"A Simple Wish"

I sat with my arms folded on the kitchen table. There were crumbs of plenty from the bread we broke and pasta piled high. The fresh mozzarella melted in our mouths. The meal was good, the conversation was interesting, and the company was great. It was a dinner celebration for my Poppop’s 87th birthday.

It was spur of the moment. Getting everyone in the family together is hard. So, I kept it simple and just invited my grandparents. At dinner my Poppop pulled out his own cheese. Yes, his very own Locatelli. Mine wasn’t good enough. He got his from the House of Cheese in South Philly in the Italian Market. Well, one could still call it that, but there are only a few good stores left. Just a little authenticity along the fish, fruit, and Japanese fan filled sidewalks.

He joked that my cheese was not as good. Not as sharp and tasty as his. I laughed and let it go because whatever makes him happy makes me happy. He’s probably right anyway.

We shared stories about my great grandparents. Poppop’s father froze to death out on the family farm. Nobody knew he was out there for a couple of days. He must have hit his head in a bad fall. He was only seventy-five. Nobody should die like that.

“He was strong as an ox.” Poppop said.

“He was a gentle giant.” Nana chimed in.

His mother lived till she was ninety-six. A long life for sure, but beat by her older sister who made it to the ripe old age of one hundred and one.

And, my great grandmother's healthy diet consisted of killing the pigs and draining the blood. You know what she did with that blood? She fried it and ate it.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing, that’s gross!” I shouted!!!!

But, she did. They all did. It was different times. But, they lived long. Who says pork is bad for you?

I think I have some good genes. Here’s for hoping. Oh, and I won’t be eating any blood, or killing any chickens in my backyard.

Dinner served! The plates were hitting the table and the forks were in hand. The family history class would have to resume in a little while.

After Poppop sprinkled on his beloved grated magic, we all sat in silence. That’s a good sign when everyone is eating and not talking. At least for the cook! In this case, that was me. I haven’t been making spaghetti and meatballs for sixty some years like Nana but I did well and got the thumbs up. Mission completed.

After we ate we were onto the desert. Cannoli’s! That put a smile on everyone’s face. Halfway through desert I realized that I forgot a cake and forgot to sing “Happy Birthday” to my lovely guest of honor! I had no time to leave and come back so I rummaged through my kitchen junk drawer and found some candles! Voila! I stuck one in my Poppop’s half eaten cannoli and we sang Happy Birthday in harmony!

“Make a wish, Pop!” I shouted.

“I wish for one more year.” He said.

"You better wish for breaking the family record and hitting 102 because I'm not even close to done with you yet." I declared.

I felt my eyes well up with tears. Here sits the man that always bought me chocolate treats, yelled at me to let up on my lead foot, and poked fun at me (in a loving way) my entire life. And, he’s wishing for just one more year?

While he was wishing…I was praying.

Dark Horse

Somewhere deep in the heart of Chester, Pennsylvania there is a boy that can jump higher, run faster, and shoot from the foul line even better than the great Michael Jordan.

Somewhere deep in the heart of New York, New York there is an iron chef that can set Bobby Flay and his grill on flames.

Somewhere in Italy there’s a master of creation, a young man that wants to be the next Michelangelo. He paints and sculpts from his home and may always remain an unknown.

Somewhere out there a young woman has the voice of an angel that would rival Whitney, Barbara, and Celine. The only microphone she has right now is her ratty old hairbrush.

Somewhere in Los Angeles a fashion designer has sewn the most glamorous red carpet gowns. He puts modern twists on old classics. His next project is sketched and thrown away because he never made it to Project Runway.

Somewhere deep in Summit, New Jersey a young girl practices her craft in the mirror. She memorizes and recites her lines beautifully. She’s almost as captivating and creative as her idol, Meryl Streep.

Somewhere in the heart of Kentucky a man is racing against time and himself. He’s lightning fast like Carl Lewis.

Somewhere deep in the mind of a writer a young woman sits and types the next best selling book. She’s an eloquent story teller. She believes, prays, and hopes to be as inspiring as Elizabeth Gilbert.

Somewhere out there and deep in the heart of every city, town, and village a prodigy is born.

Somewhere out there the little unknowns of the world emerge with prominence.

“Soldier On”

Hallmark Hall of Fame movies make my heart melt every single time. The announcement of my night wrapped in a blanket crying and tissues next to me goes something like this.

My phone rings and it’s my mother on the line.

“There’s gonna be a good Hallmark movie on tonight. It’s gonna be a tear jerker.” My mom informs me.

“Oh yeah, why?” I ask her (as if they all don’t make me cry like a baby).

“It’s the story of a woman who waits at the train station every Valentine’s Day for the past sixty-five years waiting for her husband to return from World War II, but he never comes home.”

So, a few hours later I turn on the TV to watch what I know will turn out sad, happy, and totally thought provoking. It never fails.

Hallmark delivered again. “The Lost Valentine” was wonderfully done and the acting by the eighty-nine year old Betty White was inspiring.

This love story centered on World War II made me think of our heroes and our service men and women of today. Do we show enough respect for our soldiers? I am not so sure we do. I can only speak for myself, but I can personally do better.

I am a diligent person by nature. Every night I say my prayers and in them I pray for the soldiers at war and hope they are safe. I donate, drop money in boxes with slots, and I hand out dollars to the homeless holding up signs that read, “Former US Vet.” Maybe I’m a sucker, but I do it anyway.

I’m the daughter and grand-daughter of war veterans. I certainly respect anyone that serves our beautiful country. But, it saddens me that I don’t see more active support. Men and women are coming home with physical and mental wounds. Some are damaged for life. Many are protesting that the government doesn’t pay them enough or help them after they return from war.

Some soldiers are held captive by the demons that attack their minds and find there way into their lives, yet the government can’t help free our former heroes from this horror. All too often this is a battle they must fight alone.

The fight doesn’t end just because they come home.

It’s not just about the war and the efforts that are or aren’t being put into motion for the soldiers, it’s about brotherhood. Have we lost it?

As a country I feel like we only come together when there’s devastating loss, tragedy, or for Super Bowl Sunday. This is clearly not good enough.

Two weeks ago I was coming home from a fun filled vacation. While I was in the airport US soldiers were being happily greeted by their loving family members. Nobody around me could muster up the words, “Thank You.”

I went up to the young man and looked him right in the eyes and said with heartfelt appreciation, “Welcome home and thanks for all you do.”

It’s the least I could do. But, clearly on that night I was the only stranger wearing my red, white, and blue heart on my sleeve.

“United we stand, divided we fall…” feels more like divided we stand, divided we fall, united we screw up our brotherly bond.

The compassion to help mankind comes from within and starts at home. Don’t be afraid to get involved in the lives of others. Be afraid to NOT make a difference.

Let’s pitch in and give to the men and women that serve for our rights. Let’s start with each other. Simple tasks will make bold statements and maybe, just maybe, we can all serve our country in some way, without leaving it all on the shoulders and minds of soldiers in uniform.

First, we must serve each other. And, in the words of President Obama, “We can do better!”

“Coming to America”

The other night I was driving home from seeing my eighty-nine year old grandmother in the hospital. On the way home I could sense my father’s concern about his mother. You only get one and if you get a good one, you are lucky. He loves her whole heartedly. On this night we all realized that life is fragile and precious. Memories make a life. So, we talked about the years gone by.

As we drove home my parents started reminiscing about the “Good Ole Days.” As I sat there with my boyfriend in the backseat listening I couldn’t help but smile. They were like two young sweethearts gushing about a time in their lives that meant so much to them. I learned some very admirable things about my family.

My father, the storyteller, was going a mile a minute but one story just blew me away. So, naturally, I have to share it because it makes me proud to come from the family that I do. I’ve got good genes and I am never going to shame the family or the name.

My great grandparents, Felipe and Alessandra, came to America by way of boat. If you watched the Titanic, it was much like that, they were below deck and it was a long journey to the “Promise Land.” They had two little babies with them on the ship and they had only eight dollars to their name. That’s not a typo, again, only eight dollars could be found in Felipe’s pocket. But, it didn’t matter to them because they were leaving behind Italy for brighter, bigger things and the promise of a better tomorrow.

My great grandparents were tiny people. They were four foot nine and four foot ten. They were not grand in stature, but they were grand in heart. To leave the only life you have ever known and take a risk in America is admirable to say the least. They also had two baby boys and their futures in their hands.

“What did he do when he got here?” I asked my father. To this his famous response, “He worked hard like everyone should.” Indeed he did. Felipe, worked on the railroads when he got here. He hammered away on the tracks day after day never complaining about the hard physical labor. He was a real man and wanted nothing for free. He only wanted what he deserved after a long hard day’s work- his pay.

Why complain about it? He was living the life he only once dreamed about as a child in Italy. They went on to have five more children and keep a happy home. We often here that life was simpler back then, but not really. Every generation faces their challenges and having only eight dollars to start out with in a new country with nothing promised to you other than your individual courage can’t be easy or simpler.

I like to think my ancestors had the heart of a lion and the eye of the tiger. They left behind loved ones like so many other Europeans did back then. They weren’t welcomed with open arms all the time. Being Italian was not good enough for some people. They got called ethnic slurs and endured ridicule, but they survived. They made it. They had no choice and they wouldn’t back down despite the odds stacked against them.

Felipe and Alessandra made it to their America. They made it for themselves and their children, but they made it for my parents and me. They made it for the entire family. They took the first big step and for that I am eternally grateful and my respect is immense.

Now, in 2011 one of their last two children is laying in a hospital bed…my mommom. She just got a pacemaker for her heart and she’s going to need some therapy, but she’s going to be just fine. In four months she turns ninety years old. She’s a fighter because she comes from the “Little People” with big hearts and brave souls.

My great grandparents are watching from somewhere. Maybe they are sitting next to my mommom in the hospital right now tending to her needs. They are no doubt with her in spirit and memory all the days of her blessed life.

I hope when they look at the family from up above they say to each other, “Look where only eight dollars, a prayer, and a promise got us.”

When I think about my lineage I’m proud of the people. I’d say without question my great grandparents helped give us a better life and the promise of a brighter tomorrow. But, most importantly, they gave us family…and a great one that I love unconditionally.

“Somewhere Out There”

Las Vegas was officially checked off my list of places to see. Now, I was headed to Sedona, Arizona for some spiritual healing and beautiful natural surroundings. My very good friend, Stacy, recommended this part of the trip. It’s one of her favorite places and she is a well rounded traveler. How could I resist?

Well, “Next” was something to see. It wasn’t a large area of square footage with loud patterned floors, clouds of smoke, and no clocks to be found. There were no Mexicans handing out cards with every different prostitute for every different price. No big fake breasts and no flashy neon lights. It was different…to say the least. I was in a place I only saw in old Western movies. I was in a place that quite frankly I didn’t know still existed in America.

Somewhere on the way to the Grand Canyon Skywalk my boyfriend and I ended up in Dolan Springs, Arizona. A long, dirt road lead us to a serious time warp. You could see cacti as far as the eye could see and every now and then you would catch a glimpse of some human life.

Then, with great surprise we saw a few trailers (that look a thousand years old) and a few little stores. I noticed the pink church that was the size of a South Philadelphia row home’s first floor appropriately named, Our Lady of the Desert. I saw a few modern day thugs walking on this lonely road. But, the tumbleweed is what made me roar uncontrollably! “We aren’t in Kansas anymore!” I told my honey as he drove the car with his jaw to floor.

As we laughed and mocked this one road town of maybe twenty people, I saw the flashing lights go off. The one and only cop in Dolan Springs was pulling us over. Yes, that’s right, Oscar, the officer on day shift nabbed my man for speeding. As the burly man approached our vehicle I had to fight back my laughter and keep a straight face. My boyfriend was certain the sirens weren’t for him until I screamed with great force and energy to pull over before we get killed out here in the desert. “I’m sure they don’t love city slickers like us!!!!”

In the deepest voice with dust kicking up from his heels you could hear, “Son, you know why I stopped you?” In all seriousness we didn’t have a clue what we did wrong. “No, Sir.” The seconds seemed like an eternity. “Well, here we don’t speed and you were doing forty-five in a twenty-five.”

To this my sweetheart of a boyfriend could only apologize and make Oscar feel respected. But, to this…I could only ask in my nicest voice, “Could you please give us a warning, Sir? We lost all of our money in Vegas and we are now headed to the Skywalk.” I was sure I got us off the hook and maybe even a little chuckle from “Oscar the Grouch.”

As we waited for the town’s Robocop to run the license and tags we sat there trying not to laugh at the hilarious scene we found ourselves in. He came back and to our surprise he let us go. “I’m gonna give you a warning this time, not because you lost your money in Vegas, but because my shift ends in ten minutes and I don’t feel like doing the work. And, by the way slow down it’s free range on these roads. Cattle and wild horses run free and they have the rights here. They should have told you to stay out of Vegas in Philadelphia.”

We drove off, again laughing. I was slightly annoyed that Mike only got
a warning and that I always get a ticket no matter the circumstance. I found it funnier that he was going to give us a warning “THIS” time as if we will ever be back in Dolan Springs in our lives. But, it wasn’t funny when we got to the top of the Grand Canyon Skywalk and it had just closed. The joke was on us.

The long dirt road that led us to the top was one of the scariest drives I have ever been on. Since I am the control freak I wanted no parts of this insanity once the sun went down. I saw teepees and skulls on the side of the road. They could have been big rocks but I know I saw a skull. There were wild animals, Indians, and magnificent mountains. All that was missing was good old John Wayne. I needed some cowboys. I wasn’t feeling too safe.

On our way back down the mountain after a very mild mannered American Indian man turned down my monetary bribes to take us to the Skywalk, the sun starting setting. And, my fear kicked into high gear. We also saw a car full of young Asian women lose control of their car and do a one-eighty just missing the cliff’s edge. That was enough for me. I wanted out of the sacred canyon and into civilization as we know it.

Down the dirt road and a few more turns and we were smooth sailing on flat land. I was never so happy to see fields of green. For an hour and a half we were the only car in sight. Good thing we got gas and already ate. There was no cell phone reception and no lights in the distance. The only life was us and the cattle roaming around.

We were on our way to Flagstaff, Arizona and the night was pitch black. The stars were so bright and beautiful. I was feeling a little unnerved and out of control. Our compass was our GPS. I was hoping it didn’t fail us now. We made it through that and we finally stopped off for some goodies on Route 66.

Route 66 only existed to me as a Kmart clothing line since I was little. We stopped off at a gas station; a Chevron to be exact. It was a ghost town. A few dilapidated trailers and tiny homes lined the road. We were greeted by an old woman stuck in the 1950’s with her crooked beehive and some serious make-up. It felt like we were “The Outsiders” and everyone was staring at us city folk. We asked if we were on track to Sedona and the woman reassured us that we were and that Sedona was another world, one can only hope I thought to myself.

We left Route 66 a little scared and called our parents to let them know we were still alive and well on our short, but strange road trip. We were finally twenty minutes from Sedona driving down 89A a well known scary road to the locals. We drove through forests and then we were on switchback, mountain roads with 6000 feet drop offs. Did I mention they had no guard rails? I thought the dirt road to the Skywalk was scary, well, I was wrong. I had my first official panic attack.

I was the passenger on this frightful journey. Did I mention I was a control freak? I was trembling with fear. I kept seeing signs that read, “Donate to Ropes that Save Lives.” That was not soothing my soul. I was actually weak in the knees, and white knuckled gripping the cross around my neck. I’ve always been close to God, but I called on him more than a few times on that drive. I was certain I wasn’t making it to Sedona alive.

We made it alive…but freaked out. On our way to the hotel we got lost because that too was hidden behind mountains. We sadly saw a dog get killed by a driver that didn’t stop. If that’s not a bad omen, what is? I was sick to my stomach for quite some time. I wanted to hightail it out of this place. My vibes were wrong…all wrong. But, we made it to the hotel because we didn’t have too many other options at this point.

The Inn keeper was definitely high on life, actually weed. She suggested that she never drives the road we came in on and that no locals never really do either. It’s way too dangerous. Yeah, I found out. Good to know now that I braved it and was scared to leave Sedona. “Is that the only way out to Phoenix?” I anxiously asked our motorcycle mama Inn Keeper. She showed us another route. I could now officially breathe again.

We went to the one and only diner that was Alien themed and weird…The Red Planet Diner. UFO sightings happen in Sedona and this diner was very proud of it. One man said, “I swear they have someone waving a flashlight and taking your money.” It was interesting to say the least. The town closes down at eight. “Slowdona” goes to bed early.

We decided that it was a bad day and we would take Slowdona’s lead and hit the sack too. From neon lights in Vegas to UFO’s and aliens. It’s safe to say we were Somewhere Out There.

Our journey ended at the New Age Psychic Center. Getting your fortune told and cards read are what you do for fun in this town. It’s a spiritual healing vortex. I figured someone might truly have some psychic ability. So, I paid my forty dollars for twenty minutes and got asked questions instead of being told my fate. When in Rome do what the “Crystal Crunchers” do.

Sedona is beautiful. It’s spiritual because if you don’t believe in a higher being after seeing natural beauty like this, you never will. It’s hard to explain unless you feel it for yourself.

America the Beautiful is one big place. You never know where four wheels and some courage will take you. And, I’m happy to report that places with a population of twenty people still exist. There’s land as far as the eye can see and then some. Mountains and valleys and rivers and oceans are plentiful. Nature sure is nurturing and we don’t always see God’s artwork like this.

Simplicity is a beautiful thing. And, I promise simple is what you will find “Somewhere Out There.”

Happy Birthday, Vegas Style

My suitcase was packed and ready to go. All three, actually. I was going on a trip to Sin City then headed to Sedona, Arizona. I needed to be prepared for crazy nightlife and wild extravaganzas that happen only in Vegas. If that were not enough I needed the appropriate attire for walking, hiking, and relaxing with the Red Rock scenery. A girl has to be ready for any occasion.

I got to Vegas and instantly I felt a little let down. It is January and it was a Monday but still, it wasn’t packed with people. Maybe it was the long flight and time change, but the action was lacking. I could get this in Atlantic City anytime.

I decided to give it a chance. Caesar’s hotel and Casino was marvelous. We certainly got a room with a killer view and it was paid for already. Compliments of Caesar’s since my parents like to spend their money there…often. I also got free Cher tickets. Happy Birthday to me! Let the festivities begin.

Now, before I go any further let me tell you how much I love Cher. I think she is the epitome of cool. Other than the real people I know and love that rank right up there. She has an “I don’t Care” attitude and a badass demeanor. She’s been going strong for forty-six years in showbiz. Give her credit whether you like her or not.

I see and meet a ton of celebrities at my job, but Cher, I would die. I would kiss the tattoo on her ass. I’m just saying. And, I was seeing her in Las Vegas. I’ve seen her before and she rocked it out in Atlantic City on New Year’s 2000. This was going to be one of my happiest birthdays yet.

We got settled and hit up every casino we possibly could before dinner. We walked the strip and took pictures like happy tourists. The neon lights were bright and beautiful. A little cheesy at times, but hey, it’s Vegas. I felt like I was in a Disney World for grown ups. I must admit my first day I would have rather been hanging out with Mickey. I know, I know.

That night we went out to dinner, gambled a little and could barely drag our behinds back to the room. Who sleeps in Vegas? We tried. I had a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower. The bed was fit for a king and his queen. But, again, who sleeps in the city that stays up all night?

The next day I was psyched for Cher and her last shows. I mean she’s retired before, but this time might really be it. She’s sixty-four years old and still packing the house. We walked around all day and ate at Emeril’s in the Venetian. We took a gondola ride in the hotel since I missed that on my real trip to Venice. We ate gelato and window shopped at some of the most expensive stores around. The time was coming. Cher was waiting for me, I could feel it.

It was here. I put on my sexiest black dress, my over the knee knockout boots, lined the eyes, and glossed the lips. If I had a headdress made by Bob Mackie I would have worn that too. I see him at QVC all the time I should have asked for one. Talk about missed opportunities.

I was “Cher” ready. It was a sold out show. She came out and my eyes were glued to the stage. She looked amazing. Yeah, she gets plastic surgery (not a huge fan) but she admits it and doesn’t act like her skin is smooth like butter with no help. She’s gritty and down to earth. She has earned her spot in Hollywood and defends it well. Her body is still slamming and she skipped across stage like a twenty year old.

She wore outfits from her days of “The Sonny and Cher Show”, and yes, she wore her famous headdresses, all bright and beautiful. She got into her original costumes from the 1960’s and if that ain’t remarkable…what is?

She spoke to the crowd and was effortlessly cool. “I know what you guys are thinking right now. You told your wives and girlfriends that I will bring you to see the old naked bitch to shut you up then I’m gambling all night…don’t bother me.” The crowd roared with laughter. She was on the money. Most men probably did think that she was an old bitch, until she turned around and showed off her self declared “cute ass.”

That a girl! I love you, Cher! She opened with “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” To this song I ask, has anyone? It was perfect. She changed her outfit for every song. It was a little annoying for me, the biggest Cher fan, but I still loved the show. She’s in her sixties; I’ll give her a break. A minute to catch her breath is the least I could do.

She ended with “If I Could Turn Back Time” and the crowd danced and sang along. You could feel the energy building. If I could turn back time I might have done a few things differently. We all might. That’s just life. But, at this time, in this moment I was pretty damn happy. I was ringing in my thirty-fourth birthday in style. Vegas style; celebrating with Cher and my honey.

Thirty years from now I can say I saw Cher’s show in Vegas. I will remember the feeling of being young and excited. I will sit back and tell my stories. I’ll talk about the drive-in at the Little White Chapel, the Rat Pack impersonators in Old Vegas at the Golden Nugget, and the light from the Luxor that can be seen in outter space.

We had a taxi driver that was a run down wiped out comedian. But, he sure gave us a good laugh while we drove around town and he stopped everywhere to take some pictures for us. He wanted a good tip and he got one. He kept telling us to say, “Sex” instead of “Smile.” That would make anyone flash a big grin!

I can say that I went to a topless show, Crazy Horse at MGM, where all the women are the same height and have the same sized everything. I can say that I had delicious die for fun. I stopped by the Playboy club and some unmentionables. I can’t tell you everything I did. But, I got a little crazy and let the control go a little bit. Just a little.

I danced to the 60, 000 sprinklers outside the Belagio. I won a little money and lost a little. I had a frrrozen Hot Chocolate from Serendipity. My all time favorite New York City spot…now in Vegas of course.

Day one: not super impressed.

Day two: way better, Cher got the party started.

Birthday on day three: Vegas style all the way.

I didn’t want to leave Sin City. I finally woke up the last day of the trip and was ready for more. I found the hottest spots for me and had fun. I wasn’t ready to bid adieu to Vegas.

I saw a legend, partied where legends partied, and became a legend, even if it was only in my mind.

This town is full of Gypsy’s, Tramps, and Thieves. Be careful you don’t become one of the above on your trip. Pack some self control in that suitcase if you know what’s good for you.

I gotta tell you, I never knew the desert could be so juicy.

“Your Honesty is Honestly just too Honest”

Can you honestly be kind when being honest? You can try. You can give your honesty with kind intentions. But, no matter how kind one is, honesty is the hardest thing to give and take.

“Honesty is such a lonely word. Everyone is so untrue. Honesty is hardly ever heard. And mostly what I need from you.”

No truer words have ever been sung by the great, Billy Joel.

When someone asks for your opinion what they are really asking for you to do is agree with their opinion. The one they already have their heart and mind set on. They are not asking what you really think; they just want you to agree with them.

We all do it. We ask for advice and then we get mad when we don’t get the results we are seeking.

You’ve heard the words, “If you don’t want to know, don’t ask.”

This is a good rule to live by. Sometimes it’s best to just make your own decisions. Other times it really is important to hear the wise words of someone else.

Hearing constructive criticism about you is brutal. It’s like going to the plastic surgeon and having him whip out his marker and mapping your face with all kinds of corrections he’s about to make to your imperfections. You only went in for some botox and he showed you more flaws than you ever saw in the mirror.

Sometimes you just don’t want to know.

Sometimes you would rather just go on and live in your bubble and just be happy and never see what someone else sees.

What someone else sees about you is just their opinions anyway. So, really it doesn’t quite matter. It’s like having an umbrella, it may help shield you from the rain but it’s still going to storm. The facts are the facts and no umbrella is going to stop Mother Nature from raining down on us.

People are always going to have something to say, so let them talk, and always know who you are.

But, if what you want is honesty and nothing more, don’t be mad when someone decides to be bold and bring it your way. You asked for it.

That smack in the face honesty that your family and true friends give you can be really hard to swallow. You know the answer deep down and you are asking them to confirm or deny that gut feeling. Sadly, they usually always confirm what you knew anyway.

It’s like a jagged little pill making its way into your calm stomach. It rattles you all up inside and creates turmoil. This pill is tough to digest, but once you do, the healing process has begun.

It’s like antibiotics that make you worse before you get better. They bring out all the bad before you get back on your feet.

Most times those friends and family members are the ones that helped you battle the beast (and you only have to take one honesty pill instead of three a day for ten days).

Honesty is best in moderation. Human beings tell little white lies all day long. Not to be malicious, but just to appear more likeable and less dramatic.

Not everyone needs to know how you are really feeling.

“How are you today?”

“I’m miserable because my head is spinning, I’m not sure I can pay my rent, and I haven’t had sex in months.”

I think the better answer is, “I’m great, you?”

This is why people lie. Honesty is too honest in a case like this. Spare them the details. Please.

So, what do you do when asked to be honest about something?

Be honest and bold no matter the consequences or be as honest as the person asking wants you to be.

What does that mean you ask?

It means you can always tell just how far you should go not to insult the asker. The inquiring mind leads you to their answer. It’s called leading the witness.

Unless you are under oath, maybe you should tell a little white lie because most of the time in most situations your honesty is honestly just too honest.