Lola In The City

Three years ago today I moved to Chicago. Is it weird that I celebrate the day I moved here? I don't know anyone else who does that. Maybe it is because I worked so hard to get here and even harder to stay here.

Fortunately the last year has been far less tumultuous than the first two. Even so, I had hoped by today to be writing about how ALL of the pieces of the puzzle are in place and that my life is now all skittles and rainbows. Heh. First of all I'm buried under 20" of snow right now and while we did have thunder snow, I haven't seen a friggin' rainbow in a while (unless I've been in Boys Town - go figure). And I'm still feeling a little pissy about my 3 hour commute yesterday. It's hard to feel real chipper about life in the big city after spending more than an hour standing out in the cold waiting for some form of public transportation to come pick you up.

And then there is my dating life which is an epic failure. Now with all NEW Humiliation and Jackassery!!! On my part, not his. And no, I didn't write about it. It is only fun to write about it when they are the jackass, not me. Or if it is a good date. Or so I would imagine. Hard to tell since I haven't had a good date since Rock Star and that was before I started this blog. Of course I do have the next four months to look forward to while my friend Vivian's husband is out of the country. She told me the other night that she is going to use that time to "find you a man." Since these are the people through whom I met both Mr. Eh and He Who Has No Balls, I am not optimistic. It is time to acknowledge that I burned through my chances at love by the age of 40 with my bi-polar ex-husband and transcontinental Rock Star. Hey, at least I had a couple of good goes at it. Now it is time to fully embrace my life of celibacy and solitude. 

Well, maybe not solitude. I certainly don't have a lonely life, as was evident by the number of phone calls and text messages I received during the blizzard from friends checking to make sure I was OK. Or the fact that there has hardly been a night this week that I've had dinner alone. I have a Super Bowl party to go to tomorrow night. Later in the week I'm getting together with some of my new favorite ladies for our newly formed Culture Sluts get together (WAY better than any book club!). And I round out the week with the possibility of going to see George Clinton and then roller derby with some of my all-time favorite people. And that is just next week. So, no. It is not a life of solitude that I lead by any means.

That celibate thing is a bitch, though (sorry, Mom).