Contact

When I told Trainer Tracey I’d buy a balance ball to workout with at home, I doubt this is what she had in mind:

I ran out of room on my clothes drying rack for my bras. Calm down, it’s not like you haven’t seen underwear before. You may have even seen mine if you ever hung out drinking at Murphy’s Bar in downtown Salt Lake during my late 20s. If you did, by chance, pick up a black lacy number off of the street can you mail it to me? I’ve never found one that fits as well as that one did.

Needless to say I’ve lost some of my workout motivation.  I really need to get back into the groove of it.  I’m sure the elderly couple misses me something fierce.

My metamorphosis into old maid is complete. I’ve decided now is the time to start collecting things. I have given this collecting business a lot of thought, and have decided to collect Pyrex. My lovely pseudo sisters all collect Pyrex and I’ll never be accepted into the sisterhood if I don’t.

Given my love of all things pink I decided my first piece should this little beauty:

I’ve named her Rose and we’re going to be very happy together. Once I learn how to cook, or hang shelves on my wall to display her properly.  I’ve also promised to bring her home some sisters soon.  Which means I’ll be scrounging through my mom’s kitchen ASAP.

Trainer Tracey hates me.  She acts all nice and sweet, but secretly she wants me dead, or at the very least humiliated.

At my last training session she made me work out with those giant balls.  Yes, the balls that have terrified me for years. She quickly realized I have zero coordination when I couldn’t simply toss the ball and catch it with my feet while laying on my back.  So she punished me.

“Sarah, hold the ball between your thighs and pulsate.”

“Really? This isn’t a joke?  You seriously want me to sit in the middle of a gym full of people with a ball between my thighs and pulsate?”

“Yes.”

“If you weren’t such a great person, I’d really hate you right now.”

“I know.  Now pulsate and count to 30.”

I did, but I wasn’t very happy about it.  To make things worse, I got home and found my Gliding Discs had arrived in the mail.  I finally gave up on using paper plates when I came home to find Daisy gnawing on them.

The good news is if the discs don’t glide me into my skinny jeans as promised I can use them to glide over to the freezer for consolation ice cream.

Dear Al Gore,

I rode my bike to the store last night. The fact that I couldn’t locate my car keys may have had something to do with my decision, but I’d still like props for saving that itsy bitsy piece of the planet.

But that’s not why I’m writing you; I just wanted to check in.  How are you?  I’ve been a little worried that you may be feeling down in the dumps over this whole McCain inventing the Blackberry fiasco.  Party affiliations aside, you’re still my man.  Sure, the Blackberry was pretty cool.  I had one for a while, but I quickly moved onto the iPhone.  Whereas your invention, the Internet, I’ve not moved on from.

The Internet has made such a difference in my life.  It gives me a place to share stories of the crazy, stupid things I do.  Not to mention I’ve found a really great support system online.  And even a boyfriend or two.  I’ve never humped anyone because of a Blackberry.  For that alone you’re the clear winner. So, as you can see you’re still very much ahead of the game.

I won’t quit you Al Gore.

Love,
Sarah

Last week when my brother asked if I was interested in adopting a pug that needed a home, I scoffed at the idea of a second dog.  Surround sound snorting, are you kidding me? That sounds as appealing as finally washing my week-old dirty dishes.  But the more I thought about it, the better the idea sounded.

After all, Daisy is 12 and not getting any younger.  People, when my girl dies I’m going to hit rock bottom. Is that morbid to worry how you’ll handle your pet’s death?  Because it’s something I’ve been starting to concern myself with this past year.  If I get a second dog now, will it make things easier when she goes?

Not to mention Daisy might just enjoy someone to boss around all day. I could name the dog after RLO just to piss him off.  Which, by the way, if pissing RLO off were an Olympic sport I would fucking take Michael Phelps to the ground. Fourteen gold medals, pfff, I could accomplish that before my morning coffee.

Ben hasn’t heard back from the people that were trying to place the pug, which probably means they’ve changed their minds or found another home for the puppy.  Meanwhile I’m cruising adoption sites and classifieds for the perfect mate for Daisy.

Internet, this is where you come in… talk me out of this, and fast.  If I become a single girl with two dogs, I’m only one step away from learning to knit my own clothing, and collecting Precious Moment figurines

Last night I had my second session with Trainer Tracey.  I accidentally spilled the beans and told her about the song I sang to RLO while we ran laps in the gym while carrying those damn 10 lbs balls.

“I hate Tracey, yes I do.  I hate Tracey and so should you.”

Rather than taking offense she laughed.  It makes working out with her so much easier just knowing she doesn’t mind if I have to hate her sometimes.

It was a great night at the gym, not only because we had a good workout, but because there were no police outside waiting to arrest me for statuatory rape.  I was so pumped about these Gliding Discs we used that rather than order some online and wait for their arrival, I rushed home and tried the routine again with paper plates.  I thought my plan was brilliant, but quickly realized my mistake when I couldn’t finish the workout because Daisy wouldn’t stop licking the plates.

Looks like I’ll be breaking down and ordering the plastic ones.  Luckily they look similar to Frisbees, so she won’t go near them.  She never was a Frisbee type of dog, even when she had both eyes.

I’m having an off day.  One in which I want to go home and tell my better half about, only I don’t have a better half.  Well, I do have Daisy, but she’s too busy rolling around in my pile of clean clothes with her half-chewed bone to care too much about my troubles.

Not that I really have big troubles, mind you.  I have it pretty easy considering, but I’m having one of those days where it seems like my life is quite possibly the hardest, most difficult life lived.  I guess it could be worse… I could be Sarah Palin.

After many emails asking me about commenter Trollpop I decided to let him guest post and hopefully explain himself.  Other readers have expressed concern that he seems threatening.  I don’t know if he is, or not, but the small-town girl in me is going to trust him.  For now.  I have no idea who he is, but maybe we’ll all get a better idea after reading this very lengthy post:

I.
Tonight, oh children young and old
Rejoice thyselves in this prologue
Observe, my tale shall soon be told
Laboriously, on Nielstein’s blog
Listen closely, friend or stein
Perchance thy shall some wisdom gain
Out poureth my soul into thine
Profusely as the summer rain

Joy and mirth must flow’r from grief
And sadly doth my story start
Nary a drop of cool relief, could
Grace upon my lonesome heart
Longing for a woman’s face
Entreated I the internet;
Sarah Bellum’s smile did place
Tears upon me, white and wet
Every sorrow in my life
Instantly she did consume
Nielson, I would make my wife, and Daisy my cycloptic groom

– Trollpop Janglestein, an excerpt from “Lustful Janglings and Other Short Stories”

II.

The heartiest goulash of salutations to you all! At the request of Madame Sarah Bellum I appear before you now, humbly to add a slab of my mind upon this steamingly lavish pile of witful, charming tales. Even now the stones cry out with joy so strained, one wonders if any mountain will be left untouched! And I, like the stones, must strain to keep inside the hot liquidy excitement which, on account of this monumental occasion, within me bubbles. But alack, for the sake of prudence I shall limit the creamy geyser of celebration to a trickling dribble of gratitude, and leave the rest, oh reader, as but a jigsaw puzzle for yourself to piece together. The elk tastes all the richer, dear friend, when you have clubbed it yourself ;-). Therefore, I shan’t say more on the matter.

III.

I have been instructed to lecture on a few, basic tenants of Trollpopery. The outline for this discussion shall be as follows:

I. Poetic Excerpt
II. Introduction
III. Outline
IV. Who am I, why am I here, and do I mean harm?
V. Q&A
VI. Final Remarks

IV.

Now I turn to the matter at hand. Many ShellyDs, Beaches, and others like them have asked such probing nonsensical questions as “Who is Trollpop?”, “Why is he here?”, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, etc. These are questions of deep significance; my lifeblood, pumping through my veins. Thus they are, metaphorically, the IV of my outline, pumping rich nourishment, through the tubes of the internet, into the wrists of my starved, tattered reputation.

Who am I, you may ask? I find the question increasingly odd. How does one know anyone, except for what he says? And I have spoken tenfold more than anyone else on this Web Log (perhaps more than Her Bellumness herself!) Indeed, I reveal more about my innermost thoughts and outermost pleasures than most anyone on any corner of the entire Internet. I am but a simple Trollpop, with few things to hide. The word Janglestein should, of course, conjure up images of such immense detail, that mere description would serve only to dampen your vision.

Why, then, do I reside upon this particular blog? A cinematic example, I believe, would be of much use here. With the passion that this Puggish creature throws herself at a mere short tail, so do I choose to throw my own self at Miss Nielson’s short tales. Passionately I chase them, spinning words round and round, snorting comments and drooling innuendo as I go in dizzying succession. They are, to me, a simple pleasure, but a tauntingly alluring one at that. For as Captain Daisy and Commadore Bellum elegantly show us, even things of menial importance, be they the stub of a tail or a daily occurrence of equal depth, may bring about unsurpassed joy to millions! Let us each, with the blissfully ignorant fervor of a pug, pursue the Ass of life for as long as our stumpy little legs may carry us! In this, there is great joy.

Finally, I must dispel rumors of grave solemnity. My feisty love biscuit has confided in me that many of you have expressed fear for her safety! THIS IS AN OUTRAGEOUS, OFFENSIVE, PREPOSTEROUS PROPOSITION! While my love for Miss Nielson is quite exquisitely volatile, it is certainly not explosively violent! I am but a joyful, cool-tempered old vessel; a soft and welcoming friend to all. I would lay a hand on no one without his/her/pug’s express permission to do so. Furthermore, as I have expressed only the deepest love, lust, and adoration for said Female without the slightest violen undertones, the concept is increasingly puzzling! Against such rumors I must take firm action, and so I will do my part to silence the mouth of the accusers, forcefully pin the issues down, and tear off the cloak of lies till the true motives for such hatemongering are laid cold and bare. While accusations may scream against me, I will heed them not, continuing to penetrate the falsehoods with the intense power of the truth, till finally a seed of hope may be planted, birthing into full-fledged trust. I trust that never again will the purity of my intentions be put into question.

V.

…very well then.

VI.

Many thanks for listening to the old janglings of a crusted soul as myself, and more thanks a-plentiful to Sarah Bellum and His Pugnicity for allowing me this grave duty. I humbly entreat them both to allow me this opportunity again. I leave thee with a song of gratitude.
Some Day shall i go with thee
Away, Among the forestry
Reach Into these tangled vines
And Shall you then with janglestein
Here Young and joyful dance with ecstasy

Sadly this picture in no way represents my weekend.  I gave up soda, and sex gave up me.  I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw these abandoned in the isle of a 7-11.  Of course that was right after I sad sat down in the isle and cried because I was so jealous.

Last night RLO and I decided to take our relationship to the next level.

Calm down, we didn’t hump–it was far more spiritual than physical.  RLO introduced me to one of his Mormon friends.

He and one of his female friends had plans to go grab some dinner, and he invited me to come along. It’s always made me feel bad that he keeps me so separate from his other friends, so I happily accepted.

On the way there I started to worry that we’d have nothing in common and the conversation would be not only lacking, but also boring as hell.  Luckily that wasn’t the case.  The only one bored was RLO.  His friend and I talked about The Hills and Gilmore Girls.  It was glorious to have someone besides Mrs. AK and Kelli to discuss LC’s newest fingernail polish shade.  Which, by the way, I’m liking the purple looking black.  So much in fact I’m going to find the shade and make RLO paint my nails.  It’s the perfect way to compliment the new ring he picked out for me.  Don’t get too excited, it was plastic ring from Forever 21, but that doesn’t make it any less special, or him less gay.