So a blond, a redhead, and a brunette walk into a bar… Sounds like the start of a dirty joke?
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?