Isadora (2002-2011)...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the invisible sky daddy...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Respectfully and lovingly,
Lola

control...

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you all,
Lola

i know it's been a while...

I'm sorry, my lovely Lola fans. I haven't written for a while, for several reasons. Largely because I've been incredibly busy and overwhelmed, both at home and at work. But also, instead of suffering from a lack of inspiration, I've had several topics in my mind...rolling around like rocks in one of those polishing tumblers. The problem is, I'm either unsure how to approach them, afraid of putting it all out here for the world to consume, or I've already emotionally vomited enough on Facebook and I feel purged. But today, my darling Jack (as in the Jack to my Karen) listed my blog on his blog and it reminded me that I haven't written. And I felt a little guilty. So here we are.

So today, what's weighing so heavily on my mind, in addition to the stress I'm under at work and the overwhelming amount of things I need to take care of at home, are the mid-term elections, not to mention the issues my state voted on yesterday. I take voting very VERY seriously (it's not just a right but a privilege and an honor), in spite of feeling it's largely pointless in my case, being a blue dot in a red state (though I feel compelled to point out that I did vote for 2 Republicans yesterday, because I vote for PEOPLE not for a PARTY). I feel like, even if my desires have been completely obliterated by the majority, hey, at least I tried...I put my voice out there to be drowned out by everyone else's. But it's so frustrating. It's scary right now, and I'm not saying that to be dramatic.

I'm afraid of losing my rights. I'm afraid of my loved ones losing their rights. I'm afraid of my loved ones never being accepted, never being given equal-footing in this allegedly free country. I'm afraid that my right to choose, that my desire to never be a parent or to be pregnant, will be ripped violently from me. Yes, I'm on birth control and we are planning on a more *ahem* permanent solution. But let's face it: I come from an extremely fertile line of people and birth control is far from 100% safe. I refuse to apologize for my feelings and I ADAMANTLY refuse to be celibate for the rest of my child-bearing years. So who the fuck are these politicians to tell me I can't have an abortion?!?! Is it REALLY that much better to bring even more unwanted children into the world?!! I want to see more of these fucking "pro-lifers" put their goddamned money where their mouths are, by adopting unwanted special needs crack babies. I can't even imagine the resentment I would feel toward the world if I were to get knocked up and then be FORCED to carry that child to term because of some BULLSHIT religious beliefs that have nothing to do with me and should have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with law and policy in this country.

Beyond that, I'm afraid that my homosexual friends, my lovely and amazing LGBTQ and just flat out unsure friends, my flaming queens and my lipstick lesbians, and even my gay Republicans, will continue to be marginalized by the religious right and the social conservatives. I hate that the people in this country who squawk the loudest individual liberties are the very same people who want to take mine away. For people who claim to be all for personal freedom, freedom from an over-bearing government, they sure do seem intent on ensuring that so many Americans will never be truly free. They tell me that my beliefs (or lack thereof) make me un-American. They claim that two men who fall in love with each other and wish to get married somehow negate or denigrate my heterosexual marriage. How is that even possible?!?! The so-called fucking "sanctity of marriage" that the heteros have been violating for CENTURIES is so precious, we have to keep it away from the queenie boys and the bull dykes who want nothing more than to commit themselves to their lovers for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health...They don't want anything more than what the rest of us straight-folk have been taking for granted.

I'm sad that my state voted a governor into office who feels superior to me and other women who do not have children. I'm sad that an abusive, narrow-minded bigot like Sally Kern is not only given a platform in this state but re-elected to her post. I'm embarrassed that my state felt it necessary to pass anti-Muslim legislation. I'm embarrassed that my state feels it is above federal health-care legislation. I'm embarrassed that my state demands that you read and speak UH-MUR-ICAN or GET THE FUCK OUT!!! (Disclaimer: This only applies to "fur-ners" who ain't from here. These red-blooded UHMURICAN kids don't need to learn a fucking thing in school, let's just give them all ribbons and trophies and tell them they're glorious and unique and special no matter what they do!)

But you know what? I'm not fucking leaving. For one thing, I can't (har har). In all seriousness, if I left, that would be one less blue dot in this ocean of red. If I left, that would be one less person in this state demanding equal treatment, equal pay, and equal rights for all of us. One less person to stand up against the bullies, the ignorant, the racist, the mis-informed, and the flat-out delusional. So I stay. I stay and I fight and I push and I write and I scream and I do whatever I can at any given moment to further the cause, to remind people that we are all the same on the inside, that we can make a difference. I will make a difference. So to all my fairies, twinks, bears, lipsticks, dykes, asexuals, queers, lovers, queens, and my fellow straight allies, I will not stop. I hope I never let you down. I will stand by you and I will keep pushing until we find ourselves on a truly level playing field. To those who still believe that same-sex marriage is wrong, then here's a novel idea: DON'T MARRY SOMEONE OF THE SAME SEX!!

To my fellow Pastafarians, Atheists, to the agnostics and those disillusioned with organized religion: We're in this together. Let's prove that there's life after the fairy-tale that is the Bible, that church isn't the answer for everyone, and that one can be a good person and have a strong moral code without it being dictated by religion.

To my fellow women who believe it's their right to chose how and when and if they reproduce, to my friends who are mothers who don't want any more children, and most especially to my pro-life friends who agree that there are still certain exceptions where abortion should be allowed and should not further traumatize the woman: Let's get together on this and make sure our rights aren't eroded. If you're so pro-life that you don't believe an abortion is appropriate in any case, then here's a novel idea: DON'T HAVE ONE.

I'm here. I'm staying. Get used to it. I will not be quiet and I will not back down.
DEFIANTLY,
Lola

just some words of experience...

I've been feeling lately that there are some things I need to share. I'm not typically given to dispensing unsolicited advice (or am I?), but I have some phrases that keep swimming around in my brain and I feel like they need to be put out here. And away we go...!

Just because you love someone does not mean you get to be with them. This is absolutely one of the HARDEST lessons I've had to learn in my life. This is also one of my most fundamental issues with the traditional Christian version of "Heaven." What about the people I love who don't love me back? Do I get some facsimile of them in Heaven? What about people who loved me but are not loved back by me? Does that mean I'm sentenced to spending eternity with them in Heaven--because that sounds WAY more like Hell to me. What if they're in Hell? What if someone in Heaven wants to be with me in Heaven, but I'm in Hell? Or vice versa? How can it be Heaven if I know someone I love is in Hell? (Yes, I recognize and acknowledge that this is one of the justifications for Christians trying to convert the rest of us. I still think it's BULLSHIT. JMHO.)

I've loved many many people who did not love me back. I have never stopped loving most of them. I couldn't stop, even if I wanted to. I can rattle off a handful of names right now. It doesn't hurt any less, but I've accepted (as much as I can) that the love is all on my end.

There is a difference between like, love, and in love. I firmly believe for a relationship to be successful, you need all three, though not necessarily in equal amounts or at the same time. For example, I love my family because they're family...but there are plenty of times I don't necessarily like them. Sometimes, the longer you're in a relationship, the more important it is to like the other person than to be in love with the other person.

Sometimes, relationships just flat don't work out. There may be a reason, there may be many reasons, or there may be no tangible reason at all. The other person may have been distracted, or feel they can't give you their best. Or you pick your nose and they find that off-putting. Or you just don't smell right to them. Perhaps they just decide they need to be elsewhere at that moment in time. Just remember that there is absolutely NOTHING YOU CAN SAY OR DO that will change their mind. If that change is to happen, it will take time and it will absolutely be on the OTHER PERSON'S time line. It's perfectly fine if you no longer feel the same way about them.

I truly think you can be absolutely IN LOVE with more than one person, at the same time. Different people invoke different reactions within us, but different does not equal less powerful. I wish we didn't feel that we had to stifle these reactions or fight against them. I think in a lot of ways, polyamorists have it right.

Sex does not equal love. Love does not equal sex. We must stop thinking of these actions as being mutually-inclusive.

Just because you don't like someone doesn't mean you have to be hateful to them. There are plenty of people I don't particularly care for, but I RARELY go out of my way to be mean to them. Stupid assholes are an exception to this.

As blunt and honest as I am, I still sometimes find it difficult to be honest about certain things. Mostly things that could make my life "better" or "easier" but would bring hardship to someone else. So...honesty is NOT always the best policy.

A dear friend once said to me, "Please know that just because I don't call and I don't get to see you as often as I'd like, it doesn't mean I don't think about you. It never means I've stopped caring. It just means life gets in the way sometimes."

If I had it all to do over again...I wouldn't. Because I'm happy with the woman I've become, and I don't believe I would be ME if I hadn't gone through what I've gone through. All the stupid things I did and continue to do must simply be chalked up to learning experiences.

That being said, don't be afraid to do something stupid, especially when you're young. Trust your instincts, though, your gut-feeling is there for a reason. You'll know immediately when you disregard that inner-voice that you shouldn't have done that.

I think this might be all I have to say about it all. For now, anyway...

Affectionately,
Lola

it's a little bit funny...

*Le Sigh*
I have a little bit of a sad today, and I'm just not exactly sure why. Part of it is that I'm overloading myself with this particular anniversary by watching the History channel all day today. I'm a little bit of a tragedy magpie (if that makes any kind of sense) in that instead of collecting shiny objects (though I do love a good shiny object!) I find myself wallowing in any given tragedy, collecting stories and anecdotes. I have this compulsive need to try to understand what cannot ever fully be understood. I did it with the OKC bombing, with the JonBenet Ramsey murder, with the West Memphis 3 (still a favorite cause), with Matthew Shephard and Harvey Milk, with WWII, and of course, 9/11. I read books and I watch movies and TV shows and read articles and just generally obsess and try try try try to comprehend it all. But I never do. And I never will. But you know what they say--"those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it." Yet for all of my obsessing, rarely do I fully let myself REALLY feel it. It's just too overwhelming to let it all in at once. I'll never forget how shaken I was after watching "United 93" in the movie theater. The entire audience just sat there through the credits, silent (save for some sniffling), absolutely unsure how to process what we had just experienced. I got up to go to the bathroom on my way out and nearly fainted in the stall. When it hit me, it hit me hard and my legs shook, my hands shook, and one of those god-awful silent sobs welled up in my chest. As for the real event, witnessing September 11, 2001 in real time, even all these miles away, I still can't grasp it. I remember thinking, "Plane...into...building? How is that possible?" Part of it was the Okie in me, so used to low, tornado-prepped buildings and wide-open skies. Part of it was the sheer shock of it all, of realizing our world would NEVER be the same again. Knowing that the current class of college freshmen don't really remember a world before 9/11 is unsettling to me. Then again, we didn't really understand tragedy at my age until April 19, 1995 (and I use the word "understand" VERY loosely). I suppose nearly every generation has their event, their "Pearl Harbor." But 9/11 was different, somehow. And while I can in NO WAY claim her as a friend or really even an acquaintance, I did lose a classmate at the Pentagon that day. I think of her smiling, gorgeous senior yearbook photo every year at this time. I think about my fellow classmates who were close to her. I try not to think about her last moments, I simply hope they were painless and somehow peaceful.

I'm also a little sad because I miss the DH. Our time apart is growing shorter each day, but it also seems to stretch on almost endlessly. In spite of my strength and fierce independence and contentment and distractions, I know I am not my complete self when he is not with me. Marrying him allowed me...it gave me the freedom...to become the woman I always wanted to be. And I will never be able to express to him my gratitude and unending love.

Luckily for me, I have wonderful kitties who give me loving snuggles and remind me that food still must be poured into their bowls every morning and fresh water must be added to their fountain. I have a lovely home with comfortable furniture where I may retire after a long day. I have a wonderful job that I really do love. I have loads of sick time and vacation days available if/when I need them. I have amazing, supportive, wonderful, generous friends who get me through the dark spots, even if they don't realize they're doing it. I have my Puma Bait for glorious flirtation with absolutely no-strings-attached. I have a fabulous, ever-evolving fashion sense and hot pink hair and some pretty damn cool tattoos. My bills are paid and there's food in the kitchen. My family is for the most part healthy and doing well, also. I have so very much to be grateful for and I am, every day.

But some days, the sad just catches up. Some days I just don't want to talk about it, because anyone to whom I would speak about it already knows exactly what I'm feeling, so there's no need. So some days, I just don't have the energy to keep the smile up. Some evenings, I just need to sit here on my sofa in Mutts pajama pants and a black sweatshirt, kitties purring contentedly nearby. Some days the laundry doesn't get done and the dishes don't get washed and I have pretzels and peanut butter for dinner, with Twizzlers for dessert. Some evenings, I just can't convince myself to do anything but sit here and watch TV and try not to think about anything but this moment. Right now. So that's what I do. And that's what I'm doing.

Sadly, but gratefully,
Lola

some days ya gotta dance...

Some of you may already know this about me, some of you may have no idea: I love to dance. And I used to be quite the party girl in college and for a few years thereafter. In other words, before I got married and settled into being an old married lady. The other night, I actually got the urge to go out to the club and dance my cares away. I know how ridiculous that sounds, but I also know that it used to keep me sane. When I was single, there were a lot of nights I would do almost ANYTHING not to be alone in my shitty apartment. Those 5 rooms were so depressing sometimes that I almost couldn't bear it. Factor in the lack of central heat or A/C and it's pretty easy to understand why I went out so much. Funny thing is, I probably drink more now than I did then. (And I certainly drink better quality stuff now!)

Many Friday and/or Saturday nights, I would get dressed up in some ridiculously cute outfit, occasionally bordering on the very inappropriate but fun, climb into my vehicle, and head out. I usually went alone, thinking that would keep me out of the drinking kind of trouble but allow me to engage in the naughty kind of trouble, if I so chose. I would listen to my "Goin' Out" compilation CD, with all the glorious randomness of the B-52's, Destiny's Child, Monifah, and Blondie, and I would sing my heart out and wiggle along to the beat while I drove. I went out to one particular club so often, the bouncer at the front recognized me by my tattoos. (I wore wigs a lot back then, so my hair and makeup always looked VERY different from night to night!) I would make a round, see who I could see, feeling bold and sexy and free. If a good song came on, I got on the dance floor. And I didn't gravitate to the middle of the floor, hoping to hide from the spectators, oh no, I stayed out on the edges and put on a fucking show. Sometimes I would pick a boy to dance for. Sometimes boys would try to dance with me and get shut the fuck down. I was ruthless if I wasn't interested. If I was interested, well..."ruthless" also applies. Most of the time, though, I wasn't after anything. I just wanted to DANCE. To sweat and to make myself sore and tired and thoughtless. To literally shake off everything that built up on me for the week before. To talk if I wanted to talk or to just shut the hell up and dance my ass off. To drape myself on some hot boy during a romantic country song, singing into his ear and then walking away.

When I was exhausted and couldn't take any more, I would leave. Sometimes alone, sometimes not. If I was hungry, a stop at Whataburger or Taco Bell was a must. I would go home reeking of cigarette smoke and sweat and pheromones. Too tired to shower sometimes, I would just put on my PJ's and fall into bed, hair still stinky and sometimes even still sweaty. It was delicious. And if I didn't go home alone? Well, a shower was inevitable.

So this past weekend, I thought for a few brief moments about putting on my favorite jeans and a sexy top, mussing up my hair, spritzing on some perfume, and chumming the proverbial waters at the club. I didn't do it, obviously. I realized after those few brief moments that it would be insane of me to do it. I wonder now how I didn't get myself hurt or killed back then. Some of the choices I made, well, they're for another post, darlings. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret a fucking thing. Matter of fact, I've said before that the only things in my life that I would remotely consider regrets are missed opportunities to hook up with a boy. Not all the times I did hook up with boys. Of course, my objective had I gone this weekend would have had nothing to do with boys and everything to do with me dancing and dancing and sweating and dancing until I had nothing left.

Some days, ya just gotta dance.

Sweatily,
Lola