Monday Dare: If you can’t spot the sucker…

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 at poker. Again. 

When Harv asks a question, I usually have an answer. Sure, those questions sometime require extra explanation, like when he asked why there was perfume under our bed, and I rolled my eyes because, obviously, I put it there for protection against burglars. I then had to spend thirteen long minutes convincing him that perfume is equally as jarring as pepper spray when it gets in the eyes. Plus, I think it adds an element of class during a robbery.

Sadly, I’ve come across a few unanswerable questions in the past week:

  • How does it feel to have your ass handed to you by an eleven-year-old?
  • You want me to write out a chart of what hand beats what…again?

And perhaps the most puzzling:

  • Don’t you think your money would last longer if you balled up your dollar bills and threw them in the garbage can one by one?

I should really be packing my bags and running away from home instead of writing this because I now owe Harv and Cal something like seven million dollars. There’s been a lot of tension in our home lately. You know what comes between an eleven-year-old and the love she has for her mother? Gambling debt.

How did this happen? I watched Rounders FIVE TIMES.

I’ve enlisted the help of some professionals. I’ll be practicing on the down low all week long. I plan to casually challenge these coldhearted people I call my family to a friendly game this Sunday. These mofos don’t know how gangsta it’s about to get up in here.

Despite the best intentions and a lot of practice, has there been anything you’ve never quite gotten the hang of?
Are you a poker player? Any hints, tips, tricks?

image via blueq.com

Monday Dare: I offended a granny. Again.

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 swearing. Again. 

It’s fucking time. Goddamn.

Last year, I challenged myself to stop swearing. It led to drugs.

Since then, I’ve been able to convince myself that my swearing isn’t a fucking problem. All was well in my state of denial until I went to the damn grocery store yesterday.

As I was picking out bell peppers, a lovely granny tapped me on the shoulder and asked for help selecting two cucumbers. They always place those bitches on the top shelf of the refrigerated case at my local store.

We exchanged names. We made small talk. I learned that Jan recently broke three of her motherfucking toes while watching her seven grandchildren during the long Labor Day weekend. Her two sons and their wives were in Cancun. She broke her toes on Day Two of the four-day trip. Like a badass, she went to the doctor, got her toes X-rayed and taped, and kept right on watchin’ those kids. I think Jan may be a fucking saint.

After I reached up and got the cucumbers, Jan asked how much they were. She left her glasses at home and couldn’t see the sign. Broken toes AND blind. She was a hot mess. I liked her.

Me: Holy shit, these assholes are $1.99….EACH!!

Jan: Excuse me, young lady, what did you say?

Me: These bitches cost $1.99! They must have crack in ’em.

Jan walked away, leaving me with two very expensive cucumbers possibly laced with drugs or diamond dust. Yeah, shit got real.

I thought she decided against the vegetables because they were so spendy, but Harv says it was because my unladylike language offended Jan. Of course, my natural response was to claim that there was “nothing un-fucking-ladylike about me, motherfucker.”

I have carpool duty this Wednesday. This is probably a very timely Monday Dare. I care about young people a shitload, and I’m going to do my best not to fuck them up with my damn swearing.

P.S. Thank you for letting me get it out of my system right now.

Ever caught yourself swearing at an inopportune time?
image via pinterest