It's not a death wish - it's a writing prompt!

This week's writing prompt over at Studio 30 + is to write your own obituary. Need I say more?

Stephanie Turple (that's my real name and I'm not afraid to use it, unless someone starts stalking me, and I'm forced to go all Hunger Games on their ass.) Where was I? Oh yeah, Stephanie Turple's obit.

Alright, so, Stephanie was a cantankerous bitch. This was, however, overlooked due to her sheer brilliance at life. As you know, unless you live under a rock, Stephanie was a critically-acclaimed and universally adored playwright and screenwriter. (Shut up, it could happen.) She became filthy rich because everything she wrote was a huge, international success, and decided to spend her days sipping cosmos and eating cheese.

The end.

Umm, I guess there should probably be more, right?

Let's see... she successfully avoided getting shanked by her stepchildren and died peacefully in her sleep at some ridiculously old age which is surprising since she developed a heroin habit in her later years (à la Alan Arkin in Little Miss Sunshine) and had a tendency to wander into traffic, claiming she was defending pedestrians' rights and denouncing traffic rules as draconian.

Stephanie dyed her hair hot pink at 85 and wore her Converse All Stars canvass sneakers up until her death. She refused to buy old lady shoes from Naturalizer and get the mandatory seniors' short hair cut and perm. Then again, it could have been the heroin...

Stephanie didn't want to bore you with all the lame shit people usually have in their obits like "loved teddy bears and rain drops". She traveled the world, drank too much, ate what she wanted and had a great time thumbing her nose at society's thinly-veiled contrivances. Towards the end, she brazenly walked around with a muffin-top hanging out of her too-tight skinny jeans. She just didn't give a shit anymore.   

She'd like to say she tried to make the world a better place but who is she kidding? The world was her playground and she didn't have time to worry about the less fortunate. Aren't there charities for that, anyway?

After the devastating loss of her pet rock, Pebble, Stephanie decided to never again adopt a pet, the pain of their death being just too much to bear. Pebble was accidentally thrown into a lake, or rather skipped over water to see how far he could go. Oh wait, Stephanie did that. Again with the heroin. Stay away from that stuff, kids. It can only lead to no good.

I coulda been a contender...

Last weekend, I went shopping with a gaggle of girls for a wedding dress for my dear friend G. We were also looking for some bridesmaid dresses, minus the diarrhea and projectile vomiting. So, I'm sitting in the back of the car with C. We're casually chatting when she mentions she's going to an information session for a local roller derby league. "Whaaaaaaa?!!" I say.

You see, ever since I saw the movie Whip It (not great, mediocre at best), I've had a fascination with roller derby. So when C. tells me this, I immediately say: "When, where, oh my god, oh my god, I am SO going!" And she's all like: "Really?!" and I'm all like: "Hells ya!" It was a sign from the Universe. My dreams of becoming a roller derby queen would finally come true. The path was being laid out before me.

The recruitment process is dubbed the Fresh Meat Program (loving it already), and it runs throughout the summer. Then, if you survive that, you get a shot at joining one of three teams in the league. I figured with my kickboxing background, I'd be a shoe-in. It's kinda like kickboxing, on roller skates. Psshh. No big. I can do that.

However, upon further research, I discovered that joining a roller derby league would spell the end of my yoga teaching career due to conflicting time commitments, and it's taken me over three years to build my current yoga client base. Damn you yoga, and your... your enlightenment and shit! Dream crusher.

I also Wiki'ed  roller derby. It was a fascinating read, especially the section titled Safety Concerns. And I quote: As roller derby is a contact sport, the risk of injury is non-trivial. Injuries range from common bruises and sprains to broken bones and concussions and beyond. Um, is "non-trivial" a euphemism for "you could get seriously f*cked up"? And what exactly lies beyond a concussion? Death? A permanent vegetative state?

I ultimately decided I couldn't give up my yoga teaching, which I've poured countless hours into, for an uncertain shot at a spot on a roller derby team. In a perfect world, there would be time to do everything that interests me. Alas, such is not the case, and sacrifices must be made. My roller derby aspirations will have to wait, for now.

I did, however, get distracted in the bridal shop by a black fascinator, and decided to take an "artsy" shot of myself. 

Those eyes are like black pools of deadness. Roller derby is my destiny. One day, one day...