Saturday, March 25
A) I'm not a big fan of drinking and driving, but sometimes it's just not your business to butt in - Especially if you need a ride home. Dan seemed okay(ish) to drive, and I wasn't about to make waves, since he lives a block and a half away from me, and me and Dan, well, we aren't friends anyway. We just know people in common.
It's a pretty sweet car, Dan's car is. On a cold night you can press a button and the seat gets all warm. Unnecessary but cool. Or warm. Whatever, I'm getting a ride home. Dan's kind of an asshole driver, and an asshole talker, and I'm not sure if I'm more uncomfortable about the illegal left-turn he just made or the fact that he used "cornhole" and "fiancee" in the same sentence. It's nice outside and I'm thinking it might have been a better idea to just walk home. Dan thinks it's funny to swerve around the street like he's riding one of those awesome Diamondback bikes that your best friend had in the 80's. Two blocks from my apartment (they always say it's within a mile of your house when it happens), Dan drives directly into a car parked on the right side of the road. He's wearing a seatbelt, but because I'm tough and all, I'm not. Driver's side airbag deploys, but nothing happens over here in the passenger seat except for my face hitting the dashboard. I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
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B) Skilled yet small hockey players. Man, those guys are my favorites. Martin St. Louis, Sergei Samsonov, even that nutjob Theo Fleury - those are guys I model myself after. Me and a few of my friends get together once in while to rent out some ice-time in a rink in Morristown, and we play us some hockey. None of us played hockey in high school or anything, but we all know and love hockey. It's mostly a joke, but it's still fun.
Small and quick, baby. (Yeah, that's what she said.) Anyway, Sammy , Martin, and Theo are the benchmarks for tiny hockey players. The pisser is that small and quick in real life doesn't match up with small and quick on ice. I always think I'm faster than I really am. So I'm skating up the right wing, and if I can beat Dan (playing defence, and playing poorly to boot), it's a breakaway. No way this douche beats me. He's moving towards the boards, and so am I, but I'm really fast, right? Skate fast! Skate fast! I have to remember to not look at the puck when I'm skating fast. By the time I look up, Dan's about a foot away from me. I'm going to hit something, and it's either Dan or the boards. I choose nothing, which basically means that Dan hits me (unintentionally, I think), and then I hit the sideboards face first. I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
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C) Remember that Dave Matthews lyric? It was something like "keep the big door open, everyone will come around". I guess it makes me old and lame, but I've always liked that line. It's sort of like what my apartment is like, and I'm happy about that. We're not party people or anything, but on any given Friday, you're bound to meet new people at our place. Hello Dana. Nice to meet you, Penny. Annika, hey, cool name. You get the picture.
I like our open door policy, but if you come to 512 late in the evening, it might be a little messy. I'm always bugging Dan to clean up before he goes to bed if he has friends over. What Dan does to convince me that he's made some sort of half-assed effort to clean up is to leave the cleaning products out. Like that's evidence of his tidyness or something. But hey, I won't lie to you: I was a little tipsy on Friday. I walked up the stairs, noticed that Dan had "cleaned" (or at least he left the Swiffer on the stairs), and started to get ready for bed.
I left my damn phone in my jacket downstairs. My phone has a pretty good battery, but putting my phone to sleep is part of the routine of putting myself to sleep. You can't mess with your routine. So I have to get the phone.
This part is my fault. I knew the Swiffer was there, and I completely forgot about it. There are 16 steps from my room down to the living room, and I caught the side of my foot on the Swiffer and tumbled down 11 angry stairs. I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
--
D) Dan and I played beer pong last night. At some point I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. Nasty spill. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
It's a pretty sweet car, Dan's car is. On a cold night you can press a button and the seat gets all warm. Unnecessary but cool. Or warm. Whatever, I'm getting a ride home. Dan's kind of an asshole driver, and an asshole talker, and I'm not sure if I'm more uncomfortable about the illegal left-turn he just made or the fact that he used "cornhole" and "fiancee" in the same sentence. It's nice outside and I'm thinking it might have been a better idea to just walk home. Dan thinks it's funny to swerve around the street like he's riding one of those awesome Diamondback bikes that your best friend had in the 80's. Two blocks from my apartment (they always say it's within a mile of your house when it happens), Dan drives directly into a car parked on the right side of the road. He's wearing a seatbelt, but because I'm tough and all, I'm not. Driver's side airbag deploys, but nothing happens over here in the passenger seat except for my face hitting the dashboard. I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
--
B) Skilled yet small hockey players. Man, those guys are my favorites. Martin St. Louis, Sergei Samsonov, even that nutjob Theo Fleury - those are guys I model myself after. Me and a few of my friends get together once in while to rent out some ice-time in a rink in Morristown, and we play us some hockey. None of us played hockey in high school or anything, but we all know and love hockey. It's mostly a joke, but it's still fun.
Small and quick, baby. (Yeah, that's what she said.) Anyway, Sammy , Martin, and Theo are the benchmarks for tiny hockey players. The pisser is that small and quick in real life doesn't match up with small and quick on ice. I always think I'm faster than I really am. So I'm skating up the right wing, and if I can beat Dan (playing defence, and playing poorly to boot), it's a breakaway. No way this douche beats me. He's moving towards the boards, and so am I, but I'm really fast, right? Skate fast! Skate fast! I have to remember to not look at the puck when I'm skating fast. By the time I look up, Dan's about a foot away from me. I'm going to hit something, and it's either Dan or the boards. I choose nothing, which basically means that Dan hits me (unintentionally, I think), and then I hit the sideboards face first. I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
--
C) Remember that Dave Matthews lyric? It was something like "keep the big door open, everyone will come around". I guess it makes me old and lame, but I've always liked that line. It's sort of like what my apartment is like, and I'm happy about that. We're not party people or anything, but on any given Friday, you're bound to meet new people at our place. Hello Dana. Nice to meet you, Penny. Annika, hey, cool name. You get the picture.
I like our open door policy, but if you come to 512 late in the evening, it might be a little messy. I'm always bugging Dan to clean up before he goes to bed if he has friends over. What Dan does to convince me that he's made some sort of half-assed effort to clean up is to leave the cleaning products out. Like that's evidence of his tidyness or something. But hey, I won't lie to you: I was a little tipsy on Friday. I walked up the stairs, noticed that Dan had "cleaned" (or at least he left the Swiffer on the stairs), and started to get ready for bed.
I left my damn phone in my jacket downstairs. My phone has a pretty good battery, but putting my phone to sleep is part of the routine of putting myself to sleep. You can't mess with your routine. So I have to get the phone.
This part is my fault. I knew the Swiffer was there, and I completely forgot about it. There are 16 steps from my room down to the living room, and I caught the side of my foot on the Swiffer and tumbled down 11 angry stairs. I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
--
D) Dan and I played beer pong last night. At some point I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. Nasty spill. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
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