Monday Dare: Toeing the motherfucking line

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: Be less “awesome” and “wonderful”

When people ask stupid questions, I like to give fucked-up answers. Some may find this immature and tasteless, but it brings me a great deal of joy, and hey, if we can’t derive satisfaction from the little things in life, then shit’s going to get real bad, real fast, don’t you think?

Years ago, I had a boyfriend ask me why I loved my daughter more than I loved him. Now that I think back, it was more of a complaint rather than a question, but whatever the method of delivery, his heart was in the same place. He wanted to be #1.

I sat in stunned silence for a minute. Really, I wanted to laugh and push him in the face, but I figured that would only make the situation worse. My silence must have spoken volumes because he swept our entire dinner off the table with his forearm and left in a huff.

As he raced down the three flights of stairs to his car, I called out after him- “It’s because of the way your calves look in shorts. Get some muscle tone, asshole!”

Our twisted relationship ended after that. Mainly because he was clearly a disturbed individual with very little understanding of love and priorities, but also because he broke several dishes that I could no longer replace because Target had discontinued the set. I may have been a poor single mother with limited resources, but any man that makes it necessary to resort to mismatched dishes is where I draw the motherfucking line.

He later claimed that we broke up because I was too insensitive and sarcastic, but in my book, those are just synonyms for awesome and wonderful. And perfect. And special. I could go on, but you’re an especially smart crowd, so you know what I’m trying to get at here, yes?

There’s a line between sticking up for yourself or getting a point across and being insensitive or overly-sarcastic. I could say it’s a fine line, but that would be wrong. It’s a wide river that separates one side from the other, with a lot of gray area open to interpretation depending on how sissy and stupidly sensitive the other person is.

I’m not sure how, but I’d like to try and be more attuned to the sissiness of other individuals to figure out how much I can get away with. WAIT, I MEAN…I’d like to be more aware of other people’s boundaries and comfort levels. Because some people cry like little bitches. WAIT, I MEAN….just forget it. Y’all, I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach already. And not from the microwave burrito I just ate.

Has sarcasm ever put you in an awkward situation?

P.S. I post thoughtlessly insensitive things + funny pictures + thug life thoughts on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page almost daily. “Like” the page to see them in your news feed.
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Monday Dare: At least I’m not on parole

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 thinking so much.

Some people have friends that live next door. Other people have friends that live in the same city. Me? I have two best friends that live so goddamn far away that every time I want to see them, it’s a real commitment because I have to cross state lines to do so. On every trip, I say a silent thanks to a higher power that I’m not on parole, because I’d hate to clear all of my moves with a parole officer. I’m sorry if you’re a parole officer and I just offended you. Also, you might want to email me your info in case I ever get in trouble with the law because I’m going to campaign for you to be my P.O. I mean, if that’s even a possibility. Do criminals get a say in who gets to be the boss of them?

These trips used to be planned affairs. We would email back and forth for weeks, discussing the best airfare deals and new restaurant reviews. Each trip was a Big Deal. Now, it’s more of a Hey, I just realized I’m free for the next two days, so I’ll just hop in my car and drive 4.5 hours to see you situation.

These long car trips allow me to do something I’m unable to do in my daily life- I can shut my brain off from all of the noisy chatter that goes through my head, and I can enjoy the moment. Even when the Chrysler Sebring in front of me is so excruciating slow, I just want to cut a bitch. Even when I’m 47 miles away from the nearest rest stop and my bladder is screaming at me to find a bush.

This comes as a surprise to me because sitting in a car for over four hours at a time doing nothing but driving and listening to an extensive collection of dubstep and gangsta rap might seem like the perfect time to mull over every major life decision or mistake or fear, but I’ve made the conscious choice to stop fretting and just breathe.

For a long time, I let fear rule my life. I was afraid of doing things wrong. I was afraid of looking uncool. I was afraid to love or put myself out there because I didn’t want to get hurt and I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I obsess about all of these things as soon as I open my eyes, and they are often the last thoughts on my mind as my head hits the pillow.

But on these drives, as I look out the window with the music on full blast, I can let go. I often wave to little kids who are jumping around the back seat and are probably annoying the hell out of their parents. Sometimes, I’ll stop by the Del Taco in Barstow and get a snack. I also pat myself on the back occasionally for evading a life of crime and not being on parole so that I have the freedom to make these spontaneous trips.

Hey, it’s good to celebrate the positives.

How do you unwind?

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Monday Dare: Six million ways to die

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: Get my groove on.

There are supposedly six million ways to die. I’m not sure if this fact is true because I heard it in a rap song, but much of the knowledge I’ve acquired in life is from hardcore rap lyrics, so let’s just assume this information is correct.

I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about “The D Word” because I’m dedicated to avoiding hefty life tasks such as setting long-term goals, understanding taxes, acquiring marketable skills, or thinking about my eventual demise.

I may not obsess over death, but some primal instinct keeps me from doing things that put me in harms way. Like exercising.

Recently, I-

Fell off a treadmill…while the belt was still moving. Distracted by a rousing news segment on water bottle consumption, I forgot to put one foot in front of the other. I just got up casually, looked around to see if anyone noticed, and bought a Twix bar to console myself. You know what tastes better than blood, sweat, and tears? Chocolate. And caramel. And a crispy biscuit finger.

Took a Zumba class. I could go into all the sordid details of this experience, but really, I still want you to respect me a little bit because I care what you think, so that’s pretty much all I can say about the incident.

Tried to take a leisurely walk around my neighborhood. I ran into a pole. Personally, I think it moved into my path, but my family disagrees. They claim that poles can’t move. Haters.

Each brush at attempted fitness has left an ugly scar on my psyche. And, in some cases, my shin.

I’ve tried exercises that don’t involve so much motion, like weight training. Except, I usually get distracted halfway through my routine (Oh my Jesus, look at that moth! It’s so…so….brown!) and stop what I’m doing. I assume at some point, my body is going to start looking all lopsided and shit.

Sure, I’ve got the whole primal instinct thing going on, but I’ve also been blessed with an unusually small amount of common sense, so I’m renewing my vows to get fit. I….I hope to see y’all again next week.

How do you stay fit? How do you stay motivated?
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