Run, Lola, Run.

Every time a familiar song would rotate on the radio, I’d get this feeling of indescribable need. Like, you know, the need to sing. But I wouldn’t, never would. Couldn’t bring myself to subject one of my flaws.

Because, despite my outward claims, I was one to only judge on perfections. And yes, imperfections. But not the, ‘oh my God, I love you, your imperfections and flaws make me hot’ sort of judgment, either.

I was exactly the kind of person people hate.

If you were to, you know, outwardly inform myself of my fakeness, I wouldn’t, say, bitchslap you.

Because, hey, I may be able to do a lot of things, lying to myself for longer than a month was not something I could do.

Alas, all those heartbreakingly dull church services with a corrupted minister have finally stapled themselves to my conscience and me.

Well damn.

Maybe if I were any other person, I’d change my outlook on everyone, maybe I’d get off my high horse and apologize – to myself – for treating – myself – like crap – on toast.

But, of course, I wasn’t any other person.

I was myself and I was Lola, which, I’m sure, in some unauthorized dictionary, meant hardass.

Maybe, in some other life, I was or was meant to be a child-beating father – or even mother, I won’t be ignorant – because, I’ll admit, I sometimes came off as a King of Kings, better than everyone. I’d even want to get violent.

But really, who didn’t want to give a slap to your friends – in my particular case, friend – when they got inconsolably idiotic?

So maybe I wasn’t so different.

So maybe I liked the attention, but only if I didn’t know I was getting it.

Was that so wrong?

The world didn’t make me think a lot about anything, really. Nothing worked up enough energy in me, I really didn’t have much fire in my body.

I was the epitome of, ‘wasted on youth’.

I’m the one who gives youth the bad name.

Not in the way of, ‘like oh my God! Badass’ but more, ‘why is she so lazy? All teens are like that’.

But here I go, giving myself too much credit.

Just imagine what Mother Teresa would have to say about me.

I’d like to say I cause mouthfuls, but that would definitely call for, ‘that’s what he said’.
Matt likes to tell me I won’t ever need the presence of dirty sex talk, because that would just blow my ego ten times bigger than it already is.

He also says that I’m better than dirty sex talk because I can boost my own ego without the help of any man. Who, would ironically have a smaller, or equally big ego as myself.

Because that’s just how I roll.

The truth? That’s just the only kind of guy I seem to roll in.

Lucky me.

Then my mom opened her mouth – because coincidentally, she walked in on the end sentence – and inform me of how I need to get of my high horse and find some guy with a beer gut and a bottle of vodka attached to his hand at all times, because that’s the only kind of man I could reel in besides the egotistical guy, what with my fantastic personality.

So, as you see, I don’t really have a whole lot of hope in life.

Maybe I’ll get my alternate personality in a husband.

Land myself in a hospital and tell the doctors the door ran into me repeatedly.

Because, we all know, that is most definitely a sure-fire plan with absolutely no chance of backfires.

And just because my life was a constant comic book, the dog came running through the door and skidding onto her thigh – she never did have very good pads – recovering herself from the almost graceful entrance, she stomples over to where we were – at the perfectly placed table just against the window and farthest away from entrances – she walks up to me and gives me thesse eyes that just read, ‘I love you’.

Which would elicit another, ‘well damn’, not that I’m not a huge fan of my dog or anything, its just I’m not exactly digging the idea that the only kind of men I can attract are egos, drunks and girl dogs.

I could never be considered completely lucky, unfortunately.

The volleyball always hit me at exactly the wrong time and the basketball always came towards me when at that exact point I realize the ball is being passed to me, I trip over my shoelace – and thus, my natural reaction would be to tie my shoe.

Which my teammates are never approving of.

I had better things to do than saving my neck.

Like, for example, catching the pimpled ball with hands – with what coordination? – that were perfectly attached in the correct way, and making a complete 360 on my sports talent.

Meaning I’d throw the ball to the net and by some miracle of fate, it’d slip through the spacious net.

But again, I digress.

My point was everything always happened at untimely times, ignore the pun.

Nothing ever really went my way, I always failed the tests I wanted to pass and passed the tests I didn’t care for.

Which, I understand, doesn’t make a lot of sense, but make a lot of sense was never something I was very good at, ever, really.

Sometimes I think that I should just leave everything to happen as they may, just let the chips falls where they may – and as I imagine this, I imagine Amanda Bynes acting out this scene in a bathroom.

It was like saying I was going to fail a test, and then fail it, except the outcomes would be different, I’d say one thing, and the complete opposite would happen.

Life confused me more than it should have. But what was I, if not a confused person with a mind that things egotistically?

Has anyone noticed the amount of times I’ve said egotistical in just 1, 113 words?

This is uncomplete and doesn’t make sense, filled with loose ends in desperate need of tying, digression is palpable in the sense of I couldn’t keep on one topic for too long.