Flourish in Progress

Monday Dare: Ugh Life

2012-05-21T10:44:00.005-07:00

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: Let go of grudges

I can explain. Just hear me out...

If you ever have to start a conversation this way, there's a good chance you're in some deep shit. I know from personal experience because I have to start AT LEAST one conversation a day with this introduction. The people who put up with me on a regular basis go right into Oh Dear God What Has She Done Now mode. Maybe it's from years of conditioning. Or maybe the people I know are just narrow-minded assholes. If I'm being honest, it's probably the former, but guess what? I lie to myself a lot, so to me, it's always option numero dos.

I'm fucking awesome at holding a grudge. If it was a marketable skill, I would be wading knee deep in large bills. Or maybe chest deep since I'm vertically-challenged. It's probably for the best that holding grudges isn't a usable workplace skill because then I would become TOO rich and turn into one of those disillusioned katrillionaires who blows all of her money on strip clubs and bundt cake. Side note: Why don't they sell bundt cake at strip clubs? Degenerates get hungry too, you know.

I have a mental shit list. I pencil people in for a variety of offenses. Some are bigger crimes. Others, not so much. When I run into these people again, I tend to err on the side of acting like an animal rather than conducting myself in the ladylike manner you've come to know and love over the course of our friendship.

Back in the day, I had an unfortunate encounter with a man who didn't think I met the basic requirements for dating his best friend. I wasn't pretty enough. I wasn't smart enough. And I was too wild for his tastes. He shared his views with anyone who would listen, including me. Luckily, I didn't date his best friend for long, and I didn't see him again after that. Until recently.

We crossed paths in a seedy bar. Instead of going about my business like a non-grudge-holding person might do, I made eye contact. And maybe a hand gesture. He returned the favor.

I can explain. Just hear me out...

Apparently, pushing people in the face is not the proper way to deal with angst, but I don't know who came up with such asinine rules. I did it because, well, fuck that shit, sometimes words aren't enough to express an emotion. If I wasn't so refined, I would have used a fist. Instead, I used my open palm. What we need to focus on here in my restraint.

We were asked to leave. And by "asked to leave," I mean we were forcibly shown the door.

Once outside, he did something I could never have anticipated. He apologized. I totally believed that he was sorry. So I apologized. And then, because any situation in my life has to get weirder before it gets better, we hugged it out.

I've seen him out and about a few times since our Thug Hug. I don't think we'll ever be bosom buddies, but this encounter has made me realize that holding a grudge and being angry takes up a lot of goddamn space in my soul.

This week, I will try to remember this:

Every time you are tempted to react in the same old way, ask if you want to be a prisoner of the past or a pioneer of the future. -my homeboy, Deepak Chopra

Are you a grudge-holder? What makes you hold on? And how do you let go?

P.S. I'm working on a new piece for Huffington Post. If you want to get the first word on the street when it drops, click this link for my Huffington Post profile and then the Facebook "Like" under "Get updates from Elizabeth Jayne Liu." You'll get a notification in your news feed when it goes up.
image via pinterest

Monday Dare: Cha-ching, bitches

2012-05-14T11:15:00.001-07:00

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: Don't lose my shirt by trying to save some dough.

I like to save money. I also like to spend money. So I guess those two things cancel each other out. Probably not evenly since I spend a lot more money than I manage to save, but what is it those wise people say about progress? The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

I've also heard people say Everything happens for a reason. But sometimes things happen because you're stupid and make bad choices.

When I try to save money by clipping coupons, both adages run through my head simultaneously. It gets confusing at times because the words tend to mesh together, and I'm left with a single quote that makes no sense.

A while back, I decided to start saving money by clipping coupons. It seemed like a smart move. Who doesn't want to take home TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS WORTH OF GROCERIES FOR A MERE THIRTY SEVEN CENTS?

Because I'm all about committing fully to a new endeavor, I decided to do this coupon clipping The Right Way. Stuff all my coupons in a miniature accordion folder from the Dollar Store? Oh, no ma'am, that's not the way sanity works in this house. I invested $24.99 for a deluxe coupon binder with a velcro closure. And another $18.58 for see-through storage pages with special coupon-sized vertical compartments. Then another $18.58 for pages with HORIZONTAL compartments. I mean, really, can I be bothered to tilt my head forty-five degrees to read the wording on a coupon when I can BAM have everything in a quick and easy-to-read layout?

Upon receipt of the velcro binder, I felt it needed a personalized touch. So I wrote CHA-CHING, BITCH in large block letters on the cover with a black Sharpie. I admired my handiwork for a whole afternoon before it dawned on me that, since I'm Asian, the phrase looked kind of racist, especially if you didn't notice the comma right away. I spent a good eight minutes coloring in most of the cover with the same Sharpie. Side note: That Sharpie smell is motherfucking strong. I think I got high a little bit.

I spent a whole afternoon carefully perusing the Sunday newspaper for deals and steals. It was fun at first, deciding which categories I should place each coupon, cut to perfection with a heavy-duty paper trimmer (another $26.00). After fifteen minutes, I got tired and started stuffing everything in the "Non-Perishable Boxed Groceries" section.

By the time I actually made my way to the store, my eyes hurt from the strain of reading so much goddamn fine print, my senses were still a little dull from the Sharpie high, and my coupons were a mess because everything was in one section.

I saved a grand total of seven dollars. Well, actually, it was more like $6.75, but I'm rounding because I think I deserve that much.

Clearly, I'm doing this all wrong. But I'm willing to give it another go because my initial investment of $88.15 for the supplies still haunts me at night.

Do you clip coupons? Any tips, tricks, or secrets of the trade? Or...coupon horror stories? I suspect there are some out there.

P.S. Do you Facebook? Me too. Let's get all friendly and shit on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page.
image via blueq.com

Monday Dare: Thug Passions

2012-05-07T10:59:00.007-07:00

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: Figure it out

I can't wait to be a grown-up. I'm pretty sure it's going to happen any day now. Well, I've been "pretty sure" for about twelve years, but this time, I feel like it's right around the corner. For real. Okay, maybe not FOR REAL for real, but isn't that how probability and chance work: the longer you're in it, the more likely you are to win it? I think I just made that slogan up. If it sounds original to you, don't steal it, but if it sounds like something you saw on a billboard in Kentucky for the Mega Millions, then just know that I totally didn't plagiarize, because I've never been to Kentucky. You and your goddamn accusatory ways.

I can't speak from personal experience because I've never even come close to acting or thinking like a real adult, but word on the street is that these types of individuals possess a certain knowledge about their own skills and strengths. They know what they're good at because they've pinpointed an interest and then cultivated and refined it until it's become a usable and value-adding skill. They may have even obtained some sort of degree.

I don't have a degree. I mean, yes, I did once have a dream that I sent a check for $47.99 plus $8.99 to cover shipping and handling for an honorary diploma with one of those fancy gold seals from Thugs R Us University, which I then framed using a "50% off all custom frame orders" Michael's coupon I got from the Sunday newspaper, but in reality, all I have is a high school diploma and confusion about what I'm really good at in life.

This has been on my mind since I helped a friend put together her resume recently. In solidarity, I did one myself. So far, the Skill Section includes:

Know a lot of swear words
Know a lot of slang
Almost have my anger issues under control

This may seem like the kind of well-rounded assets that any employer would be thrilled to see, but since I have such high standards, it still didn't seem good enough. Sometimes, I think I'm too tough on myself and my impossibly high standards make life unnecessarily difficult.

I'm digging down deep this week to think about my own skills and strengths. The ones that will serve me well when I finally do become a grown-up. After some careful consideration this morning, I've also added this to my Skill Section:

Unusually gifted envelope licker

I put that because, once, I had to lick 250 wedding invitation envelopes and I didn't get a single paper cut. My tongue didn't even dry out. It's like a veritable sponge. In the interest of full disclosure, I want to add here that I don't really know what "veritable" means, but I hear it a lot on serious television shows, so I'm betting it's a good thing.

When did you first feel like an adult? How did you discover your skills, strengths, and talents? What are they?

P.S. I'm so excited about this, I don't even know what to do with myself, but...
I AM ON HUFFINGTON POST, Y'ALL. I always try to be an open book about my life, but the topic I wrote about is so near and dear to my heart, I haven't talked about it very much before.

P.P.S. I announced the HuffPo news as soon as it hit on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page. "Like" the page to get the latest updates...and also some stupid shit you could probably do without.
image via urbanelifestyle.tumblr.com

Monday Dare: Oops

2012-04-30T10:51:00.007-07:00

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: Stop dressing like a homeless person

I don't know when my downward spiral of apathy began (yes, so dramatic), but lately I've been dressing like Balki from Perfect Strangers. There's really no rhyme or reason to what I throw on in the morning. If it's clean and it hasn't been rolling around on the bathroom floor for a week, then I'm a-ok with wearing it.

A while back, I ran out (And by "ran out," I mean I got into my car and drove a distance which is commonly known as "just a stone's throw away," because I so clearly care about saving the environment and getting exercise.) to the neighborhood newsstand wearing a pair of pleated Dockers and a grossly oversized 100% cotton t-shirt with J.R. Ewing on the front. I like to throw out the fiber content of the shirt because I want you to know that I'm all about quality and not about wearing those cheap cotton/polyester blends. Also, I was wearing loafers without any socks. This may be where you decide not to know me anymore, but then let me ask you this: Do you really want to be the type of person that turns away from a friend because of bad life choices like loafers without socks? Is that who you want to be?

"Stop it, Liz, just stop it," you may be thinking. "Stop making me feel guilty for things that are your own damn fault."

I picked up the newest editions of The New Yorker and the Smithsonian. Ok, fine, if I'm being honest, I was really there for a copy of Cosmopolitan, but I always hide it in between two more respectable magazines because I care about what other people think. Even people at the newsstand I will most likely never see again, because I'm an underdeveloped adult, and I'm self-aware, and no, I don't plan on changing anytime soon.

Eager to get home so I could learn how to give myself a fishtail braid as the magazine promised, I looked around for Sal, the newsstand guy, and only saw one other person nearby- a man in a grimy gray sweatsuit hanging out to the side. As I handed over my magazines and a twenty dollar bill, I prayed that Sal hadn't fallen ill or been fired, because Sal always hooks me up with a pack of gum and some funny knock-knock jokes, and I would totally miss that.

I looked up for the first time and made eye contact with the new guy. Except it wasn't the new guy.

It was Denzel Washington.

He chuckled good-naturedly and pointed me in the direction of Sal, who was rounding the corner. I wanted to apologize profusely and maybe even bow or curtsy to show my deep regret, but I was speechless. He waved me away and told me not to worry about it. DEAR LORD, THIS IS WHY I SHOULD NEVER BE LET OUT OF THE HOUSE.

I did what I thought was best. I put down the magazines and ran.

So, lesson learned. If one of the most beautiful men on the planet is nearly unrecognizable in a grimy sweatsuit, I'd better get my act together and start dressing better.

P.S. I was about to feed you some nonsense about how I'm really smart and funny on Twitter and the Flourish in Progress Facebook page, but I decided against straight-out lying to you. I post random things on a daily basis on both. Let's get connected.

Or, Subscribe to Flourish in Progress to get this shiz in your feed reader or by email.
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Monday Dare: To the person who stole my Taco Bell Gordita Savings Fund

2012-04-23T11:17:00.006-07:00

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: Vent

The ashtray in my car used be a plain ol' Spare Change Catch-all. Then, I watched a Tony Robbins PBS special about how you have to call out intentions in your life to make them happen, so I started calling the ashtray my Dreams Start Here Fund. THEN, I got wind of some people who were doing vision boards and such, and I knew that I really had to commit to something, lock it down, and the universe would mysteriously align. That's when I started to get specific about my hopes, dreams, and desires in life.

Hence, the Taco Bell Gordita Fund was born.

I could tell it was the right decision because the very next day, I found a shiny nickel laying on the floor outside of a Forever 21. As I bent down to pick it up and clean it off with my hot breath, I felt like a Greater Force was winking at me from above and whispering, "Here's a little something to get you started." It was clear that the Universe wanted me to experience the warm pillowly flatbread covered in a melted three-cheese blend.

Occasionally, I would slide back the ashtray cover and eyeball the slowly growing fortune at stoplights. I'm not good at eyeballing (or "guesstimating" I think is the official term) because once, I was at my daughter's school fair, and I had to guesstimate the number of gumballs in a really large jar. I guessed 73 but there were actually 991 gumballs in there. A cloud of gloom settled over me after they announced the 9-year-old winner, because I had already thought about all the ways I could enjoy the gum in my day-to-day life.

Sometimes, driving by the Taco Bell near my neighborhood, I wouldn't look at it directly because some emotions would well up that I didn't know how to process. Instead, I would give it a quick sideways glance and say out loud, "I'm coming back for you. Wait for me."

Well, the important thing to know about my Taco Bell Gordita Fund is that someone stole it over the weekend.

That's probably what I should have started with now that I think about it, but obviously, the shock of the situation has done a number on me, and I just needed to ramble for a little bit, let it out, tell you where I was coming from....you know how it goes.

Someone broke into my car over the weekend and stole almost everything of value. I say *almost* because luckily, they left one important thing behind. An item with no real price tag because it's priceless to me:

My autographed Kenny G CD that my best girlfriend had The Master sign after one of his concerts.

Criminy, I am really filled with a lot of hate today as I obsess over the different things the thief is doing with MY stuff. What is he buying with the $173 I had left on my Toys R Us gift card? What kind of coffee is she enjoying with my Starbucks gift card? Will this person be using my iPod to house the entire collection of Demi Lovato's music? Will my Taco Bell Gordita Fund unknowingly pay for bus fare to other neighborhoods so that this motherfucker's crime spree can continue?

Have I unknowingly supplied a monster with the means to perpetuate a life of evil? Does this make me an accessory to a crime?

In therapy, they tell you that in order to get closure, you need to directly address the person who did you wrong, and if they happen to be dead, then a letter is the next best thing. I talked about my letter idea at the dinner table last night, and Cal was concerned for me because she thought there was a high likelihood that whoever stole my hopes and dreams probably doesn't read this blog. I thanked her for Keeping It Real and told her that she had a good point. I guess this letter will have to be more about venting and finding some peace rather than a call to action for the perpetrator to paypal me $1.63 at flourishinprogress at gmail dot com.

~~DEAR~~ HEY THIEF,

YOU OWE ME A FUCKING GORDITA. I'M DECLARING THUG WAR ON YOU.
AND YOU LEFT MY KENNY G CD?! DID YOU KNOW THAT IT WAS AUTOGRAPHED?

I HOPE THE REGRET KEEPS YOU UP AT NIGHT.

___
Have you ever been the victim of theft?

P.S. I'll be posting some angry thug life thoughts on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page this week. "Like" the page to watch my probable downward spiral.
image via perpetualkid.com

Monday Dare: Are you a runner? And not the kind on a treadmill.

2012-04-16T11:18:00.006-07:00

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: Quit quitting

I have a running problem. Not the kind of running problem that happens when you've been logging in 18 miles a day and develop shin splints but then power through the pain even when a fragile little tear is forming at the inside corner of your eye as your feet pound pound pound the pavement because you're a goddamn gladiator.

No, not that kind.

I run from problems.

Maybe you claim to be the type of person that doesn't run from problems. In that case, let me be the first to point out that you may have a problem with lying.

People this advice will speak to: Young People, Old People, Rich People, Poor People, People with Fake Boobies, People with Real Boobies, People who Appreciate Tupac, People with No Taste in Music, People who Appreciate a Smooth Hit of Crack, People who Just Say No, and Honest People

People this advice will not speak to: People with Denial Issues

I'm not just talking about big problems- the kind that could land you in serious debt or at Heartbreak Hotel. Maybe you're the type of person to walk away from a copier machine at Kinko's after jamming it instead of asking a friendly copy expert to help you fix the machine. Not that I would do something so juvenile and dishonest. I should also add here that I'm no longer allowed inside the Kinko's on Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills. Make of that information what you will.

For a long time, I told myself that I wasn't running. I was simply "not wasting my time on bullshit." Which was bullshit.

Now, I ask myself this one question when I am about to walk away:

When this moment becomes a memory, will I regret not sticking it out?

I then remind myself: No deposit, No return.

Well, it's actually not quite so succinct or eloquent when it's running through my head. It's more like, "Are you going to man up, ho? Are you going to see this shit through like a brave motherfucker?"

When something becomes too tough or too complicated or too scary, I want to walk away and put it out of my mind. I don't want to devote the precious time it takes to see it through because I hate being vulnerable, and I hate feeling like a loser. Misunderstanding with a friend? Just unfriend that homette on Facebook. Rough day with a partner? Erase all sweet reminders and drown my sorrows in cheap champagne. Writer's block? Smash the computer with my bare fists and renew my vows to full-time thuggery (Is that even a word? Let's pretend it is.).

I don't want to be that person anymore. If I fall flat on my face, so be it. If I end up crying in a bar at 2:47 p.m. in a faraway city because shit didn't work out, so be it.

I'm just going to keep on keepin' on. Because some things are worth it. Because occasionally, when I practice being dedicated, motivated and patient, the payoff is immense. Mindblowing, even.

I'm afraid. But I'm pushing through it.

How do you decide when to stick something out-a new hobby, job, relationship, friendship, relocation....?

P.S. You + Me + Facebook = YES.
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Monday Dare: Are you dating a mofo? An assessment checklist

2012-04-09T10:49:00.011-07:00

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: Dish out dating advice. (Disclaimer: I'm not an expert in this field. Well, maybe I am. I have, after all, dated every sad loser on this side of the Prime Meridian.)

It's weird to write about dating since I haven't been in the dating game for a minute. I've forgotten the fine art of giving out my phone number and then waiting and sometimes staring at my cell phone, willing it to ring. Ok, that's a lie...that shit is burned into my brain the way an image of a fat man in super small stretched-out Speedos running along the rocky sand of a cold dirty Los Angeles beach still gives me chills at night.

I have a lot of single girlfriends. Some are single by choice. Others are single by chance. And I talk to all of them about what it's like to navigate the Frosty Waters of Dating.

I find myself holding my tongue a lot. Mostly because I've found that when a girlfriend is sprung on some new flavor of the week, no amount of levelheaded advice is going to get through to them, but also because there is a very slim (VERY SLIM) chance I could be wrong about this new shady-ass motherfucker. I'm all about chances. Ok, no, that's a lie too. I'm not all about chances. I'm just all about keeping my friends because if you're dubbed The Nagger Friend, then you're pretty much on The Outs when it comes to all the good gossip, and let's be real here....I fucking live for gossip. In fact, if you have some juicy news you want to spread, just email me. It's Monday. I could use a little bit of sparkle in my life.

Checklists, I dig. They're simple. Throw an article at me about String Theory, and I won't be able to digest one word. But put the same information in a checklist and I'll rattle off the basics of theoretical physics like it's the plot line from my favorite Nicholas Sparks movie. Don't hate. That Nicholas is a motherfucking pimp.

Are You Dating an Asshole? An Assessment Checklist:

1. Is he saying things that would normally alarm a rational thinking person?

Most of the time, men tell you exactly what they mean. Really, they do. Sometimes, it's a little indistinguishable because the alcohol is making them slur or they're coming down from a really bad cocaine binge, so you have to smash the phone really hard into your ear and walk into your closet to hear the under-enunciated words. But if he's saying it, you should probably listen. Phrases to watch out for include: "You're not the one for me," or "I don't know what I'm doing with you here," or "I can't really accept who you are." I've heard all of those lines said to me at one point or another. Guess what I did? I just ignored that shit and kept right on. And guess what happened? Nothing. Because eventually, the words become louder and totally unavoidable and before you know it, you're watching the Academy Awards and you see your man walking down the red carpet with another girl on his arm who isn't you and you're thinking...."Wait just a minute here...."

If you hear any of these things being said to you, RUN. Seriously, just put on those flip flops and get the fuck out of there as fast as you can, girl. You'll thank me later. Trust me.

2. Are you a secret? Is he a secret?

Step back and honestly assess this shit, friends. Are you pretty much a nonexistent entity in his life except behind closed doors? Do his friends even know you exist? He doesn't need to make paper flyers declaring his interest, but if you're not on his public radar, then you're probably only on his pubic radar.

Conversely, are you ashamed to tell your friends about him? Maybe he's immersed in a whole bunch of questionable or illegal activities. Maybe he's been to jail. Now, I'm not saying everyone who's been to jail is a bad person. Frankly, I'm a little surprised I haven't spent some time there myself, but I figure it's only a matter of time before I'm known to my community as Inmate 217 (which, coincidentally, used to be my pager code because "217" is "Liz" upside down and backwards. I know, I have way too much time on my hands).

3. Is it one-sided?

Does he ever ask you about your day? Is it all about his happiness? Does he even give a fuck about how you feel...about anything? You don't have to think too long about these questions. It's obvious and apparent when someone has an interest in you and your well-being. Maybe he remembers to ask about work when he knows you're having a stressful day. Maybe he asks you about your family when he knows some shit is going down, and you're secretly devastated on the inside, but you're doing that whole martyr front so you look all strong and grown-up on the outside.

4. Does the motherfucker not call you?

Maybe you're the one making all the effort. Who's calling whom? Are you trying to know someone who only bothers to talk to you Monday- Friday while he's spending those tortured hours at work, and he can't watch porn on the company computer so he asks you to send him a little picture here and there to pass the time?

5. Do all of his ex-girlfriends hate the shit out of him?

Look, if you're talking to someone who had to change his home address, phone number or place of employment after a relationship because the newest person he fucked over happens to want him dead, then he's probably not right for you. Sure, you can kid yourself and claim that you're going to be the one to change him, but let's be real...who has that kind of time these days? I don't even have a fucking dog because I can't tame an animal. I sure as hell don't see what kind of wonder-woman has the time, patience and wherewithal to change a man-child. Don't be delusional.

If you answered "yes" to ANY of these questions, then you should probably do this:

RUN LIKE THE WIND, BITCH, RUN LIKE THE WIND.

What did I miss? Ever dated an asshole?

P.S. I think of stupid things and post them on an almost daily basis on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page. "Like" the page to feel smarter than at least one person every day.

P.P.S. If this post resonates with you, I'm really sorry about that because clearly you've dated a motherfucker. Please share the post so we spare other bitches from going through the same thing.
image via lettercult.com

Monday Dare: Running Away? Pack well. Trust me.

2012-04-02T10:04:00.002-07:00

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: Share. Celebrate.

Remember that one time an essay I wrote ended up in a book? And some of you bought the book and I felt so goddamn lucky to know such awesome people? And other people *didn't* buy the book, but I still felt so goddamn lucky to know such awesome people? Probably a little less awesome in my eyes now...but still a fairly good amount, so don't worry.

I've been looking forward to sharing this essay with you. We've gotten to know each other and like each other and commit crimes with each other. Wait, not the last one. Not yet anyway.

Thanks for listening. Thanks for being my friend.

____
“I am running away. I want you to have my CDs. Don't scratch them.”

What did I know as an 18-year-old? I knew that I was pregnant. I knew that I was going to be a single mother. I knew that my parents wanted me to terminate my pregnancy. If I could just withstand their incessant prodding for five more weeks, I would pass the six-month mark, and the procedure would be illegal. I knew that I was running away. As soon as my best friend pulled into the driveway, I knew I would be without a home, without any money, and without a plan for the next five weeks.

I made the decision to run away the day before. I didn't have to wait long for my chance. As soon as my mother left for the grocery store, I quickly called my best friend and I packed two garbage bags. With a teenager's lack of forethought, I stuffed every pair of shoes I owned into one bag and three sweatshirts into the other plastic bag. I didn't pack a clean change of underwear or any pants.

The only possessions I had given any thought to were my CDs. Every last cent I earned from odd jobs went into purchasing those CDs. They represented all my careless adventures and frivolous youthful indulgences.

I never let anyone touch them, but I knew I couldn't bring them along. They would get lost or stolen while I shuffled around from one place to another, so I decided to leave them to my brother. But I didn't trust him, and I couldn't just leave them on his desk, lest the significance was lost on a 16-year-old. I decided to write a note.

“I am running away. I want you to have my CDs. Don't scratch them.”

In that moment, as I wrote that note, I knew I was leaving behind any vestige of youth. I was stepping into adulthood.

I walked out of my childhood home with two garbage bags. As the car drove further and further away, I couldn't help but turn around and look one last time.

“He better not wreck those CDs.”

I never lived in that home again.

My daughter, Cal, recently turned 12.

Monday Dare: Toeing the motherfucking line

2012-03-26T07:41:00.001-07:00

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 less "awesome" and "wonderful"

When people ask stupid questions, I like to give fucked-up answers. Some may find this immature and tasteless, but it brings me a great deal of joy, and hey, if we can't derive satisfaction from the little things in life, then shit's going to get real bad, real fast, don't you think?

Years ago, I had a boyfriend ask me why I loved my daughter more than I loved him. Now that I think back, it was more of a complaint rather than a question, but whatever the method of delivery, his heart was in the same place. He wanted to be #1.

I sat in stunned silence for a minute. Really, I wanted to laugh and push him in the face, but I figured that would only make the situation worse. My silence must have spoken volumes because he swept our entire dinner off the table with his forearm and left in a huff.

As he raced down the three flights of stairs to his car, I called out after him- "It's because of the way your calves look in shorts. Get some muscle tone, asshole!"

Our twisted relationship ended after that. Mainly because he was clearly a disturbed individual with very little understanding of love and priorities, but also because he broke several dishes that I could no longer replace because Target had discontinued the set. I may have been a poor single mother with limited resources, but any man that makes it necessary to resort to mismatched dishes is where I draw the motherfucking line.

He later claimed that we broke up because I was too insensitive and sarcastic, but in my book, those are just synonyms for awesome and wonderful. And perfect. And special. I could go on, but you're an especially smart crowd, so you know what I'm trying to get at here, yes?

There's a line between sticking up for yourself or getting a point across and being insensitive or overly-sarcastic. I could say it's a fine line, but that would be wrong. It's a wide river that separates one side from the other, with a lot of gray area open to interpretation depending on how sissy and stupidly sensitive the other person is.

I'm not sure how, but I'd like to try and be more attuned to the sissiness of other individuals to figure out how much I can get away with. WAIT, I MEAN...I'd like to be more aware of other people's boundaries and comfort levels. Because some people cry like little bitches. WAIT, I MEAN....just forget it. Y'all, I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach already. And not from the microwave burrito I just ate.

Has sarcasm ever put you in an awkward situation?

P.S. I post thoughtlessly insensitive things + funny pictures + thug life thoughts on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page almost daily. "Like" the page to see them in your news feed.
image via pinterest

Monday Dare: At least I'm not on parole

2012-03-19T12:08:00.003-07:00

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 thinking so much.

Some people have friends that live next door. Other people have friends that live in the same city. Me? I have two best friends that live so goddamn far away that every time I want to see them, it's a real commitment because I have to cross state lines to do so. On every trip, I say a silent thanks to a higher power that I'm not on parole, because I'd hate to clear all of my moves with a parole officer. I'm sorry if you're a parole officer and I just offended you. Also, you might want to email me your info in case I ever get in trouble with the law because I'm going to campaign for you to be my P.O. I mean, if that's even a possibility. Do criminals get a say in who gets to be the boss of them?

These trips used to be planned affairs. We would email back and forth for weeks, discussing the best airfare deals and new restaurant reviews. Each trip was a Big Deal. Now, it's more of a Hey, I just realized I'm free for the next two days, so I'll just hop in my car and drive 4.5 hours to see you situation.

These long car trips allow me to do something I'm unable to do in my daily life- I can shut my brain off from all of the noisy chatter that goes through my head, and I can enjoy the moment. Even when the Chrysler Sebring in front of me is so excruciating slow, I just want to cut a bitch. Even when I'm 47 miles away from the nearest rest stop and my bladder is screaming at me to find a bush.

This comes as a surprise to me because sitting in a car for over four hours at a time doing nothing but driving and listening to an extensive collection of dubstep and gangsta rap might seem like the perfect time to mull over every major life decision or mistake or fear, but I've made the conscious choice to stop fretting and just breathe.

For a long time, I let fear rule my life. I was afraid of doing things wrong. I was afraid of looking uncool. I was afraid to love or put myself out there because I didn't want to get hurt and I didn't want to hurt anyone. I obsess about all of these things as soon as I open my eyes, and they are often the last thoughts on my mind as my head hits the pillow.

But on these drives, as I look out the window with the music on full blast, I can let go. I often wave to little kids who are jumping around the back seat and are probably annoying the hell out of their parents. Sometimes, I'll stop by the Del Taco in Barstow and get a snack. I also pat myself on the back occasionally for evading a life of crime and not being on parole so that I have the freedom to make these spontaneous trips.

Hey, it's good to celebrate the positives.

How do you unwind?

image via ThroughYourEyes shop on Etsy.com

Monday Dare: Six million ways to die

2012-03-12T11:08:00.002-07:00

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: Get my groove on.

There are supposedly six million ways to die. I'm not sure if this fact is true because I heard it in a rap song, but much of the knowledge I've acquired in life is from hardcore rap lyrics, so let's just assume this information is correct.

I don't spend a lot of time thinking about "The D Word" because I'm dedicated to avoiding hefty life tasks such as setting long-term goals, understanding taxes, acquiring marketable skills, or thinking about my eventual demise.

I may not obsess over death, but some primal instinct keeps me from doing things that put me in harms way. Like exercising.

Recently, I-

Fell off a treadmill...while the belt was still moving. Distracted by a rousing news segment on water bottle consumption, I forgot to put one foot in front of the other. I just got up casually, looked around to see if anyone noticed, and bought a Twix bar to console myself. You know what tastes better than blood, sweat, and tears? Chocolate. And caramel. And a crispy biscuit finger.

Took a Zumba class. I could go into all the sordid details of this experience, but really, I still want you to respect me a little bit because I care what you think, so that's pretty much all I can say about the incident.

Tried to take a leisurely walk around my neighborhood. I ran into a pole. Personally, I think it moved into my path, but my family disagrees. They claim that poles can't move. Haters.

Each brush at attempted fitness has left an ugly scar on my psyche. And, in some cases, my shin.

I've tried exercises that don't involve so much motion, like weight training. Except, I usually get distracted halfway through my routine (Oh my Jesus, look at that moth! It's so...so....brown!) and stop what I'm doing. I assume at some point, my body is going to start looking all lopsided and shit.

Sure, I've got the whole primal instinct thing going on, but I've also been blessed with an unusually small amount of common sense, so I'm renewing my vows to get fit. I....I hope to see y'all again next week.

How do you stay fit? How do you stay motivated?
image via marriedtothesea.com

Monday Dare: No more Friday knife fights

2012-03-05T10:57:00.001-08:00

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: More nice. More real.

After years of being an ill-mannered asshole, I recently bragged to a friend that I had finally mastered the Art of Nice. Before, if I didn't like someone, I would feel compelled to just push them in the face and walk away. This still seemed fairly ladylike, as two people who don't get along often end up in knife fights. Or so I hear. I wouldn't know about such things. I'm very innocent.

Now, I can look someone straight in the eyes, laugh at all their jokes and pretend to find them extremely charming, all the while thinking, "I hate this bitch." To me, it seemed like a step in the right direction. Adults are pleasant. Pretend pleasant, semi-real pleasant, really-real pleasant: all badges of honor when you can't stomach the shady character in front of you.

This sage friend pointed out that authenticity is magnetic. That people can often sense when something is...off.

She's right. These days, when I meet someone new, I try to assess one thing quickly- Is this person a diamond presence or a crotchety motherfucker?

It's probably a good idea not to know these questionable folks. In the end, someone gets hurt, and cleaning up fresh bloodstains is probably not the best way to spend a Friday night. Not that violence only happens on Friday nights. But that's neither here nor there.

I am slowly learning that I don't have to like everyone, but more importantly, not everyone has to like me. We don't all have to hold hands and sing Kumbaya in the middle of a park professing our love for each other. Mostly, this doesn't appeal to me because I don't know all the words to Kumbaya.

I want to spend more time being really-real pleasant to the people I really-real like in my life. I bet I don't tell them enough how much I appreciate and love them. How good it is to know that I can count on them for anything. And how they can count on me for anything...unless I'm hungry or tired or there's something good on television. Then, they're on their own.

So, that's it. No more fake nice. It's freeing to know that I don't have to declare silent war on someone when we don't see eye to eye. I can walk away. I can choose not to let that crotchety motherfucker get under my skin. Unless *they* push me in the face first. Then it's on.

P.S. Thanks to everyone who entered the Wanted: Cat giveaway on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page. Rebecca Mendoza, you are the winner.

Monday Dare: Mommy, I hope you don't go to jail.

2012-02-27T11:01:00.003-08:00

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: Cut the cord.

Sometimes, I still hold a mirror under Cal's nose while she's sleeping. The kid is 12.

I hear all these great things about giving your kid some space to grow, so I decided to give it a go recently by leaving Cal home alone for 47 minutes. I needed a new bottle of Goo Gone, and instead of dragging her to Target, where she gets preoccupied for long periods of time in the dollar section, I cut the cord.

When I got home, she gave me a long hug and said words that a child should probably never have to say to a parent- "Mommy, I hope you don't go to jail."

Jail?

"Grandma called while you were gone. I bragged that you left me at home alone, and she told me that was against the law."

This from the woman who, on a family trip to Las Vegas, gave me twenty dollars and asked me to amuse myself for the afternoon while she played nickel slots. She also thought it best not to give me a room key...in case I lost it and some deviant soul picked it up, figured out which room it opened, and robbed us. I wandered the MGM Grand, had myself a nice little tuck-in at the buffet, bought a Highlights magazine, and befriended a janitor. Good times for a 10-year-old.

If you ever need to inject a little fun into your life, try calling your 60-year-old mother and opening with the line, "Don't get it twisted, homegirl." See how the rest of *that* conversation unfolds. Don't worry, she's still talking to me, but she does have a suspicious glint in her eyes now.

I've left Cal home alone several times since, but it's always nerve-wracking, and I can't focus on what I'm doing. I always thought I'd be a cool parent, but clearly, if left to my own devices, I am anything but.

Did you have overprotective parents? Are YOU an overprotective parent?

GIVEAWAY: It's always a thrill to meet someone in real life after you've become a fan of their work online. One of the first women I met was Marinka of Motherhood in NYC. She made me feel welcome and less awkward at my first conference when I hardly knew anyone. She's hilarious and kind and supportive. Marinka wrote Wanted: Cat, a very cute tale about her family's quest to find the perfect family cat and the goodness that ensues afterwards. I'm giving away a copy of the book AND a $50 gift card to PetSmart...in case the book convinces you to get a cat. Then you're all set with litter and toys. Oh, and maybe some cat food. That's important too, I guess.

Just "Like" the Flourish in Progress Facebook page and leave a comment under the post WANTED: CAT GIVEAWAY. Only entries left under this specific Facebook post will count. I'll pick someone randomly and announce it next Monday.
image via knockknock.biz

Monday Dare: Don't eat cocaine. Don't smoke cigarettes.

2012-02-20T11:19:00.001-08:00

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: Quit smoking.

To me, the best way to start any kind of ban is by doing an excessive amount of the supposedly Bad Thing, getting really disgusted with yourself, and then crying a little about it.

Maybe your supposedly Bad Thing is food. Before a diet, you would gorge on a lot of Bad Things like Entenmann's powdered donuts. They always leave white stuff around your mouth and make you look like you've been eating cocaine.

Maybe your supposedly Bad Thing *is* cocaine. Then, you would just snort an eight-ball, and if you didn't have a heart attack and a bloody nose, you would look at your cracked-out face in the mirror and say to yourself, "Yes, today. Today is the day I make the change from loser to winner." Don't forget to cry a little afterwards. I find that tears always seal the deal when you're making a self-improvement resolution.

Or, maybe like me, your Bad Thing is cigarettes.

I've smoked on and off for sixteen years. When I'm smoking, I am guilt-ridden and nervous. When I quit, I really miss those little bitches.

I "quit" again last October when I was in the ICU for my mysterious illness. On my third night in the hospital, sometime around midnight, I desperately needed a cigarette.

Me: Can I go outside to smoke?

Nurse: No

Me: Why?

Nurse: Besides the fact that it's bad for your health? You're hooked up to an IV and five other machines. Getting you untangled would be a nightmare. Plus, the doctor's already gone home for the night, and he's the only one who can approve it.

Me: Then call him.

Nurse: I'm only allowed to call him for medical emergencies.

Me: THIS IS A MEDICAL EMERGENCY.

I begged. I pleaded. Eventually, I wore two nurses down, and they eventually paged the doctor, who I also wore down. They unhooked me from the machines, wheeled me out in a wheelchair, and there I sat, on the curb outside of a hospital wearing a hospital gown and smoking a cigarette on a frosty October evening. If I had a list for pathetic moments in my life, that would be at the top.

It occurred to me as I puffed away that this couldn't continue. So I "quit" cold turkey. Three weeks ago, I picked it up again.

I feel a deep sense of shame admitting this to you. I'm open with you about so many things. My former addiction to drugs. My time on welfare. The men I've dated who are currently incarcerated. But the smoking- well, that's embarrassing. Go figure.

I've tried to give up smoking for Lent, even though I'm not Catholic. Year after year, I've failed. I don't even know when Lent is, so instead of following that doomed path again, I'm calling this week SPENT. I'm spent. I don't want to feel guilty as I hide out on a porch, smoking, hoping not to get caught by my family. I'm spent with smelling like an ashtray and being afraid to give Cal a hug because I don't want her to smell the cigarettes on me. I'm really, really SPENT.

If you've been toying with the idea of quitting something, I would be over the moon if you joined me in SPENT. Support makes a shitload of difference, yes?

Do you have a vice? Have you conquered it? Any tips?
image via blueq.com

Monday Dare: Dragon Water

2012-02-13T12:36:00.000-08:00

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 procrastinating.

I have never, ever told anyone what I'm about to tell you. I mean, yes, some people know portions of this story, but not the most embarrassing part. This relationship has gotten to a point where I either need to marry you or tell you a secret. I choose #2.

I have six tattoos. The first three, I got three days in a row at the age of eighteen. Since I hadn't been paying attention in class all semester, I needed laser-like focus and a week of dedicated cramming to ace my finals. I packed up my books and a trail mix snack to stay energized and headed to the local library. Three blocks from my destination, I started having second thoughts. I really didn't want to study, and I needed a way out. What could....what could I do?

Fortunately, I was scanning strip mall signage instead of paying attention to the road, and my eyes caught on the word "Fun." I pulled into the shopping center, parked in front of the "Fun," and tried peering inside the windows. The windows were heavily tinted (a sure sign that you should probably run away), so I did the next best thing: I walked into "Fun." Turns out, it was the Funhouse Tattoo Parlor, and no, we're not busy at all, why don't you come look at some of our work.

This was it! Ah-ha! I could get a tattoo and then I wouldn't have to study! Well, I wouldn't have to study *while* I was getting the tattoo, but who thinks past one-hour intervals? Oh yes, I thought, this makes so much sense to me.

You know who doesn't belong in my circle of trust? Me.

I chose a fairy in haste. She was delicate and cloaked in an array of vibrant colors. Sadly, I hadn't thought the whole tattoo business through and didn't realize it would, you know, involve needles and pain. To this day, delicate Mindy (Yes, I named her. Be quiet.) is just a sad little outline. No colors. No stars bursting from her wings. Just...just an outline.

Spurred on by my success in delaying the inevitable for a whole twenty seven minutes the day before, it seemed like the right thing to do to visit the tattoo parlor again. Instead of finishing Mindy (since the area was still too tender), I ventured to a spot right above my new friend. Just months before, on a summer trip to South Korea, an elderly woman grasped both my hands and told me that I was as strong and precious as a Dragon's Tear. It was the best compliment I had ever received, and I was going to have it inked on my body as a reminder to push forward no matter what.

I wanted it in Chinese characters, but I didn't know Chinese, so I asked my brother's 13-year-old Chinese friend to write it out. Maybe I should have had someone else proofread it before getting the tattoo.

For thirteen fucking years, I've had Dragon Water tattooed on my lower back instead of Dragon Tears.

Lesson learned. Well, not the intended lesson way back when since I never really got around to studying for the finals and did miserably, but it's clear to me now that I should do what needs to be done as soon as the occasion arises. Because, let's be real, I'm running out of room on my body.

Are you a procrastinator? Has it ever gotten you into trouble?

Subscribe to Flourish in Progress to get new posts in your feed reader or by email. Don't procrastinate.
image via pinterest

Monday Dare: Sometimes, I try to act like a ninja.

2012-02-06T12:03:00.002-08:00

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: Just say no.

I don't know who invented the word "yes," but I wish I could beat the shit out of him.

Listen, this is really important. Don't open your front door. Ever. Don't open your side door or garage door either if you hear a knock or a whistle. Is it okay to peek out the window to see who's knocking? Maybe. But only if you know you're not going to get caught.

This is even more important-er. DO NOT look out of your peephole. Why? Because the person standing on the other side will know someone is home. The little speck of light shining through the hole disappears when you stand in front of it. You think you're being a ninja, but no, my friend, no.

Maybe you're thinking, "I'm brave. I'll open the door if I want."

Then let me ask you this: Do you have a lot of money just laying around the house? Because you're going to need it if you decide to open that door.

I share these nuggets of wisdom from experience.

Boy: (yelling) I can see you in there.

Me: (standing perfectly still, not breathing)

Boy: Ma'am, I really need your help.

Me: (sigh, I done got caught again)

Boy: Hello, my name is Jeremy from Pine Junior High School. I'm selling candy bars. How many you would like?

Me: Well, son, I'm on a cleanse right now, so I can't have any candy.

Boy: Please help me see the splendors of Sacramento. We're going on a field trip to see the state capitol, and I have a feeling it's going to change my life. Won't you help make my dream come true?

Me: YES. Gimme the whole box.

Or maybe you accidentally pick up a phone call from one of your "friends." I put that in quotes because real friends never ask things like "Will you keep me company at the DMV for eleven or twelve hours?" or "Can you help me wash the bloodstains from my shirt? I had a rough night." Actually, real friends ask each other for these kinds of favors all the time, but they will never, ever start the conversation with just a general, "Hey, are you free tomorrow?" Real friends will always state the request first, and then ask if you are free, leaving you an easy out in case you want to be a horrible human being who denies friends in their greatest times of need.

It's tough to say no, but sometimes, you just gotta do it. I've had to learn the hard way that my time is precious too. I now consider my time precious and expensive because hey, if I'm not at the DMV for eleven or twelve hours, maybe I could use that time to get a job at Hot Dog on a Stick, and then I would have at least fifty extra dollars I didn't have before (after taxes, I like to keep shit real) and then BAM, I'm kind of rich. Rich with free hot dog privileges.

Have you ever said yes when you wanted to say no?

P.S. My amazingly funny and fucked-up friends, Noa Gavin and Alicia Sherrod, invited me to be a guest on Episode 2 of their new podcast series, The League of Funny Bitches. I may have said things like "Dead people can't fight back" and "I don't know how I ended up getting that lap dance." You can download it for free here.

image via pinterest

Monday Dare: Lying saves lives

2012-01-30T12:08:00.000-08:00

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: Tell the truth.

It seems unnatural to me to tell the truth all the time. I believe in sparing people's feelings, and lies are an excellent method of achieving that.

Sometimes, you find yourself saying things like "I don't have a phone" or "No, good sir, I'm not on Facebook" because it's a lot kinder than "No, nu-uh, never ever."

LYING SAVES LIVES. Actually, I'm not sure how that statement fits here, but it kind of makes sense, doesn't it? It does. Trust me, it does.

Maybe you have a kid that plays soccer. Maybe another soccer mom is really getting on your nerves because her voice is a tad too loud and she says things to your kid like "play better" or "get in the game, Cal!" Here are some choices:

A. (chuckle softly, like a good-natured person) I bet we could work on our drills a little bit harder at home. I noticed that your daughter, Frittata, is playing so much better these days! Good on her!

And hey, I could totally relate when you rolled your eyes the other day because wee Frittata forgot her inhaler in the car and you were all, "Oh my god, I must really love you if I'm going to walk all the way back down the hill for you." I mean, totally, I get it. Kids wanting to breath is so outrageous.

B. If you don't shut the fuck up, I'm going to wipe the floor with your face.

Yes, B makes so much more sense because really, who would name their kid Frittata? And more importantly, who has the patience to chuckle softly like a good-natured person? Sometimes, you lie to maintain the peace among a pack of women. Most often, you lie to avoid a jail sentence.

I'm feeling brave. I'm telling the truth all week. I do, however, reserve the right to remain silent.

Do you ever fib to maintain the peace, or are you more of the "whole truth and nothing but the truth" type? What's the funniest or most outrageous lie you've ever told?

P.S. I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles this Thursday at 7:00 to do a reading of my essay "Liner Notes" from the book The Moment: Wild, Poignant, Life- Changing Stories from 125 Writers and Artists Famous and Obscure. I'd love to see you and fist bump it out.

image via blueq.com

Monday Dare: How do you like them apples?

2012-01-23T10:57:00.000-08:00

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: Happiness is not a zero-sum game.

Let's face facts: Sometimes, you have to ask yourself really hard questions about life like "Why aren't there more churro stands on the street corners of Los Angeles?" or "Would it look natural if I went blonde?"

I don't know the answers to these questions, but even if I did, I couldn't share them with you. Why? Because I like to have a competitive edge, and if any of these questions ever came up during a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit, I would win and you would not win, and well....that would make me happy. Not because you lost, but because I finally won a board game. One board game win- that's all I want in life. Ok, that, and more churros.

I once dated a man who was intensely competitive in every way. No one was exempt, including me. "What?? You only got 247 miles with your last tank of gas?? I got over 300! Maybe you're not a very efficient driver." or "I made over six figures last year. How much is that job at the dry cleaner paying you again?"

He was especially fond of situations when a Win for him meant a deep and painful Loss for someone else. I could see by the way his eyes lit up and the corners of his crusty lips settled into a little smile that this made him truly happy. He made me believe that happiness and success were zero-sum games- one person had to be in the negative for another to be in the positive.

I don't agree anymore. When you play by those standards, everything always ends up at zero. No one really gains anything in the end. Sure, maybe for a little while, you're ahead, but the scale can tip against you, and then you're on the end that's fucked.

Everyone is given a chance to be satisfied and fulfilled and happy without being cruel or malicious. It's a free ticket, I think, but one that needs to be put to use, or it becomes worthless.

I've been mindful about not only my own happiness these days, but also my practice in being happy for others. If I love you and good shit happens to you, then I am delighted and jumping up and down. Because there is more than enough goodness and happiness to go around.

Tell me something that's happened or you've accomplished that's made you jump for joy. Your kid finally sleeping through the night? A promotion? Kicked an illness? Met the love of your life? I want to be happy with you.
image via pinterest

Monday Dare: (T)hug Life

2012-01-16T10:45:00.000-08:00

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: Come at me. Let's hug this shit out.

I don't really like it when people touch me. Maybe if you buy me dinner and drinks first, then I'd be okay with it. Or if you give me money. Nevermind that this description has many uncanny similarities to the oldest profession in the world. Let's move right along.

The other day, I decided to do a few things I don't normally do. I did my hair. I put on some chapstick. And I left the house. I mean, yes, I leave my house all the time because laundry detergent and Baked Lays Potato Chips don't buy themselves, but I rarely go out at night in Los Angeles because I save all my Going Out Time to visit my two best friends who don't live in California. (Side note: I really love you bitches, but somebody is going to have to move real soon, and it's not going to be me.)

After watching a string of filthy-mouthed comedians who made me blush and laugh at the same time, I made my way to the afterparty. Ah, afterparties. Nothing good ever happens at those, so if you go to one, you're tacitly consenting to a.) getting shitfaced, b.) talking shit, or c.) all of the above.

I ran into a new friend. We hugged. It was nice. I didn't have to do that awkward pyramid hug where I keep my feet firmly planted two feet away and just our shoulders touch. You know what I'm talking about, yes? She didn't try to run her hand up and down my back. She didn't try to air kiss both my cheeks. I left the scene unscathed.

Then I ran into an old friend. One I hadn't seen in years. He approached with his arms spread loud and proud, and before I had a chance to run away, we were making full body contact. The kind where our nether regions briefly say "hello" and "how the hell are ya" to each other before parting ways. And then he patted my head. Tell me, friends, do I look like a dog? I was stunned into silence which made my friend feel awkward, and he walked away with a look that suspiciously resembled "that bitch be trippin."

I think a little body wiggle action amongst good friends is great. If I've had a particularly bad day, a solid hug from someone I love is just what I need, but I'm always awkward about doing something so intimate with people I've just met. A lot of times, it comes across as aloof or self-righteous. I don't mean it that way... I'm just really fucking awkward, that's all.

What are your personal space boundaries? Any awkward moments?

Monday Dare: 1/10/02

2012-01-09T11:48:00.000-08:00

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: Keep moving forward.

At the age of 21, I made two decisions that profoundly impacted my life. One, I committed to stop living on welfare. And two, I decided to move to California.

I saved enough money for two airplane tickets by pushing fancy lotions and sprays at Crabtree & Evelyn. Since proper luggage would eat up most of the $300 I had left, I bought two plastic tubs at Target, crammed them full of clothing and blankets, and wrapped them securely with bungee cords. BAM. Homettes gittin' creative.

When we arrived in Los Angeles, I used one tub as a desk, and Cal used the other as a makeshift playhouse. Please don't give me shit about letting my kid play in a plastic tub. I removed the lid, laid it on its side, and used a Sharpie to draw two windows and a door. Oh, and a sun. I think *that* gave it a little "something extra." BAM. Homettes gittin' creative.

We had no couch, no real bed, and no dining table. Just a pile of blankets we unfolded every night as our bed, my makeshift desk, and a breakfast tray I pulled out for meals.

The first piece of furniture I proudly purchased was a small dresser from IKEA. I didn't own any tools, so I used the handle of a hairbrush as a hammer and a nail file as my screwdriver. BAM. Homettes gittin' creative.

Lacking marketable skills, my two employment opportunities came down to selling more lotions and potions at a local beauty emporium for minimum wage or stripping. I chose the former option, but I would be lying to you if I didn't admit that I gave the second option some serious thought.

At each turn, I thought to myself, "This just isn't the right time. I should be better prepared. I'll wait. I'll wait." I wanted to wait to get off welfare. I wanted to wait to move to California. But I didn't. Instead, I just kept pushing forward. And I'm glad I did. During a few especially rough weeks, I thought about applying for public assistance again. Once, I got as far as locating a welfare office and gathering all the necessary documents to apply. In the end, I decided I'd rather be hungry and independent, than slightly less hungry and dependent.

Tomorrow is the 10-year anniversary of my move to Los Angeles. This city has loved me and hated me and coddled me and pushed me the fuck around. I'm using this week to reassess, prioritize, and keep moving forward.

What I realize now is that there is never a perfect time, never a "right" time to do anything. You just have to keep moving forward. It can be incredibly scary at times, because the trail you blaze for yourself is often dimly lit and full of things that go bump in the night. Sometimes, you get to where you think you wanted to go and fuck shit damn, it's not where you wanted to be. That's okay. Keep moving forward.

What's the biggest risk you've taken?

P.S. THANK YOU SO MUCH for all of the kind words on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page during The Moment Giveaway. Christopher Fan, Carla Smith Pearson, and Kristine Kastner Santiago, please email me at flourishinprogress at gmail dot com with your mailing address.
image via pinterest

(Giveaway) Y'all, I'm in a book

2012-01-05T09:42:00.000-08:00

I wish we all lived closer together. Not in a commune-type situation, but within a fairly small radius so that when one of us has extremely good news, we could call each other up and meet at the nearest Cracker Barrel for some celebratory ham. I like ham.

I've been looking forward to seeing my essay, "Liner Notes," in The Moment: Wild, Poignant, Life-Changing Stories from 125 Writers and Artists Famous and Obscure. I received an advance copy last week and flipped it open to find the most amazing collection of authors including:

Pulitzer Prize-winning author Jennifer Egan
Pulitzer Prize finalist Dave Eggers
New York Times bestselling authors Elizabeth Gilbert, AJ Jacobs, and Gregory Maguire
Singer/ Songwriter Melissa Etheridge

The Moment hit booksellers two days ago. It's already been featured on NPR and in the New York Times.

This would have been the perfect opportunity for us to get together and eat some ham, yes? We could be that gang that rolls deep. I'm not sure exactly what that means, or if I'm using it correctly, but damn, doesn't it just sound good?

Instead of a big celebration at Cracker Barrel, I've giving away THREE copies of the book.

Just leave a comment under the post titled "The Moment Giveaway" on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page, and I'll choose three people randomly next Monday.

THIS GIVEAWAY IS BEING DONE ENTIRELY ON FACEBOOK. COMMENTS ON THIS POST ARE CLOSED.
image via knockknock.biz

Monday Dare: Check yourself before you wreck yourself

2012-01-02T11:03:00.000-08:00

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: Stop. Reverse.

I only made one New Year's Resolution. I promised myself that whatever happened, I would stay out of jail. I shared this at the dinner table last night, and no one seemed very impressed. In haste, I added another resolution: I promised not to die this year.

That didn't seem to strike reverence in anyone either, so I just gave up. Because really, if you're going to do hard things like not be incarcerated and stay breathing for a whole fucking year and no one gives you a pat on the back, then you should just stop trying to impress the crowd.

To show up these hard-ass people I call my family, I've decided to add a third rule just for kicks:

Remember that I always have a choice.

Sounds simple, yes? Sure, to normal people, this might have occurred to them somewhere between the ages of 5 and 6, but this was earth-shattering news to me when I heard it a while back.

I was stuffing my face with chocolate cake from Kentucky Fried Chicken that I got for the extraordinarily low price of only $2.99. A whole goddamn chocolate cake for $2.99, y'all! As I was helping myself to a third generous slice, I said to my friend, Kate, that this seemed wrong somehow. Wouldn't the ingredients alone cost $2.99? Could they have replaced the premium flour with really low-grade crack cocaine that didn't pass the drug dealer's quality check inspection? She said simply:

You can stop now. You always have a choice.

Was this girl crazy? A whole goddamn chocolate cake for $2.99! I must eat it! I must fi...ni...sh......

Coming out of my unfortunate sugar coma, I found Kate standing next to me, about to pin a homemade sign to my shirt. She had painstakingly written it backwards so that when I looked in the mirror, I could read it with ease:

Stop being stupid. You always have a choice.

She wasn't just talking about the cake. (Did I mention that it only cost $2.99?) I am all about bad decisions. Man who lies about having kids? Yes, I'll date you! Move into a home with a cockroach infestation? Sure! As long as rent's cheap! Apply for a job that requires hand-eye coordination? Fuck yeah, I don't mind losing a limb! People who have known me for a long time accuse me of making poor choices just to punish myself. These friends may not be wrong.

This week, and every week for the rest of the year, I'll remind myself of this one very important thing. And friends- I don't dare give you advice, seeing as how I'm a very underdeveloped person myself, but please, please remember that you always have a choice. You aren't bound by the decisions you've made in the past. And if you ever come to a crossroads and you need a listening ear, drop me a line. Whatever advice I give you, just do the exact opposite.

What's the best advice a friend has ever given you?
Stupid decisions you've overcome?

P.S. We would all do well to remember this:

P.P.S. Want to add a little funny to your day? "Like" the Flourish in Progress Facebook page.
first image from Beth Dobbs' Barbie Murders series

Monday Dare: Are we just friends because of my money?

2011-12-26T11:34:00.000-08:00

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: Win the lottery.

I don't want to dump a shitload of shocking information on you during the holidays, but I think we know each other well enough for me to divulge difficult things from time to time.

I've never won the lottery.

Hold me.

For several years as a kid, I forced my parents to order magazines from the Publishers Clearing House. I just knew I was going to be one of the lucky few featured on those commercials. You know the one: flashy van, big cardboard check, cheap helium balloons, and lots of screaming. Since I wasn't yet the legal age to win, I asked my mom to be the frontman for the operation, and in return, I would cut her in on 15% of the winnings.

"It's always a good idea to get in on the ground floor," I told her repeatedly. Her English was shaky at best, so she didn't really understand me. If we're being honest, I didn't really understand what I was saying either, but it sounded good. Besides, who the fuck cared if I made any sense? I was going to be rich.

Each year, my mom ordered one or two magazine subscriptions. I had a system; I never ordered the popular magazines. Only the especially obscure ones would do. I felt that it gave me a certain edge over the sad fools who ordered their Sports Illustrated or Good Housekeeping.

I just knew that my orders for Africa Birds & Birding and KitPlanes would catch the eye of the right person at the Clearing House, and they would think, "Yes, this person here really deserves a million dollars a year for the rest of her life. Let's go and change her world."

They say the best revenge is living well. Personally, I think the best revenge is living well and knowing the inner workings of homebuilt aviation, courtesy of my two-year subscription to KitPlanes. Oh hell yes, you want a piece of this??

I entered the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes today. I find out on February 29th if I'm a winner. My thinking is that yes, I have this one in the bag. Just to be safe, I will also purchase a lottery ticket from the corner market. AND, I will also give Cal additional homework to do during winter break. That way, if nothing pans out, she has a fighting chance at securing a good job. I will just mooch off of her hard work for the rest of my life.

I plan to use my winnings wisely. I asked Harv to track down the complete set of Garbage Pail Kids trading cards as a Christmas gift. Guess what wasn't under the tree yesterday?

What would you buy if you won the lottery today?
image via blueq.com

Monday Dare: Do not disturb. Busy doing nothing.

2011-12-19T13:15:00.000-08:00

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: Do jack shit.

Sometimes, I like to wake up in the morning and treat myself to this thought: How can I get through this day doing as little work as possible?

For at least three solid minutes, I just lie in bed, imagining what it would be like to not get out of bed except to open the door for the buffalo wings delivery man. I would eat the whole order in bed with a gallon of Coke and those frosted animal cookies with the little round sprinkles.

I would spend the day watching a marathon of Locked Up Abroad, picking stray round sprinkles from my pajamas and popping them in my mouth. People would call and ask what I was doing. Everyone would get the same answer: "Oh, you know, just working, working, working." I would ding a little bell I keep handy next to my bed and say, "That's the darn laundry machine. I have to go put the load in the dryer now," hang up, and go back to doing nothing.

Then, when I hear footsteps outside the bedroom, I would close my eyes and start snoring (softly, I think it's more realistic that way). If Cal or Harv call out, "Hello, hello, are you awake?" I would stir just a little and make a slight grimace. They would feel bad for disturbing my much-needed break and walk away, a little dejected and a little guilt-ridden.

Since I'm super clumsy, I might knock over my gallon of Coke and drench my super festive Target pajamas. After staring at it for a long second, I'd shout, "FUCK. SHIT. DAMN." Instead of getting out of bed, I would most likely just strip off my pillow cover and stuff it under by shirt and pants- kind of like a baby bib, but better because it would be underneath my clothes and not stupid-looking like all those baby ones that have sayings like "I only cry when ugly people hold me" and "If you think I'm cute, you should see my uncle!"

This has never happened. Yet.

The holidays always leave me frazzled. So instead of buying myself something really fabulous this year, wrapping it up, and putting it under the tree with a tag that reads "From a secret admirer," I'm going to give myself the gift of Doing Jack Shit. If I could package and sell it, I bet I would be a megajillionaire.

Happy Holidays to me.

What are you folks doing for the holidays? If you had a day to do whatever you wanted, what would you do?

You. Me. Facebook. Let's make it happen.
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image via pinterest

Go Shorty, it's your birthday.

2011-12-14T17:39:00.000-08:00

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.

Love,
Mom

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