American Goulash

The Quarantine Diet

Thu, 09 Apr 2020 17:48:19 -0400

Quarantine Diet, Day 134:

Breakfast:

1 glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, made from organic Valencias procured from a helpful neighbor
Egg white garden omelet made only with vegetables harvested with your bare hands, with a recipe gleaned from a website that is 25% ads, 70.9% about the writers’ kids’ friends’ little brothers’ opinions on the omelet (“He actually liked it!”) and 4% the freaking recipe. (.1% margin of error.)
Chives and sesame seeds! Not for eating. Just for staging because chives make social media look better. #MoarChives
A slice of some kind of fresh artisanal bread made from your own vaginal flora because we all know that the stores haven’t had yeast in weeks
Coffee (1 gallon)

Lunch:

2/3 Family Sized Bag of Doritos, eaten shamefully next to the radiator between Zoom meetings. Good thing you made a video loop of yourself nodding intently as a virtual background video so your boss can’t see how low you’ve sunk. Put on some pants. You disgust me.
Diet Dr. Pepper that expired in 2011.
Some kind of abandoned “child food,” i.e., some smashed animal crackers, chicken nugget stars with the nubs bitten off, bifurcated string cheese, and/or a juice box with the straw trapped inside of it.
Coffee (dregs from breakfast, mixed with bitter tears)
A single, slightly-deformed, rock hard marshmallow Peep.

Dinner:

The remaining ⅓ of the Family Sized Bag of Doritos
Doritos dust from fingers. (It’s okay because you’ve been washing your hands thoroughly, right?)
A glass of Créme De Menthe that you inherited from Nana’s medicine cabinet because she thought it was mouthwash.
Halloween candy because who cares?
Self-satisfaction from the “likes” you got on your fancy breakfast picture. Not all of your meals can be winners.

14 More Ways to Entertain Yourself During a Quarantine

Mon, 30 Mar 2020 01:24:37 -0400

1. Get some exercise! Take a walk (as long as you keep a safe social distance.) If you’re totally quarantined, look up workout videos on YouTube. You can even burn a ton of calories deadlifting your children, pets, and/or tasteful 3-piece sofa.

2. Raid the closets and do a fashion show! Take fun photos and share them with your friends. Bonus points if you can come up with some kind of Mad Max-fishnet-and-bandoleer situation. #NewWorld #NewLook

3. Hammer incessantly, like my next-door neighbor, Rebecca. For what reason? No reason!

4. Have someone in the house with a March birthday? Invite everyone they know into a virtual chatroom on Zoom, Skype, etc. Crank the volume and get them to yell, “Surprise!” This works best when the birthday person is sleeping, pooping, or in the shower. They’ll be so surprised.

5. Two words: Prison Tattoos.

6. Train the dog! Teach it to sit, stay, go fetch a handle of bourbon and some Extra-Strength Tums, commit petty larceny, defraud the U.S. government, rollover.

7. Set up a treasure hunt. Things you can hide include iPhones, iPads, treasured sentimental items, grandma’s ashes, life-saving medication* - really, anything to get those jerks out of your hair for a while, right?

8. Paint your nails! Paint the dog’s nails! Paint the nails on the wall! Spring is coming: Everything must be Pinktini and Samba Blue.

9. Do science experiments! If you put you heads together, you can make anything from a baking soda volcano to high-grade crystal meth in a matter of hours.*

10. If you are Rebecca, make an elaborate throne out of the N-95 masks, toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and food that you hoarded. Take sexy selfies and post them to your Facebook, laughing about how you don’t need any of it. Tag it #sponsoredpost and link your bio to some kind of Yoni Steamer.

11. Sharpen all of your pencils. You’ll need them for when the vampires come. (Vampires love to draw!)

12. Have a contest to see who can make the most creative meal out of items found in the back of your cabinets. Perhaps a can of corn spread across a cookie tray to spell, “Help me,” or maybe a jello mold made with plain gelatin, hot dog water, and additional chopped up hot dogs. #WasteNotWantNot

13. Start a rivalry with a local squirrel.

14. Redecorate the guest room or drab home office using stuff from around your house. Your own feces can make a festive faux finish. Or paint an accent wall with Rebecca’s blood. Who’s hammering now, Rebecca?*

*Don’t actually do this, you sociopath.

Speaking of sponsored posts…sincere thanks to the anonymous friend(s) who sponsored this post because they thought that it could bring you a few laughs/support my writing.

I will not, however, endorse any kind of Yoni Steamer.

13 Butt-Wiping Alternatives to Toilet Paper

Sun, 22 Mar 2020 15:01:28 -0400

The COVID-19 sure has a lot of people worried about dirty bottoms. Here are some helpful suggestions for alternatives for your sinful poo hole.

(* indicates not flushable)

Newsprint*
Cut-Up Cloth*
Bidet/Spray Bottle/Bum Gun/Tabo/Dipper/Any kind of tushy waterer
A small, preferably fluffy, pet. Babies can also work in a pinch.
A banshee, screaming into your dirty bottom. (Note: Most ghoulish banshees are flushable, however, Marvel’s Banshee is not safe for septic tanks)
Running Very Fast with Yer Flaps Open
Sneaking into Car Washes
Dragging on the Carpet like Your Dog
Kidnapping a Mummy*
Robbing a bank but only for their T.P. (This only works if you own a sack with a toilet paper roll on it)
Only pooping at work or your rich friends’ houses
Never pooping again
Thoughts & prayers

14 Ways to Entertain Yourself During A Quarantine

Sat, 21 Mar 2020 14:28:20 -0400

1. Play a game. boardgame, video game, etc charades. There are a bunch of free games right now on Steam. If you have any extra cash, support indie games!

2. Read a book. Many libraries will let you check out eBooks instantly for free. It also helps to buy eBooks of indie authors, who can also use your support.

3. Binge that TV series or movie franchise that you’ve been meaning to watch. Or watch your friend’s web series, even though it has terrible audio and you’re not buying that their 15-year-old friends are FBI Agents named Sculder & Mully. At least they tried. Give ‘em a “Like.”

4. Take turns drawing each other. If you don’t know how to draw that well, simply make a facial expression like you’re drawing super hard and put a bunch of random lines on the paper. When your loved one questions your depiction of them, tell them gravely that this is how the world sees them. Walk away sternly. You’re an artist.

5. Have a tea party with all of your stuffed animals. Who cares if you’re 40? These stuffed animals aren’t going to tea themselves.

6. Pretend you’re a bee. Pollinate something.

7. Make an elaborate breakfast and eat it in your underpants. Your tears make an excellent salt substitute.
8. Feed your family a bunch of beets and see whose pee looks the most horrific.

9. Play tic-tac-toe with your pet. Flip them off when you win. Your pet is not the boss of you. Upload it to Tik-Tok to sit amongst the 10,000 other similar videos. Know that I will still watch it. I love those videos.

10. Make a sacrifice to an Eldritch God.

11. Take a bath with all of your stuffed animals. Pretend to drown one of them. Make it look like an accident.

12. Make clothes for the figurines on all of your trophies, complete with tiny face masks, to commemorate this incredibly weird and shitty time. If you don’t have any trophies, make one out of old dolls, an empty jar of spaghetti sauce, and gold paint. You’re a winner.

13. Combine every soup you have in the panty into a super soup. Demand that everyone in your family consume it while wearing homemade superhero costumes and yelling “Super Soup!” with every slurp.

14. Put googly eyes on everything in your house, except your toilet if you have pooping anxiety. We wouldn’t want you to get constipated because the toilet is watching you. Unless that turns you on? Then I guess add extra googly eyes? It’s a free country.

Photo by Cotton. Studio Video and Graphics via Pexels

The Visitor

Fri, 06 Sep 2019 18:34:39 -0400

I wasn’t surprised when I heard the knocks on the door. I was expecting UPS or a neighbor who was helping me put together a food donation box.

But it was a dog. A very large dog - sort of like Max from The Little Mermaid has but black, with 50% more mange.

It ran into our living room and I became hyper-aware of how many extra-rectangular glass surfaces we own. For the first time ever, my husband and I do not have roommates or guests with big pets and/or random small children running around. Our apartment is a death trap of mini-ecospheres, aquaponic systems, and dangling champagne glasses.

I’ve always admired dogs from a distance, but having never owned one, I had no freaking idea what to do. It had a long purple leash on it. Do I grab it? Will I hurt it? Will it hurt me? Is this my life now?

Its human finally arrived and stood in the doorway. She took her head and called the dog a Yenta while it Bull-in-a-China-shopped around our small apartment. I guess I was unclear that I needed help. Or maybe she was a vampire who needed a clear invitation.

The dog took out the Bart Simpson as “The Predator” statue from our Shelf of Atrocities. Then it licked the dust off of our trophies before it ran back to its human. The human claimed that the dog must like me because it “smiled” at me. I awkwardly had to close the door on them to prevent the dog from Round 2 of destruction. Neither the dog nor the human apologized.

Only when I locked my door did I remember the bag of Ummy Yummy Chicken Jerky Fillets and organic grass-fed sweet potato dog food on my floor. If this were a sitcom, I would have rejected this scene for bad writing because I, as a non-dog-owner, should not have dog food of any kind. But no. So allergic am I to wasting a single ounce of food that I’ve ended up in a situation where I’m running an amateur food pantry out of my living room. (Shoutout to my ladies at Buy Nothing Sherman Oaks, Los Angeles, CA. Woot woot!)

Is it possible that the dog had such a sensitive sense of smell that it knew that there were unattended Ummy Yummy Chicken Jerky Fillets on my floor? Did it somehow learn the exact knock of my UPS guy to access the aforementioned Jerky? Or is this some elaborate Truman Show situation, since this week has been kind of weird?

::Gasp!:: Did the dog thing that I was being rude? Normally, I offer a glass of water to visitors, but I didn’t want to encourage this kind of shenanigans. Was it expecting a tip for its trophy-cleaning services?! Is it weird that I kind of miss the dog?

Anyhow, thank you for asking how my day was, Steve from UPS. My tracking says that my rechargeable lint shaver arrived yesterday, but it’s not here yet.

Cotton Candy Grapes

Tue, 03 Sep 2019 12:31:12 -0400

And on another episode of “Life with R.S.F. (Resting Smiley Face)”:

Matt and I were minding our own business at the grocery store. A dude dressed in all black barreled up the produce aisle. I figured it might be some kinda kale emergency, so I moved way off to the side. He turned the corner and ran towards me with the speed of Dino the Dinosaur about to jump on Fred.

Matt and I have a bit of hypervigilance, so we both reflexively got into our “gonna Riker-punch this guy” stances until the dude yelled, “DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE COTTON CANDY GRAPES?” Oh my gosh, he was so excited.

He stopped short of us to grab several grapes out of the package, “Here, take some, you have to try them!” He offered me two unwashed grapes with his bare germy stranger hand. I noticed that he was wearing a Ralph’s uniform, so my politeness kicked in and I accepted the grapes. But then it occurred to me that this might be a modern Evil Witch/Snow White scene with Branded Designer Fruit.®

I mean, you can probably get a Ralph’s nametag anywhere, like a dead employee’s corpse or Aisle 9 (Office Supplies.) Trying not to look too panicked by what might have just been a simple random act of kindness, I replied, “Oh, thank you, I’ve had them before, have a good night.”

He continued, looking deep into my eyes, wanting me to partake in the grapey goodness, “TASTE LIKE COTTON CANDY! Don'tcha think? Do you think they inject them with cotton candy or regular candy or-”

I replied, “I believe that they are hybrid grapes. Just fun with genetics. Only available seasonally.” I half-pretended to eat a grape. Satisfied, he said, with a mouth completely filled with stolen, unwashed grapes, “Oh. Well. They’re expensive!”

He galavanted back up the aisle through a set of doors labeled “Employees Only.” I waited for the flippy doors to stop moving so I could be certain that he couldn’t see me. Then I carefully placed the two grapes that he gave me back into their container. This is why you should carefully wash and inspect your fruit.

Sample Lunch

Tue, 30 Jul 2019 21:53:04 -0400

Growing up, one of my favorite things to do with my family was “sample lunch” at Costco, even though I don’t think my family ever had their own Costco membership.

For those of you who are not familiar with Costco, it’s a wholesale warehouse store where you can get a mega-size of anything from storage sheds to a year’s supply of emergency food to actual coffins ( (if the apocalypse prep doesn’t work out for you.) I think the coffins are regular-sized, not mega-sized, but I digress.

The deal with Costco is that you have to pay a small annual membership fee in order to access their extraordinary savings/10-pound tubs of butter. I was told that you had to also be a business owner - which is why my family pretended to be our business-owning neighbor. Honestly, I think we were just frugal. It was easier to commit these small crimes back in the ‘80s/’90s. Early digital photo technology was so bad that my mother, Anyu - a perpetually worried, statuesque brunette Transylvanian woman - somehow managed to pass herself off as Humberto Jose González-Villaseñor - a barrel-chested, long-haired Latino man with an infectious grin. If questioned, she’d say that the picture was of my grandma, Nagymama, who had not smiled since 1955. Anyu said that the picture was just really, really old. At 24 pixels-per-inch, either the Costco greeter either couldn’t tell the difference or did not want to risk angering my Nagymama.

I have included a rudimentary illustration to indicate how ridiculous this was:

I’m the little one in the hat dancing because Costco had ice cream samples that day.

I’m not actually sure what the heck we bought at Costco. We were a small family, so I doubt we would have been able to go through five gallons of 100% Pure Vegetable Oil or afford the 10-pound bag of fish sticks. “Vild caught!” Anyu would say, “Just like your fadder and the po-lice, ahahaha.”I’m pretty sure that the number one reason for going to Costco was for Sample Lunch. You see, Costco has vendors come in to do product demonstrations, which usually comes with a free sample. We could have smiled, thanked the vendor, and enjoyed one sample per item per person like normal humans. The thing is, there is no limit on how many samples you can take. So per usual with my family, there was always some kind of scheme.

Here’s how it went - my mother would “distract” the person handing out the samples. Meanwhile, I would pull out my oversized sweatshirt like a sort of parachute so Nagymama could load up sample after sample into my shirt. (Though unrelated to the scheme at hand, it’s worth mentioning that she’d always check first to make sure that my undershirt was tucked into my underwear so no torso skin would ever be exposed to refrigerated air, lest I catch a “kidney cold.”)

When my mother was done being distracting, we would combine the samples into a piece of tin foil that Nagymama had been saving since the war and go for a loop around the crate of frozen peas. I’d usually eat a few before they went into the tinfoil and Nagymama would yell at me for eating too fast because the sample was too hot/too cold. Only room-temperature foods were safe. Then, Nagymama would put on her glasses, thinking that she as a 5-foot-tall lady who looked exactly like George Washington in a babushka wasn’t enough of a disguise, and we’d round the sample aisle again. And again.

We did this so often that the vendors started to get to know Nagymama. She even asked if she could bring the perfume sample vendor, Marlene, to my choir recital, even though I have no idea why she hung out in the perfume sample section since Anyu was allergic to perfume. “Vrap them up in a plastic in case we can give them as a gift to somevon,” Nagymama said. As little as we had back then, Anyu and Nagymama were oddly generous about collecting as many things as they could so they could give gifts to other people.

A part of me also thinks that Anyu knew that we could get as many samples as we wanted without all the trickery, but simply welcomed the time to commiserate with another adult human being. Sure, they were paid vendors, trapped behind a booth and forced to be nice to her, but isn’t that also what 90% of therapy is?

Anyu: “Nobody appreciates how hard I vork.”
Vendor: “You do work hard. Why not treat yourself to Totinos Pizza Rolls™?” Anyu: “…and I told him, you get out!”
Vendor: “The great thing about Totinos Pizza Rolls™ is that your deadbeat husband can take them even when he’s on the go!”
Anyu: “…and you know vhat? He doesn’t even pay child support ”
Vendor: “The Totinos corporation understands that money is tight sometimes. That’s why it is just three dollars for 150 Totinos Pizza Rolls™. And yet, they technically qualify as food!”

I poked fun at all of this even at the time, but flash forward 20 years and I am not any better. This is my food diary entry from today:

Bibigo Steamed Vegetable Wonton (½)
Kirkland Orange Juice (2 ounces)
Dark Chocolate Coconut Almond (3 almonds)
Organic Chickpea Puffs (2 & ¼ puffs)
Haagen Dazs Vanilla Milk Chocolate Almond Ice Cream (like a thumb size?)
An indeterminate number of sausage pieces (each skewered with ½ pretzel stick! This is a good idea. Remember to do this at parties so people don’t waste plastic forks. Add to a different list of things that I’m supposed to remember)
Weird Chicken Salad Thing ( ½ oz)… man that sucked, why did I even get that? I knew it was going to be bad but there wasn’t a line. Now I know why. Who wants to lap tepid chicken salad with low-fat mayo out of a cupcake liner? I should have gone back for another piece of wonton instead, but there was a lady standing there, causing a bottleneck, talking to the vendor about her sciatica and…. OMG! I think other people do the thing my mother did! Remember to write blog about this.
Etc.

At least I actually pay for my membership now, and I never take more than 2 at a time - one for me, one for my husband, who I swear exists (even though he refuses to wear an oversized sweater.) I may or may not do multiple laps.

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Costco samples photo by Tim Boyle/Getty Images

TJ Maxx

Mon, 11 Mar 2019 04:43:36 -0400

I recently won a $50 gift card to TJ Maxx/HomeGoods. I asked my husband to come with me to pick out some stuff because he’s never been to a TJ Maxx. He left absolutely haunted.

He was immediately uncomfortable because there was some kind of beeping toy permanently turned on and hidden in a towering stack of women’s underthings. The place reeked because someone had exploded a bottle of Jean Nate in aisle 5 and instead of cleaning it, they wrapped packing tape around the seeping bottle.

In an attempt to escape, he went to the only empty aisle and looked at an arbitrary pot for 1.4 seconds. Sensing that someone in the store might have found savings, a gaggle of shoppers poured over him, shouting, “Is it Teflon? Stainless? Areyougonnagetthat?!” Before he could even reply, the pot was plucked from his hands and swept into the alley of precariously perched rugs and lamps.

He called the place, “A post-apocalyptic wasteland where your own grandma would club you to death with a mannequin leg for 75% off an overpriced birthday cake-scented candle covered in sweater lint.”

This is 100% accurate.

–

I have 32 cents left on this gift card, and I have vowed to never take him to TJMaxx again. But since I know I have some fellow shopping warriors nearby, let me know if you want it (if I know you IRL.) My old-world Nagymama will haunt my dreams if I throw any amount of money in the trash. :P

Smart Elevators for Dumb PeopleMy husband and I got in an...

Sun, 03 Mar 2019 07:54:17 -0500

Smart Elevators for Dumb People

My husband and I got in an elevator with no buttons inside of it. Noticing our confusion, the young lady riding with us explained that you have to tell the elevator where you’d like to go *before* you enter it.I got out and said into what looked like a speaker, “Ground floor? Hello, Elevator?” Nothing happened. Because it’s an elevator, not freaking Siri.

Sensing my burgeoning senility, the young lady got out of the elevator and directed us to an iPad-like device, where she scrolled through the colorful logos of several destinations supported by the elevator. Embarrassed from my mistake and not accustomed to this level of hospitality from a stranger, when she asked, “Where you headed?” I panicked and blurted “Coffee Beanery.”

But there is no Coffee Beanery.

Yes, I made a stranger scroll through a terminal looking for a fictional coffee shop before panicking and running down the stairs.

And you guys, this is the FOURTH time I have told someone that I am going to a Coffee Beanery. What the heck is wrong with me?! Is it simply that the question, “Where you headed?” bores me so much that I auto-generate Lorem Ipsum?

…Or maybe…in a past life, I lived in Flushing, Michigan, where there actually *is* a Coffee Beanery (I Googled it.) Perhaps the soul of my former self is trying to get there to resolve some sort of Macchiato-based issue?

…Or has years of my old-world family discussing the government spies made me paranoid? Am I subconsciously creating false flag coffee places to protect me from perfectly nice people trying to help me?

And speaking of spies, how much did this Smart Elevator app company sell this technology for? You know they’re tracking where all the elevator users are going. Then again, we do have tracking devices in our pockets, so they know anyhow. Google doesn’t even tell me to turn left anymore; it says to turn slightly at the Pollo Loco. And that bastard knows I love Pollo Loco.

This has sort of gone off the rails a bit. Probably because I’m not sure what the name of the coffee place I’m looking for actually is, and I can’t do complex things like use the Smart Elevator to get to the coffee place because I am sad and confused without coffee.TL; DR: Smart elevators don’t work for dumb people, so we took stairs. Got my steps in to enjoy guilt-free Pollo Loco, which is to the left of the “Coffee Beanery.”

Fill in the Blank

Mon, 18 Feb 2019 22:18:27 -0500

I’m between writing gigs, so one of my mentors suggested writing steamy romance novels under a pen name.

I’d probably be bad at that, so let’s skip straight to the reviews that I’d get:

“Fill in the Blank,” an erotic romance based on a true story, by Yephanie Stuhas
Tagline: He pulled the wool over her eyes.

⭐ ⭐ ***Contains spoilers**** Got halfway through the book before I realized that the love of her life was really a fleece blanket that she got on sale at Kohl’s. Now I feel sexually confused and kind of clammy. Way to go, Stuhas.

⭐ Click my profile for discount vⓘ@g®@

⭐ Tat sucked. Pirate site I downloaded it on gave me a virus.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Team Afghan FTW! In fact, if the protagonist doesn’t end up with the knitted Afghan in the end, I will murder the author and her family. Cute cover!

Pee & Flee

Sat, 16 Feb 2019 08:30:12 -0500

My writing partner/husband and I were invited to a networking event. It seemed like a great opportunity, but we became concerned when we heard insanely loud music from outside. I will never understand why venues do this, especially during sanctioned events where folks are trying to make genuine connections with one another.

Matt and I immediately exchanged a look: Pee & Flee? The Pee & Flee is when one of you goes to the restroom while the other one tries to suss out the situation. Then you switch. If neither of you finds the host, a friendly random person, or a way to get them to turn down the frikken music a little bit so folks don’t damage their vocal cords, you flee without a fuss.

Unfortunately, we struck out. On the walk back to the car, Matt confessed that he was relieved because he had been looking forward to going home to eat some soup. I confessed that I had been longing for some ointment to combat winter dryness.

Signs that you’re about to turn 100-years-old: Wanting the kids to turn that music down. ☑Soup cravings. ☑ Ointment lust. ☑

I went to the pet store to purchase two ghost shrimp for my fish...

Sat, 09 Feb 2019 08:30:32 -0500

I went to the pet store to purchase two ghost shrimp for my fish tank. They come in a clear bag, which I wrapped in a fleece jacket to try to keep them from getting stressed by the outside world during my very short walk home.

A lady stopped me on the street and said, “Aww, new mom, you look tired. Is the baby sleeping?

Then she stood on her tippy toes to try to see the baby. I shamefully unwrapped the top of the bag to show that there was no baby in there and said, “I have no excuse for looking tired; these are just ghost shrimp.”

She got this really weird look on her face and said, “Oh. Sorry your shrimps died,” as she walked away.

It just occurred to me that was unable to see the shrimp (they’re tiny and clear). I love the idea that she’s home right now, telling her friends that she saw some crazy lady carrying around a bag of water disguised as a baby in order to transport the souls of deceased crustaceans.

This is my legacy.

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Rumpus Room

Fri, 08 Feb 2019 22:25:07 -0500

My friend is shopping for a new home and stumbled onto this listing of a beautiful Philadelphia suburban home with a Fifty Shades of Grey room. This does not shock me and if you’ll indulge me in storytime, it reminds me of a funny thing that happened in college. (1 min read):

Some goth-enthusiasts and I had a tradition of visiting the 24-Hour South Street Diner after clubbing at Nocturne in Philadelphia. One night, we saw a sign hanging on the door: South Street Diner is CLOSED. We stood there in our pleather pants and runny eye makeup, looking for guidance from the other drunks from Downey’s and the TLA. Closed for tonight? Forever? Where will we carbo-load after a night of stompy clompy dancing in our sleepy city?

A dude dressed like a rainbow version of The Twins from The Matrix suggested grabbing Lorenzo’s. It’s a divey pizza joint with limited/no seating, so he suggested doing carryout and eating at his place. I was hesitant because I didn’t know him, but my friend said, “It’s safe; he’s a pediatrician.” For some reason, that convinced me.

It was a GORGEOUS place, tastefully decorated in a hybrid Victorian/Modern style. Everyone was oohing and aahing over whatever the hell sconces are, and Matrix Twin suggested touring his “Rumpus Room.”

Since you are a smart person, it’s probably obvious that Rumpus Room is code for Sex Dungeon. But young, naive me was expecting fake wood wallpaper, an ATARI 2600, and some kind of ping pong table with Christmas decorations stacked on top of it. I mean, technically, there were paddles but they were the fancy, gilded silver kind (for butts, not ping pong.)

The most surprising part about the Rumpus Room was how NOT-creepy the tour was. Rainbow Matrix Twin presented it with the professionalism of a real estate agent.

Matrix: “And to the right, you’ll see the former pantry, which we converted into a sex machine nook.”

Group: “Oooooooh. Ahhhh.”

Matrix: “And this spanking bench is made out of a coffee table we found at a garage sale!”

The Friend Who Invited Me: “Way to upcycle!” ::high-five::

There was also this guy who reminded me of Scruffy from Futurama in a leather jacket with lots of buckles. He was wearing ripped fishnet gloves while pointing at everything with the intensity of a master builder.

Fishnet Scruffy: “Nice sex swing you got there. You used tie-down anchors for that?“

Matrix: “Oh, yeah, I just hate the aesthetic of a swing stand.”

Fishnet Scruffy: “Yeeeeeep. Those eye hooks will getcha!”

Somehow, I wasn’t uncomfortable. Everyone was so chill and sex-positive that I did not feel unsafe.

I also appreciated my friend, who, seeing the odd expression on my face, whispered, “Hey if you’re uncomfortable around all these whips and stuff, we can bounce.”

I had to confess, "I’m worried that the pizza is getting cold.”

She agreed that Lorenzo’s does NOT hold up when cold, so we went upstairs, ate pizza and went on our merry way.

To this day, I wonder if I blocked an entire group of people from fun in the Rumpus Room due to my insatiable pizza lust.

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Photo by Bright MLS images via Coldwell Banker Preferred

Energy Transference Fatigue

Thu, 06 Oct 2016 21:08:39 -0400

Energy Transference Fatigue (ETF): A term I totally just made up to explain the physical pain and exhaustion some individuals feel after they connect with a lot of people, especially strangers. ETF is sometimes referred to as “being an empath” but that sounds like something you would read about in the New Age section, so I rebranded the concept for people who frown upon patchouli.

ETF often occurs when people are doing a lot of emotional labor (a real thing.) For me, it happens when I need to make a good impression, such as weddings, networking functions, funerals, mandatory business functions, etc. ETF is common with people who do a lot of public speaking and is often more severe in people who are counselors, emergency medical technicians, and people who need to keep groups of people calm in a crisis.

ETF does not always mean that you’re a hermit. Often, people who are susceptible to ETF love helping and connecting with people, to the point where they experience this type of social fatigue hours, even days after the social interactions. Honestly, the best way I can describe the feeling is when you forget to turn the WiFi off on your phone and go for a drive. So it’s searching and searching for a connection, which drains its batteries much faster. I don’t feel this way ever when I’m with close friends. So I think it comes from being a little awkward, so the anxiety of trying to make a connection is exhausting.

Solutions to ETF for me include binge-watching Netflix, reading a book, eating an apple (even though I never want to), exercise (I super don’t want to), or any alone time that does not require additional energy transference. It’s probably a bad time to help your neighbor with his/her dating problems, for instance. Even if they’re hot and you’d totally make out with them.

Note: I am not a psychologist. I’m just tired and frustrated when people say (errr, totally hypothetically), “What do you mean you feel physically ill because you spoke to too many people? You’re totally an extrovert because I saw you give a lecture only a few hours ago and you seemed fine!”

No. Not fine. Just tired from dah humans.

"If HGTV was around in 1982, it could have rebranded my 425-square foot childhood home as one of..."

Sun, 17 Apr 2016 15:12:48 -0400

“If HGTV was around in 1982, it could have rebranded my 425-square foot childhood home as one of those chic “tiny houses” everyone is so gaga over. Back then, the neighborhood just referred to it as “The Slanty Shanty.””

- American Goulash

Comedy Writer Sends Snarky Letter to Verizon

Fri, 15 Apr 2016 17:30:26 -0400

Dear Verizon & Friends,

Stephanie Yuhas here.

Attached is the police report from my identity theft. This is in addition to the two forms of ID, credit report, and stool sample you requested in your previous letter.

I’m doing this because over a dozen of your agents have called to ask:

1-If Stephanie Jackson was my alias.
2-If at some point my last name was Jackson and I forgot.
3-I was perhaps married to someone at one point with the last name Jackson and also forgot.
4-If bought a Verizon cell phone in Texas and then forgot about that.

I would like to officially put my answers to these questions in writing, for your super-official documents so your kind agents can stop calling me at the butt-crack of dawn.

1-I have no alias because I am not an international spy. Should I become an international spy in the future, I will go with the name Flip Buttkick. No, wait, Skulls McCrackin. No, wait…You know what, I’ll let you know when I’ve decided so you can update your super-accurate files.

2-The movie “Memento” was not based on my life. And if I do get that weird amnesia disease, the only tattoo I’m going to get on my hand is “Don’t get Verizon.”

3-I have never been in a state of intoxication to marry anyone and then forget that I married them. Besides, weddings are expensive, so if I did do that, I probably would have seen the bill for a dress/ceremony/assorted shrimp platter. Or at least a 99 cent iTunes purchase for “Sorry, Miss Jackson,” because I think you legally need to own that song if you are marrying anyone with the last name Jackson.

4-I have never been to Texas because I have an irrational fear of cacti, and I would never open a Verizon Mobile account because GoogleFi is better. Here’s my affiliate code if you want to join a better network and also get $20 off your first bill.

I truly hope you find whoever this Stephanie Jackson person is. Should I ever meet anyone named Stephanie Jackson, I will be sure to slap her in the face with a large, raw fish for causing you all of this trouble. Of course, I might be slapping the wrong Stephanie Jackson, but hey, you’ve gotta punish people for wrongdoing, right? Come to think of it, I should learn from you and slap anyone named Stephanie in the face with a fish and accuse them of being named Stephanie Jackson. Only then will the real Stephanie Jackson come forward. To be fair, I’ll fish-slap myself first to get the ball rolling. Yes, yes, this sounds like a reasonable solution that is in line with your corporate policy.

Speaking of your corporate policy, I especially appreciate how whenever I call Verizon’s customer service, ping Verizon’s Twitter, and send out miscellaneous V-Shaped smoke signals in Verizon’s general direction, your agents refuse to give me the account number, phone number, or any other information because they know that I am not Stephanie Jackson.

They would like me to pay for this $1200 bill, but they are also committed to protecting *her* private information. Hold on a second. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

Phew, that’s a good one. I’m getting junk mail in her name, too, from when you so graciously sold *her* information to your logical corporate “partners.” I’m sure Stephanie Jackson would love to buy expensive frilly underwear to match her fraudulent cell phone. Just put the panties on my tab, aka, i.e., social security number, along with all of those raw slapping fish I need to buy.

I hope none of this fish-related violence offends you. For all I know, you might be a vegan. Or vegetarian. Or a fish. This might be a P.O. Box under the sea, I don’t freaking know. But if you are offended and would like to get rid of me, or if you are a reasonable human/human-fish hybrid, could you kindly remove Ms. Jackson’s account from my otherwise spotless credit report? Otherwise, the next letter you receive will be from my attorney. She has a crapload of fancy diplomas, which gives her the legal authority to be super mean and collect large settlements from folks just like you. And she bites. Not in a sexy way, in an Ozzy Osbourne/Mike Tyson kind of way. So for your benefit, I think it would be best if we wrapped this up here, okie dokie?

XOXO!

Stephanie “Never Been a Jackson Even Though I Know the Steps to ‘Thriller’” Yuhas

PS: Putting this on my blog in case Stephanie Jackson Googles herself. I’ll delete this once you pay your phone bill, girl. Get your shit together. <3

Photo of Screaming Parrot to Illustrate My Emotions by Klaas Vaak

Projection

Thu, 31 Mar 2016 18:59:02 -0400

Even though I’m a comedy writer by day, I dream in sci-fi.

This time, I was at my 20-year high school reunion. I was sitting on the bleachers of the football field next to my best friend, Alia, waiting for a performance from the reunited Class of 2000 marching band.

My high school sweetheart, John, sat down several rows in front of us. He had his arm around his wife, with two small boys in tow. I smiled at their happily-ever-after.

Alia sighed, “You really dodged a bullet with that one. His life expectancy was already less than 65 out-of-the-gate and it’s all downhill from there.”

“What the heck are you talking about?” I asked.

Alia handed me her phone, which had a profile of John on it. It wasn’t much unlike your typical social media listing - pictures, hometown, hobbies - except it contained graphs and pie charts linked to a family tree.

“It’s an app I bought called Projections. It analyzes everything you’ve ever said or searched for online and draws a conclusion about you. It says here that John will likely go into a depression due to his Nature - his family history. But the Nature will be exacerbated by some of the projections in his Nurture column, like when his wife dies somewhere in her mid-40s. In an effort to seize the day, he will finally take the boat trip he’s been meaning to take. But since he is often rash and does not do ample research, the app says that he will likely perish sea. 70% hypothesis due to bad weather or 20% from some kind of nutritional deficiency, 10% unknown.”

My eyebrows shot up, “That all sounds like a crock of crap to me. Of course, some stupid app thinks John doesn’t research. He’s not into computers. And his wife doesn’t even have cancer. And-”

“Well, it triangulates the data with personal and family medical history to project when and what people will die from. And yes, cancer is what his wife will die from, within a .001% margin of error. Most of the data is public except for the medical history. Only she knows her own Projection, but as a nurse, I can search through anybody’s, so, like, don’t tell anyone I told you.”

“This is a freaking horror show…”

“Not necessarily. The doctors on her account have suggested preventative radiation and a double mastectomy. As long as there are no freak accidents, her Projection would change and then she’ll probably die in her 80s of heart disease. But she opted out, which affected John’s Projection. Selfish, if you ask me. I mean, even if they just broke up due to personal reasons, the outcome of the boat accident on his profile is still the same. So it’s a good thing you didn’t end up with him is all I am saying. When I connected you with him for a Projection analysis-”

“I don’t want to hear this crap!” I screamed over the band, which started to play a happy tune.

“Sheesh, chill. I’m just trying to help. This app really helps cure people and gives them longer lives. Hey, if this was out sooner, and his mom saw this projection when was a kid, she could have bought him books on boats so he could learn-”

“If his MOM saw it? She would forbid him from going near anything boat-related. God, it would be like the scene in Sleeping Beauty where they burn all of the spinning wheels in the kingdom. This isn’t technology…this is the evil fairy’s curse.”

“Oh, so what you’re saying is that ignorance is bliss? God, it’s not like I invented the damned thing. Everybody is using it, so you may as well know about it. You always say that education and prevention is the key. So here it is. Be careful what you wish for.”

“But it won’t educate. It won’t prevent. It will perpetuate fear. It’ll-.”

“Want to see how you die? Because I know. And I can stop it,” said Alia.

#EndDream

Photo by Mark Bury

"Hallmark Card Idea: Let’s grow old together. I’ll trim your ear hair if you help me..."

Wed, 16 Mar 2016 18:48:39 -0400

“Hallmark Card Idea: Let’s grow old together. I’ll trim your ear hair if you help me pluck my chin.”

- American Goulash

Snakes on a Brick

Thu, 03 Mar 2016 00:53:32 -0500

One warm summer day, I spotted a little green snake in our back yard. I cautiously watched it slither across my line of vision, stopping only a few feet in front of me to warm itself on the sun-drenched concrete slab behind my house.

I immediately recognized it as a non-poisonous garter snake because my father sent me a book on reptiles for Christmas earlier that year. He told me that it was important to know your reptiles because he was missing one of his fingers due to a poisonous snakebite. Since I have a great affection for all of my limbs, especially my fingers, I made sure to memorize every snake.

Despite my slight apprehension, I was lulled into a trancelike state as I watched the snake gently move his head side to side, probably surveying the area for his next warm meal. I must have stood for quite some time because Nagymama started calling my name.

“Stephie! What are you lookink at?”

“Shhh, be quiet, you’ll scare it away!”

“Scare what avay?”

“The snake! Don’t worry, it’s not-”

Before I even utter the word “poisonous”, Nagymama reached over, grabbed a loose brick, and threw it on top of the snake. I think my grandma must have been a ninja in a past life because somehow, the brick landed right in center of the creature. I watched its final death throes in horror before it went limp like a deflated balloon.

“I have to give it a proper burial so it will go to snake heaven!” I cried.

“Don’t you dare touch dat thing,” she yelled, “It’s full of diseases!”

Instead of taking care of the mess herself or even recruiting Nagymama to discard the carcass, I had to live with the thing, rotting away over several months in the backyard. Long after the snake decomposed/was carried away by red ants, the brick stayed in its exact location, a shrine to the cruel, unusual murder of my little non-poisonous friend.

The next spring, I got sick of the brick, so I moved it back to its original pile. My mother immediately noticed that something was wrong.

“The brick!” she shouted, “The snake was under that brick! Now you hands are full of poison!”

“Anyu, there is no poison, it was a garter snake.”

“Oh, so how do you know?”

“Because Apu sent me a book on snakes so that I wouldn’t get bit by a poisonous one and lose my finger like he did.”

Anyu laughed, “Is that what he told you? You know, your asshole fodder lost his finger because he got drunk and ran it over with the lawn mower. Now go vash your hands before you die.”

The Invaders

Sat, 12 Dec 2015 20:17:42 -0500

Some of you may have heard that we were victims of a home invasion this week.

“TL; DR” The Short Story (Updated 4/24/16): The three people who did this to us are now in prison. We got our car back. None of our stuff was retrieved. It will cost over $2,000 out-of-pocket, but at least we are alive and unharmed.

The Full Story: On December 11, 2015 around 1 a.m., we got home from filming Vessel, a dark sci-fi short film about alien-human hybrids. There is a reason this detail is important and oh, boy, I will get to that. Due to the intense nature of film production, I had not slept for more than a few hours all week, so I collapsed when we got home. My husband, Matt, stayed up to finish a few loose ends. Around 2 a.m., he remembered a few film things in the car and that he needed to move it for street cleaning in order to avoid a lousy $20 ticket. He walked across the street and two raving lunatics with guns jumped out of a car. They were wearing hoodies that were pulled shut to cover their faces. They forced him inside of the home at gunpoint, made him kneel down and look away while they ransacked the place.

When they asked the insanely creepy question, “Where is your wife?” Matt-the-hero opened the room to the guest room instead of the room where I was sleeping. He pulled out the money in his wallet and told them not to hurt anyone (and to not take the receipts, because he had not logged them yet. Always looking out for the accountant!)

Not satisfied with my collection of wigs on creepy mannequin heads wearing gas masks in our guest room, they made Matt open the doors to the rooms and looted our housemate’s room. Even though they turned the lights on, our housemate did not wake up because he sleeps with earplugs in and a mask on. I am thankful for this because they did not harm him in any way.

They entered my room and grabbed my jewelry box, which is more of a feminine hygiene box (I call it my Box Box™). Since the latch was broken, it also contained a stuffed chicken with a pentagram his chest, Wiccan Chicken, which I use to keep it from slamming and/or disguise my feminine hygiene products. Enjoy storing your weed in my DIVA cup, fellas.

Fortunately for me, I was all the way under the blankets, covered by a large teddy bear. Yes, I know that being a grown woman that sleeps with a teddy bear is silly, but because of Humphrey the Bear, they didn’t see me and left my room, just as the third goon came in to ask what was taking so long.

After leaving my room, the three goons grabbed what they could, took Matt’s car keys and stole our blue Honda Element. This was all around 2 a.m. Matt called the cops and woke us to check to make sure we were okay. The cops arrived within 2 minutes or less and were very helpful. We called a local 24-hour locksmith to re-key our house and as it turns out, he’s a filmmaker, too. Now we are buddies. Not close enough friends to get a discount, but hey, we were waking his butt up in the middle of the night and at least we are sort of supporting the arts.

The Norristown Police Department FOUND THE CAR a few hours later, abandoned on Chain Street. What the criminals did not realize was that the car contained a giant trash bag filled with pig guts and a fake umbilical cord from the aforementioned alien movie set. After seeing the guts combined with the gas mask mannequins and Wiccan Chicken doll, they probably thought we were Satanists, so they dumped the car, and fled, leaving behind an iPad and some other pretty nice electronics below the gut bag. Maybe one of the robbers was a vegan who is committed thieving non-animal products.

This is what it looked like:

So, yeah, some of us stuff was stolen, it cost us a fortune to re-key our house. re-key the car/remove the misc. salmonella left from the pig guts that were sitting out in 65-degree weather. What’s important is that everyone is ALIVE and HEALTHY and the footage from the alien movie (i.e., 6 freaking months of work) is safe and sound. This is why we back things up immediately after shoots; one copy goes to us, one to the director of photography. I suggest my fellow filmmakers do the same.

SINCERE THANKS:
- To the men and women at the Norristown Police Department. In addition to behaving professionally, diligently, and thoughtfully, thank you for having a good laugh with me when we “called in the pig guts” to prevent a full-scale murder investigation, SWAT team, etc. if you haven’t noticed, humor is how I deal with most things, and because everyone is okay, a laugh with the boys and girls in blue is exactly what I needed.

-To all of my family, friends, acquaintances, and friends of friends that shared our car photo (which I have since deleted, so no one accidentally reports my car stolen while we, the actual owners, are driving it). Thanks to everyone that called to check in, e-mailed, stopped by with brownies, etc. We appreciate the outpouring of love, even if we might not have time to respond to every message. We have to film a comedy tomorrow so I have to take a break from this episode of CSI: Pig Guts to physically and mentally prep for that. We’re also in the middle of the most ambitious projects of our careers that I am STILL not allowed to talk about, so we’re thankful that even with this current low, we get to experience the ultimate high of living healthy lives, following our dreams through Cinevore Studios, and helping our community through Project Twenty1. A bump in the road will not stop us.

-To the several of you who offered their homes, donations, gun information, etc. Since we’ve been trying to specifically help Norristown revitalize, it would seem counter-intuitive to pick up and hide right now OR react with violence or anger. I will gladly accept your self-defense class offers, but I am not interested in being near a firearm of any kind or getting into political debates about this. OK for you, not for me, for personal reasons I would rather not discuss at this time.

The BEST way to help is by supporting our 501©3, Project Twenty1. It’s a non-profit we founded that runs programs to benefit emerging media artists in the Greater Philadelphia area. Educational and arts community programs play a huge role in crime prevention and I have numbers to back that up. Besides, it’s tax-deductible so your accountant and wallet will be happy (as long as thieves don’t steal your receipts and wallet).

OR you can throw a few bucks at Vessel, my personal project with the pig guts. You might even get your name in the credits.

Again, sincere thanks for your support. I knew that with our friends and family, we could help find our car. Without it, we would be unable to do our work and film all those silly internet videos you like (and dislike).