One of my earliest memories is of doing the big grown up thing of going to the movie theater for the first time. The entire event has had such a profound impact on my past that I’ve unsuccessfully tried to repress the memory of it from my existence. If I had a therapist I would tell him, “That shit scarred me for life bro”, and pound my chest mournfully, but since I don’t seek professional help, I mostly handle my emotions by tearfully screaming at the mirror, “I’m a good girl! Tell me I’m pretty mama!”
It was for my third birthday and my mom surprised me with something she thought my fragile, uncorrupted mind could handle, a day at the movies! The film was Lady and the Tramp and must have been a re-release since it originally came out in 1955, and much to my dismay I’m not a 57 year old woman with a fierce interest in sock hops and saddle shoes. I’m actually 28 and don’t spend my weekends ironing poodle skirts and doing the jitterbug to Fats Domino. All of my facts and information about the 1950’s come from the movies Grease and La Bamba, so I don’t even know if any of that is correct. Kenickie! Buddy Holly!
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I haven’t written here in forever. To be honest, I miss it. So for those of you who still read this (Hi mom! Just kidding! If she knew about this blog my stomach would implode with a fever of anxiety not seen since the time I was almost 100% positive I had accidentally given my one and half year old niece a glass of pure vodka instead of water! It’s OK guys, it was actually water! Don’t call Child Services, her brain is still functioning at full capacity and I won’t let her touch a drink until she’s 35! Also, I had already drank the aforementioned glass of vodka, it was delicious, so the only person booze
made more awesome affected that day was me.) I’m going to start updating more.
It saddens me that I’ve not written in this blog in ages. I rest the reason for that squarely on the shoulders of my extreme laziness, the beautiful weather, the fact that nobody reads this blog and me being a problem drinker. So today, instead of me writing, I have a guest blogger in da house (how cool am I? I feel like a backup dancer in Kid n’ Play’s classic movie House Party 1,2 and 3). One of my very good friends, Petunia von Waffles has written an epic tale of a friendship not seen since Jason Priestly and Shannen Doherty portrayed innocent soon to be corrupted brother and sister Brandon and Brenda Walsh
who secretly wanted to make out with each other.
Seriously, Petunia and I spend probably 80% of our time leaning back to back looking introspective and vapid.
Anyways, the proceeding blog is a true story about my past, present and future and more importantly, my relationship with Petunia von Waffles. All names, dates, locations, and illegitimate children have been changed
badly to protect the innocent. The innocent being me and only me.
Stephanie Q. Blarosz III: A Retrospective
By: Petunia von Waffles
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I was going through some old photo albums when I stumbled across this one from my
desperate, elderly cougar Match.com profile phase sixth grade school portrait. I literally had to squeeze my thighs together in an effort to keep pee from erupting from my vag. I had completely forgotten about this photo and my vagina was struck with so much laughter, fear, disgust, remorse and humility that its first instinct was to expel all of its distilled contents. All kidding aside, this is a serious problem I have. If I laugh too hard, whether in public, on a roller coaster or while sharing a bath with a handsome millionaire, you can bet I’m peeing. All signs point to a future of incontinence so I need to ramp up my kegel exercises now.
I forgot about my awkward, middle aged Hunchback of Notre Dame phase that started at the cusp of my adolescence and lasted until my senior year of high school. Am I wearing a wig in this picture? Did I steal those glasses from a distinguished English butler? Did Will Smith let me raid his Fresh Prince of Bel Air wardrobe for my outfit? Can I do the Carlton dance? The answer to all those questions is yes.
Whenever I go out to lunch/dinner/snacks/drinks/aquariums/square dances with a person that I’ve just met I’m always 99% certain there is a booger or foreign object hanging from my nose. I start to do that thing where I rub my nose nonchalantly in an effort to have whatever is hanging from it fling discreetly onto my lap where it will perish along with my self respect. The person I’m with sees me rubbing my nose and than they start rubbing their nose too. I’m sure it’s just their subconscious reaction to seeing me rub my nose but I’m still like, “Is this their super secret way of telling me I have a huge honking booger hanging from my face?!” Can we please move this relationship forward from strangers to best friends so we can talk, at length, about body waste hanging from our extremities? Take a gander up my nostrils and tell me if it looks like the perfect storm is approaching and if there’s a situation I need to prepare for. Anyways, pretty soon we’re both rubbing our noses like Whitney Houston at 3 in the morning and another piece of me has died inside.
I made a rapture joke at work today:
"I wonder if Kirk Cameron is angry he got Left Behind! Haaaaaaaaaaaa….. get it?”
Get it?! The hot older brother
from Growing Pains of DJ from Full House grew up into a crazy extremely devout Christian and made a series of movies about the rapture and apocalypse titled Left Behind! They made three movies about this and I think the first won 10 Christian Oscars.
Nobody laughed at my joke. They kind of just looked at me like, “Why is this girl in this meeting and why is she eating all of our bagels?” Answer: I love bagels. Left Behind!