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.