luck

STORY OF THE TAOIST FARMER

“There was once a farmer in ancient China who owned a horse. “You are so lucky!” his neighbors told him, “to have a horse to pull the cart for you.” “Maybe,” the farmer replied.

One day he didn’t latch the gate properly and the horse ran away. “Oh no! That is terrible news!” his neighbors cried. “Such bad luck!” “Maybe,” the farmer replied.

A few days later the horse returned, bringing with it six wild horses. “How fantastic! You are so lucky,” his neighbors told him. “Maybe,” the farmer replied.

The following week the farmer’s son was breaking-in one of the wild horses when it threw him to the ground, breaking his leg. “Oh no!” the neighbors cried. “Such bad luck, all over again!” “Maybe,” the farmer replied.

The next day soldiers came and took away all the young men to fight in the army. The farmer’s son was left behind. “You are so lucky!” his neighbors cried. “Maybe,” the farmer replied.

When we interpret a situation as an ‘opportunity’ or a ‘disaster’ it shapes the way that we respond.

But the Taoist Farmer shows that we can never truly know how a situation is going to turn out. There are no intrinsic ‘opportunities’ or ‘threats’ — there is only what happens and how we choose to respond.

In which case, doesn’t it make sense to look for the opportunities in every situation?

Are you facing a crisis at the moment? How might you turn it into an opportunity?

SO much has happened in the past year.

Some good, some just so-so, and a lot of it bad. Life had been a veritable roller coaster of disappointments.

“So much fuckery!” I am fond of saying. But,(and I’m asking you to bear with me here) what if there’s magic in the mess?

Inspirational speaker Rob Bell cautions us against judging a situation before we let it “play out”.
“Disappointment is taking score too soon,” he warns.

THAT has become my North Star and THAT is what has been playing out around me over and over and over again recently, so much so that I just had to write about it!

Imagine if you will, a non-believer in all of this hooey. We will call him, Husband.

A lovely curmudgeon of a man who, when confronted, refers to himself as a “realist”. Now imagine that as a cosmic joke perpetrated by the universe’s wicked sense of irony, this man lives with yours truly!

Now, take another leap and imagine that some of my woo, through acts of osmosis over twenty years together, has rubbed off on him.

Case in point: In the middle of the 2020 lockdown, he got kicked out of his “man cave” a place that smells of gasoline and beer, where he and his friends have hung out, tinkering with their various internal combustion gizmos while scratching their balls and watching car porn for over seven years.

“It’s the end of the world!” he howled into the wind.
“Maybe,” I responded from a safe distance away.

“I guess I could call my friend and see if he wants to split a place,” he posed one day after the crying had ceased.
“Sounds good,” I said, exercising a surprising economy with words.

“OMG! We found the PERFECT place but the landlord is a dick!” Husband complained one morning. “He wants to see every bank statement, five years of tax returns, social security, baptismal, confirmation, divorce and marriage certificates, AND a fifty-bajillion dollar deposit!”

“Feels to me like there might be a better place. I’d keep looking.”

“Noooooooooooo!!!!”

But there was. A better place.
The perfect place. Closer, cheaper, with a terrific landlord who basically agreed to the deal the day he met them—with a handshake.

And this has led to the man cave of all man caves and a side business that puts a sustained smile on that curmudgeon’s face the likes of which I’ve rarely (if ever) seen.

“What we need is an orange, rolling metal ladder!” Husband announced one day after breaking and building shit at the new lair.

And that is why god in her infinite wisdom invented the internet.

A couple of days later he received an email alerting him of the delivery time. You must be there tomorrow at 9am to unlock the gate to the parking lot and take delivery, it read.
“Yippee!” Husband exclaimed because this new 2.0 version of the curmudgeon is given to sudden outbursts of joy (but that’s a story for another day). He was about to receive the ladder of his dreams—only it wasn’t orange. “No worries, that’s just paint,” he assured me when I asked. This new guy was starting to freak me out 

Later the next day he returned home deflated, pissed, and ready to rumble—in other words, his old self.

As he tells it, he arrived for the delivery fifteen minutes early only to find the giant metal ladder crumpled into an origami swan inside the locked gate. Not only that, their brand new fence had been damaged in the process. Later, according to the footage from their security cameras, he watched the two delivery guys arrive really early, back their truck up to the fence, and after several failed attempts (and lots of fence bashing) they chucked the ladder in its box (which exploded) up over their heads and into the parking lot.

“This really sucks!” Husband hollered as he navigated the Amazon third-party refund labyrinth.
“Maybe,” I texted from the bedroom.

It turns out that damning security footage is just the evidence you need to get a full refund AND money for gate repair.
And in the meantime, he found an even more perfect ladder (if you can imagine that).

Taller, wheelier, cheaper…and orange.

“Wow! You’re so lucky!” I exclaimed.
“Maybe,” he replied with a wink.

If Husband can change his tune—we all can. Who’s still taking score? Not me!

Carry on,
xoxJ

Hello friends,

Pardon the interruption, but I couldn’t help but share this. If you’re one of my tens of Instagram followers you can go make yourself a sandwich because this is a repost from today, but if you don’t social media (good for you by-the-way) and you want to feel lucky take a look at this!

In the midst of this pandemic, I realize it’s easy to be infected with fear & fuckery.

But one thing I know for sure is that it’s just as easy to catch the good stuff and I truly believe magic is contagious. I believe that sharing it, talking and writing about it transmits it like a goddamn super-spreader!

So consider yourselves infected! Happy Friday you beautiful humans.

Sent with an embarrassing amount of giddy love,
Carry on,
xox

“0h look, a dollar!”

I shrieked inside my head so as not to scare the dog. 

I’d gotten the “hit” to walk an hour earlier than normal. And since it had been drizzling all night I also received the idea to take the road less traveled. 

A paved path with only a slight chance of mud, it was a bit more out of our way, but I listened just the same. 

Let me admit this right upfront—I’m someone who LOVES to find money. In coat pockets, crumpled up inside the car, but most especially—out in the wild. 

That’s why I’ve maintained the practice of leaving wads of dollar bills on neighborhood sidewalks, next to the trash can at my local car wash, and on the floor of the produce department at Trader Joe’s. 

I do it when I’m feeling “broke”. 

It may not make sense to you but it shifts my perspective. 

A lot. 

I mean, you must have an unending supply of money if you can just throw it away like that! Right?

Besides that, I love how it feels to find money. It makes me feel lucky, like someone’s looking out for me. 

Like I’m a magnet for blessings. 

So you can imagine my glee when, after I took this picture, I realized it wasn’t a dollar bill after all, but a FIFTY!!

Y’all, all I can say is Follow your “hits”.

No matter how counterintuitive. 

No matter how out of the way they seem to be taking you. 

And feel lucky as often as you can. I swear this shit is magic. 💫✨💫✨💫

Carry on,
xox Janet

I know Valentine’s was a week ago but I don’t follow the same time-space continuum as most. Anyway…

This. This freaking post. I wrote it back in 2016 as an homage to our love. And truthfully, to show off our oh so glamorous life. Now, it has become, BY FAR, the most popular and most requested of any other almost 1700 posts I’ve written! 
I’d like to think it got traction because of the story, or the writing, but I know it’s because it has the word “poop”  is in the title.
That’s okay, If you’re here to read about poop—I still love you.

Carry on, xox JB

“Bird poop brings good luck!
There is a belief that if a bird poops on you, your car or your property, you may receive good luck and riches. The more birds involved, the richer you’ll be! So next time a bird poops on you, remember that it’s a good thing.”
~Bird Poop Expert

What about if a single bird poops on your head while you’re driving in your car? You know, moving target and all. That feels like a whole lotta good luck coming your way—along with super silky hair, right?

I’m about to talk about poop, a lot!
Bird poop to be exact, so if you’re eating your eggs, best to put down your fork right about now. Or oatmeal or yogurt for that matter. Maybe you should just stop eating until you’re finished reading, okay? Studies have shown that reading while eating can lead to something serious that could render you dead, like choking while laughing, so in essence, I just saved your life.
You’re welcome.

And now, back to the bird poop.

Many people the world over believe that if a bird lets loose on you, then good things are coming your way. One idea is that it’s a sign of major wealth coming from Heaven (the place where ALL real wealth resides). And based on the belief that when you suffer an inconvenience (like a head full of bird shit), you’ll have a whole lotta good fortune in return.

The most popularly held belief is that if a bird hits your noggin, it is so lucky, so random and rare (statistically speaking it is rarer than being hit by lightning), how can a lottery win be far behind?

A Case in point — and a true story:

Can a head full of bird poop be lucky, you ask?
A Bay of Islands man swears it is! After winning $100,000 on an Instant Kiwi ticket, the man disclosed that a bird had recently pooped on his head and that his friends had insisted it was a sign of luck coming his way.

“I thought it was a load of shit,” the man admitted, (pun intended) “but when I was in a Lotto shop I had $5 left in my wallet so figured I would buy a scratch-off and test my luck.”

“I could not believe it when I scratched the right numbers and realized I had won $100,000,” the man told NZ Lotteries.

“It is such a great feeling! I plan to start a new life with this win. I want to wipe my debts and just enjoy life.” The man, originally from Christchurch, plans to move back down there, undeterred by the recent earthquake.

“This win gives me the funds to be able to get down there and be able to help out in any way I can in the city’s rebuild,” he said.

Let me just start by saying that the man in the story is WAY more altruistic than I’ll EVER be. Or maybe not. After he pays off his debt and relocates, how much city rebuilding can he do? I’m worried about him and his financial planning acumen. He has to make that money last and $100,000 doesn’t go as far as it used to. Maybe he’ll have the free time to volunteer. Okay. I feel much better now.

Anyhow, on Saturday the hubster and I decided to get a jump-start on Valentine’s Day being that we had flaked, waiting until the last minute and all the good ideas for Sunday were taken. Left to our own devices, we hopped into the car, put down the top, and decided to drive really fast out of the beautiful, summer-like temperatures and head into opaque whiteness of a foggy abyss, the beach. Faced with the choice of putting the top back up or leaving fogville altogether and going for a big lunch—you guessed it THE BIG LUNCH WON! (No surprise there.)

Winding our way through the tree-lined upscale neighborhoods at a brisk 40 mph (oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch, it wasn’t a school zone and besides, it was Saturday. Nobody drives below 40 mph. on Saturdays), on our way back into town on our search for the perfect kabob, I felt something clobber my cranium.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, hands on my head looking around like a freak. You have to admire my economy with words. Don’t feel bad. I’m a writer.

Anyway…

At first, I suspected it might be space debris or a tiny piece of meteorite. It was only when hubby, with his two bare man-hands, picked a rather large and thankfully solid piece of avian excrement out of my hair—that I realized my good fortune. Lottery WINNER!

Can I just take a moment to thank my husband for his courage, strong stomach, and lack of any real hygienic awareness? (He’s French). You are my hero and I will split the money with you AFTER I rebuild a city.

Needless to say, when the laughter subsided, (thankfully we share the same warped sense of humor that causes us to laugh at another’s misfortune—and poop), we hightailed it to the diviest Liquor Store we could find (because everybody knows THAT is where REAL wealth resides — not Heaven) and bought us some Power Ball, Super Lotto and Mega Millions tickets —and a box of Triscuits—the rosemary and olive oil kind.

Then with big shit-eating grins on our faces (not literally, that’s an idiom, mind out of the gutter people!) we drove to lunch.

Lottery or not, nothing says LOVE like picking bird poop out of your beloved’s hair—so I’m already a winner!

Love you my Big Handsome!

I know. You guys envy my life of glamour and romance. What can I say? I’m one lucky girl.

Carry on,

xox

This. This freaking post. I wrote it back in 2016 as an homage to our love. And truthfully, to show off our, oh so glamorous life. Now, it has become, BY FAR, the most popular of any other post I’ve ever written! 
I’d like to think it got traction because of the story, or the writing, but I know it’s because it has the word “poop”  is in the title.
That’s okay, If you’re here to read about poop—still love you.

Carry on, xox JB

“Bird poop brings good luck!
There is a belief that if a bird poops on you, your car or your property, you may receive good luck and riches. The more birds involved, the richer you’ll be! So next time a bird poops on you, remember that it’s a good thing.”
~Bird Poop Expert

What about if a single bird poops on your head while you’re driving in your car? You know, moving target and all. That feels like a whole lotta good luck coming your way—along with super silky hair, right?

I’m about to talk about poop, a lot!
Bird poop to be exact, so if you’re eating your eggs, best to put down your fork right about now. Or oatmeal or yogurt for that matter. Maybe you should just stop eating until you’re finished reading, okay? Studies have shown that reading while eating can lead to something serious that could render you dead, like choking while laughing, so in essence, I just saved your life.
You’re welcome.

And now, back to the bird poop.

Many people the world over believe that if a bird lets loose on you, then good things are coming your way. One idea is that it’s a sign of major wealth coming from Heaven (the place where ALL real wealth resides). And based on the belief that when you suffer an inconvenience (like a head full of bird shit), you’ll have a whole lotta good fortune in return.

The most popularly held belief is that if a bird hits your noggin, it is so lucky, so random and rare (statistically speaking it is rarer than being hit by lightning), how can a lottery win be far behind?

A Case in point — and a true story:

Can a head full of bird poop be lucky, you ask?
A Bay of Islands man swears it is! After winning $100,000 on an Instant Kiwi ticket, the man disclosed that a bird had recently pooped on his head and that his friends had insisted it was a sign of luck coming his way.

“I thought it was a load of shit,” the man admitted, (pun intended) “but when I was in a Lotto shop I had $5 left in my wallet so figured I would buy a scratch-off and test my luck.”

“I could not believe it when I scratched the right numbers and realized I had won $100,000,” the man told NZ Lotteries.

“It is such a great feeling! I plan to start a new life with this win. I want to wipe my debts and just enjoy life.” The man, originally from Christchurch, plans to move back down there, undeterred by the recent earthquake.

“This win gives me the funds to be able to get down there and be able to help out in any way I can in the city’s rebuild,” he said.

Let me just start by saying that the man in the story is WAY more altruistic than I’ll EVER be. Or maybe not. After he pays off his debt and relocates, how much city rebuilding can he do? I’m worried about him and his financial planning acumen. He has to make that money last and $100,000 doesn’t go as far as it used to. Maybe he’ll have the free time to volunteer. Okay. I feel much better now.

Anyhow, on Saturday the hubster and I decided to get a jump-start on Valentine’s Day being that we had flaked, waiting until the last minute and all the good ideas for Sunday were taken. Left to our own devices, we hopped into the car, put down the top, and decided to drive really fast out of the beautiful, summer-like temperatures and head into opaque whiteness of a foggy abyss, the beach. Faced with the choice of putting the top back up or leaving fogville altogether and going for a big lunch—you guessed it THE BIG LUNCH WON! (No surprise there.)

Winding our way through the tree-lined upscale neighborhoods at a brisk 40 mph (oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch, it wasn’t a school zone and besides, it was Saturday. Nobody drives below 40 mph. on Saturdays), on our way back into town on our search for the perfect kabob, I felt something clobber my cranium.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, hands on my head looking around like a freak. You have to admire my economy with words. Don’t feel bad. I’m a writer.

Anyway…

At first, I suspected it might be space debris or a tiny piece of meteorite. It was only when hubby, with his two bare man-hands, picked a rather large and thankfully solid piece of avian excrement out of my hair—that I realized my good fortune. Lottery WINNER!

Can I just take a moment to thank my husband for his courage, strong stomach, and lack of any real hygienic awareness? (He’s French). You are my hero and I will split the money with you AFTER I rebuild a city.

Needless to say, when the laughter subsided, (thankfully we share the same warped sense of humor that causes us to laugh at another’s misfortune—and poop), we hightailed it to the diviest Liquor Store we could find (because everybody knows THAT is where REAL wealth resides — not Heaven) and bought us some Power Ball, Super Lotto and Mega Millions tickets —and a box of Triscuits—the rosemary and olive oil kind.

Then with big shit-eating grins on our faces (not literally, that’s an idiom, mind out of the gutter people!) we drove to lunch.

Lottery or not, nothing says LOVE like picking bird poop out of your beloved’s hair—so I’m already a winner!

Love you my Big Handsome!

I know. You guys envy my life of glamour and romance. What can I say? I’m one lucky girl.

Carry on,

xox

The rain was monsoonal, something as out-of-place in LA as a face with so much as a hint of a forehead frown line. 

I watched it coming down like an aggressive shower curtain of water slapping against the window while I waited in line at Trader Joes. So much for timing my run to the store in-between squalls. I knew I shouldn’t have lingered over the bone broth. What’s the thing with bone broth anyway? It’s like the second coming of Christ. And why do I do that? Why do I decide to do the deep dive into researching an item on Google, before deciding whether to buy it or not while I’m actually STANDING IN THE STORE?  

When I see people like me I just want to kick ‘em! Don’t you? 

Anyway, TJ’s was packed, just like most places are when it rains. It’s a phenomenon I can’t explain but it’s real. Ask anyone who’s ever worked in the service industry and they’ll tell you that the harder it rains the more people decide to put on pants (or not) under their raincoats—and shop. Or eat out. Or eat out then shop. 

It’s a thing. Trust me. 

Once I snapped out of my weather induced coma, it occurred to me that my line wasn’t moving. Isn’t that one of life’s great mysteries? How we always manage to get in the slowest line? Even after I do my due diligence by standing back and carefully sizing them all up! Even after deciding on the speediest checker, somehow, SOMEHOW, mine is the checkout line where the old ladies’s eggs fly out of the carton. Or the nice young man who’s bagging the groceries and has been blessed with the gift of gab discovers he went to middle school with the customer in front of me’s daughter and what a perfect time to get all caught up! Or the twenty-five pound bag of dog food (the only thing the man in a hurry in front of me is buying because god forbid he shows up at home without it—I’ve seen that look from Ruby) springs a leak right when he picks it up and kibble sprays like it’s coming out of a firehose, EVERYWHERE or, or, shit!

I decided it’s just the fickle-finger-of-fate and there’s not a fucking thing I can do about it now. Meanwhile, our line was at a standstill. So naturally, like a morbidly curious lookie-loo at the scene of an accident, I moved in for a closer look and you’re never gonna guess what it was that was holding us up. 

Go on, take a guess! Nope. Wrong!

The guy behind me must have seen it too because he went apoplectic. “Oh, sure, that’s just great!” he announced in his outside voice as he craned his neck in search of a quick escape.  

Here it is. Here’s what was causing the delay and subsequent pileup: The woman in front of me was going to WRITE A CHECK!

That’s right. A paper check. Like, one that’s been happily retired, living in a checkbook with all of it’s antiquated friends for the past several decades. I felt like I’d slip streamed the timeline back twenty years. Back to when I was thin and blonde, and..hey, maybe this wasn’t so bad…

Anyway, she was mid apology when she overheard the guy behind me loose his mind. Flop sweat appeared on her upper lip as she looked around nervously. Then she asked the checker for a pen. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so embarrassed,’ she said.

I was embarrassed for her.

“No problem,” replied the checkout girl, but I could tell it was a huge problem for her since she couldn’t find a pen that worked.

Having once been a Girl Scout, I fished one out of my purse and handed it to her.

“Here you go,” I said.

“Thanks,” she replied, and proceeded to write as fast as a human hand can move a pen across paper.

“Oh, for the love of god!” Cried the mom with two kids dressed in matching yellow rain coats who’d just gotten into line behind me. “Really, a check?” She was livid.

“What’s a check mommy?” one of the kids asked as she huffed away. “It’s a relic from our distant past,” she answered in her snarkiest mommy tone.

The woman in front of me was shaking as she handed me back the pen. Our eyes met as an explanation tumbled out of her mouth like popcorn does at the movies.

“My entire backpack was stolen in Barcelona, along with my wallet and passport,” she explained to no one in particular. “I had to go to the American embassy just to be able to get back in the country.”

I nodded sympathetically. I’ve traveled extensively in Europe and that sounds like my worst nightmare. I can’t imagine what she went through. 

“We got home late last night and there’s no food in the house…”

The cashier interrupted. “So I guess I can’t get any ID then, right?”

The hungry woman shook her head.

I’d heard enough. I pulled out my wallet but the manager, who I’m sure had noticed the back up, showed up right about then. “It’s cool,” he said. “I’ve seen her here million times.” He smiled a reassuring smile while scribbling his initials on the front of the check. “Haven’t done THAT in a while,” he said as he walked away. 

My anger had long since dissipated. After an entire line at the market had check-shamed her, now all I felt was compassion for the poor woman. No debit card to get cash. No credit cards. No drivers license. How else was she supposed to eat?

I imagined being in the same predicament and doing the exact same thing. 

Man, there were SO many lessons in that encounter.

People! Slow down! What’s the fucking rush?

Shit happens. 

Barcelona is divine but criminals live there too. 

American Embassies are essential in times like that.

There’s SO MUCH distracting candy around the checkout counter at TJ’s that found its way into my cart that it’s ridiculous. 

Have some compassion. Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.

Carry on,
xox

Since I posted it last year this essay is the most popular of any other BY FAR so why try to write something mushy about love?
I’d like to think it’s because of the story or the writing but I know it’s because it has the word “poop” in the title.
Enjoy!

“Bird poop brings good luck!
There is a belief that if a bird poops on you, your car or your property, you may receive good luck and riches. The more birds involved, the richer you’ll be! So next time a bird poops on you, remember that it’s a good thing.”
~Bird Poop Expert

What about if a single bird poops on your head while you’re driving in your car? You know, moving target and all. That feels like a whole lotta good luck coming your way—along with super silky hair, right?

I’m about to talk about poop, a lot!
Bird poop to be exact, so if you’re eating your eggs, best to put down your fork right about now. Or oatmeal or yogurt for that matter. Just stop eating until you’re finished reading, okay? Studies have shown that reading while eating can lead to something serious and most likely deadly, like choking while laughing, so in essence, I just saved your life.
You’re welcome.

And now, back to the bird poop.

Many people the world over believe that if a bird lets loose on you, then good things are coming your way. One idea is that it’s a sign of major wealth coming from Heaven (the place where ALL real wealth resides), based on the belief that when you suffer an inconvenience (like a head full of bird shit), you’ll have good fortune in return.

The most popularly held belief is that if a bird hits your noggin, it is so lucky, so random and rare (statistically speaking it is rarer than being hit by lightning), how can a lottery win be far behind?

A Case in point — and true story:

Can a head full of bird poop be lucky, you ask?
A Bay of Islands man swears it is, after winning $100,000 on an Instant Kiwi ticket. The man said a bird recently pooped on his head, and his friends told him it was a sign of luck coming his way.

“I thought it was a load of rubbish, but when I was in a Lotto shop I had $5 left in my wallet so thought I would buy a scratch-off and test my luck.

“I could not believe it when I scratched the right numbers and realized I had won $100,000,” the man told NZ Lotteries.

“It is such a great feeling. I plan to start a new life with this win. I want to wipe my debts and just enjoy life.”

The man is originally from Christchurch and plans to move back down there, undeterred by the recent earthquake.

“This win gives me the funds to be able to get down there and be able to help out in any way I can in the city’s rebuild,” he said.

Let me just start by saying that the man in the story is WAY more altruistic than I’ll EVER be. Or maybe not. After he pays off his debt and relocates, how much city rebuilding can he do? I’m worried about him and his financial planning abilities. He has to make that money last and $100,000 doesn’t go as far as it used to. Maybe he’ll have the free time to volunteer. Okay. I feel much better now.

Anyhow, on Saturday the hubster and I decided to get a jump-start on Valentine’s Day being that we had flaked, waiting until the last-minute and all the good ideas for Sunday were taken. Left to our own devices, we hopped into the car, put down the top, and decided to drive really fast out of the beautiful, summer-like temperatures and head into opaque whiteness of a foggy purgatory, the beach. Faced with the choice of putting the top back up or leaving fog-ville altogether and going for a big lunch, you guessed it, THE BIG LUNCH WON! (No surprise there).

Winding our way through the tree-lined upscale neighborhoods at a brisk 40 mph (oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch, it wasn’t a school zone and besides, it was Saturday. Nobody drives below 40 mph. on Saturdays), on our way back into town and our search for the perfect kabob, I felt something clobber my cranium.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, hands on my head looking around like a freak. You have to admire my economy with words. Don’t feel bad. I’m a writer.

Anyway…

At first, I suspected it might be space debris or a tiny piece of meteorite, and it was only when hubby, with his two bare man-hands, picked a rather large and thankfully solid piece of avian excrement out of my hair—that I realized my good fortune. Lottery WINNER!

Can I just take a moment to thank my husband for his courage, strong stomach, and lack of any real hygienic awareness? (He’s French). You are my hero and I will split the money with you AFTER I rebuild a city.

Needless to say, when the laughter subsided, (thankfully we share the same warped sense of humor that causes us to laugh at another’s misfortune), we hightailed it to the diviest Liquor Store we could find (because everybody knows THAT is where REAL wealth resides — not Heaven), and bought us some Power Ball, Super Lotto and Mega Millions tickets —and a box of Triscuits—the Rosemary and olive oil kind.

Then with big shit-eating grins on our faces (that’s an idiom, not literally, mind out of the gutter people, Ewwww), we drove to lunch.

Lottery or not, nothing says LOVE like picking bird poop out of your beloved’s hair—so I’m already a winner!

Love you my Big Handsome!

I know. You guys envy my life of glamour and romance. What can I say? I’m one lucky girl. Maybe YOU had a better Valentine’s Day than me? Huh? I don’t think soooo but I’ll listen!

Carry on,

xox

“Bird poop brings good luck!
There is a belief that if a bird poops on you, your car or your property, you may receive good luck and riches. The more birds involved, the richer you’ll be! So next time a bird poops on you, remember that it’s a good thing.”
~Bird Poop Expert

What about if a single bird poops on your head while you’re driving in your car? You know, moving target and all. That feels like a whole lotta good luck coming your way—along with super silky hair, right?

I’m about to talk about poop, a lot!
Bird poop to be exact, so if you’re eating your eggs, best to put down your fork right about now. Or oatmeal or yogurt for that matter. Just stop eating until you’re finished reading, okay? Studies have shown that reading while eating can lead to something serious and most likely deadly, like choking while laughing, so in essence, I just saved your life.
You’re welcome.

And now, back to the bird poop.

Many people the world over believe that if a bird lets loose on you, then good things are coming your way. One idea is that it’s a sign of major wealth coming from Heaven (the place where ALL real wealth resides), based on the belief that when you suffer an inconvenience (like a head full of bird shit), you’ll have good fortune in return.

The most popularly held belief is that if a bird hits your noggin, it is so lucky, so random and rare (statistically speaking it is rarer than being hit by lightning), how can a lottery win be far behind?

A Case in point — and true story:

Can a head full of bird poop be lucky, you ask?
A Bay of Islands man swears it is, after winning $100,000 on an Instant Kiwi ticket. The man said a bird recently pooped on his head, and his friends told him it was a sign of luck coming his way.

“This win gives me the funds to be able to get down there and be able to help out in any way I can in the city’s rebuild,” he said.

Let me just start by saying that the man in the story is WAY more altruistic than I’ll EVER be. Or maybe not. After he pays off his debt and relocates, how much city rebuilding can he do? I’m worried about him and his financial planning abilities. He has to make that money last and $100,000 doesn’t go as far as it used to. Maybe he’ll have the free time to volunteer. Okay. I feel much better now.

Anyhow, on Saturday the hubster and I decided to get a jump-start on Valentine’s Day being that we had flaked, waiting until the last-minute and all the good ideas for Sunday were taken. Left to our own devices, we hopped into the car, put down the top, and decided to drive really fast out of the beautiful, summer-like temperatures and head into opaque whiteness of a foggy purgatory, the beach. Faced with the choice of putting the top back up or leaving fog-ville altogether and going for a big lunch, you guessed it, THE BIG LUNCH WON! (No surprise there).

Winding our way through the tree-lined upscale neighborhoods at a brisk 40 mph (oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch, it wasn’t a school zone and besides, it was Saturday. Nobody drives below 40 mph. on Saturdays), on our way back into town and our search for the perfect kabob, I felt something clobber my cranium.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, hands on my head looking around like a freak. You have to admire my economy with words. Don’t feel bad. I’m a writer.

Anyway…

At first, I suspected it might be space debris or a tiny piece of meteorite, and it was only when hubby, with his two bare man-hands, picked a rather large and thankfully solid piece of avian excrement out of my hair—that I realized my good fortune. Lottery WINNER!

Can I just take a moment to thank my husband for his courage, strong stomach and lack of any real hygienic awareness? (He’s French). You are my hero and I will split the money with you AFTER I rebuild a city.

Needless to say, when the laughter subsided, (thankfully we share the same warped sense of humor that causes us to laugh at another’s misfortune), we hightailed it to the diviest Liquor Store we could find (because everybody knows THAT is where REAL wealth resides — not Heaven), and bought us some Power Ball, Super Lotto and Mega Millions tickets —and a box of Triscuits—the Rosemary and olive oil kind.

Then with big shit-eating grins on our faces (that’s an idiom, not literally, mind out of the gutter people, Ewwww), we drove to lunch.

Lottery or not, nothing says LOVE like picking bird poop out of your beloved’s hair—so I’m already a winner!

Love you my Big Handsome!

I know. You guys envy my life of glamour and romance. What can I say? I’m one lucky girl. Maybe YOU had a better Valentine’s Day than me? Huh? I don’t think soooo but I’ll listen!

Carry on,

xox

* This is a flashback from a couple of years ago when my inner poet ran the show. It seems apropos to end this week of tested faith with a poem.
A rhyme about faith and luck and his friend chance; perseverance and truth.
Enjoy your Friday you guys
xox

Some days my faith is huge and bold,
So large an ocean cannot hold.

Then other days, it’s all dried up,
just a drop in the bottom of a paper cup.

I vacillate between the two.
Fate waits to drop the other shoe.

Then luck comes by with his friend chance,
this is my lifetime’s little dance.

Some days an ocean, some days a cup,
I stay the course, I won’t give up.

I play the game, my heart is true,
with faith as my partner, how about you?

Carry on
Xox

You Guys!
I’ve started playing this new game recently. Actually, I’m obsessed with it.

It’s called seeding. No, I’m not planting wildflowers, I’m planting money$.

Yes, you heard me, I’m leaving money on the ground wherever I go.

It’s a practice that’s been around for a while, and I was recently reminded of it by something written byPam Grout of “E-Squared” fame.

The idea is to leave a few dollars on the ground or indiscriminate places along your daily path. It’s more than just leaving a few extra bucks in the Starbucks jar, it involves the element of surprise.

You know the thrill you get when you find twenty dollars in the pocket of a jacket you haven’t worn in a while?
I do the happy dance when that happens because I love an unexpected windfall. Hey, who doesn’t?

What about finding money on the ground?
I used to find dollar bills or wads of cash on my hiking trial on a regular basis. It made me feel lucky and special and …rich.

And that’s the point.

I don’t really have the extra money to be throwing around right now, but I’m getting such a rush from this game that I can’t help myself.

I wrapped a five dollar bill inside of a one dollar note because of the wow factor. That happened to me recently and it made my day.
I thought I found a couple of bucks but as I unpeeled the wad each bill got larger. It was twenty-eight dollars in all –– an absolute found fortune and it bought my friend and me lunch!

I’m a firm believer in what goes around comes around, but I swear you guys, that’s actually secondary to how much fun this is, picturing people finding your little seed money. (You WILL start finding money BTW.)

Trust me, NO ONE is so jaded that finding some cash doesn’t make them smile.

What I know for sure is that the money finds it’s way to the people who need it. That’s the intention behind this little experiment, so don’t be worrying that Joe Fat Cat is gonna run away with your seed money. It ain’t gonna happen, so don’t use that as an excuse.

Believe me, the ones who find it will be extremely grateful. They will feel blessed and fortunate and lucky. Those are the seeds you’re planting. What a gift you’ve given them –– and yourself.

Try it. A couple of dollars isn’t going to make or break you and I swear –– it’s addictive.

My friend leaves a buck or two under her seat in the subway.

I drop a wad of ones outside my car just before I drive away.

I left three dollars in the park.

I leave dollar bills under tables and booths in restaurants, for the person who sweeps up to find as they close up.

I scatter money on my walk in the mornings (no, I won’t tell you the route).

I live in a walking neighborhood with lots of families, kids and dogs, so I left some cash in front of my house between my driveway and my neighbors and no one found it for a whole day. (As a side note, it’s weird, most people don’t look down at the ground.) Anyway, I kept checking and when it finally disappeared…it felt like Christmas –– I smiled my ass off.

I left four dollars on the floor of my car at the car wash –– and the lovely, honest guy who was vacuuming came and found me to give it back. Don’t you just love humanity?

Drop some seed money this week and write and tell me how it went and how great it felt. You won’t be disappointed.

Carry On,
xox

The other day my sweet, beautiful friend was mourning the death of her perfect FICO score.

She had been like a lot of us. She had done everything right. She watched her debt, bought her own house, payed her bills on time, even paying most of the balances in full every month – then disaster struck.

No, not the Great Recession, although I read an article in 2010 that said something like 80% of our FICO scores took a hit. (Gasp)
Nope.
She decided she’d had enough of her soul sucking job. She pried the fingers of the corporate world from around her neck and made a break for it. It was never her intention for her finances to be less than stellar, but sometimes shit gets real, and now, several years later, after the dust has settled, her FICO score sucks.

I have another friend whose ex-husband drove their relationship and her pristine FICO score off a cliff and into bankruptcy. She’s worked really hard to build it back up and overcome the shame of it.

There is a lot of shame attached, like a scarlet number is etched on your forehead.

This pissed me off! These are both incredible women. These are not bad check writing, run-up-the-credit-cards-on-late-night-internet-binge-shopping, kind of girls. And I know about twenty more.

Guess what ladies. YOU ARE NOT YOUR FICO SCORE.

Sometimes when you embark on a new life things get trashed, thrown into the chipper. Divorce, layoffs, mortgage under water, illness.
One of the things that can get caught in the collateral damage besides your pride, may be your FICO score.

People, it’s okay. Your score may have taken a beating, but hey, you’re still a good person.

I remember being so proud after I met my husband and we transferred my house into both of our names. The banker came out flushed and grinning ear to ear, looking like he’d just had illicit sex, (because to those banker types, FICO scores are a BIG turn on) anyway…he announced that our scores were in the high 700’s – one number apart. He refused to tell us which person had the higher score, which was smart and proved that the blood was returning to his brain.
I’m sure he could sense that we were competitive.
Listen, I just assumed it was my husband since he is methodical, thrifty, and exhibits self control – and he assumed it was me – for no good reason other than he loves me.
That’s why this marriage works.

So…you can imagine my colossal dismay when after doing everything right, for so many years, after my store closed – my FICO score plummeted.

Debt ratio, plain and simple.

Some poor slob at Chase, mentioned the number once when I was feeling particularly vulnerable (otherwise known as 2010-11), and I screamed and went into the ugly cry. My response was so over the top they checked to see if it was a mistake. Then, after they could see that it was not, they stood far away from me, nervously twisting the piece of paper. Where minutes before their eyes were filled with judgement, now they were looking at me with eyes full of pity.

“So my life took a U-Turn! Don’t look at me like that – bitch!”
I AM NOT MY FICO SCORE!

And neither are you.

These fucking numbers keep us enslaved in a world of potential disapproval, like a judgmental parent.

“Oh, don’t leave that job it might lower your FICO score.”

“Geez, your funding that business on your credit cards? Isn’t that going to ruin your FICO score?”

“Shit, your house Is upside down, what did that do to your FICO score?”

Hey, I’m not advocating ruining your credit with nasty, irresponsible deeds. I’m just sayin’ to those of us that were uber-responsible:

Investing your definition of yourself in something so unforgiving is emotional suicide,

AND…
I think it’s a racket.

I for one was a slave to mine. I stayed too long in a job I should have left, I hesitated accruing debt in my business when the recession hit, (the people I know that did are still standing) and then, in the end, after being such a good girl, the very thing I feared the most – happened.
I got slammed, owing everyone in the world money.

I went to the bank. I pled my case. I pay all the minimums.
Too bad – tough luck – bye, bye…

FICO is like a toxic relationship. We give it our money, our attention, our loyalty and it doesn’t return the favor.

It issues us a number that defines us, like a teacher on report card day.

It’s been almost seven years, which is when you are issued your Get Out Of Jail Free card.

But I’m already free and so are many others like me.
Truth be told, I don’t look at it anymore, I haven’t for years.
I decided that with the limited amount of fucks to give that I still have left, (thank you Mark Manson, you can check out his essay on The Observer’s Voice Facebook page) I shouldn’t waste giving a fuck about this kind of stuff anymore.

Nope, we are not our FICO scores.

What a relief.

xox