Lola Louboutin

confronting mortality...

2011-11-08T19:56:00.000-08:00

I find myself today, at the age of 33, confronting mortality. I learned of the death yesterday of a junior high & high school classmate. It's shocking and terrifying to be reminded that as a relatively healthy young person, I could still drop dead at any moment. I do NOT wish to make this tragedy about me--it is most certainly not. I hadn't seen him but a small handful of times since our graduation, though one of those times was at his wedding, to his junior high & high school sweetheart. The marriage didn't work out, though they both seemed to handle it with grace and dignity. My point is that I personally have not suffered a loss, at least not in my immediate circle. But this becomes about me in a very vague, existential sort of way--in that he was very close to my own age, in that our mothers have been acquainted since we were infants, in that it is simply not possible that someone like us could be dead.

When I think of him and our fellow classmates, although I have seen many of them in person, or at least via social networking, I still imagine us all frozen in time at roughly 15 or 16 years old. We were just children and it's so much easier to picture us all that way. Intellectually, I realize that we have grown up, many of us are married, have children and homes and careers. But I also almost feel that must be impossible--that any moment now, we'll all end up in the gym at a pep rally or something. I know this must seem ridiculous, but there it is.

I keep thinking of the sheer horror of his new wife and what she must be going through. Even briefly imagining this burns my heart. I think of his parents, his sister, his many friends. And I ache for them. I wish they never had to experience anything like this. I wish none of us did. I know that's not possible, but hey, that hope will always be there.

So as much as I don't want to commandeer this tragedy and make it about me, I seem to have managed this anyway. For that, I am so sorry. But I am human and in that way I am internalizing this loss. I mourn for a life cut all too short.

Tonight, the DH and I raised our pints to my fellow JJ. I hope those who feel his loss most acutely find peace and comfort. I hope that those of us left behind can carry on the memories, both good and bad. And I hope that we can all honor him by remembering to LIVE.

I love you all. May you never forget it.

Lola

ink & memories...

2011-07-23T14:24:00.000-07:00

Hello, darling readers! I've been running at the mouth (and keyboard/keypad) for a couple of weeks now about how amazing my most recent tattoo experience was and how I wanted to blog about it. So here we are!

On Friday, July 18, I finally got a tattoo I've been talking about getting for a few years now--a rhododendron blossom ("rhodies" are the state flower of Washington) on the top of my right foot, in honor of my Momsie's birthplace. You see, I have a nautical/Texas star on the top of my right foot in honor of my Dad's birth state and thereby my heritage, so I've been wanting to balance that out with a Washington State tattoo on my other foot. Why did I pick my feet? Well, because those are my "roots," silly gooses!

I was so taken with this particular experience that I am compelled to write about it & share it with all of your because it really felt somehow fated--as though all the planets somehow aligned in order for me to get to have this happen. First of all, I had no clue when we got out there which studio I was going to go to, since I don't know anyone in Vancouver, WA who has tattoos and therefore had no real resource but the innanetz. I had done many searches and read many reviews but still really had not settled on any one tattoo shop. We had spotted some whilst driving around but they all looked super-sketch. Finally, the morning I had decided it was time to get it done, I did one last search on my phone, read more reviews, and chose 2 front-runners and a couple of also-rans, just in case. We headed out in the direction of the 1st one, in downtown Vancouver.

Now, downtown Vancouver had already been real good to me on this trip already--I found some lovely vintage goods, to include a mink stole for about $61, a paisley clutch, a woodcutting for the house, and some boutique gifties; I also enjoyed some of the most fabulous food & beer & atmosphere at a local pub. So I had a good vibe about this one already. The name of the shop is Hopeless Ink and right away, I kind of fell in love with it! It was super clean, even for a high-end tattoo shop. The art and decor was eclectic and fun and everything just felt really right. We got there right after opening, and it seemed only 1 artist was working--that artist was Joey Burnz. I vaguely recalled seeing his name in a LOT of the really great reviews this shop had gotten online. I showed him my reference photos & we talked about what I had in mind for the tattoo. He seemed to get really excited about it and took me back to his area in the back of the shop where he let me look at his "portfolio," which was posted almost entirely on his Facebook page. We went back & forth and got some ideas and he seemed to be almost giddy at the prospect of getting to do this tattoo! I'm telling you, every artist should be this excited. He told me that he loves tattooing flowers and his goal is to eventually tattoo 1 of every flower; also that he has not yet had the opportunity to tattoo a "rhodie," which he thought was strange since the shop is in Washington.

So I asked him if we could go ahead and get it knocked out, but he informed me that he had an appointment coming in at 1 (this was about 12:45 PM) and that he was booked up for nearly 3 months! But he hadn't heard from his appointment, in spite of having called her to confirm, and after some waiting in the lobby area, the front manager informed me that if the girl didn't show up by 1:15, I could have her appointment. Obviously, she couldn't make it (she did eventually call) so I snagged her spot! Joey was super-stoked to do it and as we were getting geared up, he told me he was also excited because he hasn't tattooed a walk-in in probably 2 years! LUCKY ME!!!

Now, let me tell you loves, this tattoo was not for the faint of heart. For those of you keeping track, this was #13 for me, and EASILY my most painful tattoo. I said cuss words. Out loud. I do NOT pay someone to stab me repeatedly with a needle and then bitch about it, so I tend to not complain during a tattoo, at least not out loud. But this sonofabitch hurt SO bad. It's much larger than the one on my other foot and took much longer, too, not to mention that Joey used at least 25 different colors in it! I took lots of deep breaths and blew a lot of air out through my teeth during this process. It didn't help that I was seated on a metal folding chair with my foot propped up on one of those adjustable, padded rests--so my ass kept falling asleep, as did my right foot, depending on which cheek I was resting on. There were a few places the pain was damn near unbearable, but I knew it was going to be totally worth it. So I shut up & took it. About 30 minutes in, Joey stops tattooing me for a second and says, "You know what? If I wasn't talking to you right now, I'd think you were asleep. You haven't moved AT ALL!" Over the course of the tattoo, which took about an hour & a half, a couple of the other shop guys came over and remarked that I was taking it like a champ, which naturally made me feel like a complete BAMF. Oh, because I am! LOL

Now, all that being said, the high wore off and the process of healing this sucker began. It's been a difficult one, being on the road, away from home. We were only in Vancouver for 1 more day, then headed down to California. Apparently, California fleas think I taste delicious, because I look like Trailer Park Barbie with about 30-40 bites, almost all concentrated on my left leg, and yup, you guessed it, right on my tattoo. Also because of the size and dimensions and location of the tattoo, my foot & ankle swelled up quite a bit, which was also challenging to manage while spending most of my time in the car or at the hospital with my in-laws. I texted a friend with tattoos on both of his feet to ask if his swelled up like that. He told me that not only had his feet swollen but they looked like 2nd-degree burns for a while. That gave me great comfort because that was almost exactly what I was working with! Here we are, 2 weeks later, and the swelling is nearly non-existent, the redness is mostly gone, and I just have a lot of dryness to contend with. I think once this last layer of dead skin falls off, it's going to be truly beautiful.

Aside from the healing part, I wish that everyone could have a tattoo experience like this. I especially hope that everyone can find a talented, enthusiastic, personable artist like Joey. If not, just fly to Vancouver & tell 'im I sent ya.

Inkily,
Lola

i wish i was brave enough...

2011-06-15T08:29:00.001-07:00

Dearest Lola fans,
Please accept my sincerest apologies on having taken so long to write. My career and my driving need to be on a stage every so often have precluded much of my free time. The rest is often spent trying to recover from all that, leaving me unwilling/unable/unmotivated to write. It's not that I have nothing to say--I do. I have much I wish to leave here on this page. So much *stuff* inside that I wish I could allow to fly from the tips of my fingers, out of my psyche and onto this blog.

Which brings me to the point of this post. I wish I was brave. I wish I had the proverbial balls to REALLY say what I need to say. To put something on here so honestly brutally outrageous that it makes the rest of you nod your heads, saying, "Yes! Why didn't someone say this before now?!" But I can't. Because so much of what I want to say, what I need to say, affects people near and dear to me. It would be harder in some ways for me to say something honest here, because it's so public, specifically when that honesty will likely hurt someone I love.

The stories I tell you on here, when they affect other people, well, I turn those people into characters. The boys you read about on here, well, they're not exactly figments of my imagination but I wouldn't call them real, either. They're in that lovely grey area somewhere in the middle. The experiences I have and the feelings I write about are absolutely real...most of the time. Generally, I try to let you know when I'm posting pure fiction.

I started this blog so I could write about things like this. So I could share chapters of the book I'm sure I'll never write. So I could entertain you. So I could have some peace of mind by emotionally vomiting all over my keyboard. But the really true things...the really honest, really real, really painful things, I just can't get out. I don't want you to think less of me. I don't want people I care about to be caught in the middle. I don't want you to think less of them.

When I created this, I wondered if I shouldn't tell anyone it was mine, but instead, somehow just post the link or share it and ask people to read it and see what they think. But I knew that those who know me best and who read my blog on the deserted carnival that is MySpace would recognize it as mine immediately. So I figured, why bother? And I knew that at some point, we would get to this. That I would need to post questions for which there are no answers. That I would want to say something divisive and awful about someone close to me, and I refuse to do that. It's not fair to those people--they didn't sign up for this. Ya'll know I have zero problem posting my opinions on other issues that are traditionally verboten, like religion and politics, and that's different. I can be brutally honest about how I feel because, while certain readers may object or won't like or agree with what I have to say, it doesn't hurt them personally.

So somehow, I have to figure out how to deal with these ugly feelings I'm having. I have friends I can talk to, sure, and they offer advice and suggestions and that's great, but at the same time, they can't fix it for me. Nor do I want them to. I have to get around this myself. Being as painfully self-aware as I am, I completely understand my motives and failings and where they come from, but this rarely saves me from...well, much of anything, frankly.

Moving on to a much happier note, I have a new fake boyfriend! I met him a few months ago via a mutual friend. I asked him officially yesterday after some very salacious flirtation via the interwebs. His nickname is Laundry. Why? Because for one, I had a VERY naughty dream involving the two of us in a laundry room. Also, because, you know, I'm just sittin' around here, doing my Laundry. Just something I gotta do when the need builds up, know what I mean? I asked, he approved, and here we are. Flirting is so much fun. I think I would go batshit crazy without that outlet.

I know, I know--get down to the nitty gritty, Lola! Right? Yes, he's adorable, of course. Sexy in a sort of nerdy rock-n-roll kind of way, if that makes any sense. Tousled light brown hair. Tall & a bit lanky. Tattoos (in fact, we have tattoos with something in common). But more importantly, he's fucking smart. And witty as hell. He can actually not just keep up with me verbally but his innuendo often tops even mine. That, my friends, is fucking sexy. It makes me hate him in that really really delicious way.

Have I said too much? Probably. Isn't that why ya'll keep coming back?
With Love,
Lola

Isadora (2002-2011)...

2011-03-06T18:54:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was one of the worst days of my life. It started off as normally as any Saturday and ended in heartbreak such as I haven't experienced in a very long time. The DH wasn't feeling well, so we agreed to just chill out on the sofa all day. We watched some TV, I took a bath. As I was getting out of the shower, our fire alarm went off randomly. (It does that sometimes.) We got that taken care of then decided it was about time to have some lunch. As I headed through the entry-way and into the dining room, I noticed our oldest cat, Izzy, laying in the floor, sort of half in the kitchen and half in the dining room. I called to her, said something mindless like, "Izzy, baby, what are you doing, you silly girl?" I mean, she's a cat, ya know? They're freaking weird, wild creatures and therefore unpredictable. But she didn't move. Not even a whisker twitch. I leaned down to check on her and simultaneously noticed four things that were very, very wrong: Her eyes were wide open, her mouth was open, there was drool on the floor and she had urinated. I shook her a little bit and heard myself saying, "Baby, I think she's DEAD!" I said "I think" without really thinking, because it was clear that she was gone. I jumped back and DH leaned down to her and said, "Baby girl?" I got back down on the floor, weeping and shaking my head and saying, "oh no my baby, my poor poor baby," over and over again...Then it hit me hard that she was really really gone...And this sound...this god-awful wailing started escaping from somewhere in my guts...I was screaming and crying and I know, I know, she's a CAT but damnit, she's MY CAT and I love her!! And all the DH could do was hold me while I rocked back and forth. In that horrible, shocky way we humans have, I stood up and tried to pull myself together. I couldn't figure out what to do with myself or with her. And then it hit me, she needed to be wrapped in something. So I went into the back bedroom and came out with her favorite yellow blankie she used to sleep on. DH helped me put her on it and sort of wrap her up in it. I leaned back down and started petting her some more and telling her how sorry I was...

And I was. I was so so very sorry...Sorry it had happened, sorry I hadn't been there, sorry it wasn't what I had imagined for her. I imagined that YEARS from now, she would get sick, we would take her to the vet, we would get the bad news, we would opt to put her to sleep, and I could be there with her as she drifted off to sleep for good. But it didn't work out that way. I was left to find my beloved pet's corpse in the middle of a cold kitchen floor on a sunny March Saturday...completely unprepared for it in every way.

As I sat there on my hands and knees, keening for my beautiful lost pet, her life began to flash before my eyes...The day I brought her home as a tiny black fluffball of a kitten during Labor Day weekend 2002, after some boy had wounded my ego. Cracking up after bringing her home from the vet after her spay surgery, because she was drunk on the anesthesia still--so much so that she face-planted out of the cardboard box I was transporting her in, then mustered all her drunken dignity to stagger across the living room. Going to the bathroom one night only to find her curled up asleep, in the bathtub, with her stuffed pink piggy under her paw like a child would hold a teddy bear. Introducing the DH to her and watching as they bonded over early-morning pee sessions. Wanting to toss her across the room every morning because her favorite way to wake us up was with a plastic bag, and she ALWAYS got the last "word." Watching her sweet face as she listened to voice mails the DH would leave her on the answering machine at home. Not being able to find her for 3 days after we moved into our new apartment because she was so completely freaked-out. The way she would get 3 of 4 paws out on the balcony but no more--as long as she had that 1 foot still inside the apartment, she was safe. Her sense of horror that turned into near-loathing each time I brought home another cat. Her poses, her sass, her constant irritation with me. She was just so put-upon, you know. Her demands to be present in the bathroom whenever I soaked or showered. Her further demands while in the bathroom that I blow bubbles for her, which she LOVED. Her resemblance to the famous cat on the "Tournee du Chat Noir" poster, beneath which she would pose just like the picture. Her loathing of the camera. Her quiet snoring as she slept behind my head on the sofa.

She was an awesome cat for all the reasons that most people hate cats: She was black with eerie green-yellow eyes, she accepted affection on her terms and her terms ONLY, she would go for days without acknowledging my presence (or anyone else's, for that matter), she really loved those who were allergic to her, and she was just all-around a mean bitch. So, when she deigned to curl up on my chest, look me in the eyes and sigh, put her dainty paws on my shoulder and drift off to sleep, well...I never felt so loved or trusted.

But there she was, dead, in the middle of the floor. Such a shocking, undignified end for such a beautifully regal creature. And now what? There was no vet to call--they were closed. By the time we finally got ahold of someone, we couldn't form the questions correctly in order to get the answers we needed. What the fuck were we supposed to do with her? I mean, I know, cremation, burying, etc. But what if something was wrong with her that was also wrong with the other cats? We may need to have her examined or tested. And we couldn't get that done until Monday, so...what...I mean, how...I mean...We had no clue. Finally the kind lady at the pet cremation place gently told us that we should preserve her with some ice in a cooler until the vet could examine her. We don't own a cooler. So we got dressed. We said our good-byes to her and wrapped her fully in her yellow blankie and gently put her in a plastic bag and carried her out to the garage, where we placed her in a storage bin until we could...well, you know. We drove to Atwood's and as the sun streamed in through the windows of the car, all I could think was how fucked-up and surreal and awful it was for this to be happening to us on such a beautiful day. For us to be driving to buy a fucking new cooler in which to store our dead pet for the next 2 days. To try to figure out what size cooler we needed and how much ice. It was awful. So we came home and we put her in the cooler, careful to make sure the opening of the bag was above the ice and that we didn't pour too much on top of her. And it's still awful, because as I type this, she's still out there...I keep going out there and checking to make sure the ice level is ok and I have to remind myself that it's not really her anymore. It's just a body and whatever made her Izzy is gone.

Last night was hard. I drugged myself with a Lortab I'd been saving for a rainy day. I still couldn't sleep well. I dreamed of dead cats and worried so much about my other ones that I finally got up and slept on the couch in the living room with them. I haven't cried as much today and I know it will get easier. But I miss her. She was my girl. My first pet that I adopted as an adult, all my own. She saw me through heartbreak and happiness. And now she's gone. I have the other cats, and they are each special to me as well, but Izzy was my closest, my oldest, my...My Izzy.

RIP, my darling girl. You are my sunshine, always and forever.
Love,
Mommy

the invisible sky daddy...

2011-02-02T10:15:00.000-08:00

"Hey-
My name is Erin!! I heard you say you didn't believe in God!! He Will/?? (it appears to me she's referencing Will.I.Am here, but I didn't think he had such a deity complex...Honestly, I can't read what that says.) do Amazing thing (just the 1 thing, for the record...what is it??!) in you life (my inner English teacher is being murdered slowly with this note)!! Please Call & we can visit!" On the back, she actually left her phone number, which I have kindly and graciously opted to not post.

I received this note from a waitress at a local eatery, who told me that "some girl" had asked her to give it to me. I was enjoying a leisurely, late lunch with my DH and my Tobias. (Tobias is my new friend, he's my gay husband, he's my new friend soul-mate...I have promised to blog about him but this took precedence. Later, faithful readers. Promise.) Please keep in mind that yes, I am an Atheist/Anti-theist, that the DH is more or less indifferent to the whole thing, and that Tobias is also an Atheist. I have already posted this note to Facebook, and it started quite a conversation there. I had no intention or desire to post another blog about religion or my lack of faith so soon after the last one, but this pretty much forced me to. So here goes...

There are SO MANY WRONGS here, and I've said all I'm going to say about the atrocious grammar. I will also ignore the excessive exclamation points. First and foremost, this note is rude, passive-aggressive, and completely un-called-for. I have no idea who handed it to the waitress to pass to me, which is a completely juvenile move in & of itself, for she apparently handed it to the innocent go-between and then promptly left, not even waiting around for my (priceless, I'm sure) reaction. So score 1 for passive-aggression and 2 points for immaturity (the note passing, then the leaving). That leaves the note-passer up 3 points at the start. With me so far? Good. Let's continue...

My initial reaction was, "Are you freaking kidding me with this?" Again, the passive-aggression and the lack of maturity really got to me here. Then it hit me that I don't care HOW loud I was being (I'm not a shrinking violet and tend to "perform," even for my dining companions--I really don't do it deliberately but it's my nature and I forget to rein it in), this little tidbit of conversation, not to mention the REST of our conversation, was NONE OF HER BUSINESS. So let's give her another point for sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. That's Erin-4, Lola-zip.

Some of my FB friends blatantly stated that I was only bothered because this note was about "God." I have several points to make about this: 1) Yes, I'm bothered that the note was about "God." 2) I'm bothered that they didn't think I should be bothered that the note was about "God." 3) If the roles were reversed, this discussion would have taken on a whole other flavor. 4) Frankly, I should be upset about it REGARDLESS of the subject, as her nosiness was altogether out of line. (I'm going to go ahead and score myself a point for each of those, but as one of them was directed at my FB friends and not Erin, we'll call it Erin-4, Lola-3. Fair enough?)

Let's address those 1st 3 in a bit more depth, shall we? 1) Yes, I'm bothered that the note was about "God." I don't believe in God. I don't believe in ANY gods/Gods/deities/higher power. So right away, she should have known this note was NOT going to be met with any positivity whatsoever. Did she HONESTLY think I would read that and say, "OH MY STARS, you're RIGHT! I've been an idiot all this time and NOW I see the light!!! Clearly this STRANGER and her 'GOD' know what's best for me when I do NOT!! Thank you, Jesus!! Erin, I'm going to call you right now and confess my instant spiritual conversion!" I mean, COME ON! At the heart of why I'm bothered is not just the passive-aggression found in the note itself, but ALL the subtext. This is what the note "sounds" like to me: "HI, I was eavesdropping on your private conversation and heard you say you don't believe in the invisible sky daddy. CLEARLY you must be an Atheist because you are too IGNORANT to know any better. OBVIOUSLY I know better than you, know you better than you know yourself, and want to tell you what's right for YOU after having heard you utter that you don't believe what I believe." That's how it feels to me. Erin-4, Lola-4.

2) I'm bothered that my FB friends didn't feel I should be bothered that the note was about "God." Let's face it, folks--THE NOTE WAS ABOUT GOD. So all the "points" made about the note being about something else and not bothering me as much are completely MOOT. But just for the sake of argument (ya'll KNOW how much I love that!), let's imagine that the note said something like this: "Hi, my name is Erin and I overheard you say you don't like vanilla ice cream. That's just awful, because vanilla ice cream really is the best ice cream and you should like it because I do, and lots of other people do. Call me and we'll go out for plain ol' vanilla ice cream!" The subtext is the same as stated above.

3) If the roles were reversed, this discussion would have taken on a whole other flavor. Let's imagine now that I had handed a note to a waitress, to be given to a fellow diner AFTER I left the restaurant. And let's imagine that the note said, "Hi, I'm Lola. I heard you say you are a Christian!! I'm sad for you that you're buying into the whole 'invisible sky daddy' bullshit!! I think you should call me so that I can explain to you why you're wrong and show you what is clearly the truth and the right way and the only way for people to understand the world around them." That would come across as so hateful and so rude and so pretentious and so obnoxious and so out of line, that I would probably be lynched and/or burned at the stake. OK, maybe that's extreme but I think you're picking up what I'm laying down. Erin-4, Lola-5.

Now, to address some of the comments made on my FB:
@Serena, you're right! Since I didn't ask for it, I think she should spread her love where it will be appreciated and welcomed.
@Loretta, I wish I could have! But since she passed the note and bolted, there was no chance for me to tell her to "butt out" or anything else!
@Kelly, sure, ok, I guess I can say that yes, she is doing that particularly CHRISTIAN type of proselytizing...What I don't understand is WHY these folks want a bunch of band-wagon, fair-weather Christians up in "Heaven" anyway. For the record, hanging out in the clouds with a bunch of closed-minded, self-righteous, nosy Christians kinda makes me prefer the idea of the fiery pits of "Hell."
@Amber, I would have LOVED to have laughed in her face!! I would love to have told her exactly how I felt about her little note, her behavior and my feelings about religion in general, Christianity in particular. I know how rude this sounds but this is PISSING ME OFF.
@Sophia, I know, right?
@Matthew, um...Yes, nervy. Not sure what to say about the other thing you said.
@Brenda, excellent point!! I'm sure there's some rule about shepherding the weak...wait, that's Pulp Fiction...But yes, apparently this chick thought maybe her God had missed me and that she should inform me of the "truth."
@Derrick, I adore you for saying that.
@Shannon...LOL!
@Ludwig, a lot about organized religion makes me think of VD's.
@Erik, you know I love you and you know exactly how I feel about this. Thanks again for having my back.
@Eric, bullshit. I know you're just trying to play devil's advocate, but I'm throwing a bullshit flag. You would not have appreciated that any more than I did. Also, with regard to your later comment, again, I must point out that the girl did not stick around to have any sort of conversation with me or to let me see her shining face at all. So there was no chance for argument, rebuttal, or intelligent discourse.
@Gilley, there are scientific studies that put forth that "visions" had during "near-death experiences" are simply hallucinations brought on by brain death. The subconscious is a powerful thing and I think people see partly what they want to see and partly the brain short-circuiting.
@Heidi, I think I've addressed your points sufficiently between FB and this blog posting.
@Steven, since you were around for that time when I was all kinds of gung-ho about "God," "Jesus," and church in general, I think you have more appreciation than most for the changes I've been through. Thank you so much for your elegantly-stated point. You just don't know how much I appreciate it.
@Richard, I will give you the phone number if you want. LOL
@Sarah, you're welcome.
@Stephanie, go right ahead. No one is stopping you and I for one enjoy your dancing.
@Andrew, I'll do my best to answer your questions. I have mixed feelings about this "warning." See my above comment about bandwagon Christians. Not like that. No, she should have just stayed out of it, but to have the balls to approach me directly would have made for an...interesting...conversation. Yes, I believe she would have been furious in that case. I don't know...I don't understand evangelizing in general. I think your last 3 questions have already been answered.
@Jacqueline, I just might.
@Angela, I think many of your points have already been addressed here and on FB.
@Corina, what would you have done in my place?

I know this has been a doozy and I want to thank you all for reading and participating in the discussion. I would just like to make a few more brief points:
*I know how hateful and judgmental I may sound to some of you here. Some of that is me being angry and argumentative. Some of that has more to do with you than it does with me. I refuse to apologize for this. To quote Nao from Work of Art: Next Great Artist, "I am not responsible for your experience with my art."
*I don't believe that all Christians are this obnoxious. Some of my dearest friends are believers. That's fine with me, as long as they don't try to convert me, I will show them the same respect. But if you want to have a discussion with me about this, please know that you WILL NOT change my mind any more than I could change yours. I've considered "your" side, but have you truly considered mine?
*Live and let live. If I'm wrong, then you can gloat for all eternity.
*I understand belief. I really do. I get it. It must be very comforting to believe there is a higher power looking out for you, listening to you, and loving you "unconditionally." There is comfort in the community and comfort in the ritual. I find comfort in NONE OF THIS. (For more in-depth reading about my feelings toward religion, please read my April 2010 posting titled "indignant."
*We can't all be wrong, and we can't all be right. Maybe the truth is really somewhere in the middle. But I believe what I believe and you believe what you believe and let's just leave it at that.

Respectfully and lovingly,
Lola

control...

2011-01-18T17:50:00.000-08:00

Again, apologies to my faithful Lola fans for not having written for so long. As many of you know, my DH just recently returned from a year-long tour in Korea. I didn't talk about it much because...well, for several reasons. For one thing, although there were some pretty rough moments for me, I knew I was going to make it through just fine. I felt strong and I had lots of support. I also felt it was inappropriate for me to complain, having married the man knowing that would be a possibility. Plus I felt strongly that it put me in a vulnerable position, emotionally and physically. We are told constantly that we shouldn't advertise online when we're going to be away from home or alone at home or whatever, so I thought it wise to just keep that to myself. My point is that I'm sure you can all understand that I've been a little caught up, what with DH coming home, the holidays, and then getting re-settled back in at work after lots of time off.

Of course, I'm THRILLED to have my honey home safely with me again. Being lonely sucks, and being worried and lonely REALLY sucks. But of course, the readjustment from living alone to once again living with someone has been a little bumpy. For example: We have a "no kittehs in the bedroom" rule after...well, let's just call it an incident and leave it at that. Yet, for some reason, closing the bedroom door is a challenge for the other person who lives in this house. Then last night, crossing the living room in the dark, I walked SMACK INTO my CLOSED bathroom door! I yelled 3 things: 1) OUCH! 2)FUCK!! 3) WHYYYYYY????? So to sum up: BEDroom door=hard to close; BATHroom door=closed inappropriately.

Please, I absolutely understand that I'm no picnic to live with. I get cranky when I haven't eaten and I take things personally that really have NOTHING to do with me. Which brings me to my main point...

Hi, my name is Lola and I'm a control freak. (This is where you all say, "Hi, Lola" in a really unexcited way but loudly enough to make me feel welcome. Thanks.) I try to leave it at work, I really do--I'm just not good at it. I absolutely would rather work myself into the ground by doing almost everything myself, because I'm supremely confident that if I ask for help (aside from feeling like a FAIL for having to do so), you'll just fuck it up and I'll have to re-do it anyway, thus wasting the same amount of time you were supposed to have saved me. (I say "you" in a very general, hypothetical way. Just go with it.) Or, in some feeble attempt to head that off at the pass, I'll spend an inordinate amount of time patronizing you by trying to show you each detail of how I like things to be done. And I try REALLY hard to be nice about it, and I go out of my way to make sure you know IT'S NOT YOU, IT'S ME. So by the time I have "taught" you to do it "right," I could EASILY have done it myself. (Please, do NOT attempt to point out that I would only have to teach you once but could reap the benefits of you doing it from then on. I just don't see it that way. I take it as one more thing that's been chipped away from my responsibility, thereby rendering me ever-so-less useful. This is another mark of the control freak.)

So at home, I try to remind myself that it's OK if things don't get done exactly as I would do them, as long as they are done. Like, it doesn't matter what road you take, as long as you get home, right? But I can't help myself...I hear myself saying, "Why are you going THAT way?" or "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!" or "Um, honey? Wouldn't it be better if you did this?" Trust me, I get it. As soon as the words start forming, I'm trying to stop them. Again, I'm just not good at it. Ya'll know the roadblock between my mouth and my brain only works about 20% of the time!

I think what I'm trying to say is, let me handle it. I think I've proven that I can and I will. Don't expect me to ask for help, I just won't do it. And if you offer me help and I turn it down, it has everything to do with how that makes me feel and not how I feel about you.

I love you all,
Lola

i know it's been a while...

2010-11-03T18:31:00.001-07:00

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...

2010-10-17T14:35:00.001-07:00

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...

2010-09-11T17:40:00.001-07:00

*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...

2010-08-24T17:08:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-08-11T18:39:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-08-06T16:44:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-08-04T18:16:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-07-26T18:17:00.001-07:00

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...

2010-06-17T17:19:00.001-07:00

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...

2010-05-13T19:07:00.001-07:00

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...

2010-05-12T18:32:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-04-20T17:35:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-04-07T18:32:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-03-18T17:30:00.001-07:00

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...

2010-02-28T11:20:00.000-08:00

"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"...

2010-02-13T15:39:00.000-08:00

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:

2010-01-18T15:20:00.000-08:00

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...

2010-01-18T11:03:00.000-08:00

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.

...is this thing on?

2009-12-31T10:02:00.001-08:00

I'm just wondering if anyone is reading this...I'm not thinking of stopping, because I NEED this outlet like ya'll just don't know. However, I am writing things for myself as well, mostly because they aren't fit for public consumption--at least, not by anyone who knows me. But I'm not getting any feedback, so once again, here I am, begging for someone to tell me something. What direction would you like to see this go in? Do you love or hate the utter randomness of it all? Please, someone...tell me something!

I'll keep writing, I just hope ya'll will keep reading.

And with it being New Year's Eve, I must absolutely wish all of you health, love, luck, and happiness in the new year. I wish fabulous things for all of us. I just don't have anything more profound than that to say.

Hugs & Kisses,
Lola

there's just so much...

2009-12-28T07:49:00.000-08:00

Well, Lola fans, I'm so sorry it's been so long since I've written. My usual excuses hold true--the time and inspiration just haven't been there. And again, right now, as I type, I struggle. I fight myself with this thing every time I write. How much do I share? Just how vulnerable do I allow myself to become? Plus, there are so many things going on in my world...in my mind...in my heart...How do I ever organize it into a cohesive blog?

I guess let's start with whatever comes up first, shall we?

I'm watching an "LA Ink" marathon on TLC, which is a dangerous endeavor for me. I really admire Kat Von D. She's gorgeous, she's tatted to shit, she wears crazy amazing makeup, she's brilliant and strong and talented and seems to be a wonderful friend and businesswoman. And every time I watch this show, I find myself plotting some crazy makeup schemes with wild colors and mismatching and an in-your-face aesthetic. I also find myself dreaming up new tattoo ideas and trying to figure out where I could put them. I struggle all the time with my inner desire to just tattoo nearly every blank square-inch of skin on my body from the shoulders down; and my practicality that reminds me of how much time and trouble that would cost me when it comes to performing and having to cover that shit up. Plus, I've always told myself that my tattoos must be meaningful to me for the long run, but I also give myself some leeway by reminding myself that the ink will always tell my story. Any given tattoo is just a visual illustration of where I was in my life at that moment, and every experience is a learning experience. There is no room in my life for regret. So who knows what ink may come down the pipe? Pin-ups, flowers, banners, my tarot card, maybe a cat...I have so many ideas...I'm just waiting for my body to tell me what it wants at the right time.

Now, that's not to say I don't wish certain events in my life had happened...What I mean is that, I don't regret anything I've done. There are things that I missed out on, opportunities I did not take advantage of. Mostly boys I could have hooked up with that I didn't, for whatever reason I had at the time. I should've just jumped their bones when I had the chance. I can count those on one hand, but the impact those missed opportunities had on my life will be felt until the moment I draw my last breath.

Speaking of boys, I have some things to say:
DA, I still fucking miss you. I hate it, but I miss you every fucking day. It's like this ridiculous loss of something I never had and some days it feels like an illusion and some days the ache is so real it stops my breath. I still see the future we might have had, the path we didn't get to take. It's just so strange. This feeling...all these feelings I have for you...they don't stem from any sort of dissatisfaction in my life. I'm a very loved, lucky, content woman who has more than I ever dreamed of. But I still see it. I see this alternate reality sort of shimmering in the distance, I imagine our wedding, I remember how I felt around you, and I know that you're gone from me...possibly forever...and there are days I just don't know how to process that.

To my fake boyfriend Adam Levine, I'm so disappointed in you. I really wish you had crawled under the sofa and found your balls. You've never been able to be honest with me, and for some idiotic reason, I took that as a reflection on me. But I realize now, it has nothing to do with me at all--it has everything to do with your utter lack of...you know, I'm not sure exactly what it is you're lacking. Couth? Honesty? Consideration? Ok, yeah, all of the above. Why couldn't you just tell me you had a real girlfriend and that you needed me to leave you alone? Leaving someone to figure out something like that and hear things from other people is just flat-out wrong. So fine. It's over. Done. Later. I reckon she'll discover what a freak you really are and run for the hills, because she just doesn't strike me as that kind of girl. Though, I could also see you completely stifling that part of you just to keep her by your side. From here, it looks an awful lot like a match made for other people rather than your personalities, but what the fuck do I know? Nada.

Well, I guess that's all the crap that was floating in the top of my brain that needed to be let out...Later, faithful Lola fans.

I love you all, never forget it.
Lola

le sigh

2009-10-19T07:01:00.000-07:00

I had an awful night last night. I couldn't sleep well and when I did I had fitful dreams and tossed and turned. The brief flashes of dreams have already escaped my memory. I feel down, I feel blue, and I feel...well, I wish I were a teenage girl again and could close myself off in my room and mope with bad poetry and sad songs and weeping until I have it all out of my system.

Stu, I need you. Remember when some stupid boy broke my heart (or at least wounded my ego) and you would come over with ice cream and beer or burgers and shakes and we would play Tekken 3 on PlayStation until you were totally humiliated with losing? Or I'd come over to your parents' house and we'd stew in the hot tub until my problems were totally forgotten? Or you'd make a huge batch of pizza rolls or bowls of ramen and we'd watch some stupid movie and laugh and snuggle? I so need that right now. Of course, I also need what always happened after my tears were dried...I need it as much as I needed it then. I think we both took each other for granted. You always let me cry on your shoulder and you almost always took care of me and put things right again. There were only a couple of times you really let me down: The time I got dumped in OKC and called you and you couldn't tell me the one thing I needed to hear, and the time we both realized we weren't going to work it out. That was a longer, more amorphous time but there it is. I know that it all worked out for the best for both of us. Yet I also know that we could've had a future together if we'd wanted it. I think we just didn't want it enough at the right time. I also wish the rules were different and that I could get what I need from you without repercussion. Ah, well, it seems that is also not meant to be.

So the rejection from AL still stings, and I'm feeling pretty down on myself. Of course, there are MANY other factors contributing to this: I still think of DA all the time, my DH is leaving soon, I'm over-worked and over-stressed and tired. Please don't get me wrong: I know how lucky I am to have what I do, particularly in regard to the DH. But there is always going to be a lack of fulfillment, and I think it's just human nature. We all want what we can't have, whatever we have we don't want, the grass is greener and all that...

Sadly and with longing,
Lola

set me free, why don'tcha babe...

2009-10-18T08:02:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: Please do not read any further if you have trouble imagining me as an adult and therefore a sexual being. Thank you.

Dear "Adam Levine,"
(For those of you new to my blog, Adam is the code name for one of my fake boyfriends.)
Now you are haunting my dreams. Two nights in a row, I have dreamt of you. Last night was intense. I don't want to get into the details...flesh, heat, clean white sheets, pillow talk, and tattoos...and nothing but an endless night stretching before us. I ache for you--the pall of it lingers over my day today. I feel as though I am moving in a slow-motion fog...I miss you and I've never had you and it's just so fucking unfair. I want you. And that's not fair, either, but there it is. Please don't get me wrong, I do NOT wish to be unfaithful to my DH. But a girl needs a fantasy and this girl likes for her fantasies to play along a little bit.

Yet, in the almost two years we've known each other, you have never once taken me up on an inviatation to hang out, even when I promise to behave. You always have something better to do, or make other plans in spite of the invitation. Nor have you ever invited me out for coffee or a horror movie or any damn thing. Your constant rejection of me is finally starting to get to me. (My ego is strong and can really take a beating, apparently) I genuinely do not understand why you would not want to hang out with me. I think we could be great friends and I really don't get it. I know how desperate this sounds and I've reached the point of not caring. I just want to know why. This isn't a whine, it's a genuine need...I must know the reason. I have my theories, and if you're reading this, please just tell me if I'm close with one of the following:

1. You find me utterly repulsive, physically and mentally and you canNOT figure out why I won't leave you alone after all this time. Take a hint, already, Lola!

2. You find me vaguely interesting and not really physically repulsive, but have been completely honest with me regarding the reasons why you cannot hang out with me every time I've invited you--it's nothing personal, you're just busy and let's face it, rather inconsiderate.

3. You are just the type of person who keeps people at arm's-length until you feel you can trust them. But how are you ever to really get to know me if you refuse to hang out with me for longer than 5 minutes?!

4. My husband is the deal-breaker. Even though I've hidden nothing from him regarding my feelings about you, and even openly flirt with you in front of him and he's totally ok with it, you just can't wrap your brain around it and therefore feel you must keep your distance from me.

5. You are wildly attracted to me and wish desperately that you could ravage me in unspeakable ways but as I am married, you feel it best to keep your distance, as I am clearly not strong enough to resist the attraction between us.

I do want to know, so please enlighten me. However, I have very nearly decided that I'd rather you just be done with it and break my heart. If you don't want to count me among your friends, then please please please, just tell me. Fake break-up with me and have it done with. I can't stand to be strung-along any further. It won't be easy for me...I'll be fairly devestated inside and really won't be able to deal with it openly, but hey, that's why I have a blog. I've already lost DA for good (or at least until his current relationship meets it's end) and you're among my favorite remaining fake boyfriends. But I can't maintain such a one-sided relationship. If this is the most pathetic thing you've ever read, that's ok. I'm feeling kinda pathetic right now. All this unrequited wanting is exhausting.

This all boils down to the fact that I'm the kind of girl who can't take hints. I'm so blunt and open and honest that I really don't understand it when people are not blunt and open and honest with me. If you hate me and want me to leave you alone, then tell me. If in reading this you realize that all your refusal to hang out with me is really kinda silly and you'd like to get to know me better, then tell me. If you really do want me and feel that you can't hang with me because you're afraid I'm going to attempt to violate you, then tell me. But at least give me the chance to prove you wrong. If you read this and decide I'm a complete psycho, then I guess that's my cross to bear and I'll have to deal with it. But I can only come to terms with your feelings if you TELL ME.

My emotional freedom lies in your very sexy hands...

With love and lust,
Lola

is this real?

2009-09-21T18:05:00.000-07:00

I saw him there. I didn't think I would, but there he was. I had hoped... imagined...dreamed...but never really believed. Whether I believed or not, there he was. As gorgeous as I remembered, to me, anyway. Light brown hair tousled just so, blue-grey eyes taking everything in...and then those eyes caught mine and my breath caught in my throat. I felt the world stop around me; it blurred away to nothing but me and him. Our eyes held for a moment. I moved my head slightly, subtly, toward the door, asking him silently to meet me outside. He nodded back at me just as slightly. Anyone watching us would not have noticed the entire conversation we had in those small movements. I slipped away from my husband and the rest of the crowd and pushed through the door into the cool evening air. I wrapped my arms around myself as if fending a chill but really I was just trying to still my nerves. Loud heartbeats passed the time, pounding in my ears as I waited. And just at the moment I started to question whether he was going to meet me, the doors opened, and there he was. I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until he was within arms' reach and I exhaled.
"Hi." I said.
"Hey." He answered.
I took another deep breath and plunged right in: "So do you hate me now, or what?"
"Is that what you think?" He squinted at me when he said this.
"I don't want to think that, but..."
"Lola, you know I..."
"I know." I nodded and sighed a bit.
"It's just that she and I..."
"I know. I know, I do, but...I miss you."
Then it was his turn to sigh.
"I'm sorry," I said, "It's just that, well, you just let go. You just let me go and it was so easy for you...It'll never be that easy for me."
"You think this is easy for me?"
"You seem to be doing just fine." I said this with more bite than was necessary and I saw the flash of pain behind his eyes. "I mean, you're gone, and you have her, and I'm here...without you. It's not like I'm alone, either, but..."
"I know. You know how I feel about you."
"No, I don't. I don't because you never tell me. You give me nothing but I still can't let go. I don't want to. Damnit. I didn't want to say that."
"Lola, you should know. You know me well enough to know, to know what my silence means. You know why I'm not around anymore. It's all just...it's too much."
"But don't you want that? Isn't too much exactly what everyone wants?"
"Please don't...We're not getting into this again."
"I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. Well, now, that's not entirely true..." I said flirtatiously, one eyebrow cocked at him as I looked up through my eyelashes.
He smiled, in spite of himself.
I smiled back, in spite of myself.
"We should probably, you know..." He nodded toward the door.
"What? You afraid she'll come looking for you? Would there be hell to pay if she found us out here together?"
"Please don't do that."
"I'm sorry. Again."
"You are forgiven. As always."
"We'll go in, but I want one thing from you first."
"Lola, I'm not kissing you out here...not like this."
"No, darling, that's not what I want."
"Okay...?"
I looked down at the ground and gathered my strength. "Please just say it. Tell me you miss me. That you still want me. That you love me. I want to hear it from you, just once." I didn't want to beg, but all I wanted was to hear him tell me how I knew he felt about me. And if that meant I had to beg to hear it, then beg I would. "Please. Please?" I finally looked back up into his eyes.
He reached out to me and took one of my hands in one of his. My heart stuttered. I felt a bit lightheaded. God, how I wanted him...
"You know how I feel about you. You know it in your heart. But I can't give you what you want. I can't say it. If I tell you...If I admit this out loud to myself, much less to you now, then everything we've built will fall apart. I will never be able to look you in the eye again. I will never be able to look your husband in the eye again. We will be finished. I mean it. There will be nothing left of us."
In spite of myself, I felt my eyes well with tears. Knowing in my heart how he felt and hearing it pass his lips were two different things, and at that moment I felt both sentiments were absent.
"Damnit, can't you just...?"
"No."
"Just once, just give me this..."
"NO."
The finality in his voice, the firm reserve, told me I would get nowhere by arguing with him.
"Fine. But I'll never forget this. The one time I asked you for something...something you could give me so easily...You know what? Never mind. I get it--you've given me all I'm going to get from you tonight. But I'm not going to give up."
He closed his eyes and dropped his head for a moment. I watched him. I watched him struggle, just for that brief moment. And I felt myself lose that struggle as he reached out for me, hugged me, kissed the top of my head, and then let go of me as he walked away.
I shivered again and fought to keep from blinking the tears out of my eyes and down my cheeks. I took a deep breath and I walked away from the tension that was still palpable in the air around me. I smoothed my hair and my dress and I walked proudly back to my husband, my reality, my grounding. I walked away from the fantasy but I'll never forget it.

super-secret nostalgia...

2009-09-09T10:38:00.000-07:00

WARNING: This blog is a little...PG-13 to possibly R-Rated. If you have any trouble at all acknowledging me as a sexual being, PLEASE do not read any farther. You have been warned and I cannot be held responsible for the outcome if you continue after this warning.

____________________________________________________________________

This morning while I was getting ready for work, I was listening to the Kidd Kraddick in the Morning radio show (as I do almost every morning), and they were talking about saying hurtful things to your partner and the motivation behind it, whether you really mean it or not when you say something in the heat of the moment, that sort of thing. As it usually does during a topic of this nature, someone pulled out the "I was drunk" excuse but not to use it or defend it--to call it out as false. One show member stated that he doesn't believe this is a valid excuse--that you wouldn't do or say anything drunk that you wouldn't do or say sober. I think this is patently untrue. While I don't necessarily think that you can say whatever you want to someone and then turn around after you sober up and blame it on the booze and try to say you didn't mean it, I don't think it's always one thing or the other--some statements or actions may have a kernel of truth in them, others may really just be the inhibitions flying away and allowing something to sound like a good idea at the time.

So this morning their discussion and that phrase, "I was drunk," brought up some old shit from the past. A boy, to be specific. A boy I've never disclosed my intimate involvement with, to this day. There's really not a good reason now to maintain this secret, as I'm not really in the same circle of friends & acquaintances as I was when this happened...Except that I'm still, well, abashed by it? I don't know. I don't want to say ashamed, but I'm certainly not proud. I am quite sure he feels the same way. I wouldn't know, because not long after we happened, he left town & I haven't seen or spoken to or even heard anything about him since. I'm not going to name names, and I'm going to keep the hints at a minimum, even though I sincerely doubt that anyone who is reading this would know him.

This old shit? I don't know why, but it all stays with me. The one-night-stands, the almost-boyfriends, the stupid mistakes and the really fabulous times--they all stay with me. And I dredge it up and share it with you all. So this morning...this boy from my past...

He was brown-eyed and pretty with dark hair and long eyelashes. He had a shy, quiet way about him which I found endearing. Not like I normally do, in that I want to corrupt it, but in the way that I found it precious. We met through the theatre. He actually dated someone I knew...I guess it was a pretty serious young relationship but I wasn't involved in it in any way. We had spoken when they were together, but I don't think we spent any more time than that with each other, and we were certainly never alone.

The way it happened, the way he & I ended up sleeping together, it seemed fated just because it felt so strange at the time--I mean, I would NEVER have predicted it, almost not up until...well, we'll get there together, darlings. I had that feeling I get sometimes when I'm not really in control of my own body--I feel almost like a puppet being tugged along by the strings of the fates, powerless to stop where I'm going even if certain disaster is looming. On this particular night, I went to see a play he was performing in. Ironically enough, my most recent ex-boyfriend was also in this play, along with The Boy and several other people I knew. I had actually already seen the play once before but came back, I'm not sure why, but I was probably volunteering at the theater as an usher or something that night. Here's where it gets interesting: I swear I could feel him watching me throughout the play...the whole time he was on stage. It was sort of bizarre, but I understood it because I've done the same thing; he never dropped character, never looked distracted, never lost his place in the scene...But I could feel his gaze on me. It was a bit...unsettling because I had honestly never regarded him that way before. Not that I didn't find him attractive, but he wasn't for me. I mean, he and I...I knew that was just not going to happen in any way, shape, or form. I never got that vibe of attraction from him...until that night.

So already, my senses are sort of humming and I'm on a sort of sexy high-alert. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting anything to happen, but the flirting seemed fun and harmless enough and this would just give it an extra sort of boost. After the show was over, I had to hang around to help clean things up, which meant I would be leaving at roughly the same time as most of the cast. I walked outside and there he was. We caught each others' eye. He came over to talk to me by my truck. I could feel him looking at me, and it was intense. I remember standing there, being completely unsure of myself--I had NO IDEA how to handle this! (I know this is hard to imagine for any of you who have spent time in my presence, particularly if you are male, but I promise, it happened just this way.) We talked, about what I have no idea, but we talked and flirted and stood there in awkward silence and neither of us could tear ourselves away from the other. He invited me to the cast party. I readily accepted. So we met up at the house where the party was already in full swing. We staked out a spot in the backyard that was far enough away from everyone else that we could have some privacy to talk and flirt and be awkward some more. The sexual tension built. My ex and his new girlfriend came over to us to say hello, and the vibe between The Boy and I was so intense, the ex and his new girl couldn't even stand to be near us. (Funny side note: The ex and his new girl actually wanted to hook up with me around that same time...Yes, the three of us. I didn't find her attractive and frankly thought the whole thing would be just too weird, even for me. But we had some fun talking about it.) Then along came a steady stream of other random theatre folks, guys in the play, etc., and NONE of them stayed near us for long. They would greet us, get the feeling they'd interrupted something, give us each a side-glance and then bolt for the hills. Subtlety has never been my strong suit and even with The Boy's natural shyness, we were just thrumming with...well, I think you get it.

As I'm sure many of you will understand, in my confused and heightened state, it sounded like a great idea to have a drink to calm myself down a bit. One drink led to a couple more and before long, I was nice and warmly drunk. Not falling down sloppy or obnoxious, but that perfect happy drunken medium we all try to maintain while drinking and either fall asleep or end up vomiting in a yard somewhere. It was early summertime and the night was mild. However, it was getting late and the party was starting to wind down some. Not that it mattered--we weren't engaged with anyone but each other. I kept saying that I needed to go home, to pry myself away from The Boy. I kept saying it but I didn't really act on it. Of course, then I got drunk and there was no way I was getting behind the wheel and driving myself home all the way across town. He offered to take me back to his place so we could watch a movie and I could sober up, then he would bring me back to my truck. This somehow managed to NOT sound like a pick-up line at all coming from his sweet, innocent mouth. I knew The Boy was not a player and if one of us should be afraid of the other, well, we all know I had the advantage of age and experience in this situation. So in my inebriated state and for want of any better options, I took him up on his offer.

Upstairs in his apartment, we laughed about our nearly identical movie collections. Needless to say, we did not end up watching a movie. We sat on his couch and talked, but it wasn't comfortable. I don't want to say it was uncomfortable, it was just...tense, but in a delicious way. There was some gazing into each others' eyes and some giggling and some looking away from one another. We settled in with me leaning against him, sort of under his arm, so we wouldn't have to look at each other at all, and we talked some more. When I finally did look up at him, he kissed me. I knew, and I think he knew, too, that it was the point of no return. I told him I didn't understand why he was interested in me. He said I was crazy if I didn't know how attractive I was. I retorted that I just never got that vibe from him. I asked him if he was playing me, or if he was using me to get back at his ex. He said he wasn't using me for that, and I don't think he was lying--but I do think he was using me as sort of a reasonable facsimile for her--our personalities were somewhat similar, at least to those who didn't know us well. I've found myself in that position before and I guess it should have bothered me but I got a strange sort of power charge from it--like, ok, you think I'm like her but I'm going to prove to you that I'm better and you'll never think of her again. That sort of thing. He asked me if I thought he was some sort of player. I told him he certainly seemed to have all the right moves and the right words, which usually indicates a boy is a player. He insisted that he was not like that at all. I believed him. He offered to take me back to my truck and I turned him down. I didn't want to tear myself away from the anticipation...the tension...the awareness. I still felt powerless to resist...I felt the inevitability of he and I together, just for this one night. It sounds sexy and romantic and in some ways it was, but in others it was just stupid and reckless.

Needless to say, after another hour or so of making out on the couch, we were both just...well, we needed to get it over with. So we went into his bedroom. There were no sheets on the bed. Hell, there was no bed on the bed...Just a mattress & box springs on the floor, with an egg crate on top. He apologized but by that point, I didn't care. We just laid down on the mattress and went for it. Unfortunately, it all ended up being rather...anti-climactic, I'm sorry to say. When it was over, I was sober and feeling numb but also empty...disappointed...angry...Though there was a strange satisfaction I still can't explain...I guess just because I got what I thought I wanted. But these feelings all were sort of muted and far-away (it's hard to explain--like an out-of-body experience but not). I got dressed while he waited in the living room. We both knew it was time for me to leave, so we went downstairs and got in his SUV so he could take me back to my truck. Even more unfortunately, it got worse. I made a stupid mistake and didn't make him use anything. I've been on the pill since I was 15 but yeah, it was dumb. So as we're on the way back to my truck, he looks over at me in a truly awful attempt to be funny and says, "By the way, I have an STD." I wish he had just punched me in the gut, because that's exactly what it felt like. My skin felt numb and on fire at the same time...I completely froze...He said, "I'm kidding! I swear!" I knew he was (yes, I knew his sexual history and there was just the 1 other girl), and I got the motivation behind what he was doing--trying to release some of the tension in a different way that had built up since we...well, you know. But it still blind-sided me. I mean, it could have just as easily turned out that way. We rode in silence until we got to my truck. I don't remember if we even bothered to kiss one another good-night. I got in my truck and drove home and fell asleep. I only saw him one other time after that and he wouldn't meet my eye. Not long after that, he was gone.

I said before that I don't regret it. I don't regret any of my choices, good or bad, "right" or "wrong." I learned something from this and had a new experience and made a (however unstable and brief) connection with another human being. Yes, I was drunk, but I wanted what I wanted--my body wanted what it wanted and I could not deny it. The alcohol just left me less able to fight...though I doubt the outcome would have been different if I'd been sober.

So this morning on the radio, I heard "I was drunk." And those sweet brown eyes and dark thick lashes peered back at me from my past. In spite of it all, I couldn't help it--I smiled.

Love,
Lola

Sarah says it best...

2009-08-30T18:57:00.000-07:00

"What ravages of spirit conjured this temptuous rage?
Created you a monster, broken by the rules of love
And fate has led you through it, you do what you have to do
And fate has led you through it, you do what you have to do
...And I have the sense to recognize that I dont know how to let you go
Every moment marked with apparitions of your soul
I'm ever swiftly moving, trying to escape this desire
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
But I have the sense to recognize that I dont know how to let you go
I dont know how to let you go
A glowing ember, burning hot, burning slow
Deep within I'm shaken by the violence of existing for only you
I know I cant be with you, I do what I have to do
I know I cant be with you, I do what I have to do
And I have sense to recognize that
I dont know how to let you go
I dont know how to let you go
I dont know how to let you go"
--Sarah McLachlan, "Do What You Have To Do"

I was listening to this song tonight and it managed, as music often does, to stir up some old shit as well as some current shit. I'm a Cancer, as many of you know, and that makes me nurturing, emotional, intuitive, and sensitive. I say this because we Cancerians have a tendency to hang on to old shit and dredge it back out, whether it be to ourselves (crying in the bathtub with a glass of wine listening to Sarah McLachlan) or to others ("bringing up old shit" with exes or currents or friends). We like to regurgitate emotions...we hang on to it, internalize it, marinate in it, wallow around in it, then bring it back up and chew on it some more. We are also occaisionally known to emotionally vomit these feelings onto others. This is really just me over-explaining that the song brought up some old shit.

The thing is, at varying points in my life, this has made me think of men with whom I've been involved, both past and present loves. I should explain that I do believe we can be in love with more than one person at a time, for very different reasons. I believe that we fall in and out of love with others depending on what they bring to us--our minds, our bodies, our souls, our hearts--at any given time through our lives. Even people who are in loving, committed relationships would likely admit to falling in love with someone else (yes, I'll go ahead and include harmless crushes and infatuations, but also close friendships). The lynchpin is how we do or do not act upon those feelings. I must say that as a married woman, I took a vow to remain faithful to my husband and I have upheld that. I also know that there are people who are in "open" but committed relationships and that is just fine for them. Of course, that's not really what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about finding something in someone else that connects with something inside you, in a completely different way than you're connected with anyone else in your life. This is possible without infidelity or physicality or any of that getting in the way, though I won't say I've never been physically attracted to other men. The difference for me is that the attraction remains pure fantasy. As for the rest of it, it's simply a connection, nothing more and nothing less.

That being said, these relationships that I've found myself in...Even when I'm given every sign that it is one-sided (mine) and that the other person has at least put on a good front of moving on, I don't know how to let them go. I think the thing for me is that I don't want to. I still hold out hope. These people, they have touched my life and shaped who I am today. I am friends with many of my exes, and I mean very close friends. I can't imagine my life without them even now. And the ones I'm not friends with? I still credit them with creating me--the woman I have become and the woman I am becoming.

You know what I find particularly amusing? When I've finally brought myself to the point of almost-letting-go, when I've gotten to that point in my mind and heart and sould to say "ok, enough is enough, let's move on and find something else," here they come again. It's like they know. One of my current fake boyfriends, aka Adam Levine, is particularly good at this. Just when I've gotten so angry and so tired of being ignored or disregarded or let down...I get a text. I get a message. I have a dream about him. I get some kind of re-connection and I am snapped right back to where I was before. It's heart-wrenching and exciting and glorious and awful all at once. Truth be told, my emotional instincts tell me that it's better this way--it's better to hang on, to maintain that faint thread of hope. Because I just can't let go. I don't know how to let them go...

Love, lust, friendship, soulmates...However you may define them, they are all connections that we forge throughout our lives. We all wonder "what if?" What if things had been different then, or what if things were different now, what would happen? Who would I be? I don't believe in dwelling in the past, but I certainly believe that we shouldn't forget our pasts. The past has shaped us, past, present, and future. So these connections I've forged, I'll keep. I'll hang on to them, despite the pain. Because the wonderful glory of loving and connecting makes it all worth it.

Love,
Lola

P.S. Please comment on this--I'm getting the feeling I'm not getting my point across because I'm keeping certain details from you. This is one of those posts I need to write but I'm not sure I've let it all out. Protecting myself and my loved ones is important to me, but so is expressing what I'm really feeling. I suspect that many of you will recognize that DA is certainly someone who is still on my mind even now, but I'm not sure how much of that to dredge back out here. So folks, if you're curious, if you want more details, or if you want me to just stop at this obtuse, vague rambling-type writing, then let me know. Your feedback is very important to me. ; .)

P.P.S. When I say comment, I mean comment on here or via Facebook or the email address I have on this blog (lolalouboutin@hotmail.com). I do NOT mean comment to me in person. It's hard to explain, but it's almost more difficult to be honest out here if I think you're going to bring it up face-to-face. It's also hard for me to hear from third-parties about what's on my blog. Does it make sense for me to ask that this remain somewhat separate? I mean, unless I bring it up in conversation myself...I hope this doesn't sound hateful or ungracious. I hope you can all understand. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it would help me if those of you who know me personally can separate this blog persona from the "real" me. Maybe it would help if I said that you shouldn't always believe what you read... ; .)

it's just not good...

2009-08-18T12:18:00.000-07:00

Dearest faithful readers (and unfaithful alike),

I'm terribly sorry it's been so long since I've written. I hate when I actually have a moment to check in on some of my favorite blogs and they haven't posted in months--it's so disappointing. I was on vacation, plus work is nutty, and for a while I was just feeling overwhelmed and uninspired, so again, I say I'm sorry. I'm assuming of course, that you have 1) checked this blog for something new and 2) are actually disappointed that there wasn't much there...Alright, let's just get on with this...Apology accepted? Good. Thank you.

I am having a supremely shit-tastic day today. It really started last night and has simply spilled over into today and the hits just keep a'comin'. I couldn't spend the night at the hospital with the DH last night (for those of you who are unaware, he had a "disk-ectomy with plating over C6 & C7" surgery yesterday morning). I couldn't because I'm not the kind of woman who is physically able to sleep in an uncomfortable-ass chair that doesn't recline or anything. I also needed to get home & take care of my kittehs, who were lacking air conditioning. (Yes, that's right, 2 days before the DH has surgery, the a/c goes down. We finally got someone to come out on a Sunday and we made the decision to replace the unit. Let's just say that our comfort apparently has some very expensive taste. Lucky for us, they finance. Anyway, the company that's taking care of us lent us a portable unit, so at least it's not 90 degrees in here anymore.) I didn't feel comfie leaving the cats alone with no air for so long, and neither did the DH. So he basically kicked me out. Leaving that hospital room was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. For one thing, I hate sleeping without him and I hate being alone in the house at night. I also just felt like an epic failure for not being able to stick it out. And honestly, I just wanted to be there to take care of him and look out for him and make sure he was doing alright.

So I came home, and I opened the bedroom window & got the vent hose all situated and plugged in that portable unit. I closed all the doors so the space was smaller and prayed for some quick cooling. Then I just started crying. Ya'll should know, I'm NOT a crybaby. No one would describe me that way--I HATE to cry and will fight it as hard as I can. But once I start? Oh hell, the floodgates are open, I might as well just let it all out. I texted the DH for some reassurance and we went back & forth a few times. I got completely freaked out at the thought of the window being open (back to that utter fear of being alone in the house) and kept hearing "noises" outside. So I read for about an hour then unplugged the portable unit and closed & locked the window. It was not cool. Not in any way, shape, or form. But I figured I'd rather be hot than on high alert fearing for my life all night long, so that was on me. This morning, I lugged the fucking thing back into the living room & got it all set back up out here so that DH wouldn't be suffering in here when I brought him home. (Note: It's actually fairly comfie in here, but probably only because we have all the bedrooms closed off and it's only in the 80's outside.) I knew the a/c guys were coming today and opted to clean out the cat boxes so they wouldn't be quite so offensive. Well, it was nice and cool and breezy out this morning, so I tried to open the window in that room. 15 minutes and another sob storm later, I still couldn't get the fucking thing open. So I just sucked it up and had sweat running everywhere, including into the litter. Blech. Once I had showered and put on a cute outfit and felt somewhat human again, I had some cereal and watched TV waiting for the DH to call & let me know he was being released. I had to stay here to make sure I let the a/c guys in. When the call came, I was READY, so I launched myself out into the world again to pick him up, hoping for a Starbucks run before we got home.

I got to the room and he was dressed & waiting for me, but wasn't in a very good mood. I don't blame him, he's uncomfie and tired and in pain, and normally I'm calm & rested enough to put it in check (nicely) or keep it in perspective. Today? Not so much so. By the time I got him home, we got into it and I lost my temper. I was cranky from having no sleep and worrying about him and he was cranky from pain & discomfort, which is just not a good combo. My mood was worsened at the realization that I would have to go to the pharmacy to pick up his pain meds. The pharmacy at the military hospital. Ugh. Plus Walgreen's for vitamins and other supplements. Double Ugh. I did make a side trip to Starbucks, feeling decaffeinated and blaming that for some of my crankiness. That perked me up a bit, until I got to the gate nearest the hospital pharmacy and was treated quite harshly by the gate guard. You see, I had the new car and I haven't gotten my post permit for her yet, but I had my military ID & figured they would want to inspect the vehicle then send me on my way. Nope. He made me do a u-turn and go to a DIFFERENT gate, where he told me I had to get a temporary pass to get on post. FMyLife! I started crying again! I wanted to tell him I was just going to the pharmacy and that it was RIGHT THERE and I could see it and please, I have my ID and my husband is at home waiting for his pain meds and I don't want him to suffer anymore...But I could tell he was not receptive. I could tell because he had already walked away from the car before I could formulate the thought. So I'm crying and driving and trying to pull myself together and all I have is my Starbucks napkin to dab my eyes (thank goodness this cry was snot-free!). I get to the other gate expecting an ordeal, and instead she looks at my ID, looks at the front of my car, hands my back the ID and says, "Have a nice day."

I get to the pharmacy and wouldn't you just know, it's crazy busy and they've got (yet another) new system for checking in and such, and the take a number machine is rather complicated for my simple mind...I'm standing there trying to figure the fucking thing out and people are lining up behind me and I feel like a complete imbecile! Finally, I get my numbers and go sit down. Some ancient Asian woman starts squawking at me and I nod and mutter something then go back to ignoring her. Suddenly, we all hear a scrape and a thud, and people start getting up and moving to just inside the front door...Someone fell down. Guess that guy's having a worse day than me. I felt bad for him, because he couldn't get up and everyone is just sort of standing there gawking at him (the employees were actually helping by sending for the emergency department and a doctor to tend to him and probably aren't allowed to touch him otherwise--I get it) and he was wailing and gnashing his teeth and people are staring. I couldn't see anything but his feet and noticed he was wearing a boot-cast on one foot and had a walker. I'm not sure if he slipped on the floor or tripped or what, but he had landed flat on his back. Ancient Asian squawks at me some more and I mutter some more back and again ignore her. They call my number (the 1st one--for me to turn in my prescription...er, DH's prescription), and I go and hand the nice lady everything and she takes my number and I go sit back down. I get my DS out to play and think that since someone just fell, I should probably pick my 'Bux cup off the floor and wipe up the moisture. As I do, I manage to spill my coffee drink (iced, luckily) all over my cute outfit. Great...now my boob is stained, my skirt is stained, and I smell like espresso. I throw it away and go back to my game. Fallen guy is still being tended to until finally, the ER stretcher comes down. The kicker? They can't take him back the way they came, they have to take him OUTSIDE and around to the ER entrance. Oh, and it's RAINING. Nice. He's wailing and crying (not that I blame him) until they wheel him out the door. I finally hear them call my number (again!), get my drugs and get the hell out of there. Yup, still raining. Good. I needed to get wet on top of everything else. Did I mention that my shirt is white?

Walgreen's was actually pretty easy, though I very nearly got into an accident on the way. I get the vitamins and I grab a cute Beanie monkey for DH as an apology for yelling at him. I get home and give the DH his goodies, get him medicated, and try to get myself situated to relax. I pick up the bag DH brought home from the hospital (one of his military-issue) and reach in it to get one of his other prescriptions out...and my hand is wet. WTH? Ah, I see...He just stuck the plastic mug they gave him (still full of ice) into his bag when we left...I thought he emptied it; clearly I was wrong. So his bag is soaked, the stuff in the bag is soaked, and yup, the couch and one of my dupioni silk pillows is soaked. Lovely. Waterworks #4 begins...I just can't help it. I'm feeling so frustrated and wrung out and overwhelmed...Poor DH comes in and tries to comfort me, which sort of makes me feel sort of worse, because I'm supposed to be taking care of him, not making him anxious about me. OK, let's regroup. I'm going to sit down & relax and get some lunch in my tummy.

No sooner do I finish my entree (hot dog & sunchips, if you must know), the guys come back and inform me that our hot water heater has been leaking and the platform is completely rotted and must be replaced. Oh, and it's going to cost $50 just for them to come out & look at it. Great. No choice in the matter, so there ya go. And here we are. I'm exhausted, my eyes are sticky, my clothes still smell like coffee and have brown spots...

Just to recap: No a/c, window won't open, 4 crying jags, spilled espresso drink, pharmacy line, rain, cranky Asian, recuperating hubby, near-accident, mean gate guard, lost mileage, leaky hot water heater, and construction/repair going on at the house. I'm also running on about 4 hours of crappy sleep in 2 days, the cats are being bratty, the dishwasher needs to be unloaded, groceries need to purchased, laundry needs to be done...All of my resources are running on empty.

On the bright side, I must say that having such amazing friends (they've kept me company, brought me food and drinks, checked on DH for me--AND one of his also-hospitalized co-workers!, and sent me thoughts & prayers & warm wishes that really did get me through yesterday. I don't want anyone to think that I have hit bottom--I know things could always get worse, I'm still very lucky, and I'm very grateful for everything.

If you're still reading this, thanks for "listening."
Love,
Lola

Update/footnote/postcript/whatever:The hot water heater has to be replaced as well. Yippee. Did I mention that I'm also having a bad hair day?

a little bit of this and a little bit of that...

2009-07-20T07:03:00.000-07:00

So, once again, those of you who followed me here from MySpace know that sometimes I add bits of history mixed with fiction and blurred memory. This style of writing is how I imagine my book will be, should I ever finish it to my own satisfaction. I'd like to share a short bit that came to me on Friday, and I'd like to know what you all think:

____________________________________________________________________

I walked into my boss' office to ask her a question. On her desk was a small plastic bag that said "Chik-Fil-A Seasoned Croutons." In that moment, I had a flash of memory so powerful it almost buckled my knees. Something so random, so unobtrusive...so seemingly innocuous as a bag of croutons that came with a salad from a fast-food restaurant...nearly brought me down. It was a strange flashback...happy and sad and nostalgic and bittersweet and everything a good flashback should be, I suppose. You see, I once shared a bag of croutons just exactly like that with a boy I'll call Stu. (I'll leave y'all to figure out who this is, and a big ol' batch of brownie points to the person who guesses correctly!) Stu & I had both been hired for seasonal employment by the lovely Eskimo Joe's Clothes that was coming to our mall for the Winter Holiday Season. (I'm not offended by Christmas season, but I'm trying to be inclusive here and I think that's a fairly open & respectful term. Again, this is a blog for another time.) We were there in a huge store piled high and packed full with boxes and boxes of t-shirts and sweatshirts and plastic cups and key rings and pencils and bandanas. Stu & I were in the first blush of our very long-standing and eventually very complicated flirtation. The way he smiled at me that day, when he offered me a crouton out of that baggie...I couldn't comprehend that that bright grin was meant for me. I had a boyfriend at the time, but Stu was single (I think--I wasn't very good at keeping track of his relationships because later, it mattered very little to me if he was seeing someone or not...I wanted what I wanted and I very nearly always got it).

At any rate, his smile...it did more than disarm me. It flipped my feelings for him inside-out. My intuition told me that he and I would end up tangled together emotionally and physically, but my reason wouldn't allow me to believe it. Turns out, my intuition was right, but that's a story for another day, children. On that day, that smile and those croutons were enough for me.

The day after the crouton-sharing flirtation incident, I was fired from that job because the woman who'd been hired to be the manager of that store was a complete idiot. I had 2 other jobs but had given her 3 days of the week that I could work and she couldn't figure out how to work me into the schedule. I so badly wanted to tell her that but for school and my other jobs, I could've easily been in her position, but I was too stunned to speak. I'd never been fired before (nor since) and I couldn't wrap my brain around it. I knew it wasn't for anything I'd done wrong but I cried nonetheless. Rejection stings, regardless of the source. I walked quickly past Stu on the way out and with one look, he had a pretty good idea what had happened. I knew he was sad for me but also sad that the possibility of the 2 of us would have to be postponed for another time. I called my boyfriend, who left work in the middle of the day to come home and mope with me over this stupid job at which I'd only worked for a few hours. He felt to both of us like a hero, at least for that day.

But Stu with his long-limbed fluidity and daylight-bright grin and his croutons and whip-smart jokes...He was still there with me, in my mind, my heart, my soul...I guess I should say, he is still with me. Stu is part of my history, my creation, my growth...he is hilarity and heartbreak and ice cream in bed and soaking in the hot tub and driving around aimlessly...There is so much more to this story, boys and girls, but I'm sorry to say that you'll just have to wait.

I hope you enjoyed this little snippet. Feedback, please.

All my love,
Lola

as if that wasn't enough...

2009-07-10T15:57:00.000-07:00

So, my Dad called me this morning to let me know that his mother (my grandmother aka MiMa) passed away. She had been in hospice care at home for over 5 years, so it's not like we weren't prepared for this. It's almost more of a relief because now I know she's not so uncomfortable anymore and that she's finally found some peace and respite. She lived a good, long life, and she fought really hard to stay as long as she could, but I know she was ready for this. And to be awfully blunt about it, we weren't close. Having older parents has meant having older grandparents. My paternal grandfather died when I was 2 or 3, so I don't really remember him. My Momsie was adopted by her aunt as a child after her parents essentially abandoned her, so her Aunt (aka Nana) was essentially my maternal grandmother, and she died several years ago. Needless to say, I'm not really close to anyone in my family beyond my parents. My siblings & I (there are a LOT of us, and that's a blog for another day) have our moments, but I wouldn't say we're close. It's alright; we're just not like that...I don't know how to explain it, but it works for us. (I will say that we ALL have our groups of what DH & I call "Framily," or "friend family," which is essentially family we've chosen for ourselves. I think they're just as important as blood relatives.)
At any rate, MiMa and I have never really understood each other or even spent a great deal of time together. I've often wondered if I would feel guilty about this after she died. Well, here we are, and I have to say I really don't. The effort wasn't there on either side. She was a very sweet, darling woman, but her favorite topic was who was sick, dying, and dead (and these were NEVER people I knew in any way). The grandparents never really participated in my upbringing or ever came to grandparent's days at school or attended my theatre or musical performances, and I never really went over there to visit with them. I tried attending church with them a few times, but even then, organized religion made me nervous (and nothing against the Church of Christ, but it's REALLY not my cuppa tea.) I guess what I'm trying to say in a really long-winded way is that I'm not really sad about it. I'm more sad for my dad and for her husband, who's left behind with Alzheimer's and diabetes, and I reckon he's probably not far behind her, sadly.

I'm also just sort of thinking that the timing of all this is really sucky, but whatever. I told a friend on the phone earlier that I've reached the point where if I don't laugh, I will break down and scream and cry and throw things, which is not going to solve anything. All these things have happened and/or are happening, and there's nothing I can do to change any of it. So all I can do is just keep moving forward, focused on the future. One day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time.

Lola

the latest but for sure not the greatest...

2009-07-09T15:52:00.001-07:00

Well, boys & girls, it's official: The DH is having spinal surgery August 17th. That's 2 days before school starts...in other words, CRUNCH TIME for me at my job. Imagine working in retail and having to tell your manager that you can't work the day after Thanksgiving or Christmas Eve...only my Black Friday and Christmas Eve are all rolled into one and repeated over & over for nearly 2 weeks. I hate doing this to my co-workers. I know they understand and are really supportive, and that if an emergency had come up, the result would be the same. But I feel that if I could do anything to prevent them from having to do my job at the worst possible time of year for them to be doing it, I would love to. Unfortunately, all I can do is pre-emptively strike everything possible, and stay on top of the current work so that I don't leave them in a deficit right out of the box.

This also means that we are cutting our precious vacation in half. I simply cannot take 2 weeks off, at the busiest time of the year, then come back for 2 weeks and then take 2 more weeks off to take care of DH. So instead of our lovely, leisurely drive down to Dallas to visit friends, then up to Washington with a week to hang out in Seattle...a new tattoo for me...the Seattle Aquarium...Pike Place Market...and great shopping, followed by a week of hanging out with his family and then his 20th high school reunion, then driving home? We get just the 2nd week, with the family and the reunion. There will be nothing leisurely about this trip. Not much in the way of relaxation or great shopping, and definitely no tattoo. No visiting Mecca for Coffee Drinkers (aka the original Starbucks!) and no going to the top of the Space Needle or spending the day at the Music Experience, if that's what we want to do. Instead, it's family and a huge group of people I don't know. Please don't get me wrong, I don't begrudge DH the family visit or the reunion. I bought a smokin' hot dress and a new Coach purse and some Louboutins so that I can strut in there and let them know that 20 years ago, I was starting 7th grade and how does that make them feel? (What can I say? It's good to be the "trophy wife.") I am sure we will both enjoy the reunion and relaxing on the farm and eating fish tacos at Cactus Ya-Ya. But none of this trip is about me. The me part has been cut right out. Yes, I know how selfish this sounds. Know what? I don't care. A vacation is all about being selfish, especially when you don't have any children to worry about. It's my bloody vacation, too, and I should be able to do something I want to do. We aren't going to Disney World or Boston as we originally wanted, and now we're not even going to the compromise part of the 3rd string vacation to Seattle! *Le Sigh* Honestly, though, it's not just the "me" part I'm going to miss, it's the "us" part. No quality time for DH & Wifey-Pooh (that's me, ya'll!) No romance, no dates, no nada. Just stress, family, rushing, and then hauling our a$$es back. I wish I could say I'm sorry if I sound like a bitter hag, but I'm not. I get that we're still lucky enough to take this time (I hope!) and at least won't miss out on his reunion. But it's not what we wanted. Not entirely, anyway.

I am lucky enough to have an amazing group of friends around me, who are all lending their love and support. Thank you all for that, and please keep it up! You shall be handsomely rewarded.

Freaked out but loved,
Lola

Deciding what to share & an update on the sitch...

2009-07-08T11:57:00.001-07:00

Even though I am now posting my blog on this very public forum, I struggle with what I can/should/will disclose here. I always get caught in a war between wanting to share and get feedback and support or even arguments, versus protecting myself and thereby my loved ones as well. As of right now, I will try to give you a picture of what's going on while still maintaining some semblance of privacy. That's also why I haven't really updated my profile on here--I'm trying to figure out what to keep & what to give away, as it were.

Here's a vague idea of what I'm dealing with at the moment:
As of right now, my life is in complete turmoil. Work is crazy, my house is a mess, and all my near-future plans are up in the air once again. The DH has a herniated disk between C6 & C7 vertebrae, and his medical team all believed that while surgery was a likelihood, physical therapy would help enough for a while. Right about the same time this diagnosis was handed down, we had some other turmoil with his employer (AKA the US Army) deciding that he had been stateside long enough & it was time to get him out of the country. Our choices were pretty unattractive: Move to another post elsewhere in the country, from where he would likely deploy to the Middle East; or, he would volunteer to go to South Korea for a year so that he would be able to return to our home here. However, his medical team has decided that he cannot put off the surgery for a year while he is deployed, so it must be done very soon. They've scheduled the surgery for mid-August, which is the worst possible time for me with regard to my job. So we're trying to massage the dates a bit, a 6-month deferment on his orders is likely, and EVERYTHING we were planning for the next month or 2 is up in the air. I'm overwhelmed, upset, frustrated, scared, and just downright mixed up. I'm trying desperately to be strong and smart and keep everyone at least satisfied...I have so many proverbial balls in the air that something will have to give, and soon.

I don't care to get into my feelings/wishes/hopes/dreams for my DH's career right now, but suffice it to say, I would be totally happy to have him become a civilian. I know that financially it's not the best move, but I also know that money doesn't matter to me as much as my DH does. I'm just trying to get through one day at a time, but it's hard to keep re-arranging my thoughts and feelings to keep up with all the turmoil.

I've said this before, but again, for the new folks, let me say: I don't want pity or sympathy. I want support. I don't want to be told any bullshit about how "it'll all work out" or "it's ok" or "it could be worse." I'm perfectly aware of all of those things. Just try to imagine yourself in my position right now and think about what YOU would want to hear before you offer up your sentiments. I'm just trying to get through, all I can do is all I can do, and I know that it will work out however it's supposed to.

Wishing for Peace & Calm,
Lola

The keys to Lola...

2009-07-06T16:51:00.001-07:00

...or at least some help in understanding some of my commonly-used terms:

DH=Darling Husband, or Damnit Honey! They mean the same thing anyway. lol

DA=Dumb Ass, though they're also his initials...he's a particular obsession of mine. Those of you who are following my blog from MySpace to here know all the gory details. (Well, most of them, anyway...) Those of you who are new to this with me should have some background. However, it's too long for me to post right now, so I'll get into that one later. Suffice it to say, he is still one of my "favorite" topics.

Splenda Daddy=My Splenda Daddy has the title of fake boyfriend #1. He's older than me, but he doesn't actually give me money or pay for my housing or feed me or sleep with me or anything. So he's not a sugar daddy but a sugar substitute. Hence, Splenda Daddy. He's just a darling, gorgeous older man with whom I am slightly obsessed.

Adam Levine=My #2 fake boyfriend. He would likely prefer that I call him William Shatner (have I said too much?!), but the 1st time I saw him, he reminded me of Adam Levine. In fact, I called him that. At any rate, he's a tall, gorgeous blue-eyed obsession of mine. I just can't figure him out and it makes me crazy...

The Original Future Husband #2=Well, this is sort of self-explanatory, no? He & I agreed to be each other's 2nd spouses, long before I got married even. He's not married yet, but he once told me he wanted enough kids to have his own baseball team, so he better get crackin'. That's why I agreed to be Wife #2. #1 can have the kids & raise 'em, then they can support us in our trailer down by the lake...

Let's see, what else? I suppose those of you who don't know me might be a tad confused. Suffice it to say, I'm madly in love with my DH and completely faithful. HOWEVER, I am an incorrigible flirt, and that is why I have all the extra boyfriends & such. They make my wonderful life even happier.

I'm a Pastafarian. If you don't know what that is, get thee to http://www.venganza.org/ IMMEDIATELY and begin your new education.

I don't want children. I don't like children (with the exception of a special few). They make me uncomfortable to an extreme degree. However, nearly all the charities I support are children's charities. Figure that one out.

I don't believe in the death penalty anymore. To learn about the case that changed my mind, please visit http://www.wm3.org/. For a more impartial look at the case, check out http://www.trutv.com/, click on the TruTV library and search "West Memphis Three." See also "Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills" documentary. If you already believe our legal system is broken, this will infuriate you. If you think our legal system is totally fair and impartial, this will rock your world. It can happen to you.

I'm an actress, a singer, a dancer, a movie slut, a TV addict, a relentless flirt. I love Havianas flip flops and Christian Louboutin heels. I follow fashion and love makeup and jewelry, but I am not afraid to be seen in public wearing Victoria's Secret jammie bottoms. I love food & wine, good conversation and dark humor. I'm wild and complicated and random and actually quite in love with myself (in a healthy way, of course!) but I'm not above making an ass of myself or being the butt of a good joke. I'm intelligent but also known to be kind of a dingbat. I love a good argument, Monty Python, text messaging, and photography. I love aquariums, road trips with my husband, tattoos, piercings, and postcards. I read...I read A LOT! Books, magazines, cereal boxes, the newspaper, online gossip, you name it. I cannot be summed up.

I leave you with the immortal words of Evita Peron as imagined by Andrew Lloyd Weber:
"Have I said too much? There is nothing more I can think of to say to you...But all you have to do is look at me to know that every word is true..."

Hugs & Kisses,
Lola

Introduction

2009-07-06T11:29:00.000-07:00

Hello All, and welcome to my new blog. My name is Lola Louboutin, so chosen because 1) whatever Lola wants, Lola gets and 2) because I love shoes and Louboutin's red soles speak to my red soul. That being said, however, I must say that this blog will not often be about shoes. (I can't say I will never write about shoes, because I do freakin' love shoes!) There are plenty of shoe blogs out there who can and will continue to do it better than I ever could. All in all, Lola is my alter-ego. I'm writing this blog because I love sharing, venting, arguing, explaining, and emotionally vomiting on line for others to read and commisserate with. Those of you who know me are already familiar with my style. Those of you who don't, I hope you will get to know me and allow me to get to know you as well.

Just to warn you all, I'm super-random and this blog will also be all over the place!

Thanks for your time and welcome along on this new journey I'm taking!
Lola