When I was young, I was taught to treat others as you would want to be treated. Some call it Karma. Some call it the Golden Rule. Some just believe it to be righteous living. Whatever it was I became. I’ve given away nail polish to perfect strangers, clothes and accessories to friends that simply complimented or mentioned an appreciation for an item I was wearing at the time. Money to family and friends. Time. You name it, I’ve given it. However, I’ve only recently become someone that was able to receive. I’ve always shied away from compliments or offset them with a mention of some flaw. I’ve refused money for things I know I needed at the time. I’ve refused help and assistance in many forms. It wasn’t until recently I realized through all of my generosity, I have, in someways also refused to be loved as the woman God created me to be. I’ve always been capable of loving others but I’ve always had a problem with truly allowing them to love me back. Through very persistent friends and family members that refuse to take my “no” as their final answer, I’ve learned that it’s also okay to receive. It refuels. I treplenished. It rejuvenates and all of that is OK. No one has ever gotten very far on an empty tank.
Good Morning Bookers! I’ve lived a pretty fragile life beginning at a very young age. Through that I became extremely independent. Almost to a fault. In growing older and wiser, my hardest lesson has been learning that it’s okay to ask. Ask for anything. Anything you want. Anything you need. Clarity. Support. Fantasies. Desires. Favors. Help. Money. Prayer. WHATEVER! If you never ask you’ll never know whether or not you will receive. AND the most important part is you take away God’s opportunity to bless you AND allow someone else of HIS CHOOSING to be a blessing to you.
What’s real sexy is to be approached by a guy with bloodshot eyes, standing in front of any random corner/liquor store, wreaking of alcohol and looking like a professional liquor connoisseur and water conservationist. And whew, please don’t yell “Hey, You a fine tall sexy stallion!” That’s really makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside (NOT). My mama told me not to talk to strangers when I was a child. However, I was once scolded by an associate of mine when I explained that under no circumstances do I feel obligated to even whisper a simple “Hello” to strange men on the street. He disagreed and considered that behavior to be rude. Well, call me Helen Keller ‘cause I hear no evil, see no evil.
Between the vagabonds walking around mopped headed with baggy skinny fit jeans and women getting kidnapped, raped, chopped and screwed like there’s no heaven or hell, I think I’ll take my chances being rude.
But you tell me. Are salutations deemed necessary regardless of the situation? Step up to the mic. What’s the What?
Ole School 80’s Crazy: Our first date was enjoyable. Karaoke and laughs over a decent meal. It’s birthday time for me and my girls and I celebrate all month. Well, Mr. Ole School 80’s Crazy is growing impatient and is asking why I haven’t shared any birthday celebration festivities with him. It’s NBA Championship time so I suggest we watch one of the games together tomorrow (which would have been Sunday). Sunday morning, Mr. Ole School 80’s Crazy calls and informs me that he’s at the Wharf buying seafood. (Passing Thought: That sounds good. I hope he’s not planning to invite me over his house. It’s too soon for all of that.) He explains some story about going over somebody’s house to prepare it or something. I’m now realizing that I found it often difficult to follow his style of conversation. Sometime before we got off the phone we agreed to meet at about 7-8PM at the same Sports Bar we’d originally met in. Earlier during our courtship Mr. Ole School 80’s Crazy had asked where I lived. I gave him the same general answer I give everyone. River Terrace. Anyone from this city knows exactly where that is. Around 7ish, Mr. Ole School 80’s Crazy calls and asks me for my address.
SSSSSCCCCCRREEEAAAAACCCCHHHH. Ummmm, that would be a NO SIR. Anyway, we finally agreed to meet at a mutual location. Well I get there and Mr. Ole School 80’s Crazy politely asks the waiter to bring him a carry out tray upon our arrival and seating. Wait a minute. We haven’t even ordered drinks. Why do you need a carry out tray. Well, ladies and gentlemen. He had decided to bring his very own seafood including Steamed Alaskan Crab Legs and Spiced Shrimp into the sports bar we had chosen to go to to watch the game. Ummmmmm, yea, so I really don’t think this is going to work out and I exit stage-right.
1st date. Summer day. We’re on our way to the movies. I think we were going to see Spider Man III. My date asks “Do you feel like riding to the mall with me?”. Apparently he had a few small items that didn’t fit that he wanted to return. I’m going with the flow and not in any particular rush. Besides, what women turns down a trip to the mall as part of their date. I say “Sure. Why not!”. We arrive at Tyson’s Corner Galleria and he proceeds to the store that he needs to make his return. Later I realized he either kept a few of these so-called returnables or exchanged them for something else because he still had the bag. We exit the first store and casually begin looking around in a few more stores. I peeked into one store to admire a blouse that I had actually seen earlier in the week at a mall closer to my house. I asked his general opinion. He wasn’t a fan of the blouse and I really wasn’t 100% sold on it either so I placed it back on the rack. I proceed to head up towards the cash register area where the accessories are located to see if there was anything of interest in that area as he remained generally in the front entrance area of the store. After deciding there was nothing for me, we exited the store. Shortly after exiting the store, he realized his shoe was untied and and asked me to take the bag he had. I unknowingly took the bag, patiently waited for him to finish his small detail and we kept prancing through the mall quite happily at first. He suddenly informs me that there is something in the bag (which I am now holding for me). “Awe how sweet” is my initial thought. But wait a minute, there wouldn’t have been anything of interest for me in the first store where he initially made his return except all-weather boots. I don’t recall him asking me what size shoe I wore and this bag isn’t heavy enough to contain a pair of boots. My curiosity alone pulled my line of vision through a slight scan across the top of the bag. Low and behold its the blouse from the store I peeked in. Wait a minute, I know I put that blouse back on the rack. As a matter of fact, I distinctly remember him saying it had too many ruffles when I asked for his feedback. AND, I (not him) went up to the front of the store to stifle through their accessories. I don’t remember ever seeing him up by the cash register. Hold up. I know this M*F*K*R did not just shop lift this blouse on our first date. No. I have to be lunching. I mention to him that I didn’t recall him going up to the cash register. He insists that he did. I know I’m not crazy. I’m immediately cold and distant and why the F* am I still holding this bag. I handed him the bag and proceeded to the car. I wanted to call someone to come get me, but I’m generally an honest person and there was absolutely no way I (the always so smart person that everyone always comes to for advice) could ever explain this to anyone, friend, family or foe. I get back into the car with this date and we proceed back to the city. At this point, I guess he thought we were on our way to the movies in China Town. The minute he reached the traffic light at 7th & H, I politely unlocked the door and got out of the car. This jerk had the nerve to ask me if I was going to take the blouse. I told him he could keep it and said goodbye. I decided to go ahead and catch a movie alone since I was there already and caught the subway home. He still continued to call and I still continued to ignore the calls. Needless to say we never spoke again after that.
Okay people. I need to know. Should the financial foes be kept under wraps until the fancy ferry is fitted or are you entitled to know just how rational your mate is when it comes to spending money way before you ever start talking marriage?
If yes, how soon?
If not, why not?
What’s the What?