northwoods nonsense

you know the dane cook joke where he chastises his friend for sitting around all day thinking about creamy treats?  i'm in a similar position and definitely need a lecture because i can't stop thinking about all the shows waiting for me at home on the dvr.  all the housewives, some dance moms, GoT, etc.  it's to the point where i just want to throw in the towel, fake a case of explosive diarrhea, and bail.  but karma is a skanky bitch and i will for sure come down with a case of actual explosive diarrhea if fake it at this point in time.

so i guess the only thing we have left to do is re-live the weekend.

which is super depressing because looking at the photos just reminds me of the awful time i'm currently having.  oh well.  being a grown up sucks.

we headed to the northwoods for the weekend.  which means the weekend just revolved around booze, and guns, outdoor things, and food.  which i suppose is no different than a normal weekend at home except for the locale.

iPhone nonsense first.  and if this is a repeat of things on my #ginstagram then deal with it.

do you ever get to the point in your night where you've succeeded in drinking all the things and you don't really realize the level of success that you've achieved until you look at your camera the next day and see the fourteen pictures of a pizza you took (i'll spare you because they're terrible)?  or that you took two pictures of a ceiling fan?  not my finest moment.

i'm also not sure what it is about up north that makes all booze just taste better but i'm almost positive that's a fact.  

if you don't believe me we should probably plan a trip where we go up north and do a tasting and then also do a tasting not up north and i think it would just prove my point.

he honestly just always looks like he's having the worst time.

and this guy is just ready to fuck shit up.

and as always on mondays i'm linking up with sami because all of these things fall under the category of shenanigans.

      

high five 4 friday

i'm going to make a bold statement.
and said bold statement is "i'm going to try really hard to not drink any booze until v-day."
there.  
i said.  
and it's out there.
like in the universe.

holy shit - this is what a panic attack feels like.

so maybe try and keep me accountable.
i usually only follow through on things i say i'm going to do like 3% of the time (per shitler) so i thought that perhaps an extremely small goal would help me be more successful.
so here's to not being so wine bloated and all shit-feeling for two weeks.
hopefully.

but back to the real task at hand.
high-fiving friday with lauren at from my grey desk.

1. i've now been engaged for...hang on...let me count the days...one hundred twenty five days (i had to use a calculator - FYI).  that's a lot of days.  so you would think i'd be used to the ring on my finger.  but this week i've found myself extra distracted by that sparkly thing.

2. pretty little liars has consumed my life.  and it's embarrassing. 

dear 27-year-old self,
pretty little liars does not represent real high school life.  no one has that much time on their hands.  no one can use their phone that much without having to charge it.  and stop being so jealous of their lack of curfew.  also stop regretting all the hoodies and jeans you wore back in your day and maybe stop thinking about how you would have jumped every one of those little skanks in a dark alley in order to take possession of their wardrobes.
regards,
shannon

p.s. good thing shitler is like 25% into it.
because this means he watches it from time to time even though he doesn't love it.

p.p.s. you're 27. stop fucking watching this show.  you're embarrassing yourself.

i will cut him off. and he'll pretend like he doesn't care.  but we all know the truth.

3. the other night we all sat around and played presidents and assholes.  and one particular player just couldn't not be asshole for the life of her.  so she got a sweet boxed wine hat and a lovely garbage bag jacket (which is totally last season) for her efforts.  or lack of efforts.  either way - she looks fucking ridiculous.

shitler added some pubes.  in case you were wondering what that patch of something is.

4. laid back.  with my mind on my money and my money on my mind.

like a boss.  in her cadillac.

5. and because i want to leave you with something super inspirational for the weekend.  
and also give you more of a glimpse into the incredibly loving relationship that is mine and shitler's.

drinking with a side of camping: part two

day one, night two.
bong more alcohol.
because sleep is for pussies.

then burn a bunch of shit.

somewhere in the middle of all of this we eat something.  

but then back to bonging.

then find our hats.

oh, fuck the hats.  more bonging.

feel like fucking champions.

worship a false idol.

then someone does the obligatory puking.
then everyone does the passing out.
then everyone hates their lives the next morning.

then we get excited for 2K13.

drinking with a side of camping: part uno (which is spanish for the number one)

i'm going to tell you a story.
about camping.  
we do it every year.  and we all get super excited about it and then we drink an unhealthy amount and hate everyone in the world by sunday (which i suppose is par for the course on like every weekend).  so i thought maybe you would want to see some pictures.  because they're terribly awesome.  
but there are a lot.  
so there might be like two installments.  
or maybe three.  
i'm not sure.

night one.
set up camp.  
which includes unloading all the useless crap someone bought from goodwill.

then proceed to party with some ridiculous hats someone also bought from goodwill.

then rejoice because someone brought ninety hot dogs.

then celebrate the hot dogs with bonging beer and boxed wines.

then do unspeakable things to the barbies with the hot dogs.

then laugh about it.

then continue celebrating.

my liver just cramped up reliving this.

Textual Feeling: Nonsensical Babbling

shitler and i had this conversation while in bed the other night.

i still don't know what it means.

shitler: i'm going to scratch pet you.
me: what the fuck does that mean?
shitler: scratch pets.
me: i feel like that would be more effective with steel wool.  whatever it is.
shitler: my dick is called steel pole.

i feel like he's trying to give me his steel pole in the middle of boxed wine bonging.

Textual Feeling: B's B-Day!

in trying to honor b on the day of his birth and his cursed existence in my life since i encountered him however many years ago - i give you these:

***

me: i had asparagus with dinner last night and my pee has smelled alllll day.
b: i love when that happens.

***

b: why aren't we supposed to cry over spilled milk?  if not cleaned up properly, spilled milk can get pretty nasty.  that seems like something to cry over.

------ (this is me ignoring him)

b: 

------ (this is me ignoring him again)

b:



------ (me ignoring him)

b: EVENTUALLY YOU WILL RESPOND TO ME.
me: those are old news bitch.
b: la dee da.  i just had them sent to me.  sorry for thinking you'd enjoy them too.  now answer my question.
me: i guess my answer would be that i wouldn't give a shit because a dog or cat would lick it up and it wouldn't be my fucking problem anymore.
b: why are you so bitchy today?
me: i need a drink.

***

b: well, it's what she wants.
me: all that she wants?
b: you got it.
me: what about another baby?
b: that's me.  duh.
me: quit being obtuse and acknowledge my ace of base reference.
b: nope.  i refuse to give you that satisfaction.

***

so here's to b.  on his fucking bday.  

here's to many more times we get hammered and make poor choices while shitler judges us, to hours spent watching "my cat from hell," and to discussing books and how much we love them in front of shitler till his head explodes.  

to vodka presses (with lime -because if you prefer them without - odds are you're a fucking communist) and john daly's, and ranch dressing on the thighs of hot girls.

to daring me to steal shit when i get drunk out of my skull, to encouraging you to drunk dial people and leave embarrassing messages, and most importantly - here's to poor-decision making (especially on your bday).

The Fucking Trepidation Takes Over

today is the day.
the day i eat and drink my face off. 
and while i was initially very excited - i'm now terrified. 
terrified for how shit-tastic i will feel.
terrified for the hangover.
bear with me.  i've been eating shit like this for the last 75 days:

i've been fantasizing about this each and every day since i've started this diet:

i'm not even exaggerating about thinking about tacos everyday.  just ask shitler.  if i remembered what i dreamt about every night i bet it would be about tacos.
so tonight i feast.
while i'm sure it will be partly glorious, i'm convinced it will be mostly awful on my body and liver and i'll want to die.
so to recap.
orginially, i felt like this:

now it's more like this: