The last bio I wrote was very dramatic and strange. I can't remember why it was like that, other than me being a sort of a dramatic and strange person except that I don't really consider myself dramatic OR strange, so there goes that theory. Maybe I was just in a better mood back then. It was written about 2 years ago, so I'm not going to go hunting through my horrible archives to find it. Anyhow, hi. Welcome. I'm Dana. I'm 31. I live in Connecticut with Nick, my husband. His name pops up from time to time, obviously. (I'm just giving you some important players [entirely different from playas, which Nick is most assuredly not. At least not in front of me...], so that you're not thrown into a confused panic if you're new here and see me talking about him. ("What?? Who?!!? My god! Stop with the names already!!") We live in a pretty house we're always fixing up, with our two dogs, Jessie and Grayson (Jessie is ancient and lumpy, Grayson is pretty, neurotic and had cancer), my two rabbits (hateful creatures, tentatively named Pom and Flora) and a tortoise named Johnny Shutup. I think I like the tortoise the best out of all of the pets, if only because he doesn't leave me coated in fur, and he almost never shits on the floor or pisses out of his tank.
I have lived in Connecticut for almost 7 years. Before that, I lived and grew up in Brooklyn, New York. My grandparents, Angelo and Eleanor, lived within walking distance of the apartment I shared with my mom. Growing up in New York was a kick in the ass in ways I'm still discovering, and I miss it terribly, but what I miss is stuff that doesn't exist anymore, stuff that COULDN'T exist, because I'm no longer a poor college student, staggering around with a vodka bottle, coat open, screaming to the night sky. I think I was a lot cuter than I thought I was, and got involved with some really shitty guys. That's right, John Hunter, I'm looking right at you, you giant freak (note: if your name happens to be John Hunter, or you happen to KNOW a John Hunter, unless you are the John Hunter who lived in a warehouse you couldn't afford rent on in New Jersey and met me in the early 90s, you are not the John of whom I speak. If you ARE, in fact, THE John Hunter, well, go fuck yourself). Overall, I wouldn't trade my childhood for anyone elses, even if I never had a backyard or a basement. Growing up was many things, but it was almost never boring or ordinary.
My parents split up before I was born, and I've never met my father. This hasn't caused me any undue trauma, I don't hate guys and don't blame anyone except for him for why they fell apart. During my darkest years in NY, when I drank so much I no longer got hungover, I wondered whether or not I was anything like him and whether or not that was a bad thing, but eventually I let it go. I am very close to my family, and they to me. We are tight-knit, so much so tht when it became obvious that my grandparents were no longer able to keep up with living in Brooklyn, I volunteered (with the assistance of Nick) to help them look for a place up here. We saw some shitshacks, I've got to say. They had all kind of specific qualifiers for the house, which I won't get into now, but finally, after one false start (put money down on a place and then changed their minds), they bought a ginormous condo about 10 minutes away from my house and right across the street from the water. At the writing of this, Angelo is almost a month post op for the removal of a brain tumor and is living in an old, dumpy rehab place. He has no short term memory, but is friendly as hell to everyone, kissing the nurses and aides and shaking hands with people, whether they want him to or not. I am being purposefully lighthearted in the the telling of what's going on, it is devastating and heartbreaking to me and I am struggling constantly with how to cope with what I see happening.
My mother still lives in Brooklyn, and I am trying to convince her to move up here, too. I'm not sure whether she will or not. Connecticut is a long way from Brooklyn, mentally.
I have and desire no children. If this makes you angry or uncomfortable, there's not a lot I can do for you. I have plenty of friends with kids, and honestly, I don't envy them, even a little. I DO NOT consider my pets my children. People who do are creepy and weird. They're your pets. If I wanted kids, I'd have them. I know how and have both the means and the motivation. It's a choice. Dogs are not a child substitute. Likewise, weirdo cat people: Cats are not friends.
I am what is called a SENIOR Administrative Assistant at a college. I'm sure if you really had nothing to do, you could hunt me down, but I'd prefer you didn't. My job is mind numbingly boring and the pay is shit. I've been trying to get out of here for at least a year and in real earnest, for the past 6 months. I'm afraid that the only way it's ever going to happen is for me to walk into my boss's office and GIVE HIM NOTICE, otherwise I'll flounder along here forever because it's easy and safe. I have an internal cut off date, though and I am sticking to it. It works! I don't know what I want to do when I leave here, but I do know what I DO NOT want to do and that's answer a phone for anyone else (this job has given me an almost pathological hatred for ringing phones), give computer support to people who fuck up their machine ON PURPOSE, then turn around and lie to my face about it, and lastly, I do not want to do administrative work anymore. Sadly, administrative work is what I'm good at, and here I am.
Questions Answered, Comments Cheerfully Addressed:
1.) Why an online journal?
I've written this for more than 3 years. I started it because I had something I wanted to say. I'm not sure whether I've said what I wanted to say yet. I guess I haven't. Maybe I have, though. If and when it happens, I'll stop writing this, and move on to something else. I can't imagine what that something else might be. Maybe some of that fan fiction where people write about their favorite TV characters having sex. Maybe I'll combine a few fetishes and write about their favorite TV characters having sex while wearing fuzzy animal costumes and popping baloons with high heels. Who knows? There's got to be something else for me to do.
2.) Listen, stupid, it's BOBA Fett. Not BOBO fett.
I know, and I don't care. I didn't name or register the page, and I just can't be bothered to think up a better title. What would you call it? I tried, years ago to change names. I couldn't think of anything else. Why do I have to have a title? It's just not worth my time. You can call it whatever you like, and I'm sure people do. For the record, I can't ever keep Star WARS seperate from Star TREK, and I don't have to, because I'm sure you can, and if YOU can't, there's a flock of people out there who can, and more, who dedicate lots of time doing so. Good for them!
3.) You're funny! Why aren't you published?! Why don't you write a book?! You're wasting your time!!!!
I am a funny writer, it's true. I'm not published because, well, who'd publish me? Do you want to? I'd be delighted. I always thought my writing would lend itself well to something like Jane magazine, perhaps I'd be able to take their smug-self satisfaction level (which is off the map) down a few notches. They're funny, but man oh man. Get over yourself a little. Not to get all Holden Caufield on you, but they are a bunch of phonies if ever there were phonies. Having said that, I'd also write for them in a heartbeat. I'd write a book, but lack a topic. Maybe I'll have a contest.
4.) You're pretty! Can you send me naked photos?! Will you take your shirt off on your webcam and show me your boobies?!
Thanks, but no and no. I can't imagine that mine are the boobies that would make your loins explode with passion. There's plenty of porn out there for that, so get going, slappy.
5.) You spelled _____ wrong!! You think you're so smart!!! If you were so smart, smartypants, you would know how to spell that!!!
I know I did. For whatever reason, running the spellechecker on my composer crashes the shit out of my machine, and I've decided that in order for me to stay sane and not lose giant parts of entries, I will do my best to spell stuff correctly. If I'm really confused, I look up the word online. If it's wrong after that, I'm sorry. I know there are people out there--I've read their posts on forums--who say that they'd NEVER read a journal where the writer didn't CARE enough to SPELL things correctly, and blah blah blah blah. Well, that's great for you, Daniel Webster, but sometimes shit happens.
6.) How did you meet Nick?
A long time ago, I made up some story about how we'd met at some party of a friend of mine here in New Haven, but before I even got to tell the story I realized that I didn't really care whether or not people knew that we'd met on the internet. It's not worse than meeting someone waiting on line at an REO Speedwagon concert or at band camp or whatever. It's not better, but it's definitely not worse. It's also a lot more common now than when we hooked up, so I'm not ashamed. That's right. WE MET ON THE INTERNET. How ya like me now?
7.) What do you like to do for fun?
I live in Connecticut: I like to go to the mall. In fact, I LOVE malls. I love them for people watching and for spending money. I love them because they're so, so American and they're the holding pens for the best and the worst of mankind. Plus, you can have palmtrees cheerfully airbrushed onto your 4 inch plastic nails. That's some sexy. I also love to drive. I came to driving late--I got my licence in 1997. My first and by far most beloved car was a 1984 Volvo wagon, rusty brick red. His name was Terrence. I drove him way faster than he probably ever should have been driven, poor thing. Terrence was replaced by a giant, brand new, black 4 x 4 Dodge Dakota pickup truck I named Mister T, because I'm damn clever. Mister T got approximately 1 mile to the gallon, and I had to pay something like 450 dollars a month for the loan. I felt like a giant badass in that truck, probably because I only had to ride in the tiny inchwide strip they called a "back seat" once. Mister T was replaced with my current car, a 1999 VW GTI. It goes about 500 miles an hour and I will undoubtedly kill myself in a dramatic fashion behind it's wheel (Note: I actually killed the car rather than it killing me, go figure). Watch for it on the 11:00 news, it'll be the kind of thing they play in slow mo, over and over again, and people will be like "Jesus, who'd be stupid enough to do that!?" I like the big video game cabinet Nick built in our porch. We play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, badly, throughout the night, until we both get tired and require some hot milk and a nap. I like to travel. A lot. I wish I did it more. I think that I'd love to live in a hotel for a year or something. I am desperate in my desire to go to Japan. Maybe next year. I gamble, and I'm not afraid to say it out loud. I GAMBLE. You can all blame my grandparents for that particular character quirk. They love it and have passed the love to me. I love it best when I'm not using my own money. Sadly, I am a TERRIBLE gambler, so I primarily stick to slots. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE I've ever gone to a casino with has hit a giant monster jackpot in front of my very eyes, and I'm very, very jealous.
8.) Any brothers or sisters?
No, never really wanted them. I am a typical only child. Self centered, self absorbed. I was born on January 1st, so, that's 1/1, the I. The me. I guess, if pushed, I'd say that I would have liked an older brother. Not an older sister, though. Steal my limelight? I think not. I have 8 brothers and sisters in law, and that's plenty. I like them all, for the most part, but I'll say no more. I think they like me, and I'd like to keep it that way.
9.) Aren't you afraid that someone you've written about will find your page???
I've edited my archives a bit so that no one will get their feelings hurt. That's got to be good enough. My family don't know that I keep an online journal. It's not a huge secret, but my mother would fucking faint right on the fucking floor if she knew how fucking bad my language is. Fuck. I don't use real people's names, often. Except for John Hunter. That's right, JOHN HUNTER. I'll use his real name a lot. What? Oh. Sorry. Heh, honestly, I haven't given him much thought in a while, so I have no idea where this little burst of anger is coming from. I have issues.
10.) Are you the same in real life as you are on your page?
Yes. I really am. No exaggeration. People who meet me know what to expect. I'm outgoing and outspoken. I'm kind of a hardass. I'm also weepy and tender, like a Cadbury egg. I have no Brooklyn accent to speak of, unless I'm talking to someone from Brooklyn who has an accent (Angelo) or if I've been drinking. That always shocks people. I think you all imagine me sounding like Vinny Barbarino and I really don't. I knew people who did, but I do not.
11.) Where can I get more information about you, fabulous ol' Dana?
Why, shoot me some email! I'd be delighted to answer!
That's it. It is. Now you know everything about me, almost. You're ready to play the All Dana Edition of Trivial Pursuit.