And just like I have a sexually confused shark mascot named Herbert who sits on my dashboard, I have a name for my drunk self too. My alias, or just the really riotous/hysterical/sometimes mean/sometimes a little cry-y person who comes out of me when I'm drinking: Lola.
While I drink a lot during the week, it's actually not that often that I get shit house fall on your elbow slap a cabbie climbing tree drunk. But when I do, Lola always takes care of me. She always knows the right time to leave the bar: just the perfect slot where no one will really miss you and you can sneak out after you've called a cab, and everyone knows you're kinda drunk but not drunk enough to worry about you or call and bother you later, and no one will ask you dumb questions the next day like, "whoa, your face was really stuck to that peanut container! Are you okay?"
And one time I had this really creepy cab driver who kept asking me some borderline intrusive questions like bra size and sexual fantasies (don't remember this) and while Brynnan would have not thought twice about the dirty situation that could have been upon her, Lola told the cabbie to stop two blocks away from my house at an apartment complex, wandered around the building waiting for him to leave, and when he pulled away, took Brynnan's shoes off and ran like hell to the house.
That's friendship.
She usually makes fairly good decisions and always sets the alarm early. She always has a glass of water waiting by the bed and she always says what Brynnan has been keeping in for the past few weeks in angst. (Some of you might know Lola from Facebook or our last argument.)
And while The Kink's "Lola" is really a man, and my gay shark comment from above might have thrown you off, I am not a dude. And this is not Lola writing this post, albeit it is 1:47 in the A.M.
Goodnight,
Herbert's Uncle Brynnan, Lola.
