Thursday, June 25, 2009
Lola's Simple Dating Rule #5: If you call up a friend and pretend that he is your fake boyfriend, please let him know his role beforehand. Otherwise, he'll end up being clueless and annoyed. Like my friend Kane was last Friday.
Let me give you a little background on my relationship with my friend Kane. We curse like dirty sailors in front of each other, rip on each other mercilessly, and often go into great detail on topics that would most likely disgust the normal human being. And our phone messages generally consist of requests like: "Hey Lola, in between being a bitch and being a bitch, could you take the time to call me back?"
Since I was meeting Kane at a party after the work dinner, I thought he would be the perfect fake boyfriend to call. So after the DDOM (desperate delusional older man) kissed me on the shoulder, I jerked said shoulder and informed him pointedly that I had a boyfriend. Then I called up Kane. This is how our conversation went:
Lola: (sweetly) Heeeey babe.
Kane: (after a somewhat awkward what-the-hell-is-she-on-pause) Um... Lola?
Lola: (even sweeter now) I was just checking on the time for our party tonight.
Kane: Um... what? Didn't we talk about this earlier?
Lola: (laying it on real thick) Are you gonna come and pick me up?
Kane: (annoyed now) You didn't tell me you needed a ride. (sigh) Well, I'm leaving in about ten minutes so you better get over here now then.
Lola: (with a little giggle) Oh babe, I probably won't be able to leave until around 8.
Kane: (completely aggravated now) Well, I'm not waiting for you. I'll just see you there.
Lola: Why don't we meet there then?
Kane: Isn't that what I just said?
Lola: (intimately) Do you need anything from my house?
Kane: (another WTF? pause) Um...what? Why the hell would I need anything from your house?
Lola: I'll see you there, babe.
Kane: (a combination of being utterly annoyed and baffled) Lola, are you drunk?
Apparently even my fake boyfriend did not appease the DDOM because right after I got off the phone he immediately asked me, "If you have a boyfriend, why are you out with me on a Friday night?"
"Because this is a business dinner you gross, idiotic fuckwit."
Except I left out the whole fuckwit thing. And I still had to suffer uncomfortably in silence, with a shaky smile plastered on my face, while he continued to make inappropriate comments. The only thing that got me through the dinner was the fact that his company is a huge factor in my bonus this year.
Corporate America sucks!
Monday, June 22, 2009
Either there is something drastically wrong with the vibe I throw out or I am just meeting the absolute wrong kind of people. I made the colossal mistake of setting up a business dinner on a Friday night and this lead to the most socially awkward moment of my career. This is the email invitation I sent to my client:
It was great to see you at the _______ conference! It seemed like it was a great success and I'm looking forward to our company's continued partnership. Let me know when you will be up training in the NJ area and I'd be happy to take you out to dinner. We can continue our discussion on the conference initiatives.
Let me know if you need any extra flyers or brochures.
However, this is how interpreted the invitation:
It was wonderful to see such a devastatingly attractive man such as yourself at the conference. It seemed like I had to physically restrain my aching body from launching itself at you. God, I am really looking forward to the fact that you are married, are 20 years older than me, and have a son my age. Please know that I'll be waiting, breathlessly, for your next trip up to the NJ area. I would love to take you for a nice long dinner- just you and me and the sexual tension that sizzles between us. We can continue our discussion on the conference initiatives. And by conference initiatives, I mean hot sex.
Let me know if you need me to bring any extra condoms to dinner.
He must have had some kind of delusional email reading episode because I can think of no other reason why this man thought it would be okay to do all of the following:
- Kiss me on the shoulder while I was on the phone with a friend.
- Compliment me on how wonderfully my ass filled out my jeans.
- Repeatedly tell me that my voice dropped him to his knees and that I have "knock-out" Italian skin.
- Inform the waitress balefully that I was not going to kiss him and then proceed to ask her what he could possibly do to get me to kiss him.
Clearly these desperate-older-guys-who-can't-take-a-hint need to shack up with those girls from crazy girl paranoia land. Maybe then I can finally get one moment of freaking peace.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Now, I'm not a prude (Kane, I look forward to hearing your variations of "not a prude" if not in this venue then in others). But there is a difference between being naked and hanging out naked for the sole purpose of causing unease in those around you.
The main offender of this phenomena was a woman in her late sixties, slightly obese, and morally opposed to shaving under her arms. I rushed in, late for class as per usual, and was shoving my bag in a locker when she, nakedly in her nakedness, brushed slowly by me. And wedged herself firmly in between me and the locker.
Did I mention there was a HUGE space BEHIND me that she could have taken advantage of?!
Instead of quickly passing by, she stood for a good thirty -utterly humiliating, completely awkward- seconds. Then she stared unabashedly into my face and said, "Oh were you using, this one?" She pointed, her under arm hair bursting forward like a thousand tiny coiled springs.
I was speechless. Was this seriously happening? Not really knowing what to do, I looked around wildly and I hoped against hope for an exit. I saw a bathroom stall open and I grasped the opportunity like it was my last lifeline on this earth. I flew into the bathroom, gym clothes in hand, and waited a few minutes after I changed, praying furiously that she had disappeared.
I had no such luck. When I extracted myself from the bathroom stall, she was sitting on the bench right near my locker, staring out into space. I desperately wished that she was in the midst of some sort of psychotic episode and therefore had forgotten all about me but those wishes were dashed as I reached my locker. Without taking her eyes off of the fascinating blank space in the air, she asked me,"What class are you taking? I heard that the Kickboxing class they have here is good."
And then she got up and began to stretch. Naked.
I mumbled something that even to my ears sounded incoherent and bolted out of the locker room. The fear must have been evident in my features because one of the trainers even asked me what was wrong after class was over.
Who in their right mind would want to have a naked conversation while staring creepily into space and then go into stretching exercises? And why in god's name can't they do this at home?
Because of the unnecessary nudity, I have decided the following:
Sleeping Naked In Your Own Bed= Delicious
Doing Lunges Naked In a Locker Room= Disturbing
Cooking Naked In Your Own Kitchen= Fantastic
Popping a Zit Naked In a Locker Room= Frightening
If anyone has anything they would like to add to the above list, please let me know.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
I was getting ready for the BBQ Beer Bash and had to make several hardware store (yay for propane) /Home Depot (yay for beer pong table and grilling essentials) runs last week. This experience has taught me that the wink, wink- nudge, nudge dirty euphemism has not gone out of style.
Or maybe there's just something about a girl who is picking up hardware. Arghhh, now they've got me doing it. Thanks to the incidences below, everything I do now sounds sexually explicit.
Euphemism # 1: Home Depot. Lola walks in, has a brief argument with management over the fact her grill was mysteriously not delivered. Management ensures delivery and she goes about her merry way, stopping briefly to load her cart up with folding chairs and a beer pong table.
Sales Guy #1 (eyeing Lola as she pays) Looks like you’re gonna have a lot of people over.
Lola: (excitedly) Oh yeah, keg barrels are next on my list.
Sales Guy#1: Man, I’d love to party with you.
Lola: (wearily now) Oh, um... thanks?
Sales Guy # 1: Can I help you with all of that?
Lola: (as she wheels the big cart out of the store) I think I can get it.
Sales Guy #1: Aw, I don’t want to see you carrying something that big without my help. (with a that’s-what-she-said smile)
Euphemism #2: Parking lot of HD. Sales Guy #1 exits. Enter Red Jeep Guy. He eyes Lola as she is trying to get the last keg tub in her beat-up Honda.
Red Jeep Guy: (drawls) Need any help with that?
Lola: I think I got it.
Red Jeep Guy: (grinning lasciviously) You sure? It seems like you’re shoving too hard. You need to use finesse with things like this.
Lola: (her friendly smile waning) Yeah, I’ll be fine.
Red Jeep Guy: What are those for anyway?
Lola: They’re for holding kegs.
Red Jeep Guy: (peering in the window of her car) And you have two? Man I’d like to party with you.
Lola: (suspiciously) Are you friends with Al, Sales Guy #1?
Red Jeep Guy: (with a blank look) Who?
Lola: Never mind, I’ve gotta go.
Red Jeep Guy: (as Lola is getting in her car) No seriously, where’s the party?
Euphemism #3: Hardware store. Lola carries her propane tank into the store, plops it next to the counter and asks the two guys behind it for some help.
Hardware Store Guy #1: Is that all you need?
Lola: I’ll take some tiki torches as well. But then that’s it.
Hardware Store Guy #1: Ok, why don’t you go around back and I’ll help you with the propane?
Lola: (smiling) Thanks, that would be great.
Hardware Store Guy: (winking at her) I’d be happy to fill your tank, Miss (looking down at the credit card she has just handed him) Lola.
Hardware Store Guy #2: (snickering behind them)
After all three experiences (which occurred in the exact same day during my lunch hour), I was disheartened. What happened to sweetness and witty repartee as a come-on? What was it about me that screamed that I would respond to this? Then as I got out of the car to make the miserable walk back into work, I looked down and realized- with complete embarrassment- what was shouting inane innuendo. During the shuffling of tables, chairs, and propane tanks; the first two buttons of my blouse had come unbuttoned and the lacy black bra I was wearing served as an outrageously blatant invitation for all of those dirty euphemisms.
Apparently, the invitation was so effective that the next day I got a call from Sales Guy #1. He lead the conversation with this: “Lola, this is Al- the guy who helped you carry your chairs to the car. I was just calling you to make sure that your grill was installed to your satisfaction.”
I didn’t order my grill from him, so he must have looked up my information in the computer and went out of his way to call me. After several inquiries to see if there was anything else he could do for me, I extracted myself wearily from the conversation. Flattering? Yes. Creepy? I’m going with a solid hell yes!
Is this yet another example of me shoving someone off the precipice of the crazy abyss? Or is this just an example of HD’s incredibly thorough customer service? Cause, I'm really hoping it's the latter.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
to-my-attention-years-ago file). But it's mostly due to this habit I have of collecting people.
I've always been incredibly friendly, almost too friendly at times (I will generally talk to anyone, anytime, anywhere), and I've noticed that I tend to keep people. It was evident as the party wore on last night that I have several rings of friends instead of one big circle. It was nice to see those rings overlap in an ocean of flip cup, beer pong, Rockband, and a bubble machine (hell yeah, I said bubble machine!).
I usually make friends fast and when I do I tend to throw myself into it in much the same way I do everything- with undisguised passion. I have an unshakable sense of loyalty and I don't give up easily on people.
I overheard a good friend attempting to describe these qualities to someone I had just recently met and invited along to the party. Except he said it like this: "Once Lola has you, it's increasingly hard to get rid of her. " I was hoping he would have the good sense to add: "But in a good way. Not in a creepy stalker way."
Alas, I had no such luck. Thanks Kane.
So, I may be a disaster when it comes to long-term relationships with men but at least I have the friendship thing down. Unless they are all using me for my bubble machine. And free beer.
Monday, June 1, 2009
All day yesterday (aka Fat Sunday) I was picking paint chips out of my rather long auburn hair. The flecks of paint were bright pink so you can imagine what kind of picture this made when I went out in public. Sam the deli guy, as he packed up my egg-white and spinach omelet, was gracious enough to point this out. He said kindly, in his middle-eastern accent,"What is with your pink dandruff? Not so nice with red hair."
He did also tell me that I smelled good enough to give him a heart attack. I still don't know how I should take that. I'm going with nervous.
As I paid for my food and directly after Sam the deli guy asked the man behind me for a defibrillator, I got a phone call from my friend Layla. She happily pieced together the night for me.
- Location: Restaurant Bar Drink: Martini
- Location: Cafe Luxembourg Drink: A bottle of wine
- Location: Dive Bar Drink: A pitcher of Miller Light
- Location: Wine Bar Drink: Two glasses of wine
Somewhere between Location 3 and location 4, I lost all ability to make sense. I know this because my friends asked me dating advice (I guess because I go out a lot, I'm an expert?) and I completely and utterly mucked it up. I believe the question was somewhere along the lines of "Lola, how do you handle it so well?" This is what I wanted to tell them:
"Well you see, it's probably because I don't take a lot of time analyzing conversations or figuring out whether or not to say certain things. I'm very comfortable in my own skin and so having self confidence is extremely helpful. I don't play games and I figure anyone who does isn't really worth my time. Basically, I am who I am and I know that there are going to be people who won't like me. Just as I know there will be people who I won't like. So really what's the point of getting so upset over someone not feeling the same way?"
However when translating the above paragraph into Drunken-Lola-Speak, it came out as the following statement: "I just don't give a shit about anything!"
Keep in mind that I was standing up at the time, gesturing wildly to get my point across as wine sloshed over the rim of my glass. So this dating expert must have made quite the attractive picture! After more of my unintelligible advice, they decided to get some food in me. On my way to the pizza place, I thanked all the pizza delivery guys for the way in which they deliver their pizzas. None of them spoke English so they may have actually understood what I was trying to say to them.
After I declared to the table next to me that I liked to blog, I banged my head against the wall when I threw my head back in laughter. This made my friends crack up so I did it again because apparently: the sound of my head cracking against the wall + their residual giggles = Delight. This is also where the origin of the pink paint was thought to be. Alas, I was informed earlier today that the wall to the pizza place was not pink.
So, sadly, the pink paint remains a mystery. Maybe it's better that way. The reality probably can't match up to what I have imagined in my head.