Basic Business No-Brainer

Whatever you're selling, make it as easy as possible for someone to spend their money on you.

As if the buying public weren't already impulsive and impatient enough, the world of e-commerce has made it too easy for potential customers to quickly lose interest or become distracted with other options.

If you're inviting someone to buy your product or service, they shouldn't have to work to find it.  If you provide a link, make sure it works.  If I can't get to your stuff within one or two clicks after clicking that link, then you've probably lost a sale.  Do better. 

Either you're ready to sell, or you're not.  If you're ready, be ready.  If you're not, don't make excuses about it, and then expect people to wait until you've got your shit together.

Being in Love

Being in love keeps you in a good mood.  Losing love reminds you that you're human.  Remembering love makes it all worth it.  Appreciating loves makes you willing to work for it.  Knowing love almost makes you believe that it's better to have loved and lost, etc., etc.

Woke up from a cold medicine-induced haze around midnight.  Turned on the TV, clicked the Guide button, and got enticed by the description, "R.Kelly:  Sam Cooke Live."  Hmm. 

I've long said that R. Kelly got his singing style straight from studying Sam Cooke.  Tremendously talented, R. Kelly.  Too bad his demons seem to have taken over his spotlight.  Absolutely LOVE Sam Cooke.  Another tortured soul, brimming over with talent, but gone too soon; and under tragic circumstances.

I turned the channel to that station, only to find one of my favorite Whitney Houston videos from "The Bodyguard" Soundtrack.  Dumb TV Guide got it wrong again, but I watched it anyway, instantly nostalgic for my uncomplicated, yet angsty adolescent-to-teen-to-young adult years.  To call her voice remarkable would be to grossly understate the experience.

Then I logged onto the Internet to find that Whitney Houston just died.  Yes.  I literally gasped and went numb.  It made me very sad.  

Out of habit more than anything, I opened a new tab, and logged on to find too much commentary, much of it very mean, most of it self-serving and gratuitous, all of it repetitive, all over Facebook.  For the 3rd time in about a week, I thought of deactivating my page, but people keep finding me there; and I actually enjoy being connected.  I wish I could find (or Facebook would provide) the feature that allows me to turn off the news feed.

People love to post judgments as if they don't have any of their own demons to battle.  Shut up.  Others like to get on soapboxes, berating and belittling folks for mourning and contemplating the loss of a super star, as they feign to champion the plight of the military and civil servants who have served and died in the line of duty with little notice or fanfare.  Shut.  Up.  As if celebrities choose to die for the world-wide recognition and with the attention of eclipsing the acknowledgment of the rest of us.  Hell, I don't know.  Maybe some of them do.  There's a more morbid than usual thought, but...*Shrugs*  But they ARE celebrities.  People know more of them than they do the rest of us.  Their lives (and deaths) are news.  So, shut up.

And all of these pop up tributes?  Ugh.  So damn tacky. 

Let's all parade around on stage, TV and radio, belting out karaoke-esque covers and spouting endless commentary, and call it a tribute.  Yeah, there's an original thought.  No one will see straight through that.  And what a tragically fortuitous coincidence that the award shows are just around the corner.  I can almost see the Oscar and Grammy producers scrambling as I write this.

Her tarnished image and questionable, highly scrutinized lifestyle aside, Whitney Houston's was arguably the greatest voice of a generation.  Indeed, a tortured soul, brimming over with talent.  There never seems to be enough time, but I'm glad that I was here to witness and truly appreciate her gift.  I get chills thinking about the glorious sound of her voice.  My goodness.

 Okay.  Now, I'll shut up, too.

The Season of Overeating

Is it possible to develop an eating disorder in your 40s?
I love to eat. A box of cookies.  A can of chips.  Leftovers.  Jello.
I don't binge and purge or whatever that is.  I just eat.  Maybe it's the weather.  It's probably the weather.  Nah.  I'm just lazy and unmotivated.

Shit That Makes Me Want to Shoot People in the Head

No, this is not PTSD.  Not a cry for help.  I'm just rummaging through some venting tidbits that need to work themselves out of my head.  Read again:  VENTING.  Not encouraging any already crazy fuckers with no coping skills and no social skills to cross the line into bodily harm of others.

I figured that since I shouldn't name my blog something like "Shit That Makes Me Want to Shoot People...," then I ought to at least make it the title of my first post.  "Today's Truth" just felt too vanilla.

I'm thinking about things that bother the shit out of me.  Liars. Slow Internet connections.  Generation X-ers who think it's cute, clever, or enlightened to text full conversations like teenagers.  Grow your grown ass up.  Rude, disrespectful people.  People who don't know the difference between self-esteem and self-entitlement.  Get a clue.  The world doesn't owe you shit.  People who keep me waiting, especially when I'm spending my money.  Websites that play music.  I hate looking all over the damn page just to find the pause or stop button.  Uggh.  Unprofessional.  Amateurish.  Annoying as fuck.

I hate overused word pairs, especially trials and tribulations.  Suddenly, everybody's Job or Jesus Christ.  Can someone please write about your freakin' hardships without acting like you just carried a cross to Cavalry?

Did a mysterious storm swoop down and destroy all of your property and kill all of your kids?  Do you have sores covering every inch of your body?  I didn't think so.

But even if  you could cite personal hardships of biblical proportions, it is overdone.  Over.  Done.  So are tragedy and triumph.  Body and soul.  Vitamins and minerals.  Umm...sick and tired.

I'm sane, but not normal.  I'm kind, but impatient.  I'm sure that I'm too considerate of others who don't give a shit about me.  I hate telling people no, but I will.  When I do,  I have guilt issues that depress me for hours, sometimes days.  I really wish people wouldn't cross boundaries, physical, emotional, professional boundaries.  I work too hard.

I've loved the wrong people too much for my own good.  Been made a fool for a few good times.  I have great scars and grotesque open wounds, only visible when I put them on the screen.  I've too many missing pieces, but otherwise, I'm perfect.

*Sigh*  Of course, I don't really want to shoot anybody in the head.  That feeling has managed to go away since returning home from Afghanistan.  But I sure would like to pistol whip the fuck out of a few folks.  That feeling manages to linger on (and on) a bit longer.

Yeah, yeah.  My unwillingness to forgive is dragging me to hell.  Got it.  It doesn't change today's truth.  Maybe tomorrow's truth will be different.  Hmmh.