So, recently, I was dealt a dose of humility, forced to choke on a slice of humble pie. I’ve been doing well in terms of clients during lockdown; maybe people have been moved to write. A couple of them have given me multi-book contracts for editing, and I have been loving every minute of it.
Many of my clients have been enthusiastic, very happy with
my work, even offering me bonuses and upping our agreed prices.
Does that feel good?
Why, yes, yes it does.
But it’s also terrifyingly seductive, leading you to a place
where you begin to think you are infallible. Many clients had suffered such
terrible edits in the past that they were full of praise, and I began to eat it
up. I began to think I was Head Editor In Charge.
And that’s how I fell down and scraped my knees.
I was in the midst of a very long novel, when I noticed that
the timeline didn’t add up. Several events were out of line, and simply didn’t
sync. True, most readers would have read merrily along, but for me, it nagged
like a toothache.
I notified my client. I began to fix it. I spent two days
with a calendar, changing dates, shifting whole scenes around to make the
timeline fit. When I was done, I was mighty pleased with myself. Not many
editors would have been that sharp-eyed, after all. I was pretty damn good at
my job and he was damn lucky to have me!
Except . . . the
client was upset. And that is putting it mildly. “It’s my book,” he said. “I
know what you did is technically correct, but I liked it the way it was before!
It is MY BOOK!”
And I felt so hurt, ashamed, and embarrassed. I apologised, begged
for forgiveness, and returned everything the way it was.
I remembered all the shitty edits I’ve received from my publishers in the past, the slash and burn of my carefully crafted words, leaving me bristling with anger or broken in tears. I heard the echoes of my own voice, my own pain: “It is MY BOOK! How dare they?”
I have become the very thing I had vowed to destroy.
So down a peg or two I’ve slid. I’ve done everything I can
to make amends to my client, and hope he will forgive me. I’m glad for the
timely lesson, and won’t be forgetting it soon. I’m a good writer, yes. A damn
good editor, yes.
But I will never be great until I remember, every time I put
hands to keyboard, that this isn’t about me. It’s not about how much I know or
how adept I am with a semi-colon. It is and always will be about the client,
the writer, and THEIR BOOK.
They must always come first. You know, before my ego.
And a few other things I want the young ‘uns to know
Kids born around the turn of the century (like mine) are
digital natives, born into an age of technology that the rest of us have
watched develop and evolve. They either
assume that the lifestyle they take for granted and enjoy was always there, or
that everyone over 30 was born in the Stone Age.
So, to satisfy their curiosity, and on behalf of those of us who didn’t have programming code embedded in their DNA, here are a few things Gen Whatever-Letter-We’re-On-Right-Now need to know.
“What was it like back in the olden days, when you were a little girl … you know, before electricity?”
Electricity was around before we were born. But gas stoves still make the best grilled cheese sandwiches.
We only had one TV channel, and it didn’t run all night. It signed on in the morning and signed off at night. If you were bored, you would sit and watch the test pattern, which was a very interesting series of circles and lines. If you were extra bored, you switched to a dead channel and watched the snow.
For a long time, all shows were in black and white. I was six or seven before I discovered that Big Bird was yellow.
We didn’t have remote controls. You had to get up and turn a dial if you wanted the TV louder or softer. Better yet, you made your little sister get up and change it, and while she was doing that, you took her space on the couch.
You only got to see cartoons on Saturday mornings. Woe betide you if you had extra lessons on a Saturday; you’d miss Spiderman and the Flintstones for a whole term.
Once in a while, for no reason whatsoever, your radio suddenly started yelling at you in Spanish. Hence the expression “To cut in like a Spanish radio station.”
When we were out of the house and needed to talk to someone, we had things called “phone booths”, which were teeny little houses with huge phones in them, scattered randomly along the road. You needed 25 cents to make a call, so you usually kept a handful of coins jangling in your purse for this purpose. Most of the time, the phones didn’t work.
You actually had to remember people’s phone numbers, or write them down on paper. If you made a mistake while dialling, you had to hang up and dial again. There was no Back button.
When you needed to buy something, you had to leave your house and go to store. Often, it was your only trip out for the week.
On weekends and during school vacations we rode across the Sahara, forged the Amazon, and hunted crocodiles … all in the empty lot down the street. Our vittles were crackers and peanut butter. Nobody cared what we got up to, as long as we got back before dark.
“You mean, when you were a kid they didn’t have Internet?”
When we had research to do we used these things called “encyclopaedia”, which were thick books that came in sets of 20 or 30, and took up a whole shelf in the library. They were heavy enough to knock a grown man to the floor. We actually had to write stuff down; there was no Wikipedia to cut and paste from.
Power went out. A lot. If it happened at night, you went outside in the yard and played games like “Gypsy in the Moonlight” and “Jane and Louisa will Soon Come Home.” We laughed and told jokes. We didn’t stand by the wireless router and scream at it until power came back.
We talked to our friends face to face. And we knew their real names.
So, yeah, we were born before the
Internet. Instead of Playstation we had
“Play-in-the-yard”. It may not sound
like much to you, but, oh, we had the time of our lives.
Any questions? Any memories to share? Leave them in the comments.
In the last week of January, days before my XXth birthday (but that’s irrelevant), I began taking Upwork seriously. I’d signed up on a whim some time last year and never returned. Now, with the local economy sucking as it currently does, it was clear that if I was to continue to enjoy my indoor-pool, designer crockpot, Bahamas-vacation lifestyle, I was going to have to look beyond these shores for work. Hence, the freelance site, Upwork.
In just three months, I’ve been upgraded to Top Rated
status, with straight five-star reviews and a customer satisfaction rating that
vacillates between 96% and 100%. Not being boasty; being facty. And today I
want to share with my fellow freelancers and side-hustlers what I’ve learned.
Much has been said about how hard it is to eke out an
existence on freelance sites, but if you learn the tricks, you can make a good
living.
Upwork is more than writing
I’m a writer and editor, yes, so that’s the field I’m
registered in, but as long as you can deliver a service long distance, whatever
it may be, there are people looking for you.
Work that profile
I spent days on my profile, polishing and primping, checking
it over again and again, making sure I looked as good as a Miss World pageant
applicant, shiny teeth and all. I thought about everything a client would want
to know about me, and everything I have achieved that might put me ahead of the
competition. This is not a time for modesty.
Check the job listings frequently
Check the job listings relevant to your field of expertise several
times a day. In just an hour, an attractive listing can garner 20 applications.
You want to be in early.
Check them first thing when you get up and last thing before
you go to bed. Remember there are English-speaking clients on the other side of
the world—Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, etc.—who are up and posting
while you sleep. Get in on that!
Keep your proposals clear, thoughtful and appropriate
Be clear about what you are offering, how and when you intend to deliver. Don’t apply for a job if you have doubts about your ability to fulfill their requirements. You will screw that shit up, and a pissed-off client will blast you in the reviews.
Speaking of which . . .
Remember you are being monitored
All the time. Clients can review your performance after your
contract is up, and you can review theirs. Upwork also has an algorithm running
in the background that measures “customer satisfaction” according to a number
of undisclosed factors. These include how fast you respond, how fast you
deliver, how many clients come back asking for you, etc.
There are a few traps I consider unfair. For example, if a client chooses not to review you, it is considered negative, so your rating is affected even when there is no activity. I had a client who was so excited he gushed about what I’d done and rehired me, but he’s not good with computers so couldn’t find the review button. No stars for me, and Upwork thinks he’s pissed off.
I also learned that if the FREELANCER clicks “end contract”
it mitigates against you, as opposed to if the CLIENT does. Sucks, eh?
Ask for your review
If your client doesn’t fill out the review field, politely
ask, explaining that it impacts on your future jobs. Most of them comply.
Read your proposal carefully
Some clients bury traps and loopholes in their job listing to catch out the slackers who madly apply for every damn job. Like, at the end of a long listing, they will ask you to write “Butterfly” at the start of your proposal. This is to ensure that you have read the entire thing.
Proofread, proofread, proofread
Don’t let a perfectly good proposal be overlooked because of
a misspelling or grammatical error. If they have 20 people to choose from and
you spell something wrong, consider your ass kicked to the curb.
Separate yourself from the herd
A nice little note like this at the end of a contract lets them know they are special to you.
Clients receive a dazzling number of proposals, especially for the more lucrative posts. How do they choose? Apart from your excellent profile, your qualifications and your carefully framed post, they choose YOU for YOU.
I have asked clients why they picked me out of the pack, and they have all told me, apart from my experience and portfolio, it was my personality. Your proposals must be warm, approachable and fresh . . . but still businesslike. They ain’t your buddy.
Suck it up
Prosperity on Upwork is built upon your reputation, ratings,
and experience. You need to put some time in the trenches for people to take
you seriously. This means that at the outset, you must be willing to take jobs
for a little less that you’re normally earn IRL.
Think of it as paying your dues, or making a sacrifice for
free advertisement. Your focus at the outset must be on EARNING YOUR STARS. My
first job, I was paid US$35. And I worked on that project FOR DAYS. The result
was a five-star rating, an invitation to become one of their permanent writers
(I declined) and the promise that they will come to me whenever they have
another book to edit. Two of my clients have since offered me 10-book and
6-book contracts for a tidy sum of money.
In time, as your profile rises, you will no longer have to
go looking for them; they will come looking for YOU.
Hang on to your self-respect
By the same token, don’t be so focused on building your
stars that you let people take advantage of you. There are clients out there
who, like certain *cough* jeans and sneaker companies, have no problem
leveraging their first-world status over us third-worlders. But you do not live
in Bangladesh. You cannot feed your entire tribe on $1 a day.
I will never forget the client who, in my first week, very
snidely and patronisingly offered me US$2 for each 500-word article I wrote. “You
can get stars,” he dangled before me, “and you can write as many a day as you
like!”
Um . . . IRL I get TT$1 a word from my corporate clients. I
declined as sweetly and politely as I could, even though the urge to cuss him
and all his generations was strong in me. I kept it classy.
Get yourself a Payoneer card
For my Trini homies, it can be hard to sign up with these sites if they demand a US bank account. You can get around that by applying for a Payoneer debit card. It’s secure and reliable, and Upwork pays directly to it. Try Payoneer.com .
Every client is a VIP
It doesn’t matter if they’re paying you $50 or $300; their
job is important to THEM. Treat it as such. Give your all, no matter what you’re
earning. Be respectful, hard-working, and honest with your time calculations.
Every job you deliver should be the best you have ever done. Their happiness
(and your stars) will be your reward.
Google your client
Try to find their Facebook, Insta, Twitter, whatever. You
might learn a bit about them, and how to approach them. You might also get some
red flags. I was very excited about one client I applied to. The job sounded so
cool . . . and then I discovered in
several online newspapers that he was indicted for a series of major federal
offences and was looking at doing a dime behind bars if he was ever convicted.
So, yeah.
Keep at it
Upwork is a commitment. Like a delicate houseplant, it needs
daily attention. But if you water it, feed it, give it lots of air, sunlight
and love, it will thrive.
What do you think? Any experiences to share? comment below.
Blind dates aren’t for everyone. It’s hard enough going
through that first date with someone you know, but going out with someone
you’ve never even met before can be a little . . . well, here are a few stories
that will show you what we mean.
“When we were chatting online he told me he loved women’s feet. He even asked me for a ‘foot selfie’, if you can call it that. I thought he was joking. When we met up, the first thing he did was look down at my toes, peeking through my sandals . . . and he got really, really excited. Like, orgasm at the table, excited. I was so weirded out I faked an emergency and told him I had to go home.”
“His car was so rusty I could see the road
through the floor. I was worried the bottom might fall out. I kept thinking of
Fred Flintstone.”
“Some friend of his called and gave him the
whole run down about some woman the friend met at a club the night before. He
kept sympathising with him, and advising him how you mustn’t treat ‘them
skanks’ too good. After the call ended, he looked at me, smiled, and said, ‘Not
you, eh, baby’.”
“He had this old, beat-up cage on the back seat.
He saw me watching it and told me he liked to catch squirrels in the forest. He
laughed when he said it, so I think he was joking, but jeez . . . I couldn’t
get my mind off squirrels all night.”
“His sister came with us, and they got into a
fight. About him making his mother wash his clothes. He dropped her off at City
Gate and told her to take a maxi taxi home.”
“He was a health freak. At dinner, he told me he
didn’t eat anything white: rice, milk, sugar, flour . . .. When my dessert
came, he asked me if anybody in my family had diabetes.”
“He paid for dinner with a 30% off coupon.”
Had any weird ones
lately? Share them in the comments. Pleeaase?
Who WOULDN’T want to be nibbled all over by a warm, fuzzy kitty?
Ever since Neanderthal men first learned to bonk us on our
heads and drag us to their lairs, the older man/younger woman scenario has been
the norm. And let’s not fool ourselves: it still is. But these days, we have
more options. We’re economically and socially free to choose our mates, be they
of our own vintage or otherwise. The older woman/younger man scenario no longer
raises eyebrows. Ladies, welcome to the Age of the Cougar.
Be warned, however, not all of society is on the same page,
so while dating a younger man has its plusses, it also has its minuses. Here’s
what we mean.
When going out to
dinner at a fancy restaurant
PRO: As the more
seasoned and better travelled person, you get to pass on your greater experience
with fine food and wine. Perhaps even charm him with an anecdote or two about
roasting goat meat over an open fire while backpacking in Andorra.
CON: The waiter
takes his drink order, then asks him, “And what sill your auntie be having to
drink, sir?”
When going dancing
PRO: He knows all
the hot places, all the new dances, and has boundless energy, enough to dance
all night and still have lots left over for later . . . if you know what I
mean.
CON: You’re used
to having your blankie tucked under your chin by eleven . . . which is the time he actually intends to come
pick you up for your date.
Arts, music and
culture
PRO: He’ll see
you as a fountain of knowledge. There are so many things you can teach him, and
so many ways to be his muse.
CON: He’ll give you a blank look when you mention bands like REO Speedwagon, and the information that “We Are The World” for Haiti is actually a remake just might floor him.
Your body, his temple
PRO: Most men are
less judgmental than you think. You may hate your poochy tummy, but to him,
you’re a goddess. One who’s old enough to know not to giggle or chew gum while
making out.
CON: If you go back to his place, brace yourself for all the posters of 19-year-old supermodels on his wall, and Lara Croft on his computer wallpaper. He’s a man, after all, and men like to look.
His previous
relationships
PRO: Less
baggage, such as ex-wives, children, broken hearts, bitterness, and all the
emotional clutter that comes with it.
CON: Less
experience, which makes him more likely to suffer from foot-in-mouth disease
when it comes to talking things through.
When you’re in bed
PRO: He’s in his
sexual prime, practically drowning in hormones. Enthusiastic, energetic, and
happy to pick up a few tips from someone who’s taken a few more trips around
the planet than he has.
CONS: What cons? Did you really think there’d be cons to this? Roar, cougars! Roar!
The irresistible appeal of vampires and werewolves
Women
of the world have gone vampire and werewolf mad. The last two decades have seen an upsurge in
women thirsting for a good paranormal story, a glimpse of those beautiful,
deadly males who take our breath away with a glance, and who—if we aren’t
careful—can drain our life’s essence with a single bite.
Vampires
and werewolves are mysterious breeds, and there are as many interpretations of
their species as there are paranormal writers.
The teens of the Twilight saga are sulky and brooding, the bayou
blood-suckers of True Blood are savage and amoral, Ann Rice’s
night-creatures are sensual and resplendent.
Bram Stoker’s Dracula, the great grand-daddy of them all, was at once a
dandified gentleman and a hideous beast from the deepest crevices of Hell.
So
why is it that these men, who should be the stuff of nightmares, are instead the
fabric of our most sensual fantasies?
They’re ultra-manly, and uber-gorgeous
Let’s
not kid ourselves, ladies. Vampires and
werewolves are lookers. It’s as if their
curse also left them with jaw-dropping good looks, mind-blowing physiques, and super-human
strength. And, yeah, pecs to die for,
which, bless the heavens, they have no problems showing off. Can it get
any better?
These
supernatural creatures are the definition of masculinity, an exaggeration of
all we’ve ever desired. Big, strong,
handsome, oozing testosterone from every pore.
Hands up if you’ve ever seen a weak, wimpy, wussy werewolf. Anyone?
Anyone? Didn’t think so.
We love bad boys
Vampires
and werewolves don’t have get-out-of-Hell-free-cards. They’re damned, and they
know it. So why not be as bad as they
wanna be? These guys are reckless and
rude. They court danger, laugh in the
face of death.
Werewolves
don’t become accountants. Vampires don’t
teach pre-school. They fight, they
prowl, they do donuts in parking lots in their 10-second cars and pop wheelies
on their speed bikes. They’re overgrown
boys, but we love them anyway.
They’re wild and passionate lovers
Vampires
and werewolves are the manifestation of the human sexual urge. They’re walking libidos. While Edward Cullen doesn’t trust himself to
touch Bella, P.N. Elrod’s vampire P.I., Jack, has no such reservations when it
comes to his girlfriend, Bobbi. For this
brave woman, a nip on the throat brings indescribable ecstasy. And werewolves, well, they’re just plain
animalistic. But in a good way.
They take us to the edge of danger and
bring us back
Make
no mistake; these creatures are killers.
When angered, they go for the jugular—literally. But we know that the supernatural loves of
our lives would never, ever hurt us.
Any
self-respecting werewolf would chain himself to a tree before the full moon
rises to prevent himself from hurting the woman he loves. Our vampire lover would go veggie, or at the
very least, sneak off down to a nearby sheep farm to chow down, rather than run
the risk of getting hungry in our presence.
For them, we’re lovers, not snacks. Doesn’t that make us feel special!
They’re protective of their females
Vampires
and werewolves are the distillation of manhood, and all good men look after
their women. They’d defend us against
our enemies to the last drop of blood in their bodies. Anyone who hurts us won’t have much time for
regrets. It’s a simple formula; you
touch their girl, you die.
They
don’t stop to think about it, or to reason.
For them, vengeance is a dish better eaten warm. And, preferably, screaming.
They’d give us awesome offspring
Any
woman who says she isn’t delighted when her child is first across the finish
line or comes first in test is lying. We
constantly compare our offspring to others, and it pleases us no end to think
that ours have the edge on everyone else’s.
Just
think what a werewolf gene could do.
And
although vampires don’t reproduce that way, they do gather in small groups, and
with the right alpha mate, the opportunity to play den mother to a brood of
young vamps can’t be ignored.
Either
way, we’d have a family of youngsters who are smarter, faster, and
stronger. As a bonus, they don’t spend
much time at home with pesky childhood diseases like measles and the flu. It can’t get better than that!
We love them because they make us feel
alive
Werewolves and vampires. Beautiful, sensual, loyal, strong, protective, and just plain sexy. We love the idea of them, and thrill to the thought that somewhere out there, they really might exist. And among them, there is a perfect specimen, whose destiny is intertwined—with ours.
Carnival has whooshed past, and probably you spent it
chipping down the road with your honey.
A few of you, however, either played Mas alone, fending off the
hound-dogs eager to buss a wine on an unaccompanied female, because your man
can’t stand crowds, or fuming alone at home, your hopes for a romantic cuddle-fest
dashed, while he ran around town flinging water and powder.
It’s great to have a soulmate, but what happens when your
ideas of fun are so diverse that when one of you is having a ball, the other is
grinding his teeth?
If it don’t fit,
don’t force it
If your idea of a weekend well spent is screaming at horses
as they race around the track, while he couldn’t tell a mare from a mule, don’t
drag the man to Santa Rosa. He’ll spend
the day glancing at his watch and stifling yawns, and you’ll feel guilty, or,
worse yet, irritated by his glassy-eyed stares while you try to explain the
meaning of “Daily Double”. If he loves
breathing the dust left behind by rally cars, while you can’t fathom why grown
men squeal like little girls over gold-toned mag rims, you’re better off
letting him hit the rally route on his own.
Being in love doesn’t mean you have to live in each other’s
pockets. Your every passion doesn’t need
to be fully synced for you to be compatible.
After all, Jack Sprat and his wife had opposing culinary tastes, and
they got along just fine.
Find a hobby-buddy
You don’t have to indulge your passion alone just because
he’s not with you. Join an online forum,
or link up with friends who are just as into your passion as you are. But be careful; if your hobby-buddy is male,
and attractive to boot, you just might be letting your lover’s green-eyed
monster out of its cage.
Find common ground
Come on! There MUST
be something you and your lover can find to enjoy together—other than the
obvious, wink, wink. If neither of you has
a hobby or interest that the other appreciates, find one. Take a creative class together. Try something you’ve never tried before. You’re already connected by love; there must
be a common yearning inside of you longing to be filled. You just need to find it, run with it, and
discover another great reason why you’re meant to be together.
Well, any more
strategies to add? Let’s hear ‘em in the comments!
Carnival is freedom, self-expression, release, beauty, sex,
madness and mud. And, of course,
Carnival is wining, that gyrating, hip-swivelling, bottom-rolling motion that
few women not born on this soil can even hope to perfect.
And Carnival, bless it, is the one time when women of every
hue and colouration, every creed, stripe and social strata, can toss aside their
sensible secretary’s pumps, their surgeon’s mask, their welder’s gloves, their
teacher’s red-ink pen and become in public the women they have only allowed themseelves
to be in private. Carnival is one big
show, and we, the women, are on stage.
But the whole world is watching, and the further our
liberties stretch, the harsher the conservative backlash is likely to be. Because make no mistake, the other 363 days
of the year, Trinidad and Tobago is as prudish and buttoned-down as it is
possible for a Western nation to be, and the Savannah concourse is littered
with the ruined reputations of women who have been reviled, mocked, sanctioned,
and even fired, for having been caught wining by the wrong person . . . or the
wrong camera lens.
So, with Carnival upon us, is a wining woman a glory to
behold, or a Jezebel to be shunned?
Wining is natural and
spontaneous
The majority of people polled . . . especially men . . . think
that wining is not just okay, but an essential part of our Mas and our
culture. Some even think wining is as
natural as breathing for us. “It’s
cultural,” says one man. “We may call it different things (church people praise
and dance, but they do NOT WINE, perish the thought) but the hip and buttock
movements are as much a part of us as is breathing. We have to work hard not to
swing our hips naturally.”
Wining is seduction
In any Carnival fete, in any Carnival band, you’ll find twenty
woman to one man, at least according to the results of the scientific survey
conducted years ago by the respected statistician, Professor Kitch. So what better forum in which to entice,
display and seduce?
“Wining is how we talk to men,” says a veteran female Mas
player, “Without using our lips. We let
the hips talk for us.” And the men
listen. To them, wining is a come-hither
look that originates in the eyes and travels downward. And even if it goes no further than that,
even if the searing-hot contact a woman makes on the dance floor is, to quote
one local poet, “just a wine”, we break apart and step away feeling better
about ourselves. We blossom under the
warmth of male admiration as flowers do in the sun.
Is wining new?
Another gentleman questions whether the wining phenomenon
has really been around as long as we think.
“I’ve seen a lot of footage of people dancing in the streets at Carnival
in the 1970s, 60s, and 50s. From none of
those videos have I ever seen a woman wine. Dance, sway the hips a bit, yes . .
. but not ‘wine’.”
If this is so, then the question arises whether the impulse
to wine was always there, stifled by social convention, and is only now being
given its freedom to run (or, rather, roll) as the constraints of social mores
relax?
“It have wine, and it
have WINE”
As much as we admire a good winer, there is a prevailing
sense that there are limits to what is and is not acceptable. There is a general sense of “play your Mas,
but set your boundaries.” As another
female Mas lover puts it, “Many Carnivals ago, I had the opportunity to watch a
young masquerader wine and dance and enjoy herself. She went down to the ground
and move all around and nothing about how she conducted herself was lewd or
vulgar. She was enjoying her Mas . . . then there are those who choose to have
sex in the streets and take it to the next level. It is how you carry and
conduct yourself.”
As far as that goes, unfortunately, lewdness is in the eye
of the beholder. What may be a tame
little shimmy for one person may be a shameless display to another. It’s even more unfortunate that while women
are still being judged by their attire and conduct at Carnival and beyond, men
seldom are.
By and large, though, the sight of a wining woman, a woman
working her costume, enjoying her temporary escape from the rigid boundaries
that barricade most of us, a woman who loves to be looked at and, in that
moment, knows that she is sexy and desirable, is a beautiful thing to behold.
The sight of this kind of winer, celebrating her freedom and womanhood, rarely evokes shock, and seldom gives rise to a negative reaction from her enthralled audience. “It doesn’t change my view of women,” a young man observes. “It extends it. It completes it.”
Excited to hear your point of view. Please leave a comment below.
IT’S GREAT
when we women are in control of ourselves, our lives and our destinies, but
sometimes, we can go a little too far, and wind up stepping on the toes of
those around us. But how far is too far? How do you tell the difference between
being in control and being overly controlling?
Take my exclusive quiz—or, rather, I nicely suggest you take my exclusive quiz, and see.
When cooking, you:
A. Eyeball it; a handful of this, a handful of that, and if all else fails, drown it in ketchup.
B. Use good old, tried and true recipes, but you’re not afraid to give your dish your own personal twist; a favourite herb, or a shortcut your mother taught you.
C. Measure all ingredients twice, and if you think you’ve made a mistake, you start over.
At restaurants, you:
A. Ask the waiter to surprise you.
B. Order from the menu . . . but ask for dressings on the side, and hold the MSG.
C. Demand they bring out sous-chef and grill him (“grill” . . . ha) on whether the kingfish is north coast or east, and whether the white sauce is made with cooking cream or sour cream.
When you and your honey are dressing to go out on a special date, you:
A. Compliment him on the way he’s dressed, even though you privately think he could have done without those white tube socks with his dress shoes.
B. Politely suggest he change his tube socks for something else.
C. Don’t even bother to oversee how he dresses; after all, you personally bought every single garment in his closet and arranged them by colour, texture and style.
Your boss invites you to her home for cocktails. You:
A. Drop by after you’re done liming in the mall, wearing whatever you had on when you left. After all, you’re off the clock; she can’t tell you how to dress.
C. Cancel your plans, break out your little black dress, and pick her up a nice bottle of red on your way over.
C. Tell her you’ll come, but she really must lock that fuzzy dog of hers away before you get there. It’s bad for your allergies, and you’d rather not get dog hairs on your new velvet miniskirt.
You and your husband are both so busy that it’s not often you get to spend quality time together. You:
A. Let it slide. Every now and then your free nights coincide, and that’s enough for you.
B. Actively collaborate with him to arrange for a date night at least once a week, even if it means giving up some other important activity. After all, your relationship deserves the time investment.
C. Call up all his friends and read them the Rules According to You: No liming on weekends; no phone calls after 9:00 p.m., and all sporting events, etc. have to be cleared by you first.
It’s your best friend’s wedding, and all eyes are on her. You:
A. Step aside every time you see a camera, so as not to photobomb any of her precious shots.
B. Dress tastefully, pose with her for a few happy photos, and then slip into the kitchen to make sure the caterer is on top of things.
C. Turn up dressed in a long, flowing white gown. Festooned with lace. With white orchids adorning your elaborate updo. With a shiny rock on your finger bright enough to dazzle the pilots of passing aircraft . . ..
SCORING
Mostly As.
Sweetheart, life is a participation sport. You’re not meant to stand on the
sidelines while it goes by. DO something!
Mostly Bs.
Nice job. You know when to hold ‘em, and know when to fold ‘em. Kenny Rogers
would be proud of you. And so am I.
Mostly Cs.
Slow your roll, sister. It’s not all about you. Believe it or not, you share
this planet with about 7 billion more of us. And not everyone was placed here
to do your bidding.
Other signs
you need to loosen your grip:
You assume you know what the other
person is thinking. You can’t.
If things don’t go your way, you
sulk. Or throw a tantrum.
People plan events, put everything
in place, and then invite you.
Your phone bill is through the roof
because you are constantly calling people up to “see if everything is going
according to plan”.
Your boyfriend’s left sleeve is
always wrinkled from the death grip you keep on his arm wherever you go.
You try to re-write Wikipedia—all of
it—to suit your world view.
I’d ask you to leave a comment here—but would
that seem controlling?
We start every new year with a list of resolutions, and most
of the time, one person’s resolutions are pretty much like the other’s. Lose weight, give up alcohol, be a better
person, yadda yadda. All well and good,
but those big-ticket items tend to mask nasty little habits we should strive to
ditch for good. Here’s are seven
mini-resolutions that really make sense.
1. Stop cussing
Cussing is a great way to vent pent-up emotions, but let’s face it: the vocabulary is limited and lacks imagination. Display your literary side by memorising a few choice insults from greats like Shakespeare. Among his gems are: “More of your conversation would infect my brain”, “You ramping fool”, or “You diffused infection of a man!” Ouch, ouch, and ouch.
Not only will you look smarter than they, but they’ll be too
speechless to think of a comeback.
2. Stop hanging out with friends who aren’t good for you
You wore matching dresses to grad and shared your worst
secrets. We get it; you’ve been friends
a long time. But if you find yourself
wondering why, maybe you should re-examine the relationship. Are you in a better or worse mood after you
spend time with this person? How do you
feel about yourself when you two are done talking?
If your old buddy tires you out or encourages you to
backslide into vices you thought you’d conquered, it’s time to cut the tie that
binds. Gently, kindly, but firmly set
yourself free.
3. Stop letting time slip through your fingers
How much time do you spend on the road, standing in line, or
waiting on others every day? Multiply
that by 7. Then by 4. Then by 12.
Got the picture? Find ways to
make every second count. Never leave the
house without a book. If you’re driving,
slip in an audiobook or a meditation chant, anything that will make you feel
better or increase your knowledge. Claim
back those chunks of time that are going down the drain.
4. Stop avoiding your mother
You call your mom once a week to keep your conscience quiet,
even though you know you’re in for an earful that includes a list of her
current ailments, a complaint about her neighbour’s tree dropping rotten
mangoes in her yard, and a demand for an explanation of why you don’t go to
church more often.
Stop letting your caller ID be your shield. Little boys and girls grow up, and the
balance shifts. She needs your
companionship and your ear as much as you once needed hers. If you stopped hiding from her like a naughty
puppy, you’ll enjoy your time together more.
5. Stop pleasing people all the time
Yes, Ma’am, no Sir, oh, I really wanted to eat Arabic, but
if you feel like Chinese, well . . . okay . . . . Sounds familiar? We as women have a habit of choking down our
own wants and needs in order to make others feel better, to be nice, or simply
out of the fear that if we stand up for what we want we will be dismissed as a
colossal B-word.
Well, what’s so bad about being a colossal B-word
sometimes? Because the opposite of that
is ‘doormat’, and getting constantly stepped-on is no fun. It leaves you feeling wiped-out — yes, pun
most certainly intended — emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.
So every once in a while, dig in those heels and get what
YOU want.
6. Stop living in the past
Brand new year, brand new chance to reinvent yourself and
your future. Living in the past is like
being stuck in an eternal loop, like in the movie Groundhog Day. It’s not only
self-defeating, it’s boring. And
pointless.
At some time or other you were stupid, careless, unkind,
clueless, and, well, human. Just like
everyone else. Forgive yourself and move
on.
7. Stop putting yourself down
If your friend was as negative about you as you are about yourself, would you spend time with her? I think not. Make your self-chat more positive. That way, you’ll enjoy your own company better, and give your ego a boost. And voila, a better you.
What habits do you think we should add to the list? Comment here and tell us.