The Bobina

I've had a bad day. The devil is always in the details and that devil will get me in trouble talking about it all. I experienced rejection with my writing earlier. There's a whirling dervish of stress around me. The Jets are on; they're playing like crap. The Patriots just scored again and I yelled at the television as my Jets went down 17-0. Then, I looked over at this:

She was singing Bon Jovi. I abhor Jovi. She knows this. It made me laugh.  Then there was dancing and  sarcasm and playful bickering. It made me laugh again. She's pretty and funny and interesting. She has terrible taste on music, likes bad television, and steals the covers. She is my best friend. I am a lucky man just to know her, much less be married to her.

I have always been close friends with women. I like to talk a lot, women do too. Funny thing is, I never believed in being best friends with my significant other. That's why my relationships were so tragic. I figured, why in the world would you have your best friend be someone who was mad at you at least once a month? Then I met her, the blonde you see. Her name is Deana, but everyone, including me, calls her Bobina. She knows the right thing to say and do when I have a bad day. Cool part is I get to wake up with half my body colder than the other every day next to her. She's singing New Kids On The Block now, I'm not laughing. Only my best friend gets away with this.

Here's Weezer to tell the rest of the story:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XTbAkwZ4JKU