Archives for July 2011

07.11.11

Monday Dare: big boobs, big eyes, and quiet

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: Gather advice for my newly single friends.

I’ve always prided myself on my extremely high dating standards.

#1 Breathing? Check. #2 Almost all Two or three teeth? Check. #3 Lack of Only just a little body odor? Check. Shiz-nits, I think we have a winner.

Those were the rigorous standards Chet had to meet before I agreed to drive myself all the way across town to pick him up in my rickety Dodge Intrepid with two tires dangerously close to calling it quits.

Chet’s mom answered the door. Her door. She apologized for his tardiness, then took both my hands before looking directly into my eyes and whispered that Chet was enduring a “special situation.”

Chet breezed past his mom, giving her a pat on the head, before motioning me outside. He wanted to “get this shit started” because his DVR was nearly full, and he wasn’t sure it was going to record the game.

While waiting for our Bloomin’ Onion, Chet listed the qualities he liked in a girl. Big boobs, big eyes, and quiet. Reflexively, I opened my eyes just a little wider. Clearly, this guy was a winner. I was willing to make a little effort to keep him around.

Before I had a chance to ask about his “special situation,” Chet volunteered the information. He had hemorrhoids. Actually, he was unsure for days until he asked his mom to check right before our date. After a visual inspection, she was able to confirm his suspicions. The date went downhill from there. All I could think about was Chet’s mom peering at his private area.

Chet helped me add #4 to my list of dating standards: Keep your asshole to yourself. I just hated that my high standards hampered yet another chance for a meaningful relationship.

Recently, some of my dear friends have found themselves in the “newly single” division of the dating game. Through chats and emails and texts, we’ve been sharing dating horror stories, past and present. Some lament on their non-existent dating standards. Others are considering lowering their impossibly high ones.

I told them I would reach out to y’all this week to get your advice for the newly single and to share any personal standards you set while you were dating. What’s in your Hell Yes or Hell No categories? Anything in the Hell Maybes?

On Facebook? Let’s connect!
image via moss.fm

July 11, 2011
07.07.11

It’s best to steal from kids who don’t speak English.

Since I didn’t speak a lick of English as a newly-immigrated five-year-old, I ran into a few problems at school. One- I peed in my pants several times a week because I couldn’t remember the word “bathroom” all the time, although I did try to mime my desires by squatting and holding my crotch. And two- I couldn’t fight back when my shit got stolen.

After the first week of school, I told my parents school wasn’t really my thing, and I was just going to focus on being a professional big sister. Sure, the career choice seemed limiting, but it was better than being Pee Girl, a nickname I picked up after my second accident.

After a series of threats, my parents tried bribery. My mom rifled through her jewelry box and offered me a beautiful gold chain in exchange for another week of school. Who was I to turn down gold?

I returned to school the following Monday, sporting my pimp chain and making a big show of taking off my cable knit bunny sweater to show off the bling. Everyone oohed and aahed. The only drawback to the chain was that it was too big for me, and every time I jumped during morning recess, it hit me in the face.

I solved the problem by taking off the chain and placing it in the folds of my sweater. Life lesson: Keep your friends close and your jewelry closer. The chain disappeared during afternoon recess. I didn’t know enough English to question the other kids or tell the teacher. So I just went home.

On the last day of school, one of my classmates tapped me on the shoulder and placed the chain into my palm. It was dark and green and ugly. I had picked up enough English throughout the year to understand his confession. He stole the chain and put it in a glass of water to test if it was real. When it changed colors, he knew it was worthless. To make amends, he wanted to give it back. I kicked him in the shins, and we both got Time Out.

I was pissed about the theft, but mostly, I felt outrage. You mean my chain wasn’t real gold?! Well played, Ma, well played. 

Have you ever had anything stolen? Have you ever taken anything that wasn’t yours? Don’t worry, I won’t judge. Well, not that much.
image via perpetualkid.com

July 7, 2011