What Act are YOU in?

GIANT Ageless Beauties List below! Stick around… (It’ll be fun!)

I know I know. Age is just a number. But what an awefully darn AWESOME number it is!! It shows strength, vigor, edurance, last-ability, character, courage, stamina, spirit!

Who doesn’t like a list of celebrities? I composed the list below of Ageless Beauties weeks ago in honor of today, but most of all… in honor of all the beautiful strong AMAZING women that INSPIRE me.

Today, in the 9th month on this 18th day, I turn 46!! Yay! Thanks in advance for all your thoughtful wishes! Blessings to all my favorite sweet friends & associates! ❤  

Getting older is a gift. A boost to new levels! It is another year under the belt, another year spent with precious loved ones. An initiation of sorts, it is an invitation to your next chapter. It is a wiser you, a more experienced you, hopefully an improved version of you. It is the closer we get not to death but to awakening fully to life! I love it. I think each year older is an accomplishment. Straight up.

I am proud of conquering another 365 days of being here on this exceptionally oddball loco-ass planet. Who isn’t? I must say, it is the most challenging, baffling, scandalous, unsettling era in all of human history. Unfortunately, God rest their souls, many folks didn’t make it through this nutzo year. No one can deny these unprecedented times. We ALL deserve a PARTY… lol.

In the sage words of our dear old friend Kermie the frog: “It’s not easy being green.” Speaking of which, guess who else is 46 years young this year? That’s right, you guessed it… none other than the darling, the ravishing, the showstopping gem… drum roll please!
Miiiiiiiizzzzzz PIGGY!

Who says aging is a downward spiral? I feel honored to be in the over 40, now over 45 club! The following fabulous AGELESS BEAUTIES are exactly why aging is so darn admirable & amazing. Who wouldn’t want to be in this club?

Shout out to all the gorgeous stunning strong women out there in my circle, generation, H.S. graduating class of ’92, & all those in my sphere of influence! A toast to our impending & (actual) Third Act! May it blow Act One & Two right out of the water…!

Buckle your seat-belt, kids… this list will sail ya right down memory lane, time sure does fly…

What ACT are YOU in??

  • Jewel, Alanis Morissette, Penélope Cruz & Hilary Swank just turned 46 too! #1974
  • I gotta mention (even though he is not a girl) Jimmy Fallen turns 46 one day after me!
  • Tiffany Haddish is 40
  • Chelsea Clinton is 40
  • Rosario Dawson is 41
  • Eve is 41
  • Fergie is 42
  • Fiona Apple Is 42
  • Kerry Washington is 43
  • Shakira is 43
  • Jada Pinkett Smith is 43
  • Naomi Campbell is 44
  • Taraji P Henson is 44
  • Nia Long is 44
  • Reese Witherspoon is 44
  • Drew Barrymore is 45
  • Charlize Theron is 45
  • Eva Longoria is 45
  • Angelina Jolie is 45
  • Tyra Banks is 46
  • Eva Mendes is 46
  • Victoria Beckam is 46
  • Amy Adams is 46
  • Lil Kim is 46
  • Kate Beckinstall is 47
  • Heidi Klum is 47
  • Gwyneth Paltrow is 47
  • Gabrielle Union is 47
  • Juliette Lewis is 47
  • Alyssa Milano is 47
  • Cameron Diaz is 48
  • Sofia Vergara is 48
  • Jennifer Garner is 48
  • Meg Ryan is 48
  • Winona Ryder is 48
  • Maya Rudolph is 48
  • Mary J Blige is 49
  • Viola Davis 49
  • Regina Hall is 49
  • Uma Therman is 50
  • Giada De Laurentiis is 50
  • Gwen Stefani is 50
  • Faith Hill is 50
  • Queen Latifah is 50
  • Mariah Carey is 50
  • Catherine Zeta Jones is 50
  • Melania Trump is 50
  • Madea is only 50!! lol
  • Jennifer Aniston is 51
  • Lucy Liu is 51
  • Jennifer Lopez is 51
  • Naomi Watts is 51
  • Lisa Loeb is 52
  • Debra Messing is 52
  • Kylie Minogue is 52
  • Lisa Bonet is 52
  • Shania Twain is 52
  • Celine Dion is 52
  • Sarah Mclaughlin is 52
  • Ashley Judd is 52
  • Rachael Ray is 52
  • Julia Roberts is 52
  • Sinéad O’Connor is 53
  • Nicole Kidman is 53
  • Halle Berry is 54
  • Salma Hayek is 54
  • Janet Jackson is 54
  • Björk is 54
  • Paula Abdul is 55
  • Marisa Tomei is 55
  • Elizabeth Hurley is 55
  • Diane Lane is 55
  • Sheryl Crow is 55
  • Sarah Jessica Parker is 55.
  • Brooke Shields is 55
  • Hoda Kotb is 56
  • Sandra Bullock is 56
  • Vivica Fox is 56
  • Natalie Merchant is 56
  • Michelle Obama is 56
  • Sandra Bullock is 56
  • Jodie Foster is 57
  • Vanessa Williams is 57
  • Demi Moore is 57
  • Tori Amos is 57
  • Meg Ryan is 58
  • Joan Osborne is 58
  • Sheryl Crow is 58
  • Enya is 59
  • Robin Roberts is 59
  • Julia Louis-Dreyfus is 59
  • Melissa Etheridge is 59
  • Jamie Lee Curtis is 61
  • Sade is 61
  • Joan Jett is 61
  • Suzanne Vega is 61
  • Susanna Hoffs is 61
  • Madonna is 62
  • Michelle Pfeiffer is 62
  • Sharon Stone is 62
  • Vanna White is 63
  • Gloria Estefan is 63
  • Melanie Griffith is 63
  • Siouxsie Sioux is 63
  • Kim Kittrell is 64
  • Andie MacDowell is 64
  • Whoopi Goldberg is 64
  • Annie Lennox is 65
  • Christie Brinkley is 66
  • Oprah Winfrey is 66
  • Robin McGraw is 66
  • Kathy Lee Gifford is 67
  • Cyndi Lauper is 67
  • Chaka Khan is 67
  • Pat Benatar is 67
  • Kirsty Alley is 69
  • Sigourney Weaver is 70
  • Bonnie Raitt is 70
  • Cher is 71
  • Shelly Long is 71
  • Meryl Streep is 71
  • Hilary Clinton is 72
  • Stevie Nicks is 72
  • Susanne Sommers is 73
  • Susan Sarandon is 73
  • Dolly Parton is 74
  • Bette Midler is 74
  • Carly Simon is 75
  • Gladys Knight is 76
  • Diana Ross is 76
  • Joni Michell is 76
  • Carole King is 78
  • Joan Baez is 79
  • Tina Turner is EIGHTY!!
  • Grace Slick is 80
  • Judy Collins is 81
  • Jane Fonda is 82!!!
  • Thee Mizz Betty White is 98!!!!

Well if that list isn’t packed with a punch, I don’t know what is!!

What Act of Life are you in?

First Act: in drama the first act is used to establish the dramatic situation and introduce the main characters. At the end of the first act, a provocative incident complicates the story and moves the screenplay into the second act.

  • This is childhood through young adulthood, when we set the stage for our lives, choose our career path and relationships.

Second Act: the second act, commonly described as “rising action,” typically depicts the protagonist attempting to solve the problems caused by the provocative incident. The climax, which ends the second act, is the scene or sequence in which the main tension and dramatic questions of the story are brought to their most intense point.

  • This is the era from 35 or so to the 50’s, what has been typically recognized as midlife.

Third Act: the third act features the resolution of the story and its subplots. This is the time in which life’s loose ends, unresolved plotlines, & the denouement of life becomes apparent.

  • This is the era from age 50 onward.

Denouement de·noue·ment

/ˌdāno͞oˈmäN/

noun

the final part of a play, movie, or narrative in which the strands of the plot are woven together and matters are explained or resolved.

Love, Light & Blessings! To whichever beautiful ACT you’re in!

VISIT: zappurcopy.com

Leather & Cigarettes

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Today is my birthday, was born September 18th 1974, hurricane season. Stay tuned for a bitchin’ 80s rewind, after I bring ya up to speed on the current temp of me now, circa 2019. Not quite sure how interesting I am to ya, so, if you only have time for the 80s Rewind, feel free to scroll down to: Leather & Cigarettes. Otherwise, Class of ’92 folks, & all my Gen-Xer peers, will enjoy this whole article. Keep reading!

For the past 5 years, I have been going stag. It’s been my great pleasure to be removed from the relationship dynamic, to rewire my programs & become totally free. A few weeks ago, I cut my hair pretty short, cause I am ready to begin a new chapter. Aaaaaand… it starts NOW. If you would like to gift me on my special day… BUY BOOK HERE>

Many thanks!

Regarding my birth date, technically the cusp doesn’t start until tomorrow, but after much research over the years, I definitively consider myself both a Virgo & a Libra. For those of you who roll yer eyes & think astrology is a myth, think again. The movement, science & design of the planets, moon & stars significantly influence everything. Up to & including you there pal, whether you agree or not. Kinda like God. The God Force & Universal law indefinitely eternally exist & are indeed structurally sound, no matter what, beyond what any man decides to think or say about it.

“In Astrology, your Birthday is known as your Solar Return. It’s when the Sun returns to the precise position it was at the moment you took your first breath as your “Sun Sign” here on earth. Ever wondered where the Birthday greeting “many happy returns” comes from? Well, now you know. Every single year that passes, your transiting Sun returns to the exact location in the heavens as your natal sun… providing unique insight into the planetary energies and influences that will affect your upcoming year.”

—www.numerologist.com

I turn 45 today. The U.S. is in the age of the 45th president, El Trump-O. And, here’s a little numerology for ya… feel free to scroll past if you’re not interested.

A number’s meaning can be thought of as the number’s basic tone or vibration. As an overview, the numerology number 45 represents a composite energy containing the ideas of:

  • Humanitarianism
  • Compassion
  • Pragmatism
  • Conscientiousness
  • Adventure

The 45 essence contains:

  • the 9’s essence, such as humanitarianism, compassion, and philanthropy,
  • plus a dose of the 4’s focus, pragmatism, and conscientiousness.
  • plus a dose of the 5’s adventure, curiosity, and expression of personal freedom.

The result is a unique essence.

45 is pragmatic, not easily persuaded by hyperbole. It is an active existence. And generous with its skills and time. It’s creative, tolerant, compassionate, and intent on doing the world some good.

The number 45 essence generally prefers interaction with others.

It’s also worldly and sophisticated, and has a global consciousness — aware that much needs to be done to bring humanity to a more ideal existence. It’s both idealistic and pragmatic. It provides generous charity for individuals and organizations dedicated to the benefit of mankind.

The essence is nonjudgmental, deeming no value difference between itself, its neighbors, and people living in different cultures in other parts of the world. There’s no judgement of lifestyles, societal expectations, religious beliefs, and political practices — unless they oppose the work 45 is doing, in which case 45 can be quite persistent in accomplishing the vision regardless of opposition.

Imagine welfare of humanity as your highest priority. Compassion and tolerance are innate, as is idealism. You are pragmatic in your pursuit of helping people and you get results. Occasionally, you go off on an adventure, yet are always conscious that things need to be done to get humankind on a better plane.

That’s 45.

—affinitynumerology.com

Honestly, I think 45 years old, is young. I love my age. I don’t dread another birthday or shame getting older. I think it’s a true achievement to have conquered another year on this planet. And it’s a sheer privilege to get to embark on yet another go of it this year, despite the risks (though, isn’t that what makes it fun?). I don’t feel old, I feel wise. I feel accomplished. I feel initiated, or finally sworn into the Cool Kids Club. We are seasoned, have seniority, clout, accrued standards, strong muscles, a well defined palate, clear boundaries, plenty of life experience, a depth of vast understanding, a valid proven stand point & a pretty boss vocab, if ya ask me. If we were a stock… our holders would be pretty rich by now.

I feel like the mid-aged ruby red fine 100% proud to be Italian… wine, I am. I might not be old vine oak yet… but, I’m definitely spiked with subtle notes of warm toasted apple cigar box vanilla. I definitely feel more powerful, healthy, abundant, whole & balanced more than ever before, despite my tendency to sulk & question my whole existence once a week. After select long pauses of quiet desperation, or voracious venting fits to a good listener… I usually bounce back pretty fast.

I gotta say though, despite my wisdom, I most definitely picked the Fool card out of the Tarot deck a time or two (or three) in the past few years. Learning lessons the hard way by trial & error, is definitely not my favorite thing. But, oh well… a sense of humor… is like, in a bejeweled holster on my hip, for the golden quick draw of self-deprecating oh so charming sweet sweet sarcasm.

If I couldn’t laugh & have a tail wagger with four paws & stink feet, I would have been a statistic long ago. Those of us with brain damage from a history of heavy drug use, have a few more emotional loose strings than the average Joe or Jill. Not making excuses, just saying. “Recovered addict” folks have to catch up the lazy brain parts that got left behind nodded out under a tree somewhere. Whether its two years or 20, the last time a person got high, the lazy brain is always having to up its game. It’s a lifelong process. This Opioid crisis we have right now in the midst of humanity is gonna wind up eventually turning into a lazy brain crisis when they all get clean, & droves of folks have to retrain their brains to catch up. It’s the nature of the beast. Oh well, all the best to ya, mates…

Since its my birthday, I think it’s fitting to say, I certainly believe in ageless beauty, unedited, unfiltered, minimal make-up if any, bra-less (if I lived in Spain) & pretty much… no airs. Just me, sitting on the dock of the bay swingin my feet watchin’ the gulls play & the little waves bounce. I like to think I am past having to explain myself to anyone, & over the hump of trying too hard or people pleasing. What you see is what you get, drama doesn’t do anything for me, & responding rather than reacting is a good skill. I’ve honed in on the ability to think>>>things>>>through. And, those moments that deserve no filter & the uncensored truth… I’m your gal. 🙂

Self preservation is of utmost importance at this stage of the game. I have my RX regimen down pat pretty good by now. I believe in natural organic earthy preservation of youth. Clean eating, exercise, stretching, meditation, recalibrating the soul via communion with nature. Stress will put ya underground in a box fast, (not to mention, give ya bags, lines & wrinkles). I try not to worry too much, despite my tendency to get melancholy & hormonal on special occasions. Paying attention, & slowing down once in a while… popping out from behind the techno curtain of the screen, is usually a good idea.

I believe in downtime, a good night’s sleep, solitude, & regular R&R, just as much as rigorous activity, ambitious pursuit, & social engagement. If you are gonna “work hard,” “play hard,” I guess. Balance & moderation are our best co-pilots. I don’t believe in regrets, that’s no fun. I can’t say I practice what I preach all the time… but who can? We are all flawed little human captives of Earth. I don’t believe in deterioration, either. 99 is the new 50, haven’t ya heard? We have slowed down the aging process… kudos to us! Remember those days when our grandparents were only like 30, & they looked not a day under 55? Lol. The idea of aging felt so grim back then.

Regarding the likes of “shit happening,” what’s done is done. No use in worrying or obsessing or running around like a nut in the jungle of thorny “why me” trees. What for? Who cares. No one is keeping score, really. It’s all imaginary bullshit jibber jabbering in your head like a penny jangling around in a tin can piggy bank. What ya did or didn’t do, what ya coulda, shoulda, woulda, & how your life would be so next level, if you weren’t such a dumb-ass whenever that random time was before. Why do that to yourself? It’s not nice. Let it go. It’s time. No use in getting the panties in a wad, sweating small stuff or bein’ your own worst enemy ‘n’ shit. Spilled milk is exactly that: spilled. And, for the record, the future can be totally shifted in your favor still yet based on your behavior in the present… to not have anxiety over it, & instead visualize its glory. Up to you there, champ.

Those pesky times when I find that I’m caught up in the struggle, I remind myself of how it could be so much worse. A bee coulda flew in my can of Pepsi today & then stung the crap outta my lips, or, I coulda got food poisoning & been trapped in a work bathroom stall of all places, or I coulda locked BOTH sets of keys in the car, or dropped my phone in the unflushed toilet bowl (yellow rice for dinner anyone?).

Not to minimize the impact of anyone’s twist of fate, bad luck, mood or day, but some people are like trapped in refugee prison camps n shit. Keep trucking, everything improves eventually. It’s the nature of duality & 3 dimensional gravity. What goes up must come down, & vice versa. I try to keep in mind that life is a big goddamn paradoxical adventure filled with discrepancies & contradictions that alotta times don’t even make sense. Everything seems alright in the world, until all of a sudden IT’S NOT. Blind sided, like a little bitch. So, “So what, who cares”… is my newest motto. Life goes on. A strong level of detachment proves a trusty companion.

Hootin’, hollarin’, whining, crying, struggling & trying, permitted only in micro bursts. It all comes down to two things (unless you live in Comfortzone-ville on Complacent Street) one, the ability to tuck the fear-based ego back into its wasps nest & dare to live free despite its rather rude interference & two, coping skills. Which yes, people, I’m still polishing.

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I gotta say, I don’t prefer the company of those who feel they have to put people down to feel good about themselves or who play the holier than thou card to gain leverage or advantage. We are all different. Every circumstance, & experience… is tailored to a unique moment in time. I’ve learned, true empathy comes only from walking in another persons shoes. Otherwise, it’s just mere ego based speculation. You can keep that shit in the junk drawer next to the scissors, old keys, random pills & shriveled up balloon animals.

“It is what it is,” another good slogan to iron on your tee shirt. You & me & everyone else are exactly where we are meant to be, in the scheme of things, all things considered. We are then thus where indeed we are supposed to be… which is, here, in this moment, which, if we are good little conscious creators… Is where we will choose to be grateful.

#GratfulAF

The Universe has playfully paired me with a feline reflection at this time in my life, by perfect whisker snouted sweet design. Her name is MOOSE, and she is the coolest alive stuffed animal ever, & very much a hit in my circle. She has proven to be thee most social butterfly cat that ever lived, a service animal/emotional support cat of sorts, & can most likely be labeled a 100% genuine Cat-DOG, with a kissing issue. She is the most loved animal, I have ever had. She is so open that she lets me massage her tail, bite her lips, pull her whiskers, scratch in between her toes, pick her nose, smack her belly & flick her ears. Sometimes, I don’t even think she’s real. She’s just an illusory fun magic cartoon creature that Angels or Aliens sent me temporarily… to help me through. Hahahahaha…

This year on this birthday, I have made an executive decision to not allow myself to be bullied by lack, limitation or loneliness. I have decided once & for all, to not ever again focus on… what I DO NOT have (for long periods of time, anyway)… It screws up my manifestation skills & messes royally with my point of attraction, prohibiting me from creating the life I deserve. Also, included in some clause in fine print somewhere, I have decided not to set myself up, due to the haunts of prior patterns.

That said, previous years, unfortunately, on or around my birthday, I have been pulled over (& all that comes with it), hand cuffed, locked up, beat up, jumped, chased, robbed, broke down on the side of the road, incarcerated or in a rehab, fired from several (good) jobs, kicked out unexpectedly of some living situation, living in my car, curled up in a ball crying my eyes out, sitting in an ER somewhere, & I got a really bad case of Bells Palsy (my second month in Wilmington @ birthday #41) which completely rocked my world in the most terrifying way. And, I haven’t told anyone this in a long while… But, back in the day… 20 years ago… my prison inmate # was my exact birth date (091874) when I got arrested>>>on my exact birthday<<< the year of 9/11. And those inmate #’s are TOTALLY RANDOM. Um, weird coincidence.

Strung around my birthday week like a halo of spinning cartooned tweetie birds when ya get the wind knocked out of ya, my bell always got rung over the years, it never failed. Somehow, whether I like it or not, it always seems, that some big giant monumental change is destined to shake things up around the day of my birth, a sinister reset button, if you will.

My ex threw me a surprise party at age 21 or 22, circa 1995-ish, which was magical, & all my loved ones were there, but after that… the book of my birthdays had some whole other shit planned. That was 25 years ago. That’s a crapload of birthdays, I felt impending doom since. My birthday, even up until last year, had a black cloud looming in the background, which wound up pouring acid rain on me pretty hard, in a most unexpected way. Just when ya think you are in the clear (and you have a bunch of positive fortune cookie fortunes to prove it)… a bomb drops. That was the buried belief I’ve had for a long time, so, I’ve been tiptoeing around the sleeping dogs of September with my helmet on for a while now.

Today, it all changes. Like I said, it’s executive decision time. Impending doom… be gone!! Tough times, unwelcome surprises, self sabotage, betrayal, repeat offenses, illness, anger, arguments, fights & volatile disagreements… ENDED, over, null, void, banished. So it is! This September, & from now forward I am changing my fate. “Attention! Henchmen of the Black Cloud Council… stay the fudge in your lane, I’m not your bitch anymore.”

Moving on to brighter days then, I will have you know that doesn’t mean I’m now magically crowned a little angel with perfect manners. I may not welcome gloom or doom any longer, but I sure as shit will always keep the screen door unlocked for those savvy little charming guilty pleasures, once in a while.

Speaking of the little devils… you got me, I admit it, even though I gave it up (like 78 separate times), not a day goes by that I don’t really really want a cigarette. It’s my 45th birthday… maybe I will smoke one today, just for old times sake. Fine, I will pretend it’s a cigar, which is more celebratory & socially acceptable then, if that keeps my moral compass’ trap shut. A nice cold mentholy strong street gang Newport 100 with that sneaky little sweet rush at the end. Dang things. Givin’ up the sheer swag of the cool factor was probably always the hardest part of the “quit,” honestly. Love that prop… it was my thing. Gum, candy & toothpicks just don’t say: “keep your shit up… & I’ll smack ya one,” quite like the lovely pairing of a stink eye & a smoke hanging from a bottom lip does. Jus sayin’…

The following is a list of celebrities my age, in the 45club, you might know & love. We were all wee tykes, eating outta Muppets, Star Wars, Smurfs, He Man, Hulk, Barbie, or Care Bears lunch boxes in fifth grade in 1985. We were all likely playing the shit outta some Tag, doing cartwheels & hand stands, competing who could swing higher, jumping rope, climbing trees or monkey bars & jumping into piles of coats… lol.

Jimmy Fallon (we are only born a day apart); David Muir; Penelope Cruz; Leonardo DiCaprio; Jay from “Jay & silent Bob,” Allanis Morrisette, Julian Castro (D), Mos Def, Beanie Sigel, Amy Adams, Christian Bale, Eva Mendes, Seth MacFarlane, Victoria Beckem, Nas, Hilary Swank, Derek Jeeter, Tyra Banks, Steve-O, Mario Lopez, Neve Campbell, Jenna Jameson, Seth Myers, Nick Lachey, Kate Moss, CeeLo Green, Terrell Owens, Jillian Michaels, Ryan Seacrest, Lil Kim, Nelly, Joaquin Phoenix, Elizabeth Banks, Ryan Phillipe, Chloe Sevigny, Alyson Hannigan, Giovanni Ribisi, Dale Earnhardt Jr.

Settle in, pop the corn… In honor of my Gen-X co-conspirators… I’m about to herald the 1980s!

Leather & Cigarettes

The aroma of leather & cigarettes mingling in the air reminds me of my Pop when he was in his prime. It was back in the day when Rock & Bowl was the signature spot on a Saturday night, feathered winged back hair was trendy, & you could win a feathered roach clip at the neighborhood carnival (I really did). Knee socks were in, “Lipsycning” was cool, the Kmart snack bar was still kickin’, & my mom called jeans: dungarees. “Three’s Company” was winding into its last season, everybody knew your name at a bar affectionately called “Cheers,” & “Campfire” TV was just beginning to fade away as the VCR was invented. My mom had a 78 burnt orange gremlin with white stripes & no seat belts she just traded in for a red/orange barely loaded, as is, plastic made 80s Honda. I was always scared to get into that thing, even at age 7, I knew it was a deathtrap.

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Like the kind you might still find bolted to a wood work bench in a hole in the wall small town dusty mechanic’s garage, we still had rotary telephones. Mustard yellow, baby blue or army green colored ones hung on the wall with stretched out tangled cords that hit the ground. And how could anyone forget that ring? That earth-shattering oh so vociferous ring tone would shake windows, & shrill right through walls & down the street & slap ya in the face if it could. We also had big push button phones too then, with big bulky answering machines with removable mini cassette tapes. It was the age of digital clocks & watches, sweat bands, boom boxes, wicker & that tacky mirrored wallpaper left over from the 70s in everybody’s powder room.

With forensic science only in its infancy stage, the infamous cannibal Jeffrey Dahmer was just getting warmed up, joyfully leaving his DNA all over the place with no regrets. “Dead Heads” & VW buses were spotted all over town, & free basing cocaine, now called “crack rock,” was the dangerous new craze amongst high & low brow circuits alike, making meth pale in comparison for a stretch.

Weed was called “dope,” joints, “doobies,”AIDS was feared, gays were hiding in plain sight, black lives matter was definitely not a thing yet, & women just entered the workplace in force as secretaries & what not. Main Street was still very much alive… with graffiti laced walls, but… the “store front” was still a booming industry. Walmart didn’t rule school yet, Mom & Pop were still tucking us in at night. Tailors, RX Drug Stores, Italian bakeries, butcher shops, boutiques, book stores & Jewish delis were still surviving around almost every corner.

Ronald Reagan the actor, just got elected President, you could still smoke on airplanes, & as disco flew out the door with bell-bottoms, MTV was just starting to catch fire. Heavy Metal was spawning cults & suicides, the New Wave British invasion would brand music history, Michael Jackson was about to go viral, Rap music was this underground sensation just beginning to bubble to the top, & Punk was definitely NOT dead.

{Fun Fact: Forensic DNA analysis was first used in 1984. It was developed by Sir Alec Jeffreys, who realized that variation in the genetic code could be used to identify individuals and to tell individuals apart from one another.}

My newly divorced Dad, early thirties, sporting a genuine leather “Thriller” jacket, was always takin’ me through the car-wash in his fully loaded leather-bound Lincoln Continental. It felt like a cool safari ride to mini-me then. Mysterious soapy snake things hitting the winda, the spooky suds made the car go dark inside & bein’ in neutral, felt like a phantom was the driver. My dad made it fun, he knew how to trick me, plus “Scooby Doo” was every kid’s staple back then, everything was somehow sneaky, suspicious & possibly haunted. Zoinks!

My dad had a brand new leased luxury vehicle every 2 or 3 years all his life, it was his M.O. Never seen anyone so smitten with their vehicles. It was how he represented himself to the world. The kind of car he drove was of utmost importance, especially when he pulled up to a customer’s house with carpet samples for an estimate. The guy was a sharp dresser & make no mistake, Caddies & Lincolns are where the buck stopped. The guy was obsessed with Turtle Wax, Armor All, old ripped up tee shirt rags & coconut spray car freshener. He always had tasty cakes in the center console, a lukewarm 7-11 coffee in the drink holder & the pull down ashtray was always kinda smoldering & full. No matter how clean the car was, there were always ashes flying around. Jimmy Carter was the guest of dishonor on right wing radio subliminally streaming always on in the background. I was like 8 or 9, adorned in those gumball ponytail holder pigtails or woven ribbon barrettes that hung down with beads. My pop always smelled good, had gold rings on & some fruity candy of some sort & I definitely thought my Dad was a Rock Star…

It was circa 1983, I had a killer sticker book (actually more like 3 or 4), courtesy of our father/daughter midweek moo-moo/Q-mart runs after school. Unicorns were definitely my spirit animal, E.T., stuffed animals, Atari, Sea Monkeys, Madonna, “Fraggle Rock,” & pretend friends my forte. I ran up to pet every single dog I saw, assaulted every gumball machine with a pulse, & I played every pinball machine, & piano I could get my little hands on. I reckon I still had a fighting chance at becoming a talented phenom maybe or just at least a regular productive emotionally stable human being with my own family & what not.

In the early eighties I had the dillusion that my mother could still be a somewhat sweet & kind nurturing soul (in there somewhere was the good fairy, I thought). My grandmother still had Sunday spaghetti dinners choc full of meat-a-balls-a, soss-age & braciole (pronounced: Braa-shole). My dad was moved out from the divorce, but everything still felt sort of pleasant to me for some reason, between migraines & crying spells anyway. When the snow fell on the County Line in those days, it still felt fresh & magical, & hot chocolate & Xmas cookies were filled with jam not fat, calories & guilt, & I felt like people still cared about me, & that I mattered. In retrospect, I was still little enough to be a liability I suppose… so grownups had no choice but to take care of me. That’s how I see it now… anyway.

Awe, bless her heart.

vv

Courtesy of: blurryoldphoto.com

lol

bones

Here they are… my uncle & my dad (on right)… the dynamic duo. Ernie & Gary, their names were almost synonymous with each other back in the day. Sadly, eventually they broke up, & these old friends became enemies later in life. But in this photo, these two pals were my world back then. Little kid me was always the indiscriminate fly on the wall of their kooky friendship & fun, dysfunctional, love/hate bro-mance. They were in the carpet business together, like partners, for all intents & purposes. I was the sole casualty of my parents split at the time, & so, Uncle Gary was the guy who distracted me from the friction of the family feud for a spell.

One of the summers to follow… was “Live Aid…” July circa 1985. Not only was it to be the largest concert ever held in history, but it was being held right in my back yard! Uncle Gary VHS’ed the whole 3 day event front & center at Mom-Mom’s house on the pea green old itchy chair still half covered in plastic. He wore pulled up basketball socks with the red ring stripe & a pair of white converse, & I was wearin’ jelly’s, & spotted with red Ringpop goo. I mighta been a kid, but I knew exactly the moment Queen flew on that stage, Phil Collins flew back & forth from London on the Red Eye in an hour flat & when young mullet-fied revolutionary Bono rose to the occasion with freedom bells on, introduced by none other than Mister Jack Nicholson. I mighta had a bad case of poison ivy, but I was squatted right on that floor, calamine lotioned up & glued from end to end. What an amazing monumental pop culture event it was… every single second, biting at the bit for the next act, not to mention: EVERYONE was there. It was superstar heaven, literally, every Rock & Roll Great was in attendance.

{Fun Fact: 150 million pounds: The amount that Live Aid raised for famine relief in Ethiopia. It works out to some $245 million U.S. 162,000: The number of people who attended the two main Live Aid concerts — 72,000 in London’s Wembley Stadium and 90,000 in Philadelphia’s JFK Stadium.}

Loved that worn gruffy spot in that old brown rug at my mom-mom’s house on Lakevue Drive, In Willow Grove Pennsylvania. Right in front of the floor model tube, X marked the spot for the kid butt to be planted. Freeze pops, pudding pops, or a big fat trough of vitamin D milk saturated sugary cereal was the eighties kid’s finest indulgence. Yep, I was raised on high fructose corn syrup with the best of them. Musta drank a million gallons of milk too, unfortunately. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. It went with the territory back then, I guess. Bless our little cute Stone-age hearts…

Despite our less evolved nature, the eighties was a revolutionary decade, to say the least. The dawn of talk shows was the original Reality Television. Oprah, Phil Donahue, Morton Downy Jr., Geraldo Rivera, Sally Jesse, started significant taboo conversations about controversial topics. The buzzing of current hot button issues thus created a very poignant proactive platform. The general public could now openly share their stories, relate, connect & heal. People had a stage to hash things out, argue, vent & clash all kinds of personalities & viewpoints. Skeletons were flying out of closets by the dozens. Tempers were flaring so irreverently, & it all was so deliciously damn necessary… lol. I remember specifically being in 6th grade & running home from the bus to catch Oprah at 4pm. Her show riveted that little 11 year old. If I recall correctly, that is when I began to put everything into perspective & could really counsel my Dad through his shit. Lol. That’s funny. Thanks, Big “O!”

The Eighties was the home of “the one hit wonders” that we all made up dances to. Classic legendary sitcoms coveted our after dinner time slots. Like, if it’s odd & obscure, or had some kind of parable behind it with a feel good lesson in the end, or weird-ball scatterbrain characters enmeshed in slapstick comedy… it came from the eighties, no doubt.

Infomercials, “The Headbangers Ball,” & David Letterman gave us late night wings, reruns of the Brady bunch & Happy Days made us feel safe, & lunchtime reruns of The Munsters, Adams Family, & Bewitched made us feel like it’s okay to be different, lol. The Love Boat & Fantasy Island put a little Pina Colada magic in the air, Dallas & Dynasty, made us feel seductive & fancy, while Entertainment Tonight & Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous put a little diamond twinkle in our eyes. Saturday Night Live was exactly that: LIVE. It was spontaneous, edgy, silly, sardonic, politically charged, wildly funny & trendsetting at its finest. In the 80s, SNL was in its prime & chock full of the budding talent of all the famous celebrity comics we have today.

So many other classic TV shows & movies were born & raised in the decade of iconic pop culture. The A-Team, Dukes of Hazard, Knight Rider, Chips, Miami Vice… I mean… we make movies out of these gems today. And, Hollywood sure had its hands full… Sixteen Candles, Ferris Beullers Day Off, Say It Again (boombox, “In your eyes…”), The Goonies, Poltergeist, Spaceballs, Moonstruck, Stand by me, The Terminator, Back to the Future, Ghostbusters, The Breakfast Club, Top Gun, Aliens, Die hard, Star wars, Trading Places, The Gremlins, E.T., Karate Kid, The Lost Boys, Dirty dancing, Beverly Hills Cop, Scarface, Risky Business, National Lampoon’s Vacation, Cocoon, the Rocky sequels, Nightmare on Elmstreet, all the Halloween sequels, Friday the 13th, Full Metal Jacket, Big, Weekend at Bernie’s… blockbuster memorable hits. The eighties was a whirlpool of strong IDEAS. The imagination was running wild. Inventions & original ideas were overwhelmingly abundant & so apparent, as art imitated life. So many household names we have today were founded in the 1980s.

We had the HOTTEST Hair Bands… come on! Ladies?! Van Halen, Bon Jovi, White Snake, Poison, Def Leopard, Motley Crue, Warrant, Cinderella, White Snake, Skid Row, Ratt>>> DEFINED Glam Rock. They were the O.G.’s of boy bands, if ya ask me… the original… slutty version. They were the sexiest & prettiest boys to ever slide across a stage in skin tight jeans, leather pants & snake tattoos. They coined the rocker howl & made panting in a song or crawling toward a camera, not creepy. This was the birthplace of bad ass ballads with dramatic synthesizer story lines. They would choreograph their rugged high voices & share a sweaty communal microphone singing into a video camera while rippin’ some killer panty-dropper guitar solos. Lol! This is the stuff, “Guitar Hero” was made of. This is the stuff the Jersey Shore was made of & make-out sessions in the back seat of muscle cars were sound tracked to. The Eighties were so like, totally gnarly, bra…

Video killed the radio star. Ya think? Prince was the king of innovative punk funk, MJ, a straight pop phenomenon, Madonna, a women’s lib movement all by herself. The Police, The Cure, Metallica, U2, big time musical genius was woven into the fabric of our culture then. Hip Hop gave a voice to the streets, gave the mess a message, leading to “Rap for a reason” Mind Revolution music & eventually political Gangster Rap.

Did someone say “Silicon Valley?” Technology in every form… erupted, the video revolution jumped off, the arcade was born, home movies, home video game consoles, cassette tapes, cordless phones, answering machines, “call waiting,” 1-900-milliondollar-a-minute-dirty-talk hotlines, & typewriters turned into computer key boards with monitors & memory. The world’s first commercial handheld cell phone became available to the public in March 1984. And, need I say… “WalkMan??” A game-changer for all… Geez, I could go on & on. Hope ya had fun!

The Eighties… I love that I lived it.

*DEDICATED TO: Mister STEVE WEST

(Love ya, kid!)

“Does anyone have a time machine handy?’

#PacmanFever

#MallRat

#ProudEightiesKid

To be continued…

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…And BUY THE BOOK!!

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Namaste ❤

Who She is.

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About the Author

My name is Jenay (JZapp), I was born in the hurricane season circa 1974, which makes perfect sense, because I certainly do like ta shake shit up. I am a writer. I write & write & write, that’s what I do. I came out of the womb with a fat lip from fighting off the earthlings tryin’ to pull me out onto this godforsaken land. No doubt I was snapping gum (if a toothless baby could snap gum), sporting a green sun visor, brandishing a pen & white legal pad, making lists & taking notes. It was September 18th, which was the five year anniversary of the death of Jimi Hendrix, bell-bottoms were en vogue, Eric Clapton’s cover of “I Shot the Sheriff” just hit the Billboard top 100, & it was fondly the era of the sexual revolution, better known as “Free Love.”

I knew how to write before I could talk or walk if that makes any sense. If writing was a faucet of running gold…. I would be the Queen of England, Egypt, and 12 other great empires. I would live in a golden castle with a golden cat & eat golden cucumbers. Diamond chips would be shooting out of my fingertips. Writing is what I do best. It’s how I live. It’s what I know. It’s timeless. It’s healing. It’s cathartic. It releases unwanted emotions. It exonerates. It liberates. It validates. It vindicates. It provides resolutions, answers, clues, closure, knowledge, information, wisdom, comic relief & enlightenment. I NOW HAVE THREE published books available on Amazon.com.

I am most definitely a wordsmith. Frankly, I have way too much fun with words, I can’t resist. I have some serious spunk & there’s no denyin’ my audacious attitude. I am my own brand of freelance writer & reporter of current, relevant, buzzworthy topics. I write colorful articles, create moods, stir things up, am brutally honest & have no apologies, & if ya don’t like me, oh well.

I’d like to think that my writing style is a blended firestorm of bursting color, & a healthy trail mix of Saturday Night Live, Sarah Silverman, Marisa Peer, Esther Hicks, Bob Marley, Bono, Kathy Lee & Hoda, Jimmy Fallon & a tiny sweet little dash of the Royal Renegade of radio… Dr. Michael Savage. I am a melting pot of many influential people. You don’t have to agree with me. I don’t have to always be right. I will say it how I see it, anyway.
I am a poet. I claim poetic license to the max, in or out of rhyme. I am an Artist of Word Art. What I write is deliberate. The English language is a “living” language that is still evolving. It’s not Latin. “Proper” grammar or sentence structure, etcetera, etcetera… may or may not apply here, thereof. So those of you who either may be nitpickers or English majors, put on some sunglasses, put your feet up, & flip on some tunes, cause nobody’s countin’ commas at this party.

If you read through my blog (Tap FOLLOW!)… you will find that I am a bit of a diplomat, pleasantly patriotic and am quite an ambassador for female empowerment and principles. I’m also a tried & true Culinary Grad, a foodie for sure, & recently embarked upon a Vegan lifestyle, so I feature plenty of nutrient-rich intel. As a “recovered addict,” reformed Catholic, abuse & rape survivor, I am a significant advocate for addicts, those in recovery, victims of abuse, animal rights, anyone ready to embrace their power & improve the quality of their life. I wear a hero helmet most days that reads: “power to the people” on the front, and “justice” on the back. I believe in equality, respect, unity, peace, & the eternal Divine force of Universal Law.

Furthermore, I am an Empath. This means I have the gift of clairsentience which loosely translated, means: “clear sensing.” And thus, I have a supersonic capacity to feel, sense energy & experience everything in detailed technicolor. Empathic souls absorb more than non-empathic people. We typically have a deeper understanding of life… & not by choice. We are born sensitives. I literally feel the pain of a wine-soaked drowning fruit fly. It gets even more amplified when I’m high… lol. Look out! She’s a philosopher!

This hyper-developed sensory perception has given me the ability to channel intel from higher dimensions, & over years of continued contact, I have become fluent in these transmissions via writing. In addition, empaths are the arch nemesis of narcissists… which is probably why I tend to have a bone to pick (more like 5 or 10) with any kind of controlling, egocentric, self- serving, dictatorial non-diplomacy.

What I stand for is non-denominational, non-affiliated, nonpartisan & all-inclusive. I am an amplifier of goodness & Light. It could be said that I am a proactive agent for the greater good. I espouse positive thinking. I consider myself a leader in the Conscious Revolution, a Light Guide/Life Coach/Spiritual advisor all rolled into the cool girl next door. Thanx for reading!
Namaste🙏

#JoinTheConsciousRevolution

Contact her:
jayzjay@hotmail.com

Follow her:
http://www.bookonfireblog.com
https://gettzapped.tumblr.com

https://www.instagram.com/zappmatters
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JZapp Organic Guidance YouTube Channel

Props to my peeps

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“All ya have to do is… SHOW UP!” —-Brownie Harris

Thanks for showing up!!

Who are the significant people in your life? Who matters? Who are the ones that actually make a difference? Who are the souls that stay for a spell? The ones that have no expectations or ulterior motives, no secret agendas…? Who are the ones who chime in just at the right time, call when you need it, chop it up on a Sunday afternoon? The minds that make changes to your path, rock you out of comfort zones, shift your perspective, rain on bad habits, get in the way of bad decisions?

Who are the ones who support you, are your voice of reason, your comic relief, your fans? The ones who encourage you, bring you a coffee, take you to a movie, out for ice cream, sushi, or whip up a good home cooked meal? Who are the hearts that amplify your gifts, magnify goals, shed light, motivate your inner dragon, remind you of who you are, validate your greatness even on a grey rainy day?

Who are the kidders that remind you of how cute your flaws are, let you be you, let you be free, sleep, rest & recharge? Who are those magnetic personalities that bring out the fierce, the fun & funny as hell, bring out the best, redirect your inner promise to be a better you? Who are those SPECIAL ROCK STARS that respect &  honor your beauty & tenure…?

Hmmmmm. Name 3. Animals included. Consider yourself a very lucky dog if you can. Have more?  Wow… beyond blessed status. 

Me? Weeeeeeeeelll, I have a few choice selections.  YOU KNOW who you are. Old, new… Love you!!!

Hugs & kisses forever! May your karmic wheel of fortune spin in lovely  fortuitous directions!

Warm Regards Always,

JZapp ❤

ox

COMING SOON!

FOLLOW THIS BLOG!!!!!!!!!!! Its awesome… ❤

#MeFuckinToo

download (2)

Here I go again, using my own disheartening experiences with men that INSIST on pushing me into unwelcome sexual exchanges. I draw from these personal challenges to create bad ass life changing blog articles that help people. Can’t go wrong there. Boo Yah! My brow has been wrinkled all morning, though, it’s not like I like this. But I have no choice. I either channel it… or grow to be a very mean mean witch that will likely eat you, if you come too close.

Whether it’s talking about what they want to do to me or with me or what they want me to do to them, or… just plain… whining that they WANT me so bad (in a very graphic manner). Ewe. Or, it gets better… love when the dude actually thinks he has the right or knowledge to speak on MY NEEDS!!!!!! Great try, Slick Rick, but that has to be the most ignorant way to attempt to get laid, that I ever heard. Trying to convince me, that I NEED it. Wow. Think again, bro. Who died, & made you the President of Sex Town? How many times I choose to meet my needs & how I choose to do it, & who I choose to do it with, are, frankly… none of your Mother F-ing business. Weirdo. Go back to your cave dwelling & rub some sticks together, there, cave-boy wonder. And while you’re at it, rub one the fuck out too, so your impetuous unmanageable hormones will stop blinding out your sense of decency.

What part of NO don’t men understand? I completely have had ENOUGH of any man thinking that they can touch me to satiate a one-sided obsession, or even talk to me about my body parts without my consent. I am gonna start to  carry around soap on a rope from now on, & just whip it out as needed, to either slap a bitch-ass silly, or wash filthy mouths out, of these foolish knuckleheads who think that disrespecting a woman with unwanted sex talk, is kosher. It’s NOT! It’s super annoying, super creepy, super needy, low class, uncouth, & toxic, not to mention very unattractive. Unwanted is the key word here. Whatever happened to charm, dignity, integrity, respect, drawing her to ya in a subtle but worthwhile way. Wining, dining, putting in some effort, a little TLC, some good old-fashioned convo?

Unwanted sexual talk & advances are not going to to get men where they want to go, EVER. Should I repeat that? There is never just cause. Just because the girl is either at a bar, night club, it’s 2AM, or even in a salacious setting such as a strip club, or maybe she has on revealing attire, is voluptuous, has nice legs, a fat ass, puffed up cleavage, sex appeal, or a seductive smile, THIS DOES NOT GIVE ANY MOTHER F-ING MAN THE RIGHT… to disrespect her with unwanted sexual talk, advances or at worst… assault. Shall I repeat that, gentlemen??

Attention all wanna-be Pimps & Playaz: unless you have something of value to offer to a lady, don’t even bother. And unless you wanna end up with your name on a court document, I would recommend you mind your manners, respect boundaries & play your cards right by knowing for certain sure that your attention is NOT the unwanted kind.

If she looks uncomfortable, says she’s uncomfortable, isn’t catching your drift or clearly NOT flirting back… then, duh… ass-face, back the fuck off!!! She’s just not that into you. Hello? What part of the word: NO, don’t you understand?? It’s not rocket science. Woman are not just made for your pleasure. Just because we may look good, or smell good, or laugh at one of your stupid jokes, doesn’t mean it’s okay to cross boundaries. We are not robots with plushy sex parts that are built to serve every man’s beck & call. We are not REQUIRED to respond to your extremely out of line, degrading, disrespectful behaviors. We are not rag-dolls that get turned on by your selfish, self centered, self-serving, narcissistic, phallic fantasies of the way you THINK we are supposed to conspire with you to fulfill some lustful secret greedy agenda. Didn’t your mama teach you any manners?

What the hell is wrong with men? Many of them. With all due respect to the good ones out there, your arch nemesis’ are scattered all over the map, now clearly OUTED, finally… courtesy of the #MeToo movement. They are at your workplace, in your neighborhood, community, on your team, at the gym, your church, in your back yard, your school, the local grocery store, the bar, club, restaurant, any & everywhere. Any & everywhere, I can almost guarantee there is a plotting, predatory man lurking around a random corner. Two brands, either one: the guy who simply  has no self control, or two: the guy who is simply so full of himself that he thinks that controlling a woman for self gratification is justifiable, ethical or a viable means to secure an ego-based position of  power or status.

Big blinking neon sign: We are not Lions in the Animal Kingdom.

We are human beings with a soul, heart, mind & a super conscious very sophisticated sense of self.

What? Didn’t ya get the memo? Guess not.

Un-evolved Cave man who thinks only with his penis:
“(grunt, grunt, grunt) Me—want—fuck—you. Me—want—pussy.”
Lovely respectable lady in a bar with style & class:
“Go Fuck… yourself, Chief. Heathens went out of style with the Dinosaur era. Your game sucks. Your lines blow. Your presence is straight offensive.  You best take a hike up shit’s creek without a paddle, there,  fool. Games over.”

 

THE END.

Share This! Keep the conversation going. Spread the damn word, fam.

#MeToo #MeFuckinToo

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For even more good clean fun… Click on this! (another #MeFuckinToo installment) >>>>>Jar of Hearts

 

You talkin’ to me?

d010645ad0741cfc29b67f86b71b1f07Im gonna go ahead & out myself. People don’t know it. But, I am actually an undercover Boss. I sit on billions. I am an heir to old money & fortune with a family stamp that could & would have anyone’s head spinning. The mob used to be a real thing. Not just a depiction in the movies. My Grandmothers real Godfather was a well known infamous organized criminal with serious street cred & a valid license to kill. The mafiosos were never a joke. They kinda were the real deal. And, I am a living heiress to their legacy. I am 100% Nahb-la-dawn. Napolitano is my heritage & I am proud of who I came from. And despite the common trendy craze for Sicilians…we are the true dominant brand of Italiano. Don’t get it twisted.

My late father had our house wallpapered with gangsta pride growin’ up. I kid you not.godfather

Not only are we a lovely clean shot between the eyes if need be… but we definitely are the true love makers & heartbreakers of all time. We are the perfect blend of pasta, passion, prayer, pinot & payment. I am either paying you or you are paying me, I am either feeding you or you are feeding me. I am either praying for you or you are praying for me, I am either pleasuring you…or you are pleasuring me & there is no in between area of lack or limitation involved. Both people in the equation are beneficiaries. Both bonded by blood, booze, broads or bank accounts. Both ever sure of their standing. Why? Cause…”I said so.”ac2e4968e9974ef54359c34533f6c06c

LOL

Na, just playin. I am just a little ole me, folks. Well…

And, even though I have many given talents that seem to reveal on any given day…I will remain modest & anonymous. I might gift you some day. Heck, I might be gifting you now with these words.

By no means am I a follower. I am a dreamer at worst, a superhero at best. I will take you places you’ve never been before. I will broaden your horizons. I will make you blush— crush—- & flush out all your demons. Prance around in the middle of the nite with a fly feathered hat & a cigar smoke halo. And there is no tellin what time it is, cause it is always wine-thirty & beer o’clock…& it is always…. time to shine.

We can shine together. Free-style.

Despite edgy appearances…Snoop D-O-Double-G has a golden ticket…believe me. He’s in the Vortex with a capital V…as are many others, friends…

Pay attention.

4809979-small-copyVortex:

vôrˌteks/
noun
noun: vortex; plural noun: vortexes; plural noun: vortices
  1. a mass of whirling fluid or air, especially a whirlpool or whirlwind.

     

    voa-43dmainWith regard to “Ester Hick’s & the channeled “Abraham’s teachings” : The vortex is Abraham’s term for alignment to Source energy>>>

    The vortex is Abraham’s term for alignment to Source energy.  (Or whatever you call Universe, God, All That Is, etc.)

    Being in the vortex means you’re at one with who you really are, you’re feeling fab, and in vibrational alignment to your desires.  It’s represented by feelings like enthusiasm, inspiration, passion, joy, and appreciation.

     

    Being out of the vortex means you’re energetically kinked, not letting in the good stuff you’ve been calling in.  It often feels frustrated, hopeless, fearful, or angry.

    Need I say more?

    I think that about does it.  I must recommend that you stay tuned for more juicy juice. This shizz-azz-le has only just begun. The jump off is officially up in the air. 24 Karat Magic actually…is in the air 🙂 Watch, listen, learn, dream, fantasize, energize, supersize, materialize, micacle-ize-the-magic-here.

    2ef1a084a484926aed62a5b2c302e31d

    Um…yea. Pow pa pow pow pow! For now.

    Click here to get sprung>>>>>>    “The power of NOW: A guide to spiritual enlightenment” BY: Eckhart Tolle

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    Share! Share! Share!

    #DailyDizz

     

A story about Jack

20150316_174643I had a friend once, he lived in a beautiful loft-like high-rise condo up 15 stories or so…right smack front & center of the beach. Beachfront as they say. Myrtle Beach to be exact. “Dirty Myrtle” as they call it. The gritty Southern twang version of a “what stays in Vegas” underbelly. Myrtle Beach: the Jersey Shore of the South…lol.

3 whole Bike Weeks, an Inlet Coast that stays speckled with local live music venues & Sunday Funday is always spilling well over into the weekdays. Jet skis & jello shots, party boats & casino floats, clambakes & bonfires, DJ’s & dancefloors, fireworks & hot tubs, water slides & wet tee shirt contests…light that underbelly right up in flames. Not to mention the neon girls wearing thong bikini’s strollin’ the strip, flyin’ by on skateboards jiggle jagglin’ what the good Lord gave ’em. It all makes for some saucy people watching. Yessiree-bob…..

Anyway, back to my friend’s beachfront condo…the heavy sliding glass hurricane-proof doors opened out to a balcony overlooking the sea…

The ocean waves crashed practically right down below us, depending on the swell. At night the moonlight was strewn across the ocean waves like a sea of sparkles right in clear view from the kitchen bar stools. He had wicker everywhere, only Pepsi, beer, butter & eggs in his fridge, Stoli Vanilla in the freezer next to sum frozen hot dogs & a cabinet full of Ramen noodles n dog food. He had all kinds of signs hung about, like “kiss me I’m Irish” & “Life is better at the beach”  & also probably upwards of 12 or 20 others, it was quite the collection.

He had a big ole white shag soft & fluffy throw rug by the sliding glass door that one could easily find very inviting. Then for the stoners & stragglers, there was the super comfy crash couch across from the vintage wooden cabinet jukebox that played retro fuzzy recordings of Bob Seger & Foreigner tunes.

I can still hear the waves crashing. It was the background music to life there. All day every day, you had a front row seat to Mother Nature’s bountiful display of Ohm ness…wasn’t I a lucky girl!

We lived together for a brief window of time. He was a good friend. One could say, I crashed at the crib for a bit, when I needed repose. He was my Angel then.

I stayed in the back room with the bunk beds, cause the master had the master. We were buds. And, I was blessed more than ever indeed, to be waking up every morning, to the cool breeze of the blue beach & the shiny sunshine bouncing off waves. Free of charge I might add, with my own key chain & only two daily chores: 1.) walk Rocky the dog. 2.) honor the OCD….lol.

Every morning I would skip down to the breakfast cafe, hop on deck with beachfront benches for some eggs & OJ, the sunrise & slow-motion Reggae. The scent of hot fresh coffee tangled so perfectly with the cool morning salt breeze, it was the sweetest nectar. After only just a few moments of staring out into the deep blue distance, I’d get the Pool-Jones. I would then pounce from the palm tree lined oasis to the pool patio where the 8 foot deep dive down into the gorgeous salt water pool was salacious. Such a sexy sidekick to the sandy dunes it sat right within.

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Yep, that’s right…the condo stood 15 stories up into the sky blue. 15 feet out was the ocean blue. Then 15 stories down was the saltwater pool blue. The perfect place to live. The seagulls were happy. So was I.

I stayed in bikini bottoms. Underwear wasn’t even in my vocab that summer. Tan lines shmanlines...topless it was, if I could help it! I was water-ready at all times & aqua bound most days & most nites even. It was great. Night swimming. Day swimming. Nite drinkin’. Day drinkin’. On a boat. In a pool. At a tiki bar. At the beach. On a balcony, deck or pier, on a towel or a dance floor. In the backseat of a car…oops, did I say that? Definitely, cruisin’ droptop style. And there sure ain’t nothin’ a little healthy Harley ride can’t fix. I hung out. Tough. It was fun. Fun in the sun!

So yea, let me tell ya the real reason I mentioned this cool venture I was blessed to partake of. It wasn’t to brag…lol. Well, maybe a little 🙂

The man I stayed with, we will call him Jack. Jack was a handsome man with a long dirty blonde ponytail, a quik wit & a dry sense of humor who wore surf tea shirts. He was smart, a business owner & kinda jaded by betrayals throughout his life. But he seemed content enough. Livin’ the dream, as they say.

Jack always told me that he didn’t want a girlfriend. He was married once & she took him for a ride, & now that he is older with a thriving little gig, Rocky the grey-bearded royal dog mut & the hottest crib ever (if ya ask me)….who needs the stress or complication of a relationship? …He would smirk & giggle.

“I do what I want, when I want, how I want, with whomever I want, & I don’t owe anyone anything other than a good time on occasion when duty calls…lol.”

“It works for me.” He used to say. “I have friends when I need em, I have the boys to help me run my business, I have a smart & beautiful daughter who is the apple of my eye…& most of all I have my best friend: Rocky the dog…a rescue &  love story like no other. Who needs a wife?”

Check it! The real ROCKY>>>

He’d say…”Companionship is great n all. Good sex is even better. Affection & tenderness is a nice treat once in a while. But this is the way I see it…. remember what Charlie Sheen said?”

And I would say…”What’s that Jack?”

And he said: “Well the courts were sentencing Sheen for using a prostitute & the judge asked him why a man like him would have to pay for sex. So Sheen reportedly replied: ‘I don’t pay them for sex. I pay them to leave!‘ Brilliant, I thought. I’ll– take– that!”

Jack said, “When I wake up in the morning & she is still there…I swat down the stack on the dresser & say: thanks, hon, bye bye now!”

I personally am not a real fan of Charlie Sheen. He’s definitely not your typical role model type. I giggled, but felt offended the first time I heard Jack say that. But, then…all of a sudden, boom! It all became clear. Even sexual deviants have wisdom on occasion, I guess.

So here is what dawned on me…

Let’s revisit the subject of “Prostitution.” I would like to redefine it.

There is a brand of dudes out & about in society, that due to damage, circumstance, profession, preference, age, maturity level, or just sheer independence or choice… that prefer to not have to be engaged or interested or at least, be obligated to be engaged or interested. They might fancy a lady but do not want the bells & whistles. Thee…” wham bam thank you, ma’am, keepin it simple plain Jane Jackson for a nite will suit me just fine“… guy. Yea, that guy

When the few hours are up & the rendezvous subsides, the out of service sign flips on. Jack says: “The action of payment is essentially just like Sheen said….a payment for leaving. The boundaries of a paid timeslot allow both parties to frolic about, be themselves & not have to be concerned with catering to the other outside of it. No expectations exist other than the payment & pleasure. It removes any & all stress, tension, attachment, or tangly emotional ties from the equation.

So…what does “paid to leave” mean actually? The female is getting paid, to essentially keep her feelings at bay. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Since woman are the softer brand of human…it is important for us to know if we do indeed have to practice self-discipline in an area that has always been challenging for us. Getting “paid to leave” gives us that clarity. It makes it perfectly clear that there will be: no strings; no expectations; no emotional ties; no lingering feelings, friendships, or familiarity. It is payment for a fantasy fulfilled without further depth.

68d26d5583d32650705ada54736250c2It is a Rent-a-Lover for a day, hour, or evening & then “clock out, baby, when the gig expires”…with no questions, no lip, no back talk.  No resistance. No drama. No adversity. No disagreement. No opposition. No explanations. No guilt. No apologies. No misunderstandings. No guessing games. We have sealed the deal, & now I am paying you….TO LEAVE. And… that very payment makes it much easier for us to put the kybosh on the crackin’ of the feelings vault, for sure.

It might seem callous or abrasive, but really it’s just rather blunt, is all. It cuts out the coy, beat around the bush demeanor & lays it all right out on the table to be signed by both parties. It’s a contract. It’s a deal. It’s an agreement. It’s fair.  It’s honest, upfront & transparent. It actually makes perfect sense for both sides.

If you are a woman & you can handle the detachment within this kind of sexual connection with a man, then go for it. You may just as well be in a similar position as said gentlemen & would just as well prefer to be “paid to leave.” It is a business agreement that can indeed suit both parties equally if both candidates are on the same page with equal intentions. Furthermore, treating each other with a mutual respect goes without saying.

Neither might have time for a relationship or what not. A woman’s worth is not devalued by the act of payment. the service rendered is actually not the sex, it is the casual non-commitment that goes with it. I can see how honorable it is in a way, that a man feels like it’s only right to compensate a lady for her time & attention if he wants no further commitment past that. He is just being fair, in my book…& honest & behaving accordingly. Props, there Jack…props!

Whereas the one nite stand guy that she met at the bar the other nite who calls her only for booty calls once a week n doesn’t even buy miss thang a candybar…is totally out of line & not acknowledging a woman’s true worth at all. If you pay us to keep it simple, we will. If you do not pay us to keep it simple, we might then end up feeling used, or mistreated if you do not engage, connect or show interest in furthering the relationship. That will create unnecessary static,  conflict & all kinds of issues that can indeed be avoided. if you prefer to have FWB relations only, then compensate accordingly. FWB might not cost you a commitment but it will cost you a fee. Just sayin’…

As long as everybody sticks to the game plan, no one gets hurt. Kinda like a bank robbery. lol. Catching feelings is a no-no in the case of FWB, & should be avoided at all costs, for then the game changes significantly & unless both people start to fall in love mutually, the contract becomes null & void, due to an accidental breach. Otherwise, if they both wanna move it to the next level…FWP (friends with potential) is the next natural move.

The minute the fee is lifted, is the moment two people have decided to go from FWB to FWP. (Friends with benefits to friends with potential) Which can happen.

We are all adults here.

Ladies…some advice: If you are into the NSA (no strings attached) & FWB Sugar Baby lifestyle, it’s all good. But my advice to you, is to find a man you like. Period. Anything less, will leave you feeling subpar. Don’t ever settle.

Gentlemen…If you are going to play with a girls heart…get out of the game.

You have two choices: A.) Be an eligible bachelor who is willing to be engaged & interested with an open heart… or B.) unleash the credit cards & remain anonymously the “Sugar Daddy.” Whatever you do…do not misrepresent yourself, please.

When you approach a hot dog stand…you don’t just stand there looking stupid & expect the food truck guy to guess what you want on your dog. You tell him.

So yea…don’t expect us to guess either. Women deserve to know your intentions. We deserve to know your level of commitment. FWB or FWP. You are either available or not. Indecision is slow poison. Hidden agendas are plain unfair. And, nobody deserves to be taunted with mixed signals. Period.

Jack would say…”watch out kid, for those landmines of red flags!” He often said that I needed to go to “Red Flag School” to learn to spot them better…lol! He said he had the skill to spot red flag city from a mile away. He was a good dude, a great advice giver, & ya know, for such a detached man, he had a very warm heart. I kinda miss that guy…

Let’s mull over some definitions, shall we?

FWB> Not emotionally available

FWP> Open Heart

FWB> Expects nothing other than that each will honor the mutually beneficial agreement with respect & honesty.

FWP> Means there are two open hearts laid out on a table & to go forth & tread lightly, is an understatement. Humans are sensitive creatures & emotions don’t discriminate. Catching feelings is always a delicate subject for a woman or a man.

With that said, it’s only fair gentlemen, to be honest & upfront to any woman crossing your pleasure path. Dig?

Must I repeat that? Cause it’s very simple. It is either black or it’s white in this case. Greyscale leaves too much static & fuzz on the screen of the imagination & leads to wasted time & heartache.

So…state your case. Behave accordingly. We are not a revolving door you can keep walking through over & over again. We are your walkway to satisfaction, freedom & fun, if you know how to communicate like a grown man.

Who likes to watch a black & white Tv with crummy reception? I myself prefer an HD flatscreen. So can you do a lady the service…of wheelin’ in the flatscreen por favor…? It’s a no-brainer really. See for yourself>>

You either take me out & show me a good time, pay my way, my bills, or drop a stack of Bens in my purse pocket…many-100-bills-bundle_77cd5d9b9ae7847a

OR> you choose to meet me halfway with availability, openness, care, consideration, interest, engagement, intimacy & true friendship…& your wallet too, I might add, for all the fun adventures we will end up having together…stock-vector-valentine-s-day-two-people-in-love-holding-hands-cartoon-children-s-drawing-style-series-see-more-68546989

You choose. I will respond.

But DO NOT. I repeat, do not…let us just guess which car you are driving. It’s annoying.

Round of applause for Jack & Charlie. Thanks for the insightfulness.

And thank you… J.L.C.— for being on the fence. It inspired this article.  🙂 (Don’t blush…it’s all good, honey)

#WordtatheWise #HonestCommunication

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