Category Archives: Just Being Awesome
I hear the secrets that you keep…
…when you’re talking in your sleep…
You are so welcome for that earworm.
I guess we’ve established that I’m not Really Awesome at life and things. When I’m awake, anyway.
Now I have learned a new trick, which is to be a mess even in my sleep.
I wake up every 2-3 hours a night anyway, so you would think that I wouldn’t have time for any nonsense.
But you’d be wrong, because while I may not have being a human adult perfected, I am a master weirdo.
So, a few months ago, I started talking in my sleep. I believe people usually sleep through this. I wake up mid-sentence and look expectantly at my husband for his response…and see that he is sound asleep.
Apparently, I’m able to hold entire conversations with a snoring man.
One night I woke up talking, realized that I was the only one fully engaged in what was no doubt a scintillating discussion, and went back to sleep. Then I woke myself up AGAIN, talking, and this time I was telling my husband what had just happened. Yes. I woke up explaining to snores that I had woken up talking to snores.
I’ve also fallen out of my king-size bed twice, woken up just as I was about to squirt nasal spray in my eye, and had vivid dreams (nightmares) involving denim jumpsuits, the price of cheese puffs, and being unable to move. When I wake up I still can’t move, but once I can, I’m usually so relieved that I’m not wearing head-to-toe denim or cheese puffs that I don’t even care.
The newest inexplicable occurrence happens when I get up in the morning.
Every morning there is a song stuck in my head, a song that I know I didn’t hear anytime recently, so I guess my crazy ass dreams come complete with soundtracks.
First it was Baby Got Back (which actually led to an epiphany. “She got an L.A. face and an Oakland booty.” Not an open booty, which is how I’ve been singing it since approximately the eighth grade. For fuck’s sake.)
Next it was early Metallica. “Anywhere I roam, where I lay my head is home, YEAH.”
After that I woke up singing old school Whitney Houston. “How will I know if he really loves me, I say a prayer with every heartbeat…”
Since I wake up (doing strange shit) all hours of the night, I always think, “screw this, I’ll just get up.” Then I’ll see that it’s 12 or 1 or 3 a.m. and I’ll make myself lay back down until at least 4:30. Then I go sit on the porch so I don’t wake anyone else up, and get harassed by the extremely rude armadillo who has taken up residence under my porch. It’s almost enough to get me to stop singing and go back to sleep, where my husband responds appropriately.
That never happens when I’m awake.
Do you do anything weird in your sleep? Am I the only one who has almost blinded myself with nasal spray? Surely not.
It’s Slug Season! Yes, that’s a thing.
In honor of Slug Season (that’s a thing. A thing I just made up), I decided to revamp this post from a million years ago.
We have a large wooden deck on the back of our house. We also have a drainage problem. And a slug problem. I’m not positive these things are all related, because I’m not a fucking scientist, but I suspect they are.
A few days ago I went out and saw a big fat gross slug on the deck.
Me: Ewww! Did you see that thing?
Husband: No, what?
Me: THE GIANT SLUG RIGHT THERE!
Him: Shit, is that why my shoe is so sticky?
Him: *He heads back inside*
Me: Watch ou—
Yes, the big idiot stepped on it again. Then presumably tracked slime all over the house, I don’t know.
So this story is about four years old, right after we moved into this house.
I woke up early and first thing let the dogs out. I’m lazy, so instead of turning on a light or possibly paying attention to what I was doing, I just stuck my hand out in the dark to get the water bowl.
I didn’t look at it until I realized that my hand felt….slimy. My only defense is that I hadn’t had coffee yet. And that I am an idiot.
There. Were. Baby. Slugs. On. Me. MANY TINY SLUGS TOUCHING ME. TOUCHING ME!
This was when everything started to get a little blurry.
The dish was no longer in the house, so I can only assume I threw it.
My robe was in the hall floor. I vaguely remember ripping it off and sprinting into the kitchen while my ever-so-helpful husband just stared.
He says he thinks I was gagging. I really couldn’t say.
I do know that while I was in the kitchen scrubbing vigorously at my gooey hands (OMG, I might barf and this was like 4 years ago) he widened his stupid eyes and pointed at my back.
I very rapidly became naked and then equally rapidly became violent, once I realized he was a lying shit.
After I felt relatively clean, I calmed down to a state of shock, just staring blankly and mourning my lost innocence.
Him: *trying not to laugh, but not trying very fucking hard*
Husband: *snicker snort* So. What are you doing to do with your robe? *innocent face*
Him: You just going to leave your shit laying there in the floor so all those slugs can just wander off all over the house?”
Me: *glares the glare of a thousand deaths*
Husband: *does not die or even be mildly injured*
He was clearly not concerned about my safety, sanity, or aversion to animated slime.
Me: Obviously the only logical thing to do is burn the robe.
Him: I KNEW you would say that. It’s not a fucking vampire, Stephanie. You don’t have to cut its head off, burn it, and bury it wrapped in chains.
Hmmph. I guess it’s just as well I didn’t tell him my whole plan, which was to burn the robe and then the front porch.
This is war, motherfucker. My perimeter has been breached.
Facebook is All Up in My Business. Literally.
I’ve been sick the past few days, first with a migraine, then a serious allergic reaction which then caused another migraine. So I’ve just been a mess. I haven’t washed my hair or changed my clothes…I’m pretty fucking gross right now. But I have managed to brush my teeth at least once a day, so I feel like that’s a win for everyone.
Anyway. Before, during, and after a migraine I am always very slow thinking and confused. During an allergic reaction my blood pressure drops so I’m stupid then too.
So yesterday I sent a Facebook message to my friend Tara, but then I took a nap. When I woke up I was already out of my mind because I was getting a migraine AND I was super tired. I HAD JUST WOKEN UP, PEOPLE.
Sometimes getting in the bathtub helps my migraines. So I had napped…um…not clothed.
I woke up and saw that I had a Facebook message. I took my phone into the bathroom like people do and tried to read my message. Naked. While peeing.
SOMEHOW, instead of just showing me a message, I heard a strange ringing sound…not like a phone call…but kind of like a phone call. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know if I had called someone, and if I had, then I had no idea who it might be. Suddenly I had this horrible thought that I might have just started a video chat.
I panicked. I admit it. I was NAKED, CONFUSED, and SITTING ON THE TOILET. So I threw my phone across the room. I cannot think of a single Facebook friend who I would want to see me naked, taking a piss, and barely coherent.
As I finished the details of urination, I heard a VOICE from my phone saying, “Hello? Hello?”
Now, the phone was facedown on the floor, but it has the back camera. And I still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. I was still sure that I was not wearing clothes. Was someone looking through that little camera? Were they getting an upward view of my stuff?
I was losing my shit for real, you guys. Losing it. I reached my arm as far away from me as I could, grabbed the phone, and ran back into my bedroom. I wasn’t thinking straight. Did I mention that I was still naked? I did what I assume any normal naked adult would do, which was shove the phone under some blankets and make a run for it.
After I found some clothes and tried to shake the cobwebs out of my brain (didn’t work), I delicately pulled the phone out and looked at it. It seemed okay. No voices were coming out of it.
I checked my messages and I had one from Tara asking if I was okay.
I answered back with, “Oh my fuck, did I just CALL you?”
She was like, “No, idiot.” So I told her what had happened and that I was scared to even touch my phone, and that I’d get on my laptop and chat.
Then, when I opened up messenger on my computer (phone safely shoved under a pillow) this is what I saw:
Obviously, I assumed this was her response to my accidental nude toilet video chat with who knows.
But. Tara says, “Wtf is that? I’ve never seen this in my life.”
I didn’t do it, she didn’t do it, Facebook was watching me pee, it was just too much. We agreed to put tape over all our cameras, hide our phones when we pee and/or are naked, and wear foil hats just in case.
I told her the whole debacle and said, “I’m sorry if you saw me peeing.”
She laughed. And laughed. And laughed. And then finally told me that she DID NOT see me on the toilet. Whew.
She informed me that her phone had made a weird-ass noise and said it was me, voice messaging, so she did the obvious and answered it. Thankfully, she said the cameras were off. But that’s kind of an awkward situation, so maybe she was just trying to be nice instead of saying MY GOD you need to do some fucking landscaping and maybe stop eating so many poptarts!
Facebook was scaring me, but I was very thankful that nobody had to see me naked.
Then Michelle starts fucking with me, and I hear my phone making that weird ringing noise again and I almost run away from home and phones, and then my screen says Video Call so I just stared at it and nothing happened, although I DID have clothes on this time so I guess it would’ve been ok.
She’s all, “I wasn’t messing with you, I just wanted to see what would happen.”
WELL, MICHELLE, NOW YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS. I AM TRAUMATIZED FOR LIFE.
Michelle: We’re like cavemen seeing fire for the first time. AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH RUN AWAY!
Me: What happens if I do this….*jumps back and screams*
She had to go do grownup things like go car shopping with her husband without stabbing him. So she told me bye and to try not to show my twat to strangers.
I told her I could probably do that, but I didn’t think she could. (The car thing, not the twat thing.)
Then she had the bright idea that maybe she should do the twat thing while negotiating. “They might give us a discount if I just put it away for godsake.”
Me: If they aren’t giving you a good deal, just flash your vag. Do it.
Michelle: I will.
***Follow me on Facebook and Twitter, or sign up by email so you never miss a post!***
The Tooth Fairy and Santa are Two Different Burglars
My 6-year-old has approximately 15 loose teeth that she refuses to pull out. She’s my third child, so…whatever. I have more important things to worry about, like whether I should use markers or colored pencils when I’m creating masterpieces in the coloring book I stole from her.
Perhaps I should’ve paid more attention to the tiny fucker. (The tooth, not my kid.)
It was a simple trip to get ice cream. Thing 3 took two bites and declared that it was “too hard” and “was making her tooth fall out.” ICE CREAM? Ice cream is too hard? Seriously?
So I had to eat not only my own ice cream, but hers as well. Because I’m not about wasting money.
After that, we went to the store and like every other damn time we’re in public, she started regaling strangers with our life story. As usual, I held my breath and prayed that she wouldn’t burst into song, since she apparently thinks her life is a Disney film and my boobs are a good subject to sing about.
She started talking about her tooth so I said, “You should just pull it out so Santa Claus will come tonight.” I recovered gracefully, as always, and shouted, “NO! SHIT! I MEAN THE TOOTH FAIRY! The tooth fairy will come. Not Santa.”
Jesus. The little hustler took advantage of my confusion and added a chocolate bar to our cart.
I organized my bags just so, unaware that my cart and my sweaty butt crack were blocking an entire parking space.
I was ready to get the fuck home.
The candy bar was a gooey, melted mess by this time. Because I am a genius, I handed it to her, telling her that if she HAD to have chocolate, she’d just have to lick the wrapper. I know. I know, okay?
I’d just pulled out into traffic when I heard, “My toof!” I glanced back and decided that I wasn’t cut out to be a mom.
The tiny maniac, grinning and covered in blood, chocolate, and tears, proudly handed me her tooth. I put it in my purse, handed her napkins to bite down on, and took the liquefied chocolate from her gross little hands. Thanks to my unparalleled grocery placement skills, I knew right where the wipes were, so we were able to clean ourselves up a little.
I breathed a sigh of relief. We survived all that, while I was navigating through heavy traffic, and I handled it like a pro. Don’t tell me I’m not mother of the fucking year. Ha!
The mental high fives came to a screeching halt when we came up to an intersection with a flashing yellow arrow. We were in the middle of a left turn when flashing turned to not flashing and cars started coming at us from every direction.
What. The. Fuck. WHAT’S WITH THE YELLOW ANYWAY? In my day, yellow meant slow down. This was bullshit. Just then, my daughter stood up, leaned towards the rearview mirror, and said, “I’m going to look at myself. I can do that because you never buckled me in.” ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
With complete control over myself and the situation, I yelled, “FUCK!” Then, “Sit down. Oh my god. Sit down.” We made it out of that godforsaken intersection and I pulled over.
Seatbelts on, I was pulling carefully back onto the road when my husband called. I thought I would tell him what we had just been through, and he would laugh and not be appalled that I even had a driver’s license.
I should’ve known better.
Just as I answered the phone, the forgotten bloody chocolate disaster slid off the dash and into my lap. “SONOFA…Here. Talk to your daughter.”
Somehow we made it home in one piece, WITH the tooth, and I’m never leaving this house again.
Can you explain this yellow flashing light bullshit? What’s the grossest mess you’ve had to deal with while driving? Can my kids come stay with you for the summer?