Archives for March 2011

03.31.11

vacay, y’all

I’m leaving for a few days to reconnect with family, friends, and food. I plan to stuff myself until it’s fairly certain that I’m going to explode. Maybe I’ll come back home all lopsided and shit from the sudden and dramatic increase in calories. One can only hope.

Tomorrow is the seven-month mark of The Project. Thanks for joining me and supporting me and threatening to cut my hand off that one time at Target when I couldn’t put the Serenity for the Soul CD back on the rack. Oh wait, that was just one of you, but thanks anyway.

A look back:

i learn to let go.

monday dare: the number you have dialed…

i consider forming a support group for people with small bladders.

monday dare: f.u.c.k.

i give up swearing. kind of.

monday dare: obviously, i hate myself.

i learn to follow directions. sort of.

monday dare: spork-tastic
image via blueq.com
March 31, 2011
03.28.11

Monday Dare: i think that stripper really likes me

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: Stop giving advice. Just the unsolicited kind. No, wait, all kinds. 

I broke a dear friend’s heart over the weekend. I’m not proud. I wish I had kept my mouth shut.

Me: Did you have a good time in Vegas?

“Bob”: It was off the chain. I met a stripper. I think she really likes me.

Me: The stripper? Did she say that while she was on the clock?

“Bob”: Yeah, but she says I’m different from the other guys. Her name is Cinnamon. She had to take my number because she doesn’t believe in phones, so she’s going to borrow someone else’s to call me.

Me: Who the fuck doesn’t have a phone these days? Did you give her an extra big tip?

“Bob”: Yeah, but I think she really likes me. Wait, do you think she….nah, nah, she said she really….I could tell by the way she….oh.

“Bob’s” face fell and he spent the rest of the night on our couch with his head tilted back, eyes closed, heaving an occasional sigh.

It became apparent with each new sigh that before our needlessly cruel conversation, he’d already imagined picking out his rent-a-tux at the local Men’s Wearhouse.

I tried to apologize and backtrack. I gently punched him on the shoulder and said that I was just jaded and bitter because none of the strippers I had ever met had called me. I asked about Cinnamon’s interests and life goals.

“Bob” told me that she wasn’t a professional stripper. Instead, she was working her way through medical school. Which was weird, he said, because the last three strippers he met were also working their way through some kind of graduate program. “Bob” then deduced that strippers, in general, must be a very educated bunch.  He admired their astute financial  sensibilities for working their way through school rather than incurring any debt.

I didn’t say anything.

Ever given advice instead of holding your tongue? Ever held your tongue instead of giving advice?
image via frankticmeerkat shop @ etsy.com

March 28, 2011