32: 100 Things To Do Before You’re Not Executed In 2018



Smell the roses.

Consider how underwhelmed you are by the smell of roses.

Write a think piece about how and why jasmine is a far superior smelling flower and this colloquialism needs to change.


Wallow in self pity over warmly supportive but dismissive rejection letter of think piece by one of your favorite publications.


Google search “Jasmine better than roses”.

Tell yourself this was a truly original think piece with far reaching metaphorical value and reflection on our rapidly shifting cultural values.

Bang head against computer.

Bang head against computer again to close laptop.

Call an Uber.


Cancel Uber because of sudden anxiety over reports of sexism in its workplace and also that one time all the cab drivers went on strike at the airports to say “fuck you” to the president but then Uber started taking rides earlier than the cab drivers, essentially fucking them harder than they already were.

Sigh deeply.

Call another Uber because you remember you don’t have Lyft downloaded on your phone yet, and also you remember when Lyft reps peddled their “ONE FREE RIDE” coupons during the Women’s March, which you were also a part of in an effort to say “fuck you” to the president and not to get a free ride.

Get in the Uber.

Report Uber cars that don’t have seat belts available.

Report Uber drivers that hit on you.

Get out at library and pick up books on flowers and how to be a better writer.

Take the bus home.

Pull the cord three stops before intended your stop.
Try not to physically react to the smell of the man in the seat by the back door.

Exit quickly.

Enter the YMCA.

Take a tour of the facilities.

Stare too long at the boy in the weight room who has a face like a rock but bedazzled with red acne stars, who is sweating, grunting, pulling nylon from between his butt crack.

Wonder at what age women can get away with staring at teenagers with, not lust exactly, but wonderment that the men or women we now love once were held in shapes like that, wrapped in skin that smooth.

Realize there’s probably no age specific cutoff for women in that regard–the one area where we can say there is no timeline, because older women’s sexuality is more of a punchline than a worrisome potential-ruiner-of-society-or-at-least-her-marriage-prospects.

Try to forget the heat that rises to your temples when you think about that.

In trying to forget, remember the year you paid for a whole year of membership to a boxing club.


You really did that didn’t you? This year, let’s face confrontation–even confrontation as simple as breaking a gym membership contract because you never actually use that gym–with grace and determination.

Just like you face that god damn treadmill.

Spend the rest of the tour regretting the $,1,000 you spent on, basically, two boxing classes. But who’s counting?

Stop counting.

Give one more quick look at the hot 17-year-old.

Ask for a pamphlet, say thanks and “I’ll be back!”

Leave. Throw pamphlet out in the trash at the end of the next block.

Call Planet Fitness and try to cancel your membership.

Allow yourself to bad for yourself for 20 minutes exactly.

Remember this low is where you can go one of two ways.

Go dark and spend two days staring at a wall.

Go light, a shade darker than bright, like amethyst mixed with emerald, and spend only 20 minutes staring at a wall.

Or, in this case, staring at a baseball diamond because you’re crying on a park bench.

Go home.

Eat some fruit.

Give thanks for fruit.

Give thanks for being within one block walking distance of even more fruit. All the fruit you could need!

Orange you glad I kept knocking? That joke works if you imagine it’s life at your front door.

Meditate. Pray. Cast a spell. Make a wish. It’s all the same thing.

Remember nuance.

Remember The Alamo.

Remember the ladies.

Remember how far you’ve come.

Remember Rome wasn’t built in a day–but a human life can be.

In fact a human life can be built in a second.

Or is it just a fetus?

Don’t get too into the weeds on that.

Do make a list of what you believe.

Make a list of what you want to find out.

And make a list of knowledge you’ll never know and are ready to let go of.

Plan to move to the city that makes your proverbial dick hard.

Or remember that you already did and make space to be proud of that.

Read your book about flowers.

Give thanks for flowers.

Give thanks for being within one block walking distance of even more flowers. All the flowers you could need!

Remember two plus two is always four.

Remember you can always call your sister.

Remember Judith slayed Holofernes.

Remember Beyonce slayed the Super Bowl.

Call back Planet Fitness since they didn’t answer the first time.

Leave a voicemail.

Go online and read that you can only cancel a membership by way of snail mail delivered by a tuxedo-wearing carrier pigeon or you can stop by your “home gym” and disappoint them in person.

Write a letter.

Text your grandpa.

Congratulate yourself on being so mother fucking productive.

Add “write letter to PF” and “text grandpa” to your to do list.

Cross those items off your to do list immediately.

Alphabetize the spice rack but leave the fridge a mess.

Remember it’s all about balance.

Don’t get too into the weeds on that.

Learn that roses require extra care to prevent weeds from growing around them.

Analyze why you hate roses right now, beyond that rejection letter.

Recognize you kind of like weeds.

You think roses are too fussy.

Is it really that exquisite that a rose needs constant attention and care to be so beautiful?

Or is it exquisite that a weed can survive under almost any circumstance, in almost any environment?

Vow to never be a princess. They lose their shit over roses and get kidnapped in the process.

The taxpayers always pony up for the white horse that has to be ridden in to save her–unless she’s over 40 and fucking a buff peasant boy in sweaty nylon pantaloons.

Know all this but don’t lose sight of the fact that roses are really something else, despite all their silly nonsense.

Just not your preferred kind of “something else.”

Vow to stop and smell the roses.

Then give a knowing nod to the weeds.

Promise to party with the weeds.

Recognize you feel better.

Give thanks for feeling better.

Light your jasmine candle.

Meditate. Pray. Cast a spell. Make a wish. It’s all the same thing.

Snuggle under the covers.

Tell your journal you had a good day.

Believe it.


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