How to Tell if You Have Super Powers

If you know me, or you’ve just spent any amount of time accidentally clicking on my blog posts when they come through your Facebook feed because you’ve been meaning to unfriend me but you keep forgetting, then you already know that I have super powers. And by super powers I actually mean the ability to do something stupid and probably painful, and then serve as a cautionary tale to others.

Case in point: I once stepped on a toothpick as a kid and got it jammed up in my foot, and it had to be surgically removed. From thenceforth, my parents had a “no going barefoot in the house rule” for about six months. Personally, I would have gone with a “if you drop a fucking toothpick, don’t be a douchebag and just leave it there” rule, but hey, their house, their rules.

Case in point number 2: the state in which I live has a really great policy about getting a boating license. If you take a state police-approved boater safety class, you don’t have to study for the exam. I showed up at the license office with my certificate from the New Jersey State Police, indicating that I had taken the class and met all the requirements to be a trustworthy seaman (heh heh…seaman). The woman took my certificate, looked it over carefully, and shrieked,”This certificate is over twenty years old!” I told her that yes, since New Jersey is a peninsula, all sixth graders have to take the boater safety class. I also showed her in the little license booklet where it says you can skip the test and just go straight to being a seaman (heh heh) if you pass a course.

NOW, however, they have a rule on how old your certificate can be. I don’t care…I got my license, so suck it, non-seaman bitches.

So my super power seems to be serving as a reason new rules or new concepts get created. Sometimes it’s painful, sometimes it results in being grandfathered in.

But this week, the lovely people at the Be the Match National Bone Marrow Registry office contacted me and asked if I could be an example to others again. They were quick to point out that this time it wouldn’t require 48-hours of being jabbed with giant metal straws in my limbs, sucking my super venom out into a plastic baggie.

Since there would be no needles this time, I said, “Sure.”

And there you have it. I now need all of you to follow through with what looks a lot like a drug test, but really is just you spitting on a Q-tip and mailing it to some hapless intern whose job it is to open all the envelopes of spit. The registry is low on folks, and if you’ll click the link below and agree to spit on a Q-tip, then apparently I’ll be in the running for a prize. They were also quick to point out that it’s not actually a prize, but that they’ll put my name in the thank you email if I get more people to do this than the other superheroes heading this up.

So click the link, fill it out, spit on their Q-tip, and save somebody with cancer. And did you know that bone marrow actually treats other kinds of stuff? And that if you donate it, they’ll even fly you to the donation center and treat you like freakin’ royalty while they stab you over and over? It was pretty cool. And then you get to take a picture of your bone marrow, which is now going to be the photo on my boating license.


Yup, that is my bone marrow in that baggie. The nurse has obviously never read this blog, otherwise she wouldn't have been so confused about why I wanted a picture of it.
Yup, that is my bone marrow in that baggie. The nurse has obviously never read this blog, otherwise she wouldn’t have been so confused about why I wanted a picture of it.