Just recently I applied for, and received, my very first business license. And all of a sudden, just like in 5th grade when I got a brand new package of stickers, people are falling all over themselves to be my new best friend.

At first I was a little concerned that my county might have sold my name and contact information to all of these service providers, and that our community’s financial success might possibly depend on the number of accountants, IT consultants, and merchant account providers that I personally could hire.

But my husband said that most likely it’s just that I’ve now become part of the public record (no more lurking, I guess), and that that is why I am suddenly attracting all of this new attention.

Now, I am all for people growing their businesses (especially as I am now going to stick in a plug for my Life Coaching business and website, Find Your Gold, serving people who are stuck in a conflict between what they really what and what they think they “should” do, and who want to learn how to give themselves permission to be who they are, and what what they want, and learn how to get the things they most want in simple, easy steps.)

So I’m not really minding the deluge of snail mail and phone calls. Especially when I receive an offer that is so aligned, so clearly focused, so crisply in tune with the heartbeat of what I am offering to my clients as this one:

“Let us help you with your embroidery or silk screening needs! Shirts, caps, bags, etc today!. Call us first!”

Are we a perfect match or what?

lem·ming n.: Any of various small, thickset rodents, especially of the genus Lemmus, inhabiting northern regions and known for periodic mass migrations that sometimes end in drowning.

If every single person in your office is wearing the exact same blue dress shirt and red power tie (as was the entire table of 6 businessmen seated next to me at lunch the other day), then I’m wondering who is left to be impressed that you’ve dressed for success?

Knowing that when your husband is nearing the end of the game, “God of War”, and is snarling out phrases like, “What is the point of this?”, and “This is absolutely ridiculous!”, and, “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen!” to you, an avowed non-gamer, as he is trying to climb up the Rotating Pole Of Spiked Death, that he is not the only one facing a trap in that moment.

When my brother and I were growing up there was a joke in our family that in our house the “F Word” was not the actual “F Word”, but instead was the word “flexible.” As in, “You need to be flexible.”

This is actually really good advice, and it is the reason that now I am able to get along with just about anyone I meet. But at the time my brother and I reacted to this parental guidance as if we were being asked to swallow broken shards of jagged glass, washed down with a chaser of smoking sulfuric acid. (Incidentally, this is exactly the same reaction my mom would get whenever she said, “I think somebody needs an ‘n-a-p’.” “I do NOT need a nap, and I am NOT CRANKY!” we would roar, as flames erupted from our skulls and incinerated half of the kitchen.)

So I have to admit that a small part of me was secretly pleased when she called me the other day and said, “Well, they’re telling me that I’m going to have to be really flexible at work these days.” This is not a new thing for her, as this is the same company that sent out a profile of its ideal employee as one who was “not fearful of acting with a minimum of planning,” and who, “makes tough decisions in a timely manner, sometimes with incomplete information,” among other things. (This is also the same company who causes her to frequently remark on how she now finds herself living inside of a Dilbert cartoon.) [Read more...]

The other day my mom called to tell me that she met a guy at her office who graduated from Wake Forest the same year I did. She said she asked him some questions about himself to see if he and I ever “crossed paths” while we were in school together, and when she told me that he was a math major I just laughed hysterically because I knew that the answer to that question was a resounding “no”.

Ever since I was 12 years old math has been the bane of my existence. And I’m not exactly sure why that is. All I know is that up until that point I did just fine in math, with no kind of math inferiority complex whatsoever. Then my family moved to another state, and somehow in that move I lost my ability to do math.

It’s just so weird. I mean, it’s not like the time I had to take 4 migraine pills in one 24-hour period and subsequently lost the ability to put on my own pyjama pants without my husband’s assistance. In that situation I could clearly pinpoint the exact cause of that loss. [Read more...]

…when I found myself with the phone in my hand, walking toward the door, trying to decide whether it would be more effective to demonstrate my displeasure by smashing it into tiny pieces with a pickaxe, or running over it with an SUV.

Using My Powers For Good will be undergoing a sort of ” electronic facelift” over the next couple of days. If things look odd(-er than usual), please rest assured that we will soon be back. with a new look, but as always, with our keen reporting on all that is humorous in this blogger’s everyday life.

Generally speaking, I tend to leave everything technological and electronic up to my husband. And generally speaking, that tends to be in the best interests of everyone involved.

Although I do sometimes find it a little upsetting when people won’t even give me a chance. For example, when The Gamers are here on the weekend they sometimes ask me to go online and look up hints for them so they won’t have to miss a split second of combat with the demon-zombie-vampire-chainsaw-wielding-donkey-riding-skeleton-people, or whoever it is they’re fighting this week. But apparently I’m not able to complete this task quickly enough for them.

“Here, give me that,” they’ll say impatiently, irritated that their quest for the golden dragon fangs must temporarily be put on hold.
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On Sunday my husband was playing a game on his hand held game system, which is not as fun for me because I can’t watch what is happening up on the big screen. But I did get to participate in a different way. While he applied himself to the game with the concentration and dedication of someone dismantling a nuclear bomb, I read him instructions to help him get past a particularly difficult part.

I found myself actually saying out loud things like:

“Next, you’ll come across a Geega pipe. Geegas are Kraid’s version of the Zebs/Gamets.”

Or, “Then, go through the hatch on the right. You’ll see a Zeela roaming around a platform and a tall, transparent tube of some sort with many brown Rippers in it (Zeelas are Kraid’s version of the Zoomer/Nova, except slower).” [Read more...]

Last weekend I was invited to go to a Southern Living party. I guess I had an image in my mind of it being all sophisticated and elegant, things which I don’t consider myself to be, so I was pretty much planning on staying in the background. So you can imagine my surprise, and my relief, when I overheard the following comments.

-”Grannie, do you want a beer?”

-”Isn’t it funny how easily your fake nails catch on fire when you’re using a lighter?”

After that I knew I would fit in just fine.