52 Weeks of Wordage

But It's Too Early for a Life Crisis!!

2012-01-19T08:00:00.000-06:00

I'm 25 years old.

I've got all the time in the world to grow up, to be an adult, to be responsible and clean my bathroom like I should.

I've got all the time in the world to meet my future husband, buy a house, and have 2.5 kids and a dog.

I've got all the time in the world to move up the corporate ladder and bring in the big bucks.

I've got a load of time, right?

If that's true, then why did I nearly pass out from panic when a friend mentioned to me (in no way meaning to upset me) that I would be 30 in 5 years?

Seriously, guys. I about lost my shit.

It all started when yet another friend of mine announced her engagement on Facebook a la "HE PROPOSED!!! LOOK AT MY GIGANTIC RING!! THIS IS HOW HE DID IT!!!" (etc).

Don't get me wrong. I couldn't be happier for her. I am so glad that she's found someone she feels is not only who she can but wants to spend the rest of her life with. It's a huge step, and I am so proud of her for taking it with such confidence.

My initial excitement over her news, however, was quickly blanched by the sudden realization that she is 2 years younger than me.

[insert mild esophageal spasm here]

So of course I contacted one of my close friends, Michael (visit his blog!!!), and proceeded to complain about how everyone and their freaking mother is getting married / having kids.

Not only that, but a few weeks ago I was at my parents' house, catching up on some much-needed and valued family time, and my Mom hands me a magazine that's one of those "alumni update" things from my high school. As I flipped through the pages, I was overwhelmed and humbled by what I was reading. People with whom I graduated back in 2005 are changing the world, heading super auspicious, fledgling companies, getting married, and flaunting their successful, adult lives in every one's faces (or perhaps just mine).

I'll admit it.

I'm jealous.

Like... really jealous.

WARNING: Pity party to follow. If you are easily annoyed / affected by whining, skip to the next occurrence of red, bold font.

Here I am, 25 years old, a recent college graduate who works the night shift at a shipping company. I'm single, pet-less, and renting an apartment in a low-income area (but I have great roommates!) because I can't afford anything else.

I know it's not true (or at least that's what I tell myself), but I can't shake this feeling that I am behind. It seems that I am "life challenged," and as a result have found myself eating the proverbial life dust sifting through the air after it has been kicked up by the feet of the people with whom I grew up.

I know, I know...

"Stefanie," you'll say, "Don't be in a rush to become an adult."

"Enjoy your youth while you still have it."

"You are moving at exactly the pace you're supposed to."

Fleh, says I!!! I'm impatient, ok? And competitive. And I hate feeling like I'm losing the life race. I want to do something that stands out, something that people notice. I want to do something that would be mentioned in my high school's Alumni Newsletter.

But I haven't. In fact, here's how my school would probably sum up my achievements:

Stefanie Howerton graduated from CPA in 2005. From there, she went to New York to study musical theatre but decided it wasn't for her. She came back home to Nashville with her tail in between her legs but decided to take another whack at performance at Belmont University, this time tackling opera. She graduated from Belmont in 2011 with an average GPA, and she now works with a logistics company where she makes sure people all over the country and South America get their Apple and Dell products. Every once in a while, she sings as a chorus member for the Nashville Opera. She is single and pet-less, and it appears she will stay that way for some time.

Yep, that sounds about right...

Pity party has now ended.

I got to thinking about all of this, and, whether the above statements are true or not, I have decided that I am going to do some things to push my life forward a bit this year. Think of the following as belated New Years' Resolutions.

1. I am going to finish writing this damned novel that's been sitting in my brain (and partly in notebooks) for coming on 10 years.

2. I am going to get a raise at work that will allow me to live in a more affluent area, preferably one where I can go out for a run and not feel like I have to carry a switchblade in my sports bra.

3. I am going to make my way to more normal work hours (i.e. 0900-1700).

4. I will have a more active social life.

5. I will nurture friendships with people who treat me the way I want to be treated, and I will let those who treat me poorly know that I don't appreciate it instead of taking it up the ass like I normally do.

6. When my lease ends in August, I am going to move to the more affluent area mentioned in goal #2 either by myself or with 1 roommate who is around the same age as me.

7. I will be proud of my home.

8. Once I have settled into my new home, in January of 2013 (provided the world doesn't end), I am going to go to Metro Animal Control and adopt a dog whom I will love with every ounce of my heart.

9. I will love myself and be happy with the progress I have made in my life.

10. I will also be content with where I am in my life, because, really and truly, I am moving at the pace I am meant to be moving.

There we have it.

For those of you who are worried that I am pushing myself too quickly, don't. I enjoy the fact that I still think that fart jokes are funny, and I hope never to lose my immature humor. I am simply trying to do things in my life that make me proud to talk about my life.

So how about you guys? Did you make New Years' Resolutions (belated or not)?

Peace.
Stef.

Exercise # 189 - Up & Down

2011-11-07T08:00:00.000-06:00

Describe the ceiling and describe the floor in:
- the room where you are right now
- the last library you were in
- your childhood bedroom
- your last elementary school classroom
- a magnificent palace
- a wigwam
- a very peculiar wigwam constructed by a New York City-based artist

Oh, gosh, folks... A couple of these require me to rely on my memory. This is not a good thing.

BUT!

The great thing about writing is that, if you can't remember, you can just make crap up. Success!!

1,2,3, GO!

The room in which I am currently sitting...

The ceiling is lower than I am used to, maybe 10 feet high. It's amazing what 1-2 extra feet of space between my head and the ceiling can accomplish. White paint covers the textured finish, making it look as if tiny stalactite droplets are threatening to break off and tap me on the head. They wouldn't cause any harm, of course, but it would certainly be unsettling to have one's ceiling falling down on one's head.

The floor is blanketed by a modest beige carpet that covers the unfinished floors of apartments the world over, and it's actually clean. It had been put in right before I moved in a few months ago, so I haven't had the chance to screw it up or stain it in some way... yet. Give it time, folks. Give it time.

The last library that I visited...
The Nashville Public Library!!! This place is grandiose, that's for sure. Depending on where I'm standing, the ceilings are either just out of my jumping reach or around 3 stories higher than my head. Expansive rooms with beautifully sculpted architecture (especially when books are involved) always reminds me of this:


If committing a little bestiality meant that I could have unrestricted access to this library, then... call me a beast-lover, baby.

Don't even get me started on the skylights and wall-wide windows.

The floors are marble in in the grand reception area, and are shiny with wax and proper upkeep. There are a few tiles that have signs of wear on them, but it's not in that sort of "it hasn't been taken care of" way, but in that "there are so many people that walk through here on a daily basis that it couldn't be avoided" way instead. Ah, elegance.

My childhood bedroom...
I actually stayed in the same bedroom from the time I was 5 until I was 18. My bed changed a few times, and the wall color was altered, but the ceiling and floors remained unchanged for the entire time I was there. The ceiling was an off-white color and pretty unassuming as far as ceilings go. There might have been crown molding, but I can't be sure. It's just not one of those things I pay attention to. There was a ceiling fan in the center on which I frequently hit my head when I had a loft / bunk bed in my later years.

The floor was a nicer version of the carpet in my apartment bedroom. The fiber was thicker, and it was actually comfortable to lay on. Now that I think about it, I kind of miss that floor...

The last room of my elementary school career...
I went to a private school from 1st through 12th grade. The first 5 of those years were spent in the same hallway, the same classrooms, with the same people. You'd think I'd have some memory of what the floor looked like, that I'd have a mental picture of the ceiling that protected me from the elements for 5 years of my life... but no. I can't remember what that building looks like. I don't remember if the carpet (or linoleum.....?) supported my weight well or if it felt like I was walking on concrete. I'm getting vague flashes of brown, shiny flooring but I think that was middle school.

All I know is that I remember little (if anything) about it.

A magnificent palace...
Gilded floors... diamond-encrusted chandeliers hanging from expansive, 40-ft ceilings... What I wouldn't give to live in a palace for a few weeks (and by a few weeks, I mean forever).

In my mind's eye, I envision something that is a mix between the Taj Mahal, Buckingham Palace, and Versailles. Maybe even a little bit of Russian architecture (pre-Bolshevik Revolution, of course). British sensibility mixed with upper-crust Indian opulence and French history is what I imagine would surround me. Oddly enough, I don't see the frescoes of Italian construction despite my 10-day long trek there this past May. It's beautiful, but even for me that's a bit much.

A wigwam...
This one doesn't strike me as too involved. Dirt floor, maybe a fur rug. Wooden rods join at the top of the canvas to create a star of semi-protection from the wind and rain. I wonder if

An artsy-fartsy wigwam...
So a New Yorker who has probably never seen a wigwam (I talk as if I've seen one outside of textbooks...) and likes to put together avant-garde displays if bizarre, "mind-bending" art has taken it upon him or herself to show the world how the Native Americans lived... with a dash of style added in. I'm seeing flashy, gaudy opulence. The dirt floor has been replaced by a hypo-allergenic, faux leopard rug that spans across the entire floor. Taking the open ceiling to new heights, what would have been rustic wooden beams are now stainless steel rods, bending outward to frame the sky above.

And that's all I've got.

Did you give this writing exercise a try? What did you come up with? Please feel free to share in the comment section below!

In other news, NaNoWriMo is here again!!!!!!! Ahhh!!! I haven't taken part since 2009, but I am so excited to get back on the frantic writing horse that is NaNo. For those of you unfamiliar with the amazing, terrifying whirlwind of a writing exercise, visit their website HERE.

Seriously... It could change your life if you let it.

I mean, how many people in the world have thought, "Man, I'd really like to write a novel..." or "I have an idea for a story that's never been written (to my knowledge)." Who better to write it than you?? Throw caution to the wind and turn into a social hermit for a month. You can do it, and the rewards are well worth it.

So go! Go now! Sign up! Write a novel in 1 month's time!

I double dog dare you.

(Ooooooooooooooh...)

Peace.

Stef.

The Women Who Stay

2011-10-22T08:00:00.000-05:00

I have a hypothetical situation to run by you. Feel free to chime in on any thoughts you may or may not have.

(Hint: hypothetical = totally, absolutely happened in real life, so get ready for sparks to start flying)

Let's say you're a female who has been in a long-term relationship with a man who, as far as you know, is a wonderful guy. He's attentive, kind, and caring, and he does everything in his power to make you happy. Maybe you even have kids with him. Maybe you don't. It doesn't really matter in this story.

Let us just suppose that all of this is true.

It's a beautiful day, the sun is shining, and you are in a mood that can only be rivaled by someone who has just won the Stanley Cup.

You're on your way home from work - early, I might add, making this day even better - when you think to yourself, Self, you should make dinner tonight for Sweetie Pie. He'll really appreciate it after all of the long hours he has been pulling lately.

So you do. You go to Kroger (or The Food Emporium, Publix, Harris Teeter, etc...) and start planning the most epic meal that your mind has ever had the ability to conjure. After quite some time at the grocery store, you finally gather all of the necessary items and survey the food. It's a rather impressive spread, and you can't help but smile at the plastic bags, knowing that Sweetie Pie is going to take one look at the dinner table and break into endearing sobs of appreciation when he gets home.

You can barely contain your excitement as you turn onto your street. Your roof looms in the distance, and as you get nearer...

Well, crap.

He's home.

...

Wait, why is he home?

Why is he home, indeed... Per a conversation you had with him not 2 hours ago, he said that he was going to be working until late in the evening, giving you plenty of time to put together your brilliant yet romantic meal for two.

Suddenly, you realize it. You shake your head and chuckle lightly. I bet he's trying to surprise me. That is too funny.

Grabbing your grocery bags, you tote them inside and place them on the kitchen counter.

"Sweetie Pie?" you call out. His wallet and phone are sitting on the coffee table, so he's here. I bet he's taking a nap, resting up before surprising me. Again, a chuckle escapes your lips. It's so sweet of him.

Hoping to surprise him, you quietly make your way to the bedroom, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of your mouth as you approach the closed door.

But then you hear it. That's not Sweetie Pie's voice. That's a woman. In your bedroom. Oh, hell no.

Flinging open the door, your suspicion is confirmed. There, in a most unorthodox position, is Sweetie Pie and some bitch you don't even know (or maybe you do know her), canoodling in your own damned bed.

It takes a moment before it hits you. Dear, loving, caring, Sweetie Pie is a cheater? Surely not. There must be some reason why this woman is in our bed. There must be.

But no. He doesn't have any reason other than the fact that he wanted to stick his penis in some other woman's vagina for once. Or maybe this has been going on for a while. Maybe he loves her. Maybe he's going to leave you for her.

You manage to force out a few words. "What are you doing?!"

Sweetie Pie is ripped abruptly from his physical bliss and, panic covering his face, pushes the woman off of him. She looks mildly perturbed as she lands roughly on the floor beside the bed.

"Honey Bear! It's not what it looks like!" he says.

"Oh, thank God," you say. "I was worried because it looked like you were just having sex with her." You point to the big-breasted redhead still sitting on the floor by the bed. "I think it would be best if you left now."

As the offending woman quickly and clumsily gathers her belongings, you and Sweetie Pie sit in silence, you glaring at his panic-stricken face and him refusing to make eye contact. You can practically hear the gears turning in his mind, trying to come up with a way to get out of this situation. Liar.

After she leaves, the two of you have a yelling match fit for reality television.

A few days later, the argument is over. You've both had your say, and there is nothing more to do.

Here's the kicker:

You're staying with him. After weighing your options and feelings, you have decided to work through this with him, to really make an effort to make the two of you work.

My question is as follows:

Are you freaking serious? The asshole cheated on you, and you're staying with him??

I will never understand women who stay with their cheating significant (rather, not-so-significant) others.

Please, friends. Regale me, because I, for one, am nonplussed.

Why does a woman make the conscious decision to stay with a man who has such little regard for her, such little respect? Not only that, but I find that many women actually justify his actions or pretend they didn't happen. They convince themselves that he is faithful, that he loves them, that it won't happen again.

In my experience, once a cheater, always a cheater.

I said above that this happened in real life. It's true.

Not once, but twice. Two different couples.

The first was an outright cheat. She caught him in their bed at home with another woman. There's no explaining that away.

The second was easily covered up what with the girl's overwhelming lack of self worth and tendency to delude herself into oblivion. The poor girl honestly believes that he has been faithful to her throughout their entire relationship. Not so. To this woman, I say, "Leave him. You know he's unfaithful, and you are worth so much more than that."

I'd say something to her face, but I am somewhat removed from both of these couples, and I don't know any of those involved on a very personal level. All I can do is blog about it and garner opinions from you fine folk in an attempt to make sense of it in my own life.

That being said, I'm out. If you have any sage advice (or if this happened to you) leave a comment below. I want to hear what you have to say.

Peace.
Stef.

Exercise #188 - "Ten Years Younger Than Yourself"

2011-09-12T01:05:00.001-05:00

What do you think people born ten years after yourself are not generally aware of, but should be? Be specific.

I feel that, as a 24(soon-to-be-25)-year old, I don't really have a leg to stand on when it comes to preaching to people younger than me. I am the first to admit that I am immature and fickle when it comes to grown-up viewpoints and activities, so this is out of my element.

Forgive the triteness that is to follow. I'm doing my best...

1,2,3, GO!

Point 1: To the 14/15-year olds reading this here blog post, expect a huge portion of your friends to go off and get married either a) when high school ends, b) when college ends, or c)somewhere in between those two periods. Between the time you're 18 and 25, your friends will suddenly start to disappear into the far-off world of Matrimony. Some of them will return to Singledom, but some will not. Do your best to wish them well even though you miss them.

Additionally, don't feel terrible about yourself because you seem to be the only person in the world who's not absolutely bat-shit crazy about tying the knot as quickly as you can. Take life at your pace, and be unapologetic about that.

If you are one of those people who went off and got married, then more power to you. I couldn't do it, and it takes a certain type of person to succeed in that venture. I wish you the best and have absolutely no sage advice for you.

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Point 2: A college degree isn't as useful as everyone tells you. 20 years ago, a Bachelor's Degree was something to be admired. A lower percentage of people actually did the college thing, so when you applied for a job with a BA, a BFA, or something of the like on your resume, that was automatically your proverbial foot in the door.

Nowadays, there are people who are older and more qualified than you applying for the very same job you just filled out an application for. Guess who's going to get that job? Not you. And that's ok. Well, it's not ok because you're still jobless and needing to pay bills, but it's ok because, well... I can't think of a reason. I'm just trying to be positive, ok?

Honestly, if you really want to get your foot in the door, get a Master's. Yep, that's right. Spend more money for an education, and maybe then you'll be a shoe-in for the job.

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Point 3: Prepare yourself for having a job that has absolutely nothing to do with your major in college. I majored in Classical Voice Performance (super useful, Stefers), and I am now an account manager at a shipping company. Don't get me wrong; I actually quite enjoy my job, and I do good work. But does it have anything to do with opera? Not even the slightest itty bitty bit. Again, that's ok. The economy sucks, and we're all taking a hit because of it.

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Point 4: Do not, however, do a job that you hate. I don't care if the money is good. I don't care if you have awesome benefits. If those perks don't add up to overwhelm the misery that your job causes you, then they're not worth it.

It may be the hopeless romantic in me, but I would much rather live from paycheck to paycheck than do a job that I hate for a load of money.

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Point 5: Food is freaking expensive. Bills are freaking expensive. Cost of living is freaking expensive. Don't plan on living by yourself for a long time, because you probably won't be able to afford it. You will have roommates until you can afford it, so make sure you live with people you like.

Also, don't live with strangers. In fact, be friends with your roommates. It makes life easier, and social aspects of life improve dramatically when everyone gets along and spends time with one another.

Fin.

That's all I've got for now.

Does you have anything else to add? Write it in the comments below.It doesn't matter if you're talking to 14/15-year olds or 50/51-year olds.

Peace.

Stef.

Beyonce Just Isn't My Thing

2011-08-30T06:10:00.000-05:00

I know. I should be shot, right? Because apparently everyone loves her.

Honestly, I don't get it.

Yes, she's hot and has a bangin', feminine body.
Yes, she has a voice.
Yes, she's fierce.

But she just doesn't do it for me...

until now.

Her new song, "1+1" is awesome and has been on repeat on my iPod for the last 24 hours. LOVE it.

Now, I'm not normally a "Hey, go look at this video" sort of blog poster, but I really like what they did with this song. It's simple - all about the lighting - and cuts right to the meaning of the song. So... watch it.

I'd type more, but I'm currently handicapped with a severely cut finger. I have a giant BandAid on it (2, actually, to keep it protected), but it's making it increasingly difficult to type.

That being said, more writing exercises will be up soon! Yay!

Peace.
Stef.

My Italian Summation

2011-08-27T06:00:00.001-05:00

As you know, I took a country-wide, whirlwind tour of Italy in the month of May, and I took my new Canon Rebel Xs with me. Granted, my lenses were low-end, kit lenses, but that fact didn't stop me from snapping picture after picture as if my life depended on it. I'm pretty sure I saw most of the trip through the lens of my camera (who has now been named Elisabetta after our lovely tour guide), and I did my best to capture as much of it as I could.

I've given myself some time to let the fact that I walked where the freaking gladiators walked sink into my thick skull, and I think it is now time to break out the pictures that I took.

Just as a warning, get ready for a wall heavy laden with photos.

My Italian Summation

VIEW SLIDE SHOW

DOWNLOAD ALL

I want to go back.

Can I go back, please? That’d be nice…

I hope you enjoyed my pictures! I know I had a blast taking them.

Peace.
Stef.

Parking Ticket Debacle Update & Exercise #187

2011-08-26T06:00:00.000-05:00

If you want to catch up on the Parking Ticket Fiasco, go HERE.

That being said, there's not much on which I can update you. I wrote an expertly-written and politely worded letter to the Davidson County Traffic Warrant Division and dropped it off with one of the oh-so-happy-to-be-at-work front desk ladies. In that letter, I simply requested that they remove the fines from both parking tickets and void the 2nd ticket altogether and stated that I had no issue with paying the first $10 ticket. I have yet to hear back from them, but hopefully in the next little while I'll get a letter apologizing profusely for their grievous error, dried tears smudging some of the words because they were so overwrought as they printed out their response.

But I'll settle for a terse, "Fine. You don't have to pay it."

We shall see, my friends. Oh, we shall see...

But enough of that. It's time for today's writing exercise!

I present to you...

Exercise #187: Off the Cliff

Describe an elegant hotel room from the point of view of a character who is having a psychotic breakdown.

1,2, 3........ Wait... Didn't I just do this?

Ok. I guess it is different. This person is in the throes of a psychotic breakdown whereas the other person from the previous exercise was heading towards having one. C.M. Mayo, thou art a crafty wench, and for that I respect and admire you.

It has been a while since I did exercise #185, but I had originally planned on treating this exercise as an extension of that one. I think I'm going to stick with that. I liked where the story was going, and I wanted to see where my character ends up.

So here we go!

1,2,3, GO!

The bathroom is the safest place. In the living area of the hotel, there are windows and doors: ways to escape. I have to confine myself - stay in the same place - so that he can find me when he comes to save me.

I crawl into the bathtub and hug my knees. Water drips lightly from the faucet, the tink, tink, tink of each drop thundering sonorously through the tiled room.

He's not coming. It has been too long.

16 hours. That's all it has been. 18? 18. Right? I don't know anymore. Focus. How long is a flight to Italy?

Too long.

No, not too long. 10 hours? 9? He'll take a flight out of New York, but when did his flight leave? He could still be in the US for all I know.

He's not coming.

Yes, he is! Just stop it. Don't listen to it. It's not real. When did I call him? That was yesterday sometime after 4pm. It's now ... 11:28pm. Surely he'll get here soon.

Not coming.

YES. I trust him. He'll come.

Prove it. Prove your trust.

I can't prove it. There's no way to prove it. Grasping the handicapped handle bolted across the wall, I hoist myself up and step out of the bathtub. Cold water will help me focus. I turn on the cold water in the sink, and it flows effortlessly, limited only by the stainless steel basin. For a moment, I am lost in its movement, in the way it goes down the drain counterclockwise. I'm sure there's some sort of law of physics that explains why it's always counterclockwise ... something to do with the Earth's gravitational pull ...

There's a razor right next to your left hand.

Yes, there is. How did that get there? I don't remember packing a razor. I've stayed away from those since...

Grab it.

No. Just a little longer. He's coming.

If he's coming, then it won't matter if you hold it.

Just a little longer.

Just one little finger...

Suddenly, my hand is on the handle of the razor. It's lightweight and cold, but it fits in my hand perfectly, as if crafted to lie in my hand only.

There's a knock at the door.

I look at the razor in my hand, hold it against my wrist.

Another knock. This time it's louder.

Everything goes black.

END

Ooooh! Hey there, cliffhanger!

Let me know what you think about the exercise. Did it help you in some way in your writing? Did it show you something you hadn't noticed in your current work-in-progress? Fill me in!

Peace.
Stef.

Guess what??

2011-08-25T00:47:00.001-05:00

I moved!

For the last few months, I have been living with my parents. I know. Way to be an adult, Stefers. My parents were nothing but accommodating, though, and actually catered to my needs during my stay. Sure, there were rough spots, but we worked through them.

MomLady and Pop, you guys are awesome, and I owe you more than I can possibly ever pay you back. It takes a lot of love and dedication to put up with my crap, and your efforts most assuredly do not go unnoticed.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Now that the gushy stuff is over, I can continue.

Like I said, I moved a little while ago, and it has taken a while to get my life set up again. Things aren't exactly 100% yet, but they're well on their way.

For example, this evening I installed a shower head - get this - all. by. my. onesies.

Yes, my friends, I am a home making genius. Bow to my prowess. I used a tool and everything (don't ask me what the name of the tool is... that's pushing it, bud)!

It is an Oxygenics "Eco-Friendly Pressurized Rain Shower" shower head, and I must say... never before have I felt like I was taking a shower in a waterfall. Never before until this evening, that is!!

It was pretty much the most magical, life-changing experience ever.

Ok, so maybe that's just a little bit hyperbolic.

But in all seriousness, my shower experience was positively lovely. It beats pre-installed apartment shower heads by about 50 bajillion miles.

I might have even struck this pose:

Taken directly from the Oxygenics website, actually...

I wish I could say that Oxygenics was paying me to advertize their product, but... sadly this is free publicity for them. Of course, if they want to pay me........

coughcough

Anyhow, now all I have to do is get some lamps...

I've been living in a house for the last 3 years, and I forgot that apartments don't come with overhead lights. Whoops. I've been living in what feels like a cave for the past week or so, because I've been working like a madwoman (60-hour workweek = big kaching but also no life) and haven't had the time to go out and buy lamps.

But here's the thing... I went to Bed, Bath, and Beyond and stocked up on my bath supplies this weekend (i.e. my new shower head!), and guess what? They had 3 models of floor lamps. 3. Not only that, but they were awful models. They were those really cheap, multicolored pieces of crap that are mostly composed of plastic and inhabit the rooms of sorority girls the world over.

I expected better of you, B³. I expected better...

So next weekend will begin the search for some kind of lighting... from somewhere.

Wish me luck!!

Peace.
Stef.

P.S. I keep apologizing for my lack of posting, but... I'm going to do it again. Work has been grueling as of late with many, many late hours (but a bangin' paycheck), but I plan on nipping that in the bud soon. I mean, job will still be had, but we're getting more support in the form of additional staffing, so things should lighten up quite a bit. That way, I can actually spend my time at home writing, reading, or summat instead of passed out in an attempt to recuperate from the previous day / prepare for the next.

At any rate, things will be better, and you will be getting more posts from me!! Yay!

I've Had My Say, and That's That

2011-07-17T08:00:00.066-05:00

After reading all of your comments and taking into account my friendship with the girl about which I wrote in a post I published 2 posts ago, I sat her down and talked to her.

We got together for a nice lunch at one of my favorite cafes, and I let her know how I was feeling.

"I'm just going to come out and say it: I'm worried for you," I said, forcing myself to look into her eyes.

She squinted her eyes and tilted her head to the side in her normal, good-humored way. "Worried?" The apprehension behind her eyes betrayed her relaxed demeanor.

"Yeah. Worried."

"Why?" She knew what I was going to say; that much I could tell.

"Please don't take this the wrong way..." I trailed off, my focus was for crap, and my eye contact broke to my hands.

"Ok, Stef, you're freaking me out. Just say it, ok?"

"When you told me you were engaged, there was no excitement. That scares me."

She sighed and brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. "I know."

She knew. That was a start. "Ok, so why are you doing this?"

"Stef, we've already talked about this. I'm 27 years old. I've been dating him since I was in college. I love him, you know?"

"I don't doubt that you love him. I just am not sure that this is the right choice for you two."

"First things first, it's not up to you how I live my life. I can make choices for myself."

"That's not what I'm --"

"Maybe I'm just accepting reality, you know? It's time for that next step, whether I want it or not." This conversation was heading down the toilet, and I couldn't stop it. Time for some backpedaling.

"And that's your decision to make. All I want to do is --"

"Yes, it is my decision." She took a second to regroup. "Look, I'm not angry. I just - I don't want you to sit there and tell me that I'm making the biggest mistake of my life and that I'm going to regret it. I've made my choice. Plus, who are you to pass judgment on my decision? You're younger than me, single, and have never been in this situation. You have absolutely no ground to stand on here."

Wow. The truth hurts like a bitch. "I get that. Really. I'm just trying to help you. You know, keep you grounded and fully aware of what's going on here." Oh, crap. Way to dig a hole, Stef.

"Oh, so I don't know what I'm doing? Is that it?"

"Absolutely not! That's not what I meant. I mean..." I had no idea how to get out of this one. Drop it, Stef. Just drop it like a bag of potatoes. "Look, let's just change the topic, ok? I shouldn't have brought it up."

The rest of the lunch was ... tense at best, but we got through it. All I can say is that I had my say, and that's all that needed to happen. The truth of the matter is that we're really close, and our friendship is more important than this. She knows that I'm there for her, through thick and thin, and that, no matter what choice she makes, I'll be right there beside her. She may take a little while to cool off, but that's ok.

What are friends for anyway?

Peace.
Stef.

P.S. Now that this has passed for the moment, we'll get back to normal writing exercises. Good golly, Miss Molly, my life is just ridiculous.

Anonymity Is a Coward's Game

2011-07-16T08:00:00.010-05:00

Thank you all so much for your comments. I really appreciate them, and they're helping me out more than you know.

But one comment did stand out from the rest, and I'd like to take a moment to respond to this commenter personally...

Just because I freaking can.

Here's how this works:

I'm going to post this person's comment, and I will respond in red, boldface font where I feel a response is necessary.

Get ready for the fireworks, folks. This is going to be magical.

Anonymous said...

What I think I would do is post a passive-aggressive blog entry about how it's not just me but EVERYONE who's thinking these things, and how we're all ever so concerned, and how I just wish she would SEE, dammit, see! [Ohhh, I get it. You wouldn't really do that. You're making fun of me. Clever.] And of course, this will make her realize her tragic error in judgement, and it won't for a minute make her feel publicly humiliated or embarrassed, because I will be smart and do her the favor of omitting her name. And besides, she's not actually going to read this anyway. [How do you know that all I did was omit her name to hide her identity? In fact, for all intents and purposes this person could very well be fictitious, an attempt on my part to work on a character study for a story I am currently writing.]

And since she's never going to read it, really this is all just a personal exercise. I'm improving as a writer. And I'm practicing "venting." It's all very therapeutic. [I don't know that she'll never read it. She may very well read it at some point, call me up, and say, "Dude, what the hell??" I'll cross that bridge when I get there, and I'm not afraid of it. Furthermore, I have no need to "practice" venting and have a journal explicitly bought for that purpose. My blog is rarely used to vent, but when I do it's because I want opinions or advice on how I should handle an issue. I value my readers' opinions, and I ask for their help frequently.]

And now that I'm thinking about it, it's all quite admirable, really; because I'm ever so concerned about my dear friend; so much so that I can't bear to approach her and try and have a heart-to-heart with her. In person. In private. [Oh, wait... So you want me to do what you're doing? Write up an anonymous letter and stick it under her door because I don't have the balls to step forward and speak my mind without the lovely protection of internet-provided anonymity? Yeah, that's what I thought.]

But then again, I DO hope she somehow gets to see this post, because then she would know what I think (what EVERYBODY thinks) and I wouldn't have to actually confront her. [Not true. If she saw this post, the first thing I'd do is confront her. To be completely honest, she actually knows I have misgivings about her upcoming marriage, because I told her about them. I just haven't sat her down and had an actual talk about it.]

But of course I would only post this essay after I'd prattled on and on about how I've been censoring myself until now for the sake of my friends because I'm just so thoughtful; except now I've realized that thoughtfulness is a weakness, and how I'm only hurting myself. [Prattled on, eh? 2 short paragraphs are tantamount to prattling? Good to know. Additionally, I never said that thoughtfulness was a weakness. Let me make myself clear. Codependency is a weakness. Thoughtfulness is a wonderful quality, and I rather enjoy it.] But now it's time to think about ME and MY needs, and I think I deserve to be able to say what I feel when I feel it, and oh, how liberating this whole situation is for me! Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. [Holy goodness to gracious, yes, this is liberating for me, and I'm not going to let you ruin it. Hence this post...]

But that's just what I'D do. Because I'm a pathological narcissist, and this is all just so "juicy," and I can't wait to hear what you think about me and my friend and my article and my dilemma and my angst and my admirable sensitivity, and of course my deepest sincere concern for my friend. [I admit that I misspoke ... mistyped? ... when I used the word "juicy" in my post, and it has since been removed. It was cheap, and I apologize for that offense. However, narcissism isn't really my bag. I have stated on this very blog that I am somewhat selfish, but to the extent of narcissism? Not quite.

The majority of my response has been rather tongue-in-cheek thus far, but now's the time for me to get serious.

How dare you trivialize the concern I have for my friend.

You don't know me, and I don't know you (and I plan to keep it that way), yet you leave a comment making all of these grievously false accusations about how this post was entirely about me, that I don't really care about the rest of my friend's life, that my concern is merely a ploy to convince people that I have a heart.

Think whatever you want. What you think about me does not define me, and at the end of the day I could care less that one person out there in the world thinks I'm bat-shit crazy. Because, admittedly, sometimes I am, but that's the way I like it. It keeps life interesting.

All of that being said, I hope you have a wonderful day, filled with unicorns and baby Cupids.

Au revoir, you troll.

To my lovely readers:

I hope you have enjoyed my foray into rebuttal. I know I did. But I'm done with it. I've addressed it, and I'd like to move on to more important, less ridiculous topics. You won't hear another word from me about this post.

You're all wonderful, and I value you so very, very much.

Peace.
Stef.

You Probably Think This Post Is About You

2011-07-15T08:00:00.144-05:00

I have an apology to make. To all of you.

For the better part of a year, I have been censoring myself. As you can tell by the "frequency" of my posts, this censorship has really put a damper on my writing process, and I'm beyond ashamed to admit that.

Well, no more.

I have made a decision from now on to write what I want, when I want, and how I want, regardless of who may or may not be reading this blog (or my Twitter or Facebook). I have been censoring myself for the good of a friend, but I have realized that doing so only hindered my growth both as a person and as a writer. I have a habit of putting my needs and desires on the back-burner in order to appease my friends, and I need to stop that. It's codependency at its finest, and I refuse to be that sort of person.

That being said, I have a post to write. Get ready for it. I'm even going to ask for your advice.

I have a very dear friend who I've known since we were little kids, and I love her and appreciate her more than words can say. That being said, she is about to do something very... misguided, and I don't quite know how to handle the issue.

A week ago, her boyfriend of nearly 5 years proposed, and she accepted his proposal.

Yeah, 5 years. I can't make this stuff up.

We all know how I feel about marriage and love, but that honestly has nothing to do with this.

I am scared for her, and I'm not the only one who has expressed concern.

Like I said, they've been dating for almost 5 years, but I've known both of them since we were little kids, playing tag in the playground during recess. Over the years, her now fiancé and I have grown somewhat apart, but she and I see each other at least once a week for lunch or summat. I've been with her through the growth of their relationship, talked her through insecurities, and given her an objective viewpoint when she asked for it. Right now, though, I have no idea what to do.

She was telling me about his proposal, and, instead of that spark of excitement that hides behind the eyes of a girl who has just been proposed to, there was nothing. They've reached a point in their relationship where the world is telling them to "shit or get off the pot," and I'm pretty sure it's going to leave them living a miserable, miserable life.

You've been dating for 5 years. Why aren't you married yet?

You've known each other for so long. Obviously you're going to get married... Right?

You want to have kids, right? You're getting older, and you don't have much time left.

Etc, etc, etc...

The kicker, though, is that she doesn't want to marry him.

She told me herself, "If it were up to me, I'd just stay like this for the rest of our lives [unmarried but coupled]. I mean, I love him, but marriage... It's just not something I want right now. I may not ever want it. But he really wants to get married, and I feel like I should just go ahead and go through with it. It's what he wants. Not only that, but I want to have kids. If I wait much longer, I'm going to be 50 before my kid turns 20."

RED FLAG.

Big
freaking
RED flag

I'm still young at 24 and recognize my naïveté, but this terrifies me. Why would anyone enter into a marriage with that sort of viewpoint? It saddens me to think of how cavalierly she is viewing such a huge deal. I mean, who wants to marry someone who accepts a marriage proposal with a sigh of resignation? If / when I get married, I want my fiancé to be excited about the prospect of spending the rest of his life with me. And I would want to feel the same way.

Here's where I get personal with you guys...

For those of you who have been reading this blog for a long time, you might remember that I was in a long-term relationship until August of 2009. We had been dating for a year and a half, and we were talking about marriage, looking at rings, wedding venues, etc... But what I hadn't realized was that, while we loved each other, we just weren't right for one another. I had thought that we were both looking at rings, venues, and so on, but looking back I realize that it was just me that was doing the looking. I thought that we would be happy spending the rest of our lives together, thought that we would be able to work through any and all problems that came our way.

The truth is that I was young and in denial. I had put so much time and effort into the relationship that I felt the only next possible option was marriage. It didn't matter that we would probably have been miserable. It was the next step, so we had to take it.

Thankfully, my boyfriend had the balls to look me in the face and say, "I love you, but I don't want to marry you."

It was heart-breaking, and I was completely devastated. I fought for him, got together with him for "platonic" lunches with the hopes of rekindling what had been lost, tried desperately to win him back, to prove to him that we could work out. But it wasn't meant to be. There was love there, yes, but it just wasn't right. There is someone out there in the world who is better for me than Brandon, and there is someone out there in the world who is better for Brandon than me.

I keep seeing so many similarities between my story and my friend's that I feel I should step in and say something, anything. I would hate to see her enter into a stage of her life - a stage that is supposed to last forever - that is doomed to leave her feeling miserable and unfulfilled. In fact, I sometimes wish that one of my friends had stepped up and talked to me about it, because, as it turns out, several of my friends were nonplussed as to why we were still together. Maybe then things would have ended sooner rather than later.

I wouldn't approach her and tell her that she's about to make the biggest mistake of her life, of course, but I think I'd share my story and tell her that I'm worried she's heading down the same path on which I had found myself just a few years ago. All I want is for her to consider this fact, to really think about what she has just agreed to, and whether or not it's the right choice. If she decides to continue on this journey, then I can do nothing else. She has to make her decisions and deal with the consequences that follow.

But it's not my place to comment on her relationship, though, is it? I would essentially be telling her that I doubt that the person she's been dating for 5 years is obviously not right for her (in my opinion, if you don't know that you're going to marry after a year or so, then you probably shouldn't marry), that she's making a huge mistake, and that I think the plan she has for herself will make her miserable.

It's all pretty touchy stuff.

So what would you do? Would you confront your friend and tell her how you feel, that you're worried for her and want her to be happy? Or would you shut up and let her do her thing, realizing that it is not your place to comment on her relationship?

Any thoughts would be greatly appreciated.

So that's that. I'll leave you with a lovely little ditty by Carly Simon.

Peace.
Stef.

Love.

2011-06-25T08:00:00.003-05:00

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

- I Corinthians 13:4-7

What a crock of crap.

I'm sorry for the blunt delivery, but this is something that has been on my mind as of late. I feel the need to get it out, and maybe some of you can prove me wrong.

I want you to prove me wrong. Desperately.

Or perhaps you'll just commiserate with me. That's ok too.

Ever since I was a kid, I have been spoon-fed visions of shining knights and hapless, helpless princesses in dire need of saving where everything turned out to be tied perfectly in a little bow at the end of the story. The hopeless romantic that I am, I took all of those stories to heart, truly believing that "someday my prince will come."

Over the past several years, however, I have come to discover that love - or at least what most people call love - is not all it's cracked up to be.

Honestly, I think it's a giant waste of time.

I realize that this makes me sound like a jaded miser, intent on spreading my unhappiness to the rest of the world, but that is not at all my intention.

I want to believe in love. I do. So very much. That yearning eats at my very soul and has for as long as I can remember.

So why am I now completely distrusting of love? Why do I see a happy couple and scoff at their "ignorance," their "obvious denial of reality?" Why have I given up on my once all-encompassing pursuit for that perfect relationship with my "forever love," my shining knight?

I have been witness to (and taken part in) more failed adventures in love than I care to count, and all of those experiences are constant reminders that love simply does not exist. It is instead a mere fabrication of Hallmark and other companies to pedal to the masses, and we eat it up like it's friggin' candy. Like candy.

I am tired of all of the divorces. I am sick of all of the infidelity to which I have been privy. There is not a single example of honest-to-God love in my life.

Ok, that's a lie. My parents are an excellent example and have been since I was born (and I would assume before that as well). But get this: both of them were divorced before they met each other.

Case negated.

I am surrounded by people who cannot, for some reason or another, reconcile their differences, by people who cheat without a second thought, people who stay in relationships out of convenience and/or denial, and it sickens me.

Why do we do this to ourselves?

It's masochistic, really.

Someone tell me. What's the point? Because I don't fracking see it.

I'll leave you with this gem:

Peace.
Stef.

Exercise #186 : Secret Yearning

2011-06-20T06:45:00.002-05:00

What is your (or your character's) secret yearning? And how did you (or he or she) come to have that yearning?

The phrase "Secret Yearning" makes me think of a bodice-ripping romance novel. You know, the kind that has a cover with a picture of a scantily clad man who bears a resemblance to (and may very well have been based on) Fabio.

In fact, let's do a little research, shall we?

Step 1: Go to Google.

Step 2: Type "Secret Yearning" into the search bar.

Step 3: Laugh heartily at the fact that there is, in fact, a romance novel named A Secret Yearning that comes up in the search results.

The cover looks like this:

Not as much bare man-chest as I'd like,
but it'll do.

So he's not quite Fabio, but look at those biceps. I approve.

But I should get to the exercise, shouldn't I? I guess I got a little sidetracked by all of the bodice ripping. Whoops...

1,2,3, GO!!!

Precursor: I've started working on a brand new story idea, so I think I'm going to take the main character from that in an attempt to flesh her out a little bit. The idea is based on a dream I had (and actually remembered!! Seriously, when in my life does that actually happen??), and I have yet to do some actual work on it. As a result, the character is very one-dimensional and will probably come off as such in this exercise. I'm ok with it.

And......... va!

Charlotte Ferris wants to fall in love. It has been her life's aspiration to find that "special someone" who will fulfill all of her Disney-influenced desires. Growing up with movies like "Beauty and the Beast," "The Little Mermaid," and "Snow White" made it clear to her that love is the most important thing in this world, and if she didn't have it then she was obviously lacking. Lacking in what, she didn't know, but lacking nonetheless.

Someday my prince will come....................?

Well into her twenties, however, she finds herself alone and unhappy, all too eager to find that man who will whisk her off her feet, saving her from a wicked stepmother, or kiss her out of her apple- (or evil spindle-) induced coma. She truly believes that this will happen in her life.

The twist to this story is that no one knows about her need for romance. She hides it from everyone (including herself from time to time), because deep down she knows that Disney romance, no matter how appealing it is, doesn't exist. She prefers to live in her fantasy world every once in a while, separate from reality, in which Prince Charming is real - tangible - and come back to real life when she needs to get stuff done. There is danger in that way of life, but she likes to think that she walks that line expertly every day (even though she really doesn't).

END

And that's that. Since I failed last week and only posted once, I'm going to step it up this week and post TWICE. In one week.

Think big, Stef... Think big.

I'm hoping eventually to get back up to at least 4 posts per week, but we'll see how that goes.

In other news, I was added onto the list of freelance writers at CRACKED.com, and I am so excited to begin writing articles for them! Like I said, it's freelance, and the submission process goes something like this:

Stef: Hey, guys... I have an idea. [State article idea.]

Powers That Be @ CRACKED: Hmm... Don't like it. Try again.

Stef: Ok... uh... How about this? [State another idea.]

Powers: Nope. Dumb. Again.

Stef: How about this one? [yet another idea stated]

Powers: Hmm... That has potential. Write it, and we'll talk.

[Stefers works tooth and nail to create a literary masterpiece filled with mind-shattering information and brilliant wit.]

Stef: Done! How do you like it?

Powers: Meh... It's alright. We're going to edit it and then post it on the site. Here's $50. Come back to us when you have another idea.

Stef: Alright. Errr... Cool. Thanks.

And that's that. I have one idea that I'm working on at the moment, and I'm thinking it's going to be pretty good. I like the fact that I can write an article in which it is expected that I curse in it at least once, preferably while making an off-color joke about penises or farts. It's right down my alley, really.

Wish me luck!

Peace.
Stef.

In Which I Discover My Own Epic Failure

2011-06-12T09:40:00.006-05:00

How long has it been since I've done a writing exercise on 52 Weeks? Let's check the good old blog post list, shall we?

Oh. Mah. Gah.

My most recent exercise post was on February 13th, 2011.

AM.

FAILURE in human form.

Now that that's out of my system, I do believe that the best action required to alleviate this grievous failure of mine is to - yep, you guessed it - post another freaking writing exercise, Stefers!!!

Without further ado, I present to you Exercise #185: "On the Verge."

Describe an elegant hotel room from the point of view of a character who is on the verge (about a day or so away from) of a psychotic breakdown.

1,2,3, GO!

The curtains are blowing in the open window, breeze wafting in from the outside, carrying in the loveliest of fragrances from the Italian countryside that is rolling peacefully in the distance. What is it? Freshly crushed grapes? Possibly. Or perhaps I am mistaking this scent to be something more fantastic than a simple air freshener designed to fan a subtle smell into my quarters without my noticing. Is the window even open, or is it just the air conditioner that's making the fabric of the curtains billow so whimsically?

Reality is just your perception.

I walk over to the window and explore. Yes, the window is open. And yes, the smell is coming from outside, but I cannot locate its origin.

Giving up my search, I back away from the window and nearly trip over my luggage. It is lying on the ground at the foot of my queen sized bed, stuffed to busting with clothing, half of which I probably will not wear. I was stupid to have packed that much. He had told me so, but I didn't care. I just needed to get away. Away from the familiar, away from the stress, from the work, the everyday, mundane activities that were slowly eating away at my very soul. It was all too much.

Escape.

"I'll be leaving for a few weeks," I said. "I'm going to Italy. Visiting grandma's old stomping grounds."

He looked as if I had punched him right between the ribs. "Alone?"

"Yes, alone."

"If that's what you want." He would not make eye contact with me, staring intently at the coffee cup on the table in front of him.

"It'll be good for me." He needed reasoning, needed to understand why, but I couldn't give that to him. I knew just about as much as he did.

Mumbling incoherently, he stood with his mug, his wedding ring glinting in the fluorescent lighting, and walked away. I was wracked with guilt, but there was nothing I could do to make the situation any better. It was what it was.

Give up and run away.

The room as a whole is very open with high ceilings, light-colored walls, hardwood floors. It is large enough to boast a full-size kitchen and breakfast nook and a living area complete with a big screen tv, a full-size couch, and a leather armchair.

As if you'll be entertaining guests.

I might. I might call some of the family up and treat them to an American dinner in Italy. I could do it.

No. No, you couldn't. You can't cook to save your life.

I close my eyes and concentrate. Not here. Please, God, not here. I have flown halfway across the world to escape this. It isn't real. It's just a figment of my imagination. I can get past this.

You can never escape.

I reach for the hotel phone and call him. I don't care how much it will cost me.

"Hello?" His voice is foggy. It is probably around 2am there.

"It didn't help," I say. "Come get me, please. As fast as you can."

He clears his throat. "Where are you?"

He can't help you.

"Cembra. Hotel Europa."

Sleep still clinging to his words, he says, "I'm not sure when, but I'll get there. I'll book a flight right now."

He won't get here in time.

"Ok. I'll stay here."

"Good. If you, you know..." He pauses, fighting to get the words out. "If you think about hurting yourself, please call someone. A hospital, a therapist... someone."

"I will."

"I love you." The phrase is pleading. Please, don't do something stupid.

"I love you," I say, just in case, and hang up the phone.

He probably won't get here in time.

THE END

So what do you guys think? As the first writing exercise I've done in - cough cough - a while, I feel like I did a pretty good job.

Did you do this exercise? What did you think of it?

Feel free to post your results in the comment section. I'd love to see what all of you wrote.

Peace.
Stef.

Angry Stefers Is ANGRY!

2011-06-06T22:36:00.000-05:00

This is my face right this second.

Angry Stefers is ANGRY!

Do you want to know why?

Well, I'll tell you.

On June 2nd, I received a notice from the Traffic Warrant Division (TWD) of good ol' Davidson County (Nashville, TN) stating that I had defaulted on a payment for a parking ticket that was issued to me on April 11th of 2011.

First things first...

Um, no, you lying sacks of excrement!

I never received a citation of any kind, and had I received one I would have paid it immediately. I mean, it's a $10 parking ticket. No biggie. Write a check, stick it in the little parking ticket envelope, slap a stamp on it, and voila! Parking ticket paid.

But no... As always, Murphy's Law rears his ugly head (as he is wont to do so frequently in my life), and I am left on the wrong side of the law by no doing of my own.

Secondly, they are trying to charge me $92 for this alleged offense!!!! For a $10 parking ticket!!!!!!

You have got to be kidding me.

But it gets worse... Oh, does it get worse.

The very next day, I received another citation for yet another unpaid parking ticket, also charging me for $92.

Naturally, I was irate. I am a recent college grad. I have 2 part time jobs. I can't afford $184 in parking ticket fees.

I called up the phone number they listed on the citation notice and plead my case.

The conversation with the rather nice albeit entirely unhelpful customer service representative went as follows:

Stefers: I never received any citation. I would have paid it immediately had I received one, and, not only that, I would have most definitely not parked there the very next day.

Mr. Nice Guy: Aw, shucks, ma'am, that's awful, but I'm afraid there's nothing you can do about it. You just have to pay it.

Stefers: I'm sorry? There's nothing I can do?

Mr. Nice Guy: 'Fraid so.

Stefers: This is absolutely ridiculous.

Mr. Nice Guy: Yes, ma'am, it is, and were there something I could do for you, I'd do it, but there isn't.

Stefers: Uh, thanks... I guess.

Mr. Nice Guy: You are more than welcome. You have a nice day now, y'hear?

Stefers: Right... (mutter, mutter, mutter)

And that was that. So here I am stuck with these two beauties (see below) with absolutely no money to pay them.


Mad Photoshop Skillz : I haz them. See how I expertly removed my license number???

So guess what I'm going to do?

To the courts I go!

Tomorrow (Tuesday), I will make my way to the TWD to fight for my cause and right the wrongs that have been committed!

Yes, I am totally the Supergirl of False Parking Ticket Accusations.

Apparently, I have to write a politely worded letter explaining my plight, and we'll take it from there.

I'll update you guys on my progress as soon as something happens.

Wish me luck!

Peace.
Stef.

After My Long Absence...

2011-06-01T22:29:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty sure that you guys have given up any hope you might have held for my return, but guess what??? Starting next week, I am going to be back FULL FORCE!!

You're excited. I just know it.

I am officially a graduate of Belmont University with a degree in Classical Voice Performance (woot!), and now I actually have TIME to have a life.

Weird.

Whatever shall I do with my time? Oh, I know! WRITE!

So here I am, reminding you guys that this little blog here exists and is beginning once again to breathe with severely underused lungs.

I have so much to update you guys on (a 10-day trip to freaking ITALY complete with pictures!), and I have sorely missed writing creatively. It has been truly sad; my life has been so hectic that I haven't sat down with my current work in process in MONTHS, and just admitting that fact makes my heart die a little.

But worry not! I'm getting back on the writing horse, and it's going to be great.

Here's to new beginnings.

Peace.
Stef.

In which I explain my aversion to children...

2011-03-21T23:25:00.003-05:00

Anyone who knows me even in the most basic sense knows that I don't like children. It's a fact, and it's something about which I have pretty fervently expressed opinions. Anything under the age of 18 is simply not worth my time.

At least, that's what I tell people...

It's easier than explaining the truth anyway...

The truth, however, is that I am wholly terrified by babies, toddlers, pre-teens, etc... They make me want to dive headfirst into a closet and shiver in fear until I know for sure that they've gone.

Sure, they're tiny. They're defenseless. Their intelligence level is vastly inferior to my own.

But they scare the ever-loving bejeezus out of me.

Let me explain...

Firstly, I don't understand them. I have a really hard time connecting to children, because I can't really remember ever thinking like a child. I live very much in the present (and I also have a little memory problem), so I remember very little of anything from before 5-6 years ago, and it's incredibly difficult for me to understand and therefore to relate to them.

Snakes. Why'd it have to be snakes???

Secondly, parenting is paralyzingly scary. The thought of it alone makes me break out in a sweat. Like the kind of sweaty you get when you know you're not alone in a room but can't see anything in there with you just after you've finished watching some horror film with lots and lots of gore and copious amounts of teeth-gritting suspense. This is not because I'd have to spend one-on-one time with the one thing that scares me most in this world (babies are to me as snakes are to Indiana Jones), but because my actions are what is shaping this little being into what it will be later on in life. For the first several years of his or her life, I will be entirely responsible for him or her.

Entirely responsible.

Me.

Responsible.
For that itty bitty, little thing.

Yes, I will have a husband present (hopefully... unless something in my life goes terribly, terribly wrong*), but what if I do something to my child that turns them into a serial killer? What if I scar them for life, and they grow up to either hate me or, even worse, themselves? What if I raise this (see below)???

Hitler Baby!!
Achtung!!!!!

As irrational as it may seem, this is a legitimate fear of mine.

Thirdly, I was raised by an absolutely wonderful Mom. I remember her always being there for us, telling us stories, hugging us when we were upset, and whooping our asses when we were being little jerks. She was (and is) the epitome of maternal greatness (MomLady, I love you!!!), and not only that but she raised two pretty well-adjusted (if not a little odd) young women who have bright futures ahead of them. How is this an explanation for why you're scared of kids, you ask? Well, I'll tell you.

How can I live up to that? Yes, I'm a different person, so my parenting style will be different from my Mom's, and my Mom is not a perfect person. But she did such a bang-up job, how can I even compare to that?? Blah...

So I guess, in the end, it's not really kids that I'm afraid of but of being a Mom and everything that comes along with that package deal.

Are kids in my future? Possibly. But also maybe not. I'm not one to say at this point. I won't actively say that I don't want to have any children, but I am most definitely not doing anything that would result in children at this point in my life. Case closed.

Lord give me strength.

Peace.
Stef.

*This comment was not to offend single parents. I can't imagine raising a kid with another person to help me much less doing it alone! I commend all of you single parents. You are doing the impossible on a daily basis, and I admire you and your amazing achievements.

Exercise #184 : She Was Telling the Truth

2011-02-13T09:37:00.005-06:00

She was telling the truth, but they didn't believe her. Write the scene using dialogue.

1,2,3, GO!

Erin: I'm telling you the truth!

Louis: Just stop it, ok? We know. There's no use in keeping this up.

Erin: (tears welling in her eyes) I'm not keeping anything up. I'm just trying to tell you --

Bridget: Great. Waterworks. Seriously? How dumb do you think we are?

Erin: No, that's not it. I need to tell you the truth, and I need you to believe me.

Bridget: Yeah, that'd be nice for once.

Louis: How about you start with the truth, and we'll see if we believe you.

Erin: But I have! I've told you everything!

Bridget: And you honestly think that we're going to believe your story? It's ridiculous.

Erin: Look, I know it's far-fetched. I know it seems unbelievable. But I'm telling you that it is 100% truth. No hyperbole, no lies.

Louis: Erin, I want to believe you. We want to believe you, but your track record... It's not so great.

Bridget: Forget that! I don't want to believe you. And I don't. So let's be done with this and go our separate ways, ok?

END

Well, hey there, circular argument that went nowhere. We didn't even find out what Erin was telling the truth about? Perhaps I'll revisit that one.

Oooh! Or perhaps one of you could write an ending! That would give me less work to do, and I'm all for that.

Along the same lines, I really am quite out of practice with this whole writing thing. I've been writing papers for school and so on, but research papers are another monster entirely in comparison to creative writing. I know an English teacher somewhere in the world just keeled over because I disassociated creative writing from research paper writing, but I'm not really in the mood to care about that right now.

At any rate, let me know what you guys came up with for this one.

Peace.
Stef.

Exercise #183 : The Most Beautiful Thing in the Room

2011-02-11T09:27:00.001-06:00

Look around you. What is the most beautiful thing you see?
Describe it in detail.
Write down everything you can think to say about it.

1,2,3, GO!

The most beautiful thing that I see... Well, at the moment, I'm not quite capable of truly answering this question as I am lying all snuggled up in my bed with the lights off. The only light I can see glows brightly from my computer screen.

Actually, that's a lie. A tiny sliver of light is peeking its way through the door jamb, the light radiating from the outer hallway that connects my room to the rest of the house. Speaking of which, I'm going to be moving come June. Good riddance, says I. Don't get me wrong. For my current status, this house has been great. It's 10 minutes from school, it's cheap, and it covers everything that I need. The utilities are a bit high because the house is so drafty, but for the low rent I can handle a lofty electric bill. At any rate, I'll be moving so that I can get a little closer to my job and start to save some extra money.

But there I've gone, trailing off on a useless life story when I have an exercise to complete...

Like I said, there is very little light in my room at the moment, BUT! I can see my computer screen which looks like so:

To the left is this blog in the process of being written.
To the upper right is 'Tamara Drewe,' a deliciously British rom-com. Yes, I am a notorious multi-tasker...
Behind all of that is my computer background, a pink and yellow flower with dewdrops.

The flower it is. I'll put the full picture at the end of this post.

The elegantly twisted petals delicately grace the screen, each one curved into an imperfectly perfect tube or arch. Freshly dampened by a recent shower, each petal is decorated by the clearest of dewdrops cascading down the flutes in quiet solitude. The inside of the petals, closest to the center of the flower, are a vivid yellow that move outward like flames licking at the pastel pink outer edges. It almost looks like a tie-dyed attempt at merging the two colors seamlessly.

And there we have it. I'm a bit out of practice being that I've been so hung up with school and work lately to focus on writing, but I must say that it's wonderful to be back at the writing game. It has been much too long, and I'm a little frustrated with myself for allowing myself to stray so far from something that I love to do so much.

As promised, here is the picture of the flower.

Peace.
Stef.

Yeah... About Those New Year's Resolutions...

2011-01-30T03:04:00.002-06:00

School hit me kind of hard this semester... It's my last semester in college (FINALLY!! I seriously never thought it would get here.), and my classes aren't exactly the most difficult... But everything is really time consuming.

For example, this April, I am performing in my final, Sr. recital. It's an hour long, and I have to get an hour's worth of repertoire up to snuff in the next coming months so that I can pull off a decent recital. I'm also performing with the Nashville Opera in their production of Carmen, and that's going to be a doozy.

Additionally, I've been having computer issues which have been resolved due to some amazingly good luck and a very kindhearted friend of mine who knows how grateful I am for his generosity and help.

He looks more attractive
than me when I cry.

On a completely different note, I've had some personal issues that I've had to deal with that have kept me knee-deep in tears, Kleenex, and looking quite a lot like this little guy to the right.

But worry not! I may still be wading through some of the flak that life decided to hurl at me from every direction all at once, but I now have a sense of placement in the world. I know where I am, who I am, and my feet are firmly planted on the ground beneath me. If I were on a beach, I'd be digging my frigging toes into the sand, relishing as the grains gently exfoliate away the hardened callouses caused by rigorous dance classes.

All of the whining and moaning aside, though, get ready for some more writing exercises! I'll add in little random posts about life like I normally do, but I have seriously missed the routine of sitting down for the day and pumping out an exercise or two.

You know what else I've missed?

YOU!!

That may be cheese-tastic, but I've missed opening up my inbox to find that one of you lovely readers has popped by and left me a short (or long) hello.

So anyways, today is Sunday. Starting Monday, I am going to try my best to ease back into a normal writing schedule. I'm not going to lie and say that I'll have perfect attendance, but I will do my absolute best. Just bear with me.

Peace.

Stef.

My Own Personal Wardrobe Malfunction!!!or In Which I Feel Like a Poorly Behaved Celebrity

2011-01-11T08:44:00.005-06:00

First things first, Happy 1/11/11!!!!!

Now on to the story.

I shivered as I sat huddled underneath 3 different blankets and 2 sets of sheets, typing out a scene from my current WIP (I'll have it for you to read soon!).

"BLARGH, it's cold!" I said aloud, directing my statement to the little ball of cat fur that I like to call Lily. She was curled up into a tiny little ball right by my legs and, upon hearing my voice, stretched out and yawned, exposing her white belly. The stretch was short-lived, however, when she realized just how cold it was in my room, and she quickly retreated into the fetal position in an attempt to preserve the warmth that she had accumulated while in a ball.

A few days ago, my space heater broke. Additionally, my house is old and has astoundingly poor circulation, especially when it comes to the heater (I cannot wait to move out in June!). Thirdly, my room is located on an outside corner, and I have 2 very big, not very well-insulated windows that grace nearly 1/2 of one of the walls.

Add those three statements together, and you have one very chilly Stefers.

I had been lazy, you see. When my heater broke, I initially planned to go out and get a new one, but then things kept coming up.

I had to go in early to work.
I had to run another, more important errand.
I was sleepy.
I just didn't want to go.
You know... Things like that...

But today was my breaking point. I was sitting there in my room, attempting to type this scene when, all of the sudden, I noticed that my fingers were moving much more slowly than normal. Now, I do data entry to pay the bills, and my reputation at work is as "the fastest typist in the building." My average wpm count runs around 110-120, but there I was, struggling to get just one letter out per second.

"Ok, that is it!" I closed my laptop, threw on some cloths and my oh-so-not-womanly Cabelas trench coat, and jumped in the car.

Walmart, here I come!

When I got there, I had a hard time finding the space heaters, and, being the quality store filled with quality employees that it is*, I could find absolutely no one to help me. So I did what any lost girl would do.

I called my Mom.

Lasko Oscillating Ceramic Heater

Thankfully, she was able to point me in the right direction, and I was able to pick out a suitable space heater for my room for $30 (pictured right).

As I walked from the back of the store toward the registers, I couldn't help but notice that people were staring at me.

No, I thought, they're not staring at me. I'm just being paranoid or overly sensitive to innocent gazes.

I shoved the paranoia out of my mind and focused on finding a checkout lane.

A few minutes later, I was swiping my CapitolOne credit card through the little credit card thingy (yes, that's a technical term) when I noticed that the checkout guy was looking at me strangely.

Crap, do I have something on my face? I surreptitiously wiped my hand cross my face, feigning exhaustion.

"It's been a long day," I said.

"I know what you mean." He looked like he was holding back gales of laughter.

I bet I just smeared what was probably a tiny dot of ink or something all over my face. Brilliant.

Panicking, I quickly gathered my space heater and bolted out of the store. I tried to ignore the stares as I passed entering customers.

Finally, at my car, I was allowed a bit of respite. I put the box in my back seat, and as I stood back up, I glimpsed downward and immediately started laughing.

On my way out of my house, I had grabbed a camisole to wear under a vest-like sweater, but I had forgotten that the straps were way too long, making the shirt fall downwards. It had fallen so far down that my entire chest was exposed. Granted, I was wearing a full coverage bra, but still!!

But at that point, there's no point in stressing about it. It happened. I can't change it. Plus, I'll probably never see those people again. I stood outside my car, doubled over with laughter for a good 5 minutes before calling my Mom once again to explain what had just happened.

I never thought the day would come that I would fit in amongst the people frequenting the pages of THIS website. *facepalm*

Surely I'm not the only person to have gone through something like this.

Please share your embarrassing stories so that I don't have to feel like such a dork.

Peace.
Stef.

*No offense intended toward any other Walmart stores or employees across the country. This store in particular is known for its terrible customer service and constant state of disarray.

Media Schmedia

2011-01-10T09:00:00.008-06:00

I normally don't like to talk about contemporary events or politics. In light of recent events, however, I have decided to comment on what all is going down in Arizona right now, because I, for one, am completely shocked and appalled by the media's response to Jared Lee Loughner's actions.

Why on God's green Earth are people giving this paranoid schizophrenic such power?

He was doing this for a specific political agenda!

He's a raging Tea Party advocate!

He's a liberal, leftist, Commie!

He's been brainwashed!!!!

Really, people?

Really?

Why is it that people are so obsessed with making Jared Lee Loughner out to be this criminal mastermind? Why can't they just accept that he is a paranoid schizophrenic that, at the end of the day, we probably will never fully understand?

But I won't sit here at my desk and deny that fact that I, too, was incredibly intrigued by this young man. What would motivate a human being to do such a terrible, terrible thing? What were his motivations?

So I decided to do a little research of my own. What I found was ... unsettling.

I'm not going to post any links, because I have no desire to further fuel the flames of controversy and rumor, but I am going to talk about some of the things I discovered. If you really want to go out and look for this stuff on your own, feel free. It's pretty easy to find.

Apparently, Loughner was a member of a website dedicated to conspiracy theory and, mere hours before shooting his victims, took part in several online forum topics on the site, most of the threads started by himself. The topics ranged from space exploration conspiracy (i.e. it's all a hoax and never happened) to nonsensical rants involving something he calls the "infinite year" and a "new currency," and all of the posts have the same cryptic writing cadence, little of it making any semblance of sense.

For example:

If the design of the NASA Space Shuttle keeps the black body temperature of −454 °F from the outside orbit then the NASA Space Shuttle is at a temperature for human life.
The NASA Space Shuttle isn’t at a temperature for human life.
Hence, the design of the NASA Space Shuttle doesn’t keep the black body temperature of −454 °F from the outside orbit.

None of his arguments are sound, and, despite requests from other members for him to provide proof for his claims or for a better explanation of his thoughts, he merely responds with more cryptic phrases under the guise of "inductive thinking." Frequently, his writings come off as if they've been written by a person who is not a native English speaker, and the structure of his comments is confusing and unclear.

Clearly, this young man is mentally unstable. From what I've read of his online persona, I would have no qualms in dubbing him a paranoid schizophrenic.

And yet I keep finding articles and other various sources online that are doing nothing but exacerbating an issue that has already gotten out of hand. For one, people have been saying that his comments online are filled with secret codes, which explains the odd grammatical structure. Heck, there are even rumors floating around that he is a victim of Project MK-ULTRA.

Again, I say,

REALLY??

I understand the public's need to understand. What Loughner has done is senseless, and humans generally like to figure out why awful things happen (i.e. the whole "Why does God let bad things happen to good people" debate). We want resolution. We want there to be a reason for this tragedy.

But I have some bad news.

There probably isn't a reason. There probably will never be resolution.

Sometimes, people are just crazy.

We can only hope that those wounded or killed will either heal or go with God to a better place where things like this don't happen.

What are your thoughts?

Peace.
Stef.

'Mouth, Meet Foot' or 'The Nyquil Effect' Final Installment - Part 3

2011-01-04T15:06:00.000-06:00

To those of you just joining in on the festivities, feel free to look at Part 1 and Part 2 before reading this one. You don't have to... but things won't make very much sense if you don't.

Recap: I am ridiculous and say stupid crap when I take NyQuil.

After I sent text after text to Ephraim trying to apologize for my callousness, I received no response. I was in complete freak-out mode, thinking that he had gotten really angry and didn't even want to be my friend anymore.

Have I mentioned that I tend to blow things way out of proportion?

'Cause I do...

It's kind of a problem.

Anyways, I slept fitfully after sending that last text (Please don't be angry with me.), and I woke up to a wonderfully hopeful text.

Ephraim: I'm not... I just passed out is all.

Stefers: Ok. Good. I was worried. :-/

Ephraim: Eah... Don't be. I just thought it was plain and simple the way I put it together. And, in a way, it was. No reason to apologize for being practical... especially with me...

Stefers: Well, do you understand why I'm so against anything happening between us? Because, like I said, it would probably be a shit show, and I value your friendship too much to jeopardize it.

Ephraim: Well, you know me. I like to have fun anyway... and forgive/forget/move on if something went wrong. Simply because the friendship is too valuable to let anything come between us. See, with me it works like this: friends who are attracted try something. If it doesn't work out (bad, even), if both of us are mature enough, we can both admit to one another that keeping the friendship is far more important than what we couldn't make work. People do it all the time. I mean, that approach makes more sense to me than people who try and yet can't even be friends after they learn that they can't make something deeper work. I do know that you don't operate like that, and that's cool. I'm just hopefully helping you to understand my mentality. That's all. :)

Stefers: It's not an issue of it actually working out. Why bother with something that, because of our vastly different expectations when it comes to relationships, there's no way it would succeed? hah

Again, I fall into the Stefanie-says-too-damn-much-and-should-learn-to-shut-her-trap cycle. I don't know why I said it. It just... came out. Well, I typed it, but that's just semantics. I think the worst part was that added on "hah." Add insult to injury, why don't you, Stef?

Ephraim: Well, that's where I step in and always say, "You never know, because no one really does. But you're entitled to make up your mind beforehand... especially if the facts line up for your own sake."

Stefers: Meh... You can make an educated guess. :)

Ephraim: Unless, of course, you just can't stand someone or something in particular and can only be around them so long. That's different. That's somebody who you've not already analyzed but also decided is not really all that good for your health to be around too much.

Wait. He's not talking about himself, is he? Because that's dumb. Surely he's just saying that to make a point... Right?

Stefers: Well, I don't know about that business, but that's neither here nor there.

Ephraim: lol You mean you don't want to come out and say the truth. You can handle being around me only so much. Right?

You have got to be kidding me.

Stefers: What? Ephraim, don't be ridiculous. That's probably one of the stupidest things I've ever heard.

Ephraim: Hey, I'm just asking. I mean, if that's true to any measurable degree, then that's a solid answer for your justification towards me regarding a reluctance for any attempt past friendship. Stupid doesn't mean wrong.

Stefers: I already told you why I'm reluctant. We want different things. That's the main reason.

Ephraim: Ok. I believe you.

And there you have it. My saga. I didn't really add as many comments to this one as I did the other two simply because I feel like the texts were pretty self explanatory, but that's it. You've read it all.

What do you think? I am so confused at this point that I don't even know which way is up. Find the north star, Stef. It will guide you home.

At any rate, tell me your thoughts. I, for one, am nonplussed.

Peace.
Stef.

'Mouth, Meet Foot' or 'The Nyquil Effect' Part 2

2011-01-02T19:03:00.001-06:00

For part 1 of this rousing story, go HERE.

So we left off with I Mistake #3, when I said, "You never know. I could be a terrible kisser."

No response came, and I'm not the type to send follow-up texts (i.e. Helloooooo?, Did you get my last text, yo??, etc.), so I just assumed he fell asleep and decided to follow suit.

A couple of hours later - around 4am - I was awakened by the cheerful little chirp that is my phone's text message alert sound. Thankfully, I wasn't in full REM cycle, so I wasn't tempted to chuck it against the nearest wall. I looked at my phone with sleep-blurred eyes, my lids protesting against the light given off by the all-too-bright display.

It was a text from Ephraim.

Ephraim: Sorry! I had a really long and crazy night!

Stefers: No worries. I figured you were being all sociable.

With that, we traded New Year's stories: my night of drugging myself to sleep and his of partying out on the town. He eventually ended up at a hotel with friends which eased my mind a bit (Nashvillians tend to get a bit reckless when it comes to holidays that involve drinking). He was waiting for food, and I expressed my jealousy at the thought of food since I hadn't eaten since earlier that day, had absolutely no food at my house, and was completely opposed to stepping a single foot out of my door.

Ephraim: I'm sorry! :( I'll make it up to you. Will a kiss do?

Damn it all to Hell... Are we really back on the kiss??? I'll never escape it!

Stefers: hahaha You're just itching for that kiss, huh? Silly, silly, silly.

See what I did there? Turn it into a joke. Divert, divert, divert!!!!

Ephraim: Yes... I may be. But I'm also serious!

Stefers: Like I said, I could be the worst kisser ever. And then the intrigue would be gone. ;)

Ephraim: If you couldn't kiss well, I'd take the time to teach you. :)

Stefers: HAHA You are absolutely ridiculous.

Now, this is where another round of the NyQuil took over my brain. Or at least I'm saying it did... because what follows is just... stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You've been warned.

Stefers: Fortunately for me, however, I've been told that kissing is one of my strong points. So :-P. I have no need for practice.

Really, Stefanie? Really? There was no need for that. You couldn't just let it lie, could you?

Ephraim: Perfect! Then it should be a flawless effort! :)

Stefers: I reiterate my ridiculous comment. I won't lie, though. You're incredibly confusing. :-P

Ephraim: So you tell me...

It's at this point that our conversation went back to the New Year's festivities: the silly antics, the alcohol, the college kids ralphing in the streets...

[Side note: Where did the term "ralph" come from? I feel bad for anyone named Ralph, because their name will forever be synonymous with vomit and retching.]

But somehow - and even going back through the texts, I can't quite make heads or tails of it - we ended up talking about how I like to keep myself safe by thoroughly assessing risks and consequences. From there, we applied this topic to our friendship, but I hadn't quite caught on at the time that we were talking about us.

Stefers: If the possible circumstances of taking a risk are a complete shit-storm, I usually won't mess with it.

Oops... That might not have been the gentlest wording possible, Stef. Note to self: add 'Practice tact more often' to my list of New Year's Resolutions.

Ephraim: So, am I a shit-storm waiting to happen?

Stefers: Wait. What? When did this turn to you being the subject of our conversation? But actually, yes. Too many bad variables to even consider it.

Ephraim: Because this all started with me offering a kiss and you stating no.

Stefers: Oh. Well, that was simply because a kiss, to me, means something completely different than it does to you.

Ephraim: Thank you for being honest. It took a while to get you to say it, but I understand now.

Stefers: Honest about what? I didn't even really think we were talking about all that. haha

Ephraim: Honest with me about the fact that I would most likely be a shit-storm waiting to happen... and that there are too many negative variables. I get it. It's all good.

Crap. He's pissed. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

I proceeded to send him a dizzying flurry of texts trying to better explain myself, to apologize, to make it all right.

Stefers Damage Control Text #1: ... Crap. Now I've gone and hurt your feelings. See? This is when being honest is a bad thing. I didn't mean it in a bad way. You don't really get it.

Stefers Damage Control Text #2: I would rather be friends with you than even think about possibly messing that up. And with our differing viewpoints on relationships and where we both are in our lives... It would just be a shit-storm. So I'd rather not risk your friendship by adding that extra level.

Stefers Damage Control Text #3: Honest-to-God, I didn't intend for that to be a hurtful comment. Just being practical is all. I'm sorry.

Stefers Damage Control Text #4: Please don't be angry with me.

And that's where I found myself last night before I went to sleep.

Thankfully, there have been developments today, but... that's for another post! Don't worry! I'll post it tomorrow.

I'm even making a writing exercise out of it (Oh, the cleverness of me!)!! And you're welcome to take part!

Here are the rules:
Take a story from your life. It can be anything, from the mundane to the extraordinary.
Take this story and write it out from beginning to finish with as much literary prowess as you can muster.
Use language to make it exciting (even if the story is mundane, the use of the simplest literary devices can put your readers on the edge of their seats with anticipation), and give it momentum.
Don't tell the story as if you're telling your best friend.
Tell it as if you're writing it to send in to a publisher.

And that's the plan.

Tune in tomorrow for Part 3 of this saga.

[Side note 2: Why is it that all of my life stories have multiple parts? I guess it's one of the side effects of being a writer.]

Peace.
Stef.

Nice to Meet You, Foot.Oh, you want to live inside my mouth? That's a little weird, but okay... I guess that's doable...

2011-01-02T06:26:00.004-06:00

You'd think I'd have learned, after 24 years of life, that not everyone wants to hear what I believe to be the truth.

But no. Oh, no.

You see, I have this habit of pretty much always saying what I think. I don't have an issue expressing my opinion, because they're usually pretty well thought out ideas that can be backed up with examples and facts. It's a life skill / rule that my Dad always made sure my sister and I had / followed.

I am entitled to my own opinions, but I don't voice them unless I have researched them and can back them up.

That being said, I am very opinionated. I know what I like and don't like, and I have no qualms in letting people know about it.

This frequently gets me into boats of trouble. No, not piddly little boats that can be torn apart by angry sharks.

Giant spaceships of trouble.

Like the one in Wall-E (pictured right).

I frequently find myself at the receiving end of a barrage of tears and hurt feelings, and it's usually all my fault. People don't understand that my frankness is, in no way, meant to hurt anyone. It's just... it's how I relate with people.

So what has brought this up, you wonder? Well, I'll tell you.

I have this friend... Let's call him Ephraim. Ephraim is a great guy, really and truly, to the core. He's thoughtful, kindhearted, and fun-spirited, and I really enjoy spending time with him.

Well, since we met, there has been a very wide and obvious thread of sexual tension that runs between us, and we're both aware of it and have spoken about it. Through our talks, we decided to remain friends simply because of the fact that we want different things out of a relationship. He wants a certain type of relationship, and I want something completely different. This isn't to say that what he wants is a bad thing. It's just not what I want. You know?

At any rate, after letting that hubbub die down, we actually got into a good rhythm, helping each other out when we needed it, chatting every once in a while over coffee, etc. It was an awesome friendship. There was still a bit of that tension there, but neither of us really broached the subject... So it was left alone. Perhaps that was a mistake.

Lately, that little bit of tension has been pulsating back to life, and it's worrying me. Not only that, but the re-ignition of this crap may have been inadvertently started by yours truly.

I've been sick over the past couple of days, and have been spending my nights with my lovely little friend that I like to call NyQuil.

He treats me so well...

But there's one catch.

There's always a catch with me, it seems.

NyQuil does something to me... I call it The NyQuil Effect. The rules are as follows:

When taking NyQuil, one surely will get a solid block of uninterrupted sleep, but one will also have strangely and terrifyingly lucid dreams. I have a hard time differentiating between dreamland and reality on a normal basis, but this problem is exacerbated by NyQuil, and I frequently wake up thinking that what has just happened in my dream did, in fact, happen in real life, and it takes quite a bit of mental stamina to separate the two. I'm sure that I am walking around today with memories in my head that have actually never happened.
When taking Nyquil, one will forget every single rule of proper social interaction and conduct. I tend to say vastly inappropriate things when I take NyQuil. For example, Oddly-Shaped-Head Man wouldn't normally hear a word from me as I stand behind him in the checkout counter at the grocery store were I not under the influence of cough medicine. Unfortunately for both him and me, however, I found myself in this situation a couple of years ago, and I had taken medicine earlier and just so happened to blurt out, "Hey, dude... Why is your head so weird looking?" *facepalm* I now refuse to leave my house until a full 10 hours have passed since taking the last dose. If I know I'm going to be out of the house, I don't take it and deal with those repercussions as they hit me. Overkill, maybe, but better safe than sorry.
When taking NyQuil, one will most assuredly lose all sense of tact and say the absolute first thing that enters into one's head, regardless of propriety or kindness factor. If people think I'm honest when I'm sober, try me when I have taken NyQuil. It's ridiculous. Even though I'm frank with most people, there actually is quite a bit that I do hold back, and NyQuil breaks the dam that holds all of those thoughts in and whoosh! Out they come, ravenous for folks to devour.

This brings us back to our story.

I took NyQuil on New Year's Eve with the hopes of turning in around 11pm, but with my weird sickness-altered sleep schedule as it is, I simply laid in my bed with nothing to do until the next day.

I have created a simple math formula to fill you in on my mental status that night.

Stefers + NyQuil + boredom = badbadbadbadbad

I texted Ephraim (we're prone to texting one another late at night because our work schedules keep us up so late) "Happy New Year!" and left it at that.

He responded with a "Happy New Year, Gorgeous! muah!"

This is where the NyQuil Effect stepped in.

My response: "Yet another year passes, and I still don't have anyone to get a New Year's kiss from. :( Oh well. Happy New Year!! :-D" Mistake #1

After a minute, I had enough sense to realize that the previous text probably wasn't the best idea.

My damage control attempt, sent literally seconds after the previous text: Sorry... I'm afraid that my mind has been addled by sickness and NyQuil. hah I say silly things when on meds. But at any rate, happy new year to you. I'm sure this will be a great year for you.

Ephraim: I have a belated New Years kiss for you coming up soon!

Stefers: haha Doesn't count. The moment has passed. :)

Ephraim: Counts to me.......

Stefers: haha You just want free reign to kiss me. ;) [Mistake #2]

Ephraim: True...... :)

Stefers: Plus, you never know. I could be a terrible kisser. [Mistake #3... 3 strikes, and you're OUT!]

Conversation ended there, because we both passed out for the night at that point. It was well into the wee hours of the night/morning.

I'm going to have to leave you hanging here, because 1) this post is long enough as it is, 2) I still need some time to process this crap, and 3) you know you love this cliffhanger stuff!

Come back tomorrow for Part 2!

Peace.
Stef.