Tuesday, October 12, 2010
See, I told you I'm still me. As is painfully evident in the below story.
Kane and I were up early- bright and shiny like new copper pennies- for a football homecoming tailgate extravaganza (which as you might have guessed is the only reason I would be up early on a Saturday). There are few things in life that bring me such unadulterated joy as football tailgating in the fall. The combination of that warm Indian summer sun and the unexpected crisp fall breeze that whips across your skin as you sip an ice cold beer is nearly irresistible.
So driving down to meet the rest of our friends, Kane and I once again had one of our deep, philosophical discussions.
Lola: (looking down at her text messages, groaning) It's this guy again.
Kane: Which guy?
Lola: The guy I slept with who I met on my porch. Why is he still talking to me?
Kane: Maybe he just wants to bone again.
Lola: He invited me to a party. With his friends. In two weeks. That's like premeditated.
Kane: Oh. (pause) What did you say?
Lola: That's the Lakely brigade ND outing and it's also Kane palooza. So that would be a negative. (looking at her phone) Ugh, and he wants to take me to a movie in the middle of the week.
Kane: You have to be the only girl I know who complains when a guy actually wants to date her. (wailing sounds) Waaa. Waaa. This guy actually likes me and wants to spend time with me. Waaa. Waaaa.
Lola: But why can't he just stay firmly in the one night stand category? Why ruin a perfectly good thing?
Kane: What happened to you being open to new experiences?
Lola: Baby steps, Kane. Baby steps.
Yeah, so that was actually the last coherent conversation I remember from that day. I started drinking rum and coke at about 10:30am and um... sort of... didn't stop until after one a.m.
Which brought about some passionate singing...
and switching hats randomly through-out the day...
If I remember correctly, Kane got me to the game, Z managed to drive me home, and somehow I was still in a condition to drink sweet tea vodka with my friend Ry. Where there may have been a brief, albeit intense discussion on how pylons are possibly the coolest things ever invented. At this point, I may also have lost a bet with him and I think I'm now obligated to name my first child pylon.
But I still have absolutely NO idea how I woke up with blue electrical tape on my body. Any takers on this one?
Thursday, September 30, 2010
I had a huge wake up call tonight. The kind that stops you dead in your tracks, causes your stomach to drop right into your feet, and your skin to feel like it's on fire. And it's made me realize something. That life is so preciously, amazingly short. It's intoxicating and horrible and wonderful but it should never, ever be taken for granted. And it's so heart-breakingly short.
I've been hiding and running from feelings (yuck, how does this word still give me the shivers?) for so long that I don't even know what normal is anymore. I can toss off an I-don't-give-a-shit grin like the best of them. And I've always done this with a suggestive, devil-may-care wicked tilt to my lips. You don't matter to me. Nothing gets to me. I'm impenetrable.
This seemingly sudden change in mentality is ironic because I was literally JUST having a conversation with a friend today about how I believe liking someone only leads to bad juju. It leads to complications and messiness and insanity. But isn't that what life is all about? Messiness and complications and passion and insanity? So maybe it's time for me to be a little more open to something else. Because deep down in this cold, blackened out husk of a heart, I know that this is not the way she would want me to live my life.
Plus, do I really want Karma hunting me down, stringing me up, and putting me on the rack? No, because, torturing- if it doesn't have anything to do with sex- is not fun. However, this does not mean I'll stop my alcoholic shenanigans or socially awkward commentary on dating or life. It just means that this lesson- that I have sadly had the misfortune to learn tonight- takes a bit of precedence over the intense fear of intimacy that has become so intrinsic to my life.
So what does this really mean to this commitment phobic little blog? It means I'm still sarcastic, I'm still a naughty, reckless, irrepressible flirt and I will never, ever be the hearts and flowers type of girl (football fields and alcohol maybe?) but I'm tired of running. And I'm done hiding. And maybe I'm just a little bit done with breaking so many hearts.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
GirlFriend: So, can I ask you some advice? You're the first person I thought of.
Lola: Go ahead, shoot.
GirlFriend: One night stands. I'm not used to this sorta thing, don't know the rules.
Lola: Okaaaay. Sure. Well, did he ask you for your number? I don't remember. I just passed out last night. Good god, I was drunk.
GirlFriend: I don't have ur problem of having to beat off guys...u sexy lady... wait beat off.. no pun intended. I'm like the worst person for this... so can you let me know if you go anywhere to get std tests or anything lol thanks.
Lola: I wouldn't say I beat off guys- Wait, I'm the FIRST person you thought of concerning STDs?
This was a little disconcerting and I thought, mayhaps (Ok, yeah, I know this word went out of style circa the 1800's but it's just so fun to type/say) a bit unfair. Is my reputation, even among friends, really that bad? It can't be. I'm just misunderstood. So I started cataloging my life over the past year. I have actually slept with one guy more than once! Yay me! But ,oh crap, he wasn't someone I should have slept with. Ok, sooo that's one strike against me. I've had someone move across the country to get away from me. Ugh, strike number two. I forgot the last name of at least one person I've slept with over the past year. Stupid strike number three.
However, these three things do not necessarily a reputation for trouble make. Then I came across this text message exchange I had with my infamous BFF Kane awhile ago:
Kane: So Lola do you have any BBQs today? Btw, you were probably too drunk to remember us talking last night, but the good looking dude from my old job is in fact single. And what the hell was going on at your house?
Lola: Hahaha. I got trashed and ended up with a whole bunch of random people here. Who I legit met on my street. Oh cool, we should all meet up sometime. Kind of hung over today and I have to cook dinner for my mom. Maybe hang tomorrow?
Lola: P.S. I also may have have slept with one of the random guys at my house last night. I hope he doesn't call me again. But he asked for my number. Crap.
Kane: Jeez, Lola. You sleep with people the way most people brush their teeth. It's part of your daily routine.
Lola: Brush teeth, sleep with random guy, grocery shopping, afternoon tea- just to class it up a little.
So was that the proverbial nail in my trouble making coffin or just another misunderstood misdemeanor?
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
This Incident/Accident actually happened a few weeks ago. After I called up V, and described to her the debacle that is my life, she declared that "the story is effing awesome and needs to be out in the blog world ASAP." Sooo, the ASAP lasted a bit longer than expected. I blame the Germans.
If you are a faithful reader, you are well aware of my propensity for spectacular falls. If you're a new reader, well , consider yourself informed. I fall spectacularly.
Cue backstory: I had decided to schedule three dates within the span of seven days. I know, it sounds bad. But I had a few precious days to myself and for some reason I had it in my head that I needed to cram dating in before certain things in my life took over again. Plus, dating also gives me the opportunity to create fun nicknames like Perfect Stubble Guy in order to amuse all of you. And really, what's the point of remembering their names? They're never around long anyway. Yeah, I know, really not painting myself in a good light here.
So this my blogger friends, is the story of date number 3- The Double-Date...
Running incredibly late for the aforementioned date, I raced up the steps with my laptop slung over one shoulder and my gym bag over the other. In my haste I caught the end of the step with my toe and went sprawling on my kitchen floor. When my vision returned to normal after clocking my head hard against the door, I stood up on bloody, scratched knees and realized the strap to my new, sexy black shoes had snapped. Growling something under my breath, knowing my friend would be here any minute, I staggered- on one shoe- to the cabinet. Jerking the door open, I rummaged and found the tube of super glue that was cleverly hidden behind a copy of Game Informer magazine and a package of light bulbs.
I popped the cap, squeezed the tube, and super glue squirts all over my hands, arms, and the offending shoe I was attempting to fix. So of course my thumb sticks to the strap and I have to yank it hard, which tears off a portion of my skin. By now the glue has dried on my arms, leaving a trail of crusty white sticky stuff all over my arms. I run to the sink and attempt to use the Brillo pad to scrape the glue from my skin. This just makes it worse because now, not only is my skin red and raw, but the remaining white crap is still flaking off of me.
Of course my friend chose this moment to ring my doorbell so I have about three seconds to wipe my knees, brush a comb through my disheveled red hair, straighten my skirt, and slip into my stupid shoe. Still in a bit of pain after my ridiculous fall, I climb gingerly into her car and she tells me that this date is the exact thing I need- as if I hadn’t had two others in the past 7 days- and how this guy is so nice…blah…blah…blah… it’ll take my mind of things…blah…blah…blah.
When we get to the restaurant, I proceeded to have a double-date with pretty much two of the best-looking men I had ever seen. The type of good-looking that makes you wonder why the hell they are walking around among us mere mortals. And the kicker? My date was a complete and utter gentleman. Like standing every time I got up to go to the bathroom complete gentleman.
Which was probably about three or four times since my skin was itching and I thought I was still bleeding. The whole time I kept thinking, this guy totally thinks I’m snorting cocaine.
So at the end of the date there I was bruised, still battered, with crusty white stuff flaking off the length of my arms, staring into the deep chocolate eyes of a man whose previous job included going to clubs, flashing those dimples, and getting paid to look hot.
And I am left with the question, what in gods name made him ask for my number?
Thursday, August 19, 2010
I'm not the type of person who actually likes to confide in people about real problems. Dating, alcoholism, and sleeping with random men are easy topics to discuss. Because none of that really means anything to me.
*****Dear Random Men I've Slept with Who Have Somehow Managed to Find this Blog,
I don't mean you. You were/are special to me. Unless I haven't spoken to you in over a year, then you most likely fall into the don't mean anything category. Sorry.
Hugs and Kisses,
But I digress. Once in a blue moon, I decide that this one particular thing in my life gets a bit too hard to handle and I need to talk to someone about it. I feel like this is always a bad idea. I much prefer keeping everything bottled up inside, so that you can unexpectedly lash out at someone with little to no repercussions. That's waaaay healthier. During the course of trying to discuss something that's nearly impossible to put into words, someone said something to me that I find completely and utterly inane.
"Welcome to my world."
You know what always works when trying to comfort someone? Condescension.
Seriously? Welcome to my world? No, my world is not comparable to your world. Mine is infinitely more personal, more effecting, and harder to deal with than yours. Because it's MINE. If I find you worthy enough to actually confide in, I don't want to listen to you welcome me into how much more difficult your life is. Or how your problems are the exact same as mine. Or how you completely relate to what's going on with me. Because it's not. They're not. And you can't.
So what's the proper response?
Offering to kill a hooker.
Only a real friend would do that.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Simple Dating Rule #8- Lola's key to avoiding emotional entanglements.
Sleep with someone else. Preferably someone hotter and more interesting. Honestly, interesting can really be taken out of the equation. As long as you have hotter, you're probably fine.
Well, just until they turn crazy. Or start dropping things off on my doorstep, which amuses Kane to no end. He relishes making fun of the fact that I always seem to find the guy who has a penchant for this. I tend to run most of my emotionally bankrupt decisions by Kane so awhile ago, I was having this conversation with him about this guy who was interested in me and who, well, can barely string two sentences together and has a bit of a bad reputation.
Lola: So he's not really that bad.
Kane: (frustrated) Are you even listening to yourself right now? All I hear is blah blah blah... desperate for validation... blah blah blah.
Lola: Not really.
Kane: You're basically saying (severely high-pitched mocking voice) Um, it's not really that he's an asshole, it's just that he's an asshole.
Kane: He has no redeeming qualities. So he's an asshole with NO redeeming qualities. How do you not see a problem with this?
Lola: But he's so pretty.
Simple Dating Rule #9- Never have your facebook open on your phone when a cute guy is asking for your number.
Way too Grown Up For Me Guy: Aww, that's a cute baby picture.
Lola: (confused) Um what?
WTGUFM Guy: Your profile picture, the one with you in the red wagon.
Lola: Oh no, um... that was taken last week.
WTGUFM Guy: ....
Good thing he didn't see the post about me stuffing a dead hooker in the trunk of my friend Kane's car. That might have pushed him over the edge.
Maybe I'm just too immature to date like an adult? 'Cause really, there are just times when I'd rather be chilling on my couch, eating mac and cheese with hot salsa and watching my latest show obsession. Fuck dinner and a movie. How about some mac and cheese, cold beer, and my couch? Followed by some seriously hot sex?
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
More like an implosion of awesomeness!
Last week, I flew into Chicago early for a meeting to spend the night with V and Blunt Delivery. The two points in my It's Complicated Facebook love triangle. Oh, there were pillow fights. Feathers. And Necessary Roughness. But there was also wine, massages, a bucket of margaritas, a kiss (of which there may or may not be photographic evidence), an assault on errant lobby art (in defence of V's honor), and vodka.
And I did what many men have tried to do and failed. I got in bed with three other women. All while wearing Victoria Secret.
After the weekend's shenanigan's had faded, it wasn't the naughty cuddling in bed that stayed with me, although it was delicious. It was the connection I had made with these two girls, who before this weekend- for all intensive purposes- I had never met before. And it was amazing how fun, how effortless the weekend turned out to be.
I'm a big believer in connections. If you find it with someone, no matter how you meet or how it happens, you should always follow it. Even when it's unconventional. Because you never know where it will lead.
Doesn't exactly fit with the commitment phobic Lola you've grown to know and love, huh? What can I say? I'm a contradiction. Layers, baby. I've got layers.
Still perhaps the best thing to come out of the weekend came during our hang-over breakfast, which is one of my absolute favorite things to do after a night of solid drinking insanity. We were waiting for our names to be called by the irritatingly chipper, maniacal pen-wielding host when V mistakenly asked me to check where we were on their table waiting list.
Bleary-eyed, still desperately trying to infuse my body with caffeine, I blindly followed her order and lurched up to the host. He pointed at the list and must have repeated our number five times but it wasn't getting through my alcohol muddled head. I came back to our group and muttered a "we're next." Which of course we weren't. Not even close. So after they caught on to the fact that I clearly had no idea where we were on the waiting list, V shot me an exasperated look and accused, "Your brain still tastes like tequila."
Which I'm still pretty sure scared the people sitting directly behind her into leaving.
Having to check into my hotel and sales meetings after the epicness that was the weekend was a sad, sad thing. However, my experience with Chi-town was far from over. In fact I bumped into someone very unexpected at my meeting that caused me to chuck all prior weekend plans. Our NYC adventure, I'm sure, will end up here at some point. Especially 'cause I end up in bed with another hot blond. Which leads me to two questions.
Why is it that lately I've spent more time in bed with women than men? And should I be concerned by this recent development?
Monday, July 12, 2010
Before I get back to detailing my regularly scheduled chaotic life, I would like to tell you a brief tale of betrayal, kidnapping, and vengeance. A coworker came into my office earlier in the week, desperate for some advice. The subject: Marriage.
"I should really start getting serious about getting a ring, that's what my girlfriend wants, but I really want God of War 3."
"Well 50% of all marriages end in divorce, but God of War Three got a 9 out of 10 on Gamespot so that's like a 90% success rate. I'd go with the odds on this one." After a slightly disapproving- yet hopeful- look passed across his face, I shrugged. "What did you think was gonna happen when you come to the girl whose longest and most intimate relationship over the past year has been with Cherry Coke Zero?"
My Cherry Coke Zero was stolen from the office refrigerator a few days later.
First came denial. Then anger. Then the tears. And finally, the dramatic shaking of the fist to the sky, combined with a solemn vow of reciprocity and that speech from Gladiator on YouTube in the background of my office. ("My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the armies of the north, general of the Felix legions, loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius, father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife. And I will have my vengeance in this life or the next!")
Oh, I will have my revenge. But it will be after my vacation. I'll have had plenty of time to relax and plot. They'll be lulled into a false sense of security due to my absence. And when they least expect it, I'll strike.
Any ideas, fellow bloggers? Surely, no one should get away with this foul deed. Feel free to get down and dirty...
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
For me, it’s all about that moment when chemistry just overloads your senses and you are pretty much powerless to stop whatever happens. When just kissing them feels like they are burning inside you and you have no choice but to jump in and be absorbed by them. At that point, you are just a victim to your desires, suffering at the hand of whoever has you in their grip."
Want to find out what I'm talking about? That's just a little slice of my first EVER guest post, over at Mr. O's lovely musical blog. It's different than the normal Lola posts, but still just a bit dirty.
You didn't expect me to behave entirely, now did you?
Thursday, July 1, 2010
You know it's a good wedding when you wake up with a bow tie around your neck and a red dragon tattoo on your arm.
Actually the whole trip starting out with a bang. Not literally. Get your mind out of the gutter, readers. Wait, what am I saying? This is Lola. Place your mind firmly back in the gutters from whence you came and stay there. Forever.
I met this seriously cute airforce guy and his buddy on the plane, who had missed their earlier flight, and were now forced to sit in front of me/around me as penance. Somehow within the span of a two hour flight, I managed to wrangle myself a ride to the rental car place, a late lunch date on Sunday before my flight home, and a sight-seeing trip. When I met the groom-to-be for drinks at the hotel and filled him in on my eventful flight, he couldn't stop laughing. "Only you, Lola, would fly to Illinois and have a date lined up before you leave. Oh no, you're going to cause some serious trouble tomorrow, aren't you? Can you at least stay away from my brother?"
Oh ye, of little faith!
Unfortunately, I will not be able to divulge all of the trouble, due to protecting the inocent/guilty/criminally drunk. What I can tell you is that it involved the following:
- Getting the wedding guests- including the bridal party- to all get fake tattoos from Wal-Mart (me & one of the ushers)
- Drinking many, many glasses of whiskey and diet coke (me)
- Spanking people with the table setting, which strangely resembled paddles (this actually wasn't me)
- A rental car backing into a stop sign (not me!)
- Losing a rental car (ok, this one was me)
- Creating a fake wedding guest by the name of Ryan, who apparently is a lot like Chuck Norris, to mess with some annoying people (from another wedding) who crashed our wedding after-party on the hotel patio. We ended up being so convincing at describing Ryan that by the end of the conversation, one of the guys was completely brainwashed into thinking that 1) he had actually met fake Ryan 2) had gotten into an argument with Ryan and 3) that Ryan may just be the most terrifying/coolest man in existence.
- Acquiring an unidentified bow-tie. Either from one of the groomsmen or one of the adorably young bartenders. (me)
Two quotes that defined the entire Illinois wedding experience:
"If you licked my carpet right now, I bet it would still taste like frosting." - Awesome Girl I met the night before the wedding. I'll let you determine what she was referring to.
"I don't know what this is but I'm going to stick it in my mouth anyway." - I have no recollection saying this at all. None. Or what the hell I was talking about. Stupid whiskey.Still have no idea whose bow tie it was. Do you think it was a good idea for me to leave it at the front desk of the hotel? I'm sure that made me look stellar.
I bet you're all wondering whether the streak still stands? I will not confirm or deny. But I can tell you that air force guy is no longer seriously cute, due to circumstances he somehow forgot to inform me about. Like being married. And having a son.
#675 on the list of why Lola is still single.
Have a lovely, naughty weekend fellow bloggers.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
- I've actually responded to someone asking me if they could crash in my bed with me after random sex by saying,"Um... I guess... um... either way is fine with me dude."
- Number of guys I dated at the same time and mistakenly invited all of them to the show that I was performing in: 3. Oops.
- Things I've said in response to "Want to go to my little brother's play?" as a second date suggestion: "You want me to do what now?" (laughter followed immediately by an awkward pause) "Oh, you were serious?"
- The moment I developed slightly more than sexual feelings for this guy I was sort of dating last year, I went out and purposefully slept with someone else the very next night. He found out about it after the weekend and texted me: "Yeah, I think it's better that we're just friends."
- Number of people I have pretended not to know after hooking up with them in the past year: 2
- Number of guys I have actually forgotten I've slept with: 2
- Number of guys I've actually slept with: Ha... you didn't really think I was gonna reveal that one did you?
- After hooking up with someone the entire night during/after a wedding, one of his friends hit on me. I responded to this, by slapping my hand on his chest, looking up at him and saying,"You do realize that I've spent the entire night with ______." He said yes. So of course, I shrugged and then spent the next hour hooking up with _________'s friend.
- After someone said to me,"Do you think your mom would like me?", I stared at him, mouth open, for a good ten minutes and then never called him again.
- Times I've cancelled a date because I've gotten my period and didn't want to sit through dinner without the possibility of sex afterwards: 4
Now I probably shouldn't admit this but there's really only one on that list that I actually regret doing. Yeah, Karma is totally going to kick my ass.I once nominated a friend to make all of my decisions one night since mine always lack...you know... any moral fiber (see numbers 1-6 and then 8-10). Yeah, that didn't work out so well either. I ended up accidentally having sex with an ex of mine.
At least I could blame someone else for that bad decision. But 1-10, clearly mine.
Before going into this weekend and right after making this list, I realized that I need to recalibrate my tarnished, dented, and erratically spinning moral compass. Then I went to the NYC brewfest. And I came home without a bra. With no recollection where it went.
I guess if you can't remember it, it doesn't get added to the list. Oh well, I suppose there's always next weekend to find a new needle for that broken compass of mine.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Ok, so I know how the bruise got there but a girl has to keep some secrets now, doesn't she? ----Insert cheeky grin here.---- Riiight. I wish what had happened was cheeky grin worthy. Sigh.
What was the point of this post again? Oh, right. Compliments. Having an inherently sarcastic nature and hanging out with mostly guys on a frequent basis leads to some of the most interesting (insulting) compliments. Let me give you an idea of what my self esteem contends with during a typical weekend with Lola and her boys.
Lola: It's really good to see you.
J: You know, your name kind of sounds like a dying seagul when said in a certain way. (demonstrating) Loooooooooolaaaaaaaa.
Lola: Well, I was going to tell you that you look like you lost some weight and you look good but I guess your dead seagull compliment makes mine obselete.
P.F Cheng: Why would Lola have seen the Bang Bus? She's the most (dissolving into fits of hysterical laughter) wholesome (more laughter) out of (more laughter) all of us.
Lola: You couldn't even get to the word most with a straight face.
Charlie: I'm impressed with you.
Lola: (apprehensive) Why?
Charlie: That you haven't become a full blown lesbian yet. (gesturing towards Kane and PF Cheng) You know, considering the fact that you hang out with these two so much.
Lola: Thanks? (pauses) Wait... full blown? Is there such a thing as half blown? Am I a half blown lesbian?
Dennis:(slurring his words) You look like a cupcake.
Lola: (staring) Look?
Dennis: (thinking for a moment) Maybe... (sniffing Lola)
The last one was a facebook wall post that said simply: "So there was a quote in the show tonight that I think sums you up. 'Don't Analyze Me. It's a deep dark hole and you don't wanna go there.' "
It's a wonder I'm not crying on my coma couch, listening to Celene Dion's All By Myself with a spoonful of chunky monkey in my mouth and chocolate sauce all over my white tank top. Naaaah. I wouldn't be, well, Lola if I was sensitive and shit.
Before I leave all of you, I have to confess something. I have a bit of a crush. Oh, it's been a secret up until now. But I can't hide it any longer. Our Green Day Rockband session Sunday just put me over the edge. So visit Mr. O, will you? And send him some naughty love. Or maybe just some real compliments.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Yeah, I know. Me. Of Bachelor Party, Hustler Club, skinny dipping with an entire British hockey team fame.
And like everything else in my life this accusation revolves around sex. Because I actually refused it, not once, but twice recently.
Yeah, I know. Me. Of I will sleep with someone purely because they have an accent, Wedding Matritution fame.
The boys and I went out to see my friend's band play and after wandering off from my group, I gained entrance into the dancing trust circle of some guys I had met. I spent awhile conversing/dancing/singing with their leader but got distracted as he was asking for my number when my friend finished his last set and jumped offstage. So I completely left random guy, staring after me, most likely in mid-sentence or at the very least mid phone flip as I launched myself into the arms of my friend B.
After stumbling out of the bar around 3am, the boys had this to say:
Z: We totally thought you were gonna bone that guy.
Lola: Wait. What? I don't always go around boning guys.
Z: Let's go with statistical analysis on that one.
Kane: (whispers) Whore.
Lola: First, no one trusts me to be designated driver-
Z: You were drinking tequila at the time-
Lola: (ignoring Z)- And then everyone assumes I'm just going to sleep with random guys every weekend. (shouting now) I am not an alcoholic sex fiend! (cue many, many drunken catcalls from the alleyways)
Kane: (whispers) Whore.
The second incident involves a guy I had met a little while ago and we briefly dated (sort of). Someone got a little more serious (him) and someone ran away (me) and someone (him) decided to cool things off because someone was also dating other people at the time (me). Something occured recently (alcohol) in which the situation changed a bit (alcohol) and we ended up in a place (alcohol) where we almost hooked up. And it was me who stopped anything before it started. Yup. Me.
I explained both incidences to a girlfriend of mine over the phone as I was running errands. She chalked the first one up to always putting my friends above "boning" but she was entirely too interested in the second one for my taste. In fact, I believe the first words she said were,"Awww, look at you caring about someone else's feelings."
I responded by making loud vomit noises. In front of two children, who had taken that moment to sneak up behind me as I was loading up my basket full of Cherry Coke and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. They looked horrified.
I gave the children a half-hearted apologetic shrug and focused back to my friend on the phone, who was now saying, "Wow, I'm so proud. My little Lola is finally growing up and being mature."
I responded to this last one a bit more violently by declaring: "Just for that, I am so going to sleep with the next random guy who walks by!" Which happened to be a 70 year old man, as I was in the pharmacy section of CVS at the time.
Ok, so maybe maturity was a bit of a stretch.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
The sheer fact that no matter what you do, having them around, automatically makes the idiocy that you accomplish pale in comparison.
It's like having one big safety net. My safety net, at least as of late, consists of Kane and PF Cheng. How did I come to this conclusion? Chatting with my friend Charlie. When it comes to derelictity (yeah not a word- but I like the sound of it), he is the master. He is the Miyagi to my Daniel. The Mickey to my Rocky. The Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez to my Connor MacLeod. He has been shaping me in the ways of the young padawan derelict.
After my friend Charlie received an exclusive invitation to attend this special master of whisky tasting event, we had a rather enlightening conversation on what was holding me back from becoming a better degenerate.
Lola: I am very proud to call you my friend after the exclusive invite you received by Master of Whisky.
Charlie: Thank you. Finally my derelict lifestyle has paid off.
Lola: Whisky and Lola are not a good combination. It always leads to trouble.
Charlie: I resemble that statement. Tequila as well. I believe it's because I don't like either. So if there is a situation where I am drinking either of the 2 it's already way too late.
Lola: Very. Very true. And very, very dangerous.
Charlie: Too true.
Lola: However, it's always fun when you are not the one causing the danger. So that you can rib them without mercy. That's always great.
Charlie: I'm usually on the other side of that coin.
Lola: Actually it's been Kane or PF Cheng lately. So I've been safe.
Charlie: Well yeah hanging with those two is a huge handicap. Lol.
Lola: Hahaha. I LOVE it. No matter what I do, it just doesn't compare.
Charlie: Yup you would have to lose an appendage, or wind up in a Thai prison to top them.
Lola: You win the "degenerate friend of the day" comment.
Lola: My little conversations with you make life worth living.
Charlie: Awww thank you. That and the fact that my day at work is over made me so happy
Lola: You do realize, that this needs to go up on my blog right?
Charlie: Uh oh. My mother always told me that one day my actions would be influential in the writing of a blog and several state laws.
After a fight which started because I misspelled the word Mogwai and lead to the foundation of our relationship cracking and eventually the defriending of me off of facebook, we continued our conversation.
Lola: Ok, if it will rebuild the fragile strand of friendship that remains, I will commit to a derelict act.
Charlie: Yes! I am doing evil, Mr Burns like writhing of my hands as I text this.
Lola: I would hope so.
Charlie: I try my best not to disappoint
Lola: No, that's apparently my job.
Charlie: Well now, come on, if you are really that good at something is it really work?
Lola: Wow, so now according to my friends I am really good at disappointment and leaving a path of destruction in my wake. Nice.
Charlie: Join the club. That's how I built my reputation. I can never disappoint because of what is now expected of me.
Lola: Low expectations are key. Got it.
Due to my penchant for abusing whisky, I have had some strip club mania, several bouts of random sex (okay, more than several), the occasional dating of would be serial killers or crazy men in uniform, skinny dipping in the ocean with a hockey team but apparently all of this just isn't enough for my SDB (sensei of derelict behaviour).
Just what do I have to do to gain my sensei's respect and tear my safety net to shreds? The clock is ticking and I need to accomplish this feat this weekend or my friendship with SDB just might be irreparable.
So I turn to you, dear readers, for your most inventive suggestions.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
So how did I end up at a bachelor party? Well, if you are a loyal follower of this blog, you are well aware that some of my closest friends are guys. Even though this particular friend and I are separated by several states and miles upon miles of turnpike, we've stayed extremely close over the 8 years we've known each other. He is one of the best people I know and has, in fact, driven those miles at the drop of a hat when I've needed him. Several times. I'm incredibly lucky to have him in my chaotic life.
So when he asked me to attend his bachelor party how could I say no? I mean, all the fun and none of the real responsibility of a groomsman? Sign me up! (You didn't really think I could stay sentimental for more than one paragraph, did you?)
After a hellishly long hung-over drive back to New Jersey, I was on my coma couch desperately trying to piece together the events of last night. The evidence in my camera and purse (drunkitemizing at its finest!) suggests several things:
- I started drinking between the hours of 5 and 6pm. With my friend's future brother-in-law and his friend, both of whom I had never met. Before meeting up with the bachelor.
- I challenged the last bar to an epic ski ball battle. I was reigning champion for quite some time mostly due to the fact that one of the guys started berating strangers so that I could hold on to my win. Then he wrestled the title out from under me. He is now dead to me.
- One of us may or may not have been arrested and fingerprinted for prostitution.
- I spent some time in the men's bathroom. At least 4 pictures worth of time. Since writing this post and being utterly confused by this particular event, I have discovered that the reason why I was in the urinal is because one of the guys insisted I absolutely had to see the best urinals in DC. Sounded like a good idea at the time? Stupid whiskey.
- My coat was stolen.
- I was in someones house at some point. There was rum involved.
- I got into a fight with many tiny pirates. Apparently I stole their swords in order to humiliate them because 25 tiny multi-colored rapiers were scattered around my purse the next morning.
- An Irishman gave me his card, after he accosted me on my way back to the guys. Despite my notorious weakness for accents, I wasn't interested in him but what I find interesting about his card, is that I wrote "He's Irish!!!" in drunken scrawl on the back. Just in case I forgot. Which I obviously did until I found his card this morning. This also leads me to wonder whether he saw me write on the card. Stupid Whiskey.
- My coat was found. By one of the guys. Because he had been wearing it.
Alas, we did not venture into strip club territory. Sadly, no eastern European lesbian strippers for me. I reserve that honor only for friends who get recently separated from their wives. Thanks again Cooper for that one.
Are you wondering if I left off any scandalous behaviour on the above list? Gosh, of course not. What do you take me for? Some shameless hussy?
Hope you had as much fun during your weekend as I did, fellow bloggers. Do send me some stories. Or at the very least some drunk texts.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
"Throne of Lies"- The chair that my dad and my uncle sat upon during my entire childhood. I say throne because they put such effort behind their fabrications that they really do deserve to be crowned for their achievements. There was the "you almost had a Mexican Uncle who lived with us for a year but he ran away because he was too afraid that your grandparents wouldn't adopt him and we spent months fruitlessly searching for him" lie. There was the "we buried Indian arrowheads in the ground so that you kids could find them and thus show them off during show-and-tell only to have the teacher find out that they were made in Taiwan and never trusted your innocent 5 year old self again" lie. And perhaps my personal favorite, the " Since your great-grandfather helped design and build Shea stadium, they graciously named it after him which is why we we were bestowed box seats on the third baseline" lie. My dad got hours upon hours of amusement out of this one because I perpetuated his story by telling not, one, but ALL of my friends this proudly throughout high school. Family sucks.
"Fred"- My intense fear of relationships. Yes, it has its own name. Yes, I name things. And no, I do not have conversations with Fred. I'm an incredibly passionate person with that irritating quality we call loyalty, so when I'm in, I'm usually all in- which is exactly where Fred comes in. He likes to remind me of my need for an exit strategy when said passion threatens to overwhelm good sense. A shot of patron for you, Fred.
"Dirtylicious"- a) An intriguing combination of dirty, luscious, and vicious. Occasionally used to describe my sense of humor, among other things. b) Keane's mash-up cover of Bootylicious, by Destiny's Child, and Dirty, by Christina Aguilara .
This last random fact goes out to a very special reader, who has always loved my random questions. Thanks for the music this week, luv.Fun Lola Fact #347- I love to cook. I love to sing. I often do these two things together. In Notre Dame boxers and a tank top. And ok, I admit it, there may be some dancing involved. But only when stirring my pasta sauce.
And what would a Lola post be without the drunk text of the month? The winner of this, is sadly not myself, but a friend of mine whose text so eloquently said, "You are snow drink the time with me?" No clue what this means and that is awesome.
Now I'm off, fellow bloggers, to shower you with some much deserved love and sloppy kisses.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
I visited Boston this past weekend and would like to share with you some short stories of drunken belligerence as experienced by a group of three friends. As usual, please take my mean jokes for what they are: sarcastic humor with no underlying malice. And if you don’t like my sense of humor, please email all complaints to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Though three of us were in Boston, the real hero of our story is a tiny asian man by the name of Peter Cheng. To save space I will refer to him from now on as P.F.
Giving P.F. alcohol is like feeding a gremlin after midnight. Some sort of chemical imbalance occurs which causes him to lose all impulse control and generally cause mayhem in all its forms. Consider the following examples:
P.F. saw a girl walking down the hallway of our hotel. Being the quintessential ladies’ man, he said, “Hey! You have a vagina! How’s your vagina doing today?” Strangely, she did not respond to his mating query, which was clearly her loss. Idiot. You missed out on the best thing that ever happened to you. Fool.
P.F. was being extremely loud in our hotel room, discussing intellectual topics such as how “it’s pee-pee time” and, “no, I won’t shtop drinking!” Suddenly, for no particular reason, he said, “ok, I’m taking my shirt off now” and proceeded to remove the garment in question from his upper torso. Though I cannot speak for the other guy in the room, I personally was not excited at the prospect of seeing a bare-chested man. Naturally, it was right at this moment that hotel management knocked on our door to give us a noise violation. I distinctly remember the look on the manager’s face as his eyes fell upon the shirtless, raving lunatic behind me. It was fear mixed with awe… like how you’d feel if you were standing a few feet away from a tornado. Only, this tornado was asian, and it had no shirt on.
P.F. yelled at a girl in a hotel lobby for wanting to join a sponsored group of female gamers that help sell videogame products. This is because they are chosen not for their gaming skills, but for how attractive they are. I told him that if he doesn’t like hot girls that are hired to sell products, he should get mad at every model that ever existed. He then assured me that they were no different from prostitutes, because clearly there is no difference between girls that are paid to play videogames, and girls that are paid to pleasure men’s genitals. Then he burped. Then it was pee-pee time again.
P.F. reassured a 45-year-old woman that she should continue to have sex with her husband, even at her age, because her “vagina still works”. Thankfully, the woman laughed at his comment. She was not taking him seriously due to the fact that he was wearing a custom-made Pokemon hat.
So there P.F. was, shirtless and foaming at the mouth. After a long period of silence, he said, “Let’s get ripped, dude! Me and you! We’ll go to the gym five days a week! Yeeaah! We’ll call it…Operation Fat Fuck! Let’s stop being fat fucks, dude!” How could I resist such an eloquent proposal? Then P.F. implored me to punch his fist with mine. I did so, to avoid further discussion. And thus, Operation Fat Fuck was born.
The moral of this story? If you or someone you know loses all control of their impulses when drunk, you should encourage this behavior. Otherwise, what else is there to blog about? Your drab, wretched life isn’t all that interesting, and neither is mine. Now I must go…for it is pee-pee time.
Hugs and Kisses,
Ok, so I added the hugs and kisses part. But that's because I own this blog. And even the legend of Kane must submit to my whims and fancies. Feel free to send along your own tiny drunken asian man stories. Of which, I'm sure, you all have many.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Stability is overrated.
I learned two valuable things on this Aruban sojourn: 1) The difference between men and women 2) Never go to a Limbo show at the Riu Palace
1) The difference between men and women can be summed up by what they have in their carry on luggage.
Women: Three books (three genres), lotion (two kinds), iPhone filled with music and television shows, a notebook, pens, lip gloss, an extra pair of clothes, a bathing suit, flip flops, and a pack of gum.
Men: Night Vision Goggles and a Lap Top.
2) Awkward Limbo Incident of 2010.
It started off like any other limbo show at a cheesy island resort. With Caribbean music, an ultra skinny six foot black man wearing pink and green sequined cabana pants, and a limbo stick. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the limbo stick. He shimmied under it several times to the steady beat of the steel drum band behind him, stepping gracefully over audience participants while keeping his back horizontal to the ground. There were cheers when he lit the stick on fire. Ooohs and ahhhhs when he took out two additional sticks, set them ablaze, and limboed under the giant stick while juggling the two flaming pieces of wood.
Then the new age music began. And it all went downhill.
With what could only be described as an expression of pure ecstasy, he began to rake the fiery sticks across his body. In about 2.5 seconds, the sounds of energetic laughter and happy claps deteriorated into horrified stares and frightened gasps. Children began crying as the fire hissed across the man's skin. One little blond girl, tears streaming down her face, actually had to be escorted out of the show. Several bystanders were heard to mutter, "Oh. My. God." just before passing out.
Lola's Life Lesson? It's all fun and games until the new age music comes on. If you're normal, you should run. If you're a part of the Lakely brigade,however, you stay and laugh hysterically. And reference it continuously the rest of the trip. Because a limbo man deliberately setting himself on fire to the sound of children crying never gets old.
Hope you had a naughty weekend, fellow bloggers. I know, I did. In fact, I discovered a new shot. Pop Rocks and grape vodka. Unfortunately this means that the bartender has become my dealer. With a salacious grin, he handed me a free package of the vodka laced Pop Rocks on the way out of the bar Saturday night. I am afraid I am already on credit.I've never had innocent childhood memories of candy and summer sullied in such a delicious way before.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
- Sex on legs
- Tiger in the bedroom
- Waiscoast is TEH SEX
- Possibly the rudest person you will EVER meet
- Cute. END OF.
Hannah: "Yeh, she was a tiger in the bedroom!" (Lola walks past...)
Michelle: "Aye up, sex on legs.."
The person with this name is the most amazing person you will ever meet. After you say hi to her, magic fairy dust will sprinkle on your head and then you'll be able to FLY! OMG! Who WOULDN'T want to fly? That girl is so cool. Her name must be Lola! *begins to fly*
I have met a few of you in real life. Have any of you flown shortly after having met me, while shouting OMG to yourself?
And now for something completely different...
Some dude named Marc Jacobs created a perfume after me. The description is as follows: "This warm floral bouquet conveys the free spirit of today's sexy, modern girl - she is playful, cool, and flirtatious. Blooming midnotes of rose, fuschia peony, and geranium make a feminine statement. Layers of vanilla, warm tonka bean, and creamy musk create a sensuous drydown".
This lead me to ponder some of life's greatest philosophical questions.
Should I be looking to sue on the grounds of identity theft because of that eerily accurate description? And does my creamy musk create a sensuous drydown? And if so is my sensuous drydown a danger to myself and others? Should I come with a warning label? Where should that label be on my person? Easily accessible? Or in a very naughty place?
These are questions that need answering! Since they have kept me up at night, I may just need your help in answering some of them.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
We were watching the winners of the pairs figure skating perform on Sunday and, sadly, we have to admit we weren't really paying a whole lot of attention. When we glanced at the screen we noticed the female skater was wearing a ballet outfit while her partner was in a hockey jersey. This immediately caught our attention and we got incredibly excited that they might possibly be performing an interpretive ice-dance of the classic inspirational hockey /ice skating film The Cutting Edge. After watching for a few more minutes we were severely disappointed to learn we were wrong and this was merely a traditional performance.
However, this made us realize that there should be an additional category in Olympic Figure Skating – 80’s Films and Television Shows: Interpretive Dance. This new category has the power to truly revolutionize the figure-skating world as we know it. The possibilities are endless! Imagine being able to see classics such as Say Anything, Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles, McGuyver, Moonlighting, Magnum P.I. etc. come to life in front of your very eyes. Let's be honest, who wouldn't want to witness Ducky get his figure-skating groove on in front of a very reluctant let's-just-be-friends-even-though-I'm-leading-you-on-while-making-my-own-prom-dress-to-go-with-the-most-popular-boy-in-school Andie?
If we were to expand to team skating this exciting, new category could include The Goonies, 21 Jumpstreet, St.Elmo’s Fire and The Breakfast Club. Furthermore, if we were to allow same sex partnerships shows like Miami Vice would be an excellent short program. Sonny Crockett and Ricardo Tubbs are back, taking on the Florida drug world by storm with their trademark wisecracks and Italo-casual fashion- on ice!
The use of props would be strongly encouraged. For example in a Heathers long program, Drano can be used to drive a key plot point home- especially when spewed onto the ice by one of the female figure skaters. Think of the imagery that the audience would be left with!
We, the undersigned, truly believe that by adding Interpretive Dance of 80’s Films and Television Shows it will greatly increase the number of attendees to all skating events as well as promote a steady growth in home viewership, thus resulting in astronomical advertising sales.
New Jersey and Connecticut
Thursday, February 25, 2010
I say none of these silly little wars wars had the power, the scope, the sheer magnificence of this epic battle. Yes, it is the pitched conflict that will most likely shake the very foundation of the world we call the blogosphere. And, it is brewing in the Amphibian world.
Of course, I speak of the to-the-hopefully-very-bloody-death-cage match of...
Newt The Wonder Frog's Lily Pad vs. Crazy Thoughts... from a crazy newt.
Three chances to vote.
Three chances to change the world.
There Can Be Only One. Newt.
I had the fortune to sit down with Trinity and he has thrown down his webbed gauntlet. "This was an unprovoked war from a foreign power...if Power and Canada can ever be used in the same sentence. And I am going to protect my Lily Pad with the Verbal Fervor that will make sure this Fake Newt will never forget. He won't know what hit him."
In the interest of fairness, I also spent time behind enemy lines. Crazy Newt had this to say: "Once every lifetime, an underdog stands up for what is right. David vs. Goliath. Chinese guy vs. Tank. Reese's Peanut Butter cups vs. Plain ol' Peanut Butter. This war is the modern incarnation of that eternal conflict... Newt vs. Frog. May the best newt win."
But if you are still not convinced that you want to partake in the outcome of this war, don't take my word for it. Take a look at what these frenzied onlookers had to say.
"I don't know what you are talking about."- Random Security Guard That Works In My Building
"...." Lola's Mother
So dear readers, I encourage you to read each of their posts and vote. Because the fate of the Newts lie within your hands.
Read the complete rules of the battle here.
Ribbit, Ribbit, bitch!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
After a miserable week in detox (day 7 on antibiotics- 8 more to go- thanks to my effing sinus affection), I was looking forward to a Friday morning snow shower that would effectively cancel my morning commute and allow me to work blissfully from home. However, I should have realized this was a pie-in-the-sky dream because our building never closes down. But they have provided us with an emergency hot line that we can call! Oh, joy, doesn't that just warm the cockles of your heart?
The recorded message hasn't changed much in the past 5 years. It's always, "The building will be open but as always use your discretion when operating your vehicle, blah, blah, blah." It could be the apocalypse and the message would be the same: "The building will be open but as always use your discretion when operating your vehicle during hellfire conditions. Please be aware of fault line cracks, falling brimstone, and blood thirsty harpies. And make sure to alert your manager should your arms be torn asunder by avenging angels."
But I digress!
It was 8:00 am and after a sleepless night, I was seething when the alarm shrieked in my ear. I groggily hit the offending radio with gusto. Hard. In fact, I knocked it clear off my bedside table, which in turn toppled over my bright orange codeine-infused cough syrup. Which spilled all over my new violet 1100 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Hoorah!
Ignoring the spreading orange blossom on my sheets, I lurched off the bed and grabbed for the only bright light in the cave of darkness that was my morning. My lovely, iridescent bag of Godiva caramel coffee. Mmmm... my deliciously naughty, wonderfully decadent caffeine. My fingertips brushed against the outside of the bag in a caress that was both loving and needy and just a bit desperate. Slowly, delicately, I peeled back the folds and prepared to take a deep, enriched breath.
The bag was empty. That faithless, cocktease caffeine whore.
I slammed the offending bitch into the garbage, jumped angrily in the shower, and wished fervently for hellfire and brimstone instead of zero coffee.
This black mood lasted entirely through my morning commute, sans coffee, and I decided firmly that I would keep myself holed up in my office with the door shut for at least an additional hour before bearing my visage to the rest of the world. I was sadly mistaken.
The rest of the world would see a lot more than that before the morning was over.
As I trudged down the hallway, towards my office- which is right across from our floor's big conference room- in my tightly clad leggings and snow boots (wishful thinking) with my laptop and gym bag balanced precariously on my chipped shoulders. Someone called out my name and I cocked my head to the side. This simple flutter of a movement was just enough to upset my equilibrium and I suddenly and rather violently tripped, head over ass,... right into the open supply closet. Directly outside of the conference room. Full of authors.
Oh yes, yes I did. But perhaps the best part of all of this was the fact that instead of investigating the loud crash that had so abruptly occurred outside the conference room, the woman running the meeting quietly got up and shut the door. As I struggled to extract myself amidst company pens and cleaning supplies.
This is why I should never be allowed to go without coffee.
Friday, February 5, 2010
My Wednesday morning consisted of an electrical fire at work knocking out all of our servers and phones, a tiny Asian man, two inappropriate text messages and an Asexual Meat Kitchen.In any case I was sitting at my desk as the servers were still down and alarm bells shrieked occasionally in the distant hallway, when my iPhone made that delightful little bubbling sound, indicating a new message. You can imagine my delight when I leaned over to find:
And yes, in fact the tiny Asian man and inappropriate text message numero uno go hand in hand, thanks to my dear friend Kane. Who, making fun of me for my irrational attachment to Nathan Drake in Uncharted 2 and my new LED TV, pretended to masturbate to the aforementioned software and hardware combo while I was on the phone ordering Thai food in preparation for our Lost premier shindig. I ran into the kitchen in the hopes of escaping him but, alas, he was diabolical in his pursuit and ended up chasing me around the island several times. Emitting high-pitched squeals and grunts that any subway masturbating hobo would be proud of. All of this occurred while the tiny Asian man was shouting, "That all?... That all?... That all?" into my ear via my distorted phone connection.
Yes, I know what you are thinking. That Kane dude can surely multi task.
Kane's Text: oh goddddd! thai delivery man! yeaaaahhhhhh! rock my world you tiny asian, man you! yyyeeaaahhh!
Lola's response: You are way more interesting than the electrical fire that occurred at work an hour ago.
The second message was also sexual in nature, however it had to do with a certain part of my anatomy and a promise. I'm not sure what to make of this one since it involves someone I haven't hung out with on a consistent basis for at least 10 years. This offer was also followed by some pretty heavy and outstanding compliments, which make me a little nervous. So in true Run-Lola-Run fashion, I'm fast forwarding to another text message exchange from Kane later that night after my request to play online with him.
Kane's Text: If you would like to join a party, there is one in my pants.
Lola's response: I hear there's a little Asian man in there already!
As for the last bit of the story I implore you, dear readers, to get in on the action. I was listening to a new musical obsession of mine, the boys from Glasgow Biffy Clyro, whose new album hasn't come out in the states yet. I hadn't heard any of their previous songs so I decided to check them out. I came across the most brilliant ,yet, disturbing title:
Asexual Meat Kitchen.
Now I have some ideas as to what this could be (especially considering my Kane story above), but I thought it would be more fun to have you guys define it. So have at it, Lola followers, and make me proud!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
- I have successfully learned how to make my mother's pasta sauce. And homemade meatballs. This now officially makes me Italian.
- I made the mistake of making both the sauce and the meatballs at one of my infamous parties. Spaghetti ended up on my head. And on the walls. And in the guest bedroom.
- I had a stalker for the month of December. Who sent me flowers, cookies, and then chocolate covered strawberries. The card that came with the flowers stated, "Just to let you know someone is thinking of you."
- I received my very first sonic screwdriver. I am still waiting for one of you to show me yours. You know who you are.
- I met Trinity and his wife in real life. Twice! Well to be accurate I met him and his wife once and Trinity twice but both times= DELIGHTFUL. He was kind enough to write about our second outing which included: karaoke, an overly exuberant gay waiter cock-blocking Trinity's dessert, Mary Poppins, and a subway trip to hell!
- I found out who my stalker was. It's insanely creepy that he knew my address. Does it make me a bad person that I've already forgotten his name? It may have begun with a G...
- I was asked out 2.5 times. I went out 2.5 times. The evidence- on whether or not the .5 was actually a date- remains inconclusive.
- I am more attached to one of my video game characters than any of the 2.5 dates above. This troubles me.
- I ran out of my house at 4:30am- while it was snowing- in a Notre Dame jersey, boy shorts and Ugg® boots. My friend found me and I apparently responded with a slurred, "I was taking out the garbage."
- One of my garbage cans is still missing.
- My brother asked me what movies Sam Worthington has been in. I mistakenly answered, "Hooooooooot!" I will never be able to live this down. This occurred a month ago and there is still fallout.
Drunk Text Favorites:
From: Lola Recipient: Kane Text: Whahtgaking? Kane's response: I can't even begin to imagine what that is. And that is awesome
From: Lola Recipient: Jeanette Text: aj! hydbnu Jeanette's response: What does that even mean?
From: CW Recipient: Lola Text: Got here... we think we've met Melissa- drinking profusely now. My response: Who's Melissa?
From: Lola's sister Recipient: Lola Text: Peanioooooooo abr playing I would walk 6000 milesassss. Locedddeeeeeee uuuuuuu (included a video attachment of unintelligible singing and mysterious origin)
From: KF Recipient: Lola Text: Hey don't forget to list your MOUTH on your 2009 Tax Return. I heard it got a lot of work this year. My response: Damn it, I should have filed for workman's comp.
From: JA Recipient: Lola Text: In jail. I blame public transit.**I can't even count the number of times I've received drunken phone calls or texts about my friends being in jail. None of them have actually been in jail at the time the messages were sent.
Most "Interesting" Compliment:
"Dude, Lola, you're kind of like my paxil." My response: Um... thanks?
Alas, our catch-up time is coming to an end. Sigh. I will leave you with one of the reasons I have been absent:
I went to our company's national sales meeting. This has reaffirmed my deep-rooted belief that national sales meetings are the girls gone wild episodes of the business community. Once everyone is finished with their daily meetings, the inhibitions are shed. Imagine spring break with an expense account! At different points in my career I've seen: a presenter vomit mid-power point; a big-time executive hit on a sales rep directly after giving a speech on his wife and family values; an entire team go skinny dipping; a beach bar break-in; a table thrown out a balcony window; an impromptu 3 am Call of Duty session in the break-out room, several inappropriate hook-ups, binder bowling, and much more.
I am sure you are asking whether yours truly has ever done anything untoward at these meetings. And my answer to you is: Haven't I always kept up with the accepted standards of what is right and proper in polite society?
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Don'ts: 1. Size them up or judge what they do for a living, etc. 2. Bad mouth other daters. 3. Cross your arms.
Of course after reading these wonderful speed dating rules over an email exchange, V and I decided to have our own speed dating session with each other- entirely based on the recommended questions and topics given out prior to the speed dating event. So dearest bloggers, without further ado, here is our speed dating conversation:
V: How do you feel about tantric sex? Do you believe in ghosts? New age?
Lola: Yes. Perhaps. Entirely dependent on how I feel at the moment. Have you ever taken an IQ test? If so, how did it feel?
V: I have taken one, but I'd rather not discuss the results. I'd much rather find out how you feel about Dancing with the Stars.
Lola: Luke warm. I'm dying to know what the strangest thing about you is!!!
V: The strangest thing about me is that I am 28, single, attractive, successful, funny and actually paid to be here. I'm very curious as to what your favorite movie is? And don't give me any "Too many to list" answers because we only have a minute and a half left.
Lola: Beware, V (smiles directly into her eyes) I am not afraid to touch.
V: (looks away, crosses her arms, and pulls out her blackberry to tweet)
Lola: Ohhh, just for that I am SO sizing you up while judging your lawyerly ways and talking about my ex.
V: Did you see that #10 girl? What a trashy whore (V slurs).
Lola: This is the best game we've ever invented.
V: Oh, you like games do you??? What's the strangest game you've ever played? Did I say strangest? I meant dirtiest
Lola: Wow, coincidentally the strangest/dirtiest game I ever played was also the funnest thing I did this summer!
V: Was that in your favorite place in the city? What part would that be? Oh, mine too!
Lola: How did you know? It was in Hell's kitchen and the dirtiest/strangest game is why it's my favorite part of the city!
V: Here's where the touching begins...
Lola: Please, please, tell me it's inappropriate touching!
V: How can it be inappropriate when it feels so right? I think we have 15 seconds left.
V: By the way, who did you vote for and do you go to church?
Lola: I do believe in Heaven, only because it looks like you fell from there! Ohhhhh. Do you believe in past lives? Possession? Water Retention?
V: No, I'm a libertarian
I think I'd like to send this question to them (as I am sure it will likely get me a 95% approval rating from other speed daters): Where is the strangest place you have vomited and why? Please be specific in your answers.
Because nothing stirs the fires of lust than a good discussion on vomit. Besides tantric sex, believing in ghosts, and new age philosophy that is.
I bet all of you are wondering how I ended up expelling the contents of my stomach in a urinal in the men's bathroom at the Barbados international airport. Well that, dear readers, is a story for another day. Hint: It involves an entire English field hockey team.
Oh, what fun it is to be back!