Virtual Slumber Party: Yes, This is Occurring

Okay, this is how it's gonna work: we are gonna have a supah fun and fantabulous virtual slumber party. It'll be just you and me, Entirety of the World's Internet. An intimate affair to say the least. You are right now on the virtual doormat outside of my virtual house. Virtual dusk is swiftly approaching, the smell of virtual freshly cut virtual grass has sweetened the virtual breeze and, on a nearby curb, a sad clown is softly weeping.

Pumpernickel dropped her ice cream, y'see.

Now, after buying the clown another cone and sending her on her relatively merry way because Sad Clowns can never really be happy (do not pity them, it is their lot in life and Pumpernickel is vice president of her support group), you approach my door. It is a nice door. A pretty door. You stroke it and gently whisper sweet nothings into it's varnish. "STOP FONDLING MY DOOR, YA HARPY!" you hear from inside and then I open it and we laugh to hide the evident uncomfortableness.

If only Pumpernickel were here.

So c'mon in! Welcome, welcome. I am going to walk you through this amazing slumber partytacular sleepover extravaganza of spectacular awesomeness. Everything we need will be here but in virtualness. Follow me, Internet, old friend. Just leave your cares (and any candy you might have on you) at the door. Also, do everything I say without question and give me fifty bucks for... pizza. Yes... pizza...

One day I hope to save enough for Madonna's cone bra. I shall hang it above my mantel.

I say we start this slumber partytacular of etc. with a game of TRUTH or DARE. Okay, so I choose... truth. Ok. Go ahead. Ask me ANYTHING. Don't be afraid. Huh. Still not saying anything. WELL IF YOU'RE GONNA BE THAT WAY, I GUESS WE'LL HAVE TO GIVE YOU A DARE. I octuple dog dare you (the bane of all dares, second only to Thor's Dare which involves a hammer, a pound of saurkraut, a wheelbarrow and a complex process that I am just not going to get into right now) to:

1)Rent and don a gorilla costume

2)Painstakingly construct a sparkly fairy tutu (WHILE WEARING THE GORILLA COSTUME) that follows the exacting specifications of the Official Tutu Council of America

3)Once you have discovered (after painfully exhaustive research) that such an organization does not exist, go ahead and found the Official Tutu Council of America OR consult Ms. Julie of wowzzy.com because she is known to be tutu scholar and is currently the holder of a doctorate in Glitter Philosophy with an undergraduate in Pretty Pretty Princess Studies.

4)Wearing your gorilla costume and tutu, apply for Canadian citizenship

5)Having obtained citizenship of Canada, still wearing your ensemble, get me some pancakes with syrup on the side so it doesn't get all soggy

6)Give me my pancakes

7)Watch me eat my pancakes

8)Maybe I'll give you some if you're good

We take our dares very seriously around here. What? What's that? You finally figured out a Truth to ask me? Well, then, I guess I won't have to make you do all that. For now. Ok, yeah, so the answer is yes but ONLY ONCE in a pool filled with strawberry pudding. Yeah, I know. That really IS the only way to school a bruthah in the ancient art of yodel kung fu.

Leiderhosen should only be used in defence.

Now that that's all sorted out... IT'S BREAKDANCING TIME! I have the best segues.

http://www.onemotion.com/flash/breakdance/

*Hint: get rid of the gravity and have the guy flail wildly around. That's how I win ALL my throw down dance battles.

As evidenced by this guy pretending to be Kevin Bacon.

And speaking of priceless '80s cinematic gems, let's get the poppin' corn ready (and also a watermelon for) DIRTY DANCING!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i5YSFO0PwRA&feature=fvw -->Go here, watch all the parts and commence squeals of abject joy.

We love and miss The Swayze.

Since that took so long we'll have to condense all the rest of the iconic sleepover movies we planned to watch into 30 second shorts not minimally involving bunnies.

http://www.angryalien.com/

Bunnies have saved the day once again.

Now just a little ice cream before we go to bed (and we won't even brush our teeth because WE'RE JUST THAT FRIGGIN WILD). Go ahead, take a lick!

Mine is computer monitor flavored.

Oh, yeah, and also SPONTANEOUS SCANTILY CLAD PILLOW FIGHT.

This is what boys think girls do whenever they're not in the room.

So I guess now we can pass out happy, plaque-y, and bopping to the harmonic tempo of the gang violence going on in the alley behind my house. Don't worry, nobody really gets hurt. Pumpernickel keeps them in line.

Besides, they're only snappers.

All in all I think we can agree that we had the time of our life tonight. I'm sorry but that cliché was necessary. Aaaand CUE BIG FINALE JUMP.

~Steffi

The Post Where Steffi is a Debbie Downer

I've missed you, Internet... lots of stuff has been happening lately that prevented me from posting. "What kind of stuff, Steffi?" you might ask, but since you don't I'll tell you anyway. I was going about my usual business--saving quadriplegic orphan puppies from evil terrorist aardvark dictators (they are aardvarks, you see) and all. Also, they give the puppies some puppy biscuits and then TAKE THE BISCUITS AWAY MWAHAHAHA. Curse you, evil terrorist aardvark dictators.

The second most diabolical tater known to man.

But in all seriousness, my grandma died. I don't mean to be funny about this. She was and always will be one of the most important people in my life. It was very, very sudden and I've been kind of a mess ever since. It doesn't help that I'm away from home for the month, thrust into the company of strangers. Don't get me wrong, I've made a ton of friends and I love them but... I just needed to not be surrounded by people. People everywhere, I was flooded with people. People in my room, people in my hallways, people in my life; I was breathing people, vomiting people. It was all just too much. I may have been surrounded by people, but, when I found out what had happened to my grandma, I was completely alone. That was the hardest I have ever cried in my whole life. And I was alone in that crowd. A self-imposed exile, trapped in the cloudy recesses of my head. I locked myself in here and I can't seem to remember how to get out.

I didn't sleep that night and I've had trouble doing so ever since. It's then, in the darkness of the night, that I think about death and love and where my life is going. I think about abject, eternal nothingness. I think about God. I think about my grandma and the things she'll never do. I think about what she did do and how I can ever live up to her. What's the point in doing anything if I can't show her? Then there is a very cold pang in the pit of my stomach. I feel so selfish for that pang because I know that she loved me completely and overwhelmingly--she had me drowning in it--and when somebody who loved you goes away, what does that make you? Who am I now? Where did the love go when she died? Did it die, too? Does that make me less somehow? Where did the wonderful that she saw in me escape to? Was it ever really there at all?

It's Existential Crisis Monkey!

Oh, Existential Crisis Monkey. You so crazy.

So yes. That was just about as deep as I've ever gotten on here. Didn't mean to be a buzzkill, but this blog is about me growing and remembering the stuff I learn along the way, for better or for worse. I am not usually so angsty--I'm generally a fairly upbeat, cheerful person. This is probably the most upset you'll see me here, so don't think it'll all be death metal and un-saving quadriplegic puppies (that means giving them puppy biscuits after having saved them and then TAKING THE BISCUITS AWAY MWAHAHAHA).

Ethical Treatment of Puppies Monkey strongly disapproves.

On a happier note, more "Total Eclipse of the Heart" paraphernalia. Also, because you've been such good sports about my ranting about the endless void of black emptiness that is death, here're some more nifty music videos. You are welcome.

Anyway, next time I will make up for this Debbie Downerness by having a... are you ready? Mentally prepare yourself, here... virtual SLUMBER PARTY!! EEEEEEEEEE I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW, RIGHT?! <--- virtual girlish squeal of joy. Ok, go get your best PJs ready. This is officially ON.

~Steffi

Total Eclipse of the AWESOME

Hey, there, Internets. How are you? I'm cool. Thanks for not asking me because you can't talk. I haven't posted for a bit. It's not you, Hon, it's me. I've been busy lately. I know. I missed your depressing lack of comments on my numerous blog posts, too. Hugs.

Now, down to business.

So which is better? I personally have a soft spot for the Thai Susan Boyle equivalent, Lin Yu Chun, and the shirt-rippin' outer space love machine that is an elderly Captain James T. Kirk. But then there's Glee (which is basically my new religion). It is a moral dilemma of epic proportions. Kitch versus the man who has earned a much coveted place in my Pantheon of Marriable Albeit Fictional Men (PMAFM), Finn Hudson/Cory Moteith? I may have to perform Japanese ritual suicide over this one. My life is but a drop in the forever flowing rivers of prime time pop culture shenanigans.

Although this video gets an honorable mention:

I have no idea what Only Men Aloud is (I very much hope that it is not some kind of cult with a charismatic lego-fetishist leader, presumably in a greasy wifebeater and possibly named Phil) but it sounds pretty darn BA if you ask me. Please. Please ask me.

Ahhhh, but back to pop culture. I love me some pop culture. If pop culture were a man, he would most definitely be dreamy. I would scribble his name on my notebook. Mrs. Steffi Pop Culture. I scour the interwebs in the hope of finding hilariously horrible little tidbits like the W-Shat video above. Those are what I live for. I wish I could frame that video and hang it over my mantle piece. I am quite proud. I can only pray that I will soon find something on that level of magnificent gaggyness.

I quiver with humbleness at his glorious feet.

Like, for instance, I got a hold of a free Justin Bieber poster the other day and I was all psyched out. But everyone I showed it to with the rapt excitement of a giggling child gave me a look of pure and utter disgust. Don’t they understand that, because of his awkward feminine man-child sexiness, the Biebs is so gross that he’s cool? For GOD’s sake, what is this world coming to when you can’t be free to ironically like lame things without fear of persecution? THIS IS AMERICA, DARNIT.

USA! USA!

Also, this: http://lesbianswholooklikejustinbieber.tumblr.com/page/49

Yes. Now my life is complete, too.

~Steffi

Scout's Honor

I used to be a Girl Scout. Really. Me. Okay, stop laughing now.

We went camping a few times, once in an aquarium and another time in the actual woods. I know, right? When we got there, me and the girls got very nervous about the whole thing. I mean, there were, like, trees and junk. So for the first part of the day my troop ate through a few bags of marshmallows and watched some DVDs in our troop leaders mini van. Outside the windows we saw soaked, muddy little girls, their tears indistinguishable from the heavenly onslaught. They marched in time, spurred on only by the knowledge that this childhood trauma promised them a colorful new badge to adorn their precious vinyl vests. And yet the cost of the patch was their sense of justice in the world and an empty place that would linger in their hearts for the rest of their lives. Meanwhile we cranked up the movie to drown out their sobs. A few DVDs and a tummy ache later, we were those girls. Suffice it to say I never fully recovered.

What would come to be known as "The Incident" still weighs heavily on my conscience like Vietnam vets get PTSD. The muddy carnage, the zip line (that they hooked me into backwards so I fell 44 feet in the icy cold, unsure of what I was heading towards- pointy branches? Maniacs brandishing boards with rusty nails poking out of them? Potayto potahto...), the mosquito bites and that awesome acorn that I found that looked like a squirrel but then dropped... and most of all the Eddie Murphey movie we watched before it all. It was a dark time that would live on forever in infamy.

Friends don't let friends watch Norbit.

Not surprisinly the highest rank I made it to was Brownie Scout. I got to keep the neat vest, though. It was pretty darn snazzy.

A budding young fashion icon.

The reason I'm reminded of my short stint in the Girl Scouts of America, a cult as secretive and sacred as the Masons (but with moderately less paddling), is that I really have a hankering for a plate of brownies. Not the canibal-y kind, the Betty Crocker kind. Has anybody ever thought of making some and icing them with little patched vests on? Because I think that would be priceless. Go work on that, Internet. I commandeth you lest I send my old Scout buddies to reek sweet chocolate-y vengeance.

From Troop 687. We call her "Rabies Jenny".

Anyway, in other brownie-related news, it has come to my attention that Snoop Dogg was on The Martha Stuart Show. And they made- wait for it- BROWNIES. One can assume that they were very, very special brownies. Hey, why not? Jail changes a woman and Martha is no exception.

Find the recipe here --> http://patrishka.wordpress.com/2009/12/18/snoop-dog-martha-stewart-brownie-recipe/

~Steffi

To Do List

Okay, so there are a lot of things I want to do with my life. Take over the world with my bloodthirsty band of cyborg minions? Check. But that one's for another day.

Realistically, I have some other stuff I feel the need to accomplish. She writes as she sits on the couch eating chips, still wearing her pajamas and watching the What Not To Wear marathon (and probably getting bedsores from not moving for hours). Mine is a charmed life.

MY TO DO LIST

#1. Be a work of art. Hey, if I can't MAKE it, why can't I BE it? And it's possible! The pictures below are actually real people that were painted on to look two dimensional. All I need to do is kidnap artist Alexa Meade. I... mean... hire... her. Yes... hire...

She can sleep in a bathtub cage (a bathtub with a giant birdcage welded over the top... patent pending). Everybody wins!

#2. Learn to figure skate.

See? No sweat.

Well, okay, the last time I went ice skating I got so many bruises that people thought a big bald guy named Tiny had attacked me with a baseball bat.

They're always named "Tiny".

But it would be so FUN. I mean, like, SO AMAZINGLY FUN. Don't believe me, eh, Internet? That's why I have evidence (I didn't watch Legally Blond thirty-three times to be bested at lawyeringlyness by the likes of you).

EVIDENCE THAT FIGURE SKATING WOULD BE AMAZINGLY FUN:

"Wheee"! + nice lighting scheme = SO MUCH FUN. Thank you, Your Honor... and for my NEXT witness I call a pre nose job Jennifer Grey to the stand...

*

Figure skating would be exactly, EXACTLY like Dirty Dancing. Now, where's Zombie Swayze? And I will require a watermelon, Mr. Bailiff.

*

It looks so effortless. I could totally do that. Maybe.

*

Go ahead, Internet. I dare you to tell me that this did not spring to your mind when I brought up the subject. And you know what they had besides crazy shenanigans? SO MUCH FUN.

Plus the costumes are always so glamorous and cute!

With some exceptions.

I rest my case.

#3. Live in a castle.

Although this one is preferred, a hotel could work, too...

A hotel like the four star Clontarf Castle Hotel in Dublin, Ireland, for instance.

Ain't it pretty?

*

This whole princess complex stems from my never getting a canopy bed as a little girl. I never even got a pony (I was quite a deprived child).

And speaking of canopy beds...

#4. Get a fancy shmancy canopy bed (curtain optional but preferred).

#5. Do the Mentos-Diet-Coke-explosion thing. When I do, I've got to get me one of these.

The geyster tube controls it so you won't get all drenched. And now, gratuitous shots of soda explosions!

Awww yeah. That's how we do it, son.

Buy it here --> http://www.firebox.com/product/1797/Steve-Spanglers-Geyser-Tube?currency_conversion=1&aff=512&awc=550_1270268422_336c9dc67ea5da11f19be8ac84e61a39

#6. Buy (or rent) my very own moon bounce.

A Titanic moonbounce!... Too soon?

*

A-nom-nom-nom-nom.

*

PRINCESS COMPLEX. I think I just found the solution to #3.

#7. Win the Miss World pageant! What? What is wrong with that? I'm beautiful. My Mommy told me so. Even though I have exactly zero pageant experience besides watching (and being mildly disgusted by) Toddlers in Tiaras on the TLC channel... I think I could really pull it off with, like, some duct tape or whatever.

A lot...

...of...

...duct...

...tape.

So! Getting off the subject of my apparent horrible ugliness... the final thing I can think of (actually I can think of way more but this stupid thing has taken a lot of time)... is...

#8. GET ONE OF THESE ADORABLE LITTLE MONKEYS!

It is a necessary expense--maybe even a tax deduction. I will train my monkey to be a wise-cracking crime-fighting sidekick that will help me make the streets of Stefmanistan a safe place for Amish everywhere. That is, until he betrays me and forces me to wreak my revenge on all of mankind (except the Amish. They work so darn hard on those barns, I would feel kinda mean burning them down). And then the world domination plan comes into play, see?

It's times like these that I very greatly wish I had an evil mustache to twiddle.

~Steffi~