2 Irrepressible, Unshakable Truths About Business

I don't know if ceiling cat exists- but I do know this does.

The two irrepressible and unshakable truths about business, any business are:

(1) There will always be a marketplace.

(2) There will always be a market trend.

Okay, so?

So- no matter what crazy and silly and far fetched product or service you may have; I can guarantee you there's a market for it out there somewhere!

How about some of these ideas:

Notice how it even has air holes? Clever!

Totally have to have one of these.

Once a month believe me, neither you or I, will need a Mood Ring to let you know what sort of nasty disposition I have. But, if you don't like it, go fly one of these:

(Who would have thought to blow up a kite?)

And now for something I can and do really use:

When I am on the yacht, it's a very long walk from the marina to the shore so Eliot, my loyal and loving Yorkie who everyone in the entire universe loathes but me; can do his business.

Everyone was skeptical about how this was going to work out; she said,

"Yeah right. Eliot will pee near or close by but not actually on that stupid thing."

Well, ha. Eliot did pee where he was supposed to go- and for that nifty convenience, Potty Patch makers, I thank you.

I also purchased him some of these:

 But Eliot told me that it's "too complicated" and he'll have to "look over the manual".

That stupid hound didn't get this device at all!

(But the makers certainly got my credit card numbers, rest assured.)

It's what you know about the market place and what you know about the trend that's going to be the ultimate determiner of your success.

More about knowing the market place and market trends next time...

How Public Schools in America KILL the Entrepreneurial Spirit

"Yeah, so the assistant principle called this morning."

"Why?"

"Well, he had a lock on his locker at school."

"Okay."

"Locks aren't allowed."

"So, you can't lock anything in your locker?"

"Right."

But why did the child in my family feel it necessary to place a lock on his locker?

Because, the little visionary had two vitally important commodities in there!

(1) Money!

(2) Merchandise!

Unlike most kids, when this nine year old came across several trinkets Entrepreneur Chick had left over from her company- bouncy balls, balloons, pencils- that sort of thing- rather than just think himself lucky for the score- this kid saw an opportunity.

The opportunity?

He correctly surmised that these were some pretty valuable items out on the playground.

He then becomes an informal sales representative for whatever doo dad he can get his hands on!

Sure, he starts with my stash, but he quickly learns how to re-invest his earnings and buy more assets.

He also learns how to invest in assets and up charge, making the deferential, which in turn, gives you the profit; giving you the cash flow.

Cash flow is king and does he ever know it.

Apparently he's paying attention when I've been teaching him about business.

I also teach him, "You don't start anything with anyone. BUT if someone starts something with you- you make sure you finish it. Got me, kid?"

But now, he finds himself in hot water with the school.

No locks on the locker- that I can understand.

But to tell the kid he can't sell at school?

Excuse me?

I have a little time on my hands before I start to rock and roll again.

(Gotta get the d-i-v-o-r-c-e.)

So, you know, a little skirmish with the school sounds like something I might be interested.

Also sounds like something the American Civil Liberties Union would be interested.

Let's get this straight:

A nine year old can not sell anything on the playground BUT it is perfectly okay for the same kid and the entire student body population, to dutifully take catalogs home to parents, parent's co-workers, cousins, aunts, uncles, ex wives, etc. and any one who can generally fog a mirror- to the end that the school may be subsidised- because we know for sure that property taxes, federal funding, bonds, and even the lottery

ain't cuttin' it!

Oh, thou wonderful child! Sell for thy state.

Oh, thou evil child! Sell not for thy self.

In the Spirit of Susan- on the Street Where I Live

So she says, "I need to tell you about last week when I had both a butterfly and a dragonfly on my finger in the same day. They were both trapped in my house at different points, and I freed them.



I need to tell you about dreaming of a sugarlaced lemon tree so glorious that gazing up into it was like eating the sun."

Yes, yes, yes- tell me about these things. I need to know. I can't stand the ordinary anymore. I can't stand my life anymore. Write. You write. Come back.  Sensual, delightful Susan. I'm listening. Go on...

"I need to tell you about the lessons bats have been trying to teach me about surrender and rebirth, about echolocation, in which bats navigate in the dark by using their voices to create sounds that reverberate off objects - the ability to see with the ears, to hear with the voice. Because by telling you, I have a greater chance of really learning the lessons, internalizing and integrating them. I too hear with my voice. I learn by teaching."

Susan concludes- "And now, just by writing all this, I feel lighter, happier, inspired, free. It occurs to me that this post follows a similar structure to some of the biblical psalms that start out with a lament and end with praise because by writing the lament the psalmist has seen the joy again.





Now I see that the writing I haven't been doing had hardened around me like ice, that scraps of light left unshared leave me cold, and once that happens, I have to write into the cold to break through it.




The fire must be tended or it dies out. The fire must be fed, and for me that means writing it."


She's very brave. Braver than me. I write about those things practical in nature- or I had, mostly. Business. As usual.

Now that he's gone, I see there's so much I'd stuff. Push down. Not say. Inappropriate. Scandalous. So what? What have I got to lose anymore, exactly? Nothing. That's what.

This is where I live.

The house is old. How old I do not know. Perhaps from the late '40s. Early '50s.
How many Christmases? How many excited parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, lovers have rung the bell here on that day; arms loaded with gifts- and turkey and pumpkin and cinnamon floating sweetly from the kitchen on chill December air? I can not tell.

Deaths. Disappointments. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Love. It all happened right here- sometimes at night I feel their ghosts, and sometimes when I'm standing on the porch in mid afternoon. I think of them. They don't know me, but I know them.

The old woman has lived sixty years here- across the street and two doors down, a tidy red brick home- a pristine grey Crown Victoria- warns me after I say, "Well, I'm not afraid."

"Now honey, you need to be afraid. Don't talk to them. Crack houses you know. Mmm. Yes."

So tells me of her son's orphanage in west Texas, or was it east? "I don't tithe to my church. No. I give my money to the children because I know that that money is going into starving little mouths. Mmmm."

The white picket fence that wraps forlornly around the drive is missing two boards.
I'll fix that. Yeah. Someday I'm going to pick up those two boards and fix that.

The trees form a melancholy arch over the same rock drive when it rains- and when it snows, as it sometimes snows in Texas, looks just like a picture from my book as a child- "The Snow Queen".

Pigeons congregate on the high telephone wires in the backyard- looking down on our affairs here in a rather judgemental fashion if you ask me.

Yeah? Well guess what? I hear in New York City they call you "rats with wings" so what do you think of that?

Yellow jackets built a lively, threatening nest above the door of the detached garage,  permanently swung open- glass broken- I didn't do it, it was HIS fault! Why are you always blaming me? God! So defends the indignant nine year old. What are we going to do about the bees? I don't know what to do about the bees. I have enough to worry about without worrying about these damn bees. Wait. Let me worry about the bees.

El Mariachi Terry's Super Macado is the grocery store. What does "macado" mean? Does it mean "stinky"? Because it certainly is. Oddly, I don't mind. The salsa music  blasting from invisible stereos strategically placed all over the store make me happy and lift my downcast spirits- I dance in the isles when no one's looking. Sometimes I dance when they are. Afterall, I know how to salsa.

We fight about racial issues.

"Put those ugly ass light up jelly shoes BACK!" she yells at me.
"Why? We are hispanics now, we like this sort of thing."

"Can you go back to your school and tell them that we do not speak spanish in this house, that you are only half hispanic and you don't know a word of it, and not to send letters home written in only Spanish?"

But the school compromises. One side of the marquee is in Spanish, and the other, English. Yet on Friday I only counted three white kids in the cafeteria as I ate with Tito.  I don't believe they need to bother, do you?

"So Eliot", she sarcastically says to my Yorkie, "Welcome to the barrio. Your little "prince" dish doesn't fit in here quite so much now, does it?"

The physics mathematician lives catty corner to us in a white frame house, sturdy on it's high concrete foundation. He will give the kids a dollar if they can correctly solve a math problem.

Word is he had a big fight with his girlfriend. Doors lock. She's screaming in her bra and panties. Father comes to collect her in the middle of the night.

He tells me, "I was putting so much time into that relationship, I couldn't get anything else done."
"A broken relationship is better than a broken marriage," I say. He doesn't know I know about the bra and panties.

"Yes! Yes, that's so true! Would you like to get together for a drink?"
I would. But I don't want to be outside in my bra and panties so I'm going to watch myself.

The recycle guy comes by every other week, Mondays, in his big green truck.

Oh no! I've forgotten to put out our container! We have to recycle. Otherwise the regular trash is going to fill up far too fast and breed maggots. Charming.

I rush outside in my genuine diamond tiara.

"As you can clearly see- I am the queen. Could you please back up and collect my bin?"
"Oh, I can see that! Is it your birthday?"
"No."
He freezes. He smiles. He doesn't know what to say back.
She's crazy. That's what she is, she's crazy.

Well of course I'm fucking crazy. You would be too if you just had the week I had.

I throw myself down on the kitchen floor, crying inconsolably. I think of Amy Winehouse- i cry for you on the kitchen floor- i told ya i was trouble- you know i'm no good.

Can't eat. Can't sleep. Can't function. Gripping fear. It's gone. It's back.

Take a walk. That's what you need to do.
But damn it!
I run and scream.
The boys down the street in the Mexican gang; colors and tatoos, walk past me.
Obviously I'm trying out maneuver that stupid ass bee, that lives in that stupid ass bush.

"BEE!" I exclaim to them.
(See, the recycle guy thinks I'm crazy but I'd rather you guys not think so.)

"Shit." they say.
"No shit." I say back.

What? I can hang. I've got some swagger of my own, you know. I can out salsa and out merengue and out cha-cha and out samba all of you, so don't try me. I knew who Daddy Yankee was before you did, I'd bet. I might look white but I ain't. Gasolina!

I'm mad at everybody. Them. The bee. At myself for always chosing badly.

The police visit their house with a high degree of frequency because they sniff, I hear, some sort of inhalants that can freeze their lungs. Now I feel sorry for them that I was angry. I feel sorry for them that they are probably going to die because they don't know better. Maybe I should have a talk with them.

I didn't know he was over. I stepped out of the bath into the hallway in my towel. He's there. I'm there. Awkard. The neighbor next door. They let him in. I didn't.

Let me tell you. Sexy. Darling. Buff. We talk about camping and the best sleeping bags- yes I like Coleman- do you? And what can we do about those bees in the backyard?
He lingers. I linger.

Okay. Let me get this straight. So now you want to sleep with neighbor? Can you be anymore cliche?

Besides, I started smoking three weeks ago and that's probably enough damage to close the month out with. Yeah. I know. But he's really cute. He admirably beat a crystal meth addiction- and when I run out of cigarettes I can not go next door to ask, because they guy doesn't smoke! See what a rat you are? He doesn't even smoke and you do.

I tell Alex at the Quick Pak Wine and Beer store that I fully intend to quit on October first.

"Oh? How long you've been smoking?", he inquires in his cute accent.
"Three weeks."
"Why you start?"
"Stress."
"Stress? I lost mother, father, five family members in an accident. I no smoke."
"Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry to hear that. You're makin' me look bad, Alex."

 This remains my favorite. The morning. Black coffee. Back porch. Deep blue autumn sky- light up. Aaaah. That's better. Man. This is great. I love to smoke. It's so enjoyable, I see now why people do it. Leave the president alone. He's running the country for crap sake. If he needs to smoke to think more clearly, than by god let him do it!

I'm in an official minority. I will defend my rights. I will vote against your stupid smoking ban. Well, have you tried it? What do you know?

But I must quit in October like I said I would, or otherwise I will only be a liar. What am I going to tell Alex? He lost his family, you wretch, and he doesn't smoke.

Maybe I'll sleep with the neighbor.

And all HE had was Chickens!

His name was Frank Perdue, an unassuming man at best. Pretty average.

If he bought me a drink in a bar, I probably would not go out with him.

Oh, I'd drink his drink- maybe dance just one or two slow songs at the most, but then excuse myself from discovering the greatest marketer and visionary that America has ever seen.

Let's be honest. Can you cuddle up to this guy after a few shots of Patron and "Sexual Healing"? I think not.

But as an entrepreneur what you can cuddle up to is the way in which this man, and even his father before him, looked around them to find the every day, ho-hum, humble chicken as something of an extraordinary money making opportunity.

For most of us, that's akin to gazing upon dirt and seeing dollar signs.

Who can make money out of dirt? It's everywhere! Hello, Hoover.

Who can make money out of chickens? They're everywhere! At least, back then they were.

This father and son duo set their minds upon knowing everything there was to know about chickens.

Would you think of feeding them marigold blossoms to the end that your chickens would be a nice color of yellow?

They did.

"It takes a tough man to make a tender chicken."

What does this mean to Entrepreneur Chick?

Well, I do like a tough man and I do enjoy tender chicken; yet in the same way that the Perdues willingly and tirelessly educated themselves regarding chickens, I become dead set in my mission to learn everything I can about the companies I own (one in particular) and become so knowledgeable that not only do I blow my competitors out of the water, I make my clients so successful, why, they'll turn green from all those wads of cash they'll have to cart around!

Now this is the cool part.

My strategy is actually working.

When I meet back with my clients after I have sold them on our services, and after they have reviewed their bottom line numbers and see, sure enough, that those numbers are UP, just like I told them they would be- I feel like I'm floating out of those meetings on a cloud. A big, fat, white, fluffy cloud of ridiculous self assurance (in our company).

Though I wouldn't have brought Frank Baby home to meet Momma, and though I've no chickens, I know exactly how he feels.

In Memory of Emerson; August 15th 2002- April 29th, 2010

The Power of the Dog

by

Rudyard Kipling

There is sorrow enough in the natural way

From men and women to fill our day;

And when we are certain of sorrow in store,

Why do we always arrange for more?

Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware

Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy

Love unflinching that cannot lie--

Perfect passsion and worship fed

By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.

Nevertheless it is hardly fair

To risk your heart to a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits

Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,

And the vet's unspoken prescription runs

To lethal chambers or loaded guns,

Then you will find--it's your own affair--

But ... you've given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,

With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)

When the spirit that answered your every mood

Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,

You will discover how much you care,

And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We've sorrow enough in the natural way,

When it comes to burying Christian clay.

Our loves are not given, but only lent,

At compound interest of cent per cent.

Though it is not always the case, I believe,

That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:

For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,

A short-term loan is as bad as a long--

So why in--Heaven (before we are there)

Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

And THAT kid's an Entrepreneur!

There's a child in our family, who we will call Isaac. Isaac's mother lost her cell phone last week. She looked high, she looked low- no phone.

"I'll give you two dollars to find your mother's phone", Tony volunteered.

"Two dollars?!" said Isaac with indignation. "Five."

 This eight year old apparently knows the cost of a Happy Meal.

It was then that I knew what I had to do.

"I'll give you ten."

"Ten? I can find it for ten."

"I thought so."

No stone was left unturned. No bed unchecked. No couch cushions not flipped.

When those efforts didn't produce, he left the house- I mistakenly thought he'd given up.

"It was in the car!"

"Here's your ten spot."

"THANKS! Hey- can someone take me to the mall?"

"No."

"How about Dollar General?"

"No."

The thing about Isaac is, though I love him to death, he's a difficult child.

He's always taking issue with nearly everything you say, doesn't follow rules much, unless there's a very stiff form of punishment- "Don't make me call your father", gets bored easily, and has his own ideas about how life should flow.

I used to tell him a few years ago, "My, my. For someone who was pooping on themselves not that long ago, you sure are opinionated, kid."

Also, the public school which he attends (Entrepreneur Chick has the dimmest view of pubic schools imaginable) tested him recently, and Isaac was found to be incredibly intelligent, so much so, that they immediately called his mother to report the findings.

Perhaps you would surmise from this story that Isaac is merely motivated by sheer greed.

I do not think so.

Isaac is motivated by "value" and putting a price on what he brings to the table.

As our good entrepreneurial and highly successful friend, Mike, said to us last month;

"You're entrepreneurs. If you just want to make a living, get a job."

Isaac is going to last about ten minutes in a job, and I sincerely hope he figures out that he, like me, is entirely unemployable.

Let's just save all the future bosses out there a lot of trouble.

Actually, he had much more than ten dollars to spend in that he made a deal with the neighbor boy next door.

I know this because our earlier conversation went like this-

"Can you activate my credit card?"

"Credit card?"

"Yeah."

"Let me see what you've got."

Isaac proudly hands me a twenty dollar gift card from the credit card section of his wallet.

"You don't have to activate this. You just go in there and make a purchase and hand them this card."

"Oooooh."

"How'd you get this?"

"I told William he could ride my bike anytime he wanted."

"Ah. Okay. But did you put an expiration date on that?"

"Oh. I didn't think of that! Thanks!"

Now I feel a bit bad for not taking him to the mall.

Look Ma, Another Award!

Postman started his acceptance speech with what he called, "The Straight Dope",  but I decided, in the same spirit, it would be good if I gave you some straight dope of my own as well, so-

One of the reasons I love writing- slash- blogging, is mostly because I have something to say and no real place where it's appropriate to direct those innermost thoughts.

Why's that, Entrepreneur Chick?

Because most of the time, I am way too blunt, pushy, opinionated, and basically crass for humans I actually know in real life- my clients, my potential clients, my employees, and people who seem to think they're my friends- so therefore, I let it all out- like unzipping your fly after a big spaghetti dinner followed by chocolate cake and icecream.

Aaaaaah, that's better.

When someone responds to me being the real me and not the this is how I act at Chamber of Commerce events and church functions where there's no freakin' beer me, I truly do appreciate that.

Besides, I already told someone what I really thought of them last month, and look how dandy that turned out. Freakin' HA.

In summation, Entrepreneur Chick is the real me.

So in celebration or suppression of the real me, ( I leave that to you, my readers, to decide) I accept this award.

And for the person who gave me this award- Postie- as I've come to call him, let me tell you, he and the others I am going to mention are honestly and truly the unexpected three carrot diamond ring dropped in Mc Donald's parking lot.

Who would think to find such treasure there?
:::whispering::: McDonald's is the blogosphere, get it?::::

In another altered state kind of way, I've had the great pleasure to develop friendships with three of these people I'm mentioning,

and the odd thing is,

when I speak to them over the phone, there's this strange sensation I experience like- I don't know who YOU are but I deeply know Pollinatrix, Chloe and Postman.

When you read someone over and over-  an automatic, organtic sort of intimacy occurs.

A word about Postman. Something I've never said.

I have a rule. I do. This rule has reliably worked for me in the ten years I've been married, which may appear highly controversial to some but- I do not have male friends. As in, at all.

We have friends that we know as a couple, but so far as having a male friend, no.

I would never call up a guy to talk to him about anything, unless he's my client, and then, well, I kind of have to.

Postman has been my one exeption in ten years- though I can't say I've talked to him extensively. He gives me advice, and is my go to person for all types of things. He'll even be sweet to me about my bugging him to play Face Book games- and giving in, when he's actually incredibly busy. I'm just running a few businesses. That guy is busy!

That said, the five bloggers I'd like to pass this award, based on the fact that they too, are the authentic replicas of themselves, the real deals, or very good liars are:

The Pollinatrix, (The Whole Blooming World)

Chloe, (Fortune Cookies and Men)

Postman, (you didn't say I couldn't!) (The Sententious Vaunter)

Duta, (Places with Character)

Mimi and Tilly, (Mimi and Tilly)

Thank you all for enriching my life in ways you'll never know.

My One Big Fat Non-negotiable!

Someone telling me what to do is never up for debate. I alone, decide what that will be.

I call my own shots.

If ever I am in a postition that does not allow me to exercise my free will at all times,  predictably, that situation is going to end badly.

In somewhat of a heated exchange a few weeks ago, a women said to me, "I don't own this. I'm not free to do what I want."

Well, that's the difference between you and me.

I do own.

I am free to do what I want.

Should I have spoken all my mind, it would have gone like this- I honestly think you're a worker drone ass kisser who has every minute of every day dictated for you by someone else.

There is nothing about your life that I admire, nor would aspire.

I find you uninteresting, room temperature at best, and immediately bland. No spark. No creativity. A big bunch of bleh on a plate.

Everything you do is with the herd. No individuality. And furthermore, if I had it to do over again, I would have played it the same way.

This coming week, Entrepreneur Chick is being interviewed on a radio show- people ask me all the time, "Can anyone be an entrepreneur?"

My answer? No.

If you find that someone telling you what to do is the most distasteful and detestable thing you could possibly imagine- if you've been fired from several jobs for not getting your way, than I'd say you're probably an entrepreneur.  With the right type of hard work, vision and grit, big money could be just around the corner in about ten years.

Yes, ten years.

Nothing is easy and nothing is quick.

Here are fifteen other signs that you might access as to how well matched you are at being a true, dyed in the wool, ain't nobody gonna boss you around entrepreneur:

1.Your business is your life and your passion

2.You take action then think about it

3.You don’t like people telling you what to do

4.You dream about your business

5.You always find new ways to do everything

6.You hate small talk

7.You don’t actually read fine print or long contracts

8.You expect things to happen instantly

9.You hate waiting in line

10.You don’t like meetings

11.You look forward to your workday

12.You have a ten minute attention span

13.You don’t read long emails

14.You write short emails and people think you’re blunt

15.You hate hearing that you’re wrong

P.S. I actually enjoy meetings because I always learn something new and more often than not, someone ends up handing me a check at the end.
I expect things to happen quicky, but have learned, alas, that they do not. Slow and steady really does win the race.

This Blog is Interrupted Due to Flu

If you came over here and saw all the tissue and popsicle sticks I've been diligently piling up in my bedside trash can, you'd think someone offered me a job paying fairly decent money~

This is day number five.

As Henry David Thoreau said, "Tis healthy to be sick sometimes."

And he even said this with no advantage of Nyquil whatsoever.

"What Would Entrepreneur Chick Do?"

"It is better to be boldly decisive and risk being wrong then to agonize at length and be right too late."  Marilyn Moats Kennedy

 

In a Jam? One Secret Sentence to Tell Yourself

 

Entrepreneur Chick is reading a very famous businessman's book over again.

As I read last night, this man was talking about how most people are not really cut out for success in that they can not handle pressure.

If you want to own a business, or you do own a business, one thing that you can count on more than anything else: is pressure.

I'm in a jam right now. That creates pressure.

 I'm going to be very candid with you.

I'd love to tell you that when I'm under pressure, why, I just rise to the occasion, never get upset, never get my thong in a wad, never raise my voice, never cuss and say a bunch of things I don't mean-

When I write as Entrepreneur Chick, I ask myself: is that true?

If it is, I write it- if it's not, I don't.

When my jam happened yesterday, my very first reaction was to get angry.

After I got angry, I decided to feel sorry for myself.

"Oh, this sucks. This isn't fair. Why is this happening?"

Anger is a valuable emotion in that it causes me to take action.

Pity is a useless emotion because it causes me to not take action.

I have to literally will myself out of feeling sorry, back to acknowledging my anger, and finally, take some sort of action in order to resolve the situation.

I'm getting much better not ruminating as to why something happened, but rather, what I going to do to solve it.

It's at this juncture I remember something very powerful.

Here's the one secret sentence, I say:

"I am a very creative person, and there are many solutions to a problem!"

I find this sentence gives me the power I feel I've lost, wonderfully back!

I return to the situation with a new attitude, as I am confident a resolve is just around the corner.

Why is a resolve just around the corner?

Because I am a very creative person, and there are many solutions to a problem!

This sentence has never failed me.

Try it and see if it doesn't work for you too.

Doing Business With Giants- Og, the King of Bashan

Have you heard of Og?

I know, right.

What was his mother thinking when she named him that?

However, Og didn't take guff on the playground because, you see, Og was a giant. A real, live, true giant.

You might be surprised to learn this about Entrepreneur Chick- but I read the Old Testament almost every day.

I'll give you the loosely translated, Readers Digest version of the Hebrew's dilemma.

(Though I only read The King James Version, which is classically beautiful and conveys a thought with fewer words; therefore making it easier to both understand and remember.)

God: Look guys. I'm giving you this land so-

Hebrews: Great! Well, you know, we'll send some spies over first and check out the place.

God: Um...

Later that day-

Hebrews: Gosh, God. It doesn't look so good. Did you KNOW that there's giants over there? Seriously. Giants. We're not so sure that we can beat them.

God: So, you're not sure I can help you out, huh? Does, oh, I don't know- the whole bringing you up out of Egypt with all those nasty plagues visited on Pharaoh and his peeps, and not on you, mean anything?

Parting of The Red Sea ring a bell?

Hebrews: But we like camping! And the manna thing- it's not so bad once you get used to it. We don't want to repeat the whole eat a pheasant and the earth swallows you up, drama.

God: No, see. That's not the deal. Don't think I can't hear you running your pie holes in your tents- you say, "HE brought us out here in the desert so he can kill us and give our children to our enemies for a prey." You're half right! You are going to die out here, those of you who don't believe me. Yep, you're gonners. However, TWO of you will not die, TWO of you will go into the land, and that's... (drum roll please- wait- I'll use thunder) Joshua and Caleb.

Two men out of literally millions went into the land because they had:

FAITH

They had this faith- not blind, stupid faith- but faith based upon historical evidence which denoted that God had been faithful in the past, therefore, HE could most assuredly be counted on to be faithful in the future.

What does this mean to the entrepreneur- if anything?

A Giant's Definition:

Giant: A multimillion dollar company that employs over 3,000- give or take.

You: A small business.

Should you, as a small business, dare to get involved and do business for, a giant?

Yes! If you are:

Aware, But Not Afraid: Be aware of, but not afaird of- how a giant pays.

Do you know how big corporations pay?

They pay on a net thirty, to net fourty five.

It will take you thirty to fourty five days to see your money. Uh oh. Now what? That's going to leave you scrambling to come up with enough cash flow to pay your labor and your materials. What do you do?

Do The Three B's, Babies!

Budget: This is how I manage to beat a whole bunch of odds. I told someone last night, "You won't believe how much money I won't spend!"

I carefully make sure that expenses are kept low and my employees are paid. By doing this, I am buying myself time until the gaint's cash starts rollling in.

Barrow: against accounts receivable. You don't have to- but it's an option.

This is called, "factoring".

Factoring is "a financial transaction whereby a business sells its accounts receivable (i.e., invoices) to a third party (called a factor) at a discount in exchange for immediate money with which to finance continued business. Factoring differs from a bank loan in three main ways. First, the emphasis is on the value of the receivables (essentially a financial asset)[1], not the firm’s credit worthiness. Secondly, factoring is not a loan – it is the purchase of a financial asset (the receivable). Finally, a bank loan involves two parties whereas factoring involves three."

Build: Get your sales staff out there, or you get out there, and build up smaller accounts.

You'll want to do that because they pay quicky, therefore, giving you the necessary cash to keep funding your business and make a profit, rendering the giant a whole lot more pleasant to do business with.

I share this with you today because one of my clients is, in fact, a giant-  a national name you'd all be familiar, if I were to share it with you.

Though I am happy as Charlie Sheen at Betty Ford to have acquired this giant, I now have a much better understanding of how one operates- and should you run across of few giants of your own- so will you!

HO, HO, HO~

(I'm quoting the Green Giant now, not Snoop Dogg.)

"For only Og, the king of Basham remained as remnant of giants; behold, his bedstead was a bedstead of iron: is it not in Rabbath of the children of Ammon? nine cubits was the length thereof, and four cubits the breadth of it, after the cubit of a man."

                                                             Deuteronomy 3:11

You've Got to Toughen Up- Holla!

See this fierce looking fellow right here? That's my Yorkie, Eliot, barking at me furiously because I told him, falsely, I think I saw a "kitty cat"!

You're real tough, Eliot, with your Trick R Treat Halloween t-shirt on there, buddy.

I hate to tell you, but the cat would first laugh you to death.

And then he'd claw your eyes out.

But you see, we can all learn something from Eliot.

In his mind's eye, this is how he sees himself, no lie:

You've heard it said that people look like their dogs?

I'm not sure about that, but in attitude, Eliot and I are two peas in a pod.

I'm going to shoot damn straight with you today. Business is tough. Life is tough. People aren't always going to like you.

What are you going to do about that?

I'll tell you what you're going to do about that.

Realize most people have a strong desire to be liked.

Now that you know that, you have an advantage. You drop that strong desire to be liked right away.

Seriously, get the hell over it. Pandering to what other people want you to do, think you should do, tell you to do- will never get you anywhere of consequence. And besides all that, who respects a Milk Toast?

Many of my friends are elected officials in the community where I live.

One told me recently, "It's like this- no one owns me. I vote according to my beliefs. I say, if you don't like it, then don't vote for me- so what?"

And you know something? That guy is the most respected leader out there.

Entrepreneur Chick has mananged to be successful in business because I don't care if you like me or not.

If I did, I probably wouldn't have married a black man.

But I won't start something just for the sake of it.

(Tony loves to say, "Don't start none, won't be none.")

However, after I've been all sorts of gracious, and it has not been met in kind;

I will peg you for the ass you apparently are.

You're pegged. And I'm done.

Pretty simple.

Sales, The Bottom Line

If you're going to be in business, you have to learn to sell. I've never seen one business yet that didn't have its heartbeat firmly established in sales.

As my good friend, and fellow business owner, Greg, observed, "You can make an awful lot of mistakes but sales will always keep you afloat."

Most people can not sell. The very thought of selling something shakes them to the core.

When they (finally) get the prospect in front of them they start to get nervous, start to sweat, start to not listen, and go on and on and on. Would you buy something from a person like this? I'd lay odds, you wouldn't.

Why can't they sell?

What's holding them back?

REJECTION

Being told "no" is too scary.

Again, get the hell over it. As George, my father, who was a consummate salesman loved to say, "You won't die."

Are you open minded?

Then I 'd like you to watch something for a little bit. You might not like it, you might not agree with the lifestyle, you might find it offensive.

But I'll tell you- this is the thick skin I'm talking about.

These people came up from nothing. Nothing.

Do you think these men were told no a few times? Do you think they turned tail and ran, or did they slug it out and come right back- only harder?
You be the judge.

The next time you drive up to a sales call, Entrepreneur Chick wants you to imagine pulling up in your Cadillac Snoop Deville!

You take a cue from these gangsta's swagger and develope a little bit o' yo own-
 holla back!

P.S. Both Snoop Dogg and 50 Cent are amazing salesmen and outstanding entrepreneurs. Both of them are so adept, they could sell vodka to Russians.

Get Goaling!

Now that I have everyone's attention, there is a new website the Entrepreneur Chick has found which has tremendously helped me not just clarify and focus on my goals, as in the oooh, la la photo above, but additonally provides an easy and measurable way, along with action steps, to help insure I meet them!

Reading many of your blogs I see that there's a common theme really, amongst those who seem to have goals, objectives and dreams that they very much want to reach but struggle in frustration, at times, to that end.

In the past, I have always relied on my notebooks- which understandably, is not very high tech; just humble pen and paper- to keep me moving in the direction I want to go.

I have to say it has been effective, and I have reached many of the goals I have set for myself.

The biggest of which were:

(1) Leave sociopathic husband.

(2) Maybe marry someone decent.

After obtaining those goals I had:

(3) Start a business.

Although I've had smaller goals along the way, and certainly every business I started was not a success, those three goals have been the plumbline, the hallmark, the gold standard- of the past ten years.

My current goals?

(1) Increase business sales by a certain amount of thousands every six months until two million a year is reached. (For business number two.)

(2) "Entrepreneur Chick"- the book! Should be completed by October nineteenth of this year.

(3) Radio show! Oh, why not? If I have a book, might as well. I can sell it on the show, invite guests, take callers, that sort of thing.

(4) Eat right and DO NOT EAT AT NIGHT! Eating right is pretty easy for me, but at night, some alien takes over my body and dips my hand into potato chips, forces me to make root beer floats, and other no nos.

Yeah, that's it.

If you have that same problem, here's a little trick I found to help me stop.

When I get hungry, I mix a teaspoon of this in water and drink the whole thing.

If that doesn't work, I do it again.

And now for the site I've been telling you about-

Get Goaling!

And guess what?

It's FREE~ 

The Sunshine Award!

This award is  "to celebrate the positivity and creativity of our fellow bloggers".
Mimi and Tilly, who's "Art of a Glittery Life" I positively adore, passed this award to me.

I so appreciate and feel honored you thought of me, Mimi and Tilly! Thank you! :)

To accept this award, I must pass this on to twelve bloggers who exemplify the same.

Therefore, in no particular order, I am pleased to share some blogs with you today that never fail to delight me.

Some are brand new to me, just discovered today, as a matter of fact, which is
Decades a Go Go. I can not believe he found a car and bought it, just like my grandparent's Rambler! Congratulations.


Here they are- do enjoy!

The Sententious Vaunter

The Whole Blooming World

Fortune Cookies and Men

Places with Character

Affordable Accoutrements

Colleen Drew Photography

Everyone Goes to Micks

Decades A Go Go

1950's Atomic Ranch House

Pupa Art

Scandalous Housewife

Workforced