Chasing Sharks: Faster Than the Speed of Awesome

I write important things about stuff
(Not really, this blog is mostly dick jokes)

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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 

What can one say about Stephanie Q. Blarosz III? Not much, when you think about it. She’s really not that remarkable.

For the duration of this blog, I’m going to refer to her as “Kitty”. I’m choosing to do this for two reasons: 1. I’ve decided that it’s finally time to reveal that super secret nickname to the world. 2. I don’t want to have to write out Stephanie Q. Blarosz III every time I refer to her.

Now, in order to protect the identities of the people and places mentioned in this post, I’ve altered the names so don’t even bother trying to figure out who I’m talking about.

Are you ready? Here we go:

I first met Kitty in 2005 when we were both working at the Fribeca Bilm Tenter. I was a lowly intern, and she was in a much more important and higher paid (seeing as how I was not paid at all) position with the company. She was the receptionist and in charge of the entire front desk. Intimidating, I know. We met and I instantly forgot about her. In fact, I couldn’t even remember her name until the day I told her I was going to Clorida to visit my brandfather. I walked into the office that afternoon and found she had left a post it for me. It read as follows:


Have a great time in Clorida! I hope you don’t get eaten by a shark.



In that instant, I knew Kitty and I were destined to be friends forever. Or at least until my internship was over.

Over the next few months, Kitty and I became inseparable. You know, except when the workday ended and we went to our separate apartments. But every Friday night, without fail, we went drinking at the Dribeca Pavern. Now, if there is one thing Kitty is great at, it’s drinking. She’s a champion drinker. And drunk dialer.

This is normally the part where I’d tell you about all our drunken adventures together, but strangely enough I don’t remember much of those evenings. So instead, I’ll tell you about the one cosmic moment Kitty and I shared together.

It was a blisteringly hot day in July. It was our friend Gan’s birthday and we were headed to his apartment in Nilliamsburg. After climbing up twenty thousand steps to reach his apartment, Kitty and I looked like pigs that had been sitting in a steam room. Luckily for us, the World Cup was on so we pretended to be invested in the game so we’d have an excuse to stay inside and cool off. Twelve hours later, we’d finally stopped sweating enough to meet everyone else on the roof. We met some very nice people, who I’ve since forgotten about, and drank the beers we brought with us (we also stole one from a girl who had initially taken one of ours). As we were talking to these nice girls whose faces I can’t recall and looking out on the roof, we noticed a gentleman a few roofs over, waving what looked like a metal stick into the air. We followed the stick and realized there was a flock of birds following wherever this gentleman pointed the stick. He looked like a conductor, leading an orchestra of birds through the air. Kitty and I watched him silently for a few minutes then, at the exact same moment, turned to each other and sang the first line of the theme song to “The Barry Gibb Talk Show”, a sketch from Saturday Night Live. If you don’t know that sketch, go watch it immediately, if not sooner. The fact that the theme song had zero relevance whatsoever to what we were watching was, to this day, me and Kitty’s finest moment.

The reason I chose to tell you about our friendship is because it’s truly a remarkable friendship. Mostly because Kitty and I don’t care about anyone except ourselves. And our dogs. And ice cream. But we’ve somehow managed to stay in touch for all these years, even after Kitty ditched me to move back to Ahio and be lame. Nonetheless, I adore her. And by adore her, I mean fantasize about training a monkey to kill her with a single judo chop to the neck.

Filed under Guest blogger Petunia von Waffles

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