Monday Dare: I offended a granny. Again.

Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. You can click on the link if you’d like to see the full list of Monday Dares or learn more about its origin.

This week: Stop swearing. Again. 

It’s fucking time. Goddamn.

Last year, I challenged myself to stop swearing. It led to drugs.

Since then, I’ve been able to convince myself that my swearing isn’t a fucking problem. All was well in my state of denial until I went to the damn grocery store yesterday.

As I was picking out bell peppers, a lovely granny tapped me on the shoulder and asked for help selecting two cucumbers. They always place those bitches on the top shelf of the refrigerated case at my local store.

We exchanged names. We made small talk. I learned that Jan recently broke three of her motherfucking toes while watching her seven grandchildren during the long Labor Day weekend. Her two sons and their wives were in Cancun. She broke her toes on Day Two of the four-day trip. Like a badass, she went to the doctor, got her toes X-rayed and taped, and kept right on watchin’ those kids. I think Jan may be a fucking saint.

After I reached up and got the cucumbers, Jan asked how much they were. She left her glasses at home and couldn’t see the sign. Broken toes AND blind. She was a hot mess. I liked her.

Me: Holy shit, these assholes are $1.99….EACH!!

Jan: Excuse me, young lady, what did you say?

Me: These bitches cost $1.99! They must have crack in ‘em.

Jan walked away, leaving me with two very expensive cucumbers possibly laced with drugs or diamond dust. Yeah, shit got real.

I thought she decided against the vegetables because they were so spendy, but Harv says it was because my unladylike language offended Jan. Of course, my natural response was to claim that there was “nothing un-fucking-ladylike about me, motherfucker.”

I have carpool duty this Wednesday. This is probably a very timely Monday Dare. I care about young people a shitload, and I’m going to do my best not to fuck them up with my damn swearing.

P.S. Thank you for letting me get it out of my system right now.

Ever caught yourself swearing at an inopportune time?
image via pinterest

I shouldn’t be trusted with any amount of money

I had grand plans for my re-entry into the retail world. And by “grand plans,” I really just mean that I was going to stick to buying a few basics and maybe splurge on something fancy like a sparkly new pair of heels or a Halloween sweater. Not just any Halloween sweater, but the kind that my 2nd grade teacher, Mrs. Davis, had: pumpkin face on the front with secret-switch-activated light-up eyes.
Instead, I decided to splurge on home decor. I might even venture to call it art. I came across a company that cut wooden letters in a pimp-ass font. Their site had all sorts of suggestions for different messages I could string together. Perhaps a “Happy Birthday” or “Welcome” or “Lovers in Love.”
I chose this:
(Gangstas and Hos)

Something about it spoke to me. And really, isn’t that what art is all about? I plan to hang it in our foyer. I think it sets the right tone when guests walk in. Like a “Welcome” with a subtle hint of “Gyeah, we keep it real around here.”

(I’m sorry it’s such a terrible picture, but you know what money can’t buy? Talent.)

What’s the most “interesting” purchase you’ve ever made? Bad, good, ugly, scary…..

“Like” the Flourish in Progress Facebook page to see pictures of the trapeze class I took this week. I did not break any bones. Yes, I’m surprised by that too.
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first image via pinterest

Monday Dare: Clearly, I’m a terrible friend

Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. You can click on the link if you’d like to see the full list of Monday Dares or learn more about its origin.

This week: Thank Joe

I remember one birthday and that’s Cal’s. It’s probably because I gave birth to her (and it hurt a shitload), but it could also be because she’s my favorite small person. Those two things may be related. My favorite big person is Harv. I’m not writing that out of obligation, but if it furthers my cause of getting the complete set of Chevron toy cars for Christmas, then hey, I’m not going to fight it.

My friend Joe’s birthday was last week, and I forgot to wish him a Very Happy Birthday. Again.

I love Joe for so many reasons. He’s a good listener. He’s an awesome travel guide. He’s a ridiculously gifted Settlers of Catan opponent. And Joe made a difference in my life when I needed it most.

For years and years, I was addicted to drugs. At my very lowest point, I remember snorting one line of coke after another, challenging myself to see how much I could do before I passed out. I didn’t care if I died. I rationalized that everyone had to die at some point, and I’d much rather die from doing drugs than from anything else. I just….I just didn’t give a fuck.

That’s when I met Joe. I didn’t know quite what to make of him at first. Because I didn’t want to face the severity of my problems, I only kept company with fellow addicts. But Joe- he was good. He was normal. And I didn’t know how a normal, happy, functional person was supposed to fit into my life.

He wanted to do normal things. I’m not sure how I felt about that. Why were we going to eat frozen yogurt? There were drugs to be done! Alcohol to be imbibed!

Once, while we were chatting, I expressed an interest in learning to play chess. He taught me. Or, at least, he tried to teach me. We sat for hours, over multiple nights, as he explained the same rules over and over again. My concentration and memory were shot so we didn’t get far. But he never lost his patience, and he never once stood up and announced that I should stick with something a little less involved, like quarters.

On another frozen yogurt excursion, he casually handed me a packet of papers: information about drug addiction, resources in finding help, and questionnaires for assessing whether there was a problem or not. I laughed at the questionnaire. But later that night, I sat down with a pencil and filled it out. The whole thing. Page after page of difficult questions and answers. It was really the first time I could see in plain text how much trouble I was in.

The thing is, I didn’t quit right away. But it opened my eyes to a truth I wasn’t ready to see yet.

I don’t think Joe knows what a difference he made or how much I love him and thank him for it.

Happy Birthday, Joe. Thanks for being my friend.

Do you have a Joe in your life- someone’s who’s made a difference when you needed it most?
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