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...

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

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

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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?

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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?

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A-nom-nom-nom-nom.

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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~

In the Pants

It's kind of a funny word if you say it enough times. "Pants" "PAnts" "paNTS". Go ahead. I'll wait.

For the most part I hate pants. Especially when those pretentious people add "in the pants" after everything (although if you try it, I am sorry to say that it's a pretty fun game). Admittedly, pajama pants are always lovely, and there are a few notable exceptions, but as a whole I am rather racist against the majority of pantsdom. They constrict my legs and are just plain less pretty than skirts and dresses. I am all for feminism and grrrl power and whatnot, but pants always expect special treatment, you know? They're all "Oh, I have two leg holes and a side pocket, look at me, I'm Mr. Fancypants!". If they could talk I am almost positive that is what they would say.

See, pants feel entitled. They think they're better than me. THAT IS WHAT THEY THINK.

I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS. THIS IS AN OUTRAGE. SEE ME? I'M OUTRAGED. OK, SO YOU CAN'T SEE ME THROUGH THE MONITOR. BUT BELIEVE ME, I AM OUTRAGED. I WOULD POST A PICTURE OF THE OUTRAGE IF NOT FOR THE FEAR OF BEING MURDERED IN MY SLEEP BY AN INTERNET STALKER (no offense to all the non-murdering internet stalkers. Far be it for me to fan the flames of stereotyping). THE WHOLE COUNTRY OF STEFMANISTAN IS UP IN ARMS.

Funny story... I won an Amish Village in a game of UNO and decreed it to be named Stefmanistan. Also, there is now Casual Friday there.

I hold you as my witness, Percentage-of-Internet-That-Won't-Murder-Me. I hereby WAGE A WAR ON PANTS. THE PANTS OF THE WORLD ARE GOING DOWN. DOWN TO THE GROUND.

You knew that video was coming.

Not just ANY pants can be fancy pants. Oh no no no no no. You've got to earn that, darn it.

Par exemple.

Speaking of fancy pants, try out one of my favorite flash games. It is so addicting. I apologize in advance for subjecting you to its awesomeness.

http://www.addictinggames.com/fancypantsadventure2.html <--go here

I think that that's all I have to say about my deep hatred of pants. That I hate. So very much. With the white hot fiery passionate intensity of a thousand suns.

Pure low rising evil.

Toodles from Stefmanistan! Wish you were here! All of the internet. Yes. I'll get a very big party bus.

Or a party carriage! Aww. Look how happy the Stefmanistonians are. They work hard and they play hard.

~Steffi~