how my parents facetime

"how my parents facetime" -- In which est. 1975 and her sister Cheeks imitate their parents on FaceTime. #funny #humor #blog #comedy #facetime #est1975blog @est1975blog

Me: Have you talked to Dad?

Cheeks: Not today, we’re supposed to FaceTime tomorrow

Cheeks: I’ll let you know how that goes

Me: I’m sure it will go like this


Cheeks: Or like this


Me: Lol way too many teeth

Cheeks: Yeah, but with less teeth

Cheeks: This is how Mom FaceTimes


Cheeks: Or like this


Me: Bahaha

Me: This is where I end up whenever Mom and I are FaceTiming with someone together


Me: Just busting me right on out of frame

Cheeks: Haha I just love watching her trying not to have a double chin

Cheeks: Or holding the phone two inches away from her face

Me: Like this?


Cheeks: Baaahahaha ok these are cracking me up

Me: Here’s one of Dad’s FaceTime moves


Cheeks: BAHAHA omg I was going to do that too

Cheeks: This is a classic Mom move



Me: Here’s another of Dad


Cheeks: OMG too real

Me: You know I’m going to blog about this

Cheeks: Yup

Me: You know Mom will be so mad

Cheeks: Yup

Me: You know Dad won’t even care or know

Cheeks: Yup


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I cheat death, people

Read all about how est. 1975 manages to cheat death and tell the tale! #funny #humor #est1975blog #est1975 @est1975blog

You loyal so-and-sos already know that each one of us is gifted with a special skill. Some people have an aptitude for business. Others have a talent for the performing arts. Still others find their abilities to be more athletic in nature. Some can suck a mean dick.

I, personally, have a knack for narrowly escaping the clutches of death.

Now. Let me stop for a moment and share with you the average reader’s response to such a statement:



*”Did she just say she has ‘a knack for narrowly escaping the clutches of death’?”


*”Yep, she did.”

*reaches for phone

*beep boop beep

*”911, what is your emergency?”

*”I need an ambulance.”

*”What seems to be the problem?”

*”I just rolled my eyeballs so hard they fell out of my butthole.”

Look. I understand that response. I really do. Suggesting that I can somehow circumvent death is the stuff of delusion. But I assure you—it’s true. I have always had an uncanny ability to just manage to evade the dark, jagged claws of the Grim Reaper himself.

You still don’t believe me, you say? You want an actual list of examples, you say?

Here we go.

  1. The time I ate ant poison. Granted, I was only seven. Granted, I’d just dipped the teensiest, tiniest bit of my pinkie finger in the ant poison and touched it to my tongue for like .0000000001 seconds. Granted, the Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry claims that the minimal lethal dose of boric acid is around five to six GRAMS, not whatever infinitesimal amount had managed to adhere itself to my pinkie and make its way into my mouth before I spit it out everywhere and started crying.

    Mission: Cheat Death
    Mission: Accomplished
  1. The time I got run off the road at 70 mph and rolled my car five times. This was a pretty traumatic experience, and every day I thank The Creepy Infant of Prague That Every Eastern European Great-Grandma Keeps On A Doily that I am still here to tell the tale.
    Read all about how est. 1975 manages to cheat death and tell the tale! #funny #humor #est1975blog #est1975 @est1975blog

    As you can see from the picture above, my car was completely totaled, forcing me into the extremely stressful position of having to buy a newer and much cooler car, with more amenities and a way better sound system. I also had to have three stitches in my knee, and the doctor DIDN’T EVEN USE ANESTHETIC.

    To add insult to injury, the car crash sent several baskets of my dirty laundry sailing out the back windshield and into the middle of the road. My clothes went everywhere. I was mortified. I swear the police were this close to putting up one of those electronic road signs with this warning to motorists: DRIVE WITH CAUTION. TRAFFIC ACCIDENT AHEAD. PITTED-OUT BRAS AND BLOWN-OUT GRANNY PANTIES OBSTRUCTING ROADWAY.Yet despite the new car, the very minimal injuries, and the loss of my one remaining shred of dignity, somehow I survived.

    Mission: Cheat Death
    Mission: Accomplished

  1. The time someone blew up my apartment. All right, so nobody actually blew up my apartment. But there was a car bomb detonated DOWN THE STREET from my apartment. Close enough, right? RIGHT. Of course, the bomb went off fifteen years after I’d moved out of that apartment. And also moved out of the country in which the apartment was located.
    Did I mention that I only found out about the explosion because I saw it on Facebook? SHUT UP I ALMOST DIED.

    Mission: Cheat Death
    Mission: Accomplished
  1. The time I almost got shot in the face. There I was, just driving my son home from school, when I saw that the road ahead of me was blocked off by police cars, and that there were helicopters circling everywhere. Thinking “fuck that shit,” I took an easy detour, and got my son and I home perfectly safe in no time flat.

    And by “crazed murderer” I mean “a mentally ill man who was thinking of taking his own life.” And by “running around with a shotgun” I mean “sitting in a park in one place, talking with police negotiators.” And by “we could have been killed” I mean “the police managed to take the man into custody with no injury or loss of life.”
    Mission: Cheat Death
    Mission: Accomplished

And there you have it, folks! I think I have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that I have the innate ability to CHEAT DEATH. The proof is in the pudding. And the fact that I am still alive to eat pudding. Lots and lots of delicious pudding.

I’ll leave you with this picture of the Grim Reaper sailing back to the netherworld without me.

Read all about how est. 1975 manages to cheat death and tell the tale! #funny #humor #est1975blog #est1975 @est1975blog


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Photo credits:
“Gravestone” – Public Domain; File:Nahrobek Tschammeru.JPG’ Uploaded by Qasinka; Created: June 21, 2008 — Modified
“All By Myself” – Punch Magazine – Original: Cartoon from Punch Magazine, Volume 35 Page 137; 10 July 1858; This copy: City and Water Blog — Modified

pot luck

est. 1975 talks about the first time she ever got high in "pot luck." #funny #humor #weed #est1975blog #est1975 @est1975blog

The first time I got high off of weed was not – I repeat NOT – the first time I smoked it.

Already not making sense? Let me back up a bit and explain.

I was what you’d call a good girl in high school and college. I studied hard, wore Eastlands with spiral laces, and considered myself super duper badass if I drank more than three beers. In fact, I have a vivid memory of listening to Madonna’s “Bad Girl” in my dorm room before going to a frat party where I drank basically nothing and hooked up with basically nobody.

Bad girl indeed.

As you might well imagine, the thought of smoking marijuana never entered my mind during these years. In fact, looking back, I’m not sure I was even seriously *offered* any until about halfway through grad school, and even then I very graciously declined. I HAD A FELLOWSHIP, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE! I COULDN’T BE RUNNING AROUND SMOKING THE DEVIL’S WEED!

est. 1975 talks about the first time she ever got high in "pot luck." #funny #humor #weed #est1975blog #est1975 @est1975blog
St. Michael harshes Lucifer’s mellow.

What I’m getting at here is that it wasn’t until I was about 23 years old – done with college, done with grad school, and working my first “real” job – that the opportunity to smoke pot became regularly available to me, and I started to take an actual interest in trying it.

It’s important to point out that at the age of 23 I was in what I’ll generously call a “crummy” marriage, so I spent a lot of my time bar-hopping with girlfriends and gayfriends and pretty much anyone who was willing to tag along. One of our regular haunts was a local brewery and pub, and over the course of time and many fucked-up nights we began to know the bartenders, brewers, and wait staff quite well.

Now, as any of you who have ever worked in the bar and restaurant business know, WEED ABOUNDS. The kitchen staff smoke. The wait staff smoke. The bartenders smoke. The managers smoke. Everybody smokes, and they’ll do it pretty much anywhere. So when I made plans to go to a Ministry concert with the pub’s brewmaster (or at least, I think he was the brewmaster – this was a LONG time ago) it didn’t really surprise me that the evening’s agenda involved busting out a ginormous bag of dope. And I made the decision that I was game.

Because Ministry.

Anyway. My friend the (possibly?) brewmaster didn’t know it was my first time smoking the demon herb, so before the concert he quite casually asked if I wanted to “hotbox” in the public garage where we’d parked. I boggled. Hotbox? That sounded vaguely like a gardening thing. Not shockingly, it took my friend about .0001 seconds to figure out I had no idea what he was talking about, so he explained: “It’s smoking up in a tiny little place, like a car or a closet, and letting the trapped smoke get you extra high. Do you want to?”

Well. I didn’t want to seem like even more of a tool than I’d already made myself out to be, so I said “SURE WHY NOT IT’LL BE GREAT LET’S DO THIS HOTBOXING THING YEAH BUDDY” or something equally ridiculous. My friend the brewmaster reached into his pocket, pulled out a one-hitter, and proceeded to pack it.

“Ladies first,” was his pronouncement, handing me the packed one-hitter. Which looked kind of like a cigarette. Hey! I’d smoked cigarettes before! This would be no big deal. I took a long and cigarette-y drag, then exhaled almost immediately. And…


My friend the brewmaster looked at me a little weirdly but didn’t say anything. He took his hit, which I noticed was a lot longer and deeper than mine, but whatever. Then it was my turn and I did much the same as I had before. Still nothing.

It went on like this for a while, and I maybe got a wee buzz from the car filling up with smoke, but it was nothing like the high I thought I’d experience. By the time we got to the Ministry concert, my friend was completely stoned and loving life, and I was just… disappointed.

Since that day, I’ve smoked quite a bit more marijuana and I know now that you don’t just take a shallow college-girl drag off of a one-hitter before exhaling the smoke out instantly. Looking back, I marvel at what a dork I was, but we all have to learn sometime. The second time I smoked weed I had a little bit more help and the experience went MUCH more successfully. I got massively high, ate an entire bag of Doritos, and couldn’t stop laughing when my girlfriend drew a crude picture of a lobster claw and spent an hour pontificating about how she could “TOTALLY sell this to Red Lobster.”

And THAT was the first time I got high off of weed.


An earlier version of this piece was published in April 2014 on blog pixie c.d.

If you haven’t already done so, consider following est. 1975 on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Pinterest! I add fresh, hilarious material every single day.


Photo credits:
“Joint”: marihuana enrollada en papel; 6 November 2013, 16:23:22; Mariano.ramosntic
“Raphael”: Raphael [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons — Modified