07.03.12

Monday Dare: Let’s do this shit

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: Do it up big

I was faced with a difficult decision this morning. I could pony up $13.99 for Internet access to post this Monday Dare in a timely fashion. Or, I could use that money to buy six churros and wait until the afternoon to jack free access from my homegirl’s place of employment. Anyone who’s experienced the crispy-but-also-surprisingly-chewy goodness of a churro would agree that I made the right choice. This is also why I haven’t answered last week’s comments yet. Tomorrow, y’all. My value-seeking ways really fuck up my life sometimes. 
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As a kid, I noticed a trend among the other Korean immigrant families at church. No one Did It Up Big for holidays or birthdays. No ice cream cakes. No snowflake-shaped string of lights. No Candied Sugar Plum candles from Bath & Body Works flickering in the entranceway. Most disturbing was the lack of presents. Some people believe that the real joy of any special occasion is the company of loved ones and an abundance of laughter. You must be kidding. I would take an elaborately wrapped Memory Foam bath mat over my Uncle James’s jokes any goddamn day. How do a few chuckles compare to the pleasure of a mat that provides almost an inch of cushion against a cold bathroom floor while simultaneously wicking the moisture from my feet?

The family across the street Did It Up Big. They had a colorful flag for every special occasion. And not just the Big ‘Uns like Christmas or Thanksgiving. Every April 23rd, you better believe the custom-made “Celebrating ___Years of Love” flag with the delicate fringe around the edge would come out. I admired Mrs. Cameron’s forethought. Instead of ordering a new flag every year, her special creation sported velcro strips, allowing her to swap out just the numbers.

Everyone in the neighborhood looked forward to the Camerons’ Fourth of July barbecue bonanza. The invitation beckoned: “Show your spirit! Don red, white, and blue!” One year, I tried to convince my parents that all anyone really needed to throw these shindigs was a 12-piece patio set from Wal-Mart and a yellow water-resistant boombox. They insisted there was a lot more to it. I voiced my suspicions that perhaps my parents were really just being cheap and lazy. Important Lesson: Lobbing insults is NOT the best way to get what you want. Actually, maybe the Important Lesson here is not to be cheap and lazy.

It’s probably because the Universe has a twisted sense of humor, but I’m now guilty of the same offense: I am lazy about celebrations. I let holidays and other special occasions pass by with little fanfare. And Cal, just like her ma back in the day, thinks it’s bullshit. Well, she’s never actually said those exact words, but I assume that’s what’s going through her mind when she points to the seasonal decorations at the grocery store and gives me a sideways glance.

I got two days. Watch out, Wednesday. We’re going to celebrate the fuck out of the Fourth of July.

Do you make a big to-do about holidays and special occasions? What are you doing for the 4th?

P.S. If you’ve already “Liked” the Flourish in Progress Facebook page but aren’t seeing the thug life thoughts + funny pictures + random shit in your news feed, go to the Flourish in Progress Facebook page, hover your mouse over the “Liked” button, and make sure “Show in News Feed” is selected.
image via pinterest

July 3, 2012
06.18.12

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.
image via pinterest

June 18, 2012