Tuesday, September 29, 2009
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.
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
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!"
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.
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
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.
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
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:
- My IQ is 150 and I am brilliant
- My celebrity boyfriend is Ben Affleck
- My favorite color is RED
- I am going to marry someone whose name begins with a K
- The 2009 song that I am is “Kiss Me through the phone” by Soulja Boy
- 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.
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.
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'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.