Sleepover From Hell

Once, I went to spend the night over at one of my best friend's house (Not Vamps! Though I have stories from those sleepovers too!). I had been to her house before, and had always had a good time. Little did I expect that the night would turn out to be one of the worst experiences that every happened to me while I was wearing pajamas.

We had done plenty of fun things earlier- she has a pool, so her house is pretty much heaven. But it was late and we were ready to go inside. Another thing that (usually) makes her house heaven is the fact that her TV has On Demand.

We decided to hang out on her couch and watch The Proposal in her downstairs living room (which, since she is the only member of her family with a downstairs room, is basically just a second bedroom for her. (Jealous yet? They also have regular bonfires, every video game invented, and a keurig!)

My friend is terrible at staying up late (Which is more of a curse for her friends than her) and fell asleep about halfway through the movie, roughly around midnight. I didn't really mind, I figured I would just finish the movie and then go to bed on my end of the couch, which is huge and blue, and I assumed would leave us both plenty of room.

I was wrong.
After the movie (which I thoroughly enjoyed) ended, I curled up on the two enormous pillows that were on my side of the couch and shut my eyes. This was when disaster struck.

It was a bit too early for me to fall easily to sleep, and after maybe a half and hour or so of lying there I was finally getting drowsy, and ready to fall asleep. Then, a foot made contact with my face. In her sleep, my friend had turned sideways so that she was lying completely across the couch. And, her couch is large, but it's not one of those huge L-shapes ones that three people can lie on at once (I am proud to say that I have one of those). Her couch, was not large enough for 1.5 people to lay on. (Her being the full person, me being the half since I was still in a sitting position).

I did my best to uncomfortably inch away from her foot and curl up further in my corner. This worked for about five minutes, when her foot ended up kicking my face again. So I pulled a pillow off the couch and moved over even more. By this point, I thought I was far enough to give her enough foot-range and me enough room to fall asleep. This was not the case.

Both feet got involved, kicking and moving and getting in my face no matter how hard I tried to evade them. Both pillows were off the couch by this point and I was simply laying against the hard frame. By now, it was almost 2:00 A.M I was miserable. It was the worst. I just wanted to fall asleep and in the morning I figured everything would be okay. Unfortunately, falling asleep was difficult.

Then I got an idea. Since she, in all her moving, had ended up pushing both of her pillows off the couch, and I had pushed both of mine off the couch, I had access to all pillows and the floor.
I pulled the four pillows together into one giant super-pillow, and curled up in the fetal position on them. Since they were such big pillows, I was both several inches off the ground and I was even kind of comfy. I shut my eyes and thought that, all was well.

But then, the On Demand channel, which had been silent while it waited for further command after its movie ended, switched back to the channel we were watching before The Proposal. That channel, regrettably, was cartoon network. And on cartoon network, they were playing the most obnoxious shoes, which were all set on obnoxious volumes. I spent an entire episode of the Boondocks trying desperately and unsuccessfully to fall asleep through all the noise. I spent half an episode of The Oblongs, first looking for a way to kill myself to end the torture that is Adult Swim, and the second half realizing that maybe I could change the channel and wondering how I would get the remote.

The last I had seen of it, my friend had been using it to order the movie. Now, as I looked at her, sprawled across the couch with a blanket half on her and half on the floor,  I had absolutely no clue what had happened to it.

I decided that maybe I would just have to suffer, and maybe I would just fall asleep, because I didn't want to go poking around my friend who gets very upset about being woken up. But, when the next stupid Cartoon Network show came on, I knew I had to find the damn remote.

So I spent time carefully crawling across the floor, and ever-so gently pushing around the blanket so as not to disturb her. Finally, I found the remote, wedged just between the bottom of the couch and the carpet. Thanking God for his mercy, I raised the remote to my hands and hit a button that looked like it would turn off the TV.

The TV stayed on. Cartoon Network continued torturing me.
I hit the button again. And then I hit the channel button. Then the volume button.
And that was when I realized that the remote was missing something.
Batteries.

WHAT THE HELL? I was thinking, as I crawled back under the couch to look for the batteries. There was no back on the remote, so it made sense if they had fallen out. After all, this was the remote she had been using, hadn't it? But alas, there were no batteries to be found. 

Broken, I clambered back to my pillow island and went into my fetal position, kind of wanting to cry (though the extra emotion definitely came from the fact that it was about four a.m. now, and I was really getting tired.) I tried to sleep again. No such luck. I needed quiet. Or at least something other than a television screaming profanities at top volume.

Then, I got the fabulous idea to check the TV. Most TV's have volume adjusters on them, right? I could turn it down and then the television would have to mouth profanities, that I wouldn't be able to hear and would therefore be able to sleep through. Oh, it was perfect!

Until the TV failed to have a volume adjuster on it.

I was really downhearted now, so tired I could barely move and so completely irritated by the television that I could never sleep. And just as I lost all hope of this sleepover ever being at the very least, a mediocre memory, I noticed, tucked between the TV and the cabinet, a second remote.

I paused. My eyes widened. Could it be? Or was life just playing a trick on me again? Getting me excited about the remote, just so that it could rip my heart in half again when the remote had no backing and no batteries.

Cautiously, I lifted the remote and turned it over in my hands. It had no backing either, but it did have batteries inside! I spent a quick second trying to process how my friend's remote had ended up on the cabinet across the room, when as far as I knew she had never gotten up from the couch, but it was about five a.m. and thinking was an impossible feat.

I tried to turn off the TV, but I found that the button labeled "TV" was just one of those trick buttons that doesn't do anything at all. As far the other white, unlabeled buttons, I was to scared of breaking anything to try them (I have been known to break most and all things I touch) so I just turned the volume down as much as I could (For some unfathomable reason I couldn't get the damn thing to mute!)

I then, feeling better than I had all night, lay on my island pillows and prayed for sleep to come.

But sleep didn't come, and guess why?
Adult Swim was so obnoxiously loud and irritating, that even on low volume I couldn't sleep near it's existence. So once more, I picked up the remote and tried changing the channel.

Miraculously, that actually worked!
Unforunately, I don't know Comcast channels, and I didn't have a good, quiet channel number to go to. So I settled on flipping through the channels until I finally found a nice, boring documentary around 6 a.m.

And finally, finally, I managed to fall asleep as I listened to the drone voice of an old man discussing astronomy or something that I didn't care to learn about.

And in the morning, my friend asked me why I slept on the floor.

Becoming an Iconic Sex Symbol

"I have a dream."

     - Martin Luther King Jr. 

First and foremost, I'd like to congratulate you on surviving the 'rapture' that was supposed to occur last Saturday. Since we're all alive, I think we shall all keep striving toward our dreams just like Martin Luther King! Today, in honour of the continuous survival of our hopes and aspirations, I shall tell you about my personal dream.

I have a dream that I will someday be noticed for my talents of seduction and sexual appeal. I have a dream that my name will be on Wikipedia. I have a dream that I shall be known for my famous deerwoman pose. I have a dream, that someday I will be awarded the title of Iconic Sex Symbol.

This blog post is going to be dedicated to the things I'm doing ahead of time, so that I can assure I can get my Iconic Sex Symbol position at a later time in life. These kind of things take strenuous planning and often many a gymnastics class, so I need to start preparing now.

First off, a little reseach.
This is a clipping of the Wikipedia page on Sex Symbols:

A sex symbol is a celebrity of either gender, typically an actor, musician, supermodel, teen idol, or sports star, noted for their sex appeal. The celebrity "star system"—the tabloid papers, paparazzi, and gossip talk shows—play an important role in creating and sustaining the public perception of which stars are viewed as attractive. These media industries are in turn sustained by a strong public demand for sexually alluring photographs or footage of celebrities,^{[citation needed]} including both posed, scantily-clad publicity shots for magazines like Maxim and unauthorized beach or nightclub photos taken by paparazzi with telephoto lenses

From the above, I have made a list of some necessities required if this Sex Symbol Dream is going to work out:

- Be either male, or female. Probably not both. [check]

-Should be famous and noted for sexual appeal. [Must become famous for having sexual appeal. Though that supermodel idea could work out! It's worth mentioning that my measurements are very similiar to Marilyn Monroe's. . ]

-If people aren't making up horrible lies about you in the tabloids, you're doing it wrong. [Have Vamp feed the paparazzi some of my 'dirty secrets'. Some ideas for this are STD's...Boob implants...etc.

-Must be featured in some kind of magazine that teenage boys will keep under their beds and take out when the girlfriend's not enough. [Can't check that off yet, but hey, I can see if playboy's hiring.]

-Nudy shots that SEEM like they were taken without my permission must be leaked onto the internet. [Attend several topless beaches and maybe just ditch shirts and bras altogether. And hell, while we're at it, screw the pants!]

Then, I was going to investigate the Wikipedia biographies of former sex symbols when I realized that heaven forbid many people had been removed from the list. I KNOW Wikipedia can be edited and isnt always 100% trust-worthy but it's also somewhat moderated and has those helpful citations.
Well, that iconic sex symbol page was edited severely. As you may have noticed in that paragraph I took from them, the citations are needed. And if you had looked at the list, you would see that many many many sex symbols are currently removed from it. Some stupid bimbo even took Marilyn Monroe off the list! Are you saying that Marilyn Monroe is not a sex symbol? Much of the world would disagree.
So I decided to search other sources than Wikipedia.
I did some googling on 'becoming an iconic sex symbol' and I didn't find much of what I was looking for.
As a matter of fact, I didn't find much at all.
But I think I know enough about how to become one by now.
So I just need to work on putting this plan into action.
Step 1 is to be noted for my sexual appeal. And by "noted" I mean really fricken famous.
This how I'm going to approach this.

1. Red.
It's a fact that red is the sexiest color.
So, if I use the power and allure of red, my sexiness should be thereby increased.
Therefore, I must expand my closet and add in some more red. Infinitely more red. Bright shades of it in every form of clothing, shirts, pants, shoes, dresses, lingerie- you name it!
2. The Deerwoman
The deerwoman shall be my go-to sex position. It will be Tramp's characteristic move, and the fact that I have my own move is pretty sexy. And if anyone doesn't think it is sexy, well no worries, I'll have a few other adventurous positions lined up. ;)
3. Pure Seduction.
Pure Seduction is the perfume I use. It comes from Victoria's Secret and is basically the best thing since flavored condoms. It isn't those disgusting perfumes that are so obnoxiously strong that they molest you with their stupid flowery scents. You don't smell this perfume too much, unless you get close enough ;).
That little trick can definitely lad you some sexy times.
It's also pretty great because whenever I get mildly wet (like say, sweating) the smell like releases and suddenly a huge wave of fruity scents roll off of me, to cover my bodily odors.
It's magically sexy!
3. Battalion of suitors.
If I'm going to be noticed based on my outstanding sexual allure, I'll definitely need some suitors who religiously court me, hoping that someday I'll wander off into a dark alley whilst drunk to the point of zero comprehension. I'll of course be using the color red and my Pure Seduction and of course the Deerwoman to gain all these suitors. I think I shall start collection my army of admirers right away, because I can't be noticed for my sexiness if I don't have a pile of men with bulging pants spreading word about how damn hot I shall be.

To summarize what I have discovered, I made a math equation!
(Red + Pure Seduction + Deerwoman = Battalion of suitors = Iconic Sex Symbol.
_______________________________________

Another thing I'd like to do is make "Iconic Sex Symbol" a better known term. The wikipedia page is messed up, Google has nothing helpful, and even Urban Dictionary had very little to say about it. (It's a rare day when something that has 'sex' in it doesn't have a million raunchy definitions on urban dictionary)

Surprisingly, there is not much out there about it. I shall make it my personal goal to fill the web with a better knowledge of Iconic Sex Symbols. But that is another dream, one that must wait to be fulfilled after I complete my current dream.
Actually, when I have been noted for my sexy appeal and are horrendously rich, maybe I will start some kind of charity or fundrasier or awareness event for Iconic Sex Symbols. I mean, a good Iconic Sex Symbol always gives back to the public. Gosh, this is just coming together!

I hope in making this blog post, I have caused you to think about either A) the steps you must take in order to solve your dreams or B) My extreme sexiness.
(It's totally B.)

Sexily yours,
-Trap

Ode to Tramp

 *This is my 500 word apology to Tramp, please enjoy*

I am sorry I ruined your day.

I am sorry that I got in your way.

I am sorry that you were distraught

If only I hadn’t  known! If only I wouldn’t  have caught,

The way your eyebrows spoke to me

And made me laugh, Teehee teehee.

Because they were the perfect brows.

And I should be forced to sleep with cows

For the injustice I have paid to you.

My fellow from another bru.

I should not have said

My feet should be attached to lead.

And drop me in the ocean deep

Where the fish and I shall sleep.

If only this were easy

Writing you an apology

I know my way I know my stuff

I knew that the silence was tough

But alas my friend I did not

And now my fellow you are distraught

This isn’t common courtesy

I will set your consciousness free

Because my friend this isn’t the limbo

I am sorry that I am a stupid bimbo

National Tramp Day

Otherwise known as April 11th.
Otherwise known as MY BIRTHDAY.


I don't have a lot to say. I don't really have any adventures that are worthy of my birthday post.
I wouldn't want to take anyone's minds off the fact that today is my birthday by indulging them with some mellifluous tale. But I mean...birthdays are adventures. Or atleast they're just as wondrous, when they're mine.

So this birthday went swimmingly. I still can't believe 'swimmingly' is an adjective. It actually kind of applies well to my birthday because my best friend Vamp took my on a surprise vacation to the pool!
The pool was great...Shocking, since I was under the impression that we were going on a shopping trip, but GREAT since I love swimming and any chance to be half naked in public.

We even made a few friends at the pool! There were a couple girls who I tried to befriend, although they were fat brats.  And I got to know the lifeguards, one of which looked like Jamie Bell (And his name was James!) and one of which was extremely shy and awkward. We also had a suitor, so I guess the whole half-naked thing went well. We won his heart by chasing him, spraying water at him and calling him Rainbow Shorts which would probably seem normal if we had ever met him before.

Anyway, that was Saturday. I spent Sunday tanning and I developed minor sunburn on my legs and shoulders. IT HURTS SO GOOD! ...Like virgin sex.

Well TODAY is Monday. My official birthday. Birthdays are magical because of many reasons, most of which all involve things that happened to me today.

Top Ten Great Things About Birthdays

10. People you never talk to posting on your Facebook Wall.

9. Being wished a Happy Birthday all day.

8. Sometimes people put crowns on your head.

7. Getting closer and closer to being legal.

6. The birthday buzz that makes work easier.

5. Feeling like the world revolves around you for one day.

4. Being able to say "But it's my birthday..." to get what you want.

3. People sing to you...all day.

2. You get presents for no reason other than being alive.

1. Birthday suits.

_______________________________________________

I think you can learn a lot about me from this list. I LOVE birthdays. I feel really special, like I'm a queen, or God, or an iconic sex symbol (It's my dream to be one) Birthdays make me feel like for one whole day everyone in the world is bowing down to me because it's my special day. I am well aware of how unrealistic this is, as millions of other people probably felt the same way today.

I love how people sing to you. All day. Songs. People sing me Happy Birthday songs and I j'adore being sung too. This is the only time of year people just all come together and sing to me, though I think it is an event that should be repeated every weak.

I love how on my birthday, I get presents for being alive. It makes me feel like people are worshipping me and giving me gifts as a way to say "Thank you, Tramp, for gracing us with your prescence all these years! Here, I brought you a gift as a celebration of your existence!"

I also love my birthday because my father makes me Birthday Brownies. I don't really like cake. Actually, I can't stand cake.

How I Feel Whilst Eating Cake:

1st Bite: TOO MUCH FROSTING! I think I may throw up from all this sugar in my mouth at once. There is too much for it to be good anymore. Quick, take another bite and get a little cake to make the pukey feeling go away.

2nd Bite: This is pretty tasty. A decent ratio of frosting to cake.

3rd bite: The frosting's gone...but atleast the cake part is good.

4th bite: Okay more cake. Cake is good. Oh god...I'm so sick of this flavor...it never changes...and god its taking forever to chew all of this! It's starting to make my mouth tingle....OH GOD! GET ME SOME WATER!

5th Bite: Oh god...I'm so full....Kiiiilllll meeeee.....

_________________________________________________________

So instead of cake, my dad bakes an amazing batch of brownies. He makes the BEST brownies I've ever tasted, and unlike cake, I never get sick of the flavor. Screw you, cake.

Soooo....I hope you enjoyed this Birthday Ramble, brought to you by Tramp!

And you better wish me a happy one...or you may die!

Oh I completely forgot! I have to mention the ammaaazzzingg gift I got.

Well, I got a lot of great gifts but among those was a ..... 32 INCH FLATSCREEN FOR MY BEDROOM! That's damn good for a teenage girl's room. I love it....my precious....

I don't have cable on my TV yet, but I can still watch DVDS and play video games until them.

I love my TV. It's beautiful and shiny. And it's a Vizio, and whenever I turn my TV on the letters in VIZIO light up. It's lovely. I would name by television, but I don't think a mortal name could capture the magnifique of this television. Maybe I'll call it something Greek...

Older, but still yours,

-Tramp

Lookie What We Have Here!

It has come to my attention that I'm am a complete lazy ass. Why you ask? Well since the start of Tramp and I's beloved blog, I have not posted a SINGLE solo post! *insert gasp here*, I know you must be so ashmed of me. Or maybe, you're very confused as to why the blog is called 'The Adventures of Vamp and Tramp' rather than 'Tramp Rants About Things and Occationally Meantions a Silent Partner in The Tramp Company'.

Well I have come to disallusion you from your very simple thought process!

Since this IS my first post in forever, some other thoughts may have occured to you as well, 'Who is this abrasive icky person?' 'She's not nearly as cheerful or witty as Tramp!' 'Why are there demon babies on my computer?!'. First of all I pride myself on my non-ickyness thank you. Secondly you will be quite surprised to see that I have many sides! One may even be half as witty as Tramp if I try my best and maybe do some voo doo! And Thirdly, you know, I was quite confused and highly amused when those picture appeared on my cell phone in teh early mornings before school; and after a while you tend to just learn that whatever Tramp does, always turns out funny whether she wants it to or not.

So you may expect to be graced with my blogging presence more often now that it seems that I am constantly sick/injured. Hope you learn to love it.

Yours Occationally,
Vamp ^,..,^

The Great Baby Migration

A few days ago, my family recieved a strange poster in the mail. It featured an image of a family with a newborn baby. I'm not positive what exactly it was advertising, it mostly just talked about how precious babies are, and I don't think it was selling anything. It didn't include any bright pictures or free coupons, so my mother tossed it into the junkmail pile and neither of my parents gave it a second glance until the next morning, when I discovered it.

It was a Saturday morning and I had recently woken up. After getting a drink of water, I was trudging back to my bedroom when I noticed the poster. Sometime during its delivery to us, the poster had become badly folded so that the family was on one half and the baby on the other. When I came across it, the baby side happened to be facing me.

Upon seeing the image of the baby, my first thoughts were, That is one weird ass baby. And those terms are putting it nicely. The coloring on the picture is dark and everyone's skin has the orange look of a spray-tan. The poster itself gives off a gloomy vibe, and if you didn't read it, it looks more like an advertisement for abortion than the miracle of birth. The baby is especially creepy. It has been rotated in a way that makes it appear to be standing, and it is peering at you from the corners of the pamplet. The worst part is it's eyes. They're pitch black and look as if they are staring straight into the core of your soul, while at the same time they're plotting the slowest and most painful way to rip you apart. I'm positive that if you looked into the eyes of Satan, they would look exactly like that baby's.

I grabbed the poster and strode into my living room, where my parents were seated on the couch chatting about the golf game on TV. I waited until they were finished with their detailed analyzation of Anthony Kim's swing, and then raised the baby so they could see and announced, "This is one creepy baby." My family laughed and agreed and I made some dramatic insights about the baby's eyes and then put it back on the table and returned to my room.
Thoughts of the baby evaporated from our minds until the next morning. Since I am currently sick, I have been sleeping on my futon instead of in my loft. I woke up on my futon this morning and groggily went to the bathroom to pee. I was half asleep and stumbling, and I hadn't yet gained the ability to comprehend things-usually I have to be awake for a few hours before I accumulate that skill. Intent on going back to sleep, or maybe just laying on the futon for hours, I hadn't decided, I fell back onto my makeshift bed and closed my eyes. A few minutes later, I heard a scuttling sound from my doorway. I ignored it. The scuttling continued. Angrily, I looked up, wondering who dared to disturb me from Tramp-sleep-time. There, placed on the steps of my loft, was the babyposter, turned so that the baby's eyes were staring right into my soul.

I had just woken up. My brain wasn't functioning properly. I was disoriented and  confused and could barely keep my eyes open. But I was capable of understanding that this:

was freaking creepy as hell and was almost definitely a demon intent on killing me.
Following my primal instint, I screamed and flailed under my blankets, managing to reach forward and knock the poster to the floor. That was when I heard it, coming from the hallway outside my door.
The familiar sound of my father snickering.
I somehow figured out that my father's laughter was connected to the baby, that he found all of this funny because he had put the baby there. Seething, I flung the covers off me, grabbed the poster and -holding it as far away from me as I could- marched into the living room. "DAD!" I shrieked flinging the poster at his feet. This was followed by me yelling unintelligibly and storming away, while my parents laughed uncontrollably.

Unlike Vamp, who will wake up and fall back asleep countless times during sleepovers, I am the kind of person who cannot fall back to sleep once I have been woken up. Knowing this, I knew it was better to just skip the part where I ineffectively try to go back to bed and instead I got myself a honeybun from the kitchen and settled back into my room for breakfast.
After devouring my pastry, I came to the conclusion that it was a perfect time for me to watch my favorite movie: King Kong. My morning had gotten off to a bad start, and I figured the only thing that could make it better was a rampaging gorilla slaughtering dozens of people. I had watched it the night before, and so I knew the disc was already in the DVD player, so I skipped that and instead bent down and plugged everything in. Finally, I raised my head to turn the player on, and that was when I saw it.
There, sitting atop my DVD player, cobalt eyes gazing into my soul, was The Baby. My breath caught, my eyes bugged wide. My tyranical father must have snuck the thing in while I was retrieving my breakfast.

A similiar scene was repeated, I ran to the living room and yelled and threw it at my dad, who at this point was in hysterics.
I slammed my door shut, and went back to watching King Kong, which has the uncanny power to make me forget about anything else. Once the movie was over and I was again at peace, I decided it was time for a change of scenery and I began to walk towards my door.
And there, slid under the crack of the door, was the baby.


At that point, it was too much.
I needed a better way to rid myself of this baby.
I figured it was faster than burying it, so I chucked the poster down the stairs.
Unfortunately, the only method of disposal that didn't come to mind was throwing the damn thing out, so the scenario I decided on wasn't all that effective either, and the next time, maybe an hour or so later, when I left my room once more, I was greeted by this horrific image:

At this point, it was time for retaliation.
I crept into my father's bedroom when he wasn't looking, and set this up in his bed.

Next time he went to take a nap, my dad would have a satanic cuddle buddy.
Later, once my father had discovered it in his bed, he took the poster and slid it quickly under my door, so that it sped through my room and gave the illusion that it had came in on its own
And so I put the baby here:

In my dad's shower.

He later got back at me by slipping into my bathroom and putting this above my toilet paper dispenser:

This was made much more traumatizing by the fact that I didn't notice it was there watching me until after I had pulled my pants down and done my business and was reaching for some toilet paper.

Bathrooms are a scary place.

A DEMON BABY WATCHED ME PEE!

Okay, so this is where I put the baby afterwards. That is a bag of bird seed, as my father religiously feeds birds every afternoon. The bag is located in my basement, which is full of shadows, spiderwebs, and unidentified sounds. That means that when my father discovered the baby here, it was made slightly extra creepy. I'm sure the demon baby felt quite at home in the eerie atmosphere of my basement.
Anyway, of course this left my father in possesion of the baby, and he plotted his next move through knowledge of my morning schedule.

So, in the morning when I'm doing my hair, that weird picture frame thing is what I face because it is directly across the room from me. I spent a few minutes doing my hair when I looked upon and BAM! GOOD MORNING! Demon baby is there, staring at me.

That left me in possesion of the poster, and I found a way to get back at my dad without letting him get a hold of it. I have skillfully hidden it in a place he will never think to look. I'd share my brilliant spot with you, but for all I know he has spies searching the internet for any answers about the location of the baby. All I can say is it definitely isn't under a pile of sheets in my room.

I swear.

Don't even bother looking. It isnt there.

Anyway, he recently discovered that, and since he doesn't know how to change his wallpaper, I am in complete control of power until I decide on how I shall bring the baby back up in its original form.

Yours demonically,

-Tramp

Lady and the Tramp

I should probably mention that this event takes place many years back, when I was quite a lot younger and still in my awkward phase, during which I loved Crocs, cats, and still thought having a bigger chest than everyone else was something to be ashamed of. So to make a story short, fourth grade. A shameful and emotionally scarring time.

One night, while eating a hearty dinner of chicken and mash potatoes with my family, I decided that I was perfectly capable of drinking my glass of water like a lady. After years of blundering through forests, talking faster than my mouth was able to form words, and tripping over my own feet daily, I'm not sure how I came to such a conclusion. But I did, and I was damn well going to drink my water as if I had been raised for the sole purpose of proving my ladylikeness in that moment.

Delicately, I raised my water glass (which happened to be far to big for my fourth grader fingers) as high as I could manage without spilling a drop, and I raised my pinky in the air as if I was a British lady drinking tea with a group of my fellow ladies, who I didn't necessarily like but was obliged to spend time with because all ladies are required to sip tea with other ladies so they can use unnecessarily large words and fight amongst eachother about which one of them was a better pianist and who writes the longest letter in the best handwriting. Anyhow, I raised my glass, made sure my pinky was erect and noticeable, then announced to my family: "LOOK! I'm a lady!" in a rather unladylike fashion. Trying to keep my feeble nine-year-old pinky from sinking down. I was so focused on my pinky, and trying not to drop the glass due to my lack of a full grip on it that I forgot to pay attention to how I was tilting the glass. I had turned it practically upside down in my struggles, and it wasn't against my lips. Unfortunately for poor me, pre-trampy Tramp, I didn't realize that until after the icy water poured out of the glass, completely drenching my face, hair, the front of my shirt, my mother's table, chairs, and hardwood floor.

By the time I finished cleaning up my mess, changing my clothes, and drying my face, I had concluded that the life of a lady was not for me. Alas, I learned from this traumatic experience in my life. It would seem that fate prefers me on the less-classy side of the bargain. I am meant to be a Tramp, not a Lady, and so a Tramp is what I shall be. And I assure you that I shall never -ever- raise my pinky while drinking again.

Yours,
Lady Tramp

Tramp's 1st rant: How Blogging is Going to Get Me Put in a Mental Instituiton

Hello world.
I'm feeling like blogging today. I like the idea of blogging.
I just totally realized the entire point behind blogging. This is just my excuse to talk to myself.
Seriously just think about it for a second. No one's actually reading what I'm writing. I'm the only one reading what I'm writing. That's pretty much the equivalent to talking to yourself, I'd say. And that's the point of blogging: When you're blogging your thoughts, you trick yourself into believing that you aren't talking to yourself. So blogging is basically just a cover up for the fact that you're talking to yourself. It's like a form of denial. Right now I suppose I'm denying the fact that I'm crazy, because if someone came up to me and was like "You're crazy." I could just be like "Uh, I don't think so. I blog. I don't talk to myself. You're clearly the crazy one." And then they would leave and possibly check you into a mental instituiton, and then the therapist would be all "And how does blogging make you feel?" And you'd be all "Like I'm not crazy, because I'm not crazy. Leave me alone, douchecake." And then the therapist would mark you down as in the denial stage and then you'd be angry because as far as you know, you really aren't crazy and that therapist is up to his nose in bullshit so then you'd jump up and start yelling so then the therapist would mark you down as in the anger phase and then he'd smile and be like "Good job, paitent 41552. You're progressing. The next stage is acceptance! Hooray!" And then you'd try to attack you're therapist but then the security guards would come and put you in a holding cell and you'd be all alone and you wouldn't have a computer anymore so you can't  blog so you have to talk to yourself and then you realize that Holy crapmonkeys. I am crazy! And then you would realize that the therapist was right the entire time and he would let you out of your cell and you'd go to the therapist and be like "I'm crazy. Cure me! CURE ME YOU FOOL!" And  the therapist would be like "Yay! The acceptance stage at last!"
So...I guess I'm trying to say that blogging is bad for your mental health, which is kind of weird because that isn't the point I was originally trying to make with that rant.


You know what I just realized? I have no clue what turkey bacon is. Just for your information, I'd love to be enlightened on the subject.

--Tramp

Twins On Many Levels

So once upon a time, Vamp found a prostitute sitting at the corner, Tramp. Their brains CONNECTED at that moment, and thus VampANDTramp was born. So basically, we're brain twins. That's how it is. Don't question, just accept. We tend to finish eachother's sentences, sing and quote the same things, and can usually tell what the other's thinking. Not that it's difficult to guess.

We're also pain twins. Due to a traumatic game of hide-and-seek, wherin Vamp was once VICIOUSLY stabbed, and Tramp valiantly took her pain away with a painful blow to the forehead. Tramp was several yards away, behind a fence when Vamp was attacked. The instant Vamp was supposedly stabbed, Tramp's head richocheted forward and off the fence, leaving behind a terrible scar (That most men find sexy). From then on, we have taken eachother's pain and thusly, we are pain twins as well.

Thirdly, we are hair twins. Tramp was searching valiantly for a bobby pin that had become lost in the chaotic sea that was her hair. As she was searching, Vamp unexpectedly reached into her hair, extracted said bobby pin, and said "Tramp, you wont believe this, but I think it's in my hair." So we are hair twins by default.

And so, we are twins on many levels. And we are valiant.
Yours valiantly,
Vamp && Tramp

Act One: Begin the Adventure

Vamp AND Tramp here. Beginning our adventure. Stepping on to the ship that shall take us to a land of wonders. Where shall we go? Where will we end up? Only Mother Adventure knows. So we're here to bring our vast and hilarious adventures to YOU. I know what you're thinking "WHOA! HOW AMAZING!" yeah, we know. That's how most people react. To Tramp's boobs. And, us, just in general. So strap in, for some miraculous adventureres.


Don't question us. Our therapist says we're normal!


Yours adventourously,
Vamp && Tramp