Merry Christmas! Where's the Tylenol?!

Cody, Me holding Bennett, Lauren, (Bennett's mommy,) and Caleigh

Christmas was wonderful this year.  For my family it is not a matter of seeing how many presents we can give or receive, it's a matter of all of us being together.



Ashley, Hamilton, Ma, Nicholas and I



The rundown of Dane's Family Christmas:

First off is Christmas Eve is dinner at MomMom B's with my father's side of the family, usually around 3.  Then around 6:30 my Mom's family starts to come over to our house, where we proceed to eat, drink, open presents, take pictures in front of the tree, maybe rearrange the neighbors' reindeer into compromising positions.  Everyone is usually gone by 11:00 and Ma and I are snuggled in our beds waiting for Santa.



Ma and Aunt Mare drinking the Boone's

Christmas morning my brother and his wife bring the baby over, my Pop comes over and we all have coffee and various Christmas treats and exchange gifts.
Dinner is at my Mom's sister's house at 4:00, and we are all together again, eating and drinking and being merry, usually dancing in the kitchen as well.


Nicholas playing with his new toy



It blows my mind how much things have changed over the years, though.

When I was little we had the Feast of Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve at my mom's parents' and we would all exchange gifts that night.  Christmas day my mom had my brother and I dressed in our holiday finest and we were at my father's parents' for a turkey dinner at 1:00, and then onto to her parents' again, for wedding soup and lasagna at 4:00.  We never knew who would be joining us either, from my MomMom's relatives that live in Daisytown, to her brothers and sisters and their families, to my PopPop's brothers and their families that lived down the street and various cousins that would drop by.


MomMom and PopPop lived in a tiny end-unit row home with no off street parking.  A tiny little kitchen and dining room, and we'd cram in there like sardines, happier than pigs in shit.  The running joke for years was how my brother and I would show up sulking because we had already gotten our toys from Santa taken away since we fought like cats and dogs.  It's even on video.

Now things are wholly different, but it's okay, because we are all still together during the holidays.  We still pass around a bottle of Boone's Farm wrapped in a paper bag while opening gifts with Ma's family.  We don't do the Seven Fishes or have lasagna anymore, but when my aunt says that MomMom is rolling over in her grave my Ma points out that she's happy to know that we are all together.

Caleigh, Cody and I

The family exchanging gifts, from left - Tina, Paul, Lauren, Cody, Bennett, Steve, Caleigh



"Just Keep Your Pants On"

So one of my boys put it into some sort of perspective for me the day my dirty laundry was aired to my Mama.


Me:  So after our conversation at the diner yesterday I now realize how much of a trainwreck I am.
Him:  Why baby??
Me:  Cuz you're right...I got my issues and my craziness and if I keep on going this way it's only gonna get worse.
Me:  -That one- got his official welcoming to the band last night.
Him:  Awwwwww
Him:  Listen this -anonymous- shit taught me NOT to second guess myself. You KNOW you. No one else does.
Me:  That's the problem. I USED to know myself. It's hard to believe but I used to have my shit together!
Him:  Well my darling, it's NEVER too late to make ANY changes you want or need.
Me:  Easier said than done. While it's all fun and games in the moment at the end of the day it kind of sucks.
Him:  -sad face-
Me:  Don't you feel that way sometimes?
Him:  Yea....I do.
Him:  A lot actually.
Me:  I wanna be a lil rockstar all the time and drink and fuck and party but it seems I can't do that and have any self respect at the same time.
Me:  Does that make sense?
Him:  Yes, it does, just STOP the whore-y stuff. Hang out with us and JUST be our drinking rock 'n roll friend. :)
Me:  Ha! I thought that was part of my charm! lol jk
Him:  No! We LOVE YOU! For YOU! You're one of US! Forever baby, forever!
Me:  Do you know how sweet that is?  It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside haha.
Him:  I'm NOT kidding, I'm DEAD serious.  You ARE -his band's name here- JUST like us.  Seriously!
Him:  You're NOT a fan, you ARE a part of our organization.
Me:  I'm not kidding either!  I LOVE being a part of the band!  Why else would I trudge my ass all over the tristate area when you guys play?
Him:  :)  You found a HOME baby :)
Me:  I did.  :)

The real test will be just being the drinking rock 'n roll friend.  Stayed tuned...

Talk About A Wake Up Call

Define irony.

Right after this post was published, someone very close to me, someone who I choose to not share my sexual exploits with, discovered way too much for her own good.

My beloved Mama read a few pages of my journal.
Yes, I keep an actual journal.  That I write in with an actual pen.  That has actual pages.  I have since my senior year of high school and it's the only form of therapy I can afford right now.
She confronted me the other morning, one of the mornings I had happened to stumble through the front door around 5 am, after engaging in yet another night of risky behavior.
At first I was angry.  Very, very angry.  My mother has never, ever, been a snoop.  But honestly?  I can't blame her.  It's one of the downsides to still living at home.  She's there when I leave at night and if I end up not coming home, she deserves a phone call.

Let me run down the list of things I'm okay with my mother knowing:

• I drink alot.
• I dated guys 10+ years older than me.
• The man I was with for five years and I were, in fact, having sex (she's not stupid.)
• That occasionally I do sleep with a guy that I'm into

And a list of things I am not okay with her knowing:

• It's usually different guys (too late.)
• I was involved in the BDSM scene for a while.
• I drink alot more than I let on.
• I am, in fact, in someone else's bed, naked, when I don't come home (too late.)

She said to me that she knows I don't tell her everything in order to protect her.  But I cannot imagine the heartbreak she was going through sitting on my bed reading those pages, thinking that her daughter does not respect herself or her body in the least.  To see my mother, who does not cry, break down in tears right in front of me, was a knife in my heart.  The fact that she came over to me, put her arms around me, and said, through her tears, that she cannot fathom what it must be like to not have a father to look up to or lean on, twisted that knife hard.

Maybe I do need to do some soul searching.  Clean up my act, per se.  Maybe I need to realize that I can't fucking do it on my own.  And that my addictive personality will catch up with me one day.

I Wanna See It!

This post is about cock.  Yes.  That incredible, pleasure-and-pain-inducing, body part that has the power to make me scream and the power to destroy my mind.  You've been forewarned.  Cock, and that wonderful place called 'The Land Of Fuck.'

You know what they say about tits?  The same goes for cock.  Once you've seen one...you want to see the rest of them.

I used to beat myself up over my promiscuity.  I had my reasons - it was pretty bad there for a while.  But I haven't jumped into bed with a complete stranger (my Drugstore Cowboy doesn't count, even though after a year we still don't know shit about each other,) in a while.  As fun as the take-down-and-capture can be, I like to stick with my rotation.

The only real problem I have with the cock is the power it sometimes manages to exercise over me.  My sexual mentality is so much more male than female, (for lack of a better description; I hate to dumb it down by contrasting the males and the females.)

"What is my best option tonight?"
"Okay, -this one- is telling me he wants it later, but if that falls through, who can I have lined up?"
"Why isn't -that one- answering his fucking phone?"
"Sure, if I get woken up by -this one- I will crawl the fuck out of bed and be on his doorstep within a half an hour."
"Just because you succeeded in making my brains ooze out through my ears when I orgasmed doesn't mean I want to cuddle, baby."

I want it, I need it, I love it.  And I become a real bitch if I don't get it.

Driving Home From Port Richmond On No Sleep Is NOT A Good Idea

The other night one of my boys and I were talking, and I pointed out his love of crazy bitches. More specifically, the love most guys have for those psychopathic, unstable women that will turn around and slash your tires out of the blue. 

"I may be slightly crazy, but I am not about to throw a brick through your front window."  (I said this specifically because I was referring to a story we both knew well.)
Unless you give me a valid reason to make sure your big, pretty truck somehow how manages to wind up at the bottom of the Christiana River.  Whatever.  That only happened once. 
He looked at me with wide eyes and replied, "You and I are the same!  We are huge sluts and that means we automatically have huge issues!"  He made a big, sweeping gesture with his arms to emphasize the word huge.  At least, I'm pretty sure he did.  I was a couple of drinks in at this point.

It's a concept I will never understand.  Granted, I used to be much worse off than I am now.  But I've realized that wasting crazy energy on men is simply not worth my time.  I'd rather utilize that energy and put it into writing, partying, or any kind of physical labor that leaves my muscles sore and gives me reason to be proud of myself.  Because truthfully, no one out there is worth my mental stability.
So why do the boys always go crawling back to the tire-slashing bitches?  I really want to understand this.

One guy I dated started seeing this psychopathic, fucked up, raging bitch of a...woman, who I believe was an alcoholic and I'm pretty sure she was some form of junkie, right after I severed all ties with him.  (Yeah yeah, we eventually started "seeing" each other again...)  Apparently she had him arrested on more than one occasion for terroristic threatening.  I remember pissing this guy off quite a few times, but terroristic threatening?  Nah.  Did I hate his guts and want to hurt him after he scorned me?  Sure.  But to fucking call the cops and deal with going to court and all of that bullshit?  No thanks.
"Why do you put up with her?"
"She's good in the sack."
"So you'd risk having your cock fall off (because she was, let's face it, skanky,) and going to jail just to keep sleeping with her?"
No response.

Another guy I was involved with had a psycho, alcoholic girlfriend who would get trashed in public and make an ass of herself and he was the poor sap who had to deal with her.  She was the brick-throwing bitch.  One time she wrecked the entire front end of his truck.  Another time, we were stripping down to get busy and I noticed claw marks across his chest. 
"Dude, really?"
He gives me this stupid, sheepish look.
"Yeah she came at me the other day.  I know, I know, but it's kind of...hot."
Oh sure, destruction of personal property and physical harm to one's significant other is hot.  But I must say here that the claw marks I left on his back after a particularly intense round of fucking were so much hotter. 

Am I the only one that sees something wrong with this picture?  I don't want to go off the deep end, (even though I'm pretty much there already,) just to keep some guy around.  Sometimes I feel like throwing up my hands and saying, "You want crazy?  I'll give you fucking crazy."
Even though I will keep you on your toes and there will never be a dull moment when you're with me.  You know, minus involving the police and making your life a living hell.

I'll Be There For You...Not

Every day I get more and more fed up.  People and their bullshit antics are tiring me out.  No one holds any amount of dependability, especially those I call my "friends."  It's a very rude awakening to turn around and realize you are completely alone. 
No, I'm not being a drama queen.  My best friend of 16 years?  Can't remember the last time we talked.  Same goes for the girls in high school I stayed tight with up until about 2 years ago.  Growing apart because of marriages and babies and careers is understandable.  A friend you know you can call even if you haven't spoken in months and not skip a beat is a rare gem.  I'm down to one of those kinds of friends.  And she lives two and half hours away now.
When you get to the point where you would feel uncomfortable picking up the phone to call the person who used to be there for you through thick & thin and vice versa, then you know the friendship has just about gone down the shitter.  If it is salvagable, it's going to take alot of work.
It's so much easier to walk away from a friend in need than to be there for them when their world has come crashing down I guess?  Because that's what all of mine did.  Sure, my girls were there for me when MomMom got sick, when I ripped my Ex's heart out of his chest and smashed it on the floor, and then when I had the same thing done to me.  But when it all boils down, when the demons start waking up in my own head, I'm on my own.
I'm getting used to it.  But it fucking sucks.  I'm now deathly afraid to get close to anyone because I believe they will eventually desert me.  (It is kind of strange - I'm not a needy girlfriend per se, but I am an incredibly needy friend.) Sure, A & T call me their "road dawg," but I'm terrified of having them abandon me.  I had to explain this to T after he started lecturing me when I would wig out about A not calling me every day anymore because he's seeing someone now.
You don't understand, you guys are all I've got.  You take care of me, you look out for me, you help me to forget all that is fucked up and the crumpled mess my life is in when we're all together.

If you tell me I can depend on you, I am going to take you up on that so you better mean it.  Because I will return the favor tenfold.  Lately though, I can't say I'm much better.  Why invest in relationships when everyone else around you takes the easy way out and walks away when the shit hits the fan?

It's turned me into a cold, cynical bitch that no one is allowed to get close to.

Oh, You're Such A Dirty Sexy Pig

I discovered this band last March at the Croc Rock up in Allentown, PA when they opened for Charm City Devils.  They're a rock and roll quartet out of New York City, and it wasn't until I saw them play again the day after Thanksgiving down in Baltimore that I realized I was missing out, so I bought both of their albums, (as yet unreleased under a major record label,) and a tee shirt as I chatted up the band's manager.



Rockin' my Sweet Cyanide tee. And yes, I'm in the bathroom of a strip club.



Dane's Discography Breakdown

Their first self-titled release under Breakdown Lane Music is edgy and catchy at the same time.  Vocalist Sal Soca has a voice that fits the rock and roll genre perfectly.  The band's musicianship is tight, and in my personal opinion, they just fucking rock.

"And all I'll say is don't let her get in your head -

cuz when she goes down

She's a suicide love machine

Like it or not she'll do what she pleases

She's a suicide love machine

living it up in daddy's big dream"

Songs worth a listen - SLM, Black & White, and Between Us (which puts the relationship I have with my Drugstore Cowboy into wonderful, musical perspective.)

Their second release, Sweet Cyanide II, under Breakdown Lane Music is just as good, if not better, than the first.  The intro, Pay the Piper, sets the mood for the rest of the album and leads flawlessly into the second track.  The same tight musicianship can be found on this album as well.  Some of the songs are lengthy, but they don't get boring or repetitive.  They experiment a little more, and it enhances the listener's experience, like the ending of Walk On Water.  It's a little darker, lyric-wise, but still catchy and addictive. (I've been stopped in my tracks several times while listening to their music because there are songs that hit me right in the gut.) Seriously, it's the first thing I listen to when I get into the car to head to work before the sun comes up.

"Pull, pull, pull the trigger

Shoot me down when I need it

The hardest part of this

Is saying no"

Songs worth a listen - Bad Jesus, Cooler Than A Car Crash, and Dirty Sexy Pig.

I'm a big fan of multiple tempo and key changes within a song, and Sweet Cyanide do a very good job in this department.  They don't tamper with as many key changes, which is fine because I think that's a music tool that should be used sparingly, but they nail pulling off changing up the tempo in a song with grace.  311 is another band who uses this technique, and uses it well. 

Now, if you know anything about me, you wouldn't be surprised to learn that I noticed this guy first.  I had never heard of the band before, but that's one of the reasons I love to go to shows/concerts.  The opening acts usually spark my fancy and new music is immediately added to my collection.

The first time I saw Sweet Cyanide play live, I wasn't really paying attention.  Okay, okay, my girl and I were busy getting drunk, scoping out the scene and gearing up for Charm City Devils (who are definitely worth a listen.)  After their set I had my eyes on the bass player, (more like my hand on his crotch, but it's all the same isn't it?) and I chatted with the drummer and their manager about the band and the upcoming show they had in Dewey Beach, which is my stomping ground. 



Mike Bambace (drums,) me, and Angelo Fariello (bass)



My second show at Rams Head Live sealed the deal for me.  And yes, I did tell the bass player that I would like him in my pants.  Can you blame me?  Look at this motherfucker!  Those dark, Italian eyes?  That hair that's just begging to be pulled?

Bottom line is, check them out.  With all the bullshit we hear on the radio these days, I'd say Sweet Cyanide is keeing it real in the world of rock and fucking roll.

Someone Read My Mind

Since I am such a head case, I always have to make sure I have things planned that I can be excited for.  Otherwise my mind starts to idle and the demons inside come out to play.  So I thought I'd share that I am going to this come hell or high water.  I mean, how can I not when it combines two of my favorite things, Buckcherry and Jagermeister??

Also, Sweet Cyanide has a show in NYC this Saturday night that I really, really,  really want to go to, but I'm not hiking up there without a partner in crime, and my friends, well, can really suck sometimes.

Then the Neighbors Would Start to Trickle Over

When I hear the beginning guitar strains of Rocky Raccoon, I'm transported back to when I was very young, and all was well and good within my family.  At least that's what it looked like to outsiders. 

My father had been in a band called New Beginnings from before I was born until I was about 10.  He was very close with the guys, my mother was close with all of their wives, and my brother and I grew up tagging along with my dad to band practice and playing, (read:  getting in trouble,) with the children of various band members.  Every summer we'd have a "New Beginnings" cook-out, even long after they stopped playing as a band.  They were all very talented musicians, and after the food had been put away, the sun would start to go down, out would come the instruments and the jam session would begin.  An acoustic guitar or two, one snare drum, an acoustic bass, no mics, a tambourine, and Danny's trumpet (they could cover Chicago tunes like it was no one's business.)

When I learned that the Beatles' music had been released to purchase on iTunes, this was the first song I added to my cart.  (Yes, every album they ever made is upstairs, boxed up in the closet of the spare bedroom, but I don't know where the record player is and I don't have the energy to convert vinyl to digital.) 

I hear the opening notes and Paul McCartney's storyteller voice start - "Well somewhere in the Black Mine hilltop of South Dakota there lived a young boy named Rocky Raccoon..."


I immediately picture my father sitting on the back deck, plucking at his guitar, surrounded by old band buddies and all of our families. I was too young to ever pay attention to the words or grasp the irony of the story being told within the song. But I would sing along nonetheless.

"But Daniel was hot, and he drew first and shot..."

I picture him, not the adulterer, not the alcoholic, but my daddy, the man who still calls me Angel, the man who would take my brother and I on Saturday morning errands in his little red truck, blasting Styx or Boston while doing his over-exaggerated version of air-drumming on the steering wheel, doing his best McCartney impression, forgetting the words, (no pun intended, really,) chuckling his way through the song, because I swear Doc, it's only a scratch.

I hold onto this song and the memories I've attached to it so tight.  It's the only thing I've got left.

"Gideon checked out, and he left him no doubt, to help with good Rocky's revival..."

If They Didn't Like Chubby Girls, I Wouldn't Be Such A Slut

So I've never been one of those "skinny girls."

Thick
Curvy
Solid
Voluptuous

But I've never really battled with my weight either.  When I was in my early twenties though, I was a fucking porker.  And of course I'm going to blame it on my Ex.  Not because I figured, Hey, I've got a man, he's not going anywhere, fuck it, but because at that time in my life I ate when I was stressed out, I was on birth control, and he was a big guy who could and did eat anything he wanted.  Lots of it.  So when I was sitting across from him at the dinner table, my subconscious was matching him bite for bite.

In November of 2007, I got my bridesmaid's dress for my brother's wedding, which was taking place in March of 2008.  When I tried it on, it just fit.  But I didn't think to myself, Oh my God!  I have to lose 74209732 lbs before the wedding!

My job that I started in November of 2007 as well required lots of walking.  So I'd be lapping seven floors of Christiana Hospital several times during one shift.  Great, I was exercising.  And I joined the gym there, so I'd work out before or after my shifts.  But my "taking lunch" consisting of getting into my car and driving across the street to smoke as many cigarettes as I could in a half an hour. 

Right after Christmas, my relationship started on a downhill slide.  I was getting very restless and unhappy.  I wanted a ring on my finger and a baby in my belly, but I was starting to think that I didn't want it all to be with the Ex.  So my anxiousness and unhappiness manifested itself by way of me losing my appetite.  Completely.  And everything that was missing in my current relationship, I was looking for in other places.

I really wasn't making a conscious effort to lose weight.  I was still healthy, even with the extra weight and the fact that I smoke up to a pack and a half of Camels a day.  My blood pressure was on point, my cholesterol and all the other vitals were fantastic, and my immune system was something to be envious of.  (Everything still is, BTW.)  But my clothes started getting baggier and I had to tighten my belt a notch...then two...then three. 

By the time I put the bridesmaid's dress on for the actual wedding it fit me much better - I could breathe and not have to worry about the zipper ripping loose in the middle of the ceremony.

I ended my relationship with the Ex two weeks after my brother's wedding.  There was nuclear fallout.  Stalking, cops being called, tears, fights, drama drama drama.  I had started sleeping with Buzzard, and by then my diet consisted of diet Pepsi, a cookie every once in a while, and alcohol.  Lots of alcohol.  My form of exercise?  Sex.  Because with Buzzard, I think I burned more calories than if I had run 5 or even 10 Ks.  My personal life was in shambles and the weight kept coming off.  I look back at that time now and am not proud of what I see.

When I finally got most of my shit together, I managed to maintain, which is better than nothing.  I'm still not considered thin, in fact, I think I'm ranked among the "morbidly obese," even though I don't jiggle when I walk and can kick your ass if you pissed me off enough.  I am solid, sturdy, strong, and pretty well-proportioned for a girl my height.  But now I feel another avalanche coming on, I'm tightening my belt again, and it's being fueled by cheese & crackers and Jagerbombs.