Monday Dare: Whatchu gonna do when they come for you?

Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. You can click on the link to see the complete list of Monday Dares or learn more about its origin.

This week: Face a fear

I’m afraid of cops. There, I said it.

Also, I never call a cop a “cop” to his face. I don’t think it’s derogatory or anything, but it seems a little too friendly and familiar. It’s always, “Yes, Mr. Law Enforcement Official, I agree it IS a bad idea to use my hands to act out a rap song rather than keeping them on the steering wheel,” or “No, Officer, I most certainly did NOT steal this Dora the Explorer doll from the little kid crying like a bitch in the corner.”

The few times I’ve been pulled over, I’ve never tried to finagle my way out of a ticket. I have my driver’s license, insurance, and registration in hand by the time the cop knocks on my window. Do I behave this way because I’m a good citizen? No, ma’am. It’s the fear all up in this motherfucking weenie heart of mine. It’s kept me on the straight and narrow though. I always come to a complete stop at stop signs. I’ve never murdered anyone. And even if I’m really hungry, I’ve never robbed a pedestrian for their sack lunch. 

So where does this unnatural fear come from? Perhaps it’s the fact that I’ve never been to jail. You know how you inexplicably feel in your gut that you’d be good at something even though you’ve never tried it before? Maybe you’ve never been to a casino, but you know that you’d be an excellent poker player because the burned area on your toast looked like an ace of spades last Tuesday. “That’s the universe talking,” you say.

In that same way, I just know that I would NOT make a good prisoner. Sure, I would buddy around with a guard here and there to ensure decent treatment, but what about the inmates? I would have to learn French braiding or Shiatsu massage really goddamn fast because I suspect that without a special skill, them crazy bitches would gang up and steal my slippers. Then I would have to walk around prison barefoot. I shudder to think how long it’s been since those cement floors have been Swiffered.

I equate cops with jail. If I were smarter, I would know that cops don’t necessarily lead to jail, it’s getting into trouble. But that’s not how my mind works.

Unfortunately, I’ve passed my fear down to Cal. Years ago, when I rolled down my window at a checkpoint one night, she shouted loudly enough for the officer to hear, “PO PO NO!” Ever seen a five-year-old duck down in her Graco booster seat trying to evade the law? Well, someone in the Los Angeles Police Department has now witnessed it. Now, I make positive statements like, “Oh, look at that NICE policeman,” when she’s in the car. I assume that’s what Good Parents do.

I don’t know how I’m working through this Monday Dare. There’s a precinct not far from my house. I suppose I’ll just bring some rice krispies by and hang out and shoot the shit. And I assure you, that’s all I’ll be shooting.

Any irrational/unnatural/unexplained fears?
Run-ins with the law? Both good and not-so-good.

P.S. Flourish in Progress has always been ad-free. But, I’ve been thinking about taking the plunge and offering sidebar ads. I’m offering just a few spots to maximize visibility. Two sizes are available, and the larger ones get a shout-out in a post. If you’re a blogger or brand and you’re interested, drop me a line at flourishinprogress at gmail dot com.

P.P.S. I post original content (funny pictures + thug life thoughts + random shit) on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page on a daily basis. “Like” the page to stay connected.

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Monday Dare: Is it really stealing if it’s free?

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 embarrassing the shit out of people I know

I’m writing with one eye closed. This usually only happens after I lose one contact lens, and I shut the gimp eye to see half-decently with the good eye. High rollers might bust out a brand-new lens, but I can’t. It throws off the balance. What good is having three contacts for the right eye and only two for the left? Then I would be forced to order more. Since I’m so goddamn cheap and try to make a year’s supply last 32 months, I just go about my day-to-day business with one eye closed until it’s time to replace both.

But that’s not the reason I have one eye closed today. I’m sick as hell, and my eyes burn. I think I have the Bubonic Plague. Or the swine flu. That’s what WebMD told me, and it’s never been wrong. Except for that one time I thought I had prostate cancer for about a month.

I’m pretty sure the passenger sitting next to me during my flight back from Paris gave me this debilitating and possibly deadly illness. I don’t know how I managed it, but I ended up in Business Class. It felt right to me at the time because I’ve always imagined it’s the well-mannered, upstanding, gentile members of society who sit in that section. You know, people like me.

I did my best not to make eye contact with anyone or open my mouth because that’s always how shit gets started. Since my family was doing their best not to know me, I turned my attention to the copious amount of warm rolls I asked the flight attendant to bring me.

I wasn’t really in the mood for rolls, but thankfully, I had a gently-used sandwich bag in my purse which I filled to the brim. Who am I to say no to free rolls?

The lady next to me coughed throughout the whole flight, but she was good about covering her mouth with the crook of her elbow and turning away. Until she went to sleep. I was making another deposit in the Warm Roll Bank (sometimes, I like to name my sandwich bags) when she started coughing again. Not wanting her germs to land on my hard-won doughy goodness, I leaned in to cover the opening of The Bank with my torso, putting me in direct path of her deadly germs.

Cal pretended not to notice for the first three or four hours, but finally she made a plea, “Stop with the rolls, mom. PLEASE.” Naturally, I replied, “Are you going to eat yours? I have room for one more.”

When she turned away in disgust, I noticed the knot in her hair. Luckily, I had the comb I swiped from our hotel room in Germany handy in my purse, along with a few free lemon-scented hand wipes taken from a seafood restaurant in San Francisco last fall.

Because of the new TSA regulations, I had to check in all of my other souvenirs: Individual packets of condiments, miniature bottles of hotel bath products, only-thrice-worn hotel slippers, shower caps, hotel stationary, and travel brochures. With each new item, I heard endless nagging from Cal. I don’t know what she said exactly, because I’m good at tuning shit out, but I think she used words like “embarrassing” and “criminal.” Fuck it. The next time someone has a craving for an individual serving of Nutella, guess who’s not going to share?

Nah, just playing. I’ll share. And I’ll do my best to stop embarrassing my kid. Because I want to be in a FANCY nursing home when I’m old.

Did your parents ever embarrass you? Do you embarrass your own kids?
Are you a partaker of free souvenirs?

P.S. Thrilled as hell to be the newest contributing columnist for Inside the Mind of a Ghetto Genius. My alias: Flo-Rich. I wrote about assholes. Because we all know one.

P.P.S. Only find me slightly embarrassing? Then let’s get connected on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page. I post original content on Facebook throughout the week.
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Monday Dare: Dumb as a sack of rocks

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

This week: Learn me a skill

I was 6 years old when I decided school wasn’t for me. I could sense the salty bitter disappointment of my teacher as she pointed in my direction during Morning Sing-Alongs. A little indignant, I always had the same response: Mrs. LeFever, WHAT DO YOU MEAN the middle of the alphabet song isn’t M-M-M-O-P?

The resentment built as I shuffled into class each day, forced to learn stupid shit like addition and manners, while my 4-year-old brother was at home watching the Snorks or tagging along with my mom to cool places like the dry cleaner and the DMV.

My parents were pissed when I notified them that I was dropping out. I could tell they were grasping at straws as they made one weak argument after another: “But you only started school last year!” and “How are you going to succeed in life if you only have a first grade education?”

PLEASE.

Even at the tender age of six, I already had all the essential skills to win at this thing called Life. I could pop the top off a can of delicious Spam. I knew my favorite treat from the ice cream truck required two big silver coins with ridges and one medium-sized silver coin with no ridges. I learned that calling 9-1-1 for fun and hanging up wasn’t such a good idea because people with guns would still show up at my house. Or that stamps from the Publishers Clearing House weren’t honored by the U.S. Postal Service.

Still, my parents argued that if I wanted to live in their home, I would have to go to school. This was a low blow because I knew that getting a place of my own would probably cost more than the nine dollars I had saved up in my Teddy Ruxpin Fund. Assholes. They knew how to work my weaknesses.

I stayed in school. I got a high school diploma. I even tried out college. But I never took any of it seriously. To this day, I have to count on my fingers and toes. If I’m wearing socks, I’m fucked.

I think I’m past the point of going back for a traditional degree, but I’d consider enrolling in a program to learn at least one marketable skill. Maybe I have a hidden talent with carburetors. Perhaps I’d be a great stenographer. Maybe I’ll get some goddamn coordination and become a certified aerobics instructor. Or I could walk around the shady part of town until I get jumped, become a gang member, and learn how to sell used electronics. The possibilities excite me.

Any suggestions for what skill I should pursue? What’s the most valuable course you’ve ever taken? Or, on the flip side,  a program you consider to be a waste?

P.S. Pro Travel Tip: If you’re in Germany and the hotel is being a stickler about bringing food back to your room from the free breakfast buffet, it’s probably not a good idea to complain loudly to your family, “God, I don’t understand why they’re being such Nazis about two croissants,” in front of the hotel staff. Just trust me. I’m always thinking about you guys and ways to make sure hotel people don’t spit on your toothbrush.

P.P.S. I post thoughtlessly insensitive things + funny pictures + thug life thoughts on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page. “Like” the page to see them in your news feed.

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