it's friday.
the packers laid out a straight beat down on the vikings last night.
life is good.

cheers hoes.

p.s. do yourself a damn favor and throw this bitchin' song on repeat.

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one week anniversary of over-serving myself. again.

last week wednesday i had a conversation with shitler that went something like this:

me: oh hey - i'm staying at melissa's house tomorrow night.

shitler: why?

me: because we're going to drink too much wine and hork all the food in our faces and i'm going to be too drunk to be able to commandeer any type of motorized vehicle (like even a fucking big wheel).

shitler: oh.

me: ya, so see you sunday.

and then i think we high-fived and went our separate, merry ways till sunday.

so with that being said - today is the one week anniversary of when i thought it would be a good idea to eat my fucking face off and drink one of those family sized bottles of pinot noir with my friend.  and by drink one of those family sized bottles of pinot noir i mean that i drank an entire 1.75 and she also drank an entire 1.75 and then we tried to watch the movie "the other woman" but it didn't work out because we re-started it like six times but then got distracted by eating a jar of pickled asparagus and also by needing to order partylite and then we finally passed out but not before i demanded that her cats sleep in the bed but duh cats don't listen so they ignored me.

but then all the fun came to a screeching halt when the alarms went off the next morning and it was like a stumble fest of trying to dress myself and also figure out where the fuck i was (because i responsibly spent the night at my friend's house).  and also i warned her that she shouldn't be alarmed if i tried to cuddle or spoon her because it's what i'm accustomed to but what i'm not accustomed to is sleeping next to someone that isn't covered in hair so it was kind of weird and i felt out of place but i made do because i was wine drunk and i could have probably slept on a hardwood floor.  and then we hauled ass to work and as i sat at my desk i was all "WOE IS ME, WHY DO I DO THIS.  SHANNON YOU ARE A TERRIBLE DECISION MAKER."  and then i was like "UGH, i have to work at the restaurant tonight - IS THIS REAL LIFE?"  and then i was all  "wait a minute.  once upon a time i was honest about not wanting to work a shift and it totally got me out of work so maybe try it again."  you can read about that here.  so i quickly shot off a text to my manager:

so no.  i didn't get out of the second round job that night.
i put in the regular eight hour day and then suffered through another six hour shift where i swear the universe was punishing me for my over-indulgence because like every table ordered red wine and it taunted me and my hangover because vomatrocious (not a word but deal with it). 

so the moral of the story is that i haven't had anything boozy to drink since then.
which has made all the difference in how i feel on a daily basis.  I KNOW.  I GET IT.  EVERYONE TOLD ME SO.  whatever.  i'm a glutton for punishment.  also this last tuesday, as in three days ago, i did one of those frisky fall tone it up circuit thing at the gym and immediately after i finished i felt like i could take on the world but then i woke up the next morning and almost fell down the stairs because apparently my legs worked so hard the night before that they felt they didn't need to show up to the next day at all.

originally i was going to post some pictures about my labor day weekend i the northwoods of wisconsin but then this post spiraled wildly out of control and i don't have any type of motivation to bring it full circle.

so instead i leave you with this cat; because in my mind it's spoon-feeding me carbs.

p.s. i want to do a smut link up and i wrote about it here.
so check it out.  let's do it.  not like "it" but like the link-up.

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a beginning: smut mondays

if you've read stuff here for any length of time then you'll know how much i love me some smut.
like any and all (except the kind that talks about fisting because that's just not for me).

you can read all of the posts i've written about smut here and here.
i know - two whole posts - how in depth.

but the point is that i love to read the smut and i love when people recommend other smuts and i thought that maybe like twice a month we could do a smut link up and i show you mine and you show me yours.  relax - the books, not any body parts.  perverts.  but then we could talk about all the awesome smut we've read and also all the terrible stuff that you don't even want to admit to starting let alone finishing.

so come back on monday, october 13th, for our first edition of smut mondays.
i'm still working on making a button because i'm remedial but i did make this banner type thing and i'm super proud of it.

also - if you're serial about the link up - perhaps leave a comment so i know i won't be the one and only person linking up two mondays a month.  k.thanx.bai.
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a novel snippet

i assume that most people like to read.
at least people i like to be friends with (if not - i can kind of look passed it).
i thought i would take the opportunity to introduce you to jenn.  who is one mighty nice lady and one helluva writer.  you can find her blogging at quirky pickings where she does some of the best giveaways and has great posts and just in general she's like the nicest person and one of my most favorite internet friends.

jenn is currently working on a novel and after reading the first chapter she sent me i demanded that she send me more and she did and it's excellent and i love it!  so here today is a snippet from said novel that i thought i would share with you!

so get your read on and then go ahead and let jenn know that you love it just as much as i do!

so there's this girl named isabel. she likes this guy called reese. and he likes her, but she's more than a little surprised by this. and not prepared for what happens next. their story begins three years ago in the fall.

“Isabel, it’s barely one,” Reese said.

She paused, angled her head so that she could see him. “I gotta be at school early.”

“On a Sunday?”

“I know.” She shoved her hair back. Not because it was in her way—she’d managed, miraculously, to get through a whole day without putting her hair up—but because she needed something to do with her hands to hide the way they sometimes shook, like her voice did, whenever she spoke to him. So she spoke fast. “I gotta get to the ceramics studio to finish up some projects.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll walk you out.”

Why? Her brow furrowed. “I’m not that far. Just the garage across the street. You don’t have to.” I kind of don’t want you to. Not that it’s not nice of you to offer. But, then I’d have to talk to you.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Okay.” She waited, reluctantly, as Matthew let Reese out. He stood, placed a hand at the small of her back. A second of shock. Of alarm. Her dark eyes widened then fluttered shut as her mindset shifted from appalled to appreciative—it actually felt kind of nice to have his hand there—and then to wonder. What the hell? That’s not friendly. That’s… that’s… what the hell? Her gaze snapped to his. And she thought she saw amusement flash across his face.

“Change your mind? You gonna stay?”

He’s just being nice, Isa, which is what you like about him. Snap out of it. “No.” She turned her head and marched to the entrance. Glanced at the bouncers as she uttered, “Good night.”

His hand wasn’t at her back anymore. She’d walked a little too quickly for that. To keep her hands busy, for a distraction, she began twirling her keys. “I don’t know why you think I need an escort. I've walked to my truck a thousand times before by myself. I don’t—”

“I don’t understand why my walking with you is a big deal.”

Because I can’t talk to you! She walked faster. The sooner she got to her truck, the better. She didn’t even bother to check for traffic as they crossed to the movie theater and then again to the garage.

“I don’t understand that either,” he said.

“What's that?”

“You don’t talk much. Especially to me. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you didn’t like me.”

But I do. I do. “Maybe I don’t have much to say.”

“Oh, I doubt that. I think you have a lot to say. You just don’t say any of it.”

Hurry up, Isabel!

“Especially to me,” he repeated. “I wonder why that is.”

“I’m shy.”

“I know.”

Then why ask the question? “So?”

“So, I don’t understand why?”

She sighed. Because you’re a beautiful man, and I like looking at you. A good one, and I wouldn’t have a clue what to talk to you about because you’re you, and I’m me, and… I’m just a girl. Too damaged and far too fragile for the likes of you. “I don’t suppose just because would be a sufficient answer.”

“I suppose so. You’re gonna be at the studio all day tomorrow?”

Ugh. Unfortunately, yes. “God, I hope not.”

“What do you have to do?”

Pretty much everything. They’d gotten to her truck. She unlocked it, threw her things inside and stood there, her back against the cab. Sure, she liked looking at him. But not when he was looking at her. So she focused on everything she saw around him. The cracks in the concrete. The scuff marks on her favorite shoes, her Docs—I should take them to a shoe shop and have them cleaned. The shrubbery on the other side of the brick. The glint of chrome—And I should get my truck washed. And the gleam of red paint—Why anyone would spring for a red car, one the color of a tomato, and pay more to insure the thing makes no sense. Ceramics, Isabel. Focus. “I've to glaze three pieces and make one. I’ll probably be there all day. It’s gonna suck, but that’s what I get for cramming the majority of a semester’s work into one day, for waiting ‘til the last minute.” She glanced at her watch, more to busy her hands than to check the time. “I should’ve left earlier.”

“How much earlier? An hour? Two? We’d just gotten there at eleven.”

“Yeah. I know. But I won’t be in bed until two, and I doubt I’ll get to sleep until three, and I gotta get up at eight.” She’d been thinking aloud. Too much, Isabel. He doesn’t need to know this. She blew out a breath. “It’s late.”

“So. Sleep ‘til nine.”

“Can’t. Too much to do.” She looked him then. “Why do you ask anyway? You’re working, right?”

“Yeah. I was just curious.” He grinned.

Good Lord. She fought the urge to put a hand to her stomach, to chew on her lip.

“Making conversation,” he said.

“Hm. Okay. Well.” She pressed up against the truck. The way he was looking at her now… it was weird. She didn’t know what to think of it. “I’m gonna go.” She set a hand on the interior handle, pushed the door open wider and started to climb inside. His hand was on her again. This time, he’d wrapped his fingers around her arm above the elbow. Not tight. He didn’t hurt her. But the contact had unnerved her, nonetheless. And before she had a chance to say anything, he had turned her, stepped closer still and fixed his mouth on hers. Wait. Wait. What is this? You’re not supposed to be doing this. You’re not supposed to want to. I don’t know how to do this. Reese, wait. Wait. And then… two boys. The trees. The ground. Stop. Stop!

He did. Stepped back.

Just breathe, Isa. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. It’s Reese. Not them. He’s good. He’s good.
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vacation woes

i'm literally counting down the days till the new year.
till 2015.
and for no reason other than i will once again have vacation days. 

between getting married and being in mexico for two weeks, getting pneumonia, and then also taking off of work for shitler's oral surgery tooth removal i was out of vacation days by the end of may.  as in there was still over six months left in the year and i have since relied only on the occasional holiday for a brief reprieve from work and i must admit that it's been a real struggle.  because combine that with working weekends at the restaurant and that leaves me with one day off a week.  woof.  and i've mainly only survived on hilarious internet pictures, wine, and various nonsense to keep me sane.  so at the stroke of midnight on the new year i'm going to immediately take at least three days off of work and hibernate in my house.  because come january in wisonsin i'm sure we will be balls deep in the polar vortex and it will be negative like a thousand degrees and it just makes sense to not leave the house as my first order of business in the new year.

and this all seemed appropriate to whine about on monday (see also: first world problems and yes i'm lucky to have vacation and mexico was a blasty).
because we're all back at work and generally hating life and everything in the universe is annoying us because the coffee isn't working and you couldn't sleep the night before so you stayed up till 2AM watching ella enchanted and then reruns of new girl that you've already seen a kajillion times.  oh wait - that's just me.

in related news (internet things that have kept me sane) - i've been really into wombats lately.

p.s. that last one might be a beaver.  i'm not sure.  but it came up in my google search of wombats and i just really like calling people "noobs."
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french whores

last night we moved grandma lincoln (shitler's grandma) from the third floor of her senior living apartment complex to the second floor.  and just the small taste of having to move not tons of stuff but enough stuff reminded me how much i truly hate moving.  and then it was like flashbacks of college inundated my brain and i was taunted with four years of having to move back and forth from minneapolis to the milwaukee area with a tiny car jam packed full of all my shit and i was like "WHY.  WHY.  WHY."

but that's neither here nor there because it was on one of my trips back downstairs that shitler's cousin (george) scampered up to me, full of giggles, and was like "smell your husband."  and i was like "uh what?  is he taking a shit?  did he fart?  because, gross, no i will not smell him."  and george was all "just trust me.  smell him."  and so i did.  and i was like "why are you wearing perfume?"  and george was snickering and said "i sprayed him with grandma's perfume!"  and then it became a battle royale of spraying each other with grandma's perfume and i was like "ugh.  bye."  and then a half hour later that tom's uncle started sniffing and said "what is that smell?  it smells like a french whore."  and george geeked out and said "uh that's grandma's perfume.  you just called grandma a french whore."  and then grandma lincoln was like "what are you all laughing about?"  and then shitler was like "grandma.  your perfume, which we're all wearing, danny thinks it smells like a french whore."  and then grandma was like "well."  and that was it.  and we all laughed hysterically.  because someone thinks grandma's perfume smells like a french whore and apparently grandma doesn't disagree. 

i couldn't have married into a more perfect family.

p.s.  i like to include at least a picture in all of my posts because things are fun to look at.  i couldn't decide what would be best suited for this post so i chose two pictures.  one is a picture of shitler and his grandma circa 2007 and also a picture of a cat with a hot dog delicately placed on said cat's side.

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get you some. or at least one.

hey girls heyyyyyyy.
happy wednesday to you and yours.
and yours can be whoever you want it to be.
sometimes, in my mind, i'm really married to jeremy piven (ari gold) and not shitler.
but that's neither here nor there
because there are two things i love a lot in life.  wine and shitler.
so when whitney was all "hey whore, look at this" and showed me the newest #IWYP shirt for the month i died a few tiny, happy deaths because it's like it borderline spoke to my soul.  and when it arrived it was wrapped in golden deliciousness and a most delightful note.

and the shirt was even more magical than the note.
but then i was like "i don't enjoy having pictures taken of myself."  and then i was all "self, who do you know that will shamelessly let you photos of them in the most ridiculous of situations?"
and then i was like "shitler - put this on.  just put this on and don't fight it."
and at first he fought it a bit and looked less than enthusiastic about the whole thing.


but then it seemed like he really came into his own.
like was all "how would a blogger model this?"  and then he nailed the typical fashion blogger pose where they stare off into the distance looking at nothing and acting like they're too good for whoever they conned into taking pictures of them.

and i think that maybe the best thing about this shirt (besides the obviously lovely slogan) is that it really accentuates shitler's chest hair and he very clearly loves to sip on things so it just encompasses everything he's about.  which is chest hair and sipping beverages.

and then in the middle of me trying to coax something other than obvious disdain for me and what i was trying to encourage him to do it was like shitler had an epiphany and he was all "WWTBD?!"  which, for you losers that don't know, means "what would tyra banks do?"  and then he turned to the camera and smized so hard, giving me full H2T (head to toe), and fucking nailed it.

but seriously.
you should buy the shirt.  because it's delightfully comfortable.  the message is legit.  and also sparkles.

so you totally hit up the whitney's blog and get you one.
and you should do it right meow.  because today is the last day to get you one.
and then you'll be up shit creek without a paddle.
so go ahead and click here.

and also if you're interested in seeing what the shirt looks like on someone non-shitler then voila.

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