Category Archives: total chaos

September 20, 2015

It’s Slug Season! Yes, that’s a thing.

By Steph
Slug Season is a thing.

This is not a slug. This is a snake looking in my window. But if you think I’m going hunting for pictures of slugs, you don’t know me very well.

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?

Me:..

Him: *He heads back inside*

Me: Watch ou—

Him: SHIT!

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*

Me:.

Husband: *snicker snort* So. What are you doing to do with your robe? *innocent face*

Me:.

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. 

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

September 11, 2015

Facebook is All Up in My Business. Literally.

By Steph

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:

What. The. Fuck.

What. The. Fuck.

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.

THEN I get this message from my friend Michelle: “Hey gorgeous! Were you trying to get in touch with me?”

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.

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38 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Just Being Awesome, random bullshit, total chaos, your health is your wealth and this is why I'm poor

July 14, 2015

The Tooth Fairy and Santa are Two Different Burglars

By Steph

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.

 

This is how it all started.

This is how it all started.

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?

 

36 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Just Being Awesome, parenting, small humans, total chaos

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