Category: Life

This Week in Sniderville: 19

Stefanie Snider

sv19
The cilantro babies are coming in nicely. And actually starting to, y’know, look like cilantro. I mean, I ate one before I was sure, just because I was curious, and it tasted right but looked so, so wrong. I have no idea what I’m doing. But I do know that every time I water them, I whisper sweet nothings about how I’m going to murder them and eat them. Plants like that kinda thing, right?

sv19 3
This is Zoey. This is what she does all day. This is why she’s fat.

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Today I went to my nephew’s third birthday party, where I spent a good deal of time “tattooing” children. (The one above is on me — can’t let kids have all the fun.) Clearly Auntie Stef is a total badass.

Writing is happening, but there’s nothing new to report. Next week, maybe? God, I hope I have something ready to share soon.

How was your week?

Screw You, Allergies.

Stefanie Snider

I hate my eyeballs.

Maybe that’s a little harsh, out of context. I mean, I guess I don’t, not really: they help me to read and write and I like the lovely things my vision allows me to do. I like the concept of eyes. But the eyeballs themselves, well.

This time of year, every year, they change. No longer are they happy little vitreous globes living inside my face; instead they become squishy jerks, (I’m sure) growing microscopic barbs that reach out to hook airborne pollen like cruel Velcro. I’m pretty sure they hate me. I thought we were friends.

Sure, I mean, they’re not in this alone. My sinuses get in on the action, deciding that all that hydrating water I keep drinking should in fact be flung far from my person, leaving my nose red and rough and raw. And my throat adopts the texture of finely spun glass, dry and parched and scratchy, demanding more water again.

But it’s the eyes, man. They’re the harbingers. They’re the bad kids from the fifties with the switchblades and the leather jackets. They’re the shit disturbers, coaxing the rest of my unassuming body into waging war on my poor brain, who just wants sleep and to not sneeze until it is dizzy. The eyes are how I know the Annual Allergy Apocalypse has begun: watering til I look like I’m crying, itching until I mash my knuckles into them. And all that mascara being ground in can’t be helping, I’m sure.

And this is with the help of modern pharmacology.

So if you see me in the next month or two, and I look like I’m rocking the world’s biggest hangover, rest assured my eyes drooping at half-mast is only because to open them fully is to invite disaster, and not because I am still half-drunk from the night before. Come to think of it, maybe I should adopt that old hangover stand-by of sunglasses worn inside, if only so concerned strangers stop asking me why I’m crying all the time.

nosees tissues skulls

At least my husband understands: he brought me these the other day. For this is no wussy cold, no silly flirtation with pollen, but a FULL-ON BATTLE which requires BADASS ARTILLERY. There are only ten of these tissues; he cautioned that they are to be used for only the mightiest of facial explosions. I’m sure I can ration them out… I just need to breathe through my mouth, keep my head still, not bend over OR lie down —

*sneeze*

This Week in Sniderville: 18

Stefanie Snider

People have been asking why I’ve been updating less these days.

This week, there were two reasons: one, I was working the morning shift and getting up at the ungodly hour of four AM, which would turn all but the morning-est of morning people into shambling zombies. I was lucky if I made it past twilight before crashing hard into bed. (And people wonder why I’m trying so hard to make a writing career for myself — when I’m fully self-employed, four AM will be the result of a long night hunched over the keyboard, AKA “heaven”.)

And two (and by far, the better): I’ve been writing my ass off. I have a big, exciting project in the works, and by the time I bang out my daily quota (and then, thank you Universe, double and sometimes triple it) I’m pooched. Writing is my second job right now, and as anyone who’s worked more than one job knows, by the time your second shift is over the last thing you want to do is… well, anything, really. After I’ve worked DayJob then worked WritingJob, the most I feel like doing is staring at the tv or reading a few chapters before passing out for the night. Good for my career — each day getting me closer! — but not so great for being social.

It takes a lot out of me, being my own cheerleader and drill sergeant at once, but it’s the only choice I have for the moment. I have only 3.5 years left of my Five Year Plan, and I have to hustle if I’m going to make it.

So apologies (and much love!) to those of you who’ve been asking for more from me. I love hearing from you, and I do listen. I just need to get my head on straight again first. That fifteen hours of sleep I got last night is a good start.

How was your week?

This Week in Sniderville: 17

Stefanie Snider

This week I learned that apparently the Internet hates Canadians. My sister-in-law called and asked me to grab something off Amazon for her, since I shop there all the time and have an account already. It was an inflatable pool slide, and she wants it for my nephew’s upcoming birthday. Sure, no problem. It was just over a hundred bucks, not bad considering its size. I plopped it into my cart and went to finalize the purchase.

The item was selling for $114. Any wager on the shipping price?

$205. TWO HUNDRED AND FIVE DOLLARS. What the everloving FUCK, Internet? We’re a good people, I promise. What did we ever do to you?? Needless to say she quickly selected something else instead.

evil one

The Evil One approves.

Last night I went to see The Purge with my friends Dani and Leslie. I’m not sure we all saw the same movie. Dani said it was lame, and Leslie posted a scathing review. I left wishing I’d written it myself.

Today I posted this on Facebook:

“I’M GROUNDED.
In an effort to catch up on my hilariously-behind writing schedule, I’m grounding myself for 24 hours. Effective 5:00PM today, I will not be answering texts, phone calls, or messages on Facebook.

Exceptions are family and if your hair is on fire. And if it’s your hair I’ll require photographic proof. I got shit to do.”

I need to keep reminding myself: if I keep on track with my Big Plan, someday this —

franklin covey back deck

— will be my day-to-day life.

How was your week?

Jesus Built My Hotrod

Stefanie Snider

Seeing as I’ve been struck with my weekly Sunday night insomnia (surprise, surprise), I thought I’d share this with you. Come morning I’ll be riding high on energy drinks and sheer force of will, and a little speedy music can’t hurt.

“Happy” Monday.

This Week in Sniderville: 16

Stefanie Snider

So. Long time no see. I’ve been working on a very cool idea with my writing. I don’t want to say too much yet, but if it goes according to plan I’ll have a full-length, dead-tree book for sale before the end of this year. Cross your fingers for me?

Otherwise, I spent this week doing house-y things: reorganized the bathroom, tended my new plants, did a bunch of cleaning I’ve been meaning to get to. It was our second anniversary, and my wonderful husband surprised me: he gave away his shift so he could stay home scrubbing our back deck and getting it ready for summer.

(Which went like this:
We park behind our place. So I pull in after work, expecting an empty house, and instead find our deck chairs all over the back lawn. From my vantage I couldn’t see the deck they came from, so of course my overactive imagination decides there are weird strangers who’ve decided to throw themselves an impromptu Thursday-afternoon party at our house when we’re not home. I gave myself the willies in a matter of seconds, thinking I’m going to get out of the car, turn around, and get murdered by vagabonds. Nope, just Dude, pleased as punch that he managed not to let word of his little plan slip. It took me a minute to relax enough to be appropriately appreciative.)

We’ve decided to dress up the deck; we’ve lived here for ten years now and have never really used that space. So we planned, and we planned, and today we went comparison shopping for outdoor furniture and completely changed our minds. Gone are thoughts of dining-style tables, in are thoughts of low-slung couches. We left almost empty handed (solar lights and hose trigger notwithstanding) and came home to plan some more. No deck-warming barbecues any time soon, kids.

AND in keeping with this week’s theme, my lovely Mom bought us a very special anniversary present. A baker’s dream come true. WHO’S GOT A RED KITCHENAID MIXER? I DO. (I mean we. We do.) So much more bread will be made and eaten in this house now.

It’s funny, how we’ve lived here this long and it’s never really felt like home. But we’re getting there.

We’re getting there.

How was your week?

This Week in Sniderville: 15

Stefanie Snider

It’s Spring! Time to get the eff outdoors!

bubbles

Our nephew trying to murder my bubbles at my in-laws’ last Sunday

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I’m going to try this whole back-deck-garden thing again — I have NO IDEA what I’m doing. (cherry tomatoes, jalapenos, cilantro, rosemary, basil)

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Many thanks to Leslie for graciously letting me get dirt all over her car.

And finally, possibilities for the front yard:

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How was your week?

When I Think How Good (Life) Can Be…

Stefanie Snider

“Sometimes when I think how good my book can be, I can hardly breathe.”
– Truman Capote

 

Today is a holiday for most of Canada, including Ontario, where I live.

All long weekend I’ve been having these… flashes, presentiments I guess, of what life would be like if I were ready to write full-time. I mean, for the last 72 hours I haven’t worn a lab coat; I haven’t worn safety glasses or gloves or sensible footwear. I haven’t spent any time at all doing things according to what other people wanted.

Instead I spent time outdoors, with family. I rose when I felt like; I stayed up late, reading. In short, I made my own schedule, a privilege denied me by my workaday week. And while I never stopped thinking about writing or where my career is headed, it was with excitement and hope, not dread.

When I came to the page I felt refreshed and thrilled to be so lucky, and I can’t help but yearn for the time when this will be my daily routine. Nothing excites me more than the idea of spending eight, ten, twelve hours at my desk, watching movies play in my head while I chase the words that describe them.

I had one of these little flashes just now, sprawled on the bed reading We Need to Talk About Kevin (which is brilliant, by the way). The sun’s going down, and the branches of the trees are starting to do that black-silhouette thing I love so much. I just felt so calm, so at peace, and it makes me want to move forward into the time when I won’t be under fluorescent lights at this time of evening. When I can look forward to spending time watching my bats after a long day of writing, when I can sit on the back deck with a hot cup of coffee and not have to worry about whether it’ll keep me up that night.

I get these little glimpses, and they make me briefly so happy. But like a junkie, I want more. It used to hurt unbearably, reaching for something that seemed so out of reach. But every month my writing’s earning a little more, then a little more, and it makes me start to think: There could be something here, if only I can keep on track and push myself a just a little further each day.

This (Last) Week in Sniderville: 14

Stefanie Snider

I decided last week I’d move the Sniderville posts to Sunday, to better incorporate Saturday’s goings-on. A full week, if you will. I don’t think I like it. It messes with my title (what week is this, exactly?)
Back to Saturday next week.

Hmm. So, what went on this week…

Sunday was Mother’s Day, of course, and I took my beloved Mom out for lunch.
We went to our Thai haunt, and it was delicious as always. We’d gone to the flea market, also, per her request, and I ate fantastic creme brulee. Everything was going so well, until suddenly it wasn’t. Something I ate didn’t enjoy being part of my person, and long story short I cut out to go home and lay in my bed whimpering and trying not to die. Some Mother’s Day. I love you, Mom.

I went out to Target to buy the cats some furniture.
Yep, you read that right. We’d had a box of cardboard by the back door, destined to go out for recycling, but it was commandeered by the cats. Turns out it was at a good level for squirrel watching, and since we’re exceedingly indulgent we let it stay. For months. Finally I decided this was ridiculous, and set out to buy them a little bench to sit on. An awkward conversation with the Target clerk* and $100 later, I have never felt like such a cat lady in my life.

jadie benchWorth it.

 

I discovered that the groundhogs who live in our backyard had babies.
I’ve tried to get pictures, but the mama is understandably protective and won’t let me too close. There are two adults and at least two babies, and they’ve made an elaborate series of hidey-holes in the neighbourhood backyards. C has taken it as an excuse to let the grass grow on our little hill, since they’ve built a burrow inside. I’m just waiting for one of us to snap an ankle in the hole.

I published a new horror story.(Click here for a preview)
Honestly? I think this may be my favourite yet. A little more suspenseful than the others, with a definite wallop of gross.

How was your week?

*“Oh, looks like all we have left is the one on the shelf. I can check in the back for you; sometimes the ones on the floor get a little scuffed up.”
“No, thanks, that’s okay. It’s just for my cats, anyway.”
“For your…”
“Cats? For them to sit on?”
“Oh. O…kay. I hope they…like it?”

I’m Being Stalked.

Stefanie Snider

It happened again.

dark side stalker

I was meandering through the dictionary (I knew I spelled “whininess” correctly, even though my spell check claimed there was no such word. I’m editing a story and it may or may not make the final cut, but the point is I WAS RIGHT.)

And there it was: Dark Side staring at me from another ad.

I love this, make no mistake, but it’s feeling a little… aggressive. Wherever I go, it’s already there. Waiting.

 

 

And the next thing you know…

 

 

dark side door