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
05.21.12

Monday Dare: Ugh Life

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

May 21, 2012