A New Installment

I am here to introduce a new edition to my blog: Fitness Sundays.

Every Sunday, I will give an outline of the exercises and/or eating plans I have for the week, along with my current weight. By doing this, I am hopeful that my shame will spur me to shed my lard-laden body.

Starting today!
Weight: Wayyy the hell too much (214.8, without pants)
Height: 5'7







Hello, blog readers!
Upcoming week:
This week will be another busy one, and my friend is getting married on Sunday. I am the maid of honor. They are Italian. Fatness will be rampant!

I plan to counteract the horrible food choices I will be making on Sunday by eating through the food pyramid like I usually do, and be sure to NOT eat anything excessively. For example, I try to limit my sugar intake to once a week. For dessert tonight, I had an ice cream cone so that should be all I have.

As far as working out...I don't know what will happen. Maybe some DDR, added to my walking furiously around campus to go from class to class to work to class, etc.

Mmm. Yeah. Let's see how this works.

Welcome to the most embarrassing aspect of my life!

A-burn

God is sitting in Heaven when a scientist says to Him, "Lord, we don't need you anymore. Science has finally figured out a way to create life out of nothing. In other words, we can now do what You did in the beginning'."
"Oh, is that so? Tell Me..." replies God.
"Well," says the scientist, "we can take dirt and form it into the likeness of you and breathe life into it, thus creating man."
"Well, that's interesting ... show Me."
So the scientist bends down to the earth and starts to mold the soil.
"No, no, no..." interrupts God, "Get your own dirt."

The Finished "To Do" Post

self-serve ice cream at AMPM
the dogs in my yard
cell phones can suck it without me telling them to
I want the 70's back
Del Taco's ode

When my professors tell me to write an outline of things I want to write about in a paper, my list looks something like the above. When I was driving home tonight from having dinner with the precious company of yours, truly (I don't spend enough time alone anymore), I threw this list together and hoped I would remember it while I waited at a ridiculously long stoplight.

While at home, I had a lovely dinner at Del Taco by myself and joyed the warm gooeyness consisting of rice, beans, guacamole, sour cream, cheese, and lettuce in a flour tortilla that I had long desired since coming back from abroad and drove home to pack my car up before the drive to school, which feels longer and longer every time I do it. I passed the AMPM and thought, it would be so cute to get a self-serve ice cream cone! and turned my car around.

People--since when has the self-serve ice cream in convenience stores been banned?? Oh my gosh! Don't tell me it's because of all the bacteria, because frozen yogurt places are popping up everywhere with self-serve machines. I want my self service ice cream back because, damnit, it is convenient! See the picture right there? Stupid "Extra" is killing my childhood. When I was younger, my family would take a walk down the stree to AMPM where I would get a swirled cone. It is probably the only positive memory I have of my father's role as my father. But that's a little overly-dramatic. I just want self-serve ice cream back, pronto.

_______

Something very funny happened that weekend, too. While I was lounging around in my pajamas, a horrendeous flannel gown of stripes and roses with long sleeves and lace that is suitable for old women and not 21-year-olds, I heard barking. Obnoxious, loud barking that I was confused by. Could it be the person who stole my mom's dog, Winston, has returned him because they don't want to deal with his rascal-y ways? I thought. No, it was not my mom's Australian shepherd. Instead, it was a dog of a breed of some kind with short brown hair wearing a hoodie sweater that said "Champ 20".

Well isn't this adorable? Some old lady, probably named Millie, has lost her pooch. She will be so glad to get him back! After all, only old lonely people dress their dogs up. I know this because my dad's new wife, Mary, dresses up her dog.

It took some team work, but my mom and I got a phone number from Champ's dog collar, which was attached to a leash, which was attached to a newely broken tree branch. I called it and got a place called the Humaine Society, and they gave me the name and number for the dog's registered owner.

I called Celia. She is a middle-aged woman who does not speak English. I talked with her sister, her niece, her nephew, and finally someone who was willing to translate for both parties. For 20 minutes, I tried to tell them that I was not responsible for their dog, even if they did not want him.

"We tried to call you guys a few months ago because he ran away and we don't want him."

What the--?

"No, I am your neighbor and your dog is barking in my front yard. You said you live across the street from a school, right? Yeah, so do I. Your dog is in my yard. Please come and get him."

It took 20 minutes of this. They thought I was from the dog pound and wanted to charge them $25 to get the dog. Shoot, I wanted them to give me $25 for the conversation! And for giving them their dog back! It was a good dog. While it was barking, I said "Champ, stop barking. Sit." and he did.

My mom was like, "You know, that's about the size of a dog I want."

"You're not keeping someone's dog, mom."

Maybe I should've let her. When the nephew came to get Champ, he looked very unhappy and flustered. I watched him run back to his house, which is a dillapidated mess of wood and rickety beams in the middle of a plot of land, lush with weeds and wondered why they were investing in dog clothes.
______

My freshman year of college, my grandma set my mom and I up on her cell phone account so we could all keep in touch. Since then, we have had a ridiculous amount of trouble with cell phones because my grandma added things, did not pay the bill, and left the country before finding out that cell phone contracts can be abolished given lengthy relocations. Of course, I did not find that out until the other weekend when AT&T tried to wallet-rape me and my mom into chocking up $500 for two months of service.

Since the phone deal is dealt with already, and I have no interest in delving into the situation again, I will just write about how stressful my mother's lack of gumption, balls, and steel is. She has recently been incapable of handing situations without my support, including this ordeal with the cell phones. They had been charging us, for 8 months, $69.99 for an internet chip we had disabled with a store clerk. I told her that she needed to raise unholy Hell and demand reimbursement for the amount of $559.92, not including interest, at least. Apparently, she does not feel justified in demanding fair treatment and gave them what they wanted.

Everything about the phone companies and how they reduce my mom to this incapable mess pisses me off beyond reason.

_____

Simply put, I want the ease and purposefullness of the 70's back. People faught for something meaningful instead of fighting to be a part of some status quo, and I miss the times when people interacted with people.

_____

I have begun a new blog as part of a class assignment. I am in online journalism and we have to pick a topic to blog about. See this link for more information:

http://tastybaubles.wordpress.com

Grandma's a Cheat

Eating chocolate truffles is a lovely experience. When the liquid chocolate escapes from its waxed casing, it feels as if someone has unleashed a mighty drooler, whose warm saliva is promptly poured into my mouth.

Mmm-mmm.

I'll Be Home for Christmas

Merry Christmas!

Yeah, so it's not close yet, but I'm not going to be around to say it properly. Am I going to die? Maybe--I haven't thought about it. Am I going to be out of touch? Absolutely.

I'll be here starting December 19th:



Oh...that doesn't tell you anything? Yes, I know, it is a pretty picture. Ok, here, how about now:



Still no luck? Man...I guess that picture is also pretty vague. I mean, there's grass and flowers, but what place, outside Death Valley, doesn't have a freaking flower? This picture may help more...



Right? Got it now?? I know you've got it now--clear water, void of trash?



It's Büsingen am Hochrhein!!

I'm going to experience my first ever (see: EVER) white Christmas. And it's going to be in Switzerland!!!



I am so far in love it hurts.

Boomerang

Here is a revised version of a short story I wrote for my Creative Writing Class...

Enjoy! :D


Boomerang
By: Stephanie Rosemeyer

When I first started renting my soul, I wondered what people were going to trade it for. The first time, I was shared shitless. I kept thinking what I would do if it didn’t work. I pictured all the dogs of Hell finding me in my aluminum trailer on my plot of land in Tuscaloosa. I saw my body ripped to pieces for finding a loop in Satan’s scheme.

That’s what the guy thought would happen, too. He went to church and played the bongos. He was black and said he didn’t want to take a chance on ruining his chances of getting into Heaven by parting with his own soul. He told me, “I’m already saved, thank you very much. Ain’t no way I’m gonna be damned when yours is for rent Craig’s List.” I thought his selfish motives would work for my experiment. He wanted to open a restaurant and needed some killer recipes. I get breakfast there—on the house.

Satan’s dogs didn’t come calling. A month later, when I was sleeping, I felt something big and heavy pressing down on my body. I couldn’t open my eyes or inhale, but I didn’t care if I suffocated to death painfully slow. I was more afraid of having to live longer with that oppression so I stayed still, deflating my own lungs. Voices from the corpse atop me came into my head and every cell in my body felt like spikes, grinding against one another. Satan said I would endure him if I ever sold my soul again. I laughed for the next hour because it kept deflating my lungs.

My next customer was a woman who wanted to be a country singer and make it big. She had been really sweet—blonde, cowboy boots, sweet smile. She was hesitant to rent my soul at first. “Honey,” she said to me. “Are you in an abusive relationship? I used to work at a woman’s shelter and I know the signs when I see ‘em.” I told her I was happy with my arrangement and asked her why she didn’t just sign up with a label. “You’ve got the boob thing going on, and it’s a lot cheaper to sleep with an executive.” She told me she didn’t want to have to sleep around for someone to recognize her talent. Who am I to judge, I said and took her money. That month, I slept with my lights on so I could see him whenever he came. The spikes came back and he pulled chunks of my hair out he was so pissed, but I was more upset because he broke my light bulbs. He left a demon at my door that taunts me every morning when I wake up. He stopped trying to bother me when I told him his dip shit boss should’ve thought of a return policy for the souls he takes. Fuck him. I found the loophole.

Another time, a man came to me who wanted to be in politics. “No, not President—that’s too much shit to deal with. I want to be chief of something,” he told me. He spoke down to me like a politician as if I was a damn five year old. I told him he should think it through a little more and he told me he wasn’t going to worry about it. I got pissed at his attitude. “Satan isn’t a god damned career counselor,” I told him. I never voted for that asshole.

I was getting cocky and the king of Hell agreed. He started scratching tallies on me as if I didn’t know how many times I had sold my soul for someone else to use. There are scabs all around the ten lines that pierce through my body. He can keep ‘em coming. When my soul comes back, it gains five years of life—that’s the stipulation for losing your soul on someone else’s account.

When I was young, I never knew how desperate people are to get out of their shitty lives, but they all want the same fucking thing—my soul to save theirs. There was one time a man came to me, desperate as all hell. His wife left him and he told me, “I want to kill the bastard who touched the bitch in my house! She’s my wife and, damnit, I love her!” I made sure he wanted to pay the seven digits I charge for a job he could do with a piece of steel. He thought Satan would have a better method of getting vengeance. I looked at the demon at my door, sweeping my porch, and I thought he was a dumb ass. After I swiped his credit card, I told him what he should’ve done. “Fuck a whore and use her dirty needles to stab the pussy you call wife. You should’ve just stabbed that bitch with some STD.”

That night, he visited me. I guess he thinks I’ll stop with more frequent visits from him, and I’m pretty sure ‘ol Beelzebub is getting used to tormenting me. He’s a predictable, sick fuck and shows up before I get to watch CSI. He said he would stab me with the dirty needles his legions used. He was blinded by rage and almost tore my head off. I told him to suck it and come up with his own ideas.

One time, I had a seven year old come in. I asked her who the hell she was and how did she find my trailer. I didn’t even use Craig’s List anymore. They wanted me to fill out some survey, so I switched to MySpace. But this little monster said she heard about me from her grandma and wanted my help to get her mom a job. I told her I didn’t need to help some bitch open her legs. “Tell your grandma that I don’t do pro-bono. I’m not here to help sorry shits like you.” I made her repeat my message. Her voice shook, but she said what I told her to tell her mother: “Get your mother fucking ass off the couch! I’m a responsibility! Use some lube on that shit and make your cunt useful as some trucker’s fuck!” She even threw the bottle of KY jelly at me like I told her to.

No one bought my soul that month but Satan still came. I made him chamomile and he just poured the boiling water on me. It’s petulant. The loophole is that he can’t kill me while people are buying my soul. Every time some desperate fuck buys it, it comes right back to me like a mother fucking boomerang. The bastard who thinks he’s so smart for blindsiding God didn’t see me coming. The only thing he cares about is having more of a soul count than God.

Fuck him. I’ll sell my soul for eternity.

Note to Self:

I want this cake.



SO EFFING ADORABLE!!!
<3