It's your chance for a little romance or butt squeezin'

I'm not going to apologize for my lack of blog-age.  I'm blaming it on the winter.  Winter is stupid.  So I'm essentially going to hibernate it out.

Given my serious lack of male companionship, I've, once again, been toying with the idea of joining a dating website.  Woof, I know.  I've started the beginning steps several times but always get caught up on the parts where I am supposed to describe myself and my ideal mate.  I'm torn between giving a charming quip dancing around my inner demons and... well, telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  If I were to sign up for one of the these sites and if I were to give these strangers {emphasis on the strange?} the raw, unbridled insight into the real Shannon this is what it would read:

"I have big boobs. When I eat goldfish {which I do more often than advisable} one to three of them have been known to fall into the crevice. While it's 100% okay for me to get distracted by Tia and Tamara, it is not okay for you to be wholly consumed by their presence.  A sneaking glance every now and again is completely encouraged.

My sense of humor is not unlike that of a prepubescent boy.  I will make crude jokes.  You can laugh at these but not too hard... which only means no harder than I do.  I burp and immediately rate my own burp - be it mentally or aloud.  I will forever think that fart noises are funny.  Especially at inappropriate times and in inappropriate places.  I cannot and should not be trusted with the fart app on my phone.  Because, yes, I do have a fart app on my phone.  I am amused by people that pick their nose but I will, under no circumstance, allow for you to do this in public, in the same room as me, or anywhere in my general vicinity.

My friends and I talk about poop.  A lot.

While I shower very often, I don't wash my hair with any regularity.  Sometimes I like to see how long I can go without doing it at all.  The record this year is 5 days.  It's okay if you're grossed out by this... when you realize I haven't washed my hair in a while, just look at my boobs.

I don't drink that often.  Truth be told, I don't have the means to drink as often as I'd like to.  I'm loud when I'm sober.  Multiply my loudness 10x per alcoholic beverage.  When I drink too much I can and will black out.  At this point, I'll think I can dance like Michael Jackson, sing like Whitney Houston and rap like I'm a real OG.  I will fall.  A lot.  What I'm trying to tell you is that I'm a really good time.

One of my favorite pastimes is giving nicknames.  I will give nicknames to you, your friends, your family, your pets, strangers, everyone and thing.  I will find it very hard to remember the person/place/thing's real name and will only refer to him/her/it by the new name.  I make up words almost as often as I make up nicknames.  You are expected to know the meanings of each and every word without me actually having to say it.  If you are at a loss for the technical definition, apply the word to poo or an awkward sexual situation and you're going to be on the right track 9 times out of 10.

I laugh at my own jokes.  I truly think I'm hilarious.  I'll pretend like I don't want you around but, left to my own devices, I tend to get moderately insane.

All of this aside, I am really quite a charming lady."

I'd definitely get a boyfriend with a bio like that, right?

On that note, I'm going to share with you reason #1203209537238972983473523409890342 why I'm obsessed with my friends:

Ok, T... I think Eminem is about as cool as poo-ing your pants but since you actually DO poo your pants, this song's for you sista.

Seriously. I'm not smart.

When I posted this one second ago, I thought it was my 100th post.  I don't know how to count.  Numbers are stupid. Moving on...

Here's what I've been doing.  Kind of.

Teaching myself to apply these:

Too much of this.  Way, way, way too much of this:

Which may or may not have made me do this:

3.  Which may have lead to a little bit of this.

Doing a little bit of this:

Which makes me want to do this:

And it really makes me want to do this:

I haven't been doing any of this:

And I most certainly haven't been doing any of this:

Time to do more of the latter.  Less of the former.  So far I've been 2011's bitch and I'm not a fan.  Not a fan at all.

Happy 2011, lovers.

30 Day Challenge: Day Tatu

Day Tatu: First Love

{Tatu = Swahili for 3}

Let's be clear about this.  My first real life love were worms.  I loved everything about those creepy, crawly little buggers.  Like I've told you before, I was a weiiiiiiiird, weird kid.

My first human love, I'm talking head over heels, kind of makes you want to hurl love was Nicholas.  {Don't tell Jonathan Taylor Thomas or Leonardo DiCaprio about this... they are likely to be devastated.}  We met at a very strange time in my life.  College.  Freshman year.  At the Delt house.  I was drunk for the whole first two-ish years of our bizarre relationship.  It was on again.  It was off again a lot.  There were very few healthy aspects to what we had but I loved it.  To say our relationship was volatile would be like saying Lindsey Lohan dabbles with drugs.  While it was/is very obvious, it is also a tragic understatement.  We fought ALL. THE. TIME.  Big fights.  Little fights.  You name it.  We did it.  I was convinced Nicholas wasn't treating me like he should be but it went both ways.  I was crazy about this boy.  {Ha, boy.  He used to get SO mad when I didn't call him a man.}  Literally.  I had never / have never / hopefully will never act like I did with him to anyone else in the world.  I was quite whore-id.  Emphasis on whore, obvi.

Nick is great.  And I am, obviously, fantastic.  But together?  Not so much.  All of my friends would tell me this.  A lot of his friends would tell me this.  There was a very intense pull between us.  I couldn't stay away from him too long.  I can't tell you how many times I cried because he hurt my feelings or how many times I deleted his number from my phone {even though I had it memorized}.  I swore him off on at least a monthly basis.

It wasn't all bad, though.  Nicholas and I invented day-ghts.  What is this, you ask?  It's quite simple.  It's an all day date.  We would go to Whole Foods - that's not the name of it up in Knoxville, but I can't seem to think of the real name.  He'd grocery shop for hours.  I'd walk around people watching, then we'd go get something to eat and head home to watch a documentary.  The documentary was his choice, not mine.  It would always be about something that bored me to fucking tears.  Occasionally he'd let me watch my tv shows.  I'm sure he hated it just as much as I did watching things about how the Earth rotating.... zzzzzz.   Sorry, I fell asleep at the mere thought of those shows.  The sweetness would last a few days, then we'd get drunk and all hell would break loose.  I'm leaving out a lot of the embarrassing things we used to do {silly/sweet embarrassing} because I know he reads this and I know people that know him read this and he would lose all street cred if people knew he wasn't the ass he tries to come off as.

But Nick was there for me through a lot.  A LOT.  We still talk every now and then but it's weird to not be as close as we used to be.  For me, anyway.  It's crazy how it's been years since I've seen him and he still knows me better than almost anyone.  It's scary, actually.  Regardless of everything we put each other through, I will always love him.  I miss him and I miss his family {Big Al in particular.  Big is what a man should be... maybe we'll talk about that more another day}.  Since I've moved back to Memphis, Nicholas and I have time to reflect and apologize to each other for being so bad to one another.  He's come to realize that you can't do what he did to me and expect anyone to stick around.  I've realized the same thing.  Growing apart hurts.  Growing up, on the other hand, makes it somehow worthwhile.  Writing this post made my heart a little sad.


Side bar:  After originally posting this, I went through and read some of the blogs posted by other people doing the challenge.  I went through the first TWENTY and had to stop.  Am I really one of the only ones NOT saying J to the Esus or my dad or babies?!?!  Yowza.  I may be in with the wrong crowd.

30 Day Challenge: Day Due

Day Due:  Meaning Behind Your Blog Name

If you only knew how long it took me to come up with a suitable name for this silly little blog.  My blog would have started days - nay, weeks - earlier had I been more creative.  I struggled between making it something raunchy {because, let's face it folks - I'm pretty demented} and making it something suitable for the eyes of young ones.  Then, while rocking out to some Huey Lewis and the News one day at work - it hit me.  Hip to be square had to be somewhere in my title.  Because I'm totally a square.  I exemplify all that is nerdy.  So that {along with my initials "SMO"} is what shows in the link.  THEN blogger told me I needed to have a TITLE, too?  I knew at this point that I was probably in over my head.  This took another week.  And thanks to my homegirl, Gracie, Think Like Me came to be.  I feel like I should put a disclaimer on it though... at no point in time should you ever adopt a mindset like mine.

Do NOT read this if you think I'm cool.

WARNING: If I have tricked you in any way, shape or form into thinking that I'm cool - albeit marginally - please skip over this post.  Forever.

I like myself.  I like myself a lot.  I think that I'm pretty awesome.  But I am not delusional.  I know that I'm pretty much the antithesis of cool.  I like lots of things that are fit for, say, teenagers?  Maybe even younger?  Since today has been particularly uneventful, I'm going to enlighten you as to why I'm a douche.  I call this list (feel free to judge the shiz out of me):

Why Shannon's a Douche

First Edition

• I read and quickly became obsessed with the Twilight series.  True story.  I'm totally Team Edward.  Jacob is a joke. Werewolves aren't REAL and everyone knows it.

• The CW.  Yes, this one is particularly hard to admit.  I haven't missed a day of Gossip Girl since it's inception.  And I have no plans of ever falling out of the loop.  Chuck Bass is the man of my dreams.  I think he's legal in real life so this is ok.  Right?  Don't worry... I'm not too proud to admit that I willingly watch both 90210 and One Tree Hill.

• I'm fully aware that my obsession with this little love bucket may land me in the county jail.  But I'm not really sure that I care.  I love him.  I love his stupid hair and his sick dance moves.  I love that he's going through puberty.  Yeah... it may be weird that I know that but let's ignore it.  He's the modern day Hanson.  Do you think it's bizarre that all four of those fellas look strikingly like pre-pubescent little girls and/or underdeveloped lesbians?  Definitely not a coincidence.

• Hello Kitty band aids.  First of all, Gracie tells me that band aids are for little kids.  Second of all, they are Hello Kitty.  Maybe I'm just mad that when I was younger we always had to have gross boy band-aids since my brother was a boy and my sister thought she was.  They really do make me feel better.  And by that I mean they make me smile... and make me question my maturity level.

That's all that I can think of for now.  You may have noticed this was only Edition one.  Don't you worry your pretty little faces... I will make it my duty to prove to you exactly why I am a douche.

I'm ready for bed.  It's 8:30.  Maybe I really am a little kid?

Take it easy, baby.

Happy Monday, boys and girls.  Was your day fantastic?  Mine was.  Although I still feel like I got hit by a truck, had all of my limbs removed and then sewn back on Macgyver style.  What is Macgyver style, you ask?  Well, I am not entirely sure.  I imagine that it involves the bones of a crow, three pieces of grape Bubbleyum and pinto beans.  Maybe some invisible ink, too.  Invisible ink is crucial to most situations.


Weekend recap:  I finished my first 5k.  I don't think I really cared about my time for the race's sake.  I really was super anxious to get home and put the finishing touches on my house for the party.  I'm glad I did it and I fully intend on doing it again but I will not, I repeat - WILL NOT - be planning a party for the same day as said race.  That's just silly.  Moving on:  My house warming party was better than I could have ever imagined.  It was a bright and sunny day filled with friends and family and all the jello shots a girl could want.  Seriously.  The jello shots were the best/worst idea I've ever had.  Word on the street is they lasted well into the evening which is impressive given that I was practically shoving them down people's throats.  Including the mailman.  Unfortunately, I didn't take as many pictures as I would have liked... I was too busy handing out / taking jello shots?  Yup, the confirmation can be found in my liver.  Or what's left of it.  In other news, I think my taste in men is expanding.  I used to stick to Americana.  Farm raised, corn bred - possibly inbred? - American as Bud light {BEFORE the sell out, naturally}.  I'm going to blame this broadening of my horizons on Bruno Mars and strikingly beautiful men of the same caliber.  And the hot little nugget I met this weekend.


Dream update:  I've stopped dreaming about one of my co-workers.  That's a plus.  Now I can look at him without blushing and imagining him naked.  I'm sure he'll be replaced.  Hopefully with something less embarrassing... I'd settle for someone who isn't married.  The grasshoppers are gone too.  Kat Von D made a cameo last night.  This would be awesome if she didn't scare me.


I have a little venting to do.  Rest assured it's only about silly, trivial things.  If you'd like to skip to the next section of things that I love, love, love... you have my permission.  Here is a list of 5 things that make me want to barf:

1. When people drag their feet, I imagine myself throwing rocks at them.  Or arrows.  Or maybe just tripping them with a big ol' stick.  It's ridiculous and unless you have some physical ailment that prevents you from picking your feet up OFF of the ground (and I'll need to see a doctor's note) then you had better lift those doggies up with each and every step.  Ew.
2. When people are trying to let you know that they've completely changed or something along those lines and they say they have done a "360."  Really?  You changed and then turned back into whatever it is you changed from?  Double ew.
3. Ann Curry.  UGH.  I wish I could pin point the exact time for you when she crawled under my skin and laid her seeds of hate but I can't.  I'm fairly certain she tortures small woodland creatures.  Like baby deer.  Or baby rabbits.  And eats babies for breakfast.  Human babies.  Every time either Meredith or Matt is on vacation I die - especially when they give her some stupid story to talk about and it requires any sort of emotion.  Because she whispers.  About everything.  Triple ew.
4. When you get a shot and it feels like someone knuckle-punched you right in the arm every hour, on the hour, for two whole days.  I got a B12 shot today and it does not feel very pleasant.  AT all.  Quadruple ew.
5. When people don't respond to emails.  My mother is very guilty of this - the most egregious faux pas of. All. Time.  Just answer my email.  Even if it's with a recording of Ann Curry's stupid whisper voice talking about how she's done a 360 on something while she's walking around 30 Rock dragging her feet.  Triple ew plus double ew.

Now on to the things I l-o-v-e today:

1. My friends and family.  After the best house warming party in the history of house warming parties, I have a renewed obsession with each and everyone of you.  I would NOT let Ann Curry eat you or your babies.
2. Reading other people's blogs.  Look at the side of this page... right above my followers and you'll see just a few of the ones I love.  Getting into people's minds and finding out more about them is my idea of a good time.
3. Modern Family.  The season premiere is FINALLY on this week.  When I watch this show I like to imagine that {insert your personal higher power here} was thinking of me in particular when they created this show.
4. Stalking people's status updates.  Yup.  Pretty much every post or link or picture posted brings a little joy to my heart.  Unless, of course, it's sad or depressing or Republican in nature.  That should go without saying.
5. pièce de résistance.... Lady Gaga.  Lady Gaga.  LADY GAGA.  I totally have a big, fat girl crush on her.  I love her.  AND she's going to NASHVILLE.  Baaaaah.  All of my dreams are coming true.

The list of things I love could go on for hours but I must go deep clean my house.  I hope that this week is the best week of your life.  Love you and you and you and yooooou

Let's keep this on the down low...

When I was up at UT, I was the definition of out of control.  I was a shit show.  I was that girl.  And while I still do make the occasional horrible, terrible, no good, very bad decision, these days I'm pretty lame.  I'd love to say that I'm dangerous or mysterious or have some sort of description that wasn't fit for an 86 year old woman.  Alas, here I am.  Twenty five going on 94.  I think the most rebellious thing I've done this week is see how long my car can go without gas or wear my underwear inside out.  Ok, wearing my underwear inside out was an accident but that's besides the point.  The truth is that I'm a totally little boring.  I've been in denial about this for quite some time - two years at least.  I remember the first time my parents called me to house/dog sit while they went out of town (knowing that my older brother would be at his house, right around the corner all weekend long) and the first thing that popped into my head?  "When in the sam hell did I become the responsible child?"  Moral of the story is: I don't dig it.  I do like that my family can rely on me - though it can put a serious cramp in my style sometimes (like when they need a late ride home from the airport... and I am forced to get into bed after 10).  Time to start (or stop? as the case may be - I don't know how 25 year olds are "supposed" to act) acting my age.


Prologue:  Don't get me wrong.  I'm very content being single.  Relationships aren't... um... well, I guess they just aren't my strong point.  I like my alone time and I like hanging out with my friends and I don't want someone around all the time.  But the rate at which all of my friends are getting married and procreating has put me into a bit of a frenzy.  It makes me really nervous, actually.  I will joke until my dying day about being a cat lady one day.  The only problem is I hate cats.  Oh, and I bore myself.  So I'm thinking that the only way I could live alone with a bunch of cats is if I'm actually not alive.  Not alive at all.  Dead as a door nail.  Becoming cat food... sorry, too far.


With that being said I have two words for you: speed. dating.  HA.  I laugh at the mere thought of me going and trying this out.  A friend of mine has talked about this with me and has agreed to accompany me should I actually grow the cajones to do this.  (We've agreed that we aren't allowed to sit next to each other OR across the room from each other because we would inevitably get the "church" giggles.)  Has anyone done this?  Does this happen in real life or is this something that strictly takes place in romantic comedies on TV or in movies?  I need to know...


Then there is online dating.  I signed up for plentyoffish because my friends were doing it.  Worst mistake of our lives.  Everyone on that site (or at least everyone that contacted US) were fucking pervs.  I guess that's to be expected since it's free?  I don't know.  I've toyed with the idea of signing up for eharmony or match.  I really don't know that I could meet a complete stranger in public though.  Sure, he may look totally legit, but he could also kidnap me, throw me in a well and coax me to moisturize my skin so he could make a Shannon-suit.  I'm going to stick with the advice my folks gave me when I was a youngin' and steer clear of the strangers.


Ricky-poo, being the thoughtful father that he is, has suggested multiple times that I go to his church's singles group.  Ok.  There are a few flaws in his plan.  First and foremost being that all members of his church are eligible for AARP.  I know some of my friends are thinking, "But, Shannon, you love old dudes," and you are 100% correct.  However, I like it when men have teeth and weren't in WWII.  I know, I'm picky.  The next problem with the idea of single's groups stemming from churches or meeting someone at church in general is that I would judge the shit out of them.  Yes, I'm aware of the hypocrisy of this statement.  Maybe they are there to meet a nice, respectable young lass.  But that's not me.  I'm crude, wildly inappropriate and demented.  (For example, a friend of mine is going through RCIA and I was telling her what she should say in confession.  "Premarital sex is pretty much my favorite" may or may not have been something I not only thought about saying but typed in an email.  And now on this blog.)  On the other hand, I don't want to meet anyone in a bar either.  I'd like to think that I'm above that  - enter hysterical laughter here.


Let me finish this personally humiliating post by reassuring you that I know I'm horribly hypocritical.  And judgemental.  I should tell you that I am working on becoming a better person but that's a lie.  I just need to find boundaries.  And an inner-monologue.  I suppose that's what this stupid fucking blog is for.


Happy Hump-day, lovers.  I've been kicking it old school recently... I'm gonna keep on keepin' on.  Love you.  Mean it.

Calling all cat ladies!

Natasha, a friend of mine from college (and fellow Matt Lauer / Lady Gaga lover) had this up on her super adorable blog a few days ago and I've decided to steal it.  She took it from a blog that she follows and it was originally taken from a show on MTV.  I tried watching the show once but all of the emotions and crying started to make me nervous so I had to change the channel.  Unless it's a lifetime movie or some really tragic story on Extreme Home Makeover I like to keep my crying to a minimum.  Here we go...


If you reaaaaally knew me, you'd know that:

• I'm always on time (this does not include work, der) and I'm horribly impatient.  Nothing gets under my skin more than when people are always running late.  I think this comes from the fact that my dad's side of the family has never been on time for anything.  Ever.  In the history of O'Leary's.  Having any sort of appointment / reservation and still having to wait is my own personal hell.
• I don't take myself (or anyone) else seriously.  You know I'm a douche and I know I'm a douche.  It's fine.  You're a douche, too.  Life would be so dreadfully boring if I couldn't laugh at all of the stupid things that happen to me AND to you.
• I'm a karaoke machine.  After goldschlagger or rumplemintz.  And I usually stick to "Gangsta's Paradise" by Coolio, "Shoop" by Salt n Peppa or "To Be with You" by Mr. Big.
• I get bored very easily.  I change my mind about 8.234 billion times a day on any given subject.  Unless we're talking about Sarah Palin.  I will always hate her.
• I have the habits of a 75 year old woman.  I go to the grocery store on the same day, at the same time.  I love nothing more than to stay at home, watch Dateline and read my book.
• I am only really scared of a few things.  Clowns, the dark, and moths.  Midgets are slowly being removed from the list since TLC and every other channel seem to have an obsession.. thanks, mainstream media.
• I can't go one full weekday without facebook, perez hilton or texts from last night.
• I laugh harder at my own jokes than anyone else does.
• I can't sleep unless my books are alphabetized.  I can't even really leave the house if they are out of order.  I'm sure this says something bad about the inner workings of my brain but all I know is that it makes me nervous.
• Bookstores and diet coke can, almost instantly, put me in a better mood.  I love everything about bookstores.  And diet coke.  Eve-ry-thing.
• I love words.  I have a very long list of words that make me smile.  Two that were added to the list today: ravenous and precocious.
• You can tell exactly how I'm feeling at any given moment by the look on my face.  Seriously, I'm an open book.  This is both a blessing and a curse because I can never play it cool.
• I've recently become obsessed with this app on the iphone... it makes you have a fat face.  We have done it to almost everyone at work.  Yesterday when I was looking ridiculously unfortunate we fat faced AND old faced me.  This was the result:

 Right now you're thinking one of two things:

1.  That I smell like stale cigarettes, three day old whiskey and cat poop

2.  That I am going to get the sexiest old, fat person alive.

(Either way you are 100% correct)

That's it for right now.  Keldo and Christopher are in town tonight so I'm meeting them downtown.  Barf.  In my mouth.  I hate downtown but I love these kids.

ALSO:  I have to update my last post:  I have one very, very, very important friend that was accidentally left out of my Nashville friends photo.  This is an oldie but a goodie, Cass.  And it very nearly got me kicked out of the sorority because people thought we were le-bos.

My song for you tonight is one that you almost have to be a cat woman to listen to... I think the ideal way to enjoy this jam is to be hammered on white zinfandel/white wine spritzers and smoking Virginia slims while standing on your couch in onesie pajamas with a green face mask on, singing at the top of your lungs for all of your cats to hear... oh, and maybe you're singing into a hairbrush and you are definitely dedicating this jam to all the men/women who have done you wrong.  Let it out, friends.  Let. It. Out.

(Side note: I am unsure as to why there are pictures of the Titanic playing... all I know is that I love it even more. I'll never let go, Jack. I'll never let go.)