Category Archives: total chaos

January 28, 2020

"You're A Break in The Code"

By Steph

Holy shit.

Wait…you can love the messy parts of yourself?

It should be at like 4:12-4:38. Just listen. (I’m so fucking specific, but not totally committed to the idea that I did that correctly.)

Okay, discuss.

Admittedly, I’m a pretty obsessed Halsey fan and also a bit high. But I’ve listened to that 30-second statement at least six times now and I still don’t know quite what to do with it.

Clutch this brazen, tantalizing idea tightly to my chest, hold my breath, picture myself laughing too loudly and talking too much; writing blindfolded or on my skin, in the dark or in a bathroom; dancing because I have a body, singing because I like it, listening, really listening to music all day long, stopping only to make my own?

Or drop it before it burns me, this foreign thought, forgiveness, appreciation even, of a chaotic mind, a rollercoaster ride, a river of tears; give back this moment of not-wrongness that is not mine; apologize (again) for being crazy, broken, volatile, for being at all; try not exist too brightly, feel too hard, want too much?

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is writing-blind.jpg

It took me 40 years to even like most of me. I’ve never thought that I could–maybe should–love the side of me that is impulsive and inappropriate and creative and damaged and yes, passionate, about so many things. The side that cries as easily at the beauty of a sunset as at the coldness that crept into love’s voice. The part that needs to “calm down.” The unreasonable side; the “crazy” that I make jokes about because it’s easier than trying to explain what mental illness feels like. The side that feels everything, all the time.

I can love…my temper, my inability to stop saying, “fuck,” my awful dancing and worse voice, my nervous talking, oversharing, failed parenting, broken heart?

What I really want to know now is:

WHO TOLD ME I COULDN’T?

No piece of me is perfect. But I am not in pieces.

I am not a broken thing to be discarded. I refuse to only love and cherish my shiny best-self, the self that’s seemingly so easy to love. Because THAT me couldn’t exist without THIS me. I don’t get to pick one or the other, and neither do you; it’s all or none, my best and my worst, my past and my present, my heart and my mind, my laughter and my tears, my opinions and my insecurities.

All this, this mess, this disaster, this madness, this me? It’s not what I ever thought I ever should be. It just is. It’s me. The whole damn thing. Brave and fearful, weak and strong, obnoxious and honest, funny and ridiculous, hideous and beautiful.

I don’t see any reason to start using my head now; generally, that fucker is trying to take me out anyway.

5 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Depression, joy, Mental Illness, random bullshit, thoughts, total chaos, writing

July 16, 2018

Hobbies Include: Reading to Mystery Animals in the Dark

By Steph

I haven’t posted here since APRIL? Damn.

Anyway, I’m getting off track. Listen. I am in a full-on panic. Like, I just looked at my keyboard to see if there was a button to record. Video. Of myself. Freaking out. That is so far from something I would EVER do, let alone today, when I’m post-3-days-sick and look it, and also losing my shit so completely that I’ve even wondered if I’m tripping. (I’m not.)

*deep breath*

*another, because omg, y’all*

Fuck. Okay. So. As mentioned above, I’ve been feeling pretty shitty for a few days. Maybe I’ll get into that later. (I really should, I know you guys are just dying to know. *laughs and then cries and then remembers I have a point here*)

Dammit.

I’ve been waking up pretty early, around 4 in the morning, and it’s still really dark here at 4 a.m. because normal people are asleep in their beds at that ungodly hour, and not outside discovering all the reasons they should be INSIDE FOR THE REST OF FOREVER.

No, seriously, I didn’t decide that until just now. And it’s 12:30 in the afternoon.

My first visitor was adorable:

 

RFox2
RFox1

I even slowly walked towards her to get better pictures. The video is really shaky, because I was excited/prepared to run and also my body just does whatever the fuck it wants to now, whether I’m into it or not. (I’m not.)

The next morning it was earlier, and much darker, so I was on the deck sitting in the (presumably) safe glow of the motion light when the fox literally walked right the fuck up to me on my damned deck.

She and I noticed each other at the same time and had about the same reaction, except after I turned and ran I came back.

This morning, just as I opened the door, I spotted 8 or so Mystery Animals trundling across the driveway and into the woods. One was an adult, I think, followed by a bunch of little rolling-walking babies. I couldn’t see them clearly (which should be obvious following that description) but I could tell they walked funny. Maybe really fat racoons? I don’t know.

After all that, I decided I was being too quiet out there. The reek of sick human and cigarette smoke wasn’t working as a wild-animal-repellent.

So that’s why I read the news out loud this morning. And that’s why I was totally shocked when I looked up and saw that the baby deer and his mom, who are pretty much always somewhere around, were Right There, so close they could’ve eaten my flowers had they not already done that.

Throw in the bobcat my son and I saw a couple weeks ago, and I was starting to feel like an R-rated Disney princess. Of course, there’s no way Mother Nature was gonna let that shit stand.

I was almost finished catching all my new friends up on the news, when Something Very Rude made a scary huffy-growly sound and, I mean, it was a heartbreaking article about Lithuania, but don’t bite the messenger and all that. Story hour ended very quickly, and I did not go back outside until daylight.

And here we are. I’m feeling a bit better since my complete and total freak out above.

After all these recent encounters with wildlife went smoothly, I should’ve known shit was about to go down. But I did not. I was even singing and wearing headphones outside. It’s like I have a subconscious desire to be maimed or at least very worried by something sneaky.

This is how it happened: We have an above-ground pool, and I have to stand on my tip-toes to see over the side and into the water. Which is what I was doing when I saw a mutant creature from outer space swimming in my pool.

You have to understand, I hired people to literally dig out part of my yard so I could have the pool placed in that very spot. It gets sun most of the day, so it’s always warm-ish. With all my various conditions, I can’t hack cold water for more than like 2 seconds. I have enjoyed the shit out of that pool. Even though we’ve had problems getting the chemical levels just right, because we are pool-care virgins, I’ve been in and out of it multiple times a day.

I also have 9 Highly Suspicious Bug Bites. A normal person would probably have gone to the doctor, but I didn’t because ticks have already royally fucked me and I already have All the Things.

It did not occur to me that anything in my pool had the ability to bite me. I mean, what the fuck? Even though I put the damn thing kind of near a hickory tree that may or may not be purposely thwarting my leaf-removal efforts, the pool is still cleaner than the river, right?!

River Bird 2018

Just making sure I had the correct fingers raised. (I did.)

I was not attacked then, and I laid right there, in the river, just like that, for the majority of our “float trip.” But a swimming pool full of chlorine and all sorts of other chemicals I can’t figure out and don’t really want to? Why wouldn’t there be a prehistoric, should-be-fucking-extinct-ass-bug in there swimming laps?

UPDATE: This morning I inspected the pool from a safe distance and there wasn’t a single living creature in it. So, I’m pretty glad that I didn’t set it on fire like I wanted to yesterday. Also, Google and my husband both assured me that Ed (the dangerous dinosaur bug) was not responsible for my bites.

 

 

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in fire, Just Being Awesome, nature hates me, total chaos, your health is your wealth and this is why I'm poor

April 5, 2018

Mishaps.

By Steph

This is a thing that happened:  We Don’t Chew Glass

So, I haven’t been sleeping well.

Yesterday I maimed a lawn chair.

I just now SET MY FUCKING ROBE ON FIRE WHILE I WAS STILL IN IT.

How are y’all?

I posted the above on my fb page right after it happened, but I need to elaborate on this fuckery. You might need to see this picture I posted a couple days ago to get the full effect of what went down.

cool af

Me, in my usual attire. Notice the two bathrobes.

Okay. So, it was really windy, and I was trying to light a cigarette (Once again, AT LEAST IT’S NOT HEROIN. I’m a work in progress.) so, being the genius that we all know me to be, I ducked my head into my robe to block the wind.

Well. That red robe up there is flammable. I don’t know if you guys know this about bathrobes, but now you do, and you’re welcome. That motherfucker just whooshed, top to bottom, huge flames. I didn’t think I would die, because I was too busy thinking, damn, I didn’t know fire was so fast.

I even put ACTUAL EFFORT into making fire a few days ago, and couldn’t. But accidentally set myself on fire? That I can do without even trying.

So, the inside of the red robe is on literal fucking fire and, incidentally, still on my body. But I was wearing two robes, so I didn’t feel anything.

Remember when I said it was really windy? Okay. So I stood up, trying to decide whether to rip the robe off or stop, drop, and roll. While I’m pondering this, I realize that the wind (and possibly my frantic flailing about, idk) has not helped the situation. Not even a little.

I finally got the thing off, and threw it in the yard, because, hey, it’s not like fucking GRASS AND TREES EVER CATCH ON FIRE.

I tried to figure out how to stop, drop, and roll the robe itself, but for some reason that seemed like maybe not what I should do.

Once the fire stopped, obviously with no assistance from me, I took it inside. Because, much like grass and trees, houses aren’t flammable. ( How have I even survived this long?)

Anyway, I decided the safest place for it was the bathtub.

Don’t ask, because I don’t even know.

Later that night, I was feeling pretty not good and sometimes hot baths help, so that’s where I headed. Lots of times, I’ll lay a towel over my body while I’m in the bath, and it’s like extra heat. But, in this particular case, I already had a burned-ass red robe in the tub, so I didn’t even have try to find a clean towel. *Note: I just realized, the robe wasn’t clean. It was my “outside” robe. Also it had just been on fire. Whatever.

The bath was very relaxing, the robe was super heavy, way better than a towel, so I just leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, cause my legs weren’t driving me insane for the first time in days.

I guess everybody knows not to wash red clothes in hot water. If not, I’m telling you now. When I opened my eyes, that fucking bathtub looked like I had been bathing in the blood of virgins. It was like a goddamned crime scene.

My legs felt better, but from past experience I know that if I don’t fall asleep before the bath-relax magic wears off, I’ll be right back in there. So I left the blood-water in the bath, along with the robe.

I also left my soaking wet shirt, bra, and underwear in the floor, BECAUSE I FORGOT TO TAKE THEM OFF BEFORE I GOT IN THE BATHTUB.

How does a person take a 30-minute bath and not realize they are still dressed? I didn’t even notice I was wearing clothes until I tried to dry off.

Anyhow, I know I’m like the Worst Blogger in the History of Ever, but between writing stuff to hopefully get published and being sick all the time, I’ve just been lazy as fuck and used my Facebook page to share my…mishaps. Let’s call them that. That sounds like maybe shit’s not my fault. I like it.

 

 

 

 

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in fire, Just Being Awesome, never take my advice, random bullshit, total chaos, writing

May 14, 2017

Painting, otherwise known as hell on earth.

By Steph

I recently decided to paint my kitchen. This is kind of a big deal, because every single room in my house is the same light creamy-beige color. Deciding on a paint color is one of the many things that I find nearly impossible. There are so many choices! So many colors! For someone with a house that is basically tan, I am very much in love with every color there ever was.

Maybe I should just do my house in a rainbow motif.

I don’t even know if ‘motif’ is the word I want, but like many things I don’t know, I’m just going with it.

Also, I hate painting, but I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.

I’ve spent weeks doing research. My kitchen is the second-smallest room in the house, so I knew I wanted the cabinets white because supposedly light colors make a room look bigger.

 

Problems with this:

  1. Do you know how many shades of white there are? An unbelievable amount. A ridiculous amount. An I-should-just-give-up-now amount.
  2. Maybe the WALL should be white instead. And the cabinets gray, like apparently every other human with access to Pinterest, a kitchen, and an ounce of sense.
  3. I can’t make a decision, ever.
  4. I really hate painting.

 

Anyway, I went to the smallest Wal-Mart in the history of Wal-Marts because I am smart and they have a really, really, small paint section, leaving me not much to choose from and making my decision easier. (This is a blatant lie. I went there because it is the closest one to my house.)

I had picked out every one of those little strips with any sort of white (and gray, just in case) before I found STICKY SAMPLES. Yes. This is a thing, and you’re welcome, because it’s fucking awesome and you need to go now and get some. They’re free. But finish reading this post first. Whoever came up with this is a goddamn genius because I was just going to use tape.

So, my entire little kitchen is now covered in different colored sticky paper. It did occur to me that instead of painting, I could return to Wal-Mart and steal all their awesome samples and, BOOM, done. *I just this second realized that idea is basically wallpaper, and I hate that even more than painting. Scratch that. Maybe.

After weeks of staring at the (barely) different shades, realizing that one of the wall colors I’d picked was the same exact color the wall already was, I made my choice. A creamy-ish white with some stupid name like “Arizona,” which, come on, when you think of Arizona you know you think of a rust color. I should name colors. New life goal. Anyway, “Ari-fucking-zona” for the cabinets, and who the hell knows for the wall. A color that is not the same color it is now, that’s all I remember.

I went to Lowes and closed my eyes tightly as I passed the million and one colors available. I had made my decision and I was firmly in the whatever-white cabinet club.

DO YOU SEE THE PROBLEM HERE?

Then the paint mixer lady asked me what kind of paint I wanted. I FORGOT THERE ARE DIFFERENT KINDS OF PAINT FUCK SHIT THIS IS WHY I HATE PAINTING. (I mean, other than the actual act of applying paint to walls and my hair and anything else I didn’t intend to paint but got within 20 feet of me.) Once I started hyperventilating, she picked for me, based on what I was painting and the wild look in my eyes. Apparently, this is something normal people are able to do while breathing. Who knew.

I was really proud that I thought to buy samples for the still-undecided-wall, until I was checking out and realized that I could’ve bought enough paint for the entire wall for the same price as the sample. Whatever. Don’t tell my husband.

Yesterday I was happy with my purchases. I had actually made a fucking decision and I had samples to randomly swipe on the walls because they are just samples so it doesn’t matter! Yes, I know that in 3 years there will still be strange designs in two different colors on the wall because I never made a choice and I hate painting and I probably won’t even be done with the cabinets by then.

This morning I woke up and saw that the sticky-amazing-color-things were still all over the place. Then I threw myself on the couch and sighed dramatically because I’d obviously made a terrible mistake and WHY had I chosen such a stupid color when I could’ve gone with, I don’t know, any of the 10 other ones?! I mean, what about “Amish” or “bisque” or “any other shade of white in the entire world?”

This is a fucking nightmare. This is why my whole house is the same color.

BUT. Even though I am EXTREMELY UNSURE of my color decision, I am even more extremely cheap. I bought it. It was like thirty dollars or something. (It was more than that. You never know, my husband might randomly decide to start reading my blog.) I will be painting the goddamn cabinets whatever color this is. If I hate it, I can always paint over it in 5 years once I’ve forgotten how much I hate painting.

I’ll keep you guys updated on this catastrophe project.

P.S. I just started taking a new anti-depressant and one of the side effects is “impulsive behavior.” So it’s possible that painting the kitchen, re-upholstering some chairs, painting a bench, and turning an old piano into a desk all at the same time maybe isn’t one of my best ideas. OR MAYBE IT’S BRILLIANT. Only time will tell.

P.P.S. I’ve really left this blog to languish all alone on the internets. I feel sorry for it. I’m going to try to do better. Thanks for still being here, you nuts. ❤

20 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Just Being Awesome, random bullshit, total chaos

January 18, 2017

And This is Why I Carry a Sword

By Steph
I have a long and extremely fucked-up history of being plagued by random creatures, living and/or dead. It would take way too much work to fill you in on all the things, so I’ll just remind you that I probably brought this on myself because of that one time when I gave my mom dead hermit crabs for Christmas.
(If you just can’t help yourself, you can find most/all/at least some of that shit around here somewhere.)
Recently, a black cat showed up at our house. (Not Suzanne, for those of you who remember that psycho.) He just made himself right the fuck at home and irritated the shit out of me from the get-go. Then he started killing rodents, which were apparently also living in our yard. THIS ISN’T A FUCKING HOSTEL, ASSHOLES.
Anyway, his sadistic tendencies instantly ingratiated him with my husband, who would pet him and tell him how wonderful he was every time he produced a corpse. I, on the other hand, being a normal human being, would either scream and run or freeze and be trapped, depending on my proximity to his dead rat/squirrel/mouse/whatever he found to murder that day. Lately I’ve spent a lot of time crouched in a chair on the porch, whimpering, “GOOD KITTY NOOOOO GET IT THE HELL AWAY FROM ME OH MY GOD PLEASE STOP JUST GO!”
He loves to torment me with dead things, but he is absolutely joyful when his victim survives until he finds me. Then he can toss whatever it is up in the air while running around me in circles until I die.
So I migrated to the deck because it’s less accessible to my enemies.
I spend a lot of time out there at night, because I don’t sleep well and I haven’t quit smoking for the 6th time yet and at least it’s not heroin, okay? Fuck.
There are a lot of noises out in the woods, but mostly I just worry about squeaks or cat footsteps because the Murder Cat is one sneaky sonofabitch. I can tell the difference between a deer and a possum or a ninja by the sounds they make while blithely trespassing in my yard. (Ninjas sound like silence but when they jump it’s with purpose and cunning, unlike armadillos who can’t seem to control themselves and just leap into the air over any damn thing.)
Early one morning, around 3 o’clock, I heard the sounds of a fierce battle coming from under my trampoline. It sounded like a dragon fighting a goat, but a dragon would have trouble fitting under a trampoline and surely I’ve had enough goat issues to last a lifetime.
It should be a surprise to no one that I ran.
I woke up my husband and told him about the dragon/unicorn/goat fight going on 10 feet away from me and waited for him to be relieved that I escaped unscathed, but apparently 3 a.m. is too early for feelings and he sucks so he just stared at me like I was crazy.
The next time I went outside, there was a deer standing closer than usual to the house. (And they aren’t shy; they get pretty damn close anyway.) It stayed and stayed and stayed for days and days and days and I thought it loved me and wanted to be my pet forever, but then I realized it had a messed up leg and probably couldn’t leave because hobbling is hard in the woods. I guess.
So I forgot all about everything because that’s what I do, but then another time I heard something big-sounding in the yard in the middle of the night and I was in a really bad mood so I yelled, “GO AWAY I HATE YOU AND EVERYTHING IN THE ENTIRE WORLD JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” Instead of being scared and running away because I am scary and wild animals are “more afraid of us than we are of them,” (this is a lie) it ran toward me. It sounded like thunder would sound if it had feet and was barreling towards me at a ridiculously high rate of speed. This was definitely not a unicorn. Dragons aren’t that fast, plus a dragon would probably just do that fire breathing thing because dragons don’t give a fuck about Fitbits or steps or whatever that weird counting shit is that people are doing these days.
It should be a surprise to no one that I ran.
I didn’t bother with my husband because he “seriously doubts” there was any kind of beast-fight in the yard and he doesn’t know shit about shit.
The very next day I miraculously remembered the events of the previous night, so naturally I decided that I was as good a tracker as the next guy who claimed to be able to track things because, fuck, I can read and I know stuff and also I have a sword. This was brilliant because these creatures don’t come out in the daylight (duh) and even if they did (it would be just my luck for that fucking goat/unicorn to be some kind of anomaly that does whatever the hell it wants, rules of the wild be damned) then I would just brace myself with the sword held out in front of me and let the creature impale itself. Like I said, brilliant.
I immediately found Large Piles of Animal Shit. (I told you I could track like a mofo.) I took pictures even though that meant I had to put down my sword for a minute, because bravery is one of the things I’m known for.
Googling “Dragon Poop, Unicorn Shit, and Goat Crap” cleared up exactly nothing about this mystery, but I did scar myself for life and now there’s a sticky note on my laptop that says, “Be wary of Googling feces.”
Anyway, eventually I found matching shit pictures and it wasn’t a unicorn or a goat or a dragon. IT WAS A WILD BOAR.
I know, right?!

only-not-a-bear

Seriously, I mean, there was a bear here recently (truth) and there’s this humongous coyote with absolutely no fear of automobiles and I think it’s because he’s actually a wolf (werewolf, duh, that’s obviously why it’s not scared of cars and I don’t know why people don’t just listen to me). But even though I know all this, a wild boar still seemed a little unlikely. Nevertheless, I employed my sweet-ass wildlife tracking abilities, albeit from my car because hello, I’m not insane and I’m not fucking with a boar. Driving slowly down the road I decided, based on absolutely nothing, that the boar lived in an overhang near the shit piles.
Armed with my poop pictures, I felt like I had enough evidence of Wild Hog Activity to tell everyone I knew that there was Definitely Absolutely Without a Doubt a mean pig living in my woods. There was skepticism because people are dumb and maybe because my first theory (dragon/unicorn/goat) was a little off.

BUT THEN.

My son revealed that while riding a 4-wheeler he saw approximately 10 baby pigs. (Fucksake, they’re called piglets have you never seen Winnie the Pooh?)
Boom. Wild boar. Go fuck yourself. I know things.
(I did not ask him if he saw them before or after he wrecked the 4-wheeler and sustained a serious concussion.) (I know it was serious because on the way to the ER he told me I smelled good and that’s the first nice thing he’s said to me in 13 years and he’s 14 now.)
We needed to do something immediately, because I can handle a lot of things (no I cannot) but not a feral-ass pig. Especially one with piglets (boarlets?) because then they are vicious motherfuckers. (I already knew this from my research, but also, my daughter decided to be super helpful and, while at a wildlife conservation place, she told the Animal Police about my sword plan without mentioning the fucking sword, but they said it was A-Okay, which is good because what the fuck child, do you want me to go to jail?
Because my body is a bitch and never lets me do anything fun, I had a migraine and was not available to help track this animal. So of course they didn’t find it. Hello? Who knows what they’re doing here, me and my sword or you with your “hunting experience?”
That’s what I thought.
It’s been weeks since there’s been any suspicious activity, so I guess the beast-pig realized that I was no regular human, but a mighty swordswoman and dangerous adversary, and made the logical choice Not to Fuck with Me.

Or it was just a lame-ass wandering farm pig. BUT HOW LIKELY IS THAT?

 

 

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

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