Thursday, May 27, 2010

Lola vs. The Safety Net

What is the best part about having degenerate friends?

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.
Charlie: Holla!!!
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

Lola vs. The Bachelor Party

This past weekend I was bachelor party bound. Yes, I said bachelor party. And no, I did not jump out of a cake. Or swing from a pole. Or have sex in the champagne room. Which was what the majority of my friends asked when I told them what I was doing. Seriously, who do they think I am? Some shameless hussy? I'm going to pause for a moment and enjoy the fact that I got to use the word hussy, as it's kind of a favorite of mine. OK, done ruminating over how the word hussy makes me giddy. And on to my weekend, or what little I remember of it.

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:
  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. One of us may or may not have been arrested and fingerprinted for prostitution.

    Photobucket

  4. 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.
  5. My coat was stolen.
  6. I was in someones house at some point. There was rum involved.
  7. 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.
  8. 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.
  9. 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

Lola vs. Lola-isms of Wisdom

Hello there bloggosphere. I know, I know, I have been a very, very bad girl. Not only has it been over a month since I've made a post but I haven't even answered the concerned emails. The slightly veiled threats. However, I am foolishly counting on your love for this naughty redhead to be big and boundless enough to forgive my transgression.

I could beg. I could plead. I could tell you that you complete me. Or that you are the other half of that best friend necklace I had when I was a kid. But then you would just think that I was trying to get you into bed. And really, I do not want to cheapen our relationship.

I could blame it on work. Or family. Or the weather. Or the drinking profusely and thus not remembering any actual events enough to blog about them. But that would just add insult to injury. And so I won't.

Instead, I'd like to clue you in on a few definitions, or Lola-isms, that have sprung up during my hiatus:

"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.

"Drunkitemizing"- The act of finding random things in your pockets/purse/car (sometimes all three) after a night of drinking and you have absolutely no idea how they got there or in some cases what they are. Like the strange rubber green frog I found in my purse. It is currently standing on my desk with a smug, judgemental grin. Its origins remain a mystery to this day.

"A Lola Night"- Drinking three drinks in the time it takes everyone else to drink one. It is almost always proceeded by the words "Uh, Oh." or "Shit, it's another". Alas, I can't take credit for this one. Kane was the one who coined this phrase.

"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.