Thursday, February 26, 2009
My last GPS's name was Brittany and she was American. And she was a bitch. I think back to her snotty pronunciation of the phrase "at the next available exit." and still have night terrors.
When she urged me to make a u-turn, what she really said was," Lola, you are a complete fucking idiot and you missed your goddamn exit. I alerted you over three miles ago but you have Muse playing entirely too loud and you insist on plaguing me with your incessant and, if I might add out-of-time, steering-wheel drumming. You will never get where you are going because I won't allow it. In fact I am going to take you to all of the high traffic areas so that you take 5 and a half hours to go 30 miles just because I CAN!"
But Aoenghus, oh delightful spot-of-tea Aoenghus, invites me to take a turn on the motorway with his quiet air of dignity and the ridiculously sexy timbre to his voice. He is quick to point out that there is a pub on my right if I fancy a pint or when there is a member of the opposite sex (and of appropriate attraction value) in the passenger seat that there is a Motel 6 on my left if I am in the mood for a quickie.
I love Aoenghus and all that he stands for.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Now, that ranks some seriously high vibes on my evil laughter subtext scale.
Invariably the body of the email will finish the subject line and will inundate me with accusatory remarks such as “Went over the Tappan Zee bridge on 06-Feb-2009 16:14:38. Did you leave work early????” Should I be comforted by the fact that leaving work early still warrants at least four question marks? I thought I had passed through the four question mark stage and was downgraded to two. I could have sworn that happened in the summer of ’05.
I’m in my twenties and have been out of the house for several years now so I probably should have- I don’t know been a grown-up- and gotten my own EZ pass account. I could bore you with a really long and complicated answer but it really boils down to one thing. I am lazy. This includes but is not limited to things that allow me to travel faster down the Garden State Parkway and/or the New Jersey Turnpike.
Friday, February 20, 2009
The next day I got chocolates and a note on my doorstep.
I’m confused as to how our signals could have possibly gotten crossed. Equating a relationship to something you forcibly eject out of your system seems pretty clear to me. Maybe I should have said that I would rather be packed into a tight wooden box and spiked with sharp nails on all sides while listening to the English version of Aha’s Take on Me.
So next time I’m going with the pain metaphor instead of the bodily fluid metaphor. Less room for interpretation and more me not having to deal with chocolates and flowers. Yuck.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
My name is Lola Lakely and although the name does have a certain ring to it, I am not a porn star. Sadly I’m not even one of those skinamax actresses a la Red Shoe Diaries. Sigh. A girl can dream.
However, something happened a few weeks ago that made me question my femininity. During the Superbowl, I came to the sad realization that I quite possibly could be a 14 year old boy. In rapid succession, the following events occurred:
2.Then of course, the G.I. Joe preview exploded on the screen and I immediately screamed out “Wait a minute! Go back! Rewind- now pause- was that Snake Eyes?”
3.This was directly followed by one of the guys mentioning Fallout 3- to which I realized I was farther in the game then anyone there.
And finally for the piece de resistance…
4.The game came back on and the camera zeroed in on the name of one of the
I guess I’ll take what I can get.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Although the name does have a certain ring to it, I am not a porn star. Sadly I’m not even one of those skinamax actresses a la Red Shoe Diaries. Sigh. A girl can dream. However, there are a few things that you should know about me. I am not a manipulator, I am merely an outcome facilitator. I'm single, sarcastic, just a little bit naughty, extremely commitment phobic, and I love, love the socially awkward experiences that make lesser mortals cringe. I love Notre Dame football and therefore spend most of the college football season irrationally angry. I play videogames, have the tastes of a 14 year old boy, and drink Patron Tequila like it's my job. I'm also quite comfortable residing in the township of saying-exactly-what-I-think.
Between writing about my jaunts with women who live in crazy girl paranoia land, awkward dating experiences, and embarrassing moments, I hope I can amuse you. But don't take my word for it!
"I don't even know how to properly explain why you should read this blog - but you should. Unless you want baby seals to be clubbed to death. Yes, it is true that if you don't read Lola, baby seals will die. She's basically like drinking a cabernet, at Enzo and Lucia, after watching The Holiday and before curling up with The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. See? Do it for the baby seals. "- V, uncorked.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The Caped Tirader
Tennyson ee Hemingway
Mr. London Street
The Vegetable Assassin
The Peach Tart