It's Not as Dirty as It Sounds. Swear.

Because I am fantastically awesome, the lovely and royal Lady Estrogen bequeathed to me an STD.

Sit down, it's not gross.

It is, in fact, a sort of People's Choice Award for Sexy & Talented Bloggers - which I am, duh.  See?



So I get this cool award and I get to write a story to go with it [which is doubly awesome, since I am looking for blog fodder and am still basking in the righteous indignation you've all shown on my behalf, which makes creative thought difficult.  You are a blood thirsty lot, you are.  I like that about you.  I also like thinking about the fact THAT I WAS RIGHT.  Gah.  I need to settle down.].

Anyway. Award:

Here are the rules:
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!

Without further adieu:
----------------------
I'd spent the day with the Tarleton twins, playing one against the other, enjoying flirting with those silly Gingers when Brett Tarleton dropped the bomb on me:

The love of my life - the wussy, Leslie Howard-looking puss Ashley Wilkes - was going to marry his insipid and pale faced cousin Melanie Wilkes.  EEEEEWWWWW.

I would put a stop to that.

I put on my most shoulder baring, boob thrusting dress and went to the picnic at 12 Oaks, where I told Ashley that I loved him.

He, equivocal no-balls-having bastard that he is, finally admitted he loved me but that he was going to marry Melanie, who was so stupid that she thought I WAS NICE.  Dumb bitch.  I'd show her.

Anyway, Ashley turned me down, and this scoundrel Rhett Butler showed himself to be a sexy, dangerous and impudent . . . excuse me, I need to collect myself.  Anyway, he was a jerk.

Then the war broke out.

Then I married Melanie's brother to serve two purposes: Spite Ashley's sister India and keep my enemies closer [read: Melanie].

Then Melanie's brother died.

Then Rhett bought me at a dance.  I was still in love with Ashley, of course, but my body was saying YES YES YES to Mr. Butler.

Then some more war stuff happened.

Then I wore a dress made of green velvet curtains [in the South! in the heat!] to try and screw Rhett out of some money to save my plantation. But that jerk was in prison! And, even more importantly, his funds were frozen! Useless bastard.

Then I married Frank Kennedy, who was going to marry my stupid sister Sue Ellen, because he had a barrel full of money, and I may be many things, including a woman who will prostitute herself for her plantation, but I am not stupid.

Then Frank died.

Then I married Rhett.

Then we had a baby.

Then she died while riding a horse.

Then Rhett told me to fuck off, but not in those exact words.

And then I realized, fuck this, I'll deal with all this bullshit tomorrow.

And that was how I met your mother.