When Love Sucks

Love sucks! My heart wants to love an ass. What kills me is my brain is well aware that my heart’s love is not what I need in my life. For some strange reason my heart is determine to believe in the possibility of an impossible man. I believe the artist formally known as “Prince” has felt the very same way I am feeling now. This why I keep “I Hate You Because I love You” on repeat. My heart’s love is the never ending cycle of emotional term oil. My poor heart loves as if the past was never a reality. I know, I know, you’re probably reading and thinking Lola when are you just going to move on (funny I ask myself the same thing). I just don’t understand how in my love recovery how I can take two steps forward, only finding myself taking 10 steps back.

Sunday night I was unable to sleep and decided to tag along with my friends Daylon and T-White to a party at Club Plush. Being that it was a victory win for the Dallas Cowboys and Tashard Choice birthday I figured the crowd would be a black man’s heaven and a single black woman’s hell. To say the least there was enough groupie love to go around for all male attendees and one cat fight after another due to the male shortage. As for me I played it cool and watched the madness from a distance. Before entering a single woman’s hell, I prepared myself for any surprising run ins with the Titan. I told myself he’s just an accidental heart breaking crash that you’re successfully recovering from. This little peep talk was comforting until the doors open and we walked in onto the overcrowded dance floor. There he was dark chocolate, wearing a summer yellow polo sweater over a starched white collar shirt (Shit). The thing is he was supposed to look like the country boy I met three years ago from Georgia, not like the NFL sexiest man alive. Any way as we spoke and as I position myself to give him a Christian church hug he leans into me making for a “Oh Lola I’ve missed you hug” attempting to excite my private parts (damnit). He asked if I wanted a drink but I declined only to have him insist that we engage in just having one shot of patron. Since we’ve talked briefly prior too our run in I agreed on ONE shot. Standing at the bar while waiting on the star struck bar tendered, the Titans leans over and tells me how he appreciates my genuine concern during a rocky year. I told him he was welcomed and prayed that the bar tendered would stop drooling and hurry up with our damn drinks. As I took my glass saying thank you, out of nowhere the Titan leans over and says: I know you hate me but I love you. WHAT! Really he can’t be serious. I took a deep breath smiled and walked away. I couldn’t walk away fast enough. Just where the hell does he come off saying something like that. All this time I have been loving him and he…he has just been loving my revolving door that I can’t seem to keep the dead bolt on. Later that night I thought about those words and was unable to sleep.

I love the Titan like my life depends on it and I have no idea why. Days have passed and neither one of us have talked about it. I haven’t called because I just don’t want to face disappointment hoping like magic there‘s a happy ending to us being happily ever after. All I know is I leave Dallas in a few weeks and when I leave I’m leaving the past behind me, including him. I own my feelings and accepting where I am today with my hearts love for him. I won’t allow the unknown to control me. I don’t know what will come of the love the Titan spoke of. At this time I can only feed the love I have for me. What will be, will be with whomever it may be with

Til Next Time
Lola

Giving Me Another Chance

The Dallas Cowboys lost their first two games and miraculously won their third game right before their bye week. Things looked really promising having lost the first two games and win the third game. That is until games 4,5,6,7, and 8 ended in tragedy. Then out of nowhere huge mistakes turn in to a beautiful miracle and the game against the NY Giants gave them a victorious win. It was quite rewarding to see the number one NFC- East defense walk off their own field disappointed. The Dallas Cowboy flaky fans got back on the bandwagon, while the faithful fans started to gain hope believing that finally there is a God! My dad just shook his head saying: now watch these mutha f#ckers be a wild card in the playoffs. As for me, my thoughts were simple…if at first you don’t succeed fire your head coach and try, try again (lol). With assurance and confidence in my boys in blue I watched Monday night football and saw Michael Vick score two touchdowns in the first half and thought damn we’re in trouble (smh).

I recently got a job offer that would require me to move back to Atlanta. I would pretty much be making the same amount of money I am making in Dallas. I can also transfer my part time job in Dallas to Atlanta to make extra money. I talked to my friend Daylon and asked him what I should do. He said: Grow up kid, make a list of the pros and cons and go from there. Annoyed with his answer and considered firing him as my friend (lol) I put on my grown up panties and did just that. Here’s what I came up with: The only thing I would miss about Dallas is my family, my church family, and a few friends. Going to Atlanta I would be able to audition more for play and film productions, do more credible showcases, a better social scene (believe it or not but I dated more in Atlanta with no worries of the “down low issues” plus if my vagina could talk right about now it would say: enough already with the false coloring go get us a painter with a big brush…lmao). My fear however is I’ve tried to “make it” in Atlanta” and have failed miserably what would make going back out there any different. To be honest I would love to be a huge star but I’ve tried and I’m ok with just having put forth the effort. So with a lot of thinking and this time praying I’ve decided to go back and unleash myself to the wolves yet again (lol). The only way I would permanently stay in Dallas is if I was in a serious relationship with my love list and close to marriage. I could marry at this point of my life with no regrets. I’ve put my very best foot forward and given the hateful world of entertainment my all. I am now ready to be a house wife, shopping at Karen Millen and donating my time to “Kim Kares” (think I’m lying…try me). So if any knows Terrance Newman let him know I am available, ready willing to cook, clean and color(lol)…if not I will be heading out of here January 5th for the A.

My entertainment career has been a little like this year’s season for the Dallas Cowboys. It started off with high hopes; some disappointing loses with a few good wins in the middle. The Dallas Cowboys can’t give up and die neither can I. I’ll go back to Atlanta, give my very best and if I come up with a few loses in the meantime I won’t make coming home an option. I will only visit. I’ll just do like America’s team and keep going. I am bound to succeed eventually. Who knows maybe my blogs will become self-absorbed and superficial (my first hater commented I was blogging improperly…I’m just glad I have a hater. It means I doing something interesting)

To my friend that has been given a second, third, fourth, or even a tenth chance at something you love. Take it! I’m taking mine. If we fail at least we tried…and getting up won’t be so hard this time.

Till Next Time
Simply Lola

Getting My Shit Back

My mother absolutely hates it when I go in her closet and steal her shoes. She lets me know that her shoes are for her and she wants them back. In my defense I believe I am the creator of the fashion forward woman she is today and I think the least she should do is share what I have introduced her too …fabulous shoes. Once I’ve returned her Christian Louboutins the air is clear and we’re back to the loving mother, daughter relationship. As a single woman I think about the men I’ve encountered in my life and how a few of them I have blamed for taking some things from me that I want back. Wouldn’t it be cool if we could just walk up to an old ex boyfriends door, ring the door bell and demand for our shit back. I sure wish I could. If I could, I would walk right up to their front door with a box, labeled My Shit. When the door opened I would politely walk in (not waiting for an invitation) and say this:

Hey, how are you? You look good. Listen I don’t want to bother you but it seems to me that you took some stuff that belongs to me and I want it back. You have my heart and simply did absolutely nothing with it but break it and now there’s whole in my chest. I didn’t realize it was missing until I met a really great guy I was unable to love. You also have self-esteem and self- confidence. I noticed it was missing when I looked in the mirror and saw a lifeless look in my eyes. Smoky eyes are in for the fall season; unfortunately I look more like I’m smoked out (Halloween is over and I can’t keep scaring myself). If you don’t mind I would like my canvas back too. Oh yes, you know that thing you use to poke me with, don’t get me wrong the strokes were great but we both know you’re no longer worthy of beating my back in anymore. Oh no I’m not bitter, just ready to move on with my life and stop wishing for you too actually change, see me for the great woman I am, and love me. With a big smile I would end: I’m sure you’re busy with your next victim so if you’d just place everything I came for in this box (labeled my shit) I’ll be on my way. Thanks so much.

The sad thing is I’m sure he’ll call the police and put in for a restraining order because he has no earthly idea what I’m talking about. As far as he’s concerned he didn’t break my heart or take my self-esteem/self confidence. He was just having a good time. Who knew his heatless acts would lead to the death of a beautiful woman. He was only doing whatever it took to color as much as he could with a woman he thought was kind of cute. Therefore I’d leave like I came over… with an empty box and probably in hand cuffs (lol)

My mother’s shoes are easily given back to her from me. My stuff however hasn’t been easily given back to me simply because I’ve been looking in the wrong place. All this time I’m thinking he (them, they) had my stuff. I’ve been blaming him (them, they) for not moving on. My broken heart, the heart breaker isn’t responsible for mending the pieces back together. My self –esteem self-confidence wasn’t taken from me. I surrendered it at the mercy of fear of being alone. As far as my canvas it’s still there, but every time I look at it, it reminds of how I felt when the good times were over (like a jump-off). He, them, they don’t have my stuff to give back to me. My stuff is still with me. The only thing he, (them, they) did was shit all over it. The only cure for a shitty life is to take a shower. No sense of smelling like my dreadful past, it will only make living day to day stink.

To friend that is blaming him, (them, they) on taking your stuff, news flash they aint got it. You and I got our stuff with us. We just got to stop wishing the smell would go away without washing it way. So get in the shower and lather up. Close your eyes take a deep breath in and exhale out. As the water starts to run down the painful parts of what’s hard to forget, think about how it’s finally over and a new life for you and I is starting to smell refreshing. Nothing changes over night but with one wash at time the true beauty of you and I will be restored.

Till Next Time
Simply Lola

My Dating Status: Not Even to First Base

I have recently have opened myself up to the world of optimistic dating. In other words I’m trying to not judge a book by its cover or bank account. I thought I would let you all in on just how I’ve been doing.

Bachelor #1: Million Dollar Boy
I have a part time job at the mall and I met a very cute rookie who uses text messaging as his first form of communication. All the words are abbreviated and most of the sentences are incomplete. I’ll be the first to admit to anyone I am not the best speller but this brotha is out of control. The gold-digging whore in me is determine to figure out a way to make things work with the Million Dollar Rookie, but the self respecting lady side of me is well aware that the only thing this 12 year boy will be able to complete is a few color sessions and who’s to say our colors wont clash. The Self Respecting Lady trumpets over the Gold Digging Whore (lol). We haven’t been on a date but I’m pretty sure the only thing we’ll have in common is his losing team and that’s not even worth talking about. I think it’s time for me to just say good bye now before Gold Digging Whore starts to make her case to Self Respecting Lady (lol).

Bachelor #2: He’s Hiding Something
I met him at the Drake after party this past Sunday. He’s just a few years younger than me. He has a decent job but again his perfect form of communication is through text messaging as well. He’s short but cute (from what I can remember). So here’s the red flag, this dude only texts me late at night or early in the morning. I thinking he’s got a live-in or he’s married…and how do I know this. Well I’m thirty and have dated enough to know when someone is hiding something…the game aint changed just the stupid men that continue to play it with the same rules (he should do better). Never the less I don’t have time to stick around to find out just what it is he very well maybe hiding.

Bachelor #3: Cry Baby
We met a few weeks ago at the new Addison Restaurant “Buttons”. All I can say is he soooooo emotional. He’ll call and if I don’t call back in the time frame he’s expecting, he wines about it. OMG, I am a single woman with no children and my nipples are not for grown titty babies. I mean get a life and chill out. He got mad at me because he asked me how I was doing. I replied I’m good and then he starts crying about why I didn’t ask him how he was doing. Apparently you’re not doing well if you’re crying on the phone. I’ve always wanted a child of my own, and not someone else’s (tragic just tragic). Its clear this man wasn’t loved as a child or as an adult.

So three guys and no one has even made it to first base, let alone stepped out of the dugout. As much as I want to be pissed off and just throw my hands up saying the hell with this, I won’t give up. Plus,I can't take these guys stragedy for dating personal, that would be stupid. They only do what works for them. I know all men are not twelve year old, million dollar sneaky cry babies (lol).I believe there’s still a few good ones left somewhere around here. I have learned how not to ignore warning signs or red flags and keep it real with myself at all times. So I’ve decided to move forward and not wear a frown.However I found it refreshing that all three men thought me working two jobs was cool, and no one had a problem with the fact that I don't have a car (whew, what a relief) Now God bring on the next group of lovely painters, and hurry my vibrator broke (lol) Amen

Til Next Time
Lola

Men Are Like Buses

Men are like buses; if you miss one just wait to catch another. I have no idea who started this saying .It has got to be the dumbest statement known to all single women. Why in the world would anyone want to catch a bus? I hate catching the bus. The seats are hard, and just this morning the bus I caught, caught on fire (tragic just tragic). Nothing about a bus or catching the bus sounds like a dream come true or my idea of a dream lover. There all kinds of people on the bus. First there’s Paul and Peter (bible character look a likes) sitting at the back with their long white beards freaking the normal passengers out. Then you got the single mother of six kids who find a way to occupy every seat on the bus. Her and her kids are either sitting in empty seats or jumping from seat to seat. All I want to do is yell “Lady birth control, please use it, your kids are killing us”. Lastly, there’s always a homeless man that smells funny wearing an out dated jersey from an NFL team that no longer exist carrying bags of empty soda cans and talks to himself aloud distracting everyone from their own thoughts. . Plus they‘re huge and unattractive vehicles that seem to have a delay when you need them to be on time. To compare a bus to a man would be saying he’s always late, unattractive with a creepy past, bastard children and crazy thoughts that he has no problem telling you on a first date. Now that I think about it maybe some men are like buses. I still don’t think if I miss one I should get on the next one. I mean if I’m going to wait for something big and long to pick me up I prefer it to be a black long stretch limo. There’s limited space for unnecessary baggage, and the smell of leather far out weights the smell of the homeless man.

Therefore I have come up with a new theory of my own for my single women friends. “If You Miss A Bus Jump In A Limo”. The seats are much smoother, there’s alcohol served and if you’re lucky the driver will have a paint brush that resembles the long, dark stiffness of the car. Plus coloring in a limo is so much sexier than screwing on a bus (lol).

To my friend that feels like she keeps missing the bus, please stop waiting on the next one to come along. You deserve your own personal driver and comfortable seats 

Til Next Time
Lola