There is nothing like a trip to my local WalMart to remind me of just how much I loathe people in general. First I got gas at Sam's, and my anger-fire got stoked there right away. The lanes for the gas pumps are CLEARLY marked by signage AND paint that they are ONE WAY. People who have gotten gas at Sam's more than once should be aware of this. So WHO THE FUCK do these assholes think they are, going the WRONG WAY and thwarting all of us who are waiting in line the RIGHT way because we are decent human beings?! Is their time more valuable than mine? Apparently they think so. "Fuck you, I drive a gas-guzzling SUV for NO reason other than that it's BIGGER than your vehicle and BY GOD, I'm going to get MY gas however it suits me and you can kiss my ass!" That's essentially what they're saying to the rest of us who bother to do things the right way.
Then...WalMart...CROWDED...No baskets, only buggies. Great. Assholes. I need 3 fucking items and I have to push a cart around becuase they're too awkward to carry loosely. Fine. I get my cart, I put my cloth shopping bag and my purse in it and head toward the back of the store. I get my stuff. I ignore my brain screaming for COUNT CHOCULA LUCKY CHARMS BEN AND JERRYS CAKE PIE CANDY COOKIES CRACKERS MORE CHEESE POPCORN SNACKMIX DOUBLESHOTS POPTARTS MOUNTAIN DEW!!!!! I get my 3 items (milk, roasted red pepper hummus, and whole grain pita chips, if you must know), I push the unwieldy cart up to the front of the store and holy sweet mother of George Carlin the lines the fucking LINES! All the 20-items or less lines are backed up across the main aisle. All the regular lines are just as bad and of course, those people have more items. So I just pick a line and get in it, figuring they're all about the same, what's the difference? All the folks in front of and around me have 2-5 items, so I figure it won't be that bad. After a few minutes of no movement in front of me, I crane my neck to see the woman in front of the young man in front of me...ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!?! She was doing a week's worth of grocery shopping!!! So here we are again, with this woman, this dumpy middle-aged soccer mom in a baggy t-shirt and matching dumpy shorts and fake blond hair, is saying to the rest of us that she is better and more important and she will do WHATEVER SHE PLEASES because NONE of us have the BALLS to confront her about it.
Look, I have my moments of rebellion, but they never (to my knowledge) inconvenience those around me. I am a selfish person. I can freely admit this and I'm ok with it. I'm selfish about the things I provide for myself, selfish about my time, selfish about the people I love, and selfish about many other things I don't need to list here. But because I'm really not, at heart, an asshole, or a disrespectful cunt (oh yes, I went there), or completely oblivious to those around me, and I manage to be a bitch while still being considerate, I'm unwilling to cut in lines or go the wrong way at a gas pump or blatantly ignore the "20-item or less" signs. I'm unwilling to assume that my time is any more valuable than that of other people. I'm unwilling to think that I'm more important than those behind me.
I could lament the loss of common courtesy, I could bemoan our society's sad ways. But really it's just a series of decisions we each make at any given moment. The "me first" attitude is something that is taught, just as good manners and consideration are taught. So please, all I'm asking is for each of you to THINK for a moment before you do something. CONSIDER the repercussions before you act on your own behest and disregard the feelings of those around you. All it takes is a handful of generous moments to make their day better. And this will make my day better. Which in turn makes your day better, because you don't have to read my ridiculous, screedy blogs anymore about what assholes people are.
Peacefully,
Lola
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
and now for something a little bit different...
Alright, I've got to write. I've got to vent but not at all in an angry way, just in a sort of word-vomity way. I actually had another blog started last night before my wireless internet decided to shit the bed...I saved it as a Word document and filed it away. I've got a lot on my mind, a heavy heart, and a burdned soul. None of this is crushing or overwhelming, but I'm feeling kinda beat-down right now. And some of that is my fault. How, you ask? Well, because I keep forgetting that it isn't about me. Things people say and do and how they behave...not about me. Even if sometimes it is. Even though I try awfully hard to make it about me. I'm tired. I'm sad. I want things I can't have. Please don't think of me as ungrateful. I know how lucky I am, and I've written about that before. I'm thrilled with so many things. But isn't it human nature to want more? To desire something other than what we have? It's hard to fight that, even in times of true contentment. And I'm far from content right now.
OFH2 and I are in a weird place right now. There's pressure, there's stress, he's on his way out of the country for another deployment and is so stressed-out, he's actually looking forward to it. With everything he's carrying around, I sort of get that. But selfishly, it makes me sad because he won't be near me again, and possibly for a very long time. I want time with him--just a couple of hours or so, for a meal, drinks, or a cup of coffee. I have fears that cannot be addressed and I just want to see him again for a little bit before he's gone again. It's been about 5 years since I saw him last, and it's been too long. Because in spite of my...oh, let's call it obsession...and our long-running history of flirtation and missed opportunities, he's my friend. And above anything else, I'm his friend. I'd like to be there for him. If not now, when? This is not to much to ask, and yet...it is. But you know what? In the end, it's not about me. As much as I would like it to be, it's not about me.
Shit, this isn't helping. There are things I am thinking about that I can't talk about. Things I need that I can't ask for. Things I want that I have no right to want. I miss people. I miss places. I'm wallowing in memories and clinging to fantasies and just wishing for a slightly better reality. And then I feel like an asshole because I know how much better off I am than so many others. So again, even when it is about me, it's not about me.
And I know that other people are busy and stressed out too, and that they have other things going on and sometimes the timing just sucks. You guessed it...Not about me.
Maybe I'm just tired and stressed-out and overwhelmed with work and emotional flotsam and I need a nap. Or a vacation. Or a drink. Or...well, you get the idea. And quite frankly, there's nothing that anyone can say or do to fix it. I just have to keep my head up and work it out, or plow through it, or whatever, until I'm in a better place emotionally.
Thanks for suffering with me, and I'm sorry for such a whiney blog. I'll try to do better next time.
Gratefully,
Lola
OFH2 and I are in a weird place right now. There's pressure, there's stress, he's on his way out of the country for another deployment and is so stressed-out, he's actually looking forward to it. With everything he's carrying around, I sort of get that. But selfishly, it makes me sad because he won't be near me again, and possibly for a very long time. I want time with him--just a couple of hours or so, for a meal, drinks, or a cup of coffee. I have fears that cannot be addressed and I just want to see him again for a little bit before he's gone again. It's been about 5 years since I saw him last, and it's been too long. Because in spite of my...oh, let's call it obsession...and our long-running history of flirtation and missed opportunities, he's my friend. And above anything else, I'm his friend. I'd like to be there for him. If not now, when? This is not to much to ask, and yet...it is. But you know what? In the end, it's not about me. As much as I would like it to be, it's not about me.
Shit, this isn't helping. There are things I am thinking about that I can't talk about. Things I need that I can't ask for. Things I want that I have no right to want. I miss people. I miss places. I'm wallowing in memories and clinging to fantasies and just wishing for a slightly better reality. And then I feel like an asshole because I know how much better off I am than so many others. So again, even when it is about me, it's not about me.
And I know that other people are busy and stressed out too, and that they have other things going on and sometimes the timing just sucks. You guessed it...Not about me.
Maybe I'm just tired and stressed-out and overwhelmed with work and emotional flotsam and I need a nap. Or a vacation. Or a drink. Or...well, you get the idea. And quite frankly, there's nothing that anyone can say or do to fix it. I just have to keep my head up and work it out, or plow through it, or whatever, until I'm in a better place emotionally.
Thanks for suffering with me, and I'm sorry for such a whiney blog. I'll try to do better next time.
Gratefully,
Lola
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
i'm so loneleee...
Let me preface this by saying something: I'm writing this blog because this is the stuff I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT. OK? So I'm writing to get it out. I'm not going to call any of you and weep through a lame conversation about how lonely I am. I'm not going to show up at your house and talk about how much I miss...them. Yes, them...I'll get there in a minute. So when you read this, DO NOT MENTION IT TO ME. If you have a comment, great, put it on here or on Facebook. But I know...I KNOW that there are those of you who will say, "you can talk to me anytime, you know" and yes, I know that. BUT I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. Don't you understand that some things are just too painful and/or too unsavory to be spoken aloud? SO DON'T BRING IT UP? MMMMMKAY? Alright. Now we've got that settled, let's move on.
I'm so lonely right now, it's physically painful. It's bone-deep. The kind of lonely that there's not enough wine and chocolate in the world to cure it. Yes, there's the obvious, that the DH is not here. But also one of my favorite exes (the one I broke up with to marry the DH--he's still a very close friend) just deployed for the 4th or 5th time. Oh, and OFH#2? Yup, he's also deploying again...his 3rd or 4th time. So literally ALL my husbands are out of the country at once. And I'm still dealing with the emotional shut-down of OFH#2...I know what we have and I refuse to give up on it. I will continue to fight until he finally does tell me to "fuck off." I haven't heard that yet, and as a matter of fact have been encouraged by OFH#2 to stick around. I just wish he would let me in a little bit more. Ah well...the only proof I have that I'm not going anywhere is to just be patient and not go anywhere. I'll be here, if you're reading this, OFH#2...No matter what. So don't ignore that if you're ever in need.
And of course, what would one of my blogs be without mention of DA? Yes, I still miss him. Right now, it's so much more the friendship than the flirting. I had someone who knew & understood me, to whom I could speak about anything without judgment. Of course, the sexual tension just made the conversations more interesting. Plus there was so much reassurance in the flirtation...I'm running low on tension-filled male contact right now, and I don't like it.
The sting of rejection from Adam Levine has lessened very much over time. But I'm not going to lie...it still REALLY hurts my feelings to be rejected so completely for no good reason. To wonder if people think I'm psycho because they didn't get the fun part of the whole thing. I'm trying to subvert it ya'll, I really am. I'm striving for glorious indifference. I'll get there. Eventually.
Oh how I miss all my boys. On a positive note, though, I DO have a new fake boyfriend! His nickname is Puma Bait. He swears to represent for the younger men. He's TOTALLY adorable. He's a little bit different from the others, though, in that he's married and has a baby. He says his wife is totally cool like my DH is totally cool, so the flirting has a green light. However, there's no room for inappropriate text messages...*sigh* And I only get to see him when he comes to visit me...so we'll see how this all rolls out. I'll keep ya'll posted.
Now. I'm off to have another drink and go to bed.
Love,
Lola
I'm so lonely right now, it's physically painful. It's bone-deep. The kind of lonely that there's not enough wine and chocolate in the world to cure it. Yes, there's the obvious, that the DH is not here. But also one of my favorite exes (the one I broke up with to marry the DH--he's still a very close friend) just deployed for the 4th or 5th time. Oh, and OFH#2? Yup, he's also deploying again...his 3rd or 4th time. So literally ALL my husbands are out of the country at once. And I'm still dealing with the emotional shut-down of OFH#2...I know what we have and I refuse to give up on it. I will continue to fight until he finally does tell me to "fuck off." I haven't heard that yet, and as a matter of fact have been encouraged by OFH#2 to stick around. I just wish he would let me in a little bit more. Ah well...the only proof I have that I'm not going anywhere is to just be patient and not go anywhere. I'll be here, if you're reading this, OFH#2...No matter what. So don't ignore that if you're ever in need.
And of course, what would one of my blogs be without mention of DA? Yes, I still miss him. Right now, it's so much more the friendship than the flirting. I had someone who knew & understood me, to whom I could speak about anything without judgment. Of course, the sexual tension just made the conversations more interesting. Plus there was so much reassurance in the flirtation...I'm running low on tension-filled male contact right now, and I don't like it.
The sting of rejection from Adam Levine has lessened very much over time. But I'm not going to lie...it still REALLY hurts my feelings to be rejected so completely for no good reason. To wonder if people think I'm psycho because they didn't get the fun part of the whole thing. I'm trying to subvert it ya'll, I really am. I'm striving for glorious indifference. I'll get there. Eventually.
Oh how I miss all my boys. On a positive note, though, I DO have a new fake boyfriend! His nickname is Puma Bait. He swears to represent for the younger men. He's TOTALLY adorable. He's a little bit different from the others, though, in that he's married and has a baby. He says his wife is totally cool like my DH is totally cool, so the flirting has a green light. However, there's no room for inappropriate text messages...*sigh* And I only get to see him when he comes to visit me...so we'll see how this all rolls out. I'll keep ya'll posted.
Now. I'm off to have another drink and go to bed.
Love,
Lola
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
indignant.
I am indignant. I'm indignant about religion, about the rights of others that are constantly violated around the world, about dumb fucking morons at work who make my life difficult. I'm indignant that anyone feels they have the right to judge me. I don't judge anyone unless they say something fucktarded to me or they're wearing socks with sandals. (Oh, and I will judge a man for wearing shorts above his knees. Can't we all just agree to abolish both of these looks forever? Good. Moving on...)
I refuse to be quiet. I refuse to nod and smile politely when people piss me off. I refuse to continue to keep my feelings to myself when a wrong needs to be righted. I'm angry. I'm offended. I'm tired. I do feel like I'm sort of constantly doing battle right now. A lot of this has to do with the circumstances of my life at the moment, and there is little I can do about it. There is only so much "going with the flow" I can maintain. So I'm willing to continue the fight for as long as it takes.
Every day, I learn more about myself. Religion is a HUGE issue for me right now. So children, let me tell you all a story, something about me you may not know:
I used to go to church. I used to sing in the church choir. I used to be a leader in our youth group. And I loved it. I loved the feeling of peace and community I got when I was worshipping and celebrating that being that Christians call "God." I felt a connection. Not just that, but for a time, I seriously considered going into the ministry as a profession. The idea of celebrating and inspiring others to feel that same connection...of performing for God, in a manner of speaking...it spoke to me. Not long after that, however, something happened that shattered my peace and comfort in that church. I do not care to get into the details of that particular fiasco at this time, but suffice it to say that as a 17-year-old being told she was not allowed to participate in the youth group anymore was unfairly devestating. I tried to find my footing again, I really did. But it was made abundantly clear to me that I was no longer welcome there. IN THE HOUSE OF GOD. What would Jesus do, indeed?
So for many years after that, I considered myself more spiritual than religious. I still liked the idea that there was something out there bigger than all the rest of us. I liked the idea that I could send my hopes and dreams, spoken aloud or silently, out into the ether and have faith that someone or something would hear me and do something about it. I saw "God" in the beauty of the world...in the colors of flowers waving in a light breeze. I felt "God" in the rays of sunshine warming my face. In the love of my friends. In the companionship of my pets. I offered up thanks to that being for all those tiny joys. I always expressed gratitude before I asked for anything, if I felt worthy of asking for anything at all. But the humanity with all it's hypocrisy and failings was what really turned me off of traditional church and the structure of organized religion. So I shrugged that off in favor of my own private form of worship.
Recently, however, I have come to believe that this life is all just a cosmic accident. We are who we are purely by accident of birth. Argue with me all you want, but that's where it all begins. I don't see the hand of a higher power in our world. I see accidents. I see anomalies. I see evil. I see hatred. I see a whole lot of shit that just doesn't make any sense. I mean, give me a break--these people who thank God for helping them through a leg of "The Amazing Race" or the people who thank God for allowing them to avoid an accident or some other catastrophe--answer me this: Does that mean God is raising a big ol' middle finger to people who didn't win that particular leg of the race? Is God saying "fuck you" to people who are in accidents or other catastrophes? "FUCK YOU, DEAD BABY, I'M A VENGEFUL GOD AND A SELFISH GOD AND IF I WANT A BABY OR A DOG OR A PERSON OR ANYTHING AT ALL I JUST TAKE IT AND YOU HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT BECAUSE I'M THE HEAD MOTHER FUCKER IN CHARGE." Extreme? Sure. But I think you get my point. People thank God when something good happens but blame each other when something bad happens. Save for that one guy, no one ever sues God when shit goes bad--people blame each other. They give all the credit to God and burden him with none of the blame. They thank him for things that make them happy and then lash out at their fellow man for not playing along with their plans. If God is all-seeing and all-knowing and in control of everything, then HE is letting or causing the bad things to happen. And don't give me any bullshit about the devil or Satan or whatever...I really don't believe in that shit, and I never did, even when I did call myself a "Christian." Frankly, that's a whole argument I don't care to get into right now. This is MY blog people, deal with it or go away. The invisible sky daddy didn't create us. Christians don't have the corner on "Heaven." We are all a cosmic accident. A smashing together of atoms and millions of years of evolutionary develpment and regression, all muddled together on this planet we call home. Nothing else explains our circumstances to my satisfaction.
So I've been calling myself a Pastafarian (if you don't know what that is, go to www.venganza.org and get educated)-slash-agnostic-slash-atheist. After watching "The Atheism Tapes," however, I've come to realize I'm more of an anti-theist. Meaning that I don't believe in organized religion at all, I don't believe in "belief" and I frankly think religion has caused much more harm than good in the world. See also "Religulous," Bill Maher's spot-on documentary about religion.
Frankly, I could write a novel about this stuff but I think others have said it before and likely said it better. It boils down to this: I don't judge anyone for what religion they practice, if they do at all. I don't try to convert anyone to my way of thinking, I only ask that they TRY to see my side of it. I have a great deal of empathy and understanding for other people. I get why some folks would be drawn to that sense of community and fellowship. However, I don't have a hole in my life that needs to be filled with that. I like my Sunday mornings quiet and peaceful. They involve coffee and CBS' Sunday Morning, the Sunday newspaper, and relaxing with my family. At the end of the proverbial day, I like to believe that I'm a good person because I choose to be. I'm not perfect, I fuckup regularly. But I learn from those mistakes and I try not to repeat them. But I try very hard to do the right thing every day. Not because I believe there's some "invisible sky daddy" wagging his finger at me from the clouds, keeping some fucking obnoxious tally on a damn abacus and waiting for my judgment day to come so he can tell me just how badly I fucked up. I do it because I believe in being a good person. I believe in love. I believe in helping people. I believe in sticking up for those who can't or won't stand up for themselves. I don't believe in anyone or anything but my own inner voice telling me how to live my life day by day. I express my love and gratitude for the people in my life. I treat every phone call with a friend or family member as though it could be our last conversation, always ending it with "I love you." But I refuse to participate in some mocked-up, cobbled-together, hypocritical practice of loving each other and judging everyone else once a week for two hours wearing fancy clothes and being judged by everyone in the place for the fancy clothes or my hair or whateverthefuck. You go your way, and I'll go mine. I walk no one's path but my own and no one else is walking mine.
That being said, I sure do love Christmas music. Don't judge me.
Love,
Lola
I refuse to be quiet. I refuse to nod and smile politely when people piss me off. I refuse to continue to keep my feelings to myself when a wrong needs to be righted. I'm angry. I'm offended. I'm tired. I do feel like I'm sort of constantly doing battle right now. A lot of this has to do with the circumstances of my life at the moment, and there is little I can do about it. There is only so much "going with the flow" I can maintain. So I'm willing to continue the fight for as long as it takes.
Every day, I learn more about myself. Religion is a HUGE issue for me right now. So children, let me tell you all a story, something about me you may not know:
I used to go to church. I used to sing in the church choir. I used to be a leader in our youth group. And I loved it. I loved the feeling of peace and community I got when I was worshipping and celebrating that being that Christians call "God." I felt a connection. Not just that, but for a time, I seriously considered going into the ministry as a profession. The idea of celebrating and inspiring others to feel that same connection...of performing for God, in a manner of speaking...it spoke to me. Not long after that, however, something happened that shattered my peace and comfort in that church. I do not care to get into the details of that particular fiasco at this time, but suffice it to say that as a 17-year-old being told she was not allowed to participate in the youth group anymore was unfairly devestating. I tried to find my footing again, I really did. But it was made abundantly clear to me that I was no longer welcome there. IN THE HOUSE OF GOD. What would Jesus do, indeed?
So for many years after that, I considered myself more spiritual than religious. I still liked the idea that there was something out there bigger than all the rest of us. I liked the idea that I could send my hopes and dreams, spoken aloud or silently, out into the ether and have faith that someone or something would hear me and do something about it. I saw "God" in the beauty of the world...in the colors of flowers waving in a light breeze. I felt "God" in the rays of sunshine warming my face. In the love of my friends. In the companionship of my pets. I offered up thanks to that being for all those tiny joys. I always expressed gratitude before I asked for anything, if I felt worthy of asking for anything at all. But the humanity with all it's hypocrisy and failings was what really turned me off of traditional church and the structure of organized religion. So I shrugged that off in favor of my own private form of worship.
Recently, however, I have come to believe that this life is all just a cosmic accident. We are who we are purely by accident of birth. Argue with me all you want, but that's where it all begins. I don't see the hand of a higher power in our world. I see accidents. I see anomalies. I see evil. I see hatred. I see a whole lot of shit that just doesn't make any sense. I mean, give me a break--these people who thank God for helping them through a leg of "The Amazing Race" or the people who thank God for allowing them to avoid an accident or some other catastrophe--answer me this: Does that mean God is raising a big ol' middle finger to people who didn't win that particular leg of the race? Is God saying "fuck you" to people who are in accidents or other catastrophes? "FUCK YOU, DEAD BABY, I'M A VENGEFUL GOD AND A SELFISH GOD AND IF I WANT A BABY OR A DOG OR A PERSON OR ANYTHING AT ALL I JUST TAKE IT AND YOU HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT BECAUSE I'M THE HEAD MOTHER FUCKER IN CHARGE." Extreme? Sure. But I think you get my point. People thank God when something good happens but blame each other when something bad happens. Save for that one guy, no one ever sues God when shit goes bad--people blame each other. They give all the credit to God and burden him with none of the blame. They thank him for things that make them happy and then lash out at their fellow man for not playing along with their plans. If God is all-seeing and all-knowing and in control of everything, then HE is letting or causing the bad things to happen. And don't give me any bullshit about the devil or Satan or whatever...I really don't believe in that shit, and I never did, even when I did call myself a "Christian." Frankly, that's a whole argument I don't care to get into right now. This is MY blog people, deal with it or go away. The invisible sky daddy didn't create us. Christians don't have the corner on "Heaven." We are all a cosmic accident. A smashing together of atoms and millions of years of evolutionary develpment and regression, all muddled together on this planet we call home. Nothing else explains our circumstances to my satisfaction.
So I've been calling myself a Pastafarian (if you don't know what that is, go to www.venganza.org and get educated)-slash-agnostic-slash-atheist. After watching "The Atheism Tapes," however, I've come to realize I'm more of an anti-theist. Meaning that I don't believe in organized religion at all, I don't believe in "belief" and I frankly think religion has caused much more harm than good in the world. See also "Religulous," Bill Maher's spot-on documentary about religion.
Frankly, I could write a novel about this stuff but I think others have said it before and likely said it better. It boils down to this: I don't judge anyone for what religion they practice, if they do at all. I don't try to convert anyone to my way of thinking, I only ask that they TRY to see my side of it. I have a great deal of empathy and understanding for other people. I get why some folks would be drawn to that sense of community and fellowship. However, I don't have a hole in my life that needs to be filled with that. I like my Sunday mornings quiet and peaceful. They involve coffee and CBS' Sunday Morning, the Sunday newspaper, and relaxing with my family. At the end of the proverbial day, I like to believe that I'm a good person because I choose to be. I'm not perfect, I fuckup regularly. But I learn from those mistakes and I try not to repeat them. But I try very hard to do the right thing every day. Not because I believe there's some "invisible sky daddy" wagging his finger at me from the clouds, keeping some fucking obnoxious tally on a damn abacus and waiting for my judgment day to come so he can tell me just how badly I fucked up. I do it because I believe in being a good person. I believe in love. I believe in helping people. I believe in sticking up for those who can't or won't stand up for themselves. I don't believe in anyone or anything but my own inner voice telling me how to live my life day by day. I express my love and gratitude for the people in my life. I treat every phone call with a friend or family member as though it could be our last conversation, always ending it with "I love you." But I refuse to participate in some mocked-up, cobbled-together, hypocritical practice of loving each other and judging everyone else once a week for two hours wearing fancy clothes and being judged by everyone in the place for the fancy clothes or my hair or whateverthefuck. You go your way, and I'll go mine. I walk no one's path but my own and no one else is walking mine.
That being said, I sure do love Christmas music. Don't judge me.
Love,
Lola
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Malaise...
PG-13. Again, if you have any trouble imagining or dealing with me as a sexual being, read no further.
I find myself in a rather strange funk lately. My sleeping habits have gotten all fucked up, and I don't know why. It's likely not any one particular reason, just a combination of things, or even a different thing every night. I don't want to write on here about my job, or my work. I'm very fortunate to have the job that I do, and I absolutely love my job. But we're going through some "changing pains" at that joint, and everyone is stressed to the max and working even harder than usual. So complaining about it just isn't right, because we're all in it together, and we're all employed. I know that the stress and whatnot are likely contributing to my sleep dilemma, but that's not the only thing. I'm sure a few food and beverage indulgences, combined with no workouts this week, are all aiding my insomnia. Let's also give credit to my darling kittehs, my crappy phone, and my natural sleep cycle (which I must fight every day of my working life).
So I'm tired. I'm cranky. I feel...somewhat out-of-sorts. Lonely. Bored. A strange combination of restless and exhausted. I know that all of this is temporary--a sort of lull between wonderful days of joy and elation. I'm doing my best to just put my head down and barrel through it. This, too, shall pass.
Luckily for me (and unluckily for you, darling readers), I have no personal drama happening right now. I have made a couple of feeble attempts to stir some up, but don't seem to have the energy for it at the moment. Not enough emotional wherewithal to deal with anything more than what I'm already dealing with.
I would love to write about some beautiful boy from my past, one of the lovely sculptors of the woman I have become. But I don't have a good narrative floating through my brain at the moment. Right now, I'm experiencing more random flashes of memory. Just bits of emotional flotsam from many moons ago that seem to float to the surface and then drift away from me again...
Sheepskin auto-seat covers. A voice that could melt snow. Quirky smile. A strange love of James Bond films. Popcorn for breakfast. Shower sneak-ups (this man was like a fucking ninja...he would creep into the shower with me when he got home from PT in the mornings and scare the bejeezus out of me). Pizza delivery. Amazing, lovely sex. An out-of-town breakup. Reunited. More great sex. Separation. Another breakup, this time with him completely out-of-country. Closure. Contentment for both of us.
Silly gossip. That REM song "Stand." Gratuitous flirtation. Raging, unfulfilled sexual tension. Years of flirtation punctuated by sometimes months of silence. April Fools' Day. Bath & Body Works floorsets (we worked together). Desperate attempts to get him to kiss me, to no avail. Sweet and sexy text messages. Chris Farley. A longing I cannot put into words.
Davidoff Cool Water. Trashcan punch in the backyard. Blatant, public makeout sessions. James Taylor & Counting Crows--sad drunk. Red pickup truck. Beer. Wacky roommate. Ex-girlfriend drama. Sex on the pool table in the back room. Waterbed. New Year's Eve. Abandonment. Resignment. AOL Instant Messenger. A second try. White polo shirt. Tan. Camaro. Really fun date making waves being seen in public together again. Misunderstanding. Jealousy. Accusations. Love, but not love. Or maybe love, just not in love. Angry, awkward sleep. Resentment. More resignment. Wondering...
Wesley. Tweety Bird. Gorgeous blue eyes. Notes passed between classes. Walking me home from school. Movie quotes. Very intense teenage makeout sessions. First love. Longing. Need. Flannel shirt. Falling asleep together on the phone. Should have given in, but didn't. Regret? Maybe...maybe not. Hard to say. Ugly breakup. First real heartbreak. Friends again? Sure. Back and forth and back and forth and now...nothing.
Skater boy. Jams. Vans. Sleek black bangs falling over one eye. A tiny, multi-fold note pressed into my hand after school one day: "Will you go out with me? Y/N Circle one." Mad strange crush. Mutual friends' encouragement. Halloween carnival--he went through the haunted house with a cheerleader from another school and that was the end of that. Years later...we saw each other again. Wanna go out? Um...maybe...sometime...um...no, thanks. Still wonder about him, too...
Brown eyes and sandy hair. British Knights (with red snakeskin!--swoon!). Card tricks. Light As A Feather, Stiff As A Board. Belching "Yankee Doodle Dandy." Musical theatre. Really mad crush. First boyfriend. First kiss. FIREWORKS. Torch carried for YEARS. First ex-boyfriend whose wedding I attended.
Curly hair and roguish hazel eyes. Older. Very mature, to my young eyes. Full time job, rented house. Pothead. Sexy as hell. Naked on first date (him, not me). Wonderful cologne-scented candles. Newport menthols. Totino's pizza and ranch dressing. Smoking cigarettes in bed. "Empire Records." Piranha + Vienna sausages = hours of entertainment. Boone's Farm Strawberry Daiquiri. Sex. Sex. More sex. Hours of sex. Gatorade. More sex. Breakdown. No conversation. Tears. I can't do this anymore. Whatever happened to him? All I know is that he married the next girl he dated.
I would really like to know what became of most of these boys...the ones I don't know about, of course. A few of them I'm still in contact with. Others? I haven't seen or heard from in years. The girl they knew in me misses them still, in that strange misty-water-colored-mem'ries kind of way. I don't hate any of them. Don't harbor any anger toward them. I would LOVE to run back into them someday...to talk to them again--online, in person, it doesn't matter. Just to reconnect with those moments. Even if it's only for another moment...
Longingly,
Lola
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
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
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