Archives for December 2011

Go Shorty, it’s your birthday.

This is my daughter, Cal.

She turns 12 years old today.

She has been with me forever. First in my heart, then in my belly, and now by my side.

Dear Shorty,

Of all my many blessings, you are the best.

When you were a baby, I used to stare at the bottoms of your feet- how lineless they were, how marvelously smooth…waiting for your life history to etch in the lines, one small stroke at a time. I hope each line forms as you run to the ones you love, to joy and happiness, and to a deep and still peace. I hope you live in rooms full of light.

You da bomb.


Cal knows about this blog, and sometimes, she asks to read it. I’m going to let her read this post. If you’d like to leave a note for her, I bet it would thrill her to bits. I’ll be sure to let her know as each new note comes in.

image courtesy of Bonnie Tsang

Monday Dare: I’m a rapper. Best believe.

 (like this image? I created it using Someecards’s
Create Your Own Card feature.)

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 happy. Keep it real. Fuck the fuckers.

Sometimes, when you’re listening to your favorite sixteen or seventeen rap songs while driving, and you feel amazing because you know every fifth word, and for the places you don’t know a word you just substitute “buh buh buh nuh nuh,” and it pretty much sounds like the lyrics, and people point and laugh when you’re stopped at a light; do you assume they’re laughing because you look like a fool?

THEN YOU’D BE WRONG. They’re laughing because they’re jealous.

What about the times you get really good, and you know at least every third word, so you record yourself using the microphone feature of your phone, and it sounds something like:

Go Shorty, it’s your birthday, nuh nuh party like it’s your birthday, nuh nuh sip Bacardi buh buh your birthday. Nuh Nuh we don’t give a fuck nuh nuh your birthday!

And then you play it back and think, DAMN, I sound good,” and you play it for your husband who doesn’t clap or crack a smile? Jealousy I say.

Lately, I’ve made an effort not to flinch when I can’t be what others want me to be. For the first time in….well, forever, I’m making an effort to play by the Rules of Elizabeth. I only have three:

  • Be happy.
  • Keep it real.
  • Fuck the fuckers.

Many, many times, I’ve feigned a headache or general malaise to bow out of a party or a lunch invitation. Truth be told, I didn’t want to just stand around feeling all kinds of awkward. I have almost no social grace or skill. Sometimes, when I get really nervous, I drool. I shit you not.

I’m not going to do that anymore. I’m just going to show up. I’m going to own my awkwardness. Be happy. Keep it real. Fuck the fuckers.

And if things ever get out of control, I’ll just remember these words from David Sedaris: “Just say ‘fuck it,’ and eat yourself some motherfucking candy.” I’m going to start carrying around some Gobstoppers in my pocket.

Do you have any personal rules you live by? By the way, I think you’re fabulous.

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