No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

My guy friend started dating a new girl, we shall name her Jewels (you’ll understand later).  I was excited for him, but had yet to meet her.  They went on a double date in Fort Worth.  Instead of driving back to Dallas, they decided to crash at her friends’ house. 

Are you wondering how I come into play here?  Well, it seems Jewels left her jewelry (hence, the nick name) at said friend’s house.  They had already driven back to Dallas when she realized this.  My guy friend calls, knowing I will be in Fort Worth and then driving to Dallas the next day, and asks if I could swing by and get Jewels’ jewelry out of the mailbox.  “Sure” I say, “no problem!”  I’m always up for doing something that makes me look nice.

So, I go to dinner with a friend and decide I can swing by this mailbox and grab the goods.  It’s about 9pm making it dark outside, which frightens me.  I drive over there using the address I was given, and the house sneaks up on me so I have to stop my car, somewhat abruptly, so I don’t pass the house.  This leaves me sort of awkwardly parked in the middle of the street, unusually far away from the street-side mailbox.  But oh well, I won’t be here for long.

I throw my car in park, hop out of the car, scurry (um, I’m not walking since I am afraid of nighttime) around the front of my car and then sprint 15 feet to the mailbox, open it, and grab the surprisingly big plastic baggie out of it, can’t remember closing the mailbox, sprint back the 15 feet, around the car, and hop back in.  Whew.  Made it without anything scary happening to me! 

Put the car in drive and I’m on my way and feeling great about myself for doing such a nice thing for a person I’ve never met.  Wait, are those lights in my review mirror?  Are they flashing red and blue and is someone asking me to pullover on a loud speaker?  Long story long, yes it is.  I quickly review the previous five minutes in my head and realize it may have looked slightly suspect to have run as fast as I can back and forth to a mail box and stolen whatever was in it.  This can’t be good.

Cop walks around to my drivers’ side window, as they do, I roll down the window and here is our conversation:

Cop: License and registration, please

Me: Yes sir!  (I’ve already pulled it out before he could even get to my car.  I like to prepared)

Cop: Ma’am, what were you doing in that mailbox?

Me: I was picking up something up for a friend.

Cop: What were you picking up?

Me: Jewelry

Cop: Jewelry?!  What kind of jewelry, exactly?

Me (realizing this doesn’t sound good and that I also haven’t even looked inside the baggie and I could be a drug mule, for all I knew.  So, cheerfully and with fake-confidence, trying to be as darling as possible): “Well, hmmmm, let’s just take a look-see, shall we officer!” 

He doesn’t think I am darling.  He takes the bag from me and sees that, thank GOD, it is, in fact, jewelry.

Cop: Whose jewelry is this?

Me: A friends’ girlfriend (so sketchy)

Cop: What is her name?

Me: um….I don’t know (the sketchy continues)

Cop: Whose house is this?

Me: I…uh…I don’t know. (and the sketchy is complete)

I continue: “Look, I know this sounds peculiar, but I am honestly just trying to do something nice right now and help out a friend who has a new girlfriend that –“

Cop Interrupts: “I’m just gonna go check out this story with the people who live here.”

I hop out of the car to go with him.  As he goes to grab his gun, he forcefully says “Get back in your car, ma’am.  We’ve had some problems with mail theft around here and I need to speak with these people without you there”

So he leaves me there, alone in the nighttime (and remember how I feel about the nighttime.  I hate this guy).  I hear him talking to her, but cannot make out what they are saying.  He comes back over and:

Cop: “She has no idea what you are talking about.”

Me (this is where I lose it and start yelling): “I’m being framed, sir!  I swear, I’m an honest person who – “

Cop interrupts again (chuckling): “Oh. I’m just kidding with you, ma’am!  Your story checked out.  She said it’s true.  Lighten up, why don’t cha!”

Well look who found a himself a sense of humor.  I’m not laughing, officer.  I hate you.

No good deed goes unpunished.

The Girl in the Yellow Dress

Rewind to last night…I was at a bar in Austin that had a really cool back porch area.  They had a section to the side that was for hula-hooping.  How fun is that!  You know where I was hanging out!  I saw a guy a sort of know (let’s call him Hoop) hula hooping with a girl in a yellow dress.  She had been slightly over served and her dress was a tad bit short.  This is not a good combo in the hula hopping section.  Let’s just say I saw her underwear a few more times than I needed to.  She and Hoop were laughing and talking.  I thought they had just met and were really hitting it off!  Good for Hoop!

Back to present day.  I am at a tailgate party talking with my sister.  Hoop walks up with a friend, we will call him Jo.  We tell of our shenanigans the night before.  I proceed to give Hoop a nudge and say, “Well, well, you and the girl in the yellow dress last night.”

Hoop says, “What?”

I say, “You totally could have gotten laid last night!”  (I need to stop right there and tell you that I don’t think the phrase “get laid” has ever come out of my mouth before.  It’s not really my style and more of a thing best left for dudes to say.  I still don’t know why I hurled it out)

Hoop says, “Um.”

Feeling so confident and funny, I continue my hilarious banter and go on to say, “Ya, you know, the one in the yellow dress, the drunk girl who you were hula hooping with that kept flashing her underwear for the world to see?!”

(Pause)

(Pause)

(Pause)

I don’t understand how on earth he doesn’t remember who I am talking about.

Oh, he remembers.  

He says while pointing at Jo, “Well…this is pretty awkward because the girl you are talking about….um….that is his sister.”

I know my face turned a bright shade of red.  There is really no saving this.

Jo says curiously, “I kept thinking… I think my sister was the only one at the bar last night wearing a yellow dress?”

I bury my head in his chest and find myself completely speechless for….the first time EVER. 

I mean what do you say?  “I am sorry I called your sister is ho-bag”?  Ya, probably not.

Chullet

I am walking back to my desk at work and see a crowd around a colleague’s computer.  I elbow my way in to see what all the fuss is about.  They are all giggling and saying, “Look at his son!” 

I see the picture that is pulled up on his screen and say, “Omigosh!  You gave your kid a mullet!” 

The colleague looks up to me a little defeated and says, “No, Lolo, he lost his two front teeth!”

There is absolutely no saving myself now, so I say, “Oh, how cute!” I proceed to ask a thousand questions about his son in hopes he will forget my original statement.  No such luck.

To celebrate my awkward moment, I found this post on Now Thats Nifty with a series of chullet (child mullet) pics....here is a sneek peek.

Red Heads

Sticking my foot in my mouth is one of my favorite past times.  Not really, but it happens WAY too often.

I am at a wedding that is basically a 5-year reunion for all of my college friends...some I see often, some not so often.  Well, one of the "not so oftens" and I are talking.  (Disclaimer:  I am about three drinks in and have a pretty good buzz kicking).  My memory completely fails me.  All I can remember about her from college is that she has red hair and her, then, boyfriend has red hair.  What decide to come flying out of my mouth?  "How is your fire-crotch boyfriend?"  SERIOUSLY!  I felt like Lindsay Lohan on Mean Girls experiencing a horrible case of word vomit. 

Let me tell you...This is not some inside joke between us,. I have never mentioned anything to her about her or her boyfriend's fire crotch before.  My comment is 100% completely random.   She is not the least bit entertained.  "Um, he's fine" and walks off.  I don't blame her.  I crawled into my hole the rest of the night. Not really, I am so used to the regretful feeling after such encounters, I have learned how to quickly recover and be the first one on the dance floor.

Chalk that up to another person fallen victim to my word vomit.

Gas-O-LINE

I am heading to happy hour after work and realize I desperately needed gas.  I drive to the gas station closest to my office (it happens to be the most expensive in Dallas, but whatev, too much energy to drive down to the next one).  When my tank was full, I pull out the pump and the gas is still going, proceeding to spray ALL over me.  Typical. 

Oh well!  To happy hour I go…nothing like showing up to the Ritz Carlton for happy hour smelling like a gas tank.  As I am pulling up, I realize I need to let the valet know why my car smells of gasoline so he won’t think my car is broken.  The Ritz knows what they are doing as far as customer service goes.  Five pretty attractive guys lined up ready for valet action are waiting for me.  My door is promptly opened.  I step out in my cutest pumps.  I scrunch up my nose with an embarrassed look on my face and as a serious as a heart attack say, “It smells really bad of gas in there” while waving my hand in front of my nose.  It takes me a second to realize what I have said.  Their look of shock and not quickly jumping into the driver seat clue me in.  “Gas-O-LINE” I belt out and quickly scurry inside and order the stiffest martini on the menu!

Yes, yes, the adventures of Lolo!  They will be new for you, but we have been living with them our entire life.