My Super Power Wish List

I have a couple of super powers that I would like to incorporate into my work identity. I’m not sure where I can obtain or learn these powers, but I will obtain them one-way or another.

First off, I would like the power to defecate on my own command. Think how great that would be. I’m not much for public restrooms, and I do prefer the setting of my own porcelain, but I could compromise for this special power. Think of all the people you could offend? Yesterday I walked into the women’s restroom and found a couple of women holding a gossip session. Maybe it’s me, but can’t you do that in your work pod or the break room? “Did you hear what that woman said?” blah blah blah….I wish I could poop on command and unleash a holy terror of a smell so foul that every known creature would leave me in peace when I run to the lady’s room. I don’t want to hear about Shannon’s bad dye job or how so and so’s boss is diddeling the help. I just want to take a piss without having to contemplate integrity and moral issues.

Secondly I need the power to burn people’s eyes out. I would reserve this treat for all the men I work with who think it’s not obvious they are staring at my chest. What’s that Mr. President? My tits can hear you just fine, but my ears are having a little trouble. I would love to be able to say to them, “Look into my eyes” in a despicable villainous voice and then radiate their eyes out of their skulls. I’ll basically be saving the entire woman workforce from having to deal with men like this. I’ll be the poster girl for office torture. I love it!

My third and final wish is simple. I would like the power to seize other’s vocal cords, and by seize I mean have control over their voice boxes. You know that dumb yahoo in your office that always stops by and makes pointless conversation with you? Well, not any more! I would simply turn his voice completely off. Maybe I could control this by a wink. “Hey, what’s up?” he’d ask all perky. I’d just give a little wink and render him mute. This would also work well with the people in my meetings who think they know more than other people. “I think what’s she’s trying to say, Bob is that …..”. One little wink and I could make their voice replicate Shirley Temple’s irritatingly high-pitched squeak. They would immediately shut up and we could be laughing at them, thus bringing entertainment to my boring work life. I could save myself, and my fellow coworkers, hours of endless chatter from insipidly stupid people. I’m telling you, I should rule the world.

What would you like for your super power?

What did I miss?

It’s the little things you don’t say that seem to make the biggest impact. It’s that sunny day you called me at the office to have a picnic, but then couldn’t make time for it later on. It’s that friend who looks at you with tears welling up in their eyes, but you shy away from hugging them because it’s not a norm in your relationship. It’s the night you planned on making love to him, but skipped it because you ate too much at dinner.

It’s the lazy Sunday when you look over at the other person laying on the couch and start to tell them how much you love them, only to fall silent and distracted by a new commercial. It’s the little kid that starts to take your hand, but you turn to hear what someone else said to you.

It’s the opportunity that passed that defines so much of what we are today. I think of these moments I’ve let slip away, and wonder what my life would be like if I had taken advantage of them.

It’s looking into someone’s eye and knowing the perfect thing to say when a waiter with the daily special rerouts my mind. The moment is lost and forgotten like yesterday’s soup de jour. Do they know how you feel? Did you tell them? Did you make good on your word or let it slip by? We can do that next week, only you forget you ever made the plan.

Did you take them for granted or did you walk a few feet out of their way? Did you tell someone else to hold on while you picked up that little kid and twirled him around in the air? Did you reach out for their hand because they needed it? Did you pass that social line and hug them because they are human and we all need someone?

Drop a line, hold a hand, make a plan and follow through.

Ode to the Playa MC

This week marks the Playa MC’s birthday. As my wingman over the past year or so, we have seen many a drunken night followed up with laughter and tears. We’ve chased pants and skirts, respectively, and have endured stalkers and witches alike. We’ve seen the end of our marriages and the beginnings of our new lives take shape. He makes me smile.

In order to help celebrate his birthday, I’m asking you to forward me well wishes that I will pass on to him, or leave them in the comments where he can read them. What’s that? You feel as if you don’t know the Playa MC well enough? I’ll give you a look-see.

The Playa MC is hilarious. Don’t believe me? Check out some of the C-isms he’s come up with over the years:

**The Playa MC inquires about a strip club: “That reminds me. Would you happen to know if the Pink Pussycat is the place with the one armed stripper?”

**Regarding our plans on Valentine’s day…“And don't feel bad if you'd rather go out on a date with someone that can offer you the possibility of guilt and awkwardness-free sex.”

**Related to my recent interviews…”I think you should do your next interview entirely in "Springer-guest" talk. When your prospect starts talking about their qualifications, just stand up quickly, start waiving your hand in their face, and scream "Wha' eva! Wha' eva! You ain't better than me! Wha' eva!" Then hit them over the head with your chair. That should make your day more interesting. And it will also enable you to observe the tact, fortitude, and skull-strength of your prospective hire.”

**Concerning one of his dates… “I don’t know if the witch figured out that she was the starring performer in a one-woman freak show Saturday night or not.”
**Talking about one of his date’s dreams… “She wanted to discuss her damn dream, and it was even a rerun. It’s the same dream she discussed immediately after I dumped my load on her stomach Sunday night. She wanted me to tell her what it meant if she was running through a field of brown grass stalks, but every stalk she touched turned to a “beautiful magenta” color. And the wind was blowing. All obviously indicating change from something old and lifeless to something new and beautiful, but I’m sure as shit not gonna tell her that. It means that I’M about to get f*ckin’ stalked is what it means.”
If you can’t tell from that he is the greatest guy in the world. Besides all the laughs and drunken nights, TPMC will also be there if you need to eat right or work out. He’s always there for me. The day after I returned from my grandfather’s funeral he was right there with me drinking my sorrows away. Most of the men I know don’t know how to react when I woman is sad, but the Playa MC can handle it with grace.
I’ve seen him grow from a man who’s never played a drinking game to the last one standing. I’ve seen him change his career to better the world. (Although that’s a work in progress) Did I mention that he’s brilliant? Yes ladies, leave him and email and I’ll ship his ass right over. He’s become the first person I call to grab a drink, vent about family, or tell a joke to. He’s always there to remind me to be patient with myself and to not be so hard on myself.

This week wasn’t easy for me. I was pretty down, and like a good friend, the Playa MC greeted me the other night with new CDs. He says I can’t be down listening to Wu-Tang clan. Not only does he make me happy music, he knows me well enough to force me to pop the trunk and put them in the changer. Yes, I’m that lazy.
So, here’s to you Playa MC! Thanks for being such a great friend to me. Thanks for listening to me bitch and then enduring it when I tell you that I am going to change the world. Thanks for being my biggest fan and enduring my alter ego that comes out. Thanks for hugging me when all I could do is cry, and thanks for being you. Oh yea, and thanks for feeding my Whatarburger when I get drunk. I blame you for my large hips. Bastard! Love you! Drinks tonight?

I give up

I’m done with this. If you need me, I’ll be here.


Don't even think of joining me unless you bring a cocktail for me.

Dear Cupid,

I know your insipid ass is out hitting people with arrows. I also know that you play mean tricks in your spare time on dogs in order to get them to stick together. I hate you and I thought that you should know that.

Yes, I realize at times you have been very good to me. I understand that you have provided me with endless hours of happiness, and that I really shouldn’t complain. But I am. So there. All I ever wanted was just to have a happy family of my own. Is wanting a family that values the simple pleasure of being together too much to ask? Is wanting to share my love of music and sense of fashion with these people a burden to you? Why oh why cupid, do you hold me back from my one true love. All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, was to be a part of a family like these people.

If my demands for peppy hair and shiny family shirts aren’t met by the end of today, I warn you know that I will seek my revenge. So help me the Easter Bunny and I will track down your sorry baby ass and shoot you in the head with your own arrows.

Hating you with all my guts,

Snowflake

P.S. If you can’t find me I’m going to be at Bull’s celebrating the Playa MC’s birthday. (Yea, real nice of you to try and steal the day from him.) We’ll be sitting in the window throwing garlic on couples and passing out Funion’s to promote stinky breath. You’re my bitch. Better get use to it.

Would you like fries with that?


I feel like super ass right now. I’m not sure if it is a head cold or a hangover, but either way I feel like my head is levitating somewhere outside of my work pod. I’m swamped at work, which is really paying a price on my blog. Don’t they know they pay me to entertain myself by writing?

I’ll show them. I just spent the better part of the last hour flipping through the Tiffany’s website picking out jewelry that I would send myself if I was my own Valentine. Oh, and I had money. I think I spent about $30,000 in my head, but it’s okay because my head is now down the hall in another department.

I’m spending the other part of my time at work interviewing people to help me. That way I can actually have time to blog again and get my life back on track. I’ve met five people so far on this little journey, and its left me a bit sad. Do you have any idea how many people out there with degrees will work for nothing? I’m never leaving my job, because the competition is overwhelming. I’m hiring for a very low position, and I have people with more education than me applying. We should thank Mr. Bush for our great economy. I’m seeing first hand how much the job market has improved. Right. Out of work and hope these people flood my in box with resumes. I shake their hands and look at tired eyes that just want benefits. Fuck the pay, do you have medical insurance? Good job, Mr. President. Yes, I blame you.

I’ve seen fat people, skinny people, young and old people, some with hair and some without and all they want is this crappy little job. They are desperate and most of them are out of work. They spend their time riding with their truck driving husbands, taking computer classes at the community center, and practicing yoga. They tell me too much or they tell me nothing at all, but at the end they shake my hand and beg me to call. It’s like the desperate look in a love-starved woman’s eye at the end of a bad date when she already fucked the guy. There’s not going to be a call and we both know it.

I have three more people to talk to today. I’m looking forward to the Asian Van Dam that applied. I think he might be a bookkeeper extraordinaire. His cover letter said something like, “With the excellence that I bring to the team, with the determination that I have to succeed, and with the educational background that I carry with me, I know I will be the best addition to your company”. He sounds like an ass-kicking number force to me. He beats the lady with a “Degree in Secretary ship” hands down.

This is sad. My life is becoming my job. I’ve got to hire someone so I can go back to the fun little snowflake we know and love.

Now is the time to stalk

It’s been decided. I command you to all become stalkers. What? You’re scared of little restraining order? Oh, you’re afraid they might think you’re psycho or question your mental stability? Well I have news for you buddy, if you don’t take up some sort of peeping routine you could end up with a total lunatic (and not a good lunatic like our fellow blogger). Don’t believe me? Well check this shit out.

Last night the Playa MC and I went to have burger over at Casino’s. Once we were satisfactorily full and a little tipsy, we headed down to one our favorite bars for a little nightcap before we staggered home. When we walked in, I noticed a boy around town whom I’ve always thought was attractive. Granted I’ve never spoken to him, and I have never planned on speaking to him, but he’s one of those people I keep an eye on.

He was sitting up at the bar playing a round of poker with some friends. The Playa MC and I sat down and starting gibbering about witches and warlocks. After a while, I looked over and noticed a girl sitting next to him. I didn’t give it much thought and I really don’t care if he is dating anyone. This is the type of boy that I don’t want to date. I just like to look at him and right now that’s more than enough for me.

At some point I looked up and the girl beside him was leaving. She removed a jacket off the back of his chair, and the Playa MC and I instantly looked at one another. Surely, surely she’s not with him. We quickly looked back to see him kiss her goodbye. I shrieked like a gay boy who finds a free supply of Cher memoirs. Now look, I’m not one that easily understands why straight guys choose certain women over others. I can tell a hot girl and pick her out for any of my friends with out much trouble. But this, this caught me with my pants down.

First off, lets just say she’s not easy on the eyes. I would compare her facial structure to some type of bird or other offensive flying creature. But lets be honest. More goes into a relationship than looks, so I can over look that. It was her hair that I couldn’t over look. When was the last time you saw a beautiful girl with a rat-tail haircut? Much less, a rat- tail on woman! Don’t know what I’m talking about? It’s like this or this, but on a girl.


In the year 2005, why would a woman have this? Does she live down by the river? Is she a river rat? Could it be that man sticks his Willie into that girl? I shrieked again and my eyes were bulging.

When I thought it couldn’t get any worse, he stood up. Dirty hair (I can live with that on the right man with the right hair), country shirt (again, some men can work it), jeans and WHITE TENNIS SHOES! SHRIEK!!!!!!!

Men, if you don’t know this I beg you to learn it here. Don’t ever – EVER – wear white sneakers unless they are some form of cool that one rarely sees. Your white workout shoes with jeans, you know the ones that you’ve had since 8th grade and are all beaten up, are ugly. It screams, “I have no idea how to dress myself and I live with my Mom”. Now I realize some of you out there are going to tell me that you can pull this look off, but I suggest you consult an honest female to confirm this for you. I’ve seen it work once or twice, but usually it comes off with me feeling like I’m back in the 80’s with all that shitty music and bad hair. Hey, wait! Maybe these two are meant for each other! Bad shoes = bad looking and bad hair to boot girlfriend.

So I hope this little post has taught you the importance of stalking. Just say that I had missed these jewels of information, then what? Maybe one day I would have kissed a man who use to put his tongue inside a bird’s mouth. Maybe I would have caught the dreaded river rat disease, or even worse I would have been forced to be seen in public with an 80’s white shoe-wearing freak. All of this was avoided thanks for careful and strategic peeping. Please feel free to send me all the thank you letters you want. I know this is the best advice I’ve given. I am going to start stalking my potential lovers tonight. If you need me, I’ll be the girl in all black sitting in the dark corner of the club with binoculars.

Ray of light

It’s that moment where you’re telling yourself that you can’t move because the effort is too great and someone reaches out a shaking hand. It’s the little kid that tells you how beautiful you are when you’re still in your pajamas. It’s the person that cries with you when you don’t even know what you’re crying about.

In and out they circle your life, always there to catch you. I’ve had a million of these over my life. Some of them I know and some of them I can’t picture their face anymore. Yet they’re all here within me. They are the little whispers of memories that float into my head when my mind is all confused and grey.

It’s the email from someone you’ve never met face to face, but they tell you how amazing you are. It’s the smile from a random stranger who somehow gets you. The phone call in the middle of the night because someone knows you’re not sleeping and they know you need to talk. It’s the lady at the ice cream shop that winks and puts sprinkles on your scoop because she just knows you want them.

They trickle in. They shape your smile. They put movement in your dance. They sway you from being bitter and jaded about the raw deal you know you got. They change your perspective. They act a million years older than they are and give you wise advise.

Heroes. Angels. Who knows what to call them? They are everywhere. Someone reminded me not to judge other people so harshly the other day. He reminded me of the shattered state I was in just a year or so ago. “How’s that so different from you?” I blew the comment off as flippant and arrogant.

I thought about it when I woke up this morning. He’s right. I want to be that person that sends a card to an old friend because you heard about their loss. I want to remember my power of grace in this world more often. I want to leave chocolates on friend’s doorsteps and not be afraid to hug them. I want to tell them openly about how they changed my life, and see if there is anything I can do to change theirs. It’s time to make someone remember my actions instead of my face. It’s time I moved my life in this direction. Its time to let go of fear.

Grab a Piece of This Fine White Meat

Man, o’ man. Where the hell have I been? Well, the exam went as the exam always does. By the end of it I felt like some fucking tax nerd had beaten me with a huge ruler, and I mean that in a horrible defeating way. It’s over for now and hopefully for good.

In other news, I was just thinking about women’s fragrances. Why is it that all women’s products have some edible quality to them? Manly smells don’t, so what does this mean?

Let’s take my normal smelly day. I wash my hair and put lavender cream in it. Not too edible, although I sometimes think my hair smells like strawberries. Does someone want a nibble of my hair? Next up, I always put orange blossom cream on my legs. Oranges….bite of the leg, ol' chap? Then there is the lotion on the rest of me and that’s something with a hint of vanilla. Why have a vanilla sorbet when you could chew on my elbow?

My hand lotion at work is green tea therapy. Why spend $100 bucks an hour on a shrink, when you could lick my hands and save yourself all that pain and suffering? Hell it might also aid you in saving yourself from purchasing that $5 Chia Tea Latte you grab at the coffee shop. I’ve checked around and men don’t smell like fruit and spices. Okay there is that crap called Old Spice, but nothing within 100 feet of that stuff is allowed near my mouth.

Do people just want to eat women up because we’re beautiful, or because we smell like grandma’s Christmas fruitcake? Is it because we’re sensual and loving, or because you somehow have an overwhelming desire to snack on cookies and a fruit plate?

I once tried to use a lubricant that was the exact same smell as vanilla cake. It sounded like all fun and games, but I swear we both gained 4 pounds after that excursion. Plus the whole time I was in bed smelling like the desert counter of La Madeline, I had craving for a glass of milk. Hardly sexy. Maybe that lube was made for a 400-pound fat man that couldn’t stop eating long enough to get it up with a woman. Regardless, it wasn’t for me. I felt like my nephews were going to pop out of my closet and ask me for a slice of some delectable dessert, only to see me doing something nasty to someone they don’t know. You see! This stuff is dangerous in so many ways.

I hate to say that it must have something to do with men, but I can’t help but feel that way. Does it go back to the old saying about the way to man’s heart is through his stomach? I wonder. I guess I’ll try rubbing meat tenderizer all over me the next time and let you all know if it’s true. Nothing like a nice piece of flank steak rub on my ass to make a man melt. Plus who knows, if it can soften up a pork chop it might do wonders on my arse.