Monday Dare: Drugs? Yes, please.

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

This week: Drugs. Take some.

I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard, “Holy smokes, I can’t believe you’re still alive, homegirl!” I would have a lot of money. Not Car Money but somewhere in the neighborhood of Name Brand Lip Gloss Money. This is not to say that I don’t appreciate the Disney Fairies Lip Gloss Compact that Cal gave me last year, but I get a little nervous every time I pull it out in public to touch up my pout. I can tell from some of the wayward glances I’ve been getting that it’s a hot ticket item. Thank god my purse has a secure zipper top.

The people who find my aliveness (word? not a word?) so noteworthy are folks I knew back in the day. My first instinct when I see these Party People From My Past is to run. Which I have done. If we happen to make eye contact, I try to be pleasant with a little smile or a gang sign and pray that they don’t come over for a chat. Which they do.

It surprises me that they recognize me at all. I look different. I am no longer that girl with the stringy, brittle hair and the acne brought on by not washing my face for three or four days in a row because I was too high to give a shit about a consistent exfoliate + cleanse + tone + moisturize routine. None of my clothes have cigarette burn holes. All of my shoes fit.

And I feel different. My intentions are not stitched together with ulterior motives. I no longer build friendships based on the quality of the eight ball of cocaine the other person has to offer. My feelings are no longer buried under a mound of cocaine, crack, speed, ecstasy, LSD, benzos, prescription pain killers, prescription cough syrup, or anything else I could grind up and snort, smoke, or chug.

But most of the people who only knew me when I was rooting around in the filth of my flimsy decisions will always see me as That Girl.

I don’t bother to explain to them that these days, That Girl rarely keeps alcohol in the house. And That Girl tries to act like a motherfucking hero by refusing Advil when she has a headache because she is afraid of becoming addicted. She has never heard of anyone becoming addicted to Advil, and she would like to keep it that way.

I don’t want to be That Girl. I am now This Woman.

As This Woman, I’m certain that I’ll still make the wrong choices sometimes, but it won’t be because I don’t give a fuck about anything or anyone, including myself. I give lots of fucks about lots of fucking things.

I’ve shied away from putting anything into my body because of my addictive personality, but I don’t think that’s the right solution for me anymore. I’m okay with doing drugs again. Like, the legal kind from Costco. I trust myself.

And besides, the last I heard, my dealer got out of the hustle. I guess we both got tired of being That Girl.

P.S. Big ups to everyone for being so supportive of the new Flourish in Progress radio show! Podcasts of the first few episodes are now available. This one is my favorite so far because I share my best piece of life advice: Every time you go to a strip club, pretend it’s your first time. I guarantee you’ll get great service.

P.P.S. Most of the Baby Those Thug Lips lip balm in Buttercream and Peppermint from the Hood Goods store are gone, but there are a few left. People, these balms are the bomb. If you’d like to order one, check out the page and drop me a line.

Stay connected on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page or on Instagram (username: flourishinprogress) for lots of random shit. Some of it is funny. Some of it is just stupid and pointless. Wow, that was a really horrible sales pitch.

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Monday Dare (& Some News): Ugly People

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

This week: Trust others less. Trust myself more. 

I set aside a few hours each week to work on rap lyrics. Cal is going off to college in 4.5 years. Instead of feeling forlorn and displaced with my new empty-nester status, I plan to use that time to build my rap career. It’ll be an excellent way for me to stay in touch with Cal because I could do a college tour, and I’m pretty sure she would want her school to be one of the stops. Maybe she could bring her friends. I’d give them a once-over to be certain she’s not hanging out with a bunch of hooligans, and also, that would be more people at my show. Two birds + One stone = Winning at this crazy thing called life.

I’ve been reading a lot of self-improvement books lately because I don’t want my rhymes to be about just bitches and tricks and Bentleys. Sure, that might work for the young bucks, but when you come to the Rap Game as an Asian female in her mid-thirties, your lyrics have to offer something more. I want to be insightful and inspirational, and the best way to do that is to work on myself and become a solid person. When you rap from a place of truth, the sky is the limit.

There seems to be a trend with these self-improvement books. It doesn’t even matter what broader issue they’re trying to address. Nestled in each is a browbeating about being less judgmental.

I’m always pressuring myself to be less judgey because, come on, who knows the real back story of why the balding man standing in front of me at the Burger King in Barstow with the Papa Smurf tattoo near his left eye and extremely clogged nose pores is wearing an ankle bracelet? Maybe the crowbar really DID slip out of his hand 17 times. Maybe no one’s ever taken the time to show him the benefits of a Clarisonic face brush. He’s an imperfect person. I’m an imperfect person. Should I judge?


I’ve spent some time surveying the people I’ve let into my life over the past decade. I decided not to look at the years before I was 21 because everyone is really stupid before they are 21. A lot of people are still stupid afterwards, but for the sake of my exercise, I had to draw the line somewhere.

I have allowed too many Ugly People to pass through my life. It’s probably because I lack the ability to pick up on things quickly. Ugly People are hard to spot sometimes because the most Hideous of the bunch are often the most skilled at hiding their true nature. They pretend to care about your well-being. They send you thoughtful text messages and emails because they haven’t heard from you in a minute. They invite you places and introduce you to people and laugh at your jokes and stroke your ego. Everything around them seems shinier. This is not an accident.

Everyone’s true character comes out…eventually. When I start to see the cracks and inconsistencies, I usually doubt myself. There I go, being all judgey again, I think. I let one injury slide, and then it becomes seven jabs, and before I know it, I’ve allotted years of my life to friendships that were never a “real thing” in the first place. It’s not a “real thing” when the other party is incapable of giving.

When I think of all the time I wasted on fuckjobs because I trusted our friendship more than I trusted myself…I ain’t gonna lie, I get pissed. But to operate out of spite and piss-offedness (that’s a word, yes?) would make me an even bigger loser.

The next time I read about being less judgmental, I will cross that nonsense out with my large-tip Sharpie. I may not be all that smart, but my instincts deserve to be trusted. You too. Follow your heart. That shit is legit, yo.