The Prompt: If You Had Your Own Restaurant, What Would It Be Called?

Perplexing Prompt Regarding My Ability To Name Names.

Being that my BFF in the entire universe has a successful trattoria, and I was on the sidelines watching from start up, and then worked there for a short time; I would say that I would never own a restaurant. For whatever reason this basic belief on my part has rendered my creative ability to make up a name, just for the sake of argument, useless. However, since this prompt is inclusive of any entrepreneurship, I then retrain my focus on my fiancee, who is also a business owner, and so are some of my other closest friends, and I ponder the sources of their businesses. I marry their personalities, with their creative abilities, and then incorporate the type of businesses they have, and finally contrast this with the name they chose for their own company. I attempt to adhere these same formulas to my own ghost company….tick tock. Tick tock. Grrrr. Tick tock tick tock tick tock…….


I have failed to answer this Plinky prompt.

Does this mean I am not entrepreneurial? Or is it just that I won't name names?

I am aghast!

~ Fel

* Businesses referenced in this entry:

Bellavista Trattoria & Pizzeria –

Goodeals –

J Hollywood Designs –

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No More Potty Mouth

I have decided to make a commitment towards dropping my one habit. The one that gets me into more trouble than anything else.

Hmm, F-that.

I don’t know if I can give up the kick I get. I dig feeling ‘the power’ surging through my veins when I unleash a profane word bomb. Maybe I should reconsider this commitment?

Well,  if I analyze it, I would likely come up with some sort of Freudian determination about myself. Yeah, this habit might really be a veiled short-old-redheaded-gal-goes-potty-mouth version of a Napoleon Complex.

Well, damn, I suck.  It would definitely be cooler if I shamelessly did something more along the lines of old-potty-mouth-girls-gone-wild. The hormonal charge from youthful exuberance would certainly counteract my dismay every time I gaze down upon my sagged away breastage.  An area that once was glorious.

Cursing like a sailor boy isn’t really all that exciting. It’s fun though. And sometimes cathartic (I am just putting that there because I feel I should be responsible to the therapeutic community.)

In retrospect, you know, I really loved having a career that didn’t look down upon me and my brethren gals because we would loudly say things that included ‘that as@@@@e was such a perverted co@@su@@ing fa# mo-fo…and he tried to run away when I was cuffing him, really dude?!’ And then, after stowing our gear, we would go home and kiss our children with that same mouth.

See? I an glowing with prideful esteem. I did very well. I didn’t actually TYPE out one single naughty word. That shit works!

On Public Speaking

Today’s Question:

How Do You Feel About Public Speaking ? Do you get nervous when faced with a crowd?!

"I just can't find the words"

Silly as it may sound, I like public speaking and I find it affords me the opportunity to keep track of what it is that I am trying to say.  Being an original member of the ‘I’m talking and I can’t shut up’ tee shirt club this is pretty stellar in my mind.  Ahhh, so you are scratching your head, right?

Here’s the story: I was a mousy little doormat for many many years.  Later, at a point I can’t exactly pinpoint or recall happening, I discovered that I actually dig speaking to big crowds of people. But I wasn’t born this way.

I don’t know if it was after the experiences I had making it through army basic training (5 billion years ago)….maybe. That was one of the first times discovered I had a few strengths. And, unlike regular people, I actually LIKED basic.  Ok, that is about 98 percent true. I admit,  there were quite a few times when I thought I would be better off dangling my 89 pound self from a spaghetti noodle over a pit of hungry gators rather than endure more ‘belly busters’; the bile creeping up and spewing all over the inside of my throat while I lay on the hard ground, on top of my hands, barely holding my head up despite the screaming burn tearing down each side of my neck while I flail my legs all over creation barely able to scream the chant “ONE MORE DRILL SERGEANT!!”

Anyway, I digresss….the point was succinctly about public speaking, right?! I suppose, in retrospect, I feel much more confident touting my love for, and the thrill of, public speaking because I have had to do it for so many years. Countless hours of my life have been squandered.  Time lost with me gabbing my trap in courtrooms, in front of junior college classes, and in training classes.  So, it seems simple that I have become adept at the task. Then, at some point I don’t rightly recall, a recurring theme with me, this ability transformed into a real enjoyment. I can even find comfort in doing it. [I know, right?!]

I think this fondness just comes from finding my sense of self, which I really didn’t have a clue about until my late 30’s. Prior to that time, I was still a whiz kid in the speaking department, but it wasn’t something I was as comfy with as I am now.  So it’s just an old lady ‘thang. This ethos, or excuse, diverges nicely with the reality that having a high quantity of years really just means that I just DON’T CARE what people think.  Once I hit that juncture, the ‘old lady’ one, it was like being a kid in a candy store all over again. Albeit without the penny candy. Economy + living in HI = NO PENNY CANDY, darn it.

So in turn, I propose a response and my question is this: do we really take ourselves so seriously that outward impressions matter so much that we can’t just be ourselves? Really?! It was that exact realization that clicked for me. So, as I laugh at my teen and my tween when they get all consumed with themselves and what people think, I sigh with joy because I am free. Self “freedom” serves the public speaker very well; at least that is what I think. I can just be myself, say what I need to say, and hopefully enjoy some chuckles from my audience along the way.


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Skills I’ve Learned in the Last Year

Honed not chanced.

Skilz. I think I have mad skilz. This year? Hmm. I think the one skill I ‘picked up’ this year was a little doozie called fortitude. Though I didn’t just pick it up….I got my PhD in it. Through thick and thin I did not deter from my course, plugging away, I went, despite all of the detractors. I was determined to succeed no matter what road block rudely crashed into my way. Now, I have lost many of my little threads of sanity & I am definitely wearing scars and bruises on my war-torn body. But, all in all, after a little more time of respite care…may be another month of rest needed…I can look back and say to myself, “well golly gosh there chick, you DID IT…you picked up 2 teenagers and hauled butt 5 thousand miles away on barely a prayer!” Yes, I am self aggrandized. Behind closed doors and only in the bathroom mirror, as I grin madly at myself and say ‘you go guurrl’. But after having my moment with myself, I calmly compose myself, and walk out of the loo and retain my nonchalance. I am only secretly welling with pride, sharing it with myself…no one knows about the bubbles of excitement in my tummy..’cuz i am really just a humble gal.

Not one to take things for granted, I offer daily thanks to all of my special people who supported me through this journey & I pray their good will brings them much luck and good karma ~ they deserve it. Mahalo!

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