vacay, y’all

I’m leaving for a few days to reconnect with family, friends, and food. I plan to stuff myself until it’s fairly certain that I’m going to explode. Maybe I’ll come back home all lopsided and shit from the sudden and dramatic increase in calories. One can only hope.

Tomorrow is the seven-month mark of The Project. Thanks for joining me and supporting me and threatening to cut my hand off that one time at Target when I couldn’t put the Serenity for the Soul CD back on the rack. Oh wait, that was just one of you, but thanks anyway.

A look back:

i learn to let go.

monday dare: the number you have dialed…

i consider forming a support group for people with small bladders.

monday dare: f.u.c.k.

i give up swearing. kind of.

monday dare: obviously, i hate myself.

i learn to follow directions. sort of.

monday dare: spork-tastic
image via blueq.com

Monday Dare: i think that stripper really likes me

Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Do, 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: Stop giving advice. Just the unsolicited kind. No, wait, all kinds. 

I broke a dear friend’s heart over the weekend. I’m not proud. I wish I had kept my mouth shut.

Me: Did you have a good time in Vegas?

“Bob”: It was off the chain. I met a stripper. I think she really likes me.

Me: The stripper? Did she say that while she was on the clock?

“Bob”: Yeah, but she says I’m different from the other guys. Her name is Cinnamon. She had to take my number because she doesn’t believe in phones, so she’s going to borrow someone else’s to call me.

Me: Who the fuck doesn’t have a phone these days? Did you give her an extra big tip?

“Bob”: Yeah, but I think she really likes me. Wait, do you think she….nah, nah, she said she really….I could tell by the way she….oh.

“Bob’s” face fell and he spent the rest of the night on our couch with his head tilted back, eyes closed, heaving an occasional sigh.

It became apparent with each new sigh that before our needlessly cruel conversation, he’d already imagined picking out his rent-a-tux at the local Men’s Wearhouse.

I tried to apologize and backtrack. I gently punched him on the shoulder and said that I was just jaded and bitter because none of the strippers I had ever met had called me. I asked about Cinnamon’s interests and life goals.

“Bob” told me that she wasn’t a professional stripper. Instead, she was working her way through medical school. Which was weird, he said, because the last three strippers he met were also working their way through some kind of graduate program. “Bob” then deduced that strippers, in general, must be a very educated bunch.  He admired their astute financial  sensibilities for working their way through school rather than incurring any debt.

I didn’t say anything.

Ever given advice instead of holding your tongue? Ever held your tongue instead of giving advice?
image via frankticmeerkat shop @ etsy.com

thanks for not pushing me in the face

Harv’s birthday is next Monday. The fact that I remembered the correct month this year should be gift enough. Last year, I thought his birthday was in April. When he tried to correct me, I told him that he was a liar and that he should be ashamed of himself. If you want to find a way to frustrate your loved one quickly, try to convince him that he doesn’t know his own birth date. That should do the trick.

I’d like to do something special for him. The last time I attempted this was on his 30th birthday.

We had been married for less than a year, and I wanted to create a picture album with some of our incredibly classy pictures-

  • our Elvis wedding in Vegas
  • me, pushing little kids out of the way, at Dave & Buster’s Spin-to-Win game
  • a debaucherous Halloween (He was my pimp; I was Ho White, Snow White’s promiscuous sister)
  • a family day trip with Cal to the Cabbage Patch Hospital (people, I still have nightmares)
  • a ghost tour in Key West (even today, get a puppet near me, and I will lose my shit)

I had every good intention of finishing before his birthday rolled around. Then, I got sidetracked by a Little House on the Prairie mega-marathon.

Too caught up in finding out if Mary Ingalls regains her sight, I didn’t finish the album.

Harv deserves a spectacular birthday. It’s his reward for putting up with me every single day and a “thanks” for not pushing me in the face that one time he told me he preferred cats over dogs, and I called him Cat Man for a week afterwards.

Do you have a “best” birthday memory? How did you celebrate? Any ideas for Harv?
image via franticmeerkat shop @ etsy.com