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.

30 Day Challenge: Day 13

Day 13:  Goals

I've covered my long term goals in one of my first posts.  See here.  So today... slash tomorrow... my goal is to successfully cook brunch for my mom, dad, brother and {hopefully} Gracie.  Let me be clear - by "successfully cook brunch" what I really mean is this: 

1.  Cook brunch without having to call the fire department.

2.  Have my guests eat it even if it's horrible.

3.  Have my guests survive, not only throughout the meal but throughout the WHOLE day.  I don't want them to die because of my desire to be Susie Homemaker.

I got my ever so yummy recipe from Natasha over at A Day in the Life.  Check her out.  She is simply adorable and has some really fun posts!  Anyway, my goal for tomorrow is... drum roll please... Blueberry Pecan French Toast.  It seems relatively easy.  I may have just jinxed myself.  But things have not started out so well seeing as I just returned home from the grocery store and realized I forgot the blueberries.  Smooooth, Shannon, very smooth.

I hope all of you are out enjoying this beautiful fall day. Love you, bitches.

30 Day Challenge: Day Five

Day Five: Your Siblings

I have an older bro and a younger sister.  We are all funny.  I think I'm the funniest.  But that's because I think I'm the funniest person alive.  These two chillrens give me a solid run for my money.  Pat {who will be referred to as Broseph in all my following posts} is my older brother.  He's hilarious.  I have never met anyone who didn't love him.  We get along quite well - except when he doesn't answer my phone calls.

Casey.  Well... she's my sister.  I wouldn't say we get along really.  Ok, so we don't get along at all.  We're trying though.  So that has to count?

In related news, Thanksgiving is coming up.  This means that ALL of my family {both sides} will be in town.  What I'm trying to tell you, fellow Memphians, is beware.  We will be wreaking havoc on the streets of Memphis.

I feel like I should introduce to you the other members of the family. I went to my mom's facebook page to look for pictures of us kids and she has more of these two little fuckers than she does of the kids she birthed.  Nice priorities, Les.

This is Rocky.  I think he was named after Rocky from 3 Ninjas but I will always call him Rocky Top because that makes me love him more.  He's the youngest.  Rocky likes long walks on the beach and playing with his rope toys.  He is not good at sharing and has serious emotional problems... probably because his brother is the favorite.  Well, it also could be because he is in love with his brother and tries to "marry him" {the sweet way Grace refers to boy dogs humping things}.

This little charmer is Ziggy {aka Ziggy-mon, Zigger, Jaberwocky, etc}.  He is my parents favorite child. And, without a doubt, my favorite member of the family.  Zig thinks he's a person.  I'm fairly certain he was a president in a past life.  Ziggy enjoys alone time with any member of the family.  Except Rocky.  He likes to snuggle and get slobber all over you.  Ziggy is a huge fan of shaking hands... how else would a former president act?

30 Day Challenge: Day Quattor

Day Quattor:  Your Parents

I have two wonderful parents.  They are mildly insane, wildly bizarre and absolutely wonderful.  Moms and pops {a.k.a. Les and Ricky-poo} have been married for 27 years.  Yowza.  That's a long time.  I don't know how they've lasted that long... I adore them both but they are crazy.  And really annoying, at times.  I'm a perfect mix of the two of them.  I have my mother's strong will and stubborn-ass attitude.  I have my father's sense of humor.  I have both of their dance moves.  Thankfully, I have the mailman's nose.

So cute.  I love them.

The cockroach

Oh my dearest friends... I have some tragic news.  After {literally} tearing apart my entire {for reals} house I have come to the realization that my camera USB cord has met the same fate as my original camera charger.  It has run away.  Probably to a better home where it's mother takes care of it, uses it on a daily basis.. ya know, the usual.  What this means is I'm not going to be able to post my outer space pictures.  I know.  I promised.  But I lied.

To make up for the lack of fall-y pictures, I will be sharing more painfully adorable pictures of me as a child.  But that will come later.  

Yesterday I went over to my parents house for family dinner.  It was my favorite kind of family dinner because I was the only child in attendance.  Know what that means?  ALL of the attention to myself.  As a middle child, this is what I imagine heaven to be like.  Or so I thought... I got over there around 4:30.  My mom had tried to talk me into going to church with her.  She thinks I need more Jesus in my life, I'm assuming.  I may have broken her heart a little when I told her it bores me... and when I called her a silly Catholic.  {Mental note: learn to censor yourself around mother.}  Anyway, Les was out praying that I don't encounter eternal damnation while Ricky-poo was praying the football gods.  I sat and talked with him for a little bit when he looked at me and said "Wow.  You look really smart today."  I'm assuming this means he noticed I was wearing glasses.  Now, I don't wear them all the time but I feel like he should know that his favorite daughter wears glasses from time to time.  He asks me if they are real, doesn't believe me when I assure him they are and then talks about how much smarter they make me look.  When I ask him what I look like typically he scoffs and says "...well, not that smart."  Thanks, pops.

Mom comes home and cooks a delicious meal; we dine; then I go look at some family pictures.  I must say that I have a really good looking family.  My younger sister and I went through a disturbingly long awkward phase.  Les wouldn't let me scan any pictures of the sister - which is quite unfortunate because I found some real gems.  Imagine this:  Macgyver mullet on a girl child.  It is nothing short of hilarious.

Proof of my short lived tap dancing career.

I've never been a graceful person.  My tap career suffered because of this and because of my lack of rhythm.  I promise my parents didn't abuse me.  Those bruises were probably self inflicted.  What were not self inflicted were my flesh eater teeth.  They are gross.  I wish I could go through and photoshop a pretty pair of choppers in place of these horrid little chiclets.

This is my aunt Laura and my cousin Morgan.  I promise she does have a face.  And I promise I was just as big of a brat as this picture would lead you to believe.

This is still my go-to picture face

I was reading a book probably to that little girl next to me.  She's my sister and at one time we got along.  

Look at how weird my brother is sitting.

First and foremost, those have got to be the cutest pigtails ever.  My mom saw this picture and started making fun of my crooked smile.  When I pointed out it was her fault {thanks, DNA} she quickly stopped laughing.

I'm going to assume this was a photo shoot between me and my dad.  I'm also going to assume they had locked me in my room for a week prior to this picture being taken because I was so clean.

Best Christmas presents ever.

I don't know what year this was taken all I know is that I distinctly remember getting all of these gifts.  This Barney Ruble car was a vain attempt at distracting me from the fact that I didn't have a Barbie power wheels.  My parents, being the geniuses they are, also gifted me with dress up clothing galore.  I still have this hat.  I wear it once a year so my mom won't throw it away.  It's still just as fancy.

More Shannon/Ricky photo shoot

Again with the cute pigtails

I guess my mom's go-to hair do for me was pigtails.  I'm impressed she could tame the fro at all.

The money shot.

Clearly the importance of sitting like a lady was instilled in me a young age.

Sweetest child ever.

My dad has always loved to take close ups.  I have always hated it.  This picture is also proof-positive that I perfected my "eat shit and die" look at a very young age.

I got kicked in the head by a donkey.  I refuse to believe I was actually cross eyed.

With a picture like this how can he possibly deny that I'm his favorite?!

I'm so cute I feel sorry for other kids.

Casey, Pat, me and Morg.

Whenever we take family pictures we are all making these faces.  Seriously.  Every single one of us.

I don't even know where to start with this one.  No, I didn't not have corn rows.  Yes, that is the Roadrunner getting chased.  Yes, I did have braces.  No, I don't still have the necklace.  Yes, I do still have the shirt.  And the earrings.  Puberty was not kind to me.  The invention of the hair straighter changed my life.  If I ever win any sort of award, the first two people I will thank are my orthodontist and Chi.

That's it for tonight, boys and girls.  Tonight's musical number was allegedly a favorite of mine in my younger years.  Enjoy.

I'm not white trash?

My mom pushed the "The house needs to be spotless" date until this evening.  Lucky me.  I went over after work to vacuum and dust the rest of the house.  There was one small problem.  My parents brand new vacuum cleaner broke.

Ridiculously expensive piece of shit

I'm super smart so I called the neighbors and asked to borrow theirs.  Apparently there is a time warp portal in between our house and theirs because THIS is what my dad came back with...

Seriously?  Is this from 1983?

I think even the Amish would laugh in the face of the person suggesting that this is a viable option to clean anything.  My dad, being the man's-man that he is, came up with this idea:

4.5 Horse Power Hey-o

Yup.  That's shop vac.  Unfortunately, the cord is short... don't worry - he has a solution for that, too.

The extension cord I had to haul around the house

Then there was the little problem that the shop vac's attachment would scratch the hardwood floors.  Once again, I came to the rescue.  I put the broken vacuum's attachment on the shop vac but it wouldn't stay... I asked my dad if he had any duct tape.  You should have seen the look on his face.  You would have thought I told him that I had a change of heart and was now a Republican.  Ricky-poo ran out to his work shop and picked his favorite roll and this was the final result.

Bobo.  Bobo as hell.

I finished cleaning the house and decided to take a gander at some old family photos before I left.  Sometimes I just like to remind myself that I have always been cute.  Would you like a sneak peek?

Sweet molest-ache, Ricky-poo

This is my father circa 1986.  This is also the exact same face I make everyday.  It's creepy how alike we are.  Speaking of creepy, this mustache is fucking killing me.  Good thing To Catch a Predator wasn't around back then or he'd be fuuuuuuuuucked.

Me and my momma 

Bahaha.  The 80s was great for hair.  Side note: if the quality of this picture was better you'd be able to see my boob.  You're welcome, fellas.

Worst costumes ever

This a pic of me and broseph.  Apparently my mom thought we should dress the same.  The costumes are horrible but we are the cutest pumpkins ever.

Proof I've had the 'fro since I was a youngin'

Straighteners weren't an option when I was young.  People (read: strangers) would come up to me and pull my curls.  And people wonder why I like my personal space... I was scarred as a child.

I wore my sunglasses at night.  And inside.

I've been totes legit since birth.  When I see this picture I imagine myself singing "I'ma a diva" by Be-nonce years before she even thought about the song.

I apologize for the poor quality of these gems.  Once I get my mother's scanner hooked up I will post more.

Side note:  I just went outside to give Gar-Bear my rent check and I'm fairly certain Captain Ron was out there talking to him.  I love midtown.  I love my neighbor and his super sketch friends.  I love my life.  And I love each and every one of you.

The song I chose tonight popped into my head as I was duct-taping the shop-vac.  If you never watch the videos I post, PLEASE make an exception tonight.  This video is hilarious.  Spoiler alert:  There are mullets.  There are button down muscle shirts.  There are too tight jeans.  There is awesomely bad dancing.  Basically everything I need in life.

Children = free labor

When I was younger, my parents had several nicknames for me.  There was Shamrock {such originality... I'm sure our Irish heritage had nothing to do with this?} and Sandy {that's a long story... short version: I was a weird fucking kid and wanted to be a dog}.  And then there was Cinderella.  This was rather fitting since I was positive that my parents had kids solely to do all of the things they didn't want to do... like clean the house from top to bottom and weed the gardens.  And pick up sticks {real life punishment, thanks Ricky poo}.  Since I was also a huge dick head in my younger years, I told them thousands of times their chores were borderline child abuse and I had every intention of calling 911.  And child services.  AND all my grandparents {note to self: threatening to call parents does not work on grownups}.  Alas, I grew up to be a somewhat well-adjusted adult... with a serious aversion to sticks, weeds and house work.

Now, don't get me wrong.  Rick and Les are two of the best parents a kid could ask for.  I can't remember a time that I ever wanted for anything {except for fucking Barbie Hot Wheels}.  And, like I said earlier, I was a gigantic asshole in my younger years.  I think that because my parents spoiled me as a child {slash they still do} AND because I was a horrid excuse for a daughter the first 23 years of my life I cannot tell them no.  Seriously.  I can't.  So when my mom called and asked me to help her get the house ready for some sort of inspection, of course I had to say yes.  I went over there this evening and there was a serious list of shiz to be done.  By when?  Oh, ya know... Wednesday.  Not gonna happen.  Ever.

My mom and I are outside putting the finishing touches on the patio when Ricky-poo comes outside.  To help, you ask?  Ha.  That's cute.  {He's been upstairs "working"/ looking up funny videos on youtube.}  After he questioned us about why we were finishing up for the evening he does a little... dance?  I'm not sure what it was but it was hilarious and it's times like these that I really need a camera crew following me around.  Next time I'll be sure to have my camera with me.

I now know a few things:

1.  I get my hoarding from my dad.  He had a baby acorn on his dresser because he said it was the smallest thing he'd ever seen.

2.  I get my genuine disdain for housework from my mother.

3.  Spider webs are gross.

4.  I have a perfect mix between my mom and dad's nose.

5.  My parents definitely only had children to do their bidding.  They are evil geniuses.  Every last one of them.

So tired.  Have a delicious week.  Sweetest dreams, my loves.

That's not the right thing to do.

This week seems to have lasted eons.  It's only Wednesday, in case you were wondering.  All day long I thought it was Friday.  Then I would correct myself and say it was Thursday.  When I finally realized it was Wednesday I thought about googling the most efficient way to off myself.  Speaking of, I had to work my stupid second job this evening.  I know I said I was going to stick it out for a month.  But I lied.  I can't stand it.  I hate every second of it.  It's boring and apparently weirdos hang out in bookstores.  Like the dude the was wearing a kilt and walking around juggling his family jewels.  {I'm going to add this to the list of why cajones creep me out}  Then there are the 3 or 4 old delusional old dudes that play some weird game with marbles.  These guys were clearly losers in highschool.  They wear acid washed, pleated jeans without belts.  And they tuck their shirts into these creepy ass jeans.  One was wearing a shirt that had some nerd joke on it and he thought he was smoking hot.  His name is Jeffrey.  I know this because my stupid second job makes me ask people their names.  Jeffrey has a velcro wallet.  Jeffrey wears glasses with the wrong prescription and likes to try to look UNDERNEATH the rims.  Jeffrey isn't like the other fellas in the group.  He clearly just joined because they other dudes have to explain the game to him.  I've tuned these conversations out because I can literally feel myself becoming boring just listening to them.  Anyway, Jeffrey likes to talk.  A lot.  He likes to talk about things I don't know about and things I really and truly don't give a fuck about.  Today, while Jeffrey was taking a dollar out of his sweeeet velcro wallet he started telling me about the living wage in California.  Cool, Jeffrey.  Then he complains about the price of a shot of espresso.  And asks me if there is anything I can do about it.  "No, Jeffrey, there is nothing I can do about it," I tell him.  He laughs maniacally at this.  And I go hide in the back until he disappears.

Today I decided I'm going to quit.  And I flip-flopped back and forth for most of the evening about whether I would actually go through with it.  I don't need a second job. I don't need the money.  I liked the idea of it because I would be working in a bookstore and I could read books and I thought there would be ample eye candy. Wrong.  Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrooooong.  Ok, so there are the hot dads that come in but they are few and far between.  And I don't get to read.  And I work with a bunch of fuddy-duddies.  My decision to quit was practically made for me tonight.  And I will tell you why.  We have to wear these head sets and everyone can/does talk on them.  I work with a lot of people that think they are HIGH-larious.  They aren't.  This one old lady was talking about being too personal with customers and how you need to get them in and get them out.  "That's what she said" is/was the only thing I'd said over these godforsaken head sets and no one appreciated it.  Anyone who can't appreciate the art of a well timed "that's what she said joke" is dead to me.

On a lighter note, I went and saw my father before I went into work this evening.  He told me he would work on getting me some tickets to both the UT/Memphis game AND tickets to see the Colts play.  YESSSSSSAAAAA.  Back to the point:  I swear I think he does drugs.  Ricky-poo was asking me how to do something on this ipod (both of my parents are totally technologically challenged) so, naturally, I told him to google it.  His face dropped and he looked like I just punched him in the throat and he said "Shannon, that's not the right thing to do."  Then he turned around and walked away.  I'm still really confused what he meant by this.  Was he disappointed by my answer?  Surely not because "google it" is my answer to 9 out of every 10 questions.  Even if I know the answer I still will tell you to google it.

Ok.  Time for bed.  Tomorrow's Thursday.  Raise the roof.  Get it.

Rainbows, butterflies and Bieber

My mom never taught me stuff like "If you don't have anything nice to say then don't say anything at all."  Probably because she spent the majority of my formative years making sure I wasn't eating worms, swallowing pennies or running off with my neighbors.  I'm pretty sure I first heard this in Bambi but was too distraught by the tragic story to focus on anything else.  I usually don't abide by this silly rule but today I will being using a touch of restraint.  I had been working on a blog for quite some time but when I re-read it I realized that I went Diary of an Old Black Woman mixed with Ani Difranco's general disdain for society and that's just not appropriate. 

Instead, I will leave you with a thought for the day via Mr. B-Rad Pope.

love the attitude. I hate jail. They give you Cherrios, not even Honey Nut. Just straight up cherrios. wtf?

And with that I'm hitting the sack.  I'm hoping that my lack of caffeine consumption today will allow my dreams to be more rainbows, butterflies and Justin Bieber and less grasshoppers and fucking terrorists.  I bid you adieu, mother fuckers.

Only Jazz musicians are smokin' marijuana

I hope everyone had a fantastic weekend.  My weekend was... well, I was with my parents.  I adore my folks.  I really do.  I enjoy spending time with them.  For the most part.  In case I ever think that a weekend away with JUST the three of us is a good idea, backhand me.  I'm begging you.  There were a few redeeming factors from my weekend:  I learned how to use boats (so a weekend away with my friends is in the works) and it was absolutely beautiful.

Ziggy and Rocky Top were waiting to leave

Much like chillren, they quickly fell asleep

Rocky Top got mad because Ziggy was taking up the whole seat

Finally, we have arrived

View from the back patio... I love this place

I love facebook.  Maybe love isn't the appropriate word.  I have a deep infatuation with facebook.  It provides me with hours and hours of entertainment.  I stalk picture updates.  I love it when people begin and end relationships.  I get a sweet chuckle when people think fighting online is an effective way of proving anything other than just how boring life can truly be.  But what I look forward to most of all are the status updates.  Sometimes it's the little things in life that really make me happy... these are excerpts from real life status updates from two of my FB friends.  The first one makes me giggle.  A lot.

today the houston chronicle informed me that big boobs are in this season... so happy to know I'm fashionable and foloowing trends! since when are boobs out of style anyway?

And this one?  Well... here it is:

... :-( AND so sad I lost my favorite scrunchie somewhere along the way!

Shut. The. Fuck. Up.  First and foremost, I'm trying to be less judgemental of people who choose to use regular emoticons.  But when "noses" are added? Well, that's just plain ridiculous.  Second of all:  People still wear scrunchies?  I don't even know what else to say but if anyone finds my pogs or tamagotchi, please mail me a letter as to the whereabouts of these treasures.




(UPDATE: One of my dearest friends, Hannah, just sent me this text and I simply HAD to post it: "... And in response to the scrunchies: a co-manager at work wear them on a daily basis... In many different colors... Sad, isn't it?")


Time to get my life in order.  I leave you in the capable hands of Mr. Jimmy Buffett with one of my favorite songs of all time.  Until tomorrow, lovers.


smooches.