Archives for December 2010

Monday Dare: everyone’s got a talent. even me.

Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Try, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made before The Project started and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please, feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”

This week: I will not swear. I am not shitting you. 

It’s a good thing I’m perfect in every other way because swearing is really my only shortcoming. Well, I guess swearing and that nasty shopping habit. Okay, and maybe my driving skills aren’t exactly stellar either. Fine, you beat it out of me, I’m pretty hopeless as a charades partner.

Fuck it. Swearing may be my only talent.

Do you have a Quarter Jar in your home? If I need to explain this concept, you don’t have one, which means you and your well-behaved spouse don’t have a problem with cursing. This probably also means that we couldn’t be friends because I believe in having friends that curse. This puts us both on an even playing field, and no one party can be too “judgey.”

We have a Quarter Jar. It used to be the Dollar Jar, but Harv and I were bleeding so much money into the jar that we hardly had enough left in our wallets for groceries. Just kidding. We had enough for groceries, but no fun date nights. Just kidding. We had enough for date nights, but what fun is a date night if you can’t swear? Cussin’ and wine-in-a-box. Ain’t git better than that.

Here’s where our Quarter Jar went awry. First, our Jar wasn’t an actual jar with actual quarters. Instead, Cal drew a picture of a jar on a sheet of paper and stuck it on the refrigerator. Every time we said a bad word, we were simply supposed to draw a quarter in the jar. Except, Harv and I would draw the quarters exceptionally big, and Cal would try to draw them representative of their real size.

Why were Harv and I drawing them so big (also known as the Quarter Jar Gone Awry Part 2)? We let Cal pick our “punishment” for filling up the jar. Her pick- take a family trip to the bookstore and each of us would get to choose a book. Yes, that’s right folks….I could “shit” and “fuck” my way to a brand new book. Every time we slipped, we drew a big, fat quarter in the jar. One of mine even took up half the page.

(On a related note, I am thinking about writing a book on Parenting with Morals and Values.)

Before you get all judgey, you should know that ALL THREE of us contributed to the Quarter Jar. I caught Cal drawing a quarter in the jar, and I asked her what it was for. She admitted she had said the “B” word. Puzzled, I blurted out, “You said ‘Bitch’?”

“No, Mommy….’Butt’.”

(On a related note, I am still thinking about writing that book on Parenting with Morals and Values.)
Ever let a word slip when you didn’t mean to? How do you handle swearing?

photo via

Obviously, she likes trouble

Since starting this week’s Monday Dare, I’ve only lost two fingers. By two fingers, I mean two small slivers of skin, but you know what, I bet it hurts the same.

A few readers expressed concern that Cal wasn’t getting enough nutrition in my home. And by a few readers, I mean Jennifer Clark. Jen has made it her one and only life mission to make sure that somebody in this house is getting proper nutrition.

She left me this comment:

“Dear Elizabeth- OK, you just hit one of my hot buttons. YOU MUST LEARN TO COOK!
The health and safety of you, your family and the Free World depends on this!!!
Get your ass up to Mayberry for some cooking lessons.
A woman your age unable to feed herself…..OY!”

I ignored her offer. Who brings a complete stranger into their home for cooking lessons? Also, what the hell did she mean by someone my age? I’m thirty years YOUNG, bitch!

Then she sent me an email. Before I even opened it, it looked like trouble. Nothing entitled “Girl, you need some help!” can be that good. I clicked it open anyway.

Bless her, she sent a recipe attached to a “P.S. I’m totally serious about the cooking lessons.”

Well, lady, if you’re looking for trouble, you just found it. I responded:

“To my favorite homie, Jen- You are da bomb. Imma come over, forrealz.”

Seriously, that’s what I wrote. I figured, if she wants me in her home and around her children, she should probably get to know the real me.

And the rest of our exchange:

Jennifer: January?

(Oh my god, this woman is really offering me cooking lessons. Sweet Jesus, jackpot!)

Me: Do you have fire insurance? If yes, let’s get this road to disaster started.You might want to get a needle and some thread in case you need to stitch me up. I will bring a large amount of cheap and tasteless liquor in the hopes of getting you drunk so we don’t actually have to cook. Also, I hate to cook.

Jennifer: I have Hello Kitty bandaids.

Me: I told my husband about this and he asked me if I invited myself over. I told him “yes” and that you really resisted but you eventually said “yes” because I offered you booze and a lawn gnome.

Jennifer: Please don’t bring a lawn gnome. I’d hate to hurt your feeling by smashing it with a hammer.

Me: Hide your good furniture. I like to put shit under my jacket as I’m leaving.

Folks, she STILL wants me to come over. And, I’m going. And, I’m bringing her a lawn gnome. And, she’s going to like it.

Have you ever been over to a “stranger’s” house for any reason? Please do not tell me if it includes nudity and an exchange of money or other goods. I am very innocent.
photo via