Most children were scared of the boogy monster or creatures lurking in their closet. I wasn't, I was afraid of night gremlins.

I used to believe that a group of these evil gremlins would troop across my bedroom floor towards my bed while I was sleeping at night. If I had any extremities poking out over the edges of my bed, the gremlins would grab them and pull me away, or they would chop that limb off and take it with them.


I was terrified by this idea, so every night before falling asleep, I would ensure that all my body parts were carefully tucked in and unable to flop themselves over the borders of the bed while I was sleeping. I would wrap myself tightly in a cocoon made out of my blanket and sleep throughout the night in a ridge, upward plank position. Sure, my movements were restricted and it was quite hot and uncomfortable, but none of that mattered because I would be safe from the wicked gremlins.


In hind sight, that was probably the best decision that I made as a child, cause look at me now! All limbs still attached to my body, sanity still in place.

... Kind of.

*Edit: I just realized how suggestive that last picture is. For clarification, no I do not do shrooms or any sort of drug. If anything, we may classify that picture as Stefaniepills (ie. my own over-active imagination).

On our first "date", boyfriend and I decided to go to Erindale Park, which is a big, big, park with lots of trees, a big river, magical things, and unicorns.

We went at night because we're brave souls like that and obviously there would be no creep waiting to ambush us in the middle of a big, dark, empty park, right? Wrong.

We were walking on the bank along the river, happily chatting and oblivious to the world around us, trekking downstream to an isolate part of the park. Suddenly, we heard voices coming towards us. The voices of big, shady men. Frightful, boyfriend and I crouched behind a wall of tall plants and waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, we heard the sketchy voices begin to recede and we bolted away from the sounds of the fading voices, back along the way we came.

After speed walking for a few minutes, boyfriend suddenly flung his arm out in front of me. Skittering to a halt, I happened to look down on the ground and there it was, lying on the ground, positioned right underneath my future footstep, eye boring right into mine. A ginormous, dead, grotesque looking, fish.

Yes, a huge, dead, fish. I can in no way, describe how big and how dead this fish was to accurately project to you the disturbing image of this creature. Rest assure however, it was big, it was dead, and it caught me so suddenly by surprise that I couldn't help it, I screamed and clung onto boyfriend's arm.

Shivering with adrenaline and boyfriend trying to calm me down, I peered at the fish. It stared right back at me with it's cold, dead, fishy eye.

Without warning, something inside of me snapped. Once again, I screamed. This time, a war cry. Enraged, I picked that gigantic, dead fish up by its tail and spun it around in circles. Whipping out a Zippo, I lit the fish on fire. Boyfriend and I enjoyed a beautiful inferno display and a nice, after dinner snack of grilled fish. However, this was promptly interrupted by the fish's mate which leap out of the river, gnashing it's ferocious fish teeth at us, thus ensuing the beginning of an all out war between myself and all fresh water river fish.

Yeah, I wish this story ended that spectacularly. The real incident was a lot more anti-climatic. After screaming and making boyfriend lose circulation in his right arm, I calmed down, stared at the fish for a minute or two, stepped over it and proceeded on my way.

When I was about a year and a half old, I was the most inquisitive little baby you could find. I loved running around the house and exploring every nook and cranny. I'd stick my extremities into every hole and empty space just to say that yes, I did that, yes I went there, aren't I awesome?

So one day, I was crawling up the stairs and realized that there were empty spaces between the vertical banisters. Suddenly, my interest level in the staircase shot up 10 notches and I had the biggest urge to see if I could stick my head in between the banisters.

Needless to say, as a baby, I didn't know the term of "think before you act", and I joyously squished my head through the banister hole. Happily grinning at my accomplishment, I stood there for a few seconds, feeling like the coolest kid in the word.

After the initial several seconds, I began to feel uncomfortable in my position so I tried to squeeze my head back out. Lo and behold, I could not pull my little baby head back through the banisters. I freaked out. I started to bawl. I screamed. I cried for help.

Fortunately for me, my dad heard my helpless cries and came to investigate the cause of my commotion. Upon settling his eyes on my predicament, a grin spread on his face. Unfortunately for me, he didn't help me get out. He went and busted out our big, chunky, 1980s, video camera. So there I was, head stuck in between two railings, bum and backside sticking up in the air on the other side, crying for my life, and my father just standing there, ignoring all of my weeping, and capturing the whole event on film to later share with the rest of the family.

Eventually, I managed to wiggle my head out (without assistance from my father) and trooped on my way to play like nothing had ever happened. Three days later, I got stuck between a table leg and a chair and father once again pulled out the camera to record another one of my crying pleas for my life.

I'm baaaaccckkkk! I'm sorry blog, I just couldn't stay away. Your gorgeous and cheerful layout became too much of a necessity for me and I had to come crawling back to you. Please take me back, or else I will have to grovel at your feet and that would not be a pretty picture. This however does not mean that I shall abandon dear, sweet Tumblr. Tumblr shall be for reblogging pretty pictures and frivolous thoughts.

Love, love, love,

Stefanie