Age 4
While at the beach one summer afternoon...
"Okay Danielle, time for lunch. Come over here and let me clean the sand off your hands."
Mother cleans hands off and places PB&J sandwich in my lap. I stare and stare down at it.
"What's wrong? Why aren't you eating your sandwich?"
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because I have sand on my feet."
Age 5
"Mom, I can't go to Sunday School anymore."
"You can't? Why?"
"Because my Sunday School shoes hurt."
Age 9
"Mom, when I grow up, can I be Jewish?"
Age 10
Me and my mom are on line in a clothing store after dance class. A slightly older girl and her mom behind us.
Girl says to me, "What are you wearing?"
"My leotard and tights."
"Take them off."
"No." (Aren't you all proud?! I didn't take them off like I always do when told to!)
Age 12
After a long day of school, a dance recital, and a sundae at Friendly's we go home and my mom has to change me into my jammies I'm so tired. Out of my training bra comes some tissues.
"Oh Danielle. Why is there tissue in your shirt?"
"Because the boys at school punch me in the boobs and I needed the extra cushion."
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
2 People in a Twin vs. Queen
The winner of this match might seem quite obvious, wouldn't you say? I will prove otherwise.
So, there is this boy that I know in San Francisco. And now I really know him wink wink. When I first moved here, I was overwhelmed by the cost of living. Especially in the posh neighborhood I live in. Boy also lives in the same neighborhood. By himself. And his only source of income is being a door guy 3x's a week. He's cute and charming and funny and nice. But that's not why I became so interested in him. I suddenly became not just interested, but OBSESSED with how he could live this lifestyle! Trust fund kid? Gambler? Drug Dealer? I did research. I asked his friends for some hints, if there was a big secret about him I didn't know. I asked him questions without it seeming obvious or nosey (believe it or not, I pulled this off quite well for me). This then forced us to have conversations over drinks over drinks over drinks to "I lost my keys can I stay with you?" so I could finally see if he was living in squalor or grandmas basement. But surprisingly enough he lives in a cute studio that SORTA has a bedroom. By SORTA has a bedroom I mean he has a closet that he can stuff a twin size bed into and still close the doors.
My experience of sleeping quarters:
I have a queen-sized bed. I like to sprawl out and have pillows under my head, against my back and in between my legs (a pillow being 2nd choice of course). When someone else is in a queen-sized bed with me, I rarely find myself asking him or her to move over. Megan and Jill are the two I can remember quickly off the top of my head without delaying the posting of this latest blog. I have slept with this San Fran boy in my bed before and because there is so much room, he can allow himself to sleep on his back which then enables him to snore which keeps me awake because I have to constantly ask him to flip on his side. So not much sleep is taking place for me because he keeps rolling back over every hour. When I've slept in his cubbyhole, here is what I find: You must stay on your sides...doesn't matter who is spooning who (I actually prefer back to back) and this stops him from snoring. Because it's harder to flip-flop-move-around, you stay in place for most of the night so you actually aren't waking up as much! I always take the wall side. And I learned this the hard way. It involved drunken sex in the dark with a glass next to the bad that smashed when landed on. Oops!
The findings:
Boy offers up why he prefers a twin “It forces cuddling!” I actually don’t mind sleeping in a twin, as long as it’s with someone. That happens to be of the opposite sex. And after I’ve had a few drinks. And I get some. And then I get the wall side.
ps. in case you were wondering, I did some more questioning and rationalizing and got to the bottom of my investigation. He lives in a rent control building. He is a California resident, so the time he took me to the zoo it only cost 12 bucks. He has no car or debt or cable. He drinks for free where he works. And he only eats fruit and corndogs. God Dammit Dani!
So, there is this boy that I know in San Francisco. And now I really know him wink wink. When I first moved here, I was overwhelmed by the cost of living. Especially in the posh neighborhood I live in. Boy also lives in the same neighborhood. By himself. And his only source of income is being a door guy 3x's a week. He's cute and charming and funny and nice. But that's not why I became so interested in him. I suddenly became not just interested, but OBSESSED with how he could live this lifestyle! Trust fund kid? Gambler? Drug Dealer? I did research. I asked his friends for some hints, if there was a big secret about him I didn't know. I asked him questions without it seeming obvious or nosey (believe it or not, I pulled this off quite well for me). This then forced us to have conversations over drinks over drinks over drinks to "I lost my keys can I stay with you?" so I could finally see if he was living in squalor or grandmas basement. But surprisingly enough he lives in a cute studio that SORTA has a bedroom. By SORTA has a bedroom I mean he has a closet that he can stuff a twin size bed into and still close the doors.
My experience of sleeping quarters:
I have a queen-sized bed. I like to sprawl out and have pillows under my head, against my back and in between my legs (a pillow being 2nd choice of course). When someone else is in a queen-sized bed with me, I rarely find myself asking him or her to move over. Megan and Jill are the two I can remember quickly off the top of my head without delaying the posting of this latest blog. I have slept with this San Fran boy in my bed before and because there is so much room, he can allow himself to sleep on his back which then enables him to snore which keeps me awake because I have to constantly ask him to flip on his side. So not much sleep is taking place for me because he keeps rolling back over every hour. When I've slept in his cubbyhole, here is what I find: You must stay on your sides...doesn't matter who is spooning who (I actually prefer back to back) and this stops him from snoring. Because it's harder to flip-flop-move-around, you stay in place for most of the night so you actually aren't waking up as much! I always take the wall side. And I learned this the hard way. It involved drunken sex in the dark with a glass next to the bad that smashed when landed on. Oops!
The findings:
Boy offers up why he prefers a twin “It forces cuddling!” I actually don’t mind sleeping in a twin, as long as it’s with someone. That happens to be of the opposite sex. And after I’ve had a few drinks. And I get some. And then I get the wall side.
ps. in case you were wondering, I did some more questioning and rationalizing and got to the bottom of my investigation. He lives in a rent control building. He is a California resident, so the time he took me to the zoo it only cost 12 bucks. He has no car or debt or cable. He drinks for free where he works. And he only eats fruit and corndogs. God Dammit Dani!
Friday, November 7, 2008
If you like to laugh at my stories, don't read this one.
I've never been proposed to. And I probably never will. I type this with a smile on my face, not a tear in my eye so don't go feeling all bad for me. But I have been told I'm loved in creative (and not so creative) ways. One of my ex's called me up and told me he had gotten me a ticket to the Flaming Lips Boombox experiment 1 hour before showtime. He came and got me (slight buzz on) and we ran down to Central Square. As we were descending the stairs to the club with dozens of others, he turned and pulled me in close and said "Dani, I fucking love you." I almost burst into tears...and then saw one of the coolest shows ever. Another memorable "I love you" was during a snowstorm. We were outside frolicking around in the snow. Boyfriend calls me over and points to the ground where he had written "I LOVE YOU" in the snow. Eventually the snow melted as did the relationship.
Now to my point. If you are going to propose to someone, here is some advice. It doesn't matter where you do it, how you do it, and what strip mall gumball machine you got the ring from. Here is the key: have an amazing plan for after she says yes, or a pint of bourbon for when she says no. A concert and reserved table/booth equipped with champagne and fun friends is my best idea yet. And for the losers who get turned down, Knob Creek is bourbon of choice.
Go get 'em tiger!
Now to my point. If you are going to propose to someone, here is some advice. It doesn't matter where you do it, how you do it, and what strip mall gumball machine you got the ring from. Here is the key: have an amazing plan for after she says yes, or a pint of bourbon for when she says no. A concert and reserved table/booth equipped with champagne and fun friends is my best idea yet. And for the losers who get turned down, Knob Creek is bourbon of choice.
Go get 'em tiger!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Remember when...
...I told you I knew somebody who was born with only one kidney? Well his buddy at work was born without sideburns!
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Our Favorite Mad Libs
A Speeding Ticket
(To be performed by two sharp people in this room.)
OFFICER: Sir, do you realize how fast you were drinking?
DRIVER: No, how fast was I puking?
OFFICER: You were going fifty tequila worms an hour in a 25 homeless man zone.
DRIVER: I'm sorry. I'm nervous. I'm taking my skank to the hospital. She's about to have a prude.
OFFICER: You also went through a red pedophile and failed to stop at a breast sign. May I see your driver's paddy waggon?
DRIVER: Yes. Oh, my! I left it in my other pair of triptiks. You see, my wife started to have labor faggots, and I wanted to get her to the crack pipe as gushingly as possible.
OFFICER: Your wife? I don't blow your wife.
DRIVER: She's right there in the back 18 wheeler. (Turns.) Oh, my! Would you believe I forgot my pony, too!
A Card From Camp
Dear Folks,
Camp is great! I like all the kittens in my tent. I have become as close as two asses in a pod with Danielle Files, who has a funny personality and is never without a peach cobbler. She tells really slutty stories which make all of us grind out loud. I have to stop writing now. I know I promised a long turnip green, but this morning I washed my shirts and Shauna's thongs and put them out to dry on the clothes San Diego, and it looks like it's getting ready to rain cats and bloody tampons. I better get off my buttcrack and get my dead babies off the Camaro line before I run out of seeping underwear. I promise to write a letter full of sunglasses before my sphincter hits the pillow tonight...or tomorrow...or maybe I'll write Tuesday.
Your loving dildo,
Shauna Fritsch
(To be performed by two sharp people in this room.)
OFFICER: Sir, do you realize how fast you were drinking?
DRIVER: No, how fast was I puking?
OFFICER: You were going fifty tequila worms an hour in a 25 homeless man zone.
DRIVER: I'm sorry. I'm nervous. I'm taking my skank to the hospital. She's about to have a prude.
OFFICER: You also went through a red pedophile and failed to stop at a breast sign. May I see your driver's paddy waggon?
DRIVER: Yes. Oh, my! I left it in my other pair of triptiks. You see, my wife started to have labor faggots, and I wanted to get her to the crack pipe as gushingly as possible.
OFFICER: Your wife? I don't blow your wife.
DRIVER: She's right there in the back 18 wheeler. (Turns.) Oh, my! Would you believe I forgot my pony, too!
A Card From Camp
Dear Folks,
Camp is great! I like all the kittens in my tent. I have become as close as two asses in a pod with Danielle Files, who has a funny personality and is never without a peach cobbler. She tells really slutty stories which make all of us grind out loud. I have to stop writing now. I know I promised a long turnip green, but this morning I washed my shirts and Shauna's thongs and put them out to dry on the clothes San Diego, and it looks like it's getting ready to rain cats and bloody tampons. I better get off my buttcrack and get my dead babies off the Camaro line before I run out of seeping underwear. I promise to write a letter full of sunglasses before my sphincter hits the pillow tonight...or tomorrow...or maybe I'll write Tuesday.
Your loving dildo,
Shauna Fritsch
Friday, September 26, 2008
Boston to San Francisco
The initial plan I had in mind was to write each day about each day of the trip. As you can see, 3 weeks later and that has not happened. And by GOLLY do some of you pester me about it. So here it is. Real short and choppy.
*
*
*
My Opener
I like Mr. Duffy and chunky style peanut butter. Jesse likes candy and gymnastics. Max likes fireworks and firearms. Shauna likes, well, no longer any of us. It couldn't have anything to do with Jesse punching her at various times and at any given moment, or how I kept hinting that this whole trip was for the sole purpose of murdering her and placing her dead bloody body off the side of the road somewhere in Arkansas. Or because we decided to change her name and call her Shayna instead (and sometimes Cheyenne). That I blame on Jameson. The murder plot, however, I blame on her. She inspired me with her novel of choice for the road, “Body Dump”.
Transportation Related
Me and Jesse named our beautiful friendly Toyota Sienna Shevan. Before heading out we all made a wager on what car we would NOT see on the road:
Max – Yellow Ferrari
Shauna – Stretch Hummer
Jesse – 442
Dani – Cement Mixer
I think Jesse may have won this bet.
Music Related
I brought along 350 or so CD’s. Jesse requested Violent Femmes. I told her to go to hell, I wasn't about to sift through 5 books to find it. By the end of the day we decide to play close your eyes and pick a disc at random cuz it was more fun and our music tastes didn't overlap too much (Max–rap, Jesse-ska, Shauna-DMB, Me-everything cool). And whaddya know, I pick Violent Femmes. How fun!
The whoooooole trip, all me and Jesse wanted to hear was Nirvana's In Utero. And I own it. But with all 8 grubby little paws sifting through my books, we couldn't for the lives of us find it. Our very last gasoline fill up Jesse runs into the Mobile Mart to get *shocker* more candy, and there is one lonely CD for sale. Take a guess what it was…
Everything we put on, Shauna thinks is Fleetwood Mac.
We are driving in our beloved Shevan listening to Kings of Leon. But I decide to separate myself from the jerk-offs and listen to my headphones. And I put Kings of Leon on. What a bitch!!
Shit that happened
Dude with one tooth sold us beer and called us a cab. Jason was the taxi driver.
Max got a slice of pizza in Virginia at 'Luigi's' which was next to 'Shenanigans' where we drank all night. It was the worst slice pizza of his life. He was still complaining about it 3 days after the fact.
Misreading the sign of the motel I think we are staying at ‘Hot Fudge Inn’.
By end of trip, you can imagine how your nerves must be with 4 people living in a van. I was in a bitchy mood and sitting behind Jesse. I told her if she didn't move her seat forward I would punch her in the face. She turned around and saw the look in my eyes and thought “oh my god she really is going to punch me in the face” and moved her seat forward like I requested. I feel bad now.
Quotes
He thinks he’s a doctor. Not sure why, but whenever one of us had a medical question or concern his response was very serious “Any doctor will tell you…” - Max
While driving down Route 66 in the pitch dark and talking about our beautiful friend Alice, “What do you mean, she kinda looks black? She could be in the van right now and nobody would know!” - Jesse
We are talking about sex partners and how many we have had, “Yeah, my number is up there. I went through a phase you could say. I went to this football game one time...” - Shauna
We are on a alternate route in…Tennessee? And we see a ‘pony’ on the side of the road. The ‘pony’ was really a donkey. We are snapping photos of the 'pony' when this randy goat comes up. His lipstick starts popping out. And I’m talking a 6 inch shiny lipstick. Every time I try to snap a photo of it, it swiftly slides back in. I get annoyed with this horngoat and yell “GET YOUR DICK OUT, GOAT!!!” (For the inquiring mind, the goat eventually got off. Then licked himself clean. Oh, and we named the goat Rod.)
After beautiful guts are displayed on the windshield, "You never realize how fast 85 mph is until you hit a butterfly." – Dani
We find Nashville’s version of Chris Fahy. He comes up to me and puts his arm around me at last call. "Did you just touch me? You remind me of my dad. Wanna make out?" This leaves him completely speechless and completely leaves me.
"Hey Shauna, right before a girl gets murdered they get raped. Just so you know." – Dani
So Shauna decides to flip the script and over the pant finger Jesse. "If you enjoy this Jesse, I will be so mad at you!" – Shauna
We are on the highway in Arkansas and see a HUGE sign ‘XXX Adult Store’. We pull up, there are no cars, no windows and it looks like a huge warehouse. I have no interest in going in, I have everything I need. I am a little skeptical since there are no cars in sight. I’m stubborn and just want to read my map. Just go in I’ll wait in the car. But that ain't gonna cut it, I get convinced or pretty much dragged in. "ALRIGHT! FINE! JESUS! BUNCH OF JERKS! let-me-just-get-my-wallet-first." – Dani
We are drinking shot after shot of Tequila. We have arrived at drunk and also the first emotional break down of the trip. And it’s Shauna's. She didn't like the murder jokes. She knew nothing about the only boy on the trip. Oh wait, she did know one thing about Max. That he had guns. Eventually after a few minutes of crying, we have her laughing. Shauna you are crying and laughing at the same time! “I’m laughing because it’s funny. I’m crying because of the tequila!”
Shit that made us laugh
Fortune cookie for night one in Harrisonburg "a gathering of friends brings you lots of luck this evening." Not a single one of us got laid that night.
Shady mother fucker sitting in his conversion van in our motel parking lot in Virginia somewhere maybe? Talking on…..A BIG SQUARE CORDLESS TELEPHONE. Max offered up "he’s just a meth head" as an excuse. Cuz any doctor would tell ya.
Me and Shauna decide to shotgun a beer as a nightcap before bed. Brilliant idea. Whatever I couldn't finish I decide to just dump on Shauna’s head. This then brought on fear on Shauna’s behalf that we were going to do something to her towel. So she slept with it in her pants all night.
I am so drunk and so tired, that I decide to take off and run back to our hotel alone. I wish I hadn't because I missed this: They stop curbside to light up a cigarette and while doing so Shauna passes out. In a bush.
After the bush nap they make it back to the room. Shauna decides to revisit the plot of her murder and starts yelling at us again one by one. In a thong. And just like WWE style she decides to throw Jesse across the room, over the bed and into the wall. And then back over the bed and into the nightstand. Jesse the next day was adorning a bruised up chin and somehow rope burns on her neck? Weird.
Hello Vegas! Shauna turns into a pretty dainty girl. Makeup, earrings, little black dress. And she cashes in $40 for 4 rolls of quarters to play the slots. Slots don’t take coin honey. But she manned those machines like a pro. With one leg up and smoking a butt.
We decide to play MadLibs. We get through an entire story before Shauna realizes that we never included her on filling in the blanks.
Stuff we saw
A field in the middle of nowhere titled 'Foamhenge'. It is exactly what you think it is. Life size replica of Stonehenge, but made of foam.
While in Oklahoma at an IHOP we see in the parking lot a pick up truck. Written on the windows "Just Married!" and "MILF"
The ultimate redneck bar. In Amarillo, Texas. Named 'Buckles Western Bar'. We stopped off for 4 shots of Wild Turkey. Which came to $14.
Fireworks. In the desert. Set off by Max Greene Bastard Parts Unknown. Some of them shot up in the air. Some of them shot off AT us. No injuries. But man, does that kid like explosives. I have a new phrase to replace "like a kid in a candy store"…do the math.
Out of Gas (which we never were thanks to Mr. Tim Hoffman!)
Sure there are many more things to be told. But what happens on Route 93, 95, 91, 80, 66, 40, 15, and the Bay Bridge, stays on Route 93, 95, 91, 80, 66, 40, 15, and the Bay Bridge.
*
*
*
My Opener
I like Mr. Duffy and chunky style peanut butter. Jesse likes candy and gymnastics. Max likes fireworks and firearms. Shauna likes, well, no longer any of us. It couldn't have anything to do with Jesse punching her at various times and at any given moment, or how I kept hinting that this whole trip was for the sole purpose of murdering her and placing her dead bloody body off the side of the road somewhere in Arkansas. Or because we decided to change her name and call her Shayna instead (and sometimes Cheyenne). That I blame on Jameson. The murder plot, however, I blame on her. She inspired me with her novel of choice for the road, “Body Dump”.
Transportation Related
Me and Jesse named our beautiful friendly Toyota Sienna Shevan. Before heading out we all made a wager on what car we would NOT see on the road:
Max – Yellow Ferrari
Shauna – Stretch Hummer
Jesse – 442
Dani – Cement Mixer
I think Jesse may have won this bet.
Music Related
I brought along 350 or so CD’s. Jesse requested Violent Femmes. I told her to go to hell, I wasn't about to sift through 5 books to find it. By the end of the day we decide to play close your eyes and pick a disc at random cuz it was more fun and our music tastes didn't overlap too much (Max–rap, Jesse-ska, Shauna-DMB, Me-everything cool). And whaddya know, I pick Violent Femmes. How fun!
The whoooooole trip, all me and Jesse wanted to hear was Nirvana's In Utero. And I own it. But with all 8 grubby little paws sifting through my books, we couldn't for the lives of us find it. Our very last gasoline fill up Jesse runs into the Mobile Mart to get *shocker* more candy, and there is one lonely CD for sale. Take a guess what it was…
Everything we put on, Shauna thinks is Fleetwood Mac.
We are driving in our beloved Shevan listening to Kings of Leon. But I decide to separate myself from the jerk-offs and listen to my headphones. And I put Kings of Leon on. What a bitch!!
Shit that happened
Dude with one tooth sold us beer and called us a cab. Jason was the taxi driver.
Max got a slice of pizza in Virginia at 'Luigi's' which was next to 'Shenanigans' where we drank all night. It was the worst slice pizza of his life. He was still complaining about it 3 days after the fact.
Misreading the sign of the motel I think we are staying at ‘Hot Fudge Inn’.
By end of trip, you can imagine how your nerves must be with 4 people living in a van. I was in a bitchy mood and sitting behind Jesse. I told her if she didn't move her seat forward I would punch her in the face. She turned around and saw the look in my eyes and thought “oh my god she really is going to punch me in the face” and moved her seat forward like I requested. I feel bad now.
Quotes
He thinks he’s a doctor. Not sure why, but whenever one of us had a medical question or concern his response was very serious “Any doctor will tell you…” - Max
While driving down Route 66 in the pitch dark and talking about our beautiful friend Alice, “What do you mean, she kinda looks black? She could be in the van right now and nobody would know!” - Jesse
We are talking about sex partners and how many we have had, “Yeah, my number is up there. I went through a phase you could say. I went to this football game one time...” - Shauna
We are on a alternate route in…Tennessee? And we see a ‘pony’ on the side of the road. The ‘pony’ was really a donkey. We are snapping photos of the 'pony' when this randy goat comes up. His lipstick starts popping out. And I’m talking a 6 inch shiny lipstick. Every time I try to snap a photo of it, it swiftly slides back in. I get annoyed with this horngoat and yell “GET YOUR DICK OUT, GOAT!!!” (For the inquiring mind, the goat eventually got off. Then licked himself clean. Oh, and we named the goat Rod.)
After beautiful guts are displayed on the windshield, "You never realize how fast 85 mph is until you hit a butterfly." – Dani
We find Nashville’s version of Chris Fahy. He comes up to me and puts his arm around me at last call. "Did you just touch me? You remind me of my dad. Wanna make out?" This leaves him completely speechless and completely leaves me.
"Hey Shauna, right before a girl gets murdered they get raped. Just so you know." – Dani
So Shauna decides to flip the script and over the pant finger Jesse. "If you enjoy this Jesse, I will be so mad at you!" – Shauna
We are on the highway in Arkansas and see a HUGE sign ‘XXX Adult Store’. We pull up, there are no cars, no windows and it looks like a huge warehouse. I have no interest in going in, I have everything I need. I am a little skeptical since there are no cars in sight. I’m stubborn and just want to read my map. Just go in I’ll wait in the car. But that ain't gonna cut it, I get convinced or pretty much dragged in. "ALRIGHT! FINE! JESUS! BUNCH OF JERKS! let-me-just-get-my-wallet-first." – Dani
We are drinking shot after shot of Tequila. We have arrived at drunk and also the first emotional break down of the trip. And it’s Shauna's. She didn't like the murder jokes. She knew nothing about the only boy on the trip. Oh wait, she did know one thing about Max. That he had guns. Eventually after a few minutes of crying, we have her laughing. Shauna you are crying and laughing at the same time! “I’m laughing because it’s funny. I’m crying because of the tequila!”
Shit that made us laugh
Fortune cookie for night one in Harrisonburg "a gathering of friends brings you lots of luck this evening." Not a single one of us got laid that night.
Shady mother fucker sitting in his conversion van in our motel parking lot in Virginia somewhere maybe? Talking on…..A BIG SQUARE CORDLESS TELEPHONE. Max offered up "he’s just a meth head" as an excuse. Cuz any doctor would tell ya.
Me and Shauna decide to shotgun a beer as a nightcap before bed. Brilliant idea. Whatever I couldn't finish I decide to just dump on Shauna’s head. This then brought on fear on Shauna’s behalf that we were going to do something to her towel. So she slept with it in her pants all night.
I am so drunk and so tired, that I decide to take off and run back to our hotel alone. I wish I hadn't because I missed this: They stop curbside to light up a cigarette and while doing so Shauna passes out. In a bush.
After the bush nap they make it back to the room. Shauna decides to revisit the plot of her murder and starts yelling at us again one by one. In a thong. And just like WWE style she decides to throw Jesse across the room, over the bed and into the wall. And then back over the bed and into the nightstand. Jesse the next day was adorning a bruised up chin and somehow rope burns on her neck? Weird.
Hello Vegas! Shauna turns into a pretty dainty girl. Makeup, earrings, little black dress. And she cashes in $40 for 4 rolls of quarters to play the slots. Slots don’t take coin honey. But she manned those machines like a pro. With one leg up and smoking a butt.
We decide to play MadLibs. We get through an entire story before Shauna realizes that we never included her on filling in the blanks.
Stuff we saw
A field in the middle of nowhere titled 'Foamhenge'. It is exactly what you think it is. Life size replica of Stonehenge, but made of foam.
While in Oklahoma at an IHOP we see in the parking lot a pick up truck. Written on the windows "Just Married!" and "MILF"
The ultimate redneck bar. In Amarillo, Texas. Named 'Buckles Western Bar'. We stopped off for 4 shots of Wild Turkey. Which came to $14.
Fireworks. In the desert. Set off by Max Greene Bastard Parts Unknown. Some of them shot up in the air. Some of them shot off AT us. No injuries. But man, does that kid like explosives. I have a new phrase to replace "like a kid in a candy store"…do the math.
Out of Gas (which we never were thanks to Mr. Tim Hoffman!)
Sure there are many more things to be told. But what happens on Route 93, 95, 91, 80, 66, 40, 15, and the Bay Bridge, stays on Route 93, 95, 91, 80, 66, 40, 15, and the Bay Bridge.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Fear Not of Fear
As most or all of you know, I'm busy packing, working my last shifts, getting my last shifts covered, sleeping on couches, sleeping with men, crying, panicking...but as soon as that is all done I will be writing more of my life. Soon.
ps. I know a guy who was born with one kidney!!
ps. I know a guy who was born with one kidney!!
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Me vs. Flying Cheese
My very first food fight happened at age 35 and it was while I was working. It wasn't the typical cafeteria style "Let's have a food fight guys! Yeah!". It was a fight of anger that happened to involve food.
I'm setting up the bar taking stools down and I notice a man and woman sitting on the sidewalk next to the driveway. The woman is slumped over in a just-shot-up kinda way, and the man is smoking a butt. I start to realize they very well just might be waiting for me to open and be my first customers, oh joy! I act in a proactive manner and walk by looking at them enough so they see my face and remember me when they attempt to enter bar. Lucky me, they still enter bar. They order a couple burgers, mozzarella stix and try to order 2 beers. I tell him I will serve, but her I will not. Him understands, but her does not like. The food order is put in, (money collected in advance of course, me a smaht cookie) his beer is poured, and words are exchanged between her and I. Not quite sure what the words were, but let's just assume coming from me it was nothing but high quality sass. She starts yelling without really saying anything and I respond with something like "look honey..." and she did not like that.
"You called me honey?! You're a lady, you should start acting like one." - Her
"Act like a lady? A LADY? I'm wearing a fucking skirt and fucking knee socks. You got makeup running down your face, and your fingernails look like you've been digging for potatoes!" - Cute Sweet Me
That's all she needed. Suddenly, as if in slow motion, I see a mozzarella stick come flying at me, marina sauce and all. And like Bruce Lee I karate deflect it back in her direction. More stix come at me, but this woman is too cracked out to hit the target - my pretty little face. Eventually her buddy realizes he is going to have to escort her out before a leap over the bar and put the smack down on this smacked out nutjob. All I hear him mumble to her while he's dragging her is "Come on! I can't get in trouble again!" In a way, I kind of felt bad for this dude. It's hard to be selective about the company you keep when you wake up next to them with a needle hanging out yer arm on city hall lawn. Shit, their burgers are still grilling up in the back. Poor guy, he's probably pretty hungry. So he comes back, apologizes and really just wants his burgers. I bag them up and hand them over and wish him luck. Don't worry kids, I did NOT give him my phone number like I usually do.
Skippety do da day...2:oo pm comes. Adamame walks in the bar, bearing gifts of iced coffee treats as usual, with a very amused look on his face.
"I just saw the most amazing thing. I wanted to take a picture of it. I wanted to take the picture and then have it put on a t-shirt." - Adamame
"What?! What?!" - Adorable Dani
"There is some woman passed out on city hall lawn with her face burried in a cheeseburger!" - Adamame
And there you have it. My food-fight-cherry-popping shift and karma in the form of a face dented meat product.
I'm setting up the bar taking stools down and I notice a man and woman sitting on the sidewalk next to the driveway. The woman is slumped over in a just-shot-up kinda way, and the man is smoking a butt. I start to realize they very well just might be waiting for me to open and be my first customers, oh joy! I act in a proactive manner and walk by looking at them enough so they see my face and remember me when they attempt to enter bar. Lucky me, they still enter bar. They order a couple burgers, mozzarella stix and try to order 2 beers. I tell him I will serve, but her I will not. Him understands, but her does not like. The food order is put in, (money collected in advance of course, me a smaht cookie) his beer is poured, and words are exchanged between her and I. Not quite sure what the words were, but let's just assume coming from me it was nothing but high quality sass. She starts yelling without really saying anything and I respond with something like "look honey..." and she did not like that.
"You called me honey?! You're a lady, you should start acting like one." - Her
"Act like a lady? A LADY? I'm wearing a fucking skirt and fucking knee socks. You got makeup running down your face, and your fingernails look like you've been digging for potatoes!" - Cute Sweet Me
That's all she needed. Suddenly, as if in slow motion, I see a mozzarella stick come flying at me, marina sauce and all. And like Bruce Lee I karate deflect it back in her direction. More stix come at me, but this woman is too cracked out to hit the target - my pretty little face. Eventually her buddy realizes he is going to have to escort her out before a leap over the bar and put the smack down on this smacked out nutjob. All I hear him mumble to her while he's dragging her is "Come on! I can't get in trouble again!" In a way, I kind of felt bad for this dude. It's hard to be selective about the company you keep when you wake up next to them with a needle hanging out yer arm on city hall lawn. Shit, their burgers are still grilling up in the back. Poor guy, he's probably pretty hungry. So he comes back, apologizes and really just wants his burgers. I bag them up and hand them over and wish him luck. Don't worry kids, I did NOT give him my phone number like I usually do.
Skippety do da day...2:oo pm comes. Adamame walks in the bar, bearing gifts of iced coffee treats as usual, with a very amused look on his face.
"I just saw the most amazing thing. I wanted to take a picture of it. I wanted to take the picture and then have it put on a t-shirt." - Adamame
"What?! What?!" - Adorable Dani
"There is some woman passed out on city hall lawn with her face burried in a cheeseburger!" - Adamame
And there you have it. My food-fight-cherry-popping shift and karma in the form of a face dented meat product.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Nurse Kitty Loves Dr. Dog
That's not really what this story is about, but it got your attention I'm sure. And if you are of the Dr. Dog and google searching for stories on yourself, like the vain self-centered bastard you are...well...then I love you even more now. I have a love/hate relationship with self-centered people. I love them because they remind me of myself. I hate them because they should get over themselves and in a hurry, because there are OTHER people in this world that need attention.
Now back to me. I feel old. No, that is a lie. I feel the same age I did when I was 19 and had a fake I.D. saying I was 24. I feel...slow shall we say? I recently found out that an ex-boyfriend, let's call him NDL bought a house. When I met him I was 24 and he was also 24. Until he magically found that rewind-the-time-clock without offering me fare leaving him at age 19. I should have known this when I slept over his parents house and woke up to a Bob Marley poster. He fessed up in the same weekend, knowing that I wouldn't be mad because I was already hooked on him like a junkie on lies. We dated for about 4 months I think? Until I found someone more my age. Sorry, I meant someone that had their own place. Fast forward to this past July when I am down the Poi with Nils (who ironically went to the same school as NDL) and bump into mutual friends. NDL is not only a high school teacher, but he owns a house. For fucks sake, when I met him he was barely OUT of high school and was living at his PARENTS house! I'm a very happy person. Until I see my past flash before me driving an imported S.U.V. loaded with 2.5 children on their way to get immunized and laughing, throwing mortgage payments at me. When the hell am I going to catch up?? Am I supposed to catch up? Will I be happier if I do catch up to all these ex-boyfriends with property and vacations and vehicles and sexless nights with loved ones? Don't say it. I'm not bitter. One must be married and divorced to become bitter. I'm not worried. I'm humored if anything. Maybe I'm even setting a record for all the little boys I've slapped on the ass and pushed out into the real world thinking maybe they would come back to me once I suddenly became unfickle (yes, that is now a word). If only they could all see me now...I've got an amazing cat, a cute nose, dope undiscovered skills, and wear a size 7 shoe which most of their wives would envy. Stick that in your coach bag and smoke it.
Note to all my friends who are married with above said items, such as children and huts and maybe sex-filled nights: If you are reading this, you already know that I love you. I am 100 percent confident the one you end or ended up with is a beautiful person. They picked you, so they must be. Jesus Christ, I sound like I'm writing a wedding toast. Gross. Also, I am willing to engage in a threesome if necessary to save your relationship. Just not you. And you know who you are.
Now back to me. I feel old. No, that is a lie. I feel the same age I did when I was 19 and had a fake I.D. saying I was 24. I feel...slow shall we say? I recently found out that an ex-boyfriend, let's call him NDL bought a house. When I met him I was 24 and he was also 24. Until he magically found that rewind-the-time-clock without offering me fare leaving him at age 19. I should have known this when I slept over his parents house and woke up to a Bob Marley poster. He fessed up in the same weekend, knowing that I wouldn't be mad because I was already hooked on him like a junkie on lies. We dated for about 4 months I think? Until I found someone more my age. Sorry, I meant someone that had their own place. Fast forward to this past July when I am down the Poi with Nils (who ironically went to the same school as NDL) and bump into mutual friends. NDL is not only a high school teacher, but he owns a house. For fucks sake, when I met him he was barely OUT of high school and was living at his PARENTS house! I'm a very happy person. Until I see my past flash before me driving an imported S.U.V. loaded with 2.5 children on their way to get immunized and laughing, throwing mortgage payments at me. When the hell am I going to catch up?? Am I supposed to catch up? Will I be happier if I do catch up to all these ex-boyfriends with property and vacations and vehicles and sexless nights with loved ones? Don't say it. I'm not bitter. One must be married and divorced to become bitter. I'm not worried. I'm humored if anything. Maybe I'm even setting a record for all the little boys I've slapped on the ass and pushed out into the real world thinking maybe they would come back to me once I suddenly became unfickle (yes, that is now a word). If only they could all see me now...I've got an amazing cat, a cute nose, dope undiscovered skills, and wear a size 7 shoe which most of their wives would envy. Stick that in your coach bag and smoke it.
Note to all my friends who are married with above said items, such as children and huts and maybe sex-filled nights: If you are reading this, you already know that I love you. I am 100 percent confident the one you end or ended up with is a beautiful person. They picked you, so they must be. Jesus Christ, I sound like I'm writing a wedding toast. Gross. Also, I am willing to engage in a threesome if necessary to save your relationship. Just not you. And you know who you are.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Is There Such a Thing as an Italian Human Puppy?
Nobody ever gets excited when they hear "Let me tell you this dream I had" because it's hard enough to follow for even the dreamer. For the listener it becomes "what kind of a face can I make so this asshole actually thinks I'm listening to him". Make this one exception. For me. I'll make it as clear as possible to follow. And by that I mean the letters on this page are black and the background is white.
I heard some puppy Cocker Spaniels were going up for adoption. I was very interested in getting my hands on one of these pups, but I needed the advice of a good friend and dog owner, one named Nils. I told him about it and he wanted in on a puppy too. He thought it would make him look good in his lady-Jen eyes. I contacted the broker, who happened to be a real estate agent down the street from our work. He told me he would waive half the finders fee for me and Nils. I was given permission from Nils to pick out his puppy. Each puppy had a video profile interview, but in the video they were represented by humans. I watched the videos and kind of had an idea that I wanted this one female puppy, who was spoken for on behalf of a really pretty Italian woman.
It's time to pick out your puppy for real, so I go down to this field where they are supposed to land via little tiny parachutes. I see all of them falling in the sky one at a time and I find her. She is the last one to be dropped, she's the cutest and tiniest one.
My puppy shows up at my work, with her adoption papers in hand. Notice I said 'hand' and not 'paw'. Instead it's the really pretty Italian woman. I was a bit curious but assumed she would eventually poof turn into a puppy. I talked to her with that annoying baby talk voice. I told her her name was going to be Kate. She said she was named that once before and didn't appear to be too happy about it.
Until I told her: "Well, the puppy that was dropped before you was named Leonardo. And you are the Kate Winslet that I have rescued. Just like in the movie 'Titanic' ".
Then I asked her how old she was: "I am 6 weeks old." Oh goody, I thought. She really is a puppy.
"But are you going to walk on all 4's soon, or are you going stay on your hind legs the whole time?"
"We don't call them hind legs. We call them our small legs. And yes, I will eventually walk on all 4's for you."
And then I woke up. Go ahead, say it/make reference it. I'm sure you are DYING to.
One more thing. When I was worried that I hadn't really gotten a puppy in the deal, I called Nils and asked him if he got his puppy yet. He responded "Oh boy did I. And it worked, I'm getting laid as we speak!" click
I heard some puppy Cocker Spaniels were going up for adoption. I was very interested in getting my hands on one of these pups, but I needed the advice of a good friend and dog owner, one named Nils. I told him about it and he wanted in on a puppy too. He thought it would make him look good in his lady-Jen eyes. I contacted the broker, who happened to be a real estate agent down the street from our work. He told me he would waive half the finders fee for me and Nils. I was given permission from Nils to pick out his puppy. Each puppy had a video profile interview, but in the video they were represented by humans. I watched the videos and kind of had an idea that I wanted this one female puppy, who was spoken for on behalf of a really pretty Italian woman.
It's time to pick out your puppy for real, so I go down to this field where they are supposed to land via little tiny parachutes. I see all of them falling in the sky one at a time and I find her. She is the last one to be dropped, she's the cutest and tiniest one.
My puppy shows up at my work, with her adoption papers in hand. Notice I said 'hand' and not 'paw'. Instead it's the really pretty Italian woman. I was a bit curious but assumed she would eventually poof turn into a puppy. I talked to her with that annoying baby talk voice. I told her her name was going to be Kate. She said she was named that once before and didn't appear to be too happy about it.
Until I told her: "Well, the puppy that was dropped before you was named Leonardo. And you are the Kate Winslet that I have rescued. Just like in the movie 'Titanic' ".
Then I asked her how old she was: "I am 6 weeks old." Oh goody, I thought. She really is a puppy.
"But are you going to walk on all 4's soon, or are you going stay on your hind legs the whole time?"
"We don't call them hind legs. We call them our small legs. And yes, I will eventually walk on all 4's for you."
And then I woke up. Go ahead, say it/make reference it. I'm sure you are DYING to.
One more thing. When I was worried that I hadn't really gotten a puppy in the deal, I called Nils and asked him if he got his puppy yet. He responded "Oh boy did I. And it worked, I'm getting laid as we speak!" click
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Document2.doc
This is titled Document2.doc because that is what the menu bar in Microsoft Word is saying to me. It will stay that way until I write something worthy of a title. So until the creative juices start flowing I’m going to stall by telling a story from my past. Let’s see, which one should I tell: one of embarrassment, embarrassment, or embarrassment? Well since I have no embarrassing stories, I’ll try and make 1-4 up.
Once upon a time a few years ago from Memorial Day 2004 until Halloween 2004 to be exact, I was dating a fellow named Rob. Rob was pretty alpha-male, funny, tough, a true wise ass. He was pretty easy going and didn’t make a fuss over anything. He also didn’t put up with any shit no matter who from. I REALLY liked him and he JUST liked me. He would take me out to dinner, tell me I was pretty, I would let him have sex with me, he had a car and a job, and all of that to me equals a relationship. Until I did the last craziest thing he could stand.
Crazy #1
He invites me to go camping. I say yes.
“What should I bring Rob?”
“NOTHING. Just please be ready when I pick you up.”
“Are you sure? I have a 30 pack of hotdogs I stole from Fenway, and 6 dishrags I stole from the Charles Hotel. I’ll bring those. And a pillow.”
“Fine. Whatever. JUST BE READY WHEN I PICK YOU UP. 8:00 AM. THAT’S ALL I ASK.”
“Calm down, I can manage it!”
The night before my camping expedition is my good friend Alexis’s birthday. I go out. I drink much. I see an old friend who has some drugs. I decide (like every other time) it’s a good idea and it will keep me awake for my 8:00am pickup. That plan goes awry. Badly. I set my phone alarm, but like an idiot think that the alarm is going to work with the ringer off. My safety here would be a doorbell let’s say. But I was living in a crackhead building and the doorbell didn’t work. How convenient for a drunk/high/single/drooling/passed out girl. I end up waking up on my own. Not at 7:59am. But at 11:30am. I panic. I frantically pack and run outside thinking he might still be out there? Ha ha that is so funny to me now. I call rob about a gazillion times. Of course he’s pissed off so refuses to answer my phone call. Poor guy even showed up with Dunkies for me…weep. I do some quick thinking and call his work because he told me some coworkers were going camping up where he is also. Somehow I get through to a real live person (it’s a Saturday) and co-workers/co-campers Matt and Daniel haven’t left for Vermont yet!! These guys must think I’m crazy but I tell them I will put away my switchblade if they will just PLEASE take me with them. Poor Matt and Daniel don’t even know who I am, but I must have some charm because they agree to pick my sorry ass up. We drive the 3+ hours to get there. For 3+ hours all I am doing is dealing with my hangover, slapping myself for forgetting the 30 hot dogs, and feeling quite horrified when i anticipate the look on Robs face when he sees me. We get there and he is not there, but there is a note for his friends. He darn fishin’ y’all! While he is fishing we (and by we I mean NOT me) unpack and set up camp. The me decides that Makers Mark is the only thing that is going to protect me from Rob. He comes up round the hill “What the fuck are you doing here?” With a smile on his face. And a big huge hug! Phew. We do all sorts of camping stuff that you do when you are camping. Beer, fishing, sunning, spinach burning (I just learned this week that means smoking weed) fire making, wiffle balling, etc. Just when you think I’ve been such a good girlfriend trying to make it up to him, I decide to add insult to injury. He crawls into our tent for some air mattressing, and I do NOT let him have sex with me. THE NERVE OF ME! Fear not, he’s so drunk and stoned that I think he is relieved of this. I get home with my heart in one piece and so excited that I was allowed to act with such behavior. We have a good laugh about it the next time we are out with his friends and coworkers. I done good!
Fear not readers, for this is only the beginning of our relationship. There is still crazy #2, 3, and 4. Stay tuned!!
Epilogue – (but really a Preface)
It’s not like Rob wasn’t pre-warned about me. On our first date we go to a comedy show with his best friend Dennis. Dennis the best friend that just met me for the first time that I should be trying to impress. I don’t remember how the conversation actually went, but Rob sure does. Dennis, apparently got a kick (picture more of a mouth dropping shocked face) out of it as well…when I said something like….”yada yada I’m tired today I haven’t been home all week blah blah (yawn)”.
Once upon a time a few years ago from Memorial Day 2004 until Halloween 2004 to be exact, I was dating a fellow named Rob. Rob was pretty alpha-male, funny, tough, a true wise ass. He was pretty easy going and didn’t make a fuss over anything. He also didn’t put up with any shit no matter who from. I REALLY liked him and he JUST liked me. He would take me out to dinner, tell me I was pretty, I would let him have sex with me, he had a car and a job, and all of that to me equals a relationship. Until I did the last craziest thing he could stand.
Crazy #1
He invites me to go camping. I say yes.
“What should I bring Rob?”
“NOTHING. Just please be ready when I pick you up.”
“Are you sure? I have a 30 pack of hotdogs I stole from Fenway, and 6 dishrags I stole from the Charles Hotel. I’ll bring those. And a pillow.”
“Fine. Whatever. JUST BE READY WHEN I PICK YOU UP. 8:00 AM. THAT’S ALL I ASK.”
“Calm down, I can manage it!”
The night before my camping expedition is my good friend Alexis’s birthday. I go out. I drink much. I see an old friend who has some drugs. I decide (like every other time) it’s a good idea and it will keep me awake for my 8:00am pickup. That plan goes awry. Badly. I set my phone alarm, but like an idiot think that the alarm is going to work with the ringer off. My safety here would be a doorbell let’s say. But I was living in a crackhead building and the doorbell didn’t work. How convenient for a drunk/high/single/drooling/passed out girl. I end up waking up on my own. Not at 7:59am. But at 11:30am. I panic. I frantically pack and run outside thinking he might still be out there? Ha ha that is so funny to me now. I call rob about a gazillion times. Of course he’s pissed off so refuses to answer my phone call. Poor guy even showed up with Dunkies for me…weep. I do some quick thinking and call his work because he told me some coworkers were going camping up where he is also. Somehow I get through to a real live person (it’s a Saturday) and co-workers/co-campers Matt and Daniel haven’t left for Vermont yet!! These guys must think I’m crazy but I tell them I will put away my switchblade if they will just PLEASE take me with them. Poor Matt and Daniel don’t even know who I am, but I must have some charm because they agree to pick my sorry ass up. We drive the 3+ hours to get there. For 3+ hours all I am doing is dealing with my hangover, slapping myself for forgetting the 30 hot dogs, and feeling quite horrified when i anticipate the look on Robs face when he sees me. We get there and he is not there, but there is a note for his friends. He darn fishin’ y’all! While he is fishing we (and by we I mean NOT me) unpack and set up camp. The me decides that Makers Mark is the only thing that is going to protect me from Rob. He comes up round the hill “What the fuck are you doing here?” With a smile on his face. And a big huge hug! Phew. We do all sorts of camping stuff that you do when you are camping. Beer, fishing, sunning, spinach burning (I just learned this week that means smoking weed) fire making, wiffle balling, etc. Just when you think I’ve been such a good girlfriend trying to make it up to him, I decide to add insult to injury. He crawls into our tent for some air mattressing, and I do NOT let him have sex with me. THE NERVE OF ME! Fear not, he’s so drunk and stoned that I think he is relieved of this. I get home with my heart in one piece and so excited that I was allowed to act with such behavior. We have a good laugh about it the next time we are out with his friends and coworkers. I done good!
Fear not readers, for this is only the beginning of our relationship. There is still crazy #2, 3, and 4. Stay tuned!!
Epilogue – (but really a Preface)
It’s not like Rob wasn’t pre-warned about me. On our first date we go to a comedy show with his best friend Dennis. Dennis the best friend that just met me for the first time that I should be trying to impress. I don’t remember how the conversation actually went, but Rob sure does. Dennis, apparently got a kick (picture more of a mouth dropping shocked face) out of it as well…when I said something like….”yada yada I’m tired today I haven’t been home all week blah blah (yawn)”.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
My First Self Titled EP
I named my blog "God Dammit Dani!" for no real reason. A few days later it aaaalll came together. And here's how it goes:
So, this street/junkie boy was coming into my place of employment always during my day shifts. He would use the facilities to urinate/shit/bathe and then on his way out fill up his bottle with our crispy-cold-labor-of-love water, without a please or thank-you. This made me mad, and for some reason I would never have the gonads to say anything because; a.) I'm a sympathetic sap; b.) I was scared he would stab me with a dirty needle; c.) He reminded me of adamame; and d.) I wasn't drunk enough. Yet.
Fast forward to July 4. I have the evening off and my best friend is in town, so we go over the other best friends house to watch those bright loud thingys in the sky. I’ve had, oh, let’s say, FIVE whiskeys? And several beers. In front of best friends apartment I see street/junkie boy. I decide that it is only appropriate NOW to tell him “you're welcome for the water and pisser, asshole.” He knows exactly who I am and what I’m talking about. He apologizes and explains his life to me. He is somewhat charming. With the one hand over my eye to see straight, he appears to be somewhat cute. Of course! We share a forty and I attempt my exit back up to the roof. I may or may not have invited him up to said roof. Oh wait, I did invite him because best friend screams down from window “No Dani! Don’t bring him up!!” To make up for being dissed so hard, I think that giving him my phone number will make him feel better? I really didn’t think this dude knew how to dial (Insert name of my blog here). I tell him I don’t like how dirty he is and that he needs to take a shower and I run up to join friends end of story. So I think.
The following 48+ hours consists of non-stop drinking and non-stop wearing of the same clothes in the Poi (which ironically I am wearing the same outfit as I type, cleaner of course). 3 days magically mush into 1, and my phone is dead (thank god). On way out of the Poi and back into cellphone land I receive one street/junkie boy voicemail message. He tells me of his cleaning up adventure, his name, his desire to come by the red star bar for lunch, and then he apologizes for pissing off my friend? By this last statement I was confused until Greene Bastard Parts Unknown informs me street/junkie boy came by for lunch and tried to eat off some dudes plate. So he tossed him, thankfully. No need to worry your pretty little faces, I’ve decided to NOT go on a 3rd date with him.
And the name of my blog has retroactively been named.
So, this street/junkie boy was coming into my place of employment always during my day shifts. He would use the facilities to urinate/shit/bathe and then on his way out fill up his bottle with our crispy-cold-labor-of-love water, without a please or thank-you. This made me mad, and for some reason I would never have the gonads to say anything because; a.) I'm a sympathetic sap; b.) I was scared he would stab me with a dirty needle; c.) He reminded me of adamame; and d.) I wasn't drunk enough. Yet.
Fast forward to July 4. I have the evening off and my best friend is in town, so we go over the other best friends house to watch those bright loud thingys in the sky. I’ve had, oh, let’s say, FIVE whiskeys? And several beers. In front of best friends apartment I see street/junkie boy. I decide that it is only appropriate NOW to tell him “you're welcome for the water and pisser, asshole.” He knows exactly who I am and what I’m talking about. He apologizes and explains his life to me. He is somewhat charming. With the one hand over my eye to see straight, he appears to be somewhat cute. Of course! We share a forty and I attempt my exit back up to the roof. I may or may not have invited him up to said roof. Oh wait, I did invite him because best friend screams down from window “No Dani! Don’t bring him up!!” To make up for being dissed so hard, I think that giving him my phone number will make him feel better? I really didn’t think this dude knew how to dial (Insert name of my blog here). I tell him I don’t like how dirty he is and that he needs to take a shower and I run up to join friends end of story. So I think.
The following 48+ hours consists of non-stop drinking and non-stop wearing of the same clothes in the Poi (which ironically I am wearing the same outfit as I type, cleaner of course). 3 days magically mush into 1, and my phone is dead (thank god). On way out of the Poi and back into cellphone land I receive one street/junkie boy voicemail message. He tells me of his cleaning up adventure, his name, his desire to come by the red star bar for lunch, and then he apologizes for pissing off my friend? By this last statement I was confused until Greene Bastard Parts Unknown informs me street/junkie boy came by for lunch and tried to eat off some dudes plate. So he tossed him, thankfully. No need to worry your pretty little faces, I’ve decided to NOT go on a 3rd date with him.
And the name of my blog has retroactively been named.
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