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)”.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
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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