Shannon and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I should have known that it was going to be a long day when I got to work and the mere sound of a certain person's voice made me seriously contemplate cutting myself.  Or calling in a bomb threat.  Or make an electrical fire small enough to ensure the safety of others but big enough to cause a building wide black out for the rest of the day.  I should have known I needed to go home and watch sad movies on lifetime and let the PMS cry itself out.  I should have... but I didn't.

It was going fine through lunch.  While I could tell that I was on edge, I seriously thought I could make it through - I mean, I only had 3.5 hours left - that's not long right?  Wrong.  So.  Fucking.  Wrong.  I had one of those afternoons were I felt like no one was listening to me.  Typically this wouldn't be a problem but since these were my co-workers and I rely on them to get the hell out of dodge at 5 pm - this is crucial.  No one listened to me.  Not once.  Not at all.  Five o'clock rolled around and this one fella was dying to talk to me.  Obviously I made a bee line for the door and told one of my co-workers that if I didn't get out of there right then that the possibility of me snapping is no longer an IF but a WHEN.

I roll down the street to Kroger because I haven't gone grocery shopping in 3 weeks, give or take.  I didn't go to crack head Kroger.  I went to my usual Kroger, pick a cart out and head into the store.  While I'm thinking to myself that I must have finally gotten a cart that wouldn't cause internal bleeding, 6 steps into the store the handle bar jams into my uterus.  It felt wonderful, as I'm sure you can imagine.  {I know everyone reading this knows exactly the kind of cart I'm talking about.  The one with the old gross string of a mop tied around one of the wheels causing it to be moderately to completely immobile.}  Shitty cart aside, I'm trying to make it through.  I pick up some bananas and crackers and head to the meat department.  In the meantime Old Man Kroger gets in my way with a big cart of god knows what causing me to put on the breaks of the worst grocery cart ever - once again impaling my uterus.  Sweet, I didn't want that thing to work anyway.  Not only did he just STOP in front of me he looked at me like I had told him I kill puppies in my free time.  I maneuver around Old Man Kroger and make it to the chicken.  Unlike the time before, they actually had chicken breast but it was being guarded by Old Woman Kroger.  This little gem was putting out new price tags on gizzards or something gross like that.  Clearly the 10 cent difference between chicken asshole would make a difference because homegirl didn't get the hint I was waiting.  Someone needed to ask her a question {her response?  Who knows.  It was so far from English I was positive that I had transported to another planet}.  Old Woman Kroger moved out of the way long enough for me to reach over and grab one package of chicken.  Then she turns around and straight up walks into me.  No apology.  No excuse me.  She, too, looks at me like I'm a puppy killer and goes about pricing chicken ball sacks.  All the while trying to nudge me further out of the way.  I grab my purse and my bags and loudly proclaim how I can't handle this and leave my baby killing cart in the middle of the aisle.

Apparently Memphis got a memo that I didn't.  APPARENTLY today was drive 5 MPH down the busiest street in Memphis taking up 2 lanes.  Cuuuute, real cute.  Against Grace's advise, I stop to get some cigarettes {yes, I'm smoking again.  Shame me at your own risk} and here I sit.  On my bed. Leftover 18 pack by my side.  Seriously thinking about smoking inside - gross.  Typing my first blog {I had to write this one before I covered the Thanksgiving festivities}.  All I have to say is FUCK YOU, TUESDAY.

I can't believe I haven't shared this with you yet.  I added a sign to the break room at work.  If you don't remember the Sign Nazi - read this.  I make myself laugh so much it's unnerving.  

I missed you.

I'm terribly sorry for my lack of postage recently.  I would like to tell you that I've been off doing really cool things but I have no idea what I've been doing.  Not a clue.  On one of these days I was driving down the road and I had an aha moment.  Regardless of what I may tell you from time to time {esp in my next post}, I have an awesome life.  I have the world's best friends.  And the world's best family.  I'm exactly where I need to be in life right now but more importantly - I am exactly where I want to  be.  I love all you assholes.  Here we go:

Monday:  Knowing that I didn't have to get up and work the next day forces me to go out and get haaaawaaaaaasted.  Like my bar tab was so high because I was buying shots for everyone I'm embarrassed to tell you the final tally.  When I finally leave there is a torrential downpour.  Did I mention that I walked there?  Obviously the walk home was super fun.

Tuesday:  the official start of my vacation.  I awoke with a beautiful pounding in my head and a tinge of nausea.  Delish.  I head over to my parents where I spend the majority of the day cleaning their house and trying to prepare it for the onslaught of family that would be coming throughout the next week.  It can be quite burdensome carrying the throne of favorite child.  I finally get to head out and get a mani/pedi.  There is no day-long hangover that a mani/pedi can't ease.  My upstairs digits got a fresh coat of Rising Star while my piggies are rocking Russian Navy.

Wednesday:  My "me" day.  I went and got my hair did.  More blond because... well, it was necessary. I stop by my mother's on my way home and get wrangled into going to the grocery store the day before Thanksgiving.  {Again, favorite child = kiiiind of annoying}  An eternity later, I make my way home, do a load of laundry and head out to the annual O'Leary Turkey Fry.  I guess a lot of people haven't had the opportunity to feast on fried turkey but it's so good.  Anyway, all the men in the family start drinking at 2-ish and the party doesn't stop until all of the birds are fried.  I believe the total number this year was around 20ish - at an hour a bird... you do the math.  That's a lot of beer.  Fer, my cousin Jen and I head over to my parent's house to drink some more and head out for a night on the town.  Jen opted out while Fer and I went over to a friend's house.  A long time and too much of the sauce later we make it over to Casa de Fer and this is what happened.

Our love for pork goes deep.

Yup.  That's my best friend since forever hugging bacon.  And sausage.

Thanksgiving:  I attempt to help my mother avoid the inevitable freak out mode.  I fail.  50+ people were in attendance and my parents' A/C goes out.  Brilliant.  Luckily someone, somewhere invented alcohol.  Freak out mode happens.  The whole family arrives.  We feast.

{Side bar"My family has an unhealthy obsession with Sister Schubert rolls.  It's not Thanksgiving without them.  My mother put my grandmother in charge of the rolls and she brought some abomination.  Something someone, somewhere MAY call bread but other people usually refer to them as bricks.  I already told my dad I was not going to be the one to break it to his mother that she's un-invited to next year's Thanksgiving.  I feel like that's something he should obviously be doing.}

Moving on... we drink too much, we eat too much, we miss Super T.  Tragedy, I know.

Friday:  Worst. Morning. Ever.  As I told you before, we had to get family pictures taken.  I shamed my mother enough to convince her that all of us dressing the same was a lame idea {thank freaking god}.  Over 30 of us gather and take more pictures than I typically take in a decade.  Meanwhile, my mature family pulls out a FART MACHINE and is pressing it at every chance possible.  That poor photographer may never take another picture after what we put him through.  After this horrid experience, I lie to my family and tell them I have plans and go hide out in my house for a few hours.  We then go out and celebrate my grandma's 80th birthday and head to Broseph's house for the after party.  Jen and I head to the gas station and pick up some "JungleJoos."  I have no idea what this is.  I know they call it a "premium malt beverage" and that it looks a lot like hazardous waste.

This party obviously calls for a drinking game.  Said drinking game required a little bit of rhyming.  In case you were wondering, storage rhymes with orange.  Genius.  Jen, Fer and I grow tired of this party and decide to go show off our pipes at Windjammer.  Windjammer spikes their beer - maybe with roofies?  Jen and I decide it's a good idea to go to an after-hours bar in midtown.  {It's never a good idea}.  After McDonalds breakfast around 7am: we make it make to Jen's hotel.

Saturday:  I wake up.  A little confused as to my surroundings.  I take one whiff of myself {Windjammer and Alex's are both smoking bars} and I projectile vomit.  Cuuuuute.  Hangover, hangover, hangover.  Germantown Commissary, bed.

Sunday:  I didn't get out of my pajamas.  I ate Chinese food.  I recovered.  Ish.

Monday:  Work is stupid.  I talk to my dad and he asks me when I'm going to start my program.  What program?  AA.  I told him whenever he did.  He chuckles and in the background I can hear the popping of a beer can.  Keep it classy, Ricky-poo.  Keep. It. Classy.  I go down to a friend's and watch Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken.  If you don't know this movie, please go check it out.  It's beauty and grace circa 1991.

In other news, Monday was also my parents 30th anniversary.  So cute.  This song is not for them... it's actually for Fer and Jen.  I may never remember our rendition of this song but I'm sure it was gnarly.

What are you thinking of?

My heart was broken this morning.  I think I literally saw it fall out of my chest and saw the shards of ice bounce across the floor.  I'm going to tell you what set me over the edge.  {I'm blaming this on Ann Curry for no reason other than she drives me fucking insane.}  I'm sure you've heard by now:  Prince William is engaged.  I think his fiance's name is Kate?  But let's be honest.  I don't care.  All I know is that the home wrecker ruined any chance I had at marrying William.  I don't care that his teeth are gross nor do I care that he's balding.  He's a fucking prince.  Confession:  I don't care about him at all.  I just want a tiara for god's sake.  Looks like I've got to keep my eyes on Harry... does anyone know of a therapy that will make me more partial to the gingers?  I'll probably need some sort of electric shock therapy.

One more thing...

Another reason why I shouldn't go out of town any time soon:  bad things happen.  My best, Gracie, had to  drive HERSELF to the ER Sunday morning and ended up getting an appendectomy.  Now, I have no idea what an appendix is and I certainly have no fucking clue what it does but I have a feeling that they aren't important.  G is still in the hospital right now so I went to see her after work.  I hate hospitals.  But something that I love:  shower caps that have shampoo in them.  All you have to do is put it on and scrub for a minute or two and viola!  You're shit is less nasty.  I hope she gets out of there tomorrow because I don't want to get lost wandering the halls and looking into strangers rooms again.  Love you, G.  FEEL BETTER, NOW!

You win. You always do.

Hi-dy ho boys and girls.  I hope you all had a good weekend.  As I told you in my last post, I decided to take a little road trip up to Nashville this past weekend.  As per usual, the 615 and I went toe to toe.  I'm fairly certain that Nashville won but let's tally the score:

I arrived around 8ish Friday night.  {Side note:  day light savings time sucks balls.  Having to drive the entire trip in the dark was freaking Snooze-ville, USA.}  Taylor and I stopped at a McDonald's to wait for Nashville to come pick me up.  We go inside where I immediately notice the plethora of thugs and that all the tv's are speaking Spanish.  I can handle this.  I'm from Memphis.  I get cat-called whilst walking to the pisser and ogled the entire 20 minutes we are there.  Maybe they don't grow them like me off of exit 6.  One point to me.
615:  0  Shannon: 1
We decide to go to Losers - a fun little bar in the midtown area?  Let me tell you something, dear friends.  Nashville looooves it's mustaches.  My little heart skipped a beat with each passing fu manchu.  I had to pet on fella's mustache because it was so luscious.  {Yup.  I'm fully aware of how creepy this sounds.  And please believe me that it was 100% creepier than you think.}  Let's blame this move on the rumplemintz. Clearly the 615 takes the win here.
615: 1  Shannon: 1
We head to bar numero dos {Red Bar, I believe}.  Things were going fine.  I saw this one little nugget who was wearing the biggest, most ridiculously blinged out watch I'd ever seen in my life.  Of course I had to mock him.  Mocking lead to him spilling some lines about how he's Lebron James' PR guy.  Lies.  Anyway, 3 o'clock comes along and my new homegirl Jagoda and I realize that Nashville, our ride, has decided to flee the scene with a stranger nick-named Dave Mraz due to his uncanny resemblance to Dave Matthews and Mr. to the AZ.  Being the resourceful ladies that we are, Jagoda and I start looking around for landmarks and realize that we are by a SPACESHIP.  Nashville finally comes to our rescue - probably because she found the spaceship - and we make it home.  The city takes another win with this one.  The architectural beauty may be the only reason Jagoda and I did not wind up on the back of a milk carton or on Dateline.

So maybe it doesn't look like a spaceship...

615: 2  Shannon: 1

In my hurry to find my pj's and make my way to bed I had a run in with the door.  Actually, my foot had a run in with the door.  The door won.  My toe?  Well, it's now broken.  This calls for 1 point to the 615 and - 1 point for me.

615:  3  Shannon: 0

Saturday:  I drank too much rumple, fancy that, and spent the majority of the day watching Harry Potter.  Before round 2 I had to go get some flats {though they are cute, I loathe them.  Flats are not my friend}. My body is not physically prepared for another night on the town - especially since Nashville had to make jello shots and got moonshine for the birthday party we were supposed to attend.  I put my party panties on and went along for the ride.  Looking back, I should have stayed home.

Jello shots, moonshine and fireball were a-flowing at the party.  We head downtown {jello and fireball in purses, of course}.  Before we go into Miss Kelly's the bouncer makes me show him the contents of my purse.  The Meathead finds not one, not two - not even three or four but NINE jello shots in my purse.  Naturally I step outside and throw them to anyone that looks like someone I know.  Meathead is not pleased.  He shames the shiiiiiit out of me but I dance my way back to the bar.  I'm giving myself one point for my ability to share and the city gets one for le shame.
615: 4  Shannon: 1


Things start to get a little fuzzy.  Here's what I know:  rumplemintz, whiskey, jello, water {see, I'm responsible}, dancing, schooling some silly boys in the ghetto ways of Coolio, strip club {no need for extra shame here... I got this}, penis tattoo {real life}, closing time?, SEVENTY FIVE DOLLAR cab ride home, getting lost in the apartment complex, sleep?  If I added this correctly that's 8 for the 615 and 2 for me.  I'm taking one of my points away for going to a strip club.  That's fucking gross.
615: 12  Shannon:2


Did I mention that I left my phone in the cab?  Or that someone stepped on my broken toe and I wanted to punch them in the genitals and projectile vomit in their face all at the same time?  Yup.  Sunday morning was rough.  REAL rough.  I had to find Nashville to use her phone because I didn't know what time my ride was coming through.  I don't know my ride's number.  Enter panic attack.  Through some handy facebooking I found my ride's number but his phone was dead.  Seriously - PANIC attack.  I was positive that I was going to have to take a greyhound home and that I was going to be forced to sit next to a crackhead whose hygiene is sub par.  They'd probably be eating curry.  Or squirrel.  Maybe possum.  Cut to 6 hours after my first attempt to get in touch with my ride.  We finally leave the city limits around 6 and make it to Memphis after what feels like an eternity.  Cashville
615:  32  Shannon:  7

I went and got my new phone today and talked to man out of making me pay for my $120 new contract fee.  How?  I borrowed crutches and gimped in there and made him feel so badly about my weekend that he would do anything to make me happy.  $150 later I have a new phone, all my contacts and a little pep in my walk... er... limp?  That's 120 to me 150 to them.
615:  182  Shannon:  127


There are a few other stories that I won't mention.  I'd like to keep what little dignity I have left over.  I say I put up a pretty solid fight.  See you next time, Nashville... keep it classy.

Captain Ron IS America.

HAPPY ALMOST FRIDAY!

Also, happy veterans day.  I'm so proud to be an American it's almost disgusting.  I'd wear a red, white and blue fanny pack with an American eagle perched on the shoulder of my American flag black t-shirt on top of my camo pants if I had them.  Unfortunately, I don't have any of these items.  {Note to self: invest in these gems before the 4th of July.}

I wish I could tell you that I've done something productive with my day off but I have the attention span of a small child.  Or a fly.  Take your pick.  I went and had a delicious lunch at Holiday Ham with my wonderful mother.  I then came home and pretended to clean.  Pretending to clean takes a lot out of a person.  I had to try to fix my speakers so I could have a dance/clean party but it seems they are to be added to my fallen soldier list from last weekend.  Gracie came over with the two little girls she picks up from school and I got to play "Try to get me" / tag with one of my favorite kids ever - Gracie and I have given her the nickname of Poofer Fries McNugget.  She doesn't like it but she also doesn't have a choice.  Poofer can count to ten in Russian.  I know, impressive.  I struggle with counting in English.

I finally found my camera chord.  It was in my overnight bag.  Proof positive that I need to get out of town more often.  Anyway, here are the pictures I have promised you.

My yummy brunch for my family

Mom made me take the spatula off for a legit pic

Aren't they just the cutest things you ever did see?

I may know how to cook but jello shots are my specialty

Proof jello shots are my thing

I don't know if you can see this BUT she's wearing a mustache.

I'm so excited that it's almost the weekend I can hardly stand it.  I've decided to make a trip up to my second favorite city in the grand ol' state of Tennessee: Nashville.  I made this decision yesterday... so clearly it's been planned for quite some time.  I am in desperate need of a getaway.  I'm going to be staying with Nashville and only horrible awesome things can happen.  Or so I thought before she informed me that jello shots were going to be involved.  It may be about two or three weeks too soon alas, these are the struggles I must endure.

I have something to share with you.  I have, apparently, acquired a boyfriend - completely unbeknownst to me.  I know you must be thinking, "Wow, Shannon has mad game!"  And you - dear readers - are sadly mistaken.  My new boyfriend is Captain Ron.  Would you like to know some more about this elusive one eyed character?  I thought so...

The Down-low on Captain Ron

• His birth name is Michael.  Crazy talk, I tell you.  He is a Ron if I've ever met one.  {He will heretofore be referred to as "Boyfriend" because my neighbors are assholes.}
• Boyfriend will let you me call him "girl" or "girlfriend" without even blinking an eye.  It's like he was born for these absurd terms.
• Boyfriend loves to try to pawn off stray dogs on you.  He will even try to bring them in your house - even after you ask him not to.
• Boyfriend likes to speak in pirate voice.  This is quite fitting since he wears an eye patch, don't ya think?
• Boyfriend has been through quite a bit in his life.  He will tell you all about these stories except for the ONE story everyone needs to know about.
• Boyfriend will not talk about why he wears an eye patch.  This.  Is.  Devestating.
• Boyfriend's job status is unknown.
• While Boyfriend's job status is unknown, he is willing to make you ham.  Proof:

I don't know what he's talking about with the Swine Island Dance Hall but something tells me this love bucket is not playing with a full team upstairs.

I hope all of you have a b-e-a-uuuu-tiful weekend.  I'ma let Lee Greenwood take it home.  America, fuck yeah.

30 Day Challenge: The Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeend

Day 30:  A picture

I'm posting this picture for two reasons:

1.  This godforesaken blog challenge is over.  I got really bored with it, obviously.  Note to self:  next time, read the questions BEFORE you start the challenge.  Hopefully I will remember... not that I plan on doing this for a really long time.

2.  George W's book came out today.  I want - no, need - to read it.  I have got to read this book for several reasons.  Politics aside, I find this big dumb animal kind of endearing.  I will mock him until the end of time for it but I kind of enjoy that he makes up words.  Anyway, if anyone reads this gem let me know - I would like to know what I'm getting myself into before hand.

This should explain a lot.