Thursday, February 25, 2010

Lola vs. The Battle of the Frog-Century

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!

Thursday, February 11, 2010

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

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.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Lola vs. Best Friends and an Asexual Meat Kitchen

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!