This whole interenet thing has opened up so many cans of worms that are probably better left unopened. I had an ex from my University days Facebook me today. I knew him a long time ago…I don’t think I’ve seen him in 8 years, and we got along ok when we dated, but what’s the point?

I haven’t thought about this guy in 8 years, why would I want him in my life again? He lives in a different province, probably married to someone he knocked up, so why bother going through Facebook’s obligatory “What are you doing now?” e-mail? I don’t really care.

I’ve Facebook-denied ex’s that I hate before, but I don’t really hate this guy (despite the fact that he cheated on me with most things that had a pulse). I also don’t want to be rude and not accept his request, because I don’t hate him. But why should I care if he thinks I’m rude now?

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Before posting this, I sent it to my sister, Carrie, known to most in our family as “Punky” and she added in her own commentary (which is bolded and in italics).

6 or 7 years ago, my sisters and I were all at my mom’s house for some holiday or occasion. Over a usual loud and dramatic breakfast, the subject of the upcoming Poison tour came up. Poison was coming to Regina, Saskatchewan, with Vince Neil’s band opening (note, this was not Motley Crue…just some guys touring with Vince). My older sister, Punky, was a huge Poison fan back in the day, so my younger, Jamie, and I were fans by default. My favourite was CC Deville. Thus, we decided we needed to go.

I was in charge of purchasing the tickets. I went to the box office on a weekday afternoon, and asked for 3 tickets to the Poison concert. They said that if I brought a donation to the food bank, I could get them two for one. That is the sign that the ticket sales are going well. I left and came back with a bag of canned soup, and got 4 tickets.

There are very few people who would brave the night out as a fourth to the trio, but Jamie had a friend, Rob, who lived in Regina at the time who took on the task. We all met at my place first, and downed a very cheap bottle of wine and some vodka.

We got to the arena 15 minutes or so before Vince Neil’s band went on, got some over-priced beer, and headed to our seats. Taking in the scene, we noticed we were probably the youngest people there. I was 23/24 and probably 20 years younger than most of the mulleted-crowd. There was acid wash, ripped jeans, Poison ‘80’s tour shirts, high top shoes and all sorts of 1980’s attire. I’m pretty sure my sisters and I were wearing jeans and t-shirts. Actually, I was wearing the black pants that we bought from Zara in Vancouver when we went to see Lenny Kravitz.  And a shirt that was too short for me so I rolled it up to show off my belly button ring.  And then you said “Well, if she’s dressing like a slut then I am too.”  And then I saw some of my former students there.

The lights go out and Vince Neil’s band goes on. Punky looks at me with an excited look on her face I hadn’t seen since she quit working at McDonalds and shouted “Let’s go center stage!!” (Jamie and her friend were somewhere else). getting drunk and making out probably by that point. We realized this wouldn’t be such a hard task. We walked right up and we looked around wondering if we were doing something wrong because no one else was walking up.

Everyone else was calmly sitting in their seats. So we began being Vince Neil groupies. Now, I’ve since read The Dirt, Motley Crue’s biography, and apparently, at the time, Vince Neil still considered himself as “cool”. He was no longer the hot long-haired-glam-pretty-faced lead singer; he was an overweight-middle-weight-man wearing black jazz shoes and pants that were way to tight  and clearly not aware of that. His band mates also thought they were something special for touring with the 1980’s badest-ass.

Being as intoxicated as we were, we did a pretty good job at being groupies. no, I don’t even have the excuse of being drunk. My excitement was genuine. We were grabbing up at the stage, yelling out “I LOVE YOU!” to Vince Neil. We had no clue what he was singing, because they were not Motley Crue songs,  (they were Motley Crue’s songs just not anything from the Dr Feelgood album which were the only ones I knew at the time.) so we were just twisting our mouths in ways to make it look like we did. This backfired when Vince Neil put the microphone down to us to sing into. Lucky for us, we were able to pull off the too-drunk-to-say-anything-coherently shtick and then he just shook his head and moved on.  He should have been grateful for us because we were the only people at that point within 20 feet of the stage. We decided at that point to focus our groupyness on the guitar player. Excited at the fact that these twenty-something hotties were yelling at him and reaching up to tough him, he totally played to us. He threw down his guitar pick to us at one point. I think he expected some sort of big deal to happen when he did that, but I believe I even heard it skipping across the floor until Punky reached down and picked up, mouthed out “thank-you” and put it in her pocket. She left with 6 guitar picks that night. One was from Bobby Doll from Poison.  That one was a keeper.  Actually I still have them in my wedding album.  Don’t ask

Vince Neil’s band was done, and we had intermission, which is when, my bladder told my drunken brain “it needs to come out NOW.” This is also when Rob said “Wow, that was pretty good.  So now do we go to Bud’s?” He  thought the concert was over. The line up to the ladies bathroom about 10,000 people long (this is an exaggeration…there was maybe 5000 people total at the arena). I knew there was no way in hell I was going to be able to wait. Jamie magically appeared out of nowhere, so I told them to wait there for me, and I would go find another bathroom. I turned around, and some guy, dressed in ripped, torn up black jeans, a white wife-beater shirt, tattoos covering every inch of skin showing, piercing in places I couldn’t imagine a needle going and jet back, shoulder length hair, was standing there. He looked like Alice Cooper. “Excuse me sir, do you know where there are other bathrooms?” I asked. “Of course, you can use the one in my dressing room.” It was Vince Neil’s bass player. A poor replacement for Nikki Sixx, the man of my dreams. Never as cool as Tommy Lee, however.

So I follow him back to the hockey player’s locker room/Vince Neil’s dressing room. After relieving myself, Bass Player offers me a beer. I accept, and sit on the bench and talk with the guitar player while Base Player showers. Yes, this is all done in front of me. When Bass Player is done and semi-dressed, Vince Neil storms in, ducks behind this wall, strips down and jumps into the shower. He didn’t utter word to any of his bandmates. I sat and drunk-talked to Bass Player and Guitar Player…I’m sure Drummer was around somewhere, but barely remember him. When Vince is done with the shower, I yell out his name, and he comes over, likely thinking that he was going to bang some hot groupie, but after 5 minutes of me telling him how much I loved him, he realized I was just a tease and left in a flash of tight white clothes. You never told me that you guys actually TALKED.  I thought that you just saw him.

I decided at that point to leave. Upon leaving the backstage area, I notice my sisters immediately, so run up to them “You’ll never believe where I just was! I was in Vince Neil’s dressing room!” Of course, they didn’t believe me. I tried to prove it by going back again, but the security guard was having none of my drunken slurs. At that point I was also really pissed off at you because I had a prime front-row spot that you dragged me away from to got and NOT get backstage.  So then I gave you a lecture about how you were denying me my Grade 7 dream and I ditched you.

Then Poison was set to go on, so we went to watch. Having just had a dramatic hour, I was kinda tired, so when Punky asked if I wanted to go center stage, I declined. Then I lost Jamie too, so I was left standing near the back watching the concert alone. I don’t remember much, other than it being very obvious that Brett Michaels was wearing a wig.

After the concert was over, miraculously, I found my sisters within seconds. We were all standing around deciding if we should go to a bar, or just head home since we were all adults with day jobs and it was a Wednesday. Out of nowhere, I hear my name being called. It was Bass Player. “Hey Darce!” My sisters were a little shocked, but due to their own levels of intoxication, (again, I was not drunk.  I had just started my new job the week before and wasn’t about to come in hungover) didn’t really react. So we went backstage with him again. We all hung out, Darcie remember your conversations about the Saskatchewan school system? drank some beer, smoked some weed. A few hours later, we decided it was time to go when Jamie sat on the lap of Guitar Player who looked mostly like a roadie who got into one too many knife fights. She made out with the roadie; he had a bunch of zit scars too.

We were on our way out of the arena, carrying tons of stolen goods we were hoping to make a few bucks off of on eBay, and holding Jamie up cause she couldn’t walk, and some tall, blonde, washed-up looking guy asked us where we were going. It was Rikki Rocket. actually, it is spelled “Rokett.”  Okay, never mind Greg says you spelled it right. The rest of the band was behind him. Having had a decade’s worth of glam that night, I started to say “We’re on our way home. We have to work….” when Punky spun around and shouted into our faces “Listen to me, you little bitches, I have been waiting for this since grade six! We, are going backstage, with POISON!” Ok, I guess we were continuing on.

…and so we went backstage with Poison…I’d like to insert some crazy, wild story here, but I recall kids running around, some food, beer, Rikky Rockey singing my abs, Jamie she asked Rikki rocket to sign her boob.  That’s when we left. And Rikki was really short passing out on the table and making an ass out of most of us, and confirming that Brett Michaels does in fact wear a terrible wig…but that part of the night was pretty uneventful.

So, if you ever the words “My sisters are coming to town” or “I’m going to visit my sisters”, you know it’s going to be a fun time.

Tags: bobby dall, brett michaels, cc deville, nikki sixx, poison, rikki rocket, vince neil

As you probably noticed, things are a little different around here. I got rid of my crappy old template and traded it in for this hip one. Need to thank Franca for the new logo (she was afraid for her life), Rachel for coordinating it all and picking out he colors, and Lee for teching it all up.

Clearly, I don’t know what I’m doing on here yet, and have to schedule a time with Lee to learn tech stuff, but it should be looking better!

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s story, co-written with my sister, about our adventures at the Poison concert.

We’ve all had them. Out all night after partying and boozing…then passing out on someone’s floor and having to walk home the next day. I have a pretty hardcore policy about never taking cabs when it’s light out, so I always walk.

One particular walk of shame had me walking home in drizzling rain. I was wearing a top for which the weather was way too cold, jeans that I bought 2 sizes ago, shoes that should only be worn after midnight, one earring and mascara pretty much covering my entire face. In a nutshell, I looked like a tramp at 10am.

There’s a police station near my house which I had to pass on my way home. I knew I looked like dog’s breath, so I didn’t do my regular strutting while I passed it, just kept my fuzzy-haired head down. Not even half a block from the police station, a cop pulls up next to me. I’m thinking “I really look like whore.”The cop rolls down the window and says “Excuse me!” I turn to face him, a look of dread on my overly makeuped face, he says “Can I get your number?”

Uhm. Are you blind? I gave it to him because I figured if he thought that was hot, wait till he sees me trying. Of course he ended up being one of those weird martial arts guys and a bit of a stalker. I don’t think I even remember his name.

With the New Year and all its resolutions, there have been tons of new people at the gym. Most of them are rediculous, and wont last, and I could make fun of them all day long, particularly the two new guys who wear thier wife-beaters on top of their t-shirts. They also just replaced some of the old worn-out cardio machines with new, cheaper versions, so the new people are coming in flocks.

But yesterday, I saw something stupid on a regular. Roger, whom I’m sure I’ve blogged about before, has been sporting a faux-hawk. I’m not anti-faux-hawks, on the right kind of guy, they can look good. But not on Roger. He’s balding. When a faux-hawk stops in the middle of the head, then continues down the back, you probably shouldn’t have one.

I wish it weren’t socially awkward to take randoms pictures at a gym.

My friend and I were talking today about the drunk text. Before cell phones, I don’t think I ever drunk dialed anyone. Ok, well maybe once or twice, but it was much harder. In order to do it, you needed to remember a number, and have a phone available. Usually by the time I got home, sleeping was much more appealing than calling someone.

Now with cell phones and texting in particular, all these safetys no longer apply. I am a chronic drink and texter. Every morning after a drunken night, I check my phone to see what sorts of trouble I got myself into. It’s usually nothing too bad, but sometimes I want to die of embarassment.

In talking with my friend “Kelly”, she was telling me her embarassing “drunk text” story. Her and her boyfriend broke up late in 2008. She was very good with not texting him so far this year, but on a drunken Saturday night, while she was hugging the toilet, she thought it was a GREAT idea to invite him over. Their conversation:

Kelly: Helloooooo! How r u?

(no response)

Kelly: So are u coming over?

The ex: Do you want me 2?

Kelly (thinking if he knew how easy it would be to take advantage of her, he’d rush right over): Well I’m hanging out by the toilet.

The ex: I think I’ll leave u b.

I do think I’m hotter than hell when I’m drunk (because I am), but I don’t think I have ever texted anyone that I was vomiting. Kudos Kelly, you have made me look just that much classier.

I was living with a complete loser during my 3rd and 4th year of University. I had met him for what I thought was supposed to be a summer fling and he just wouldn’t leave. Seriously, I think I dumped him 6 times over the course of 2.5 years, but somehow he’d manage to change my mind every time. It wasn’t because he was goodlooking, charming, smart or rich- he was none of those. I think he was just a good salesman.

One evening, we were sitting on these hideous chairs he just blew his entire paycheck on (at that point, I was just glad he had a paycheck), and I told him I was moving out…my sister needed a roomate, and I wanted to help her out, but she didn’t want to live with him. It was pretty much true, but I didn’t think it would work because of all my previous failures at trying to kick him out.

This time he bit “Well, if that’s what you want, then we’re breaking up.” I was giddy. “OK!” so he said “Fine, we’re broken up.”

I was home free! I made a date for that night with another big mistake, and in passing, I had mentionned to Complete Loser that I’d be home around 1am. When I got home at 3am, the door was hanging off the hinges and Complete Loser was on the phone with the cops reporting a break in.

I shrugged my shoulders and took up the sofa.

The next morning, I woke up and started getting ready to go to work. The cops showed up to take Complete Loser’s report. Of course, Complete Loser decided this was a terrific time to start begging me back. I can still see the look in the cop’s eyes as he sat at the table asking Complete Loser over and over again to make his statement, and Complete Loser telling him that it was more important for him to save his relationship.

Finally, he calmed down and gave the cop his statement. Apparently, what had happened was he came home around 1, but locked himself out of the appartment (he managed to get in the building). He banged at the door repeatedly, but I wouldn’t answer (because I was making out with some other guy somewhere else). Convinced that I was in there with another guy, he smashed the door down. Once he got in, he realised he’s a complete loser, and called the cops to cover his tracks.

I was so glad he wasn’t my boyfriend at the time. You know, sometimes I get really down about the fact that I’m still single, but then I remember stories like that and realise I’m probably better off.

Growing up, my mom insisted I looked so adorable with short hair. So she cut it off all the time. Like I mean above the ear short. When I was really little, yeah, it probably looked cute. Having a younger sister with long blonde hair that she would do up in curly little ponytails didn’t exactly make me love it. It wasn’t a big deal at all until grade 8, when the kids from all the elementary schools got combined at the high school. So there were a lot of new people who didn’t know me. My name can pretty much go for both sexes, and back then I never wore make-up, or wore anything other than jeans and a t-shirt like every other kid. So a lot of people thought I was a boy.

I can remember certain instances of going out shopping and having girls ask me for a “guy’s opinion” or the sales guy telling my mom that she should just “let him try it on”. I also remember someone shouting outside the girls washroom “Don’t go in there! Some guy just went in to the girls washroom!” It was very mortifying. It didn’t help that was deathly afraid of everyone and was super shy, so I never defended myself.

I think the worst moment ever though, was at a school dance. This guy Kevin asked me to dance. It was a slow song and probably the first time in my life that a guy had asked me to dance, so I was pretty excited. Of course, I never spoke the entire time we shuffled our feet with our hands on each other shoulders.

Somewhere near the middle of the song, some drunk senior came up and asked me my name. I told her, then she asked Kevin the same question. When he answered, she started shouting “Hey everybody! There’s two guys dancing together! Look at the gay guys! Everybody! Look! Gay guys dancing together!”

It was probably the worst moment of my life up to that point. But Kevin didn’t budge. He kept on dancing with me for the rest of the song. Thank goodness it was the last song of the night because I was mortified.

In grade 9, my mom stopped cutting my hair, and I was allowed to grow it a little longer. Eventually, I began to look like a girl and things started turning around for me. By grade 12, I was no longer afraid to talk to guys and had a few boyfriends. I had somehow surpased Kevin’s coolness and therefore never really spoke to him a whole lot.

The summer after graduation, I was out at the local bar, and Kevin came in. He asked me to dance, it was a fast song, and he was a nice guy, so I said yes. At this point, I had become a super-hottie, and was way out of Kevin’s league, but while we were dancing, he kept leaning in towards my face. I was able to back away each time and avoid any embarassing moments…but he kept on trying. At the end of the song, he leaned righ into my face, so I shoved him  back and shouted “Kevin! I think you’re a really nice guy, but I just don’t think of you that way!” to which he responded “Darcie, your fly is down. I’ve been trying to tell you the entire song!”

Oh. Well. Thank you Kevin. You are probably one of the nicest guys in the world.

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When I was doing my sequence of bad New Years Eves, I wrote about how I got dumped right around the stroke of midnight, by my ex, Billy.

I should mention that it was only the first time Billy dumped me. For about 2 1/2 years we got back together and broke up on a monthly basis…usually when he would make plans to date someone else. Despite our on-again-off-again relationship fueled by drama and a lot of yelling, we managed to remain friends. I haven’t seen the guy in 5 years, but we still keep in touch. He reads my blog. Hi Billy.

Over the weekend, I was chatting with him online, and he told me that over the holidays, while he was in South America somewhere, he proposed to his girlfriend. I was genuinely happy for him. It’s been 5 years, so I no longer have any romantic feelings for him, and I think it’s great that he’s making an honest woman out of the mother of his child.

But then I got pissed off. While we were dating, he didn’t take me seriously at all. I would always tell him how much potential he had to be a good boyfriend (he LOVED that), but he was constantly forgetting our plans/couldn’t get to a phone/was at a charity event/figured I had something better to do/had no money/etc. I’m not at all jealous of his fiance, but I am jealous of him.

I was ready to be taken seriously back then, but he’s getting married before me? How does that work? How on earth did he grow up before me?

(Answer: he lives in Regina, Saskatchewan and works for the goverment).

First off, sorry for the lack of posts in the last week…work has been nuts, and when I had free time, my choices were blog or sleep, and for my sanity, I chose sleep.

I’ve been on lots of dates in the 15 years since I’ve been on the market. Sometimes, I go out with a guy who is absolutely fantastic, but I have no desire to date him whatsoever. I always wish I could hang out with these guys further, but know that they are probably in love with me. I’ve heard stories of friends of mine who have gone out on blind dates and then became friends with the other person, but I just don’t know how that could be done. “Hey buddy, I think you’re really great, but I am not attracted to you at all. Want to grab some wings?”

The other night, as I was drifting off into unconciousness, I started wondering if anyone ever thought that way about me. As my loyal readers know, I often don’t get called back. What if it’s because these guys think that I’m really cool, but because I am so cool, they couldn’t imagine being with me romantically? I know for sure that they would never not be attacted to me…I guess I should start off by telling them “Look, I’m not really attracted to you anyway, and am just going out with you so I can have good stories for my blog, but I’m cool with you coming to a party with me this weekend, where some of my less-picky friends might be. Oh, and I also don’t mind you paying for stuff.”