Give a Penny, Take a Penny

The glass is half full.

A negative mind will never give you a positive life.

Happiness is a choice.

Yadda, yadda, yadda.

While I very much pride myself on being a positive person I came to the sad realization that my “positivity bank account” has slowly been depleting. My cup that I am almost always touting as overflowing was being spilled and I wasn’t refilling it fast enough.

Deposits? Fewer going in. Withdrawals? Ample and frequent as of late.

“Things” happen and happened and my cup fell below the half way marker.

People have made emotional withdrawals from my personal account yet did not make any deposits in return.

While still counting and appreciating all the blessings I do have, the cumulative effect of the withdrawals were starting to take its toll. Little Miss Sunshine? Eh. Not so much. Perhaps Little Miss Partly Cloudy. Only a recent and short bout of cloudiness, but, nonetheless, I prefer the sun.

I had an old bank account that I never closed. The balance? One cent. Literally. One cent. I closed that account today and I was handed the newest, shiniest, brightest penny I have ever seen. My mood, which was really not all that bad to begin with, immediately changed. I was filled with optimism, hope, thoughts of new beginnings.

One single cent deposit replenished my bank account. One solitary penny. I’m rich.

Avoid overdrafts. Take advantage of opportunities to make deposits, large and small, into to your accounts and every person that is important to you. Do not take out more than you put in. Always top it off.

Negative comments and treatment can suck the life out of even the healthiest of bank accounts.

So I’m sharing my penny. There’s plenty to go around. Give a penny, take a penny. Right? 

Actually, give a few pennies before you take a single one. You’ll never be sorry. 

May your bank accounts runneth over. 

Thoughts From A Jawbreaker

Wanna know a little fun fact about this slacker blogger? I broke my jaw 3 years ago. Very run-of-the-mill injury? Amirght? Nothing interesting here. Move along.

Yeah, that’s my mouth. Wired shut. TIGHT. And that’s my very own iced-out grillz. You like?

OK. So I added the “SS” mouth jewelry for this little story, but I was feeling quite bling-bling, hip-hop and all back in the day. Word.

Oh, the posts I could write on the unusual things that go along with having your teeth semi-permanently laced together with razor-sharp metal bars and titanium twine. Not titanium? Whatever. Nevertheless, when the maxillofacial oral surgeon says you are going to be “wired shut,” your teeth will be on LOCK DOWN. Trust me!

So I’ll pass for now on the story of when they unleashed me for the first time to have a looksie at the state of my still fractured chomper. I was positive at that moment, positive, that my jaw was going to fall off my face. Luckily, I caught it and held it gingerly in place before it plopped down onto the floor. Whew.

I also will not tell you about diligently trying to insert a pipe cleaner in spaces between my teeth (I have none) so I could do a pseudo brushing. Not at all embarrassed to say how many hours were spent on this fruitless task.

Never did I wish for a “trap-door tooth” in all that time. Had I one, however, I could sneak in a toothbrush and use it on the INSIDE of my mouth. I could also pass through some real food that would not and could not be sucked through my teeth. Lived on liquids and air. Even airflow seemed to stop and bounce off my shiny grillz. A little air here please. But again I say, never did I wish for wish for a “trap-door tooth,” people. Never. That’s just silly.

Also will be bypassing this gem – being hit on and the guy questioning me, “Why would you do that to yourself? You are already so thin?” Yes, schmoozy & brilliant man, this was an ELECTIVE surgery?!?

TODAY marks the third anniversary of the day that I was freed from the wires that binded me for nearly 11 weeks. Free at last! Free at last!  

Breaking my jaw reminded me of and confirmed a few things that I truly believe and these items I AM going to share with you here: 

1)         A kind or supportive word makes a difference. There is always a ripple effect. Pay it forward.

2)         Don’t underestimate the magnitude of a small thoughtful gift. A lone milkshake, a box of plastic spoons, a bag of straws, or some fancy-dancy toothpick flossers can mean the world to someone!

3)         It really is the small things in life! It’s amazing how an unrestrained yawn, an unbounded sneeze, freshly brushed teeth, or simply licking your lips can bring you joy! Don’t take the little things for granted.

4)         Laughter is good for the soul… a merry heart is a happy heart! Laugh even through clenched teeth if you must. It truly is the best medicine.

5)         Having not much choice but to smile, as it was somewhat of a permanent fixture on my face, smiling can change your mood and is contagious. Smile often & smile big! It might not be quite as large and shiny as mine used to be… but it will make someone’s day… and probably yours, as well.

I was thankful for all the large and small gestures I received. Overwhelmed really.

I’m reliving that gratitude today and am wishing all of you days filled with kind words, small wonders, countless laughs, and happy smiling faces!  

I also wish you days free from clumsy mishaps. One can really hurt themselves.

Be careful out there!

Strawberry Fields For NEVER

Don’t have a Valentine this year? Sad about it? I’m here to change all of that nonsense for you.

Sherrie Sherrie at your service. You are welcome.

I posted a blog a while back, Yellow Flag on the Turf and on my “Date,” and many were entertained at my expense. I’m going to repeat that process as a little Valentine’s Day present. My gift to all of you. Muah.

1)      You can not say you didn’t receive anything this year.

2)      You will be thankful and grateful you aren’t with someone like this.

3)      You will laugh and smile and be merry! This is my wish for you!

So this here will be the highlight reel of a texting voyage of epic proportions I shared with a guy suggested to me by a mutual friend. I have coined this man Dr. Field Good.

This mobile rendezvous with the good “Doctor” lasted a whopping 2 ½ days. A short time, yes. Nevertheless, it journeyed me down roads of wackadoodle that I wish to never have to travel down again. **Shudder** NEVER. EVER.

I certainly don’t want to ruin a great story for lack of embellishment, but won’t inundate you with each of the nearly 200 messages that transpired. Please note, that less than 30% of these texts were my own. When you factor in that some of his texts were so lengthy they would count as 6 or 7 by normal standards, it’s clear the Doctor doesn’t realize that texting is supposed to be more of a volley. Lob one up, get a reply, lather, rinse, repeat, etc.  

Day one of this ride was “relatively” normal in terms of people initially chatting. Relatively, here, really does need the “air quotes.” Please use them accordingly. 

The first 12 hours included numerous quirky pictures: (1) him on a horse, (2) the “easy button,” (3) his knee, (4) his professional headshot, (5) him riding in a cardboard car, (6) a kitten (and not his own, just a cutesy girlie internet one), (7) the plastic divider thingy from a grocery store check out line, and (8) the threshold of his front door. Your typical run-of-the-mill let's get to know one another images to share? Amiright?!? {{Scratching head}}

Day 2 started early. 8:00 a.m.

Sweet, but after less than 24 hours, it’s a little too early to be getting the good morning Babe texts.

Slammed at work; I respond to the initial text, however, not to the stream of ones that followed for nearly 3 hours. Dr. Field Good wasn’t feeling too good about the lag in my response and questioned whether he had “done something wrong?”

This is code for “Are you Fing kidding me here with this?!?!” A day and half and there is an expectation on text turnaround time.

A bit later, my infrequency of communication is again in question.

The trip is already over for me at this point. The rental car is turned in. The suitcase is unpacked. I'm just searching for the energy to respond.

Day 3 starts off even earlier, 7:30 a.m.

Ah, yes. This “game” is called common sense to most. I know it well and play it often. 

But wait, there’s more. Field Good wants to play even more "games." This time a "silly" one. What fun?!

Ummmmm…. What'chu talkin' 'bout, Willis?

Is this fence you speak of the way out of this imaginary hell? If so I’m running for it full steam ahead. Get outta my way Buddie!

Not only do I NOT want to play this fruit fantasy, in one fell swoop the doctor may have ruined strawberries for me for life. No lie. For life. A strawberry might never touch these lips again.

Annnndddd… I’m OUT!

The barrage of texts that follow over the course of the next several hours, well, there really are no words.

Really?! Pulling out the “brought together” card after only texting for a flash in the dating pan?

 Ya think perhaps? Hhhhmmm? Yeah, maybe, just a teeny tiny little bit on the dramatic side.

It's a major award! Times three. Congratulations going out to the doctor. (A picture of one of his inventions was included for good measure)

Well, I’m kinda leaning towards “not,” but do you “promise?” Do you pinky swear promise? If not, it doesn’t count. 

Somewhere this has switched over from a courting attempt to an audition for a variety hour. At best his humor never surpassed corny. Corn Dog Award. Now his fourth major award.

Endless more unanswered texts and an invite for "one meeting in a coffee shop" later:

Annnndddd… I’m OUT! For the second time.

Give it up to the Doc for persistence and his ability to perform a full emotional analysis on me all whilst not missing a beat on the fast fingered texting:

Oh nooooo heeee di-int.  **Finger snap snap snap in “Z” formation**

So not even close.

These 25 people? Were they tied up at the time? 

Love. This. Chick. High-five sane woman, whoever and wherever you are. Us girls gotta stick together. 

Dr. Feel Good and 2 other doctors walk into a bar...

Text onslaught continues. I received at least 12 phone screen sized "pages" going over the details, ad nauseam, of previous messages, schooling me on what he believes to be proper texting etiquette in these kinds of situations, and much mention of actions, thoughts, opinions "as a man." 

Annnndddd… I’m OUT! Third and FINAL out. 

Oh right. Now he's out??! 'Bout time. And awww man, I'm both deleted and blocked. Sad face. 

I will adamantly reject the fact that I am angry or have any barriers. Nonetheless, if it keeps me away from people that are loco in noco like this? Then bring them ON.  Barriers are my friend. Barriers = BFF. 

So single gals & guys out there, think of Dr. Field Good here and be happy with your singledom. Embrace your life, your barriers, your worth. Don’t compromise what you want, need, like… the gamut. You deserve it all. And you owe no one an apology for that.

Let’s all make a simple toast. 

Raise your glasses friends… raise them high and repeat after me...

“Strawberry Fields For NEVER!”

 ~~clink~~

Feels good.

“Strawberry Fields For NEVER!”

**GULP**

Happy Valentine’s Day Loves! Never settle for an imaginary field of strawberries when you deserve so much more than that. It's the real deal or nothing. Don't ever forget that. xxxooo

Cupid's Undie Run

How will you be celebrating Valentine’s Day this year?

Cards, letters, flowers, candy or gifts to your significant other? Wining and dining with a romantic dinner? Ooh là là.

Sherrie Sherrie? I will be running in Cleveland’s Cupid’s Undie Run.

That’s right, a mile run in the freezing Antarctica (aka Cleveland streets) in my skivvies, or some variation thereof, to raise funds and awareness for the Children's Tumor Foundation (CTF.org). I can trudge through a little snow and some frigid air nearly nekked to help those going through immense suffering on a daily basis.

The Children's Tumor Foundation funds clinical trials to find treatments and a cure for neurofibromatosis (NF), a genetic disorder that causes tumors to grow throughout the nervous system at a rampant pace and causing deafness, blindness, paralysis, learning disabilities, cancer and debilitating pain.

My friend, coworker and our FEARLESS team leader, Mike Silvestro, knows first hand of how truly dreadful this disease can be as he’s suffered from it since he was a teen. 

Can you help out team “BEAT NF?”

My personal fundraising goal is $500. Dan Gilbert, whose son Nick suffers from NF, is personally matching all funds raised for those Cleveland runners who reach at least $500. 

Whether the gift is $5 or $500, all donations are tax-deductible and will have great impact on those in need!

I greatly appreciate any and all assistance in this fundraising endeavor, and more importantly it would mean the world to the 2 million worldwide who battle NF on a daily basis!

If you can help, please click here.
http://my.cupids.org/SherrieSherrie

A Beautiful Brain

I would like to introduce to all of you my friend and author Jim Moorman. 

I wrote a guest blog for Jim, "No Fairy Tale for Cleveland... Yet," a while back, and I'm excited that he is returning the favor. In his own words, Jim's mission is to entertain, inspire, and hopefully offer a few laughs along the way.

His mission is not unlike my own. I, also, try to end many of my stories on an upbeat tone, so this was right up my ally. I would say after reading this "Don't forget to stop and smell the roses." Or at least stop and appreciate their beauty and perhaps even snap a picture or two of them along the way. 

http://jimmoormanbooks.com/

A Beautiful Brain

I read recently that our brains process over 2000 bits of information every second. That’s right, every second. The article went on to say that with so much information being processed throughout our day, we tend to tune a lot of it out, naturally. She encouraged her readers to try and “retrain” their brain with a goal of selectively processing information that would have otherwise been tuned out. I was, of course, intrigued, and decided to investigate the possibility.

In order to “retrain” one’s brain there apparently has to be a very clear vocalized intention. The word intention is defined by Merriam Webster as, “a determination to act in a certain way: resolve.” So what was is it that I would be newly resolved to notice? I pondered for a while and then decided that, after what I took as a sign from the universe, I’d like to begin taking better notice of all the beauty in the world.

It seems simple, right? The world is, after all, a beautiful place, isn’t it? It turns out that, until last week, I apparently didn’t think it was. Like most, I progress through my day with my mind racing in a million directions, rarely ever conscious of my present moment. The little voice in my head is always clamoring on about this or that. He’s my little internal worrier. Who needs a call back, what bill needs to get paid, will I be able to find time to get to the gym, and is my daughter’s soccer game at ten or eleven? It goes on like this all day from the time I wake up until the time I go to bed. TV is a good mind number but all that does is really just give my brain a break from the chaos long enough to rev up again the next morning. This “voice” that lives in my brain is probably the one that keeps me alive, but he stresses the hell out of me in the process.

When I came to this realization, I immediately thought of Peter from the movie, “Office Space.” Peter was unhappy and decided to try hypnotherapy. During the session, his hypnotherapist had a heart attack and Peter never really snapped out of it. He walked around in a sort of haze, taking things a lot less serious and essentially becoming more present to his wants rather than the demands on him from others. He was suddenly very free.

While this is a Hollywood comedy (and a good one at that), the underlying concept is pretty awesome. If I can tell that little voice in my head to shut up, maybe, just maybe, I’ll create freedom to be able to choose on which of the 2000 bits of information my brain receives each second I’d like to focus.

So I decided to give it a go.  It’s been a couple weeks and I’ve had mixed, though improved results thus far. That little bastard voice of mine is a persistent son of a gun. When he rears up and I catch him, I simply say, “Thanks for sharing,” and refocus on the moment. When it happens, I’m amazed at what I see. I noticed that my plant, the one that sits on the ledge over my left shoulder every day for nine or so hours has been quite neglected. Brown leaves were plentiful and in need of pruning. The soil had dried out, and a there was a pencil sticking out of the middle of it. My guess is that the pencil was a makeshift stake used to keep the stem upright. Any string that once tethered them was long gone yet there the pencil stayed.

The “moments” didn’t stop there. I started to pay attention to all sorts of things I’d taken for granted only days before. The drive to work had always been a mental prep time for the day, usually wrought with me having pretend fights with people with whom I anticipated a conflict. If I was anticipating a call from my ex telling me I needed to sell something else for my daughter’s school, my fierce rebuttal would be well rehearsed. If my boss tried to suck me in to one of his projects for which I didn’t have time, my objection would not only be ready, but clearly articulated with a sound logic to support it. Then, boom, I’m in the parking garage.

This morning, when started my drive, I received an imaginary phone call from a customer who wanted to wiggle out of his contract because of something that had nothing to do with my service. I scolded the voice and did so aloud, thankful I was in the privacy of my car. It was only seconds after that I noticed the sunrise. It was happening in time with my commute and I was grateful for the opportunity to witness it. Grey clouds turned bright pink, then red. A song started playing I hadn’t heard in a long time. As I sat at the intersection of E.9^th and Lakeside, I watched a dozen people walk by a homeless man as though he were a fixture and not a person. I didn’t condemn them or look down on them for walking by. I knew that they were likely slaves to their voices as they embarked upon their day. I felt worse for them than I did the homeless man and asked God for the strength to maintain my resolve in thinking and seeing the world differently.

Last night, after I grabbed my lottery ticket, I walked down to the beach. I never do that, but it was a nice night and I found myself wanting to look for something beautiful in the world at that moment. It was dark. It was chilly. But the light from the parking lot illuminated enough of the beach that I could see some amazing rock and branch formations. It was quiet. The water was black. There wasn’t another person down there nor was there one within sight. It was just me, alone. So when the Great Blue Herron flew down out of the black sky and stood ankle high in the lake about twenty feet from me, I didn’t quite know what to think. There he was just standing there all alone. He wasn’t fishing. He wasn’t walking. He was just standing, chilling out, seemingly with me. He looked over at me pretty intently and seemed content to just share the scene. I did the same and when he finally flew off after about five minutes, I thanked him for the company. It was a unique, cool moment that left me feeling good. I wouldn’t have had it had I not voiced my intention to do so.

Then I came home and read for a while instead of watching TV. I hopped on Facebook for a few and saw that my friend, Zach Walczak, a very talented photographer, had just uploaded some new images. I immediately checked them out, liked most if not all of them, and then, as I was about to navigate away from his page of albums, saw the cover image for an album of his called Sandy Ridge Reservation. I’m sure you can guess what it was.

Photo credit: Zach Walczak (http://www.flickr.com/photos/zackdmb/)

  

My lesson in all of this, you ask? Well, obviously, it’s about the grace and beauty of the Great Blue Herron and how overlooked this majestic creature is in my daily life.

No? Not the bird? Well then perhaps the exercise I’ve undertaken and will continue to master is the simple concept of getting out of my own head. It’s pretty amazing what’s there that we don’t see every day. I’m bummed that I’ve unknowing trained my brain to focus on largely negative things and have, in the process, missed a lot of life’s beauty.

Should you feel so inclined, I think you’d find it a worthwhile endeavor to (even if just for a week or two) retrain your brain and maybe see the world in a new, beautiful way – the way Zach sees it.

Photo credit: Zach Walczak (http://www.flickr.com/photos/zackdmb/)

Photo credit: Zach Walczak (http://www.flickr.com/photos/zackdmb/)

Photo credit: Zach Walczak (http://www.flickr.com/photos/zackdmb/)

Photo credit: Zach Walczak (http://www.flickr.com/photos/zackdmb/)

Photo credit: Zach Walczak (http://www.flickr.com/photos/zackdmb/)

Photo credit: Zach Walczak (http://www.flickr.com/photos/zackdmb/)

Photo credit: Zach Walczak (http://www.flickr.com/photos/zackdmb/)

Photo credit: Zach Walczak (http://www.flickr.com/photos/zackdmb/)

Photo credit: Zach Walczak (http://www.flickr.com/photos/zackdmb/)

To Wear, or not to Wear: That is the Question

Halloween is upon us… hayrides, haunted houses, candy, pumpkin essence overload (not that I am complaining, you can ladle that gourdy goodness on anything and everything for me)... 
... and, of course, costumes.

Oh so many kinds of costumes.

Scary.

Cute.

Funny.

Creative.

Even “sexy” costumes. **GASP** Aka “naughty,” “slutty,” or “whorish.”

Hey now?!

You can hardly throw a broomstick in a costume shop without hitting an outfit branded with “sexy.” Simple supply and demand. So why does this topic get cauldrons boiling over?

Many eagerly board the black and orange Fashion Police paddy wagon, sirens blaring, “booooooo booooooo,” trolling for those they believe are crossing lines of decency this time of year. 

:: 311 in progress. Indecent exposure. Pirate’s booty… 

NOT a hidden treasure any longer. ::

http://www.mrpiratecostumes.com/womens-pirate-costume

:: We are in direct pursuit of a 288. 

Conduct not becoming of a naval officer. ::

http://www.halloweencostumes.com/womens-sexy-sailor-costume.html

:: Disturbance in the 3100 block of 13th Street...

of the Hocus Poke-us variety. ::

http://www.squidoo.com/witch-costume

Make no mistake here, I am talking about ADULT costumes. 

I do not, 

would not, 

could not, 

condone any unsuitable costumes for children or young teens. 

Nor do I think exceedingly inappropriate costumes are amusing. If you are going for “shock factor” or need to accessorize your ensemble with a "Too Soon??!?" badge, it is probably just offensive or vulgar. 

Don’t be a “shit-head.” Yeah, that is a real a costume?! Oy.

I work in Finance and wear business attire at least 70% of the 356 days in a year. The remaining 30%, my wardrobe is supposed to abide by a long list of “age-appropriate” rules. Pfft. Yawn. May I have one day a year, one day, All Hallows Eve, when I can break out of it all; the corporate mold, the fashion laws and bylaws and slip into something that just might involve skin tight clothing, thigh highs or being scantily-clad? Pretty pretty pretty please with a push-up bra on top.

I’m certainly not asking, needing or wanting anyone’s approval.

Come autumn, many woman drink the orange kool-aid and use Halloween as an excuse opportunity to embrace all that is good about being "bad," and to that I say, “hooray for you.” Rock that “sexy” fill-in the blank. And for those who like to dress-up but enjoy a more conservative look, I shout “hell ya" for you, too. 

There are all kinds of pumpkins in the patches, even ones that never want to become jack-o-lanterns. Do we need to judge, label or dispatch the Fashion Po-Po out on those that might have an outlook unlike our own?

This time of the year always reminds me that it’s so much fun to have fun. Simple but true.

Life is short.

Smile more.

Laugh more.

WEAR THAT HALLOWEEN COSTUME.

Feel young again and have a blast!

After all, isn’t that what Halloween is all about?

Yellow Flag on the Turf and on my “Date”

Football fans? Better be. No wusses allowed. Cleveland Browns fans? Eh, it’s rough, amiright? Gluttons for punishment, we are, but we can’t help ourselves. **Sigh**

Assuming anyone that remotely likes football has probably heard about or seen Brandon Weeden’s now notorious “worst pass ever thrown in the NFL” from the Browns' game last Sunday versus the Detroit Lions. “Worst?” Perhaps? At any rate, it is way up there in “boneheaded” passes, as even the quarterback, himself, described it.

Big thanks to Mr. Benny Hill for making this rendition some how tolerable, nay, even entertaining.  

Bad passes and bad football often go hand in hand when we bleed brown and orange. It is what it is. And bad “passes” and bad dates often go hand in hand for this Girlie. 

But never the twain shall meet, right? Au contraire mon ami.

Rewind two weeks. Browns are playing Thursday night… prime-time baby… awesome Cleveland weather (no, that’s not an oxymoron) and I am GO-ING. Woof! Woof!

A guy “friend” with season tickets asked me to go. Fourteenth row seats, might I add. He asked me to several “datey” kinda things, of which I declined every one due to the “date” nature of said invites. I had a boyfriend for a while and he seemed to respect that although he made it clear that if that situation changed he would like a “shot.” Well, I guess that target opened up… single… again.

I made it crystal before going to the game that I was “only interested in friendship.” Said it was mutual. Coolio.

Now mind you, this was the same guy that asked my opinion on some swim trunks a while back for a cruise he was going on. Sure. No problem. Imagine my surprise when I received 3 pictures of him modeling his beach attire. Let’s just say those pics did not get deposited into the Spank Bank.

The excitement to go to my first Thursday night game numbed my apprehension. I was honest and upfront with him.

Friends. Agreed. Nothing more to say than, "Here we go Brownies, here we go."

Pregame tailgating. Check. Food. Drinks. Check. Check. So far, so good.

Game time! 

I’ve been to a lot of Browns games, this by far ended up being the best game I have ever attended. The energy of an evening game. Exciting plays. And a big fat “W” at the end, 37 – 24 against the Bills.

Barring all that was dawgilicious about this amazing and exhilarating Browns win, my non-date was beginning to feel like anything but. Passes and penalties were abounding… not on the field… in the stands.

Underhand pass to my elbow. Flag on the play. False start.

Shovel pass to my shoulder. Flag on the play. Illegal motion.

Backhand pass to my lower back. Flag on the play. Holding.

Shuffle pass to my “I just want to be friends” handles. Not, not, not “love” handles. I was clear… friendship… only. Flag on the play. Illegal use of the hands.

Whoa, more passes flying around than I got with my last boyfriend.

I was lifted off my feet several times with a celebratory hug. Really, a high five would have sufficed. At one point the lift paralleled a pairs skating duo move. Dude. This is football and we are not on a date. Get with the program.

Not withstanding the barrage of yellow flags now at my feet, this seemingly very successful and intelligent man was loosing those attributes with each tick of the game clock.

Some girl stories being thrown in there amidst flags. Even going as far as showing me texts. Caveating his attempts to draw out my green-eyed monster by saying he doesn’t want me to be uncomfortable? Why would I care? I look quite lovely in green, but I won’t be donning my best emeralds or jades on your account. Sorry.

As if Mr. Handsy wasn’t bad enough, enter Mr. Cocky. Bragging. Flat out arguing with me about different subjects. Which, eh um, I was RIGHT. 100% correct. Beyond riled up, I just backed down and let that dog lie even though I wanted to BITE. Grrrrrr. I was not going to win that battle. Mr. Know-It-All knows it all. The Browns won, but I was not going to.

Several times whilst trying to add emphasis to a point, he’d end it with “How’s that?” Said as if he reverted back to Kindergarten. Excited because he was able to relate point “A” to point “B.” Connect the dots. So proud of himself, yet still needing the approval from the teacher. Yeah for you. Now it’s naptime. “How’s that?”

Coddling is always well received by a grown ass woman, as well, right? Wrong. Confident in our beliefs and opinions, we state them clearly. Yes? YES. For example, “I only want to be friends.” Damn, if I didn’t really mean that. And when I say “I like football,” damn if I really didn’t mean that, too. If one more time it was echoed “you really do like football,” in conjunction with a wild-eyed and bewildered look, someone was going to get chop blocked. Flag on the play. Penalty this time, my own. The grabbing and holding my hand while walking the downtown streets, certainly was a slick move by Mr. Handsy but also had a strong air of someone wanting to help me across the street. “Stop, Look and Listen before you cross the street.” Thank you Crossing Guard, but I mastered that lesson a long time ago. I got this. The fourth and long Hail Mary pass.

Cue the Benny Hill anthem again. That theme music is all too appropriate as this night and nonsense was approaching comedic levels. “Mah Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na. Mah Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na.” Great game. Terrible “date” that was never even a date to begin with.

So girls and guys out there alike, if someone tells you, “I only want to be friends.” Believe them. Seriously. Any interpretation or reading between the lines of that very simple and straightforward sentence, might get you a personal foul infraction of “Unsportsmanlike Conduct.”

How’s that?!?!

Let's go Brownies! Let's go! Woof! Woof! Let's keep the bad passes to a minimum, shall we?