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By Darian Lane

Hashtag is the Millennial book with fresh, edgy, intimate content from an uncompromising author. This collection of short stories taken from Darian Lane's personal life focuses on love, sex, relationships, comedy, and the strange. #RebelLit

Innovation has arrived. Rebel Literature. Hashtag takes snippets from life and gives them a cutting edge spin. With stories like #daddyissues, #missingcondom, #cheaters, #art and #malibu, Lane delves into the heart of what it is like to live in 2016. #DarianLane #2016 #Hashtag

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darian Lane
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311054425

Darian Lane

Darian Lane was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and raised in Bethesda, Maryland. Graduated from Arizona State University and moved to Los Angeles to Produce and Assistant Direct Music Videos and Commercials. Best known for his work on over 350 Music Videos & Commercials—most notable for Muhammad Ali, Black-Eyed Peas, Chris Brown, Pharrell, Gwen Stefani, P!nk, Lexus Proactiv, VISA, Pepsi, American Express, and Beyoncé. Both of his parents are attorneys. Lane had ambitions of becoming a lawyer until he discovered writing. Many of his articles have appeared in The Los Angeles Times and EBONY. Darian Lane’s novels include: The Girlfriend Experience, Flashy Fiction (vol. 1 & 2), Hashtag, True Hollywood Stories, unabridged, GASLIGHT, The Great AMERICAN Novel, The Novel (a memoir) and The Sci-5 Fantasy. Available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kindle, Nook

Book preview

And so it goes. You try to understand. You can’t. You try to empathize. You can’t. You try. You try. You try.

Put it back.

Huh?

Put it back!

I will do nothing of the sort.

This is the beginning of the drunken conversation.

She was the head of large corporation and I was an unemployed writer. Unfortunately, I was driving and sober. She was drunk and trying to get me to drive off with a cone. Yes, you heard correct, a cone -- a large orange construction cone used for blocking traffic.

Let’s go back. It’s baseball time. Time to watch the Cubs battle the Dodgers. I’m a Dodger fan. Dodger gear fitted head to toe. Go Blue!

My date. Pure unadulterated Boston Red Sox fan. Why she was wearing a Cubs t-shirt, I’ll never know. Anyway, she had VIP seats, she procured from her company. Three rows back from 3rd base; we were in business.

I watched animated, cheering each run. She drank. I dove for a foul ball. She drank. I stood for passersby. She drank.

Bottom of the ninth Puig hit a Homerun. The whole crowd went ballistic. I stood cheering, hugging the stranger next to me. I looked down at my date, and I’m fairly sure you can guess what she was doing.

We were off. Off to the next bar. Drinking. Dancing. Getting angry. Lying. Horny. I watched it all. Observed it all. After all, I was sober.

Next bar. Same thing, just in reverse. Only this time she tried to tempt me, into drinking with her of course. No drinker wants to drink alone. I was adamant. So she made friends. Drinking buddies. Off to the next bar we went.

More drinking. More lying. More inappropriate touches below my waist. I’m yawning. Seen it all before. I wanted to go home, but I don’t say anything. I forced myself to stay and people watch; try to find humor in life.

People can be really boring at times, so I make-up things to amuse myself. There goes Draymond Green! Look, another Kim Kardashian wannabe. I even find myself chuckling out loud with these musings, which my date doesn’t find amusing at all. She looks at me stern-faced, drink in hand.

On the way home, we had to stop, because someone had placed a cone in the way of the exit.

Don’t worry, I’ll get it. She leaped out the car, grabbed the cone; then jumped back in.

What’s that, I asked.

A cone, She giggled.

Put it back.

Huh?

Put it back! I reiterated.

I will do nothing of the sort.

This car will not move forward unless you put it back.

I want it for decoration. A bold-faced lie.

No, you will leave it at my place for me to discard.

No, I want it for decoration. Convincing herself.

Like I said, this car will not move unless it goes back. I was adamant, looking her in the eye. Unblinking.

Silence.

More Silence.

Okay. She tossed it out the window and we were off. But not really.

A Daddy’s work is never done. We went to eat. She knew where the restaurant was, but not really. It’s funny how adamant people can be when they’re wrong. I didn’t listen to a word. After, she was adamant where I parked the car. It’s in the parking garage! She stammered. Instead of arguing, I just let her find her way. I walked to the meter. She followed ten minutes later.

She was very talkative on the ride home. I listened, adding careful nods here and there with emphasis, just so she would know I was listening & not get upset.

At home, she crawled into my bed looking hopeful. I tucked her in, kissed her forehead and said goodnight.

DATE #2. #DifferentGirl

I have a wine tasting tour with my girls. It’s lasts from 12-3p. We should hang out afterwards. I’m wearing shorts 

Okay. I said. That was the plan. I didn’t make an issue of it. I just agreed.

When 3:30p arrived. I received a text. We’re all going out to eat now. Should be about an hour. Are you going to pick me up?

This was not the plan. I looked at my phone. Thought a second, then text, Sure.

Needless to say, at 5p I get a text, Just finished eating, met some new people, should be wrapped up in 30ish minutes. You picking me up?

I was irritated. How people can be so disrespectful of my time. I wanted to say, Nahhh, have you’re new friends take you home. But before I could respond, I received another text from her, I miss you.

Sure, I texted, wondering where my self-respect had gone.

I love you baby. She texted.

I barely knew this girl, and already she loves me? Hmmm, must be the liquor talking. Or maybe she's from California.

45 minutes later, she texts, Come get me.

I was in the car in less than 5 minutes, driving. It was a 10-minute trek.

I text, Hey, they closed off the street. There’s no parking. Why don’t you meet me at CVS. This was partially true. They closed off the street, but parking was $20. There was no way I was going to pay $20 to park for 10 minutes. I waited for a response.

Okay, paying the bill now.

10 minutes ticked by, 20, 30, Where are you? I text.

Paying the bill now. She text.

What? You were supposed to pay that bill 20 minutes ago.

Come join us.

Huh? I was incensed, I told you I’m illegally parked. Meet me at CVS.

I don’t know where that is. Come meet us here. And she text the restaurants name.

I looked at my phone in disbelief. I picked up the phone and called her.

Hey baby, she answered.

I almost melted, but after reading Vogue and Maxim for the last 30 minutes, I was irate. What the fuck? I’ve been here 30 minutes waiting on you.

Come here, she said, I miss you.

I just told you I’m illegally parked. Bring your ass over to CVS or I’m leaving.

Okay. I just have to pay my bill. She hung up.

Wait. She hasn’t paid her bill yet?

I waited 10 more minutes; wondering why Vogue called Rihanna a Movie Star, then called her back fuming.

Hey baby, are you coming?

Are you fucking kidding me? You haven’t left yet?

I don’t know where CVS is. I had given her directions three times. Plus I have to pay my bill.

Fuck this. I’m out. I hung up and drove home.

She called three times, I didn’t answer. Then she text, Hey baby, where are you? I miss you. Come get me. I just paid my bill.

I looked at my phone determined not to respond.

Have you ever heard that voice, that soft subtle voice, something deep deep inside you that whispers, You’re overreacting. I had it. But I ignored it, for at least another 30 minutes.

She called and called and called.

Ignore, Ignore, Ignore.

Finally, I answered.

Where are you baby? I wanna see you. I miss you.

I hung up. But not before I said, I’m on the way.

I drove over to CVS, parked, walked through the store, and ran over to the restaurant.

Are you Cl. Cl. Cl. Cl Cl. Close? She text.

Where are you? I texted.

We’re outside, She texted back.

I literally walked up to every group of girls, before it dawned on me. I called her.

Hey baby, where are you? She answered.

Here. But you’re not outside. Where are you?

‘I’m here, baby. I’m here.

"Let me