Glutton

I am sitting in a meeting.  Actually, I am running the meeting.  One of the women there is talking about how stressful her project is and how much she has on her plate.  (I am not trying to be mean, but I have to inform you of this so the story makes sense.  This woman is pretty large).  I am looking at her as she is talking; feeling bad about how much responsibility she has taken on and say, “You are such a glutton” and continue on with my meeting.  While I am talking, I can’t shake the feeling that an awkward silence has fallen over the room.  I have become way too familiar with this feeling.  It hits me what I said.  I meant to say, “Glutton for punishment.” Oh dear!  I can’t go back and fix this one without calling attention to her weight.  I finish the meeting and thank her for her hard work.  Yet, another victim that will never be the same because of my impulsive mouth!

Boogers Make Me Feel Embarrassed

I’m at work and in charge of implementing a new software program (this makes me sound smart.  Don’t worry, I’m not.) for the company and teaching everyone to use it properly.  I set up a lunch meeting with one of the senior people I work with – we’ll call him Boogie - along with 2 IT guys. 

I arrive first.  Let me paint the picture of this meeting place.  We are in Boogies office, which he keeps VERY tidy.  There isn’t one thing on his desk except his computer off to the side.  I sit directly across the desk from him – me on one side, he on the other, and a clean, clear desk between us.  So, we make awkward, at-work, small talk while we wait for the IT guys arrive. 

It isn’t long after I begin small-talking that I notice he has a booger in his nose.  I know that this happens – and everyone gets them, blah blah blah.  But, this was no ordinary booger.  This thing takes up his entire right nostril.  And as he breaths, it vibrates in and out of his nose.  So, I talk, and words are coming out of my mouth, but all I can think about is the monster coming out of his nose.  And, I know he knows that something isn’t right because he keeps batting at his nose and sniffing and stuff.  I make my side of this conversation stop because I am so scared to keep talking for fear the word “Booger” will come flying out of my mouth like that gas commercial.

He starts talking, while still continuing to touch his nose.  Well, one touch too many sends this booger shooting straight out of his nose and onto the pretty, clean, clear desk.  It is laying there between us as if it is interested in joining our conversation as well.  We stop talking, look at it, look at each other and then look down at it again.  My face starts to feel very hot.  Boogie then starts talking again, tries to act smooth (too late), picks it up and flicks it into the trash can as if this was not at all embarrassing and he was totally comfortable with the whole thing.  So, he attempts to keep talking while looking at my face, which was a bright shade of fuchsia.  He finally just stops, swallows his pride, looks down in shame and says,

“Lolo…Why didn’t you tell me I had a booger?”

I burst into the loudest laugh you’ve ever heard since I need the emotional release in a major way. I laugh until tears are rolling down my face.  I laugh too hard and for too long.  I’m not sure what he is doing because I am too busy swimming in my own relief.  With that, the other 2 IT guys walk into our meeting and I force myself to gain composure.

We all start eating our food, mine being a peanut butter and jelly sandwich which I am shoving into my mouth to stuff down my embarrassment and laughter.  It’s time for me to start teaching software implementation to them – which feels so unsuitable at this point, but anything to change the subject is good.  So I put down my half-eaten sandwich and begin to teach.  But I feel like I have peanut butter all over my face.  I start talking, but feel paranoid about the food on my face.  Conversation:

Me (while wiping my face with my hand):  Whoa, sorry guys - I feel like I have peanut butter all over my face?!  Do I?

Boogie: No Lolo, you don’t.  And don’t worry, if you had something on your face…I would tell you (he says with a knowing grin and a wink).

April (I'm a) Fool's Day

It is April Fool’s Day and our office is playing a joke on the guy in charge. We turn off all the lights and hide in a conference room when he arrives to confuse the hell out of him; make him think it is a Saturday or something. It is my job to keep watch for him in the front lobby.  I am supposed to hide under my desk and IM someone in the back when he gets to the office to warn them it is time to hide. When he walks through the lobby, I straight-panic and can’t move fast enough (like in a nightmare or something).  Here is what my IM says:

"gwe
her here
1\
!!!!!!\"

Clearly, I work really well under pressure. Luckily, the girl I send it to knows me well enough to know that I am the only real fool on April 1^st.  She reads between the lines in time to warn everyone to hide. Glad one of us could pull it off.

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.

Dingle What?

I walk into the kitchen at work.  A colleague is already there making coffee.  We have one of those Keurig single serve coffee makers.

He says, “You won’t believe what I just did!”

I say, “What?”

“I made a cup of coffee and forgot to put the cup underneath it.  Coffee spilled everywhere.”

I laugh.

He follows it up with, “I am such a dingle berry.”

“Excuse me.”

He repeats, “A dingle berry.”

Yep!  Thought I heard him right the first time, but asked again to clarify.  Not only did he use the term dingle berry, but he used it referring to himself!  I am almost 100% positive that he meant to say, “dingbat.”  The look on his face when he said it the second time made me realize he knew something was not quite right with what he had said, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.  It was too uncomfortable to correct him, so we both finished making our coffee without another word.  I hope he didn't go google it from his work computer! 

Tom Cruise

Here we go again…blind date numero dos. 

My mom tells me she wants to set me up with a Tom Cruise look-alike she met over the weekend.  I say, “Ok.  Sounds promising (this is before Tom’s Katie Holmes, jump on Oprah’s couch debacle)!” 

I am 19, still in college, and he is 25.  The maturity difference is definitely a concern of mine, but willing to give-it-a-go. 

He picks me up.  My first thought, “I think my mom must have Tom Cruise mistaken with someone else.  There is absolutely ZERO resemblance. (For the sake of this story, we will still refer to him as Tom).”  Ok, so he does not look like Tom Cruise, but he is pretty good looking.  Things are looking up. 

He takes me to a local Mexican food spot.  Once we sit down, I quickly realize Tom is WAY smarter than me.  Every other word out of his mouth is beyond my vocabulary.  He obviously studied his SAT words and I did not.  As he talks about things that are flying over my head, I smile and nod, practicing my active listening skills I learned in my Communication Skills 101 class earlier that day.  I decide to put on my positive thinking hat, “This date is not a total disaster.  There is still hope.”  Famous last words.

After dinner, he suggests we go to this “club.”  This particular club happens to be the cheesiest one in town.  Again, I put on my positive thinking hat, “Well, since I am still in college, he probably thinks this is where I want to go.  Nice of him to consider my age.”  This club has themed rooms:  80s room, techno cage room, hip hop room, and last, but not least, karaoke room…can you guess where this is heading?  Don’t get me wrong, I love karaoke.  Let me rephrase, I love watching karaoke.  Always a good time watching people (not necessarily my date) make fools of themselves! 

He grabs us a couple of drinks and we settle into a table in the “karaoke room.”  All the sudden over the speaker, “Tom, you are next on stage, Tom.”  OMG!  OMG!  No, no, this is not happening.  Please let there be another Tom… 

My (I use this term loosely) Tom stands up and makes his way to the stage.  The intro to Frank Sinatra’s “Luck Be a Lady” tonight starts playing.  Every bone in my body aches with embarrassment for him and for me.  As he is pointing at me every time he sings the word “Lady” (which is a LOT), the two older women next to me lean over and say, “Oh!  How cute! Is that your boyfriend?”  I quickly reply, “Um…No!  First date….Blind date!” Put yourself in this situation, what are you supposed to say when he gets back to the table?  I manage to muster up, “Good job.” 

You think the story ends there, don’t you?  If only!  We jump in the car to leave and I think I am headed home.  Wrong!  I realize this marathon of a date is not over.  He wants to go to What-a-Burger.  We had finished a very large Mexican meal not two hours earlier, but I oblige.  After we roll out of the parking lot with our cheeseburgers, I think I am headed home.  Wrong again!  We pull over to a golf course.  He sets up a picnic for us in the dark on the fairway of the 1^st hole.

I’m sorry!  What exactly does he think is going to happen here?  I am VERY anti-PDA and we are a stone’s throw (or I guess a burger’s throw in this situation) from my parents house.  I force my burger down quickly thinking it will make this picnic end sooner.  After my final bite, he leans over for a kiss.  My reaction…turn my head and offer my cheek!  The ultimate rejection.  He took the hint and quickly packed up our romantic, fast food picnic and took me home.  Thankfully, I did not have to deal with the afterbirth of this date.  I think he read my signal LOUD AND CLEAR. No follow up calls, texts, or email to ignore.

Men in Black

I am at work.  I am walking down the hallway and pass by two men I work with.  They are both wearing black shoes, black pants, black belts, and a black shirt.  Since I can’t stand silence, I decide to comment on this similarity, “Well, look, it’s the two black guys” while pointing both fingers at them.  Like the valet at the Ritz, I am getting blank stares back.  It finally clicks what I have said.  Are you ready for it?  These two men happen to be the only two black people that work at my company.  Let the backstroke begin!  “Oh, I meant, um, your outfits.  You both have all black on, see.”  Thankfully, one of them jokingly says, “Whatever Lolo, you were talking about our race” and laughs.  I proceed to nervously laugh too loud and too long at his joke and quickly walk away.

Coming Out

I am the maid of honor in my best friend since childhood’s wedding.  I walk in to a couple’s shower for her and realize it is mostly her college friends that I don’t know very well.  No big whoop, I am great in these situations.  I can talk to a wall if I need to.  I have a met a few of them at other wedding events, so make my way over to some familiar faces.    I start talking to a guy I have met maybe twice.  The convo goes like this, no joke…

Me:  “Hi, How are you?”

Guy:  “Fine. How are you?”

Me: “Fine.What is new with you?”

Guy:  “Well… I am a homo.”

Me:  (Thinking this is some sort of a weird joke I say with a slightly sarcastic tone):  “Really?”

Guy:  “Ya, really.”

Me:  “Oh! (long pause) When did this happen?”

Guy:  “Today, actually!”

Me:  “Who have you told?”

Guy:  “Hmm…actually, you are the first person I have told.”

PANIC SETS IN!  I try to remain calm.  For some reason this guy has decided that he wants to come out of the closet to ME standing in the middle of a party.  I guess I have made him feel comfortable, so I try to continue to “be cool.”  I had the thought - what a strange and offensive word to use to tell me this news.  Homo?  But if he’s gay and he’s using it, I guess I should be cool with it too! 

Me:  “Good for you!  Congratulations!  Is that such a relief?”

My attempt at “being cool” fails miserably.  The look on my face must have said it all when he asks, “What did you think I said?”

Me:  “You are …. (scared to say the word out loud) a homo?”

Guy:  “Um, no!  I am a home-OWNER.  I bought a house today.” 

I start laughing so hard that it causes a scene, and I proceed to tell the entire party about the conversation.  Poor guy bought a house and my terrible hearing completely stole his thunder!

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.

Smokey Robinson

I have had more blind dates than the average bear.  Unlucky for me, but lucky for you, they provide some fantastic material!

Deep breath, roll of the eyes, one foot in front of the other, and another familiar pep-talk to convince myself this is a good idea.  And...here we go again. 

I walk down the stairs and out the door and don’t see him anywhere.  So I walk around the corner of my apartment and see a black Tahoe (potentially cute, right?  Does he have a yellow lab and a love of fishing too? I digress) running in the middle of the street with dark tinted windows.  I can only assume it is him as he’s given me no clue what he looks like or what kind of car he drives.  How dare I assume that he could actually push the driver’s side car door open to alert me that he is my date for the night.  I guess I should have clued into his dating etiquette when I received his text that said “I’m here” when I was upstairs awaiting his arrival.  Silly me, but what else is new. 

I timidly walk around to the other side of the car and open the door hoping this is, in fact, my date and not some serial rapist who just got his night made when a chick willingly walked up to his car, opened the door, and hopped in.  But, I wasn’t so lucky.  Instead, I opened the door to a huge heap of cigarette smoke bursting out of the car at me (side note: I hate smoking.  I hate everything about it. I hate that it causes nasty breath, yellow teeth and smelly clothes.  I hate that I am innocently freezed out when my addicted friends have to roll down the car window as to not suffocate me with it.  I hate that it interrupts a lovely dinner so a smoke break can be taken.  Oh, and it kills you.  Hate.  It.)  As the smoke clears away I can faintly make out his face.  He says “Hey Lolo”, so I at least know that this is the right car…the first and only success of the evening.

He asks the dreaded question “where do you want to go eat?”.  Seriously?  Okay.  Fine.  Now I know what we are dealing with.  I take the reins from the man and suggest the nearest restaurant with no wait, fast service and valet parking.  I direct him how to get there.  When we reach the street it is on, he realizes that “Oh my gosh!  This is just near the project I have been working on at work!”.   So I’m guessing you are in real estate of some kind?  or?  No idea.  Don’t really care enough to ask or have to listen to the answer.  Before I know it, we are on a 20 minute long wild goose chase looking for this effing project.  Since he knows zero about me, then he wouldn’t know that I am extremely and easily car sick.  20 minutes into my nausea, he realizes we “must be on the wrong end of the street or something?”   So, we finally head back to the restaurant.

We settle into our table and I realize that I have been with him about 30 minutes now and this is the first time he has actually looked at me.  I see his face.  He’s not totally ugly.  He then proceeds to talk about himself for the first hour of the date, no exaggeration.  I stared at his head so long that it kept getting smaller and smaller (kinda like in the movie Beetle Juice). 

After two hours of listening to him, the check FINALLY arrives.  Yay!! I get to go home and there is still time to catch the last 30 minutes of the Bachelor!  He drives me home.  He pulls up to my apartment and looks at me too long and too quietly.  Um, we’re not kissing.  I mean, come on?  Do you have ANY social awareness?  Oh wait, you don’t.  I reach for the door handle, lie and say “Thanks, it’s been fun” and he says “Can we do this again sometime?”  WHAT!  Hell no.  But I say ”Ya, sure.  That’d be great”...because what are my options, really.  I know what you're thinking, I could tell him the truth, but that would take too long.  Then I open my own car door and walk myself up to my own apartment.  I turn around to give the final wave goodbye, but he is long gone.  Don’t worry Smokey - I won’t let the door hit me in the ass on the way in.

Last point is what I like to call the inevitable afterbirth of a date.  Since I am oh-so-irresistible :), he of course, called me.  It also may have had something to do with the fact that I sat and let him talk about himself for 2 hours.  So, of course he wants to go out again.  I should’ve answered the call and told him he doesn’t need a date, he needs $150 for a psychiatrist.  Seriously, I could tell you the name of his pet growing up (Barney), his major (advertising) and his favorite color (green) and I bet he couldn’t tell you my last name (or first for that matter).   I don’t know or care enough really, so I avoided all calls, texts and voice mails for long enough until he finally faded back into the smoke. 

Farewell, Smokey Robinson.  I’m anti-cancer.

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.