Thursday, April 23, 2009

Lola vs. Simple Dating Rule # 1

Lola's Dating Rule # 1: Never date a guy who actually refers to himself as "the creepy serial killer guy who walks around the same block 45 times."

This can only lead to one or two different outcomes.

1) He actually is the creepy serial killer guy and when he asks me to go for a walk near the deserted docks- after he goes out of his way to mention that he is not only anti-social but also has a severe gluten allergy that does not allow him to consume any alcohol except wine which he doesn't partake in anyway because it causes him to experience sudden and inexplicable bouts of anger- he will then chloroform me and stuff me into the trunk of his white scion. And then perhaps he will wear my skin as a hat for the next 1-2 weeks.

2) He is not the creepy serial killer guy but in fact he is merely the mayor of creepytown. After I have been clear to him that I am not interested in him, the mayor of creepytown will send long, pensive emails that inform me that he has rented all of the concert DVDs that are available for my favorite band. This will be followed by a lengthy deconstruction of why the band is so compelling and why he thinks I am a deep, fascinating person for liking such music. The title of this email will wittily use the name of my favorite band in a sentence like: This is aMUSEing. He also will have a penchant for spouting poetry. Here is an example of a verse he will send me after I remind him again, politely (because I really don't want to turn him into the creepy serial killer guy in outcome #1), that I am not interested:

May your children
Bear your resemblance
In inner and outer beauty
And may they also have
Their Father's good fortune.

I guess I should be thankful that outcome #1 didn't happen to me. Or at least the skin-wearing-chloroform-stuffing-in-the-trunk bit. But Seriously? Ugh, does he think that if he insinuates that my kids will be beautiful that I'll go running to him with open arms? Or that his poetry will make me swoon? Please. I think I might actually prefer the chloroform.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Lola vs. Moronic Morons

There are times I think I should be able to hit customers in the face. This usually occurs around Saturday morning at 7am when I'm stuck working a conference where my colleagues were nice enough to leave me the day before (thanks guys!), and I'm still hung over from going out to a duelling piano bar where I'm pretty sure I have incriminating pictures of me dancing with some guys from the Airforce.

Bleary-eyed and forced to plaster an engaging smile on my face while people come up to me, having absolutely no idea what my company does, and asking me incredibly inane questions is not my idea of a good time. But factor in only three hours of sleep with one particularly stupid customer and you pretty much have my version of hell.

This woman, swathed in freebie conference gear and a neon green fanny pack, waddled up to my booth with a scowl on her face and a pair of jewel-studded eye-glasses slipping down her nose. She literally threw her sign-in sheet at me and remained unapologetic as I had to scramble to pick it up off the cement floor. "I stopped by yesterday and you weren't here! " She accused as a I hastily pasted a smile on my face while I stamped her sheet. "Plus, it's really hard to find your booth. Couldn't you have, like, been in the center or something?"

First off I wasn't there last night because the exhibit hall was closed. But I imagine this rodent of a woman didn't care because she was clearly manic at the idea of getting free, completely useless stuff from abandoned exhibit booths. And second, if there was a way to make it harder for her to find me I would have moved heaven and earth to do so. I may have even sold my soul.

Of course, I could say none of this. Instead I had to chatter excitedly about my products and what my company could do for her. I couldn't even get out a sentence because she immediately waved her sausage-link sized fingers in front of my face and said, "I don't really care about your stuff. You don't have chairs. Why aren't you selling chairs like THOSE people?" She pointed to the booth across from mine.

Um, because we are not a furniture company you stupid, selfish cow. "We're a publisher and are responsible for some great training materials. Is there anything I can help you with concerning books?"

"Do you have any books on chairs? Because that's all I'm interested in." Then her beady little eyes zeroed in on the hand sanitizer I was giving away and she shoved not one, not two, but three bottles into that neon green eye-sore belted around her waist. Then she had the gall to ask,"Can I take one of these?"

Before I could even open my mouth to answer her she slithered off to the next stall, frothing at the mouth over the free water bottles on display.

I firmly believe I would be more productive to society- not to mention a happier person in general- if I was just allowed to slap someone in the face every once in awhile. Hear that resounding crack of skin across skin. Sigh. I swear I would not use my powers for evil! I would not take advantage of this freebie slap. I would only reserve the right for those very special morons who are completely and utterly useless to myself and others.

I guess that means another demerit in the whole morality department. So that makes:

Lola: 4 Morality: 0

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Lola vs. Crazy Girl Paranoia Land

I have come to yet another sad realization. Girlfriends just don't like me. I mean REALLY don't like me. (M- you're pretty much the only one so far who I've had mad success with!) Maybe it's the big boobs/ video game/one of the guys combo but regardless, they don't even give me a modicum of a chance. I'm not weighed, measured, and found lacking. I am immediately dismissed as some sort of seductress-whore-who-only-goes-after-taken-men. Apparently, according to them, single guys don't interest me and- I'm quoting someone now- it's my M.O. to go after guys who are attached. Seriously? It's my modus operandi? I'm some sort of 1960's film noir black widow, who not only leaves a litter of corpses in my wake but can also be connected to multiple crimes?

I have a lot of examples of the crazy girl paranoia that has become indicative of my relationships with my guy friends' significant others. But for the sake of time and blog entry length, I'm just going to focus on one. I have known my friend Justin for over ten years now- we were practically roommates (platonic!!!) once upon a time- and I recently met his fiancee, Pam.

This is the first conversation we ever had:

Setting: Big, sprawling well-lit bar. Our heroine, Lola, steps into the scene, her jeans and t-shirt slightly rumpled from the 4 hour car ride she has just endured. Still, she has a warm smile on her face as she scans the bar. Her large, brown eyes light up as they find a handsome couple across the room. Immediately she heads over to them, gives Justin, a twenty-something copper haired guy, a hug and introduces herself to Pam, a stunning blond in her early twenties. Justin immediately goes back to the game of pool he has been immersed in.

Lola: (with a warm smile) It's so nice to finally meet you! Justin has been talking about you forever!
Pam: (with apprehension) He's talked about you a lot too.
Lola: Oh. (pausing awkwardly) He's said that you're an adjunct professor, right? That seems like a crazy amount of hard work but at least you get summers off!
Pam: Sometimes I teach during the summer.
Lola: (looking down, notices Pam's shoes and gives a little sigh of delight) Those heels are so cute! Where did you get them?
Pam: I forget.
Justin: (shouting from across the room, jumping up and down, making a rude gesture to his friend) Suck on that Steve!
Lola: (laughing as she gives Pam a slight nudge) And he's all yours!

However here is what happened in crazy girl paranoia land:

Setting: Dingy smoky, pub with scattered pool tables. Our femme fatale, Lola, languidly sashays into the bar, her skin-tight red dress matches the exact shade of her full, pouty lips. Her kohl-rimmed eyes smolder as she targets Justin. With a coy, seductive smile on her lips, Lola struts over to the couple and drapes herself all over Justin. Justin, a twenty-something copper headed mischief-maker, leans into the hug with undisguised fervor. After a longing glance back at Lola, Justin unwillingly goes back to his game of pool. One eyebrow raised in utter disdain, Lola holds out her hand to Pam, a cute, blond ingenue with innocent blue eyes.

Lola: (with a malevolent grin) So we finally meet. Justin drones on and on about you.
Pam:(with apprehension) He's talked about you a lot too.
Lola: (mocking tone) He's said that you're an old school marm, right? How, um, charming. (laughing cruelly) That's too much work for me. I prefer going out and stealing other women's men. At least you get the summers off to do that.
Pam: (pausing a moment) Sometimes I teach during the summer.
Lola: (looking down at Pam's shoes with complete and utter contempt) Those heels are so... cute. Where did you get them? (pausing dramatically) So I can avoid that store like the plague.
Pam: (looking wounded) I forget.
Justin: (shouting from across the room) Suck on that Steve! (winking at Lola conspiratorially now) Remember when you used to do that to me, Lola?
Lola: And he's all yours! (the next is said under her breath with a breathy, maniacal laugh) For now.

Is complimenting a girls shoes and asking about her job tantamount to insulting her calling in life, insinuating that you will seduce their man, and mocking her clothes? Because if that's seriously how people can interpret things in crazy girl paranoia land, god, I'm so glad I don't live there. I'm quite comfortable residing in the township of saying-exactly-what-I-think.


Saturday, April 4, 2009

Lola vs. Incessant Drunken Phone Call Guy

Do you know what quality is completely and utterly irresistible to a woman? Desperation. There is nothing that turns me on more than a heaping dose of dripping wet desperation.


I can't describe how much it excites me when I give a guy my number and before our first date, he calls me 10 times in a row, on the same day, while I'm out with a friend. But that's not even the best part. It was the slow almost painstaking way his grand, romantic gestures built up this uncontrollable wave of desire.

It started off with a simple but effective text. You should be here. You are way hotter than any of the girls here.

My heart beat faster.

Like any girl's dream, the first phone call came with a song! *Insert girlish sigh here* "Lola, ahhh Lola, I could be your hero baby. And take away your pain. You should come into the city. And I'll... " big pause "take away your pain."

When I was unable to come into the city, the word prude was whispered into my ear in order to stir up my obvious, undeniable lust for him. However, I felt I had to play a little hard to get so I hung up on him.


My phone vibrated again a few minutes later. I shivered in anticipation as I gazed longingly at the text on my florescent screen. The demand to come running into the city to jump on top of him was almost overwhelming. But I was still being coy so , sadly, I did not answer that text or the 9 other phone calls that occurred after it.


However, I could not ignore the last two texts. It was their heartfelt, melodious words that got through my coyness. Help! I've eaten shrimp and I'm highly allergic. And then: I've eaten more shrimp and I may die. I feel my throat closing up! Will you take me to the hospital?

Because let's face it, nothing stokes the fires of lust like stabbing your prospective date with an epipen in order to avoid anaphylactic shock.