"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... ; .)
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
it's just not good...
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?
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?
Monday, July 20, 2009
a little bit of this and a little bit of that...
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
____________________________________________________________________
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
Friday, July 10, 2009
as if that wasn't enough...
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
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
Thursday, July 9, 2009
the latest but for sure not the greatest...
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
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
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Deciding what to share & an update on the sitch...
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
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
Monday, July 6, 2009
The keys to Lola...
...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
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
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