Traci Foust

80’s Babies by Traci Foust

Think the most righteous things from the 80’s are like totally gone forever? That’s bogus! Maybe the best parts of the decade that brought us Jenga and Finesse Shampoo are alive and well in the DNA of these 80’s babies.

 

Traci Foust

Traci Foust is the Author of the newly released book Nowhere Near Normal- a Memoir of OCD (Simon and Schuster/Gallery) acclaimed by National Public Radio, the San Diego Union Tribune and Marie Claire. Her work has appeared in several journals including The Nervous Breakdown and the Southern Review. She is currently working on her second book We’re Taking you to a Place Where you can Get Some Rest, A cautionary collection of essays on mixing Vicodin with Vodka and why dating your psychiatrist isn’t always the best way to get your own prescription pad.

I’ll Stay Here and Guard the Knife Drawer – Fan Letters

by Traci Foust

Nowhere Near Normal: A Memoir of OCD Traci FoustThough it’s been almost a year since the release of my book Nowhere Near Normal a memoir of OCD, the messages I receive from people who have actually read the book still jam up my email at a computer-crashing rate of at least two a month. Most of the responses come from smart, sensitive readers who make me feel worthy of baring my soul—and causing a few members of my family to never speak to me again—into a book that one Goodreads reviewer called “An excruciating long read” about what it was like to grow up with obsessive compulsive disorder.

But every so often I’ll get an email from someone who is angry, crazy and/or telling me the secret to curing my OCD lies within the bulging fibers of his jeans. [Read more...]

Eat This! German Christmas Stollen

funny christmas recipe

German Christmas Stollen- a family recipe as flavorless as it accusing
Eat This! on Funny not Slutty – Real recipes, made real funny.

by Traci Foust and Max Petersen

Looking for the perfect Secret Santa gift? Need a holiday dessert to let your guests know your cooking sparkles as bright as the star that lead the wise men to baby Jesus? Here’s an authentic and extremely complicated German recipe to show all your loved ones you’re totally fine with settling for their friendship. It’s German Christmas Stollen. Literally translated the word means, mineshaft, a fitting Germanic symbol of how low your enthusiasm will sink once you figure out Trader Joe’s has a whole rack of these dry, tasteless cakes for half of what you’ll spend to make one. This recipe comes with American instructions and was given to me by my Berlinese boyfriend ,who every year around tannenbaum time, kicks me out of my own kitchen with a warning that I not assist his baking in any way lest I, “Fuck the whole thing up with my decorative sprinkles and Americaness.”

Also, the word stollen when said quickly sounds like Stalin which somehow makes everything feel more Christmasy.   
Total prep and cook time: 2-3 excruciating hours

Ingredients

  • 1 tablespoon active dry yeast. If you’re using American yeast, skip the “active” part and look for a packet that’s drinking a Pepsi while sitting in front of The Kardashians.
  • 2/3 cup warm milk (110 degrees F/45 degrees C) You may microwave the milk or warm things up with romantic German phrases such as, “If I don’t like your hairstyle I will let you know” or “We can hold hands once the ferry has started and things have calmed down a bit.” [Read more...]

I’ll Stay Here and Guard the Knife Drawer – Ode to My Head

By Traci Foust

big forehead 1
Once you get past the fact that my grandmother wasn’t going to let her degenerative glaucoma stand in the way of cutting my bangs, I think the Rocky Dennis/Mrs. Potato Head look kind of works.

When I was a kid, my mother tried to cover my great big grapefruit shaped forehead with bangs and lies: “If this was 17th century France,” she’d say, “you’d be considered a regal woman of status.” Which of course meant nothing to me because I grew up in the eighties in the San Francisco Bay Area where status was defined by how many pairs of fluorescent socks you had to go with your fluorescent Jellies.

Socks you can change.

Foreheads last a lifetime.

big forehead 2
Separately, I’m sure these two haircuts are very nice, but at least I answered the burning question on everyone’s mind in 1983: Is it safe to give yourself a Toni home perm and use an entire bottle of Sun-In on the same day?

To make matters worse, not only was zero progress being made on the everyone-grows-into-their-head myth, but it seemed my forehead was actually pushing my hairline toward the back of my ears. By age eleven I was rocking the style of a sixty-year-old Cockney fish monger—and apparently using his dentist. When my grandmother’s eyes hazed over in a film of cataracts my mother banned her from cutting my bangs, yet the only advantage to this was I no longer had to walk with my head tilted sideways to make everything look even. (See Also: Scissors in the Dark : One Sight-impaired Woman’s Quest to Become a Hair Stylist) But it wasn’t just my big head and teeth that kept me from truly immersing myself into 1983. Washing and taking care of my hair was a huge problem for me as a kid. I just wasn’t what you’d call a big shower taker. At eleven it was my OCD and fear of fainting in a steamy bathroom that stopped me from adopting good hygiene habits. At thirty-nine it’s kind of the same thing but with Netflix and Funyuns. [Read more...]

American H.O.A.R by “Victoria Jackson”

American H.O.A.R : Spreading the Awareness – by “Victoria Jackson”
by Traci Foust and Iraqi Vet, Tyler Jones

Hi everyone! As you all know, this “Independence” Day kicks off the tour of my first presidential campaign: Hand standing up for the Obligation of American Restoration (HOAR) My mission is the same as it has been since the first time I voted way back in 2000, to keep my country from the disabling grips of communism and homosexuality. So far my campaign trail has lead me to many wonderful folks who are just as worried as I am about socialism and gay things like everyone having access to health care, fire stations and marriage.  Last week I stopped in Tempe Arizona, and aside from triple digit temperatures, all the New Age Jesus haters in Sedona and illegal Mexicans setting fire to practically the entire state, my trip has been great so far.  I even had the chance to sit down with retired military personnel Tyler Jones. Tyler is a young outspoken man who is just as angry about the wrong turn our country has taken as I am. I could totally tell by his numerous tattoos and piercings, this man is a jaded veteran, furious and crude in the aftermath of the treatment he and his comrades received from liberal haters and the misguiding of the “Commander in Chief”.  Plus, our initials rhyme which I believe may be a sign from the Lord that it’s ok to talk to him.

VJ: Mr. Jones it’s so nice of you to speak with me today and answer my questions. Considering how confusing life must be for someone who fought so hard to free our nation of terrorism only to come back to the states and find the real terror has just begun right here at home.

TJ: Uh huh. Thanks Vickie. Not exactly sure what you mean by the real terror at home, though.

VJ: Well, let’s begin with the gay agenda smokescreen the Obama Administration provides by means of supporting  “don’t ask don’t tell”. When I first heard this phrase I was all, Oh, so this is something good because my youth minister said this a lot at summer Bible camp, but when I found out what this whole agenda was really about I was like, Gross! It’s basically just an excuse for “women” to indulge in boy things like flying helicopters and wearing combat boots. An obvious ploy for the encouragement of lesbianism. It’s such a disgrace to real women everywhere.

TJ: A Disgrace? You mean like those frilly bows you insist on wearing? The ones that make you look like more of a moron than even Sarah Palin? [Read more...]

I’ll Stay Here and Guard the Knife Drawer – That 70’s Blow

Humorist Traci Foust

That 70’s Blow

by Traci Foust

A few weeks ago I was on a Vermont radio talk show promoting my memoir about OCD. I assumed the host’s questions would be related to all the fun that comes along with things like even numbers and licking mailboxes, but two minutes into sharing my online shopping secrets for agoraphobic shut-ins, the host asks me this: “Wouldn’t you agree cocaine abuse is on the rise?”

            “I’m sorry?”  Did he say cocaine? Like snorting cocaine? Like roller skates/Donna Summer/bow-chicka-bow-wow cocaine?

            Maybe I misunderstood my PR manager’s instructions and dialed into the wrong show.

            “Um, I’m not really sure about cocaine addiction.” I answered, then tried to figure out how I was going to politely steer the conversation away from 1978 and back toward why Ativan is better than Xanax for panic attacks. “I’ve always been a big fan of Brian De Palma films if that’s what you mean.”

            The host’s name was Ronald—a very retro name indeed, summoning memories of the man who starred in the first porno I’d ever watched as well as the first clown to convince me how wrong the whole clown idea really is. Also, when I Googled the studio website Ronald’s picture showed him sporting a non-ironic yellowing moustache, one that probably came in around the time Frampton came to life and hadn’t left his face since. [Read more...]

I’ll Stay Here and Guard the Knife Drawer – So Many Pills, So Little Time

 Humorist Traci Foust

So Many Pills and Now with MORE Time!

by Traci Foust

I’d like to congratulate everyone for making it through Mental Health month. Those of you whose court dates have been pushed up another week, you know who you are. Besides forgetting all that admittance-is-the-first-step nonsense just in time for Cinco De Mayo, it seems we now have our very own thirty-one days to celebrate the inability to make healthy decisions and produce serotonin. So let’s take a moment to back away from the thrill of marking the night the condom broke with another Mother’s Day card and honor one of the most exalted days of Spring.

            I’m talking of course about May 4th: National Renewal Day.

            Snopes it if you must, this jubilee of all things expiring is a real holiday. We’re talking about an entire day to not only remember your risk-free trial of the Shake Weight is about to expire— along with your hopes of cougaring your way back into your old high school tank tops—but a legitimate excuse to run to the pharmacy for a medication refill.

            As if we needed any.

            Which brings me to the reason I’m late finishing this essay. Why I’ve never been assigned a designated parking spot at the CVS I have no idea, but it’s not in my nature to get upset about long lines (especially when obsessing about the rise in Botox fatalities is much more satisfying.) On the contrary, half an hour with OK Magazine and some rude people allows me plenty of time to play Which Olsen Twin Wears the Most Eclectic Scarves while providing enough material for a full day’s worth of  Facebook status updates:  OMG. Someone needs to tell the Whole Foods produce guy that wearing deodorant and keeping Pandas safe doesn’t have to be an either-or situation.

              But here’s the thing: Last week I was almost arrested for being nice to the woman in front of me. I consider that to be kind of upsetting.

            Apparently there was a problem with her insurance not giving the green light regarding a very special type of antibiotic for her very special cough which was both as special and important as she was; a fact made clear by the way she tapped her French manicured nails against the counter while her diamond tennis bracelet dazzled against the white sunspots of  her dark orange skin (An SPF trademark among Southern California women who have not yet hit on the idea that a ten dollar bottle of sunscreen is much more cost effective than a two hundred dollar chemical peel). Or perhaps it was the way she emphasized how badly she needed her medication due to the fact that her plane was taking off in the next hour. Not her flight, you understand, her actual airplane.

            Something else that was plain to see was this woman had a serious case of bronchitis. She was sweating profusely and making lung noises as hard on the ear as Whitney Houston’s last concert.  I couldn’t not feel sorry for her. Sometimes, I’m nice like that.  Really, when I can get my germaphobia under control long enough to forget that a doorknob without hand sanitizer is the same as a Tokyo subway full of SARS carriers,  you can almost mistake me for someone who cares. Plus, I’m kind of an opportunist when it comes to meeting folks whom I may need to keep under Special Contacts in my phone. Isn’t it awesome how we’re total besties just from that chance meeting in the emergency room? Say, remember all those Percocet you said you’d never be able to finish… [Read more...]