12.12.11

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

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

Every week, I challenge myself to a Monday Dare. You can click on the link if you’d like to see the full list of Monday Dares or learn more about its origin.

This week: Be happy. Keep it real. Fuck the fuckers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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December 12, 2011
11.21.11

Monday Dare: Let’s be friends. I pay top dollar.

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: Friends. A whole group of them.

IN MY DEFENSE, I DIDN’T KNOW THEY WERE GOING TO BE SO TERRITORIAL.

Now that you know my stance on the incident (which is widely regarded as the truth…according to pretty much only me), I feel comfortable telling you the rest.

Whenever Harv, Cal, and I eat at Buffalo Wild Wings, I use that time to practice being a high roller. Would I like an appetizer? Bring it. Would I like a veggie boat for an additional charge? Bring it. Would I like a refill on my soda? Bring it. Oh, it’s a free refill? Gimme another veggie boat then. ‘Cuz that’s just how I roll. 

When I’m not pretending to be a high roller, I like to look around. Sometimes, I like to eavesdrop on conversations. I’ve turned around a couple of times to add my own wisdom to a conversation, but no one has appreciated my input. Yet.

As I scanned the bar area the other day, my gaze landed on a group of friends. At least fifteen people were crammed around three very small tables, looking very happy to be together. The kind of group with an inside joke. The kind of group that has survived a few cockamamie stunts. The kind of group where each person knows everyone else’s quirks and loves them so fucking hard anyway.

I wanted to be a part of that group.

I’ve moved twenty times in thirty years, so most of my buddies live out of state. I miss them. The few friends I have in town are precious to me.

After a few margaritas, I came up with a genius idea. If I couldn’t have a big group of friends in real life, I was just going to pose next to them and ask Harv to take a picture. Then, I could use it as one of our Christmas card photos with the caption: “These are my friends. I am very popular. Please do not ask me to name names. They are private people.”

Harv tried to dissuade me, and by “dissuade” I really mean that he rolled his eyes and refused to play any part in my “pathetic” (his word choice, not mine) plan.

So I walked over, camera phone in hand, and took a few shots myself. I tried not to get TOO close to the group, but I also didn’t want to make it obvious that I was a stranger, so I inched closer and closer until I accidentally bumped “Virgil” (he looked like a Virgil to me). This of course caught the attention of the whole group, and then they were all “Hey, what are you doing?”

I ran.

It didn’t turn out the way I hoped, but I’m still fairly certain that a large group of people somewhere would be willing to let me hang out with them. If I paid them a shitload of money. And maybe drugs. Well, maybe not the drugs because then I would have druggie friends, and that might be a dark spiral of doom. <—See? This is why I can’t have friends. Because they haven’t even said “yes” to me being a part of the group, and I’ve already accused them of being drug users and labeled them as doom-y.

Do you have a group? How did y’all meet? I need ideas.
Is your group taking applications?
image via pinterest

November 21, 2011