Just when I thought I was going along quite strongly in the New Year with being a better connector, Friday thwapped me on the snoot and told me, “Nope.”
I had lunch plans with My Artist. And I knew his birthday was coming up, and since I FAILED last year to put it on my calendar, I asked him at lunch, “So what day is your birfday, I know it’s this month.”
“Today,” he shared so politely – and somewhat smugly – with me.
Let me assure you, Reader, it’s on my calendar now.
I think this example just points to another way in which I’m much more of a giver than most other people. I POLITELY and CONSISTENTLY announce my birthday month at the KICKOFF of the month. No one has to ask, and risk missing showering me with messages and cards and cakes. I do it for YOU, Reader, because as I’ve said before and will say many times again and again, I’m a GIVER and NOT a knowledge hoarder!
Keeping your birthday a non-announced event basically ensures your losing out on a caking opportunity, which is really the saddest loss of all (except for actual real losses, but let’s just talk about missed opportunities for your mouth).
So now it’s back to the drawing board with trying to stay on top of February Events.
Today is my youngest nephews 24th birthday, and I have been pleasantly shocked that he has invited me to dinner. Yes, dinner that I’m going to pay for, but it’s actually very gracious of him to spend his weekend birthday night with me and I ENJOY treating people to acknowledge their special life events. It makes me happy, and it’s also one of the things I keep telling the Universe lately: “I have enough money to do all the treating and gifting I desire,” and then I keep myself open to receiving said funds to do so. The Universe is falling a little short on it’s part of the bargain, but I’m not going to live with Scared Money any longer.
Oh, what is scared money, you ask? Well, let me tell you a little story. I mean, that’s why we’re here, amiright?
My friendie from way back in the olden days, let’s call her Becky (because that is her name), and I used to be big ol’ Bingo Players. We were the twenty-year-olds at the Bingo Parlor, and man-o’-fuck was it F.U.N. Friday night at Bingo or a Bar? Bingo, yes and thank you! We sometimes took my mom, too, and made it a full-on girls night out, because that’s how bitchez in their twenties roll. At least the super cool ones.
Anyway, Becky would buy instant pull-tab tickets like a mad-woman, and I would follow suit as I could, and then once when I was a little hesitant with my finances, Becky grabbed my arm, looked me straight in the eye and informed me with the seriousness as if she were revealing the seven secrets of the universe, “You can’t play with scared money. Scared money never wins.”
Scared money never wins.
And also, My Artist revealed to me some big effing news I missed in December, which is that UFOs have been acknowledged by the Pentagon, and why in the hell isn’t THIS in the news as much as which porn star Trump slept with I’ll never know, but it points to the fact that life is just one giant game filled with man-made rules and currencies and treat it as such and it’ll be a lot more fun, until the Aliens invade. Then? Anything goes. So in the meantime, stop playing with scared money. Feel free to replace the word “money” with whatever it is that is holding you back.
Stop playing with fears of what other people think. Stop playing with the fear of success. You get the picture.
Scared money never wins, Reader.
Oh, and PS, she DID win, an inexplicable number of times. And yes, I also won big money enough times to be happy about it.