Headcold of the Apocalpyse

Yesterday I woke up stuffy and now I feel like I got hit by a truck. I tried to go to work, but only made it to 11:00 and had to drag myself home.
Before I could lay in bed and moan, I had to make the dreaded stop at the store. I really hate going to the store when I'm sick. It's hard enough pushing a cart around in my weakened state, but having to decide between multiple types of medicine us hard enough when my brain is fully functioning. Clog up some of my brain's pistons with congestion and I'm screwed. Then, once I finally get to the checkout counter, the cashier will look at me all chipper and go "How are YOU doing today!!!!!"
How am I?! I have nothing but soup and Nyquil in my cart and you wanna know how I am?!!
Being sick sucks.
On another note, I really love baseball. I miss the fun times I had playing softball. That ping the ball would make when I got a hit. The sensation of sliding into home plate. But the best thing about baseball is you can eat while you're playing it!
Can you wolf down a cheesburger between downs in football? No way! Spit sunflower seeds while making you free throws? Definitely not. But in baseball eating is not only accepted, it's tradition.
Therefore, I love baseball. Fun+food= perfection. Now that's math I can do.

That Just Happened

I just had to blog an experience I had today at Stake Leadership Training (yeah... I actually went)
We were doing the whole small talk thing with this guy in my ward. He asked me about my degree. I told him I graduated in Spanish Teaching and we kept talking. Then a few minutes passed and he looked at me and said, completely seriously, "Are you a Mexican?" Without missing a beat, I looked at this very obviously Polynesian boy and said, "No, are you?" He looked confused and said no. So then I said "Well, you asked me, so I figured I should ask you."

Yeah. I AM that awesome.

The Science of Stephanie

I really think some mathematician out there could develop algorythyms based on my life....
First there is the "Workweek Ratio". The further we get into the week, the less motivation I have to drag my butt out of bed, no matter the job I'm currently at. (multiply this formula by three during the summer)
Next is what I like to call the "Menstral Munchies". The closer I get to...ahem..."commencing my cycle" (yes, I just went there), the more disgusting my eating habits become. Taco Bell? Oh yes, but only if eaten in bed while watching Project Runway. Three cupcakes washed down with Orange Crush? Don't mind if I do. Now I've never been heralded for my healthy eating, but the thought of something that isn't from a drive thru will actually make my stomach turn during my special time. So, I end up eating like a stoned frat boy, minus the beer. Thanks a lot, Aunt Flo.
Third is the "Self Esteem Shopping Slope". The less I like about my life when I enter a mall, the more likely I am to randomly buy things I don't need or will rarely use in an effort to distract from my problems. For this reason I will avoid Bath and Body Works after an especially bad breakup.
And last but not least is the most magical of all- the "Diminished Dating Continum". The older I become, the more guilted I become about needing to make efforts to meet guys. However, there is a catch, because this increased effort and enthusiasm aslo usually leads to an inevitable halt in motivation and influx of frustration. This also will often lead to Taco Bell and cupcakes. Such an enigma.
Of course, none of this is an exact science, but if any aspiring nerds out there would like to study these or my other habits, I bet you'd probably at least win a nobel prize.

It's like crack, but healthy...

So... sad confession time. A few months ago, in a blinding revelation to rival Alma the Younger, it became apparent that none of my pants fit anymore. "What the what?!" I said to myself, "Has laying in bed steaming Lost off of Netflix and eating nothing but JCWs affected my waistline? I'm so act..."

Active is what I was not. See, in college I could eat shiz and pretty much get away with it because I either walked off the calories around campus going up BYU's "trial of your faith" type hills or by simple stress. But now I sit at a desk eight hours a day.

Once I had committed to actually exercising, I did something rare in my family- I joined a gym. See, we Thompsons are famous for many things (wise cracks, for one) but we don't exactly join gyms. At first I felt like a tentative gazelle, inching up to the watering hole, leery that a hyena (or douche in spandex) would attack. But it went well. I eventually started going to spin classes, and then, the magic really happened.... I discovered Zumba.

Now, when I say I "discovered' Zumba, I mean "Ashlee kept telling me to go and I finally caved". But I LOVE it. I adore it, if it was a man, we would be married and have babies. Kelani and I were talking about its wonders the other day, and we concluded that the powers of Zumba can soften the hardest of hearts, that it may have even given Saddam some of his energy to maim and dictate.

So I love zumba. The end.

I also love my roommate, the psuedo Polynesian. She let me use her laptop to write this because mine has given up the ghost. One of these days I should spend more than a video game on a computer. She also walked up to me a few minutes ago and said "You should go visit your family..." which translates to "GIVE ME MORE OF YOUR MOM'S SALSA". Soooo nice to feel loved.

Don't Call It a Comeback...

I've been here for years. So, narcissistic as I am, I decided I should get back online and write my random thoughts that I think are witty and funny. So here goes.

The older I am, the more I realize that I hate everyone. Ok, obviously not everyone, but I'm slowly turning into one of those old men from The Muppet Show that would sit in the back and make fun of Kermit. My new roommate, who is awesome, is almost as bad as me. We will be sitting in Sunday School suffering through some eighteen year old's story about why she is soooo grateful for FHE and turn and raise our eyebrows at each other at the exact same time. Bonnie, meet Clyde. It's so rare that I find someone that can freely mock others at the rate I can, like some sort of freestyle rap battle. It's nice to have someone to ride with me on the bus to Hell.

So, yeah, I am a horrible person, but at least I still go to the gym. More about that later.