My Normal Life

Have a Nice Life

I know that my life will get better with time. I feel like I’m going to hurt while I’m healing. Even though I really love you, I know that I will smile because I deserve to. So, maybe things will get better with time. Even when I turned on my television, a commercial would remind me of you. I would just put aside my feelings. I know there is no more you and me, so I know that I can be free. I will get better with time. I know that if we ever had to switch places, and I was a guy, I would know how much it was hurting you to be losing me. It is a little too late for you to come back just to tell me that everything between us  was just a mistake. If you thought I have been waiting for you, you have been thinking all wrong. All of this time, I have been wasting, all you do is let me down. You think everything will be fine again but definitely not this time around. You don’t have to call me. I know that we’ve been apart and back together, again and again, both of us falling in and out of love. I am trying not to be someone who can walk away so easily. But, I am giving up. I thought I had been learning to love, then I started feeling so small. You know that I did love you. But I am done.



My Normal Life

When This Girl Walks In…

The other day, we had another argument. We seem to be having them more and more. I’m beginning to feel like it’s all my fault. But they have their own faults. My pants. They seem to be getting smaller and smaller day after day. Either that, or my hips are getting wider and wider. I think it’s the latter. I wanted to throw my beautiful dark grey dress pants in the trash when I felt more bloated than ever while attempting to zip them up. I felt as though my hips were about to explode.  I love being able to wear them, having no need to very often. I am in need of my jeans more than anything. They are more comfortable, but as I have been saying, my dress pants have been losing more weight than I seem able to.  Though, once I take off my jeans and put on my pajama bottoms, that is when I begin to look more pregnant than my friends. Having this big butt does not help either. I do love my big hips at times, but I would much rather have the same size and shaped bottom that my sister has; flat.

My body seems to want to suck in every single fat organism that is on this Earth. I know, I know; I can change this. I can get off my ass, quit drinking cola and do it all on my own. I can have the surgery I have opted out of twice. I can do this. But I don’t. I continue to eat my fast food. I go to my 7-11 everyday. I eat my chocolate. My ass falls asleep everyday because I do not get off of it. Where is this motivation that you all speak of? I seem to have wandered off of his road and am unable to find my way back.

Oh I know; perhaps I should just use this previous speed dating I decided to go to for the eighteenth time as a big kick in my ass to shove me down this road of health. This past event did nothing to burst my ego. Ten lucky, single men had their opportunity in life to travel down my sole mate path in life and none of them chose to spend more than five minutes of their lives with me. Perhaps it was the pants I had chosen to wear that evening. I believe I had worn my dressy, tight denims. I wear those when I know that it was a casual/dress event. Apparently none of these computer-holics like big butts. Apparently, they were expecting their stick, thin super models that they all fantasize about having while they stare at their computers every night. It’s called reality, you Nerdfergasins! Not all of us woman on this planet are a size 2!

The average American woman weighs 166 pounds. Michigan is ranked the tenth most obese state in these United States. So come on men; get your heads out of your asses and look past my stomach. Look deep down inside my rolls; I am awesome. I am nice. I am funny, helpful, cuddly. I like to play board games. I like to cuddle. I like to pretend that I know where I’m going when I am the driver, then ignore you when you’re trying to give me directions. So maybe there is one of you out there who can look past these big hips, for as shallow as I can be at times, once I get sucked into your boring conversation about whatever you might be talking about, I can look past all of what you have on the outside and see who you are deep down inside.


My Normal Life

The Crown of Stefanos

I have always loved my name. Me, along with my name, does have a staying power. I can be feminine without being so prissy. Stephanie has had a long run of popularity, being in the top 20 in the 1970’s and 1980’s. The male for of Stephan, Stephanie comes from the Greek name “Stefanos” meaning crown”. That makes me feel even more like a princess. I am happy either as Steph, Stephers, Stephie. Me liking my name has always made me want to name my first son, if I were to ever have one, Steven; and I would spell it that way.

Urban dictionary defines my name as very nice and caring towards everyone. So long as you don’t piss me off, I would walk to the ends of the Earth for a complete stranger. I always have a smile on my face, even on my worst days. It is said that even though I don’t know it, I am very beautiful and smart, but I already know all that!

My name is more popular in these United States than in England and any other parts of the world. It is ranked at number 205, which I still think is a very good ranking. Sorry I am not as popular as these “cooler”, more “unique” names, but I’m sure your daughter does not share her name with nine historic royals. There are 17 world wide athletes, 26 singers and actresses, including Stephanie “Stevie” Nicks and Stefani Germanotta or, more well known as, Lady Gaga. The American author of the “Twilight Series” was written by Stephenie Meyers. I feel honored to share my name with all of these historians.

I, as a person, as a Stephanie, am spiritually intense. My name brings love and new stars into life. I do feel that I have more love for people or whoever, no matter how much they aggravate me. I do tend to have an exciting life, if I do say so myself.

I have always known I have artistic visions. I am a writer, after all. So, apparently, I can pass that off to my name. Along with those visions, I am always looking for an opportunity to so research of the unknown. Hold on a second while I retrieve one of my books about a haunted dwelling. Maybe I, as a Stephanie, will also, one day, figure out what the meaning of life is. Perhaps this would help me grow wise and to understand a person more.

But, who really knows. I just know that I, as a Stephanie, can be no more awesome than I already am.



My Normal Life

I Wish I Could Be An Adult

Looking around my bedroom, I am beginning to see something that I don’t feel is belonging to me anymore; my life. I am feeling there is a giant magnet somehow pulling me back to my younger years. Not that I’m old, but I am, lately, not able to make my own decisions without being required to clear everything with the warden. If my plans are to be out for the evening, I must have minute by minute details of where I will be. I am beginning to feel as if I broke a curfew when I come in at the wretched hours of three am. I must sneak past my parents open bedroom door. How do I know if they’re really sleeping?

I am an adult. I am a grown up. So why do I sometimes not feel like one? Too much love can be over bearing, at times. When it is shoved in a person’s face, it can, occasionally, just be thrown into the fire pit just to be burned up into little pieces that cannot be reused, ever again. I appreciate all that is given to me, but how am I supposed to say that every so often there’s too much, when tomorrow I’ll probably need help screwing in a light bulb?

I love all of the advice that is given to me. But too much, too often can just remind me about all of the mistakes that I have been making. Sometimes, it can be best to make those mistakes, as hard as it will be for you to see. Or for you to hear me gripe about. This can make a much more lasting impression on my life. These mistakes can help to show me which road I need to make a U-turn on.

I love all of the support I have been given in my life, for all the good and the stupid I have done. I have even read that when it comes to money, it can be alright to voice your concerns about where and how your child takes care of their finances. I know I have not been very good with mine lately. There is even, sometimes, good reasons to set essentials for spending. But, after telling me about any of your concerns and perhaps even setting any ground rules, it might be good to add, “The final decision is yours and I will emotionally support whatever you decide.” I love you. Don’t push me away.


images (7)

My Normal Life

Birds and Their Feathers

Birds seem to like me. Their gifts that they gave me just showed me how much I know of their love. So many little splots of love all over my car. This just made me think that spring was in the air. Or even, maybe, that one single bird sitting on the branch above my car perhaps had too many tacos the night before. I could see, so many yards away, that my car had, had chocolate rained upon it and I could just imagine how much fun the little birds must have been having. I, too, consume too much on more than one occasion, but never have I ever gone to the bathroom on another person’s car. Not that I recall, anyway. So, now I know how much fun those little, “turdgrals,” were having when, they were more than likely, just sitting around, each having a branch to themselves, chirping their problems away when one of them decided to begin the good old fashion “Truth or Dare”. How mature of them. They would so innocently start with the beginner ones, where their deep inside teenage selves would be dared to kiss one another. Or the truths would be coming out and all their virginities would be on the branches in no time. After a few more small dares is when the big ones would start coming. That’s more than likely when one of the tougher birds would dare one of the smaller birds to crap as much that he had inside of him all over the closets car; mine. And he would, just so he could prove, to himself and the others that he belonged. So, I thank you little birdie out there, for having all of this poo inside if you; three car washes six months later I can still see little pieces of your brown poop on a black car.

They seem to like me at the zoo as well. They are drawn to me, all those wild ones. Even in the new, beautiful bird exhibit, I can sense them all nearing in on me as soon as I enter. It’s almost as is if they’re stalking me, almost as if I am they’re lunch. Not all birds are carnivores, though. I don’t believe the ones flying around my head were looking down on me, thinking, and “hey look! A sandwich!” I was getting the new friend-sense from them, which I would for sure be if one just swooped down and made my shoulder his home. This Polly would for sure receive a cracker from me.

One little birdie that would never receive a gift like this from me, would be the one who had done the worst to me in my life, even worse than what had been done to my car. He had done one of my most embarrassing things I have ever had to endure on what I had felt was beginning to be my most fun filled day at the zoo in a very long time: he pooped on me. And not just a wee bit of poo. This little fowl, whoever he was, piled the most enormous load of crap on me that made me feel as if a heard of ostrich had just flown above me, had they been able to. I was also oblivious to this turd on my face, yes my face, as I thought maybe a bug had hit me in my eye. So I walked around for a few moments, with the piles on me, when my pal pointed out “Hey, you have crap on your face.”

Thank you, Embarrassment Fairy, I could not have asked you for a better day. Please make sure to repeat all of the above on my wedding day.


hqdefault (3)

My Normal Life

The Lonley Fox

I’m standing. It is still in one piece, my life. But why do I even write about it? Does anyone, other than my mother, even read about it? If you do; raise your hands. I need to be acknowledged in some way. I need to not be ignored anymore. You may say that I’m not, but I feel like I am. When I think plans were made between me and a person, my excitement builds up as that day approaches. I repeatedly glance at my phone, expecting a reminder or a mention of what we had spoken of a few weeks prior to this date. Then, when that day arrives, and I awaken out of bed with a big smile on my face, excitement building up inside me, my phone remains empty, my messages are ignored. My emotions of loneliness and aggravation begin to rise inside of me. My poor stuffed zebra, Zack, begins to endure the pain of me squeezing out all of these irritations onto him. Poor guy.

I will in the middle of a conversation when, suddenly, another person feels that what they have to say cannot wait a single second longer, so they must explode into the middle of my discussion, drawing all attention away from me. I am not able to talk my way back in. When I try to, word over word take over; nothing. I can’t even try to begin a new conversation when there is a few seconds of silence. I begin to speak, yet another speaks and BAM! All attention is on them. So, I just slink back into my dark hole.

From my dark hole, I saw you that guys were having some fun this weekend. From all of those pictures you felt you should share with the world, it looked like you and a bunch of other people were just having a spur of the moment gathering. One question, though: was your phone broken? Mine wasn’t. I do understand if this was a family celebration, but when I see that it’s being held at our home or perhaps you all gathered at a small bar, I can almost feel my dark-hole calling to me again. Especially when I know I had called you that night, the rings continued until the only voice I heard was that of your mail.

My dark hole needs a light switch.


My Normal Life

Dear Mom and Dad

I love you. I love you to the core of my heart. I can never express this enough. All of the hugs that I wrap you in will never be able to squeeze into you all of the years’ worth of thankfulness that I can never seem to give you enough of. I could never show you enough gratitude for all of the days, months, and years full of love that you have given to me. You two have devoted so much to me, even the days that you were filled full of sleep and pain, yet were still able to take a deep breath and put in more hours for me. Nothing I ever say or give could ever match all that you two have dug so deep inside yourselves to provide for me. My five minutes of love will never be worth the billions of long hours you have devoted these 31 years to keep a roof over my heard and food on our table. So I thank you. I thank you with all that I can find inside myself. Every tear of love and happiness is meant for the two people I could never say “I love you”, to enough, so that you would truly know how much that I do. But I do. I will forever. I love you.


untitled (33)

My Normal Life

Six Things That Crossed My Mind Today

I hate my body. I’ve hated my body for the past twenty years. I’ve never been a healthy size. When I was a young girl, I always had to shop in the “Grown Up” section. I didn’t ever get to enjoy the teen girl clothes that were in style. Even now, at 31, I still feel like I don’t have nice attire. I walk into a store and the small amount that I have to choose from reminds me of something my grandmothers would wear. I poke and pull all these extra pieces hanging from my body and this constantly makes me wonder if this is the only reason I sit alone on a Friday night, because my body wasn’t good enough for that last guy I had sent a wink to.

When will our countries join together as one? Will we ever agree with each other? That one dude on one side has an opinion about Topic A so then it seems the gentleman on the complete opposite side of the world has to disagree with him, just to piss the first guy off. So then a war must begin. Bombs must be dropped, innocent people must die just

Another Friday night has just passed me. My couch was my only companion. The Lifetime movies were ever so entertaining, though. They seem to be my new addiction. I can never take my eyes off of who the new abuser seems to be or why this woman feels she needs to be putting the moves on another woman’s husband. These movies seem to only focus on three different issues: domestic violence, wives trying to figure out why their husbands left them, and a teenage girl falling in love but needing to lose her virginity. I can never be drawn away from them. If I have no plans for my Friday or Saturday, BAM, Lifetime Movie Network here I am. You have a new addict.

A third attempt at my surgery is vastly approaching. I still have that feeling deep in the back of my mind wondering if it will be worth it. Will chopping my stomach in half really work? I know that I’ll still have to work my ass off to get all of this fat off of my body. I know that as soon as this happens, I won’t be waking up and being a size two the next day. The hardest thing I’ll have to work at is to stop drinking all of this cola that I just cannot seem to give up. I worry, too, that if after the first twenty pounds falls off so quickly, how much longer it would take for the rest. I worked hard before, but once I had hit a certain point, it all seemed to stop. That’s what worries me about this surgery; will it be worth it?

I haven’t worked in almost four years. I have no legitimate reason. I can’t just use my excuse that I haven’t found the “perfect career”. I don’t feel that I am cut out for anything in this world. I wish that I could achieve my goal to be the legal assistant to the best damn lawyer out there. I would even be happy being the greatest office assistant this state has ever seen. Yet, I sit on my couch, sending my resume to office after office yet receiving nothing in return. When I do get the great opportunity for an interview, the nerves inside me begin to move around, awakening all of my anxiety and filling my head with even more negative thoughts about myself. As if there was anything positive floating around in there.

Will I ever be a grown up? Will I ever have a job? Will I ever find my husband? Will his name even be Bob? And those previous four sentences were all sang out loud. For, lately, my life has been a musical. I feel that all of our lives are, in some way, is a musical. All emotions and problems can be done away with or solved just by the swinging of our hips. I sing along with the radio. I am the proud member of a fantastic karaoke group, who I get up on stage in front of then show them that I am the greatest rapper there ever was. So no, I don’t think that I will ever be a grown up. And given how my applications have been getting filled out these past three years, I don’t think I will ever have a job. When it comes to a husband, I’ll just look over how I’m doing on my third dating site attempt. After that’s all finished, I’ll just go sing it all away.

My Normal Life

I Am a Pisces

My mind wanders. I know that this is true because it has taken me ten minutes just to type this sentence. When my heart and body is stuck on one person, I am devoted to them until the very end. When a Pisces is tired of all of this bullshit that is going on around me, I begin to speak my sarcasm fluently. This is what helps me become much better at sarcasm, it being my first language. Cursing being my second. As a Piscean woman, I have many beautiful qualities. I can be very seductive, passionate and caring. I am generous and sweet. Nothing is, surprisingly, able to get by me. I can often zone out, though, wanting to be somewhere else, doing something else. But do not cross me. I have the strongest gut feeling amongst all of the other signs. One minute I may be extremely happy, but the next, I will be extremely depressed. I am a highly emotional person, constantly craving love and affection. Longing these, as a Pisces, is why my biggest fear is being rejected. I am always making up bad things in my mind and way over thinking them. This is what steers me toward my bad moods. I fear that I will never find the right person to love. When I find them, though, they must be my more dominate partner or I will fall more into my ditch of self-pity. I need other people to keep me grounded, for Pisces love to float around my world of imagination. I know that me being such a caring, compassionate person and by being a Pisces, I could cry over a dead animal laying on the side of the road but then I would feel no remorse about mowing down any humans that I hate. So don’t piss me off. I am a very emotional person. I am constantly tired of putting up with all of this bullshit in life, so my mood changes a million times in one day. When I am being independent, my creativity makes it’s shining depute. I am unable to be on my own for long before my mind begins to wander, though. I need other people to help keep me grounded. I always wondered if I had my vast imagination for any reason other than just for me. But Pisces are imaginative, compassionate and kind. I would go out of my way to help a friend. I am selfless and unworldly, intuitive and sympathetic. But I can also be mysterious, and vague, weak willed and easily deceived. I need a strong, positive friend to help keep me strong. I myself know how easily misled I have been in my aquatic zodiac life. I as a Pisces, my personality is hard to pin down, being very peculiar. I can become molded by my surroundings. Perhaps, though, my sixth sense that can never be explained will one day help me out. I know that I need to find my Cancer, or else I am most likely to die falling out of a window or get run over by a truck, me being so clumsy. I do walk into my walls all day. This all must explain why I can remember what I wore on July 8, 2012 but I sometimes forget how to spell my last name. And we all know that I have no sense of direction. I thought this was just me; but now I can blame it on me being a Pisces. One of the best parts of being a female Piscean is that I may appear innocent, but in reality, I am the most sexually game female in the zodiac. Bazinga!


My Normal Life

My Life is a Musical!

Sunday, November 18, 2015. 11:41pm: My life has become a musical to me. I walk around, singing all of my problems away. I break out into a song when I think about an update I had just read that seemed to dash my ego in half. A song makes its way out whenever I go over my ever deducting bank account. One even seems to find its way into my life as I apply for my 762nd job. They appear to be trying to brighten up the moments that I have been trying to improve up the moments that I usually over dramatize in some way. We all know this is what Facebook is for.

My musical life is seeming to come out a lot more as my surgery approaches. Perhaps my body is just trying to keep itself calm so the one organ that is to be operated on does not explode from all the stress I have been going through this past week. But, again, this is what singing is for! And beer.

All of my songs that have been singing in my head have been making me want to create a real musical about my life. Not about “Meme”, but about me. A half fiction, in a way. I know there’s a term for it.

Maybe. I can just see it now:

Act 1, Scene 1: She awakens in her bed, and wanders into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she begins to take a swig of her left over 7-11, but sees that it’s empty. She returns the cup back into the fridge. Now she wanders back into her room and picks up her phone. As she begins looking at it, the music begins.

Girl: I look at this app, every day,

and I feel that it is always the same.

Nothing new is in all of our lives,

except some new husbands and wives.

My updates are so boring,

even my mom is snoring

I really need some new exciting crap.

And then the song can continue on, her just complaining about how boring her life is, because let’s face it, mine is a huge snore.

Act 1, Scene 2: Now, our heroine has found herself a table at her favorite coffee shop. Thankfully, they have her salted caramel mocha so she can now continue to survive in life. She finds it so wrong that they make this a “seasonal” beverage, for what is so “seasonal” about caramel that is salted? How is this at all related to the winter or Christmas?

Sitting at her table, she begins to search her computer, unsure of what to look for. Should she be searching for that one career that she just seems a hundred more applications away from. Or perhaps she is just one more wink away from receiving a response from her future husband on her 18th dating site attempt. Her eyes then come across a certain update on her other page that her attention always never seems to wander away from:

Girl: What is this?

Another Party?

Where’s my invite?

And who is that?

Another baby?

Oh my god!

Excuse me while,

I go jump off,

this buildings green roof.

Judging by my likes, no one will care.

After she has danced around the shop, singing and complaining about her life some more, one of the coffee cashiers comes over to her and asks her to leave. Something about being too much of an inconvenience. Apparently, this coffee douche just doesn’t understand the point of life being a musical.

untitled (29)