Monday Dare: I’m starting a gang

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: It’s your turn.

My life hasn’t really turned out the way I envisioned it would. When I was 12, I spent countless hours by myself in my room, door locked, window shades drawn, practicing dance routines I concocted with my tiny little brain. My masterpiece was a one-woman dance and mime show I would perform in time to Snoop Dogg’s Gin and Juice.

I envisioned my grown-up life having lots of friends and throwing barbecues on the weekend. At those barbecues, I imagined everyone would gather in the backyard in a semi-circle formation as I performed these dance and mime routines that I had secretly been practicing since the age of 12. They would whistle and clap and come up afterwards to give me high fives. Someone might even know someone who knew someone who could get me gigs on street corners where I could work for dollar tips.

None of this has happened yet. YET. They say real art comes from talent. I disagree. Real art also comes after 18 years of practicing a dance routine in secret.

This happens a lot- setting goals and imagining the future one way, and then arriving at the “now” and discovering it looks completely different.  Like today. I have precisely one month left on The Project. This year hasn’t turned out the way I thought it would.

Actually, I’m not even sure what I was expecting, but The Project and my Monday Dares have made these last 11 months pretty dope. Mostly, it’s your support and your love and your fucking hilarious feedback that keeps me going. 

So, I’m asking you- For this last month, I’d love for you to embark on your own Project. It can be anything. Forrealz. ANYTHING. Maybe you want to cut down your chewing gum habit to two sticks a day. Maybe you want to learn something new. Maybe you want to quit a vice. Maybe you want to  watch every episode of Three’s Company.

The added bonus of starting your own Project? Since we’re all doing this together, it makes us part of a group…a gang if you will. So if anyone asks what you did today, you can say you joined a gang. You’re welcome. 

So, what’s YOUR Project? And if you’re not ready to embark on your own Project, no pressure. What are you considering?

P.S. Know someone who might like to be in a gang? Please forward this on. You can also tweet or Facebook share it by clicking the buttons below. Let’s roll deep, yo. UPDATE: I have just been told this is called Recruitment.
image via ilovecharts.tumblr.com

I didn’t catch on fire. Sorry to disappoint you.

I’m a little distracted today. I was just notified by a Miss Rita from Cote d’Ivoire that I may be entitled to 10.5 million dollars. Five minutes before that, a Mr. Malik dropped me a casual email informing me that I am the lucky winner of 900,000 euros in the Italian lottery. All I have to do is reply with my name, address, occupation, age, blood type, bank account numbers, mother’s maiden name, and childhood pet’s name.

Are we still cool? Does it change anything between us now that I’m super fucking rich?
If you need to step away for a minute to beat your chest and ask the universe why these amazing things can’t happen to you, I understand. Come back though. I need to talk to you about car safety.
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A while back, my good friend Bertie offered to take me to lunch. What you should know about Bertie is that he is a very suave, very stylin’ dude. When he came to pick me up for lunch, he was wearing a white track suit, white sneakers, and driving a superfine white convertible. Bertie may be the only person on this planet who can pull this look off. It doesn’t matter that he paid me five dollars to write that; just know that I really believe it.On our way home from lunch, we were enjoying the California sun with the top down when we noticed a burning smell. We both agreed that the nearby factories really needed to watch their pollution because it was stinking up the air.

Then, his car started losing power. I suspected he was running low on fuel. Nope, he still had half a tank left. Passing cars slowed down and pointed to our car. Maybe we had a flat tire. Geez, that would really make Bertie mad. I hope it’s not a flat. 

I leaned over the side to see if any of the tires on my side needed air. There were flames shooting from the side intake scoops, but the tires were just fine. I, of course, opened with the good news about his tires before moving on to the bad news.

Bertie, I think your car is on fire. 

We ran from the burning car after maneuvering it to the side of the freeway. Sadly, Bertie’s white track suit sustained noticeable smoke damage.

The cause? A cigarette that had been carelessly flicked out of a moving car got sucked into his side intake grill and sparked an engine fire.

Life lessons I learned that day? Don’t smoke. But more importantly, don’t wear white track suits.

Mishaps on the road? Car troubles? Do share.
image via blueq.com