Law and Disorder, Season 3, episode 1: Attack of the 2Ls

Nikki always says I need a reality show. And she already has the name picked out: Law and Disorder. Given my talent for getting into stupid situations and making poor decisions, I think that it might be as compelling as say, Shot at Love with Tila Tequila. And there would be no STDs.



Finn is out of town this weekend, which means that I had to come up with lots of trouble to get into so I could regale him when he gets back tonight. With our kitty! (I'm getting a black cat. I'm well aware of the comic value. I'm sure there's a joke there, but I'm too lazy to make it).



Last weekend of "freedom" before school starts, and last year begins. The theme of the weekend is that the 2Ls are insane and I might be turning into some sort of sociopath. Thursday was bar night, which was an amazing success, before some self-righteous 2L got his panties in a twist about the fact that I have not, in fact, put on a hair shirt and thrown myself on a funeral pyre in mourning for the artist-formerly-known-as-Priest. Um? Excuse me? He's not dead, he dumped me. Apparently, me dancing at a bar is a problem. I guess we're in the little town from Footloose now? Luckily, I didn't hear the original tirade, because I was in a towering fury as it was and might have planted my five-inch-heel up his tight little ass. As it was, I found myself revealing some vaguely sociopathic tendencies.



I was the D.D. and so, I only had 2 and a half drinks, and an asthma attack later that night. Fun! I blame the meddlesome 2L. Ironically, I also had a raging hangover. I felt the way I did after Nikki's wedding, and I barely had anything to drink. Unfair. Finn awoke to me holding onto the toilet for dear life at 7:30 in the morning. I then had to go to orientation for the new staff members, terrified that I would have to vom again and none of them would respect me after that. I did not vom. Win!



After Day 2 of orientation, we had a social event and the 2Ls struck again. Everything was lovely at the actual social event, and then a group of us went across the street to another bar. The 2Ls did not join us. This made us sad, that the 2Ls are all sedate and married and don't want to hang out with us. This changed when a group of them came in. Mostly, they were cool, and one of them decided to be interesting and drunk enough for all of them. He greets Dan, our SENIOR NOTES EDITOR, and thus, this kid's BOSS who's in charge of minor things, like, the paper the kid has to write for Law Review credit, by shouting "You crazy motherfucker!" Which I thought was bold for someone he had only known for a day. And then he decides to switch up his term of endearment to "you son of a bitch!" Luckily for him, Dan thinks this is mildly amusing, though stupid. But this kid didn't know that. What if Dan had no sense of humor?



I guess we're partially to blame for what happened next. Dan and I decide the kid should be messed with. Kid asks me to dance. And we all get up to dance, everything is fine. I give him some shit about the dangers of drinking and swearing at E-board members. Kid gets...decidedly friendly. I was on some sort of kinder, gentler Lola kick and decide that starting drama by full-on bitch-slapping a staff member would not be a good start to the year and Megan would be made at me. Besides, he was drinking. I decide to take the calm way around this. "Um, you're being very forward for a 2L." The hint is not taken. "Yes, I am. I go after what I want." I try again. "So, you know I'm not going to give you breaks on your assignments or anything right?" No joy. "That's not what I'm after. You're what I'm after." Or something to that effect. If not for the fact that this kid is now backing me against the bar rail, I would almost admire his nerve. He's just met me and...he has to report to me on his cite-checking assignment and he's trying to get his groove thing on. He breaks out some cheesy-line about......oh, who the fuck knows and I announce that I want my beer so I break away and he yells after me to promise to come back. Which is when I run into Dan, who informs me that when the Kid started to back into the wall, he almost came over to intervene before things got "out of hand." Chivalrous. Instead, he thought, "Nah. It's Lola, she can handle herself." And, apparently, he thought it might be kinda funny to see what I would do to the Kid. Thanks, pal. I give him the details of my conversation with the Kid, at which point, Dan starts laughing like a hyena. And, then, he and Aaron get randomly pissed about the way this Kid disrespected my authority and was such a skeeze and blatantly came on to an editor on his first day on staff. Though, it must be admitted that Dan occassionally laughed like a hyena. The word "inappropriate" was tossed about drunkenly, which, in hindsight is kinda funny.

I shook the Kid and left the bar (I took a cab, thanks Elisa for the tip-off! Even though there was no way I could have driven, cops or no cops) and did the second vaguely sociopathic thing I'd done in as many days. Except for this vaguely sociopathic thing was nearly as bad as the first and again, not my idea. It's not that what I've been doing is necessarily so bad, it's just the absolute lack of remorse I have about any of the moral implications of my actions that's a little weird. I also have stopped caring about consequences. I'm not exactly sure what's behind it, because I do normally have a limit, but I think that my general apathy about my personal life could go a long way towards explaining it.

The moral of the story: be careful what you wish for, because 2Ls might just show up to give it to you.

Say Hello to Your Friends

People are piling back into the pit. School starts on Monday. Which means this week is a strange combination of frantically trying to get ready for the semester while drinking on weeeknights in a desperate attempt to pretend we still have a summer and social lives.

Nikki's first day back to work (after a booze-fueled reunion on the patio and at Casa Lola) was yesterday. We spent the day gossiping, occassionally working and enjoying the amazingness that Kati introduced us to: Whatclaudiawore. An amazing journey through the fashion of The Babysitters Club through snarkiness. This prompted us to begin singing the Babysitters Club theme song (say hello to your friends Babysitters Club! Say hello to the people who care...) We also reminisced about Sweet Valley High. Which apparently is being turned into a musical. Also, how many times did we need to hear about their "perfect size six" figures? As if teenage girls don't have enough image problems. And as if women in their twenties didn't either, they are re-releasing the books, with the twins' size reduced to a four. Because six is way fat. Also, Elizabeth is blogging? WTF Francine Pascal? Are you stealing my life? God! Because that thing where the psycho-girl who looked exactly like me moved into town and tried to kill me or my twin to replace me and then her identical twin shows up for round 2 a year later totes happened. Only she clearly succeeded because as we all know, there is currently only one Lola... What happened to the two psycho look-alikes? Never you mind....

Damn I wish I had more summer vacation so I could reread the whole Elizabeth-commits-manslaughter-except-she-didn't-cause-she's-perfect-and-has-a-perfect-size-six-figure-don't-forget storyline. But I have to get back to the grind, which means a mock interview. Mock interviews have all of the stress of trying to come up with good questions and get dressed without ripping a hole in your stockings without any of the possible payoff. Even when I make a good-faith effort to prepare for my fake interview I am thwarted. Most recently by MartindaleHubbell, which now needs maintenance.

Dear MartindaleHubbell, You promised to be done with your website maintenance at 10:00 EST. It is now 11:30 and you're not done yet. Fail. Get up and running so I can can properly stalk my mock interviewer and get back to important shit. Like whatclaudiawore and Wii Fit.
Love,
Lola

Wedding Smashers or How Lola Got Her Groove Back

So, once upon the last time I posted, I was waxing nostalgic about my former drunken/slutty/fabulous glory and lamenting about how those days had passed. While giving me a pep talk, my roomate, Steve, the wily Finn (hereinafter sometimes referred to as "Finn") made a surprisingly Lola-esque speech. I responded by saying "you know, when I was alive, I would have made a similar speech." Eek (by the way, I got a roomate. I have company, someone to cook for and it solves the problem I have turning on my air conditioning).

So, Nikki got married (and it was all beautiful and too perfect for even me to make fun of, so I'll just stick to the things that I can make fun of). I arrived late to rehearsal, after making an emergency stop-off at a bridal salon near my hometown on an emergency errand, changing in their changing room, shaving my legs in the parking lot and getting stuck in traffic trying to avoid rush-hour traffic. I was rewarded by getting the Stink-eye from the wedding gestapo.

The kindly looking church ladies who run the weddings at this church are possibly escaped war criminals. But slightly less organized. No booze in the wedding. Ok. No booze before the wedding. No smell of booze before the wedding. Go easy on the mouthwash, because you will smell like a drunken whore and God will turn his back on you.

My partner and I got confused by the fact that the "Blue" line looked green to him and we tried to walk to a different blue line for the start of our walk down the aisle. This earned us a sharply hissed "the blue line. stop. STOP!" and a lifetime of shame. We dispersed, vowing to be perfect the next day.

And I almost was. Despite the fact that there was traffic on the 75 at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, I got to the salon on time for mimosas (suck it, wedding gestapo). And that's when I realized that I'd left one tiny thing at my mom's house: my dress. *facepalm**mimosa sloshes.* Luckily, Holly had stayed the night and was willing to drive it to me. In appreciation for her hardcore bestfriendness, she will receive, as a token of my appreciation, this handsome shout-out.

And then, things progressed. With the exception of the flower girl falling off the pew in the middle of the ceremony, things went off without a hitch and we even pleased the wedding gestapo. Until, of course, we started to run over our time in the church taking pictures. God only has a half an hour for you after you receive the sacrament of marriage. But, Nik pulled it off and looked FAB-U-LOUS in her shades while I crawled under her dress in front of the sanctuary to bustle her skirt.

I'm not sure, but I think the trouble started for me when I got into the limo, demanded Nikki's brother pour me a shot of Jager and screamed at the groomsmen "Who wants to man up and take a shot with me?" The rest of my evening really follows along those lines. Under strict orders not to arrive at the reception drunk, we still managed to polish off two bottles of champagne, 36 beers, and most of a fifth each of Jack and Jager (you have no power now, wedding gestapo!) But, importantly, we did not break a promise. I made it all the way through dinner without getting drunk. And then, I danced with my girls, which bought me another hour or so of relative sobriety. Kind of.

Lola was drunk and happy and has nothing to lose. This combination, paired with hot guys and easy access to hotel rooms, is a recipe for trouble. And by trouble, I mean awesomeness. I noticed a cutie, and then engaged in stealthy surveillance. At least, I think I was stealthy. But no matter, stealth went out the window when I sidled up to the bar and asked the cutie "Are you, or are you not here with a date?" by way of an opening.

For reference, the possible presence of a date was a matter of dispute at some point during the evening. (For reference, see me confronting an usher and saying "Here alone? Then what's that?" The question was resolved in much in my favor as I needed, and so, I said something either suggestive or challenging and walked away (Dude, drunk Lola had a plan).

For reference, there is no good place to make out at reception halls. I apologize to all my friends who may have been frightened while walking to their cars. On the upside, I went outside to smoke/work my magic and completely missed the bouqet toss. Score!

I will skip some of the more incriminating details, but I will say this: Fitness rooms open with your room key, even after hours. And they're damn convenient. I rated it highly on my guest satisfaction survey (yes, I'm serious). And, they brought up one of the all-time great questions:
"I wonder if there are cameras in this room? I wonder if we could get the tape?"

Drunk Lola knows how to take care of a girl and she always chooses/executes well.

Of course, I was up at three hours later clutching the toilet for dear life. And I spent the entire next day trying my best to die. I failed. I think. Another special shout-out goes to my roomates who bought me tums, packed me up, and didn't laugh too hard when I had to wear my sunglasses inside. And drive back home with a barf bag on my lap.

Totally worth it.