This is installment number 4 of the HD extravaganza. This will be the last one for a while so I hope you enjoy it.

About four years ago my best friend got married and asked me to be her maid of honor aka best girl. I, of course, said yes, and took my duties as maid of honor very seriously. Since I was in Los Angeles and she was in Dallas this was a little tricky, but in the end I think she was pleased with her decision.

The night of her wedding went off with out a hitch. It was beautiful. Now it is time to party. We head to the mansion in downtown Dallas where her reception is being held. Let the drinking begin!
A couple of wild turkey and waters later (why I was drinking that, I dont know, I think it was the Texans influencing me) it is time to catch the bouquet. I had barely seen the bride all night because of all the bride duties occupying her time, but before she heads up to the second story balcony for the bouquet toss, she pulls me aside and says to me, You are my best girl. If you dont catch this, it will ruin my wedding.

You got it. I wont let you down.

Fing great. Who needs that kind of pressure?

We all head outside and I stand directly underneath her so, that all she has to do is turn around and drop it over her shoulder. Her groom even aids her and places her directly in front of me while she is turned around. Since everyone in Texas and the Midwest seems to be engaged by the age of 18, there were only two girls waiting to catch the bouquet: me and my friend Dawn. Months prior to this moment I picked out the bridesmaids dresses. Black, strapless, satin, lovely. The months between buying the dress and this moment I dropped two dress sizes: nerves, pressure, wanting to look good for my best friends wedding. I really dont know how it happened. Its possible I wasnt paying attention when I bought the dress in the first place. It is two inches too long and held up with fabric tape. Such a disaster.

Butterflies are swarming in my stomach, and I am considering this the single most important task I have ever been given in my life. She takes one last look back at me with puppy dog eyes and I give her a thumbs up, ..I got it!.. Dork.

Dawn and I are in place for the big moment, and Stacey drops the bouquet.

Like freaking Michael Jordan, I pull a 32 inch vertical out of my ass and on my way up jack Dawn in the chin with my elbow, completely unintentional and subconscious I swear! SHABANG!! I grab the bouquet and gracefully float back down to earth. I jump up and down and yell ..Stacey I got it!!..

I look down and discover that while I made the 32 inch vertical, my dress had not. I literally jumped out of it while it stayed firmly planted on the ground. In front of me there is a burly drunk Texan named Bung, no shitting, Bung, keeled over pointing and laughing at me, which serves me right because I point and laugh at people all the time. I pull my dress back up and continue yelling, ..I got it! I got it!.. Hoping the success of the moment would over ride the embarrassment. These are the things that happen to you so you can tell others and hopefully get a chuckle or two. The only thing I was really concerned about was how many rolls of film the wedding photographer had of this mortifying occasion. To this day, he swears he doesnt have one frame. God bless him.

Again, I hope you liked this one.

Much Love,
HD.

What I miss about the Midwest/Why I hate The Home Depot
By HD

Ok. Here..s the situation. My parent..s went away on a week..s vacation.. Wait. That..s not right. Again I..m a production assistant (of sorts) on an *independent film. Me and my 1994 Honda Accord are sent out on another mission to retrieve the irretrievable, attain the unattainable.. ok so that..s a little dramatic, but regardless I..m sent on another mission from hell. The Director has asked for 4 feet by 8 feet of *Celotex. I have never heard of Celotex and have no idea what it is or looks like, or even if I..m spelling it right. The production coordinator (of sorts) has requested that I drive to The Home Depot in Marina Del Rey, because well it..s The Home Depot and they will surely have the elusive Celotex as well as the proper authority to help me find said Celotex. From East Hollywood to Marina Del Rey I trek, and again I have a time limit to complete my task: 6:00. No sweat. Two hours to drive in rush hour traffic, from East Hollywood to Marina Del Rey, find mystery material, figure out a way to get it into my car, and deliver it to the Director in West Hollywood. On your mark, get set.. GO!

I arrive at The Depot, aka Bain of my existence, and walk directly to customer service. ..Can you tell me where I can find Celotex?..

..What..s Celotex?.. This is not a good sign. I should have Googled it. I call my dad, jack-of-all-trades, hard working farm boy who knows everything about everything associated with The Home Depot mandate.

..Daddy, I..m at the home depot and I have to buy Celotex. Help please...

He gives a crystal clear description and I go back to the customer service desk. There is a new person behind the counter someone who looks much more competent then the last.

..Celotex, please...

..Aisle 5..

Light bulbs.

Back to customer service.

..Celotex please...

..Aisle 13..

Bango! Celotex. They are sold in sheets that are 2 feet by 8 feet. I..ll take two, but I will need them cut in half in order to fit them into my car. This is an outlandish request to which no one will entertain the idea of completing. ..We can..t cut that!..

..But I..m going to buy it. Then can I buy a razor and cut it myself?..

..Absolutely not...

Their reasoning is something along the lines of me being unhappy with the cut of the material and complaining or suing. Fucking morons. It..s costs $4 a sheet cut it in fucking half!! After persuasion and convincing and a vow not to sue for a bad cut, they find some shlump with a box cutter who completes the task in less than 30 seconds. Jerks.

I..m at my wits end. Hating home depot. Hating the incompetent fucks that work there. Hating management for hiring incompetent fucks, and vowing never to step foot in a Southern California home depot ever again.

I..m standing in line with my cart full of Celotex, when a sweet little old man, who looks older then water stands in line behind me, and says, ..So what are you going to do with all that Celotex?..

THANK YOU!!!! Where was this guy 45 minutes ago? Moral of the story is. If you want to have a successful shopping trip at a Southern California Home Depot, take your grandpa.


*Independent means dirt-cheap.
* A building material used to encase the framing of a house before the exterior walls are put on.

For some reason everytime I go to the Best Buy in West Hollywood something crazy happens to me. For example: A couple of months ago I was working as a Production Assistant on an independent film. The camera department asked me to buy them a memory card for the digital camera they were using to shoot the movie. Knowing how important this was to the film, I didn't want to fudge it up. I had exactly 30 minutes to buy the memory cards and get them back to the camera department. On your mark... get set... GO!
At the Best Buy I am that crazy, flustered, yelling, frustrated customer that every store employee loathes. Sue me. I'm yelling at the teenager behind the counter in the digital camera department saying, "I need a memory card for a digital movie camera!" He didn't know the difference between a memory card for a still camera and a memory card for a motion picture camera, and neither did I. For future reference: there is no difference. So, while I'm yelling at the poor kid. I feel something tugging on the back of my pants. I think that my pants are caught on the bottom of my shoe, or got snagged on someone's shopping cart so, I start kicking my leg trying to shake free what ever has got it's grip on me. This does no good. There is still something tugging on the back of my pants. I look down to see a little girl of about two years of age with my pants in her mouth! What the!? She has a single serving of coffee creamer in her hand that she has opened and managed to spill on the back of my pants. She then proceeded to "clean up" the spilt milk by putting my pants in her mouth. Crazy pants eating baby. I look around for the baby's mother who sees her child and is completely unaffected by her actions. I ask the woman to claim her child, but she speaks no english and doesn't understand, "Tell your child to get my pants out of her mouth." So, I look down at the baby and say "No. Bad. Don't eat pants. Shoo!" She looks up at me with a totally confused look that says, "What's the problem lady? How else am I going to get that coffee creamer off your pants?"
I back away from the baby, grab the memory cards off the counter and run to the check out. Freaking baby. There is a coat of baby slobber and coffee creamer on the back of my pants that looks like someone shot their wad on the hem of my slacks. Ha. Slacks. This makes me want to hork and I beg the cashier for a paper towel or a napkin, a kleenex, anything you got I'll take it. She gives me a look like, "Are you freaking retarded? Does this look like a restaurant to you? Dumb bitch." What she actually says is, "No. Sorry I don't have any paper towels. Why do you ask?" I tell her about the crazy baby in aisle 5 and show her the cum shot on the back of my pants. I think it made her puke in her mouth a little bit, and she miraculously pulled out an entire roll of paper towel. Who's the dumb bitch now? I thank her and do my best to remove all sight and stench of the baby fiasco. I pay for the memory cards and run them over to Panavision in 29 minutes flat. I rule. True story. I can't make this stuff up and there's plenty more where that came from.