My Boarder Got a Court Order To Sentence Me as a Hoarder!

I've heard of a bouquet of pink Daisies, but this is ridiculous!

I’ve heard of a bouquet of pink Daisies, but this is ridiculous!

I have a female roommate in a spare room in my home (who is also a blogger) and she posted this image of razors from my own bathroom! Imagine my surprise when I told her to delete it or I might sue her for slander (not to mention invasion of privacy!) and she simply smiled and handed me a subpoena to appear before a judge at an official Hoarder trial.

Me!? A person who defines herself first and foremost as a Sentimentalist, now forced to defend myself from Hoarder charges?!  Unthinkable.

I needed witnesses. My six children would certainly help me during my desperate time of need.

Eldest Son:  I don’t know, Mom. Remember when the “Got Junk?” truck parked in our driveway and you told the man, “Everything in this house is absolutely necessary and has a distinct purpose. But you can take my ex-husband.”

Me: That doesn’t make me a hoarder. That makes me clever.

Middle Son: What about the huge stack of Hoarder Self-Help books on your desk?

Daughter: What desk? Mom has a desk?

Me: Never mind, young lady. I’ll have you all know that’s not hoarding, that’s being a collector. Like the stamp collection you had at age five, sweetheart.

Middle Son: Which you still have. Along with all our other Firsts. Our first pair of real pants, shirts, dresses, pajamas, bathing suits, little hats and ties — even our first diapers.

Me: Have you ever tried to have a used diaper bronzed?

Youngest Son: (reluctantly) Okay Mom, we’ll be your star witnesses and tell the jury you’re not a Messy Mom, but actually just a Memory-Maker Mother. But when the judge yells, “Order in the court” I promise I’m gonna shout back, “Why should it be any different here than in our house?”

Me:  Good kids!

On the day of my trial, I carried an armful of evidence. Nineteen very heavy 200-page photo albums bursting with pictures of children’s various school artwork, (which Martha Stewart advised was a good way to capture the memory so I could toss all those ceramic ashtrays and toothpick sculptures in actual garbage pails) so that had to count for something, right? Of course my youngest daughter creatively decoupaged all our garbage pails, so I saved all 8 of them, along with all the contents inside.

My roommate took the stand and proceeded to use the 1950’s movie “The Blob” as an analogy for living with me, “The Slob.”

Roommate: . . . and her mess slowly takes over the entire house, consuming everything in its wake like a grotesque gelatinous monster. One time the family searched high and low for their passports for a trip to Mexico. May I submit . . .

Judge: This isn’t 50 Shades of Grey.

Roommate: I meant may I submit exhibit A? Her file cabinet for important documents looks like this.

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Roommate: Nobody found what they needed to fly to Acapulco so the poor kids had to hang up a bunch of piñatas (which she still had in her garage from a Mexican themed party) make some guacamole, and shout “Olé!” instead. Even if they located their passports, I doubt they could even find their front door to leave!

Judge: Alright Miss, err what’s your full name?

Roommate:  Fig. Fig Ment

Judge: That’s an odd name. Alright Miss Ment, I’ve heard enough from you. You may step down. We’ll bring Miss Menopause up to the stand to explain why she would have so many pink razors in the first place, which was the original issue at hand.

Me: It’s very simple, Your Honor. It’s plainly just a case of being an environmentalist AND having high self-esteem.

Judge: Fascinating. Go on.

Me: After I shave my legs, I have every intention of throwing the razor away, but then I read the package and it says, “Reusable two or three times.” So to be more green, I save it in a special container. But the next week when I go to shave my legs, I reach for the old razor and think, “I’m 51 years old, I’ve raised 6 kids, I’ve published on The Huffington Post. Don’t I deserve a fresh new razor?” And so it goes each time.

Roommate: For cryin’ out loud — They’re made to be “throwaways!” After a couple of weeks, how come the defendant doesn’t ever throw her “special” container away???!!!!

Judge: No talking out of turn. Order in the court!!

I immediately look at my youngest son, but he wisely remains silent.

Judge: (kindly) Little Miss Menopause, I had a mother just like you. Neurotic. Collected all our soap scraps and sewed them inside washcloths to save guests a step in washing their hands. You may leave the stand. We’ll hear from your roommate again about what she was doing in your bathroom in the first place. Very suspicious since she has her own bathroom!

Roommate: I had to use her bathroom because I accidentally used too much toilet paper and clogged my toilet.

Judge: Did you blog about that as well?

Roommate: Yes.

Judge: I’ve made my decision. Miss Menopause is nothing more than a sweet Memory-Making Mother, so she can go free. But you, Miss Fig Ment, are a Toilet Paper Hogger Clogger Blogger. And that’s a crime I cannot overlook!

Middle Son: But my mother doesn’t even have a roommate! She’s just a Fig Ment of her imagination.

Oldest Daughter:  Yeah, we’re sorry to have wasted your time. Our mother is a writer and has a wild imagination. We think she just feels bad because she’s a horrible housekeeper, so she made this whole thing up.

Judge: Then the court rules that your mother is guilty of having a Guilty Conscience. And that’s punishment enough. Go home and help your mother clean the house, kids.  Next case!

Thank goodness nobody told His Honor that he was also just a fabrication of my mind because I’ve had writer’s block for weeks now!

Provoking the Provocative & Sensing the Sensuous!

1569_12-whatsapp-funny-status-quotes-relationshipI’ve discovered a fascinating blogger named “Erica Erotica.” Yes, that’s what this 52 year-old gorgeous divorcee writer (who’s very open about her new found sexuality) named herself. She’s my brand new inspiration for bringing a Touch of Tantra into my writing. Because why should she be the only one (at this age) who gets to write classy posts about BDSM, Boudoir, Lingerie, Sexual Fantasies and put up tastefully suggestive photos of herself? And yes those images are all really her.

So definitely check Erica Erotica out — because she’s stunning and seems to knows exactly what she’s talking about.  BUT don’t write yours truly, (I am officially now called, “Stephanie Seductressie!”) off as just another baby boomer blogger. You can bet your blindfold I know what’s what in my own bedroom!

Introducing . . .

Six Smoldering, Sultry, Sex-Sireny Suggestions for Sensuality from Stephanie Seductressie

  1. Always dress in the three S’s — That’s satin, silk or Slinky ® — But don’t force that last one into your wardrobe if it doesn’t come naturally for you.  Very few women can carry off silver metal coils wrapped tightly around their thighs. 

    Imagine this alluringly wrapped around your neck.

    Imagine this creative sex toy alluringly draped around your neck.

2. Focus When Doing Your Kugels — It will make that part stronger and everyone will feel more fulfilled. Now is not the time to switch to whole wheat noodles or add extra eggs in your tried and true recipe. My favorite is HERE. Of course be careful when removing from the oven — you wouldn’t want anything to slip out of your hands and spill all over your clean pelvic floor.

3.  Know How to Handle a Long Tantra — This means you catch it early. As soon as your child screams or falls to the ground, you must swiftly put him in his room for time-out. He will soon figure out throwing a tantra is a waste of time. And speaking of time, after the tantra climaxes, look deeply into your lover’s eyes while teasingly offering a cryptic massage, then slowly state the following, “I’ll be right back. It’s too quiet in our child’s room. I think he’s coloring on the walls.”  (Oh. Maybe that should’ve read offering a cryptic message, NOT massage.)

4. Insert the 3 “L” Words, “Love, Lust & Longing” Into Everyday Conversation — Because how can you go wrong inserting anything??  Seriously, it may feel awkward speaking the following phrases, but trust me the results will be fantastic.  Try, “I simply Love when you empty the trash.” or “I’m writing a grocery Lust, are we out of marshmallows for our hot cocoa? (It’s the marshmallows that add to this sexy scenario) or how about, “Go take a Longing walk off a short pier!” Mmmm, draw the bubble bath asap.

5.  Pose For Boudoir Photos — First practice pronouncing “Boudoir” correctly.  I called to make an appointment for pictures in a “Boudoir setting” and found myself headed to Boulder, Colorado. Alright, so you’re definitely a hot little number all on your own, but bringing in props and really setting the stage in the studio can brighten any photographer’s day. In fact my cameraman kept calling me his little “Testosterone Tramp” because I would lean over enticingly, pressing down firmly on my hormone creme pump as he snapped the perfect shots. Don’t forget to bring your own fan. Forget having it off to the side, giving you that sexy, tousled, windblown hair.  Keep that breezy baby center frame with you, aimed directly on your wrists and the back of your neck where it will do some good.  Unless your studio specializes in Hot Flash Photography.

A prop to inspire a thousand fantasies!

A photo prop to inspire a thousand fantasies!

6.  Lingerie — Wear lots of it.  But let’s get one thing straight – – Spanx, even though it is sold in the Lingerie department, does not count. What an ugly word Spanx is. Sounds like something you just slap on, rather than slide into. Now a “negligee” IS lingerie. In fact anything french sounding will work. So you could wriggle into a little attaché case, or puree a soufflé or even slip on a sexy protégé. But if your lingerie works correctly and he touches you exactly the right way – – in keeping with your french theme . . .  after things “culminate” for you, always shout out, “Touché!”

And now if you’d like to glimpse my actual lingerie (and hear it talk) simply click HERE.

Sincerely YOURS,

Stephanie Seductressie

Me, Myself and HER!

article-2338039-1A2D4055000005DC-603_634x433 (2)It’s happening again. This time at the library. I am just told I have three books that are 8 weeks overdue. “Well that sounds just like you, Stephanie,” I can hear you thinking, my dear reader.

True. Except for the title of the books . . .

  • The Power of Math in the Real World” 
  • “Confessions of an Obsessive Housecleaner” 
  • “Chocolate. What’s All the Fuss About?” 

Uh huh.  See what I mean?  I immediately snatch back my $27 in late fees, justifying loudly, “That’s not me. It’s her again.”

Librarian:  Her Who?

Me:  There’s Another Stephanie Lewis.

Librarian:  Smart, clean, skinny little devil, isn’t she?

I know “Lewis” is a common last name, and I’m proud to share it with famous people like Jerry, Carl and Shari but really, there has to be precisely another Stephanie Lewis??  And she has to be in my exact neighborhood, running in my same circles, traipsing around respected public institutions, checking out obscure books and pinning the blame on me?

But this is not her worst fault.  Oh that’s right, I know all about her even though we’ve never met. She has an overbite and bleeding gums. She needs her wisdom teeth out, which she’s putting off until her last kid goes to college. Yep, we share the same dentist and our files seem to be interchangeable. I wonder if she ever takes the credit for my cavity-free check-ups?

Back when people rented movies in a physical storefront, she’d be the first one in line, booking in advance all the new releases like “Kramer Vs. Kramer” and “Rain Man.” This Stephanie Lewis had to be a video hog AND have impeccable taste? Upon checking out my own personal selections, I’d be informed (in front of others standing in line!) “We’ll have “Tootsie,” “The Graduate,” and “Ishtar” in for you any day now, Ms. Lewis.” I’d nod, then smile evilly as I secretly printed my name on a reservation slip for “Deep Throat” and “Reefer Madness,” and then never show my face there again.

T’was a little parting fun surprise for Stephanie’s husband, who perhaps thought her crush on Dustin Hoffman was her biggest issue.

Even with all the mistaken identities at medical facilities, including having the wrong prescriptions delivered to my home (once I almost telephoned her to recommend she eat more yogurt for all those yeast infections) plus mix-ups at dry-cleaners, banks and car-dealerships, I think the very worst thing about having the same name as this woman has got to be her utter and complete altruism and philanthropy.

I cannot tell you the number of times my family replays messages left on our home answering machine stating that I’m being recognized at a special dinner for all my volunteer hours at the homeless shelter. Or receiving an award for calling out Bingo for the senior citizens or the tireless hours spent reading to preschoolers. Because my children know me so well, they instantly delete every one of those niceties.

Well big deal. Listen to what I can do… “I-19.  G-42. O-75.”  And that’s not all. “Goodnight stars, Goodnight sky, Goodnight air. And Goodnight Stephanie Lewis’ everywhere!” See? She thinks she’s the only selfless humanitarian around!

Lately I’ve become accustomed to explaining they have the wrong Stephanie Lewis whenever these charitable organizations call, but now I am starting to feel a tad guilty.  I suppose I can find a little time to “give back,” right??  How hard can it be to “Pay it forward” every once in a while?

So it came as no surprise to me when the head of the school PTA called yesterday, informing me I would need to bring my own set of power tools when I came to help set-up for Grad Night at my son’s high school this weekend. Remembering my newfound unselfish philosophy, I gleefully tore apart my house, searching for a stray hammer or wrench so I could show up during her designated shift and finally meet this Stephanie Lewis in the flesh once and for all — a wonder woman who apparently needed no coverage for any of her gray hairs at The Tousled Tresses Salon around the corner.. FullSizeRender (6)

No sooner did I set foot in the high school parking lot when I saw a very pretty lady getting pulled over by campus security as they loudly announced on their walkie-talkies, “We’ve finally apprehended Ms. Lewis. Now we’re gonna collect on her back-owed tickets!” She sat mouth agape in her sparkling red car, no doubt wondering how she’d accrued over $440 dollars in penalties because (obviously!) she’d always diligently ordered that pesky required parking permit.

I scurried away as the Principal of the school and a guidance counselor strode sternly in her direction. Again I knew what this matter was about. Poor woman apparently now had a son who organized not only Senior Ditch Day but also Senior Prank Day and there were 1500 water balloons that had exploded and damaged some antique desks that belonged to Abraham Lincoln.  Tut, tut. My Her son should definitely lose his cellphone for that little indiscretion.

Before I left the scene entirely, I made an impromptu decision to drop by her car and interrupt the commotion for just a moment. As I grabbed her power tool case, (I informed her I’d be happy to fill in for her tonight) I dropped a Hershey’s bar on her front seat. “Here you go, Stephanie. You may as well find out right now why chocolate will be your sudden “go-to comfort food” in this exciting new life of yours.”

Don’t worry – – she’ll be fine.  She might just want to spell Stephanie, “Stefanie” for a bit.

And now if you’ll excuse me dear Readers, I’ve heard that this other Stephanie Lewis has just published an article on Scary Mommy, which is an amazing online magazine that I’ve been dying to get my writing on for months.  I think I’ll just go clarify in the comments section that I’m actually the Stephanie D. Lewis author they should be crediting RIGHT HERE.