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.

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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.

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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?

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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.