Lola vs. Bangability and Why I No Longer Sleep Naked

Slipping into bed, my deep velvet eyes heavy lidded with sleep, I let the covers whisper over my body. I can't help the smile that plays at the corner of my lips because getting into bed at night is one of my favorite things in the world. It feels decadent, sinful, maybe even a little naughty which is why I adore sleeping naked. The soft, silky sheet against my bare skin is a teasing caress. The pillow resting on my cheek a flirty, little night cap.

Of course, this was before The-I-Thought-My-House-Was-Being-Ransacked-
And-I-Was-About-To-Be-Taken-Hostage-And-Stuffed-Into-A-Trunk-
Incident-of-2009.

It was about 4:30 am when I was startled out of a very delicious dream about David Tennant (whose glasses and crazy hair wearing, smart, sexy and slightly manic doctor is the essence of bangability in my book) by a crash outside of my bedroom. Bleary-eyed, and just a bit crazy at the edges, I dashed out of bed. My pulse was hammering in my ears as I flung the door open with a shriek. Still hazy, I grabbed the only weapon I had at my disposal, a rather rangy 10 year old wooden mop, and leapt into the living room.

It was quite unfortunate that my attacker happened to be my elderly neighbor, retrieving his hissing, spitting behemoth of a cat from my front porch who in its 4am frenzy had apparently knocked over a flower pot, a stool, and a pair of mischievous wind chimes. There was a brief shocking moment where we both froze and stood there staring at each other.

Me with my ragged, decrepit weapon and him with his seething, evil feline.

I think, but can't be quite sure, that there was a whispered, "Oh. My. Word." right before I turned tail and ran to the safety of my bedroom.

Had he been a real adversary, I totally would have housed him. Because honestly, I'm sure that there is nothing more intimidating to a kidnapper than a naked girl jumping around, screaming and stabbing the air violently with a mop.

Lola vs. A Very Special Guest

I have something infinitely special to share with all of you. I can't believe my/your luck. I have managed- due to some incessant nagging on my part and some keen interest from you readers thrown in- to convince my very lovely friend Kane to guest post today. Be prepared to have your minds, hearts, and privates blown:

Lola, I have come out of blog retirement to answer your followers’ burning questions. First of all, for this post, please do not use Kane. Kane is a character in the bible that didn’t get along with his brother. Abel was always hogging the bathroom and TV remote and stuff, so one day Kane was like, “The hell with this,” and stabs him in the face. I don’t want to be associated with aggro people like that. Now let me answer your readers’ questions, taken verbatim from your last post.

Q: Why are you so cool, wise, and otherwise outstanding?

A: Hey, sometimes miracles happen. Don’t question evolution when it is working properly.

Q: Can I be as cool as you?

A: No.

Q: Why?

A: It’s impossible. Your time and energy is better spent on attainable goals. See, I told you I was wise.

Q: Did Lola leave out some important information from her last post?

A: Yes, I’m glad you asked. Let me make an addendum to that.

I explained to Lola that guys have a classification system. Consciously or not, every girl gets a stamp saying “accepted” or “rejected” on their forehead with regards to whether they are bone-able or not. This is neither wrong nor right, it’s just the way life is- there is always going to be a pecking order. Some occasionally get the “epic fail” stamp; do not make eye contact with or speak to those people, unless you are feeling charitable that day. (By the way, some of the meaner or crazier things I say are just sarcastic jokes. If you needed this explanation you have no sense of humor.)

There are some very important exceptions, however, that must be noted.

1. Do not bone your friends’ girlfriends. This should go without saying. Also, do not bone your friends’ ex-girlfriends; if you are looking for some quick sex, have some virtue and find another chick that just wants to bone, there are plenty of them out there- for example, Lola Lakely of blogspot.com. The only way I could see this happening is if the two of you really had something and you talked the whole thing over with your friend to make sure he/she is cool with it.

2. Do not bone people from work. If you have already boned someone from work that you did not marry, you already know why.

3. Do not bone your sister. Think of how awkward it would be if you saw each other at a family gathering. Cousins are ok, though, as long as they are at least twice removed. I don’t have a sister, but I can imagine it would be quite the temptation, since anyone that shares even 1% of my DNA is clearly going to be amazingly good-looking.

4. Do not bone girls that are bitches. I can’t stand a bad attitude. Also, if a girl blows me off once or twice on plans to hang out, I stop talking to her. There are plenty of girls that will not act like this. Guys that have low self-esteem or guys that will do anything to get laid may accept this kind of behavior, but they are not real men.

Q: Once a person is in a category, do they stay in that category?

A: You can change categories, but you’d better get started on those stomach crunches. Also, do something about that odious personality. A good benchmark for a quality personality would be me. Clearly I have the best personality, ever. To be honest though, my surly personality only gets me accolades if people understand my dark humor and think it’s funny. So you can be a niche personality like me and serve a specific audience, or go mainstream like Lola; she is well-liked and gets free stuff regardless of where she goes.

Q: What are the criteria for the forehead stamps?

A: That’s entirely subjective. Some people have crappy taste, and some people are me. Which smoothly leads us right into this next question. Damn I’m good.

Q: Can a girl get laid no matter how fugly she is?

A: Sort of. If a fugly girl goes up to every guy offering them sex, playing the numbers game, she will eventually find someone that will bone her. I’m sure this is also true if gender roles are reversed. However, if a guy has standards/taste, he will not just bone anyone. If Starr Jones and/or Rosie O’Donnell offered me some hot lovin’, they wouldn’t be able to finish their proposal because I’d be booking it at fast as my legs could carry me. Then I would spray Lysol into my eyes and cover my body in Purell in a fruitless attempt to remove that image from my mind.

Lola, once you’ve let your readers ruminate for a few days on how smart and wise I am, I think you should break down the caste system for women choosing men and how they determine bonability. I mean, for those women that don’t have me as an option, since I am automatically #1 on every woman’s “who do I need to bone before I die” list. That’s right, Fabio and Matthew McConaughey, there’s a new king in town!

Wouldn’t you like to hear Lola’s opinion on the matter?

I often find myself wiping a tear off my cheek because of the brilliance, the sweetness, that lies within his profound thoughts. So fellow bloggers, what do you think?

P.S. Although he clearly does not approve of the moniker I have given him, I stubbornly refuse to change it. It continues to be a pitched battle that shakes the very foundation of our friendship. But hey, I like to keep things interesting.

Lola vs. Being Aggressive and More of Kane's Wisdom Nuggets

Of course I ran Saturday's Halloween Shenanigans experience with Zombie and company by Kane. As always his opinion is generally amusing, quirky, and always honest, so once again I thought I'd write about it here. Kane's been an essential part of my blog from the beginning and he may even warrant a separate section so that you can benefit from his nuggets of wisdom and sage advice. And by sage I mean judgmental.

Kane: I've never known you to be subconscious about stuff like this.
Lola: Well, that's cause I'm not used to losing my mind over a pair of glasses. Plus, I certainly don't want to be crazy, desperate girl who goes around molesting people.
Kane: Did you tell him you wanted a relationship? Or babies?
Lola: (gagging sound) Oh good God, no.
Kane: Then you're safe. Besides we're easy.
Lola: Men, you mean?
Kane: Yup. We put girls into two categories. (waits a beat) You're not going to ask me about the categories?
Lola: Well yes but I was just waiting for the inevitable 'you're a guy, you should know this stuff' insult that is usually thrown at me.
Kane: (ignores her) Anyway, the two categories you women fall into are Fuckable and Non- fuckable.
Lola: (laughing) Yeah, this is definitely going on my blog. (pause) Tell me more, sensei.
Kane: Actually, we should mark you with either a red or a black dot. Red means fuckable and black is for the non-fuckable population.
Lola: Does the mark have to be on our foreheads?
Kane: No.
Lola: Then I guess I'm ok with that. (thinking) You should really come equipped to the bars with magic markers then.
Kane: Yeah, we should. You do realize that you women have the easy part in all of this. All you have to do is be there. We're the ones who need to convince you we're not psychos or dicks who only put girls in two categories.
Lola: So basically you're telling me molestation is not desperation.
Kane: Exactly. (pause) Wait... your parents don't read your blog, do they?
Lola: Naah, I cut off their subscriptions when it became increasingly apparent that their daughter has become an alcoholic sex fiend. (pause) Yaaay!

Hope you enjoyed this week's installment of Kane's Wonderful Words of Wisdom. Tune in next week when he discusses antidisestablishmentarianism. Take that blog spell check!

Have a naughty weekend, fellow bloggers.

Lola vs. Robin Ho & Halloween Shenanigans

I woke up at 7:30am still in my Robin Hood costume; one boot on, one boot off and no stalkings to be found (underwear still in tact- small victory but I will take it), with a business card stuck down the front of my corset and Zombie make-up smeared all over half my face.

Actually, I'm pretty sure I molested the Zombie. I blame the glasses. A pair of black wire-rimmed glasses is like kryptonite to me. I get that long, slow pull deep in my belly and every animalistic urge lurking in my subconscious goes on full alert. I don't know why. But I simply cannot be held responsible for my actions when a guy slips them on.

Zombie: I just got out of a relationship.
Lola: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.
Zombie: (slips on glasses) So you know, I don't want you to get disappointed.
Lola: Who said anything about being disappointed? (sees glasses, starts to quiver) I was just thinking of a wild bout of hot, sweaty sex. (moves closer) And I'm talking dirty, naughty things would be involved. (lowers voice) Want to go for a walk?

I guess Robin Ho was in full form. And speaking of Robin Ho, without further ado, here are some pictures from All Hallows Eve:

Robin Ho & the Devi-Angel


My friend has a party every year on Halloween and it's so big and elaborate that him and his friends literally have to start the decorating process in September. We had a scream (ha-ha) walking through the gory chop-happy surgeon's room, the haunted library, the foggy cemetery, and the forest of fear.


Where I met some new friends...

So to recap this Halloween I kissed a sexy girl cop, sat on Stephen Hawking's lap to check out his laptop, and had a tryst with a Zombie in the forest of fear.

In other words, the night was a big success. How about all of you?


***Is this worthy of being an unsung hero, Trinity? I do hope so, because your blog post about me was just too lovely not to mention it and thank you again.***

Lola vs. This Week in Review... in Hot Wax

Some of the things that have happened to a naughty red head in the past week:

• I got called a "walking human resource violation". Not really sure what to make of this, other than ooops?
• I had an intensely, insane monkey-sex dream about a co-worker. This is always interesting when you have absolutely never thought of the co-worker in any sort of sexual capacity and then your mind is completely and utterly changed by one moment of lewd subconscious thought. What makes this situation even better is when he never, ever stops by your office and then suddenly in the span of one day (the day directly after your crazy sexual fantasy) he stops by three times. Is there some sort of sexual psychic wave-length frequency that I am missing out on? And then the next question is, where do I sign up for that feed?
• I scared the hell out of a 91 year old man whilst cheering like a maniac over my Irish boys. He later claimed that it did his heart good to be next to a young woman who was so... exuberant. Wearing a tight-shirt and jumping up and down next to him wasn't mentioned.
• I realized that I will sleep with someone purely and utterly because they have an accent. And honestly if you can fake a good one, you may even make the list.
• I'm pretty sure my liver hot-wired an ATM. My friend Johnny and I were running from one bar to the next and I had the sudden epiphany that I needed to acquire some more cash in order to fulfill my drinking needs. The transaction went pretty normal until instead of my receipt, I received a huge flashing message that said HEALTH CHECK IN PROGRESS! I swear to god this happened. I didn't realize that my own liver had resorted to infiltrating our banking system in order to get me to stop my wicked ways. Sigh.
• Apparently we thought it was a FANTASTIC idea (I put this in all caps because I'm pretty sure I yelled it at the top of my lungs in the bar) that we pour hot wax over my friend James' arm. Technically my friend Ian did the pouring so I can't really be blamed. Although I'm sure me chanting "Do it! Hot Wax!" didn't help defuse the situation. Good thing the owner had a thing for me otherwise we probably would have been kicked out. At least I'm assuming he did as he kept shoving his card into my hands. And by card I don't mean cock. (this part is dedicated to V , my future sister-in law.)
• My Robin Hood (aka Robin Ho) costume has arrived. I am currently preparing to release my inner ho-bag for All Hallows Eve.

And after typing about a few of the events/thoughts, I realized that 85.7% of these bullets have to do with sex.

I am hopeless. Less than hopeful. Have a naughty weekend fellow bloggers.

Lola vs. Frozen Foods Have the Power to Destroy Relationships

I witnessed a marriage disintegrate in the frozen food section of the grocery store. Right under the Specialty Desert Items sign.

At least when you get into a fight at home, there are places you can retreat to in order to avoid your significant other. But options are limited in the Stop and Shop. Embarrassment is heightened. And onlookers (specifically me) are frenzied.

"Oh for heaven's sake." I heard the woman say through clenched teeth. She wore the kind of expression that's twisted half-way between a grimace and a smile. Although the expression is usually meant to hide the anger, it almost always makes your face a grotesque mask of anxiety. "Just relax, John."

Telling someone to relax in the middle of a fight is like tossing gasoline on an already lit fire in order to douse the flames. Whoever thought of the "relax" method to end an argument should be shot. Obviously John was of this same opinion because his face immediately turned an angry shade of purple. So I, of course, settled into the ice cream section and pondered over the life altering decision of choosing between green tea ice cream or chunky chocolate chip.

"Sheila," came John's hissed reply. "I told you I don't care what we get."
"Right, you say that now. " Sheila abandoned all pretense of a smile and pressed her mouth into a thin line. "What happens when we get home and you realize you really wanted something else?"
"Just get the damn Dove ice cream bars and let's get out of here."

In response, Sheila yanked the glass door to the freezer open so hard that I thought (okay, hoped) it might fly off the hinges. She fervently ripped one of the packages out, flung it into the cart, and stalked away from her husband. Wisps of steam whipped around John, his bulk hunched over the front of his cart, as he helplessly watched Sheila's retreating figure.

I feel sad as the sound of Sheila's ice-pick heals clicking on the floor faded in the distance. Poor John and his beaten up old Yankee cap. Perhaps back at home, he thought taking Sheila to the grocery store had been a good idea. But now it probably seemed like the Dove ice cream bars now melting in his grocery cart.

Quite different from my normal look-at-how-drunk-naughty-and-silly-I-got-
this-weekend posts, huh? Of course quite a lot of that happened this past weekend, including a rather pointed judgment from a lone ATM that initiated a Health Check after I got my money, but I thought I would shake things up a bit! Couple fights in public happen to be one of my pet peeves, possibly because my ex was a big fan of doing this. And it was always about the most ridiculous, inane things. I never understood it.

So I thought maybe some of you could shed some light. Or at least share some experiences.

Lola vs. Cooper's Stay and Kane's Weakness

My friend Cooper, who was welcomed into my blog with the infamous (is it megalomaniacal to call one's own post infamous? Yeah, well, I'm going with it anyway) two part stripper post, came to visit at Case de Lola this past weekend. After a rough week, he decided that my house was the best place to lick his wounds and, well, I sort of plied him with alcohol, doused him with football, and threw in some shenanigans for good measure.

The next morning I woke, groggy, with tiny drums pounding a tribal rhythm against the inside of my head and my mouth cotton dry. I made a sound that could only be described as a wild animal mewling in pain due to multiple limbs being hacked off when the sun hit me smack in the face through the blinds. I blinked and moved my head slowly, delicately to the right. No one was in the bed next to me. Considering that a good sign, I decided to check on Cooper. I crawled through my kitchen into the other bedroom and then promptly flopped/tripped onto Cooper's bed. He grunted, flung his hand over his eyes, and moved over to give me some room. It took me about thirty-seven minutes but I finally managed to get myself into a position where at least half my body was on the bed. The other half, i.e. my legs, dangled in a very skewed position that any cirque du soleil member would have been proud of.

Once we weren't comfortable at all, we began to piece together the events that had occurred the night before. The morning after is perhaps one of the best parts about a night of solid, forget-your-troubles drinking. Not the tribal drum beat in your head bit. But the having someone to discuss how idiotic we were the night before bit.

Lola: My bones hurt.
Cooper: (sluggish) Ugh.
Lola: No, I'm serious. Is it possible to drink so much alcohol that it will actually melt your bones? (unidentified mewling animal sound) Who thought it was a good idea to drink Johnny Walker?
Cooper: (snickering) Apparently you did.
Lola: I don't even know where we ended up last night. There was dancing, bad deejaying, and men in tight white button down shirts with silver chains. (confused, now) And trees in the bathroom? I wasn't hallucinating, right? There were actually trees in the bathroom walls.
Cooper: No, there were trees. You made Kat and I demonstrate those trees via a picture montage. You took a lot of pictures.
Lola: And shots.
Cooper: And shots. (pause, thinking) I don't remember paying my tab. Well, I remember the intention of going to pay it, just not the actually paying of it. God, I hope it's less than the stripper.
Lola: Should we be upset that our lives have come to ye old 'At least it wasn't a stripper' adage?

Looking back Cooper and I probably shouldn't have started drinking at 3:30pm directly after a discussion over how the night now had a layer of pressure over it because we had to do something that was "blogworthy". Which is ridiculously really. Now I have to measure my nights out by whether they are interesting enough to put in my blog? Sigh. With great power comes great responsibility, I suppose.

As I was talking to another friend out at wherever the hell we ended up with loud music and tight shirts, about the essence of blogworthy, a guy came up to me and loudly proclaimed that he thought everything I did was blogworthy. But he had crazy eyes, so I slowly backed away.

Other notable occurrences:

• Random Guys Jumping Into Our Picture, Looking Inordinately Happy About It- 2
• Drunk Texts Sent Out- 4 (one of which loosely translated to: "I had lobster, am wearing orange")
• Fights Started: 1
• UPBs (Unidentified party bruises): 3
• Boston Songs Sung at the Top of Our Lungs After Loudly Shouting Out the Windows of the Car that Boston will not be suppressed: 1

This night has also made me realize that I need to invest in a tape recorder just to document the ridiculousness and hilarity that comes into play during drunken conversations. And also to document the utterly inept attempts at describing our political views.

Cooper's rather brilliant theory on the whole Falcon hoax kept us entertained for at least 45 minutes. His conclusion that no one would give a damn about Falcon and his father's weather balloon if his name was like Bobby or Tom or something inane like that made us laugh so hard that tears rolled down our cheeks. His story even inspired the 87 year old diner waitress to give Cooper a very enthusiastic, yet suspicious, high-five.

It was after the high-five that things really fell apart.

Because someone had to bring up George Bush. Politics and religion are the worst things to talk about when drunk and it's usually Kane who defuses such nonsense. He is my moral compass- intelligent, grounded, strong with a healthy dose of sound judgment and a great bullshit-o-meter.

However, Johnny Walker Red is his undoing. Yes, my friends, Kane has a weakness. After several glasses of that weakness, all aforementioned intelligence has a tendency to dissipate into thin air.

Kane: George Bush is the devil.
Cooper: What exactly about George Bush do you hate?
Kane: He sent people to their deaths. Some people I know. (pause, hiccup) And some people you may know.
Cooper: Ok, well then. Well, what about his policies?
Kane: (long drawn out pause in which we thought he might have passed out) He sent people to their deaths! (shouting, pointing) Some people I know. And some people you may know. (looks down at his chicken sandwich) I don't want this.

Sorry Kane, that I have outed your weakness. But it was all in the name of entertainment. And really how many times have I pointed out mine in this venue? Enough, I think.

Unless you guys want to hear about the time I embarrassed myself in front of a Hollywood film icon? Naaah...that wouldn't be blogworthy at all, would it?