Short Story: "Tulips"

Today, I found myself with a lot of spare time. Like all dang day. So, I decided that today would be a creative writing day. I wanted to take a break from the screenwriting and try something a little different.

Many moons ago, I purchased from Amazon a fun little gift for myself called THE WRITER'S TOOLBOX. It is, in a nutshell, a game for writers. You are given a starting sentence, some writing prompts, a conflict idea, and a number of other random suggestions to use in your story.

I wrote the below. It's not a comedy, which is my usual preferred genre. It's also not edited, so if you find a typo or grammatical error, give yourself five points. Huzzah.

WARNING: Language

TULIPS

A Short Story by S.K.Deal

“I put tulips under all the pillows, and then I set fire to the house.”

There were so many things I couldn’t reconcile about what Sheila had just told me. But right now I wanted to know one thing.

“Why put tulips under all the pillows?”

“That’s your question? I burned down a house that killed a family of four and you want to know about the tulips?”

“Technically speaking, the family was dead before you burned the house down. It wasn’t the fire that killed them but the handgun.”

“Well, if you’re gonna get that fucking picky about it, it was the bullets really. What difference does it make?! I killed them all!”

“No one is disputing that. But I want to know about the tulips.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes at me. I was proving to be a disappointment during our lunch conversation today.

“Tulips symbolize the innocence that has been restored to the soul of the departed. That’s why you find them in every funeral home.”

“That’s lilies.”

She stopped and stared off into the distance while feeling around on her plate for the third-quarter of her tuna fish sandwich. Finding it, she slowly slid it into her mouth and bit off a piece, still unblinking. Between chews, she mumbled, “Shit, you’re right.”

“Did anything else happen in the dream you had last night?”

“I found a diamond bracelet in the back of his car.”

“The husband’s car? Or the teenage son’s car?”

“Gerald’s car.”

This was something I was not prepared for. I’d visited with my sister in the sanitarium every week for the past three years and never once did she talk about Gerald or what happened the night he died. Not even when I asked her.

“Your husband Gerald?”

“Yep.” She continued to slowly eat and chew her sandwich and not blink.

“Was it yours?”

She stopped chewing and stared at me. “What the fuck do you think?”’

I lowered my eyes and she went back to chewing and staring off into the distance. I lightly suggested, “Maybe it was a gift for you?”

“Maybe. The tag on it said To Tiffany. Maybe he thought my name was Tiffany.” She stared at me again, this time with enough anger to spit. “Do you fucking think he might have?!”

“Probably not.” I wiped the partially-chewed tuna from my sleeve.

“I told the police about it, but they never found it. Said I was making up lies again. For the insurance money. It wasn’t even mine so how could I collect the insurance money for it?" I shook my head and rolled my eyes, signaling I shared her opinion. "I bet that fat bitch cop took it. She looked like she’d snuck a lot of crap from the evidence room. Jewelry, cash, drugs. Obviously half the donuts from the break room. Hayley used to do that at work. Except she was about as big as a stick. As ugly as one too.”

“I believe you.”

She swallowed, finally, and looked up pleasantly. “You do?”

“I do, Sheila.”

Her smile turned dark quickly. “Why? Is it because you knew about Tiffany? You knew and didn’t tell me?!” She started to raise out of her chair. I glanced back at the guard who was on duty in the dining hall. He wasn’t paying any attention to us. I’d have to get out of this one myself.

“No! I didn’t know! I just believe you! I always believed you!”

She sat back down, considering me. Then noticed the last quarter of her sandwich and went back to happily eating. She was always happiest when eating so I let her eat in silence.

When she was done, she asked me a most peculiar question.

“Do you think Gerald’s in hell for cheating on me?”

“Yes. Most definitely.”

“Am I going to hell for killing him?”

“It is a sin; however, if you ask the priest to be forgiven, then you can go to heaven.”

“I don’t believe in priests or God.”

“Then there’s no hell.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you ate the meatloaf they served last Tuesday.” She let out a howling laugh at her own joke. At least a half-dozen other patients laughed along with her. Not because they heard or understood her joke, but they were mentally deranged as well and enjoyed a good laugh.

“That’s funny, Sheila.”

“You know what else is funny?”

“What’s that?”

“What happened that weekend in Duluth.”

“Du-Duluth? When did you go to Duluth?”

“Oh, I haven’t. But you have.”

“Once. For a conference on advancements in laser-eye surgery. It was quite astounding really! The guest speaker was world reknown surgeon James McCardle.“

“Really? So you did leave the hotel room long enough to attend some of the conference?”

“What are you talking about? I was at the whole conference. The hotel wasn’t that nice anyway.”

“Funny. That’s not what Gerald said.”

“Did he stay at the same hotel that I did?”

“Well, he had to to fuck you.”

“I—I never slept with Gerald.”

“Really? Tiffany?”

“My name is Brenda. I’m your sister Brenda.”

“That’s what it says on your birth certificate. But on the hotel registry it was Tiffany. Tiffany and John Simmons.”

“No.”

“Yes! Because that’s what he told me! And Gerald wouldn’t make it up.”

“Gerald made up stuff all the time!”

“And how would you know? Huh? Tiffany?”

“Because you told me he did. And you don’t lie, remember?” Sheila looked at me with disgust. I’d caught her in her own hypocrisy. “I think lunch is over now.”

“No! Not until I say it is. I still have my grapefruit.”

“Then eat your goddamn grapefruit.”

She pouted. “I will eat my goddamn grapefruit.”

Winnie, an elderly patient, came wandering over. She interrupted at least once every lunch. Usually halfway through the cottage cheese. She was late today.

“Look what I got, Brenda!” She held up an old Danielle Steel novel.

“How nice. Five Days In Paris. How was it?”

“I haven’t read it yet. I just got it today.”

“She’s had it for at least a year,” Sheila mumbled. “It’s all she reads.” I threw her a look to knock it off. Winnie was a sweet, harmless Alzheimer's patient. Well, harmless now that she wasn’t behind the wheel of a car. That poor dog.

“Maive is looking for you.” I pointed to Winnie’s roommate and she wandered over to show off her “new” book. Probably for the tenth time today. Maive had dementia herself and wouldn’t remember. They were a match made in heaven.

“Speaking of Paris,” Sheila said while fighting with her plastic fork to stab the last piece of grapefruit, “ever been?”

“Nope. Never.”

“I mean the Paris in France. Not in Texas.”

“I didn’t know there was one in Texas. But I’ve never been to either.”

“Huh. I wonder who he went with.”

I wanted to ask who, but I knew who she meant. For three years I wanted her to talk about her late husband, and now I’d give anything for her to stop.

“Do you smell peach pie?” I asked, looking around.

Sheila pounded her fist on the table. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

“I’m not. I want peach pie. Harvey! Is that peach pie?!”

“No! It’s apple!”

“Oh. I don’t like apple.”

Sheila grabbed my arm and I pulled back, nearly knocking over my chair. “Who did he go to Paris with?”

“I don’t know!”

“I know you know. You know everything.”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about! Stop it! Frank! Frank!!”

By the time the security guard came over, Sheila had released my arm and was back in her chair.

“Sheila’s being difficult and it’s time for me to go.”

“You haven’t eaten yet.”

“That’s ok. I’m not hungry.”

“Girl, you never eat your lunch. Let me get you a to-go box so you can take it with you.”

“That’s ok. I don’t…” But he was already gone.

Sheila laughed. “See. You’re not going anywhere.”

“What is wrong with you today?”

“Me? Nothing at all. I’ve never felt so free. Now that I know the truth. And I’ll be leaving here soon enough. Tiffany.”

“You’re crazy, Sheila!”

“I’m crazy? That’s funny, considering I’m not the one in a crazy home.”

“Because you put me here! You killed Gerald and blamed it on me!”

“You confessed to it all to save your poor sister. Your guilt for sleeping with my husband made you do it!”

“You bitch!” I lunged over the table for her, wrapping my hands around her throat. “You couldn’t stand that he could love me more than you!” The guards pried me off before I could choke her to death. “No! She’s the killer! She did it! Not me!”

“Come on, Brenda. It’s time to go back to your room.”

“No! She killed her husband! She killed him! He loved me and she killed him!!”

“No more lies, girl. Let’s go.”

The last thing I saw before they dragged me out of the dining hall was Sheila waving to me with an evil smirk on her face and a diamond bracelet around her wrist.

That's it for me today! Enjoy the weekend!
~Steph

Writing: Romance

SUBJECT:  ROMANCE

I have trouble writing romantic scenes.  And by romantic, I don't mean sex.  I have no problems writing those scenes anymore.  I'm not very good with romance.  I try and when I re-read it it sounds fake.  She's always giggling or pouting or blushing or something else that a pre-pubescent girl would do in front of her crush, and he's rich and handsome and buying wine and ordering dessert and adjusting his trousers.  It doesn't sound normal when you write it down and I hate it.

"Romance" in books and movies doesn't exist in the real world.  That's probably the main reason some people read romance novels and watch Lifetime.  It's fictional.  And that's great, but I can't write it.  I can put my characters in fictional situations, but usually they're going to act like a real person.

For example, I have several -- SEVERAL -- stories about a hot, rich executive.  He's a CEO, or CFO, or COOMG!!!  He could have it all!  Models!  Yacht!  Trips to Abiza that he actually paid for and didn't win on Wheel of Fortune!  But he doesn't ever go.  He works; he networks when he has to; he donates shitloads anonymously to charity; he stares out his skyrise condo bedroom window looking over the city below contemplating his lonely existence.  Why?  Because some super-hot blond bimbo who was once his assistant/fiance/college sweetheart with major league funbags broke his heart and stole his money and ran off with his former business partner/a Hollywood producer/her sleezeball ex who promised to take her to Paris/make her a movie star/help her save 15% on her car insurance only to have them both die in a brie/cocaine/Michelob Ultra-fueled parasailing accident.  Or some crap like that.

Moody. Little. Bitch.

Instead of bouncing back or getting over it or going to therapy, he broods.  He broods and eats microwave-cooked freezer meals between power lunches with far happier millionaires.

Then one day, he decides he needs to hire a new assistant.

She's brunette with soft curves and a softer smile.  She's calm, cool, and has a high Microsoft Excel proficiency rating.  She doesn't care what he does in his personal life, but between the hours of 8 and 5, her job is to serve and protect the man who signs her paychecks.  She will do anything -- anything! -- to make him the best C-whatever-O the business world has ever seen!  Or, at the very least, re-educate him on the importance of the well-balanced home-cooked meal.

Seriously? Do you know how much sodium is in those Lean Cuisine Chicken Enchiladas?

After weeks of working together and getting used to each other (and even a little fun, harmless flirting), he's asked to attend a conference in Maui at the last minute.  He agrees and offers a chance for the assistant to go with him.  It's currently winter in the Northeast, so of course she's going to go to Maui!

The conference is necessary but long and boring.  His fellow businessmen are a little too inquisitive about his assistant's relationship status.  The bagels are stale and rubbery.  Dinner with the other execs was overpriced and understaffed.  And as the hot exec and his beautiful assistant retire to their suite for the evening, he apologizes for his colleagues and she gives him the tidbits of gossip she picked up along the way.

They laugh.  They sigh.  They look longingly into each other's eyes.  As they draw closer, both wonder the same thing...

Was that your stomach that just made that noise or mine?

The question is answered when the hot exec darts into the bathroom which will bare witness to his 36 hour bout of food poisoning.

*Sigh* "I told him not to order the duck."

His assistant will pity him, care for him, wipe his brow, change his shirts, switch out trash cans, ask the concierge for more toilet paper, order carafes of hot water from room service, beg the cleaning lady for more towels, force him to drink lots of water, find a football game on his iPad for him to watch, cancel their flight, extend their hotel stay, reschedule the next day's appointments, and tip the bellboy handsomely to go buy a box of Imodium.  The one thing she will not do is probably the most romantic thing of all --- leave him alone.  And as much as he hates her being there to see him in the most vulnerable and disgusting of states, he's falling in love with her more and more every second.

Yeah.  That really happened in a story I wrote.  And if you're wondering how in the hell is that romantic, ask yourself --- at your lowest point in your life, think about who was there to pick you up and see you through it.  At some point, did you turn to that person and say, "I love you for this."  And maybe it was a spouse or partner or parent or sibling or best friend or the cop at the State Fair who kept your ass from falling face first in the parking lot.  But it was still love and you meant it.

Any jerk can buy a bottle of wine when you're having a good day.  Any lush can screw a guy in an Armani suit after a lobster dinner.

But when she's in pain from having had a mammogram that day and doesn't want to see him, but he shows up and makes her frozen daiquiris anyway?  That's romantic.  And maybe the motor on the blender starts to smoke and it sets the curtains on fire and his plans to be her hero have gone to hell. But she doesn't care because he looks cute in the kitchen and she never liked those stupid curtains, so they eat the strawberries and do shots while watching a hockey game.  And never once does he try to grab her sore boobies.  That's romantic.

Him: Hey doll, I loaded the dishwasher, turned on the coffeepot, and scooped the cat litter. 
Here's a heating pad for your cramps. You sleep in this morning.

Her: You are totally getting a blowjob tonight.

Sometimes it's nice to dress up and go out and be treated to the wine and candles and dessert.  There's nothing wrong with that.  I just don't think it's romantic.  Not unless she's a chemo patient who's lost all her hair and he wants her to understand she's still the most beautiful woman in the world to him.  Now that's romantic!

Romance happens at the least likely moments in your life and makes them a whole lot better.

Or maybe that's beer.  I get the two confused.

~Steph

January 2015

Greetings! For my family and friends and whoever happens to find this, I've decided to give a little summary of my month. 

Here's how my year started... WITH A BANNER!!!!

Or more appropriately, a crappy picture of a banner.

New Years Eve was hosted this year at Stacey's house. We gathered early, ate lots of awesome snacky foods, watched Big Fat Quiz of the Year (an annual British panel show that is our most favorite thing!!!) and drank way too much. That's probably why the picture's crappy. I couldn't be bothered to get off the floor to take it. Incidently, that ball of light is a really cool glowing ornament thingie that is utterly unimpressive when photographed.

This year I decided to be in charge of the decorations. And you know we can't have a party without... MINI HATS!!!

No Al G.! The Xmas mini hats were not a holiday phenomena. Mini hats are for every occasion. Mini hats are FOREVER!

The Front...

The Back...

Funny story about this hat. I turned on my hot glue gun and before the first ribbon was attached to hat, the gun overheated and glue came pouring out of the gun. A glob of lava hit my pinky and I tore at it... like you do... pulling off not only the glue, but a layer of skin. Not to be denied my mini hat, I wrapped my pinky in a wet paper towel to keep it cool and continued until two hats were made.  A red one for me and a black one for Stacey. Unfortunately, I forgot to get pictures of the black one.

Ok, that story wasn't really all that funny. Sorry.

While I made the decorations, Stacey supplied the snacks. She is the sweetest friend and makes sure there's all kinds of things I can eat without suffering a nuclear meltdown in my intestines. This was the night I discovered...

GOAT CHEESE SALSA TORTILLAS!!!

You take a scoopable corn tortilla chip, add a drop of goat cheese and salsa to it, eat, repeat a hundred times. I must have had a few dozen of these. I made up little appetizer platters full of these delicious treats, then ate every single one of them. HEAVEN!!!

Oh look! Another banner! And my BFF! Who will kill me for this.

***********

Drew's had quite an interesting January as well. He decided to use his Xmas bonus to purchase an item he'd been dreaming of owning for years.

A telescope that takes up half my living room.

  

Drew has had a love of space-stuff all his life. His infactuation of astrophysicist and Nova overlord Neil deGrasse Tyson is nothing short of stalkerish. The only thing keeping Drew from standing outside the Hayden Planetarium with a boombox playing "In Your Eyes" is boobs. I have them; HRH Tyson does not.  And that's where the bromance dies.

While I may not understand the whole telescope obsession thing, I do support my hubby's hobbies. He's been desperate to take the telescope outside and use it, but there is no way we're standing outside in zero degree weather to look at something I can google. So, we hauled it upstairs to the front room and Drew can look out the skylight instead. It's not as impressive as viewing the Milky Way on a pitch-black country road in the middle of nowhere, but at least he can use his toy now without the threat of frostbite.

I will admit, it was really neat to watch the clouds (or whatever they are) on Jupiter spin. Yes, that huge tube of mirrors and lenses can capture Jupiter close enough that you can watch stuff spinning. Creepy cool.

***********

Sweetpea would like to report that January sucks.

This is how she tells us to turn up the heat. Completely covering a heat register.

***********

Mardi Gras is coming up next month!!! So I made a wreath.

I did not injure myself making this, but Stacey got a huge blister making hers. She's more dangerous with the glue gun than I am!

See Mom! I used the feathers!!!

***********

And finally, we end this month with something Drew and I have talked about doing for quite a while.

We switched the dining room and offices around.

The hoosier (including all my glorious Crockpots), wine rack, beer-making center, and table came out into the former office area.

We put up the lighted wife shelving we used a craft shows and put the beer on it. It's only lit up for the photo. I don't keep it on. So don't freak out. There's no beer in the bottles at the moment anyway. Eventually there will be curtains that wrap around it to keep light out. That room's pretty dark anyway.

Now for the craft room/office...

I loaded up the now vacant wire rack in the craft room with my supplies.

My new office!!

I love it! I've got a cork board over my desk to pin up things I need for the book --- original artwork for the covers, trinkets from my last trip to Boston, articles about other writers, a signed picture of Oded Fehr from The Mummy (super squee!!!), and a note a fan sent that inspires me to keep going (even though I seem to have stopped at the moment).

On the side wall, I have a poster from Rifftrax Live! Godzilla. My most favoritest Rifftrax Live! event ever, and my second most favorite Rifftrax movie. My first favorite is Birdemic.

Drew's desk was moved into the room. Looks cramped, but it's not. He's very happy with it. And no, he's not just saying that because of the boobs-thing. Sweetpea's bed has moved to the top of the freezer. She likes it there because the other cats don't bug her. (I'm pretty sure they haven't found her yet.)

And finally, this thing in the middle of the room. It's not completed yet, but it will be a workstation. A crafting island for card making, mini hat construction, and wreath decorating. It's missing a top, so I haven't filled the bookshelves yet in case we need to move them. I'm still debating what to put on top. A thick laminated slab costs over $200. Probably more. I've decided to review all my options at this point in time.

So, that's January. I won't bore you with resolutions and all that gunk. Mostly because I didn't make any. I've decided to adopt life-mottos instead.

#1  Keep an open mind.

#2  Don't be rude.

#3  If you want it done, get up and do it. 

And number three applies to anything and everything. Dieting. Exercise. Decreasing debt. Moving some rooms in the house. I worked relentlessly from 5:10pm Friday until 9pm Saturday night to get this done. Drew was with me most of the way. I am kick-ass.

#4  Be the Brightest Star in your own Universe.

~Steph

Poetry: i really need a cigarette

I haven't written much poetry, but a couple times I've inspired to jot down a line or two. The below was written around 2002. I was working at MONY in downtown Syracuse. It was a horrible job with a horrible manager and her back-stabbing, arse-kissing lackey. The rest of my co-workers were amazing, and we had some really good laughs over the 5 years I worked there. 

Unfortunately, I've lost track of my close friends there. As has happened many times to me throughout my life. Partially out of lack of communication; partially out of lack of memory. (I should probably have that checked someday.)

I wrote this one dull afternoon from my cubicle. Incidently, I would still love to find this bar, even though I no longer really need a cigarette. If New York State hadn't banned smoking in bars, it might be a different story...

i really need a cigarette

i need a cigarette.

i won't have one.

but i'd really like one.

and an ice cold labatts.

labatts blue.

in a glass.

with two ice cubes.

while sitting in a dark bar.

the kind with a nice bartender who reminds you of your uncle.

your cool uncle, that is.

he refills the peanut bowl.

i refill the ashtray.

there's a lame football game on the tube.

miami's getting beat.

by --- whoever --- as long as miami's getting beat.

there's a guy at the end of the bar telling bad jokes.

he hates his home too.

keeps complaining that his wife likes line dancing too much.

he's thinking about buying her a bedazzler for christmas.

(not sure if he's making a joke or not).

there's an old barmaid waiting on a young couple in the corner table.

they ordered burgers and fries.

it's their third date.

she wonders if she'll give it up.

he wonders if she'll give it up.

the waitress wonders if she'll get anything for this effort too.

the clock reads three thirty-seven.

i really need a cigarette.

Book Cover Reveal!!!

There she is! The cover for book #2 in The Lyssa Winfield Mystery Series. It's busy, I know. A real publisher would lose their mind if they were presented with that. I don't care. It's my books and I love the covers. I'm not focused on becoming a best-selling author. Just an author who loves her own work.

The back cover is done as well. Like the front cover, the back cover is similar to the one on the first book. I'd post it here, but the tiny writing will make you go blind. Instead, here's some inspirational pics along with the book summary from the back cover.

Lyssa Winfield

Purveyor of purses, hoarder of shoes, leader of nerds. CEO Bryan Markison’s favorite production manager in charge of his modest video game empire is a workaholic who’s recently found herself in a new relationship with the man of her daydreams. Constantly juggling work with pleasure in a valiant attempt to neglect neither her career nor her personal life, Lyssa’s magical feats of time management will be for nothing if her beau isn’t around to appreciate it. She barely has enough time to find a Halloween costume, much less squeeze in a dinner date with…

Alex Dane

The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, this Markison Industries security specialist has just returned from a tense business trip in the Middle East and back into the arms of his sexy girlfriend in Boston. Adjusting to “normal” life isn’t easy for the covert op who is used to years of solitude. If he isn’t being inundated with late-night surveillance jobs, co-workers interrupting his invaluable private time, and nagging doubts accompanied by unreasonable fits of jealousy, then he’s having to compete for his girl’s attention with…

Sean Webber

When the recent murder of a college student is linked to online gaming activity, this Boston Police Detective reaches out to Mutation 2: Evolutionary Divide’s production manager for her assistance in solving the case. As this dashing knight in shining Armani gets closer to Alex’s princess, Lyssa finds her kingdom in turmoil. The introduction of a potential rival brings out a desperate side to Alex that makes Lyssa question if she wants to continue in this relationship.

Who is murdering the students? Who will win the battle for Lyssa’s heart? Will Simon have the expansion pack monster designs done by the deadline, or will he fail and suffer Lyssa’s wrath? And who keeps leaving crates of office supplies on Alex’s desk???

This is the second book in the Lyssa Winfield Murder Series.

This book contains adult situations and is intended for mature audiences with a good sense of humor only.

SQUEE!!!!!!

~Steph

About That Damn Book...

This originally started off as a Facebook post, but it got stupidly long (like this sentence is turning out to be), so I decided to make it a blog post instead.

To my fans: You have been so patient and understanding, and I appreciate you all so much. But that book ain't comin' out before New Years. I'm sorry. I've hit a HUGE problem with it and instead of just patching the hole and publishing something I'm not 100% happy with (I'm a writer - will I ever be 100% happy with anything????), I've decided to give myself a break. 

I know! I keep making promises that the book will come out.  But I tried! I really did! Ask Drew. I've been making him bonkers talking about it. And it's been eating me up that I can't get it done before Xmas. So much so, that I have got nothing else done. I've got to stop and step back from it.

There's also a chance that after posting this my creativity will burst with a fantastical idea. That's happened before. It happens a lot at work just after I email the bosses. 

   "Dudes! We are so screwed!" 

Five seconds later...

   "Oh, nevermind boss dudes. I figured it out. Abort the self-destruct sequence. Thanks."

Not to mention the fact that my accountant is going to give me that look again next spring when it's tax time and he's going through the 1099s.

   "$4.58 from Amazon."

   "Pathetic, I know. I didn't publish a book this year."

   "You said you were going to."

   "I know."

   "Are you sure you're a writer?

   "Yes! I am!"

   "Uh huh."

   "I am!!!"

   "You know, making a profit isn't a bad thing."

   "I promise I'll do it this year!!!"

   "Uh huh."

   "I will! By the way, what's a profit?"

I am happy to report that the book is 75% done. When will the rest be done? Don't know. Not even going to give an estimated guess. It's about 16 months overdue at this point, so there's no sense in me telling you anything. But a lot of it is done, so that's good, right???

Yeah, I know. I deserve that.

Oh, and the cover is done. I'll be revealing that this week along with the back cover synopsis. Something to look forward to.

So, if you'll forgive me, I'm going to step away from this computer and go make some holiday cheer. Put together some cards. Maybe play a video game with the hubby. I haven't played House of the Dead in a while. Or maybe I'll just get out of this darn house before I go insane!!!!

In the meantime, here's a couple pics I found that gave me some inspiration for a few of the scenes from the book...

And finally... did you ever notice that guys make the same face no matter what size gun they're shooting off? Huh.

Maybe I'll go watch The Mummy.

~Steph

The Adventures of Butterball: JUNE!!!

* The Adventures of Butterball are true stories about my *

* trials and tribulations as a stupid fat girl.  Enjoy! *

Everyone knows by now that I'm a huge fan of "fresh starts." I love to purge. I can have a "Spring Cleaning Day" anytime of the year. Instead of just one day though, I want a whole month. A whole month of purging and starting over and working on bad habits and being just happy me doing weird things.

I've decided to make my month JUNE!!! Why June? It has 30 days. There are a buttload of 30 day challenges out there. Most of them aren't what I'm interested in. I could care less about posting pictures on Facebook for 30 days. In fact, I might avoid Facebook for 30 days. I've done a decent job of ignoring it for the past week already.

Ok. So here's the challenges I've decided to do in June. Note I said challengessssss. I'm not just doing one. Oh know. That's not stupid enough. I'm doing my own personalized buttload. I encourage people to join me! Make your own buttload.

THE ULTIMATE 30 DAY CHALLENGE

CHALLENGE #1 - THE WORKOUT CHALLENGE
Workout at least once a day. It must be a legitimate workout. Legitimate to me is:
  1. Kayaking
  2. TapouT XT
  3. Walking/Jogging on the treadmill/outside
  4. Yoga
  5. Some other exercise that is in some way a benefit to me physically and gets me out of my chair
Not included are the additional workout challenges below or walking on my 15 minute breaks at work. I will count it if I walk at least a half-hour at lunch. Why that? Because I hate it. This is about getting me to do something that's not routine. Something I will likely complain about but will be grateful for when it's done.

CHALLENGE #2 - THE SQUAT CHALLENGE
I am not jazzed with how the 30 Day Squat Challenges I've seen online work. They have a rest day. Squats only take 5 minutes. Why do you need a rest day? It just makes things confusing, so I made up my own challenge.

CHALLENGE #3 - THE CRUNCH CHALLENGE
Same thing as the Squat Challenge, but with Crunches. Again, made my own. No rest for people who don't need more excuses to do so.

CHALLENGE #4 - THE HEALTHY EATING CHALLENGE
Do not order any take-out or get any fast-food or eat out for the month.
Exceptions: Any parties we are scheduled to attend (ie. bridal shower, graduation party, Zom-Prom), Friday lunch with the homies.
The purpose of this challenge is to get us to cook more at home and prepare lunches for work. I have been uber-lazy about this and it needs to stop. Even if I'm not cooking something particularly healthy it's still better than fast-food. And cheaper. There is the money factor to consider here too.

CHALLENGE #5 - THE WRITING CHALLENGE
Write everyday. Novels/Short Stories: 1,000 words. Screenplays: 10 pages. Whatever I feel like writing that day. I'm gonna give myself some leeway on this too because some nights there is no time for this but if I can make it up on the following night/weekend then huzzah. Success.

CHALLENGE #69 - THE SEX CHALLENGE
Haha! I'm just kidding. There is none. I asked Drewbert about it (sort of as a joke) and he was like, "Ok!" But I realize that Challenge #5 will probably keep me up later than him sometimes and if I have to stop writing just to go bang him for a challenge then it's gonna make me cranky. And I'm sure it's no surprise to anyone that Drewbert was still ok with that.
Then again, there is the laughably awkward factor to consider when addressing friends/co-workers who have read this. Because someone's gonna wanna ask how the challenge is going. Hmm... Might reconsider actually doing this. *snicker*

So, that's the plan for June. It's only 10:45 am on 6/1/13 I'm already starting to regret it. HAHA! Such stupid fun!!