Category: Sniderville

This Week in Sniderville: 13

Stefanie Snider

This week I:

– worked on a new story. This one’s about dire diner consequences, and what happens when you don’t clean your plate.

– planned out a back-deck overhaul, spending way too much time browsing decorating sites, until I subconsciously started colour-coding my desk:
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– went to The Early Bird, which is quickly becoming my favourite place on Earth. By day, it’s a kickass rock diner:
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…by night it’s a crushed-velvet leopard-printed rock bar. They have a sandwich called the Fat Elvis: French toast layered with peanut butter, bacon, and deep fried bananas. Best heart attack food ever. I bumped into the lovely Chef Chainsaw outside (she’ll have her own post later.)

– went to a house party, had a fantastic time, succeeded in not peeing my pants from laughing so hard. It’s the minor victories in life, really.

– went thrifting with my Dude, something we haven’t done in a long time. The store has mannequins now…
sv13 5…I was a little afraid to turn my back on this one. I’m pretty sure his hand was molded like that so he could hold a shiv.

Now I’m off to craft some creepy words and search for stock images of questionable meat. I love my life!

How was your week?

 

This Week in Sniderville: 12

Stefanie Snider

The Balut Incident

I like to think I’m adventurous. I like to think I’m always up for a new challenge, to push my limits and try new things.

Sometimes that gets me in trouble.

Like when a coworker and I were talking about all the weird and wonderful exotic foods we’d be willing to try, and balut came up.

What’s balut? A fertilized duck egg. Big deal, right? We eat eggs all the time. Except the eggs in the grocery store are just eggs: dormant, neutral, never ever going to be anything else. Fertilized eggs, well…

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…they start to develop baby birds.

Squishy, chewy baby birds. Considered a delicacy in places like the Philippines and eaten intact: feathers, beak, and all.

Eaten on Fear Factor in North America.

The next day another coworker happened to bring them in and ate them while the rest of us gathered, horrified, and watched. First Coworker heard about it afterwards and was disappointed he’d missed out. Promises were made for more balut to be obtained, and the next thing you know somehow I had agreed to join in.

I talk a big talk.

Tuesday came, “Egg Day”, and I started having second thoughts. Big, feathery, crunchy thoughts. But I said I’d do it. I tried to quiet my rolling stomach. I didn’t manage breakfast.

I sauntered into DayJob, full of machismo.
Oh, the egg is here? Cool, yeah, I’m totally down. Pffft, it’s just an egg.

And I sat, and I tried to concentrate on my work, and I thought way too long and hard about textures and the probable unpleasantness thereof, and…

I — if you’ll pardon the expression — chickened out. I hadn’t even said I’d eat the thing, just that I’d stuff it in my mouth, but even that was too much. I thought about going through with it anyway; I thought about vomiting in front of my coworkers. Eventually I had to admit defeat and watch as Second Coworker fulfilled his end of the deal and chowed down, proclaiming it “Good” and worthy of eating again.

I have no shame, and I still have my stomach inside where it belongs.

How was your week?

(photo by laurababycake on Instagram)

This Week in Sniderville: 11

Stefanie Snider

This week:

Spring finally arrived! This is the sunset at 7:53 PM last Sunday. Almost eight, and still light out!
sniderwritersunsetAhh, gorgeous. I love this time of year.

My trial order of buttons came in! They look so good!
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I went for all-you-can-eat sushi today with my coworkers. SO! MUCH! FOOD! I tried salmon roe and tempura bananas and fried pudding. Yup, that’s a thing. And it’s delicious!

Apparently I like to use exclamation points! when I am excited! Somebody stop me!

I watched a ton of Alfred Hitchcock Presents. The man was a genius. (!)

Also, as someone whose house is ruled by cats, I couldn’t help but share this:

How was your week?

This Week in Sniderville: 10

Stefanie Snider

This week:

I bought a new purse: black faux-leather with giant fuck-off studs covering the bottom. If I ever swing it old-lady-style at a would-be mugger, there’s gonna be some damage. This pleases me.

I realized that few things make me as irrationally enraged as door-to-door salesmen who try to trick me into opening my door with a “shave and a haircut” knock. Same guy three days in a row. ONCE WHILE I WAS NAPPING. I was the cartoon bull with steam coming out of my nostrils. No one, and I mean no one, messes with my naps. It gets ugly.

I picked up a five-year journal at Chapters, because I realized there are so many firsts in my writing career that I want to record. Like my first 5-star review! I have so many plans for my career, and I think it will be neat to compare what’s happening this year to what happens the next, and the next…

I made SniderWriter buttons:
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Click here if you want one.

Pretty chill, quietly satisfying.

How was your week?

This Week in Sniderville: 9

Stefanie Snider

I’m not a virgin anymore!

Last night I went to a special screening of Rocky Horror Picture Show, hosted by…PATRICIA QUINN! It was part of Shock Stock, an annual local horror convention.

I bought my tickets online, thinking how AMAZING it would be to watch RHPS with Magenta herself, and brought a friend along for the midnight screening. What they didn’t tell me on the website was that not only was Magenta there, but so was a live shadow cast! I got rained on, I got rice in my hair, and I fulfilled my decade-long dream of seeing Rocky live! My face hurt all night from smiling so hard.

Patricia was lovely during the Q&A, genuinely funny and sweet. When someone in the audience asked for advice for aspiring actors, Ms Quinn looked her dead in the eye and said “Don’t dream it, be it.” I may have teared up a bit.

I wasn’t allowed to take pictures, and I didn’t get to keep my ticket stub. But today, when I attended the convention proper, I got something so much better:

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I’ve never had a fangirl moment like that before. She spoke to me! She knows my name! I managed to carry on an actual conversation, instead of squeaking unintelligibly like I worried I would. I carried the picture into the crowd like it was made of fine gold, because to me it might as well be.

I’ll show off the other stuff I scored at Shock Stock when the light is better. But I couldn’t wait to share this one with you.

How was your week?

This Week in Sniderville: 8

Stefanie Snider

I came here to update about what I did this week, then realized: I didn’t do anything.

I mean, I went to DayJob, I came home drained from DayJob, I camped out on the couch in front of Netflix and I just sat, like a zombie, and not a cool gore-covered-horror-zombie, but a half-asleep vegetative zombie in coffee-stained corporate clothes.

It’s times like this that I remember: this is not who I was cut out to be. I’m not the corporate type — I don’t find fulfillment under fluorescent lights. I don’t find joy in obtuse lingo, or pleasure in progress reports. I’m not big on meetings or memos on company letterhead.

I don’t want the carrot.

I’m not unique: I’m sure most of us probably don’t really dig working for The Man. I’m not trying to paint myself as special. I just find it frustrating, to be so completely in love with writing, and then for something that I… don’t love (is that PC enough?) to use up so much of my energy. It’s exactly like that Onion article: the thing I want to do most in life is being hindered by the thing I like doing least.

I have a plan in place for working at home, as a full-time writer. It’s something that could happen in the next few years. I just have to push through this slump, to not let office politics wear me out before I can make the rest of my life happen.

I wish I had something more interesting or lighthearted to write about this week, instead of a whiny tantrum. But honestly? Sniderville posts are for recapping the week, and this week was pretty much a write-off.

Sorry, dudes.

Here’s to a better week, next week.

This Week in Sniderville: 7

Stefanie Snider

My family rules.

My husband’s Great Aunt Sharon posted the following to her Facebook:
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…with the caption: Little Stephen King reads his 1st story in class — we have a budding Stephen King in our family — Stefanie Snider. I can’t tell you how that made me smile.

Sunday we visited my brother- and sister-in-law, the ones with my adorable nephews. The littlest nephew will be three in June, and has a baby monitor in his room. Turns out that the new monitor my in-laws bought doubles as a two-way speaker. My nephew was chilling in his room when his Mommy picked up the parent-end of the monitor and made the Grudge noise into it: “Aaaahhhh-h-h-ahhhhhh…” Cue the kid flying down the stairs, wide-eyed, and a lesson in silly jokes. Nephew pulled me upstairs to his room, pointed at the monitor, says “Makes a scawy noise, Ahhhhhhhh,” giving me a perfect rendition of the demon-noise from the movie, then giggling. This is how I know I belong in this family.

This Week in Sniderville: 6

Stefanie Snider

This week was a quiet one.

I released a new story.

I worked long shifts at Day Job, until all I wanted to do was get home and crawl into bed and consume worrying amounts of Netflix.

I wrote. I wrote more than I have in a long, long time. The novel is coming along.

I held onto the belief that someday I will write for a living.

I made lazy-person crab soup:
Chicken broth: boil. Pad Thai noodles: boil in broth until delicious. While waiting: chop up obscene amounts of cilantro and green onions. No, that’s not enough. More. Then more. Throw fake-crab chunks in the pot. Throw green onions in the pot. Cook it for like another minute, until the crabby chunks start to fall apart. Slop in a bowl, add so much cilantro that you can’t see your soup anymore. The end.

I went to have the car serviced, and found out that some part I didn’t even know existed needs replacing, and they pretty much want me to pledge them my firstborn child. I signed happily, because I’m not having any children. Joke’s on them.

Tonight I’m going out drinking with my girls; tomorrow will either be very productive or very slow, depending on recovery needs.

How was your week?

This Week in Sniderville: 5

Stefanie Snider

This week I got caught up in the wonder that is Netflix. I had some help getting comfy on the couch:

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That’s Jadie in the front and Zoey in the back.

I set up my beautiful new desk.

I watched Rubber, which was nothing short of brilliant.
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From IMDB: “When Robert, a tire, discovers his destructive telepathic powers, he soon sets his sights on a desert town; in particular, a mysterious woman becomes his obsession.” I mean, really. You’ve gotta give it a chance: It’s so much better and much more clever than you’d think. Plus, the gore effects are AWESOME.

I’m still reading The Fountainhead, and just made it past That One Scene That Everyone Talks About. Say what you want about Rand’s heavy-handed philosophy: I’m enjoying reading about architecture, which is not what I expected.

I learned about the magic of makeup: Porn Stars With and Without Makeup (everyone’s dressed, it’s not porn-y)

And my husband reminded me of this video, which is filthy, but makes me giggle uncontrollably. You have been warned.

How was your week?

This Week In Sniderville: 4

Stefanie Snider

This week the world lost someone incredible.

Her name was Michelle and growing up, she was my best friend.

I wrote about her before, here, but the anger of that post has been replaced with a deep sadness. She passed away Thursday after a long battle with cancer, and there are no words to express my sympathy for her family.

So I thought I would share some happy memories. I thought I would tell you more about our friendship.

We met in kindergarten. She was always smiling, except for the time that little jerk cut her long hair with play scissors (how he managed, I will never, ever know). We weren’t super close as small children, but I remember watching Pee Wee’s Big Adventure at one of her birthday parties. Over time, we got to know each other better, but interestingly it was only after she moved to another school district that we grew really close.

Suddenly we were spending every single weekend at each other’s houses. We crimped our hair together (remember, it was the 80s). We shared an 8th birthday cake (pink, with cinnamon hearts). She got a kitten named Tigger; I got jealous. She had a little brother, Matt, the bane of our girlhood, always coming uninvited into her room and messing with all our things until we screamed at him and slammed the door. Our parents bought us matching chairs that turned into beds, so we would always, always have somewhere to sleepover.

She developed an interest in figure skating. I begged for white skates and made a laughable attempt to mimic her. She liked Michael Jackson; I learned all the words. I’m forever grateful that YouTube didn’t exist back then, because somewhere there exists a VHS tape of the two of us wearing our clothes backwards and pretending to be Kriss Kross.

My mom bought us a set of “Best Friends” pendants, the kind that start out whole and break apart (I got “ST ENDS”). We did absolutely everything together on weekends, and on school nights we spent hours on the phone telling each other every single minute detail of our days. We even shared an uncommonly-spelled middle name.

These things tell you about the surface of our friendship, but of course it was more than that. It was having someone who would understand you no matter what, someone who always took your side and made you smile again. It was having a second family. We existed in completely different circles (different neighbourhoods, different schools, different friends) but when we hung out everything just worked.

We got older. We grew apart. Slowly we saw each other less and less. Then, until a few years ago, we lost contact entirely. I can’t tell you how much it saddens me that we lost each other over those years. And how much it saddens me to have lost her again, just when we were starting to know each other as adults.

I’m attending a Celebration of Life service for her tomorrow. It’s going to be hard. But I’m proud to attend, happy to honour her in memory. She will never be forgotten.

You’ll be missed, pretty lady.

I’ve decided not to post a photo of her, out of respect for her privacy and that of her family. But picture her like this: golden brown hair, smiling blue eyes, soft voice and full laugh. The kind of person you’d meet and feel instantly comfortable with. The kind of person I wish you’d met.