have to say about that.
Love to you all,
Lola

to OFH2:

To my darling Original Future Husband #2:
I have something else I must get off my chest, proverbially speaking. I am completely at a loss as to what I could have done to suddenly make you hate me so much that you would want to see me in this emotional distress. I have this awful, wonderful gift of knowing men better than they know themselves, so I suspect that you have some bizarre guilt or regret for telling me what you did. You shared a secret with me and I will protect it to my last breath. But for some reason, you now distrust me. And/or you distrust yourself. Either way, it's terribly unfair to me, and frankly, to yourself.
I probably shouldn't admit this, but even if you called me right now and told me to fuck off and die, that you never wanted anything ever to do with me again and that I should forget you ever existed...it wouldn't change how I feel about you. I would still be here anytime you needed me. In all truthfulness, I thought we had a friendship that would last. I took it for granted that you would always be there...that I would always be here...and that someday, far in the future, the deal that we made so long ago would be honored.
I will never understand a man's ability to simply shut off anyone or anything he finds unpleasant, or to discard whomever he is finished with, without word or justification of any kind. All I'm asking is for a reason, for your truth, for your honesty, and for your presence. Your absence, the current black hole of nothingness I'm currently experiencing from you, is awful. It's torture of the worst kind. If you want to tell yourself that I'm being crazy, or overdramatic, or that I'm asking too much of you, then I guess that's what you have to do. It would just be a great relief to me in the long run if you could relieve me of this suffering by sharing that feeling with me.
What this boils down to is me asking you to look under your sofa for your balls so that you can just tell me the fucking truth and get it over with already.
Thanks,
Lola

I hate this...

I'm filled with a loneliness and restlessness that cannot be abated by anything but the one thing I cannot have. Work, TV, movies, shopping, drinking, eating, friends, relatives...they are all but blips of distraction in this dark empty sky filling my soul. Alone with myself, I can only think of what I am missing right now.

My fake boyfriends are of no use to me at the moment. They bring me no joy or pleasure, only disappointment and sadness and disregard.

Please don't ask me if I want to talk about this with you. I don't. I can't physically bring the words from my mouth that can express what I am going through and to say them aloud makes the feelings all too real. Besides that, talking about them does no good. It doesn't ease the heartache and it doesn't change this reality. It is what it is and there is nothing before me but time, stretching into a length of unbearability.

This is what no one talks about: The loneliness. It's so much worse than I ever thought it could be. It's not just about missing someone, or being alone. It's not just about being deprived of physical affection. It's not just about having to be fiercely independent once again, after years of being part of a team. It's all of that and more that I can't put into words. And that there is absolutely nothing that can be done to fix it until the time comes for it to be fixed. I question the decision, the reality, the necessity...None of it seems right. It's not right. It's wrong, all wrong, but there is no correction for it. Only minutes turning into hours turning into days and weeks and months...It is all so overwhelming at the moment.