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
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
stupid subconscious...
"You're still in love with me," he says from my unconcsious, "aren't you?" I shake my head weakly as I try to process seeing him...and seeing him with her, no less...It hurts me. It shakes me to the core. Every. Fucking. Time. You were in a suit, and you looked at me like I was the most pathetic creature you had ever seen, and yet...and yet, not like you hated me. I know you don't hate me. But...
Why, DA? Why must you continue to haunt me? My mind, my heart, my body, my memory, my subconcious...Why? Just when I realize it's been...however long since I thought of you last...I realize that by thinking about not thinking about you, I've now started thinking about you again. And I don't want to think about you anymore. But I also don't want to not think of you ever again. I'm still learning how to navigate this. I still see it, you know--our future. I see the paths that we didn't take that could have brought us together...but the point is and always will be that we didn't take them. So even though what could have been is not what is, the possibility will always remain that what could have been will become what could be.
Ah, whateverthefuck. I'm rambling.
And to OFH2, I still hold out hope for you, too. I realize now that your imminent deployment caused you to throw me under the proverbial bus so that it would be easier for you to leave. I'm so tired of being treated this way. You have no right to devestate me, to demolish what we had, just to make your life easier. Here's the truth of the matter: Until you actually find the balls to tell me to fuck off, and I mean literally tell me in writing or verbally to "FUCK OFF," I will still be here. My hope, my sad, strong hope, will stay with me until you murder it. So do with it as you must.
Dreamily,
Lola
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
Saturday, February 13, 2010
putting the "fun" in "funeral"...
So I just got home a bit ago from my step-grandfather's (H.B.'s) funeral. He was married to my MiMa for 25 years before she passed this last summer, so he's essentially the only grandfather I've ever known. It's sad for his children and grand-children & great-grand-children, but the man lived a lovely, full life for 88 years. We should all be so lucky. His health was declining and he'd been struggling with diabetes for years, followed by Alzheimer's and most recently, lung cancer. There's sadness but also relief, because we know that he's no longer suffering. Death is a release for the dead, it's those of us left living who have to figure out how to carry on. I'm not going to lie to all of you--I wasn't close to him, but I did love and respect him and appreciated how much he loved me and my family after he married my MiMa. He was a very sweet and loving man and I'm proud to have known him. His children were all very sweet and receptive to me as well, and I wish them all the best as they carry on their lives without him.
The service was fine and I sometimes get tickled at people and things they do and say...In particular, I saw an "LOL" (little old lady) carrying a HUGE Louis Vuitton bag and wearing REALL UGGS and tights and a freakin' snowflake sweater vest and she was just so cute in that quirky old lady way. I think she was at my MiMa's funeral, too, because I remember that LV bag...
It was also nice at the graveside service, because H.B. had been in the Navy in his younger years, and so my brother had procured an honor guard of three sailors. Bless their hearts, they were so precious! I know how emotionally draining that detail can be, as the DH has served on funeral detail for the Army and has told me stories of how difficult it can be, even at the services of complete strangers. Two of them undraped the flag from the coffin and held it up for as as the third played "Taps," actually factually on a real bugle, and it was lovely. It's a sad song but also peaceful and respectful and it was just right. Then the two folded the flag (and the youngest cutie pie had some struggles because he wanted to get it just right, and he was shaking and so nervous and so determined to get it just right...how do you not fall just a little bit in love with someone who cares so much?) and they handed it to H.B.'s oldest son, and it was just...lovely. It was a nice moment and I'm glad to have witnessed it. I went to each of them after the service was over and shook their hands and thanked them for being there and for their service, and that I knew how difficult that work can be, but that we were ALL so grateful they were there.
I did try to behave, to smile reassuringly, to hug on my Daddy, to offer love & support to my family members there, and to be a good daughter and funeral-goer. HOWEVER, I must admit that because I am not a Christian, and would in most cases describe myself as a mix of Pastafarian/atheist/agnostic, I find the entire ritual surrounding death for Christians to be rather disconcerting and even off-putting sometimes. First of all, most of my father's side of the family are very religious--some Church of Christ, some Baptist--so we already don't see eye-to-eye on that subject. But I try to be at least respectful of their customs and beliefs, even when I think they're really strange and even ridiculous. A lot of this started for me when my step-mother passed a few years ago. She was married to my father for years and years, and she was also in very poor health when she passed. So of course, I had to go to the family visitation hours, also known as...THE VIEWING. What gets me is this whole putting the body on display thing. I do NOT want to look at a dead body. I don't want to be in the same room as a dead body. I do NOT want to EVER be put on display as a dead body. It's just so ick and oogy and weird and wrong to me. It makes me extremely uncomfortable because it's really just all so much rotting flesh and whatever it was that made the person THAT PERSON is gone. What's the point of looking at the shell? It got even more awkward for me when MiMa passed and the entire sermon at her service was about how the spirit lives on and the body is just a shell...then why the hell are we all parading past this open casket to look at the dead shell?!?! This makes no sense...did I mention that already? They never look real or natural or right in that state. And sometimes listening to the sermons just makes me want to laugh out loud, like that scene in "Heathers" where Wynona Ryder is laughing at the football players' funeral.
But listen, in all honesty, just because I don't believe in this stuff doesn't mean I begrudge others their beliefs. I totally understand why people would cling to this explanation of what might happen after death, and why it would bring them peace and possibly even make them better people in life. So far, I respect them and they respect me and at this point, I haven't had to argue much with those folks in my family. Believe me, if I feel the need to fight with them to make myself be heard, I will do it, but for now, I'm content to keep my mouth shut and leave them to their beliefs.
Naturally, being at a funeral makes me think of what I'd like for my own service. I'm not entirely sure where such a thing would be held, as I don't worship anywhere in a traditional sense, don't belong to any sort of church community...What I do know is that I want it to be FUN. Sad, yes, with wailing and gnashing of teeth and sorrow, of course, but mostly FUN! I want there to be wine and cheese and hysterical laughter and GREAT STORIES about me...tons of pictures of me and my family and friends and wonderful memories...feathers and flowers in riotous colors like hot pink and purple and red and orange and yellow...beads and glitter and candles. I want MUSIC...I want songs to be played and listened to and sung and celebrated as part of my life. I want everyone there to remember what I brought to their lives, be it joy or aggravation or both. I hope there are still folks around to remember me. lol I DO NOT want to be put in a box and buried in the ground...I want to be cremated and to have my ashes scattered, half in Monterey Bay and half in Boston Harbor. I want people to know that if they need me after I'm gone, all they need to is search within their hearts and there I'll be in all the great memories they have of me.
I guess that's all I have to say about that.
Love to you all,
Lola
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
Monday, January 18, 2010
to OFH2:
To my darling Original Future Husband #2:
I have something else I must get off my chest, proverbially speaking. I am completely at a loss as to what I could have done to suddenly make you hate me so much that you would want to see me in this emotional distress. I have this awful, wonderful gift of knowing men better than they know themselves, so I suspect that you have some bizarre guilt or regret for telling me what you did. You shared a secret with me and I will protect it to my last breath. But for some reason, you now distrust me. And/or you distrust yourself. Either way, it's terribly unfair to me, and frankly, to yourself.
I probably shouldn't admit this, but even if you called me right now and told me to fuck off and die, that you never wanted anything ever to do with me again and that I should forget you ever existed...it wouldn't change how I feel about you. I would still be here anytime you needed me. In all truthfulness, I thought we had a friendship that would last. I took it for granted that you would always be there...that I would always be here...and that someday, far in the future, the deal that we made so long ago would be honored.
I will never understand a man's ability to simply shut off anyone or anything he finds unpleasant, or to discard whomever he is finished with, without word or justification of any kind. All I'm asking is for a reason, for your truth, for your honesty, and for your presence. Your absence, the current black hole of nothingness I'm currently experiencing from you, is awful. It's torture of the worst kind. If you want to tell yourself that I'm being crazy, or overdramatic, or that I'm asking too much of you, then I guess that's what you have to do. It would just be a great relief to me in the long run if you could relieve me of this suffering by sharing that feeling with me.
What this boils down to is me asking you to look under your sofa for your balls so that you can just tell me the fucking truth and get it over with already.
Thanks,
Lola
I have something else I must get off my chest, proverbially speaking. I am completely at a loss as to what I could have done to suddenly make you hate me so much that you would want to see me in this emotional distress. I have this awful, wonderful gift of knowing men better than they know themselves, so I suspect that you have some bizarre guilt or regret for telling me what you did. You shared a secret with me and I will protect it to my last breath. But for some reason, you now distrust me. And/or you distrust yourself. Either way, it's terribly unfair to me, and frankly, to yourself.
I probably shouldn't admit this, but even if you called me right now and told me to fuck off and die, that you never wanted anything ever to do with me again and that I should forget you ever existed...it wouldn't change how I feel about you. I would still be here anytime you needed me. In all truthfulness, I thought we had a friendship that would last. I took it for granted that you would always be there...that I would always be here...and that someday, far in the future, the deal that we made so long ago would be honored.
I will never understand a man's ability to simply shut off anyone or anything he finds unpleasant, or to discard whomever he is finished with, without word or justification of any kind. All I'm asking is for a reason, for your truth, for your honesty, and for your presence. Your absence, the current black hole of nothingness I'm currently experiencing from you, is awful. It's torture of the worst kind. If you want to tell yourself that I'm being crazy, or overdramatic, or that I'm asking too much of you, then I guess that's what you have to do. It would just be a great relief to me in the long run if you could relieve me of this suffering by sharing that feeling with me.
What this boils down to is me asking you to look under your sofa for your balls so that you can just tell me the fucking truth and get it over with already.
Thanks,
Lola
I hate this...
I'm filled with a loneliness and restlessness that cannot be abated by anything but the one thing I cannot have. Work, TV, movies, shopping, drinking, eating, friends, relatives...they are all but blips of distraction in this dark empty sky filling my soul. Alone with myself, I can only think of what I am missing right now.
My fake boyfriends are of no use to me at the moment. They bring me no joy or pleasure, only disappointment and sadness and disregard.
Please don't ask me if I want to talk about this with you. I don't. I can't physically bring the words from my mouth that can express what I am going through and to say them aloud makes the feelings all too real. Besides that, talking about them does no good. It doesn't ease the heartache and it doesn't change this reality. It is what it is and there is nothing before me but time, stretching into a length of unbearability.
This is what no one talks about: The loneliness. It's so much worse than I ever thought it could be. It's not just about missing someone, or being alone. It's not just about being deprived of physical affection. It's not just about having to be fiercely independent once again, after years of being part of a team. It's all of that and more that I can't put into words. And that there is absolutely nothing that can be done to fix it until the time comes for it to be fixed. I question the decision, the reality, the necessity...None of it seems right. It's not right. It's wrong, all wrong, but there is no correction for it. Only minutes turning into hours turning into days and weeks and months...It is all so overwhelming at the moment.
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.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
...is this thing on?
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
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
Monday, December 28, 2009
there's just so much...
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
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
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