Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Lola vs. Break-Up Paint

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-
Green. And finally, to accent the room, we used a deep He-May-Have-Been-The-One-

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?

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Lola vs. Holy Matritution

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.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Lola vs. Lame Disease

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.


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.


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.


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.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Lola vs. Spongebob and Spillage

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!