--Shanimal's Crackers--

For All the CRAFTY Women, Holla!

2012-02-09T03:33:00.012-07:00

Ever since I was little (and by that, I mean thinner--not shorter), I’ve been crafty.

Flashback:

[Scene: Shannon, Little Sister, and Little Brother are in the driveway playing 3-Square]

Shannon hits the red bouncy ball with a sleight of hand, yet the ball manages to strike the top corner of Sister's square and then leap out of bounds, and start to roll away. Sister pouts. Sister walks after ball. Shannon motions for Brother to come over to her.

Shannon speaks to Brother just above a whisper; looks to make sure Sister is out of audible range; she is, three feet away.

Zoom in on Brother's face after Shannon speaks to Brother.

Brother [confused]: ...but we don't have that kind of soda.

Zoom out.

Shannon [gives an exaggerated wink into the camera]: Oh, yes we do.

---

[Scene: Shannon and Brother sitting in time-out on the stairway landing]

Mom [sternly]: I am ashamed of you two. Brother, why would you ever punch Sister in the face?

Brother [defensively]: Shannon told me to!

Shannon [defensively]: No, I didn't!

Mom [reasonably]: Well, Shannon, don't you know you have an influence on Brother? What did you do to make him punch Sister?

Shannon: All Brother did was ask Sister if she wanted a Hawaiian Punch...and he gave her one. Seems to me that she should be grateful that she got what she wanted.

---

[Scene: Hour later, Brother and Sister playing merrily outside. Shannon's eyes are red from crying, she's still sitting in time-out, and she's still wondering how she could get in trouble for telling Brother to give Sister a real "Hawaiian Punch"]

The End

craft·y/ˈkraftē/

Adjective:

Clever at achieving one's aims by indirect or deceitful methods.
Of, involving, or relating to indirect or deceitful methods.

...but I’ve never been into arts and crafts.

...BUT look what I just made!

T-Shirt Design

You see, I used this digital scrapbooking software called My Memories Suite. Usually, when I *try* and create a t-shirt design, I don't have the tools necessary to slant any words or photos I may use. However, since I've had this program I've been able to do that, and with ease.

But...wait...there's more!

My design may seem plain. But that's only because I made it. What's great about this program is that there are many colorful and bright pre-made scrapbook page layouts. Yes, my t-shirt design has nothing to do with scrapbooking. This program offers a plethora of possibilities to help you create whatever project is on your mind.


One of many scrapbook page layouts (photos of gorgeous children not included)

I have never, ever enjoyed scrapbooking with paper and hard-copy photos. Too girly(?) for me. However, I did enjoy placing selective photos into the already-laid-out slots. (See above)

...but here's the best part:

This is a

GIVEAWAY

for one lucky (crafty or non-crafty) reader to receive their own My Memories Suite V3 (value: $39.97)

To enter, follow the instructions below.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thanks, and good luck!

(PS: If you just can't wait to snag this cool software, you can use this code to purchase the software for yourself:

STMMMS93957

and, guess what! This code will give you $10 off your My Memories Suite V3 purchase AND it'll give you a $10 coupon towards the MyMemories.com store.)

Joel Stein, Kim Kardashian, and Me

2011-11-29T07:07:00.082-07:00

I wish I could be like this guy:


THE Joel Stein

Actually, you know what? By comparing my picture to his, I kind of am like him. Look at his picture, then look at mine, look at his, then look at mine, look at his then look at mine:

I wish my last name were Einstein. Then I'd kind of be related to Joel.

Uh...

...I actually meant to put this picture up:

Joel and I both wear glasses!...well, sometimes I do. Can we please be related yet?

You see, Joel Stein has his own column in Time...and, not only is he published in a super-smart type of magazine, but...he's also hilarious. He has the sort of real dry, sarcastic tone that only I could hope for. I wish I could make fun of Kim Kardashian and get paid a six digit salary for it. I wish I was a little bit taller. I wish I was a baller. I wish I had a ~~girl~~ guy who looked good, I would call him.

This isn't really the place for me to share my secret wishes, huh? Anywaaaaays, mainly, I wish I had the ability to write a short article on why Kimmie (as I like to call her) is an attention-starved, empire-building Armenian...and have millions of eyes brisk through my freshly published page...or at least use it as the platter for the drops of mustard that plunge from someone's Sam's Club hot dog. Because, then, and only then, would I know that I've made it.

In the waste industry.

Right there with my good friend, Kim.

I could go on to say that the Kardashians are just a big pile of crap. But then I wouldn't sound all professional, like my idol, Joel--he would never use the word "crap". Instead, I'll just say that the KKK (Kim, Kourtney, and their brother, Khloe) truly do belong in the waste industry, and not just because they are a waste of our time or our energy. But (wouldn't it be funny if I had put an extra t right there at the end? You know, considering who I'm writing about) they're wasting a perfectly fine time slot on E! for this new show that's yet to be written by me, and about me, Laying Low With the Little People: A Perspective From the Bottom Up. (Oh, wait, dang it, I think Kim already trademarked that last line.)

E! doesn't yet know that it's missing out on a sleeper, though. As the sleeper (I love to sleep) and, as the sleeper who has so much in common with the famous-for-doing-nothing starlit, Kimmie (Kimmie loves to sleep...around), I feel inclined to say that I don't think I could ever have as much success as my main man, Joel.

Surely, I have just as much talent--nay, merit--as Joel. Just ask my second grade teacher. I won an award! Like, the most prestigious award available...at the time. A sticker. But, that's besides the point. An award for having the most creative story in the class! Oh...you did call my second grade teacher? She doesn't know who I am? Well, uh...then ask my fifth grade teacher. She must remember me, right? She gave me a sticker, too...why would she have given me an award out of her 32 students? What? You're telling me she gave everyone in the class an award? Fine, okay, well, I have more references. Take, for example the fact that I wrote the horoscopes for my high school newspaper. While I was a freshman. FOR A SEMESTER. I mean, if people who have the ability to forecast circumstances that are bound to take place during their classmates' day don't gain any respect around here (okay, seriously, how would I know that it's 99% likely for a student to past a pencil!), then I'm disappointed. Oh, oh, and I took a creative writing class in high school AND college.

Joel, please tell me, how long did it take for you to graduate with a Bachelor's from Stanford, receive an MA, teach humor writing at Princeton, and become a writer for multiple papers before becoming a National sensation?! I've been blogging for a year with no prospects of a six digit salary. Let alone, a salary. A year!

year/yi(ə)r/

Noun:

Five times the length that Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries were sealed together in holy matrimony.
365 days. In other words, it's the allotted time in which Kim Kardashian will:

A) come out with a new "leaked" video, most likely involving chocolate and chocolate candies;
B) introduce America to the must-have fragrance for the unhappily married couple: Breakable: Tie the Knot. It'll Leave You Hanging; and
C) acquaint the world with her never-before-seen NEW idea for a reality show spin-off: Kim and Her Butt Take to the Cameras and Do Nothing Else. Except Maybe an NFL player.

Get yours now--exclusively at Macy's!

I don't know how Joel can write--it seems so effortlessly--every week about some stupid subject (i.e. Kimmie). To resemble anything remotely similar to Joel Stein's writing, it's going to take me a LOT of work.

Something that Kim and I are not fond of.

We're both fat arses.

Happy 1st Birthday, Shanimal's Crackers!

2011-08-09T13:56:00.001-06:00

HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY, Shanimal's Crackers!

Haaaaaaappy Birthday tooooo youuuuuuuuuu!

Balloons

Par-tay

My blog is only turning one year old today, so she won't know whether or not any of you 961 friends of hers got her a gift. (By the way, if you don't give her anything, don't feel bad--neither did I. Psh. I only gave her LIFE). Anyways, I think we should all eat cake...or better yet, ice cream cake...from Baskin Robbins...mint chocolate chip flavored, please. But, oh, wait, that'd mean I'D have to buy it, huh? Eh, she's only one. She won't remember whether or not she had cake on her one year of life in the Bloggosphere. And she's not even going to remember who any of you guys are...unless...uh, you leave her a little note (or comment) that you were here?

I love my itty bitty blog. Isn't she just adorable-wodarable?! She has added so much meaning to my life, and I'm grateful for her existence. So grateful, in fact, that I have compiled a select few baby pictures of hers in order to brag about how my lil' baby has grown oh-so-much!

Here's my itty-bitty one when she was brand spankin' new (no, don't worry, I haven't had to spank her...yet):

August 9, 2010-January 2011 (kind of looked like this--except with Shanimal's Crackers in big white font)

March 28, 2011-June 2011

June 2011-July 5, 2011

July 5, 2011-Present

My, I'm still having a hard time wrapping my finger around just how much she's grown. (Hmm. Yep. My finger can't wrap around my laptop screen.) What with this being her 73rd appearance (post), and already having 1,141 comments, she's just growing way too fast. Nobody told me it'd be this hard having a little one, especially since I manage her alone. Shanimal's Crackers can be difficult at times, like when she has temper tantrums and just won't write for weeks at a time. But I guess I shouldn't expect too much from something this young.

Oh, look, I just so happen to have more milestone pictures of her right here on my laptop (handy, huh?).


Look, it's Bloggy's first words!

And here are the first words ever spoken to her by a stranger--who didn't even offer her candy! Yay! (Please, next stranger who happens to come upon my blog, offer her candy. I will be the one eating it. On second thought, I'll just take Shanimal's Crackers trick-or-treating).

Shanimal's Crackers's first finger foods! Mmm! (Sorry about the mess. Shanimal's Crackers was having a bit too much fun with her mozarella stick dip. Am I bad for giving her such a fatty food at such an early age? Naaaaaaw.

Look at Bloggy's fat little cheecks! Ooooh! Goochie-goochie-goo! I just want to pinch them. But I can't. Apparently, pinching is abuse? I don't know. Then Facebook needs to stop poking.

Shanny-Wanny's Cracker-Wackers's first steps!

...and maaaaaaany moooooore!

I'm really not looking forward to her next birthday--

the terrible twos.

Stick to It

2011-08-06T06:15:00.010-06:00

(Kind of) like a normal girl, I love kitties, horsies, and anything else remotely cute.

Especially this.

Minus this.

I recently rediscovered what all girls at one time or another had--a sticker collection.

Rainbows and unicorns make the world a happy place.

And, just because I collect(ed) unicorn stickers doesn't mean I'm all girly-ish. Because I'm not. I hate to do my hair...and the dishes. And, however cheesy as it may sound, my I'm Special stickers flooded my mind with a number of different emotions. (Does talking about feelings make me sound more maidenlike?) And, since I'm (kind of) like most girls, I overanalyzed every sticker I've ever seen.

Johnny gave me an orange with a sunKIST sticker on it. Do you think he wants to kiss me? Because that's kind of the vibe I've been getting, and maybe this sticker is him letting me know he wants to kiss me. Unless he didn't realize the sticker said KIST. Oh...maybe he doesn't even know that KIST sounds like kissed. But I still think he wants to kiss me. What do you think?

Here's my conclusion: Based on my *extensive research, I've found that most of my stickers fall under three categories (and, I'm assuming, these groups represent the majority of stickers ever to be printed). And, guess what! These categories are represented nicely by stickers from other girls!:

A) Femininity:

My baby yellow Volkswagen Beetle wasn't girly enough before I had to bring in the fairy Hello Kitty theme.

OMG! I just broke a nail shifting gears!!!!!

B) Playfulness:

Hehehe. My shoes have little bumper stickers on them!

C) Love:

Stickers in a card. Awwwwwwwww. Now where's the money?!

Yes, Casey, it DOES prove it. You're free.

So, I think I'll just keep doing what I do best.

And just keep sticking it...

If I roll up my sleeves...

...I'll look strong pounding the heck out of this dough

...To the man.

That'll show him for blocking my view of The Decemberists!

*Perusing through my Hello Kitty sticker albums

Don't Judge a Book by its Cover

2011-07-14T02:05:00.023-06:00

What I'm really trying to say is that The Help's cover is blah. Just kind of there and existing...just looking at the cover you're thinking to yourself: Oh, what a nice little sunshiny book with cute little birdies sitting in the warmth of the sun. Isn't life just so great, blah blah blah? And then, BAM--once you starting reading the book it takes a turn so far away from its cover. The book totally takes you by surprise. After reading the book, you're thinking aloud!: This book was the most uh-maz-ing thing I've ever read in my entire life!

Ahem.

I also want to say that I actually, for the first time in my life, participated in the Karaoke Ring of DEATH!
DUN DUN DUN. *Hear a woman shrilling in the background*

Okay, guys, don't worry. That woman shrilling in the background is only doing it because she's so excited to hear me. Oh, nevermind, turns out my sister did stub her toe.

And, no one died, as far as I'm concerned, in the making of their Karaoke Ring of DEATH video. And, if they did, you didn't hear it from me.

Anyways, the theme for this month was to karaoke to a song that's a cover song. If we shouldn't judge a book by its cover should we judge a song by its cover? Hmm, I don't know, you'll have to be the judge of that.

If you just can't wait any longer to hear my horrendous karaoke voice, and you're starting to hyperventilate out of excitement, don't worry, calm down. You can view my video over at Jes's blog, Jes Getting Started...but I'm worried that my singing might make you hyperventilate even more...and for all the wrong reasons.

For those who didn't dare listen to my video, well, good. Because right here, we have a girl karaoking with a much nicer voice than mine.

Hey, I'm Kanriah from over at One Red Wall. Just as I do every month, I feel I should apologize for my video. Apparently I'm a little... slow cause I couldn't remember that a song that is covered by someone else is called a Cover Song. And a million other things that I am not going to go on about. I'm just special and way too worried about my impression for someone who doesn't usually bother to brush my hair. Though Hey! I totally did this time. So what if it was hours before, I still brushed my hair. I even put on some eye makeup and lip gloss (that was long gone). But I did it. Just for you. You're welcome.

So here I am singing Hurt. I'm doing the Johnny Cash version cause he's fabulous, but this was originally a Nine Inch Nails song. Be sure to check out all the rest of the videos too! Knowing this group of people I'm sure they're all magnificent.

Oh, and if you'd like to listen to other karaokers go at it for the imaginary throne, check out the master list. Oh, and if you'd ever like to participate in this karaokefunnish, here's the person you contact. Oh, and if you'd ever like to give me roses, a standing ovation, or just to blow me kisses, you can do that here.

Crystal Ballers

2011-07-11T08:43:00.002-06:00

Do you feel lost?

Should you change careers?

Is the man you're with treating you good enough?

If you answered yes or no to at least one of these questions, then you're in luck! Call now for a reading over the phone! Yes, you heard that right. Our highly skilled spiritual advisore can tell what's in store for your future...over the phone. Over the phone! You know what that means, don't you? Of course you don't, you're not gifted in the same way we are. It means that good days are ahead for you! Oops, did we say too much? Call now! We know you'll be happy you did.

First time callers, call now to be charged only $3/minute. All regular callers, your rate is still $10/minute, but know we love you. You provide us with a paycheck. We're only taking advantage of you because we know you'll continue to call. We can we say, we're psychics.

Probably from the Psychics' Perspectives

"These psychic commercials make us look so sleazy...don't you think, Pixie?"

"Ha, listen to this one, Jezebel. I got a guy on hold who wants to know what he should do about his relationship with his girlfriend."

"Why do people call us with their lives in our hands?" Jezebel thought aloud, as she often did.

"Oooooh, quiet, quiet, Brad is about to give the rose to Emily! Eeee! Turn the sound up, would ya?" Pixie demanded, as she often did.

"If I were going to, wouldn't you already know?"

"Ha. Ha. Funny, Jez. Now shut up, I want to hear if Emily is going to accept the rose!"

::2 minutes later::

"Uh, Pixie, isn't that guy still on hold?" Jez inquired.

"Oh, shoot! Wait, no, wait, it's okay. He's only been on hold for three minutes. We're piling in the Benjamins. Now stop munching on those Cheetos so loudly, would ya? I need to act like I'm in a secluded area and he shouldn't hear your loud mouth chomping in the background. That means turn off your dang cell phone and don't talk to Bud while I'm dealing with this customer, and mute the TV. Do you think you can handle that?"

"I think you already know the answer."

Pixie cleared her throat as if she were competing in the most-authoritative-person-alive contest.

"Hello, Sir, this is Pixie speaking. Thank you for holding as I was receiving divine inspiration about your specific case."

"Oh, thanks, Pixie. Like I was saying, I've been having problems with my girlfriend. I think she thinks that I'm not paying enough attention to her. What should I do?"

"Well, Sir, is it okay if I call you Timmy?"

"How'd you know Timmy was my name?"

"The letters T and I and M and Y just appeared," Pixie responded as she checked the caller ID from the phone's screen.

"Wow, you really are in tuned."

"Hahaha, Timmy, you could probably be one, too, for making a statement like that. But, listen, like I was saying, Timmy, I'm feeling as if you and your girlfriend are feeling a sort of tension in the relationship...and...um..." Pixie shifted in her La-Z Boy recliner.

"Yeah, yeah. That's right," Timmy confirmed.

"Will you please hold? I'm receiving some sort of inspiration. This may take a minute."

"Sure," was all Timmy could say.

"Come on, Pixie, don't you think it's a little rude to put him on hold just to eat?" Jezebel was getting sick of watching TV in the mute.

"Jez, I told him I'm receiving inspiration...and I wasn't lying. My stomach was telling me it's hungry--and if that's not inspiration, then I don't know what is." Pixie actually answered, as she took a bite of her delectable Dove chocolate.

"Thanks for holding, Timmy. So you and your current girlfriend have been going through some rifts. And you're worried about what's in your relationship's future. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"Of course. Well, Timmy, it was manifested to me that you need to give your girlfriend a gift. Not just any gift, though. You need to let her know that you care for her. I get the feeling that right now you're having problems because she is feeling as though the romance has dwindled."

"Uh huh."

"Am I right so far?"

"I mean, I guess. She has told me over a year ago that she likes it when I give her attention. Do you think that's what's missing?"

"Of course. That's what I'm feeling. Oh, what's this? Hold on, wait. I'm starting to feel something more. Will you hold, Timmy?"

"Yeah."

"This is too easy. This guy's falling for anything I say," Pixie shared the obvious with Jez.

Jezebal nodded her matted head in agreement as she munched slowly on a Cheeto, then wiped her finger clean of the orange powder on the lower edge of her Cheeto-stained pink tank top.

"You know," Jezebal turned her head from the screeching sound coming from the Sham Wow commercial that plastered the TV screen, "I was thinking. Those producers of The Bachelor really do have it right. If I were on that show, I'd love to receive a rose from the man of my dreams. Isn't that just so romantic?"

"Quiet, Jez. I'm thinking."

A minute passes.

"Hi, Timmy. I received a revelation. Are you ready for what I'm about to tell you? Because, I know that this is the solution to your problems with your girlfriend...for now."

"Yeah! I'm ready!"

"You should give your girlfriend a single-stemmed red rose. Single-stemmed because it's symbolizing that your girlfriend is the only woman in your life. She is your one and only. Red indicates passion. By giving her a red rose, you are essentially stating to her that you care for her. You are the man in her life, and she is the woman in your life. Right now she's probably feeling as if she's not receiving as much attention from you as she'd like. The rose's thorns represent that there may be some sharp disagreements, and other hurtful events in the relationship, but that your relationship has of yet to fully blossom. By giving her the rose, you're showing her that you do value her and that she can never be replaced. "

"Oh, wow. Thanks. I'll be sure to do that. You may have just saved my relationship."

"Okay, is there anything that I can further assist you with?"

"I think you just helped what matters most in my life! That's it."

"You're welcome, Timmy. May you be blessed with with positive energy in the near future, and with your girlfriend."

Pixie clicked the "end" button and killed the phone call. At that moment, a dancing backwards-robe-wearing woman was reflecting a blue blur all along the wall across from the TV.

"But wait, there's more! When you order a Snuggie, you'll also receive a cheap, plastic booklight that'll last for two days max! A $23 value...for FREE! Hurry, this deal ends in two years!" The overenthusiastic male voice boomed.

"I love my job, Jezebel. These clients are so easy to manipulate. They're so dumb," Pixie informed Jezebel.

"You know, Pixie, I think I need a Snuggie," Jezebel ignored Pixie, for once.
-----------------------------------------------------------------

From My Perspective

"I just got off the phone with a psychic." You could tell that Timmy was proud of his first-ever talk with the omniscient.

"What'd they say?" I asked older brother, whom I looked up to, with curiosity beaming from my bulging brown eyes.

"That I need to give my girlfriend a single-stemmed red rose, and it'll help to heal our relationship."

"...but you don't even have a girlfriend," I reiterate.

"I know. Those psychics are so easy to manipulate. They're so dumb," Timmy established.

"They're just psychics, you know?"

Every Rose Has its Thorn

2011-06-27T12:03:00.010-06:00

Look.

At a first glance, this award might be seen as nothing other than lovely.

But can you believe what the creator snuck into the picture? (It's nothing Disney-esque, so don't freak out if your child is viewing this.)

I'm having a hard time believing this, myself.

Take a closer look. I promise it's there.

Did you see it?

The teacup has a handle that resembles a rose's thorn.

Is Quirks of Matter is trying to give me a hint?...why would she give me an "award" that has four pink roses sitting in a thorned-theme teacup? What is she really saying? That my blog may look beautiful, classy, exquisite, divine, stunning, and angelic from afar, but once you get closer, it pokes you? I mean, like a real, sharp poke--not like one of those "friendly" Facebook pokes (it's fun poking fun at pokes). For those of you who aren't following, it's reasonable to conclude that this One Lovely Blog Award was a (subtle) reminder for:

Shannon has a pleasant, nay, lovely blog. It's comparable to the essence of a cup full of roses. Her stories are all nice and fluffy (like a ~~bed~~ teacup of roses). She is sharp, like the thorns of a rose, and you can get a feel for what I'm talking about when you read her stuff. About 9% of her posts have a punchline at the end that really gives you a sharp pain in your side from laughing so hard. I imagine that's what a rose thorn would feel like...if you were ever lucky enough to be poked by one...in your side. Her blog smells nice...while roses, well, they really smell like poo-oo-ooo [as revealed by the omniscient Outkast]. Shanimal's Crackers is just my cup o' tea, but Shannon looks more like a teapot--short and stout. Oh, and I've seen a few of these hearts ♥♥♥ around her page, so she really MUST be lovely.

Well, I GUESS I'll accept this award, but only because I think it's a pretty accurate description of my blog... minus the part where I look like a teapot...! Obviously. And for those of you who I'll be awarding this lovely, award to, don't worry, it's safe. I had Kudos taste the roses for me, to make sure they weren't too sweet or too sharp. She's was my guinea pig. That's a funny joke because she's really a cat. Ha. Ha.

Look, I even have a picture of her taking her first sip, while wearing a very lovely rose headband.

Get your own rose headband for only five orders of $14.99! Available while supplies last.

And, no, this photo is not doctored. Anyways, here's what Kudos had to say about the cup full of roses and thorns:: Drinking this cup, I compare it to a kiss from a rose on the gray.

And...I don't know what that means.

Sooo, moving along: I'm handing One Lovely Blogger Awards to not one, but to FIVE ~~beautiful~~ lovely bloggers:

Don't forget to stop and smell these roses!

Oh, and I forgot, but I have to list 7 r.a.n.d.o.m. facts about me, The Lovely Blogger, here:

-I like to customize any blog award I may receive.

-I lied. The above picture of Kudos IS doctored.

-I don't think you could tell that the above picture of Kudos is doctored, but I needed to tell the truth, as not to feel guilty about lying. Plus, what would all (3) of my family members who may come across this post think about me? I can't believe that Shannon lied in print. In print! We're disowning her.

-Crap. I'm feeling a guilt-session come on. Okaaaaaay, so Kudos didn't really say, "Drinking this cup, I compare it to a kiss from a rose on the gray," but I have never understood those lyrics from Kiss From a Rose by Seal.

-I wonder what Seal did to get Heidi Klum to marry him.

-I am lying in bed. I don't know when to use "laying" or "lying." Guys, I already told you: I'm lying--so, of course, the previous sentence was a lie.

-I have to stand on the tub to alternate the shower head.

Wow, it was REALLY hard to come up with those facts. No, guys, seriously. I'm not even lying. Okay, I AM lying...down. I bet you couldn't tell if I was lying there or not, huh?

The Ninth Thing in Common

2011-06-13T15:22:00.008-06:00

"What?!" This was only my third time in a row repeating this question.

"I said what song is this?!" He yelled at me from 3 inches away.

"Oh, this is Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus!" I yelled back him, who was a mere 3 inches from my face.

"Who's that?!"

"Some stupid Disney girl!" I had to yell so that my new guy friend and I would be able to hear each other over the screaming girls who jumped in excitement over the tween song.

"I think all the Disney girls should be punched!"

"Yeah, I agree! Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, Miley Cyrus...!" Wouldn't it be nice to slap these girls back to reality?

Okay, so this guy and I were getting along great. We seemed to have at least one thing in common: we didn't know how to bridle our innate rage other than wanting to slap millionaire girls who possessed no talent.

Now, usually, for this type of deep conversation, I would have preferred to have been in a nice, quiet restaurant that has candlelit table tops, cloth napkins that go on your lap, where the servers are anxious to bring you four bowls of Fagioli soup, without muttering to themselves, "Dang, this girl's eating like this in front of a guy?!" Where bread sticks come and go at your request. Where you can take a tour of Italy just by ordering The Tour of Italy. This place is known as Olive Garden. However, the pounding dance floor that was full of guys and girls jumping to a Miley Cyrus song would have to suffice as a place where he and I could talk openly about anything and everything. It would only be right--after all, I only met him an hour ago, right in this very spot, and we needed to be loyal to our roots. Plus, uh, we had both come with a ride.

Every night in my dreams
I see you, I feel you
That is how I know you go on

A slow song interrupted our unbridled topic of conversation about how all Disney girls turn out messed up.

"Do you wanna dance?"He said with his hand making its way toward mine. This intriguing guy wants to touch my hand?! I think I may or may not have had a heart attack at that moment.

"Uh, sure." I shrug. "But I don't know how to dance." Play it cool, Shannon, play it cool.

"It's okay. I don't either." We're meant for each other!

Second thing in common.

"You know, I have never seen all of Titanic," he remarked as he swayed me back and forth to the non-Disney girl song.

"I fell asleep in it. I also fell asleep in all three Lord of the Rings movies." Yeah, I know, I know, I have pure talent for the ability to make myself sound interesting.

"Really?! You should watch them again. I read all of those books." Glad I didn't tell him that I also fell asleep in Sherlock Holmes, Avatar, and Invictus.

"I tried reading The Hobbit but couldn't make it past the first chapter." I sure do know how to impress a guy.

"You're not one of those girls who has read Twilight, right?" What kind of girl did he think I was?!

"Um, no. I have never laid a finger on that book and never will."

"Good, but knowing that the author of that book graduated from BYU makes me feel a little embarrassed."

"You know, the makers of Napoleon Dynamite also attended BYU. And I hate that movie. You don't like it, do you?" Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.

"Well, it was funny the first time. Then it got annoying." He saved himself with that last sentence.

"No, it's always been annoying."

Third thing in common.

By this point I couldn't believe it. Was I actually talking to my soul mate? This guy and I seemed to have very similar tastes. Or...at least three things in common!

The fourth thing we shared in common was our love for Seinfeld.

"The only dance I know is The Elaine," I admitted to him. My secret was out.

I then proceeded to stick my fat thumbs up and do little kicks (with my little legs). And, I admit, I had never felt this comfortable in a guy's presence before. I mean, sure, I always make a fool of myself in a guy's presence, but this time was special. Let me rephrase that; I always make a fool of myself in a guy's presence, but this time was special, for it wasn't on accident.

"I also like The Carlton dance," I admit, "but I can't do it."

"The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air is awesome!"

Fifth thing in common. Is this guy perfect for me or what?

"Oh, hey, do you remember the head-banging dance move from A Night at the Roxbury?" He asks me.

"Heck yeah, I do!"

Our sixth thing in common. Aww.

"Okay, well, I'm going to go add that song to the request list. Is the song called What is Love?"

"Yeah, it's by Haddaway."

Is this guy perfect for me or is he perfect for me?

Shake Your Head Yes.

I decided to make this song our song, "...but if they play this song, I don't think anyone here will get the head-bopping reference, except me and you." Yes, I know. I'm a romantic.

For the hour and a half that this guy and I spent talking to each other, I had gotten him to dance, which, when I had first spoken to him, he made it clear that he doesn't dance. I had gotten this guy to open up to me. We were able to connect in some way. Some way that I'd never experienced before.

"Hey, I'm going to go get some water," he told me.

"Oh, I like water!" Seventh thing in common.

As we were having our water cooler chat, he admitted two things to me.

One: "My ride's leaving in a couple of minutes. But I think you're cool and fun. We should stay in touch." Our eighth thing we had in common...because I felt the same way. I think I'm cool and fun.

and

it's really too bad for me that we shared one last, very important ninth common interest: we were both attracted to guys.

I guess I don't need to tell you that the DJ never did play What is Love, but it would've been nice to hear the answer.

Sally's Contact

2011-06-03T16:43:00.050-06:00

This was in Sally's inbox:

Saturday, March 12, 2011 3:00 AM

From:"Suzana N. V." <md.suzana@att.net>

To: undisclosed-recipients

Good day

Nice to meet you, my name is Suzana, I found your contact and I picked interest to contact you. I've something very important which I would love to share with you therefore, I would appreciate if you respond back to me so that I'll give you my full details. I am waiting anxiously for your anticipated co-operation.

Yours,
Suzana.

This is now in Sally's outbox:

Friday, June 3, 2011 4:40 PM

From: "Sally Fernandez"

To: md.suzana@att.net

Re: Good day

My Suzana!♥♥♥

Oh, Suzana, now don’t you cry for me. For I’ve come from Alabama with a harmonica in a tree. Hehe, just kidding. I’ve been called a jokester. I’m even considering becoming a comedian. Do you think I’d be good at it, Suzana? I think so—because even just walking down the street, people point and laugh at me. Anyways, I’ve actually come from Mississippi. I hitchhiked the full 9 hours in order to serenade Billy last night. It was super fun! I got to meet a lot of different types of guys, and they all had one thing in common—they each drove a big rig. But Large Marge wasn't in it. <------That was a joke because Large Marge isn't real. At least Mom tells me she's only pretend because she's from a movie. But Frankenstein is from a movie and he's real. I know because I see him every year saying "Trick or treat, smell my feet." And every time I tell him no thank you. (And I don't know if I'm supposed to tell anyone this, but it can be our little secret: he's a lot shorter in person.)

They were all so nice to give me a lift! Especially since I was on a dark, dirt road in the middle of nowhere with signs all around that said Prison Area: Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers. The first guy who picked me up asked to make sure I was a go-go girl. I told him yeah, obviously. I’m a girl on the go--that I was headed to see Billy! Then he told me how it was just my luck—that he’s been called Billy the Kid once or twice in his 70 years of life because he was, and I quote, "bad to the bone." I asked him if he knew my grandma because she has Osteoporosis, too. And then I told him that he sure doesn't look like Billy. because Billy isn't a kid. Then I think something got in his eye because his eye kept twitching. Oh, wait, there’s a word for that. Blink. He blinked at me.

That guy who claimed to be Billy was a liar. He wasn’t bad. He had a funny bone. Not a bad bone. I don't know where he came up with that. He showed me things I've never seen before. Like jelly beans. Gel candies. I think it's the same gel that Dr. Scholl's uses? That makes it all the tastier! In the shape of beans. Amazing. I'll tell you what, whoever invented jelly beans is a genius, pure genius. The next guy was pretty weird, though. The first thing he said to me was that I could be his prisoner of love. I told him that I didn’t see how that is possible, since I don’t want to go to prison. How I’ve never stolen anything in my life except that one time that I took a dead puffer fish out of a Wal-Mart fish tank. I gave that that away as a gift to my grandma, because she told me for her birthday she wanted a back scratcher. When she saw it, she fainted, out of surprise. A good surprise. What do you want for YOUR birthday, Suzana? When is your birthday, anyways? Billy’s is September 3. Do you think it’s weird that that one guy brought up my criminal history within the first 4 seconds of meeting me? I would never do that to you. The guy then said that we could make our own music. So, naturally, I took his harmonica from the glove box. Then he just stared at me. He didn’t even give me a blink with one eye. Then he asked me how I could be so stupid. But he’s the dumb one. If he didn’t want me to play the harmonica then why did he even mention music?

Sorry for blabbing. I’m ecstatic that you found my contact! I've been looking all over for that dang thing!! How did you find my contact information? Was it from this sign that I only posted on every tree around Billy’s yard?

Last night as I was sitting in the tire swing that I purposefully hung right next to Billy's house, to serenade him with my new harmonica, I accidentally bumped into his window when I was trying to catch a glimpse of his cute little face resting against his pillow. As I was against his window, the branch decided to collapse. I banged my head against the window (but don’t tell anyone else because my reputation could be ruined). That's when I think my contact popped out of my eye. Looking on the bright side, though, I can’t see anything out of my left eye. I think I’m in love. Love is blind.

I decided to take advantage of the 45 minutes that my face was squished against Billy’s window, and just gazed at him. I wonder if he was dreaming of me. After 46 minutes and 3 seconds, my butt started to get tired from sitting on that branch. I repositioned myself but I think in the process I hit Billy's window with my belly button, tongue, or something, because he shot right up and just stared at me. As if he'd seen a ghost...or his nightmare. I thought it would be best to coddle him, so I tapped on his window with my nail-less fingers. I yelled at him through his window that I’d been watching him sleep, and how he was perfect like an angel. Then I asked him to kiss my boo boo--that he'd be the only one to make my sore bum feel better. Then I called him my boo, for special effects, you know. He still stared at me. I knew that this request of mine would leave him speechless. It was his dream come true. Literally. So, as he got out of bed and crept closer to the window, paused, peered at me for five seconds, and then scowled, I knew that he was only nervous. He's probably never kissed a girl before.

Get this! He opened the window! I can’t tell you how excited I was. These were the EXACT words he said to me:

"Hey, you. Yeah, you. You can kiss my butt."

Then he slammed the window.

And closed his shades.

This is the moment my heart melted. I knew it all along. Finally he was man enough to admit it.

He wanted me to kiss him!

Okay, I can’t even tell you how excited I was (x56)! Did you know that's the most romantic thing that he (or anyone else) has ever said to me? (Wait, no, one time Billy told me 12 years ago in high school, that he was out of my league. I couldn't believe that he invited me to go bowling!) Anyways, he really DOES like me! How did you know when you were in love? I've been waiting years to hear these words from him. But I’ve always known that Billy like-likes me because I've seen him wear his I ♥ SF shirt to bed at LEAST 4 times this week.

I’m glad I’ve been able to have some girl-talk. Last time I tried talking to a girl, it was to Marcia, but that was months ago and she never replied to me. You’re the bestest friend a girl could ever have, Suz♥♥♥. Am I your bestest friend?

How I N.V. you, Suzana (Ha! Did you catch that? I made a joke using your initials. I crack myself up.), because you have ME as a friend. I promise I’ll be a good one. Just tell me what you want for your birthday and if there’s a boy you like.

Your Best Friend Forever and Ever and Ever and Ever and Ever and Ever (time infinity) and Ever,

Sally Fernandez♥♥♥

Here are some pictures of my left contact from when I first got it 2 years ago. These pictures are from all different angles, so you know you have the right one. No, not the right one. The left one. The left one would be the right one.

PS: Did you steal my contact?

PPS: If you didn't then I owe you a kiss. It won't be the chocolate kind of kiss. But you won't be disappointed! It'll probably be more medicated berry balm flavored.

Thumbelina

2011-05-16T17:24:00.023-06:00

"I'm leaving my girlfriend," the rosy cheeked boy whispered in my ear during a lovey-dovey musical scene--obviously trying to replicate Disney--from the movie, Thumbelina.

I droop my mouth in an exaggerated look of shock. "Why?"

"For you."

I usually don't make good first impressions, but today goes to show that unfortunate circumstances can change.

"You're small like Thumbelina," he smiles at me with those deep-set baby blue eyes of his. I know that his now ex-"girlfriend" was the woman who worked as the office secretary...who was also old enough to be his grandma. I get it, he's hitting the stage now where he's becoming more attracted to younger women. Who are also around his height.

I had only known this new boy for four hours before he told me I was his new girlfriend. Who did this guy think he was, trying to win me over with these expedient compliments? But boy, I have to admit--he sure knew how to sweep a girl off her feet.

Flattery soon hazed my judgment. I couldn't hold any of this new-found knowledge in anymore. I needed to tell everyone thes words of admiration that this boy had just revealed to me.

"...so he told me he's leaving Pam for me," my face beams as my dry, chapped lips curl naturally into smile formation.

"Oh, well that's interesting," my boss enlightened me.

"Oh...?" I acknowledge, as I try to make the carpet clutter-free of Legos.

"Because today he told me that I was his new girlfriend." I didn't think it was supposed to start raining until tomorrow, but this snippet of news from my boss sure dampened my parade. She continued, "Yeah, these were his exact words: I'm leaving my girlfriend for you." She said this as she scrubbed markers from the wall. How could she act as if this was a typical thing to be told?

"Oooooooh," was all I managed to muster. "B-b-but that's exactly what he told me!" I exclaimed with a genuine look of shock plastering my face, I'm sure.

"Then he said..." my boss remarked as she had one of the other eight year olds go over and blow his nose, "since we're boyfriend and girlfriend now, we need to go hot-tubbing." She continued to make the classroom more presentable for the baby shower that was scheduled to be held in her honor in half and hour.

My life of perfection, if only for 20 minutes, came to a halt. My man, at the grand age of eight, is already wanting to hot-tub with another woman (married, nonetheless) whose first child is due next month.

There's a fairy in this story. Here's a hint: it's not me...or Thumbelina.


Fairy tales don't really exist...but fairies do.

I Am Your Sunshine, Your Only Sunshine

2011-05-13T22:43:00.006-06:00

Usually I find myself responding to "that one short girl," my sister's name, or quite simply, "hey, butthead." You know, the usual pet names. However, tonight I find myself being called something that I've never been called before: The Most Sunshine Blog, thanks to Syida. Because if my blog ain't sunshine and daisies, then I don't know what is.

I don't see any sunshine on this picture. I might have to rectify that. Or change the name of the award.

Guys, I just have to tell you that I've been typing in silence. So...I decided to turn on some iTunes to keep my mind from exploding. Know what's really funny (well, besides this joke: How do you wake Lady Gaga up? Poke her face!)? Well, the song that decided to play is...Steal My Sunshine by Len! I don't even know what the heck this song is about, but I love the irony of the whole situation. Kind of like I love cake. But now I'm starting to like ice cream more and more. Mmmm, especially Baskin Robbin's Lucky Mint ice cream. That stuff is to die for. Well, not really. I wouldn't die for ice cream. But, then again, maybe I would from overeating it.

Anyways, you don't need to steal the above award if you really, really, really, really want it. All you have to do is ask. But I'll probably say no. So, if you really, really, like, really (x10.73) want The Sunshine Award 2011, just join the blog hop at the bottom of this post. All you need to do is link up your blog's url and, voila! Millions of other bloggers will stop by your blog and take a looksie. Well, maybe not millions. More, like, hundreds. Pretty good deal, huh? It's a win/win situation for everyone: YOU receive a fabulous award, YOU get more visitors to your blog, and YOU are special (plus, you know, all this stuff about me giving you awards and thingies only makes me look like I'm a saint).


Yes, I really DO look like a saint...a saint who makes flowers blossom from the glow of my stunning face.

Join this blog hop if you want The Sunshine Award 2011 award. If you don't want the award, fine. You're more than welcome to put my altered version on your page. I know that's what you really want. There's no need to be shy here, we're all friends, right? Well, according to this blog hop, we are!

1. Follow HOST'S and CO-HOSTS' blogs through GFC.

Host-Tawna's Journey to a Healthier Me (Click this link to add your blog to the hop!)

Co-Host-My Journey with Candida

Co-Host-Shanimal's Crackers

2. Grab the button and put it somewhere on your page.

To link to this blog, copy and paste the code below into your site. This hop is scheduled to be open until Sunday night at midnight EST.

I got a pocket, got a pocket full of sunshine (oh, so that's why my jeans aren't fitting as well. And here I thought it was just from all the Lucky Mint ice cream. Wow, I'm dumb). I got a love and I know that it's ALL mine, oh, whoa ooooooh.

Oh, wait, it's not ALL mine. You did steal my sunshine. Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.

100% Reason to Remember the Name

2011-05-05T09:38:00.002-06:00

Disclaimer: I wrote this story on behalf of my friend, "Rochelle."

“So, how was your week? Is there anything you want to talk about?” he asked, the same way he’s been starting out our conversations for the past eight weeks. He is reliable.

“Yeah, how do you remember all the people I talk about? I mean, like, how do you remember their names? Because it seems like you remember all the people I mention. I know you take notes after each session, but what are you writing down?” I ask with wondering eyes.

“Oh, I just jot down what we talked about. What your struggles were that week, etc.,” my one (and only) confidant notes.

Wow, he knows everything about me. He just knows me so well.

:10 minutes later:

“…So I printed out this worksheet for you to complete this week throughout the next few weeks. Try and fill it in everyday,” he mentions as he hands the slip of paper over to me.

I nod my head that, yes, I would try and complete this task, all the while intensely focusing on the words Jessica’s Daily Activities that were displayed proudly atop the paper.

“…So, in this box you would mark on a scale of 1-10 how you felt that morning. Then in this box you would mark how you felt that evening. The point of this activity is that I want to see what you’ve done that day that has impacted how you feel. I know Jessica enjoys blogging. So, say, blogging could be one of the activities that you mark that has helped you that day. You’ve also mentioned that you like being outside and doing yard work. You could also mark that down,” he continues to explain to me how exactly to fill out this little project that was printed a week ago.

“How do you feel about this? Do you have any questions?” he tends to ask me this question after every statement he makes.

“Uh, yeah, just one question: who’s Jessica?”

“You…” Um, do I have another personality that I’m not fully aware of?

“I’m not Jessica.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“…You’re Jessica MyLastName (how’d he even know how to pronounce my difficult last name???),” he says with a slight hesitation, as if he’s trying to confirm to himself that he isn’t mistaken.

“Uh, that’s not me.”

A brief pause of silence.

“…Then what’s your name?”

“Rochelle,” I say, slightly embarrassed that I even brought the whole Jessica issue up.

Crap! he’s probably thinking to himself, I’ve just lost another client.

“I guess I spoke too soon about you knowing everyone’s names,” I remark…not knowing what else to say.

Wow, he knows everything about me…except my name.

Awkward silence.

"Yeah, I'm really sorry...sooooo, tell me the lowpoints of this past week..." He didn't know how to respond either.

This is why I’m in therapy.

Special Delivery

2011-04-30T07:51:00.006-06:00

I was young.

I was naive

I was spontaneous.

I was a college sophomore.

And I was bored.

Bad combination.

I've always been big on recycling, thanks to a fourth grade sing-songy program that I participated in for my elementary school. The theme: Recycle, Reduce, Reuse! I still remember the lyrics: Recyccccccle, Reduuuuuse, Reuuuuuuse! Yeah! To stick to my good Samaritan roots that were instilled in me at such an early age, I've strived to reuse anything that's, well, reusable (but only if it's for a good cause).

Examples:

-Have reports from five years ago? Just turn each page around and print your next report on the opposite sides. Your professors will think you're cheap and poor, and guess what, you ARE cheap and poor. Therefore, the professors will have pity on you because you can't afford fresh paper, and will consequently give you a higher grade. Works every time.
-Have old, rotten Halloween candy? Just sell 'em to your younger brother. He will be your number one customer...and only customer.
-Have M&M wrappers, Dorito wrappers, Dasani water labels, ketchup packets, chopsticks, Taco Bell mild sauce packets, and Pizza Hut parmesan cheese and hot pepper wrappers laying around your college apartment? Create a meaty, saucy, sweet, and yummy man: Topher--who will hang around in your kitchen.

Topher with 2 Fans

-Have a dampen room with plain, boring white walls? Just pick up a hubcap from the side of the road and take it back to your apartment. Next, you should paint, and decorate the thang. I used markers and colored the thing to look like the sun. Then I hung it from the ceiling (Well, I didn't hang it from the ceiling). This unusual piece of art will then brighten up any depressing room. Bonus: it will also dramatically cut back your visitor intake.

-Have a plate of old, hard cookies left on your kitchen table from who-knows-when? Well, then, I have a mighty fine story to tell you about what to do with these. I was attending BYU way back when I committed this random act of kindness, and was just trying to be the good girl, following BYU's motto: Enter to Learn, Go Forth to Serve. Serving is what I do best...especially when it comes to giving cookies away...

But...

My sister and her friend were visiting me for the weekend. Add this element to the mix and it becomes

lethal.

Right. Me entertain my sister and her bubbly friend? Just kill me now. Or then. Not having a car sure limited the activities we could take part in. Hmm. Actually, come to think of it, I guess we all could've taken a joyride in that one shopping cart that I had to push my groceries home in for a few blocks. Hmm. (I hate reflecting on my past because I always think of what I could've done differently).

Fast forward to later in the evening when my sister and her friend were expecting to do something fun. Here you'll get to see our work in the form of entertainment in action...

You will see my sister and her friend dressed incognito. You will hear their voices disguised to having an "Asian accent." You will see me hiding behind bushes with a camcorder, trying to record this once-in-a-lifetime event. You will see my sister and her friend knocking on a random door. You will then see a big, tall black man answer the door (whaaaaaaa? In Utah????? Fo' realz????). You will then see the surprise on my sister's and her friend's face...actually, you won't. They're in disguise, remember?

You will then hear my sister say in her beautiful accent, "Cookies for you," as she stretches her arms out with a plate full of cookies to offer him.

Then you will hear the man boom, "What is this crap?!"

Sister's friend: Cookies for you. (Asian accent still, remember. It makes the whole scenario funnier...to me.)

The dude: You're trying to give this crap to me???

Sister's friend: Cookies...for yooooou?

You will then see the guy turn around to talk to his pals in the apartment. You will see about five guys and a girl just chillin' on the couch, watching the whole awkward instance through the windows.

You will then see the man who is the size of the door frame come back to his "Welcome" mat. Next, you will hear him spew, "YOU are giving ME this crap? I don't want this *bleepity bleep*! Here, YOU eat 'em."

Sister mumbles with none other than, "Cookies for you."

You will see the man getting more mad. You will hear him huffing and puffing. You can only guess that my sister and her friend are shaking in their boots...or, rainbow toe socks over sandals, to be exact.

The man scans the porch, looking to see if this was a joke. Obviously, it was.

"Who the *bleepity bleep* are you?" The man yells at the high school oddly-dressed girls.

You will then hear silence from Sister and Friend. But you will hear snickering coming from my direction.
You will see me trying to zoom in with the camcorder to the looks on Sister and Friend's faces. But you will see nothing. Those dang sunglasses.

You will then hear the man break the silence with his overpowering voice, "Who the *bleepity bleep* are you? And what's this *bleepity bleep* you're trying to give me?!"

"Cookies. For. You."

"What the *bleepity bleep*?"

"Cookies not for you?"

Then you will see Sister and Friend drop the cookies at the man's feet and run like heck.
To my apartment.
That was across the street.

You will see me still hiding behind the bush, not knowing when to leave, as the pals are still looking through the window, and you can see in my face that I'm hesitant to walk past that apartment with a camcorder. You will then see me creep slowly past his apartment window, trying to hide the recorder, acting as if I were not a part of this whole thing that went down. As I walked past his door, still laying on his welcome mat were the cookies that Sister and Friend had so graciously tried to give him:


The cookies that had been sitting in my kitchen for who-knows-how-long, adorned with ketchup "frosting."

Now rewind the Special Delivery to 10 minutes prior to the delivering part. You will see my sister and her friend practicing their "accent." You will see them robing themselves with the most ridiculous clothing. (Cue in scrunchies ornamenting pigtails, rainbow toe socks combined with flip flops, huge sunglasses...) Take two steps to the kitchen and you will see me doing what I do best: recycle, reduce, reuse--but only to be neighborly.

Haha, this is going to be so funny! Let's deliver these cookies...Whoever answers the door won't know what to do. They'll probably look at us as if we're serious...and they'll have to say, "Thank You"!!!!!!!

We were entertained in the making process before the delivery. Sister and Friend were not entertained during the delivery. We are all entertained with this incident years later.

And, that is how to reuse perfectly good old, crusty, hard cookies. And guess what, you're doing something very neighborly in the process, because, honestly, most people are happy to receive cookies.

Like a good neighbor, Shannon is there...in the bushes.

The Definition of Disappointment

2011-04-20T11:11:00.004-06:00

Do you notice anything wrong with this picture?

No, what's wrong is not the fact that that one dude is scratching "down there"...while being interrogated. It's also not wrong that he's smiling while doing it--because everyone who has ever been interrogated by a cop for raping a young, helpless girl scratches down there and smiles while being questioned. Certainly.

There's still something unsettling about this picture, though. The wrongdoing is tugging at my emotions and makes me want to cry. I cannot believe 20/20 has allowed this grave wrongdoing to appear on their show! Needless to say, I'm severely disappointed, 20/20.

You still don't see it?

Now do you see anything really, really wrong?

I was supposed to be watching 20/20's hour-long show on how a woman was stuffed in a suitcase, after being brutally raped, and dumped in a field left for dead. She survived. But as soon as I saw the horrid clip above, I lost any focus that I ever had (which was 46%) on the show. I just cannot say how let down 20/20 has made me feel. 20/20 is supposed to give insight into the world around us, that we may have not known otherwise, but all I can think of is how I can't trust this show as a news source if they can't even using correct spelling and punctuation. I've been watching 20/20 ever since Hugh Downs and Barbara Walters were the hosts, and never have I noticed mistakes on their show as I have within the past few weeks. What's up wit dat, yo?

Just in case you couldn't tell, my number one pet-peeve is when your and you're are used interchangeably. I don't care if you end your sentences with a preposition. I don't care if you start your sentence with because. I don't care if you overuse commas. I certainly don't care if your "sentence" isn't really a "sentence." Considering I write fragmented sentences all the time<---That's a sentence fragment. Heck, do I even care if you end a question with a period. Yes, but right now let's pretend that I don't.

You should never ever confuse your and you're because these two words have totally different meanings. Just as to, two, and too do. Just as there, their, and they're do. Just as hear and here do. Who's and whose. Then and than.

Confusing your and you're is like Eminem writing in his lyrics:

'Sup, homies?

I'm a wrapper.

Wanna be like me?

...Become a cracker.

But...he's NOT a wrapper--he's a rapper. How confused would his fans be if they read in People magazine, "Eminem, the wrapper, is touring San Francisco"? We wouldn't know whether Eminem had changed professions and now wraps gifts for a living. Or, we could think that People accidentally misprinted Eminem and it was supposed to say M&M. Then we start wondering to ourselves, I wonder why an M&M wrapper is on tour. What, did Justin Bieber touch it or something? Or, we could simply think whoever wrote that article is stupid because they don't know the difference between a rapper and a wrapper. Your homework assignment: Write a sentence using lose and another sentence using loose. Turn your homework into my comment section by 5 PM sharp.

To make it simple: you're=a contraction for the words you + are. So, anytime you would say "you are," you can just say you're.

Now that we've covered the your from the interrogation, it's time to move on to adding commas. Let's <------contraction for let + us look at this picture:

Which sentence do you think would be the correct sentence to use to describe this photo of Grams chewing on a piece of pizza?

Let's eat Grandma!

or

Let's eat, Grandma!

The first sentence is implying that you're shouting to your other family members that you're hecka excited to start chowing down on Grandma pizza. I know I'm a picky eater and all, but I don't think my grandma would taste very good.

But...I can infer from the second sentence that I'm yelling (because she can't hear) at Grandma that it's time to eat.

See how important commas are? Let's take a second look at our original sentence:

That's what your telling me right?

The above sentence makes virtually no sense. Confusion.

vs.

That's what you're telling me, right?

This is what I think you just told me. Am I correct? Muuuuuuch better.

Oh, and let me just say here and now that I wouldn't ever hire Elaine Benes to be my editor. My reasoning is based on one sentence I heard her say in one episode of Seinfeld: I could care less.

Okay, here we go. Another test. Is it:

I could care less

I couldn't care less

The second option is correct. If you "could care less", then why are you even talking about that subject??? When someone says this, I couldn't care less about what they have to say because I'm so distracted by them saying I could care less. If you say "I COULDN'T care less," that means that there is nothing less that you care about. You're saying that you care so little already that you couldn't possibly care any less.

I'm willing to overlook your shortcomings, 20/20, if you promise not to disappoint again.

Oh, crap.

In other news, now that we're all in a cheery mood, head on over to Jess's blog to see my list of 10 Simple Things That Make Me Happy.

ShanWOW!

2011-04-19T18:16:00.009-06:00

This is just for you, Miss 365. You suggested I make my own award with my own rules...so I did. This should teach you to be careful of what you wish for. Or suggest. So, here, I'll pass this thang on to you, because I sure as heck don't want it--it's U.G.L.Y. (and this guy ain't got no alibi for looking like a raptor). But your blog makes me say, "Oooooh, hey, what? It's, like, wow!"

RULES:

-Tell us your five most-played songs from your iTunes.

-Make a wish.

-Say the magic word. (For those of you who don't know, it's "Shidobee.")

-Did your wish come true? No? Then you're not saying it with enough emotion. Try again. This time, try yelling shidobee at the next thing that moves. It'll scare the crap out of it.

-Still no? Dang. Oh, well. It's a good thing you have this crappy (I mean this literally and figuratively, because, hey, if you did the above instructions then it really made someone shidobee) award to fall back on. Thank me later.

I changed my mind. I give this ShanWOW award to everyone who ~~reads~~ skims this post. That means you. And YOU. Hey, that old man standing behind you who's sneaking a look over your shoulder at your computer screen? Yep, this one's for him too. And for these very special people:

Santa

My bro


Grams


Belinda

Random Michigan Number

You're Welcome.

I'm So Versatile, Guys

2011-04-18T00:21:00.015-06:00

I'm so versatile, guys. This award from Nabo proves it:

Now do you believe that I'm versatile? No? Here's more proof--I'm so versatile that this is the second time I've received The Versatile Blogger award--yet this one's in YELLOW, not GREEN! To ~~match~~ contradict the green Versatile Blogger award, I've created her a ~~partner~~ nemesis.

Hi, I'm totally not like the other Versatile award. I'm much more suave. Oh, and my name's Fred.

See, the yellow and green awards are totally not alike at all--very much different--versatile, if you will.

Ahem.

There are rules to receiving this award. But, I'm so different from anyone else here on Blogland that I don't have to follow rules, right? Fiiiiiine. So I'm not versatile. I'll conform to the rules like everyone else. Let's get to the grit of this ceremony, shall we?

Thing I have to do Number One: Tell everyone who I received this award from.
Thing I have to do Number Two: Tell everyone my dirty secrets. Whoops. What I meant was "Tell everyone seven totally and completely RANDOM facts about myself." Because if you're not random enough, then you don't deserve this versatility honor...
Thing I have to do Number Three: Give this super unrelated-from-all-the-other-awards-out-there prize to seven other versatile bloggers.

This is going to be FUN.
Totally and Completely RANDOM Facts:

1. I'm currently listening to Better Man by Pearl Jam. Bet you didn't know that, now did you? Yeah, that's what I thought.

2. Now I'm listening to Walk on the Ocean by Toad the Wet Sprocket.

3. I ate some Baskin Robbin's chocolate mint ice cream cake today and it was goooooooood.

4. These are all boring facts.

5. My absolute most favorite saying, ever: Drink Apple Juice 'Cause OJ Will Kill You. One year my friend gave me a mug with this slogan on it...but I don't know where in the freak that mug is. Dang. Yesterday I designed myself a bumper sticker with this saying on it. I really need to get a shirt with this saying. It's just so classic.

6. As we were driving around Anaheim last year, I saw this car with this, like, oh-my-gosh-freakin'-fantastic vinyl sticker...of the silhouettes of the hitchhikers from Disneyland's Haunted Mansion. I just HAD to get that mint green vinyl decal. I searched high and low (but mostly low) in every gift shop at Disneyland and California Adventure for that sticker. Never found it...until I was on Etsy.com months later and found the lady who made all my dreams come true. Thanks to her, I now have the hitchhikers on my car. (No, no hitchhikers allowed IN the car.) Too bad no one in Utah even knows the reference to my sticker. ~~#Winning.~~ #Fail.

The vinyl decals are basically replicas of this Disneyland poster.

The lady was so nice that she even sent 3 stickers for the price of one! Now, if only I had 3 cars. Someday...

7. Wait, here's something exciting to say: I played the game Telestrations today. I know you're jealous. Oh, dang it, that wasn't very exciting, was it?

7.25. Let me attempt to say something interesting, please? Okay, thanks. Guys, get this...yesterday I played the game The Poll Game (not to be confused with The Pole Game). And it was fun.

7.5. Attempt infinity to say something of interest: I'm listening to The One by the Backstreet Boys now. Yeaaaaaaaaah, buddy. Buddies.

Now...

I Bestow This Gift to:

Let me write a poem here, because I need to show off my versatility skillz (I bet you didn't know All-4-One was referring to me with their whole "She's Got Skillz" get-up, did ya?):

THE

D

PS: Waaaaaaaait, I just thought of something amusing to write: I just listened to Out of My Head by Fastball and I'm currently listening to Triple Trouble by the Beastie Boys! (You don't know how relieved I feel just knowing that I said something interesting on this post. YES!)

Art is Dead

2011-04-13T16:44:00.064-06:00

What? You don't believe me? I don't lie. My grandma found him on the sink. She thought his lifeless body was a rock. A pet rock, I guess. When she picked him up and brought him closer to her eyes is when she realized that she was holding yet another one of my fish who had jumped to its demise.

Rest in ~~Peace~~ the Sewer,

Art

A baby's tombstone I discovered in Vallejo, CA

Since I started blogging in August, I've had the grand total of, uh, 4 fish dying:

-7 (named from a Seinfeld episode)
-Soda (named from a Seinfeld episode)
-Omega (he was a Betta fish. Get it?)
-Art (named from a Seinfeld episode)

Well, there aren't very many fish left in the ~~sea~~ bowl now. All I have left is Vandelay (named from a Seinfeld episode), who is nothing without his other half, Art (shh, don't tell him I said that). Art and Vandelay were a team. There just went together. They were like peanut butter and jelly, like salt and pepper, like yogurt and Cheez-its. Vandelay is going to miss Art. I think.

Art's ~~Obituary Oh, Fishy Airy~~ Ofishiary

Art, for the love of Cod, why'd you have to clam up? You should've cried for kelp. Dropped me a line. I could've tried not to be crabby, and would've been touchy-eely to your feelings. Oh, who am I kidding? I would've given you a bass-whooping. That must've been why you acted all koi, as if you were having a whale of time. Why were you hooked on acting fishy? I shouldn't have fallen for this bait, you little shellfish shrimp.

Art, you were named after one of the most notorious non-existent TV characters of all time: Art Vandelay. And now I'm disappointed that you've gone off the air, much like Seinfeld. Now you're exported, like Art Vandelay.

Tuna in soon for the next obituary.

Balloons

2011-04-10T05:07:00.036-06:00

We all have fears. Some are scared of failure, spiders, or heights, while others are scared of pickles , cotton balls, or chickens. I have a lot of fears, but I guess my number one phobia would be coulrophobia: the fear of clowns. Not really. But let's pretend here, okay? My cat, Truffles, on the other hand, is deathly afraid of balloons. Phobias just can't be explained.

Well...actually, they can, because right now I'm about to trace back to how my cat came to shudder at the sight of balloons...

It was a nice, summer day, when my best friend came to my house to celebrate my sister's birthday. Truffles was only a few months old (9 years ago), still very much impressionable.

My best friend loved ladybugs, and appropriately, gave my sister a huge helium-filled ladybug balloon to help spread cheer on my sister's special day. But for Truffles, it became known as The Day That Went Down Like a Lead Balloon. Apparently, ladybugs represent luck. And luck is the exact opposite of what happened to Truffles on that fateful day.

The ladybug was out to get Truffles (or, in other words, my friend was chasing my cat around with the balloon).

Can you imagine being chased around by a creature thingy that is three times the size of you? Oh wait, I can. It's called my older brother (if you're reading this, I'm only kidding, bro). He would chase me after I'd knock on his door and runaway when he had friends over. Typical brother-sister relationship, heh. Truffles was probably thinking Why in the heck is this bug following me? Probably because it wanted to be her friend...right? (This is what I tell myself to justify the unforgivable [lack of] action I took to prevent my cat from having an irrational fear of a big, mean, floaty thing). Yes, the ladybug just wanted to be friends.

And the ladybug would not settle. She was going to gain a new friend; preferably, a cute, fluffy one. Unfortunately, I was overlooked.

Truffles tried hiding everywhere.

Under the table.

Under the bed.

Behind the desk.

In the occupied litterbox--next to her arch nemesis, Kudos, no less.

Unsuccessfully, Truffles tried camouflaging herself within the hoards of stuffed animals on my bed. The ladybug was just too smart. She (he?) could tell the difference between a replica of E.T. and a cute, fluffy living organism. Once again...I was overlooked. Are you noticing a pattern here?

I don't remember how this cat-and-mouse chase ended. Maybe Truffles gave up trying to run away and gave in to the little bugger of a beetle. Maybe she got away by running out the cat door. Maybe she finally outran the ~~creepy-crawly~~ my friend. But all that matters at the end of the day is that Truffles cannot be in the same room as a balloon.

So, how do you think she reacted two months ago when she saw Grandma's Valentine's balloons?

Like this, of course:

I'll tell you what, though, I think I'd be scared of balloons, too--especially if they're strung along by a clown...

...like Heidi Montag.

Ahem. Back to Truffles.

The only advice I can give her is: Life's a Circus. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show--especially when a clown falls on its face.

Let Them Eat Cake!

2011-04-01T12:22:00.002-06:00

Ever since living in Utah, I feel like I've come in contact with a lot of talented bakers.

Take, for example,

Cakes from the school bakery contest:

A Pizza Cake!

A Fishbowl Cake!

A Hotdog and Fries Cake!

I was so shocked with how well these cakes turned out. How can people be so creative? Then I saw

Cakes from Midway Country Corner:

A Reeses Pieces and Popcorn Cake!

A Bumble Abominable Snowman Cake!

A Sweetarts Cake!

I'm proud to say that creativity runs a little bit through my family. This can be seen in a

Cake by my dad:

A Pyramid Cake!

Yeah, Utah, I know I'm going to fit right in. Mostly because my "creations" turn out looking like I had intended. Kind of like this

Cake by my mom:

~~"Cat food with chocolate on it?"~~
[Pause] Uh, It's An..."Earthquake" Cake...! Yeah.

The Morning After

2011-03-28T08:08:00.010-06:00

Gulp.

What did I DO last night?

My memory has once again failed me the morning after. Not to my surprise, once again, I have left a trail of evidence for myself to discover the following morning.

Laptop history from last night says I tried joining a dating website under the username IAmNOTAllergicToYou. Oh boy. La-di-da-di-da. I'll just delete the profile and then this little five hour "phase" in my life has been erased. There, much better.

Wait, what's this? I've uncovered yet another "secret" gem: YouTube reveals my brother, his fiance, and I made a karaoke video wherein I'm the star of the remake to "I'm Too Sexy."

I'm scared to search further.

"Shannon, you're super funny when you're like that," my brother reveals to me as I make my public appearance for the day, "you need to be like that every night."

I cringe inside that my impaired judgment could have led my body to participate in such activities. Gosh. It's at this moment that I've made yet another grim discovery. Not only was I cringing on the inside. I was cringing on the outside, as well. A bruise shines brightly on my arm, from bumping into walls from last night's stagger.

I check my phone to further investigate last night's escapade and discover that I made a phone call at 12:30 in the morning. Who knows what the crap I said? Oh, that's right, the owner of the voicemail does. I hope I didn't say anything too revealing or embarrassing, but being under this substance kind of warps your mind.

Now this is getting interesting.

"Do you still find that one joke funny?" My brother asks, "because you couldn't stop laughing at it last night?"

"What joke?"

"What does a gay horse eat? Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaay."

Oh, dear. I'm in worse shape than I thought.

"Or, how about this one: Why did the toilet paper roll down the hill?" He's just teasing me now.

"Why?"

"To get to the bottom!" He says with a grin.

No. Now I'm in worse shape than I thought.

Trying to get away from real-life, I step into my grandma's room. She's pretty entertaining. Maybe she can lead my mind away from my last night's behaviors.

"Hi, Shannon. Did you have a good night last night?" She asks with enthusiasm.

"Yeah...I slept well."

"Good. Because I have plenty more where that came from--let me know if you want anymore. I want to give some to your mom, but she won't take it. You should talk her into using it."

"Okay," I lied.

The Seinfeld theme song goes off. I've received a text. No, wait, my phone's just reminding me that I have unread texts.

"I'm glad you didn't drive here last night in that state of mind," my friend had lovingly texted me.

Surely my judgment was impaired--but to want to drive somewhere under that condition, go out in public like that. I couldn't be more ashamed of myself...

...when I'm on Ambien.

Life's Hardest Questions Answered

2011-03-27T09:58:00.014-06:00

How would you respond to this question: Would you rather fight two hundred two year olds or two hundred chihuahuas?

Hard question, right? Well, this is only one of eight questions I had to answer.

If you would like to view my ~~shrewd~~ ~~sheepi~~sh shining answers to some difficult questions, then you should head on over to the lovely Simply Kate's blog. You'll be in for a treat. Literally. Sometimes she has pictures of really yummy-in-my-tummy-looking food on her blog. Well, maybe not literally. Her blog isn't a brownie. But her blog sure is sweet! Figuratively. I haven't licked my monitor, so I don't know what her blog literally tastes like. But go over there anyways, you won't be disappointed--she's fun, cute, and...sweet (it's okay, I can honestly say that--I just licked my screen. But it actually tastes more dusty than anything).

Update: I've decided to post my interview on my blog, too.

1. Tell us about you and your blog. (Not really a question, but go with it)

I’m Shannon and I’m short, shy, and sharp. Please take note that all of these adjectives start with “sh,” and in conjunction, are supposed to help you remember my ~~shrewd sheepish~~ shining name. If these techniques fail your memory, then maybe my blog’s name, Shanimal’s Crackers, will be easier to remember. That name is a bit more creative and only played a tad on words.

Oh, man. Like, really, I don’t know how to describe my blog. But I will tell you the definition of my name. Shannon means “short and wise.” I’m not even making that up. And I will say this fact to anyone I come in contact with because it makes me feel Shpecial.

Back to the non-question at hand, I guess my blog could be considered a “humor” blog, but don’t quote me on that. Yeah, pretend those quotation marks aren’t even in the previous sentence—I’m too lazy to delete them.

2. What is your favorite book?

You know what series I find absolutely hilarious? Don’t laugh—or, go ahead and laugh…just not at me—but I recently read all the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series, and those books are pure entertainment. Just my type.

Oh, do I come off sounding unintelligent? Let’s rectify that (dang, I knew I set the bar too high by describing myself as “sharp.” Next time I’ll use the word “shabby.”). I also really like serious books, too: One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and The Help.

3. What makes you a nerd?

Well, if loving Diary of a Wimpy Kid doesn’t, then I don’t know what does. Okaaaaaay, fine, I have a list:

-I like lists

-I mainly listen to 90’s music

-I love cats

-I like Michael Jackson jokes

-I like pun jokes

-I am a punctuation/spelling activist

-I am currently listening to “Carol o f the Bells,” by John Williams, from the Home Alone soundtrack

-I collect board games

-I just downloaded Disneyland’s “Main Street’s Electrical Light Parade” song because it reminds me of the electrical light parade, which makes me happy. I liked all the shiny lights…and Disneyland

-I say “hecka”

-I currently reside in Utah. (Joke. Not the part about me living here, but the part about it making me a nerd. I only said that living in Utah makes me a nerd because I know you, Katie, are from here…you can stop laughing at this hilarious joke now…)

-I hang out with my grandma…and enjoy it

-I can’t believe I forgot this, but …I love Mario! (Not to be confused with the singer, I’m talking about the Mario who’s the star of this joke: What kind of pants does Mario wear? Denim, denim, denim *say it to the tune of the music from when Mario’s underg round*)

4. You have three hours to live. What do you do?

Cry.

5. Describe the perfect sandwich!

Sharp cheddar cheese and mustard. No joke. I remember being in, like, third grade and my mom had made me a cheese sandwich (mustard is ALWAYS involved, sometimes with chips wedged between the cheese and bread—preferably salt and vinegar…or Fritos…or Doritos…or…Cheetos…or cheddar and sour cream…or…). I was minding my own business, going about taking a bite out of my sandwich, when a classmate asked, “Did your mom forget to melt the cheese?” I was too embarrassed to tell the truth. Well, now I’m not afraid to say it to the entire Internet world: No, the cheese wasn’t ever meant to be melted.

This reminds me: I was at some relatives’ a few years ago. One of my cousins was, like, “I’m hungry. I’m going to have a snack.” Then I saw this:


Melted Cheese on a Plate

Weird. There’s not even mustard (or chips…or bread) to accompany it.

6. What would be your ideal job?

I have no idea. One that I love, where the cash flows in, while I do the minimal amount of work. Let me know if you’ve heard of it.

7. What is the most important thing in your life?

Probably my family.

8. Would you rather fight two hundred two year olds or two hundred chihuahuas?

Either way, it’s not a fair fight. I’d surely win.

My Picture-Perfect Relationship

2011-03-23T13:01:00.018-06:00

Do you ever get people you don't know texting you pictures...of restaurants and dogs? I do. My pet name for the sender of these messages is Random Michigan Number and we've been in a picturesque relationship since August 2010.
♥♥♥

The most recent text I received:

The girls asleep in the middle of the entryway into the kitchen tonight.

The text I responded with:

The book I read every night.

Let's see how long I can keep this long-distance thing up. I look forward to ~~hearing~~ receiving random photos on my phone from RMN every few months, and you know what? It's picture-perfect.

♥♥♥

For a play by play of my relationship with who I can only assume is an older woman, please see OMG R U 4 Realz and My Long, Lost Friend

The Finger

2011-03-16T15:21:00.006-06:00

They don't yield to others who are in the roundabout first.
They don't pull far enough into the intersection when trying to make a left turn.
They don't slow down on yellow lights.
They stop on "merge" and go on "yield."
They are the best at not checking their blind spots when switching lanes.
They pull right in front of you from a sidestreet, only to go 10 mph.
They won't pull to the front slot at gas stations if it means going around the car parked in the second slot.

They are Pootah drivers. Whoops, that slipped. What I meant to say is that they are Utard drivers. Geez, I don't know what I'm thinking. Ahem. Utah drivers.

And I'll tell you what, while driving with Grandma here, I've never heard her this upset since the time I accidentally deleted her recording of The Show Where It's Okay For Men to Have Polyamorous Relationships, The Show Where Moms Are Even Proud That Their Son or Daughter is Featured on This "I Knew I Loved You Before I Met You" Garbage For All to See The Bachelor. But, the drivers here are what they are and it can't be changed. Well, maybe they can change, one driver at a time. Thanks to my grandma...

[True Story] Grams and I are coasting along the freeway, trying to make good time on the pothole-covered road for the 50 miles we had to drive. Grandma has never driven a car before in her life, but she's great at giving directions, "Look out for that big truck," "Watch out for this truck. They scare me," and "You never know what these trucks are going to do."

Well, it's not the big rigs that she needs to be scared of. It's the plethora of minivans.

So there we are, enjoying ourselves, listening to Intergalactic by the Beastie Boys (my grandma thinks my music has "good beats." Sometimes I'm grateful she can't hear very well). But, Grandma should've really taken this verse to heart:

Too sweet to be sour
too nice to be mean
On the tough guy style
I'm not too keen

because right as these lyrics blew threw my only working speaker, a blue minivan started making its way into our lane, putting only a few inches between our cars. Pretty soon, she was halfway in our lane, pushing us over the shoulder of road before she even noticed we were there. When she got back to where she belonged (Drivers Ed, anyone?) in her lane, I made sure to speed up some that I wasn't driving adjacent to her the whole time. But not before Grams felt the need to show the non-checking-blindspot driver who's boss.

How could this sweet, little 82 year old woman, who looks forward to Saturday nights when Lawrence Welk airs its millionth rerun, put bad drivers in their place?

Grams and Kudos, January 2011

The 3 simple steps to letting Utah drivers know they're in the wrong, according to Grandma:

1. Say to other passengers in your car, "Did you see that? [Bad Word]. I'm going to give 'em the finger."
2. Turn to face the bad driver, look her straight in the eye and mutter: You Stupid. (This is more effective if you draw it out to: You Stuuuuuuupid.)
3. Give her "The Finger." Don't just give it to her, but shake it madly, fiercely, as if your finger is ~~Charlie Sheen on drugs~~ Charlie Sheen.

"That'll show 'em."

We continued driving this never-ending-of-construction freeway to our destination, having already survived becoming roadkill, yet still not making a dent in the miles we had left to cover. But after dealing with Utah drivers, you know before even starting your engine, there's a to-do list that you NEED to review.

The 3 simple steps you need to do before driving in Utah:

1. Buckle your seat belt
2. Say a prayer
3. Have your secret weapon in hand (The Finger)

because you don't know what these drivers are going to do. Actually, yes you do.

The next song that came on from my mixed CD: Too Legit to Quit by MC Hammer (Why, yes, I do like listening to quality 90's music, thanks for asking). Then it happenend again. Another one of THEM failed to check their blindspot and, once again, started moving into my lane (Déjà vu, anyone?)--the same lane I've been in the whole time. This minivan, with I love my family ~~but not enough to check my blindspots~~ meticulously plastered on the vehicle's exterior, only realized that, yes, a car is already occupying this lane by the time he was already halfway in our lane.

These lyrics from Too Legit to Quit should be Grandma's theme:

I choose to abuse, misuse, and confuse
Competitors who think they're makin' up all the rules, fools

because as we sped up to pass this typical Utah driver, Grandma uncovered her secret weapon.

CAUTION: The next picture has a PG-13 rating. Please don't view if you're easily offended...

The Finger: Point and Shake the Index Finger

***The Finger also works great outside of driving.
-Did someone knock over your lawn gnome and walk away? Give 'em The Finger.
-Someone stole a cookie from your cookie jar? The Finger.
-Kim Kardashian made a single? The "Other" Finger.

I Smile Grimace at Style

2011-03-11T07:11:00.004-07:00

Making its appearance fashionably late is...

Ha. Me? Stylish? I think you got the wrong person, Syida. I'm assuming you didn't see my last post about my hatred for shopping (yes, this includes clothes shopping). But I'll accept the award, anyway. Thank you.

You know who totally deserves this award is my cat, Kudos. She craves this kind of attention. She lives for style. She loves playing dress-up (well, not that she has a choice...). It just makes her feel purrty.

Kudos graciously accepts her award.

Will you accept?

Katie
Betsy
Kelly
Kathryn
Patti
Jillsmo
TV
Kirsten
Tattytiara

If you so choose to accept this award, there are rules that come along with it (because nothing worth having comes easy):

1) Thank with all your heart and link back to the blogger that generously awarded this to you
2) Share with the whole Internet world 7 random facts about yourself
3) Award some great bloggers

I GUESS I better start telling you about myself before this award is swept away from me right under my nose. Here goes:

My Facts

1. Do you know how a completely otherwise delicious cookie or brownie can be ruined? Just add nuts.
2. I am against dressing your dog or cat up in human-like outfits. Unless it's Halloween or something, then it's completely normal...
3. I contradict myself.
4. My ringtone for phone calls is currently "The Breakfast Machine" song from Pee-Wee's Big Adventure. For texts, it's the Seinfeld theme song.
5. I was with my family vacationing in New York City--even stayed in a hotel within the Twin Towers--two weeks before September 11. Two weeks!
6. San Francisco is my favorite city. I'll probably end up writing a post about all the reasons why I love SF, so I won't explain here.
7. My "favorite" number is 13.

Well, I think I've overstayed my welcome with this particular award, so I'm making my fashionable exit (uh, you totally didn't just see me trip right then...).

Be My Guest, Put My Service to the Test...

2011-03-09T10:21:00.020-07:00

I just did something I've never done before.

Nope, skydiving is still on the list of things to do. Along with SCUBA diving. Aaaaand going to Africa. Aaaaaand becoming a renowned photographer for National Geographic.

But I am glad that I am now able to say that I have been a guest blogger. Yep. Let's get this par-tay started, shall we?

Uh, you'll need to head on over to Lauren's awesome blog to read some funny/humorous stories (and mine, if you want). And before you're gettin' jiggy wit it at THAT party, don't forget to pick up some root beer, Freschetta pepperoni pizza, and light bulbs on your way over.

Update: I have since decided to have the guest post I wrote for Lauren on my blog as well. Here it is:

I consider myself to be a pretty honest person.

Mom: Shannon, do you want to do these dishes?

Me: No.

Friend: Shannon, I’d like for you to meet Billy. He’s from California too. Isn’t that cool?

Me: Uh, it’s all right.

Stranger: Hi, how are you?

Me: Sad. My cat’s on her deathbed and I had to take her to the vet. I touched her paw to see if I could get a reaction from her, but she just sat there and purred. Usually she’ll bite my hand to pieces. I’m so worried!

But there is one area in life that I suck at telling the truth: while shopping.

“Did you find everything okay?” asks every bright-eyed cashier as I’m checking out.

“Yeah,” I eagerly say to the person who’s ha ndling my macaroni and cheese and my mint chocolate chip ice cream.

I’ll admit it: 78% of the time, my answer to this simple question is untrue. I am guilty. I am bad.

No, I did not find everything okay.

To me, shopping should be like this:

Have your shopping list and pen in hand
Scribble each item off into oblivion once fo
und
Place found item in cart (or, as southerners say, buggy—as if you need to cradle your precious Cheetos)
On to the next item on the list

***No need to lollygag through the aisles looking at products that “You MUST Have!!!”:

Self-explanatory

Ever wanted to be a kangaroo? Now is your chance!

Anything Twilight

But if a situation presents itself to me where I can’t find the light bulb on my list that I so desperately need, I’m frustrated. I’m impatient. I’m not one to “window shop.”

I don’t like having to make my short legs unnecessarily walk up and down every aisle three times only to continuously be confronted with this:

Food, you're supposed to be my friend! You're supposed to give me comfort when I'm feeling down. You're not supposed to reinforce my feeling of stupidity for not being able to find a light bulb. Jerk.

And, better yet, there are no employees on the floor to ask where the light bulbs are located. So you have to go all the way up to customer service, ask where the light bulbs are, only to be directed in the same location where you were looking for the past ten minutes.

Be prepared to walk up and down each aisle at least three times.

So, a few weeks ago, I found myself once again in this situation: “Did you find everything okay?”

The moment of truth finally came.

Do I tell the truth and nothing but the truth? The answer I give can make or break my integrity…or do I give the answer that the cashier is expecting?

After debating in my head whether or not to tell the cashier if I did actually find everything okay, I came to a conclusion.

I would tell the truth.

“No, not really.”

Feeling victorious in the battle that took place in my mind, I felt a sense of freedom. Feeling confident in knowing that what I said was right, I could only anticipate the kind of response I would get. Would she have me fill out a survey for customer feedback on the quality of the store? Would she give me a deal for the items I was purchasing? Would she confide in me that she, too, can’t find anything in this horribly-laid out store? Would she call her manager over to throw confetti above our heads for being brave enough to say what I had actually experienced? Would she deem me best-EVER customer of the month?

Her grand response:

"Oh,”

as she went on duly scanning my purchases.

I finally found the light bulb in my head—cashiers don’t care how your shopping experience went.

But, hey, even though I had a rough time finding items, I had confidence that at the end of my shopping experience, cashiers are ALWAYS checking me out...and they don't even care if I have Cheetos and Doritos under each arm...or that I'm missing a light bulb.