the dude i'm going to marry in two months (which is still slightly mind-blowing).
we've been together for what feels like an eternity and i like to think that we're not like most other couples. and if there is we should find them and kill them because i want to be the only shanny and shitler. but you are for sure the only person that i can lay in bed with while eating deli meats and watching heavyweights and not feel like a complete asshole. and you're the only one who allows me to be mean as shit to you (like i truly want to be with others but can't ever justify). and you're definitely the only one that will attempt to answer odd questions i ask you.
how many times did you jerk off today? did you watch porn? what kind?
why don't you let me watch you pee?
are you sure you don't have a gluten allergy?
can i pop this zit on your back while you poop?
when can we get a cat? what about that duck? also a mongoose?
and honestly you tolerate me constantly taking pictures of the weird shit you do.
which gives me so many lolz.
so happy birthday shitler.
you are officially thirty and old as fuck.
remember when we were younger, skinnier, and prettier?
and for like the last week all ABC has advertised was all the fantasy suite dramz that was going to happen and i just so desperately wanted the dramz to be juan pablo trying to put it in someone's butt. and not like on accident but on purpose and then for a girl to have a meltdown and maybe that makes me not a girl's girl (obscure real housewives reference) but i was so hoping to be able to use the term "butt hurt" in some sort of joke that actually related to butt stuff. but whatever i didn't get my wish because apparently the chick wants "someone who will love her more than they love themselves" and i wanted to throw things at the television because she wah'd big time that she wasted all this time and i may have done the math about how much time and money it would cost me to travel to her and strangle her with my bare hands.
because come on you're an idiot if you go on the shit show bachelor and expect to find your one great love.
so naturally i got angry. and then i turned to this channel thing we have on the roku where you can watch movie trailers and i very quickly found the fault in our stars trailer and watched it literally over and over again until i felt better about myself and also when it looked like it was time for shitler to get home from bowling so i could wash my face from the crying over the trailer for the fault in our stars without shitler all out judging me for being such a cry face baby.
one time i wrote a whole post on books and mainly the fault in our stars. check it here.
and also i die for this and for the whole book and for the movie.
which, the more i think about it, the more this quote could super duper apply to a stalker.
which gives me the lolz.
but excuse me while i daydream about frolicking in a field of flowers. you can stalk me there.
p.s. flower image is from here. i just added the creepy could be stalker line.
remember that one time samm and i banned together to have a new blog and then we like posted seven times and were never heard from again? it's cool - we do too. and we also plan on posting again.
at some point.
but since only like a fraction of you read it you can go back to tuesdaysquared.com and do us all a favor and check it out. or else (i haven't come up with an 'or else' yet so be patient).
there's not much a point to this post.
other than to tell you that i went to the gym three whole days in a row and when i go tonight it will be four days in a row. which i think is unheard of in the land of shan. there have been plenty of things that i have tried to sabotage my gym-going or my gym-leaving once i'm there.
like a sneeze attack, the fact that i washed my heart rate monitor (the watch part) in the wash machine, a man's constant farting on the machine next to me, daydreams of my couch, etc. etc. etc.
but it happened. a workout. three days of workouts.
and my armpit muscles hurt. is that a thing?
but really - that's all i wanted to write.
and also i wanted to ask you skanks for circuit training recommendations.
like semi-easy to follow for the semi-remedial.
p.s. the only marginally acceptable thing about working out and dieting is seeing results. the other night i measured my ass and i didn't think it was any smaller. but the reality is that i lost three inches in my waist, hips, and tits since starting this bullshit "i don't want to be chubby for my wedding" thing on january 1st.
p.p.s. i'm super, super glad you can't see the atrocious length of my leg hair in the above picture.
sometimes bloggers are all "ZOMG A FEW THINGS FRIDAY" and it makes me feel like a slightly less of a terribly disorganized person that can never just get their fucking shit together because they're too busy listening to howie day's "collide" on repeat all day to post something cohesive that has an actual point.
so i'm going to "a few things friday" the shit out of this post.
i feel like a majority of the time i spend on facebook is me mainly unfollowing everyone that annoys me.
regina george helps with this.
once upon a time a cat hung out at my house. i won't like all the way admit to the fact that it was a clever plot to try and get the cat to be a permanent roommate because then shitler will be all "I FUCKING KNEW IT" and i will deny it till the cows come home (which is a weird saying but i still like it) but his name was charlie and he was fantastic and he loved rumchata and also acted like a dog. and it's no secret that cats crack me up and i just want to look at cat lolz all day long as a full-time job.
so i made this side by side thing. on the left is shitler and sir charles sizing each other up.
and on the right is exactly how i imagine cats make fun of us.
i read some where that it's not a good to tell people when you're going to be home alone. so naturally i'm going to tell the internet. but i think that makes me semi-full of myself because that's operating on the assumption that enough people read this and would care enough to take time out of their weekends to terrorize me/home invade. so really - shitler will be out of town this weekend. murdering rabbits. and i'm going to watch practical magic at least eleven times and weep because i'm still bleeding internally.
i don't imagine he'll need all these weapons to hunt down wabbits but in my mind i like to think so.
lastly. there's a new topless picture of miley and whenever i look at it i react like a teenage boy and my brain just giddily screams TITTIES TITTIES TITTIES TITTIES TITTIES. mature, i know. if you want me to send you the x-rated version that doesn't have smiley faces covering her nipples just let me know and i'll gladly send it your way.
for all the wins in the world i've been listening to sam smith constantly this week.
it seems to help salvage whatever sanity i have left.
once upon a time i used to sometimes post conversations between myself and my friend ben.
i called it "textual feeling" but then i stopped because ben must have ceased to be interesting to me or something. but that's neither here nor there. because not too long ago he texted me a question and then we had a discussion. it went as follows:
i think it's no surprise that i'm a fan of all things weird.
like GIVE ME WEIRD OR GIVE ME DEATH and all that.
so while perusing the webz the other day i stumbled upon this stunning picture:
and naturally i posted it on facebook with the caption:
the overall vibe of my wedding. HOPEFULLY.
and then facebook cronies left comments and they made me joyous because duh.
my mexican wedding will be grand. because of masks, and nipple tape, and pancakes with sugar free, organic, and locally sold maple syrup.
i'm going to link this up to a wedding wednesday post because i can.
and because i think all wedding wednesday link ups need this post.
and in unrelated news i framed that first picture and it's going up on my gallery wall.
shitler was less than enthused and was all "we know plenty of people that we could frame pictures of and put up. you're stupid."
and i was all "but i really, really want to know this person. plus it looks cool so don't fuck with my art."
it's like the edgier version of leaving the pictures of the people that come in the frames in the frames and then hanging them on your wall like they're people you know in real life.
but like we all know the truth - those people are way too attractive to be your friends in your life. or at least in my life. which is why i think the maple syrup loving werewolf person is a more reasonable friend choice.
about once a month i tend to get in a mopey "woe is me" mood where i get like super morose and just want to listen to sad girl music and whine about things. and it usually coincides with the time of the month where the red death makes a dramatic entrance and you would think after so many years i would recognize the timing and like not be ridiculous but it just keeps happening and will keep happening until like the end of time. but mainly i just want to be left alone in a quiet room by myself where i shouldn't be expected to have to interact with people and also where there's cheese readily available. and it occurred to me that i just basically described prison (sans the cheese) and i don't want to go to prison because i'm pretty sure they wouldn't let me have my kindle porn and i bet there's cheese but it's probably just like kraft singles and no thank you kraft singles.
but anyway i made this with help from computer things.
and i think it's pretty and i like lewis carroll and it made feel marginally less hateful towards everything in the whole wide world. and now i want to get it printed and framed but if i do it will end up taking shitler like a month to hang it and by that then it will be time for the red death again and everything will make me sad again and i'll be like "WELL PLAYED MENSTRUATION CYCLE, WE MEET AGAIN."
p.s. it just dawned on me that i referenced a white rabbit and my period in the same post and in my mind that made me laugh because well i think it's obvious.