You're so full of it

Last week I mentioned that I would do this post. And I have finally got around to it.

Anyway, as I said before, this post was inspired by Beth's story about her mom and poop.

Many years ago, I lived in Madison, Wisconsin (I've written several posts about what this was like, you can find them in my categories here). This was after Rex and Katie had both moved out (these are fake names. I do know a Katie now and she is a wonderful person) and it was just Barb and I remaining.

Now we were broke. Our dream house that was so cheap when you were dividing the rent by four people was now not so cheap because our roommates had abandoned us. One because he was a complete lying asshole, the other because she got knocked up by one out of seven or eight men and had moved back to Minnesota because, get this, welfare was better there. Yeah, that's great. Let the taxpayers pay for your irresponsibility. So Barb and I tried very hard to make ends meet. This involved eating a lot of potatoes, Ramen noodles and when we really wanted to splurge, I could make a pretty decent coffee cake out of Jiffy's apple spice muffin mix.

On the day of my story, Barb hasn't been feeling well for a few days. She's not really sure what's wrong but her stomach really hurts. We are worried about what might be wrong. She asks me to make her egg salad sandwiches. Keem will laugh if she reads this but I actually did most of the cooking. So I make the sandwiches, watching Barb as she lies on the couch, groaning in pain.

She eats her sandwiches and we talk about her options. She has a fever and her stomach is hard to the touch. We are both concerned that this could be appendicitis but neither of us can remember where the appendix is located. Finally, when she just can't take the pain anymore, we decide that she needs to go to the hospital, something we were trying to avoid because she doesn't have insurance.

At this time, I am really wishing I have a driver's licence. But I don't, so it up to Barb to drive herself to the hospital. We pull into the parking lot and Barb suddenly opens her door and throws up on the pavement. This is when I figure she's a bit delirious because she turns to me and accuses me of grinding up glass and putting it into the egg salad. She knows I'm trying to kill her. I eventually calm her down and we head into the emergency room.

She is whisked away and I wait in the appropriately named waiting room. Alternately pacing and writing a letter to a friend of mine about how worried I am. Finally, after what seems like days but was probably only an hour, an extremely attractive young man comes out and introduces himself as Doctor Hottie (okay, yeah, obviously not his name but can't remember what it was) and tells me that Barb wants to see me.

He brings me to her "room" (small cubicle seperated by curtains from the rest of the emergency room) and there she is, lying pale in a hospital bed, hooked up to monitors. Dr. Hottie asks me to sit down and explains that I'm in there because, while I am not family, I am the only person Barb has to help take care of her. He starts talking about a lot of things that Barb doesn't have (it's not appendicitis, it's not cancer, that's all well and good but what the hell is wrong with her!) and then gestures to the X-rays on the wall.

He points out how these X-rays are of Barb's stomach and the glorious lower intestines. Joy. Then he motions to this dark shadow. "As you can see, this mass starts here and extends up to here." I stare at the X-ray blankly. "What's the mass?" I ask.

"Well, as it turns out, Barb is constipated. This mass is fecal matter that she has not been able to expel. This is what caused the stomach pain and the fever. We're giving her an IV to help with the dehydration she's suffering from and am going to provide her with an extra strong stool softener and some Milk of Magnesia. She will be okay, it's just going to take a few days."

I look at Barb. She looks back at me. It's horrible but both of us can't help but laugh. I turn to Dr. Hottie. "So what you're saying is that this is because she can't poop? That's it?"

"Yes," he says. "Barb is, literally, full of shit, if you want to use the laymen's term."

The moral of this story is that, if you cannot expel fecal matter, maybe you should take some Milk of Magnesia or go and see a doctor. And that way, you won't end up in the hospital with tubes coming out of everywhere with a hot Emergency Room doctor telling you that you're full of it.

Somehow this seemed a lot funnier when it happened. Oh, well, what are you going to do? You will be pleased to know that Barb did end up recovering several days later.

Anyway, have a great day. Talk to you all later.

Previous Comments:

At 5:01 AM, Weary Hag said...
DM, now THAT is an embarrassing ailment. Ewwww. You just reminded me of another post and nooooo, it's not quite about constipation. :)Funny post Dana... Good job. Carol
At 10:14 AM, Anonymous said...
Dana,That was a good post, that was very funny. I have heard so many different stories about things like that, and they are all either funny or gross. I loved your post, I really did and I miss seeing you in person.Take care....and I love you Dad.

D'oh! A Deer!

When I lived in Madison, back so many years ago, my roommate Becky and I would try to come back to Minnesota as often as possible. It wasn’t that we didn’t make friends in Madison or enjoy some of the time there, it was just that after awhile, after so many things went bad (not a lot of money, roommates bailing on us, etc), we would flee back to our familiar friends and familiar hang-outs and just relax for that brief amount of time.

This was back in the early 90’s when I was in my late 20’s and went to the bar every night and drank like a fish and would sleep with strange men when I was drunk or stoned (every Queen has her sordid past) and pretty much thought that I would be young and thin(ner) forever so it didn’t matter what I abused my body with. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and steal the body I used to have. I was cute, dammit.

Anyway, back to the story at hand. I have a slight problem. I fall asleep very easily when I’m in a car. Beth and Keem will vouch for this. There are pictures of me in a backseat, my head tilted back, snoring, in at least two scrapbooks. This drives people crazy, especially if they are tired themselves. And they all have their own way of dealing with the situation. Becky would roll down the window in the middle of winter (Brr). Beth will slam on the brakes (I should mention that this is done only if there is no one traveling too close behind us).

But of these three, Keem is the evilest of all. Keem has the elbow. Imagine, if you will, that you are joyfully snoozing. You are upright so there is none of the pain that comes when you try to sleep on your bed (bad back, knots in my shoulders so it hurts to sleep on either my right or left shoulder (yes, I know I should go to the doctor but I am resisting. I could spend that $30 co-pay on so much more fun things)), perhaps you are dreaming of something sweet and romantic and then BAM! The elbow strikes. Right in your left arm which hurts because of the whole shoulder thing. Which is just horribly wrong.

You may counter with “Well, what the heck are you do falling asleep?” To which I will say, “Why are you always taking Keem’s side?” And then we’ll have this huge fight and it will be very sad and I will cry. Then I’d have to give back the Friends Forever bracelet and vow to never talk to you again. We don’t want that, do we? Don’t make me cry, Internet.

But I digress (yeah and you’re really shocked by that, aren’t you?). So the particular weekend of this story, Becky and I were headed back to Madison. It was late and there weren’t a lot of cars on the road. Since it was dark and the heat was on (this was in November, I think), I started falling asleep. If it had been daytime, I may have been able to stay awake, since I would have been looking for landmarks, such as the dancing trees. The dancing trees were what I named these two trees on a bluff on the side of the road. The way the branches of one tree had grown toward the other made me think of a couple that were dancing together. I found it highly romantic and it amused me. Those of you who know me IRL will not be surprised by that. Those of you who don’t know me IRL are missing a lot. Think of the excitement of driving around with someone who will, at random times, yell out such fascinating facts as SQUIRREL! Or BALLOON! And then I will clap and giggle. Because I am five.

Boy, I sure get distracted easily. Okay, it was dark, the heat was on, I was falling asleep. All the elements of an exciting story. What could be happening up ahead? What awaits our heroine, Becky, as she drives through the night? There are barely any cars around. It’s the perfect opportunity for something horrible to happen. Ooh. What could it be? Is it a chainsaw carrying psycho pacing down the highway? An axe murderer cavorting in the woods? Vicious vampires vanquishing villains (I really like alliteration so I apologize right now for this)?

No. No, it’s none of these things.

I, deep in my sleep, hear something disturbing. It is Becky screaming my name. I open my eyes slowly and what I see in front of me is darkness.

Dark night, dark road, dark lump in the middle of the road.

I have enough time to think “Huh?” I don’t even get to finish with “Why is there a garbage bag in the middle of the road?” The next thing I know, we’ve driven over the garbage bag with a thump.

The car is swerving back and forth, I see a van over to the right to us as we go by. Becky is cursing as she tries to bring the car back into control.

I turn to her. “Why did those people leave a garbage bag in the middle of the road?”

“They didn’t. That was a deer.”

“A deer?” I am horrified. “We ran over a deer? Did we kill it?”

“I am assuming it was already dead because it was hit by that van.”

“Oh. Yuck.”

We drive in silence for a little while. Becky is concerned with the way that the car is responding and decides to pull over and check underneath the car. I stay within the confines of the car and watch her do this. She walks forward, facing me, and slowly leans to look underneath. Suddenly she jumps back, her eyes wide. She runs back to the car and jumps in.

“Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God,” she keeps saying.

“What? What? What is it?”

“I saw eyes.”
Apparently when we ran over the deer, we took a piece of it with us. Becky wants me to look under the car to confirm her sighting. I am quite reluctant to do this but eventually I do get out of the car and look underneath it. And there I see eyes glittering at me. I hurry back to the car and stare at Becky. What are we going to do?

Well, neither of us are willing to crawl under the car and release the head, there are no large sticks to poke at it, so we do the next best thing. We drive along the shoulder, half on the shoulder, half on the dirt on the side of the road, scraping the bottom of the car, hoping to shake off our unwanted passenger.

After a few minutes of this, we think that everything is okay. Time to keep driving. The car seems to be handling a bit better so everything is fine. Everything is just wonderful. It was just a bad experience and it is all over. Right?

Wrong. Suddenly all we can smell is burning flesh and hair. This is the worst thing I have ever smelled in my life. It is worse than mold (I’m allergic), paint (I break into hives), and is probably tied with Chlorox and Lime Away mixed together (I had an employee try to kill me once). It is awful, horrible and made our eyes water with the acrid smell.

No longer able to handle the smell or the imminent feeling that we were going to throw up any minute, we pulled into a gas station. We both breathed a sigh of relief when we saw that the lone clerk working there was a man (well, male. He was probably 17 or 18. And pimply. And his voice cracked when he said hello to us (Becky usually had that effect on men)). I believe that women are capable of doing anything they want to do. I believe we should be paid the same as men when performing the same job. I believe that a woman does not need a man to be happy (well, now, I do. 7 years of celibacy will do that to you). What I do not believe is that this particular woman, myself, should have to deal with messy, disgusting, yucky things. Deer heads come into that category.

After the argument about who was going to talk to him (I lost), I approached him and put on my most winning smile. “Hi,” I said casually. “We were wondering if you could help us. We sort of ran over a deer and think the deer head is stuck under the car and we were hoping you might have a broom or something that we can poke underneath the car.”

He stares at us blankly. “Huh?”

I start into my spiel again. As I’m explaining this to him, we see a semi pull up to the gas pumps in the diesel section. A truck driver walks in or I should say swaggers in. He heads over to the coffee pot. As I’m going through my explanation a second time, I notice that the truck driver is listening. The pimply boy (compared to the truck driver, a real MAN (rugged and bearded and wearing flannel (and I’m not sure why this is kind of a turn on since I’m usually attracted to smooth shaven men in fitted suits)) stammers a refusal, there’s no way that he’s going to help us.

The trucker saunters over. “Ran over a deer, did ya?” We nod. He gives that half smile that real manly men give when they see women in distress. He looks at the boy and gives a disdainful sniff, indicating without words that he is completely worthless as a man.

Author’s Note: I know this is wrong. I know that the fact that he had the attitude that we were helpless women completely incapable of taking care of ourselves was sexist and wrong on so many levels and he should have been strung up by his toes. Or even better, I should be strung up by my toes for sighing slightly over his aggressively masculine demeanor. But there are some things that I will just not handle and if that means I have to pretend to be weak and ineffectual and flutter my eyes and say “Oh, you’re such a big strong man,” I’ll do it. I don’t do blood, I don’t do vomit (except for Eddy’s and that’s only because Keem makes me because he’s supposedly my cat (even though he loves only her and she’s the one that insists on feeding him wet cat food)) and I don’t do deer parts (Lioness, I know you’re just shaking your head over this and I apologize but I have always been a little in awe of you, especially when you start talking about cadavers and stuff).

At the time of this experience, I had a list of what men were good for (I don’t have this list anymore because it is wrong to think this way and I should not bash men because most of my friends are men and I adore them). This was my list:

1. Dealing with icky things (bugs, blood, deer parts, you name it).
2. Lifting/Carrying/Opening Jars
3. Sex
4. Hmm, I keep forgetting what that 4th thing is

This would usually get a laugh but it is terrible and wrong and oh so not politically correct. Bad Dana! Bad! That why I don’t have the list anymore. Especially since number 3 is no longer being fulfilled. Damn men.

The trucker leans under the car, fiddles around for a little bit and then backs up, carrying something with him. Becky and I exchange a wordless “Oooh” of dismay (Oooh technically isn’t a word). The trucker brandishes the deer leg at us and says “Got caught in the wheel well (or something like that. I don’t know. Do I drive? No). You should be fine now.” He tosses the leg onto the ground and wanders off into the night, off to show how macho he is to other women.

The clerk looks at the deer leg. He looks at us. He starts to say “You’re going to have to…” We are in the car and on our way out of the parking lot before he finishes his sentence. No way in hell are we touching that thing.

The car smelt of burnt deer hair and fat for about a month. It was awful.

I sometimes wonder what happened when the store manager came in the next day and saw a deer leg lying on the ground. Sometimes I think about the deer and hope that she is in Deer Heaven, with all of her legs, running around, frolicking. There’s a Deer Heaven, right?

Previous Comments:

At 9:40 PM, The Lioness said...
THANK YOU, Blogger (3.37 am, only took two hours this time). Bloody hell.1 - "I fall asleep very easily when I’m in a car." I didn't know you wrote porn. 2 - "You may counter with “Well, what the heck are you do falling asleep?” To which I will say, “Why are you always taking Keem’s side?” And then we’ll have this huge fight and it will be very sad and I will cry. Then I’d have to give back the Friends Forever bracelet and vow to never talk to you again. We don’t want that, do we? Don’t make me cry, Internet." V V funny!!! :DDD3 - "I don’t do deer parts" NEITHER DO I! I'd have been bawling like a madwoman, the poor thing! And you thought my cow necropsy was bad??? You demented, girlfriend. This was a horror story, I would never survive anything like this. EYES???? LEG??? "Hoping to shake off our unwanted passenger"??? I don't get queasy easily but - Blachs! BLACHS!!! *Coughs up furball* 4 - Actually, there's one thing I'd like to know... How the hell did a car manage to DISMEMBER a deer? HOW??? It's NOT easy, I can assure you. A horror story, I tell you. Please revert to sex posts now, please, the animal ones will have me up till dawn - and we know I DON'T need the extra help for that don't we.
At 9:48 PM, The Lioness said...
Oh and this: "especially when you start talking about cadavers and stuff)" --- this is "so wrong" as SOMEONE would say, you're making me sound v v bizarre. Which I most certainly amn't.
At 12:31 AM, brooksba said...
Alright Dana,First of all, I just have to say this may be the funniest thing I've EVER read. I've laughed and cried over posts and books before, but never quite like this. My neighbors must think they live next to a loon. And I may giggle, but I don't normally roll on the floor laughing over written work. I think this story may be on par with "6 to 8 Black Men" by David Sedaris. That's my opinion, and I'm sticking to it.About the falling asleep in the car, I read it wrong for a moment, thinking that you were saying to Keem, "Why are you always taking Keem's side?" And that just got a smile on my face. I think you should try that on Keem. It would mess with her logical nature. I love it. By the way, I do understand that you get tired, it's just that for safety, it's nice if you try to stay awake. You know how yawns can be catchy? Being the driver with a sleeping passenger can get dangerous. Think of it as personal safety. "What could it be? Is it a chainsaw carrying psycho pacing down the highway? An axe murderer cavorting in the woods? Vicious vampires vanquishing villains (I really like alliteration so I apologize right now for this)?No. No, it’s none of these things."I was so waiting for the, "No. It was a deer. Didn't you read the title?" “I saw eyes.” - Lost it here. Still laughing."we do the next best thing...scraping the bottom of the car" - again, still laughing"We sort of ran over a deer and think the deer head is stuck under the car and we were hoping you might have a broom or something that we can poke underneath the car." - Okay, I hope I got the tone right here, but I took it as all run together in one word, with the cute, innocent smile and pleading eyes. Almost as if he would hear, "Youaresuchastrongmanlymanandweneedhelpfromyouthe ultimatekingoftheworld" (by the way, you know how hard it is to type without putting spaces in?). Men like that kind of stuff, right? It's good to butter them up when asking them to touch icky things. As for the trucker, let him believe he was manly. Sometimes letting guys think that is a good way to get your way. Let them underestimate you, you'll get farther. ;)Loved the post!Beth
At 11:40 AM, Firebear said...
Very funny post. I have to say I would have handled it the same way. I will let you know, I cannot stay awake on an airplane. I am usually asllep before we are off the runway. When I flew back from italy, I was out the whole time. Then I was the only one in my group not jet lagged.
At 1:17 PM, Robert ~ Marlénè said...
A delicious tale! The only things I've ever run over and brought with me were big sheets of plastic that spontaneously melted onto the muffler and a pair of mechanic's coveralls that got wound around my rear axle and almost destroyed the entire car.But what got me thinking most was the whole "sexist" episode of the trucker and the gas-station attendant. That wasn't sexism, my darling, that was a simple form of cultural torque: there are people who can casually remove deer-parts from under a car and toss them to the side of the road, and there are people who can't; you got lucky that the two groups met at a moment when you needed it. It's a simple fact of life that the former group has more men in it and the latter has more women, but that's not sexism, that's statistics.The sexist part is when you expect someone to do something unutterably gross just because he has a penis; I have been made to do some unspeakably disgusting things with dead animals just because I am biologically male, like exctracting poisoned rats from under the floorboards with a pair of tongs, or prying a careless bird from the front grille of a car. You simply allowed a macho person (and trust me, I know lots of macho women... not masculine women, mind you, not "manly" woman, those are the descriptors that are sexist, but women who are take-charge and have strong stomachs) to help you out in a time of need.The trucker wasn't really exhibiting sexist behavior either (or at least you can make a case that he wasn't... I never met the man, he may have been sexist as all hell and was only wondering why two women were out unescorted and unpregnant at that time of night): he saw two people in distress and helped them, and of course felt contempt for the person in charge of the gas station who refused to help two fellow creatures in distress with so much as the loan of a broom-handle.Finally (why are my comments on your blog always so long?) most of my do friends fall asleep if we're driving late at night on a freeway where there aren't stops and starts to jostle them. I figure if they can sleep through me singing and rolling down the window every once in a while to stay awake, then more power to them.

Gangster's Moll

A few years ago, someone asked me what I had wanted to be when I grew up. It was one of those "break the ice" conversation starters. I said "Super Friend, Gangster's Moll, Author." I've always loved words, Aqua Man was hot and it was probably the only way I was going to get to meet him and I had an odd fascination with gangsters. Let me specify that I mean the type of gangsters you see in Guys and Dolls. I wanted to wear polka dotted dresses and go to a speakeasy.

They say you should be careful about what you wish for.

This is it. The post about Andrew. You may want to read this post about Ty first for chronological and background information.

As I said before, Andrew was black. This meant nothing to me. I had been brought up to believe that you never judged a person by race, religion, etc. My mom dated a black man right after she left my father (actually it was my Dad’s best friend) and I always wished she had married him. I knew I was attracted to him, he was nice to me and I needed that. I wanted to feel good about myself after my disaster relationship with Ty.

So Ty and I started dating. If you could call it that. I knew almost nothing about him, other than the fact that he had a son from a previous relationship. He lived in an apartment on the other side of Madison and I would go over there with him after work.

I remember him even less than I do Ty or Dane so I’m just going to give you bits and pieces about our time together.

The first time we were together, the first time we had sex, I remember walking from his bedroom to the living room, completely naked to get my clothes. His exact words were “Damn, woman, you move like a cat.” When I asked him what he meant, he went further to say that I strutted, that I was extremely sexy when I walked. May I just say that I was extremely flattered? The words Sexy and Dana are not often used in the same sentence.

He would get his hair done once a week and had this stuff put into it. He told me you could always tell when a black man was in love because he would be walking around with a plastic shower cap on.

He always opened his cigarette packs from the bottom and would not tell me why. When I would ask him, he would say it was “A Black Thing.” Drove me insane. When we were involved, I asked him again and he finally told me it was because if someone borrowed a cigarette, they would take the cigarette from the pack and this way, they wouldn’t touch the filters. This made sense to me and I could never figure out why he just hadn’t said that in the first place.

If you have never been to Madison, I suggest it highly. I loved living there, even though I was constantly broke. It is a capital city, just like Saint Paul, and it was as if Minneapolis and Saint Paul had merged. State Street was a lot of fun to wander down and see all of the speciality shops. We lived on what was called the politically correct side of town (predominately gay) and people were just so nice. There didn’t seem to be any hatred or crime or anything negative. I remember riding on the bus with Andrew one day and this little old lady was smiling at us. This was not something I was used to from growing up in a small town in Minnesota (now this was in the early 90’s and things have changed a lot in MN but I still remembered hearing people complain about interracial dating or classmates wanting to beat up people simply because they were black. Or gay. Or different in some way. Ah, small town life. I don’t really miss it (Although Kari and Eric are living there, in the house I grew up and driving through there was a whole bunch of Kerry signs. Maybe it’s changed)).

The same bus trip, I remember looking down and seeing a symbol that was fairly popular in Minneapolis. It was the gang symbol for the Nice Ladies (You know I love to change names. If you change the N to a V and the Ladies to their male companions, you’ll figure out who they were). Apparently, they had just started moving into Wisconsin.

The last time we were together, I had gone over to his apartment again on a Saturday night. Suddenly he looked at the clock and said he had to get to liquor store before it closed. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have anything to drink the next day. He started pulling me out of the door and told me to stick close to him. I will never forget what he said next, this was what brought my romance to a crashing halt.

“I’m wearing my colors so if something goes down, you just step to the side,” Andrew said.

“You’re wearing your what?” I asked.

“My colors. I belong to the Nice Ladies and there could be a rumble.” Yes, he actually said rumble.

“They’re a gang,” I sputtered.

“No, they’re not. It’s just an organization.” He looked at his watch. “Baby, I got to run. You just keep to yourself, I’ll be right back.”

He took off running to the liquor store, leaving me alone in a predominately black neighborhood, after telling me that he belonged to a gang…oh, excuse me, organization. I had a sudden thought of the Sharks and Jets bursting out from all over the place, I even started humming the bars of “When You’re A Jet” to myself. He came back after the longest 15 minutes of my life, clutching his bottle of malt liquor in it’s paper bag.

I did go through a period of time in my life where I was a law breaker. I think every kid goes through a klepto stage (except quite possibly Beth and Keem), I did my share of drugs, I once egged a house. But nothing in my mind compared to the fact that I was dating a gang member. That was it. It was so over.

I remember saying to Becky the next day, as I told her why I was breaking up with Andrew, “Organization. Organization, he calls it! That’s like saying the Mafia is a men’s club.”
And that was it. It was over. The funny thing is, I don’t really remember breaking up with him. I do know that shortly after I started dating Dane, Andrew tried to talk me into going out with him again. He was not pleased to know that he had been outgunned (sorry, bad pun) by a 17 year old.

All I want is a nice, normal guy who can sing and isn’t a criminal. Is that too much to ask? Apparently, since I am still extremely single. Oh, well, tomorrow is Sunday and I can listen to good singers and watch Bobby pour water. Life is good, just a little lonely sometimes.

Previous Comments:

At 11:54 PM, brooksba said...
Dana,Organization is a funny word. One of my friends from the pool hall dated a guy who was a member of the KKK. He called it a club. I didn't converse much with him once I found out. Gangster's moll. It sounds so glamorous. But then the reality sets in. I'm glad you don't date criminals anymore. Let's get Bobby to pour you lots and lots of water tomorrow night!
At 5:30 AM, DeAnn said...
I think, actually, that IS too much to ask. At least the singing thing. Some people are nice and not criminals. But they cannot sing. So, love them anyway, girl!
At 10:00 AM, annebrev said...
Just found your blog, Dana... you've made me laugh, and that's a good thing on a Monday morning. Thank you. I'm sure I'll be back!
At 1:12 PM, Matt said...
Father,First of all let me say that you have now got that doamn song stuck in my head for the next, twenty-thirty years...."When you're a Jet, You're a Jet for all life.."....and now of course the video for "Beat It" form Michael "Pedophile" JAckson is stuck in my brain as well......thank you so much. Also I would like to say that
At 1:12 PM, Matt said...
Father,First of all let me say that you have now got that doamn song stuck in my head for the next, twenty-thirty years...."When you're a Jet, You're a Jet for all life.."....and now of course the video for "Beat It" form Michael "Pedophile" JAckson is stuck in my brain as well......thank you so much. Also I would like to say that

Zombie Lovin'

I decided to change the title to Zombie Lovin' because this post is mainly about Ty. And it's done. Enjoy. Remember to laugh! This one's funny. I promise.

There are those of you who will remember a double stop on the WWIT? Train and a promise I made to tell you about the two men I was involved with before I met Dane. Well, here goes. Just for the record, this post is meant to be funny and there should be no tears involved, unless, of course, you wish to weep for the fact that my dating life completely sucks.

Okay, to refresh your memory, I moved to Madison at least 13 or 14 years ago with some friends, it sucked, we were constantly broke and there were freaky people living around us (I may not have documented all of these, this will be in my categories (coming soon!) under What Was I Thinking? In a special The Madison Years sub-category).

Just for the record, I drank pretty heavily during this time frame. I was in my twenties and at that point in time, we went to bars almost every night and then to work the next morning. So not all of my choices were extremely intelligent because I had consumed tons and tons of liquor before I made them. That and I was also in what I affectionately refer to the needy years and was under the belief that I was not complete unless I had a boyfriend.

Do you ever have one of those days where you look back at who you were and what your philosophies were and want to slap your past self really, really hard and start screaming “Why are you such an idiot? What were you thinking?” I have those days. I also have those days where I shake my head and think “Oh, Dana, you silly, silly person. What were you thinking?” And laugh, that kind of dismayed, pained laugh. You know the one I mean.

Anyway, here is a brief glance into my romantic life. Roll your eyes and thank God I now confine my “dating” to crushes from afar. The stories have been divided up by guy. So I now introduce you to Ty, the man I was involved with before I moved to Madison.

I love music. I always have. So, is it really any surprise that I’m attracted to musicians? When I met Ty for the first time, it was at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. I was there with a friend of mine who was video taping the performance of Ty’s band. It was a brief introduction and, quite honestly, I didn’t pay that much attention to him because I was secretly in love with my friend (yes, let’s keep in mind that I have never actually been in love, this was just the deluded “I am in serious like because he’s really sweet and attractive and wonderful and gosh, wouldn’t it be great if we got married because he’s THE ONE” type of love, the type of love that overlooks such glaring obstacles such as a) he’s not interested and b) he’s gay (which seriously derails a romance before it even starts)).

Somehow, during the conversation I had with Ty, that lasted a very short time, I mentioned that I worked for Major’s. I was surprised to see him there a few days later. We had a brief conversation, I asked if he was shopping and he said no, he had come by to see me. My heart did a bit of a tumble, this was not something I was (or ever will be) used to, having a guy tell me that he had sought me out.

I ran into Ty a few weeks later, at a party that a friend was having. We ended up talking and somehow I ended up leaving with him (somehow…yeah, like I was under a magic spell or something. I was a tramp back then) and driving from Minneapolis to Somerset, WI (this is a long way. Especially when you don’t drive and are in a car with two men you don’t really know that well).

Now, I willingly left with him. I knew that if I left with him, we were probably going to have sex. That was my intention at least. However, Ty had different plans. We spent the night talking about music, he showed me what a steel guitar looked like, and played some of his songs for me on the keyboard. He stated, and I quote, “I don’t have sex on the first date. I have too much respect for you.”

Yeah, I did the “Aw” thing in my head as well. I bought it. Silly, silly Dana.

The next morning, there was sex. And it was okay. It was a long time ago so believe me when I tell you I don’t remember his technique or whether or not he made my toes curl when he kissed me. Suddenly, we were a couple (which, honestly, is how all of my relationships seem to work out. We meet. We have sex. We are together. We break up. Where is the courtship?) and things were okay. I had a boyfriend again. You’ll remember that I refer to this time in my life as The Needy Years, where I considered my value based on if I was involved with someone.

Anyway, Ty and I started dating. He introduced me to his parents and his younger sister. He brought me to his family reunion. My mom liked him. He introduced me to all of his friends. He wrote songs about me. He made compilation tapes for me. He had a party and invited me. I was so proud of him, as he set up his instruments with his roommate. I was cool. I was dating a musician! Yay me! Look at him, he’s so cute. My heart swelled with affection.

Then he began to sing.

Ker-plunk went my heart. Oh, my God. He was horrible. I couldn’t believe it. How was it possible? I had read his lyrics, I had heard him play the guitar and the keyboard and he was extremely talented. He just couldn’t sing.

For some people, it’s the fingernails on the chalk board. For me, it’s the screechy off-tune singers that get to me. I know you are sitting there thinking “But Dana, you love karaoke. How can this be a problem for you?” And my answer would be “I’m not dating the karaoke singers.” Beth and I have even talked about how you can take an average middle-of-the-road guy, one we would think was attractive but not necessarily hot, and put him on stage. If he can sing, he’s suddenly transformed into the most gorgeous man in the universe (And we’re not the only women to think so – think of the following quote from Love Actually.

Sam: Girls like musicians, right? Even the really strange ones?
Daniel: Sure. I think even Meatloaf got laid once. I mean, Ringo Starr married a Bond girl!
Sam [looks at him strangely]: Whatever.)

I moved to Madison. I am trying to remember how long we had been together before I moved. I’m pretty sure the plans were to move before I met him but I’m not positive. We’ll assume that is the case. It’s really hard for me to remember everything that happened and in what order this took place. I know that, at one point, Ty and I broke up, shortly after I moved. The songs written about me during this period were not flattering. I think one of them, Dizzy, had a line that went “You can go to a disco bar and fuck whoever you please.”

But we got back together. Around this time, I started working for the aforementioned Fasties. Becky started working for an insurance company and she had made a lot of friends there. We decided to have a party. Ty was invited. He rode up with a friend of ours named Char to spend the entire weekend. Also invited was one Andrew, a co-worker at Fasties. Andrew was a black man, very smooth and attractive, and he would flirt with me constantly. I was committed to Ty and kept my relationship with Andrew on a strictly platonic basis. But I’m not going to lie, I was attracted to him.

I do know that things were starting to wear a little thin with Ty. I was not overly thrilled about the songs he wrote about me when we were apart. I was not pleased that my friends didn’t seem to like him and Becky caught him in her room once and that some of her possessions were missing. This was going to be that last chance for him.

Boy, did he blow it.

One of the guys that Becky worked with at the insurance Agency was named Conan, he was such a sweetheart and we adored him. When Ty came up for the weekend, he offered to show him around and spend some “man time” together. Now, I don’t know if Ty thought he was being macho or where his brain was but apparently Conan asked him how we had met. Ty replied “Oh, I picked her up at a party, took her home and fucked her.” Nice, huh? Keep in mind, I didn’t find this out until later, after the party.

When Char picked up Ty, she asked him to meet her at a popular restaurant in Somerset. Ty lived off the beaten path, a good 20 miles from town. When Char picked him up, she noticed he was getting dropped off and specified at that time that she would not be able to drive him back to his house, she would only be able to drop him back at the restaurant since she had plans for the day following our party. Ty agreed to this.

So party night comes. Andrew showed up and he looked really good. He was wearing a fitted 3 piece suit and a hat, nice shoes and looked really good. I could not help but keep comparing him to my pasty boyfriend who was wearing ripped jeans and a grungy sweatshirt (Every woman loves a sharp dressed man). There’s a bunch of people there, it’s extremely hot (no air conditioning) and I have reached the point where I can’t stand my hair anymore. It was too long and felt like a ten pound weight on my head. I talked Becky into cutting my hair on the balcony. She did so and I went down to my room to take a shower and get rid of the hair clippings.

My room was on the first floor. There were two rooms and a full sized kitchen but we did most of our living on the 2nd floor, where the party was taking place. I did not have a door and actually used a sheet to give myself some privacy. The keg was in the first floor kitchen because the 2nd floor kitchen was much smaller and it would take up too much room. I walk out of the shower and there is Ty, waiting for me.

I recognize the look in his eye and a part of me sighs and thinks "Oh, God, why now? I'm hot, I'm tired, I just took a cold shower to get cooled off and now this idiot wants a piece of me." But hey, what the heck, maybe this time the sex would be spectacular. Yeah. It wasn't. The next part may be a little more graphic than you want but I will try my best to be tactful.

Ty manoveurs me so that I am lying on my mattress (too broke to afford a box spring) face down, my head buried into a pillow. Ty is on top of me, the usual name for this position would be doggie style but I am lying flat on the bed. This is what he wants and he seems to be happy so what the heck, right? He is grinding away when I hear voices. It's Conan and another person, downstairs to fill up the beer pitchers.

Now remember, I didn’t actually have a door. There was nothing there to indicate to Conan that if he moved the sheet, he might be extremely embarrassed. And he did and he was. I could hear him say “Hmm. I wonder what this is for” and then I knew that I had two men in my bedroom. While I couldn’t see Conan’s face, I could almost feel the heat of his embarrassment. Ty, fortunately, had grabbed a blanket and flipped it over us the minute he heard Conan start to move the sheet.

Conan stammered “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” I giggled and said “Don’t worry about it, Conan. It’s okay.” Or something like that. I do not remember how I knew that ticked off Ty but it did. He was extremely annoyed that I had talked to Conan. Apparently I was supposed to lie there and not acknowledge the situation at all.

Conan left, Ty began again. And I was bored. Bored, bored, bored. Which, and granted it’s been a long time, but I thought the object of sex was to be the opposite of boring. But then, he did something and there was a spark of interest and I did the two things I should not have done. I moved. I moaned.

You would have thought I had leapt out of bed and set Ty’s pubic hair on fire for the reaction I got. He was so ticked that I had moved. I didn’t get it. What was the big deal? I remembered thinking “Would it be better for you if I was dead?” Because the position and the no moving or speaking rule made me seriously think he would have liked it better if I was a corpse (Which is where we get the title of my post. When Beth told me that California banned necrophilia, we had a fun conversation about how there was no more lovin’ for the zombies. And then I remembered Ty).

The rest of our wonderful escapade, I was thinking about Andrew and how good he looked in his suit and I thought about how he probably would not disrespect me the way Ty was. And that’s when I knew it was pretty much over between Ty and myself.

Finally, he finished. He went upstairs. I went back to the shower. I eventually found my way upstairs and wondered how much longer of this night did I have to deal with.

The party ended a lot sooner than we had anticipated. Becky and my roommate (can’t remember her fake name so we’ll call her NB which stands for Not Becky) was tired and decided she wanted to go to bed. Her bedroom was on the third floor. There was a vent in the floor next to her bed and so we could hear everything that was said.

NB: Conan. Conan, get up.
C: Wha? (He was drunk and crashed on NB’s bed)
NB: Conan, I’m tired. Go downstairs.
C: Where’s Becky?
NB: Becky’s downstairs.
C: Okay.
NB: Conan, go downstairs. Becky’s looking for you.
C: Becky? Becckkkkyyyy?
B: Conan, I’m downstairs. Come down here.
C: Okay.
NB: No, Conan. You have to go downstairs.
C: I have to go to the bathroom.
NB: You can go to the bathroom downstairs.
C: Why? There’s a bathroom right here.
NB: No! NO! Conan, stop!
B: Conan! Stop right now! No!
C: It’s fine.
NB: Noooooooo!

Suddenly the heavens opened up and there was a deluge in our living room. Conan, extremely drunk as he was, had seen the vent and thought it was a bathroom. He decided to use it. Speaking as one of the people who ended up with splash back, I’m glad he didn’t have to vomit. The party ended pretty soon after that.

The next morning, Char and Ty took off. I was relieved to see him go. Later that afternoon, after Conan left, apologizing for the 50th time, Becky told me about the conversation between Conan and Ty. I was not pleased.

And then Char called. Char was furious. Apparently, when she arrived back in Somerset and brought Ty to the restaurant where she had picked him up, he got mad at her for not bringing her to his house. She calmly explained they had discussed this and that she was on her way to another engagement and could not take the time out of her schedule. He was angry about this, slammed the door as hard as he could and kicked her door, calling her a bitch as he walked away.

That was it. The last two straws. I called Ty immediately. “Hi, baby,” he said to me. I asked him about the conversation with Conan. Oh, it didn’t mean anything. It was a joke. What about Char’s car? Ignore what Char said. She was a bitch and was trying to break us up. I didn’t buy it. I told him we were through and hung up the phone as he was telling me that both Char and I were bitches and we could go to hell.

I never saw him again. I’d say it was about a week after the party that Andrew and I started dating. And that post will be next. I promise. If I don’t kill blogger because I’ve written the end of this story 3 times and each time I’ve gone to save it, I get redirected and lose everything. Now that I decided to do the rest in word, you know there won’t be any more problems.

Previous Comments:

At 11:58 PM, brooksba said...
DM,I'm on the edge of my seat, waiting, waiting. I want more. Thank you for new posts! Yea!Beth
At 9:30 PM, Brian said...
Hey, fun post! I enjoyed reading your story.
At 4:49 AM, brooksba said...
Dana,Great post. I loved it! Ty was a dip. I'm glad you got rid of that jerk. I hope that guy's name wasn't really Conan. The image of Conan using a vent as a toilet is one I don't need. Very strange. Beth

The exception to the rule BUT still a stop on the WWIT? train

I have talked about a lot of the men I have dated before. I have given the impression that every single one of them was a jerk or a loser. This is not true. There was one. One that made my heart sing, one that could have been the one, one that if I have ever been in love in my entire life, it would have been with the one.

I guess, though, if you want to be technical about it, all of the men I have dated (and yes, in some cases this term is used loosely) have been jerks or losers or sometimes, ooh, how special of a man was he, both. The one I am talking about was not a man. No, he was a 17 year old boy I met when I was 24. The sad thing is, even though he was 17, he was so much more mature than any so-called man I have ever been involved with in a romantic manner (again, loosely using the word romantic).

His name was Dane (no, it wasn't but that's his fake name) and he was sweet and kind and wonderful in so many ways. He made me laugh and treated me with respect and cared about me. And I screwed it up. I not only lost him but I also lost my best friend.

This is one of the hardest things I've ever had to write because it is difficult for me to realize I was so selfish, so consumed with myself, so damn needy that I would allow this to happen. But I did. And it took many years for me to realize what had happened was my fault. Not anyone else's fault. My fault and mine alone.

It was 1991 (I know this because I figured out when a certain movie came out) and I was living in Madison with my friend Becky. This was long after our other two roommates ditched us (I can't remember what their code names are right now so I'll just ignore them. They were gone and it was Becky and I against the world). Becky and I were broke and trying to make ends meet so we took second jobs. I took one at a fast food restaurant called, oh, for fun we'll call it Fasties. And that's where I met Dane.

I did not start dating Dane immediately. In fact, when I first started at Fasties, I was involved with a musician who lived in Somerset (small Wisconsin town near the border of Minnesota). Then, when my relationship with the musician went bad, as my relationships are prone to do, I started dating a man named Andrew, who also worked at Fasties. I am saving the story of Andrew for another post. Really, all you need to know at this point is that I ended it for really good reasons, such as the fact that I did not want to die in a shootout.

I worked the counter with Dane’s younger brother, who was 15 (and, forgive me Lord for saying this, but gorgeous. Broad shoulders, chiseled nose, dark wavy hair, did not look 15, looked 25. But this is not important to the story) and another boy about 15. Very nice, lots of fun, we had a good time talking about anything. Add the fact that I was avoiding Andrew like the plague and you’ll see why I started having my breaks with Dane and his brother (who will now be known as Bo).

I’m not sure how Dane and I started flirting with each other. I do know that one of the girls that worked there, a little younger than myself, had said that she had gone out with him a couple times (but stopped because she was worried about that specter, statutory rape) and that he was a really nice guy. I had more than my share of not so nice guys in my past. I was intrigued.

I do know that there was a lot of laughter, there was some innuendo involving honey packets, there were exchanged glances through the window (the one that separated the counter from the food preparation place in the back). And one day, after hearing how both Bo and his friend both had dates that weekend, I had the following conversation with Dane at the fryer (oh, the romance of this moment!).

Me: Dane, I’m depressed.
D: Why?
Me: Both Bo and friend have dates this weekend and they are 15 and I am 24 and I do not have a date. It’s very sad.
D: Would you like to go to dinner tomorrow night?
Me: Uh (Quick pause while I think about this. He’s only 17. I am 7 years older than him. This is wrong. Wrong, I tell you. But he’s also the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. He’s really wonderful. What could possibly go wrong?). Okay.

Thus began the most idyllic period of my dating life. I am serious. How it is possible for a 17-year-old boy to be that wonderful still astounds me to this day and it is 13 years later. I have never met anyone who treated me as well as him. I probably never will.

If you were to ask me what the most romantic date I have ever been on was, I can honestly say that during the summer of 1991, I was escorted to a park where my boyfriend opened up the trunk of his car, pulled out a loaf of bread and we spent the afternoon feeding the ducks and talking. Just him and I and ducks (but they were not green. It is very sad). He laid his head in my lap and I have never felt so much tenderness or cared so much for any other man in my life.

The 2nd most romantic date I have ever been on was that same summer, we went to the zoo in Madison (for those of you in Minnesota, it is about the same size as the Como Zoo here). He bought me ice cream and a wax elephant (there was one of those machines that you put so much money in and it made a wax sculpture. I love those machines. Even more than the ones that make the souvenir pennies) and we walked through the park, holding hands.

So what happened? What went wrong? How did I screw up what I like to refer to as the Big Kiss?

Some of you have read the post I did on why I decided to start living Dew free and know that there are a lot of factors that contributed to my weight gain and self-esteem problems. I mentioned one part about how every time a guy showed any interest in me; I felt it was my responsibility to sleep with them. Dane was wonderful and sweet and caring and kind and liked me! Obviously it was my duty to put out. And this was during what I refer to as The Needy Years. Since I had no concept of what love was, since I thought that I had to reward someone for paying attention to me, since I could not express to Dane that I cared about him, all I knew was sex. With the way I felt for Dane, I was throwing myself at him all the time.

Imagine that you’re a 17-year-old guy and you’ve met an older woman who wants to have sex with you almost every waking minute. That would be most 17 year olds idea of the perfect woman. Now imagine that you are Dane who is sweeter and kinder and wiser beyond your years and you have met someone you really care about. And all she seems to want from you is your body.

I did to Dane what all the preceding (and post) men did to me. I used him for sex.

I can now look back at this and recognize my errors, of course. I now know that if I could do it all over again, I would still be a virgin and Dane and I would probably never have met since I moved to Madison to run away from my past. Funny thing about running away is that you might move but your past has a way of repeating itself. Funny that it took me so long to figure it out.

There are two reasons I’m writing this post. One is because I’m slowly learning to forgive myself for my past and this is, as Beth said, cleansing. I can literally feel weight lifting off of my shoulders and my heart as I write this. The other reason is, as I mentioned at the beginning of this post, that I lost my best friend because of a stupid mistake I made and I never once told her I was sorry. Here’s what happened.

Becky and I decided to move back home to Minnesota. Madison was not working out for us. Her father and stepmother came up to help her pack. I was suffering from the flu or bronchitis or something like that and was not thinking clearly. I came home with Dane, saw that Becky and her parents weren’t there, and wrote a note saying I’d gone over to Dane’s and to call me if they needed help.

Here’s the thing. Yes, I was sick. Yes, I was not thinking. But hello, her parents came all the way to Madison to help us and I wrote them off that easily? It was a selfish act on my part and I never once admitted it. And when Becky called me on it, I tried to rationalize my behavior by saying to myself that she was overreacting.

I think things would have worked out a lot better if I could just have looked Becky straight in the eyes and said “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.” I didn’t do that. Now, it was 13 years ago and I don’t remember everything that I said to her but I think I tried to justify this by the fact that, when we went to the bars, she would leave me alone while she went and talked to other people. I was blaming my selfishness and laziness on the fact that she was popular.

I also did something I had sworn I would never do; I had chosen a boyfriend over my best friend. I wanted to spend time with Dane and moving would have cut into that.

I still see Becky now and then; she’s one of my sister’s closest friends. It’s been 13 years since this happened and I have to say, every time I see her, that I miss her so much. I know we will never have the connection we once did and I regret that more than anything. Even more than the fact that Dane and I didn’t work out. When I saw Becky last, I had mentioned that Beth reminded me a lot of her and that I usually gravitated towards people that remind me of her. It’s true. I find people that are vibrant and loyal and bright and dedicated. Keem also reminds me of Becky.

I think that there’s a reason why I let myself get into a so-called friendship with Jake after Becky because I didn’t believe I deserved any better. But I couldn’t admit it to myself and so I dragged myself down into the pits of despair even deeper. If I would admit that I didn’t deserve a good friend, that would mean that I hadn’t treated Becky right and that would mean I had screwed up. So, Becky, if you ever read this, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. You were a great friend and I will always remember the good times.

Over the past few years, I have discovered things about myself that I don’t like and am working on changing them and have also discovered things about myself that I do like. I have made stupid mistakes; I have had many a stop on the WWIT? Train but I am not a bad person. I appreciate you taking the time to read this and help me unburden my soul.

Oh, what happened with Dane and I? Well, as I said, Becky and I moved back to Minnesota. Dane and I lived 4 hours away from each other. He was still 17 years old. Our relationship did not last very long after I moved back because it is really hard to sustain a romance when your boyfriend’s mom won’t give him permission to come and visit you. Shortly after school started, Dane called and told me it was time we started seeing other people. I was devastated but now, looking back, I know it was the best thing for him.

I like to think that somewhere there is a guy for me that is as wonderful as Dane was. I also like to think that I’m ready for him now. That I’ve learned from my mistakes to realize that sex does not equal love. This has been a long journey on the WWIT? Train. I am really hoping we’re getting close to the station. Thanks for reading.

Previous Comments:

At 1:04 PM, Matt said...
Dana,I am still wiping away the tears as I type this so forgive me. First of all thank you so much for posting this beautiful piece. It really is touching. I know that there is a man out there for you Dana, how could there not be? We have all made stops on the WWIT Train, some of us (ok me) are lucky enough to have found friends along the way that stuck by us throguh thick and thin, but it does not always end up like that. Losing a friend is always so hard a loss, sometimes even greater than losing a love, I am sorry for your loss of Becky, I truly am. But I will say one thing to you right now Dana, no matter what you ever do for the rest of your life, you will never be alone. I swear this to you because I, and everyone else that is lucky enough to be called your friends, will always be there. No matter what. I'm sorry, but you're stuck with us, we're family, so I hope you can deal with that :) I truly am a lucky person because I can proudly say that I know you, Dana-Queen of the Universe, and that I consider you to be one of my best friends, along with being my Father. I love you Dana, and I know that I have sometimes said things that were inappropriate (you might be thinking, "Inappropriate? You? Impossible I say!" but sadly it's true) and sometimes have doine things that were mean, but you always knew that they were done in a teasing and joking manner. I hope that I have never done anything to hurt you, and if I did I will take the time right now to tell you that I am sorry. I am telling you right now Dana, you are stuck with me. So hope you enjoy that, because I know that I will. Every single step of the way I will enjoy it.Love,Matt
At 2:08 PM, The Lioness said...
I will sound arrogant and patronising but what the bloody hell, bear in mind I AM crazy about you, dahling: I believe words gave power. I believe words shape the world we choose to live in. I believe if you say “I probably never will”, you probably never will. I believe you could. I believe you are lovely. I believe you are tremendously brave. I believe the reason you find people that are vibrant and loyal and bright and dedicated because you are too, and not even you can self-boycott that effectively. And I believe it’s about time you got your remaning shit together and started believing it too, because I believe anything other than this would be a waste of such cosmic proportions I choose not to believe it at all.
At 6:28 PM, CarpeDM said...
"I am saving the story of Andrew for another post. Really, all you need to know at this point is that I ended it for really good reasons, such as the fact that I did not want to die in a shootout.""Our relationship did not last very long after I moved back because it is really hard to sustain a romance when your boyfriend’s mom won’t give him permission to come and visit you."Hello! Did no one notice these parts? There is funny stuff interspersed between the misery. Matt, you're a sweetheart and I love you dearly and believe me when I say you could never ever be as mean as the man whose name I do not mention for fear of the wrath of Beth descending upon his head.Lioness, I adore you. I also believe in the power of words and do think that there probably is a really great guy out there for me. I also know that each time I write one of these posts, my soul feels lighter. There's been a lot of crap repressed for many years and it's really only since I started blogging that I've been able to feel this free. So, even though it's depressing in some spots, telling the truth really does set you free. When I look back now, I feel sorry for the girl I used to be but I also want to smack her for being such a dunce sometimes. I really like me now and that's very important. It's taken a long time to get here.Anyway, if anyone is interested, I'd love to share with you the story of the two guys I was involved with before Dane. Believe me when I tell you there will be much more laughter than tears.
At 8:02 PM, The Lioness said...
I did chuckle reading those 2, yes! And I also believe blogging is therapeutical, yes! I even came out in my blog, pic-wise, so there - and trust me, that's a huge step for me.
At 8:25 PM, brooksba said...
Hello DM,Okay, I have a lot to comment on this one.First of all, SHARE THE STORY ABOUT ANDREW! And the story of the other two guys. Are they the same story? Maybe they are. I await, not so patiently, for the yarn.Yes, there were funny parts to this post, yet the overall theme was serious. That's not a bad thing. It is a cleansing and you deserve to be the strong, beautiful, wonderful, amazing, caring woman I know you are. I am so happy to see you liking yourself. Maybe I'm biased, but if I like you, shouldn't you like you?I didn't know you back when this story took place and I don't know if I would say you were a different person than you are today. No, don't take this as I think you're still on the WWIT train. I mean that the person you are was there, just hidden deep inside. You have gone through events in your life to bring out the person you want to be. There are lessons, no matter how difficult, that show us who we really are, deep down. Matt said it well, you are stuck with us. I don't care what you do (I'm sure you'll never do anything as bad as a certain woman who caused soda to fly around the room at the very mention of her name), I could never see myself giving up the friendship I have with you. I have gone through many friendships in my life to find the ones that I want to hold onto. Your friendship is one that I want for eternity. Matt is also correct, losing a friend is always a hard loss. Friendships, true friendships, that are based on being there for one another, on acceptance of the whole picture, are always harder than a loss of a boyfriend/girlfriend. There is a minute difference between true friendship love and "the big kiss" love. The only difference is that you usually don't have physical attraction as part of the friendship love. For a love to be "the big kiss" kind, the true friendship love needs to be there. Friendship is the basis of all lasting relationships, not just love. It is friendship, companionship, acceptance of people's differences, and caring for others that makes the world go round. You deserve the friendship love, you deserve "the big kiss" love, you deserve the world. I wouldn't call you one of my best friends if I did not believe this. You deserve to like yourself, you deserve to LOVE yourself. Hey, if there's anyone you have to live with for the rest of your life, it's yourself. You should at least enjoy the company. =)About the loss of your friend, Becky. I know how difficult it is to lose the friendship of someone you care about. I don't know how you feel about this and how comfortable you are about it, but I would recommend the next time you see her, you tell her what you told the world. She's still around, there may be a way to reform the bond you had before. It may not be the same, history and pasts do have ways of changing opinions, it is easier to forgive than it is to forget. If Becky is anything like you say she is, she will take the honesty from you to heart and give you another chance. Believe me, giving second chances are not as hard as one thinks, I've given enough of them out. Even if it doesn't work out, you at least know you tried. You didn't just drop it and I know I would appreciate someone taking the time and the effort to talk to me honestly about the past.Now, I enjoyed that you made his name Dane. I was thinking, "Dane and Dana!" It's just cute! Thank you for the post. I know it made you feel better, the cleansing does help. It's a release. I enjoyed the light comments to bring a deep subject up and the message was brought across beautifully.I love you. I admire you. I think the world of you. I will ALWAYS be there for you. If I ever do anything to hurt you, let me know immediately. I don't ever want to hurt my best friend. I know what it feels like.Beth

At 10:06 AM, Firebear said...
Thank you for again sharing with us. And yes, I noticed the funny parts!
At 2:06 AM, brooksba said...
Hello again,Please post the story about the previous boyfriends! I want this now too. =) Can't you post 24 hours a day? I mean, come on! I need more to do after midnight.

Trapped in an attic in Madison

After we decided to move and rented the house from Dante, he told us we could feel free to start bringing up stuff and leave it in the house. We decided to take advantage of this one weekend and made a trip up. The tenant at the time was still living there, so he was happy to let us in and make us at home, that meaning that he was more than willing to share his pot with us. Barb and I made a trip up to the local convenience store, across the street from the Crystal Corner, to get an apple. I'm not sure why but apparently we were going to use the apple as a bong (Yes, at one time I did drugs. I'm not proud of it).

Standing in the store, Barb makes the purchase and gets into a conversation with the man who is approximately 500 years old.

500 year old man: An apple, huh? I can't eat apples because I don't have any teeth (He smiles to demonstrate the veracity of his statement). I eat steaks, though.
Barb: You do? How can you eat steak if you don't have teeth?
500 year old man: I gum them!

May I just say "Eew?"

After partaking in the pot-enhanced apple, the decision was made to watch a movie. An Andrew Dice Clay video was watched briefly and then, an Evil Dead movie was decided on. I do not like scary movies. I decided to go to the 2nd floor and sit on the stairs and read, well near my friends in case scary monsters break into the house on the 2nd floor and I need their protection but far enough away that if the monsters crash on the 1st floor, I can escape.

About twenty minutes later, Rex wanders upstairs. "Let's explore," he says. We wander around the house, deciding where we're going to put things. We go to the 3rd floor and he talks about what he wants to do with his bedroom. The one bedroom in the entire house that has a door on it. Without thinking about it, he pulls it shut behind us.

Thunk. The doorknob falls off and rolls across the room. I am now trapped in a room with Rex, a man with whom there is still a little tension because of the whole sex thing, and there is a scary movie playing downstairs. I am officially freaked out. Rex and I take turns yelling through the vent, no one hears us. After a few minutes, we give up, I return to my book. About an hour later, I hear Barb saying to Katie "Have you seen Dana and Rex? Where are they?" We call for help again. There is much laughter and innuendo about what we were doing. I simply said "Eh. I've already done him" and walked out of the room. Classy? No. Did it make me feel better? Yes.

The next morning, the tenant, I want to call him Sam, heads off for work. About 30 minutes later, he is back.

"That was quick," one of us says to him.

"Yeah. I was cutting through the alley and found a dead body." Perhaps this could have been taken as a sign. It was ignored. Silly, silly us.

Previous Comments:

At 5:58 PM, angelia said...
I watched someone drop dead in the parking lot of SA when I was visiting my friend who was working.... Hmmmm, I haven't pondered that experience for awhile

Apartment Searching in Madison

So Rex, Barb, Katie and I pile into a car and drive to Madison one day. It's about 4 hours from the Twin Cities and it was a fun ride. We were making plans and laughing and singing along to the radio. When we got there, we found a newspaper with a list of apartments and homes for rent. I remember sitting there in the sunlight, taking in the fresh air and all the sights and sounds around me. For those of you who have never been to Madison, it is a smaller city, a college town and a capitol city. It was like all of the best parts of Minneapolis and Saint Paul had been placed in one area.

We had no idea what we were looking for. Did we want an apartment or a house? We figured we'd just look at different places until we found the perfect place. Rex was excited about a listing for four bedroom apartments. I found a listing for a house for rent.

4-5 bedrooms, three story, two bathrooms, two kitchens, balcony, porch. $750 a month.

Oh my God. This was perfect. As I was reading the listing a second time, a Monarch Butterfly gracefully flew up, landed on the newspaper on the listing, flew up again and circled me 3 times. It was obviously a sign! But Rex, who was a manly man and not given to consulting obvious signs, was insistent that we check out the apartments he had picked out. We would look at the house if the apartments didn't pan out.

Now Madison is a college town. These apartments were on campus. This translates to "little tiny holes that we can charge a fortune for." The first apartment was dark, dismal and damp - all for the bargain price of $950 a month (which now sounds like the best bargain for a four bedroom apartment but in 1990 was outrageous). The second apartment was slightly bigger but I was still claustrophobic in it. I'm not sure I can describe this very well but I'll try. When you entered the apartment, you took two steps and there was a wall. The wall was exactly one inch away from where the door opened out fully. In order to move through out the apartment, you had to stand in a tiny spot and shut the door. If you have multiple people coming into the apartment, you stand and shut multiple times. Not worth it, especially not at $1050 a month. The third apartment? Oh, it was so much better (sarcasm). It's one redeeming feature was the black and white tile in the kitchen. And for $1150 a month, it could be ours!

Defeated, we wander back to the car. I say "Can we go look at the house now?" Bow to my wisdom, you tall, gangly Liar man, you (Believe me when I say that Rex is not just a liar because of our one night together when he asked for my phone number and never called me. Never. I always wanted to ask him "Dude. I already slept with you. What was the point in pretending that we were going to have this great romantic relationship. Why couldn't you have ended it with a 'Hey, thanks for putting out' or something like that? Why'd you have to lie?" There is much more that happened that I will tell you about in due time. Let's just say calling him Liar man is a prelude to many more lies to come)!

Rex, still in his manly man phase, makes the phone call to the owner of the house. We get directions and head over there to meet him. The house welcomes us with a glorious welcoming sort of feeling, well, it welcomed me. I don't know about anyone else. We sit down on the steps and wait. Soon I hear Rex say "Do you think that is him?" Katie says "I don't know but oh my God, he is hot." Barb and I look quickly up. Yes, there he is, maybe an inch or two taller than me (still short but built), dark hair, dark eyes...mmm, pretty.

We meet, we talk, we tour the house. It is perfect. Dante, the hot landlord, informs us that he used to rent it out in units but decided to try renting out the entire house. We ask for some time to make a decision. He suggests we go and check out the Crystal Corner and he would be back shortly. It was (and still is, apparently) a blues bar and very cool. We decide we want to stay in the house.

It was going to be so great, staying there. Rent would be, divided by 4 people, only $190. How could anything ever go wrong?

If you haven't figured it out yet, something went wrong. More later.

I move to Madison (Actually, I decide to move to Madison. The moving part comes later).

I have no concept of time. I can tell you that this following story took place after I worked at Major's (short for Major Department Store) and before I worked for NABABNA. I believe that this was back in 1991 but I'm not positive. This is what I do know. In 1985 - I graduated from high school. In 2000, I started working at NABABNA. This is somewhere between there, maybe in 1990.

So I had this friend and, since I like to use fake names, we will call her Barb. She was having a somewhat difficult time in life, problems with the boyfriend, the job and just wanted to get away from it all. A friend of hers (and former fling (okay, former one night stand) of mine) was a flight attendant living in Detroit. He suggested she move to Detroit and start all over. She could stay with him rent free for a month until she could find a job.

One night, shortly after she decided to do this, we were hanging around at Country Kitchen after the Hogsbreath closed and Rex walks in. "Barb," he says. "I was thinking about it. I just need to live near an airport so we could move to Madison. It's closer to Minnesota." Barb agrees and he goes to talk to someone else in the restaurant. We were sitting around, talking about how she was moving and I mused that I was jealous, I wanted to move and start all over because I hated working at Major's. Barb said "Well, why don't you?"

Hmm, what was keeping me in Minnesota? Nothing. I was 20 something, living at home with my Mom (oh, the indignity) and not involved with anyone. I hated my job and here was the chance to throw caution to the wind and move. It took me five seconds to make this decision. Five seconds. A major life change and I take less time to think about this than I put into deciding what color I'm dying my hair this month. Bah. I deserved what I got.

Katie also decides that she wants to move with us. We approach Rex and tell him we want to move as well. He's okay with it. Another guy there looks at the three of us and says "Huh. A blonde (Katie), a redhead (Barb) and a brunette. You'll be living man's ultimate fantasy, Rex." Oh, yes. Let the orgies begin. Frankly, I've been with Rex and he's not getting anywhere near me again because he is a liar. A liar. Although I will live with him. And then ask myself "What were you thinking?" (Ah yes, the What Were You Thinking question. I am seriously thinking of getting a bracelet similiar to the popular WWJD? (What Would Jesus Do? Are those still popular?) that has WWYT? on it. Maybe I'd actually stop to think something through before I go gallivanting off to Wisconsin with no job and very little money)

My mother tries to talk me out of it. Hah! What does my mother know? My (former) friend Jake (but friend at the time) tries to talk me out of it. "You'll regret it." Hah! What does he know? My employer at Major's (smug, smarmy Norwegian bitch) makes some smug, smarmy comment "Oh, Dana. Why would you do that?" Hah! What does she know?

Apparently, they know quite a lot. But I have to go, Keem is calling. Oh, oh, Keem is calling (sung to tears are falling. Isn't there a song like that?)