One more try...I didn't know how much I loved you.

Does anyone besides me remember that song? To my ear, it's the early 90s and middle school dances and peppermint-flavored tongue kisses (a term I don't enjoy but which is really quite fitting for the awkward oral jamming that went down). None of this, however, has anything to do with this blog entry so let's move on. (But, here's the link in case you need to go there with me. Silky, right? If I'm being honest, it may have lent itself to a little hand-on-butt action.) Onward...

Oh, 2012, you little bitch.

That’s where I stand 31 days into this hairy ass crack of a year. I came into it new year’s resolutions a blazing; clearing some muck, my soul’s only yen.

But it’s been a yeast infection of a January with the promise of gonorrhea’s imminent arrival. (STD metaphors---Class. Act.)

In other words---I’m GREAT how are you?

I’m sorry to be all Negative Nancy on you guys. (And I’m sorry to Machestaaa whose first name, Nancy, it may seem I’m besmirching here---no connection, I just like alliteration.) But I gotta keep it real, yo. I couldn’t explain my absence here without at least proffering some explanation, though what I’ve written thus far will really be the extent of the details. I’m sorry for being so cryptic but it’s the call to be made. You just gotta believe that 2012 is a cranky little douche and go with me on it. I can tell you I’m writing this in a curtains-drawn bedroom still PJed up---a sexy combo from the 2012 winter line consisting of Dan’s boxer shorts and a t-shirt; all this indicative of depression having settled in for a mid-winter stay.

I know I sound whiny---I KNOW---but, well, fuck...it’s been a buttfuck of a year so far.

Perhaps you’re thinking---But Lola, I thought you were taking medication to stave off this type of thing. And I am. But, you know, the meds don’t make me Samba around our living room or jump on the couch in uncontainable glee. (But the wine does!) From what I’ve observed, anti-depressants only ever bring me to a place of “even”---where I am sometimes capable of taking a walk or otherwise participating in my own stretch for mental health. And only sometimes. I’m just never really sure if the drugs are working, which makes me think they may not be.

I have had some interesting side effects though, most notable among them being an inability to urinate. Oh, how strange and distressing to down a pot of coffee only to realize that there is a brain to bladder communication gap. Another fun one was not being able to “finish” what I started in the boudoir, if you know what I’m saying. With the latest med though, I am side effect free. And also possibly benefit free.

Who knows? Maybe I would be crying into my bowl of cereal (okay, three bowls of cereal in a row) were I completely unmedicated. And nothing is helped by the fact that I’ve been waking up at 3:30 every night. Like, for the day---just up and at ‘em in the quiet darkness of those ungodly hours, reading or trying to count my inhalations in an effort to fall back to sleep. Sometimes I pray, ”Mom, please help me fall back to sleep tonight. Please help my brain rest,” to no avail.

I know I’ll bounce back. I’m fortunate that I even know this; not all with depression do and the hopelessness is sometimes the biggest mind fuck of all of it. But it’s snowing out (I’ve opened the blinds) and the gratitude I feel for such a simple beauty tells me I’m not as far down as I was. Also, I’m back---at least today---to the page. Writing, like exercise, is a key to my sanity so when the words aren’t flowing---when my brain and body are too exhausted to work in tandem long enough to at least empty The Spew---I fall deeper.

Maybe this entry will mark the start of my ascent. There are fits and starts though so I never know if I’m climbing until I’m further up the mountain. And of course the aforementioned gonorrhea that looks to be sweeping in could set me off course again. (I am not proud of this crass and nonsensical mixed metaphor.)

But for now, "even" seems attainable which is all I can ask for.

I know it’s neither uplifting nor perhaps particularly interesting to read about a person’s trudge through depression but it’s fuh real and it’s here and it’s why I’ve been gone. Now hopefully we can push on through this and get back to a little laughin'...or at least chattin'. That is, if the itchy redness abates.

Winner Winner, Chicken Dinner!

Well guys, the Pats destroyed the Bills and, thanks to all of you, I destroyed my husband. (Did I really start my first post of 2012 with a football reference. Yes. Yes I did.)

Final Score:

Dan: 18
Lola: 51*

(*Score may not reflect the significant amount of cards which were sent to both of us. Eff that.)

You guys came through! You guys are funny! Thank you for playing with me! Some of you sent multiple cards. Some of you sent them from your children. Dan sent himself several. And ALL of you cracked me up. You filled up our beams.

Ignore the mess on the table. Just ignore it.

And you filled our December with such fun and joy. Every night Dan and I so loved going through all the new cards which came in. It really was an incredible feeling to have this little blog deliver such merriment to my mailbox this season. Truly. I feel such gratitude for all of you and I hope you know it. You have all given me so much---your cleverness and sense of humor, your time, support for my writing, support through my mom’s illness and death, two Dutch ovens (!), an invitation to a cookie swap, oodles of Christmas cards. This blog started off as such an experiment (back in May of 2009...can you believe it?) and it has brought so much to my life...specifically all of you. So thanks and thanks and thanks.

Now I’ve just got to share some of these cards.


As soon as they started coming in, we decided we would each get a pole. Dan stuck this in the middle and called it the 38th Parallel:

The fun started at the envelopes:

And then some of the cards just cracked us up:

Some of you were very much concerned with my winning (you're my favorites):

From Rob on sending this card: "...the first I've sent since X-mas '69 when I was in Viet Nam and thought it'd be kinda funny because they were locally made by VC with no concept of Santa other than what they'd seen on a Coke can..."

From my friend, Lynn ---one of my summer camp writing friends! (Another pal from my writing retreat, Tracey, addressed her card to Dan and His Two Wives because Trace met Laura on the island and then discovered this whole other Lola person afterwards...not that they're entirely different---they?---but I now get how it must be weird for people.)

And some of you were your gentle, diplomatic selves:

Jarvino and my sister Katie, two of the kindest souls I know, sent cards expressing the same sentiment. They are both dead to me now.



Some of you were concerned with Dan's self-esteem:

Can you believe it---Straight Up Stranger sent a card!



Dan was also concerned with his self-esteem. He sent the following:

Half the fun was seeing the array of characters who sent cards:

Thank Gawd Straight Up Stranger thought of me too!

As I mentioned, Buffster McDavey was taking Christmas cards that had been sent to her and throwing them back in the mail to me.

From Jordan Marsh of course.

This is a riot. Mr. Jordan is a character my mom invented. When she would give us baths as kids she would duck her head down and then reemerge talking in this funny deep and throaty voice as "Mr. Jordan" which would crack us up. I thought she created it for us but then my aunts told me that she used to do it when she would give them baths as kids too. It's just the sweetest thing to me.

I smell a bumper sticker.

Hysterical, right?

When this one came in, I had no idea who it was from.

And then let out a "Holy shit!" when I saw.

I first mentioned 2nd Grade Teacher But Not Yours---her Spew handle which I love so---in a post I put up shortly after my mom died . She and some other teachers from my elementary school showed up at my mom's wake and the kindess nearly knocked me down. Then I found out that she reads The Spew which is of course SO FUN! Getting a card from her, from Straight Up Stranger, from the Spew Crew just sums up everything that was so great about The Battle of The Christmas Cards. You're out there! You care! Let's have more fun together! (Or sometimes depressing rambling...) The fact that you guys played along with me is really so much more special than I can even say.

And then there's Dan.

Admit it, you all love Dan. Everyone does. I do. One of the most enjoyable things about my mom's wake---because to my great surprise and relief there were many enjoyable moments---was the amount of people who said that they felt like they knew and loved Dan because of The Spew. He loves his Spew persona. I paint a nice picture of him...and it happens to be entirely accurate. He's just not a dick. Sometimes he may have dick leanings, but I'm much more of a dick than he'll ever be. The point is that it's not always easy to have a wife documenting your life and who wages Christmas Card War on you, but he's just the best sport about all of this. (And I hope he remains this way because I feel like it's just going to get worse.)

So I'm thanking him now (in cyber versus BJ form) and I'm thanking all of you. What fun and joy you brought me! I am more grateful than I can say.


Finally, here is our Christmas card to all of you. (In GiG style, I am getting it out late.)

Kind of creepy how it looks like us, right? (Dan's doing of course.)

And Dan's yearly poem:

'Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the land,
the elves were all stirring---
they were taking a stand.

It had been a long year.
The economy was rotten.
And in all the upheaval,
the elves were forgotten.

Elf unemployment was rising
while prices skyrocketed,
and with all the new taxes,
less income they pocketed.

While back in his castle,
Santa lived high on the hog.
He took puffs on his pipe
and stoked his Yule log.

The Elves had been pushed,
they had had quite enough.
They filed into the streets
and sat down on their duffs.

“My dear tiny friends,”
cried out one Elven gent,
“We are being repressed
by the rich one percent!”

“We do all the work.
We carve all the toys.
We pile the sleigh high
for all girls and boys!”

“But, alas, in the end,
who gets all the fame?
That fat, bearded baron,
Santa Claus is his name!”’

“It’s time to stand up,
leave behind not a soul.
We must all band together
and Occupy North Pole!”

So they gathered in masses.
They would not leave; not ever.
They stood united for justice.
Solidarity forever.

Santa was worried
about all the bad press,
so he called up his cronies
to share his distress.

He had Rush on the line,
who said every elf was a commie.
He tried to get help
From Newt and Mitt Romney.

He thought he could turn
to his pal Herman Cain,
who was gettin’ down with the ladies
out on Santa Claus Lane.

To the bankers and tycoons
he went for advices,
but all that they cared about
were stocks and their prices.

He turned to the Easter Bunny
with hope for support.
But in the spoils of riches,
the bunny preferred to cavort.

He asked everyone for guidance,
from Charlie Sheen to the Pope.
But with no help being offered,
Santa began to lose hope.

But then on his sleigh ride
in the skies over Topeka,
the answer, it came,
and exclaimed he, “Eureka!”

“My dear Elven friends,
I understand what you’re saying.
You just want a chance
for good jobs that are paying.”

“You don’t want a Bentley,
You don’t want a mansion.
All you want is a world
that you might have a chance in.”

“No oppression from the rich,
towards justice you’re driven!
Affordable health care -
why can’t that be a given?”

“This is an outrage.
I hear all your hollerin’.
Let’s fix this inequity
and share all that dollarin’.

And with Santa’s revelation,
the elves cheered in delight.
They stepped up their efforts
and readied Santa for flight.

Santa upped the elves’ paychecks.
On himself, he laid the onus.
And though it meant no new yacht,
he forewent his Christmas bonus.

Santa saw the truth
about the plight of the masses.
They were looking for fairness,
not hoping for passes.

So to all my friends,
the rich and to the poor---
may the new year bring wisdom,
good fortune and more.

May the holidays bring hope,
and an end to your wearies.
My one wish for the New Year?
That the Yanks win the series.

What a guy.

What a you all.

Happy New Year, everyone!