I also get to ponder the dos and don’ts of such things as potty behavior, especially when I’m at a restaurant or nail salon. Like so many things, it comes down to common sense with what to throw or not throw in the pot.

Common sense, unfortunately, is not an innate trait in humans like it is in animals of the four-legged variety.

Usually, the “please don’t throw feminine products” in the toilet suffices and is the standard don’t do that for female occupants. While I’m sure a woman wouldn’t throw a cardboard tampon ejector in her own toilet, I’m not sure what possess one to think it’s okay to throw one in the toilet of a dining establishment.

The Filene’s store in downtown D.C. has come up with a litany of other no-nos. The sign on the stall door lists five bullet points—paper towels, multiple seat covers, excessive toilet paper and foreign objects (like would that be a condom?), and the standard feminine products one.

My favorite, however, is the sign at the place that does my nails. It says, “Please don’t stand on the toilet seat.”

I’m not sure what would possess anyone to stand on a toilet seat unless you wanted to see what the person on the other side of the stall wall was doing, not that it would be a big surprise unless it was former Idaho Senator Larry Craig having another bathroom stall incident.

While I’ll never solve the bigger problems of the world, I can ponder the little things and speak out with authority and conviction. I think we should all do that as we find ourselves under another blanket of snow this morning.

It’s the one thing we can still control after other things in life have robbed us of our homes, jobs and relationships.

On a normal weekend, I usually get about 8.

Before the big snowstorm hit Friday evening, I got to go home early from work. I enjoyed sipping a glass of wine and watching all the fluffy frosty flakes fall from the sky.

The next morning, I felt like Alice in Winterland—Jack Frost nipping at my toes and a whole lot more. I wanted to make snow angels.

Then, I looked outside. Horrors to find so much snow covering the walkway, sidewalk and my ex husband’s new used car. I shoveled for a good long while before I realized I needed a different strategy. Then, two strong men trudged by.

I did my damsel in distress thing. Try it girls, it really works! I got my walks cleared in no time.

I realized I needed to take out the trash and clean the kitty litter since I have a no-pets-go-outside policy in cold weather. Not enough men see my best lingerie, so I took out the trash to give the boys a show. But they were a no show. Must have been the weather, I guess.

I went back inside to do some housework, because work outside the office doesn’t stop. I feather dusted the fireplace mantel and set out some cooking in anticipation of a St. Nick reprise. But he was a no show, too.

So, I waited to see if some beeswax I had ordered to make a specialty cosmetic would arrive. This is what I wore when I saw that hunky FedEx guy brave the storm to knock on my door. I don’t know why they call that guy Abominable; he was the best snowman I ever had.

I can’t wait for the next big snowstorm to hit.

Now, tell me, how did you spend your weekend in the snow?

That’s because snow presents serious questions.

The bigger the snowstorm, the more serious the questions.

There are job-related questions: Will my office close? Will I get to leave early? Should I work like crazy and get as much work done as possible, or should I take it home?

I see parallels between that last question and my dating life. Should I go out tonight and get as much sex in as possible, or should I cancel and wait for another opportunity?

I can’t take sex home because I’m trapped in my house with my ex husband (recession victims who can’t afford separate digs). The only sex I can take home is me, and I think I can do better than that, though I am a lot of fun!

So, what to do?

I feel good about boiling my life down to simple pleasures because it really does come down to work and sex. Yes, I know we need to eat, and there’s plenty of time for that, too.

We wouldn’t have TV reality shows such as The Biggest Loser if people could keep their hands out of their mouth. We also wouldn’t need Planned Parenthood if people practiced abstinence (god forbid). And we wouldn’t need jobs if we lived like aborigines or were Paris Hilton.

But life is only simple in our minds.

In reality, life is complex and complicated. Why am I still living with my ex husband? Why are my tween boys challenging authority and playing video games for hours on end? Why don’t I go home to see my aging parents? Why can’t I save enough money to move? Why are fires romantic (They seem a lot of work to me.)? Why do I have a lipstick fetish?

As the snow falls, Ann will think big as she reaches for her Bluetooth vibrator and a hot buttered rum as her mind drifts from reality to what really matters—the simple pleasures in life. Won’t you join her?

Click on the picture for some snow pleasure.

Now that I got a full-time job, I can’t wait to get to work, even on the weekend.

No matter!

You make out of life with whatever it presents you.

This weekend, good old Mother Nature presented me with snow. Not a lot but enough to sculpt visions of a better tomorrow and maybe evening (wink, wink).

As you can see, I got to work right away. As my boyfriend likes to say, “Time is money.” I agree, from the top of my thigh highs to the bottom of my butt cheeks. [All this unemployment stuff has left me without underwear, but I haven't had any complaints.]

Back to the snow. It changes how everything looks but not how we think.

Having to go to work in the snow makes me think that it’s going to be hard to get in and then pay attention when I’m there. I never know when one of my kid’s school might send an email alert saying that the school will close early because of the threat of more snow.

I’m also wet and uncomfortable. All that salt that’s thrown on the street and sidewalks turns snow into a big slushy that’s dirty and ugly. Makes me think of leaving early.

When I am at home, the snow lets me sculpt and give form to my desires. I think I’m talented enough to create them. Take, for instance this snow sculpture. Here’s where snow blurs the line between work and a hobby.

Moving forward in life, my work will be my hobby, or I’m going to get a new job.

If a man even attempts to ask, “Do I look fat in this?” I know he’s not suave enough to be the guy for me. If he demurs, proving he has a strong sense of self-preservation, I will eventually ask him, “Was your last girlfriend as pretty as me?”

Anything other than “no,” and he’s history.

If he asks me, “Your place or mine?” then he just clearly hasn’t been paying attention since he is not coming to my house unless he makes house repairs for free, or wants to meet my ex husband, who lives with me.

The other question that drives me crazy is, “Was it good for you?” If you have to ask, bub, then something went wrong. You should be able to tell.

Only a complete idiot would ask, “Have you had plastic surgery?” (I haven’t, but are you buying?), “How many times have you been married?” (Twice, but please let me bring that up.), or “What kind of car do you drive?” (I have no car and, no, I don’t want to talk about that either).

Of course, those are questions that are governed by politeness and a man’s ever-deliberate drive to get laid.

It is better that a man be courteous and respectful, of course, but if that’s too much to ask, you’d think at least he’d consider the impact of stupid questions on the course of our date or relationship.

At work, on the other hand, the forbidden questions are banished, not just by custom but by law. In a job interview, they can’t ask, “Are you married?” or “Do you have any pre-existing medical conditions we should know about?”

Once you’re in the workplace only a complete fool—though an honest one—would ask me: “Would you unbutton one more button on that blouse?” or even “Would you like to get a drink with me after work?”

There is a guy who is usually in the lunchroom when I am, and he can’t seem to come up with anything to say to me other than “Are you going to finish that?” I find that to be a truly loathsome question. I hate everything about it. I tell him “yes,” and when he leaves, I throw the rest of my food away. I mean, really.

Many questions have no meaning. “How are you?” is a rote greeting. The question mark is superfluous. “Do you want to dance?” has almost been rendered obsolete. You want to dance?   So dance. I try not to ask myself, “what did I do to deserve this?” although it is in my head all the time.

My favorite ridiculous question of all time is at the end of a relationship. Like all women, I ask “Can we still be friends?”

Don’t bother to get stressed by this one guys, the answer doesn’t matter at all.

Monday, on ABC, has apparently become “‘Marry Me” day, with a line up of The Bachelor followed by the new Conveyor Belt of Love (the new low).

Don’t let your imagination run away from you as the men do as they literally move down a human-size convey0r belt (what do you think that cost?) before four women raise a paddle that says “Interested” or “Not Interested” after the guys—one by one—seek to impress the ladies in less than 30 seconds.

This is when 30 seconds really count, when your masculinity is about to get skewered.

I think the networks are on to something. If Monday is Marry Me day then why can’t we have Hire Me Tuesday? The networks can use the same silly antics.

A casting director would pick a potential pool of job seekers who would be given a chance to impress a panel of hiring managers. They’d also have about 30 seconds to say or do whatever they think will resonate with the managers.

The hiring managers would also have paddles that said “Interested” and “Not Interested” rather than “You’re Hired!” I mean, what if the person turned out to be really weird, not like they aren’t already.

Once all of the managers picked a potential hiree, they would then take them out on dates as the ladies do on Conveyor Belt of Love. Nothing too involved or what happens on The Bachelor, which is high-seas fantasy, such as using a Pirates-of-the-Caribbean-type sailboat, compared to a 30′ sloop on the cheaper-costing Belt reality show.

We’d see snippets of their date-for-hire dates to see if there was a “job connection.” If that turned out to be the case, they’d be on their own to pursue more interviews, presumably in a more office-type setting rather than on the winking seas on a hot, sunny afternoon.

The end is rather predictable, so I’ll leave it to your imagination on what it would feel like to move down a conveyor belt like a hunk of meat and be inspected by people who will determine your fate.

That doesn’t seem too far off from reality in these modern economic times if you do have a job, now does it?

Please enjoy her take on “The Night Before Christmas.”

Twas the morning of Christmas, I just downed an ale;
I grabbed Victoria’s Secrets to see what was on sale;
Panties, bras and a tawdry pink nightgown;
But I still can’t afford them despite the big markdowns.

I painted my nails red to celebrate the season.
Just couldn’t think of a better reason.
I’ll make up my face and suspend all my troubles;
For the next 10 days I’ll live in a makebelieve bubble.

I’m thankful to shelter the ex, kids and three cats,
Even though my former husband thinks I’m a dingbat.
With no full-time job in a year, I’m still reeling from shock;
It’s hard to stop for long and really take stock.

The mortgage can’t wait, and so can’t the bills.
No place to hide during winter’s big chill.
I’ve got a contract to carry me through another two months;
Then I’ll feel the weight of the next money crunch.

My advice is to take time for some sex—though hard as that seems—
Enjoy your adult toys and kids’ laughter and dreams.
I’ll take a moment out now, sneak out of the house,
No one will hear me except my ex spouse.

Hear the oohs, feel the warmth, light up with the glow
Of an orgasm so peaceful it beats new fallen snow:
Peace, love and goodwill, and hope burning bright.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

As usual, my hairdresser is never ready when I arrive. He’s either doing a last snip on a bob or blow drying locks.

He was finishing up a short one while I browsed through a magazine I no longer buy—Cosmopolitan.

Yeah, I can afford Cosmo, but why buy it when I can glean useful information between a hair cut and blow dry.

Cosmo is all about exploring your sexuality and not being self-conscious about letting yourself go.

I’ll tell you what this all has to do with unemployment in a sec.

Once in a while, Cosmo throws in a dose of science to further break down walls of inhibition. I mean, if it’s good science then there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, right? Take, for instance, a woman’s ho-ha. Am I spelling, saying, that right? Maybe hoo-ha?

Well, you get the picture.

If you don’t, pick up the recent issue of Cosmopolitan with hottie Amanda Bynes on the cover, decked in powder pink for the New Year.

Underneath the “Hoo-Ha Handbook” heading, the subtitle read, “Get a Sexy, Healthy Vagina,” or something like that.

I don’t think I’ll be able to recall everything I read because I felt too guilty to rip out the pages like I’ve done when I see a good recipe.

I do remember that exercising your hoo-ha is good for it. I’m not talking about sitting to pee and doing isometric exercises to tighten it, though the article did mention that, too.

I’m talking about the importance of constant sex, which Cosmo always says is a good thing.

Just think if we could apply the same principles to unemployment—exercising your unemployment options to stay young, vibrant and sexy.

Yahoo!

Despite the no-nos of holiday office parties, they will take advantage of the mistletoe and alcohol to gather their courage and hit on you, guaranteed.

This is a phenomenon that occurs frequently in nature. There is nothing you can do to stop it, but you can slow it down. But that’s your choice.

No cleavage that day. Stay the f—ck away from the mistletoe. Always travel in groups. Don’t make eye contact.

Whatever you do, stay away from the kitchen, where women’s asses are routinely grabbed by the drunken men who follow them in there.

But what about the case where you are the aggressor?

Is this your chance to offer yourself to your boss, or his boss?  Maybe you’ll be in a position to move up by going down?

If you think sex with your supervisor is a good career move, the advice is the opposite. Wear one of those sexy little elf outfits that make you look like a Playboy bunny, with a cute little hat.

Put yourself within his line of sight.  Make eye contact. Flirt. Touch his arm when you laugh at his jokes. (Has he ever laughed at yours?) If you want to be really forward you can mention a website, then suggest you show it to him.

He’ll lead you into his office and if he does not close the door, you should. Don’t sit at the computer, bend over, and let him enjoy a private viewing of your cleavage, or let him stand behind you with your ass high up in the air. Beyond this point, just let nature take her course.

If he doesn’t slam you to the desk and bang you silly then it wasn’t meant to be.

If you’re a salaried employee who is on the right career path, then you’re going to want to say thanks, no sex please. I’m wise and prudent.

However, if you’re a temp or a contractor, my advice is to go for it.

Do you really have anything to lose other than your panties since you may be next in line to lose your job with that next big layoff after the New Year? So, have a little fun before you sue the bastard.

I’m taking the rest of the week off and plan to return Monday.

While my turkey’s being cooked today, I’m going to serve up some of my sauciest posts, determined by you all.

In order of their popularity, they are

Day 216: The Skin I’m In (Ann bares almost all)
Day 26: Where Do Homeless People Have Sex (a perennial favorite!)
Day 206: Ann Revs Up for Las Vegas!
Day 200: Your Life in 3 Minutes
Day 204: Scary Jobs
Day 202: Stigmas in Labor and in Love
Day 217: The D-List for Unemployment
Day 196: Ass for Cash
Day 207: Perfecting the Email Cover Letter
Day 203: Comforting You

And, don’t forget to learn more about Ann by visiting my In the News section.

Happy Thanksgiving to all and to all a good-night.