i'd give my panties to a geek for a chance at free stuff
So the other day, Backpacking Dad (perhaps you've seen his name tossed around here a time or sixty-eight kabillion) threw open the gates of awesome like some kind of golden-skinned gladiator prepared to battle a two-headed mythical beast and used his blog as a call to arms among his fellow bloggers, asking them to write a post on a subject of his choosing.
But not just any subject. No. That would be far too easy. This puppet master of the blogosphere (who, without knowing it, just made me use the word 'blogosphere,' which? blech!) sat casually at his perch, stroking the hairs of his magical, Leonardo DiCaprio-like goatee, and decreed, "Go forth, my minions, and masterfully pen a post about which character from either "The Breakfast Club" or "Sixteen Candles" you most relate to. Go! Now! Do! If your words impress me mightily, I will bestow upon you magical notebooks bearing the cover art of said movies, bound atop ivory white sheets of paper! Paper upon which you can then send me stalker letters to be tucked inside envelopes that may also, perhaps, contain clippings of your hair or other such tokens of your affections, and then which are sealed with ruby red lip prints where you've kissed them in great SWAKy delight."
Or something like that. When I read his post again, he apparently changed the wording a bit, so it read more like this: "Between NOW and 11:59pm on Thursday simply write a blog post describing in great, painful, humorous, depressing, sexy, angry, or emo detail which character from either The Breakfast Club or Sixteen Candles most resembles you. Leave a comment below with a link to your blog post, and on Friday, by fiat most arbitrary, I will declare the winners."
Those of you who've been with me for any length of time are probably thinking what I'm thinking, which is, "Oh, FADKOG, you have got this bitch locked up tighter than an Amish virgin! You're a freakin' John Hughes robot, yo!" Well, guess what? Apparently there are other people out there in the blogosphere (blech!) who think they, too, are all about the magic that is John Hughes and his masterful work (which, I'll maintain until my dying day, does not include "Weird Science," no matter what you do to convince me otherwise, so chill!). So I thought, "Huh. Looks like there could be some solid competition to this thing," and then I contacted Backpacking Dad and offered to send him a video of me applying my blush pink lipstick using just the power of my kick ass rack, but he stammered something about how that was cheating, and also questioned why I didn't offer to do that before he opened this effort up to the rest of his readers, and I was all, "Well, your loss, I guess," but then I was all, "Dammit! Now I have to write a post! I have to totally allow Backpacking Dad be a total pimp about this and bow to his rules! Dammit!"
So I thought I'd go totally off the grid and do a post about how I'm totally like Principal Dick("Excuse me. Richard.") Vernon from "The Breakfast Club," because I have two sons and routinely find myself telling one of them, "Don't mess with the bull, young man. You'll get the horns," but Principal Vernon really isn't the core of who I am.
I also thought I'd share why I think I'm the bastard child of Allison Reynolds and Brian Johnson from the same movie, but I've done that before here, and a little bit more here. Honestly, the anatomy of ...for a different kind of girl is riddled with the Breakfast Club quote bullets fired at it during sporadic drive bys. So, in order to meet the rules as mandated by Backpacking Dad, I'm going to tell you why I closely relate with Farmer Ted in "Sixteen Candles" ("Who's he?" you ask? "That's me," I say. "Who are you?" you wonder. "I'm him," I answer. "Oh. OK," you concede.)
Here's why I am Farmer Ted:
- Like him, I, too, have never bagged a babe.
- Fresh breath is also the priority of my life.
- I'm an awkward geek whose voice cracks from time to time.
- I don't have five grand.
- I'm an award-winning journalist who knows that, in order to get great answers, you have to ask great questions ("Just answer me one question."). Some of the best ones include: "How's it going?" and "So, what's your story? You got a guy or...?"
- Because I work in a bookstore, when my friends phone me up at inopportune times and ask me what's going on, I think it's hilarious to respond, "You wanna know what happened? Buy the book!"
Like Farmer Ted, I am also an excellent confidante, and I will not dick you. I won't go blabbing to your crush that you have the hots for them unless I'm confidant, in the end, you'll end up together. If that involves asking if I can borrow your panties for 10 minutes, I'll totally do it. Don't think I won't. Not if it means true love! And isn't that what we all want? Even that is at the heart of what makes Farmer Ted tick.
So here's how I see the end of this post. Backpacking Dad and I are sitting atop a table, gazing adoringly at the other as the Thompson Twin's "If You Were Here" swells in the background.a
"Thanks for making all your adoring fans fight so hard for a shot at a really cool notebook," I'd say.
"Thanks for writing such a bitchin' post in an attempt to win one, and for videotaping yourself putting on lipstick with just the use of your most excellent cleavage. Because you're still going to do that, right? Even though I told you that you probably shouldn't? You didn't think I was serious, right?" he'd respond.
"Thanks for calling my cleavage most excellent. We can talk about that videotape later," I'd say.
"Happy you wrote a post, FADKOG. Make a wish," he'd say.
"It already came true! You chose mine as one of the winners!" I'd answer.
...and the scene fades to black, and I commence with my first official stalker letter.
Labels: I'm the king of the dipshits