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6 Questions to Ask Him on Your First Date

The first date. It’s a thick hunk of excitement, slathered in promise, sandwiched between two slices of stress. You have to look good . . . but not too good, so he doesn’t think you’re trying too hard. You have to flirt just enough to keep him tantalised, but not so much that he wonders if you’re the kind of girl who’d throw herself at a Good Friday Bobolee if it was wearing cologne and a nice suit.

Plus you have to find out as much as you can about him. Presumably, if you’re actually out with the man, you’ve already ruled out the possibility that he’s an axe murderer or an escapee from an asylum. But there’s a whole lot of stuff you should find out about him before you proceed to date two. And the only way to get information is to come right out and ask.

Here are a few questions that could give you X-ray vision into his mind.

What’s the scariest/grossest/most fun thing you have ever done?

This one will take him off guard. He was probably expecting you to ask about his job, his family, his marital status . . . but this? His answer will give you some insight into what excites him, interests, him, turns him off or on.

Good follow-ups are: And how did you deal with it? What did you learn? Would you do it again?

If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go and why?

His answer can tell you how he feels about his heritage (does he want to visit the land of his ancestors?); his boyish fantasies (white-water rafting in Canada, photo safaris in Kenya); or his secret sexual desires (Bangkok, anyone?)

Another similar question: You have $1 million and one week to spend it. Go.

If you could do any job other than the one you’re doing now, what would it be?

This is a twist on the old “what do you do for a living” question, and one that won’t make him feel you’re busy calculating his net worth at the back of your head. His dream career will tell you where his ambitions and skills lie, and how creative he can be when it comes to dreaming big.

Other than your immediate family, what one person has had the most impact on you?

This is a good one because it will tell you what’s important to him: information, guidance, advice, encouragement, etc. It will also show whether he’s grateful for the helping hands he’s received in his life. There’s no such thing as a self-made man. If he shrugs it off and says, “Nobody. I got where I am all on my own,” he’s just fooling himself . . . but not you.

If you could have any superpower, what would it be and why?

Does he want to save the world, raise the dead, defeat bad guys? Cool. Does he want to crush his enemies with an indestructible fist, burn them to a crisp with his laser-beam eyes, and hear the wailing of their womenfolk? Run. Run fast.

Tell me about your longest-lasting friendship, and what keeps you two together?

His answer to this one will tell you what he values about his relationships, and whether he’s a good friend or not. (Remember, before he can become your lover, he’s got to become your friend.)

So there you go: a few questions to keep the conversational ball rolling without leaving him feeling blindsided. He’ll probably be grateful (and flattered) that you’re interested enough to ask. Don’t think about it as an interrogation, think of it as an interview . . . for the privileged position of Keeper of Your Heart.

Questions NEVER to ask on a first date:

Do you want children?
Do you think that girl over there is pretty? Prettier than me?
Can I have a lick of your ice cream?
This dress is ugly, isn’t it? I knew I shouldn’t have worn it. I shouldn’t have worn it, right? It’s okay, you can tell me.
Is your brother single? I’m just asking because . . . well, I’m just asking. . . .

Comments? Any questions you’d like to add? What’s the worst question anyone ever asked you?

A Dose of Humility

You can’t edit with a swelled head.

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.

What do you think? Leave me a comment.

Yes, we had electricity when I was a kid…

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.

The Irresistible Mr. Cooper

Presenting my first novel in eight years and my first self-published novel. Yay me!

MR. FIX-IT IS VERY GOOD WITH HIS HANDS….
Jenessa Sterling, the sophisticated, successful Corporate Communications Manager of Bianchi’s frozen foods, has a mysterious admirer, who eventually reveals himself to be Mitchell Cooper, the new Head of Maintenance. Tall and hazel-eyed, he’s one of the hottest things to turn up on her horizon in ages, and he’s not afraid to let her know he’s interested.

Jenessa’s flattered, even equally attracted. But there’s one little problem: she’s Management. He’s a glorified handyman. What would her colleagues say? But as her attraction to this sensual, well-read, irresistible man grows, her prejudices begin to fade.

Mitchell is confident enough in his own masculinity that she’ll eventually come around. Far from unlearned and simplistic, he’s a complex, well-educated man who left academia to have more time to care for his 12-year-old niece, Ruby, shielding her from her mother, Mitchell’s crack-addicted sister, Coral. He’s a man who believes in heart, friendship and family.

When sudden layoffs tear the company apart, Jenessa and Mitchell find themselves on opposite sides of an ugly corporate rift, with Jenessa struggling to maintain the company’s reputation, and Mitchell putting his career on the line to bring peace back to the workplace and support the people he believes in.

Their relationship doesn’t sit well with the rest of Bianchi’s, either. His staff think he’s sleeping with the enemy. Her people have threatened to sink her chances of attaining the coveted Vice Presidency if she continues the relationship.

When Mitchell’s sister’s bid to recover Ruby turns dangerous, the couple must refocus their attentions on keeping her safe. In so doing, they forget the barriers between them and discover that love, passion and the bonds of family are enough.

Get it here on Amazon Kindle or Print on Demand

Read it? Comment here.

Weird First Dates

Sometimes, you’re better off just staying home.

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?

The Pros and Cons of Being a Cougar

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!

Cougars unite! Comment below!

Fangs of Passion

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.

The living and the undead can comment here.

To Wine or Not to Wine

I know my answer. What’s yours?

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.

How Controlling Are You?

Do it. You know you want to.

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?

7 Bad Habits to Kick This Year

Old habits deserve to die

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.