Image hosted by

Sunday, April 17, 2005

Blog Babes Gone Bonkers

Wow! Friday was out of control! I met Katey and Aimee, two of my blogging buddies at a no-tell-motel, where Aimee was "working". The lobby was filled with people but I just knew they were them. I walked up to two of the loudest, drunkest, hottest, half nekkedest chicks, I've ever seen. Thankfully, I wasn't overdressed or under intoxicated. As I approached, Kate the Corporate Peon climbed atop a table, let out a robust "Woohoo!" as she whipped her shirt around above her head like a helicopter and began dancing. Aimee was slipping a dollar into Katey's leather thong yelling, "Me next!". I knew it was going to be a night to remember.

"Hello ladies," I said in my shy voice.
"Who the fuck are you?" Aimee asked.
"I'm Lois fucking Lane!"
"Woohoo!" shouted Katey.

The information you have just read is 100% bullshit. It's some bizarro figment of my imagination. Perhaps I am posting while intoxicated or perhaps I was trying to grab your attention.

Mr. Lane had a mental breakdown as I was preparing to leave. Not only was he getting ditched for the first time in years with his own children, I also left my nephew with him.

"Lois, I don't know what little kids need and do and stuff. You're gonna have to write down some stuff about him so I know what to do."
"Dino-Mike didn't come with a set of instructions. No kid does. Besides, he is a piece of cake. Treat him like you would our kids. Feed him when he tells you he is hungry and get him something to drink when he is thirsty. He goes to bed at 8, just like our kids. It's really that simple. If he talks in a crazy 'redrum' voice, call him E.T. You'll be great."

The kids had a million questions. It was almost like dealing with my parents the first time I went out with one of my friends who recently began driving. Only it was worse.

Lane 1: "You know Mom, meeting people from the internet can be very dangerous."
Lane 2: "Mom, you don't have a cell phone. What are you going to do if something happens?"
Lane 1: "How well do you know these chicks?"
Lane 2: "What time will you be home?"
Me: "Yes! Don't worry. Well enough. None of your frikkin' business. I love you guys. Good night."

I'd never met anyone off of the internet before Friday. So one might say, Aimee and Katey popped my e-cherry. And I liked it! A lot!

Life is like a box of chocolates: Driving there, I didn't know what I was going to get, think, see or feel. I thought about the possibility of being at a loss for words, which is as sucky as being loaded down with writer's block. I thought about the fact that they have already met each other and chose to meet again. What if I was the third wheel of their e-friendship, like unwanted spam? Only I didn't have the ability to make their penises larger. What if we didn't meld right, like a religious blessing not passed on to ten of your closest friends? Causing bad luck for the next seven years. What if there weren't any good vibes, like the (((hugs))) were completely deleted? Being replaced with (((middle finger))). What if they thought I was a tard, like that person who has yet to learn how to actually attach stuff? Sending blank e-mail messages to your inbox all of the time. What if they "LOL"ed at me? Causing me to feel :(

I gave myself a big honkin' worry zit right by my temple. I picked it and popped it, and then picked it some more. By the time they set their eyes on me, I had an out of control zit that was bigger than a U.F.O. I could tell they liked me right away because they didn't point and laugh like those fuckers at the gas station. Aimee actually told me it was sweet that I'd worried enough to grow a honkin' zit.

Friends from jump street: When I walked into the hotel lobby, Katey and Aimee were sitting by the fireplace. Aimee isn't used to the crisp 65 degree weather that Katey and I run around Illinois half nekkid in. Aimee explained the historic relevance behind the expression, "Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey", which was how she described her visit to the Midwest during January. Aimee also was knitting a sweater. I know that doesn't sound as exciting as the opening of this story but I have to say, I am thrilled they aren't real freeeaks.

After the initial hello and hugs, we set sail to a pub. Aimee asked the airhead at the counter, "Where's the pub."
She cocked her head to the left, raised her eyebrows and in a very valley girl way said, "Huh?" She then looked at Aimee, Katey and myself. She turned to the other gal working the counter of the hotel, shrugged her shoulders and said, "Pub?"

You could tell from first glance that counter girl number two knew all about the area pubs. She pointed us in the right direction and we were off like three prom dresses.

In Aimee's rental car, where Katey said, "Lois, you get to ride shotgun." I felt happy. I liked riding shotgun. Until I saw the sign. "WARNING! YOU COULD BE KILLED!" It said some other stuff but my attention was stuck on those few words. I wondered if Katey had ulterior motive for "giving" me shotgun. Thankfully I didn't get killed!

At the pub, the house was packed. A nice boy with a fine little ass, greeted us and handed Aimee a vibrating, light up, beeper thingy that would alert us when our table was ready. He said our wait would be about 30 minutes. We didn't mind waiting because we had lots to talk about and things to learn about each other. We walked to the bar but there wasn't a seat to be had. So we stood and stalked this table, invaded the space of a young couple, making them feel uncomfortable enough to give us their spot. Or maybe their beeper thingy went off, I can't be sure.

Katey bought us a round and we sat shooting the shit. The beeper went off and nice ass boy said, "Follow me."
"With that tight little ass of yours, I'd follow you anywhere." Maybe I didn't really say that, then again, maybe I did.

We sat at a table near an attack lamp. I swear that fucker jumped out and grabbed my hand at least twice. Or, maybe, I was flailing my arms around like an over talkative Italian on crank as I spoke, causing my hand to crash into it a couple of times. I can't be sure.

Cow eyeballs and animal dissection in general, are not typical dinner conversation, but somehow, for us, it worked. Everything seemed to work. These are two people I would have over for coffee or a barbeque. You know, real live people. The kind who say "Fuck" and don't follow up with an "Excuse my language." or a "Pardon my French."

It's amazing what five hours out of the house away from children can do for a person like me. I really had a great time, and even though it wasn't nearly a long enough visit, memories were made.

I won't ever go into a pressroom again without thinking about Katey's love for the smell of ink. When I see my kids playing with the darkroom door, I'll imagine Katey with them. The next clown to creep me out won't be nearly as scary, because Katey will be there freaked out with me. If ever I go to an art museum again, I know I will giggle at things that aren't supposed to be funny and again, I will think about Katey.

The next time I think of my first school dance, I'll think of Aimee being the same height as that boy I danced the first dance with because her eyes also are boob level to me. Plus we danced a tiny smidge outside of the pub. I will also look more closely at the next guy playing Santa, and if he has a nice package, wants to stuff my stocking or slide down my chimney, I will also think of Aimee. If ever someone provides me with historic information on anything I've never thought of before, Aimee's cute face will pop into my head.

We talked about the men in our lives and children, often synonymous. We talked about breast feeding and boobs that go cross-eyed when one nipple is out of place. We talked about most of you other bloggers and how we "found" each of you. And laughed about everything.

I liked how both of them made eye contact when we talked. I liked that there were no awkward moments of silence. I especially liked that their hugs were genuine, their smiles were sincere and their laughs were both contagious.

There is a little photographic evidence of our visit and will be posted at a later date on one of their blogs.

Ladies, it was a fucking pleasure meeting you!