I know I’ve been slacking on blogging lately. I get it. BUT I made myself a solemn vow that I would only write posts when I had something funny to say. Quality, people, not quantity. So the T-Rex is back in action after a fantastic weekend and I bring to you the results.
On Friday night, AJ and I had dinner with his parents. You’re probably all going “oooh meeting the parents, kind of a big deal.” But if you’re saying that, you clearly don’t know that I already met his parents back in December when they had family friends in town from New Jersey and invited me to tag along for dinner on the last night they were in town. Apparently, his mom and the other mom had been drinking for some time before I got there so they were in a great mood. I was obviously a little nervous about meeting everyone but they were so friendly and outgoing that I was quickly at ease. Well, then the 3 of us proceeded to split 2 bottles of wine at dinner and we were even more at ease. Then AJ’s mom was apparently so at ease that she took off her shoes at the restaurant and she didn’t remember meeting me the next day, she just remembered that I had pretty hair. Sigh. There’s more to me than just my hair! To be fair, I did try and get into the wrong car that night because it vaguely resembled the one we arrived in. I could immediately tell this was a family that I could
drink hang out with. Also, I secretly need want his mom to be my best friend. So this second meeting was an attempt to actually get to know each other better.
But then we drank pretty much the same amount of wine as the first time.
So now we’ve been appointed chaperones at an upcoming wedding that we’ll both be at. Kathy and I are sorry we’re not sorry.
The next day, AJ kindly agreed to go running with me and my hangover. We took Rocket for some extra fun since running with a hangover doesn’t suck nearly enough on its own. My
head leg got an odd pain it after about half a mile, so we called it quits about 1.5 miles in and then walked home. It didn’t seem worth it to risk injury since all my running buddies have been getting hurt lately. Even though injuries aren’t contagious, you never know. YOU NEVER KNOW. Plus it gave me a chance to act like my headache wasn’t making me want to stop anyway.
After the epic run, we headed out to Lake Wateree so we could go shooting before our friend Zach’s going away party that night. He’s joining the Air Force so he’ll be gone a long time. What better reason to drink than someone’s service to our country? None. Of course, as soon as we got there, AJ had to
show off shoot basically every single target, making me super jealous of his life.
Everyone started arriving around 4, so this was one of those marathon-length parties (see what I did there? DO YOU SEE?) I’m gonna throw this out there – I’m not a great day drinker. Despite my endurance when it comes to running, I’m pretty terrible at drinking over a prolonged period of time. I’ve fallen asleep on pretty much any imaginable surface, and not even because I get so drunk that I pass out (depending on what year you’re talking about). I just get really sleepy. This day was destined for greatness because we had brought Bud Light Platinum, which basically is just Bud Light that gets you drunk faster. It’s like God said to Himself, “You know what? Danielle’s had a really hard year. I’m going to make something special just for her.” And on the eighth day, He made Bud Light Platinum.
Sara and Matt had prepared a ridiculous feast of an oyster roast and a lowcountry boil. I had never eaten oysters before. They taste like slimier pickles. But damn, I can throw down on some lowcountry boil. Aside from the fact that I hate pulling the skin off shrimp. Or whatever you call that crap that encases them.
The rest of the night was a blur of beer pong, jello shots, the smell of jager bombs that I didn’t drink (my cooler is forever unclean) and the busting out of some truly unfortunate dance moves that were captured on film.
Sorry I’m not sorry for my sweet dance moves, ok? No, I don’t know what move that first one was in particular. Yes, I kind of look like I’m praising Jesus. All I know is my hair looks phenomenal. I wish I could tell you I was really drunk in this picture, but I wasn’t. Know why? Because I was determined to accomplish my one goal of the night, which was to get less drunk than AJ, and I did. And we went to bed at 11 pm, because he’s even worse at day drinking than me.
The next morning, we all got up and went to brunch, which is far less sophisticated than it sounds. We really just went to a place that doesn’t give a shit what time of day it is so you can pretty much order whatever you want whenever you want. I felt fine but really wanted a cheeseburger, completely disregarding that it was 10am. They brought out the most delicious Denny’s-style cheeseburger a human being could possibly imagine.
You (the reader): “But Danielle, Denny’s has the worst cheeseburgers ever. They taste like 2005′s bad decisions.”
Me: “No no no. Remember when you went to the skating rink as a kid and they had that terrible pizza, but at the time you were eating it, it was the best pizza on the planet? But like, if you ate it anywhere else you would spontaneously combust? Same principle applies.”
You: “I fucking loved that pizza.”
Me: “I know.”
Upon our return, AJ and I decided to play golf. Just like he’s an Olympic shooter, he’s also an Olympic golfer, and it’s simultaneously really attractive and really annoying. He’s just good at shit. Anyway, he’s one of those people who pretty much gets pars all the time. And um, I am too. I used to be kind of a child prodigy at golf. No, really. Seriously. But I haven’t played in oh, 13 years? So I figured I’d take it easy and just play one hole. A par 3. Nothing crazy. From the child size tees.
First shot: Ball goes five feet.
Second shot: Ball goes about ten yards and lands in a bush. I take it out of the bush and casually throw it on the ground.
Third shot: Ball goes about five yards and lands in the creek.
Fourth shot: A good one! Ball lands on the green!
Fifth shot: Ball is putted in the general vicinity of “nowhere near the hole.”
Sixth shot: Sweet, sweet victory.
So I triple bogeyed on a par 3. I’m sure my actual prodigy boyfriend was super impressed. To make up for it, I tossed my hair around in the wind a lot and tried to distract him.
Coming back from a meeting downtown in Columbia later that day, my tire pressure came on about a mile from my house. I figured it was no big deal since the thing is pretty sensitive and comes on a lot. Then I made it into my garage, got out of my truck and heard the world’s most violent hissing sound, like a rattlesnake was sitting on my tire. And then I watched my giant truck tire deflate completely in less than two minutes. Thankfully, AJ had decided to take an absurdly long nap while I was at my meeting instead of heading to his parents’ house and meeting me for the Super Bowl, so we figure no big deal, we’ll just change the tire.
Raise your hand if you’ve ever changed a truck tire before. Now keep your hand raised it if you did it by yourself. That’s what I thought. None of you. Because it is IMPOSSIBLE. My tire literally weighs more than an entire T-Rex. I know I’m a child-sized T-Rex, but still. First we couldn’t find the tools and jack, so I busted out the manual rather than just
blindly searching making educated guesses as to where they might be (ahem). Then we had to somehow part the Red Sea get the spare tire down from under the truck, which was pretty much the most absurd process of all time. Not to mention, we’re doing this in my garage, where there is actual light. If this had been on the interstate, there would have been no way. The tire was literally so flat that it had spread out to where the jack was supposed to sit, so we had to just randomly pick a spot to put the jack and hope the entire truck didn’t fall over.
Next, naturally, the lug nuts were on the tire tight enough to withstand a nuclear blast. We are trying to kick the wrench, I’m jumping on AJ trying to turn the stupid thing…it was so bad. This whole time, we’re simultaneously missing the first quarter of the Super Bowl and laughing so hard we can’t breathe because the whole situation is so ridiculous. Ok, it’s possible that AJ was not laughing. I think he kept saying “this is my nightmare.” Close enough.
We did it, though, and that which doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. I took my truck in today and $380 later, baby has two new tires, a bent wrench, and a renewed commitment to never, ever trying to do anything related to cars on my own (even with enthusiastic assistance) ever again.