Lola Lakely: Life, Love, & the Pursuit of Insanity

Lola vs. The Link

2011-12-08T12:12:00.004-05:00

I was fortunate enough to receive a link from a friend today that made me nostalgic for a few men I have dated in the past. So I thought I would re-post one of my favorite dating experiences for any new readers who may have missed my brush with potential serial killer guy.

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

This can only lead to one or two different outcomes.

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

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

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

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

Please. I think I might actually prefer the chloroform.

I know, I know. You all miss me desperately. I have been remiss in posting. Some call it laziness. Others call it busy. But I promise, I will be back. Because I have some disturbing dating stories to share. One of which includes an impromptu palm reading. And a little syndrome I like to call Text Tourettes.

Stay Dirty.

Lola vs. The Adventures of Lola the Greek

2011-08-23T01:30:00.003-04:00

It began with a joke. Then it became a streak. And now it's a challenge.

I'm talking about my nationality list. A few weeks ago it occurred to a friend of mine that I've been "making" my way through a list of foreign men, mostly when I travel. What? Don't judge me- a girl has to have a hobby.

It started, as it tends to with me, with an Irishman. Then it expanded to a Scottish musician. A South African Tourist followed suit. A caustic Englishman. An Italian on vacation in Disneyworld.

And let's not forget (and take a moment to appreciate) the Australian of the long lashes, deep appreciation of traveling around the world for different wines, and an intimate knowledge of how to say dirty things in Italian.

So when I was heading off to Greece, I felt an absurd amount of pressure to keep that streak alive due to comments like "You better come back with some insane stories." Or "We're not going to be friends anymore if you don't do something idiotic." Or my personal favorite: "Come back with stories. Just not syphilis." Thanks, Kane.

Well the streak is alive and well. And I've been asked by a few readers to write about it in greater detail than I normally do. Familiar readers of this blog are very well aware of the fact that I enjoy men- often for one specific purpose- and that I rarely feel the need to spend much time describing one. I much prefer to lump them into different categories. It's easier that way.

Although I have to say this one just won't stay stuck in one category.

We had decided to take an all day sailing trip on a catamaran around the island of Santorini, complete with an Island of Misfit Toys type crew, several swim stops, a trip to the volcanic springs, a traditional Greek buffet prepared by a chef on board, and a finale- one of Santorini's spectacular sunsets in the middle of the caldera.

I love being on the ocean. There is nothing that soothes my restless soul more than being on a boat with the wind on my face and the sound of the waves lapping the sides. Every worry, every stress just melts away at the sound, the smell, and the feel of the water. So for me, a day like that is perfection.

I didn't notice him, not completely, at first. He was the chef on our boat and spent some of the first part of our trip in the kitchen. It was only when he started making fun of my friend and her stubborn refusal to take off her hat despite the strong winds did he catch my interest. And when he turned that sarcastic wit on me, I was lost.

I simply can't resist a man who gives me a hard time. It is the biggest turn on when a man can spar with me. And dear lord, he could spar. Wickedly. That first curl of lust snaked through me and I turned to my friend, grinned, and said," I think I have a bit of a thing for our chef."

In response she mumbled, "God help him then." I've known this girl since college so she is well aware of my penchant for going after what I want and it's become a bit of a joke between us. There has only been one exception to the Lola-Is-As-Subtle-As-A-Wrecking-Ball Rule, of which she is also aware, but that's another blog for another day.

There were two things (well three but that comes later) that this man did extremely well. He could wear a spattering of stubble across his dark chin like few men I've ever known. And he could really lean. You know how sexy it is when a guy can just lean? He can angle his body towards you slightly, with one arm resting in the space just above your head and the other almost brushing against your skin, and then he tips his chin down in order to meet your eyes in a gesture that is so effortlessly sexy that it just has to be practiced.

There was this moment when I looked up at him from the deck and his feet were planted shoulder width apart, his tanned muscular arms taut as his hands gripped the top of the boat, his green bandanna tight against his black hair that I literally had to keep a sigh from escaping my lips. Because with the sun at his back and a wicked smile on his face, I thought he looked just the right amount of dark and dangerous.

At one point as he swung back on the deck, I leaned back deliberately so that his bare skin brushed mine. And when his hands, rough and slightly calloused, shot out to rest steadily on my shoulders, I may have actually shivered. Shivered. Me.

It honestly took every ounce of self control I had not to disappear down the hold with him, push him against the counter, wrap my legs around him and have my way with him while the rest of the passengers lazed above, completely unaware of the naughty things that were happening below deck.

Later he would tell me that he had wanted me to do just that.

Maybe I've been with far too many little boys lately that the appeal of a real man, one who smelled like salt and sea and dark promises, was impossible to resist. So I didn't. I flirted shamelessly. He proposed. After discovering my dirty sense of humor and the fact that I drove a black Honda accord by the name of Riggins. He did this while brushing his lips across my knuckles, looking up at me through dark lashes and even darker eyes. Seriously?

I am not a girl who is easily impressed but this man with confidence that stopped just shy of being arrogant and a grin that could flicker from friendly to wicked in about one second flat had me impressed. So you can imagine my chagrin when in the confusion of leaving the boat, we missed each other. I experienced a moment of sheer disappointment and then shrugged it off as I do everything else, quickly and effortlessly. However don't worry, dear readers, this is not the end of the story.

I was not about the let my pent-up lust go to waste so we went out, thinking that I could always find another hapless victim for a quick vacation fling. After dinner and another spectacular sunset, we decided to amble over to a bar he recommended that boasted a breathtaking caldera view, plenty of locals, and some seriously good music. My friend proceeded to drink the place out of gin while I made my way through an Irish coffee , a glass of Raki (dangerous), and a slew of beer. After flirting with some cute australian guys, my friend pointed and practically shouted,"Lola, look who just walked in. You should go grab him. Now."

I was entirely too drunk to realize that she was probably joking but I did just that. When he realized who had stumbled into him, he grinned and promptly pulled me into his arms in a tight hug. "So I guess this is fate then." He leaned in, his lips feathering across my cheek. "You know I had a pen and paper in hand to grab your contact information and then suddenly you were gone, walking down the dock. I literally stared after you, willing you to look back at me."

I drew myelf back, raised a brow. "I thought I had lost my touch."

"Yeah, I'm sure you did." Ahh sarcasm, another perverse quality I find insanely attractive."Lola, I was practically following you around the boat. And gesturing like crazy for you to follow me into the hold." He tightened his arms around me. "When are you leaving again?"

"Wednesday."

"So I only have two days to get you to come home with me?"

"I don't think it will take that long."

"Oh yeah?" Another one of those wicked grins. " How long will it take?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"On what time it is now and what time the bar closes."

He laughed then and drew me back but kept one arm draped across my shoulder. "I had almost forgotten how direct you are."

"Well, I like sex. And I want the hell out of you so what would be the point in hiding it?"

"I think I love you."

"Tell me about it."

And that's basically how I found myself in the front seat of a tiny car, speeding over cliffs at break-neck speeds. I had no clue who the driver was, other than that he was a friend of my chef and drove like a hell fire demon on crack. He didn't speak much English but he did get an inordinate amount of pleasure over my terrified gasps.

Saddest thing about this was the fact that legitimately the only thought in my head at the time was: "But if we hurdle off a cliff and plummet to our deaths, I will never find out how good in bed this guy is and that would be a shame."

Fuck my well-being. Crazy hot monkey sex is WAY more important. Clearly a girl has to have her priorities.

After getting back to his place, when his hands grabbed a fistful of my red hair to pull me in for a kiss, I decided that almost hurdling off a cliff was well worth it. This man had deliciously strong arms and could kiss like I was his last drop of water as he was dying of thirst in the middle of a desert.

I had every intention of taking a cab home after the crazy 4 plus hour sex-a-thon but I was somehow persuaded to stay for cigarettes, caustic remarks, and laughter. When we finally fell back into bed and he nuzzled his face into my neck and murmured as if reading my mind,"Don't worry, I'm not stupid enough to develop a weak spot for a girl who lives as far away as you do." I knew that if I hung out with him the next day I would be in some serious trouble.

So I may have done a bit of a runner, in true Lola fashion, but I swear if I had a heart, a tiny sliver of it could have been left in bed with that wicked grin and sarcastic sense of humor. Or it could have just been the few extra swim stops he gave me that night.

I'll let you decide.

Lola vs. The 4th or 5th Beer BQ at Case de Lola

2011-06-20T00:30:00.009-04:00

My house has a certain, well, reputation for stripping people of their inhibitions. Normal, non drinkers walk over the threshhold of my house, enter my backyard Beer BQ, and lose their shit. No moral compass is safe. No alcohol off limits. No act too immature.

Kane likes the fact that I get so drunk that I can't remember whether I've had four or five Big Beer BQ Bashes. I say it's one part drunkenness and one part semantics. Seeing as how there was one year where I decided to also throw a Beer BQ for my birthday. See, semantics. However, I don't remember which year. See, drunkness.

Drunken Wagoneering, a pastime that requires the infamous red radioflyer wagon and person or persons who doesn't/don't have any coordination at all, was born out of these Beer BQs. So was a drink called magical unicorn titties. Thank you, Charlie, my sensei of derelict beahvior.

My Beer BQ is also the type of event that immediately comes before emails such as this one:

To: Lola and Cooper
Subject: Me and Corn
Body: So do either of you have that picture of me, eating corn naked? If so, can you send it to me. Thx.

And inspires conversations such as these:

Z: I'm washing my hair that night.
Lola: Um. Unacceptable. You're bringing the buns.
Z: You always ask me to bring my sweet sweet buns... Can't I bring the sausages for once? Jeez...
Lola: Sigh. I suppose. You are my grill master after all.
Z: Well, lets get a light out there... I still have a permanent scar on my arm from the second degree buns I got because Kane asked me for a burger at 4am... and then left and went home without taking his burger or saying bye... and possibly after vomiting in your tub.
Lola: No more 4am grilling. Got it. Actually that guy who called himself Steve whose name wasn't Steve vomited in the tub. But Don did use ninja like vanishing skills. Was that the same one where you passed out and Kristin drew a heart on your face?
Z: No... Me passing out was the birthday party the year before where I somehow decided to drink that bottle of patron and half a 40 in the 30min span while grilling... I did manage to wake up and still prove myself useful chasing after people around your town.
Lola: Riiight that's the same one where you found that guy passed out, bleeding by my bagel place.
Z: And the one where _____ vomited in your bamboo.
Lola: Dear Lord.
Z: Yeah, he is definitely not in attendance at your parties. Maybe the other guy. But not the lord.
This year my camera was high jacked or willingly surrendered, I woke up with two bite marks (one on my collarbone and one on my leg), and after being bandaged up by my friend Z found this list taped to my bedroom window:

Apparently this is my pitiful attempt to track my alcohol intake. As you can clearly see, the list starts to go awry after the two shots of Patron. Obvi. I missed the magical unicorn titties and moved onto Sweat Tea, which I am really hoping is just a typo and not what it sounds like. After I played several games of Beer Pong, I somehow decided it was a good idea to drink a 40??? I blame the 40 for the list completely and utterly degrading into the gem of a drunken mess that it is. At least I was able to identify the color of the liquor I was drinking next on the list. Small favors, right?

The last alcohol on the list has three exclamation points to describe it. So if anyone has any idea what the mysterious, exclamational (new word alert) alcohol could be, I'd really like to know.

Hope you had a very naughty weekend fellow bloggers. Apparently everyone who was at Case de Lola did.

Lola vs. If I Had A Soul She Would Be My Mate

2011-05-21T06:53:00.005-04:00

If you're a faithful reader, you know exactly who I am talking about. My It's Complicated Long Distance Lover V. Today is our one year anniversary. And I can honestly say that having met her has restored my faith in random connections. I do feel like I've known her all of my life. Ok, yeah, it's a cliche. But you know what? It's fucking true. And if you don't like me using a cliche when describing the It's Complicated Love of My Life, well, you can shove it up your ass. It's because of her that I believe that the only successful relationship is a long distance one.

I like to think I have two periods in my life: BV and AV.

BV was a dark, dark place where my alcoholism had no partner. No purpose. No plan. It just included an endless stream of meaningless sex with strangers.

AV:

My alcohlism is no longer alone. It thrives. And is in Technicolor. But it has so much more. It has someone who shares and revels in its lingerie obsession. Someone who will be there to receive its incoherent drunk texts at 3:00am. Or make cake, have a three-way, and watch Bloodsport. Or even call it out when it's being a coward. Which my alcoholism desperately needs sometimes.

She fucking rocks. That is all.

Lola vs. Reasons Why, The Sangria Edition

2011-04-29T00:01:00.002-04:00

Reasons Why I Probably Shouldn't Drink Sangria

I lock myself out of my house in a very tiny pink and black nightgown and am forced to shimmy through the window on my porch. Where the florescent porch light shines like a beacon on my, well, assets.

I break into houses, steal family portraits, and replace them with stick figure drawings that look slightly homicidal, mostly alien, and all parts creepy.

Reasons Why I Probably Should Continue to Drink Sangria

I lock myself out of my house in a very tiny pink and black nightgown and am forced to shimmy through the window on my porch. Where the florescent porch light shines like a beacon on my, well, assets.

I break into houses, steal family portraits, and replace them with stick figure drawings that look slightly homicidal, mostly alien, and all parts creepy.

When did my life with my college friends turn from "Remember that time we got drunk and gave each other hickeys and Paul vomited on your steps after the Bull & Oyster Roast?" into "Remember that time we got drunk and broke into your dad's house while he was away on Easter vacation?"

I have issues. Obvi.

Lola vs. Green Leather, Prom, and Porn

2011-04-12T00:53:00.001-04:00

After catching the black death/flu last week, I caught up on about 23409283490823 hours of television. Granted, most of that consisted of watching about 7 seasons of Smallville. Thank you, Amazon Prime. I'd also personally like to thank Justin Hartley for his supremely excellent use of not wearing a shirt in every episode during season 6. He also receives extra credit for skills in the green leather arena. Well done, Justin.

But as much as I would like to use this entry to describe his abs, I really need to talk about Prom. What does this have to do with green leather? Nothing.

This blog entry was actually supposed to go like this:
Sickness-----------> TV Watching----------> Prom Episode of Parenthood--------> Lola's Imaginary Conversation with her Fake Grandchildren

Instead it went like this:
Sickness-------> TV watching------>80% Smallville------> Justin Hartley------> Abs------> Green Leather--------->Justin Hartley

I'd like to congratulate all of you for making this stream of consciousness gone awry journey with me. Now onto the main event. Parenthood, like many family dramas with hormone addled teenagers, had a prom episode. Where all of the parents make a huge deal about how prom is, like, such a HUGE deal. How it's something that you will remember forever. How you will one day tell your grandchildren about your magical prom experience. How is this even possibly still a common theme in dramas? In the 1950's maybe. But now? In 2011? Really?

Does anyone actually do this? Because I'd really like to meet these people who sit down with their grandchildren, bounce them on their knee, and relive their prom memories. Could you imagine if I had this conversation? It would probably go something like this:

Fake Grandchildren (in unison because fake grandchildren always speak in unison): Please, oh please, tell us while you bounce us on your respective knees about your prom night.

Lola: (while sucking on a cigarette because if I was ever a grandma I would SO one of those who sucks on a cigarette and drinks whiskey) I went to two proms. Both were magical. About 50% of my class got kicked out because they were violently drunk and decided to have their own dance called Not Prom or something like that where there was even more drinking, sex, and drugs. But to be honest, it's not as fun as trying to get hammered in the limo on the way over there while getting yelled at in Armenian by the limo driver.

Fake Grandchildren: How about the prom theme?

Lola: I feel like there was some dancing in between my friends trying to throw things down the front of my low-cut dress but I couldn't say for sure. Apparently after the dancing, I got drunk at someone's after party, danced on a pool cover and then promptly fell on my ass. Which I don't remember whatsoever but apparently it's THE only thing my friend RJ claims he remembers. Oh wait. I do remember someone walking around with a condom on their foot. That's sort of magical, right?

Fake Grandchildren: (in unison) Well, what about your date?

Lola: (laughing) I don't even remember who I went with. Relationships last like 3 seconds in high school. And that's a long-term relationship.

Fake Grandchildren: Okaaay, well what about your second prom?

Lola: I got drunk and made out with my cousin's date in the back of a beige mini van.

Fake Grandchildren: ...

On the slim chance that I am the only one who did not have a magical life-changing experience at prom, I polled some of my friends. Most of them remember nothing. One got arrested. A few ended up in Atlantic City. But one of my favorite stories has to be a friend of mine from college. Here's how his conversation with his fake grandchildren would go:

Fake Grandchildren: Please Grandpa Special Agent Juan. Please tell us your prom story. Oh, please!

Special Agent Juan: First of all, get off my damn lap. (shoves grandchildren off his lap) Well, what I remember from prom is that I went with my ex girlfriend who was dating someone else at the time but she still went with me for some reason. Who knows? It's high school. Anyway at some point she got into a fight with him. Because she was dancing with me, I guess? So she broke up with him and I got laid that night. Bam! Eat that Kenny whatever your last name was.

Now if that doesn't just warm the cockles of your heart, I don't know what will.

Anyone else have any interesting anecdotes to share with your fake grandchildren?

Lola vs. F**ck Family Friendly

2011-03-28T18:00:00.002-04:00

I have been done a great wrong, readers. A horrible injustice!

I recently received an offer to get free ad placement from a certain blog network website. I thought to myself humbly, "Hey, why not, people could surely benefit from the wisdom I can provide them!" I pondered. I fretted. Hair was torn out. Nerves were frayed. Wedges driven into relationships. And then ten seconds later, I came up with a very succinct, albeit intoxicating way to describe myself and my site.

I received this reply, almost immediately:

Lola,

Sorry but your ad was not approved. The reason our editorial team gave is as follows: Thank you but unfortunately the site is too mature for our family friendly blog network.

We have canceled this ad.

Regards, Your____ Team

First I felt anger. Did they not see my post on immaturity? There is definitely no maturity to speak of there. Those plebian bastards!

Then Resentment. Why the hell get my hopes up only to dash them against the cliffs of judgement? The rocks of censorship! The jagged edges of ... stupid people being... stupid. Why are they imposing structure to my life with their silly free ads?

Followed closely by insecurity. Wait, I'm not even good enough for FREE?

And, lastly, a bone-wrenching sadness. ...

When I finally trudged through the swamp of my emotions, I took a deep breath and wondered what I could possibly do to make up for all of my past indescretions. Reach this untapped resource of family-friendly maturity.

Then I realized that I didn't care.

Lola vs. The Most Immature Post Ever. EVER.

2011-03-22T18:30:00.003-04:00

Before I get into my regularly scheduled shenanigans- which includes an installment on dum, dum, dum, dum... my exes, Australia, and a date with perfect stubble- I feel the need to remind all of you that I have the sense of humor of a thirteen year old boy. And that's on a good day. Today however, I've regressed even further.

Today, I'm about five years old.

Case in point: Lola's Word Play

So I've recently rejoined society and come back to work from leave to find that they have started a meditation group here. I'm oddly fascinated by this. After bantering with a friend who basically told me "there was no way you'd be able to sit still for five minutes", he sends me a link to some common meditation guidelines while another friend rated the importance of each guideline and the percentage of time in which I'll spend on them. And here is where my immaturity sense kicks right in. I send back the email, with one key word changed. And here it is:

How to Prepare for Masturbation
Masturbation is simple to do and doesn't require much equipment. You can, however, prepare yourself and your space in a few ways. What you may need are some basic amenities such as these:

Masturbation cushion, bench, or favorite chair
Quiet, tidy spot, preferably reserved for masturbation
Loose-fitting, comfortable clothing
Favorite masturbation technique(s)

Other items you may want to include are:

Stretches to prepare your body for sitting
Altar of special objects, pictures, candles, or incense
Hallway or path for walking masturbation, if you want
Masturbation teacher to consult in case you get stuck or want to go deeper

How to Open Your Body, Mind, and Spirit to Masturbation
Masturbation is a practice that engages not only your mind, but your body and spirit, too. When you masturbate, you aim to combine all three aspects so you can tap into your calm center, and then relax and refresh yourself. Use the tips in the following list to engage your mind, body, and spirit in your masturbation practice.

Practice stretches that open your hips and lengthen your spine.
Discover how to relax your body (if you don't already know) by practicing some deep relaxation techniques.
Explore the basic masturbation techniques (mindfulness, loving kindness, mantra), choose one, and stick with it — for a few weeks or months at least.
Take a masturbation class with an experienced teacher, join a masturbation group, or attend a masturbation workshop or retreat.
Talk with your family about your interest in masturbation to make sure they feel comfortable about your practicing at home. (this one has to be my favorite)
Remind yourself of the scientifically proven health benefits of masturbation, from lower cholesterol to greater longevity to an enhanced immune system.

How to Make Sure You're Masturbating Correctly
It doesn't take much to masturbate the right way — especially because there really isn't just one correct way. If you're concerned about your masturbation practice, look over the following questions. If you answer yes to them, you're masturbating very well, indeed. If any of your answers are no, just keep masturbating!

Do I relax when I masturbate, instead of tensing up?
Is my mind alert and aware, yet open and receptive?
Do I remember to come back to the focus of my masturbation when my mind wanders off?
Do I remain relatively still, rather than fidgeting or shifting constantly?
Do I take one moment at a time, rather than trying to achieve some goal like quieting my mind?
Am I enjoying my breath (or my mantra or other focus) instead of working hard to get it right?

I'd also be very interested to know if any of you have actually taken part in a masturbation focus group and/or a retreat. What does it entail? Can you bring a friend? What's the sign-up process like? Do you have to fill out an extensive form?

Yeah okay, so maybe society isn't ready for me just yet. Maybe it enjoyed its good, long break and wonders whether it will ever have respite again.

I'm ba-ack.

Lola vs. You Had Me at Amanda Bynes

2011-02-01T05:00:00.002-05:00

Part Deux of Australia will have to wait because I got distracted by a hot blond blogger, who just happens to be my It's Complicated Facebook lover. Although really the only thing that's complicated about our relationship is trying to figure out all the different ways in which I love her.

Yeah, that's right. It's V. I had just gotten back from Australia, was still hung over and dreadfully jet-lagged, but when she invited me to go to a charity benefit she was organizing, I didn't even pause when I shouted, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" So I grabbed a black lacy, skin tight dress- a dress that a guy once told me "made him want to sit up and beg"- and hopped on the next plane out of there. (Well, ok, maybe it was the next plane a week later but seriously guys why you gotta nitpick?)

The weekend started out with cake, wine, our pajamas, movies, a very satisfying three way (Thank you, Drew, of Welcome to the Clusterf*ck), and a confession of our mutual, secret adoration for Amanda Bynes in What A Girl Wants. I could have gone home satisfied and happy at this point. Seriously, how could it get any better than V, wine, and cake?

But things, my friend, were about to get even better. Because Saturday night, I mixed one part Faux Trixie, with one part V added a dose of pseudo celebrities and a retired NFL football player whose name I couldn't pronounce after a few too many rum and diet cokes , and garnished it with an 80's ski lodge party at a dive bar where I made out with someone's teenage crush.

Yes, I said 80's Ski Lodge Party. Wha-at?

And yes, I showed up amidst a sea of bright red ski patrol jackets, florescent green headbands, pink spandex pants, and checkered legwarmers dressed like the above. Did I mention the ice-pick heels? I swear the drunker I get, the better I am able to maneuver in them. Unless it's 1:30 am and I'm desperately trying to prop myself up against the cold, wet concrete side of the dive bar while getting hit on by a guy in triangle shaped sunglasses.

What amazes me is that this glorious weekend would never have happened if it hadn't been for writing a blog and getting to know people through theirs. Without which this conversation never would have taken place:

Lola: Hey there new friend! So, do you mind if I post about our antics and link to your blog tomorrow?

Faux Trixie: I would only expect that you would.

Lola: I may or may not refer to my tryst with _______.

FT: I think you need to.

Lola: 80's glasses and all.

FT: And red hoodie and ghetto tude. He loved you.

Lola: I think you mean my boobs.

FT: Everyone loves your boobs.

Lola: True, they, like have their own gravitational pull.

FT: And _____ started orbiting them. He's like your very own hoodrat satellite.

Lola: I love our newfound friendship already.

FT: Me too. I was commenting about it yesterday and today.

Lola: Ditto. And not in that lame Patrick Swayze in Ghost kind of way. In the real way.

Credit goes firmly into V's luscious court for introducing me to this fabulous chick. And for the amazing Star Burst bowl she made for me when we went to see True Grit the next day, hung over and bleary eyed. As much fun as the drunken mess that was Saturday night was, lazy day Sunday just might have topped it. Despite the cold, it really was one of those perfect days. Tinged with a lot of laughter, bookshop/wine cellar browsing, hung-over brunch, and the odd Ernest Borgnine tribute.

If I hadn't already adored the hell out of the girl, this weekend would have solidified it. Because when I needed her, she was there. And I'll never forget that. Well, just maybe some of the little things that occurred while mixing many different types of alcohol this past weekend but, hey, nobody's perfect.

Except maybe me.

Lola vs. The Land of Oz Part One

2011-01-10T07:55:00.006-05:00

I’m writing this in a very Australian micro brewery on the shores of Manly beach with a deliciously foamy, mouth watering lager right in front of me. I just had lunch with a rather hot and hung over Aussie with incredibly wicked green eyes (who, during the previous night, had been causing all sorts of trouble at his brother’s buck’s party. How is it that I attract such trouble?) I had met on the plane last night coming back from Brisbane, where I was visiting my friend Paul. Sadly, hot hung over Aussie had to go back to work since it was his first day back from a ten day holiday but he did, with a quirk of his lips, give me quite an interesting invitation to meet up at some point during my last week here. Sigh.

Right across from where I’m cozied up in my corner booth, I can see the wharf , the white sand beaches, the tanned bodies of the professional surfers, and the curling swells of the ocean.

Yeah, I SO don’t want to go home.

This trip- and it’s not even over yet- has been unbelievable. Epic even. Maybe it’s my deeply rooted need to escape America or maybe it’s how amazing my friends are over here, but I have never felt more at home in a foreign place. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I’m in awe over how incredibly lucky I am to have people in my life who will knock themselves out for me. I don’t understand it. After all, I’m shallow with no soul and my only redeeming quality is that I can shoot the hell out of zombies in Call of Duty. Well, that and big boobs. Can’t forget those.

When my life degraded into chaos, Australia was really the first place I wanted to go. I emailed my friends Danielle (Sexy Sydney) and Paul (Beautiful Brisbane or Brisvegas as it is affectionately known) who have been inviting me over here for years and pleaded with them to take some time to play with me. Which they did.

I’ve been taken to one of the finest, most exclusive restaurants in Sydney and gotten the best table in the house because the owner, a personality in Sydney, is my friend’s boyfriends best mate, flitted through the Sydney Opera house, driven up to the Blue Mountains where I insulted some Asians, had a traditional aussie meal cooked for me, visited the home of the Crocodile Hunter, got into some trouble on the Sunshine coast, serenaded a wonderful man named Mike who has an amazing back story, played the worst game of drunken charades in my life, and got drenched while cuddling a koala and feeding a roo.

Unfortunately some of the above has wound up on video. To my chagrin and my friends’ endless amusement that is. They are particularly fond of the one where I almost get into a fight with a seven year old over a kangaroo feeding. Clearly not my finest moment. But fun just as well.

In fact I’ve had so much fun here that I’ve completely forgotten to be jet lagged. Even when I got off the plane at 8 am after a nearly a 26 hour trip, I had a huge grin on my face and a nervous energy that must have been coming off me in waves. So you can imagine my reaction after Danielle picked me up at the Sydney airport and nearly the first words out of her mouth were, “Right well you’re welcome to bring any feral random Aussie back to my house for a shagfeast since you’ve got your own room, doll.”

I bet you’re wondering if I took her offer to heart. Considering that it’s me and I’m a million miles away from, well, anyone I may or may not have been dating it did sound quite enticing. Maybe not the feral bit of it. Since that brings to mind slobbering, dirty men jumping out of bushes. But the random Aussie part, I find I quite liked.

I’ve always had a penchant for the Irish but I am learning that Aussie men, with their knowledge of travel, devil may care attitude, and just plain manly way of doing things, are rapidly making their way into my heart. Or at the very least into my lust-filled thoughts. And I must say I’ve been surprised at how I’ve gotten into theirs. I’ve always thought that Americans were seen as the bane of everyone else’s existence. Or at the very least vapid and self-centered.

Given the fact that I’ve met a few random Aussie men who have been mentioned above, I have been given quite the choice dear readers. But, alas, that will probably have to be discussed in part two. Or I could always just keep this delicious little morsel to myself.

What do you think?

Lola vs. Happy New Year Bitches

2011-01-02T20:15:00.002-05:00

Some of you know why I've been gone these past two months. If you don't let's just say that I've been through a pretty big personal tragedy. The kind that's almost physical in how incredibly painful it is. As some of you are well aware, I am a huge fan of bottling things up inside and that's how I choose to deal with this at the moment. Healthy? Probably not. Do I care? Hell to the no.

There are, however, a few things I have learned over the past few months during the dark times.

1) Grief makes people horny. I deduce this because I have been asked out/hit on about four times in the weeks since said personal tragedy. I've had offers of semi-naked football watching (my favorite by the way), of free drinks, of a "cardio" work out partner, and one very interesting "why don't you come over and bring your puppy so we can have a play date?"

2) This goes directly in conjuction with number one. I have finally found the absolute most awkward place to be hit on. At a repass.

3) No matter what I do over the next few months, I live in a judgement free zone. According to my friends, I get a free pass for awhile. Yes, I am smiling wickedly as I type this. Doing morally irreprehensible things with little to no consequence? Sign me the eff up.

4) If one more person asks me "How I'm hanging in?" I'm going to slap a bitch.

In the meantime, dear readers, I am off to escape. From people who I've come to care about. And from life in general. Where am I going? About as far as humanly possible from New Jersey.

So yeah, I'm heading down under. And I don't mean I'm going incognito. I'm heading to where it's summer, where there are sexy accents, where the people are laid-back and descend from convicts, and where I can do pretty much whatever I want regardless of consquences because of the very few people I know who live there. Add in the fact that it is about 22 hours by plane and Oz is just about as appealing as a foreign continent can be right now.

In fact, I'm sitting in the airport lounge as I type this. Hoorah for free internet.

A few of my friends are already taking bets on whether or not I come back. Or as someone put it, " if you do come back, you're completely going to have someone follow you back, aren't you?"

Any takers on that bet?

See you soon fellow bloggers. Maybe even in the form of a scandelous update from Oz.

Lola vs. Tailgating and The One Night Stand

2010-10-12T01:30:00.003-04:00

First off all, I need to thank all of you. When I started this ridiculous little blog I had no idea that so many people would read it- let alone actually care about what happens to me in it. But my previous post sparked a lot of concerned emails and support. More than I ever would have imagined. And honestly if I didn't have a gaping black hole where my heart should be, I would be crying. Maybe even real tears. On second thought, I probably would just use the tears of the people whose souls I've destroyed. Seeing as how I keep them in an antique bottle on my dresser.

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?

Lola vs. Big Secret: Revealed

2010-09-30T00:40:00.000-04:00

So, I am writing this post about two and 1/2 bottles of wine deep. And I think I may have actually eaten some cork in the process, since the third bottle gave me a bit of trouble with the whole opening thing. Yeah, so it's probably not a good idea for me to actually be typing but I'm hoping spell check will be my saving grace tonight. Or it may just bring on some entertaining typos. And I'm all about entertaining the masses.

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.

Lola vs. A Reputation for Trouble

2010-09-29T00:01:00.003-04:00

Just what does it say about me when I get this kind of text message from one of my friends:

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?

Lola vs. The Super Glue Incident of 2010

2010-09-22T00:01:00.022-04:00

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?

Lola vs. Stupid People Are Annoying

2010-08-19T00:01:00.007-04:00

This deviates from the normal sex-fiend alcoholic post but I need to get this off of my chest. Get ready for this bloggers. This is angry, ranting Lola.

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,
Lola******

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.

Lola vs. Simple Dating Rules #8, #9

2010-08-16T00:10:00.001-04:00

It's been quite awhile since I've added to my list of dating rules. I bet you've missed my little pearls of wisdom. I was asked recently by a friend how I've managed to avoid emotional entanglements over the past two years. Occasionally, just occasionally, even I experience a chink in my armor. Luckily, I have a sure-fire way to patch it.

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.
Lola: Well...
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.
Kane: .....

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?

Lola vs. Chi-town, Tequila, and a Love Triangle

2010-08-04T02:00:00.003-04:00

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?

Lola vs. Beach Life Lessons & Betrayal

2010-07-12T00:01:00.006-04:00

Lola is on vacation this week with the entire Lakely brigade, friends. Doing what? This.

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."

My advice?

"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...

Lola vs. Supermassive Black Hole and a Dash of Mr. O

2010-07-07T11:11:00.000-04:00

"When that spark, that fire, erupts between you out of nowhere, it’s incredibly hard to resist. Even when you know it’s probably superficial, or inappropriate or just plain headed for disaster, why would you want to resist?

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?

Lola vs. The Wedding Streak

2010-07-01T13:15:00.004-04:00

I'm notorious among my friends for having a certain agenda when it comes to weddings. Not know what I'm talking about? You must be new. Or you missed this wedding prostitution post. If you are too lazy to click through to another post -hey I don't blame you- let's just say that I have kind of a streak when it comes to weddings. So I hauled my dented moral compass along to one in Illinois this past weekend.

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.

Lola vs. The Moral Compass, Mostly Dented

2010-06-22T00:01:00.004-04:00

Reasons Why You Shouldn't Date Me Right After I Get Out of a Longterm Relationship/ Reasons Why I May Have Been Called a Life Destroyer.

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.

Lola vs. The Compliment

2010-06-15T00:15:00.002-04:00

Once again, on a Sunday, I find myself on the coma couch, my body battered and my soul just a bit darker, from yet another weekend of drinking, sarcasm, and soulless behaviour. I am also sporting a huge bruise on my left cheek (yeah, not my face) that has left me slightly confused, if not in a little bit of pain.

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.
J: Looooooooolaaaaaa!

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)
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.

Lola vs. Maturity

2010-06-08T01:00:00.004-04:00

Between nursing a serious crush on Arrested Development, 234897 barbecues, flying to Columbus and getting my identity stolen, I was accused of something completely and utterly heinous.

Being mature.

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.

Lola vs. The Safety Net

2010-05-27T00:30:00.004-04:00

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.

Lola vs. The Bachelor Party

2010-05-18T00:01:00.005-04:00

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:

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.

Lola vs. Lola-isms of Wisdom

2010-05-12T00:05:00.011-04:00

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.

Lola vs. Kane-tastic Days of Drunken Asians

2010-04-06T00:01:00.004-04:00

Alas, it has been awhile since Kane has made an appearance in my blog. I know you all have been wondering what must have befallen the man, the myth, the legend of Kane. To those of you who are new, he has been an essential part of the Insanity in Lola Lakely: Life, Love and the Pursuit of from the very beginning. When he cast me aside for the city of Boston last weekend, I was inconsolable. Despite the Pop Rocks and Grape Vodka. I thought the only way I would ever be able to live again would be if he shared his experiences with our mutual friend with all of you. So without further ado, I give you my illustrious BFF...

Dear Lola-ites,

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 kissmypaleass@goeffyourself.com.

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,

Kane

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.

Lola vs. The Awkward Limbo Incident of 2010

2010-03-30T00:01:00.008-04:00

I went on vacation with my family recently. If you are a regular reader of this blog, you pretty much know that when my cousins and I get together, craziness ensues. If you are a new reader and need some background information on the Lakely brigade, you can check it out here. If you are too lazy to click through to another post, here's a good summary: We are unapologetically loud, we laugh often (usually at other people), and have the ability to have entire conversations in movie quotes. What more could you possibly want from a family?

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.

Lola vs. The Identify Theft

2010-03-09T18:00:00.002-05:00

My entry in the urban dictionary:

Sex on legs
Tiger in the bedroom
Waiscoast is TEH SEX
Adorable
Possibly the rudest person you will EVER meet
Cute. END OF.

Michelle: "Did you meet up with Lola last night?"
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.

Lola vs. The Olympic Commitee

2010-03-02T00:05:00.002-05:00

Dear Olympic Committee –

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.

Thank you,

New Jersey and Connecticut

Lola vs. The Battle of the Frog-Century

2010-02-25T00:05:00.004-05:00

Some say it's the American Civil War. Some say it's World War 2. Some say it's the Anglo-Zanzibar War.

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 posts.
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!

Lola vs. Spongebob's Epic Fall with a little Fire & Brimstone

2010-02-11T05:00:00.006-05:00

As most of you know I am not a morning person and if you don't believe me, Spongebob will certainly vouch for this personality defect. If the delightful sea-faring cartoon sponge man is not enough of a witness for you, I have another story that is sure to pound my morning-detesting mantra home.

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.

Lola vs. Best Friends and an Asexual Meat Kitchen

2010-02-05T00:05:00.010-05:00

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.

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.

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:

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!

Lola vs. The Month That Wasn't Or Was It?

2010-01-26T00:35:00.003-05:00

Since I have been absent for quite some time, I wanted to use this post as a way for us to catch up. I've missed all of your commentary on the naughty/ inappropriate things that I do on any given random Tuesday night and so this post is dedicated to the things you were not around for.

Highlights:

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?

Lola vs. Vomit, Speed Dating, and Tantric Sex

2010-01-21T00:05:00.093-05:00

I once vomited in a urinal in the men's bathroom at the Barbados international airport.

What does this have to do with speed dating? A lot. Best Segway EVER!

One of my absolute favorite bloggers, deliciously naughty V, and I were talking yesterday about the various do's and dont's of speed dating, as recommended by the people organizing the event. V was kind enough to send me a list:

Do's: 1. Smile and use the other person's name. 2. Find something to compliment the person on, don't lie. 3. Keep topics to pop culture- that means no politics, ex's 4. Ask about the other person using open ended questions, those which cannot be answered with a yes or no. 5. Answer questions succinctly and then give away a small amount about yourself. 6. Use eye contact and open body language. Don't be afraid to touch.

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!

Lola vs. Kay Jewelers Can Kiss My Ass

2009-12-15T19:00:00.005-05:00

Has anyone seen the Kay Jeweler commercials lately?

I am actually not bringing these commercials up in order to add fuel to the fire that is my commitment phobic nature! I'm bringing them up in order to point out that the Kay commercials have become laced with strange menacing undertones. In order to prove my point, I have included the dialogue from two of their most recent adds.

Exhibit A: It's the middle of the night and a guy surprises his wife and newborn baby by a dimly lit tree. I call this commercial The Christmas Massacre of 2009: New Dad Goes Crazy

Hapless Victim/Wife: (glancing at her husband fearfully as he enters the room) What are you doing up? (shades of frantic in her tone now) It's 2AM!

Sinister Man In Pajamas/Husband: (creepily mimicking her in a monotone whisper) It's 2AM (pause) Christmas Morning... (with a kind of perverted relish) And I couldn't wait!

I imagine the rest of his statement went something along the lines of: and I couldn't wait...TO KILL YOU. The pale new born baby they insert in the wife's arms does nothing to tamper the feeling that this guy is about to go nuts and slaughter his family.

*******************************************************************

Exhibit B: Out of all their commercials, this one is by far my favorite. I like to refer to it as The Serial Killer Couple in an Abandoned Cabin in a Category 5 Storm Commercial.

Severely Creepy Man: In all the years we have been coming here, I've never seen a storm like this. (cue ominous thunder. Woman turns into her husband's serial killer arms but is strangely not scared) I'm right here. (menacing now) And I always will be.
Accomplice/Wife: Don't let go. (veiled threatening tone) EVER!

As you can see from the above conversation, this is clearly going in the direction of the couple becoming Mr. and Mrs Stabby McStabbity Stabberson from 45 Bloodlust Lane, Murderville USA.

In conclusion, every kiss does not begin with Kay. I have it on good authority that Patron shots have a much better track record at inducing more make-out sessions than Kay jewelers ever has. With their ominous themes and disturbing actors, their new tagline should be Every Crime Begins with Kay. But don't take my word for it, watch the clips of the commercials yourselves and feel free to let me know what you think. Even though I'm obviously right.

Oh, how I've missed all of you! Feel free to send me naughty admonishments in the mail for my mysterious absence. I do so need a good spanking once in awhile.

Lola vs. My Dad is a Degenerate

2009-11-25T00:40:00.002-05:00

Over the weekend I found out that my dad is a degenerate. Actually, this shouldn't really come as a big shock to me because before the age of fifty, he "retired" early from a rather high position at a company in order to become a master scuba diver. And yes, the word retired definitely deserves air quotes. As you can tell, I'm not bitter at all about it. Nope, no bitterness here (she writes with clenched teeth)!

I abandoned my typical not-getting-up-off-the-couch-Fat-Sunday plans to see The Blind Side (damn those motivational sports movies and their irritating ability to warm my otherwise cold, dead heart!!!) with my father. As we are chatting in his car, he casually slips in that he "double-dips" at the movies.

Lola: (looking at him suspiciously out of the corner of her eye) You do what now?
Dad: Double-dip.
Lola's sister: (from the backseat) I double-dip my cucumbers.
Lola: (turns to her dad) You dip your popcorn into your soda or something?
Dad: No, I pay for one movie and see two or three.
Lola: (in disbelief) Wait- let me get this straight-you sneak into movies now?
Dad: (by way of explanation) No, movie prices are outrageous!
Lola: What do you mean, no? You're not paying for the movies. Essentially, you're stealing.
Dad: (laughing) I prefer to think of it as double-dipping.
Lola: (exasperated) So you've said. (shaking her head) All these years, I've looked up to you. My opinion of you has been forever changed.

At nearly 60 years of age, my dad carefully examines the newspaper and plots out his schedule, adapting methods that probably haven't been implemented since the Napoleonic wars, for the express purpose of sneaking into two or three movies. However, during one of these infamous "double-dipping" sessions, he came across a slight hitch in his plans.

When my dad merrily snuck into see A Christmas Carol, a satisfied smile on his bearded face, he looked around and noticed that there was something odd about the people around him. They were all wearing 3-d glasses, which they had gotten when they had PURCHASED a ticket. This left my dad in a quandary. He couldn't go back to the desk to request the aforementioned glasses, because then the theater folk would know that he circumvented their ticketing system.

So he did the only thing he could.

He snuck back out of the movie and walked across the hall to a giant blue bin with a sign that pleaded: "Please Return Your 3-D Glasses Here!". His eyes darted back and forth, making sure the coast was clear, and then he stuck his hand down the bin. He brandished the pair of glasses, placed them on his nose triumphantly, and then promptly smuggled himself back inside the theater.

And this, dear readers, is the man I am supposed to have received my moral values from.

Before I leave all of you for the Thanksgiving Holiday, I would like to give a very special shout-out to one of my readers. I received a wonderful surprise from one of you (you know who you are!) and I wanted to send lots of naughtiness, love, and flirtations glances your way because getting it in the mail yesterday brightened up this red-head's day! So I am sending you big, sloppy kisses.

Have a naughty day, fellow bloggers.

P. S. Has anyone else heard of using the words double-dipping in reference to sneaking into a movie? Or do we need to add this to the urban dictionary?

Lola vs. Bangability and Why I No Longer Sleep Naked

2009-11-18T01:30:00.012-05:00

Slipping into bed, my deep velvet eyes heavy lidded with sleep, I let the covers whisper over my body. I can't help the smile that plays at the corner of my lips because getting into bed at night is one of my favorite things in the world. It feels decadent, sinful, maybe even a little naughty which is why I adore sleeping naked. The soft, silky sheet against my bare skin is a teasing caress. The pillow resting on my cheek a flirty, little night cap.

Of course, this was before The-I-Thought-My-House-Was-Being-Ransacked-
And-I-Was-About-To-Be-Taken-Hostage-And-Stuffed-Into-A-Trunk-
Incident-of-2009.

It was about 4:30 am when I was startled out of a very delicious dream about David Tennant (whose glasses and crazy hair wearing, smart, sexy and slightly manic doctor is the essence of bangability in my book) by a crash outside of my bedroom. Bleary-eyed, and just a bit crazy at the edges, I dashed out of bed. My pulse was hammering in my ears as I flung the door open with a shriek. Still hazy, I grabbed the only weapon I had at my disposal, a rather rangy 10 year old wooden mop, and leapt into the living room.

It was quite unfortunate that my attacker happened to be my elderly neighbor, retrieving his hissing, spitting behemoth of a cat from my front porch who in its 4am frenzy had apparently knocked over a flower pot, a stool, and a pair of mischievous wind chimes. There was a brief shocking moment where we both froze and stood there staring at each other.

Me with my ragged, decrepit weapon and him with his seething, evil feline.

I think, but can't be quite sure, that there was a whispered, "Oh. My. Word." right before I turned tail and ran to the safety of my bedroom.

Had he been a real adversary, I totally would have housed him. Because honestly, I'm sure that there is nothing more intimidating to a kidnapper than a naked girl jumping around, screaming and stabbing the air violently with a mop.

Lola vs. A Very Special Guest

2009-11-09T01:01:00.004-05:00

I have something infinitely special to share with all of you. I can't believe my/your luck. I have managed- due to some incessant nagging on my part and some keen interest from you readers thrown in- to convince my very lovely friend Kane to guest post today. Be prepared to have your minds, hearts, and privates blown:

Lola, I have come out of blog retirement to answer your followers’ burning questions. First of all, for this post, please do not use Kane. Kane is a character in the bible that didn’t get along with his brother. Abel was always hogging the bathroom and TV remote and stuff, so one day Kane was like, “The hell with this,” and stabs him in the face. I don’t want to be associated with aggro people like that. Now let me answer your readers’ questions, taken verbatim from your last post.

Q: Why are you so cool, wise, and otherwise outstanding?

A: Hey, sometimes miracles happen. Don’t question evolution when it is working properly.

Q: Can I be as cool as you?

A: No.

Q: Why?

A: It’s impossible. Your time and energy is better spent on attainable goals. See, I told you I was wise.

Q: Did Lola leave out some important information from her last post?

A: Yes, I’m glad you asked. Let me make an addendum to that.

I explained to Lola that guys have a classification system. Consciously or not, every girl gets a stamp saying “accepted” or “rejected” on their forehead with regards to whether they are bone-able or not. This is neither wrong nor right, it’s just the way life is- there is always going to be a pecking order. Some occasionally get the “epic fail” stamp; do not make eye contact with or speak to those people, unless you are feeling charitable that day. (By the way, some of the meaner or crazier things I say are just sarcastic jokes. If you needed this explanation you have no sense of humor.)

There are some very important exceptions, however, that must be noted.

1. Do not bone your friends’ girlfriends. This should go without saying. Also, do not bone your friends’ ex-girlfriends; if you are looking for some quick sex, have some virtue and find another chick that just wants to bone, there are plenty of them out there- for example, Lola Lakely of blogspot.com. The only way I could see this happening is if the two of you really had something and you talked the whole thing over with your friend to make sure he/she is cool with it.

2. Do not bone people from work. If you have already boned someone from work that you did not marry, you already know why.

3. Do not bone your sister. Think of how awkward it would be if you saw each other at a family gathering. Cousins are ok, though, as long as they are at least twice removed. I don’t have a sister, but I can imagine it would be quite the temptation, since anyone that shares even 1% of my DNA is clearly going to be amazingly good-looking.

4. Do not bone girls that are bitches. I can’t stand a bad attitude. Also, if a girl blows me off once or twice on plans to hang out, I stop talking to her. There are plenty of girls that will not act like this. Guys that have low self-esteem or guys that will do anything to get laid may accept this kind of behavior, but they are not real men.

Q: Once a person is in a category, do they stay in that category?

A: You can change categories, but you’d better get started on those stomach crunches. Also, do something about that odious personality. A good benchmark for a quality personality would be me. Clearly I have the best personality, ever. To be honest though, my surly personality only gets me accolades if people understand my dark humor and think it’s funny. So you can be a niche personality like me and serve a specific audience, or go mainstream like Lola; she is well-liked and gets free stuff regardless of where she goes.

Q: What are the criteria for the forehead stamps?

A: That’s entirely subjective. Some people have crappy taste, and some people are me. Which smoothly leads us right into this next question. Damn I’m good.

Q: Can a girl get laid no matter how fugly she is?

A: Sort of. If a fugly girl goes up to every guy offering them sex, playing the numbers game, she will eventually find someone that will bone her. I’m sure this is also true if gender roles are reversed. However, if a guy has standards/taste, he will not just bone anyone. If Starr Jones and/or Rosie O’Donnell offered me some hot lovin’, they wouldn’t be able to finish their proposal because I’d be booking it at fast as my legs could carry me. Then I would spray Lysol into my eyes and cover my body in Purell in a fruitless attempt to remove that image from my mind.

Lola, once you’ve let your readers ruminate for a few days on how smart and wise I am, I think you should break down the caste system for women choosing men and how they determine bonability. I mean, for those women that don’t have me as an option, since I am automatically #1 on every woman’s “who do I need to bone before I die” list. That’s right, Fabio and Matthew McConaughey, there’s a new king in town!

Wouldn’t you like to hear Lola’s opinion on the matter?

I often find myself wiping a tear off my cheek because of the brilliance, the sweetness, that lies within his profound thoughts. So fellow bloggers, what do you think?

P.S. Although he clearly does not approve of the moniker I have given him, I stubbornly refuse to change it. It continues to be a pitched battle that shakes the very foundation of our friendship. But hey, I like to keep things interesting.

Lola vs. Being Aggressive and More of Kane's Wisdom Nuggets

2009-11-06T15:40:00.002-05:00

Of course I ran Saturday's Halloween Shenanigans experience with Zombie and company by Kane. As always his opinion is generally amusing, quirky, and always honest, so once again I thought I'd write about it here. Kane's been an essential part of my blog from the beginning and he may even warrant a separate section so that you can benefit from his nuggets of wisdom and sage advice. And by sage I mean judgmental.

Kane: I've never known you to be subconscious about stuff like this.
Lola: Well, that's cause I'm not used to losing my mind over a pair of glasses. Plus, I certainly don't want to be crazy, desperate girl who goes around molesting people.
Kane: Did you tell him you wanted a relationship? Or babies?
Lola: (gagging sound) Oh good God, no.
Kane: Then you're safe. Besides we're easy.
Lola: Men, you mean?
Kane: Yup. We put girls into two categories. (waits a beat) You're not going to ask me about the categories?
Lola: Well yes but I was just waiting for the inevitable 'you're a guy, you should know this stuff' insult that is usually thrown at me.
Kane: (ignores her) Anyway, the two categories you women fall into are Fuckable and Non- fuckable.
Lola: (laughing) Yeah, this is definitely going on my blog. (pause) Tell me more, sensei.
Kane: Actually, we should mark you with either a red or a black dot. Red means fuckable and black is for the non-fuckable population.
Lola: Does the mark have to be on our foreheads?
Kane: No.
Lola: Then I guess I'm ok with that. (thinking) You should really come equipped to the bars with magic markers then.
Kane: Yeah, we should. You do realize that you women have the easy part in all of this. All you have to do is be there. We're the ones who need to convince you we're not psychos or dicks who only put girls in two categories.
Lola: So basically you're telling me molestation is not desperation.
Kane: Exactly. (pause) Wait... your parents don't read your blog, do they?
Lola: Naah, I cut off their subscriptions when it became increasingly apparent that their daughter has become an alcoholic sex fiend. (pause) Yaaay!

Hope you enjoyed this week's installment of Kane's Wonderful Words of Wisdom. Tune in next week when he discusses antidisestablishmentarianism. Take that blog spell check!

Have a naughty weekend, fellow bloggers.

Lola vs. Robin Ho & Halloween Shenanigans

2009-11-03T00:30:00.020-05:00

I woke up at 7:30am still in my Robin Hood costume; one boot on, one boot off and no stalkings to be found (underwear still in tact- small victory but I will take it), with a business card stuck down the front of my corset and Zombie make-up smeared all over half my face.

Actually, I'm pretty sure I molested the Zombie. I blame the glasses. A pair of black wire-rimmed glasses is like kryptonite to me. I get that long, slow pull deep in my belly and every animalistic urge lurking in my subconscious goes on full alert. I don't know why. But I simply cannot be held responsible for my actions when a guy slips them on.

Zombie: I just got out of a relationship.
Lola: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.
Zombie: (slips on glasses) So you know, I don't want you to get disappointed.
Lola: Who said anything about being disappointed? (sees glasses, starts to quiver) I was just thinking of a wild bout of hot, sweaty sex. (moves closer) And I'm talking dirty, naughty things would be involved. (lowers voice) Want to go for a walk?

I guess Robin Ho was in full form. And speaking of Robin Ho, without further ado, here are some pictures from All Hallows Eve:

Robin Ho & the Devi-Angel

My friend has a party every year on Halloween and it's so big and elaborate that him and his friends literally have to start the decorating process in September. We had a scream (ha-ha) walking through the gory chop-happy surgeon's room, the haunted library, the foggy cemetery, and the forest of fear.

Where I met some new friends...

So to recap this Halloween I kissed a sexy girl cop, sat on Stephen Hawking's lap to check out his laptop, and had a tryst with a Zombie in the forest of fear.

In other words, the night was a big success. How about all of you?

***Is this worthy of being an unsung hero, Trinity? I do hope so, because your blog post about me was just too lovely not to mention it and thank you again.***

Lola vs. This Week in Review... in Hot Wax

2009-10-30T16:02:00.004-04:00

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.

Lola vs. Frozen Foods Have the Power to Destroy Relationships

2009-10-28T00:30:00.017-04:00

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.

Lola vs. Cooper's Stay and Kane's Weakness

2009-10-22T06:01:00.001-04:00

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?

Lola vs. Facebook, Desperation, and Mandatory Sex Parties

2009-10-16T00:54:00.001-04:00

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.

Lola vs. Drunken Superpowers

2009-10-13T17:45:00.003-04:00

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?

Lola vs. ZombieRelationshipland

2009-10-08T00:01:00.000-04:00

***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.

Lola vs. The Simple Life

2009-10-06T00:01:00.000-04:00

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.

Obviously 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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

Lola vs. Strippers, Commuter Buses, and Whiskey Part Deux

2009-09-29T00:01:00.004-04:00

Sadly, Kane was absent for the College-Reunion-Whiskey-Induced-Stripper-Incident of 09. So as promised, dear readers, the below is Kane's reaction. Enjoy!

Setting: Lola's couch. She is currently lounging in a hung-over comatose state where she slowly pieces together the evening's events for her boy Kane, who is currently on the other end of her cell phone. A re-run of Dr. Who plays in the background.

Kane: (after long drawn, out pause) So let me get this straight, you paid for VIP bottle service at a strip club with six of your guy friends from college, made a futile attempt to save your friend Cooper from an old stripper that could have destroyed his fragile marriage, almost got kicked out for attempting a lap dance of your own, and then got into a fight with the coat check girl?
Lola: That about sums it up. (considering) How come when you say it out loud it makes me sound completely devoid of all morals?
Kane: Or awesome. (pause) Where did all of your girlfriends go?
Lola: I really don't know. Somewhere between the third bar and the strip club, we lost them.
Kane: So you were by yourself with six guys at the Hustler Club?
Lola: No, actually Vera came with me. (Kane makes an unintelligible sound) Hello? (sound of dial tone as Kane hangs up) Hello? (dials Kane back up) Why did you just hang up on me?
Kane: Because I hate you.
Lola: Care to elaborate?
Kane: You took Vera to a strip club. She is the last, last person who would ever set foot in one of those places.
Lola: So?
Kane: It's unfair to the rest of us. You have this irritating knack to get anyone to do anything. (groaning) How is this possible?
Lola: A gift?
Kane: No, I think you aren't quite human. (pause, thinking) There is evidence to support that theory in the 97 texts you sent me last night. Half of them were in a language I couldn't decipher.
Lola: Oh god. (shaking her head) Can you send me some? I must have erased all of them.
Kane: Yeah, at one point I thought you had been arrested.
Lola: (laughing nervously) What did you do?
Kane: I went back to sleep.

And now we have come to the Evolution of a Drunk Text portion of this week's blog.

"Dude, I think I am going to strip club later. A girl strip club?" -Time: 11:18pm
Translation: None needed.

"I Taken 3 shots of whistelty. " -Time: 12:32AM
Translation: A shot that is a combination of whiskey and whistling. Also, I would like to point out my stunning misuse of verb tense. Unless, as Kane has suggested, I am speaking in an alien language. In that case, I would like to point out to him that tenses cannot always be translated properly from one language to another.

"molsted by ca striper's coobs. lolli" -Time: 2:50Am
Translation: After a long and exhausting shift at the hospital, an errant candy striper molested my delicate sensibilities with her boob shaped lollipops.

"check bitch sotle my xo, arrested?" -Time: 3:43 AM.
Translation: Either the coat check girl stole my senior officer or some kisses. Apparently there was some question as to whether or not I could have been arrested for this.

"I cdsbajqwt beliuebve how drun412ewrt foodl!" -Time: 4:38 AM
Translation: I'd like to let you guys have fun and decode this one.

If you guys can't properly decipher the above, Kane points out that he will most likely have to go to the guy in the subway that walks around in circles and mutters to himself since he thinks their origins are closely aligned with my home planet. Obviously they are from a lower caste system. Obviously.

Lola vs. Strippers, Commuter Buses, and Whiskey Part One

2009-09-22T22:02:00.002-04:00

I should have known that Friday night was going to go in a strange direction because I took the Short Line Bus during commuter traffic and got yelled at by some grizzled, old Mexican man. With a sea captain's hat perched askew on the top of his head, he smelled like onions, a fish sandwich, and broken dreams.

Oblivious to the tension shimmering around me, I sat down happily and got out my iPod to listen to the new MUSE album. My hands were dry so I took out some lotion and rubbed some of it on my arms and witnessed, incredulously, as the Mexican fisherman thrust his body over the seat in front of me and waved his hands frantically in my face. He muttered something that sounded like: "Please. Stop. The Odor!"

Confused, I looked down at the Bath & Bodyworks lotion bottle I had in my hands. I really wanted to say,"I smell like Sensual Amber bitch!" Luckily, I thought better of it because I'm pretty sure he had a shiv and some fishing wire in his pocket. Instead I merely moved back a seat.

After my enjoyable jaunt on the commuter bus, I headed to the restaurant to meet some of my college friends. I have an unfortunate habit of being ridiculously late (I blame the Germans) so I took an earlier bus to make absolutely sure I was there on time. This made me arrive before any of the other ten people which, of course, meant that I needed to have at least two Berry martinis before anyone got there.

Apparently when berry martinis and cider are combined with three shots of Jameson whiskey, I advocate the following: going to The Hustler strip club, getting a lap dance by a sad looking Eastern European stripper who insists that she likes girls better than boys (strippers don't lie!), spending $400 on grape caffeine infused vodka, getting into a fight with the coat check girl, and allowing my friend to almost die when tackled into a cab by a guy who may have been one of those Egyptian mummies unearthed in the Valley of Kings.

Sounds like a great night, huh? My hazy, strange conversation with the Eastern European Stripper my friend Derek paid to give me a lap dance was just one of the many, many interesting moments of this college reunion of sorts.

EES: I like girls.
Lola: Oh, um. Thanks. You smell good?
EES: Are you bi?
Lola: Actually we don't have a by for another few weeks. We play Michigan State tomorrow.
EES: (blank stare) Scuse me? (amidst more gyration) Want private room? I like girls.
Lola: (looking at her friends for help) Thanks for the offer, but I'll pass.
EES: You can smack my ass, you know.
Lola: Oh.

So I don't remember if I actually spoke about Notre Dame having a by week out loud to the gyrating woman, smacking her own ass, in front of me but I do remember that was the first thought in my head at the time. Stupid alcohol.

I suppose, to be fair, I really can't completely blame everything on the whiskey. I'd like to nominate my friend Cooper for at least 1/3 of the blame. Before the bevy of Eastern European strippers, Cooper asked me about my blog. After a brief debate on what his moniker would be if he were to make an appearance (I wanted Lance and he suggested Hank), our brief conversation consisted of this:

Cooper: So I want to be in your blog. How does one get in there?
Lola: Either be ridiculously funny or do something incredibly embarrassing.
Cooper: How about I get depressed, have a fight with my estranged wife on an NYC sidewalk, get the others to take me to a strip club where you and Dean have to go running around the Hustler Club trying to save me and my wallet from a used-up bleach blond stripper who is desperately clinging onto her youth?
Lola: That sounds perfect! Thanks.

And that's exactly how Cooper finally ended up in my blog. Please give him a warm welcome. I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank him for sharing his chicken fettuccine with me at 5 am after our brief sojourn to Gray's Papaya where we ate the best hot dogs known to man.

For Kane's reaction to this night of debauchery (as he was woefully missing!) and the evolution of a drunk text, please stay tuned for Part Deux!

Lola vs. Crushing Words of Wisdom

2009-09-16T00:15:00.002-04:00

Bless me bloggers, for I have sinned. It's been 10 days since my last blogfession! Fear not, dear readers, for I am back with a new luscious look and to let you in on a delicious little secret. Shhhh, don't tell anyone. Except for you know the Internet, which is a small community right? Like max 10-20 people?

I had an inappropriate crush recently. Yes, me. I know! Unbelievable. Ok, Ok- maybe the inappropriate part of it I have down. But the crush part- not so much. And unfortunately, I made the mistake of mentioning it to my friend Kane.

Lola: So I have this crush.

Kane: (burst out laughing) Riiiight.

Lola: No really I do.

Kane: (still laughing)

Lola: Wow. (pause) You about done?

Kane: You don't have a crush. (more laughter) You had three dates in one night on Friday.

Lola: (waving her hand dismissively) Oh, you and your logic.

Kane: Well, was he one of those?

Lola: No.
Kane: Was this the guy you wouldn't go out with because you were watching the Notre Dame game? (pause) Where you got drunk and proceeded to accuse the ref of being sucked off by the Michigan cheerleaders.
Lola: Not one of my finest moments. (disheartened) And that would be a no, not that one.
Kane: (understanding) Wow, this guy hasn't even asked you out yet. This is new.
Lola: (sarcastically) I'm glad you find this amusing.
Kane: Don't worry, if Matt Damon could actually marry a slutty tramp bartender with a kid, then you could at least bang this guy.
Lola: You do realize that nugget of wisdom is going on my blog, right?
Kane: It would be a shame to keep it between me and you. It will bring hope to women everywhere.

Fortunately for me and my tendency to go into Yemen mode, I found out that the crush is otherwise occupied at the moment. And despite popular belief (or at least the belief going around in crazy girl paranoia land), I actually have some sort of moral code that I follow.

It may be held together by duct tape and string, but it is there.

Lola vs. Procrastination

2009-09-04T01:21:00.001-04:00

My sister has just won the award for Best Use of Procrastination In A Work Day Production and/or Variety Hour. She earned this award for sending me the below email while she was toiling away in the corporate marketplace:

Subject Line: I have just spent the past half hour taking facebook quizzes...

And this is what I found out:

My IQ is 150 and I am brilliant
My celebrity boyfriend is Ben Affleck
My favorite color is RED
I am going to marry someone whose name begins with a K
The 2009 song that I am is “Kiss Me through the phone” by Soulja Boy
Kallie Mae is my Red-neck name followed of course by my ghetto name Nae Nae and to top it all off my Native American Indian name Strong Heart

And lastly for that question I know you have been dying to ask me for years now… what famous black woman am I? ---– it’s Beyonce Knowles!

I have learned so much today about myself, what an enlightening day.

Sara

I decided I had to procrastinate right back at her with:

Subject Line: I just spent 20 minutes responding to your message and this is what I came up with...

Dear Sasha Fierce,

To think I was once living under the same roof as the singer of such hits as Single Ladies and Bootylicious! I don't know how you concealed your identity for such a long time but it must have something to do with your ability to bear the mantel of so many different personalities. There were times when I could have sworn sharing a bathroom with Nae Nae would have been impossible indeed if it hadn't been for Strong Heart always being the mediator.

I was also surprised to learn that your current IQ qualifies you for the prestigious positions that men such as Lincoln, Copernicus, and Jefferson have held in the past. But instead you chose to follow the music within you.

I'm a little bit disconcerted by the fact that you define yourself not by one of your multi-platinum hits but by Soulja Boy. At the very least it should have been Nigga What, Nigga Who by your husband- unless you guys are splitsville. Could it be because your boyfriend Ben Affleck got in the way? You really kept that one under the radar.

I see you are already planning on your next husband. Oh Kallie Mae, you naughty minx you! I'm sure you will invite me to the wedding this time as the cat is out of the bag on the whole secret identity thing.

Incredulously yours,

Lola

P.S. Is it safe to assume that since I'll be your maid of honor, I'll be wearing RED at your impending nuptials to this mystery K man of yours?

So that brings me to pose a question to all of you. What kinds of things have you guys done to raise procrastination to a true art form?

Lola vs. Simple Dating Rules # 5, 6, 7

2009-09-02T00:00:00.013-04:00

Lola's Simple Dating Rule # 5- I'm guessing that the correct response when Guy A says, "I want to come over and cook you a nice dinner." probably isn't "Ummm, why?"

Lola's Simple Dating Rule # 6- When Guy B says,"Can I stay over?" you really shouldn't shoot back, "Either way is fine with me, dude."

And last but not least...

Lola's Simple Dating Rule # 7- Never, ever reply to Guy C's "I'm missing something." with an "Oh god, please say it's not your wallet."

Recently I made the attempt to make myself less weary when men are nice to me. As the above evidence suggests, this attempt failed. Rather miserably. Now, I'm a little confused as to why this is. I don't think that all men deserve to be punished for one big, bad experience because I have a tight circle of male friends who I, quite honestly, think the absolute world of.

But for some reason, generally around the third or even second date, I panic. And it's not deer-in-the-headlights panic, it's more along the lines of help-me-I-need-to-move-to-Yemen-and-change-my-name panic.

So I made the mistake of asking my friend Kane, after a few beers (of course), why he thought I was like this and what, if anything, I could do from stopping Yemen mode. And so he imparted to me his own particular brand of wisdom.

Kane: Why don't you do what I do when I want to get out of a relationship?
Lola: Even though it has absolutely nothing to do what I just asked you, go ahead.
Kane: Wake up in Vegas, handcuffed naked to a stranger.
Lola: Oh right, Natalie. (shakes her head) But what if I want to actually try and extract myself from panic mode?
Kane: (bursts out into laughter) No, you don't. (thinking) Plus, I'm not going to give you advice for that kind of thing.
Lola: Well, why not?
Kane: Because it's too much fun to watch you freak out. And I benefit from the shit they send you. Like that fruit basket that one guy sent you with the pineapples shaped like stars and the chocolate covered strawberries.
Lola: That guy wasn't dating me though. He threw up in my sink.
Kane: Oh, right. (considering) Is that the same guy who threw up on your futon?
Lola: No, different guy.
Kane: What about that guy who threw up off your porch? The one your friend found passed out by Hot Bagels, bleeding.
Lola: God, I never realized how many people have vomited at my house. (pause) Ugh, this is exactly why I'm fucked up. I go from dating to vomiting in 2.5 seconds.

Lola vs. Break-Up Paint

2009-08-26T00:01:00.017-04:00

This post was inspired by my cyber sister from another mother, Blunt Delivery. It's getting ridiculous the amount of things we have in common and paint is just the chocolate icing on our two layer vanilla funfetti cake.

When the rejuvenation green I bought to get rid of the electric blue vomit on my walls was neither green nor brought me a sense of rejuvenation, I had to travel to Home Depot- with Kane in tow- to get serious.

That's when we realized that all names for paint colors are lame. These include but are not limited to: Lyndhurst Duchess (for the inner blueblood in you), Cincinnatian Hotel Olivia Blue (I've always admired the color of the walls in Cincinnati hotels...) Peaceful Calm (redundant wall colors are my favorite!), and finally La Fonda Fiery Fireberry (what the hell is a La Fonda? Is it a dance move? Why would a dance move be red? Is it an angry dance move?).

After Kane repeatedly pointed out to the sales guy that I was single and in "need of strong break-up paint", we decided that to accompany said paint we really needed some fantastic break-up colors.

So after much discussion, we used Pathological Liar Primer and then coated it with a subtle I-Finally-Got-Rid-of-the-Dead-Weight-Who-Sucked-Up-
a-Considerable-Amount-of-My-Savings Green. And finally, to accent the room, we used a deep He-May-Have-Been-The-One-
Responsible-For-Stashing-Cocaine-In-My-Old-Car Burgundy.

I bet V, my other delightful derelict sister and like any normal girl is fond of a good melee, has some good break-up shades in her repertoire. Anyone else care to share their paint colors with the rest of the class?

Lola vs. Holy Matritution

2009-08-19T00:01:00.009-04:00

So if you haven't guessed by now, I'm in the phase in my life that I like to refer to as the avoiding-a-relationship-as-if-it-is-the-plague stage. But being a girl and living alone gives you very few options for quick flings.

Picking up someone is fine. Wanting them to know where you live is not.

My boys and I have this debate about how to go about finding a fling. D thinks that I'm too picky. J, however, would much rather me "take one for the team" and keep on having the socially awkward dating experiences for the express purposes of entertaining them. Kane feels that I just need the right atmosphere for a fling. Here is where he eloquently explains the benefits of a certain situation. Or something like that:

Lola: Sometimes I'm such a dude.

Kane: Oh let me count the ways. Maybe there are girls like you. Just probably not with the severe lack of filter affliction you exhibit. (pause) But seriously, you just need the right opportunity.

Lola: (thinking) How about a wedding? With a wedding you know there's at least one person who knows the guy second hand.

Kane: Very true. Not as many weirdos as the average bar. Or they disguise themselves better. And it's usually in a hotel so you can always scream if the guy is a serial killer.

Lola: Wow, the benefits are just piling up. So maybe I should just go to more weddings then.

Kane: You should. But then it's like prostitution.

Lola: Wha-at?

Kane: Since it costs money each time in the form of a nicely wrapped gift. Usually from Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

Lola: (realization dawns) Oh shit, I actually gave them money.

Kane: There you go. So the people who got married are like pimps.

Lola: So you're saying the bride and groom manage the sexual sales transactions for the bridal party/guests.

Kane: Exactly. Next on 60 Minutes: Wedding Prostitution- Victimless Crime or Alarming Trend?

Lola: I'm going with alarming trend. (pause, considering) But it has to be Dateline. Because I feel strongly that Stone Phillips needs to cover this.

Kane: Good luck with that. Make sure they blur your face. And please don't list me as a witness. I don't feel that we're in the point of our relationship where I can be an anonymous source.

Thanks Kane. Once again our heartwarming conversations make life worth living.

Lola vs. Lame Disease

2009-08-12T12:30:00.001-04:00

So the other day, a friend emailed me with a story about how he was forced to sit down and watch a documentary about Lyme disease on a family vacation. As I was reading his message to me, I became alarmed by one of his typos. It might have been the fact that I had finished the sleep deprivation portion of my night and was heading straight into the hallucination part of the program but I became disturbed over the implications of his mistake. What if it wasn't a mistake? What if he is trying to alert me to something I may not be aware of? I choked back the fear that had suddenly lodged itself in my throat. In the event that this was a real threat to our existence, I felt it was my duty to educate all of you on the very serious subject of Lame Disease.

FACTS & STATS

According to the Centers for Disease Control, in 2007 there were 27,444 reported cases of lame disease - a 37% increase of lame over the previous year. Lame cases have been reported in every state, and on every continent except Antarctica.

COMMON QUESTIONS

What is lame disease and how do I get it?
A bacterial infection, lame disease is the most common vector-borne disease in America. Lame bacteria and their co-infections are typically transmitted to humans through the bite of an infected lame. Definitely a lame way to get diseased.

Why do lame patients have trouble getting diagnosed and treated?
Because no one wants to deal with a bunch of lames.

What should I do if I think I have lame disease?
Diagnosis can be difficult in the absence of a bull's-eye rash or a positive test, so for these less clear cases, it's best to see a lame specialist.

WHAT YOU CAN DO...

EDUCATE others about lame disease. Share your own and others' lame stories on blogs and with the press; the more lame stories out there, the more lame people will seek and get proper treatment.
PARTICIPATE in the growing lame community. There are a number of lame associations and online support groups to answer questions about lame research, treatments, physicians, and policy.
ADVOCATE for lame patient and physician rights. For access to important patient rights resources, visit the CALDA website, where you can find symptom checklists, insurance-appeal letters, lame-check flyers, and documentation about chronic lame.
DONATE to innovative lame research and awareness. Turn the Corner Foundation is committed to supporting lame disease research and awareness, including training to help doctors become lame-literate. Doctors desperately need help learning to cope with lame patients going on and on with their lame stories about how they've got lame disease.

Lola vs. Spongebob and Spillage

2009-08-04T00:01:00.006-04:00

I am an an incoherent, mean mess in the morning. I hate- and I can't stress this enough-hate waking up. Until I've had my coffee, the world and I are not on speaking terms.

A few years ago on this particular day, I had forgotten to set my alarm for an earlier meeting and was therefore catastrophically late. Unable to shower or properly attend to my riotous reddish locks, I changed in record time and threw the aforementioned hair into a pony tail. Usually my clothing is a bit on the unconventional side but today I had carefully laid out proper business attire (oh how responsible of me!) for the meeting.

In my stubborn- okay, borderline obsessive- conviction to only make one trip to the car, I had a laptop bag, coffee, purse, business folders, and my lunch clutched in my arms. Having no hands left in which to open the door, I made several unsuccessful attempts at trying to open it with my foot. Eventually I got fed up and, fueled by the anger of being late, kicked the door. This range of motion was, apparently, too much for the items balanced precariously in both hands. In slow-motion, I watched helplessly as the entire contents of the hot, scalding coffee tipped over and onto my nice work skirt.

Screeching, I ran back inside and changed into the only skirt I had that matched the rest of the outfit. It was a pure snow white linen. So I left the coffee on the floor, packed up the rest of my things (which were strewn all over my kitchen at this point), and broke every available traffic law there is in New Jersey in order to get to work on time.

I got there to find a flashing message from my boss in my inbox. Meeting changed to 10:30. I breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that I could go to the cafeteria and get another cup of coffee and in effect throw off the morning haze and the irritation of being late.

Carlos the cafeteria breakfast guy (yes, we are on a first name basis) saw me walk in and brightened:

Lola: Hey Carlos!
Carlos: (surprised) You are dressed so nicely today. And you are much later than normal.
Lola: (pondering at how apparently her wardrobe is not up to par for the cafeteria staff's taste) Um, yeah. I always like a side of judgement with my egg white omelet.
Carlos: (grinning under his ginormous hair net, not really understanding Lola's brilliant repartee) So that means you have time for your usual?
Lola: (checks the clock) Why, not? I'll go fill up my coffee. (turns around)
Carlos: (bursts into laughter as Lola walks away) Lola, I didn't know you liked it that way.
Lola: (coming back to the griddle, confused) Wha-at?
Carlos: (as he is scraping her egg-white pepper and mushroom omelet onto a plate) Is that an invitation?
Lola: (thoroughly confused as he hands her the plate) What are you talking about?
Carlos: (gesturing to her skirt with the spatula) That.
Lola: (looking down at her stain free skirt) Well this just got weird. I'm gonna leave now.

Completely confused at the language barrier that had just occurred, I traveled back to the third floor. I heard a few giggles as I made my way to my cubicle but chalked them up to me being paranoid and not having enough coffee in my system. Oh, how naive I was.

I gobbled up my breakfast and coffee, deliberated over a few emails, and decided with wonder that I actually had time to go to the bathroom before the big meeting. I rose with a sense of purpose, brushed the crumbs off my skirt, and headed to the bathroom. Then a woman who worked in accounting gave me possibly the dirtiest look I have ever seen a human being give another as I passed by.

This was getting ridiculous now. I must have missed a stain on my ass or something. I fling open the doors to the bathroom and planted myself in front of the full length mirror. There were no embarrassing stains on the front but when I looked on the back...

Oh. My. God. The mortification spread over my face like a rash as I realized what had happened. The color of my white skirt was no match for the unique, hip hugger underwear I wore beneath it.

So there for all my company to see was Spongebob riding a bright red seahorse. Across my cheeks, in big bold letters, it read:

Let's Ride!

Lola vs. Things and Stuff And Things

2009-07-30T00:01:00.002-04:00

Things Lola has spilled on herself in the past two days:

Iced Caramel Machiatto
Key Lime Pie Gelato
Acai Berry Juice (on white effing pants no less)
Pizza Sauce
Iced Regular Coffee
Fat Free Honey Mustard Salad Dressing
The Sewage they claim is coffee at work
The Sauce they serve with steamed dumplings
Iced Blueberry Coffee
1.7 oz of Brown Sugar and Fig body lotion

People she would like to thank for this:

Her dumb ass self.

Yeah, I know this is a stupid post but I felt the need to let people know that despite popular belief I do have a weakness. That apparently takes the shape of spilling every liquid possible on my clothing except for ones that are clear and easy to get out.

Lola vs. Morphing Into a Pimp

2009-07-28T12:12:00.001-04:00

At the request of the other half of my blackened out husk of a soul, I have officially unbundled my underwear for just a second to write this post.

If I had tears, my dearest Blunt Delivery, they would be rolling down my cheeks right now in gratitude. But because I don't, I will be forced to do some pimping of my own.

If you've ever read my blog before, you know I don't like to follow rules- except for the dating kind but they are an exception because they come from yours truly- but I would like to do something for the awards I have been given. The awards I have received are thus): A much anticipated, much coveted Blunty Award from my evil twin bitch (see above!), The Keepsake Award from the heart-warming Fidgeting Gidget, and the Honest Scrap Award from fellow honest scrapper hardlyhearshimself .

Without further ado, I would like to return the pimpage with a few dishonorable mentions of my own:

The One whose Soul I'd Most Likely Want to Steal-

Girl Interrupted- I am new to her site but her soul I must, must steal. Sweet, sensitive, and utterly sincere, she has entranced me and will entrance all of you. I am sure of it. Her writing style is infectious and the pictures that often accompany her posts are even more so. Plus, she recently received a message in a bottle. How cool is that?

The One Who Makes Me Wish I Could Deal With Problems Instead of Using Sarcasm to Hide Them-

Thank God I Don't Have Kids- Most of you may not know who he is but he is one of my very first blogger friends. And let's face it, I have a bit of a soft spot for this guy. His writing is raw and brutally honest. He's not afraid of being vulnerable and often lays all of his cards out on the table. I applaud him and his manliness (you know what I'm talking about Merrick). His positivity and often quirky way of looking at life and his situation, has brought him a sense of joy in the little things that probably not too many people have and should absolutely go about getting.

The Ones That Make Me Think It's Utterly Okay to be a Saucy Vixen- (I have a tie here because it's kind of like choosing a favorite child. Or since I have no use for progeny as of yet, I'll go with choosing a favorite chocolate bar.)

Simon's Ramblings- His evocative prose and pictures make me happy to be, well me. Plus he has the added bonus of being able to craft a witty sentence that tickles the sub-cockle area of my writer's heart. Oh and his delicious pictures make me well... tingle for an entirely different reason.

Girl with the Pink Teacup- This dynamic lady caught me right from the start. She's sassy, smart, and sexy. Sigh, I quite adore this one possibly because she has the ability to do this but more because she says what many, many think but are afraid to say. And she does this with a deliciously wicked sense of humor. Unlike me, she also shows a lot of depth to her writing and on occasion surprises us all with her poignant prose.

The One That Has Made Me Snort Water Onto My Keyboard

Mr London Street- Not only can he construct a seriously clever tale but his non sequiturs are hilarious to the extreme. My keyboard is a witness. Who else could relate backgammon and roundabouts in the same post and use them so effectively? The answer is no one my friends, no one.

So here's a shot of Patron to you my friends- on Lola!

Lola vs. Being an Older Sister

2009-07-24T00:10:00.007-04:00

I knew I was different when I decided against barbies in favor of Star Wars Action Figures especially when my younger sister favored barbies so much. But what really solidified my individuality was how I approached playing them with her.

Like most Barbie communities, the barbie females outnumbered the Ken faction about 123809182390 to 2. And unfortunately for my sister, half of her Ken faction was missing a leg. (I think this was due to the fact that my brother and I would steal the second rate Ken and repeatedly throw him out the window but that's neither here nor there.)

Since I played Barbies so rarely, I obviously did not want to play with the deformed Ken so I had to persuade my sister to want to play with it instead. Because let's face it: 1) I didn't want her to get upset that the ken doll had no leg and therefore rat me out to my mom and 2) I wanted her to play with me since there was no way I was actually going to play with dolls by myself and ruin my reputation with Han Solo.

Below is how I accomplished the task.

Little Lola: (handing her sister the legless Ken) Here you go.
Lola's Sister: (crinkling her nose up at the sight) I don't want to play with that one. They're mine anyway so you can have this one. (thrusts legless Ken back into Lola's hands)
Little Lola: (with a triumphant smile) I was hoping you'd say that.
Lola's Sister: (suspiciously) Why?
Little Lola: Well everyone else wants to be him. He's the most popular Ken in the entire town even.
Lola's Sister: (a little less doubtful now) I don't know... (considering) why is he so popular?
Little Lola: Well, this Ken's been to war so all of the other barbies are jealous of him.
Lola's Sister: I think I better play with him then. (taking legless Ken back now) But, what happened to his leg?
Little Lola: It got blown off by the enemy.

And so here's to you- legless Ken! Because without you, I would have never learned the proper way to facilitate an outcome.

Lola vs. Beach Life Lessons

2009-07-21T20:00:00.004-04:00

I just got back from vacation and am now back at work--- insert a sigh filled with murderous rage here (I've been practicing my murderous rage inflection with a sigh because I've been stuck behind a desk all day, not on the beach, and have been forced to only sigh because otherwise I attract unwanted attention from the people who pass by my office)--- but I'm still reminiscing over my time away. Every year my family and I go down to the beach for a week of sun, shenanigans, and shellfish. We've been doing this for about twenty-five years and we've now spilled over from one shore house to four all together just so we can carry the entire Lakely tribe.

My family senses weakness in much the same way that dogs can smell fear. The gusto in which my siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins brandish an insult is really quite admirable. If you ever have the misfortune of making a mistake in front of them, you will no doubt hear about it for the next 37 years. This has given me a solid foundation in which to take multiple hits to the solar plexus and continuously get back up.

So my friends, I would like to share some life lessons I have learned from Lakely Beach-ation 2009:

I can perform a New Jersey Sweep twice without garnering the attention of the Police.
It doesn't get any better than a lesbian Led Zeppelin cover band.
OCD + turrets = a little kid's meltdown. Side note: Kid meltdowns are always funny if you are not the parents.
My family can not resist a stage. It doesn't matter if there is no music playing. We will get up and sing. And by sing I mean repeat one phrase of the song over and over with no musical intonation whatsoever.
Iranians have a penchant for sitting awkwardly-creepy close to you on the beach.
If you accidentally burn yourself in the eye with cigarette ash, don't make a fuss. This will only incite people to call you Helen Keller for the rest of the week.
My uncle has an irrational hatred for the Siesta Motel 3. 1 & 2 are perfectly fine. But 3, oh 3, is plain unnatural.
No one messes with the person who has possession of the pink bucket (see below).
We are only family in line for the bumper cars. While riding the bumper cars, we are not family. In fact, it is perfectly okay to throw your entire body into the impact so that you hit the other person harder.
It is also okay to violate beach etiquette/rules as long as there are twenty people with you who are doing the same thing. However when it's not your family, it's just rude and annoying.

And the last (but perhaps most important) life lesson I have learned is this:

Don't wander off from the rest of the family. This only leads to you requesting to be taken back to your family after you mistakenly wander into a crack den.

Lola vs. Business in the Front & A Party in the Back

2009-07-16T00:01:00.006-04:00

I had an encounter with one of the mullet people. Yes, I believe that they are their own race of people. They are rather reminiscent of those people that lived in the basement of those psycho foster parents in the movie People Under the Stairs.

I was happily minding my own business in the Sears Auto Parts store, purchasing some new all weather floor mats for Riggins (so I have an irrational obsession with my new car- no judging) when I was approached. By a round, big-foreheaded man with a cascading blond-streaked mullet.

"Do you believe in prostitution?"

I turned around, the tan all-weather floor mats clutched in both hands defensively, and just blinked at him. Like prostitution as a belief system? What?

"Um, excuse me?"

He squinted at me, behind his bright yellow wrap around glasses. "Yeah, as in do you believe in legalizing prostitution?"

As his gravel voice raked over my skin, I realized that the only thing between me and the mullet were my all-weather floor mats. I thrust them forward and practically shouted,"I have to pay for these."

And I ran. Oh how I ran. Without looking back.

Do the mullet people now exist on the same plane as the elderly? They can just say whatever the hell they want without fear of repercussions or societal judgment. Maybe like the elderly, they should have their own homes. That way I wouldn't have to deal with them unless I had to, like, fulfill community service hour requirements for my probation.

Lola vs. The Caped Tirader

2009-07-13T00:01:00.006-04:00

Since I am on the beach sunning my luscious, lithe female form, I have decided to dedicate this scheduled post to a blogger bff (and in reality I might add), the Caped Tirader. Before I left, he was gracious enough to sit down for an interview and give me just a glimpse into the maniacal manly mind behind that mask.

Lola: The first question comes from Kurious in Kentucky. How did you first take up that cape? And did it involve any radioactive spiders?

CT: No radioactive spiders, though I have been bitten by the ever so elusive Aged Whiskey Spider from time to time. As for the cape, I've been known to get fired up in defense of common sense against idiocy. One night after an encounter with an idiot whose brand of idiocy could only be described as geniusly idiotic, I felt it was my duty to, from that night forward, protect common sense at all costs. After a few conversations about blogging with an amazing blogger (Lola), I decided to take the fight to the net. Now I mostly blog about strange news stories to point out how ridiculous and crazy people are.

Lola: (glowing with all the unnecessary praise) CT, you are such a peach! (because when Lola's in interview mode she likes to refer to people as fruit) Enough about me, let's move on to question two from Perilous Penny In Pennsylvania! What are your super hero powers? And who have been your super heroey influences?

CT: I think my best super power is the ability to fit links to a tremendous number of movie clips into my blog posts. My influence for this power came from endless hours watching movies.

Lola: This next question comes to you from the state of Michigan. If there is one piece of advice to give to someone that you have previously covered in your blog, what would it be? And who would it be to?

CT: I think an important piece of advice I’ve blogged about before is to believe me when I say that religious figures DO NOT appear in food.

Lola: Ok, so this next questions comes entirely from me. Who do you think would win in a fight and why: Link or Mario?

CT: Mario without question. Anyone who has rocked that date-rapist super-mustache as long as he has undoubtedly has had to have been in plenty of brawls. Besides the guy is a sewer dweller. Link looks like the girlie Hanson brother, and out of that group, that’s lookin’ pretty girlie.

Lola: I hate to be all devil's advocatey but I kind of have a secret thing for Dark Link. (awkward pause) Okay then. Another me question next. Would you please divulge an embarrassing fact or socially awkward moment you have had in recent years? (please Lola needs some sort of company- considering all of her awkward exploits)

CT: I think the most embarrassing thing I've done in recent years was at a Halloween party where I got bit many times by that Aged Whiskey Spider I was talking about earlier. As the story goes (and this is kind of sad) I got pretty drunk. Halloween is my favorite holiday so costume parties are right up my alley. That year I dressed up as Chucky (from Child’s Play) and I didn’t want to break character. Therefore, I didn’t take of my mask all night, which means I didn’t eat. I did however manage to drink a ton of whiskey through a straw causing me to, mid conversation, lean back into my buddy’s kitchen cabinets and fall to the floor in slow motion like I was movie punched…this was by 9:30. the next morning wife told me that later that night, in response to her repeatedly telling me to get into bed, I, from the bathroom floor retorted, “I am in bed.”

Lola: (smiling broadly now) Okay, so last but not least Lusty in Louisiana would like to know: Boxers or Briefs?

CT: When I am on official super hero business, I wear the standard- colorful briefs over shiny tights with the cape. As my alter ego I mix it up between boxers and boxer briefs. Thanx Lola for putting this together and giving me a feature.

Lola: Anytime my caped idiocy fighting friend. Anytime!

I know this is a deviation from my usual sarcastic self, but feedback is always welcome. Who knows, one of you could be my next target- I mean- interview.

Lola vs. Spiritual Nutshelling

2009-07-08T12:30:00.001-04:00

Religious discussions + alcohol = Unmitigated disaster.

There is nothing I hate more than religious discussions between the hours of 12:00 and 4:55 a.m. when people are way too blasted to even put forth one intelligent sentence about this subject. It becomes an incoherent, hot mess which leads to anger, accusations, and arguments that are always impossible to decipher. No one ever knows who initiated the conversation and people almost always recite some random, obscure piece of religious literature they have read- that no one else in the group is even remotely familiar with- to prove their point.

Seriously, what is it about being wasted that makes spewing out a dissertation on the legitimacy of the bible sound highly cerebral to the spewer?

In any case, I have found a sound method to combat this disastrous conversation path. Or at the very least a profound and passionate answer that I can really get behind.

As my dear friend Kane finished up his rant on the holy ghost and how inane, confusing, and hypocritical catholics are in conjunction to the HG, he turned to me and asked me my opinion. I paused, plastering what I hoped was a serious and thoughtful expression on my face, and then leaned forward. And said:

"I believe that the Holy Ghost is that thing that comes out of the Ark of the Covenant to melt the faces off of the Nazis in the first Indiana Jones movie."

So in a nutshell those are my spiritual views.

Lola vs. Patron Email Response

2009-07-07T00:05:00.001-04:00

I thought I would share with all of you an email I recently received from a friend about his experiences with the devil's alcohol.

Lola,

Hey, what’s going on? I’m chilling at a party right now but I thought I’d take a break to write you a short email. Well, as much as I like you, I’m also writing this because I’m bored out of my mind- this is one of those lame parties where everyone eats wine and cheese and discusses their Roth IRA’s and 401k’s… this is the graveyard where conversations go to die. Right now the most exciting thing happening is a man that dared to say that “Obama isn’t living up to his potential”, which is clearly a faux pas around overly-liberal trendy douchebags. He’s standing right next to the guy that just walked with a bottle of Patron. Wait…Patron? Hold on, I’m going to grab me a shot of that and I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.

Yo! This party is kickin’! I just had, like, 3 shots of Patron in a row, WOOOO! COLLEGE!! I just had the best conversation with some people about how Obama is the shit, man! Fuck that guy that said he’s been mediocre so far! Fuck that racist mother fucker, how dare you speak about my man like that! Wooooo! I’m getting drunk. Brb, more shots! Patron rocks!

ROLA! Dish party ish the best. I did five shots…nowait, 6? Five. I don’t know. watsh important is dat I’m drunk. Drunking ish so much fun, and so ish dish partyy. Yo, I did like five shots. or maybe wash six, who cares. have more now. As;lkdtjasro;tisutdlsakj lela- I am sefen more shotz.. doo yoo want one? come here for shot. whhy leila dont ansswer mee? WELLL SCREU YOO, STUK UP BYTCH! I wuz tryin to help by giving yoo three shot! I am good helper, iam! Patron is gud. Lolure stop it makin thee room spinning! Yes.

Yoor Fwend,
Patronn

PS, I am good helper.

Lola vs. Patron

2009-07-03T14:51:00.000-04:00

Patron is evil.

Seriously, it turns people into raving lunatics. I don't know what about Patron Tequila that makes people go into retarded zombie mode but I think it's because the alcohol comes from the devil. And if you don't agree with this statement, then you have obviously not had the patron challenge. And therefore I throw down the gauntlet to you, my friend. Just try it.

A night without patron:

You get drunk at a bar, over tip the bartenders slightly, maybe sing along drunkenly to Bon Jovi (if you're in NJ). Then you go home and pass out.

A night with Patron:

After you buy a round of shots for the entire bar and loudly proclaiming that only REAL men drink patron, you end up on top of the bar, arm in arm with the bartenders (after hours of course) in a kick line singing New York, New York unintelligibly. Then you black-out and wake up on the floor in a random hotel room. And maybe with a tattoo.

My friend D- in Patron zombie mode- insisted he help me carry two drumsticks to my car. This simple act of kindness inspired him to also call and leave me a message about what a good helper he was. While I was standing two feet away from him.

If any of you have any really good patron stories, feel free to email them to me. I get a huge kick out of drunken idiot stories and would be happy to post the best one.

P.S. I implore you to watch out for Patron cafe. Because although the tequila is masked by the deceptively sweet coffee taste it still fits into the evil you-get-so-drunk-that-your-friends-can-convince-you-that-you're-playing-the-drums-while-they-sneakily-exit-you-out-of-Rockband-and-then condescendingly-tell-you-how-good-you're-doing-as-you-flail-the-drumsticks-around-unknowingly category.

Lola vs Awkward Dinners Part Deux

2009-06-25T12:30:00.003-04:00

I've gotten a lot of questions/emails in the past few days about how I handled the desperate delusional older man (DDOM) situation so I thought I would address it here. In fact, this leads to another Lola Dating Rule so:

Lola's Simple Dating Rule #5: If you call up a friend and pretend that he is your fake boyfriend, please let him know his role beforehand. Otherwise, he'll end up being clueless and annoyed. Like my friend Kane was last Friday.

Let me give you a little background on my relationship with my friend Kane. We curse like dirty sailors in front of each other, rip on each other mercilessly, and often go into great detail on topics that would most likely disgust the normal human being. And our phone messages generally consist of requests like: "Hey Lola, in between being a bitch and being a bitch, could you take the time to call me back?"

Since I was meeting Kane at a party after the work dinner, I thought he would be the perfect fake boyfriend to call. So after the DDOM (desperate delusional older man) kissed me on the shoulder, I jerked said shoulder and informed him pointedly that I had a boyfriend. Then I called up Kane. This is how our conversation went:

Lola: (sweetly) Heeeey babe.
Kane: (after a somewhat awkward what-the-hell-is-she-on-pause) Um... Lola?
Lola: (even sweeter now) I was just checking on the time for our party tonight.
Kane: Um... what? Didn't we talk about this earlier?
Lola: (laying it on real thick) Are you gonna come and pick me up?
Kane: (annoyed now) You didn't tell me you needed a ride. (sigh) Well, I'm leaving in about ten minutes so you better get over here now then.
Lola: (with a little giggle) Oh babe, I probably won't be able to leave until around 8.
Kane: (completely aggravated now) Well, I'm not waiting for you. I'll just see you there.
Lola: Why don't we meet there then?
Kane: Isn't that what I just said?
Lola: (intimately) Do you need anything from my house?
Kane: (another WTF? pause) Um...what? Why the hell would I need anything from your house?
Lola: I'll see you there, babe.
Kane: (a combination of being utterly annoyed and baffled) Lola, are you drunk?

Apparently even my fake boyfriend did not appease the DDOM because right after I got off the phone he immediately asked me, "If you have a boyfriend, why are you out with me on a Friday night?"

"Because this is a business dinner you gross, idiotic fuckwit."

Except I left out the whole fuckwit thing. And I still had to suffer uncomfortably in silence, with a shaky smile plastered on my face, while he continued to make inappropriate comments. The only thing that got me through the dinner was the fact that his company is a huge factor in my bonus this year.

Corporate America sucks!

Lola vs. Awkward Dinners 101

2009-06-22T19:05:00.002-04:00

Lola's Simple Dating Rule #4: Always, Always, Always be sure to let a client know that the dinner you set up is under NO CIRCUMSTANCES a date.

Either there is something drastically wrong with the vibe I throw out or I am just meeting the absolute wrong kind of people. I made the colossal mistake of setting up a business dinner on a Friday night and this lead to the most socially awkward moment of my career. This is the email invitation I sent to my client:

Lawrence,

It was great to see you at the _______ conference! It seemed like it was a great success and I'm looking forward to our company's continued partnership. Let me know when you will be up training in the NJ area and I'd be happy to take you out to dinner. We can continue our discussion on the conference initiatives.

Let me know if you need any extra flyers or brochures.

Sincerely,
Lola

However, this is how interpreted the invitation:

Hey baby,

It was wonderful to see such a devastatingly attractive man such as yourself at the conference. It seemed like I had to physically restrain my aching body from launching itself at you. God, I am really looking forward to the fact that you are married, are 20 years older than me, and have a son my age. Please know that I'll be waiting, breathlessly, for your next trip up to the NJ area. I would love to take you for a nice long dinner- just you and me and the sexual tension that sizzles between us. We can continue our discussion on the conference initiatives. And by conference initiatives, I mean hot sex.

Let me know if you need me to bring any extra condoms to dinner.

Later lover,
Lola

He must have had some kind of delusional email reading episode because I can think of no other reason why this man thought it would be okay to do all of the following:

Kiss me on the shoulder while I was on the phone with a friend.
Compliment me on how wonderfully my ass filled out my jeans.
Repeatedly tell me that my voice dropped him to his knees and that I have "knock-out" Italian skin.
Inform the waitress balefully that I was not going to kiss him and then proceed to ask her what he could possibly do to get me to kiss him.

Clearly these desperate-older-guys-who-can't-take-a-hint need to shack up with those girls from crazy girl paranoia land. Maybe then I can finally get one moment of freaking peace.

Lola vs. Unnecessarily Nude

2009-06-11T16:20:00.013-04:00

I go to the gym about five times a week so I have spent some serious quality time in the locker room and I have noticed a common theme. A whole heap of unnecessary nudity almost in the vain of classic 80's movies such as Stripes and Porky's. But not attractive, youthful, or slim.

Now, I'm not a prude (Kane, I look forward to hearing your variations of "not a prude" if not in this venue then in others). But there is a difference between being naked and hanging out naked for the sole purpose of causing unease in those around you.

The main offender of this phenomena was a woman in her late sixties, slightly obese, and morally opposed to shaving under her arms. I rushed in, late for class as per usual, and was shoving my bag in a locker when she, nakedly in her nakedness, brushed slowly by me. And wedged herself firmly in between me and the locker.

Did I mention there was a HUGE space BEHIND me that she could have taken advantage of?!

Instead of quickly passing by, she stood for a good thirty -utterly humiliating, completely awkward- seconds. Then she stared unabashedly into my face and said, "Oh were you using, this one?" She pointed, her under arm hair bursting forward like a thousand tiny coiled springs.

I was speechless. Was this seriously happening? Not really knowing what to do, I looked around wildly and I hoped against hope for an exit. I saw a bathroom stall open and I grasped the opportunity like it was my last lifeline on this earth. I flew into the bathroom, gym clothes in hand, and waited a few minutes after I changed, praying furiously that she had disappeared.

I had no such luck. When I extracted myself from the bathroom stall, she was sitting on the bench right near my locker, staring out into space. I desperately wished that she was in the midst of some sort of psychotic episode and therefore had forgotten all about me but those wishes were dashed as I reached my locker. Without taking her eyes off of the fascinating blank space in the air, she asked me,"What class are you taking? I heard that the Kickboxing class they have here is good."

And then she got up and began to stretch. Naked.

I mumbled something that even to my ears sounded incoherent and bolted out of the locker room. The fear must have been evident in my features because one of the trainers even asked me what was wrong after class was over.

Who in their right mind would want to have a naked conversation while staring creepily into space and then go into stretching exercises? And why in god's name can't they do this at home?

Because of the unnecessary nudity, I have decided the following:

Sleeping Naked In Your Own Bed= Delicious
Doing Lunges Naked In a Locker Room= Disturbing

Cooking Naked In Your Own Kitchen= Fantastic
Popping a Zit Naked In a Locker Room= Frightening

If anyone has anything they would like to add to the above list, please let me know.

Lola vs. Euphemism-tastic Days

2009-06-09T18:00:00.003-04:00

Lola’s Simple Dating Rule # 3: Never date a guy who hits on you with a dirty euphemism.

I was getting ready for the BBQ Beer Bash and had to make several hardware store (yay for propane) /Home Depot (yay for beer pong table and grilling essentials) runs last week. This experience has taught me that the wink, wink- nudge, nudge dirty euphemism has not gone out of style.

Or maybe there's just something about a girl who is picking up hardware. Arghhh, now they've got me doing it. Thanks to the incidences below, everything I do now sounds sexually explicit.

Euphemism # 1: Home Depot. Lola walks in, has a brief argument with management over the fact her grill was mysteriously not delivered. Management ensures delivery and she goes about her merry way, stopping briefly to load her cart up with folding chairs and a beer pong table.

Sales Guy #1 (eyeing Lola as she pays) Looks like you’re gonna have a lot of people over.
Lola: (excitedly) Oh yeah, keg barrels are next on my list.
Sales Guy#1: Man, I’d love to party with you.
Lola: (wearily now) Oh, um... thanks?
Sales Guy # 1: Can I help you with all of that?
Lola: (as she wheels the big cart out of the store) I think I can get it.
Sales Guy #1: Aw, I don’t want to see you carrying something that big without my help. (with a that’s-what-she-said smile)

Euphemism #2: Parking lot of HD. Sales Guy #1 exits. Enter Red Jeep Guy. He eyes Lola as she is trying to get the last keg tub in her beat-up Honda.

Red Jeep Guy: (drawls) Need any help with that?
Lola: I think I got it.
Red Jeep Guy: (grinning lasciviously) You sure? It seems like you’re shoving too hard. You need to use finesse with things like this.
Lola: (her friendly smile waning) Yeah, I’ll be fine.
Red Jeep Guy: What are those for anyway?
Lola: They’re for holding kegs.
Red Jeep Guy: (peering in the window of her car) And you have two? Man I’d like to party with you.
Lola: (suspiciously) Are you friends with Al, Sales Guy #1?
Red Jeep Guy: (with a blank look) Who?
Lola: Never mind, I’ve gotta go.
Red Jeep Guy: (as Lola is getting in her car) No seriously, where’s the party?

Euphemism #3: Hardware store. Lola carries her propane tank into the store, plops it next to the counter and asks the two guys behind it for some help.

Hardware Store Guy #1: Is that all you need?
Lola: I’ll take some tiki torches as well. But then that’s it.
Hardware Store Guy #1: Ok, why don’t you go around back and I’ll help you with the propane?
Lola: (smiling) Thanks, that would be great.
Hardware Store Guy: (winking at her) I’d be happy to fill your tank, Miss (looking down at the credit card she has just handed him) Lola.
Hardware Store Guy #2: (snickering behind them)

After all three experiences (which occurred in the exact same day during my lunch hour), I was disheartened. What happened to sweetness and witty repartee as a come-on? What was it about me that screamed that I would respond to this? Then as I got out of the car to make the miserable walk back into work, I looked down and realized- with complete embarrassment- what was shouting inane innuendo. During the shuffling of tables, chairs, and propane tanks; the first two buttons of my blouse had come unbuttoned and the lacy black bra I was wearing served as an outrageously blatant invitation for all of those dirty euphemisms.

Apparently, the invitation was so effective that the next day I got a call from Sales Guy #1. He lead the conversation with this: “Lola, this is Al- the guy who helped you carry your chairs to the car. I was just calling you to make sure that your grill was installed to your satisfaction.”

I didn’t order my grill from him, so he must have looked up my information in the computer and went out of his way to call me. After several inquiries to see if there was anything else he could do for me, I extracted myself wearily from the conversation. Flattering? Yes. Creepy? I’m going with a solid hell yes!

Is this yet another example of me shoving someone off the precipice of the crazy abyss? Or is this just an example of HD’s incredibly thorough customer service? Cause, I'm really hoping it's the latter.

Lola vs Friendship & BBQ

2009-06-07T16:00:00.001-04:00

I've just had my annual summer kick-off bash and am writing this slightly hung over and tired with a few UPB's (unidentified party bruises) but immensely satisfied. Last night's party was one of the biggest, most eclectic crowds I've had in years. This is partially due to the fact that certain family members or friends kind of, well, strongly disagreed with the existence of my ex (I'm putting this info in the Things-that-should-have-been-brought-
to-my-attention-years-ago file). But it's mostly due to this habit I have of collecting people.

I've always been incredibly friendly, almost too friendly at times (I will generally talk to anyone, anytime, anywhere), and I've noticed that I tend to keep people. It was evident as the party wore on last night that I have several rings of friends instead of one big circle. It was nice to see those rings overlap in an ocean of flip cup, beer pong, Rockband, and a bubble machine (hell yeah, I said bubble machine!).

I usually make friends fast and when I do I tend to throw myself into it in much the same way I do everything- with undisguised passion. I have an unshakable sense of loyalty and I don't give up easily on people.

I overheard a good friend attempting to describe these qualities to someone I had just recently met and invited along to the party. Except he said it like this: "Once Lola has you, it's increasingly hard to get rid of her. " I was hoping he would have the good sense to add: "But in a good way. Not in a creepy stalker way."

Alas, I had no such luck. Thanks Kane.

So, I may be a disaster when it comes to long-term relationships with men but at least I have the friendship thing down. Unless they are all using me for my bubble machine. And free beer.

Lola vs. You Know It's a Good Night When...

2009-06-01T17:04:00.004-04:00

You wake up with paint in your hair and have absolutely no idea how it got there. I've realized that I've made fun of a lot of people on this blog and have not dedicated nearly enough time poking fun at myself. So here is how I have the ability to act like a complete idiot:

All day yesterday (aka Fat Sunday) I was picking paint chips out of my rather long auburn hair. The flecks of paint were bright pink so you can imagine what kind of picture this made when I went out in public. Sam the deli guy, as he packed up my egg-white and spinach omelet, was gracious enough to point this out. He said kindly, in his middle-eastern accent,"What is with your pink dandruff? Not so nice with red hair."

He did also tell me that I smelled good enough to give him a heart attack. I still don't know how I should take that. I'm going with nervous.

As I paid for my food and directly after Sam the deli guy asked the man behind me for a defibrillator, I got a phone call from my friend Layla. She happily pieced together the night for me.

Location: Restaurant Bar Drink: Martini
Location: Cafe Luxembourg Drink: A bottle of wine
Location: Dive Bar Drink: A pitcher of Miller Light
Location: Wine Bar Drink: Two glasses of wine

Somewhere between Location 3 and location 4, I lost all ability to make sense. I know this because my friends asked me dating advice (I guess because I go out a lot, I'm an expert?) and I completely and utterly mucked it up. I believe the question was somewhere along the lines of "Lola, how do you handle it so well?" This is what I wanted to tell them:

"Well you see, it's probably because I don't take a lot of time analyzing conversations or figuring out whether or not to say certain things. I'm very comfortable in my own skin and so having self confidence is extremely helpful. I don't play games and I figure anyone who does isn't really worth my time. Basically, I am who I am and I know that there are going to be people who won't like me. Just as I know there will be people who I won't like. So really what's the point of getting so upset over someone not feeling the same way?"

However when translating the above paragraph into Drunken-Lola-Speak, it came out as the following statement: "I just don't give a shit about anything!"

Keep in mind that I was standing up at the time, gesturing wildly to get my point across as wine sloshed over the rim of my glass. So this dating expert must have made quite the attractive picture! After more of my unintelligible advice, they decided to get some food in me. On my way to the pizza place, I thanked all the pizza delivery guys for the way in which they deliver their pizzas. None of them spoke English so they may have actually understood what I was trying to say to them.

After I declared to the table next to me that I liked to blog, I banged my head against the wall when I threw my head back in laughter. This made my friends crack up so I did it again because apparently: the sound of my head cracking against the wall + their residual giggles = Delight. This is also where the origin of the pink paint was thought to be. Alas, I was informed earlier today that the wall to the pizza place was not pink.

So, sadly, the pink paint remains a mystery. Maybe it's better that way. The reality probably can't match up to what I have imagined in my head.

Lola vs. SBS

2009-05-28T19:48:00.031-04:00

Am I the only one here who turns a little green when their friends get fired due to the crashing economy but somehow manage to get, like, ridiculously sweet severance packages out of it? I mean, seriously, at this point I would completely revel in doing nothing for about six months. Think of all the video games I could actually finish. And the writing I could get done!

So, in order to combat my emerging jealousy, I like to think of inventive ways to get "let go".

Unfortunately I respect (ugh, it's so annoying to like people sometimes) my colleagues so not doing work is out of the question since they will likely bear the brunt of my screwing off. Coming in late isn't really too inventive since most likely my nagging sense of responsibility will rear its ugly head and then I would have to work late to compensate.

Developing tourettes might be interesting. I think for the first day shouting out random strings of curses when someone walks by my office would be really fun. But then it would get pretty exhausting to keep up repetitive involuntary movements for an extended period of time. I could House it up and develop a rare auto-immune disease like sarcoidosis. I chose sarcoidosis because it is very fun to say. Each day I could present a new symptoms and watch my colleagues (with witty repartee and undisguised suspicion over the fact that ALL patients lie) try and diagnose me by using what they have learned from Web MD.

I could go the sexual harassment route but I'm kind of a walking human resource violation to begin with. And since I haven't gotten any slaps on the wrists due to it yet, I guess that's ruled out.

But I think I have found a solution. Sick Building Syndrome (SBS)! I know, it's awesome. Apparently SBS can be linked to time spent in a building, but no specific illness or cause can be identified. All you have to do is prove that the environment in the building is worse than outside the building. Symptoms include headaches; eye, nose, and throat irritation; a dry cough; dry or itchy skin; dizziness and nausea; difficulty in concentrating; fatigue; and sensitivity to odors.

I bet I could get people in on this plan. We could all revolt. One day, one of us could faint. The next day one of us could vomit all over the photocopier. A chorus of, "What is that smell?!! Oh god the humanity!!" would occur at least once every day. And as long as we feel relief once we exit the building, we are home free.

And the best part about SBS is that people have actually sued over it and won!

Now that "going green" is being marketed at every government level, it would be the perfect time to start claiming that you are suffering from SBS. Who's with me?

Lola vs. The Spider Incident of 2009

2009-05-24T14:03:00.012-04:00

As most of you are aware, I'm not the most girliest of girls. (if you're not aware then I refer you to my first post about my teenage boy like tastes) But there are still two things about me that make me a girl. The second I joyously came upon quite recently.

I actually look like one. (Hooray boobs!)
I dissolve into a puddle of incoherent goo when faced with a giant insect, staring me down at 2:33 am.

I now know that the insects in/around my house are conspiring against me. The cricket attack of 2008 had already left me raw and unnerved. But the ginormous hairy black spider incident of 09 was much more insidious. Well versed in the field of mind game tactics, it made the cricket's attempt at head-butting me in my bathroom look like child's play.

A few nights ago during a bout of insomnia, I stumbled out of my room; annoyed, hungry, and bleary-eyed. In the midst of making myself a protein shake, I slowly turned around and my eyes found it. I froze. The monstrosity was fist-sized with a wet, black sheen and as I looked at him; his fangs, I swear, protracted.

I emitted a slow, breathy "Oh my god." At least in my head it sounded slow and breathy. In reality, it was more in the range of a horrified, piercing shriek.

Revulsion shivered across my skin and I panicked. It salivated in between the tops of my cabinets and the ceiling and I couldn't reach it. I blindly searched for a weapon. I grabbed a paper towel roll but I knew, I knew, that if I swatted at it, it would come flying at me. I couldn't see the underbelly of this beast but in my sleep deprived I-have-to-get-up-in-four-hours-to-make-an-early-
morning-meeting mind I imagined that it had a red hour glass on it. So after I was bitten, I would surely lapse into a black-widow coma and expire.

Suddenly, inspiration struck. I would suck it up with my vacuum cleaner! I inwardly rejoiced. Without taking my eyes off of the thing, I inched towards the other side of the room, my arms braced against the sides of the counter top like I was on the ledge of a skyscraper. I turned, opened the door to the broom closet, and grabbed the vacuum. I whirled around-vacuum in hand- and brandished it like a sword.

The spider was gone.

Oh. My. God. I streaked pass the cabinet, jumping up to see if I could see the monster and vaulted into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. My eyes drifted to the small space in between my door and the carpet. In my mania, I actually leaped off the bed, procured a dirty towel from my laundry basket, and shoved it violently under the crack. The enemy now had me cornered in my room with my pillow tucked underneath my chin and my knees hugged tightly against my chest.

I had been reduced to a simpering, witless moron. By a spider.

It occurs to me now that if it had been a black widow spider (and it was not- wiki just told me so) paranoid girls everywhere would have celebrated my demise. I mean, seriously, how appropriate! Lola done in by her own nefarious M.O.

Lola vs. Simple Dating Rules Part Deux

2009-05-19T21:27:00.008-04:00

Recently I have been accused of attracting the criminally insane. Or at least I find the guy that is just peering over the edge of the crazy abyss and with a saccharine smile and a wave, I shove him right off the precipice. C'est la vie.

That's not entirely true. I just happen to write about the disasters. Simple Dating Rule #2 is thus: The more socially awkward the date is, the more entertained your friends are by your experience. Let's try it out and you can decide which one makes the better story.

Conversation A

Setting: Outside Lola's front porch. Dusk. A slightly nervous, but cute man rings the front door bell. Lola opens the door with a welcoming smile.

Man A: (sincerely) Wow, Lola you look amazing.

Lola: (modestly) Thanks! Where are we off to tonight?

Man A: Well, I wasn't sure what food you liked so I made reservations at two places just in case. An Italian restaurant and an Asian fusion place that got pretty good reviews.

Lola: (pleased) How very planning aheady of you!

Man A: (laughing) Don't give me too much credit. I know we talked about it over the phone and I completely forgot which one you said you liked better.

Lola: (smiling along with Man A) Okay, so I'll revise the previous statement to: How very honest of you! How about Italian?
Man A: I was kinda in the mood for Italian.
(The two then exit, chatting excitedly)

Conversation B

Setting: Lola's living room. She is getting ready for a date when the phone rings.

Lola: (recognizing the caller) Oh Hello Man B. I'm just getting ready.

Man B: (loudly) Hello...Lola...is that you? ... Lola?

Lola: (straining to hear) Yes, it's Lola. Wow, it sounds like you're in a wind tunnel.

Man B: (louder) Lola???? Are you there? Awww, fuck. (hangs up)

(Lola's phone rings again.)

Lola: (answering the phone) Hello?

Man B: Lola! Finally. (pause) What are you wearing?

Lola: Um...what?

Man B: What are you wearing? You know for our date.

Lola: (pausing awkwardly) Black Pants and a top.

Man B: (disappointingly) Oh. (another pause) Well I guess that's OK. (car horn honking) Get out of that lane you- (insert derogatory racial slur here)-! I'm running late.

Lola:(taken aback) Okay, how late?
(unintelligible voices in the background and a string of curses)
Man B: (shouting) Will you be quiet?
Lola: Um... what?
Man B: (annoyed) I wasn't talking to you.
Lola: Who were you talking to, then?
Man B: (pointedly) You just get right to the heavy stuff, don't you? My son, he's in the backseat. I'm dropping him off at my mom's right now.
Lola: I'm sorry, it's just that I can hear him in the background. You never mentioned that you had a son.
Man B: I thought I would ease into that maybe on the third date. (accusatory now) Wait a minute. Are you one of those women who won't go out with a single father?
Lola: (completely and utterly disgusted) No. (severely awkward pause) But since you're running so late, why don't we just do this another time?
Man B: (sarcastically) Yeah, right.

The moral of Conversation B is to never pick up a guy at a chili eating festival. Even if he's a hot firefighter. But I digress!

Hearts and flowers are nice and everything but racism and I-forgot-to-mention-I-had-a-son-that-I-curse-in-front-of makes for a more entertaining story. Wouldn't you say?

Lola vs. Fat Sundays

2009-05-14T17:00:00.006-04:00

This past Sunday Lola's Hang-Over Scale was set to an unusual zero jigawatts due to the fact my recovery from the aforementioned pandemic severely inhibited my going-out quotient for the week. I generally wake up feeling happy that it is a Sunday but this time I had the added bonus of not wanting to vomit out the alcohol from the night before so it was even more glorious! Unfortunately this alcohol-free haze lead me to a sad realization.

Sundays have the unique ability to make you hate and love life at the same time.

Sleeping in and not having to work on a Sunday is possibly one of the best and most enriching experiences that life has to offer. (If you are one of those irritating people who are actually productive on a Sunday, then eff you because you make the rest of us look like slobs.) Knowing that you aren't obligated to do anything besides watch TV, go to the movies, or play video games is like a heavenly slice of heaven-cake, floating on top of heaventastic (Take that, spellcheck!) fluffy clouds.

And speaking of cake, another added and delectable bonus about Sundays is that it is usually considered an all out cheat day. Awhile ago, my siblings and I coined the phrase: Fat-Sunday. This refers to the activity of watching football all day while completely and utterly gorging yourself on fried food, wings, brownies, pizza, mozzarella sticks, gummi bears, Chinese food, and the occasional drum-stick ice-cream cone. Yeah, it's absolutely disgusting. And yet simultaneously, oddly fulfilling.

This Fat-Sunday euphoria lasts until about five o'clock. That's when you start watching the clock, sweating nervously as the time continues to tick away and you get closer and closer to Monday. It goes lightening fast too, as if the rest of the day had been on an entirely different space/time continuum. Up until now, Fat-Sunday has been pure stress-free bliss. But as you rush headlong into night- if you're anything like me- you actually start to get angry and resentful. Because deep down you know that you have to get up early Monday morning; eat grilled flavorless, healthy effing food; and go to that mindless soul-sucking, hell-hole you refer to as a job.

Being a grown-up sucks.

Lola vs. Pandemic Paranoia

2009-05-06T11:26:00.008-04:00

So it's been awhile. I'd apologize for it but I was swabbed for the swine flu last week and was unable to make it near any sort of computer due to my insufferable-102-degree-fever-complete-with-night-terrors (or is that sweats?)-and-whooping-cough affliction. Yup, you read it right. I was swabbed for the paranoia-packed pig pandemic (ahhh... alliteration, my old friend, it's been far too long!) that has been causing mass hysteria among both local and national news channels. Yay me!

My plague lasted a total of 8 days. During this time I couldn't read, play video games (death sentence), or use a computer. The only activity I participated in was watching four complete seasons of the West Wing on DVD. I learned something incredibly important about the art of DVD television show watching. Never use the dreaded PLAY ALL feature when you are sick. This only ends up with you falling asleep during one of the shows only to wake up later to find out one of your favorite characters has died. Or is in jail for leaking national security secrets.

In between episodes of the West Wing, I was allowed only minimal human interaction. In fact the only human contact I was able to wring out of my friends and relatives were several trips to my front porch. These trips consisted of them flinging provisions- in most cases fluids and Dole™ strawberry ice pops- onto the steps and then fleeing in abject terror.

My brother was particularly inventive. He tossed the West Wing season 6 onto the porch and then screamed," SWINE FLU!" at the top of his lungs while my neighbors looked on apprehensively. One small, rotund Chinese man actually leaped across the street after my brother's proclamation, dragging his little schnauzer behind him. The only reason why I did not stumble across the street and follow him around the corner with my arms outstretched while emitting a zombie-like wail, was because I only had enough energy left to pick up the DVD and get back on my couch. I actually had a moment of profound sadness when I realized I could not scare the beejeezus out of my neighbor. Does that make me a bad person?

Besides giving me a disturbing need to frighten people, this experience has taught me the value of friendship. For example, my friend Kane promised to be the one to take a shotgun to my zombie face if the Zombie Infection were to, in fact, take over my body. Like some bizarro undead version of Ol' Yeller.

My heart is still all aflutter with your solemn declaration of devotion, Kane.

Lola vs. Simple Dating Rule # 1

2009-04-23T20:08:00.012-04:00

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

This can only lead to one or two different outcomes.

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

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

May your children

Bear your resemblance

In inner and outer beauty

And may they also have

Their Father's good fortune.

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

Lola vs. Moronic Morons

2009-04-19T16:06:00.009-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lola: 4 Morality: 0

Lola vs. Crazy Girl Paranoia Land

2009-04-07T14:40:00.009-04:00

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

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

This is the first conversation we ever had:

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

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

However here is what happened in crazy girl paranoia land:

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

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

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

Lola vs. Incessant Drunken Phone Call Guy

2009-04-04T17:46:00.008-04:00

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

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

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

My heart beat faster.

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

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

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

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

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

Lola vs. Avoiding a Relationship

2009-03-30T18:35:00.003-04:00

Lately I have been doing my very best to avoid a relationship at all costs. My friends tease me about it (well the girls mostly) but I have become more and more confident in the ability to circumvent dreaded words like "feelings" and "heart" and phrases like "do you think your mom would like me" and "what are you doing on the 29th as I have a wedding to go to".

Maybe it's because I am shallow and I have no soul. Or maybe it's because my last relationship not only cost me a lot of time and money but also several trips to the local police station. Either way the result is the same. Serious relationship< Something I scrape off of the bottom of my shoes.

Here are some simple rules that once implemented are sure to help you avoid a serious entanglement:

Never see the same person two weekends in a row.
Once you've made a date with someone on a weekend, make sure you relegate him/her to a weeknight next time.
Leave Saturdays for meeting new people.
Don't hook up with your friends. This only leads to feelings. Yuck.
If you are too drunk to drive and must sleep over, make sure you leave before breakfast the next morning.
Never, ever go to a wedding with someone you are dating.
This one should be blatantly obvious but just in case- No meeting families. EVER.

Unfortunately, I also have a great tip on how to get rid of a guy who is interested in you. Sport a big, ugly bruise on your arm and then make the disastrous mistake of telling one of your best guy friends that it was an STD test. That way when you are talking to a really hot guy at the bar, your friend will lie in wait until he hears the guy ask you how you got the bruise. Then, like the incredible homing pigeon that he is, he will swoop in and shout," That's her AIDS test."

Again, thanks Kane. That was really helpful.