Remember the time I shouldn't have said that?

Remember the time I deleted my entire blog when I went to click publish?  

Yeah... that sucked.  

I was this close to saying "fuck it all" and letting you all be blogless but since I am a giver, I decided to rewrite the whole $%$#@! thing.  Just for you.  

You're welcome.

And I shall.  Just for you.

I'm about to tell you something so shocking, so earth-shattering, so unbelievable, that it will change who you are, what you think, and even how you live.  This revelation will tilt the world on it's axis and life as we know it will cease to exist and you will enter an alternate reality where black is white and down is up and light is dark... (Okay, wait... that's the same as black is white.  Erase that.)

*cue theme song from Jaws*

No, not that.  Because that would be awkward.  That's just my little way of breaking it to you gently.  

Here it is:

Hi, my name is Danielle.  I say stupid shit because I think I'm funny when I'm actually not.

This is a chronic (but usually not fatal) disorder recently discussed in the American Medical Association Journal, JAMA.  In a fascinating article written by Dr. Utits Besaggi, he states:  "VDS (Verbal Diarrhea Syndrome) is characterized by the random blurting of inappropriate statements at inopportune times.  In a recent study, we discovered that the most likely sufferers of this disorder are short, plump females who's names begin with D and who often think they're funny, when in reality, they're not." 

They say the first step towards recovery is admitting that you have a problem. 

I started noticing the symptoms of VDS when I was around 13. I'm sure there were signs that my parents ignored, putting it down to precociousness, smart-assedness, or just blatant know-it-all-itis.

I ate my fair share of soap and spent enough time in my room thinking about what I'd done and waiting for my father to get home to last a lifetime.

But then...

Easter Sunday, 1976.  

Picture it:  

My grandparent's house.

Aunts, uncles and cute little cousins were all sitting around the table, about to feast on leg of lamb, mint jelly, mashed potatoes, and all the fixins.  Like the freaking Waltons, we were, all dressed up in our Easter finery with Pa at head of the table and Ma at the foot.  (Okay, not quite... but you get the idea.  On a slightly different note,  isn't eating leg of lamb on Easter somewhat cannibalistic?  I mean, what with the whole Lamb of God thing?  No?  Just me, then?)

Anyway, after the saying of Grace (grace?  Grace?  To capitalize or not to capitalize, that is the question...) my grandfather asked all the kiddies to go around the table and tell everyone what we wanted to be when we grew up.

My sister at 15 and myself at 13 were considerably older than the rest of our cousins, and for me, their cuteness was almost beYOND unbearable.  All I wanted to do was scarf down some mint jelly and mashed potatoes and escape their cloying adorableness by sitting in the car and reading my book.  I mean, seriously... was that really too much to ask?  My parents were so cruel.

Meanwhile, Cousin One announced precociously, "I want to be a fireman!"

Cousin Two squealed, "I want to be a MOMMY!"

My sister, aka Thoroughly Modern Millie, said primly, "I want to be a secretary."  (No really, Andrea... take one GIANT leap for woman kind.)

Then it was my turn.

Said I, "I want to be a high priced call girl."

All sounds of life came screeching to a halt, with the exception of my snorting and guffawing as I practically fell out of my chair, completely overcome with mirth at my own immense wit.

Forks paused in mid-air.

Wine glasses perched on the edges of shocked and appalled lips.

Eyes judged me.

My mother thought of 200 ways in which she could kill me with her bare hands.

Then she broke the silence by growling at me, while lasers shot from her eyes and her head spun in circles, (there may have been pea soup spewing from her throat, but I don't remember exactly), "Get. Out. To. The. Car. And. STAY. THERE."


Somewhere in the distance, the sound of the Death March played as I performed the long Walk of Shame (or, as my friend Amanda calls it, The Dance of the Shameless) out to the car, where I curled up in the backseat and blissfully read my book and pondered the fact that according to my mother, I had single-handedly ruined Easter and made Jesus cry.

Mission...

Accomplished.

(Personally?  I blame my cousins and my sister for this.  I wouldn't have had to throw myself under the bus if their responses hadn't been so... stupid.)

And they never even thanked me.

Other Types Of Random Blurting

Random Cellphone Blurting

Random Cellphone Blurting occurs when you have your ringtone set to something completely inappropriate and then forget to turn your phone off, like when you're in church, or in a meeting.

Or, in my case, sitting in on an IEP.

A couple of years ago, a friend introduced me to a free ringtone generator called myxer.com.  That's right, you heard me... free.

I suddenly had a new hobby.

I took great pride in finding the perfect ringtone for every single person in my address book.  Every hero needs a theme song, right?  Well, so did every person I've ever met, ever, at any time, ever, in my life.

I took this shit seriously, yo.  I chose personal ringtones like it was my job.

And for myself?  I went with Poe:  I'm Not A Virgin Anymore.  (Because that's what anyone would have picked for me.  Because it was perfect.)

On the day in question, I was supposed to sit in on an IEP regarding the student I was shadowing.  Naturally, this particular student had the most difficult parent in the district that year (which believe me, is saying something.  Our district is famous world wide for having THE most difficult parents on the face of this earth.  We're almost proud of it).  I had run home after school to let the dogs out and make a few phone calls, then raced back to the school, barely making it through the door in time to not be considered late.  I tossed my purse onto a desk and plopped down at the table with the principal, the superintendent, the teacher, the special ed teacher, the school psychologist, several other behaviorists, and every district muckety-muck that had nothing better to do that day.

It was apparently a Big Deal.

I put on my Professional Face and prepared myself to make profound and valid statements that would change the face of IEPs everywhere.

The parent opened the dialogue with a bang, by announcing that everyone who had anything to do with his child didn't know their ass from a hole in the ground.

Nothing new there... I doodled on my notepad, making it look as if I were paying close attention, by writing "don't know ass from hole in the ground..." 

The principal tried to smooth the waters by insisting that her staff were all consummate professionals in every way, and that everyone who had anything to do with his child was tops in their field and had nothing but the child's best interests at heart...

Right at that moment, from wayyyyyyyyy across the room, came the blaring sounds of Poe:

I'm not a virgin anymore...

Just thought you should know,

Before you let another lie slip through your crooked little teeth...

I don't think you wanna start that shit with me...

Oh dear God, the humanity.

Not to mention the dilemma.

Do I sit there along with everyone else and pretend I don't know who's phone that is?

Do I get up nonchalantly and go turn it off?

Do I impale myself right here, right now, with this pen?

Meanwhile, every single person at the table turned and looked... at me.

Well, FUCK.

It was at that precise moment I was struck with a bout of VDS.

Me, to a room full of people who had the power to hire or fire my ass:  "Sooo... in case you were wondering, I'm not a virgin anymore..."

Random Cellphone Blurting At The Grocery Store:

This is still too painful to talk about, so you can read about it here.




Random Blurting When You Don't Know Your Mother-in-Law Is On The Phone:


My most recent attack of VDS occurred Friday night.


I totally blame Dan for this one.


He was on the phone in the bedroom.


I got up to go to the bathroom, and as I was passing the bedroom I could have sworn I heard him say the word "whore."


Assuming (we all know what happens when we assume, yes?) he was talking to his brother, I stuck my head into the room and bellowed, "Who are YOU calling a whore?"


Dan:  *shaking his head at me and waving his hand in a shoo-fly motion*


Me:  *not to be deterred*  "YOU'RE a whore!"


Dan:  *frowning at me and shaking his head*  "Shhh... what are you talking about?"


Me:  *never, never knowing when to quit*  "Your DAD'S a whore!"


Dan:  *giving me a "you've gone crazy so shut the hell up" look*  "What??  Who's a whore?"


Me:  *practically doubling over with my own hilarity*  "Your MOM'S a whore!"


Dan:  *popping his eyes out at me in shock and horror*  "Dani!  Stop!"


Me:  *cackling like a hen about to lay a dozen eggs*  "Who are you talking to?"


Dan:  "I'm talking to MY MOM!"




Of course you are.

I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed...

And finally...

Random Blurting Of The Facebook Variety


I forget... a lot... that some of the people I love making fun of the most are on my Facebook and can see everything I post.

You know that video that went viral recently with the guy who shot up his daughter's laptop because of shit she'd posted on Facebook, that they were able to see because she was friends with their dog?  Yeah... like that.

Only with less gun powder.

So far.

Oh, how I wish I could remember who was on my Facebook Friends List.

Ohhhh, how I wish I'd think about that before I post certain things.

I'm a HUGE fan of poking fun at those precious and inspiring "motivational" pictures that people like to post on their walls.

One of my "friends" was literally one of THE worst offenders in posting this crap on her wall.  99% of her status updates were either deep and meaningful song lyrics (eyeroll... unless you're under the age of 30, don't do that.  Just... don't) or inspirational pictures with messages of pain and loss written across a beach setting with a woman in something white and gauzy walking towards the surf, apparently to drown herself because she is so misunderstood.  (That's my take on it, anyway.)


So she posted this picture:

And 200 of her closest friends said things like, "You are so strong!" and "Stop it!  You're beautiful!  It's HIS loss, not yours!" and "He doesn't deserve you!"

And I said...

"So stop putting out on the first date."

But no, that wasn't enough for me.  Because THEN I wrote an entire blog making fun of her by using all the "motivational quotes" that she posts on her wall.

And it became my most popular blog posting to date.

Then she blocked me.

And I was really bummed, because making fun of her brought a lot of joy into my life.

(You can read all about why I don't have friends here.)

Words to live by, my friends.  Words to live by.