Dane In Real Life

My Gift

I’m not a big gift giver. I know how to give them, in fact I think I give pretty awesome gifts. I’m just not a fan of any of it.

If a friend gives me a gift it defines the relationship. We’re probably not “great” friends to begin with, but now, we definitely aren’t. Especially when you find out I’m not going to give you one when I have the opportunity.

You’d probably be more offended at the reception of a gift from me anyway, seeing as I’m the guy that totally plays the funny Hallmark card with a Starbucks gift card attached. Not that bad? Let me play like Emeril and take it up a notch. This gift card, though it may take you to the happiest place on earth, will be for that awkward amount like $7. BAM! Another notch! WTF!?I know, right?

No, to me a true sign of friendship and the best gift anyone can give is that of no gift at all. Sparing me the awkward moment, recieving the god-awful gift you have just be-labored me with figuring out who to regift it to. So, I I don’t give you a gift, like, ever don’t be offended. Instead, relish in the awesome fact that I like you enough to not care.

Why don’t I care? Because I love you that much.

My Forgot

Do you ever get a list of things you need to do in your head and then forget them?

I do that all the time. People tell me to write my list down.

Eff that. Who do I look like, Thoreau?

My Kryptonite

So, today I’m tearing down my friends house. Ok, not really his house, it was more like the addition the previous owner built off the back of the garage. But, it was structural, there were sledge hammers involved, big saws, trucks, chains, and complete destruction.

It was like the perfect symphony.

There we were conducting this symphony. Wielding our awesome sledge hammers with brute force. Breaking out walls and smashing floors with awesome strenth. It was amazing. The brilliance behind the composition of degredation; breath-taking.

We were men among men. Beasts in our natural habitat. With the roof now acting as a floor, we danced about gingerly upon the rafters as if, for only that time, our appendages belong to world class ballerinas.

Miss step. I’m falling. [slow-mo] I think to myself, “This is it. I’m done. I’m going to impale myself on a nail and I’m not current on my tetnis shots.”

I emerged from my brush with death, unscathed. Glory to God.

You can always count on a group of young, twenty-somethings, to make sound, rational decisions when testosterone, adrenaline, and excitement are cocktailed. Especially when your mixers are tools and destruction. At one point we were standing underneath a roof that was supported by a single stud, without worry. The fact that the whole place could come down, on top of us, at any moment didn’t get so much as a second thought.

(I’m terrified of water, spiders, and girls, but structural collapse? Not even. Who’da thunk that one?)

We were dancing about fragments of splintered would, nails sticking out from everywhere, tools being swung around without any care of those in our vicinity. Any one of which could have, mercilessly and without grandeur, ruined our day. Claiming any extremity they saw fit, as a casualty.

Nope. These would not be the assailants which would breach our awesomeness, our impenetrable walls, our security in our veritable indestructableness.

Nope. It would be a, so-called, trojan horse. It would be an “Otter-Pop.” Put a nice slice on the inside of my lip. Rightly smarted too!

Yup. After all that, yours truly was done in by a popsicle.

My Lamentation

You know what I hate?

Cyclists. For Pete’s sake!

I don’t know who Pete is but, my guess is he’s the d-bag that was wearing the unitard, ruining my life on the road today. But yeah, for his sake. His life is in danger.

Face it, you ride bikes. In big groups. And call yourselves things like, “Pelentons.” FAIL. On top of all of this you deem it necessary to squeeze yourself into brightly colored spandex, (which may I just add, does not do you male “cyclists” out there any justice). DO YOU KNOW HOW RIDICULOUS YOU LOOK!?

You are a not vehicle. Ok, Maybe for humiliation, but you lack the self-awareness to cease and desist your gruesome display of physical prowess. Oh no, I’m not talking about those chaps who do the whole Tour de France thing, those guys are hard-frickin-core and totally B.A.

You, are not those guys. Shhhh quiet down Sally. You’re not. We all know it. We see you. All over the place. Wrecking traffic. Complaining when we don’t acknowledge your existence on the road. When we don’t yeild to you, in your stupid lane, when making right turns. Pointing which direction you’re about to go, as if, if my car had a mind of it’s own, it’s 3000 lbs of winning would respect your dainty little signal for concession to your right of way. Oh yes, we see you.

How about this. When on the road, yeild to what you could not defeat in a fight. And, let’s face it, Cycle<Automobile.

If you want to look like you care about something, or why ever the heck you ride your bike to and fro, and be treated like a vehicle, buy a SmartCar. It’s slightly less pointless and, I promise, you’ll look just as ridiculous.

Cyclists remind me of Pinnochio, always trying to be something you’re not and getting pissed when you get run the eff over!

My Truth and Reconciliation

I like the thought of being a hopeless romantic. There I said it. I wouldn’t say that I am, but I definitely like the thought of being that sappy. I won’t lie about it.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m battling between who I am and who part of me wants to be.

I recently rediscovered my love for one of my best friends songs, which he wrote at a time when he and his, now fiance, were broken up. Its an amazing song about love and the message he’s trying to get across to the love of his life.

Isn’t the movie playing in your head right now so Notebook-ish, it makes you want to vomit?

When I’m listening to this song, i’m encouraged and discouraged both at the same time. While I’m encouraged by the manner in which it was written, giving me hope that I might too, one day, write a song as good as this, I’m hopelessly discouraged because no matter what, I will never be able to write a song with as much passion and genuine longing.

Seriously. Nicholas Sparks, eat your heart out.

This brings me to my point.

My boy found a love so consuming and addicting that he couldn’t help but wear his emotions on his sleeve and put his heart on display. While he was touring the country playing this song, live, in city after city the emotion he felt with this song must have been almost unbearable.

This is where my war is waged. I like the idea of being that in love with someone. So much so, that a song, sung at the top of my lungs, full of the words that at best fall drastically short of conveying the message I need to get across, putting my heart out there for the world to see, is an option I eagerly accept.

But I’m not that person. And I haven’t experienced that kind of love. That is my truth.

Who I am hates who I want to be and who I want to be is scared of who I am.

I want to be that guy who makes 365 pink, napkin roses for a one-year anniversary. I want to be that guy who falls asleep talking to my “boo” on the phone, at 3am. I want to be the guy who buys a pint of her favorite ice-cream and snags a copy of The Notebook, “just because” and makes sure the blanket situation is ample while double checking whether or not I can rub her feet.

You get the picture, I want to be “that guy.”

Who I am is a caustic, cynical, calussed, commitment-phobe.

Who I am says, “Who you want to be is soooo ghhheeeyyyyyy…”

And therein lies my problem….

My new blog

Hi. This is my blog. It is awesome.

I have had other blogs, so don’t be nervous, I know what I’m doing. I felt that it was time to move on though, they were not as awesome.

This being the first post, I feel it’s necessary to get the “nitty-gritty” out of the way, there is always that awkward “first-read” through every new blog. You’re never quite sure where the author is coming from, how to read it, what the author means by what they’re writing, or what to do with the information you take from the reading/viewing experience.

I have decided that it is better for me to clarify these things. So, lets get started, shall we?

First of all, in reference to the above listed issues with blogs, I don’t know where I’m coming from 93% of the time so don’t feel too bad if it goes over your head. Read this blog however you like, it’s just a blog, you don’t need to have a big seance about it, just read it. Usually, what I say is not what I mean and what I mean is never what I say. Reading my blog will make you a great literary mind, or at least help you score really well on any “reading comprehension” test. As far as what to do with the information contained herein, it will change your life. Let it. That is what you do with it.

Awesome. Moving on.

About the Author

• My name is Dane Pierce Whitney
• I am awesome
• I have the awesome-est friends
• “Awesome” is my utility word, followed closely by “epic,” “amazing,” and “word”
• I type out “haha’s” frequently. In texting and otherwise
• I am 6’4”
• I love sports
• I love Jesus most
• There is a lot more about me but, it would overwhelm you with awesomeness
• I scream like a girl

Terms of Rights and Responsibilities

• Privacy Policy
  

Your privacy is not important to me. IF you comment on, or post on, anything on this blog, and I don’t like it, I will ridicule you ruthlessly while letting everyone know how bad you fail. If I like it, I will probably like you, in which case I will allow you to continue in life without feeling like an epic failure. It is important that you understand this Privacy Policy. Please refer back to this should you have any questions about contributing anything of your own on this blog. I encourage you to refer back to it regularly regardless, to help you make informed decisions and be self-aware of what you are considering posting.

• Sharing Your content

If you share your own content on my blog I will own you. This is, “danesawesomeblog.com,” not, “everyone’sawesomeblog.com. If I had decided to make it that I would have entitled it, “everyone’sslightlylessawesomethandane’sblog.com.” But that would make no sense. Obviously, it would be significantly less awesome.

• Safety

• I may, or may not, bully, intimidate, or otherwise harass anyone.
• I will not post anything that is inappropriate, because lets just face it, that’s not too tasteful or awesome.
• l am liable to offend anyone and everyone, but I will not openly try, live with it.
• I will encourage and facilitate the violation of this statement regularly.

• Protecting Other People’s Rights

I won’t. I don’t respect other people’s rights and expect you to do the same. I reserve the right to remove anyone’s content if I feel it is in violation of this policy. I also reserve the right to remove anyone’s content if it is stupid and not awesome.

Awesome, now that, that is out of the way I would like to get around to some general rules I have for optimal viewing pleasure both for you personally and those around you.

• If you don’t have a good laugh please refrain from viewing my awesome blog in vastly public settings. Those around you, unless they’re reading over your shoulder,(which they ought to be), will not understand. They can’t view the awesomeness that you are and annoying laughs are annoying unless everyone is laughing.
• If you haven’t grasped the concept that this blog is dedicated to humor and should never be taken too seriously, then you should give up now. Stop reading immediately. Go to the coast, find a short pier and take a long walk. For those that live in the mid-west, I will also accept a kiddie-pool. For those of you up north, Canada will suffice as punishment enough.
• If you still haven’t grasped the previously mentioned concept, loosen up. We probably shouldn’t be friends, but I love you the same and I think you should definitely read my awesome blog as often as possible, it will make you awesome. I would recommend canonizing it in your life along with your Bible.