Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Lola vs. Kay Jewelers Can Kiss My Ass

Has anyone seen the Kay Jeweler commercials lately?

I am actually not bringing these commercials up in order to add fuel to the fire that is my commitment phobic nature! I'm bringing them up in order to point out that the Kay commercials have become laced with strange menacing undertones. In order to prove my point, I have included the dialogue from two of their most recent adds.

Exhibit A: It's the middle of the night and a guy surprises his wife and newborn baby by a dimly lit tree. I call this commercial The Christmas Massacre of 2009: New Dad Goes Crazy

Hapless Victim/Wife: (glancing at her husband fearfully as he enters the room) What are you doing up? (shades of frantic in her tone now) It's 2AM!

Sinister Man In Pajamas/Husband: (creepily mimicking her in a monotone whisper) It's 2AM (pause) Christmas Morning... (with a kind of perverted relish) And I couldn't wait!

I imagine the rest of his statement went something along the lines of: and I couldn't wait...TO KILL YOU. The pale new born baby they insert in the wife's arms does nothing to tamper the feeling that this guy is about to go nuts and slaughter his family.

*******************************************************************

Exhibit B: Out of all their commercials, this one is by far my favorite. I like to refer to it as The Serial Killer Couple in an Abandoned Cabin in a Category 5 Storm Commercial.


Severely Creepy Man: In all the years we have been coming here, I've never seen a storm like this. (cue ominous thunder. Woman turns into her husband's serial killer arms but is strangely not scared) I'm right here. (menacing now) And I always will be.
Accomplice/Wife: Don't let go. (veiled threatening tone) EVER!

As you can see from the above conversation, this is clearly going in the direction of the couple becoming Mr. and Mrs Stabby McStabbity Stabberson from 45 Bloodlust Lane, Murderville USA.

In conclusion, every kiss does not begin with Kay. I have it on good authority that Patron shots have a much better track record at inducing more make-out sessions than Kay jewelers ever has. With their ominous themes and disturbing actors, their new tagline should be Every Crime Begins with Kay. But don't take my word for it, watch the clips of the commercials yourselves and feel free to let me know what you think. Even though I'm obviously right.

Oh, how I've missed all of you! Feel free to send me naughty admonishments in the mail for my mysterious absence. I do so need a good spanking once in awhile.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Lola vs. My Dad is a Degenerate

Over the weekend I found out that my dad is a degenerate. Actually, this shouldn't really come as a big shock to me because before the age of fifty, he "retired" early from a rather high position at a company in order to become a master scuba diver. And yes, the word retired definitely deserves air quotes. As you can tell, I'm not bitter at all about it. Nope, no bitterness here (she writes with clenched teeth)!

I abandoned my typical not-getting-up-off-the-couch-Fat-Sunday plans to see The Blind Side (damn those motivational sports movies and their irritating ability to warm my otherwise cold, dead heart!!!) with my father. As we are chatting in his car, he casually slips in that he "double-dips" at the movies.

Lola: (looking at him suspiciously out of the corner of her eye) You do what now?
Dad: Double-dip.
Lola's sister: (from the backseat) I double-dip my cucumbers.
Lola: (turns to her dad) You dip your popcorn into your soda or something?
Dad: No, I pay for one movie and see two or three.
Lola: (in disbelief) Wait- let me get this straight-you sneak into movies now?
Dad: (by way of explanation) No, movie prices are outrageous!
Lola: What do you mean, no? You're not paying for the movies. Essentially, you're stealing.
Dad: (laughing) I prefer to think of it as double-dipping.
Lola: (exasperated) So you've said. (shaking her head) All these years, I've looked up to you. My opinion of you has been forever changed.

At nearly 60 years of age, my dad carefully examines the newspaper and plots out his schedule, adapting methods that probably haven't been implemented since the Napoleonic wars, for the express purpose of sneaking into two or three movies. However, during one of these infamous "double-dipping" sessions, he came across a slight hitch in his plans.

When my dad merrily snuck into see A Christmas Carol, a satisfied smile on his bearded face, he looked around and noticed that there was something odd about the people around him. They were all wearing 3-d glasses, which they had gotten when they had PURCHASED a ticket. This left my dad in a quandary. He couldn't go back to the desk to request the aforementioned glasses, because then the theater folk would know that he circumvented their ticketing system.

So he did the only thing he could.

He snuck back out of the movie and walked across the hall to a giant blue bin with a sign that pleaded: "Please Return Your 3-D Glasses Here!". His eyes darted back and forth, making sure the coast was clear, and then he stuck his hand down the bin. He brandished the pair of glasses, placed them on his nose triumphantly, and then promptly smuggled himself back inside the theater.

And this, dear readers, is the man I am supposed to have received my moral values from.

Before I leave all of you for the Thanksgiving Holiday, I would like to give a very special shout-out to one of my readers. I received a wonderful surprise from one of you (you know who you are!) and I wanted to send lots of naughtiness, love, and flirtations glances your way because getting it in the mail yesterday brightened up this red-head's day! So I am sending you big, sloppy kisses.

Have a naughty day, fellow bloggers.

P. S. Has anyone else heard of using the words double-dipping in reference to sneaking into a movie? Or do we need to add this to the urban dictionary?

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

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.



Monday, November 9, 2009

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
.

Friday, November 6, 2009

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.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

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:

PhotobucketRobin Ho & the Devi-AngelPhotobucket


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...

Photobucket

Photobucket

Photobucket

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.***


Friday, October 30, 2009

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.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

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.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

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?


Friday, October 16, 2009

Lola vs. Facebook, Desperation, and Mandatory Sex Parties

Why does facebook think that I am desperate? Now I don't think there is anything wrong with online dating but facebook perpetually lines those online dating adds in that smug right handed column of theirs with a kind of frenetic consistency that makes me nervous. Does facebook not read my commitment phobic little blog? I have equated relationships with vomit, zombie attacks, and getting run over by a truck after a five day bender with an Eastern European stripper who likes girls. What more do I have to do to get them to stop trying to find me a mate????

Maybe I should shut-up and just be thankful that facebook is looking after my well being, comfort, and financial security. After all, by the tone of the adds they send my way, I know in the very marrow of my bones that facebook cares truly, deeply, and madly about my future happiness. Out of the goodness of its heart, facebook wants to pair me up with the perfect match who would understand my need to ride in a red radio flyer wagon, share in my desire to finally finish FallOut 3 and my quirky mystery novel, and accept my irrational love for someone whose process starts with a holla and ends with a creamsicle. I mean, honestly, there could be no ulterior motive behind its clever "nudges" for me to go forth and couple up. Right?

Here are a few of my favorite- and not to mention- compelling ad pieces from my dear, dear friend facebook:

Meet Elite Singles. It's free! Dating for mature singles can be very difficult, but it doesn't have to be. Mature Singles Only believes that no one should be alone. You had me at Elite. They must have a world-class squad of men just standing in line, in dark suits and dark ties who smell like peppermint and Cuban cigars. Does anyone else think there is a menacing, creepy undertone to the last line of this message? Like someone is whispering the same mantra in a dark shadowy hallway with no end while two twin girls stare at you with a maniacal gleam in the whites of their eyes.

Becca & Scott found love! With 20,000 people joining every day, so can you. See who's online near you. It's free! Seriously Becca & Scott found love? Becca and Scott?! Oh this plucks at my heart strings. Why didn't you tell me this before? If Becca was finally able to cast aside her slight addiction to prescription narcotics and her obsessive compulsive personality disorder, then by all that is holy what is stopping me from doing the same? Ummm... that didn't sound right. Find love I mean. Not cast aside a prescription narcotics addiction.

Marry a Millionaire! Meet millionaires, CEO's, millionaires, entrepreneurs, millionaires, and successful men looking for quality, classy women. Join MeetingMillionaires for free! Just what a millionaire wants, a person who goes on the site for the express purpose of finding someone whose primary quality in a mate is the all mighty dollar!

This last one was something I had to see for myself, so I clicked the link to find something that drove me into a frenzy of orgiastic bliss. They proclaim that not only are their men real but that they also can verify their identity, income and profession for my peace of mind. I don't know about you but the fact that their user names include TheDoctorIsIn77 and niptuck37 obviously means that their men are quality, verified, and looking for love. Consider my mind at peace!

And speaking of orgiastic bliss, why can't facebook advertise Mandatory Sex Parties instead? I would be much more inclined to participate in something like that. I could picture the add now:

Start the fall season off right! Join Mandatory Sex Parties and experience being matched based on nothing but being in the same room at the same time! Here we verify no profession, no income, and no quality. Join Mandatory Sex Parties today! Where participation is mandatory and everyone leaves satisfied.

Kind of like this blog, right?

Have a naughty weekend everybody. I know I will.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Lola vs. Drunken Superpowers

I have noticed during my many forays into the world of alcoholism that when someone drinks they are blessed with several superpowers. These powers are only enhanced by increasing the number of alcoholic beverages one imbibes. I have decided to address some of the ones I have witnessed in today's post.

Super Power #1- Retard Strength

Jim has retard strength when he is drunk. I liken his strength to that of a mother, pumped full of adrenaline, whose baby is in danger and she can therefore lift up a car with one hand in order to save him/her. I've witnessed him perform several feats of insurmountable odds. One in particular comes to mind. Jim, who gets winded going up a flight of stairs, was able to rip a sink from the wall because he thought it would be "prudent for me to have an extra one laying about my apartment." (This example also includes Super Power #3, which is listed below.)

Super Power #2- Superior Arguing Skills

Lila likes to get into fights with her boyfriend while drinking. My absolute favorite fight of all time was when she got seriously mad at him for not telling her he went to the bathroom during a party. Somehow alcohol allowed her to convince him that not only was this completely normal, and not in the realm of crazy girl paranoia land, but that it was actually his fault for causing the fight in the first place.

Super Power #3- Drunken Logic

Out of all of the superpowers one acquires when drinking copious amounts of alcoholic beverages, the drunken logic super power is perhaps my favorite. Because it can make you do anything- no matter how dangerous, how stupid, or how destructive to your body that act may be.

For example drunken logic dictated that over the weekend after a football game I decided that I, too, was a ninja and therefore could perform a jumping roundhouse kick in the dark, next to an SUV without injuring myself or the SUV. I was wrong. My right hip now sports a big, purple bruise that strangely enough resembles the head of Elvis.

Drunken logic was also the reason a friend of mine decided it would be a great idea to take a running leap and hurdle over the fence separating the boardwalk from the dunes just because "if he could make it over than our other friend was allowed to take a walk on the beach." Drunken logic also told him to take off his shirt, tie it around his head, and flee from the cops who had witnessed his face-first-in-the-sand routine "because all those perps are shirtless on COPS."

I know that I do you all a great injustice by not mentioning all of the super powers one acquires while drunk in this post, so I am now opening up the floor to all of you. After all, every hero has their own unique set of abilities and I'm sure we could all benefit in some way by learning about them.

What super powers have you acquired in this arena?

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Lola vs. ZombieRelationshipland

***Don't worry this post has no real spoilers for Zombieland and in fact has more to do with my views on my current life than anything else. Intrigued? Well, read on.***

It you haven't seen Zombieland, you should go see it. Immediately. It's awesome. I have rather a sick sense of humor so, of course, this gruesome horror comedy held non-stop amusement for me and the Zombie apocalypse theme followed so closely on the heels of my latest adventure with Kane, that I couldn't help but love it.

The Zombies in this movie are not the lumbering, walking dead but instead have the retard-strength of the super jacked up, frothing creatures that you see in 28 Days Later or the Dawn of the Dead. They also ooze more liquid out of their orifices than anything I have ever seen or would care to see in real life. Given this description of the zombies, you can imagine that the characters have to get pretty inventive in battling them. In fact, Columbus' list of rules (which are in the previews) for surviving in his zombie-infested world is a fantastic running gag throughout the movie.

As he rambled off his list of rules for the enraptured audience around me, I suddenly had an epiphany. He uses the same rules for surviving Zombieland that I employ in conjunction with relationships! While it would be silly, not to mention ridiculously long-winded of me, to name all of them so I'll just have to settle with hitting the major rules below.

How to Survive A Zombie Attack/Relationship

Rule #1- Cardio

"Run like hell. Don't stop running. Keep running." Interestingly enough, I employ the same technique to attract a man that I do in avoiding a relationship with one. First to sculpt the body and then second to use that sculpted body to flee from commitment.

Rule#2- Double Tap

Why conserve ammo? You need to make absolutely certain that sucker is dead. When dating someone, I like to inform them right off the bat that I don't want a relationship and just in case that commitment notion doesn't die within his mind immediately I use the Double Tap method by equating a relationship with vomit. Usually it works. Usually.

Rule #4 and #18- Seat belts & Limber Up

It should be self explanatory when I use these in conjunction with each other but you should always be safe before you limber up.

Rule#22- When in doubt know your way out

Always have an exit strategy when it comes to the undead and dating. This is particularly useful when you're on a horrible blind date where you actually witness the guy swiping the tip you have left for the waitress before you leave(true story).


Now not only have I equated commitment with vomiting, but I have also officially referred to a monogamous relationship as a a ferocious, infected undead entity that is scary, gnarly, and gross. Oh my, look how far I've come (this is where if I had a sarcasm font, I would take full advantage of it)! Doesn't this just warm the cockles of your heart?

There is something seriously wrong with me.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Lola vs. The Simple Life

My last post was about strippers so I thought I'd calm down just a tad and reveal a softer side of Lola. Well sort of.

I like to take walks. Sounds simple, right? Well, remember it's me.

Kane and I started this walking tradition when I went through an obsession with running a few months ago. After the run I jogged by his house, knocked on his door, and bothered him to kill some time with me. He suggested visiting the arboretum in the next town over.

Lola: I guess so, how far away is it?
Kane: It's only about a mile and a half away, there and back.
Lola: Cool. (two hours pass and the intrepid pair have not reached their destination...) Dude, I'm pretty sure we've gone a lot more than a mile.
Kane: (looking around) Yeah, I don't really know where we are.
Lola: (accusatory) You led me astray. (looks down) I can't feel my legs.
Kane: That's because you fell out of the tree. Epic fail on the whole climbing thing.
Lola: Yeah, I'm kinda glad you moved those rocks below the tree in anticipation over that fact.

Along this journey, we decided that besides climbing trees -ok, falling out of trees- that we are very adept at finding really disturbing things that go on within the idyllic confines of our community. Like tree concentration camps, dead shrews, cartwheels gone amok, an ice cream truck that refused to pop its weasel, and escaped mental patients running wild. To name a few.

Now the two hour walk has become an integral part of our relationship.

The other day we went for one of our epic journeys and something interesting happened as we turned into Kane's street from mine. Suddenly during the span of one street, our neighborhood went from a sunny and calm kids-riding-bikes-and-eating-ice cream-happily-in-the-street kind of place to a windy, post-apocalyptic war zone. Large stretches of pavement had been torn asunder, sidewalks had been blasted apart, and not a soul could be seen for miles.

Amidst the rubble and dust clouds, massive, ominous construction machines littered the road with no clear indication of their usefulness or true purpose. Not only did I legitimately see a tumbleweed creep across the greenish tinged horizon, but I also counted about 5-7 jackhammers just randomly laying about the place. This, of course, amused the hell out of us and I decided I had to run back to my house and grab my camera to catalog our walk for the rest of the world.

PhotobucketObviously some sort of alien race from the Star Wars galaxy has finally arrived on our planet to scavenge and/or lay waste to humans. I did not survive.


<span class=A pair of mismatched shoes lay abandoned, as if their owners had simply vanished where they stood. Since we had clearly wandered into post-apocalyptic DC in the vein of FallOut3 , I am of the opinion that they slowly turned into ghouls and had no further use for shoes of the human variety.

<span class=

We stumbled across the above seriously creepy building- which is clearly a mental institution- where the barbed wire is facing towards the structure in order to keep people in, rather than out. Please note the medical alert bracelet tangled artfully in the fence.

We fled. Immediately. Right into a plot of land with all these strange heaps of dirt.

<span class=

And what would a post apocalyptic neighborhood be without a menacing religious statue coming out of a flower pot on the porch of an abandoned house?

<span class=

After Kane safely deposited me on my doorstep and we had a bout of insane laughter over our narrow escape through a wild, war-torn northern Jersey town, I realized that I just don't have it in me to do anything simple.

It always has to be an adventure.


Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Lola vs. Strippers, Commuter Buses, and Whiskey Part Deux

Sadly, Kane was absent for the College-Reunion-Whiskey-Induced-Stripper-Incident of 09. So as promised, dear readers, the below is Kane's reaction. Enjoy!


Setting: Lola's couch. She is currently lounging in a hung-over comatose state where she slowly pieces together the evening's events for her boy Kane, who is currently on the other end of her cell phone. A re-run of Dr. Who plays in the background.

Kane: (after long drawn, out pause) So let me get this straight, you paid for VIP bottle service at a strip club with six of your guy friends from college, made a futile attempt to save your friend Cooper from an old stripper that could have destroyed his fragile marriage, almost got kicked out for attempting a lap dance of your own, and then got into a fight with the coat check girl?
Lola: That about sums it up. (considering) How come when you say it out loud it makes me sound completely devoid of all morals?
Kane: Or awesome. (pause) Where did all of your girlfriends go?
Lola: I really don't know. Somewhere between the third bar and the strip club, we lost them.
Kane: So you were by yourself with six guys at the Hustler Club?
Lola: No, actually Vera came with me. (Kane makes an unintelligible sound) Hello? (sound of dial tone as Kane hangs up) Hello? (dials Kane back up) Why did you just hang up on me?
Kane: Because I hate you.
Lola: Care to elaborate?
Kane: You took Vera to a strip club. She is the last, last person who would ever set foot in one of those places.
Lola: So?
Kane: It's unfair to the rest of us. You have this irritating knack to get anyone to do anything. (groaning) How is this possible?
Lola: A gift?
Kane: No, I think you aren't quite human. (pause, thinking) There is evidence to support that theory in the 97 texts you sent me last night. Half of them were in a language I couldn't decipher.
Lola: Oh god. (shaking her head) Can you send me some? I must have erased all of them.
Kane: Yeah, at one point I thought you had been arrested.
Lola: (laughing nervously) What did you do?
Kane: I went back to sleep.

And now we have come to the Evolution of a Drunk Text portion of this week's blog.



"Dude, I think I am going to strip club later. A girl strip club?" -Time: 11:18pm
Translation: None needed.

"I Taken 3 shots of whistelty. " -Time: 12:32AM
Translation: A shot that is a combination of whiskey and whistling. Also, I would like to point out my stunning misuse of verb tense. Unless, as Kane has suggested, I am speaking in an alien language. In that case, I would like to point out to him that tenses cannot always be translated properly from one language to another.

"molsted by ca striper's coobs. lolli" -Time: 2:50Am
Translation:
After a long and exhausting shift at the hospital, an errant candy striper molested my delicate sensibilities with her boob shaped lollipops.

"check bitch sotle my xo, arrested?" -Time: 3:43 AM.
Translation:
Either the coat check girl stole my senior officer or some kisses. Apparently there was some question as to whether or not I could have been arrested for this.

"I cdsbajqwt beliuebve how drun412ewrt foodl!" -Time: 4:38 AM
Translation:
I'd like to let you guys have fun and decode this one.

If you guys can't properly decipher the above, Kane points out that he will most likely have to go to the guy in the subway that walks around in circles and mutters to himself since he thinks their origins are closely aligned with my home planet. Obviously they are from a lower caste system. Obviously.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Lola vs. Strippers, Commuter Buses, and Whiskey Part One

I should have known that Friday night was going to go in a strange direction because I took the Short Line Bus during commuter traffic and got yelled at by some grizzled, old Mexican man. With a sea captain's hat perched askew on the top of his head, he smelled like onions, a fish sandwich, and broken dreams.

Oblivious to the tension shimmering around me, I sat down happily and got out my iPod to listen to the new MUSE album. My hands were dry so I took out some lotion and rubbed some of it on my arms and witnessed, incredulously, as the Mexican fisherman thrust his body over the seat in front of me and waved his hands frantically in my face. He muttered something that sounded like: "Please. Stop. The Odor!"

Confused, I looked down at the Bath & Bodyworks lotion bottle I had in my hands. I really wanted to say,"I smell like Sensual Amber bitch!" Luckily, I thought better of it because I'm pretty sure he had a shiv and some fishing wire in his pocket. Instead I merely moved back a seat.

After my enjoyable jaunt on the commuter bus, I headed to the restaurant to meet some of my college friends. I have an unfortunate habit of being ridiculously late (I blame the Germans) so I took an earlier bus to make absolutely sure I was there on time. This made me arrive before any of the other ten people which, of course, meant that I needed to have at least two Berry martinis before anyone got there.

Apparently when berry martinis and cider are combined with three shots of Jameson whiskey, I advocate the following: going to The Hustler strip club, getting a lap dance by a sad looking Eastern European stripper who insists that she likes girls better than boys (strippers don't lie!), spending $400 on grape caffeine infused vodka, getting into a fight with the coat check girl, and allowing my friend to almost die when tackled into a cab by a guy who may have been one of those Egyptian mummies unearthed in the Valley of Kings.

Sounds like a great night, huh? My hazy, strange conversation with the Eastern European Stripper my friend Derek paid to give me a lap dance was just one of the many, many interesting moments of this college reunion of sorts.

EES: I like girls.
Lola: Oh, um. Thanks. You smell good?
EES: Are you bi?
Lola: Actually we don't have a by for another few weeks. We play Michigan State tomorrow.
EES: (blank stare) Scuse me? (amidst more gyration) Want private room? I like girls.
Lola: (looking at her friends for help) Thanks for the offer, but I'll pass.
EES: You can smack my ass, you know.
Lola: Oh.

So I don't remember if I actually spoke about Notre Dame having a by week out loud to the gyrating woman, smacking her own ass, in front of me but I do remember that was the first thought in my head at the time. Stupid alcohol.

I suppose, to be fair, I really can't completely blame everything on the whiskey. I'd like to nominate my friend Cooper for at least 1/3 of the blame. Before the bevy of Eastern European strippers, Cooper asked me about my blog. After a brief debate on what his moniker would be if he were to make an appearance (I wanted Lance and he suggested Hank), our brief conversation consisted of this:

Cooper: So I want to be in your blog. How does one get in there?
Lola: Either be ridiculously funny or do something incredibly embarrassing.
Cooper: How about I get depressed, have a fight with my estranged wife on an NYC sidewalk, get the others to take me to a strip club where you and Dean have to go running around the Hustler Club trying to save me and my wallet from a used-up bleach blond stripper who is desperately clinging onto her youth?
Lola: That sounds perfect! Thanks.

And that's exactly how Cooper finally ended up in my blog. Please give him a warm welcome. I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank him for sharing his chicken fettuccine with me at 5 am after our brief sojourn to Gray's Papaya where we ate the best hot dogs known to man.

For Kane's reaction to this night of debauchery (as he was woefully missing!) and the evolution of a drunk text, please stay tuned for Part Deux!

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Lola vs. Crushing Words of Wisdom

Bless me bloggers, for I have sinned. It's been 10 days since my last blogfession! Fear not, dear readers, for I am back with a new luscious look and to let you in on a delicious little secret. Shhhh, don't tell anyone. Except for you know the Internet, which is a small community right? Like max 10-20 people?

I had an inappropriate crush recently. Yes, me. I know! Unbelievable. Ok, Ok- maybe the inappropriate part of it I have down. But the crush part- not so much. And unfortunately, I made the mistake of mentioning it to my friend Kane.

Lola: So I have this crush.
Kane: (burst out laughing) Riiiight.
Lola: No really I do.
Kane: (still laughing)
Lola: Wow. (pause) You about done?
Kane: You don't have a crush. (more laughter) You had three dates in one night on Friday.
Lola: (waving her hand dismissively) Oh, you and your logic.
Kane: Well, was he one of those?
Lola: No.
Kane: Was this the guy you wouldn't go out with because you were watching the Notre Dame game? (pause) Where you got drunk and proceeded to accuse the ref of being sucked off by the Michigan cheerleaders.
Lola: Not one of my finest moments. (disheartened) And that would be a no, not that one.
Kane: (understanding) Wow, this guy hasn't even asked you out yet. This is new.
Lola: (sarcastically) I'm glad you find this amusing.
Kane: Don't worry, if Matt Damon could actually marry a slutty tramp bartender with a kid, then you could at least bang this guy.
Lola: You do realize that nugget of wisdom is going on my blog, right?
Kane: It would be a shame to keep it between me and you. It will bring hope to women everywhere.

Fortunately for me and my tendency to go into Yemen mode, I found out that the crush is otherwise occupied at the moment. And despite popular belief (or at least the belief going around in crazy girl paranoia land), I actually have some sort of moral code that I follow.

It may be held together by duct tape and string, but it is there.


Friday, September 4, 2009

Lola vs. Procrastination

My sister has just won the award for Best Use of Procrastination In A Work Day Production and/or Variety Hour. She earned this award for sending me the below email while she was toiling away in the corporate marketplace:

Subject Line: I have just spent the past half hour taking facebook quizzes...

And this is what I found out:

  1. My IQ is 150 and I am brilliant
  2. My celebrity boyfriend is Ben Affleck
  3. My favorite color is RED
  4. I am going to marry someone whose name begins with a K
  5. The 2009 song that I am is “Kiss Me through the phone” by Soulja Boy
  6. Kallie Mae is my Red-neck name followed of course by my ghetto name Nae Nae and to top it all off my Native American Indian name Strong Heart

And lastly for that question I know you have been dying to ask me for years now… what famous black woman am I? ---– it’s Beyonce Knowles!

I have learned so much today about myself, what an enlightening day.

Sara

I decided I had to procrastinate right back at her with:

Subject Line: I just spent 20 minutes responding to your message and this is what I came up with...

Dear Sasha Fierce,

To think I was once living under the same roof as the singer of such hits as Single Ladies and Bootylicious! I don't know how you concealed your identity for such a long time but it must have something to do with your ability to bear the mantel of so many different personalities. There were times when I could have sworn sharing a bathroom with Nae Nae would have been impossible indeed if it hadn't been for Strong Heart always being the mediator.

I was also surprised to learn that your current IQ qualifies you for the prestigious positions that men such as Lincoln, Copernicus, and Jefferson have held in the past. But instead you chose to follow the music within you.

I'm a little bit disconcerted by the fact that you define yourself not by one of your multi-platinum hits but by Soulja Boy. At the very least it should have been Nigga What, Nigga Who by your husband- unless you guys are splitsville. Could it be because your boyfriend Ben Affleck got in the way? You really kept that one under the radar.

I see you are already planning on your next husband. Oh Kallie Mae, you naughty minx you! I'm sure you will invite me to the wedding this time as the cat is out of the bag on the whole secret identity thing.

Incredulously yours,

Lola

P.S. Is it safe to assume that since I'll be your maid of honor, I'll be wearing RED at your impending nuptials to this mystery K man of yours?

So that brings me to pose a question to all of you. What kinds of things have you guys done to raise procrastination to a true art form?


Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Lola vs. Simple Dating Rules # 5, 6, 7

Lola's Simple Dating Rule # 5- I'm guessing that the correct response when Guy A says, "I want to come over and cook you a nice dinner." probably isn't "Ummm, why?"

Lola's Simple Dating Rule # 6- When Guy B says,"Can I stay over?" you really shouldn't shoot back, "Either way is fine with me, dude."

And last but not least...

Lola's Simple Dating Rule # 7- Never, ever reply to Guy C's "I'm missing something." with an "Oh god, please say it's not your wallet."

Recently I made the attempt to make myself less weary when men are nice to me. As the above evidence suggests, this attempt failed. Rather miserably. Now, I'm a little confused as to why this is. I don't think that all men deserve to be punished for one big, bad experience because I have a tight circle of male friends who I, quite honestly, think the absolute world of.

But for some reason, generally around the third or even second date, I panic. And it's not deer-in-the-headlights panic, it's more along the lines of help-me-I-need-to-move-to-Yemen-and-change-my-name panic.

So I made the mistake of asking my friend Kane, after a few beers (of course), why he thought I was like this and what, if anything, I could do from stopping Yemen mode. And so he imparted to me his own particular brand of wisdom.

Kane: Why don't you do what I do when I want to get out of a relationship?
Lola: Even though it has absolutely nothing to do what I just asked you, go ahead.
Kane: Wake up in Vegas, handcuffed naked to a stranger.
Lola: Oh right, Natalie. (shakes her head) But what if I want to actually try and extract myself from panic mode?
Kane: (bursts out into laughter) No, you don't. (thinking) Plus, I'm not going to give you advice for that kind of thing.
Lola: Well, why not?
Kane: Because it's too much fun to watch you freak out. And I benefit from the shit they send you. Like that fruit basket that one guy sent you with the pineapples shaped like stars and the chocolate covered strawberries.
Lola: That guy wasn't dating me though. He threw up in my sink.
Kane: Oh, right. (considering) Is that the same guy who threw up on your futon?
Lola: No, different guy.
Kane: What about that guy who threw up off your porch? The one your friend found passed out by Hot Bagels, bleeding.
Lola: God, I never realized how many people have vomited at my house. (pause) Ugh, this is exactly why I'm fucked up. I go from dating to vomiting in 2.5 seconds.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Lola vs. Break-Up Paint

This post was inspired by my cyber sister from another mother, Blunt Delivery. It's getting ridiculous the amount of things we have in common and paint is just the chocolate icing on our two layer vanilla funfetti cake.

When the rejuvenation green I bought to get rid of the electric blue vomit on my walls was neither green nor brought me a sense of rejuvenation, I had to travel to Home Depot- with Kane in tow- to get serious.

That's when we realized that all names for paint colors are lame. These include but are not limited to: Lyndhurst Duchess (for the inner blueblood in you), Cincinnatian Hotel Olivia Blue (I've always admired the color of the walls in Cincinnati hotels...) Peaceful Calm (redundant wall colors are my favorite!), and finally La Fonda Fiery Fireberry (what the hell is a La Fonda? Is it a dance move? Why would a dance move be red? Is it an angry dance move?).

After Kane repeatedly pointed out to the sales guy that I was single and in "need of strong break-up paint", we decided that to accompany said paint we really needed some fantastic break-up colors.

So after much discussion, we used Pathological Liar Primer and then coated it with a subtle I-Finally-Got-Rid-of-the-Dead-Weight-Who-Sucked-Up-
a-Considerable-Amount-of-My-Savings
Green. And finally, to accent the room, we used a deep He-May-Have-Been-The-One-
Responsible-For-Stashing-Cocaine-In-My-Old-Car
Burgundy.

I bet V, my other delightful derelict sister and like any normal girl is fond of a good melee, has some good break-up shades in her repertoire. Anyone else care to share their paint colors with the rest of the class?

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Lola vs. Holy Matritution

So if you haven't guessed by now, I'm in the phase in my life that I like to refer to as the avoiding-a-relationship-as-if-it-is-the-plague stage. But being a girl and living alone gives you very few options for quick flings.

Picking up someone is fine. Wanting them to know where you live is not.

My boys and I have this debate about how to go about finding a fling. D thinks that I'm too picky. J, however, would much rather me "take one for the team" and keep on having the socially awkward dating experiences for the express purposes of entertaining them. Kane feels that I just need the right atmosphere for a fling. Here is where he eloquently explains the benefits of a certain situation. Or something like that:

Lola: Sometimes I'm such a dude.
Kane: Oh let me count the ways. Maybe there are girls like you. Just probably not with the severe lack of filter affliction you exhibit. (pause) But seriously, you just need the right opportunity.
Lola: (thinking) How about a wedding? With a wedding you know there's at least one person who knows the guy second hand.
Kane: Very true. Not as many weirdos as the average bar. Or they disguise themselves better. And it's usually in a hotel so you can always scream if the guy is a serial killer.
Lola: Wow, the benefits are just piling up. So maybe I should just go to more weddings then.
Kane: You should. But then it's like prostitution.
Lola: Wha-at?
Kane: Since it costs money each time in the form of a nicely wrapped gift. Usually from Bed, Bath, and Beyond.
Lola: (realization dawns) Oh shit, I actually gave them money.
Kane: There you go. So the people who got married are like pimps.
Lola: So you're saying the bride and groom manage the sexual sales transactions for the bridal party/guests.
Kane: Exactly. Next on 60 Minutes: Wedding Prostitution- Victimless Crime or Alarming Trend?
Lola: I'm going with alarming trend. (pause, considering) But it has to be Dateline. Because I feel strongly that Stone Phillips needs to cover this.
Kane: Good luck with that. Make sure they blur your face. And please don't list me as a witness. I don't feel that we're in the point of our relationship where I can be an anonymous source.

Thanks Kane. Once again our heartwarming conversations make life worth living.



Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Lola vs. Lame Disease

So the other day, a friend emailed me with a story about how he was forced to sit down and watch a documentary about Lyme disease on a family vacation. As I was reading his message to me, I became alarmed by one of his typos. It might have been the fact that I had finished the sleep deprivation portion of my night and was heading straight into the hallucination part of the program but I became disturbed over the implications of his mistake. What if it wasn't a mistake? What if he is trying to alert me to something I may not be aware of? I choked back the fear that had suddenly lodged itself in my throat. In the event that this was a real threat to our existence, I felt it was my duty to educate all of you on the very serious subject of Lame Disease.

FACTS & STATS

According to the Centers for Disease Control, in 2007 there were 27,444 reported cases of lame disease - a 37% increase of lame over the previous year. Lame cases have been reported in every state, and on every continent except Antarctica.

COMMON QUESTIONS

What is lame disease and how do I get it?
A bacterial infection, lame disease is the most common vector-borne disease in America. Lame bacteria and their co-infections are typically transmitted to humans through the bite of an infected lame. Definitely a lame way to get diseased.

Why do lame patients have trouble getting diagnosed and treated?
Because no one wants to deal with a bunch of lames.

What should I do if I think I have lame disease?
Diagnosis can be difficult in the absence of a bull's-eye rash or a positive test, so for these less clear cases, it's best to see a lame specialist.

WHAT YOU CAN DO...

EDUCATE others about lame disease. Share your own and others' lame stories on blogs and with the press; the more lame stories out there, the more lame people will seek and get proper treatment.
PARTICIPATE in the growing lame community. There are a number of lame associations and online support groups to answer questions about lame research, treatments, physicians, and policy.
ADVOCATE for lame patient and physician rights. For access to important patient rights resources, visit the CALDA website, where you can find symptom checklists, insurance-appeal letters, lame-check flyers, and documentation about chronic lame.
DONATE to innovative lame research and awareness. Turn the Corner Foundation is committed to supporting lame disease research and awareness, including training to help doctors become lame-literate. Doctors desperately need help learning to cope with lame patients going on and on with their lame stories about how they've got lame disease.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Lola vs. Spongebob and Spillage

I am an an incoherent, mean mess in the morning. I hate- and I can't stress this enough-hate waking up. Until I've had my coffee, the world and I are not on speaking terms.

A few years ago on this particular day, I had forgotten to set my alarm for an earlier meeting and was therefore catastrophically late. Unable to shower or properly attend to my riotous reddish locks, I changed in record time and threw the aforementioned hair into a pony tail. Usually my clothing is a bit on the unconventional side but today I had carefully laid out proper business attire (oh how responsible of me!) for the meeting.

In my stubborn- okay, borderline obsessive- conviction to only make one trip to the car, I had a laptop bag, coffee, purse, business folders, and my lunch clutched in my arms. Having no hands left in which to open the door, I made several unsuccessful attempts at trying to open it with my foot. Eventually I got fed up and, fueled by the anger of being late, kicked the door. This range of motion was, apparently, too much for the items balanced precariously in both hands. In slow-motion, I watched helplessly as the entire contents of the hot, scalding coffee tipped over and onto my nice work skirt.

Screeching, I ran back inside and changed into the only skirt I had that matched the rest of the outfit. It was a pure snow white linen. So I left the coffee on the floor, packed up the rest of my things (which were strewn all over my kitchen at this point), and broke every available traffic law there is in New Jersey in order to get to work on time.

I got there to find a flashing message from my boss in my inbox. Meeting changed to 10:30. I breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that I could go to the cafeteria and get another cup of coffee and in effect throw off the morning haze and the irritation of being late.

Carlos the cafeteria breakfast guy (yes, we are on a first name basis) saw me walk in and brightened:

Lola: Hey Carlos!
Carlos: (surprised) You are dressed so nicely today. And you are much later than normal.
Lola: (pondering at how apparently her wardrobe is not up to par for the cafeteria staff's taste) Um, yeah. I always like a side of judgement with my egg white omelet.
Carlos: (grinning under his ginormous hair net, not really understanding Lola's brilliant repartee) So that means you have time for your usual?
Lola: (checks the clock) Why, not? I'll go fill up my coffee. (turns around)
Carlos: (bursts into laughter as Lola walks away) Lola, I didn't know you liked it that way.
Lola: (coming back to the griddle, confused) Wha-at?
Carlos: (as he is scraping her egg-white pepper and mushroom omelet onto a plate) Is that an invitation?
Lola: (thoroughly confused as he hands her the plate) What are you talking about?
Carlos: (gesturing to her skirt with the spatula) That.
Lola: (looking down at her stain free skirt) Well this just got weird. I'm gonna leave now.

Completely confused at the language barrier that had just occurred, I traveled back to the third floor. I heard a few giggles as I made my way to my cubicle but chalked them up to me being paranoid and not having enough coffee in my system. Oh, how naive I was.

I gobbled up my breakfast and coffee, deliberated over a few emails, and decided with wonder that I actually had time to go to the bathroom before the big meeting. I rose with a sense of purpose, brushed the crumbs off my skirt, and headed to the bathroom. Then a woman who worked in accounting gave me possibly the dirtiest look I have ever seen a human being give another as I passed by.

This was getting ridiculous now. I must have missed a stain on my ass or something. I fling open the doors to the bathroom and planted myself in front of the full length mirror. There were no embarrassing stains on the front but when I looked on the back...

Oh. My. God. The mortification spread over my face like a rash as I realized what had happened. The color of my white skirt was no match for the unique, hip hugger underwear I wore beneath it.

So there for all my company to see was Spongebob riding a bright red seahorse. Across my cheeks, in big bold letters, it read:

Let's Ride!

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Lola vs. Things and Stuff And Things

Things Lola has spilled on herself in the past two days:

  • Iced Caramel Machiatto
  • Key Lime Pie Gelato
  • Acai Berry Juice (on white effing pants no less)
  • Pizza Sauce
  • Iced Regular Coffee
  • Fat Free Honey Mustard Salad Dressing
  • The Sewage they claim is coffee at work
  • The Sauce they serve with steamed dumplings
  • Iced Blueberry Coffee
  • 1.7 oz of Brown Sugar and Fig body lotion

People she would like to thank for this:

Her dumb ass self.

Yeah, I know this is a stupid post but I felt the need to let people know that despite popular belief I do have a weakness. That apparently takes the shape of spilling every liquid possible on my clothing except for ones that are clear and easy to get out.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Lola vs. Morphing Into a Pimp

At the request of the other half of my blackened out husk of a soul, I have officially unbundled my underwear for just a second to write this post.

If I had tears, my dearest Blunt Delivery, they would be rolling down my cheeks right now in gratitude. But because I don't, I will be forced to do some pimping of my own.

If you've ever read my blog before, you know I don't like to follow rules- except for the dating kind but they are an exception because they come from yours truly- but I would like to do something for the awards I have been given. The awards I have received are thus): A much anticipated, much coveted Blunty Award from my evil twin bitch (see above!), The Keepsake Award from the heart-warming Fidgeting Gidget, and the Honest Scrap Award from fellow honest scrapper hardlyhearshimself .


Honest Scrap Keepsake Blunt Delivery Award

Without further ado, I would like to return the pimpage with a few dishonorable mentions of my own:

The One whose Soul I'd Most Likely Want to Steal-

Girl Interrupted- I am new to her site but her soul I must, must steal. Sweet, sensitive, and utterly sincere, she has entranced me and will entrance all of you. I am sure of it. Her writing style is infectious and the pictures that often accompany her posts are even more so. Plus, she recently received a message in a bottle. How cool is that?

The One Who Makes Me Wish I Could Deal With Problems Instead of Using Sarcasm to Hide Them-

Thank God I Don't Have Kids- Most of you may not know who he is but he is one of my very first blogger friends. And let's face it, I have a bit of a soft spot for this guy. His writing is raw and brutally honest. He's not afraid of being vulnerable and often lays all of his cards out on the table. I applaud him and his manliness (you know what I'm talking about Merrick). His positivity and often quirky way of looking at life and his situation, has brought him a sense of joy in the little things that probably not too many people have and should absolutely go about getting.

The Ones That Make Me Think It's Utterly Okay to be a Saucy Vixen- (I have a tie here because it's kind of like choosing a favorite child. Or since I have no use for progeny as of yet, I'll go with choosing a favorite chocolate bar.)

Simon's Ramblings- His evocative prose and pictures make me happy to be, well me. Plus he has the added bonus of being able to craft a witty sentence that tickles the sub-cockle area of my writer's heart. Oh and his delicious pictures make me well... tingle for an entirely different reason.

Girl with the Pink Teacup- This dynamic lady caught me right from the start. She's sassy, smart, and sexy. Sigh, I quite adore this one possibly because she has the ability to do this but more because she says what many, many think but are afraid to say. And she does this with a deliciously wicked sense of humor. Unlike me, she also shows a lot of depth to her writing and on occasion surprises us all with her poignant prose.

The One That Has Made Me Snort Water Onto My Keyboard

Mr London Street- Not only can he construct a seriously clever tale but his non sequiturs are hilarious to the extreme. My keyboard is a witness. Who else could relate backgammon and roundabouts in the same post and use them so effectively? The answer is no one my friends, no one.

So here's a shot of Patron to you my friends- on Lola!


Patroncafe