Poking around on my blog reminds me that I like writing. Weird, right? Anyway, I since I have some free time today, I decided “What the heck, I should write something that isn’t a ‘Hey guys, join the walk!’” (We have plenty of time for that.) And annoy David, who is truly the hero of this blog, by creating yet another post without any warning. I mean, if I warned David, where would the fun be? (Also, if you get a chance, please send a “whoop, whoop” his way, maybe do a little one-person wave from your chair right now, for going back into the posts and correcting my grammatical errors. I swear, I do actually edit. I even catch things! But since I hear the sentences as I re-read them, I have a type of blindness to my written missteps. That’s why you should always let these posts marinate for a day or three before reading, unless you’re a glutton for punishment. It takes that long because David must be alerted that I’ve written something (and he gets no warning thanks to me being a monster), and he’s over in Japan, so there’s a time difference. Anyway, WHOOP WHOOP, David, the clean-up crew to this Big Blue Mess.
Right, Story Time
One of the posts that’s been kicking around in my brain came about after a person I know had this rather odd bragging moment – a flex – where they carried on and on and on (not enough “and on’s” here but imagine a Möbius strip of them) about what I consider a weird super skill. This caused me to reflect a bit and examine my own weird brags, and rather than joke about theirs, which I’m not going to do – they’re proud, go them, I decided to share mine in all their odd glory.
You didn’t want this, nor did you ask for it, but here we are! Whoops to you, too! (Whoops all around this post!) Here we go, in no particular order.
Restroom Radar
I’m insanely skilled at finding public restrooms in new places. In fact, I’ve had friends call this my super power, and I’m actually quite proud. Sure, you may be thinking, “Oh, that’s easy, it’s not a real skill,” and then you find yourself standing in Times Square with a full bladder doing THE dance. That’s when you need someone like me, with my particular set of skills, to swoop in and save your day.
A funny aside, many years ago, we had an ice breaker where we were invited to share our superpower with another person, and I was paired with this young fellow who had recently graduated from college. The two of you would swap stories, and then your partner had to share your superpower with a room full of people. I can’t remember what he shared – some power he’d like to have, and I declared, “I have a real power!” (which surprised him) then I told him about my mad bathroom location powers, knowing full well this 22 year old would have to stand up and share that out. Now, you might think I’d be embarrassed, too. Nope. I’m Gen-X baby, and watching a Zillenial guy, new to his career, squirm was OUTSTANDING. I cackled inwardly (and probably a bit outwardly, too; I have no poker face.
Cinnamon-Sugar Savant
I make the best Snickerdoodles.
This fact makes me irrationally angry.
I HATE SNICKERDOODLES! They’re the worst cookies in the cookie family.
What’s the point of them? There’s no point.
As part of my sordid background, I baked cookies and even made cookie cakes at a cookie store in the mall. Not THAT cookie store. This was a local company sharing space with a VitaFoods, which still makes no sense to me, but that’s another story. Baking cookies was part of my rite of passage to adulthood and earned that much needed spending cash so I could pay for college. I mention this as a way to emphasize I’ve made and sold countless cookies, and cookie types, but the only one I’m great at is the SNICKERDOODLE?????? Are you kidding me??
Excuse me, I need to take a moment to go flip a table.
Potato Prodigy
I’m also pretty great with potatoes, too, but that makes me less irate.
Mythology Maven
I’m also really rock solid when it comes to trivia challenges involving mythology from countries stretching between the Aegean up to the North Sea. (Unfortunately, I can get tripped easily with African mythos, unless it’s something obvious like say Ra, Osiris, or Anansi, and I’m pitiful when it comes to most of Asia and North America, soooo… hrmm… maybe I’m not that great at it in a broader sense??? Hmph. Driving on.) As a kid, I wanted to grow up to be a Mythologist. Even though I’d had never heard of one, I knew one only needed to add “-ologist” to a word, and it became a field of study. (This is SCIENCE.) However, my cousin (yes, I’m calling you out right now) mocked me and claimed it wasn’t a thing thus crushing the baby Mythologist. WAY TO GO! (Adding to the list: Pro Gudge Holder) And that, my friends, is how I landed in IT. It’s a natural progression – crushed dreams? Get a Liberal Arts degree and go directly to IT – a straight path.
Thank you, Pepromene, for guiding me on my journey. (You’re welcome.)
Toe Crossing Champ
I can cross my toes. Now you may be thinking that’s easy-peasy – big toe over second toe and then switch to mix it up a tad. I get it, you can make those toes cross, too. However, can you cross your pinky toe over your next toe? I can.
In your face, toe-crossing wannabes! Another, whoop whoop is in order here! WHOOP WHOOP, ME!
One More
I’ll add one more, and this is one I’ve been told I’m good at, but I’m a little hesitant to mention because it’s one of those things I’m not sure I’m good at it vs. I think I’m good at it. Just bear with me.
I’m skilled at reading people, and I’m fairly adept at interpreting microexpressions. In fact, I’ve been invited to sit in meetings for the sole purpose of reporting out about how people received the information that was given. This makes me fairly empathetic, which is not to be confused with sympathetic (something I can be, but I wouldn’t call it one of my flexes). Where I can put myself in someone’s shoes and see where they’re coming from, I’m not always sympathetic.
This one makes me feel so icky to say, because it seems like everyone goes around these days saying, “I’m an empath,” and I just smile.
There you have it, a random smattering of my odd flexes that serve no real purpose – save for maybe the empathy thing, and I’m still not sure that one is true. As an aside: The idea of me being good at empathy reminds me of a one friend who once bragged, “I’m really good at baking desserts,” and there was a silent groan from the group where I wanted to counter with, “No, you’re really good at LIKING to bake desserts. Which good on you! However, you get zero whoops for the desserts. Fine, that was mean. I can offer a tiny whoop for giving it your all and trying. Whoop. You go.” Anyway, me typing “I’m an empath” feels like it could be similar to hers.
Oh, and please donate to the Walk or sign up to be a Walker. HAH! You would completely walk away without me mentioning that, did you? Did I mention you don’t have to donate to walk, and you don’t have to walk in Austin? You just have to commit to getting out the door that day? Well, I’m here to remind you of all that, and if you do sign up, you’ll get another well-earned “Whoop!” from me! 😉
The Big Blue Mess 
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