Who am I kidding, really? Gracious isn’t a word that is used to describe me very often (never) so I can tell you that I didn’t sit with my hands in my lap, tightly clasp, and mutter from the corners of my mouth “Thank you, thank you oh so very much! This is such an honor!” No sirreeeeeee I did not. I actually got super duper excited and maybe let out a holler or two. My studious husband (he has recently taken up reading and I like to poke fun at how glued to his books he has been) either jumped about 3 feet in the air or has Parkinson’s. We’re not sure. But probably I just scared him, probably.
Ok. so an actual STD isn’t something to be excited about, but in this case the STD happens to stand for Sexy and Talented Diploma. I am a bit bewildered that someone would describe me as talented (the sexy part makes total sense), but hey, I’ll roll with this one less-than-graciously (Did I mention I am super awesome yet in this post? No? Well I totally am) and follow the rules as they’ve been outlined by Lady Estrogen, who created the Sexy and Talented Diploma. She is some kinda clever!
1. Make up ONE totally ridiculous story about yourself that is a complete rip-off from a movie. It can be as long or short as you want; clean or crass as you want.
2. Pass it on to whomever you feel is deserving of this STD – or accept it and keep it for yourself; it’s your blog – it’s your choice. I’M PRO CHOICE!
3. If you choose to accept this STD, please link your acceptance post back here. (I’ll keep it open for at least all summer.) There’s a very good chance that I’ll be sporadically choosing random winners to get some of my world famous mediocre Estro-goodies. I know you want some!
So my new (and old but slightly dignified by years of wine drinking with moi) Blogger friends, I present my interpretation of rule # 1 in accordance with my acceptance of the Sexy and Talented Diploma. I am still bewildered by the talented part but who said being sexy wasn’t talented? So there’s that…
Growing up I was always ‘Daddy’s girl” and he made sure to treat me like his little princess. One summer we travelled to a resort in upstate New York’s Catskill Mountains and while I was preparing to attend college, join the peace corps, and marry a doctor just like my father, falling in love with the resorts dance instructor came pretty naturally. Johnny was so different than the boys back home and his dark and mysterious past intrigued me. Johnny taught me to dance, and to believe in myself.
If only Penny hadn’t needed that abortion because of the scumbag Robbie! My Daddy wouldn’t have had to be involved! It was a crazy summer, I’ll admit, but once the Schumacher’s plot to steal everyone’s wallets was foiled, and Robbie was unmasked as the heartless bastard he was, Johnny and I were free to love and dance together. I may not be Daddy’s little girl anymore after so easily giving up my virginity, but I have Johnny and my Dad finally approves.
My movie reference is so totally awesome. Seriously. Best.Movie.Ever. and no one puts me in the corner either. I demand center stage. But only because I am super awesome. It's an accepted rule amongst my peeps.
So now onto rule #2, the one rule that I am most terrified about because I have this genuine fear of pushing myself into this elite blogger club by pretending to belong, I present to you the few that I would like to pass this STD onto. If, for some totally logical reason, you feel that I am being WAY presumptuous doing this, please do not publicly humiliate me on your blog by not accepting with a 'nanner nanner nanner'. I will take a no response as reason enough and crawl slowly back into my blogger hole over up here in Canada-eh.
I might need therapy, that whole sentence screamed insecurity, no? **Sigh**
(But as a side note, I think you are all awesome)
(Another side note, if it made ANY sense at all, I’d resend this to Handflapper, she’s welcomed me into this blog-world with open arms.)
Don’t Make That Face
Hate You Probably
The BlogMuse
I am super excited to be apart of this and trying real hard to be gracious about it, but I’ll be honest, I had to look gracious up in the dictionary just to fully understand the meaning. I mean, who DOES THAT? I am a sore loser too. Just a part of me y’all should know.
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