The time that I bought my camera back from the guy who stole it from me

Our story begins in May of 2010. That's when my parents bought me this beaut for a graduation gift: 

It was pretty much the best day ever. I'd been lusting after a quality camera for a few years, and man, was this one quality. At the time, this camera would run you more than $1,000. I know, I'm a lucky girl. This amazing present started my obsession with photographing people, and I took pictures like this: 

And this:

And this:

I named him "Big Daddy" because he is a large. I took him with me on a zillion trips. Such as:

New York

Italy

and Austria

I even won a photo contest with that last one! Big Daddy and I had grown very close by the time I went to Austria, which was the Summer of 2012. We had gone through two years of college by that point, after all. 

Now, in Fall of 2013, I moved into a new apartment in a neighborhood that is safe and quiet. Big Daddy had a table all to himself (well, except for a candle) in the living room. It was splendid. I went home for Thanksgiving break that semester, of course, and left Big Daddy here because I would only be home for a few days and because my mom has a great camera as well, so any pictures of family or whatever could be taken on her camera.

I got back on Black Friday because I had to work the next morning. Iron Bowl and all that. And when I got home my door was unlocked, which was weird and kind of freaked me out. I thought I had locked it before I left, but maybe I didn't...or maybe maintenance came in to do something and didn't lock it after they left? This is still unsolved...

I didn't notice Big Daddy was missing until a week or so later, because I was up to my eyeballs in stress due to graduation and also grad school applications and also finals. And I didn't do anything about it, because I thought that maybe I had brought him home after all.

But after thoroughly searching both my apartment and house in TN when I was home for Christmas, it became clear that Big Daddy was, in fact, gone. But worse: he had been stolen. From my nice, quiet, safe apartment. 

I filed a police report when I got back to Auburn, and checked craigslist and eBay like mad. I even called all the Pawn Shops in the area, but no luck. I hadn't written the serial number down, like an idiot, so there wasn't much that could be done. I gave up searching near the beginning of January. I figured he was just gone.

But then, on the first day of Auburn's Snowpocalypse 2014, boyfriend and I watched a documentary about this guy who photographed a porn convention (it's actually really good....check it out. It's called Naked Ambition). And I thought, Man, I really miss Big Daddy. Photography is so awesome. And so I got on craigslist one more time and there was this suuuuper sketchy post about a Nikon D90....Dude Man was selling it for $150 and had pictures of a lens and lens cap whose brands weren't visible, but they looked an awful lot like mine....

I knew I had to play it cool, because I couldn't prove the camera was mine (no memory card in it, no serial number), so I couldn't get the police involved. But I figured $150 was chump change for a camera like that, and I might as well buy it even if it wasn't mine. So I emailed him and texted him and he FINALLY, AFTER AN EXCRUCIATING 36 HOURS, responded. 

I asked what brand the lens was, and he said, "I think it's a Tamron."

Mine. My lens was a Tamron.

I asked if he was selling the lens with it, and he said, "Yeah, but I don't have a charger for it."

No, you don't, because it's still in my room, asshole.

And we decided to meet at Walmart, near the entrance, where there were lots of people. And the dude looked something like this:

And I paid him $150 in cash and got the hell out of there. 

It was my camera. It is my camera. Big Daddy is back where he belongs, with his serial number written down in a safe place. 

THAT, kids, is why you always double check that your door is locked. And also write all your serial numbers down. 

And that is the very true, very ridiculous story of how I bought my camera back from the guy who stole it from me. 

Me and Big Daddy reunited

Got it back. Suck it, douche bag.

Lather, rinse, ABORT, ABORT

I am become a real person.

I graduated in December and now I sit in my apartment all day while all my friends are in class because I have not yet acquired enough work hours to be full time.

So I watched all of Orange is the New Black in one week. And I take a lot of naps. And I play a lot of Candy Crush. And I basically don't do anything productive. But I have been going to the gym.

Boyfriend and I signed up for Maxx Fitness in Auburn so we could stop being fatty fat fat walruses and get healthy and whatnot. And they're doing a student special (shh don't tell them I lied) that includes one free personal training session.

So yesterday I went in at 11 a.m. and met with this really buff bald dude who was asking me about my fitness goals and took my body fat percentage, which was quite discouraging, and then told me that I should gain 11 pounds of muscle and lose 29 pounds of body fat. Which actually only means I need to "lose" 18 pounds. That is far superior to the 50 I originally thought I would have to lose.

And then we decided that we would do a chest workout. And that, friends, is where my mistake lies. I thought, my chest is really weak so maybe a training session would be good for me.

Ooooor it would make me unable to wash my hair for weeks.

Firstly, I would like to say that I bench pressed 45 pounds, which amazed me because I thought I was literally strength-less in the chesticles. I mean I only did it like...15 times but still! Go me!

And then I did a whole lot of flies (I think like 100 altogether) and then I felt like jello. I always thought I felt like jello after my workouts, but I guess I never knew what it felt like to truly fatigue a muscle because Jesus H. it was intense. I struggled to drive home.

Then I had to shower, because, you know, sweat. And I sort of lifted my arms very slowly to wash my hair, but I just could not sustain the movement. So I turned toward my shower wall, propped up my elbows, and moved my hands around my head as best as I could without using any upper arm/chest strength. It was not the best lather I've ever had.

And now my range of movement is shockingly limited. It will probably be moreso tomorrow, as I did back today and it was just as difficult.

I just want to be able to wash my armpits and wash dishes, you know?

I wish binge watching TV shows was considering exercise. I would be such a professional.

Raise your hand if you want to help me bathe. Unless your chesticles hurt too. Then you wouldn't be able to help me. In fact, you wouldn't even be able to raise your hand. Maybe we could clean each other with our feet.

Okay this just got weird.

Bye.