Ouch, Stop! That's My Kidney!

I know this really big crazy dude. His name is, get this... Life. Horrible name, right? His mother obviously HATES him. She took one look at his big headed, ugly mug and was all, "well isn't that just life?"

Life kinds of stomps around and has tattoos. He wears big heavy combat boots and says things like "I'm loco, esse." Which is weird, I think he listened to too much Cypress Hill and House of Pain in the 90's.

Life is kind of cool, because you know, you can hang with Life at parties and drink a 40. Life picks on you and gives you noogies that jack your hair all up, but the second someone else picks on you, Life does one of two things:

A) He either comes back and punches that bitch in the lady box

or

B) He turns around and punches you in your lady box and tells you to suck it up and quit being such a fucking titty baby

Life? Well, he's kind of a dick. And if you don't have a lady box then watch your nuts. He's a crazy swinger.

Currently he and his friend, Coincidence, are taking turns kicking me in just one of my kidneys. The other they are saving for when they are drunk and angry. They think of me as kind of a little biological punching back.

Life and Coincidence totally, and I mean completely, underestimate me. Because guess what I just did?

I waited until they passed out and then? I tied them up in their bedsheets and beat the crap out of them with a baseball bat and then I yelled, "suck it!" I also airpunched, but that is neither here nor there.

Life and Coincidence may never respect me, but that is fine. Because I'm gonna kick their bitch asses.

Me and this big set of balls I just grew are gonna go and swing them around and pretend like we own the joint now.

Mostly because somebody just lit a fire under them. My balls that is.

This was weird.

Friday Night Live Or Like You Have Anything Better To Do?

Tonight is the maiden voyage of BoomTube Live. The good news is that you can chat and interact with us while we broadcast. The bad news? Well, you can chat and interact with us and there is no editing and chances are cocktails will be involved.

You know, if you can call beer in a can a "cocktail". And you totally can. So if I'm all "Wooooooooh look at me!" you know why. Oh and it's my show, so suck it.

Then stay tuned for Skankelodeon with those lovable nutjobs the Dirty Pirate Hooker and Ghost of Keywork. Those crazy kids. I'd totally ruffle their hair and give them Popsicles if I could!

I've put buttons on the sidebar over there so I can't make it any easier, unless I come into your house and open your laptop and do this for you, people. And if I do that, you have to feed me. I eat a lot and I like everything fried.

We're on at 9pm Central. That's 10 Eastern and 7 Pacific for those of you that are lazy with the mathin' skills. I have to do everything around here. Gah!

One more thing. Saturday night is totally party night and no party is complete without tunes. (Who the hell says tunes anymore?) Well drugs and alcohol help too. But one of those is illegal and chances are the other one is too if you are actually still up at Midnight. Never one to judge, let's just move on. You can catch my husband Jason Booms, who is a very talented House DJ on his radio show, Droppin' The Boom. There is a button for that too.

So one of these days, I'll show up around this joint and not pimp a single thing. Oh I'll be ho slappin', but I won't be pimpin'.

If you're a ho, I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I'm so crude, but let's be real, you're a ho. Someday? I'll see you in the dumpster behind my office. If your legs don't twitch or anything I'll call someone. But I'm not touching you! Grody.

Another One Bites The Dust Is A Badass Jam And Hopefully Not a Running Theme Around Here

Ennui. I have it. Of the blog variety that is.

I don't think I'm alone, I've noticed it going around the blogosphere a bit. We're writing less, we're looking less. It's the dog days of Summer rearing their ugly heads. I'm actually okay with it, but I'm not going to pretend that one day, soon, you're going to show up here and find brilliance in writing.

Oh you might, in a month or two, but probably not right now. No, right now the best you can hope for is that I'll show up, punch the clock, drink a Diet Coke, fiddle with a paperclip, send a text message, take my lunch, screw around for another hour, think about checking the mail and then call it a day.

And, that, my friends? Is total bullshit. You should really expect more from me. You should pull me aside and get all up in my face, wave your finger around near my nose and say, "Look, asshole, get your ass in gear. Whip yourself into shape and give us something! Anything! Christ, it's freaking sad around here. You are fucking lazy! I've seen more action from a half salted slug."

You'd be right to do it. But, the problem is that I'd probably just shrug and say, "You're right." and then wander off like a dejected 14-year old boy that was just turned down for date to the dance.

I'm still here. I'm still around. I'm just asking for some lenience for the rest of this month. Hang with me, be my friend, enable my sad ass. I'll write when I can, when it comes from within, but I just can't handle all the GAWDDAMN pressure already. Jeez, get up off me, you freak!

Good news.

BoomTube is still in full force and will now be broadcast live every weekend.

Wait. Did you catch that right? Freaking A right you just did! You can now spend your Friday nights, with me. Look, the world just lost Michael Jackson, right? It's my turn to give back and spread this awesomosity out in full force. It's Human Nature. And I promise, it will be Off The Wall.

Gah, will I just fucking stop already?

Friday nights, 9 PM Central, 8 PM Mountain, 7 PM Pacific, 10 PM Eastern - you got that? You can find BoomTube right here. And just to make that easy for you, I'll put a button on my sidebar that you can just click on to tune in. You'll be able to chat with us (and amongst yourselves) live during the broadcast and if you can't make it, well you can watch anytime your little heart desires.

That? Is not grody by any means people.

Some of you may notice that is the time slot directly before the greatness that is known as Skankelodeon. That's right. BoomTube is a warm up act. Which means two hours of freaking fantastic every Friday, just for you. Which I cannot find the URL for right at the moment, but I promise I'll have a button for that too.

You might get something a little grody from that show.

Whew, this is getting exhausting. But don't go yet because I've got one more for you.

As some of you may know, my husband is a retired House DJ with 14 years of experience under his belt. He took a hiatus from spinning and playing around the country to do a little thing called starting a family. But now that he's used to us and maybe even a little sick us, he's ready to get back at it. He's heavily influenced by 80's Synth Pop and the Chicago and San Francisco House scenes. I know because I edited the bio.

So we've taken care of your Saturday nights too and you can find him and his radio show, Droppin' The Boom here. (Scroll to the bottom for the full scoop.) Midnight Central. You do the math on the other time zones. I gave you the formula earlier. And you know I'll be giving y'all a button for that as well.

Woah, I just laid a hurtin' on your world, didn't I?

I'm putting the words Juke Box Hero in the title because the song is bitchin' and I just want to

I'm edgy today and every time I start to write it turns into a laundry list of exhaustion. Even right now, I'm willing my fingers to not go into the tirade that includes how just stepping into my office six days a week is eating my soul alive.

But look, I did it again.

Tsk, tsk.

I'm unpleasant. I'm plastering this mucked up smile on my face today whenever anyone just looks in my general direction. Behind it, I'm seething and ugly. Frustrated and just edgy. It's nothing more than that hormonal freight train that smacks me square in the gut every month. By tomorrow, I'll be better but in the meantime...

- My two year old named his teddy bear Paul. We don't know a Paul. He doesn't know a Paul, yet Paul it is. Because it was either that or Two. He knows when strangers say things that are upended in his general direction, he typically answers "Two!" So now we have this thing known as Paul Bear that must be looked after and I find it so endearing I've darn near chewed his face off and squeezed him silly.

- My likeness is on a bottle of hot sauce. I use likeness loosely because this cartoon chick is incredibly hot. A portion of the proceeds go to various Fire Fighter charities. I'm sure all of you want my face looking at you over your eggs in the morning. I'll be pimping this out more when my mood lifts.

- I have 17 days until my vacation starts. I spent the first few minutes of my morning, sitting at my desk, counting little boxes on a bigger box that said 'July' at the top. And my rush to get to that last little row of boxes is kind of pissing me off as well.

I'm sparing you because I like you.

A good rule of thumb today is: Keep your nuts, shins and throat away from me. Hell, your thumbs too.

PS - Rush should probably get off of my radio and put Foreigner back on. You know, if they know what is good for them. Stupid Rush.

Today's Tom Sawyer is getting changed to another station.

PPS - I'm really not as edgy as my blog would lead you to believe. But I did take the week off of posting because this is the only kind of crap that I could come up with and I don't want any of you to throat punch me so, you know, I try to keep it to myself.

Texting With Monkey, Or There Is No Way In Hell I'm Going To Survive This Parenting A Tween Thing

Friday night Jason got home and said it was time we got new phones. He and I would upgrade and Monkey would semi-upgrade to my old phone. (Which is now covered in Pooh Bear stickers.)

(I said semi and pooh!)

With the upgrade in phones, we also added unlimited texting, which basically meant that Monkey could text now and texting was destined to become her new job, which would replace the old job of looking at me like I was dropped on my head and put on this planet to totally jack up her life.


Saturday when her dad came to pick her up, the Dude ran down the hall yelling "Sissy, your dada's home!" (How is that for blended family dynamics?) And off with her dad she went, about 2 hours later, the first text rolls in:

Hi mom. :) :P...

I responded and then she came back with:

Cool!!!!!:)...

And then:

Realy?!?!?!?!:)...

And:

Realy?? OMG!!:)

On and on this went for 3 hours until she ended with:

KINGKONG!!!!!!!!!!:) :) :) ...

Ten fucking exclamation marks. King Kong all one word, which still beats really with one L, I guess. This makes me question the school system that awarded her straight A's. Also, I'm not really sure what the hell she was talking about. I don't think she was even watching King Kong.

The good news is that this is the most we have talked in a year. You know, since "the hormones" kicked in. Well, with the exception of that day when I told her where babies came from and completely ruined her life FOREVER! Why AM I so weird and gross? The bad news? I was trying to drink in relative peace from my children and now she could reach me anywhere. Thanks 3G network! No really, freaking thank you.

In the morning I was a little hungover, eating an ice cream bar and french toast and greeted with:

God morning!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:)...



When she got home from her dad's that afternoon I said, "Let me see your hands."

And then I broke her number 1 button pushing finger and told her she'd thank me later. Because no kid of mine was going to abuse punctuation in this manner. If she couldn't punctuate maybe she'd focus on her spelling.

I'm pretty sure this is the same program they'd use in Summer school's across the country.

The next day I caught her texting her friend:

i just got back from the grocery store

No punctuation.

"Monkey, go put that damn phone in your room!"



She had to explain to her friend later that it's not that she's NOT excited about the grocery store, who wouldn't be, it's that she is grounded from exclamation marks. And only allowed 25 texts a day.

***

PS - I totally lied about the breaking of the finger.

PPS - I just sprained it a little.

PPSS - Still lying, I kicked her in the shins...

Do I realy need to go on???!!! :) ;P :) ... OMG!!!

Frankly, I'm Exhausted

Honestly, I just don't have the mental capacity to write anything that makes total sense. However, a few interesting things have developed in the last day or so.

First of all, I picked up my father in law at the bus station last night. He was an alcoholic and homeless for years.

So I guess I'm not really sure why I was so surprised when I got out of the shower this morning and through the open window I hear the sound of a beer opening on the back deck... At 6:30 AM.

Now, granted, it was NA beer. But, you know, it just seemed kind of not right.

I was really struggling this morning, so perhaps I should have cracked a beer myself and claimed hair of the dog. Last night I stayed up way too late, sitting on the back deck, drinking cocktails and listening to my brother's tales of woe.

One story in particular is still sitting in the front of my head this morning because the sheer audacity of some people is really amusing to me.

My kid brother has this friend, and I use the term lightly, let's call him Mack. Mack and my bro have been friends for years. Since they were just fresh faced kids in school. They've been through all the usual junk that your formative years hold. Some years ago, Mack moved to NYC with his girlfriend. Said girlfriend dumped Mack shortly after he moved, leaving him to fend for himself in the big bad city. When Mack called upon my brother to help him move back, my brother jumped in his car on a Friday and went to help and was back at work on Monday morning.

My brother put a trailer hitch on his Volvo to pull the U-Haul trailer back, which they ended up not being able to get, so he then put Mack's moped in the trunk of his Volvo and back to KC they came.

They've had adventures like this for a long time now.

The point of this story is simply to lead you to the next awesome act of friendship my brother did for this guy. It seems Mack was in receipt of some student aide to take some online classes that he didn't really feel were worth his while. Mack cooked up the bright idea that my brother would help take these classes for him and Mack would pay him $150 to do so. As it turns out, my brother helped the kid get a B in one class but he received a D in the other because Mack failed to mention the due date on an extremely important paper.

Fast forward to this week. The camera store my photog brother worked at has closed, putting him out of work. My brother has a small legal issue and is need of cash. Calling in the $150 Mack said he'd pay him for the classes was necessary at this time. Repeatedly Mack says, "Sure man, I've got it." The day my brother goes to get it, Mack calls him and says this:

"Dude, I've got a moral dilemma with paying you the money. You didn't really get a good grade in the class so morally, I just feel like I can't pay you the full amount, but I've got fifty bucks for you."

***

"STOP!", I yelled. My brother looks at me. "Seriously? He's having a moral struggle over paying you the full amount he said he would to have you LIE for him. A moral dilemma?"

My bro looks at me, slowly nodding his head like I'm an idiot. "Wait, do you see the huge problem here? That's like saying, I'm not going to pay you for killing that guy, because all you did was maim him and now he's just a quadriplegic and not a dead one! I just can't, because my morals won't let me."

Realization lights up my brother's face, "Hey, yeah, that's more jacked than I thought!"

"No really, it's like telling the hooker you just told to give you blow job that you won't pay her now because she only licked one ball and morally you feel that's just not right!"

Ousting Hobos From The Back Alley Party Zone

I'm always just a little wary when I see one of my bosses approaching my desk. I have three. One never asks for anything. The other two, well, you just never know what it is going to be next.

So when one of them started coming towards me yesterday, with that glint in his eye. The glint that said he was going to jack up my whole day, I started to tremble slightly. They always start with a, "Betttsssy!" The task at hand? Shutting down the hobo dance club that has formed behind my office. I mean, it's kind of rude to try to close this thing down. There is a filthy, cushionless couch and chair sitting right next to a dumpster. This? Is an obvious invite for hobos everywhere to come kick it with their brown sack booze and catch up on the hobo social scene. You know, complete with hobo paparazzi asking what Smokey is wearing today. Which is obviously urine caked, mismatched work boots and the latest in torn flannel. I mean, even I can see that. Oh and the valet out there, that parks the one bike that they pass around back and forth, which invariably leads to Smokey punching Patches in the gut when he wants his turn to bike around to check out the hobo ladies. Good thing Unicorn Jenkins is playing the role of bouncer or this could get out of hand.

Look, all I'm saying is far be it for me to go out there and bust up the hobo happening. You know? Instead? I think I might start leaving hobo delicacies in the garbage to help them out a little.

And obviously in my mind this is more like an episode of Tom and Jerry than of the back alley Kansas City homeless scene. You know with tuna can percussion and fish bone guitars. Cats banging garbage can lids to a groovy tune.

Anyway, I evidently am busy with very, very important things. So just look at these pictures and stay happy while I get my ass kicked by Toothless Joe and the Crusty Bunch.

My new hair cut:




The Dude when he wants his picture taken - CHEEESE!:



The Dude when he's done taking pictures looking not so much like a baby anymore:



Sunday baseball at the K. Where evidently we missed a brawl between the parents by mere innings. Complete with one parent kicking the shit out of the other parents head:

Is It Still Called My Happy Place If There Are Shivs and Shin Kicking Gnomes Involved?

This week has found me saying "a-hole" more than the average amount. Whether it was in the rain-soaked traffic or muttering it under my breath, just out of ear shot of my almost two-year old as he threw his 800th fit of the day. Yes, I called my adorable son an asshole. Because he was. Being an asshole that is.

What I'm saying is I've had it with all you assholes out there. And, I don't know if that means you, but if you think that it might then just stop being an asshole and we'll all be okay.

Monday started the week in fine form with layoffs in my office. We all sat around waiting to see if we could kiss our asses good-bye, so by the time they got around to telling you what percentage your pay was going to be cut, you were dancing for fucking joy that you still had a paycheck. It was only later that you stopped and thought about it and went, "Hey! I just got screwed!"

After wading through the mounds of COBRA paperwork and making sure I was all up on the new COBRA stuff (which would be more fun if I could be all hip hop and singing, "I'm all up in your cobra stuff"), I sat around with shaking hands for the rest of the day to drive home to Young Wheezy and his full-on fuck you attitude.

And then? The rest of the week went like this:

* The kid stayed sick and wheezy and grumpy and just schmucky and junior douchey in general. This morning he laid on the floor, face down and screamed for an undetermined amount of time.

Undetermined because by that point, I ceased to care about whatever it was that he completely invented on the spot to get pissy about.

* Jason went into Monk's room with a box of trash bags and went to town. Now our garage is filled with bags and bags of all things pink, glittery, fluffy and girly until she goes through it all and decides what it is that she can't possibly even think about going on living without. And, because "the puberty" is imminent she's been a joy to be around.

* Proofreading multiple replacement window brochures, multiple times. Who knew you could write 20 pages on windows? Well I know, I also know that degrees MUST be spelled out and for the love of all things zombie, why the fuck can you not stop hyphenating that fucking word? I circled it over 100 times already.

* Ants, fucking ants. Why? Because the people in my office drop things like pecans on the floor and then just leave them there. Simply so they can come up to my desk and whine about all the fucking ants in the kitchen.

* And apparently eating all those fucking pecans makes them stop up the toilets which then again, becomes my problem because evidently no one can wield a plunger except for me.

* Speaking of toilets, it's common courtesy to put the toilet seat down in shared bathrooms. I mean unless you're a hobo. And if you're a hobo then go piss in the alley where all the hobos take our trash out of the dumpsters and just leave it there so we can hand pick it all up. I don't want to touch the toilet seat every time I take a whiz. Seriously, it's just a little like touching every ass in this office and I'm not down. Especially because it seems you are hobos, dirty, hobos. Besides, there is trash in the alley I have to go pick up now. Scooping up old spaghetti and used tissues is just my idea of a righteous time.

If all of that wasn't enough, then my red, swelling, itchy eye and my also swelling fat ass should be. Because as it turns out, I also eat when I'm stressed out. Which meant that, yet again, this morning as I went to put on my jeans all they did was groan and say "fuck you, lard-o". Being curvy isn't always grand. Actually, it's mostly not grand. Also? I didn't know that denim could actually groan and creak, but look at that, it just did.

I am now sitting here, fashioning plunger handles and pecans into shivs. Pointy-ass shivs. I've gone on to create a hobo assembly line, with all those dirty, drunken hobos just a whittling away. Because if you're going to do it, you do that shit right.

A Word About My Mother

In honor of Mother's Day (a completely fictitious holiday obviously created by the greeting card people, that I partially depend upon for a paycheck) I'd like to take a moment to thank my mother...

For never REALLY selling me to the gypsies.

I mean, you threatened it a lot and there was that one time you put me out on the front stoop with a sign that said Five Bucks(which I thought was a little low but whatever), and then that guy with the van that had blacked out windows tried to actually pick me up, but you stopped him.

And that? Was awesome.

Thanks Ma.

I Have Found My New Favorite Person

With not a drop of Diet Coke to be found in the house this morning, I made my way to the drive through at the local McJerk's. The placebo effect of the Diet 7*up that I did have was only going to last so long.

I ordered my fruit and yogurt parfait and large Diet Coke and proceeded into the converging drive thru (it has to be spelled this way, the sign says so)lane because this McD's is all fancy with two lanes to order in. Pulling up to the window I reach out my hand full of my debit card and see neon pink and green acrylic nails on the end of a heavily tattooed hand, which was connected to a wrist with a tattooed chain wrapped around it. Looking into the face of the owner of the hand, I smiled at the crinkles around the corners of the 60-something year old that greeted me with a smile.

That's right, Grandma. You rock those jobstoppers! Because you, my friend, are my new favorite person.

And, I've decided that I hate my purse. If I see one more dumb broad carrying one just like it, I'm going to lob mine directly at their head. But only after I get my monkey wallet out of it.

PS. I should add that my new least favorite people are the two dip shits at the pizza joint yesterday, who obviously went to lunch together and then sat at the table across from each other, talking in loud, girly voices to other people on their cell phones through the whole meal.

I'm Pretty Sure The Only Reason I Still Have A Job Is Because I Change Light Bulbs

I have this tendency to send emails out to my office where I say pretty much everything in the subject line and then finish in the body of the email. And then when I'm going back through my emails I start to think I'm nuts because I'm just looking at the body of the email and not the subject line.

I read things like (And I swear, I really sent all of these out company wide):

"Head over!"

"There is a huge, bubbling difference between dishwasher soap and dish soap."

"He is running late this morning and will be in shortly. Shortly and probably angry.
He’s like that."

"This guy looks like a total tool. I’m easily amused"

"Thanks, all my fresh-breathed homies"

"Dig in and smear away."

"Really, corn is delicious and kind of nutritious, but splendid?"

"For those of you who have not done this yet? I know who you are, I will hunt you down. Or throw something at you. I swear I will, don’t make me."

I'm not really sure why I still have a job. Mostly, I think it's because I say shit like this. However, if my emails are ever part of the review process I'm totally fucked.

My Neighbor Kid Is An Asshole

And, just wasting my energy on this little tweentard mental ninja of Jedi, fuck with my daughter's mind tricks is pissing me off.

Here's the thing. The kid made my kid cry and now she's going to pay.

She's run a steady show of bitchiness that we have tolerated up to this point. My soft spoken, kindhearted daughter typically shrugs it off and goes on her way. But, she's fucked with her brother and now Monkey is not happy.

Monkey takes very good care of her brother, because as she said, "He's the only one I have now and I want to protect him." So when the neighbor kid got pissed at Monkey for paying attention to her brother and not to her she blurted out, "He's only your HALF brother anyway." She just tossed that in her non-stop stream of snotty, bitch face comments.

I just realized I'm too mad to even do this right now.

My kid sat, curled up against my side, sobbing last night.

Jason and I tagged team the kid at the bus stop this morning. First, he pulled up next to her and said, "Before you come over and play again, I'm having a talk with your mother." Without knowing this, I pulled up next to her:

Me: You know, you really hurt Monk's feelings last night?

It: How?

Me: By telling her that her brother was only her half brother...

It: I didn't mean...

Me: I don't care what you meant. Are you aware that her brother died?

It: Yes I am.

Me: Well then have a little consideration for her feelings about her brother. He is the only one she has and she loves him. You need be a little bit nicer to my daughter, young lady.


Yeah, I busted out a young lady.

Whatever.

This is stupid.

That kid sucks.

Nefarious Acts Committed Under The Cover of Darkness

I now present you with a dramatically drawn hypothetical reenactment of alleged activities, supposedly committed under the cover of darkness, theoretically.



[Close Scene]

Hypothetical Suburban Yard Wars, Or The One Where I Figure Out It's Easier For Me To Spell Hypothetical Than It Is Suburban...

Hypothetically speaking, let's say that there's this guy who lives on the corner in Suburbia. His lawn is immaculate. As a matter of fiction, he is a grass dork. He dorks out on having the best lawn on the block.

And he does. The shit is fantastically green and lush.

So much so that, hypothetically speaking, his friend allegedly threatens to piss on it all the time.

The other day Hypothetical Man noticed some hypothetical dandelions had cropped up. And when he looked across the hypothetical street he noticed that Presumably Jack Ass Neighbor on the opposite fictional corner hadn't mowed his grass that was more dandelion than not.

So let's keep up this really fucked up hypothetical mess and say that maybe,just maybe Hypothetical Man drank some alleged beers. Wait, that's not right. They actually were beer, that can be proved so I guess he drank beer. Just beer. And, maybe, just maybe the more he drank the more pissed off he got at the dandelions. He was revving up to be a mushroom cloud laying, dandelion killing mother fucker. But mostly, he just got pissed off at the guy that I totally just made up that lives across the street.

So Hypothetically Drunk Man allegedly went down into his imaginary garage and filled a completely theoretical sprayer with vegetation killer. Supposedly, he then under the cover of night, sprayed a good chunk of the Fuck Face Neighbor's lawn with the totally unproven chemical.

By the way, I'm speculating when I say he's a fuck face, I don't really know, for obvious reasons. However, I have a suspicion that Hypothetical Man might be presumed to be a huge douche for this. Especially when he raced outside the next morning to see the California Brown grass across the street.

What do you think?

Also? Hypothetical Man may have come into my room while I was laying in bed and shoved a spoonful of pudding parfait in my face last night.

I may have still been pissed off this morning.

That's my theory at least.

I Crushing Your Head Because Lassos and Invisible Jets Are Played Out

I lay in bed, working and stretching out all of the kinks that always work themselves up overnight and hang around until my medicine kicks in about an hour later. So I stretched and did the very same thing I've done every morning since I was a little girl.

I reached my arm out and took my fingers and did the "I crushing your head" move to something across the room.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, well... You need to check your freaking life. You've fucked up somewhere along the way.

So I lay there and I do things like pull my drawers open from across the room. And I pick up things that are on the shelf, way over in the bathroom. I even do it with my foot and kick imaginary holes in the wall. I can actually see the sheet rock crumbling.

And that's when I realized that this? THIS? Would be the most awesome super power EVER!

I just don't know what to call it when I finally get asked what super power I'd liked to be assigned. I kind of think I just made it up.

I am, however, absolutely positive that if a hipster was going to have a super power, this would be the one, because you haven't seen this before. And if you say that you have? You are a fucking liar. Or you spent a lot of time in Europe, whatever.