Screech Powers is a boob man

I fondled Samuel Screech Powers last night.

I am proud to announce that I have officially crossed one of my new years resolutions off my list of things to do this year. I am even prouder to announce that every single one of my childhood dreams came true in a single evening.

In a post a wrote last week, I created a list of things I wanted to accomplish before May 1, 2012. The first goal on the list reads as follows:

1.) have some type of correspondence with a famous person. "Fame" will be defined at my digression. If Barack Obama and Tiger Woods are unavailable, I will settle for a smaller scale celebrity such as the owner of Rivermont Pizza Company or Bolton Valley Ski Resort's Instructor of the Year, who happens to be my own father.

Check.

I have had sort of a rough week. The boy that I previously mentioned that I was dating, moved to Florida on Thursday and I took it a little harder than I would have expected. Feelings suck. I grieved with my good friends Ben and Jerry for several days and I needed a distraction. Something to make me feel better without recruiting a colony of cellulite dimples to my butt. Fortunetley for me and for my waistline, in the height of my depression, an old friend of mine informed me that Dustin Diamond (Samuel Screech Powers from Saved By The Bell) was going to do a stand up comedy show a few miles from my home. With this information my entire world turned around.

Screech Powers played a signicant role in my childhood. Not only was I was a huge fan of Saved by the Bell, but I also had a pair of insect printed short-overalls that I wore well through the seventh grade. I was thrilled that I would have the chance to hear his show but I didn't expect to have such an intimate connection with him.

My friends and I showed up to the performance lounge at 6:30 eastern standard time, right when the doors opened. I almost peed my khaki shorts when the usher lead us to a table directly in front of the stage. My expectations for the evening quickly escalated. I knew that would no longer be satisfied with a peaceful night of quiet giggles in a dark room and admiring my childhood kindred spirit from afar. My front and center seating assignment provided me not only with a clear view of Dustin Diamond but he would also be granted a clear view of my freakshow shenanigans. I had the perfect opportunity to draw attention to myself and cross the first new years resolution off my list as a success.

Screech entered the stage and after a few jokes, he looked directly at me and said the very sentence that I have been day dreaming about since I was about eight years old.

"You have great boobs."

As a woman, I probably should have been offended. Maybe I should have given him a feminist inspired speech about respecting me for my brains and personality. It would have been a lie, I was beaming with joy. I was way to proud that he was impressed with the two "personalities" underneath my halter top to pretend to be offended. In the heat of the moment I did what any self respecting attention seeker would do: I did a little shimmy boob dance. A tasteful boob dance. No reason for alarm, dad.

My little jiggle ( that my friends have now informed me looked more like a seizure than a dance) was all it took to hook Screech into conversation.

" Do you have a man?"

Oh my god.. I am going to marry Samuel Powers and have curly haired, childhood star babies who would undoubtedly come out of the womb snorting and wearing multi colored parachute pants. YES!

" No..I don't" I replied with a louder-than-necessary sigh. I needed my audience to hear me.

" Your a nice looking girl. You should have a man. Why don't you have one? Are you mean? How old are you?"

Oh my God.. Screech Powers has a hairy chest. Think of something to say other than " May I pet you?" Maybe we will have monkey babies. I touched a monkey once at the zoo. It was soft.

" I'm 24"

" oh. I would destroy you...but I bet I could make you screech in under five minutes" he said casually before changing the subject. I am sure he has never used that line before.

When the show was over I boldly stated to my friends that I would not leave the building without a wedding proposal from Double D. I ended up settling for a picture and a hug.

As a approached him for the picture, I wrapped my hand around his waist and dropped it onto his back pocket. I gave it a little tap before bringing my palm back to an appropriate place on his back.

As he turned to look at me, my mouth filled with honesty.

" I'm sorry. I just touched your butt and I tried really hard to make it look like an accident... But in reality... it was very intentional"

He chose not to acknowledge this comment but made a quizzical Sreech like expression.

At some point after this, we had a brief conversation in british accents, but I can't seem to remember the details.

I don't think that anyone will argue that this counts as " some sort of correspondence with a famous person".





- professional freakshow

Tis' the Season to be Slutty

I am a firm believer that at some level, everyone loves a good slut. This is not to say that we adore, envy, or remotely respect girls in dresses tight enough to fit our favorite childhood dolls, but the world would be a dull shade of grey without them around. Boys, for obvious reasons are drawn to the exposed skin popping out of their halter tops, women of all ages enjoy gossiping amongst themselves after encountering a slutty creature in the wild, and even the most conservative religious types tend to flock to anyone they think can be fixed with a little help from Jesus and a hug.

Although I would not typically consider myself to be a member of the slutty community, I do have a strong appreciation and deep understanding for their lifestyle. At the core of every in good slut there is a girl who needs pots and pans filled with love and attention. Being an attention whore myself, I find it hard to judge ladies who choose to use their bodies and sexuality as their tools of choice in efforts to turn heads. Personally, I tend to resort to outrageous behavior and elaborate stories to accumulate interest and recruit members to my fan club; but I understand that other attention seekers have other strategies. In the end, I think that we are all working for the common cause to outshine everyone else in the room. I have decided that the residents of sluttytown are slightly misunderstood by their surrounding prude communities and that as an attention slut myself, it is my duty to act as their ambassador I beleive that correct term is Slambassador. This post will act as my first of many efforts to eliminate judgment of nude enthusiasts and to promote a lifestyle that has earned a reputation for being 2nd class.

Whether we are seeking attention, material goods, or sex; aren’t we all just a little bit slutty?