Somewhat Improved

My Dearest Little C,

Well, we did it. We surprised Caydence with Disneyland.

When I say surprised, I really mean that we had to over-explain the concept of an amusement park with all of her favorite Disney characters once we checked into our hotel in Anaheim, CA. I mean...she's six. She has had no exposure to Disneyland up to this point in her life.

She was excited though. So, parenting win.

But, in typical Caydence fashion, she dragged us to the depths of uncomfortable human interactions almost immediately upon our arrival. We took an Uber from the airport to our hotel, and of course, Caydence wanted to talk to the Uber driver.

If you've been with us for a while, you may already know that my daughter has a knack for talking to strangers and making me feel extremely uncomfortable. It's like she lives to see the whites of my eyes expand as I start mouthing, "NOOO" while she simultaneously asks the Walgreen's cashier for a hug.

Welcome to Cringe-Fest-2017. Both Colton and I side-eyed Caydence and harshly whispered, "NO. STOP." as she started to ask meaningless questions to the Uber driver, like; "Why is the sky so cloudy?"

But, you know, Caydence just spent 2 hours on an airplane where her only interactions were with me, Colton, and the iPad. So naturally, she was so severely deprived of the outer world that she desperately needed to replenish her curiosity.

Next Caydence said the worst thing she probably could; "It's HOT in here." And then the Uber driver rolled down all of the windows while we were driving 80 miles an hour down the freeway. It was....refreshing.

We finally got her to stop engaging this poor soul that was randomly selected to drive our asses to the hotel. That's until we arrived at our destination. She exasperated, "Oh my gosh! WE'RE HERE!". Colton and I started thanking the driver and getting out of the car, when Caydence leaned forward and started hugging the guy while simultaneously expressing her gratitude.

We are slightly horrified. "No. STOP. NO." Luckily, the driver was a good sport, and just gave an uncomfortable laugh and we went on our merry way.

Jesus. Like ok....it's kind of sweet. Caydence is literally a pixie-stick-coated-candy-apple-dipped-in-cereal. She is very sweet and kindhearted. But.....we don't know this fucking guy! We don't know anything about him! I mean, STRANGER DANGER. And it really doesn't matter how many times we tell her, it's like she just can't control herself.



Anyway. Taking your kid to Disneyland is probably more fun than actually going yourself - especially the first time. It's so much fun to see and experience all of the excitement with them. The first thing we experienced was "Sleeping Beauties Castle", and it was a little too dark for Caydence. We almost ran through the entire exhibit because Caydence could not get out of there fast enough, tears running down her cheeks and all. I don't blame her though. I hated Sleeping Beauty as a kid, because it's fucking scary. Malificent and her green glowing eyes rocked my soul, and apparently Caydence's too.



We hit up Peter Pan's flight next, because it's right there, and across from it is Snow White's Castle. In the window the Evil Queen opens the curtains and looks out every few minutes. This was also too much for Caydence after we had just ran for our lives from Malificent.

As soon as she realized the Evil Queen was "watching" us, she was not about to lose site of that evil bitch.

"THERE SHE IS. SHE'S IN THE WINDOW AGAIN."
"MOM! SHE'S THERE!"
"SHE KEEPS ON WATCHING US!!!"

So, Disneyland took a little getting used to for Caydence. It was all just a little too real. After a few rides she settled down and started to enjoy herself. That's until we went on Indiana Jones.



She screamed through the entire ride, and not because it was fun. We got off the ride, and she sobbed, "Why was that man trying to kill us!?!?!". The man she was referring to is Indiana Jones. She was so terrified by the experience that she thought Indiana Jones was also a villain along with the crazy-snake-hair-lady.



After that we had to over-explain that everything was fake, so that we didn't traumatize Caydence with Disneyland.


Despite the fact that my kid was half-traumatized, we had a really good time. She loved Splash Mountain and getting to see all of the characters.




We'll definitely be returning. Maybe with less incidents next time.

-Stef

And when I say IT, I mean The Movie: IT. A theatrical retelling of Stephen King's: IT.

**Warning: There are some spoilers ahead.**



I saw IT the day that it came out. Because I'm a hardcore horror movie fan like that. So here we are. I've read a few reviews of the movie, and I don't feel like they really do IT justice, because obviously, everyone that has reviewed the movie probably hasn't read the book. I mean....it's over 1000 pages, so, it takes more than a little dedication.

Yeah...I'm about to be one of those people. But probably not in the way that you think.

Before we begin:

If you have a hard time with "scary movies" - don't watch it.
If you have an irrational fear of clowns - don't watch it.
If you are sensitive to child brutality - definitely don't watch it.

...Because you probably won't come out of the theater the same. But, if your'e like me, and you're a sucker for some really gory fucked-up shit. Please proceed.

I finished the book back in June, in anticipation of the movie coming out this fall. It was a labor of love, like I have described before. The book is extremely detailed, as most books are. So as books that are turned into movies go, I went in with the assumption that it wasn't going to meet my expectations, because that's just the way that it is.

No one can really play to any individual's imagination.

So, I absolutely expected inconsistencies from the book to the movie, and there absolutely were some. But, despite that, I loved it. The most intense, and frightening moments in the book are accurately depicted in the movie.

Especially the first 15 minutes.

I think the most epic and memorable scene in the book/movie is when Georgie meets Pennywise. Georgie is the picture of innocence, and they do a great job of playing that out in the movie. So as you watch Georgie chase his paper ship down Jackson Street, you know that this sweet little boy is about to meet his end, and it hurts. It really does.

I was actually worried that they weren't going to show the brutality of how that scene ends, but they do, it all of it's bloody horrific glory.

I fucking loved it.

I will watch it again. Despite the fact that they messed up how Ben first sees Pennywise - which I think is one of the scarier and intense versions of the shape-shifting-clown.

I mean, there are things that aren't quite the same, but I'm not going to get hung up on it because they did such a great job on the plot themes that were most important.

So, even if you have problem with the things that I meantioned  at the beginnging of this post, you should go and see it. You should see one of the most iconic movies of our time by one of the most iconic writers of our time.

And at the end of the day, the world we live in is much darker than any movie that you would watch. So what do you have to lose? The horrors of the world are waiting at your doorstep anyway.

-Stef

I really like to cook, and not just your average chicken noodle soup, my friends.

I get a wild hair up my ass at least twice a week to EXPERIMENT.

When I say EXPERIMENT, I don't actually mean that I'm a culinary genius and regularly turn your average shit into an explosion of tongue-punching baby unicorns.

I save every awesome looking recipe that I see on Instagram into a cutely labeled folder called FOOD, and dive into it whenever I'm feeling particularly adventurous.

Since Instagram knows things inside my soul that I have not yet even spoken, it knows that I love Mexican food. I think the logic is pretty linear at this point, but I have been spending a lot of time in the Latino section of my metaphorical Instagram cookbook.

Anyway, I have made the following on a few different occasions with the approval of Mr. Steele, so I think that makes them "tried and true".

Make these things and eat them RIGHT NOW. You will not regret it.

1. Skillet Chilaquiles


You could eat this for breakfast, and it would also be appropriate to eat it for lunch and dinner. And snacks. Until I whipped up this recipe, I don't think I ever truly knew what it was like to want to eat something for every meal.

2. Enfrijoladas



3. Aguadito De Pollo (Peruvian Chicken Soup)



Last the best of all the game! Not only is it so green, and so pretty but this soup is so simple, so flavorful, and it will just knock your fucking socks off. I've actually made this at least once a week since finding the recipe....that's how good it is.

Anyway. I didn't write this for nothing. So try them.

(All photo cred goes to the respected links provided for each recipe. I am not that good at photographing food. So, yeah.)

-Stef

Part II of the series.

The other day, it was National Dog Day, and I took the moment to express the love of my yellow eyed monster. I love that dog SO much. He is just as much a part of the family as anyone else. He is the best dog anyone could ever ask for. So loving. So sweet. I mean, look at him:



Until he isn't. And it's usually right after we spoil the shit out of him.

On Sunday, we spent most of the day with Winston Churchill. We stepped out for breakfast, but hung out and watched some movies with our baby bubba for most of the day. Movie watching means that our bubba gets up on the couch for extra cuddles. A LOT OF LOVE. OK?

Caydence persisted that we go swimming, on this lovely August afternoon. So away we went, the three of us out the back door and on our way to the swimming pool.

Upon our return, there were remnants of pizza crust packaging strewn about the living room.

I bought a 4-pack of organic pizza crusts from Costco (in the heat of the moment after the egg incident). You know, because it would be fun to make our own pizzas and chill the fuck out. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT YOU DO ON SUNDAYS. CHILL.

We used two of them on Saturday. I sealed up the remaining two, and left them on the counter all night, ALL MORNING (when we left for breakfast), and that vindictive fucker decided he was going to have a feast while we went swimming.

Just. Because.

He literally had at least two other opportunities to not only eat the remaining pizza crusts, but to just EAT THE PIZZA WE MADE. And he didn't.

But somehow, going to the pool without Winston Churchill was the last fucking straw for that monster.

So. He consumed two entire pizzas crusts, which is more pizza than a normal human being can eat.

And today, in proper style, he turned into a shit-beast. Because that's what you do, when you're a dog, eating half your body weight in pizza crust. You shit it all out like hot lava.

Thank you, Mr. Winston Churchill. Our lives, (and our yard), will never be the same.

-Stef

Caydence is a good kid. She just is. She makes friends with everyone she meets, listens, always smiles, and occasionally whips out a random dark comment every now and again when we drive past a cemetery.

But sometimes she does really shitty things.

So, when you realize your almost-seven-year-old has coated the bottom of the bath tub with conditioner: do not engage.

Don't turn on the water, stick your foot in, and think the white stuff around the edges isn't really that slippery.

Do not be fooled that the water you've just turned on is going to rinse the slime away while you simultaneously wash yourself.

You should also not be tricked into thinking the little patches of conditioner that you can see, are the only affected areas. No. It's fucking everywhere.

I'm telling you this, so that you don't make the same mistakes I did. Do not be naïve. This is a death trap.

Because once you step in and reassure yourself that everything is going to be fine, even after slipping a couple of times, you are immediately going to find yourself in a small pit of despair face down in the bottom of the shower.

You're also going to sit there for about 3 minutes while you try to stop your eyes from welling after the pain of slamming all of your vulnerably naked limbs into the sides of the bath tub starts to set in. Then, you're going to spend the next two minutes using your daughter's bath poof to clean the bottom of the bath tub out of spite.

At the end of this you're going to be so angry that you scream your daughters name and tell her she will never use conditioner again.

The real kicker is, the previous night you should have been paying more attention when your boyfriend started asking why Caydence had so much "soap" all over her body.

Read. Learn. Save yourself from this tragedy on a Tuesday morning.

-Stef

This is obvious, probably. Because I believe that most people have a lot of internal dialogue with themselves. But, I have a lot of thoughts.

So many I wish I would write down. 50% of the time I feel like I should have a notebook with me at all times because it seems like I have ONE BILLION GOOD IDEAS. Especially in the morning while I'm showering. Tragically, that's not a good setting for a notebook.

Anyway, I have had a lot of ideas about writing lately. I would like to write a memoir of sorts, eventually. Not that I feel like my life has been so amazing and wonderful that I need to document it. But rather, that I want to remember it all. The good and the bad. If it's interesting and relatable, great. If not. Whatever, it's not for you anyway.

I also want to continue documenting all of the random ass shit that goes on in my every day life.

I started listening to the podcast "Serial" (I am fucking slow to that train....I know) and Sarah Keonig tells the story of her struggle in asking people to remember past events. By nature, there are approximately 344,564,345 million things going on at a particular time, and it's impossible to recall them all. Unless there is a BIG event. Something that strikes an emotional cord in your psyche.

Anyway. I just want to remember the shit. Hence, a memoir-thing. That's all.

If you follow me on Instagram, you'll already know that I had to renew my license the other day.

"The picture that will be on my drivers license for the next 5 years. #twinning"

(We recently watched the Dark Crystal with Caydence, and I decided that Jen and I are hair twins.)

Don't tell....but I let it expire. For a day. Only a day. But for a 24 hour period, I was totally a criminal.

As it turns out, the DMV and the DLD (Drivers License Division) are not one in same. Friday morning, I skipped over to the DMV on 39th south, looked at the non-existent line (hooray!), and got shut-down immediately.

"WE DON'T DO THAT HERE."

Oh....ok. Maybe I'm just an idiot but, where the fuck am I supposed to go?

Nowhere convenient, that's where. West Valley, Draper, or somewhere near the State Fair Park. I opted for the random location near the State Fair Park, because it was closest to work. Anyway, I eventually found it. It's actually INSIDE the fence at the State Fair Park. There are no signs indicating such. But, whatever, I made it.

I wandered inside, filled out my form and sat down with my number in hand. All of the sudden there were two men holding up a woman sitting two seats next to me. She had appeared to have passed out, and she was not waking up.

Sweet.

Fortunately, the DLD have some on-site personnel (Officers? Security? I don't know...) that immediately called 911. Unfortunately, this was not my first rodeo with a random unconscious stranger almost literally falling into my lap. I was once walking down an isle at the Payson Walmart when a woman collapsed right in front of me and started having a seizure. But it doesn't make it any easier, because I never really know when or if I should step in.

Should I help...? Should I suggest they lay her down. What if she vomits? IS SHE going to vomit??

I'm CPR certified, and I worked as a Certified Nurses Assistant for a couple of years prior to my Accounting days, so I know stuff.  But, I definitely don't consider myself a professional for obvious reasons. They seemed to have had it under control, and my number was called so I walked up to a very nice lady who seemed a little shell-shocked.

She immediately told me that she was freaked out by the course of events. I said, "Yeah, it's pretty crazy, but the paramedics are here, so I think they'll be able to help her."  She went on to tell me that she found her husband dead on the couch last year sometime so these kind of things were really upsetting to her.

My internal response: holy fuck. this is TMI. 

Then I thought....how often do these situations actually happen to you??? Because you're making it seem like it happens all the time!

Anyway, she nicely, and shakily helped me renew my licenses. And she didn't make me take the eye exam, which was awwwwesommmme.

But anyway. WTF?!

Dead husbands. Siezures. And license renewals. I wish I could make this shit up.

-Stef

I am officially a 30-something today. May 25th marks the day I made my way through my mother's vaginal canal and into this world. You're welcome for that image. Soak it up.

I've lived an entire year as a 30 year old, and now that I've got a year of experience under my belt,  I think I can speak to what it's like.

Being in your thirties is really weird. Everyone put's all of this hype into turning thirty, because it's the first step in the "getting old" process. When a young'n asks your age, and you respond, "I'm thirty". The reaction is more "EW" and less "OH COOL". So, that sucks.

I don't feel old though. I feel the same as I did when I turned 19 (with a lot less enthusiasm). Granted, things like hangovers are a lot more difficult to endure these days. But, otherwise, I've never gotten this looming feeling that I've turned the fucking corner and I'm going to turn into a pile of shit at any moment. Thirty is very overrated in that aspect. Weird. You're still not old.

The twenties have come and gone like Mr. Trump reaching for the First Lady's hand, and thank God for that in some instances. Your twenties are supposed to be the "fun" time. Party city. Do crazy shit, and have no regrets. But, let's get fucking real for a moment. You're twenties aren't fun at all because you're supposed to be cultivating your inner being and some shit. You're supposed to find yourself, find a career, and simultaneously start living and breathing like a real-life adult. It is also important to note that you are expected to find love in the middle of this chaos. The twenties are for all of the shitty emotional stuff. You live it, and somehow make it out on the other side.

You're thirties are still full of a lot of adult-ass-shit, but I think it's less of an emotional roller coaster and more of a you-really-got-to-own-your-shit kind of thing. Less emotional bullshit, and more fun.

So far, my thirties have really been about being with the people I love, and doing all of the other things that make me happy. I could get a pretty long list of things that I did and accomplished throughout the last year, but that's just bragging. So, I'll spare you.

I'll assure you that I am a really neat-o badass though.

But, in the end, thirty feels less like uncertainty, and a lot more like, ''SHIT-YEAH"! It took 29 years of a never-ending stream of swears, anxiety, and sleepless nights. But I'm here, and 30-something is looking like a pretty sweet ride.

-Stef

Somewhere near the beginning of the year, I internally thought, "Fuck, I am 30. I need to take really-really good care of my skin."

That is literally my internal dialogue. I swear a lot. #sorrynotsorry 

Not that I wasn't already. I just wasn't overly conscious of what I was putting on my face. I'm was already in the habit of the following OCD habits:

1. Washing my face every night.
2. Moisturizing my face day and night.
3. Using an anti-aging cream under my eyes.

And ya, know. I don't think I've done too terrible. The general consensus is that people think I am younger than I look.

Especially when I get my hair done. Which....is another thing on it's own. I am not a loyal hair-do-er-person.  In fact, I kind of hate getting into a routine with a stylist. Because after the initial question intake....what the fuck are we going to talk about? And not to be extremely rude, BUT, I never ask my stylists about their lives....because I don't care.

GOD. That looks a lot more awful when I write it down.

It is the truth though.

I don't really want to talk to my stylist. I just want you to do a fucking amazing job on my hair. Feel my hair's energy. Style that shit. That's it. Otherwise, I am perfectly fine sitting there in silence. It's therapeutic. BUT YOU CAN'T SAY THAT. You have to make the small talk, or you seem rude. ButGOD. I wish there was a button you could push at the beginning of the appointment that indicated you do not want to speak about anything other than what you would like to do with your hair.

Anyway - the hair people always think I'm like 8 years younger than I really am, which is very flattering to be honest. But I typically show up in my gym clothes and no make up. So that's really, probably, the reason.

But, it's also good, because it means that I've been taking care of my shit. 

My Mom had me trained at a very young age. Wash your face. Moisturize. Your skin is fucking important. Blah blah blah.

So, what's the difference now? Well. I've decided to be more conscious of the products that I am putting on my face. Previously, I was being my regular-cheap-ass-self and buying over-the-counter products. But, there always seemed to be something better about higher-end products.

And it's true. Unfortunately so, for my cheap-ass nature. (I'm mostly cheap when it comes to my own benefit.....FYI)

I switched to Clinique. Because it's something I knew I could trust. My Mom had used it. My sister had used it, and it has a reputation for just being good-ass shit.

What's the difference?

-Quality
-My skin has a natural glow
-It feels NICE
-It's soft
-It's smooth
-I have less blemishes
-I don't have to wear as much make-up

I'm not trying to sell anyone Clinique, but I am here to say: take care of your fucking shit. Because it goes a long way throughout your life.

Additionally, I started taking allllll of my suppplements again. Daily Vitamin. Hair-Skin-Nails. Glucosamine. Fish Oil. All the shit. I never wear make-up at the gym either. You should try it. Not sweating in your make-up does amazing things for your skin. So, get the fuck over yourself. The way you age in 10 years will be different.

Anyway. These are my favorites. Buy them or not, I don't care. But, they work.



Sadly, I am not getting paid to say this. My opinion is strictly my own. I'm not even getting any free shit.


Pssssst. My boyfriend uses them too, and I think he likes them. 

-Stef

I think the way you embrace or run away from a situation says a lot about you. The way you react in the moment shows a glimpse of the lining of your inner being. The way you speak about others portrays your character. A simple glance at a stranger may portray more than you mean to.

Human behavior is an extremely interesting subject, if you ask me. I've read several books about behavior, how the brain functions, sociopaths, and what it all means when you put it all together.

If you're interested:

What Every Body is Saying
Spy the Lie
Confessions of a Sociopath
Methods of Persuasion
Helter Skelter

(Confessions of a Sociopath is my faaaaaavorite)




I love and hate first impressions because you can learn a lot about someone in the first few moments of meeting them. (I generally don't like most people upon meeting them...#sorrynotsorry)

Do they make eye contact? Is it too much eye contact?

How do they shake your hand? Is it too hard? Too soft? Do they avoid it all together?

Do they talk about themselves, or put the spotlight on you?

Not that any one of those things would act as a trigger to indicate you were a serial killer. But, there are definitely signs. Behavioral tells, if you will.

It's why I think that news, books (fiction or non-fiction), movies, and TV shows about psychopaths are the fucking best. The mindset of someone who has Anti-Social Personality Disorder is one and the same of someone that ends up being a homicidal maniac. The very same personality disorder may also be the person that defends you in court, the CEO of the company you work for, or the surgeon who replaced your knee.

This personality type is more commonly known as a psychopath. The only difference between the guy who's blissfully slitting people's throats in their sleep, and the guy who's sewing them back up is impulse control. People with Anti-Social Personality Disorder have a very specific brain chemistry, and granted there are varying degrees and ability to cope, but the same group of people could either be in prison or they could be huge contributors to society.

Isn't that insane?

I'm not a psychologist, or an expert, or anything even remotely close. But, I have read a lot about human behavior, and it still blows my mind.

Anyway. I'm reading IT, by Stephen King. And although you might be like, "OMG, WHY? That's so scary!" IT is, and that's exactly why IT is so good. Ha. See what I did there?

Not that IT is about psychopaths per-se, but it's definitely about people. And like I said, people are very interesting. It's also a lot about monsters, the kind that lurk in your closet wearing a white clown suit with orange pom-pom buttons, and the metaphorical monsters of our lives who stalk us in the waking hours of the day.

I'll let you know how it plays out.

But so far, I have loved all 400 pages of this book. I still have over 600 more to go, and I expect every one of them to be just as entertaining!

Maybe I'm no different than the people that I love to read about. Muah ha haaaa.

I'm going to leave this right herrrrre.



I can't wait for the movie! I know I'll inevitably be disappointed because you can't fit 1000 pages of dialogue into a two hour movie. But, I think it's going to be pretty great anyway!

-Stef


P.S. I finished Bates Motel and I feel SAAAAAAD that it's over! I'm probably going to read the book just so I can get to know the literary version of Norman. He's so complex, and sooo fucking insane! Ugh. I love it.

I HAVE A LOT TO SAY. Goddammit. But I can't put it together in a way that seems "ok" to me.

I guess it's the literal definition of writer's block. Self-Censorship. Except that I can write certain things, like a 6 page essay on Audit Procedures. Yeah, that's a fucking piece of cake. Ask me about my job? Surrrrrre. But sadly, no one really wants to hear about how GS Bank reports it's deposits on form FFIEC_031. Unless you're the Fed, but I'm already in contact with those folks. So, lose-lose.

I can't write anything else that really matters within this little space for some reason. I have exactly 5 draft posts in line before this one. FIVE.

Five things that I started writing about and then stopped. They may have been great, or they may have bullshit. I don't know.

I'm in this really weird place where I want to write like I used to write.

Bare bones.
All out there.

But, I also feel like I can't. So, of course, that just means that I put everything in draft and I never publish it.

And, it just feels so fucking weird.

I LOVE TO WRITE. My Mom made me keep a journal from a very young age. Probably starting at the time that I could actually string words together coherently. So, I have this need and passion to write. To write everything. It's comforting. It's therapeutic. It's in the moment. It's feeds the OCD inside me. It's a great way to let shit go. I've always written about myself and the people around me, with what I think is a pretty unique voice. But it all just seems so fucking inadequate right now.

I have lost that little voice inside me for the time being. It's kind of frightened and half-way peeking it's head outside of the closet right now as I type this.

So, I think that means I need to try something different. I'm going to go back to the good ole' days and write it all out in a fucking notebook.

It might be quiet here for a little while. Jesus. Let's be real, it's not much different than the way things are now. But maybe, it's the thing that I need.




"If this dream should last forever, I pray to die." - Crawl, Bad Omens

-Stef

I'm in the process of getting rid of my Blog's Facebook page.

It didn't really come after a long period of deliberation either. It just hit me. I don't fucking need it. I don't really want to increase the amount of readers that I have. In fact, I would be better off with a smaller audience.

And that is fine. Much like my personal life, I'd rather have a few people that are really-really interested in what I have to say than a bunch of you silently stalking and waiting for the next crazy thing that pops into my mind.

Facebook is actually really forgiving about it. Before you click that big fat "DELETE" button they let you know that you still have 14 days to decide whether or not you want to keep it. I mean, I hit the button, and my page is still out there hanging on to each day like it's the last breath. It's kind of empowering letting something die. I could bring it back...but I'm just going to watch it die.

Wow, that got fucking dark fast.

Anyway.

That being said, I'll maybe update my personal Facebook page when I update this thing. But, I can't decide how lazy I want to be about it. I might make you do the work if you want to see what's going on over here.

Additionally, I made my Instagram private. I weeded out 1/2 of my followers (I KNOW, it's brutal). Because most of them were like - "Follow me, I'm cool and I follow 10,234,343,343 other accounts too. But, YOU are important!" I even unfollowed some accounts that were irritating me too.

At this very moment, if you can still see my feed then you have been saved. If not, there is a 2% chance that it was an accident. The remaining 98% were because I don't know you on any level.

"Why???" - you are probably asking right now.

Well, the short answer is that I am not for everyone. In many, many, different ways. 99% of the time I post small personal moments from my everyday life, and I don't think that all of the internet needs to see it anymore.

The long version is: I have been a long time advocate of the "I have nothing to hide" motto. And, I still don't. But, I think for a very long time I felt like I needed to prove myself to everyone around me. I needed to showcase that I was meaningful. That I have value. That I am wanted. That I am smart. That I'm funny. That I have a really awesome-cool-special-life. These are all reiterations of a previous life and previous relationships. But, it's just not who I am.

When I first made the decision to delete my Facebook page and go private on my Instagram, I couldn't put my head around it. Why....why now?

But I just don't feel that way anymore. I don't have to prove anything to anyone but myself. I've always known. But, I didn't really feel it deeply until recently. You either like this semblance of a personality that I have, or you don't. I don't think there is anything in between.

So, there you have it.

I still don't know what this place on the internet is, or what it really means to me. I don't give a fuck if you like it, or if you agree with what I say. Because it's not really for you. It's for me. And if you get some level of enjoyment out of reading it. Then just fucking embrace it.

-Stef

Over the course of my 30 years on this earth, I'm realizing that being true to myself is more and more important.


And that's all that it really comes down to for me. I am so tired of faking appearances, pleasing others at my expense, and being taken advantage of as a result of that.

I am pretty fierce. I say what I think...more than I should. I do what I say I'll do. I will give my Dad credit for that aspect of my personality. But, at the same time, I want so badly just to take care of everyone around me. I want to make everything right for them even if it hurts me. {That's where my Mom's genetics come in, I guess.}

It's tough sometimes.

But, my bullheadedness usually ends up out in front. Because as much as I want everything to be "ok", I don't fuck around. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. And I ain't about that. I'm not about being wrong. {Ask my boyfriend}.

In the most recent parts of my life, it has become the end-er of a lot of different types of relationships. Romantic, The close-to-your-heart ones, and even just common acquaintances.

And that is ok. Although, making those decisions are hard, and the conversations are even harder. I know that I am laying it all out on the table. I am being true to myself. To the striking differences in my personality. To my head and my heart.

Although, my circle may be small, it is filled with the very best of people. It's better that way. That's all that I need. We often get caught up in how many people we have around us rather than the quality. It doesn't matter how many connections you have, or what they can do for you, but rather what they mean to you.

This is probably weird, slightly ranty, odd, and may not make a lot of sense. But, again, that's just the way that I am and I do not have any apologies for it.

In other news, the Super Bowl was everything that I wanted it to be. Tom Brady is a legend! {Insert heart eyes here}Lady Gaga's performance was straight-up amazing. So, I leave you with this because I've been listening to it relentlessly for the past couple weeks, and maybe it's even the inspiration for this post. I don't know. But, I love it all the same.

So, the Super Bowl is tomorrow. A.K.A The day we get to eat tons of snacks, drink some beer, and cheer our hearts out.

Emphasis on the snacks.

The Falcon's definitely deserve a Super Bowl win, but I really-really love that Brady-Edelman combo and I'm hoping for some crazzzy Edelman-throwing-a-touchdown-shit. Also, LeGarrette Blount and the Minute Men??



That's all I want out of this Super Bowl. Crazy plays and Minute Men shenanigans. Let's make the Super Bowl Great Again! {insert laughing emojis here}

......back to the snacks.

So folks, here is my Super Bowl Sunday lineup:

We're already pre-gaming our Super Bowl madness with some pizza from The Pie today, and a lot of it will roll into our food-fest tomorrow as well. {And now we don't have to wait 3 hours for pizza to be delivered. Win!}

**All photo credit goes to the lovely Gina at Skinny Taste.



This recipe will change your life. Salsa has literally never been so easy to make. I grew up with a mother that used to can salsa every summer, and I'm sorry Mom...but I have you beat. This takes about .001 of the time, and it is just as good!

The recipe makes about 24 oz of salsa, which is enough for a big crowd. Or, if you're like us, you'll find every possible way to eat it and will be lucky to have it last through the week.

It's also really great in this recipe....


All of the tradition of a Super Bowl snack without all of the calories. Boom. We took it a step further and wrapped them in pastrami and made mini-mouth-sandwiches.

The instructions say to wear gloves while you're working with the jalapenos. Definitely do it.


*See note above about all of the tradition blah blah blah. The same applies here.


You can integrate that first recipe into this one for some bomb-ass dip.

And that's it! As you can see, along with our Super Bowl snacks we will also be consuming an entire bag of Tortilla Chips. You win some, you lose some I guess.

So...Let's go teams that are not my team!

But, I am very happy that I get to watch football and eat snacks with my babes for one more day!!

-Stef

That little fucker came out of the ground today and said:

"SURPRISE BITCHES! MORE WINTER!"

Why are we trusting a groundhog for these things? I mean, really.

But, I have time-off on the horizon in the warrrrrm desert air, and I am ready to blow this joint.

And maybe never come back.

Ok, I retract that last statement.

I'll come back when it's summer here.

Normally, after working 80 hour weeks during the blessed Call Report, I am perfectly fine with staying home, sitting on my couch, and eating snacks with my babes.

But lately, it just seems like we have been doing that for an eternity now. Can we go outside yet??

Can we feel the heat of the sun on our faces?

Can we let Winston frolic in the grass at the dog park?

NO.

No, we can't. And it seems like the end will never come.

I can compare it to the smallest CBabe's sense of time.

She has been counting down the days to Valentine's Day, because she has her eye on a giant pink/red stuffed unicorn with hearts on it. Literally, DYING to have her hands on it. Every damn day this kid asks.

Colton picked her up for school. Of course, she asked about it. Being beaten down by her question-master nature he said, "We'll have to ask your Mom."

They asked me. I said, 'WE'RE WAITING UNTIL V-DAY. MAYBE. IF YOU'RE GOOD."

Caydence said, "How many days is that?"

Colton: "It's like 15 days."

Caydence. "UHHHHHH! Isn't that like, summer!?!?"

That's how I feel about actually waiting for summer as an adult.

Is it over yet?

-Stef