It's not like riding a bicycle.

I need to start blogging again but it's so hard after I've been out of it for a while.  I can feel myself slowly going crazy when I don't.  I don't have another outlet to... um - express myself? (read: I refuse to pay for a therapist who won't appreciate my issues and won't find me funny in the least).

My life is incredibly dull.  All I do all day long is tweet and facebook.  Or think about twitter and facebook.  Or read twitter and facebook.    I text. More than is medically advised.  Or watch Real Housewives of (insert city here) or So You Think You Can Dance and/or The Voice... ooooooh my love for The Voice runs deep.  Really deep.  I've started live-tweeting this week so I'm sorry if you follow me... I get quite obsessed.  Here's why:

First and foremost, the judges.  Adam Levine is a complete douche.  He seems to take himself quite seriously and the only thing serious about him is how delicious he is.  I thoroughly enjoy looking at him.  Then there's Cee Lo.  While he's not as easy on the eyes, he is perfect in almost every other way.  I love his music.  I love his sunglasses.  Most importantly, I love his short little T-Rex arms.  The "star" out of the judges is Christina Aguilera or Xtina.  I don't know what she goes by now nor do I care.  Homegirl has hit a rough patch in her life.  She has either drank herself into believing that it's still 1999 and she's still musically relevant buuuut she's not.  Sure, she has a serious set of pipes but all she talks about is how she's been on tour and she's won awards and blah, blah, blah.  Last time I checked, your latest tour was cancelled indefinitely because no one cares about her  ???? I don't know.  I'm over her.  Then there was her hairstyle from this past week.  It was a hot fucking mess... let's just leave it at that.  My favorite judge is Blake Shelton.  He is, arguably, the man of my dreams.  He is perfect and neck as hell and insane.  And I love every second of him.

Then there is the talent.  No, I'm not taking a jab at the no talent ass clown of a host, Carson Daly.  I'm talking about the REAL talent.  Namely Xenia and Dia.  These girls are out of this world.  {They are on Team Blake... so laaaahuuuuuve him even more.}  Here's Dia's performance from this week.  Warning: It MAY be better than the original... sorry REM.

That's all for right now... I'm going to try to be better.  I really am.  But I won't make any promises.  OH! And if you watch any of the aforementioned shows AND tweet, follow me mylifeisdelish so we can discuss.

Sip, sip, sippin' on some sizzurp

It's Friday night and what am I doing?  Writing my obituary.  So not really but I am fairly certain that I'm dying. I've had a fever for what feels like six years {though has actually only been on and off for 24 hours}.  Every time I cough I can feel my lungs coming out of my esophagus.  And my nose is beyond raw thanks to all the stupid toilet paper I've been forced to use because my parents don't have any tissue paper.  {Side note: I don't even like wiping my ass with this toilet paper.  I've tried to instill the importance of a high quality TP but they also don't think that a high thread count in sheets is important. Was I adopted?}

I'm a lot like a man when I get sick.  I need want someone to take care of me throughout the duration of my illness.  Right now I have a stupid sinus infection and bronchitis.  Baaaaarf.  All I want is for my momma to fly home from Napa Valley {HA, yeah right} and make me a grilled cheese, pour me some ginger ale and bring me popsicles.  Since that's not going to happen, I'll have to settle for their whiney dogs staring at me and licking my face whenever I take a snooze. WAH.

Sick days have officially lost all of their appeal.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy midday naps and eating popsicles but for at LEAST the past five years I have always watched the Today Show, napped, caught up on my DVR then watched Oprah. Did you hear that Oprah quit.  Thanks bitch. But whatevs... I could have handled that BUT Meredith left too? Horrible. What is worse is her stupid replacement.  I. Hate. Ann. Curry.  This is an undeniable fact.  I don't know when it started. I don't know if I've blogged about this before.  But I do know why. She whisper talks.  She interrupts everyone she interviews and she's just dumb.  Why does NBC think she should be next to my Matty?  They won't have the witty banter because humor is completely lost on this betch.  I mean, she tries. And I think that's what makes it so fucking sad.

I must apologize if this makes me no sense. I'm surpassed my daily allotment of sizzurp and I just can't quit this shit.  I hate coughing and I like feeling like I'm tripping my balls off.  Shame. On. Me.

On a very serious note: when under the influence of sizzurp do not, I repeat DO NOT, under ANY circumstance watch ghost shows.  Right now I'm watching Ghost Adventures.  They are at Loretta Lynn's house.  That bitch creeps me out anyway.  How old is she?  Like 1000?  And she still has a slave cave?  What the fuck?  I'm literally about to have a seizure as I'm watching this.  I'm about to cry.  Have you noticed that it's only white people who do this shit? I've never seen a Samuel L Jackson looking mother fucker FOLLOWING a ghost that says he needs to kill 60?  Your ass is dumb.  Take your war songs/ dog whistle for spirits and fucking quit it.  Now you're playing like you're a Confederate soldier?  AND you tell them your friend is a Yank?  You're a real dick, ya know that.  Thanks for the nightmares.  I hate you.

Back... not by popular demand.

Que paso, betches????

I would love to tell you that I've been doing incredibly important things with wildly important people these past 5 months. But I haven't. I would love to be able to tell you a hilarious story about how gnarly my life is. But I can't. {Side bar: I DO hang out with wildly important people and I'm sure I DO have a funny story or two but nothing is coming to mind at this time. Lo ciento.}  Right now all I know is that I haven't gone out in quite some time. I haven't had a drink since last Tuesday {trying to ready my liver for my impending day of birth}.  I think I'm starting to go stir crazy.

Would you like to know what has been occupying my whole being over the past few months weeks? Acquiring a baby. Yup. I said it. And I said it that way on purpose.  I do not, under any circumstance, want to get pregnant nor do I want to BE pregnant. The thought of going through child birth literally makes my throat close up. Plus I'll probably have ugly offspring... for several reasons.  The only reason you kind people need to know is that I'm not shy about saying a baby is, well, hideous. {Have no fear, I will not tell the parents of said monstrosity about it's unfortunate looks - I'm not a total demon.  I just won't say anything. Then I'll show my mom and my friends pictures of the kid and pray to the powers that be my theorhetical chillren are better looking.}  There is nothing adorable about a fresh out of the womb picture. Nothing at all. Seeing the umbilical cord makes me want to projectile vomit, straight up exorcist style.  I don't want an infant that cries all the time and you don't know why - it just cries and cries and cries.  

Here is what I want: I want a baby that can crawl, who is smart enough to use sign language to tell me what it wants, but the only two things I want in a baby - that I NEED in a baby - is for it to be a complete fat ass and 100% Asian.  I only want to keep it until it's about 5 or 6 because once they turn 7 or 8 kids tend to be huge dick heads.  I would prefer a boy, but I know...er - think?... that the Chinese - at some time - maybe now? weren't so found of girl babies so I'd take one of those if I needed to.  I'm a humanitarian, what can I say?  If I could have ANY Asian baby it would be the smoking Indonesian toddler, Ardi.  I'd have to give him a nickname while he was spending some time with me.  Maybe Godzilla?  I'm really a demented person, I'm fully aware of this.  The minute I saw this perfect little marshmallow on the Today Show I fell in love.  Here are some pictures in case you live under a rock and missed the worldwide outrage this fella caused:

Look at that face. Those CHEEEEKS.

omg. Seriously? I. Die.

So incredibly wrong. And yet, so right.

  

Moving on...  I need this Asian baby so I can roll it down a hill.  I'll pause for a minute so you can judge me............... if that's not enough time, please feel free to open another window and read something a little more P.C.  I don't know where this urge came from nor do I know when it started.  All I know is that it's been growing for quite some time.  I've even entertained the idea of borrowing one for a few hours - maybe a day or two.  {PRANK CALL, FBI.  I would never actually take a baby.  I couldn't go to prison. I would be someone's bitch in a matter of minutes and, unfortunately, orange is not my best color.}

Godzilla and I would have such a great time. The first thing I would go is take him to the top of a VERY tall mountain/hill/whatevs that would be lined with pillows and bubble wrap and other fluffy cloud-like material.  I would show him how to roll up into a perfect little ball then I'd give him a gentle nudge and watch him roll down the hill.  THEN I'd have someone else nudge him down the hill so I could watch from the bottom.  Then we'd go get him some cotton candy and a pronto pup and we'd go to Disney Land and then I'd go to the Harry Potter theme park and give Godzilla back to his parents.  Seriously?  This is like the day of my dreams.  If it were the perfect day I'd end the day by marrying some wicked rich prince of a foreign land with a beautiful accent who liked to shoot guns, love me unconditionally and let me do whatever suites my fancy all while telling me I'm not spending enough money.  But let's be rational, that'll never happen so I'll stick with just me and Godzilla.

Real quick: How in the fuuuuuck does an 18 month old get addicted to smoking? I mean, sure it's a bad habit for anyone to have, blah blah blah but I need to know who first gave him a smoke? Was he super full after drinking too much milk? Or did he just have a super stressful day and his mom said "Oh hey, Godzilla, I know what will make you feel better... have a drag of mommy's Virginia slims." And who taught him how to make smoke rings? I've been smoking on and off since I was 17 and I STILL can't figure out how to do it.

That's enough for now.  Before you completely write me off for being certifiably insane, remember I haven't been in public in social setting for a looooong time. It's ever so obvious that I need to get out of the damn house.

Now, here is a song for you to dance your sweet little asses to... a tornado is on it's way which means it's either about time for me to hide in my bath tub OR time to sit on my front porch and embrace my impending death. Shweet.

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.

This time it's personal.

Today is my favorite, and coincidentally only, brother's birthday.  I decided to try and bake him something delicious.  I found a recipe for self-frosting cupcakes.  How is this possible, you ask?  Nutella.  I firmly believe that Nutella is the answer to many problems.  For all we know it could be the secret to world peace.  Alas, here is a story:

After a delicious lunch with one of my favorite pregnant, married friends, I came home and decided to tackle this seemingly easy recipe.  "Surely, if I can make cookies and frosting from scratch then I should have no problem with cupcakes," I thought to myself.  In the recipe it tells you to add 1.5tsp nutella to the top of each cupcake and stir.  Well, recipe-lady, nutella is quite thick.  How am I supposed to fold it over enough to get it throughout each cupcake without making them look like they were thrown together by a blind, one-armed bandit?  Answer: it can't be done.  I scooped each cupcake out of their original liner into new ones, popped them in the over and prayed for the best.

Twenty five minutes later I take them out and set them on the counter.  While the aroma of baked good + nutella was quite intoxicating, my bliss was short lived.  I watched each and every fucking cupcake crumble.  It looked like they were melting into themselves.  Now, before you tell me that I took them out too soon - let me assure you that I checked each one with a toothpick.  The consistency was perfect.  I have no idea what went wrong.

Back to the drawing board.

I was going to just it be and see if they tasted good anyway but then I got pissed.  I'm not good at failing.  Especially when I tried and read directions and made sure everything was perfect.  I made the same recipe.  This time I added mashed bananas and folded the rest of the nutella into the batter.  The batter is pretty tasty.

I just realized that instead of starting the timer I decided to do a little blogging.  Fingers crossed that these turn out a lot prettier than the other ones.  Pictures to come later.

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.

A few things of note

1.  I got an OPI Axxium gel manicure at Nails by Nicole on poplar last Wednesday.  My nails still look perfect.  New obsession.

2.  I am wearing fake eyelashes right now.  Another new obsession.

3.  I really like ketchup.

4.  My life is so boring right now.  I am blaming it on the weather.  I'm going through a nesting period.  What that means for me?  I cook a little.  I crochet a little.  I play angry birds.  A lot.

5.  I'm finally learning how to tell time on a real watch.  No more digital for me.  Only about 20 years after most people...

6.  The more I have to do the more I procrastinate.

7.  I lose lightbulbs and socks with astounding frequency.

8.  I'm going to Smashville for New Years Eve.  I'm hoping to not lose my phone.  I've already given up on losing my morals and dignity.  It comes with the territory of excessive drinking.

9.  I work with some of the most insane people ever.  They really make me fucking laugh sometimes.  Sometimes I hate them.

10.  You need to read this girl's blog.  Click here.  She is funnier than I am.  Given how highly I think of myself {and my humor} that's saying a lot.