mornings used to be my friend

can we talk about mornings? this is my daily alarm situation.

monday through friday - that's my reality.

but spoiler alert i never make it to the gym in the AM and a majority of the time i don't even bother showering.  and it's not for lack of trying.  because i really do try.  i roll over and inevitably hit snooze every eight minutes and totally think long and hard about getting up but alas i am never successful.  and what's even worse is that i'm at my most productive in the mornings.  like back in college it was like power paper writing from 6AM till noon and then after that all bets were off because soap operas were on and days of our lives was my jam (shawn d & belle 4EVA).  

but rainy mornings are especially hard because gloom and doom outside and cuddly border collies make getting out of my cocoon of comfort basically the hardest thing in the world.  because that was exactly my morning.  and then when i finally did get up (extremely late, by the way) i just kind of zombie-like plodded through my morning and the entire drive to work kind of felt like a dream.  especially when i pulled up along side of a gentleman reading his newspaper.  in the driver's seat.  waiting at the light to pull onto the expressway.  and really my only reaction was this:

but ideally i would love to be able to rouse my lazy ass out of bed in the morning and get working out done and out of the way.  i feel like having a wedding and needing to fit into my toga smock dress was motivation to like the millionth degree but now "being healthy because that's what adults do" is just seriously so un-motivating.  so now i'm just going to need other people to help me.  which is where ashten and this challenge come in.  girlfriend tweeted that she'd call me every morning and get my chubby (my words, not hers) ass out of bed for a work out.  i don't think she knows what she's gotten herself into but here's to hoping that this will help my chubby ass me.

also if you want to join us i think today is the last day to join the challenge and it's only five doll hairs so maybe just do it with me and then we can commiserate.

gym babbles

WELL HELLO TUESDAY. we meet again. 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.

an update about how hungry i am

hello world.
i thought i would come here and let you know that it's been twenty-one days since i've had a carb.  or anything booze related.  basically anything delicious.  and there's still 102 days left till i can have a carb.  or booze.  and basically my life sucks.  and yes i measure the quality of my life in terms of carbs and booze so lay off me.  because mainly i'm constantly fantasizing about food and/or watching shitler eat something delicious and then making him describe it to me in all sorts of food porn glory.
but i guess 102 more days of hellish no carb/no booze living is doable.  doable but terrible.
so quickly let me tell you something sad.
i was sick over the weekend and couldn't keep any food down/all the smells of food made me want to hurl.  and on saturday i tried to eat a sugar-free jell-o and i made it three bites in before i promptly upchucked said three bites (who throws up jell-o).  so for three days i ate nothing and wallowed in my own self-pity.  and then sunday night i felt slightly better and binge watched the following and defrosted some ground turkey because i got it in my head that i needed to have a turkey burger sans bun.  so i finished defrosting said ground turkey in the microwave and then dumped a bunch of stuff (like an egg) in a bowl and mashed it all together.  but my excitement for said turkey burgers sans bun quickly diminished when the consistency of the ground turkey revealed itself to be more mush like than solid like.  naturally i chose to ignore that fact and press on, forming the mush as best i could into patties, and plopping them on the george foreman.  the mushy patties looked like trash but i still had every intention of attempting to cook them.  so i closed the lid on the foreman and watched the grill sink all the way closed - as in straight down through the mush patties.  me, not being totally discouraged quite yet, chose to ignore that small bit and let it cook.  like "hey self - maybe it's not as bad as you know it really is."  after letting my mush patties cook for a bit i lifted the lid and everything was as terrible as i had tried to pretend it wasn't.  mental picture: imagine browning ground turkey on a george foreman.  because that's basically what i had done.  nothing was in patty form and i wanted to cry.  like seriously cry.  p.s. i should mention i also got my period so all things in the world were working against me.  so while shitler laughed maniacally at me from the living room i sadly scrapped my mushy turkey into the garbage, ate a sugar-free jell-o, and went to bed.
so that's my life.  full of hunger and disappointment.   and i can't even drink to cope with it.
dear vodka - i miss you and i'll see you soon-ish.

p.s.  sorry about this whole entire post because it's a bunch of garbage.

p.p.s.  the no carb/no booze has been slightly effective.  as in 11.3 pounds lost effective.  so at least there's that.

i do declare

why hello slut-puppies.
it is i (me?) - shannon.  whichever.  you get it.  i'm here.
this post really isn't going to have much of substance other than me officially announcing and dedicating an entire post to the fact that the buck will stop here.  and that buck being my jiggly, fat ass. without being one of those fucking freakwad chicks who only talk about, ZOMG THEIR WEDDING once they get engaged, i just need to highlight to the world that there's like six months till i will forever (hopefully) be mrs. shitler and i'd rather not have to look at my wedding pictures for the rest of my life and lament about how chubby i was.  
p.s. i have my wedding dress that i ordered online and i haven't even tried it on because i'm afraid that i'm too giant to fit into it.  HELP ME MY BRAIN DOESN'T WORK.
so basically i have a plan.  kind of.  because i'm also really bad at plans and follow through. i really wish it were as easy as i was musing about yesterday when it came to working out.

if i just do the miley twerk dance to the wop song every day for an hour from now until my wedding i should be in great shape, ya?
— shannon (@itgotweird) October 23, 2013

but anyway.  things too look forward to include but are not limited to:

• me not revealing my starting weight.  god no.  big ups if people are crazy enough to do that but i won't even let shitler know my weight so there's not a fat fucking chance i'm going to tell you internet people.
• hangry rating (obviously).
• one post a week that's diet and exercise related.  relax - that's for me.  you totally don't have to read it if you don't want and i want even blame you because that shit is lame.  but i'll probably post it on a sunday so when you guys have better things to do be doing (like living life) you can readily avoid it.
• goal setting - GASP OMG I KNOW WTF ARE THOSE.  i figure i should have some.  like small ones.
• rewards for mehself.  because i'll also deserve gifts i bought myself if i achieve even the most minor of goals.  thank you regina george.
  

so that's really what this post is about.  me telling you that i'm going on a diet for this fucking bullshit upcoming wedding.  and also that i'm going to need some help to keep me accountable.  like stand by for frantic texts needing you to tell me to put down the carbs.  because if this doesn't work i'm going to have to resort to illegal diet pills and laxatives.  and i feel like that could messy.  ew.

also this will be my life from now on.

a recap of boring things.

do you ever look at your pictures from the weekend and go "uhhh, that was it?"  
and then maybe get embarrassed because like all the photos are of food and dogs?  
and you swear to people that you're not pathetic but your photos certainly illustrate otherwise. 
well that was exactly the weekend.
shitler and i went on a date on saturday.  and by date i mean we went to the bar and ordered delicious food that probably isn't diet friend (like an alligator po boy) and then i worked and then i brought home $40 worth of sushi because that's the appropriate way to spend half of the tips you just made.  and then somewhere along the way i took like a thousand pictures of the mange hounds.  and then laughed my way through the grammys.  mainly because shitler accidentally got drunk and that's always entertaining.

the rest of the week doesn't look all that promising.
i should really do that thing where i start eating better and not being a fatass because now that the wedding date is booked it's like actually happening.  
but i'm also working like sixty hours this week.  fuck you very much valentine's day.

but how was your weekend?

how's the week look?

i juiced this morning. and it was terrible.

i crammed all of this into a juicer today.

it ended up looking like this.

and i still managed to choke it down.

it was only like half-way gross.
and this guy just stared at me the whole time.

i'm going to assume that's a look of pity.

asshole.

So Maybe We Could Band Together To Fight Crime. And By Crime I Mean The Fat In My Ass

so remember that one time i worked out all the time?

or that other time where i ate super healthy?

OR that insane time that i stopped drinking?

oh, and remember when i put them all together and did that crazy thing where i tried to basically live a not-so-toxic life?

well i fell off the wagon.  because now my life revolves around stuff like this:

 

   

drippy, ecto cooloer looking motherfucker

so i should probably do something about it.

and i should probably stop polishing off jars of pickles in my friend's homes.

and maybe i should stop laying on the couch so much.
or eating 6 bomb pops in one sitting.
or thinking that i should use that terrible sugary lemonade from the local gas station as vodka mixer.
OR day-dreaming about carbs and starch all day.

i guess what i'm saying is that i need to stop being such a damn pile of garbage.

so here goes nothing.again.

PS. i thought this was funny.  but instead of water - maybe it's vodka (which is the very thing that isn't helping my fat ass).

Slammin' Salmon. Not The Movie. Just What I Ate For Dinner.

have you ever tried to eat an entire pound of salmon?
if you haven't and you think that you want to try - i would advise against it.
unless you make it like this.

and then it turns out like this:

but note that after a probable failed attempt you will feel like you want to die. 
but the whole place will still smell like the delicious salmon you just made and you will think you're in heaven.  but you're really in hell.
so if you'd like you can dump all of the following in a pan and enjoy it yourself:
preheat your oven to 350 and in a greased pan put a pound of salmon and top it with a sliced red onion, one juiced lime, one juiced lemon, and a crapload of dill.  bake it for 25 minutes.  then proceed to eat till you puke.
also, it has been brought to my attention that the mange hounds don't like blinds.

and now you must excuse me - because if there's one thing i'm good at it's making poor choices.
oh, and not learning my lesson.
so the rest of that pound of salmon will be my bitch.  it.is.written.

Textual Feeling: No, You Can't Stick Your Finger In There

a quick aside.  in that my day is crap.  but then it gets a little bit better than crap.

when i was little and had pink eye or some other eye infection shit and needed eye drops put in my eyes - all bets were off.  one parent had to hold me still, while the other had to use their fingers to stretch out my eye and put the drops in.  then i would scream like they were dropping acid in my e yes.  to this day, i'm terrible with eye drops and anything eye-related.  which is why i don't wear contacts.  but then i don't always wear my glasses so then i get massive headaches and my eye sight just gets worse and worse.  but i just continue suffering rather than do something to remedy the situation.  like just wear my fucking glasses.

is this going somewhere, you ask?

yes.  it is.

for some fucked up reason i could not sleep last night.  it was awful.  the type of "you can't sleep" that has you staring at your significant other like you're going to murder them in their peaceful slumber because you're so goddamn jealous.  

anyway, i slept for an hour.  which was pointless and i should have just stayed up all night because the hour of sleep didn't do shit except make me crabby, whiny, and psychotic-looking with my red, irritated eyes.  

miraculously, i found eye drops in my purse.

and tried to administer them at my desk.

which was a terrible idea.

because i drained half the bottle because i keep freaking out and missing my eye and squirting it all over my face so it just looked like i was hysterically crying.  

happy fucking friday.

but then seriously.  happy fucking friday.  because i forgot i had this in the freezer:

[caption id="attachment_1657" align="aligncenter" width="1024" caption="but now i have gut rot. because i ate too much and too fast."][/caption]

b: sweet mullets?

me: i want to make cupcakes first.  i've had a rough day.

b: can i come over and stick my finger in your better?

me: butter or butthole?  i'm confused.  i'd be pissed either way.

b: batter.

me: no, i forbid it.

b: that's awfully ride.
b: rude.  goddammit!

me: good job.

Cupcakes, Champagne, and KFC

i called shitler this afternoon.  with a purpose.  to inform him what time we were going to my grandparents for dinner.  when he called me back - it was to tell me that he had KFC for lunch.  like i gave a shit.  he launched into the specifics of his meal.  

2 piece original recipe, macaroni and cheese, and a biscuit with honey.  

to which i reacted with disgust.

me: honey is gross.

shitler: no, it's not  it's good.  i didn't even know.  they didn't have any jam - so i was all, gimme some fucking honey!

me: i have to go back to work.  this has been a waste of my time.

shitler: i'm going to fucking kill you.

me: k, byyyyyyyyyyyyyyyye.

it's like he bluffs for a living.  and makes empty threats.  whatever.



it's not kfc - but it's liver sausage.  and i've never met anyone that loves it more than shitler does.  he would eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if he could.

but that's neither here nor there.  i'm going to make these cupcakes this weekend.  only because it gives me an excuse to buy champagne.  one bottle for cooking.  two or more for consumption.  a twitter/college friend is going to as well.  and then we will battle it out via pictures.  although i'm the most concerned with how much champagne she can consume.  and perhaps how many cupcakes she can eat without puking.  so stay tuned.

Thank You, Mrs. Seinfeld

seriously.

thank you, mrs. seinfeld - for these fucking cookies.  because they're delicious.  deceptively so.  check out her site here.




just ask shitler - who balked when he saw me dump a can of these into the mixer:



so, you should totally make them.  and then eat enough to make you want to kill yourself because your stomach hurts so bad.

ingredients:

• nonstick cooking spray


• 1 c. firmly packed light brown sugar


• 3/4 margarine spread


• 2 large egg whites


• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract


• 1 (15 oz) can chickpeas, drained and rinsed


• 2 c. semisweet chocolate chips


• 2 c. flour


• 1/2 c. old-fashioned oats


• 1 teaspoon baking soda


• 1/4 teaspoon salt

directions:

1. preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  coat a baking sheet with cooking spray.
2. in a large bowl or mixer bowl, beat the sugar and margarine until smooth.  beat in the egg whites and vanilla, then the chickpeas and chocolate chips.  add the flour, oats, baking soda, and salt, and mix on low speed until thick dough forms.
3. drop the dough by the tablespoon onto the baking sheet, spacing the cookies about 2 inches apart.  press gently with a fork to flatten.  bake until the cookies are golden brown, 11-13 minutes (i did mine for 13).  transfer to a rack to cool.



this creep stared at the whole time.  while shitler watched HIMYM.



and then we had fucking chicken patty sandwiches like we were back in high school.

The Night I Fell In Love With The Pampered Chef Mix 'N Chop

shitler makes fun of me because he says i never stick with anything.  i just get incredibly excited about something and go balls to the wall with it for two weeks, then lose interest and lay on the couch and watch television until something else sparks my interest and the whole process starts over again.
case in point - mini cucumber sandwiches.
a couple of week's ago my knocked up friend had a baby shower:

womb.creature.

at said baby shower there were mini cucumber sandwiches.  i forgot about about that until yesterday when i had an overwhelming need to make them. 

it begins. leave all inappropriate comments below.

after i ate a loaf of pumpkernickel mini cucumber sandwiches and got gut rot - i laid on the couch and watched five hours of once upon a time.  but then i remembered that i got one of those mix 'n chops so i immediately made a beeline for the ground turkey in the fridge and mixed and chopped to my heart's fucking content.

i promise that there isn't any hair in the turkey.  but if there was it wouldn't matter because you're not even eating it.  i am.  and it's my fucking hair.  no we're square.  but really, the mix 'n chop changed my life.  i will only accept ground beef/turkey recipes that require those meats to be mixed 'n chopped from here on out.
also - during this debacle i had to switch to rumchata as i polished off the rest of my vodka during the frantic-ness of making mini cuke sandwiches.
chuck muscled his way in.  dick.

i suppose the moral of the story is that i will eat mini cucumber sandwiches and use my mix 'n chop for the next week or so and then i will forget about it.  upon which i will find something else to wildly obsess about for a short period of time.

Tumor Muffin Cometh.

here i stand.  i can do no other.
martin luther said that.
but i'm not standing.  i'm sitting.
because i'm weak. 
this weekend was hard on my mind, body, and soul.
it began with this:

i got so excited when my entrée came that i immediately shoveled it into my mouth without taking a picture. 
i make no apologies.  that shrimp and crab cannelloni was orgasmic.
nothing got too out of hand, thank god, which is surprising considered i packed in 5 drinks and 3 shots.

i'm currently in a food and alcohol comatose state.
monday i resume my diet and i could not be more excited for that.
in the meantime i've managed to pack in the following:

it looks like i'm obsessed with breakfast foods.
but in reality - i'm just obsessed with all food.
like this:

or inappropriate things like these:

b and i are working on murdering this:

well, with that, i must bid thee farewell.
i have a lot of drinking and bad decisions to fit into a single afternoon.
wish me luck.