Dessert Surprise

 

(WARNING: FAIRLY RANDOM SUNDAY MUSING...)

I love dessert. It's probably my favourite part of any 3 or more course meal. Doesn't even matter what it is, it just needs to be called dessert. So imagine how confused I feel when you're offered a meal at a friends and you (shamelessly) stuff your face full, and when you're so full that only an industrial style tractor can move you off your seat, they then announce that dessert is ready.... I mean, come on! You coulda warned me before hand. Im left so conflicted. On the one hand, I'm so full I can barely (...actually scratch that, I can't) move and on the other hand I absolutely LOVE dessert so in the end I just give up and give in. I carry on eating till I feel  so sick and unbelievablly round (...at this point, I'm scared shitless of needles or any sharp objects, one prick and I'm guaranteed to burst! Pardon the pun)  and the end of it all, I'm pretty certain of one thing - I love dessert but I hate dessert surprises.... (Apologies for the randomness of this post)

Lola vs Evil Shop Lady

Right; since arriving in London, I’ve been searching for the job of my dreams (I’m thinking something in consulting – this job title is generic enough to mean doing anything in any job sector). The job hunt has been easier said that done so in the meanwhile, I have had to take up a few temporary jobs to maintain the “Keep Lola Alive/Bread and Baked Beans/Alcohol” fund at healthy levels. A pat on the back for me actually as this has been one of my fairly good ideas. It leaves me with a constant “cushion” in my bank account… not enough to keep me in endless supplies of D&G, Prada and Louboutins (Boy, do I wish it did) but enough so I don’t have to have to end up with a strict diet of stale bread and tap water.

It was during one of these temporary jobs that I ended up working in a shoe store in Central London.  I did a pretty decent job so they kept having me back whenever they were short staffed and I didn’t mind this job except for the store supervisor who seemed to have it in for me. Thankfully, the store manager (who outranked her) made all the hiring decisions else I imagine she’d have kicked me out long ago. I guess my indifference must have also frustrated her – for me, it was a temp job something to do for a paycheck and for her, this was her career (nothing wrong with either points of views in my opinion). Anyway, I arrived 5 minutes late that morning (not my fault, the bus had to take a diversion) and she spent the next 10 minutes barraging me insults of which I was thinking “Er… hello? I was 5 minutes late!” Plus it wasn’t my fault and how in the world, did it make sense to have a go at me for 10 minutes for being 5 minutes late? In what world of business did this make sense? This put me in a foul mood all morning and I barely mumbled hello to Tanya who was one of the nicest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. One of those positive people whose sunny disposition infects even the most cynical of characters. On our tea break, I stepped out with Tanya to grab some fresh air and a can of coke (Diet coke, of course… Okay, I lie. Full Fat coke) which only made my mood worse as I spilled some coke on myself (plus side:- I was wearing a black top so no stains, downside:- that sticky feeling dried coke leaves). Great! I had to go wash it up and carried around a wet patch for the better part of the morning.

As the day dragged on, I managed to (unhealthily) repress my frustrations and get on with work till I noticed a lady causing some commotion while being served by Tanya. (Actually, I take that back. She was no lady!) Next thing I know, Tanya bursts out crying and I rush over to console Tanya and while the supervisor escorted Tanya to the staff room, I was left to deal with the customer. Just great! *sigh*

In less than two minutes of being with this customer, I could see why Tanya had been crying and I refused to show any emotion, “I’m gonna take the high road” I told myself… that is till she turned around to me and  said “Why are you so incompetent? I asked for those shoes in brown!” (lying cow. She didn’t!) and she topped it off with a sly “Oh, sod it, just go back on the boat you came in on and comeback when you’ve learnt to speak English properly”… (Of which, I’m sure you can attest, that my English language skills are decent enough). She proceeded to walk away from me at which point I stuck my foot out and tripped her. And boy did she go flying! I don’t think I have ever laughed so hard in all my life (in my head of course. Not out loud). I had quickly gone from being ‘extremely angry’ to ‘overwhelming exhilarated’ and then I took a little detour to ‘fear. (What if she wanted to fight? I quickly sized up the distance to the exits to see how quickly I could run away. No luck with that, I’m such a slow runner – one again, note to self – EXERCISE MORE). I was still thinking “What the hell did I just do” when some weird instinct took root in me and I hurried to help her up and insisted that she must have tripped on the shoes when she walked off – she was too stunned to say anything and before she could, I walked away to the staff room to get my things and get the hell outta there. I was gonna be fired anyway, might as well make a run for it before they did more than fired me.

On my way out, I bumped into the supervisor who called me into her office. I was petrified, I could find another temporary job of course but I did not want to go to jail for tripping a customer (funny how irrational your thinking gets when fuelled by adrenaline with a hint of fear). Almost like I was being remote control, I robot-marched into the office and I figured I would try my best to lie my way out it till I notice that there were video cameras in the office which would have been an ample view of what I had just done. I waited to be reprimanded but instead, I got handed my timesheets to sign and with a knowing smile and a what I thought was a wink (or could have been a nerve twitch, I’m still not sure till this day), she said “ Are you off home? That’s fine, it’s near the end of the day anyway. Have a great evening and see you tomorrow”. I’d never gotten so much as a kind word or a hello from her so her saying that to me was the equivalent of a stranger walking up to you and saying “I love you! I wanna have your babies!!!” – unnerving, awkward and yet somehow flattering. I know at that point that she’d seen it all and must have thought the customer deserved it. (Sneaky cow, who knew she had it in her, eh?)

On my way out, I walked past the (by this point, now aptly re-named) ‘Evil Shop Lady’ paying for her shoes. She seemed strangely subdued and yet still shocked, like she was still unsure what had just happened and as I walked past, she looked at me and I gave her what (in my mind anyway) was a “knowing look”… (knowing me, it was possibly more like a “deranged look” than anything else) and I walked out of the store.

Me - 1, Evil Shop Lady – 0! All’s right with the world again.

Ode to a crazy night

Just had a flashback to one of my first Saturday mornings in London with 4 hung-over friends. We’d been out the night before and had very little recollection of what had happened that night. I mean, I remember getting ready to meet two of our other friends in town, I remember making margaritas, not from scratch of course. From one of those “ready-mix-just-add-tequila” stuff. I also remember quickly running out of margaritas and switching to the whisky (yuck!), vodka (yay!) and gin. Needless to say, in less than an hour, we were already pretty giggly and by the time we’d met up with our friends in Shoreditch, we were absolutely shit-faced. From this point on every thing was a blur. Anyway, the next morning, each of us woke up with battle scars and our faces stretched so hard frm constantly laughing. I mean my breasts were so sore, Friend 1 had a very sore nose, Friend 2 has lost her bra, Friend 3 had a sore bum and back and Friend 5 had lost his phone (Oh the horror!). We soon put the pieces together -

- My sore breasts: turns out I had insisted on doing star-jumps throughout the night to show people how good I was at them (or something of the sort) and all the vigorous jumping without a sports bra has obviously led to my “battle scars”...

- Sore nose: this was the result of a very childish school prank (which always seem hilarious when you’re drunk regardless of how lame they actually are). In said game, you pretended to pick something from your friend’s pocket and show it to them, then when they’re not expecting it and still trying to look at what you’ve got in your hands, you smack them right in the face. (Hilarious for everyone but the person who gets smacked.)

- Lost bra: Easy! This was traded off for a hat.(Make whatever character assumption you will of my friend here but it was a very dapper hat! She reasoned she had lots of bras anyway but no dapper hats.

Sore bum and back: Well, that’s what you get for insisting of giving people piggyback rides and then tripping and falling over while carrying said person. Another hilarious moment for all but the people involved…. Actually, scratch that, photo evidence suggests this was a hilarious moment for all! Why do things seem so much funnier when you’re drunk?

Lost phone: No brainer really! That is if you’re not trying to think with a hangover. After phone calls to the club and the taxi company and general state of panic/worry/alert for just over an hour, Friend 2 had the brilliant idea of trying to call the phone and turns out, it was just wedged in the sofa. *I hang my head in shame*

And then, we called the other two friends (hoping to hear they sounded as bad as we did, and to our delight, they did!) In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have made that call because a torrent of painful and embarrassing flashback came flooding right back! Namely;

- Me attempting to pole dance on a lamppost

- Me pinching random guy’s and girl’s bum while waiting to get served at the bar and then throwing dirty looks at some strangers (or at my friends) and pretending they did it. I could have gotten in so much trouble for this but it was sooooooo worth it!

- Me asking people to grope my breasts and feel how pert they were (holy goodness, why?!!! And why did no one stop me?!!!) Actually, this might explain the sore breasts…

- Friend 2 trying to “surf the crowd” and landing flat on her ass (which might also explain the sore nose)…

- Several mock sexual positions while on the toilet queue (No judgement here people… I’m sure I’ve seen worse from people on the dance floor.)

- A certain friend walking right into a glass door – Priceless!!!

I’d list more but I’ve just very suddenly had to step away from my laptop. A distraction in the form of JLS has just appeared on my TV and I’m afraid I can no longer continue… Mmmm.... *licks lips* Is it wrong to watch a boy-band just because they’re cute? I can’t even hear what they’re singing about (love, cars, girls or cheese for all I care). I’m distracted by them and I’m just going to surrender myself to the hotness… Catch you later

Pros/Cons List of having rubbish job and being single in tiny Welsh village (...and living with parents)

Pros :- Lots of spare cash and not a lot to spend the spare cash on. The biggest store we had was a “buy-wise” store and I would not be caught dead in that. Not because I am a snob – au contraire, I’m always up for a bargain and I actually bought two mini shorts from them once upon a time. The first one ripped while I was walking on the beach with Thom. Like properly ass-hanging-out ripped! Thom couldn’t speak for laughing. This should have been my first sign that he wasn’t good for me, twat! Though I’m pretty sure I’d have done exactly the same thing too. I had to walk awkwardly all the way home and change quickly into a pair of jeans. A few days later, I put on the second pair and they lasted all of 30 minutes and ripped as I got onto the bus. What fresh hell was this?! I made my excuses and got off the bus and since then, anytime I see a pair of summer shorts for £2, I steer very clear. Pardon my waffle here but I needed to explain why I refuse to shop in Buy-wise, the pride of my village (more like Buy-stupid!).

As a result of my lack of spending, I had a bit of money saved to potentially help me with my move to London and I called my friend to see what she thought of my plans and by the time I got off the phone an hour later, my mind was made up! I would be moving to London! The only thing I would miss here (asides my family of course) was watching Thom’s bum (oh we had some good times together – the bum and I) but all things considered, I was more than ready to move on. Maybe I will write to the bum… I’ll see if I can convince the bum to leave its owner and move to London with me. Yes, that would be nice! We’d paint the town red, the bum and I…

Oh, I almost forgot – the “Cons”:- actually, you must have figured this out already – rubbish job, girls named “Chelle” and evil mini shorts whose one purpose in life is to embarrass the hell outta ya!

There you go! My pre-London story. Till next time. Take care.

Why the "big move"? - Pt 2

Right! Back to Thom... When I got back, things were seemed okay between Thom and I for a few months till I got invited to a “girls night” out in town. I usually steer clear of all that as it almost always ends up in a huge fight or someone crying about her boyfriend/life/other random crap. This is not stereotyping all girls nights, far from actually; this is just the case with this group of girls in particular. I was working ridiculous hours at work and was generally feeling kinda bored with my social life so I figured, “Hey, why not?”. The night went off to a good start… until “she” walked in! “She” aka “Chelle” aka “The Village Bicycle” was some obnoxious little twat (pardon my French) whose sense of self esteem seemed to be heavily reliant on the number of men she slept with (I imagine 5 a day was required for reasonable amounts of self esteem each day. Any less and she could not function – okay, I am being cruel here but I really can’t stand her). In the past, I used to love hearing her tell sex stories, they were outrageous – especially the one where she forgot the anal beads in her asshole after sex (… How????!!!!Why????!!!). She really went down in my estimations though the year before she tried to pawn off her new baby on 5 different guys (one of which was a distant cousin of mine) claiming they were the father of her child (not all at once, mind! One after the other). Worst thing is, I think she only stopped at 5 because the 5^th guy agreed that it was his (silly sod). Till date, no one is really sure who the baby’s father is.  Anyway, I digress… so Chelle comes in and in typical fashion starts talking about the guys she’s been with and what they like to do in bed and in the midst of my shock and horror (and secret delight at all these outrageous stories), she described a certain penis which sounded vaguely familiar. I pressed for more info and by the time she mentioned the odd egg-shaped mole on said person’s pert bum – I knew she was talking about Thom. My heart skipped a beat. Could it really be? Stupid cow knew I was in a relationship with Thom too! Manipulative bitch!

I pretend-laughed, all the while fuming inside and then I made my excuses and went straight to Thom’s house to confront him. I don’t know if out of respect for me or because he didn’t care of he hurt my feelings (I choose to go with the former) but he didn’t deny it. Apparently they’d shagged quite a few times when I was away at Uni but now that I was back, he was all mine and would never do it again. He asked me to forgive him and I suppose I could have possibly-maybe-potentially thought about doing so till I realised since this revelation, the only emotion I had been feeling was a strange sense of exhilaration. I finally had an excuse to break-up with him. And it was then it hit me, this relationship had fizzled out ages ago (perhaps even after the first night, who knows). It was all I could do to stop from giggling out loud when I told him it was over Awkward! My face was so contorted I’m sure I looked like a banshee who needed to use the toilet desperately.

I was so relieved. Finally! And then for a brief instant, I remember that he had cheated on me while we were together and with none other than Chelle The Village Bicycle and for a brief instant I was furious again but this was quickly washed over by the happiness I had from being free!

A few months after that little incident with Thom, I had another epiphany – why was I working for a little above minimum wage in a job that was leading nowhere??? I am a bit impulsive but I really trust my instincts and I walked right into work the next day and quit. So you see with no job and no man, I figured, it’s time to go out and experience something new. I had a degree in Ethnomusicology and I was going to conquer the world one step at a time. I would move to New York and be the next Lady Gaga. Actually scratch that, you need talent for that… and also, London is closer than New York so maybe I’d start with London first. I’d just be like one of those successful women who had it all – fantastic careers, lovely apartment, cute pets (I’m thinking a French bulldog or a pug) and an even cuter boyfriend/lover. And just like that, I decided to move to London!

Till next time…

Why the "big move"? - Pt 1

Right! So where was I?  Oh yeah, I was describing myself… Actually, I think I’ve pretty much covered it. There are other aspects of my life I guess I could try to describe but I’m sure you’ll get to know more that as time goes on.

Next question then? Why the “big move” to London???

Okay, after University I decided to move back home with my parents. In fairness to me, I was living rent-free and I already had a part-time summer job here so making the transition to full time member of staff was pretty easy. All of these reasons pale in comparison to the one big reason – Thom! For those of you who don’t know Thom, he’s got the big brown eyes, 6”1 height, perma-tanned from being outdoors a lot and kinda good looking in a “knocked-around-the-rugby-field-a-bit-too-much” way (okay, that’s not the best description ever but you get the general idea).  And his bum! Oh that bum was one of the first things I noticed about him, actually scratch that – it was THE first thing I noticed about him.

We met through mutual friends at a party so after a brilliant night at the party (and a sore neck from not-so-subtly craning to catch an ample view of his bum each time he stood up or walked past), we decided to meet up again. Retrospectively, not one of my smartest ideas as it turns out I may have been wearing my “beer goggles” that night. What is in alcohol that makes people seem more attractive the more drunk you get? It’s probably the same thing that made me think I was just like (or even better than) Beyonce the night before. Anyway, we became an item though in retrospect this was probably more out of convenience than any real chemistry. The sex wasn’t too bad either. At least, I thought so at the time. He was the first guy I’d slept with so I didn’t have much else to compare with. I’d love to say there were fireworks and I passed out from the most intense and fantastic orgasm ever but that would be the biggest lie I’ve ever told.

Okay, gotta stop here. After years of “being good’ and resisting Eastenders, I’ve finally been sucked in again. I’m blaming this on the explosive gay story line (the two actors here are hot!), the weird marriage thingymajig about to happen, the train crash (oh wait, that’s Coronation street) and the “power slap” that I this very second just witnessed this lady give her husband. It just overwhelmed me and I need to know more. Will be back with more of an update soon!

Muchos gracias

Meet Lola

Fuck!!! When did I become this person? Unemployed, single, addicted to doughnuts from Morrisons and currently bearing a huge bruise on my bum from falling over while drunk last night. I’m blaming Beyonce on this one with that darned “Single ladies” song – I was doing my best to imitate the music video (which seemed like a great idea at the time) and before I knew it, I’d tripped on my heels, legs flailing in the air and landed with a thud which sounded like a mini-earthquake (apologies, if you felt the tremor). It was the probably the high-kick that finished me off. (Note to self, exercise more …or at least try to stretch more). Actually, thinking back now, I’m probably lucky that all I left with was a bruised bum. Anyway, I don’t know if it’s the sore bum or the doughnut-induced guilt but this is not quite how I pictured my “London dream”; in fact, so far my London dream has been exactly that – a dream. Its decided then – I must re-strategise and re-group the troups (or something of that nature)... well… I will... once I’ve gotten rid of this blasted hangover.

Okay, let me introduce myself I guess, my name is Lola. I was born to a Nigerian father and a Welsh mother so I grew up in Nigeria and UK and as a result, I’ve got one of those vague accents that people find tricky to decipher it’s origins. So far the guesses I’ve gotten from people range from American to Scottish, Irish, sometimes Welsh, “Generic African”, Australian and even Spanish! Anyway, I digress. Back to my point, I recently finished Uni – I say recent but I actually finished  in 2009. Oh my gosh, I just realised this is like 2 years ago! Where did all that time go?!!!! (FYI at this current moment, I smell breakfast cooking – my dear friend/confidante/part-time landlady/party animal is making the best cure for a hangover – a proper heart-attack-inducing Full English breakfast! Gotta lover her.) Anyway, back to describing myself, as a result of having white and black parents I am light brown skinned, tall for a girl (what does that even mean?), big curly hair (which I love!!!) and a huge African bum (which I am learning to love).

Must stop now. Breakfast is here! Whoopee!!! Will continue with the introductions later on… after a few episodes of Will and Grace, of course…. I love hangover telly. Catch ya in a bit.