DONALDREES . COM

I don’t know how to drive.

I mean, I still do it, I just have no idea what I’m doing. I fly through red lights. Flood the engine. Strip the gears. No, that’s not true. I don’t even know what that means. Strip the gears? I have a visual, but it’s probably not right, of  a gear dancing up on a stage  bent over a pole while other car parts try to stick dollar bills in it’s g-string. Sure, the gear tells you it’s just trying to work it’s way through college, but somewhere deep down you know the life of easy money and cheap crack will suck it in.

Where was I?

I actually don’t know how to drive. I don’t have a license, have never had a license and though I’m fairly sure I could start a car and move it, I’m pretty sure I would only end up moving it as close as the nearest (a) wall (b) other car (c) Hobo.

My lack of license and know-how isn’t intentional. When I was sixteen I fully planned on getting my license, but somehow I never got around to it. There were always buses, and lifts from friends, and camels. For the longest time I would do that thing that Michael J. Fox did in “Back To The Future” and just hold on to the back of cars while riding a skateboard and hope they were going in my direction. I ended up in Boston once doing that. It was winter. Not pleasant.

Suddenly, time’s gone by and I still have no idea how to drive and to be truthful the idea of learning now is actually a bit expensive scary. I can’t picture myself behind the wheel, commanding this huge piece of metal that, at my will, can reach velocities that are simply unnatural for human beings. I’ve tried and I just start screaming when the car is moving. “Fuck. Shit. We’re going to crash,” I scream, while moving at a snails pace through an empty Costco parking lot.

I’m great at being a passenger. I can play CD’s and adjust the radio…oh and I’m a master at temperature control. I can ride the bus better than most people (I don’t know what that means but it’s most certainly true).

I imagine it must be liberating to just get in the car and drive wherever you want and sooner rather than later I’m sure I’ll buckle down and get my license (get it? buckle down?). In the meantime, enjoy those Donald-free roads cuz you know, it’s only a matter of time

I’m at the grocery store with Patrick (for those of you who don’t know who Patrick is, let me explain. He is my housekeeper). So we’re shopping at the grocery store. We tend to split up when shopping because when I walk into a store I go directly for what I need and head to the cash. I’m in and out within just a few minutes. For Patrick, he must inspect every Kiwi before settling on the right one. We’ve learned over time, my housekeeper and I, that splitting up results in less headaches.

Well, what a surprise I had when, upon completing my purchase at the self-service machine, I spot Patrick at the next machine finishing up his transaction. How magnificent! Except wait, there’s a boneless chicken breast still sitting in his basket that it looks like he may forget to scan.

No worries, it’s me to the rescue!

“Don’t forget your chicken breast.” I say, as I approach Patrick, remove his chicken from the basket and tap him on the shoulder.

And of course – it’s not Patrick. It’s a man I’ve never seen before in my life, who looks somewhat like Patrick from behind, who’s staring at me like I’m an insane person (which at this point I’m realizing I am). What a weirdo I must have looked like – that or the weirdest good samaritan in existence.

Rather than explain, I turn purple and walk away, but not before returning his chicken breast to the basket.

This is why I shouldn’t leave the house.

I don’t know why I’m continuing my story. If you’re wondering what story I’m referring to, you’re obviously not a very dedicated follower of this website. Please take a look at the entry below before going any further. Believe me, you’ll want to know how it started before you find out how it ends.

So where was I?

Right, so my friend Jen was passed out in the dryer. By the way, I’ve given up on renaming people since it’s obvious you can all see through my elaborate attempts at name camouflage. Actually, you know what I’m going to do? Use nicknames. These are very special “pet” names only my friends know and you’ll never be able to guess who’s who.

Right, so my friends Miss. Drinks-a-lot was passed out in the dryer inhaling the fumes of fresh linen while I stared bug-eyed at my Facebook account. I’d somehow managed to invite nearly 400 people over to my condo for Halloween. Plus I’d promised an open bar AND a grand prize of a 3D television. All of this, to spite Miss. Drinks-a-lot.

I had no idea what I was going to do but I am anything if not resourceful (or is it I’m nothing if not resourceful) what I’m trying to say is I get shit done. I picked Miss. Drinks-a-lot up, wheel-barrowed her over to the elevator and immediately started getting ready for the party.

First things first. I convinced Captain Clean-Countertops to pick up a shift at work so he’d be out of the house the night of the party. I also stopped by the liquor store and bought some Alcool. For those of you who don’t know what Alcool is, it’s about 98% alcohol. It can burn a hole right through you snuffaluffagus. One bottle of that and a Costco sized portion of Tang and my open-bar  was ready to go. I never said the open-bar would have variety. Just one big punch bowl potent enough to burn your eyeballs clean out their sockets.

The night of the party, things went well enough. I had Flen, I mean Miss Drinks-a-lot serve as the bouncer to my party. She came prepared with a clipboard, headset and stanchions to place in my hallway. Why she owns all those things, I’ll never know (Okay, well the clipboard isn’t that unusual but stanchions?)

I’d placed pumpkins and cobwebs….well, they might have been spiderwebs – what’s a cobweb anyway? Are they a like a cobbler’s web or do they have something to do with corn on the cob? Either way they were real, not store-bought. I very carefully brought up from the basement for authenticity and placed them throughout my condo. Monster Mash was booming from the stereo.

I had my other friend Tacquito man the punchbowl and make sure everyone took a real big sip of “Tang” as they came in.

Clumsy Feet, Pot-O-Gold, Humungo, Man Laugh and even Hook Nose all showed up plus about 200 more (far less than the 400 who RSVP’d but still enough to get the neighbours on my floor and the four floors below to call security – when they showed up I had Tacquito give them a welcome “Tang” and that was the end of that).

For the big prize, I found the drunkest person in the building and gave it to them.

The next morning, my mom called complaining that the there was no 3DTV in the box I’d given her.

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure there was a 3DTV in there when you left my house. You were pretty drunk, maybe you lost it on the way home.”

“Hmmm.” She said. “Maybe… but I wasn’t that drunk.”

“You rode the Vacuum.”

“I did?”

“Yup. You broke it.”

“Wow. What was in that punch?”

Aside from some minor cosmetic damage to my condo and the guilt of having lied to my mother (not to mention the twelve people that went to the emergency room with alcohol poisoning) the evening was actually a pretty decent success.

The overall point is that you shouldn’t let people play mind games with you and when someone tries to set you up for failure, prove them wrong. No matter the cost, number of police infractions or hospital bills. Always rise to the challenge. Just be creative about it.

I never throw parties, and with good reason. They usually end up being a disaster (with the exception of my end of year Celebration which is usually a smashing success). You see, crazy things happen at my parties. Things I can’t write about on the internet for fear of prosecution.

Although, now that I think about it I guess I could aways change the names of the parties involved, right? No harm if it’s all anonymous. In that case, I’d like to tell you about the Halloween party I  threw last year.

I should have known it would be a disaster.

You see, it wasn’t my idea. I know better than to host events anymore. Attend them, absolutely (well, maybe) but host them? No sirree.

I blame Jen. Shit. I said I’d change people’s names. I mean… Flen. Right, yes, Flen. Best buddy ever, Flen. We go way back. Met in Kindergarten. So there we were, doing shots of tequila off of each other’s belly buttons, when Jen. Fuck, Flen casually slipped in the suggestion that I should throw a Halloween party. The way she brought it up was extremely sneaky and manipulative. Really, under the radar.

“You should throw a Halloween party.” She said.

I know Flen and her mind games. She’s a criminal paranormal psychologist or something like that and she’s always using tricks like reverse osmosis psychology on me.

Taking a hit of tequila and licking the salt off my wrist, I decided I’d play no part in her cruel and deliberate mind games.

“Yes, Jen I should.” I said to Flen.

“You really should.”

“I will.”

“Great.”

“I’m inviting people right now.” I said, heading over to my laptop and opening up Facebook. I’d show her reverse osmosis psychology.

“Awesome.”

Man, she must have been pissed that I was outwitting her at her own game. Mind tricks my butt! The only reason she’d suggest I throw a party was because she really didn’t want me to throw a party. How dare she imply that I couldn’t throw a Halloween party? I’d show her. Not only would I throw a Halloween party, I’d throw the best Halloween party ever.

As long as I only invited a few people. I live in a small condo and Patrick …uhhh Flatrick…would be very upset if I had too many people over.

See, that was the first mistake I made. Maybe it was the bottle and a half of tequila or the new redesign of Facebook (it’s always changing and I have no idea what I’m doing) but I ended up inviting  friends as well as friends of friends. In all, over four hundred people.

When I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and Flen passed out in the laundry room, head in the dryer (she says when she’s drunk she loves the smell of fresh linen), I quickly realized my mistake. Unfortunately, it was too late. I checked Facebook and 399 of the 402 people I’d invited had RSVP’d that they were attending. I was shocked. No event gets a response like that. There weren’t even any ‘maybe’s.

Then I checked the party details and gasped. I’d declared that my party would have an open bar and a best costume prize of a 55″ 3D HDTV. I think my eyes might have bulged out of my head. My mom had hit ‘like’ on the part about the open bar and commented “Hell yeah!”.

I was screwed.

“Jen!” I screamed to Flennifer Grason, who awoke with a start in the dryer, hit her head and passed out.

Oh, I don’t know if I should continue. I mean, things went from bad to worse after that and I really don’t want you thinking any less of me. It’s just… no… I can’t possibly write about the dramatic and shocking conclusion to my story. It’s just too outlandish and absolutely true. You can’t make me and I won’t. I refuse.

Check back next week for the dramatic conclusion to “Last Years Party”.

I am an avid reader.

It’s not unusual for me to go through a couple of books every month. I feel like it’s a good balance. Some people read one book every few years and some blaze through a paperback in a day.

To those who don’t read, I wish they would.

Our literature and written word is something to cherish and enjoy.

Yes, it’s evolved over the years – from cave walls to hand-written tomes to mass publishing of books and then newspapers and magazines to online blogs to text messages. Each has it’s place and value but whether fiction or non-fiction reading should be an act of absolute joy and enrichment.

And let’s be clear. I’m talking about the written word.

Not movies.

Movies haven’t made books irrelevant anymore than Michael Bay has made movies irrelevant. It’s not like the difference between VHS and DVD. Those are variations of the same thing. It’s not like books are outdated. They are a different type of medium altogether.

When I ask someone if they’ve read a certain book and they respond, “No, I’ll see the movie.” I think that’s ridiculous.

You’d never hear me say, “Hmm. Harry Potter? I’m going to wait for the text message.”

The movie is not the same as the book.

At all.  They aren’t the same format

I mean, would you rather read about winning a million dollars or actually win a million dollars?

It’s a stupid question but my point is that the two experiences are completely different though they may be about the same thing.

Books. Words. Sentences. They’re absorbed into your consciousness in a different way than an actor talking to a CGI garden gnome ever can. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but a thousand words sparks a million pictures in the imagination.

But today, everyone says they’re too busy or not interested.

Let me repeat, you are not too busy. Unless you’re Oprah.

And even then she has her own book club (consisting of books she’s at least skimmed through, but actually probably read). She is the richest person on the planet. She opened a school and runs her own television network.

But you and I are too busy?

No, I daresay, we are not.

We’re disorganized and lazy, but not busy.

We’re unmotivated and complacent, but not busy.

The reality is that most of us don’t use our time or fill it in a useful way.

We sleep in, watch tv, read internet comments, complain about our lives, judge others, worry about how we look, eat, eat more, think about exercising, eat, watch more tv, then go to sleep exhausted from our extremely unproductive days.

I promise you, Oprah does at least half of those things (you know which ones).

We all have an hour a day to read one chapter of a book, so it really is a choice.

I’m not saying watching television or movies is without merit, but doing one thing doesn’t replace another. Some experiences are complimentary. Like reading The Help and then watching the movie or like reading the Twilight Saga and then watching yourself stick your head inside a gas oven.

I joke.

Point still stands.

Pick up a book.

PS. Picking up a Kindle or an ebook is okay. It’s a book. Again, the format may change but the written word still remains. Technology isn’t going anywhere and the library’s of today are the Book Museums of tomorrow. I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. Lack of reading is a bigger issue than the format of what’s being read.