Mommy Dearest

Most of us can agree that childhood sucks donkey balls. I'm glad I grew up in an era without social media, because when shit was bad at school, I could go home and still have a safe place to be. And while many adult women spend a good 80% of their adult lives complaining to therapists about how they're afraid of becoming their mother, I feel lucky that I had a mother who has always been there for me. I get that no familial relationship is ever perfect and, let's be honest, most of the time, the dysfunction is the most fantastic part. I love it within my own most of the time. It's hilarious. And my mom is one of the most hilarious parts of it, because while my siblings and I try to purposely be funnier than one another, she is unwittingly the funniest and most glorious of us all. My mom recently turned the big 6-0, so in her honor, I recount some of my favorite moments in parenting with these Lola-isms.

1. Valentine's Day. Forever.

Being the massive tomboy that I was growing up, it's probably not a big shocker that I spent more time trash talking and playing sports with the guys than going out with them. She always knew exactly what to do and say to make me not feel like the social fuckwit I truly was (and still am), though. Every Valentine's Day, without fail, I'd come home from school to an embarrassing display of balloons and chocolate in my bedroom. We'd high five, watch a John Hughs film and she'd bestow her words of wisdom.

"Anna," she'd say, "You have years to regret your poor life choices. And right now, you can regret them without getting herpes. Happy Valentine's Day." Happy Valentine's Day, indeed!

2. The Sex Talk

Speaking of herpes... it took years after this discussion with my mom to realize what a genius she is. While many parents will attempt to instill the wrath of an angry sex-hating God into an adolescent's brain (usually garnering the opposite response they were hoping for), my mom came at it from a logical stance.

"I'm not telling you you can't do it, but you just gotta be smart about it. You love Mozart, right? Made beautiful operas and piano pieces, until his life was cut short, yes? Well... syphilis. Do you want syphilis honey? Nobody wants syphilis. Here's a picture." There are few things that will scar the mind of a teen like graphic images of syphilis eating away at your junk drawer. But considering I was a virgin until I was nearly 21, I'm pretty sure we can call that a win for Team Lola.

3. Joke Fails

I must be a 12 year-old boy at heart, because "your mom" jokes and "that's what she said" still makes me giggle. Fuck anyone who says those jokes are below me, to that I say, "Your mom's below me." Now, for a long time, in all her sweetness, she didn't quite pick up on my immature innuendoes so when she asked me at Thanksgiving years back what my favorite part of the meal was and I said,"The reach around," she replied with, "Oh, was the food too far away?" But recently, she's begun to pick up on the jokes and is even incorporating them into her own conversations with us. Unfortunately, she is still missing a few essentials on the "how-to's." Examples.

Me: Ugh, those leftovers smell like dog farts.

Mom: Your mom smells like dog farts.

Me: You're my mom. Do you smell like dog farts?

Mom: No. I smell good. Dang it.

Me: Look at those cheese blocks! You could put fruit or a human baby on that.

Mom: I'll put your human baby on that.

Me: Well, you made an effort.

Keep with it, Mom, you'll get it.

3. That One Dinner With Nana

In the winter of 2007, I had just returned from Iraq and was home for holidays with all my siblings for the first time in 5 years. Even my Nana, in all of her super old, smarmy glory showed up. While Nana and my mom were preparing the dinner, I was sitting in the family room reading a book. That's when I overheard this conversation:

Mom: I turned down the street and there was this guy jerking off as if it were the last thing he'd ever do. And he wanted me to know it.

Nana: Oh I believe it. I was out one night in my 20s and this man came up to me and said, "I wanna eat you." Now, most women may not have known what that meant back then, but I did.

First of all, thanks for the glimpse in DC street life in the 30s and 60s (pretty sure nothing's changed much on that front) and second of all, Nana, why did you know what that dude meant? 

An hour later, dinner began and my older brother, Paul, and I started up in our usual conversations that many deem "unfit" for public consumption.

"That's not appropriate dinner conversation," my mom said. To which I replied:

"Said the woman who was just talking about some dude jacking it in the street." Her face was indignant.

"I did not say he was jacking it... I said he was jerking off." And then promptly went back to eating without saying another word. P0wned.

5. That Shitty Time in 8th Grade

In the past 29 years, my mom has done some pretty amazing things for me. One thing I've always remembered is when I was in junior high and all the girls I was friends with decided one day I was out of the group. You know, because bitches be crazy and shit. So what went from a comfortable 8th grade year with best friends, turned into getting attacked in hallways, lunches thrown at me in the cafeteria and someone trying to light my hair on fire in the locker room. (Pause for sympathy sounds). It got to a point where I didn't want to go to school, so my mom would come by during lunch and pick me up so we could eat somewhere else. At first glance, this sounds super lame. But it wasn't, it was good bonding time for us. I got a break from the twat monkeys and my mom would make attempts to lift my spirits.

Mom: They're probably just jealous. 

Me: That makes no sense.

Mom: I know... Well, how about this: statistically, at least one of those girls is gonna get pregnant before graduation and in 20 years most of them will probably be divorced and trying to fill their empty souls with a severe pill addiction.

Who knew that the suffering of others would put such a big smile on my face? She did. And for that, I salute her. Love you, Mom.

Shit's Gonna Get Weird or Your Money Back

Albert Camus once said, “Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.” While that may be the case for many, some of us, apparently, use all of our energy to do the opposite. We all have that friend: the one you keep checking at company functions to see if they’ve told a child molestation joke to the boss or who stare like a serial killer when they meet people. In my circle, I’m that friend. I like to think of them as my “idiosyncrasies,” though let’s be honest, it’s more of an amalgamation of my own personal social deficiencies.

I’ve realized I have a small window where I can feign normalcy and pass as sociable and interesting. Once that time has passed, though, it’s just a series of What the fuck? and face palming. At this point, I’m getting ready to turn 30, so I’ve been living with my awkward tendencies long enough that I’ve basically stopped trying to correct them and simply embrace the weird. 

Here’s when I get my most fabulously awkward:

1.     Not knowing my audience.

“What’s black and blue and doesn’t like to have sex? The 8 year-old in the trunk of my car,” said me to my old CCO when he asked to hear a joke. Any comedian can tell you knowing your audience is key. For me, I seem to take it as a personal challenge. Add the fact that my sense of humor is offensive, strange and borderline creepy and you’ve got a winner at the office party! A few years ago I walked up to a group of producers I worked with who also happened to be some of the most buttoned-up, conservative people in the department. I gifted them with this gem:

Me:      Knock, knock.

Them: Who’s th—

Me: CUUUUUUUUUUUUUNT!

Cue the uncomfortable silence and staring as I look around the group with a big smile, waiting to high five for my brilliance. Then they walked away. Nailed it!

2.     When I’m writing.

Every writer seems to have a method that works well for them. Drinking, people watching, crying, whatever. For me, I tend to talk to myself. A lot. From my perspective, I’m thinking scenes out in my head then saying them out loud to hear if they actually work. Sometimes midway through a scene. And I get into it. I’ll act that shit out like I’m Sutton Foster and Tony nominations are coming. From an outsiders perspective, though, it looks something like this:

Blankly stare out window. Furiously write something in notebook. Blankly stare again. Start laughing.

Me: -- because the spirit of God is speaking through his butt mouth.

Look back down and write again. Stare blankly at table.

Sorry guy-who-just-wanted-to-drink-his-Latte-next-to-me-in-silence. 

3.     When I have a crush

If I’m talking to my friends, I have no self-consciousness about the things that come out of my mouth, because they’ve put up with my shenanigans thus far, so no worries, right? When I develop feelings for someone, though, I am incapable of being cool until I feel totally comfortable. I suffer from a sort of mental incapacitation resulting in both bouts of silence and strange outbursts. And as we’ve learned from Robert Downey Jr, you never want to go full retard. My comprehension of the English language diminishes to mumblings, childish jokes and weird unsolicited comments on random objects. I was listening to someone I had a crush on tell a story and when there was a pause in the conversation, I pointed at his shoes and said, “Those are shiny.” Nailed it, again!

4.     Talking to acquaintances.

When it comes to meeting people, I’m a champ. They haven’t had months or years to realize how ridiculous I actually am yet. I can ask them questions about themselves and play the getting to know you game and everyone feels fuzzy. When I’m stuck around people I only kind of know, though, I’m a disaster. I’m that person who will hit the close button on the elevator to avoid any form of small talk. I’m terrible at it. The simplest questions, such as, “How was your weekend,” cause me to draw a blank, as if the entire time I wasn’t at work I didn’t exist in anything but a metaphysical state. I don’t want to over share with them, but I don’t want them to think I’m some recluse who does taxidermy for funsies, either. So I make shit up, because I honestly can’t even remember my own life when put on the spot. What’d you do? “I saved a bag of puppies from a dragon and then recorded my first rap album in a gym locker room. And because I know you're wondering, I named the Dragon Ralph. You?” End of conversation forever and ever.

5.     When someone is having a severe emotional crisis.

Let’s just say, there’s a reason I’m a writer. In person, I’m nowhere near as smooth and intelligent as I pretend to be through the magic of the written word. I can make a point, I don’t stutter or laugh at inappropriate moments; I'm a regular human being. That’s why via text, I can give thoughtful advice, because I'm able to think before I speak and neither of us are plagued by my strange facial expressions. In person, though, I’m the worst. I try so hard, but I’m an Irish Atheist with Jewish relatives who was raised Mormon, so our dealings with feelings and such tend to be pushed into tiny boxes that we can crush down until they burst out at a more appropriate time. Like a baptism. I spent so much of my youth putting on a shiny, plastic smile (because it’s what the church teaches you to do), that when someone exposes a very vulnerable side and starts crying, I tend to do a lot of staring and nodding. Though, this makes me appear to be the best listener on the planet, on the inside I'm just trying to figure out when the appropriate time to make a taco would be.

Stranger Danger

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As women in the professional world, unfortunately, there’s a lot of bullshit we have to deal with. This isn’t me trying to pull the “women have it tough ‘cause of all the menstruating and babies” card. This is a reality in many male-dominated fields, which advertising happens to be. We want to be a part of the group and many of us like making dirty jokes just as much as the guys do, so when someone crosses the line into creepy rape-town, it’s always a little bit difficult to navigate. Because while most of the time, the banter and interaction is innocent and just a bit off-color, there seems to always be that guy who ruins it. There’s at least one in every office, it would seem. Usually a married guy in his 30s to 40s in some sort of lower-level management position. Every woman wishes they’d die in a fire, but, alas, they can’t see it. Now, you could sit there submissively, acquiescing to their ridiculous behavior, or you could fuck up their game all together. Here are some creative ways of dealing with the beardy trunk monkey.

1.     Lurker in a Dark Corner

So you’re walking through the parking garage and he pops out of the trashcan like a horny Oscar the Grouch, backing you into a darkened corner. In truth, this is actually a really scary moment. No chick likes to be cornered by someone who wants to take them to non-consensual Bonetown. There are always the classic responses if you’re not into just cold cocking a guy. One can use pepper spray, a rape whistle, a dance off etc. But what if you don’t have any of those in your bag of tricks? I’m gonna throw something out there, just hear me out… Shit yourself. I know, I know, it sounds terrible and disgusting, but it's supposed to be. Think about it: he’s cornering some hot chick he’s trying to pressure into giving it up and she suddenly blows her pants up like a toddler eating split pea soup? Attraction gone. You’re welcome.

2.     The Desk Loiterer

Ever come back from lunch only to find someone else sitting at your desk reading your emails, playing with your papers and smelling your lotion? Or perhaps you’re plugging away and he plops his jewels right on your desk, moving them far too close to your keyboard. And since you’re tensing up, he says you could use a shoulder rub. Not only is all that uncomfortable as hell, that’s your space: why is he messing with it? Obviously, boundaries aren’t a big deal to him. So he’s inviting you to come and sit as his desk and play with his stuff, right? Of course! Does he have a gambling addiction or look at kiddy porn? Tab a few pages on his laptop, send a few questionable emails and it’ll sure look like he does. Perhaps this will get the local FBI’s attention faster than HR’s, but hey, at least he’s not trying to unclasp your bra anymore.

3.     Show and Tell

I had to deal with a coworker showing me his junk before and here’s what I did. It was at a holiday party and he got far too drunk/high to function before it even began. At about 6 pm, we were all smoking outside and he decided it was time for a little full-frontal nudity. Because when your drunk and high, it’s always a good time for full-frontal public nudity. At 6 pm. So, he stripped down to his skin and ran at me like coked up linebacker. Luckily, I saw him in the reflection of the window ahead of me and could react. The last thing I wanted was that penis anywhere near me. It looked like a hobbit hiding in the wooly Shire and I was the one ring. So I ran a few steps, turned around and threw an ice filled vodka soda on his troll. Not only did it shrink the little bugger back into submission, it destroyed his self-esteem to the point of leaving the party. If you don’t have an icy drink on hand, just punch him in the dick. Works pretty well, too.

4.     The Texter

Is he sending multiple inappropriate texts that you’re pretending you haven’t seen? “Hey cutie, I’m at a whiskey tasting, but I’d rather be tasting (insert random body part)…” Being nice to him isn’t gonna to help, it just seems to fuel his unwarranted self-esteem. Stop trying to be nice. Start acting like the thunder cunt your cousin always told you you were. Next time your little buddy sends you a text, you will send him masses of cock pictures. No explanation, just the biggest, blackest dicks you can find. Sign it, “Love Rex.” If anything, his wife will find them and think he’s having an affair with a linebacker. If you’re really lucky, though, she’s just crazy enough go for a little murder-suicide, then you don’t even have to make an HR complaint, 'cause it's taken care of itself. Hooray!

5.     The Stalker

Stalking is the highest form of flattery... obviously. But for some reason, when a random coworker knows my birthday, names of all my siblings, where I live, my credit score, etc, I’m a bit… put off. Want him to stop following you home from work and waiting for you outside your gym? Easy. Find a group of your guy friends (if you have Army buddies it works even better). Set up a fake interrogation room and have your buddies surprise the creeper after work before he gets in his car, put a bag over his head and take him there. It’s totally not kidnapping, you’re just borrowing him. They bring him to the “interrogation” room and proceed to grill him like a terrorist. They tell him you’re a covert operative and he needs to quit digging into your life, because if he doesn’t, the government will permanently silence him for the purposes of national security. Remind him that from now on, he will be watched. Scare him until he wets his Dockers and I guarantee he will never follow your cute little butt again. And as a bonus, you look like a total badass.