04.23.12

Monday Dare: To the person who stole my Taco Bell Gordita Savings Fund

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?

12/30/12 Update: BUMMER. It looks like all comments still haven’t transferred over from the recent Blogger to WordPress migration. Don’t worry, guys. I got this.

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

April 23, 2012
04.02.12

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

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.

April 2, 2012