WHAT? MONDAY

Gentle Readers,

A new work week has begun for those of you fortunate enough to have jobs. I hope you can take a minute away from the games you play in the office to answer the What? Monday question, which is

What has been your moment of greatest joy up to now? Or, what part of your life has been the happiest?

It's pretty obvious that my greatest joy was the birth of my two children. They had eyes, nose, fingers, toes . . . everything they needed, especially the required equipment to create wet, shitty diapers. Oh well. Wet and shitty just goes with the mom job unless you can afford a nanny.

I wish I could say my wedding was a joyous occasion, but I can't remember it. I think THIS IS A MISTAKE was buzzing so busily in my head that I couldn't pay attention to the ceremony going on around me. So it was a mistake, and yet it wasn't -- because I got my kids out of it. 


A couple of other really joyful moments involved my two favorite concerts, which I told you about recently. A long time ago when we went to see Paul McCartney, toward the end of the concert Paul and I and a few thousand of our closest friends sang Yesterday together. It was so beautiful. He accompanied us all on the guitar. The voices, so many voices, came together in hushed reverence under the stars.

Then somewhat more recently with Bon Jovi, when the concert was over we headed toward the parking garage. Suddenly we had a moment of spontaneous combustion when we stepped inside the garage and everyone burst into Shot through the heart, and you're to blame . . . . We kept singing as we moved through the garage. There was no agreement to sing. Nobody shouted, Hey! Let's sing.

We simply sang together.

It was a perfect example of the interconnectedness of humankind.

Infinities of love,

Lola

MS. LOLA PAYS A CALL ON MISS CINDERITA

Gentle Readers,

What are you doing here? Get your asses over to Cinderita's and do it NOW.

I hate to be so bossy -- well, no, it actually doesn't bother me in the least -- but I told you I'd be guest posting at Cinderita's today. The post is about gratitude. I'll be very grateful if you leave comments there and give me your bloggy love.

Infinities of love,

Lola

GO TO THE ADVENTURES OF CINDERITA, PLEASE. I'M NOT GOING TO ASK SO NICELY IF I HAVE TO BRING IT UP AGAIN.

MY SMILE IS TURNED UPSIDE DOWN

Yes, Gentle Readers, it's true: I'm frowning. I don't like it that stuff is disappearing from my blog. LegalMist says she can see my followers, but I can't see you; and seeing you, all 13 of you (including me) makes my day. I received an email from amazon about their stuff no longer working and I told them how I've taken everything off my blog and then installed it again and it works for a little while and then it quits again, and amazon was like go to the link and install everything again. I Did That! I Said I Did That! They don't even really read my emails. Amazon should appreciate me. I think they've gotten at least three orders through recommendations on my blog, and only one was my order. So TWO orders! What's wrong with you fuckers at amazon? Show me some love!

And speaking of love: Gentle Readers, you know I adore you, but how come you have so many followers and I only have 13 (including me)? You keep telling me how funny and interesting I am, but my own family members won't even follow me. So what if I say pissy things about them? The pissy stuff is funny, and they should be grateful that I've turned them into jokes. My BFF doesn't follow me. I only say nice things about her. I think she doesn't know how to follow me, and I understand that sometimes things are confusing. I visited Lola is 40 today (not me, another Lola), and I had to send her an email and ask how to follow her. I don't want to follow her on twitter; I just want to be a regular follower. I couldn't find the place to click to just be a regular follower. Maybe about 150 people want to follow me, but they don't know how.

Probably not.

My dogs don't follow me.

Look at that big fuckin' lazy dog, has time to sniff a nasty stinky poopy baby, but can that dog be bothered to follow me?

Hell Noooooo.

So I'm just not feeling loved, especially since my anniversary was not too long ago, and anniversary time is so depressing for a dumped first wife.

But I love you all very much. I even love all the people who should follow me and don't.

Infinities of love,

Lola

FLY BY

Gentle Readers,

I really hate it when I'm walking from the bathroom to the family room or from the family room to the bathroom or sitting in front of the computer or sitting in the family room reading a book and . . .

SOMETHING FLIES PAST ME AND I DO NOT KNOW WHAT IT IS!


It really freaks me out and I hardly ever find anything flying around or dead on the floor later.

Quite some time ago I discovered a LIZARD in my house and it disappeared and . . .

I NEVER FOUND IT!


I know someone who had a BAT flying around in her house and it disappeared and . . .

SHE NEVER FOUND IT!


WHERE DOES THIS SHIT GO?


I just wanna know. Can someone please explain life to me? There's so much I don't understand and it's depressing me and I can't accomplish a fucking thing.

Infinities of love,

Lola

YOU MUST BE KIDDING ME

Gentle Readers,

We must welcome a new follower: Bouncin' Barb can be found bouncin' through life at http://bouncinbarbs.blogspot.com/2011/07/ive-seen-that-face-before.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+ThisAndThatasIBounceThruLife+%28This+and+That+%28As+I+Bounce+Thru%27+Life%29%29. I hope you read the post you can find by clicking on the link because it's very interesting and unusual and Barb seems to have fun trampolining away.

Welcome, welcome, welcome Bouncin' Barb!

Pssssst - Barb, let's get together and see what we can score. We're never too old.

I also recommend you read Cinderita's very thoughtful and intelligent post at http://cinderitaadventures.blogspot.com/2011/07/will-you-respect-me-in-morning.html
I wrote a ridiculously lengthy comment on this post and was not able to give Huggable Cinderita a good answer to her question. Perhaps you can do better than I did.

Now on to some very serious business:  My Dear Mrs. Tuna informed us recently that the ideal blog post is 200 - 300 words.

I can't tell someone to turn right at the corner in less than 500 words. I'm totally incapable of giving a simple answer to a simple question. In fact, I don't believe there's any such thing as a simple answer. Nuances of meaning and endless possibilities get in the way.

When I worked at the nursing home oh so long ago, one of the nursing assistants asked me what I was going to do with several cups of ice.

Put it down your pants, I responded.

Then I explained that I was actually taking it to put in the watcher pitcher of a man who was in isolation. We couldn't take the pitcher out of the room to refill it, but we could take ice in to add it.

The assistant's response to this was, There's no such thing as a yes or no answer to a question with you, is there?

I had to admit there is not. There's simply too much in the world that must be explained or pondered out loud before I answer a question.

I can't help it.

God made me this way.

Infinities of love,

Lola

MY HUSBAND COLLECTION

Gentle Readers,

I have purchased a very nice collection of husbands. A while back I wrote about how I only collect loss. I was depressed that day. I have come to realize that I collect something, but it's not Hummel  figurines (think they're ugly), glass chickens (don't see the point), art work (have enough and can't afford a Frida Kahlo), or fancy dolls (also think they're ugly and don't see the point). The doll in this picture looks like she would come alive at night and murder me in my bed. Does she look pissed, or what?

The thing is, if you collect stuff, then you have to dust it, and I don't like to dust. What I have to dust now is plenty, and even if I wear gloves, touching cleaning products or dirt gives me itchy hives on my hands. Why, a few nights ago I was putting laundry in the washer and I got a little tiny bit of detergent on my hand, and it was the mild detergent I have to use because anything else gives me a rash all over from my clothes. Even though I rinsed off the detergent immediately, within minutes I had hives. I took antihistamines and rubbed hydrocortisone cream on my hands, but by morning, both hands still hivey and the left one, which had actually had the detergent on it was swollen. Took hours to get them better.

And of course this is the time of year that I am the feeding ground for all the mosquitoes in the world.

Well, so anyhoo, I am collecting husbands. There's Rad at the AT&T store, who takes care of all my telephone, television, and computer needs, and I have two at the credit union. They're both nice looking and polite and I've finally gotten them to call me Lola instead of Ms. Plotnik. Plotnik is not my last name, so I never understood why they called me that anyway, but now they're all Hi Lola when I go in the credit union. They are named Bouvier and Spaniel. 

And now I have added two house husbands to my collection - Bono and The Edge.

This morning they mowed the lawn, weed whipped, edged (of course), and removed all the vines and debris from the garage roof. And they didn't even put the stuff from the garage roof out front for the yard waste people to pick up. THEY TOOK IT AWAY WITH THEM! Oh my God, I am so in love.

Two days ago they replaced my two cracked windows.

I adore these men.

Purchasing these husbands has not been all that expensive. Best of all, they don't bitch and complain. I don't have to do their laundry, and I don't give a damn whose bed they're in at night as long as it's not mine.

There wouldn't be enough room left for the dogs.

I love my husbands, every blessed one. And if they ever misbehave, there's no divorce agony.

I shall simply replace them.

Infinities of love,

Lola

ALONE AGAIN, NATURALLY

Gentle Readers,

I wonder if anyone other than me is old enough to remember that bouncy, cheerful Gilbert O'Sullivan tune with the bouncy, cheerful lyrics that went something like this:

In a little while from now, if I'm not feeling any less sour, I promise myself to treat myself and visit a nearby tower. While climbing to the top, to throw myself off . . .

And so on and so forth. I had no idea when that song was popular during my youth that is was about depressed, miserable people. It sounded so freaking happy.

Anyhoo, Alone Again leads me to today's topic: I live alone, and that's fine with me.

Nobody looks over my shoulder and judges me. I have two bathrooms all to myself. I can bathe in one and shit in the other.

It's mine, all mine, and I like it like that.

Of course, the dogs are here. But living with dogs is not the same as living with people. The dogs are always happy and in love with me. Harper has disappeared a few times, but he doesn't intend to be cruel. He's adventurous. Dogs never ask for money and they don't want the keys to the car. Mine are very good about peeing and pooping in the yard.

I miss my children but not so much that I want to live with them. They need their independence, and for the first time in my life, I have mine. I quite often wake up in the morning, and even though he's been gone a long time, I wonder where my husband is. Why isn't he in the bed next to me? Then I remember and I feel the loss for a few minutes and let it go.

I can have as many dogs in bed with me as are willing to jump up and join me. If I can't sleep and I want to watch a movie at 3 a.m., I can. Nobody wakes me up by snoring when I've finally fallen asleep, and I don't wake up anyone with my snoring because dogs don't mind snoring. I get to use the computer when I want. No one turns on the TV when I'm reading.

I'm not alone again, but I'm alone.

And it's all good Mama.

Infinities of love,

Lola

SO SAD, SO SAD

Gentle Readers,

Not long after my husband and I got married, he came home from work/school one night, put his face in his hands, and said, Nobody likes me. Everybody hates me.

I looked at his sad face in his sad hands and asked, Are you gonna eat some worms?

If I had comforted him instead of making a joke, do you think we'd still be married?






Naaaaaaah. hahahahahahahahahahah   a

Infinities of love,

Lola

NEVERENDING

Gentle Readers,

Your Lola awoke again yesterday wondering where he was. He wasn't in the bed, so where could he be?

When will I ever stop waking up and looking for him?

How long has it been? Two years? He's not coming back. He was never really there. So why do I wake and wonder?

The night goes on forever, the time won't pass, 2 a.m., 3 a.m., 4 . . . and on and on it continues. The attempt to have true intimacy with another person -- is it just a fantasy or is it possible? I have no more close relationships and few friends, just some people who are kind enough to tolerate me. No medicine takes away this pain.

Take the darkness and the daylight away and let me sleep the sleep of the dead forever. Death is a continuum.  Out of the cradle endlessly rocking. When lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed. I miss you Dr. C. I miss being special to someone.

I don't want to leave the house, my cocoon, but we need dog food.

Infinities of love,

Lola

DIVORCE BITES THE BIG ONE

Gentle Readers,

Today I had an "Oh My God I'm getting divorced and will it ever end" day.

Divorce, unless you've been married two minutes and have no community property, drags on forever.

The lawyer can't find my affidavit of income and expenses and I have to do another one. Why wasn't the first one filed months ago, and why oh why didn't I make a copy of it?

I still don't have my computer and some of the information I need for the affidavit is on the computer.

The lawyer has used up the entire retainer and already wants another $432 and my husband, who said he would pay my legal expenses, is balking at giving up more of his vast fortune. The richest people are the cheapest.

The lawyer also wants copies of all my medical records, so I have to write to all my doctors giving them permission to give the copies to the lawyer, then wait for them to tell me how much the copies cost so I can pay them and then they will send the copies to the lawyer.

I have already spent a small fortune copying documents for this damned stupid moronic divorce. It's so easy for my husband. He can make all the freaking copies he wants for free.

So, I have come up with a solution to my problems: Men used to hire substitutes to serve in the military for them. I want a sub to go through the rest of the divorce for me. I will hire her to deal with everything that needs doing, she can be miserable and cry for me, she can fight over money, and I will just relax.

Don't you think that's a good idea?

In the middle of my misery today, and oh by the way I did get the house super clean even though I had to stop from time to time to cry, I remembered something that happened a couple of weeks ago that made me laugh.

We couldn't let our dogs out in the fenced in back yard because one of the little devils, who weighs 80 pounds, broke one of the barriers that keep the dogs from going under the deck, then under the house, and trotting out to freedom.

So the dogs who are not trustworthy, and that's most of them, had to be walked around the front yard on a lead or be chained in the back yard. The 80 pounder who started all the trouble would not poop when he was chained or on the lead.

After a couple of days, obviously he was getting pretty desperate. My favorite younger man left his bedroom door open and Mr. 80 Pounds sneaked into the bedroom, hid behind the door, and took a gigantic dump.

I mean, really, you can imagine the poop that would come out of a dog that big who hadn't gone for a couple of days. I had to use the pooper scooper to clean it up.

Ah, well, that's life with dogs and divorce. Somebody's always takin' a shit on ya.

We used to have a blind dog. When we took him for a walk on a lead, which he handled very well in spite of not knowing where he was going, he did the most hilarious thing. When my husband would bend down to tie his shoe, the dog would pee on him - just the same as if he were a stop sign post.

I guess my husband didn't think it was as funny as I did. Toughski shitski, as the Russians say.

Tomorrow I might write about a famous Olympic dumper, and may God grant that my computer will be back with me.

Oh, and I thought of something I forgot to tell you about the L word yesterday.

In the romantic tradition, it was believed that love entered through the eyes. Thus the saying Love at first sight.

I have only experienced love at first sight with my children, my dogs and my favorite younger man's dogs.

Love,

Dumped First Wife

Tomorrow is another day, Miss Scarlet!