The Morning After

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.

My Picture-Perfect Relationship

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

I Smile Grimace at Style

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...).

My Long, Lost Friend

In one of my previous posts, I wrote about some random number in Michigan who kept sending me picture texts.

The last text I had received from them was waaaaaaaay back in August. Yet, today, as I was cleaning, my phone vibrates. Seriously wondering who would text me in the wee hours of the morning (11:00 AM), I'm hesitant to look at the text I'd received. Much to my surprise and sheer delight, it was Random Michigan Number!!! Oh, how I've missed thee and the excitement thou brings into my life.

Their text:

Lunch at Sushi Thai in Cary NC

I don't know why Random Michigan Number feels the need to share with me everywhere they eat. They probably know that I enjoy eating from the fact that I named my cat after chocolate, but then again, I don't know. Maybe they send a mass text message to everyone in their contact list bragging about everywhere they've eaten in the country. And somehow, I'm in their contacts. Fine by me, whatever floats your boat...

My reply text:

Skittles Lunch in Bed

Their next text: Omigosh!
Guess I won't be hearing from Random Michigan Number again for a long while (give or take 6 months). 'Til next time...and I must say, I'm really looking forward to a picture of a grilled cheese sandwich with the caption Lunch in Hawaii. Because only then would I be jealous.

RMN sent me another picture--in less than 6 months, too. :) I think (s)he may just ♥ me.

A Big, Fat Thumbs Up

What's not to love about Megan Fox? She is an attractive young lady (with good morals, I'm sure), is...uh...in movies, and...she's foxy (pun intended). Well, guess what, I can relate to her. We're basically, like, the same person because of one thing--no, not because we both (ironically) didn't make the cut for People's "100 Most Beautiful" people of the year edition (pshh, I don't care that I wasn't chosen. It's not as if I need a magazine to tell me who's beautiful. I can just look in the mirror for that). What connection do I have to Megan Fox, then? It's simple: Our thumbs. Love thumbody? Yes, I do.

I never thought that thumbs were a big deal. I mean, they only make life easier by helping you hold or grip things, so, seriously, what's the big deal? But this story if totally opposite for Megan. Her thumbs are, apparently, her downfall. Her thumb problem has guys now giving her a rating of 8.4/10 instead of 9.8/10! Oh, the horror. And, well, no one cares what my thumbs look like (heck, even I don't).

I thought that I was the only person in the world with my kind of thumbs--which, in a way, made me unique. Thumbs up, Shannon. But, then, during my freshman year at BYU, I met another girl who had thumbs that looked like mine. Whaaaaaaaaaaa? To make the situation even more confusing, this girl and I were both born on the same day of the same year. Whaaaaaaaaaa? So, then I started to try and figure out this weird-looking-thumb-situation and try to make sense out of the whole thing. The only reasonable conclusion in my mind was that only people who were born on my birthday have my kind of thumbs. Then, Megan Fox had to come along and expose to the world her thumbs. Thanks for stealing the limelight, Megan.

I don't watch football, but I guess during a 2010 Superbowl commercial, Megan starred in a Motorola ad, along with her fine acting skills. What's this have to do with thumbs? Well, from what I read the next day on the ever informative Yahoo! news, Motorola had hired a hand model to replace Megan's up-close hand shots. Why? Because if the public saw what Megan's thumbs really looked like, they'd focus more on her thumbs than on the phone they were trying to sell. Way to steal the limelight from everyone, Megan, geez. This Yahoo! article also informed me what exactly type of thumbs I have. I just thought they were Shannon-and-people-born-on-Shannon's-birthday thumbs, but I found out there's a technical name: Brachydactyly. To make it simple, it means our thumbs look like this:

Our thumbs are short and fat!

Just because we have alien thumbs doesn't mean we have a green thumb. But it does mean that we are experts at pushing thumbtacks into the wall. And we're also good at...oh, I don't know. How about this scenario: your friend is hammering a nail into the floor, but the hammer accidentally slips and instead of hitting the nail on the head, it hits your friend's thumb. Now your friend is probably walking around with a huge swollen thumb. Well, I'm good at looking like I have a huge swollen thumb, without actually hitting my thumb with a hammer. It's not even painful.

However, it's still easier to think of things we're not very skillful at (like texting, my thumb is too fat to fit on one button. My text recipients usually get results like: qr0qy#i0 instead of: hi how r u). Uh, having fat thumbs also makes it difficult to bowl. Yeah, sometimes my thumb gets stuck in the ball. Yeah...it really happens. Annnnd, I can't even do sign language. Uh, every time a student in my class farted, and I signed to them asking if they needed the bathroom, the kids probably thought I was shaking my fist at them in anger (my thumb is too short to even show up between my fingers). Makes sense. Unfortunately, I recognized that my dream of ever becoming a rock star fell flat (not B-flatflat, either) when I finished my growth spurt and realized that my hands would always be the size of a fourth grader's. In fact, I stopped taking piano lessons after three years because once I got into the hard stuff, my thumbs didn't have the ability to reach the needed keys. Looking on the bright side, I guess I could always play the ukulele for my music career. Sadly, though, I think this instrument is still too massive for my fingers and thumb.

But, still, the only reason I didn't make People's 100 Most Beautiful list is just because my thumbs are holding me back. I have to quote The Rolling Stones and say to People:

Under my thumb

[are] the [people] who once pushed me around

(and I hope it hurt being squished by my sausages. m.wp0###y0. [Dang you.])

Suga Moma

I was just perusing through some old emails, reminiscing on good (and bad) times. My email is like a treasure trove of Shannon-ness. No, really. I've had the same email address since I was, like, 13, so just by browsing, you can easily see how I've grown in maturity (but not in height) within the past twelve years. Nah, not really. Anyways, as I was scrolling through the past decade of my life, I found an old email of a text conversation that I had with a random stranger. Apparently people mistakenly text me a lot? And apparently I like to act like I know these people who mistakenly text me? And apparently I like to save these weird little conversations that I have with strangers? Yes, yes, and uh-huuuuh. They (*cough, cough* meaning my parents) don't call me Shenanigans for nothin'.

August 2007:

Strange Number: How is jr. high so far? whats your favorite class? -aunt michl

Me: PE cuz I like all the eye candy

SN: ben!!! :)

Me: ssshhh, dont tell my parents...

SN: dont worry! its our secret!

Me: thanks youre da best! did i tell u i have a gf?

SN: no...is she cute? whats her name?

Me: yah i wouldnt date someone whos uuuugly...her name is ashley but were not official yet. we only been out once.

SN: blond? brown? black hair? long or short? eye color? maybe you should send a pic

Me: shes my suga moma

(attached was this picture):


Welp, I never heard from Aunt Michl again. I guess she thought Ben's girlfriend had flunked 8th grade one too many times...

Don't worry, Grandma, you're still hot! Just ask your friends on Hotornot! And your Hotornot friends wouldn't even care if, or how many times you've flunked 8th grade...because they think you're tasty just like that corndog you're eating. Mmm-hmm.

Sidenote: I got this approved by Grams before posting it. I told her that she was a "sugar mama," to which she replied, "Yeah, I am." Haha. Love you, Grandma!

Cha-Cha-Cha!

Yesterday I was contemplating something of utmost importance: why is there a North and South Carolina, a North and South Dakota, but only a West Virginia and Virginia? Why no East Virginia (if you have the answer to this feel free to tell me)? Usually when I have awesome questions like this I will ask ChaCha (Text your questions to 242-242 for FREE answers!) because 1) I'm too lazy to get on the computer, or 2) there's no computer nearby to look up a question. But lately, I've been disappointed with ChaCha--it's like there's not even a person on the other end of my question answering, it's more like a computer that just goes to Google and types in one keyword from your question.

The last intelligent question I happened to ask ChaCha was What's Justin Long's date of birth? Now, this may not seem like a big deal if I don't get the correct answer to it, but I wanted to know how old he was. See, a friend and I had been talking and she said she thought Long was like, 25 and I thought he was exactly 32. The only obvious way to resolve our question was to look to ChaCha to enlighten us! Anyways, so ChaCha responds with Justin Bieber was born on March 1, 1994. ChaCha again soon! Umm...nowhere in my text did I write "Bieber." How the heck did they get that mixed up? Okay, so it may be a confusing question to some, since Justin is a common name and everything...so, I respond to ChaCha by asking them my original question again. They then responded that they did not understand what I was asking. I told them that it's a very simple question and to just google Justin Long's birthday. FINALLY. There is ONE smart person who works for ChaCha who was able to give me my answer (turns out he IS 32...I win!).

Justin Long/ Justin Bieber.

On a separate occasion, I was really wondering whether Dr. Seuss was indeed a doctor. Naturally, I asked ChaCha. Their response: Theodor Seuss Geisel, known as Dr. Seuss, was born in Springfield, Massachusetts. Well, thanks for the info, but it doesn't quite answer my question...so, I ask the same question again. They then give me the same answer. Repeat step 1 about five times. Then, finally, a smart ChaCha person comes along to my question and gives me a satisfactory answer (in case you're wondering whether Seuss was in fact a doctor): No, he wasn't a doctor. He went to Lincoln College, Oxford, intending to earn a Doctor of Philosophy in English literature. At Oxford, he met his future wife, married her, and returned to the US without earning a degree. And who cares that he's not REALLY a doctor?! He still has Dr. as part of his name! On a sidenote: like, the next day after asking this question, I saw some guy wearing a cool shirt about "Doctor" Seuss (pictured below). I almost shared my new learned knowledge with him that his shirt was a blatant LIE. But instead, I ended up taking a picture of the guy's shirt, because, I have to admit, that shirt was a classic. So, I was nice and let the guy live his life believing that Dr. Seuss was really a doctor. Life is so much better when you're naive.

Even though ChaCha isn't 100% reliable for factual answers, you can still ask an open question where you just want an opinion. ChaCha can be fun to text for this option. Your challenge: text 242-242 and ask Are you dumb? or Is the Book of Mormon true? or Are cats or dogs better? because some of their answers are fun...only if you're bored, though. Like, if you're on a bus ride, are waiting at the airport, or are sitting in Calculus, because these situations=no fun.

Chacha on! Thanks for using ChaCha! ChaCha!

OMG R U 4 Realz?

Texting: The new talking. I'm not against texting, in fact, I kind of like it. I mean, talking on the phone can be a pain...just take a look at this. With texting you can just say what you need to say without having to do all the dreaded small talk only to find out what your friend's new puppy, Maggie Mae, slobbered on today, whose butt Maggie Mae sniffed, or what kind of Kibbles 'n Bits is Maggie Mae's favorite flavor. And say if Maggie Mae's new owner happened to text you about Maggie Mae's new "trick" of being able to "play dead," you simply don't need to respond--that's the beauty of it. However, there is also a beast to this beautiful invention of texting--the way it has taken over our spelling, grammar, and punctuation.

If you can spell you automatically get bonus points from me, but all 2 often i c ppl type like dis on da compu & it annoys da heck outta me. lol. its fine 4 when ur txting bc dat takes 4eva on da fone 2 type but on da compu there is no need 4 it. omg. lmao...

On a happy thought: Doesn't your heart glow when you get a text? I know mine does. As soon as I hear the Seinfeld theme song make its round from my phone, I know that I am loved (because, hellooooo, I just received a text...and apparently, if someone texts you, you're loved). Anyways, a few weeks ago, I received a text from someone who had a Michigan area code. Random. They obviously had the wrong number when they were sending me picture messages (but who knows, they could just be sending pictures to made-up numbers out of sheer boredom). I'm one of those people where if you text me accidentally, I'll just text you back as if I know you--it keeps my life exciting. Our conversation went like this:

Them: Here we are at Caesars Palace! (Attached: picture of a hotel, obviously in Vegas)
Me: Here we are in the kitchen! (Attached: picture of my kitchen...)

Them: Good morning from Las Vegas! (Attached: picture of a sunrise)
Me: Good afternoon from our home! (Attached: picture of the Utah mountains)

Them: Breakfast at The French Laundry (Attached: picture of...a sunflower)
Me: Dinner at The Hidden Cottage [my home is referred to this name by my parents] (Attached: picture of some fake tulips)



  THEM                                                                                ME

Jamie the electric border collie

Truffles the chocolate kitty

If they kept texting me over a series of a couple of weeks because they seriously thought I was Sally's son's hairdresser's cousin's dogsitter, well they got a group of mind-boggling pictures, then. And if they were then frantically trying to identify who I could be based on the pictures I sent, well, good luck with that! You might want to try calling next time. But if they were just sending random texts to a random person because they were bored to tears and couldn't think of anything better to do (while in Vegas), then this is all I have to say to them:  
Congratulations! You're cool!

To see more random texts from Random Michigan Number, click here.