On my way to work I found a wallet. Jammed full of papers- could've been receipts, money or the perfect standup comedy routine; I didn't look inside to see. While standing there, wallet in hand I made the decision to hand it over to the authorities. As I was on the bus platform, those authorities were TTC officers. While walking back to the ticket booth, I saw a man running frantically past me, scouring the area, looking for something and looking hard. As he passed me I spoke up: "Excuse me? What are you looking for?" Catching himself he pulled me into focus and realized I was holding a man's wallet. A smile crossed his face and a sigh escaped his lips: "That! I am looking for that." Now, I have no way of knowing if it was actually his wallet- but the odds are in his favour.
Growing up I heard many great stories about being a good Samaritan. Three travelers on the highway, the Mermaid and the Woodcutter and Red Rose and Snow White. Each one rewarded for their generous quality of spirit, though not always financially. Generosity and kindness aren't things that can be quantified, though it would be nice to be known as the best Good Samaritan. But no matter how much effort I put into being one, there's always someone better at it than me. Now, I know it's not a competition for goodness but nobody likes winning a scruffy bronze at the Samaritan games.
As for that man and his lost wallet, I gave it to him and he began running frantically back towards the bus he thought he was sure to miss. With barely a thank you, I was left standing empty handed on the platform. As important as finding his wallet was to him, he forgot that I was honest enough to give it back, unopened and safe. Leaving me to wonder if being a good person was my reward, or if the universe would make a deposit into my Karma account. I am hoping it's option 2; cuz I could really use a low interest Karmortgage.
When I first brought my would-be-Hubby home; Papa B pulled him aside and asked: 'Are you getting used to doing things her way yet?' to which Hubby laughed... Little did he know. I am a tad/lot controlling. Not in a bad way; in a the shortest-distance-between-two-points it's my way or the highway -way. If there is a simple way of doing something I will find it. And if your doing something and ask me to help, I immediately take control of the whole project, even if I don't want to do it. Not a great feature in a partner/teammate/roommate/employee/wife or child. Of which I have been all.
I correct everyone. Hubby says I am not supposed to tell people when they're doing things 'wrong'. He goes on to say just because I am like my Papa B, doesn't mean I get to run things in this one dog-town. But I like things my way. For example, I go on bursts of cleaning. Sprees of cleanliness. Organizing everything, so that when I come home from a long day, I don't have to do anything domestically. That means I have to make sure it isn't a disaster before I leave. But Hubby knows by Thursday that the teeny pile of projects on my desk will become a heaping mound of laundry and mail, with a new book thrown in, a cluster of knick knacks and a comedy writing journal. A pile of my working titles and things I hope to have time for...eventually. My way is to sit in that pile for the week and absorb all the life from those things; taking it all in and loving every bit of it. His way is to throw all that laundry into the dirty clothes hamper and hide any evidence of work from our home. Then he promptly remarks on the amount of laundry there is.
My way can be a sloppy and disorganized mess. Taking me off my direct route. Do you ever wish you could take your own advice? As for Hubby, I think he pretends to do things my way so he can stay on the shortest path with the least resistance on the road to his carefree destination. Cuz no one should waste their lives fighting with a control freak over laundry.
When I woke up and stretched and let out a yawn
I couldn't remember where the week had gone
I thought maybe this week would take me all year
But the time went by fast and now that it's here.
'The weekend, the weekend' I cried out with joy
Time to spend with my Hubby and boy,
I am glad the weather is supposed to be nice
Because working all week I missed out on the ice
Tinklin' in my glass, while floating in gin
Rooftop patio please, you will soon find me in
Atop of the city with a view of CN
I love it so much, don't know where to begin.
Fingers are crossed for fun and for rest
A drink and goodbye for a gal who's the best
My uke wants to sing songs in sweet harmony
Jilly and Lucy; I'll rub their tummy
I know that the weekend will be fast and then gone
A pedi and snuggle and blog set for dawn
Monday will start with a boom and a bang
Before the sunrises I will work again
So hear me out weekend, I've been a good friend
I've worked really hard and this short weekend
I want you to listen and love me real good
The way only a summer weekend ever could
So prepare thyself weekend for fun and for mirth
Cause you know you're too short, I want all that you're worth
Thank you for hearing my pledge and my vow.
I would love you weekend, if you'd only start now!
I am drinking my own Kool-aid. While sitting on the sofa my Kitty swiftly and silently planted herself within arms reach; a sure sign that she wants some loving'. Upon realizing she was there, even though I didn't want to become involved in a furry-purry-festival, I recalled writing about being an affectionate Momma the day before. So, I held myself accountable and began a fur-affair. Uh oh! If I write it it comes true. I am holding myself to a higher standard. If I say I am going to do it in a blog post, it gets done. I am becoming the personality I created online.
There was a time not so long ago, I was filled with big dreams and they tumbled out of an even bigger mouth. But they just fell to the floor and lay there like dead leaves only to blown away by the hot air my big mouth kept huffing. With the fickle nature of any artist, I would start a project and then loose interest. But writing it down really does force you to be accountable. People are shocked by the amount I can write and how quickly. Is it all good? I'm no Stephen King, but I manage.
Having a great idea is one thing. Having a great idea actually become something, even if that something isn't very good, is better. Magic says 'You miss 100% of the baskets you don't shoot." Well, 100 is too many percent. I was tired of being unhappy- so I faked it. I pretended to be happy...and now I am. I am really, really happy actually. I feel more like myself than I ever have before. Not everything is perfect but Roddammit, it's a lot better. Learning to love something by working through the hate is the best training for life. Life will always be hard work, even the easy things can be a challenge. I never thought I could actually enjoy working this hard and not getting paid for it. But I also can't believe that I haven't been doing this longer.
My actions have started speaking for me. Even louder than my words if that's conceivable. Accountability and being true to one's word are great new character traits I have cultivated in myself. I am practicing what I preach! And I love everyday of this weird and wacky life I've chosen. The best thing is you can change the things you don't like about yourself, as long as you're able to let that Crazy-lazy-no good-all talk-Biatch-go! And I gave her the not-so-nice exit music and her digital walking papers. Optimism agrees with me, I think I'll have another half full glass of Kool-aid :)
PS: If these blogs actually come true I would like the following: 1. Book deal 2. International comedy tour 3. Secluded country house on a hill near a lake, surrounded by trees; the perfect place for writing 4- 9. Items to be added as BFF, Bro, Momma and Hubby submit their wants.
Ladies and Gentlemen, this story is a 3 part grade 5 nightmare. As you know I am a dramatic individual. I always have been. I probably always will be...Though I may mellow out in my old age, but genetically speaking I don't see that happening.
Part the First: Toilet Snakes
I grew up in a small town. Where most of the houses aren't built on sewer systems but utilize septic tanks. So, one day when I read in our local weekly free press filled with local events that a snake had found it's way into a septic tank and in it's search for air swam through the plumbing and coiled itself in the toilet bowl; waiting for an unsuspecting victim to answer the call of nature. Now at this time in my life urban legend and undisputed rumours we're as good as truth; especially if they were printed in the local gossip rag. It was years until I could go to the bathroom with the lights off. I mean, literally until Hubby sat me down and explained that a snake couldn't get into our condo building through the pipes and sewer system. And though I believe him, it seems extremely possible- especially since the sewers are open concept.
Part the second: Over-Reaction time
In grade 5 gym class our school didn't have dedicated change rooms, lockers or cubbies; so we changed in the washroom. Leaving our clothes there; unprotected from the grade 6 bullies, susceptible to all types of shenanigans. After one particularly grueling session of king's court, I was the 3rd girl to arrive in the washroom. Walking in the onesie stall I had stowed my clothes in, my eyes beheld to -my terror- a dark, coiled shape in the toilet! Reacting on impulse I flushed it immediately. Saving my classmates from the wrath of the dreaded toilet snake! I realize as the bowl boa was halfway down, it's no snake; it's a purple sock. Letting out a peel of 5th grade laughter, I spill out of the stall and regale my female classmates with the exaggerated interpretation of the moments before. Giving the sock venomous fangs and a thirst for blood. They didn't laugh.
Part the Third: Ramifications
After my nightmare had almost come true I quickly blocked out the traumatic experience. Skipping down the hallway, I didn't even give the incident a second thought. Until...walking into my silent classroom. One of the dreaded Jennifers was whisper-sobbing to my 5'1 burly bearded teacher. Mrs Popuvichu; not actually her name. I never could spell it. Heretofore known as Poppi. Poppi's dark brown eyes narrowed in my direction: "Would you step into the hallway please?" Shocked that I could possibly be in trouble for something. Running through all my outstanding offenses...coming up blank. Hanging my head and dragging my feet out into the hallway to a toe tapping Poppi.
"It has come to my attention that you put Jennifer's sock in the toilet and flushed it." Poppi accused me.
"I didn't put it in the toilet, I thought it was a snake so I flushed it." I defended myself. Poppi, disregarded my story and continued.
"Do you realize now that she only has one sock, how would you feel if you only had one sock?" I shrugged. "Perhaps you should only have one sock. Give your left sock to Jennifer. You must learn to take responsibility for your actions." Starring at Poppi I couldn't help but think how hairy her chin was, but also why would she punish me for trying to protect the girls in my class from a toilet snake? I bent down and removed my indoor shoe to take off my sock. Wearing one solo sock for the rest of the day. Sitting through our afternoon math and clock modules starring at Jennifer's mis-matched socks, I couldn't help but think; is this what I get for being a hero? On my walk home, I tried to figure out a way of explaining this to my Momma, I was dismayed. Upon walking through my front door, she was there to greet me, the diligent Poppi had already informed her for me. After a lengthy conversation about respecting other people's property, it was finally my turn to explain. I had done it for the greater good, to protect the girls of 5C from untold horrors- including snake bites to the bum and if all I lost in doing so was a sock it was a risk I would take again. I think it took some convincing but my Momma understood that my intentions were good, even if the outcome was not. And how mad could she be, really? It was just a sock.
As I mentioned dramatics have always been a part of my personality. And even though I have yet to encounter another toilet snake or purple sock I know I would do the right thing. And just in case being a hero goes awry, I'll try to be prepared with an extra pair of socks:) so no one has to bare the shame of a one sock walk again.
As I may have mentioned before, I am in love with NetFlix. I love it so much I gave it to my parents for their Christmas gift. The best part about it you ask? Well, it helps with conversation, because all the popular tv, movies and miniseries are there for you at your leisure, and your library is shared with your friends- if they have Netflix. It helps with boredom by having a large and nearly impossible to complete catalogue of categories to choose from and new material is constantly being added. I love Netflix but I especially love watching tv series when the Halloween and Christmas episodes pop up randomly.
Watching a holiday episode in the middle of summer reminds you why those days are so special. The way they're all like miracles in a wonderful life. Heartwarming! The movies of the week with single Moms making wish lists a reality. Shining stars that twinkle on trees and the sound of bells and choirs. People dressed in morbid and sexy costumes that reveal hidden sides of their characters. Ghosts, goblins, turkey and Thanksgiving- they are all on Netflix waiting for their time to celebrate. Too often we forget those special times- all clustered together between October and January. Bringing the family together. Even the not so annual celebrations are there: prom, weddings, birth and death, taxes and promotions. The events in our lives mirrored by our favourite characters, only to be forgotten until selecting them again one rainy afternoon.
Netflix is for spending time with those you love, a 13 episode season spent watching from the couch together. Reminding you to take time and celebrate. Any day of the week can be a magical time if you're ready to sit down and watch 7 straight hours of mirth, merriment and the unsinkable human spirit. And for just $7 a month, it's priceless!
Fine print: Melicious Manners is in no way funded by Netflix; though with a revue like this I outta be:)
When I was about 17 I took a job babysitting three kids before and after school. Now, all three of these kids were kooky. The oldest a girl: was bossy and loud and was always right. The second a boy: was clumsy and forgetful and needed help with math. The youngest boy was hilarious, even with his lisp and his constantly running nose he was my favourite. But then it's always easy to love the baby, and being "this many*insert all five fingers* ywars ode", who wouldn't? Their Momma would drop them off at my house at 7:30 and I would take them to school, walking of course, except the eldest girl who took a bus from the corner to her french immersion school. And when she was gone the boys and I would walk/play all the way to school, which she thought was immature. She was a very mature grade 5. Throughout the school year, I gave the youngest nightmares by watching Kindergarten Cop. The middle boy lost his pants and the Girl would just tattle on me all the live long day. I remember one day when I picked them up from school; the youngest was wearing different clothes than the ones I had dropped him off in. Upon asking him what happened, he informed me they were lost and found clothes. While waiting for the answer to why he was wearing a stranger's outfit, he told me he had "fawen into a pudduo up to he-yor"*insert a hand a foot above his head. Despite not being the ideal role model and having a pretty sketchy track record when summer came I was upgraded to their fulltime babysitter. Summer is great for kiddies but their Momma still had to work...So... Let's put the pieces together... I started babysitting them at 7:30 am at their house and stayed until 4:30 a demanding job, for a 17 year old.
Our routine would go as follows. I would drag myself out of bed at ten minutes to 7 and race around getting dressed. Jumping into my Chevy Lumina I sped the back roads all the way and managed to make it just in time...barely. Then their Momma would tell me what to make for lunch and she would leave. Kids being kids and it being summer they wouldn't wake up until 8:30, and in the time between I would sleep on the sofa. On more than one occasion I woke to find them all sitting on the sofa beside me watching Phantom Menace, the house fav at the time. Then it was time for toast and jam, mandatory 1 hour outside time and maybe a movie or craft depending on my enthusiasm level and the Girl's demeanour. She loved crafts and sometimes I didn't want her to have fun; there I said it, I was a petty teenager. We quickly feel into a rhythm. A lazy summer beat.
One morning that changed. Having fallen asleep in the typical way I once again awoke to the pod race screaming through their surround sound. While rousing from my slumber, I heard another noise. A shuffling, a scratching, a what was that...was that a squeaking? type sound. Pausing the movie- a VHS by the way- we all listened together. Suddenly, as if on cue a bat flew out of the chimney and began circling the room. In a normal household this would have raised screams of "it's in my hair!" but not here. The weekend earlier their family had gone to Science North a wonderful place with an extensive bat exhibit. These 3 youngsters remained calm, knowing that a bat uses sonar to locate objects and that this tiny little herbivore was trapped inside and only wanted out, so he could go to bed. I myself have never had a problem with bats, so I calmly walked to the screen door and held it open to our flying friend. All with the stillness and dignity of 4 smart kids respecting nature. Cue the three legged tabby; a cat that only moved to follow a sun spot across the floor... With the sudden focus of a jungle cat, this tabby leapt from 3 legs to snatch the bat mid air. Only to have the problem of, now that I've got it pinned beneath my one front leg, how do I get this twitchingly delicious morsel in my mouth? Back to the stunned audience...screams arise from 4 mouthes in shocking harmony. Which sends the tabby into a frenzy, who then grabs the flapping bat in it's teeth and makes for the bedrooms upstairs. Three screaming children!! The bat, oh no, Tabby got the bat!!! And now it's eating it in your Momma's bedroom. Ordering all 3 outside I race up the stairs in hopes that the bat if not still alive is at least not a bloody mess on the sheets. Which of course it is. Storming out past 3 still crying kids, asking if Batty is alright I get a shovel, prepare a burial and strip the bed. I am in tears at this point, the babysitting course did not prepare me for this. With the sheets in the laundry, I arrive in the kitchen just as their Momma calls for the mid-morning check in. Consoling me and cajoling me, she says the best way to fix this situation is to go outside and have popsicles. Yeah, right, but you know it's just crazy enough to work.
Walking outside to see 3 glum faces suddenly light up with the thought of mid-morning popsicles. Problem solved right? As the 4 of us are licking our drippy frozen juice, the middle boy starts asking to play Squeeze, a local game, like baseball but with only 3 players, to which the youngest boys whines that he will be left out again, my response is, I'll pitch so they can all play, as long as they set it up. So, they agree and go to the shed, unpacking the bases, the gloves, the bats and the ball. Sitting behind home plate, finishing my popsicle, I start to think, today might actually turn out okay. Before I've finished the thought, another bat swoops down across the deck and towards me, the middle kid who's setting up with bat in hand shrieks like he's having flashbacks of wartime. Swings the bat with all his gusto and knocks one out of the park...Hitting me square in the nose with a Louisville. Crumpling like a paper doll, I sink to the deck, 3 sets of children's shoes huddled around me. "I phink she's dead." the youngest says. "She's not dead, she's faking." the girl snarked in her typical snotty voice. Frozen andWrapped a cocoon of pain, both emotional and physical, the blood streaming from my nose. So I did what any rational 17 year old does. I called my Momma. Bombing down the back roads, she pulls into the driveway and has everything humming along smoothly in minutes. All calm, cool and collected, the way the best Mommas are. Turns out that sometimes even though the cats are snatching and bats are swinging, you really just need a designated hitter to clean up. As for the kids, we lasted the summer, just barely, and after that I hung up my babysitting belt without batting an eye.
Judges, Teachers and fellow students: today I would like to talk to you about speeches. There was a time not so long ago when everyone your age participated in public speaking. An oral presentation of information to a classroom of your peers. With a great topic, strong talking points and your fingers crossed; you might move forward to represent your class. Present to the school and then represent your school at regionals. As anyone who watches Glee knows, regionals are pretty much what you work for each season. I didn't dare imagine a level above regionals, could there be nationals? Internationals? Publicly broadcast like the National Spelling Bee...what a dream come true. For a talker like me anyway it's still a dream. In my memory there were 3 major speaking moments.
First grade 5 when my topic was Unicorns. A topic close to my heart and one that filled my imagination. My childhood bedroom covered in the beautiful white beasts. Dreams of mystical proportion always included me riding off into the rainbow lit evening, champion of the day. At this point in my speech writing life I was unsure of what was allowed to be talked about. So instead of filling my 2.5 mins of cue cards with all this passion I felt, it was jammed with facts and history. Things that I didn't relate to. Things that I didn't know how to inspire others with. The speech I was so excited about transformed into cold mythology. My first lesson in speech writing: be passionate about your topic if you want others to be inspired.
The second was grade 8, when my topic was my family. My family's quirks, quips and catastrophes. I knew this topic forwards-backwards and thoroughly. My speech creating imagery of a quiet family life displayed in strange vignettes. Talk of soup cans and multiple sneezes making my classmates laugh. When it came time for my class to vote on who would represent them in the school finals; my teacher read off our names and the topics of our speeches. Having a last name in the middle of the alphabet, I waited for my name to be called. The thunderous applause- which is how popularity was measured- ensured that I would represent the class. And I did almost my best, but I was nervous and got off track, losing myself. It's a good thing I knew so much about my topic and could Hansel and Gretel myself back to the breadcrumb path. Knowledge truly is power.
Thirdly I remember the monologue I choose as my audition piece for theatre school. A comedic rant about not being in love with a man who loved me. At the time Hubby was still far off and my idea of love mirrored that of the heroine. But this was not a speech I wrote, it was not in my rhythm, it wasn't even in my own dialect...she was southern and I don't drawl. Drool perhaps but not drawl. For me to make this speech believable I needed to believe it myself. Build a backstory; be that southern lady, love the words and figure out their meaning. A playwright doesn't just use words. The play is carefully crafted and designed to pull certain heartstrings or hit certain funny bones. It's important to use their words as they wrote them. Speaking in their pattern and striking those same notes. A play is like a song, but instead of notes it's language.
With all my experience in speaking and writing and spinning yarns. There are simple rules: Know your subject, know yourself & believe in what you're saying. I wish that I could have learned that my voice was a strong one earlier in my childhood, I would've loved to go to the National Speak off. Would they accept a mature student like me? Probably not, if there's anything I learned from Glee it's that after 6 years in high school people start to wonder why you're still there.
When I was young and my Bro was younger, my family went on a trip to Florida. The typical Canadian escape over March Break to a place filled with other Canadians off for March Break. My Papa being the efficiency expert he is, forced a 3 day drive into a 2 day window. Which would of course be the best way to start our vacation. My father pushing through Michigan and racing through Georgia, and the 3 of us sleeping for almost everything in between. In a race against an unknown timekeeper, challenging him to stay up all night; stopping only for vending machine coffee and rest stop bathroom breaks. When we arrived in Florida he was tired and grumpy. That much I recall. And what could make a grown man even grumpier? How's about Disney, Epcot and Universal with 2 kids complaining about standing in line and too young to really appreciate the value of a family trip...Ya I think that would do it.
One of the reasons my Parents chose Florida, was the free stay at a timeshare resort, 40 mins from all tourist destinations, a great location with quality amenities and guaranteed property amelioration. After the last few years in the US economy, I guess they are happy they declined, even though they sat through (with us) 2 long winded slideshow presentations and 5 different pushy sales tactics in increasingly smaller rooms. Including: Bribing the children, free tickets to local attractions and lots more exciting and incredible offers. But they obviously didn't know: my family doesn't feel guilty for taking the free shit. That's how they trap those other poor buggers*insert thumb point at the rube next to you.
The most memorable parts about this vacation though was the cheap- side of the highway Croc farm that we went to... Not quite a zoo, not a petting farm, it was a strange mix of domestic and exotic animals. With a GIANT concrete crocodile out front, acting as the doorway to this not so foreign land. It's huge teeth rounded down from the probable sharp points they used to be, before people got all worked up over things like that. The crocodile show was every 15 mins, not very exciting though a burly man in blue coveralls did put his head into the mouth of a small crocodile. The croc was the size of a chocolate lab with a longer snout and tail. Though the safari expedition host empathically assured us, it was very dangerous. He was later selling souvenirs in the gift shop.
On our visit to this park, my Papa's mood improved drastically. We were 6 hours from starting back towards home and he was finally smiling. Starring at a screaming monkey. You know the kind with the pink bums, that have clearly been using rough toilet paper. Papa had put a quater into the turn machines filled with food pellets for the caged animals and was holding a handful of those dried out nuggets. And that monkey was reaching as far as he could while still hanging from his rope, screaming for all that food. Papa throws a pellet. Monkey makes a lame attempt at catching, misses, pellet falls to the floor, monkey shrieks, and holds his hand out for another. Papa laughs, throws another pellet. Another lame grab at the air and another missed pellet. More screaming and angry bouncing- monkey begging for another try to catch another pellet. And so it goes, throw, swat, scream, laugh, throw; until my Papa is on his very last pellet. Making eye contact with this high hanging Monkey, Papa says: "It's the last one, you better catch it." With an exaggerated lob my Papa sends that last pellet high into the air, Monkey extends his hand like God to Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, catches it triumphantly lobs it into his mouth, blows a raspberry then sveltely slides down the rope to collect the handful he's missed. Starring at this, it dawns on me, even at that young age. That monkey has tricked my Papa out of his handful of pellets. Pretending the whole time that he was trying desperately to catch those pieces, knowing he could, but if he did, that was the end of the game. That monkey was smarter than all those timeshare sales people put together.
On our way back out the crocs mouth the safari expedition host tells me to pick any souvenirs I want for a dollar. I choose a tiny message in a bottle filled with sand: Beachfront Property. Then clutching it closely, I climb back into the Winstar, saying goodbye to Florida and Papa aims us Norh, towards home. We made it back in 1.75 days, a record for even my driven Papa. But what's the point of a record if you don't keep trying to break it.
Interesting side note. While researching this blog, I learned that southern Florida is the only place Alligators and Crocodiles live side by side. This little Monkey says: who's teaching who?
The following letters are actual advice I've given this past week dictated:)
Dear Melicious;
I am a dedicated life instructor. People come to me whenever they are in a jam and I help them fix it. I am quite happy to give all my opinions for free. Problems arise though when I don't take my own advice. Or stop giving my advice to people who don't want it. Please help me to help myself.
Signed,
Do as I say, not as I do.
Dear Do-Do,
I know that my big mouth can sometimes get me into trouble. The most important thing to remember about your advice: Only give what you would be willing to receive. That's a narrow row to hoe. Being the voice of reason can hurt your friend's ego. My advice is to be brave, be bold, be yourself. Watch out for opinion backlash. Never say anything definitively bad about someone's significant other; it's bound to hurt you in the end. And keep your comments aimed at the positive to avoid hard feelings. It's tough to give good constructive criticism. Speak gently from your heart. That's the best language to learn if you can't stop talking.
Supportively,
Melicious
Melicious,
It's been a longtime since I fell in love. I am worried that my chance has passed me by. All my friends have a special someone, and they have stopped inviting me to dinner parties and celebrations- except their weddings. How do I tell them how I feel and stay friends?
Yours hopefully,
Friends without benefits
Dear Friendly,
Your situation is not a rare one. With most groups of buddies; amis come and amigos. It's easy to feel left out and I know you miss your pal-around time. But maybe it's up to you to suggest a girl's night without partners. Or else borrow a 'Dude' for an evening of dinner party fun. Making sure that 'Dude' is the most annoying and selfish person at the table will remind your BFs of how you deserve someone fabulous. Perhaps even sparking a fun game of match maker that you can work on with your friend? All in all know is that if your friend is a good one, she'll listen to you and try to help you feel more welcome. If she's not? Well I guess that answers itself:$
Heart!
MM
Dear Melicious,
First time writer, longtime reader. I guess my questions is, when are you going to write a book? Something that will really help people live life with a Melicious flair?
Love you long time.
Dear Longtime, Firsttime,
Thank you so much. Its always great to hear that kind of enthusiasm. I have been asked this regularly over the last 4 months, and all I can say definitely is: there will be a book. A thin, flimsy, perhaps even printed at my house, more like a pamphlet-book. Let's hope:)
Keep those eyes peeled,
Melicious
Dear Melicious,
I am a performer and I know how strange this business can be. It has always been my way to learn something new and then after 'mastering' it I loose interest. I was taught that having more skills was the best way to go about expanding my resume. But I am still not landing any gigs.
Suggestions?
Mad-Hacktress
My Mad-Hacktress,
If there is one thing I've learned its that you have to specialize. Focus on the things that will make you the most sellable. Being sorta alright at everything isn't good enough. If you want to stand out, be better than alright. You don't have to be olympic athlete good. Being very good at a few things will always be better for your career. So focus on yourself, focus on your goals and focus on the positive. Other than that career wise and generally in life the only thing you can control is you; and sometimes even that's too much.
Be brave, be bold. Focus.
Melicious
As always boys and girls, I am happy to help and eager to listen. If you're looking for your bees-wax, I've got it over here.
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