Author Archives: Steph

About Steph

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I like words. I suspect I would like sanity, but I really have no way of knowing. I can be reasonable, but not often.
May 27, 2015

Half A Post and Other Reasons I’m a Toddler

By Steph
This has absolutely nothing to do with this post.

This has absolutely nothing to do with this post.

Here’s the thing.

I wrote half a post. I was totally going to finish it yesterday, but then this came out and we all know I’m super lazy busy, so I never did it.

So if you would like to go read my piece on Bluntmoms, called 10 People Who Can’t Adult (hahahaha, I know right?!) then I will be very, very happy and will put on my big girl pants and finish my half-a-post.

Tomorrow.

**Disclaimer: In the event that the author becomes (I’m having word-finding problems. I know ‘illegitimate’ is not what I’m looking for here…) INDISPOSED!

*ahem* In the event that the author becomes indisposed due to unforeseen circumstances, such as finding out she is illegitimate, contracting diarrhea or other STDs, or has to catch up on her shows, the aforementioned “half-a-post” might be (word, word, what’s the fucking word?) DELAYED (for fuck’s sake) and the author takes zero responsibility for this. And anything else, ever in the history of the world, amen.

*** I don’t even know what is happening right now.

20 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in Blogging, random bullshit, stuff I made up

May 7, 2015

In Search of Biohazard Suit, Good Condition.

By Steph

I live in the wilds of the Ozark Mountains. To get to my house you have to travel over five miles of pitted, rutted, washed-out, tire-slashing dirt road. That’s after you’ve made the 50 mile journey from the nearest town that boasts a stoplight.

I like the seclusion. I like the beauty of the woods and the mountains. I like the silence and the wide open sky at night. I like to hear the frogs in the pond and the coyotes in the woods.

I like to be able to wander around my yard dressed like a hobo or a hooker and not worry that people will see me. I like to be able to puke outside when I’m sick because I don’t approve of putting my face close to a toilet. I like to turn my music up really loud and sing even louder.

I even like watching the wildlife. From a distance.

I do not like any living creature to be in my house without my express invitation.

© Copyright Abactus and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

© Copyright Abactus and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

Tolerable Inside The House:

1. My kids.

2. My husband.

3. My cat.

4. My ferret (although he’s pushing his luck).

Tolerable Outside The House:

1. Birds.

2. Deer.

3. Cows.

4. Horses.

5. Squirrels (although those sneaky bastards bear watching).

6. Anything else that doesn’t try to come in my house.

INTOLERABLE IN MY HOUSE:

1. Your kids.

2. Probably your husband.

3. Maybe you, depending.

4. Snakes.

5. Scorpions.

6. Slimy things I can’t think of the name? Right, slugs.

7. Spiders.

8. Mice.

9. Birds.

 

That last list may actually be longer.

You probably think I’m overreacting.

I’m thinking that houses just aren’t built like they used to be.

Obviously, I’ve written about my horror upon encountering uninvited guests. I’m beginning to think this is some kind of hang-up of mine; like arachnophobia, only it’s all-living-thingophobia. Or something.

Anyway, yesterday I was getting ready to take a bath. My bathroom has a walk-in closet, so while the water was running, I was looking for something that might fit me.

I found a big plastic tub (sealed, mind you) labeled “summer clothes.” I was thrilled to find some shorts that looked like they would work, but I wanted to be sure before I washed them, so I tried them on and looked in the floor length mirror.

They were a little tight, but I was confident that with hard work and a healthy diet luck they’d be fitting better in no time.

I was smiling at myself in the mirror when I saw it.

It crawled out of the waistband of the shorts and down the front as I stared, paralyzed in horror.

It had gone the length of the shorts and was headed toward my bare leg when I finally sprang into action.

By “sprang into action” I mean “threw my hands up in the air, screamed, jumped around frantically, and ripped the shorts off.”

I saw it scamper under the bathroom door and into my bedroom, which I COULD NOT ALLOW. I threw the door open, grabbed the first thing to hand (black Converse), and began tearing my room apart to find the dirty creep who sneaked into my pants.

I didn’t catch him insomuch as he caught himself. In his haste to escape the swift justice of my Chuck Taylor, he ran right onto a glue trap.

Which was when I stood up, triumphantly wielding my shoe of destruction, and realized that I was standing directly in front of the large, wide open windows in my bedroom. Completely naked.

 

Have you ever experienced anything sneaking into your pants? *she says with a completely straight face.*

Do you live in a bubble or wish you did? Are you like me or do you keep creepy-crawlies as pets? *shudders*

 

 

38 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Just Being Awesome, nature hates me, random bullshit, total chaos

April 23, 2015

Shit My Family Says to Me, Part 98

By Steph

Yesterday was my anniversary. Neither I nor my husband remembered it until my mom told us congratulations. This is just one example of how bad my memory is. I’m telling you this because I’m about to share some comments from my smartass loving family, and I can’t remember which ones I’ve already posted. Basically, it’s two times the funny. Or a rerun and you’ll wish you had changed the channel.

Either way.

 

Shit My Family Says to Me

I think they want to drive me crazy, but it is far too late.

 

Husband: I think I confuse you sometimes. It’s like you just don’t get what I’m trying to tell you.

Me: *Argues for awhile.*

Me: Whatever, you’re confusing me.

Husband: Um. That’s what I said.

 

 

Me: *Hears something fall in the kitchen*

Thing 2: I found a great place to put the sausage.

Me: *Ignores him*

Later

Me: *sees something nasty hanging half out of the ice dispenser.*

Me: What on earth is that?

Thing 2: Oh! That frozen tube of sausage fell out and I found the perfect spot for it!

Thing 2: *Goes on his merry way*

Me: So this is a tube of sausage that has been hanging out of the freezer all day.

Husband:

Me:

Thing 1: Is no one going to address the fact that he is a dumbass?

Me: *almost wet myself laughing, try to get rid of mushy, thawed sausage, almost cut my hand off, can’t figure out what to do with it.*

Husband: Is no one going to address the fact that he gets it from her?

 

 

Thing 1: *Looking at his ACT admission ticket.* What is this on the back?

Me: Oh. Well, I ran out of paper so I had to print it on part of a book I was reviewing.

Husband: You can’t do that.

Me: Why not? It’s fine.

Thing 1: The first line is, “terrorizing the city or some such bullshit.”

Me: They don’t need to look at the back. They just need the front. Who cares?

Thing 1: *I* care! This is my future we’re talking about here!

Husband: *nods knowingly*

Me: *muttering* I was just trying to be resourceful.

Thing 1: Don’t do that!

Husband: Don’t ever do that.

 

 

Daughter: When I grow up I want to have kids but I don’t want a husband.

Me: *seeing opportunity to teach her to be a strong, independent woman* You don’t have to be married to have babies. There are special doctors you can go to who can help you have babies without a husband.

Her: Really?! Will you take me there?

Me: *Fondly* Of course I will.

Her: And then I can live with you and Daddy and you will help me take care of my babies?

Me: Uh. I guess so?

Later

Husband: So, do you want our daughter to be an unwed teenage mother who lives with us so we can raise our grandchildren?

Me:

 

 

Me: I think I’ll pick up the yard tomorrow.

Husband: I don’t think so. You’ll be hurting for days afterward.

Daughter: You can’t work outside because Daddy said so.

Me: *seeing opportunity to teach her to be a strong, independent woman* No, I can if I want to, because I am a free woman and I don’t have to do what any man says. And when you grow up, you will be the boss of yourself!

Her: *excitedly* DADDY! Mommy says she’s a free woman and she doesn’t have to do what you say!

Husband: What? Oh, okay. Pick up the yard then. You want to weedeat too? Or do you want to load the old washing machine into the trailer? Since you’re a free woman?

Me: Um. No thanks.

Later

Her: Will you get me some more milk?

Me: Go ask your dad.

Her: *excitedly* He said you are free to get me some milk yourself.

Me: Shit.

 

 

Reasons That I Should Be Supervised At All Times

1.  I wrote a bunch of stuff with a black ink pen, then went to see my psychiatrist. She suggested increasing my meds. I did not realize until I got home that I had ink tattoos all over my cheek, chin, and neck.

 

2. *Home alone, untangling cords*

Me: *screams* I will fucking kill you!

 

3. *Home alone, cleaning up bits of deodorant out of the carpet*

Me: *cries out to universe* WHY? WHY?

 

4. *Uses visual aids to demonstrate the Monkey Kingdom movie*

Me: It was so disturbing. All these long, floppy nipples and monkey penises everywhere! They all had them!

Husband: Yes. All monkeys have nipples and penises.

Me: Well, I don’t think it was appropriate for kindergarteners. They should’ve shown the one about tigers.

Husband: Did any of the kids say anything?

Me:

Husband: So there were hundreds of 6-year-olds and you were the only one concerned with monkey parts?

Me:  I think maybe that one little monkey pervert jerking it at the zoo must’ve scarred me badly.

 

25 Comments   |  tags: , , , | posted in parenting, shit my family says, small humans, total chaos

April 10, 2015

SMITH Anthology: Tears, laughter, and hope

By Steph

mental link new

As many of you know, this past year has been particularly tough on me, even though I have been dealing with depression, anxiety, and PTSD since I was 14. I’ve been pretty candid about it here on the blog.

When I heard that Alyson Herzig and Jessica Azar were putting together an anthology designed to “Laugh Stigma Into Submission” I knew that I had to be a part of it.

The problem was, at the same time that I needed to write the piece and submit it, I was struggling, hard. I mean HARD. It was all I could do to make it through each day, one step at a time. At that point, I wasn’t even focused on making it through each day. It was each hour, each minute.

I wanted SO BADLY to be a part of this project, but I couldn’t write. I couldn’t even think about writing. It was tough enough to pull myself up off the floor and stop the flow of tears before my kids got home from school. Then I was a robot, just mechanically doing what I had to do to make it until bedtime. It’s a damn miracle that I could do that much. I talked to my kids during that time and tried to explain a little bit that I was fighting to get better, for myself and especially for them. This was not the first time that my children’s very existence saved my life.

I have always used humor as armor against pain. Even in therapy, I crack jokes and poke fun at myself. So it was much easier for me to write the humor piece for this anthology. When it came time to write the piece about my depression, I will admit that I kind of phoned it in. I just couldn’t talk about the pain I was in as I was in it. I think I was scared and ashamed to admit just how bad off I was.

So, my piece on depression ended up being cut, and I was disappointed until I read the book. Then I was floored. The raw honesty, the deeply moving, the unfiltered truth on these pages spoke to me like nothing I had ever read, let alone written. I was humbled, and felt more understood than I ever had in my life. It was like these authors reached into my soul and pulled out the jumbled pieces of my pain and laid them on the pages. I have never in my life been so proud to be a part of something as I am this book.

What makes this anthology different from any other is the way Jessica and Alyson wove humor into the stories of mental illness. Because our illnesses do not define who we are. Despite the darkness we fight off every day, there are precious moments of love, laughter, and joy.

My piece in this anthology is humorous. It is somewhat inappropriate, as is most of my writing. I like to think it is funny. I hope you enjoy it. I am honored that it was chosen to share space with the other pieces in this book.

Whether you suffer from a mental illness or you know someone who does, you should read this book and, if you can, leave a review on Amazon. It will help spread the word about this important project, and make me very happy.

It is available at the following places:

e-reader: Surviving Mental Illness Through Humor for Kindle

Paperback: Surviving Mental Illness Through Humor Paperback

Barnes and Noble: Surviving Mental Illness Through Humor for Nook

Barnes and Noble: Surviving Mental Illness Through Humor Paperback

iTunes: Surviving Mental Illness Through Humor iTunes

Or visit http://www.survivementalillness.com/

 

 

16 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Books, Depression, Mental Illness, thoughts

March 13, 2015

Boys, Otherwise Known As Destroyers of Bathrooms

By Steph
This little guy is 12 now. *sigh*

This little guy is 12 now. *sigh*

I have three boys—two children, one husband—and I can say with some authority that there is no other creature who can be at once so adorable and so utterly disgusting.

I’m not saying that girls can’t be super gross. I have one of those too and she peed in my bed last night and once blew her nose into her own hair. So girls have their moments, but for the most part I don’t think they come equipped for maximum bathroom carnage.

I rarely use the boys’ bathroom because I don’t like sitting in other people’s urine. Or my own, for that matter. Also, even if I was in a desert with no food or water, I would never drink my own pee.

I’m getting a little off track.

Anyway. Men supposedly lift the toilet seat up and leave it up and that is a big problem in other households. In THIS household the only problem is a huge lack of aim and probably laziness. Otherwise, why wouldn’t they just lift the fucking seat and point the urinator at the toilet bowl? I just made up a word. But seriously, who just pees everywhere, willy-nilly, and doesn’t even care? Boys, that’s who.

Our house has two bathrooms. Two of my boys currently have some sort of facial hair. At no time is either bathroom free of small, wiry hairs decorating the back of the sink, the cabinets, the walls, the floor, and even the mirror. Neither of my boys can shave or even trim an area the size of half a head without the sink looking like they tried to shove Chewbacca down the drain.

As bad as I hate to, let’s talk about shower etiquette. Now, there are some things boys may or may not do in the shower that I don’t want to know about AT ALL, let alone talk about.

But there are some things going on in there that can be heard from two rooms away with the water running full blast, and I ain’t talking about singing.

I shudder to even speak of this, but here we go. Blowing of the nose IN THE SHOWER FOR FUCK’S SAKE! WHO DOES THAT? BOYS! BOYS DO THAT!

The sound alone is enough to send me gagging, but what really grosses me out is the left-behind-evidence of this shower boogerfest. It is so awesome when I am taking a relaxing bath and someone else’s snotwad floats by.

*Sigh*

But. Even though they are often filthy, sweaty, hairy, and stinky, they are my boys and I couldn’t live without them, no matter what that rotten odor is coming from their bedrooms or their butts.

42 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in parenting, random bullshit, small humans, total chaos