Questions to Ask Before Getting into a Relationship || Plus Download PGI's Fun Relationship Inquiry form
Starting a new relationship is arguably the 7th best feeling in the world ("7th" is totally random, btw). You would agree with me that it's a pretty awesome feeling; the sunshine, the birds, the butterflies, the palpitating cardiac muscles. Experienced it a few times myself, and every time was just as exciting and delightful as the last. I call this stage of dating the "New Bae Fever". The law of diminishing returns doesn't set in until your 73rd New Bae Fever. That's a lot of baes! Phew! Really, on a roll with my random numbers today.
At this stage, blinded by the sunlight and confused by the butterflies, we tend to make one very common mistake; the mistake of assumptions. As human beings, we make assumptions about situations, about people, about love, about people we love. We make assumptions about these people who give us butterflies and then never make any attempt to clarify those assumptions because we don’t want our florid, made-believe imaginations about this person to be false. That, of course, is a great way to love-in-ignorance, which really is as worrisome as it sounds.
Many times oblivious lovers get smacked on the head with information their Significant Other conveniently forgot to mention, for example, undeclared children or a secret family; like that time I met Collin (not his real name) who had a family in another town and thought I might make an awesome "girlfriend" *rme* He definitely forgot to mention his family. Women are equally full of surprises, we all know that. All the She-Collins out there!
No matter how much you think you love surprises, these types really suck. So how do you avoid these awful surprises, then?
By caging the chirping birds, stilling those cardiac muscles and asking questions. Questions give answers. Answers provide data. Our minds and brains process data, and provide information. Information helps us make better decisions. Best decisions are required in love! Please don’t ever be shy to ask a question. If he/she thinks you are interrogating him/her, then he/she should go ahead and interrogate right back. We all have skeletons chilling in our closets, dying to get out. It's a trade, you have to give skeletons to know skeletons. Lol. If you decide to be with someone, ensure that you ask questions. Hopefully they tell the truth and declare their past. But don't wait around for that, make inquires, you have every right to snoop and conduct as much research as you want. The more research and questions you ask, the less likely you'd be celebrating a 73rd New Bae Fever-a-thon.
Ps: If you have a past, there’s really no need to hide, it's either this person takes all of you or not. It's only fair on them, if you are honest, and it's fair on you because you get a chance at true acceptance. Plus, honesty is sexy. It just is. Of course, a person’s past shouldn't be used to judge her future but it should be shared with someone she claims to love, so he knows what he's getting into and has the freedom to choose and make sound decisions concerning the events that could occur.
Here’s a 5 page form which was a joke initially, but really has several important questions we forget to ask people we are about to date or are currently dating. Ed and I are answering ours tonight. LOL! It should be fun. There's a printable version available at the end. Do you get shy asking questions? Any Collins or She-Collins ever swing your way?
Christmas Shopping Gone Wild (Plus One Gift She Wouldn't Expect)
'Tis the season to be jolly. 'Tis the season for cheer. 'Tis also the season to steal presents from indecisive fellow-shoppers' carts without any fear. This was my story a few weeks ago, when my shopping cart got "emptied" by another shopper because I couldn't make up my mind. I had started my Christmas shopping at an online store, where I found the perfect gift for my friend. For a split-second, just a split-second, I hesitated on "proceeding to checkout" and when I refreshed a few moments later, my item was gone from my cart! Shopping does get a little wild this time of the year but that's Ok, because somehow, I got a good feeling from it. It felt good knowing someone had snatched a gift from my cart to purchase it for someone else! In a weird way, I was a Secret Santa. Very nuanced, but a Secret nonetheless. And for that opportunity, I'd allow 15 more cart-thefts from fellow shoppers but no more- all in the spirit of Christmas.
If you haven't started shopping, clearly you like to live on the edge. Lol, I'm kidding. To help you along, below are some PGI-selected gift ideas! "Number 6" on the list labeled "For Her" would be something she would never expect. Of course, it goes both ways and it should equally be on the "For Him" list but we ran out of space *Shrug*
That said, I'd really like to hand Ed a leather-bound folder containing "Number 6", I'm a little tired of buying sweaters and trending gadgets. Just a little. I know it's too late now to get"Number 6", I should have told you earlier, I know, but there's always next Christmas!
As for me, all I want for Christmas is to draw closer to the birthday-boy and some snow! Let the elements align!
Wouldn't it be great handing "Number 6" to a someone-especially someone who really needs it?! What's on your Christmas list?
1. Fendi Cat Eye Sunglasses 2. Kate Spade NY Hybrid Smart Watch 3. FujiFIlm Instax Mini 8 Instant Film Camera 4.Kendall and Kylie Bambi Key Fob 5. Ted Baker Ichlibi Bow Pump 6. Property Deeds encased in a Kate Spade File Folder 7. Victoria Beckham Half Moon Shoulder Bag
1. Master and Dynamic Headphones 2. Tom Ford Black Orchid Eau de Parfum 3. LED Word Clock 4. The Dapper Chap Linen Laundry Bag 5. Tile Key FInder 6. Ghurka Cavalier III Leather Duffel
This is not a sponsored post, wish it was! Contact me here, if you'd like to work together!
Pa. Amos Adegbola Street (Short Story)
This short story contains foreign language, and some inappropriate use of diction. This is for the proper portrayal of the character(s).
On the corner of Pa. Amos Adegbola street, just beyond the silvery fluorescence of the moon, an old pickup truck sat hooded in the shade of a mango tree. In it, four masked men sat in muted anxiety, the white of their eyes stark, as they stared out into the darkness around them. Electric power had been cut off a few minutes ago, and now the houses radiated a quiet quiescence— a somber static, the buildings stood frozen against the silhouettes of leafy trees and electric poles and cables, all scattered in the moonlit visage. A loud silence permeated the pickup, the men heard it thump in their ears, along with the disconcerted throbbing of their pulses.
Lamidi went over the plan for the fifteenth time: at 8 O’clock the doors of the pickup would swing open, shots would be heard. The raid would last an hour, and just before the vigilante's tin gong echoed down the street and before his leathery fingers clamped shut the padlock of the neighborhood gate, the pickup would screech out of Pa. Amos Adegbola street, a street with one exit that fed into the inner streets of Ikeja.
Lamidi went over the plan one last time, his throat parched, his quaking fingers on the door handle. At that moment, the headlamps of a car lit up their faces, they hunkered down in their seats and squinted at the light, as it turned into the dead end street.
************
“Don’t panic.” Etim whispered. Marie watched the bulge of his neck sink in a quick swallow, his breathing quickened, his right hand rested lightly on the gear stick.
“Babe, what’s going on?” She matched his hushed tone. The headlamps of the car behind bore into their car through the dusty haze. Etim hadn't taken his eyes off the lights since it started following them at the beginning of Pa. Amos Adegbola street.
His grip tightened on the stick, his knuckles taut, gripping the steering wheel.
From the corner of her eye, Marie saw the dark car drive up beside them, it swerved and swayed closer, its engine roared, as it shot past them.
“Etim, Wha—,” The car swerved into their path and screeched to a stop. Etim stomped hard on the brakes. Marie’s head smacked the pad of the headrest.
“Etim, what’s going on?” She kept her eyes on the dark vehicle in front of them, her hands trembled until her phone thudded on the floor mat, the back of her head ached lightly. Four masked men appeared when the doors swung open, two of them held long rifles.
Etim threw the gearstick back and spun a wide one-eighty turn on his hind tires. The front tires screeched as they grated the jagged asphalt. The smell of burning rubber wafted into the car and Marie gripped the door handle as their Honda shot down the road. In the rearview mirror, the men jumped into their vehicle, their bodies hung out of the windows, clanging their weapons on the sides of their car. They closed in on Etim's car and swung out beside it. The masked men yelled from their windows above the roar of their engine, their car screeched and swung itself in Etim's path. Etim slammed his brakes. This time, the two men with guns were out before their car stopped.
“Get down!”
“Where is the gold?!”
“Where is the money?”
“Face on the ground!”
“It’s ok, babe. Just lie down,” Etim said, he opened his door. The men dragged him out and threw him to the floor.
Marie was on the ground already. Little stones bit into her skin and the cool tar pressed into her forehead and her open palms.
“Woman, where is the money?”
“I—I don’t have any. Check my bag. I have my ATM and my phone.” Marie choked. The tears were streaming now. A dog barked somewhere close by.
“You think we are playing here? Your husband is dead, if you don’t give us the money.” A muffled voice said.
“I don’t have any money, please.” She begged. “Please.” She felt her jeans go damp and her tears pooled where her nose touched the floor.
The men searched the car and flung the contents of the glove compartment on the street. A floor mat landed next to her head.
"Where is the gold?"
She saw her phone disappear into a backpack, so did Etim’s laptop. The voice yelled above her again.
“I don’t—,” Marie choked on tears and phlegm. She shook her head.
“Do you have any final words for your husband?” the voice snapped .
“Please...he's not...we aren’t married,” Her lips brushed the concrete, as she sobbed on the ground. She shut her eyes tight.
Etim.
“Take the car—,”She pleaded, her eyes shut, “Don’t shoot him, please!”
“Get up!” The muffled voice vibrated from Etim's side of the car. Marie heard feet shuffle; footsteps crunched on stones and sparse, dry sand. Then they stopped and there was silence, save for the dog barking in the distance.
“Marie?” Etim’s voice cracked through the noiselessness. His voice was closer now. She opened her eyes and lifted her head off the ground.
Etim was on his knees, two feet from where she laid, his hands behind his back, one of the masked men stood behind him with a gun pointed at the back of his head.
“Any last words for the woman?” The man asked.
Marie stared into Etim's face, he closed his eyes and his chin fell forward to his chest. When he looked up again, his hands appeared in front of him, a tiny brown box lay open, cradled in his palm. The diamond sparkled in the car light.
“Any last words for the woman?” The masked man yelled again. Now the men stood behind Etim, all four of them.
“Marie, this is it for me,” Etim sighed, “I have never met anyone like you and my life would fall apart if I tried to love anyone else. You have made me a better man and we have grown so much in the last three years. This is it for me—what we have here. I know in many ways you are way out of my league and I hope you can squeeze in one more way by you becoming my wife.” He moved a pace closer on his knees. “Marie Olusola Obanor, will you marry me?” Marie was on her feet now. Her palm, at the base of her throat and her lips parted slightly. She looked at Etim—and the ring—and the men. One after the other, the men tore off their masks and burst out laughing. Their deep, rambunctious laughs rippled in the silence.
The masks revealed Michael— her brother, Dotun, Ayo and Obi, Etim's friends.
Marie stood there unable to move, forgetting to breathe.
“You should have seen your face!” Michael had his mask around his head like a cap now, one hand clutched his belly and his other hand held the long toy rifle.
Etim remained on his knees. Marie felt her face burn up, her cheeks were moist with tears and her sobs burst out in short gasps like chuckles. She lurched at him, her palms throwing playful slaps anywhere they landed on his lanky frame.
“Not funny!” Etim couldn’t stop laughing, her little hands stinging sweetly.
“You guys are crazy!” She chased Michael and Dotun now. They ran up the street, past an old pickup truck under the mango tree. Just then, the compound lights and street lamps lit up. The neighborhood came alive with familiar buzz of electric power.
Marie chased them in the light of the street lamps, until she caught them. They wouldn’t stop laughing, their screams of mirth resounded.
“Will you marry me though?!” Etim's voice echoed down the street. Lights in the houses began to come on. Disgruntled neighbors shouted down the street joining the uproar.
“Yes! I will!” Marie yelled, she was flung over Dotun’s shoulder now, laughing, with her head dangling down his back, “Yes! I will!”
******
A young female chased three men past the dark pickup parked on the corner of Pa. Amos Adegbola street. Four men sat sweating in their masks, as they shrunk down further into their seats. The shiny, fake guns in their hands got heavier. Power had been restored and the residents had switched on their lights. Now, the street buzzed with life, dogs barked, neighbours yelled from their windows and people gathered on the balconies.
“You be fool,"Lamidi said to the man at the wheel. “Na this street you see come park motor.”
“How we go take commot now?!" The female was over the shoulder of one of the men, laughing and yelling under the warm amber streetlights.
The masked men looked around frantically.
“If not for this foolish children wey wake everybody now—”
“And this nonsense NEPA wey bring light…”
“We fit still go now! We attack now, now— we strike the knockout banger as we plan—” The robber held the box of cheap fireworks in his palm.
“Shut up!” Lamidi snapped, he held tight to the brown grip of this useless gun— which would squirt water—at the most. His lips parted in prayer.
They sat still, slouched in their seats. Without words, the unanimous decision was to wait until it was all silent again—maybe the neighbors would go back to bed; maybe the power would be cut off again. Maybe the darkness would once again imbue its gloom and insecurity.
Their hearts beat faster, and soon in the distance they heard the rhythmic percussion of the vigilante’s stick hitting metal. Ta—Ta-tata—tatata—tata. Their hearts followed the cadence. Their lips moved quickly in prayer. Some shut their eyes, some left them open.
Ta—Ta-tata—tatata—tata.
Ta-Ta-tata—a gong stick tapped on their window—Tatata-tata.
The end
Copyright ©2016 by IkeOluwapo Adegboye
This fictional story was inspired by my friend, who planned to propose to his girlfriend during a staged robbery. We are glad to say he didn't, he decided to settle for something less dramatic and I am grateful to him for inspiring this story. He did propose two weeks ago. She said Yes!
There were no guns involved!
Habits of Success: 5 Reasons You Should Keep A Work Diary
Your work diary is a little more than a book which contains the master-mind plan of how you intend to catch the lunch-thief(complete with stick figures and a flow-chart of the nabbing process). It, actually also is a book/e-document, which contains daily entries of the vocational achievements, challenges, milestones and opportunities we encounter each work day. I'm currently in the process of developing this habit of keeping a work diary and if you choose to do so as well, we'll be doing ourselves favours and could really change the way we work and network!
One reason you might want to skip this diary-keeping business would be the unlikely event that someone might find it, make copies and/or send out dropbox links of your documented ramblings about your boss and Tim (will get to him soon). Other than that, work diaries are a splendid idea. Studies show that people who keep work diaries have a greater sense of well-being, find it easier to find employment after being laid off and have a stronger immune system. Here are some other reasons to keep a work diary:
1. It provides the timeline of how you became a Rockstar: Keeping a record of your milestones helps track your progress and gives you a pat on the back when you read it later. My old work diary contains an entry about my first encounter with Microsoft Access. A few weeks later, I had become so comfortable using it. I haven't used it since then, but the experience shows that milestones sure help us mark our small, moderate and huge achievements and tell the story of our rock-stardom.
"7 Step-Plan To Catch The Lunch-Thief"
2. Keeping a work diary builds your immune system: What goes into your work diary? Everything; triumphs, setbacks, promotions, missed promotions, Tims*(we will get to him soon), milestones, situations that made you beam, situations that made you cringe. Research shows that writing about stressful events/cringe-moments builds stronger immune function and physical health. Scribble away!
3. Makes you wonder how you survived working with Tim (and validates your sterling inter-personal skills)
Tim (not his real name), was this gentleman I worked with once. I really applaud myself for being able to be productive with him around. He complained. ALOT. About everything. Hands down, the most consistent complainer I've ever met. I think he's married now. Ol' Tim.
4. Brings back awesome habits
Remember when you were as productive as Noah because you listened to soothing music as you worked and kept your frazzle at bay. Some work habits make us more productive but we sometimes lose them. My diary says I used to have a 7-minute quiet-time with God at lunch! Trying to rework that into my lunch-time these days. What work habits have you lost? Would you like them back?
5. Builds your professional and social network
I reconnected with somebody recently, after noticing her name scribbled on the back of my old work diary. I also found a few business cards inside the cover pocket. I have now made these connections virtual through LinkedIn, chatted with them and we are all caught-up with each other's lives.
Diary-keeping tip from my friend: "Write honestly and positively. Always write how to improve the situation and understand how your emotions maybe positively channeled into the resolution."
Also, write for 5-10 minutes every day. Making it too long might seem daunting as a daily task. Easy does it.
p.s If you are going to write about Tim, then you might have to keep a secret work diary...with a lock and key. And when you do catch that lunch-thief, please publish your flow-charts and techniques. I think a few people would benefit tremendously *eyeing all lunch-thieves* Lunch-thief, your day is near.
Do you keep a work diary? Have you ever had your lunch stolen before? Tell us! Plus find out the benefits of taking your lunch to work.
Nigerian Slangs || The Art of Giving Yourself Brain
One day, in the not too distant future, you will have to sit across the table from yourself—your fine, fine self—*catcall* and decisively correct your wrongs; making a conscious decision to improve your lifestyle practices and motivating yourself to be a better person. This action, is what is referred to in Nigerian lingo as “giving yourself brain”. It is a mental jerk that improves the quality of our lives, after a stark realization of the gloominess of a situation we've come to find ourselves in. Like the Prodigal son, this is the part we call it quits on being mediocre and exit the pigsty.
The first time I heard the expression, 'give yourself brain', my brother used it in describing his decision to move on from a futile situation (which might have involved a girl) and subsequently he would say it to me and to his friends on matters that required our proactive attention. He’d say it in English “Give yourself brain”, Pidgin English “Omo, make you give yourself brain o” and Yoruba, “Omo, fun ara ni brain. Lol! There he was, telling everyone to practice this skill he had so mastered- the skill of self-correction. The skill of "giving one’s self brain".
While I was still on Dating Boulevard, I failed to give myself brain sometimes. The great thing though, was that I would eventually do it. I’d make a good decision; do the right thing and choose to fall in or out of love. Recently, I had to give myself brain again. As of last month, I was a very devout procrastinator, the world was mine and the world could wait. Well, update on that, I gave myself brain and...brain has been received. I spent sometime “reprimanding” myself in the proper way we discussed in this post and I’m much better for it.
Before that though, I went through the process of realizing a change was needed, just like the prodigal son did (he, by the way, is the star-boy of brain-giving).
He started off with a blunder which landed him in a not-too-ideal situation. There were pigs involved *blink* Usually, self-correction is initiated by a trigger (in his case, the icky pigs and the awareness that he had hit rock-bottom); then came the giving-himself-brain bit; then the active part of getting up and doing something about his situation; followed by his journey home— to the place he wanted to be and then the party! Recap: There’s the trigger, the realization, the brain-giving, the action, the journey and arrival. The Partay! The obvious benefit of actively choosing to change your situation, of course, is getting yourself from a place of discontentment to place where you enjoy the benefits of this wonderful readjustments you’ve made.
Another benefit though, is attaining that sexy sweet spot of humility, sitting across yourself from a table and correcting your own faults to your face is pretty life-changing. You just made yourself a confidant and you are listening to the inner voice, which hopefully is the Holy Spirit.
Correction is something wise people enjoy, so says the bible. Fools, not so much. I love the opportunity to completely goof off, fall off the wagon, pout and then “arise, and give myself brain.”
The place of external motivation such as mentors, books, podcasts, articles, “instamotivation” images can not be emphasized enough. They serve as great triggers but when it comes down it, the final decision to act, lies with us.
We all know the right thing to do in most situations, or at least, we kind-of know; the honorable, albeit, difficult thing —whether it’s choosing to ask for forgiveness like the prodigal son, or choosing to take the higher road, leaving a dysfunctional relationship, falling in love or out of it or choosing not to procrastinate. Whatever it is, every breath is an opportunity to right our wrongs, do the right thing and give ourselves brains. I just did. Let’s have a party!
Action: Decide where you want to be, write out actionable steps to get there. Act out these steps now. No excuses. Now!
Have you ever heard/used this slang? Are you having a "party" soon? Speaking of parties, we hosted thanksgiving for the first time. Read here! My friend, Tope wrote a piece on Nigerian slangs here.
Illustration by Dare Somade.
Our Turkey Pardon and Thanksgiving Menu
Ciao, guys. I apologize for the inconsistency in the last few weeks. I have been working on some fictional work for the blog, as requested by several readers. This was after great feedback from "The Adventures of Saudiq Amao" and "Blue Twine". Older readers also loved the "Tiide series", which I should bring back one of these days. Anyway, after a ridiculous number of drafts, I believe I may have found the one I’d like to refine and edit the heck out of. Look out for it!
Right now, I am getting ready to host our first Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow night. First, we aren't having turkey, so somewhere, somehow, a turkey is walking around free as a bird, pun so intended! Prez Obama also pardoned his last two turkeys today, his last pardon as president, it was a bit sad. Anyway, we are having baked hens instead because I'm allergic to turkey. Don't ask.
It’s going to be a Nigerian Thanksgiving; puff-puff and a lot of fried rice and jollof rice. It'll be my first time baking cornbread from scratch, I snubbed all the ready-made ones at the store. Now, I'm thinking I should have bought one, just incase things go wild. For dessert, I chose to make an Apple-Walnut cake, which I intend to serve with some vanilla ice-cream. This is also my first attempt at making desserts *crickets*. I don't have vanilla ice-cream. I have a tub of strawberry and a tub of cookies and cream. *taps chin*. This is going to be fun.
Thanksgiving Menu
Appetizer
Puffpuff (made by my friend, Funmi)
Goatmeat pepper soup (this bit makes my heart beat a little faster)
Entrée
Baked Hens (they ousted the turkey)
Stewed Gizzards (Ed’s recipe)
Sides
Jollof rice (I’ll share this soon. Jollof hack, that will prevent your rice from burning)
Fried rice
Fried plantains
Cornbread
Dessert
Apple-Walnut cake
Ice-cream
Are you hosting Thanksgiving? What would be on your menu?
"The 7-Step Plan to Get a Good Man" by Naomi Elimelech
No offense to Ruth's Ex, but Boaz might be the dreamiest, most distinguished guy in the entire Bible. Read the 4 chapters of the book of Ruth, you will have a crush on him for days! I have only good words for Boaz. He was a real stand-up guy. A good guy. Of course, we found scientific proof in this post that women tend to walk all over good guys and love bad guys instead. Unfortunately but fortunately, bad boys go out of style. As women get older, they forget that bad-boys-are-so-steamy nonesense and want the real deal. Boaz was the realest deal.
What made Boaz so dreamy? He was mature, you could tell from his character; the way he conducted himself and treated others. He saw her heart and the good in it and he commended her for it; he had excellent work ethics and prayed for his workers, which is starkly different from Nabal's work ethics; Boaz noticed Ruth; he blessed her; he cared about her reputation, even when she did something a little "brazen"*insert whistle*, he honored her; he physically served her some food (he won me here); he was a provider, finally, (and this was what killed it), he waited for her. We all know that delayed gratification is the sexiest symbol of strength. He waited until all the legal, cultural, familial, social, societal protocols were complete before all the furniture-shifting making-out started.
Delayed gratification is the sexiest show of strength!
Anyway, Naomi's jaw dropped when she heard Ruth had kinda landed Boaz. The dream-boat of the town! Quickly, she came up with this crazy idea to make sure Ruth had him good, which you probably should not try in these modern times. Lol. Mark my words, if you do, he will get creeped out and he will call the police. So let's figure out together, what would Naomi's "gettagoodman" plan look like in this modern day? You can find it in Ruth 3:3-4. Here goes:
Step 1: "Wash"
Present day interpretation: Umm...wash. Wash is still the same today, as it was in 1365 BC. Hygiene has to be tip-top. No negotiation.
Step 2: "...Put on perfume..."
Present day interpretation: Don't smell good. Smell really good! Let him know you don't smell like farm and barley, or like coffee and printer ink all day long. Engage his sense of smell. By the way, I have a theory** about the role of perfume in this "gettagoodman" scheme, so keep reading.
Step 3: "...Get dressed in your best clothes..."
Present day interpretation: Always look your best (not someone else's best but look your own best). 10/10 all day, everyday. Engage his sense of vision. Make the effort, use the amount of makeup you are comfortable with. After getting ready, ask yourself, "Is this the best I can do for me?"
Step 4: "...Then go down to the threshing floor..."
Present day interpretation: Go out to the places you expect your dream man to be.
Step 5: "...But donʼt let him know you are there, until he has finished eating and drinking."
Present day interpretation: Don't be too available. Don't like all his photos and reply all his snaps. Don't go to his apartment every weekend! Also apparently, wining and dining seems to precede romance. *shrug* Somethings never change.
Step 6: "When he lies down, note the place where he is lying..."
Present day interpretation: Be observant, watch him. Cyber-stalk him. Muhaha. Stalk with stealth though. See past the glitz and have a good perception of who he really is.
Step 7: "...Then go and uncover his feet and lie down. He will tell you what to do."
Present-day interpretation: Whao. This is my favorite part of it, and also is the bit that could get you arrested, if try out this stunt today. Sneaking into a guy's bedroom unannounced and bothering his toes. Federal offense. I'm guessing it was a thing in their culture. Uncover his feet in this day would mean make him uncomfortable, not in a bad way. Sometimes, men need to be nudged to see Ruth. Does anyone one know any practical ways to nudge? Lol!
Once you've done all 6 steps, the 7th step is entirely up to him. If he doesn't get what's going on after all 6 steps, then he is probably married or really, really, really isn't into you. And that is the part where you move on.
In Sunday school, Mary was the saint, Esther was the Queen and Ruth was the desperado. Now, I see she really wasn't. She was just following the careful, wise instruction of an older woman, who knew the culture and knew the kind of man Boaz was; a man who wouldn't take advantage of a vulnerable person. Naomi's advice in a nut shell is this: once you've done your homework and you realize he's a great guy, engage him with the right amount of proactivity, not too much. Don't be in his face all the time. Look and smell very good always, make sure he can't put you in his friends' zone and remember to remain enshrouded in mystery, it'll drive him crazy.
*shrugs*
*drops mic*
*walks out of tent*
The End
My "gettagoodman" perfume theory
**The sense of smell is controlled by the frontal lobe, the same portion of the brain that controls speech, concentration, movement/motor function and emotional reactions. When he gets a good whiff of you, chances are that you are about to turn him into a blubbering, distracted, paralyzed, emotional wreck, which is great! Lol. It's only temporary anyway. The sense of smell directly influences emotional responses and, concentration which is a major "gettagoodman" hack. Esther, during her year-long beauty program, spent 6 months in a special perfume application program! Perfume is important. Nothing more to say.
Here is another post that describes techniques to catch fish...and by fish we mean good guys! What are your thoughts on Naomi's "Gettagoodman" plan?! Do you know any practical ways to make him uncomfortable enough to make the move?
Travel: 6 Reasons I’d Revisit Washington DC
If I had to summarize my visit to Vegas in one word, it would be hedonism; my trip to New York, diversity; my trip to Nashville, music (naturally); my trip to DC, power. You can almost touch it. Another word, of course, would be traffic *straight face*. Nevertheless, DC has become my second favorite city in America! Boston, still at the top. During this trip, I explored DC with my dad, who was in town at the time. My explorer genes are all from him, so it was a superb adventure!
Einstein chilling with a book and no shoes #nerdgoals
Unfortunately Fortunately, we couldn't complete my exploration of DC during the visit and so I will be returning soon. Here are 6 reasons I'm sure I'd be returning:
1. Museum sugar-rush: If you love museums as much as I do, DC is the town for you. It has a wide selection of Smithsonian museums located within the area called the National mall and also at other locations. Here is the part which would tickle the soul of any museum-lover. Admission is free. If you didn’t utter the expression “Muhehehe”, then you don’t love museums. You would love the experience. We could only complete 2 museums and a bunch of memorials, so I definitely will be returning! You can find the list of museums here!
The new National Museum of African-American History and Culture designed by Ghanian architect, David Adjaye
2. Political celebrities: DC is like the Beverly hills of politics. I'm sure we was about 1000 feet away from Michelle Obama at some point, when a motorcade that looked very "first-lady-like", drove past us near the National Museum of African-American History and Culture (photo above). One evening though, I saw John McCain (Republican nominee who ran against Prez Obama, in 2008) walking down the street! I had little chill.
3. To revisit Ab: I’ve always wanted to see Abraham Lincoln's memorial for some reason. There’s a scene from a movie where the protagonist is standing in front of Lincoln at night…and speaking to him… Wait, am I making this up?Lol. I just checked: Legally Blonde 2. Anyway, I’ve always been infatuated, so to speak. Yeah, so, finally I saw Ab, he says "Hey". I have to revisit him at night. It must be so spooky in the dark.
Lincoln's view
4. Partial fulfillment of my Foodie Degree: The best thing about tourist cities is the vast availability of restaurants. After burning ourselves out exploring museums and memorials, we found this Mexican place that served fajitas and plantains. And as the wise men say, "Where there are plantains, there is life." Amen.
5. To live out my espionage fantasy : Exhaustion and a food coma eventually set in. I'm not the girl with the red cape from Krypton you thought I was. We stumbled on the International Spy Museum at about 5PM. The attendant was brimming over with so much energy, which made me dizzy because I had just stuffed my face with the feast above. Apparently, we were supposed to perform some espionage stints of adventure, perform stunts, slay the villain and rescue the girl. Err...not with this induced food coma we won’t. We made a note to return on our next visit. And this is why 007 never eats. Note: the spy museum isn’t free. It costs about $15- $30 and probably about 2700 calories.
6. To relive the best pancakes of my life: There are a few situations in life, where you experience remarkably memorable breakfasts. This was one of them. My cousin took me for a beautiful breakfast in Bethesda, Maryland, which isn't in DC but really was just a few minutes away. I felt like Goldilocks at Baby bear's table. The pancakes weren't too big, they weren't too small, they were just right. And they didn't give me a food coma, unlike Goldie.
And that was how DC became my second baby. Donald, take care of her for me! I will see you very soon.
DC is listed in the top 5 most expensive cities to live. I stayed at an Airbnb in Palisades, which is on the west side. A peaceful, quiet suburb. An Uber to Union Station costs ~$35. Union Station is your friend, if you plan to travel by rail. It's good to know that DC doesn't have an airport. Dulles and National are in the state of Virginia and BWI is in Maryland but they are close enough and accessible with uber, taxis or the train. We ate here and here. If you visit, enjoy!
What was your last memorable travel experience? What's your favorite city in the world? Tell us!
