collage no names

Saucy Tales Pt. 1


Written by – Jennifer Harbaugh  (ARCHIVES:

This is a cautionary tale to any woman who wants to be in the fantastic business we call pizza. I have had many interesting stories being a Domino’s Pizza delivery woman and some were just plain creepy. At the time I made $6.00/hour and worked on tips. I was in my last semester of college and really needed the easy money.

ST1It was a great mind-numbing job that helped me get to the place I am now, but I would never want to go back.

My very first order that I had delivered left me a little confused. I drove to a nice neighborhood that was surrounded by apartments and trailers, so maybe this should have been a clear indicator that it would be a little different. I knocked on the door and it opened to a good looking 45+ woman.

That doesn’t sound too bad, but she was also only wearing a very short, pink, silk robe with fuzzy high heels. The robe was barely covering her lady goods and didn’t leave much to the imagination. It was like something out of a bad teen movie like American Pie.

Her doe eyes rested on mine, “I thought Jason was delivering the pizza”, she inquired innocently. “That is what it said on the pizza tracker.”

The overwhelming scent of vanilla was rolling off of her in waves.

I had trouble looking at her and concentrated on getting her food out of the heat bag, “Sorry, we were busy, so they sent me.”

She seductively replied, “Too bad, here is your tip.” She handed me five dollars. I basically ran back to my car with a face that looked like I just ate a lemon. That was the first time someone was upset that I was a woman.

I had an order that was placed by a woman who was about 23 years old. I usually knew how much money they would tip by glancing at their front yard. Trash and bikes everywhere indicated that you were getting less than two dollars.

This lady’s front yard was a hot mess and a broken front window added to the ambiance.

Taking in a deep breath I stepped out of my car and approached the grungy door. It took five knocks before the woman came to the door. She wore a VERY low spaghetti strap and I almost saw her goodies. Again, it was hard to look at her, so I concentrated on getting her food out of the bag when I rambled off the total.

Sorry, I should have gotten the money ready ahead of time.”

ST2She ran off to find some money. I stood there awkwardly waiting for her to come back. Before she came back with the exact change (no tip!) her two boys ran to the door. It would be a cute story if the boys were not buck a** naked!

They were well beyond the acceptable naked toddler years. I am talking about 8-9 years old.

It didn’t seem to bother the young mother that her boys were naked in front of a complete stranger or the fact that the complete stranger thought she was a mental case. It was disturbing and I hoped that there was some sort of normalcy in their lives.



Written by – Jennifer Harbaugh  (ARCHIVES:

I recently found out that being lactose intolerant was a genetic advancement. Before hearing this absolutely wonderful news I thought I was “Shit out of luck” – see what I did there!

There are a few studies showing that people who cannot tolerate milk are somehow evolutionary superior to others who can. The study said that it was a slight change, but I knew that it could change our whole genetic code.

C1My mind started to feverishly wander in all my possibilities for the future.

I honestly feel like I will get my Hogwarts letter or be invited into Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Don’t worry, I will not be one of “those” people who post pictures all over the internet showing how awesome my life is at my new school.

This might also be a ploy to give you confidence about it and then I will post pictures of me doing awesome superhero stuff. This is a serious gamble that you need to ask yourself if it’s worth it to keep me as a Facebook friend.

I was going for the Tom Riddle name change in Harry Potter and rearranged “lactose” to use as a nickname. It took some time to find something great, but I have decided to call myself “Acstole”.

It will be pronounced “Axle” like the axle of the car.

Think about trying to fight someone who is genetically advanced named “Acstole”. That is right; you will run scared from my fantastic powers.

I will be the most genetically-advanced specimen at both schools, but I will try to keep my modesty. I obviously need to keep up with appearances in front of my peers.

When it comes time to fight crime, I will throw lactose on the floor and the villains will slip across the room, fall down a flight of stairs, and break their legs. This would render almost any bad guy useless! Mwahahahaha!

Crappy Day


Written by – Jennifer Harbaugh  (ARCHIVES:

I went to the county library last night jazzed up for my weekly writing group meeting. I actually mean three ladies sitting around talking about what we have been doing all week, but we call it a “writing group”.

It is nice to have a conversation with other writers and keeping up with their lives.

I love to show up early and pre-write about my next KMFP assignment. I take out my small writing journal that I conveniently keep in my purse and get to work. I felt like I was in heaven with the pen just dancing on the page creating fun stories.

CD2This only lasted for a few moments before this vile smell crept up from the bowels of Hell and thrusted itself into my nostrils. Craning my neck I look back and forth trying to find the inconsiderate, unwashed human around me.

There were only two men that my eyes fell upon, they seemed reasonably clean.

Baffled, I looked closer. Neither seemed to be disrupted by the God awful stench. Were they life-long smokers that their senses were dramatically dulled?

I kept feeling like I was missing something about the men. Their clothes looked clean and hair neatly placed on their heads. Hands were not dirty and both were sporting modestly worn shoes. Neither looked like the stinky kind, but you never know.

The smell struck again and almost K.O.’ed me.

I shifted in my chair uncomfortably hoping that it would make it better; I was very wrong. The smell came back for round II before I was ready. The look on my face was deeply concentrated. Assessing the situation I casually put my right leg over my left to not make it as noticeable for the men. I noticed something on my shoe.

Frost crept over my heart and tingled my brain. The evidence was staring straight at me with a shade of green.



There was a lot of it on my shoe and I quickly think of a plan to rid myself of the crap. Mulch was the only option I chose and it easily came off. When I walked back into the library the two men looked at me and I was too shameful to look them in the eye.

The shame of being the judgmental, stinky person sailed over my conscience without hesitation.

Posing a Threat


Written by – Jennifer Harbaugh  (ARCHIVES:

Social media is a magical wonderland and all of its advantages have yet to be completely exploited.

It is beautiful to have Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and all the other junk the youth obsesses about besides their never-ending school work.

Each person who has participated in this silly online life has run into the same problem; pictures. I know that a person will have their good and bad days, but when did it only become stellar days? Come on people! I know that you do not look rocking every single day and still have time to breathe.

PT1Wanting to look good for a photo is one thing, wanting to be perfect in all of them is another. When did we start living double lives as a society? I dare you to look through the most gorgeous person on your newsfeed and tell me that over 98% of their pictures are not staged/perfect.

To be honest I suffered from Tryingtolookgoodineverypictureandfailing, but the side effects were extensive and severe.

The symptoms started when my sister-in-law took these awesome engagement photos. She did too good of a job on them. I just loved the way I looked in them that I soon started un-tagging myself from any ‘eh’ pictures.

The photos that showed how I was in real life were being deleted. I felt my real personality slipping from my pictures and the staged or good ones stayed. The loving and encouraging comments from my friends and family started to pour in; I was absolutely addicted.

I started to become one of those ‘self-conscious’ girls that I used to make fun of; the ones who couldn’t go a day without make-up or fixing their hair to perfection before taking a picture. It became so severe that I started nitpicking every photo and started seeing imperfections that didn’t exist. The obsession started to drive me bonkers.

This continued until after my wedding for me to realize what I was doing and how to stop.

I started letting unflattering pictures back into my life. The bad ones were usually taken when I was doing something silly and awkward anyway. I also keep these on social media to remind others that it is ok to not look perfect… but to find perfection in yourself.

Foxy Lady


Written by – Jennifer Harbaugh  (ARCHIVES:

This weekend I watched a few turtles kicking ass and taking names. It was the usual Michael Bay film, so it was basically a remake of Transformers. I thought the film was great and still kid friendly.

FLCThis doesn’t mean that I don’t have a few bones to pick with it…

I am not usually a woman who complains about the delusional “ideal” woman or rants about models being too skinny. This movie just highlighted how artificial our “heroes” are in today’s society.

Don’t get me wrong, Megan Fox is one hot mama. I just think that she went overboard on the surgery.

Throughout the film she is referred to as being “hot” and it was drastically overstated. We got it Bay, she’s smokin! My question is why does it need to be confirmed and reaffirmed throughout the movie? The audience could easily gather for themselves that she is drop-dead gorgeous, instead it came across as awkward the more they highlighted it.

I strongly believe that if you don’t like something about yourself; then change it or stop bitching about it. Cosmetic surgery isn’t in my future, unless I would be disfigured somehow. I have never discriminated about it though, and have many friends who have participated in it.

If Fox hasn’t changed her whole face, then you would not hear me complain.

During the second Transformers I noticed her lip injections and nose job and didn’t say a word. In TMNT you can tell that her face had endured Botox and cheek injections as well. When is it too much?

I just have a problem being told that a person is gorgeous and they look nothing like their former selves.

I sound like one of “those” people, but I just hate seeing the next generation wanting to mold themselves to someone who isn’t happy with their own beauty. That is what Fox was originally; beautiful.

Surgery has made her look extremely fake and has aged her completely.

There will always be something that you hate about yourself or want to change. That is life. I used to hate my freckles with a passion and would have given anything to rid myself of them. Now, they keep me looking young and they mask unfortunate acne I may get.

I stand out of the crowd, because it is different. Just own it and people will respond well to it.



Written by – Jennifer Harbaugh  (ARCHIVES:

After watching the movie Pitch Perfect last night, the nostalgia decided to kick me straight in the nether regions. It took me back into the long lost days where I had no friends before heading to high school.

JH1I was a pretty weird bird to be quite honest; dressed in all black with a “fuck the world” attitude to match.

I naturally kept to myself.

The summer before the start of my freshman year I decided to go to a meet and greet with all the marching band kids. I remember being dropped off by my older brother and only realizing that I didn’t know a soul until the car drove away.

It was terrifying, but I decided to go with my tried and true of avoiding people at all costs.

They served BBQ to each of the kids in the band room while they mingled. A few said hello as I managed a half smile. I loved to eat and realized that no one requires you to speak with your mouth full, so I raided the hot dogs and chips.

Scoping out the oversized room, I notice a group that were obviously not new. I could hear them laughing and playing jokes on each other. It perplexed me to see that each one was clearly from a different group and social status.

The cheerleader was on the arm of the grungy guy and the nerdy girl captivated her audience, it was bizarre.

Not wanting to be “that awkward kid’ who joins a group of people they don’t know, I decided to sit across the room by myself and thinking about if I was the only Tuba player. I didn’t have a long time to ponder, because within seconds about five random kids asked if they could sit by me.

I gave the best retort known to man; I nodded and stared. No one had ever come up to me like this before, let alone a group of kids.

They started asking me questions about what I played, where I came from, and told me many things about themselves. They were graciously confident and obviously didn’t care what people thought about them. I emulated each of them and instantly felt included. By the end of the night a few people even poked fun at my blindingly pale skin.

Before leaving, an older kid pulled out a guitar and started playing this wonderful song. Each person was into the lyrics and belting it at the top of their lungs. Smiling I asked, “Did you make this up yourself?

JH2Everyone laughed, “Yes I did!” He also laughed.

I didn’t find out for another week that it was the song Tribute from the band Tenacious D. Before the summer was over I knew every lyric to that CD and called each person my friend. They tore me out of my thick bubble and showed me how to have fun.

That summer changed my outlook on life and how I approached things.

I am now that person to join a group of unknown people just to meet them and include the lonesome person in the corner no matter how weird they are. I wish more people would join something or do something out of their comfort zone, because it made me a better person.

“Fiber” of my Being


Written by – Jennifer Harbaugh  (ARCHIVES:

Each person demonstrates a different quirk at some point throughout their lives. Some hide them and risk being forgotten in the long run.

FB1Having quirks doesn’t make you weird, but it gives the viewer a way to distinguish you from the 5-billion other people on this planet. It has never made sense to me that people do not show who they truly are; maybe their true self just sucks that bad.

I love knowing my friends silly quirks, mostly to make fun of them or torment them in some wicked way.

I have many little quirks, but some affect my life. When shopping in Wal-Mart I tend to be “that person” who touches everything on the shelf. If I walk by it, then it has been molested by my hand. Since I was little I had this thought in my head that if I were to ever go blind that I would be ok if I knew how to distinguish things by touching them; this started the madness.

The St. Louis Art Museum should have kicked me out a long time ago. Their “DO NOT TOUCH” signs just breathily whisper to my soul that it would be pleasurable to touch that rocking chair from the late 1500’s.

My husband knows what I am doing and can see the madness in my eyes. When reaching up to touch the shitty antique chair I get a slap to the hand. It’s not fair!

I wish that I could tell you this particular quirk is the only one, but then you wouldn’t find me insane just yet. Since you may have noticed from reading above that I slightly enjoy touching things that I am not supposed too, some complications ensue with this obsession.

My kryptonite is microfiber, like the ShamWow stuff. I know it really works and helps clean up messes; like beating up a hooker. I think Wal-Mart teamed up with this stupid company and started selling Micro Fiber everything in their store. It does more than just clean up messes and leaves no residue behind; it also ruins MY LIFE!

Have you ever touched the stuff with your bare hands? It STICKS to your hand! It sucks all the oils from your fingers and clings onto the dried skin.

FB2To make matters worse; you have to use your other hand to get it off and the horrific process starts over again. Once the demon towel peels off your hand it is left with a dry sense of self. If you rub two fingers together afterwards it makes this irritable squeaky sound that feels like my soul is bleeding.

Once I found out what it was and what a negative effect it had on my life, I avoided it at all costs. My family found out what I couldn’t bear to touch and bought a lot of it.

My husband keeps a small towel in his car and puts it over things I really want; like gummy bears or my seatbelt. My father-in-law has thrown one at me and asked me to “catch” it; I naturally drop it screaming. During Christmas I will receive an awesome present wrapped in it and forced to open my gift with bare hands.

The struggle is real.

Magic Mike

Written by – Jennifer Harbaugh  (ARCHIVES:

Being a fellow “Bro” I understand the power of pickup lines or any silly way to pick up the loneliest woman at the bar. I have seen a lot of men ruffle their feathers to get a woman’s attention, but none come close to this extremely lame pickup technique.

MM1While drinking at a bar with my husband and friend, we noticed a large crowd around a table. It naturally caught our attention and we took a closer look.

The most average looking man was standing in the middle with each onlooker’s eyes glued to him. At first I looked around to see where the entertainment went off too, but was surprised to find this man had grabbed each person’s undivided attention.

He was so extraordinarily average that I forgot what he looked like within the split second I looked away.

I am normally cheering on the underdog to win (insert something awesome here), I was still skeptical on what he would bring to the table. I thought my eyes were lying to me when he had a gorgeous woman attached to his arm staring at any woman who walked by.

It is a warning to fellow ladies to stay away from her man and – if we did not – our hair might not be as full or thick by the time we were finished.

I first thought that he was really funny like a comedian; our ears were perked in hopes of a few laughs. Over the extremely loud music we heard, “And what card are you holding now?” My head snapped towards the crowd, hoping that he wasn’t doing what I thought he was.

Hearing loud clapping from the ignorant mob around this man, my jaw dropped in amazement.

He proceeded with another trick, including red balls that kept disappearing and reappearing in strange places. It was so unbelievably lame that I felt drowned by it. My heart dropped when I looked around to see if I wasn’t the only one fooled by the “Oldest trick in the book” (see what I did there???).

Sadly, I realized that both my husband and friend were stuck in his trance as well. Not believing my eyes, I looked around again, realizing that I was the only person not mesmerized by his stupid magic tricks.

The show continued for about 20-more minutes including; floating driver’s license, disappearing and reappearing of many random items. He eventually concluded that he was taking a break when he walked by our table. I nicely asked him, “How many dumb hot chicks do you pick up for using magic tricks?

He smirked, “You have no idea how many women like to be tricked.”

MM2He continued talking about tricks and his normal routine. The whole time I just wanted to barf in my mouth over how idiotic the women had to be to fall for this. These women would have easily made his life a living hell in high school for liking magic.

Now, they are basically throwing their panties at him. It doesn’t make any sense.

The worst part was that both my husband and friend were right there along with the women. If those two were females they would have thrown themselves at that exceedingly average man. Why am I the only one in the whole bar to not be fooled?

For the rest of the night I had to bear listening to the gang around him getting excited over party tricks while the entourage stared at him with glee.

Clothing My Fears

I realized the other day that I might have a serious problem. I had a conversation with my father-in-law that didn’t go the way as expected. I don’t want you to judge me, but at the same time I know that I cannot stop myself from doing it again.

CF1Society tells you that addictions are a lifestyle choice and that you should work through them.

What if I don’t have the strength to follow through? Do I even want to change my life so drastically? Am I hurting other people by the choices I make?

The questions float around my mind after our talk; they consume my soul and feed on my fears.

Our family was going on a trip to Colorado and discussing what we packed. “I decided to bring something I don’t normally wear,” I was going to say that I brought clothes that didn’t look like I had just rolled out of bed on our trip, but was interrupted by giggles instead.

My father-in-law couldn’t contain himself, “You mean pants?” He could barely get out the words he was giggling so much. The car burst into uncontrollable laughs and we had trouble containing our smiles for the next hour.

It is a running joke that I never wear pants when I get home from work. I know it is not healthy to defend your addiction, but it helps me cope with the everyday struggles. Imagine getting home from work and wearing restrictive pants that are uncomfortable when you try to relax; this blocks your chi from obtaining optimum relaxation.

When britches come off life seems to get easier. My mind clears up and I think, Everyone has tried it and nothing bad has happened to them. I can stop at any time, I am not addicted.  I knew the real truth, but it is easier to tell myself lies than to bravely face honesty.

My husband pretends that it isn’t a problem, but he can only give so many lies to our friends before they start to notice. “Jenny was just changing. She just got out of the shower. Her pants ripped.” The excuses are endless and my guilt is weighing heavy on his involvement. It causes me to be anti-social and miss the crucial first few minutes of the exchanges of pleasantries.

After our conversation I realized that it sometimes keeps me from doing the things that I love. Taking my dog out and playing with her is something that I enjoy. Regrettably, that requires putting on pants and I don’t have the strength to do so.

Come out with us!” My friends say, but sometimes taking my pants off and binge watching Orange is the New Black lures me into an isolated place.

It didn’t take long for this luxury to form into a habit. Dreaming of being pants-less is something I fantasize about constantly and cannot wait until my next fix. It whispers longingly in my ear; you don’t need to go to work. Don’t you like the cold air tickling your legs? Why don’t you just call in?

CF2Some days I wear extremely uncomfortable clothes just to feel the exhilaration of taking them off at the end of the day. I am not proud, but I do what is needed to get by. It is starting to spiral out of control and I know it.

I have gone to something much harder and more addictive; no bra. This isn’t an everyday when I get home event, I save it for special occasions. Some days I just need that fix.

My friends don’t understand, because they have kids and cannot rip off their pants whenever they feel like it. My feelings are quarantined inside my head waiting for another who has conquered this habit to show me the way.

Until then, I sit here writing with no pants and loneliness in my heart.


(Jennifer Harbaugh ARCHIVES:

Who’s to Blame?

The banker is here,
Nothing more I can do.
I wish I could play the victim,
And he the villain.

WB1A chunk of metal cradles my palm,
Never fully understanding its power.
Heavy with regret,
I sign my name.

A signature is all it took,
To crush my soul.
Dread coats my veins,
Hands trembling in fear.
When did it come to this?

No words are spoken,
Silently he understands the pain.
Looking into his eyes,
I know he holds regret,
For taking my home.

I take a moment,
Remembering the past
Preparing for the future.
Remembering the house,
That will no longer be my home.


(Jennifer Harbaugh ARCHIVES:

collage no names