What Lola Wants

There's a little saying about law school: "First year they scare you to death, second year they work you to death, and third year they bore you to death." Well, it's only taken me a month, and I can tell you, it's absolutely true. Except with the added bonus of me being stressed out of my goddamn mind about finding a job. A HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN clerkship applications and the only response I've gotten is three "thanks, but no thanks" emails. Blah.

It's recently come to my attention that we have some new readers. To you newbies, I say "Welcome! Also, don't talk about Fight Club outside of Fight Club."

Finn is lying on the back of the couch, trying to will the remote into his hand. It's going badly.

After a day of drinking and narrowly avoiding being peed on (Nikki's words, not mine) we're walking back to V's car so we can eat and sober up for round two. A bald man bends down in front of us and flexes his "muscles." "What do you think about this?" He asks us. What does Lola think? I think he's a fucking idiot. I choose to express this by taking my wristlet of justice and thwapping him across the top of his bald head. Nikki giggles and I keep walking.

Round two, party at Bruiser's house a nap, clothing change, bowl of soup and piece of pizza later. I've coaxed some beer out of the reluctant tap and am wondering if I can get drunk again before it's time to leave. V makes a joke about me having a morally-relaxed attitude. "Haha, it's funny. Lola's a whore. You're charting some new territory there, Magellan." Looks are exchanged over the top of the keg. Ok, maybe I'm into making some bad decisions. I decide to go with it. An hour in the fitness center was not enough to make my id quiet down and shut up. I'm ushered from the party, having promised to call and engage in some more poor decision-making.

I sit in the car, realizing that I didn't get drunk. I grin. Excellent. At 2:30 a.m., I'm driving back to pick up Bruiser. Phone call. I pick up, expecting random drunk shenanigans. It was drunk, definitely, random, certainly but the calller is telling me some interesting information and all of a sudden, I'm in a towering fury. I white-knuckle my steering wheel, laugh and hang up. Luckily for the recipient of my anger, I'm picking up Bruiser and an hour delay to go beat someone's ass would have been difficult to explain. He jumps in, and apparently, my rage hasn't entirely subsided because I'm still gripping the steering wheel so hard I might actually yank it off and I'm driving fast enough for him to call me "Nascar." As I'm in the hallway fiddling with my keys in the lock and having my top unbuttoned I think, "I know a good way to work off some aggression."

I'll spare you all the details, but it was an even better idea than the fitness room. What Lola wants, Lola gets. I woke up with fewer bruises though. I think I'll wait until they fade to atempt a round 3. It's like the little blue bristles on your toothbrush. When they turn white, it's time to get a new one.

Id wants a pretzel and a slurpee at Target. I give in, even though I just did a blow-out grocery shop. It was every bit as good as I could have wanted. Id is pleased.

Finn has given up on the remote and is tying a tie over his pajamas.

I've been informed that I'm some sort of soul-sucking, lying, drama-manufacturing succubus. Shame. I guess you can't please everybody. I accidentally hit my bruised arm against the end table. Hm. Maybe I am some sort of succubus. I don't hear anyone complaining. Most often, I hear Nikki laughing on the other end of the phone.

Phone call: It's Nikki. She called to tell me that she's intoxicated. I'm waiting for V to pick me up for the downtown festivals. I'm about to tell her that I'm going to keep her hubby out of trouble for her while she's away, when she gets distracted and ends the call.

Downtown, I see my old roomate from the Hash Palace. The one with the demon cat. I pretend not to see him. I then get one of my all-time favorite voicemails:
"Lo, it's Nikki. Why you no pick up my call? Is it because you didn't want to tell me where you were going?" And then she giggles, tells me to be safe and hangs up.

Id wants beer and Mexican food. As I finish my taco, I realize that Id has some amazing ideas and vow to indulge it a little bit more.

Well, it's time for me to guilt myself into doing my work. So, I bid you adieu (except the ones I'll see tonight) and to my new readers: stay tuned.