One Friday evening, Tim and I went bowling with his family. There were six of us in our group, and we were all playing. We may have also consumed some adult beverages. I remember many Corona bottles covering our little table like a beer graveyard, interspersed with a few rocks glasses containing the remnants of my then-current beverage fixation, sugar-free Red Bull and vodka.
At some point, maybe one, or three, drinks later, I noticed that there was a family bowling in the lane next to us. They had a super-cute little boy who couldn’t have been any more adorable trying to roll his heavy bowling ball down the long hardwood lane. I normally like kids, but when I’ve consumed an adult beverage, or three, I really like kids.
“Hi!” I said to the little kid next to me. I may have said it a little loudly. I’m actually one hundred percent sure I said it very loudly. All of a sudden, it occurred to me that I may have cursed when my bowling ball did not knock down all the pins during my turn, like I had planned it would in my head. I despise people who curse in front of little kids who are old enough to know what’s being said. Now I was one of them. This issue must be rectified. I needed to prove to this small stranger that I was not some loser who didn’t know how to use her words for good instead of evil. I was going to be his friend.
My adorable new friend’s mother came over to her son and said, “Joshua, say hi,” and he did. Within a few minutes, Joshua and I were laughing and having a grand old time.
“I can do the splits!” he said.
Of course, I told him that I did not believe this was true and that he was going to need to prove it to me.
Joshua plopped down into the splits, and I was amazed.
“Wow! That is so good. Wanna know something?” I said. He nodded his head. “I can do the splits, too.”
What I should have said was About twenty-five years ago, I was in gymnastics, and I learned how to do the splits. I had an idea that I could still do them, because a few years earlier, yoga was my exercise obsession of choice. I was flexible a few years ago, so why wouldn’t I be flexible now, right?
With the help of one, or three, Red Bull vodkas in my system, I plopped into split position. Joshua was impressed. He plopped into split position, too. This recurring plopping continued until we had dropped into the splits at least four different times. Joshua thought it was hilarious. So did Tim and his family, but they were laughing at me, not with me, like dear, sweet Joshua was.
Eventually, our game was over and it was time to take a cab home. I said good-bye to Joshua, and we left.
The next day, I was so sore I could barely move. “Tim, why do my legs feel like noodles?” I asked.
“Uh, because you dropped into the splits about a thousand times with a little kid last night,” he said, snorting. Tim is prone to exaggeration, clearly.
“Oh, yeah. Of course, I remember. That was fun. Can you help me walk down the stairs?” I pleaded.
A month and a half later, summer was over and school was back in session. I had been asked by one of my favorite professors, Dr. Zettel-Watson (Dr. ZW), to be part of a small group of students working on the beginning stages of a very important grant proposal. There were two other students in this group: Dmitry, who had just graduated with his master’s degree in psychology from CSUF, and Jarred, another psychology undergrad, just like me. We had three professors to report to: Dr. ZW, Dr. Wilson, and Dr. Horn-Mallers.
A few weeks into the semester, Dmitry, Jarred, and I had some good information that we were ready to present to our professors. We had a meeting in a conference room on campus scheduled for ten fifteen A.M. The three of us got there right at ten o’clock and waited for our professors to arrive.
Dr. ZW got there first. Shortly after, Dr. Horn-Mallers walked in. Dr. ZW introduced us to Dr. Horn-Mallers, and when I shook her hand, she looked at me and said, “I know you.” I certainly didn’t know her. I had never met her before. She asked if I had taken a class with her previously, and I told her I hadn’t. She asked if I was sure, and I told her I was. This was getting uncomfortable. I needed to make a good impression on this woman. She was one of the leaders of this project that I had been selected for because of my good grades, work ethic, and drive. I was about to present some important research to her with my group, and I wanted her to like me.
Dr. Horn-Mallers was absolutely sure that she knew me. I sensed that she wasn’t going to drop the topic unless she figured out how she knew me, so as awkward as it was to say, I said, “Well, I’m an actor, so maybe that’s how you know me?”
“No, no, that’s definitely not it,” she said.
And then it happened. “Oh, I know where I know you from! You’re the girl who did the splits with my son at the bowling alley a couple of months ago.”
Nooooooooooo!
That is all I had running through my head. Please let that not be true. Please don’t tell me that a couple months ago, when I was loud and drinking at a bowling alley, I started doing the splits with my professor’s son!
I felt my face turn red. “Oh, right. That’s right,” I sputtered.
Sweetly, she said, “He didn’t stop talking about you for days. You really made an impression.”
Good Lord. I really made an impression. “Well,” I began nervously. “That was fun, but I assure you, I have a more academic side, too.” I don’t think I was very convincing, but she took my word for it anyway.
The rest of the meeting went well. I was able to show that I was more than just a drunken bowler-slash-gymnast and that I would actually be a worthwhile contributor to the project. The rest of the semester went off without a hitch. I also, wisely, changed bowling alleys.
I graduated from college in fall 2012, when I was thirty-one years old. Making the decision to go to school was hard for me, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I was constantly learning new things, meeting new people, working on exciting projects. Sure, it was a little scary, and it was more work than I could have ever prepared for, but I learned so much about myself. I learned that I have very good time-management skills and can succeed in a class even when I dislike the subject material. I know you’re not reading this book because you’re looking to be talked into something, but I have to say this: Going to school was the best thing I have ever done for myself. It was a present I didn’t know I wanted and didn’t know I’d ever receive. I challenged myself every day, and when I graduated, I could barely believe I had accomplished something so significant. I love my job, but absolutely no acting success will ever compare to the sense of accomplishment I have for graduating from college. I hope that if you have ever thought about going to college and talked yourself out of it for any reason, you believe me when I tell you that you can do it. You can, and you’ll be thankful you did. I know I am.
* * *
CHAPTER 7
* * *
BEFORE THE RING
One of my favorite stories my mom tells about me took place when I was in kindergarten. I had only been there for a few days, and she came to pick me up from school. She was walking up to the playground to get me, and we made eye contact. I knew that this meant it was time to go home, so I went over to the little boy I was playing with and kissed him good-bye on the cheek. Then I ran to my mom, and we walked together back to our car. With more than a little shock in her tone, she asked, “Danielle, who was that little boy you just kissed?”
“Oh, that’s Justin. He’s my boyfriend now,” I replied confidently.
“No, you do not have a boyfriend, because you are five,” my mom replied. “Let’s not kiss any boys until you’re ready to start dating—in ten years, OK, Danielle?”
Obviously, we had no idea what was in store for my future, but I listened to my mom and didn’t kiss another boy until I was twelve. That boy happened to be Ben Savage, whom I am lucky enough to call my TV husband on the Disney Channel show Girl Meets World. Like most twelve-year-olds, I was nowhere near ready to start dating, but Cory and Topanga, our characters on Boy Meets World, were a little more advanced than I w
as.
Ben and me lost in conversation (and dance) at my thirteenth birthday party.
In August 1993, I started my first week playing the character of Topanga Lawrence on BMW—more than twenty years ago, which is hard for me to believe. That episode focused on Cory not wanting to stand out from the rest of his peers; he believed it would be easier to go through life if he blended in with everyone else. Topanga, the self-confident, totally secure flower child that she was, tried to tell Cory that it was better to be true to himself because that was what made him unique. At the very end of the episode, Cory proved that he had learned this valuable lesson, and in response, Topanga kissed Cory against the middle school lockers.
Throughout the week of rehearsal, Ben and I never actually kissed. We’d rehearse the scene until it was time for the kiss, and then we’d just pretend. We never discussed if we were nervous or if we had ever kissed another person before. We just rehearsed all week, in complete denial of what was to come, and moved along. Five days later, it was tape day. Our one-hundred-fifty-person crew, four cameras, writers, producers, ABC executives, and three-hundred-person live studio audience were all about to witness my first kiss. Oh, did I mention our families were there, too? My mom, dad, brother, and grandparents were all in attendance to watch me film my first BMW episode—and, therefore, watch me kiss Ben Savage. As you can imagine, I got nervous.
“Ben,” I said quietly. “Have you ever kissed a girl before?”
“Why? Have you ever kissed a boy before?” he asked me in a whisper.
“No, and I’m getting nervous now,” I told him.
He smiled at me and said, “I’m a little nervous, too, but don’t worry. We’ll be fine.” My nerves were instantly calmed. Ben has always had that effect on me.
Five minutes later, it was time to start the scene. I looked over at Ben, and he had gone completely white. We were both so incredibly anxious, and he wouldn’t even look at me. Our director pulled us around the corner and away from everyone else’s view.
“Ben, Danielle, I know this is probably awkward for you, but I really need you to commit to the kiss. Don’t pull away too fast. If you can do it right, we won’t have to do it many times,” he said.
Ben and I looked at each other and nodded. We were standing right next to each other and could feel each other shaking, but we had to start the scene. We kissed, and the studio audience went crazy. Miraculously, we didn’t pass out. Even though nothing went wrong on the first take, we still ended up doing the scene at least five times, and every time we kissed, our nerves lessened. It was a good thing, too, because we went on to kiss almost every week for the next seven years.
During the first few years of high school, I had a couple of not-so-serious boyfriends. I was once asked out by a cute guy from school whom I didn’t know very well. He wanted to take me to the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf after school, and my mom said I could go if she met him first. He came to pick me up, and while my mom was talking to him at the door, he casually mentioned that his only goal in life was to live at the beach. My mom told him that he’d better plan to have a good job, because beach houses were expensive.
He replied, “Oh, I don’t care if I have a house. I’m OK with being a bum as long as I have a surfboard and forty bucks a week to eat.”
My mom smiled and made it clear that the conversation was over. She patted me on the back and sarcastically said, “Sounds like you got a good one.”
We had a completely uninteresting coffee date, and I avoided him at school until he graduated.
Next, I went out with a guy who only had one word in his vocabulary: dude. Every story started and ended with dude. One day, he came over to my parents’ house and wanted to play a game where he would trace a word on my back and I had to guess what that word was. He traced a word on my back, and before I could even say what I thought it was, my mom yelled from the other room, “Dude. I can guarantee the word he traced was dude.” She was correct.
I didn’t have my first serious boyfriend until I was a junior in high school. His name was Jason, and although he didn’t go to my school, he lived pretty close to me. We spent most of our free time together: going to dinner with our families, shopping, seeing movies, and making each other laugh. I was crazy about him, and after we had been together for a little more than six months, we decided we wanted to lose our virginity to each other. Because my mom and I had always been so close and had such an honest relationship, I thought it would be a good idea to share this piece of news with her over lunch.
“Mom, remember when you had the ‘sex talk’ with me years ago?”
“Of course. Where is this headed?” she asked while struggling to swallow a bite of her salad.
“Well, as you know, Jason and I are in love. Valentine’s Day is coming up, and we have decided to lose our virginity that night,” I said, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with her.
She put her fork down and looked me square in the eyes. “Danielle, I do not think that is a good idea. You know that I think Jason is wonderful, but you guys have not been together that long in the scheme of things,” she pleaded.
“Uh, hello? We’ve been together for six months!” I whined.
“Six months is nothing. It isn’t even the length of one whole school year! And what does Valentine’s Day have to do with anything?” she asked.
“Well, we thought that it would be extra-romantic if we lost our virginity on Valentine’s Day,” I explained.
“Valentine’s Day is a fake holiday created by card companies, Danielle. No matter when you lose your virginity, it is going to be special. You don’t need a nonsense holiday to do that for you. Listen, I know you are going to lose your virginity at some time, but do me a favor and just think about what I’ve said. I really think you’ll be making a big mistake if you don’t,” she concluded.
I agreed to think about what she’d said, and my mom and I continued our lunch without any awkwardness. I was happy that I’d decided to talk to her about this important moment in my life, and I was extremely thankful that I had a mom I could be so open with. I thought a lot about what she’d said and decided that she was right; I wasn’t ready, and our relationship hadn’t shown the test of time yet. Sure enough, Jason and I broke up a few months after Valentine’s Day. Sometimes moms give the best advice.
After Jason, my next serious boyfriend was Lance Bass. It was 1998, and boy bands, namely *NSYNC and the Backstreet Boys, were all the rage. ABC was going to air two hours of its “TGIF” programming live, and they asked me to cohost the event. One of the producers of the telecast told me that they wanted to get a boy band to perform in between the shows and asked if I had a preference between *NSYNC and the Backstreet Boys. Without hesitation, I told her it had to be *NSYNC.
A few months later, the night of the live telecast arrived. Sure enough, ABC had booked *NSYNC for the night, and I got to meet all of the guys. Every single one of them was so incredibly nice and excited to be there. Justin, Lance, and I began talking and realized we were all pretty close in age. For the rest of the night, the three of us joked and laughed and had a good time. It was one of the most fun work events I’ve ever done.
At the end of the night, Chris, Joey, JC, Justin, and Lance all went backstage to change out of their show clothes before they had to get back on their tour bus. Sad that I didn’t even get to say good-bye to them, I started walking outside to my car.
“Danielle!” Lance called from inside the venue.
“Yes?” I said.
“Um, is there any way that I could get your phone number?” he asked nervously while handing me a piece of paper and a pen.
“Sure,” I said, and I wrote my number down. “It was really nice to meet you.”
“Thanks! You, too,” he yelled as he went running back inside to finish changing.
I walked back to my car with a huge smile on my face. He was so cute and so funny and so incredibly kind. I’d be a lucky girl if he called me, I thought to myself. And I was righ
t.
A few days went by, and I didn’t hear from Lance. Then, one night after dinner, my phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize, but, hoping it was him, I answered anyway.
“Danielle?” this incredibly deep voice said.
“Yeah,” I muttered.
“This is Lanston. I had a nice time with you—hey! Hey!”
“Uhhh, Lance?” I laughed.
Suddenly, the voice was different. Deep but not quite as booming.
“Danielle? Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry. This is Lance, but that was Justin pretending to be me a second ago.”
I started laughing as Justin yelled into the phone, “Danielle, I only did that because he’s been too nervous to call you!”
Lance told him to shut up, and we started a conversation. We ended up talking for four hours that night—and Justin only chimed in with embarrassing Lance stories about a hundred times.
During the next few weeks, Lance and I talked on the phone almost every single night. He was on tour, and I was working on Boy Meets World, but every day, I looked forward to coming home and receiving a phone call from him. Toward the end of the year, he had a few days off and asked if he could fly to LA to visit me. I hadn’t even seen him since we met a few months earlier, so I was understandably very excited about that idea. I asked my mom if Lance could stay with us for a few days. She told me that she would talk to my dad about it, but she was OK with the idea as long as we were all in agreement that he would stay in the downstairs bedroom and I would stay in my upstairs bedroom—absolutely no sneaking around after my parents went to bed. I told her that was perfectly acceptable and asked her please to talk to my dad ASAP.
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