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Saturday, December 18, 2010

T3- Reasons to Be Nice To Vegetarians :)

Hello reader-folk! I'm still here; don't worry! I'm just a day or two late...we're doing T3 on Saturday this week and I'm sure everyone understands- the holiday season is chaotic and stressful! I didn't even know that it wasn't Thursday until about 2 minutes ago. 

Anyway, just to clarify one important fact about myself and today's post, I don't push my beliefs on people; I absolutely respect the power of individual opinion and I'd never try to change someone's stance on things, except for respecting my opinions and beliefs.  I know that today's title might throw some of you off, but I just want to plead my case on my new-ish lifestyle change. I've been a vegetarian for almost two months now; I feel amazing and this decision has absolutely changed my life. Unfortunately, I've gotten a lot of shit about this decision from family, friends, and acquaintances- this is irritating and I'd like to stand up for myself in my favorite way. Here's why you should be nice to vegetarians (especially this one):

1.)  I'm not doing this for cows- I'm doing this for myself. I love cute, baby chickens as much as the next lady, but this change has gone beyond moral justification. I'm sick of being a typical burger chow-hound, I'm sick of giving into the corporate bullshit, and I'm sick of being a fat, lazy American that eats an average of 260 POUNDS OF MEAT PER YEAR. Companies are lying to consumers about what they put into their product, about how to manufacture their product, and about how they treat their employees. Why would I support that? Why have I supported that for 19 years? I'm taking a stand FOR MYSELF and finally saying 'no' to corporations that have been pumping me with growth hormones and poisons for my entire life.  Here's a nasty-ass fact for you: in the 1960's, chickens took 90 days to develop entirely; today, chickens raised for Tyson only take 43 days. The chickens' muscles grow too quickly for their bones and organs to support, so very few can walk away from their own feces while they're eating. Chickens raised for Tyson never see daylight.

2.) We're helping the environment- Someone told me once that using hairspray was destroying the environment. Here's what I have to say them: Shutup, jerk. Your cheeseburger is killing the environment more than my hairspray, more than cutting down trees, and more than TRANSPORTATION. Suck that, Hairspray-Nazi. Here's an excerpt from "Rethinking the Meat Guzzler", a New York Times article:

"An estimated 30 percent of the earth’s ice-free land is directly or indirectly involved in livestock production, according to the United Nation’s Food and Agriculture Organization, which also estimates that livestock production generates nearly a fifth of the world’s greenhouse gases — more than transportation."
3.)  I feel incredible- I haven't felt this physically-well in my entire life. I have more energy, my skin looks better, I'm losing weight, I sleep better, I poop easier, I save money at the grocery store (according to statistics I will save approximately $4000 per year), and the only thing that gets abused for my dinner is spinach and carrots. Replacing cheeseburgers and hormone-rich steaks with vegetables and natural proteins is the best decision I've ever made. Hell, I'm even willing to put up with ridicule just for the way that I feel now. 

Those are only the top 3 reasons I think people should be more accepting of vegetarianism. This lifestyle is frowned upon in our society and it makes absolutely no sense. At least I know what is going into my food and I know that there is only one carrot in my one carrot and not 1,000 different cows in my one cheeseburger. I'm not standing here with a picket sign telling you not to eat meat; I just want respect for my decision. Quit judging, open your mind, do some research, and show some respect.




Oh, and have a wonderful day :) I love my readers! Thank you all for your support!

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Beer+Bread=Oh My.

As if beer and bread by itself isn't delicious enough, mixing it together is basically too good to be true. Do it anyway!

Beer Bread Recipe*:
  • 1 Can Preferred Beer (I recommend Fat Tire)
  • 3 Cups Self-Rising Flour
  • 3 Tbsp. Sugar
Preheat oven to 350 degrees, mix all ingredients in large bowl, spray bread pan with non-stick cooking spray, empty contents into pan, bake for approximately 1 hour.

*Recipe compliments of my lovely friend, Amy :)

It's okay guys, we can be fat together!

Thursday, December 9, 2010

T3- Holiday Edition!

SURPRISE! You may say I'm a little late, but I think I have pretty great timing! The holidays are stressful, you know, and what's better for stress than laughing at someone and their lame attempts to be funny! Because there is nothing funnier and more awkward than the holiday season in my home, I figure I'll share some tales from the years past- I will be writing about the three worst Christmas presents I've ever received.

#1) A Christmas on the Homestead- My Great Aunt Norma and Great Aunt Karen are two of the most wonderful women I've ever met and I'm positive that most people would agree with that. They're sweet, creative, and they make some very beautiful things, like quilts, Christmas ornaments, and pot holders. Since my sister and I have progressed into adulthood, we usually find a simple card with a $10 bill stuffed into the envelope, but in our younger years, I think our aunts knew that if they made it, we'd be forced to wear it with a smile on our faces. When I was 6 years old, a large package arrived a few days before Christmas and it was specifically addressed to Alyssa and I; we were excited. My dad must have known its contents because he had his patented "Dad Smirk" going on over on the sidelines, anticipating the sheer embarrassment that would haunt us for years to come. We shredded the box with glee, waiting for copious amounts of toys, candy, and fun hiding in the bottom of the cardboard. There we found two white bonnets with floral pattern, paired with matching aprons for each of us. Suited up in our homestead gear and dreading the day when someone else would see the photo, we faked a smile and acted like the miniature housewives we were dressed to be. As I'm complaining about this gift, I remember that I asked my sister for an apron this year...

#2) The Sweater Heard 'Round the World- Grannies give the best presents: they get you the things mom won't, they spend half of their retirement money to make you smile, and they don't quite understand when gifts are not a good idea. Grannies aren't perfect though...they make mistakes just like the rest of us. When I was 8 years old, my sister and I were playing with our Hot Wheels in the living room when my mom brought out two identically wrapped packages and placed them under the tree. Immediately after she had left the room, we were shaking, smelling, and weighing the packages to guess their contents; the package was jingling. "Everything that jingles is fucking awesome", I said to my sister, "Granny gives better presents than mom, so I'm opening this bitch first." A few days later on Christmas, that is exactly what I did...just like the stupid, little bastard I was. Made with dark black, very fuzzy yarn, laid a knitted sweater in the bottom of my box. Picking the lump of fabric up with hesitation and fear, I unfolded the mystery. Two pointy ears, two giant eyes, a little pink nose, and a curved smile sat above a jingly bell: I was holding a kitty-cat sweater. I met my sister's eyes with horror when I realized what had just happened. "Put it on, put it on, put it on", my mother cooed, "I want to take a picture for your Granny!" Alyssa and I came tromping out of our bedroom, jingling like two awkward-looking, scrawny, rejected reindeer with frowns on or faces. "Meowwww", we mumbled as my mother snapped the photo.

#3) Hindsight is always 20/20- I resent that 10 years ago, this gift would have made my "Best Gifts Ever" list. As I unwrapped the small shirt-box, I was expecting a sweater or a pair of jeans from JC Penney like every other box under the tree probably contained. When I pulled the denim overalls out of the box, I was immediately stoked, but as I unfolded them and discovered the Looney Toons embellishments lining the pockets and straps, I peed my pants in excitement. "I am going to be the coolest girl in all of third grade", I said outloud, "I'll wear my hair in pigtails and I'll wear my favorite purple t-shirt underneath". When I see pictures of me wearing these Tweety Bird overalls, I cannot help but cringe. A comforting fact is that I recognize the distaste of Looney Toons (or Disney) embellished clothing and I'd rather view photos of myself at 10 years old wearing it than be seen in a Walmart wearing the same pair at 30 years old. 

These are all bad gifts, but they must have had some kind of meaning because I still remember every detail to this day. The truth is that sometimes a thoughtful, ugly gift is much more meaningful than a gift card or some body spray from the dollar store. And in regards to grannies, they must be able to predict the future...how did she know I'd grow up to be a cat lady?


Happy Holidays, everyone. Welcome back! :)

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Twenty Before 20 Novel Progress

It was too cluttered in the original Twenty post to keep track of all of the novels I've read so far, so I decided to make a separate post designated for that. It's not like I don't have at least ten posts just about books anyway...it's expected when you are unemployed and live with your cats. Here we go!


Autobiography of a Fat Bride- Laurie Notaro
The Flaming Tantrum of Death- Laurie Notaro
One for the Money- Janet Evanovich
Two for the Dough- Janet Evanovich
Three to Get Deadly- Janet Evanovich
Four to Score- Janet Evanovich
A Million Little Pieces- James Frey 


Oh boy, I have a lot to do before my birthday. Because I've read all of these in the past month, it seems like I've done far much more than I actually have. Everyone already knows I'm a slacker though; I don't have an image to uphold anymore, but LOOK AT ME BLOGGING RIGHT NOW! High fives all around! :)

Monday, November 15, 2010

Apology Monday!

Hello beloved readers!
As we all know, I really suck at blogging. Here is my official apology though: I’m sorry. I’m moving this week and I will have consistent internet-access as soon as that happens, so I swear on my cats’ lives that I will be blogging more frequently than I have been. To be completely honest, the most exciting thing that has happened lately the speeding ticket I got last month. I really don’t even know what I would write about anymore, but I will figure something out soon. Please don’t give up on me!

-Shelby

Sunday, October 10, 2010

I'm Worth Quite a Bit!

Nothing makes you feel really valuable quite like hearing someone say "I wouldn't trade you for a young mule". Apparently that's an 86-year old man's version of a compliment these days. Thanks, Uncle Jay...I'm glad that I'm worth more to you than a young mule, especially considering that you live in an apartment and I really don't know where you'd put a cat, let alone a donkey. I wouldn't trade you for a young mule either.

Agnes Rose

Readers, I introduce you to Agnes Rose. Miss Rose is the portion of my personality that closely resembles that of an eighty-year old woman; this proponent of my personality is so dominant that I believe it deserves to be acknowledged, but calling it “the old lady in me” sounds a bit dirty.

I attribute many things in my life to my hidden-senility, including: 
  • My love of felines. 
  • My distaste of 90% of today’s youth. 
  • My sub-par driving abilities. 
  • My poor eyesight. 
  • My adoration of Betty White. 
  • My compatibility with other elderly women. 
  • My attachment to old books and photographs. 
  • My addiction to yard-sales and clearance racks. 
To be completely honest, if I was given the chance to spend time with only one generation for the rest of my days, I’d choose the elderly without any other considerations. Sure, they repeat almost everything they say and they cannot operate a remote control or anything that requires electrical current, but if you want an honest, pure, and interesting group of people, you’ve got it.  

I spent at least 90% of my childhood summers sitting in nursing homes with whichever family member was residing in Glen Haven at the time. It’s not exactly how most children dreamt of using their time away from school, but I never minded it at all; in fact, I probably learned more at the Home than I did in school. Nursing homes really aren’t so bad: it was always like a party with all of my favorite people, actually. The food wasn’t terrible, the air conditioning was always functioning correctly, and almost everyone was happy to see an eight-year old, Dorothy Hammil look-a-like running around in Tweety Bird overalls.  

I think Agnes has been brewing inside of my personality for quite some time; probably since my days of green jello in the Haven cafeteria and Sunday morning bingo in the lobby. The truth is that I’d give anything to turn back time for a day: sit in the pleather recliner, listen to stories that have no relevance to anything in today’s world, and hug each of the loved ones that I’ve lost over the years just one more time.  

I am the way I am because when I was eight, my best friends were all at least sixty-five and couldn’t chew large pieces of food very easily. They taught me how to treat people with compassion, they taught me to always stand up for what I believe in, and they taught me that you should never pay for something new when you can find it cheaper at a thrift store. Agnes is a compilation of the many years I spent with my favorite people: my Granny Sara, Papa Sarge, Grandpa Hall, and Aunty Evelyn. This month makes five years (ten for Gramps) since I’ve lost them all, but I am reminded everyday that they’re in my heart because of the instantaneous U-turn I make when I pass a yard sale sign.  

I miss you so very much. Thank you for all you taught me. 






Thursday, October 7, 2010

Welcome Back, T3!

Happy Thursday, everyone! For most of you responsible, mature adults with jobs, Thursday is a very special day because that means you only have one day left until the weekend that you've been looking forward to since Monday morning. Thursdays are also a very special day on this blog because I get to pick three things to whine and complain about...which is actually pretty easy for me to do! Let's get started!

1) Finding someone else's pornography stash- "Wow, Shelby really just threw that one out there, didn't she?!" Yes, yes she did. The only thing worse than finding someone else's porno vault is when that person is: A) a relative, B) an old man, C) married to your grandmother, D) all of the above. Yes I am inappropriate and creepy for opening today's post with tales of grandpa's spank bank, but at least you aren't me. At least you didn't have to see it. 

2) Motorcycles- When a 25-year old, dark-haired, muscular man is attached to one of these two-wheeled death machines, I can almost appreciate what motorcycles bring to the world. Other than that, these things serve no purpose but killing people and causing me to have severe anxiety attacks when someone convinces me to strap myself to the back of one. I rode one yesterday for the first time in years and quite frankly, I don't know if that will ever happen again. I am okay...there was no accident or almost-accident, but when I asked where the seatbelt was and all I got was laughter, it made me a little uncomfortable.

3) Traveling by plane- It's faster, it's more efficient, and you're actually more likely to die on the way to the airport than you are while you're mid-flight. I don't give a fat shit about any of these things. My four-hour flight for paradise left at 12:55 AM out of Denver International Airport on Monday. I had a four hour layover in Charlotte, where I slept on urine-stained carpet, and then I had an hour and a half flight into Birmingham where my lovely grandmother greeted me. I reasoned that I could sleep during my first flight since I would absolutely be exhausted and probably wouldn't have the mental capacity to think about plummeting to my death as the plane exploded. This was before I discovered that I was seated next to a John Goodman look-a-like that obviously had a foreign object lodged in his nasal cavity, causing the loudest snoring I have ever fathomed. My flight was complete with 8 snoring men, 4 crying babies, and 12 catty women...all in a 4 or 5 row radius of my seat. Plummeting to my death didn't seem so bad after an hour or so. Somehow I always forget how much I hate flying once it's over, because I almost always elect to fly when I go on vacation. I almost always regret it, also.


I have a surprise for everyone! I am offering a guest post slot to Mr. John Hall, music producer, sometime in the next week or so. Mr. Hall has been married to my grandmother for almost 15 years and has extensive knowledge about everything there is to know about anything EVER, so it will most certainly be a treat for all who read his article. I'll probably give him free reign to write about whatever he chooses, and if it goes well, I will be recruiting my other wonderful, Southern family members for guest slots while I am vacationing here. This is something you will want to read, guys. Trust me.


Happy [almost] Weekend! 

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Dearest Domers

Dearest Domers,
Allow me to introduce myself in case everyone forgot: I'm Shelby! I technically run this hot mess of a blog, but as we've all been observing for about a month, I am less than proficient at doing so. I can hardly apologize because I'm not so sorry at all, but I will explain myself since you all deserve it.

I got kidnapped 5 minutes after I wrote my last post on here. How does that feel, reader? You've been trash-talking me for the past few weeks because I'm "such an irresponsible blogger" and "I don't even deserve a place to write on a bathroom wall, let alone a prestigious blog like The Info-Dome". It's not my fault, you guys! I've been trapped in this ridiculous land where I have no responsibilities, no internet connection, and absolutely nothing to write about but my cats, the newest episode of Weeds, and what happens to men when they eat chili dogs. 

Don't worry, I escaped. I actually almost have interesting things to write about now, too, so that'll be happening tomorrow in celebration of Three Thing Thursday coming back into all of our lives! 

And you know what? None of you are allowed to be pissed off at me because I'm on vacation right now in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Why is that a reason not to be angry with me for being a shitty blogger? Because I'm getting great material here. Funny shit happens in the South. Things that Southern people don't think are funny, but things that normal people think are really, really funny. AND I slept on a urine stained, airport floor in Charlotte in order to get here and I did it JUST for all of you...JUST so you could have something to do at your job that you probably hate. You're welcome.

On a serious note, thank you all for being understanding. I'm not even sure who I'm talking to because if I subscribed to this blog, I would have stopped reading when I realized how unreliable the writer can be. I hope everyone is doing great! 

-Shelby

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

19 and Homesick

I miss eating dinner at a table.
I miss waking to the smell of coffee.
I miss the times when the staircase was the only distance between us.
I miss our puppy dog.
I miss our beautiful home.
I miss hearing you laugh and talk.
I miss when I could look at our pictures without tears in my eyes.
I miss the way I never had to make an appointment to see you.
I miss having someone to say goodnight to.
I miss our Sundays.
I miss my corner of the couch.
I miss home cooked meals.
I miss falling asleep next to the fireplace.
I miss the way I never felt lonely.
I miss the way you asked about my day.
I miss the way we talked more than once a week.
I miss never wondering where you are.
I miss when we were functionally dysfunctional.
I miss feeling protected and safe.
I miss the days I didn't worry about money.
I miss life before them.
I miss the days when you still cared about us more than anything.
I miss the times you told me that you were proud of me.
I miss when I wasn't ashamed to admit what we'd become.
I miss having a family.
 
I just want to go home.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Three Thing Thursday: Confessions

I’m going to mix today’s post up a bit due to boredom in my life and routine. Today is Three Thing Thursday: Confession Edition. On this second of September, you will learn of at least three facts that you did not already know about your’s truly.

1. My number one fear is that my car will be invaded by crows or other large birds while I am driving. Seriously. Imagine this before you judge me: you’re cruising along the highway at a steady 65 MPH in your lovely Subaru Outback, windows down, your favorite music flowing. “Oh this is just a lovely world we live in, isn’t it?” you think to yourself, but it’s not today because you’re about to get fucking attacked by a bird the size of your face. Its giant, flailing body enters your window in a frenzy and you begin to chuckle at the thought of a bird being the source of your demise, but this is no joke. This is serious. The bird begins to panic and attempt an escape, but neither of you are getting out of this alive. As you careen into oncoming traffic, the few seconds before your life comes to an end is filled with feathers and bird shit…how funny is this fear now, reader?

2. I eat frozen peas. Not weird? How about the fact that I eat them straight from the freezer? Yep, no cooking necessary for this delicious snacky-snack.

3. I have to take a drink of water in between every bite of food during a meal. I’ve done this for as long as I can remember and I can’t seem to break this weird little habit of mine. I usually drink at least three or four glasses of water during a meal because I just cannot continue eating unless I follow through with my pattern. Most people don’t notice that I do this, which is probably a good thing because everyone that’s ever taken note has made fun of me for it. This also contributes to how long it takes me to finish a full meal.

There are definitely more than three weird things about me that you don’t know, but these are my go-to answers for fun facts. I hope everyone is having a great week.

Enjoy the three day weekend!

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Tee-Three

When it doesn’t matter what day of the week it is, it is very difficult to keep track considering that I simply do not care whether it is Thursday, Monday, or Saturday; therefore, Three Thing Thursdays have pretty much fallen off the map. I am here to make up for my absence though! Nothing is really pissing me off anymore because I don’t have to waste 45+ hours a week in a place I dislike, but I am most determined to dig a few things out of the old info-dome. Annnd go:

1. Women With Mustaches- I inherited my facial hair from my father. Why lie about it? If I do not stay on top of it, I will end up with a full-blown mustache, but Jesus invented wax strips and tweezers for a reason and I’ll be damned if I go two weeks without fixing my unfortunate issue. Sure, waxing and tweezing can be painful, laser-treatment is expensive, and bleaching is bad for the environment or something, but nothing is worse than a woman with a mustache. Do you know how uncomfortable it is to have a conversation with bearded-females? Let me tell you something: it is physically impossible to make eye-contact with a she-beast…the mustache/side-burn combination definitely steals the attention. Females of the world, I beg you to manage your facial hair…for the sake of everyone around you, especially the man that has to wake up to that every morning.

2. Mold- I wish you were never invented.; you stink and I’m afraid to touch you. I think you’re really just an impatient jerk, actually…just because sometimes I forget to transition my laundry from the washer to the dryer, I forget to do dishes for two weeks, or I spill Febreeze on the floorboard of my car and leave it there, you think it’s okay to waltz on in and stink up the place? And the fact that you’re pretentious enough to creep on into my refrigerator and attack my three-week old lasagna really says something, too. You’re just a furry, smelly bastard.

3. Ring-Back Tones- Not only are they annoying, but these make me look like a moron. Just because you think that your new favorite song is the best and you need to share it with anyone that calls you is not an excuse for this kind of behavior. I just want to call you and figure out what kind time we’re going to the strip club later, but as soon as I hit ’call’, my entire evening has been ruined before I even know it. First I encounter shock as to why there is no ringing and then I enter a state of subconscious belt-it-out karaoke-style singing and then you answer the phone and I have to make a shitty attempt at covering up what was obviously occurring. Now I feel like an idiot and I’m going to hate you for the rest of my life just because you wanted to share your love of Journey with all of the people that call you for drugs. I hope my singing haunts you in your sleep, asshole.

Oooh oooh! Guess who starts school tonight! Shelby does! I’m really excited and nervous at the same time. I have my Space Maker and a Trapper Keeper all ready to go in my back pack by the front door! YAY! I’m going to take first day of school pictures, too. Hahaha!

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Opinion: Unemployment

One would assume that without a job, I could devote more time to my blog, but that is obviously a fictitious assumption. I’ve been really busy. Okay, in actuality, I’ve just been sleeping a lot, spending tons of time with my wonderful boyfriend, perfecting my already perfect Free Cell strategies, and making/selling hula hoops. With that said, I have two things to announce: 1) I am happier than I’ve ever been; 2) Getting laid off is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

For the past year and a half, I woke up with a strange feeling in my stomach and an impeding reminder in my mind that I would be going to work soon. I did not necessarily dislike my job; in fact, at one point I absolutely loved what I did for a living, but the basic truth is that it simply was not the right fit for me and the scary truth is that I overlooked that for monetary reasons. 45 hours a week, I sat in a chair that I did not belong in, impatiently watching the clock and counting down until I could leave. Weekends were failed attempts at escaping my occupation for two days: I dreaded Monday morning when I would have to return to work and could never actually enjoy my time off. For 15 months, I watched my peers enjoy their youth, I watched my stress-levels sky-rocket, I watched my mind progress to that of a 35-year old, and I lost sight of what matters most to me in my life: following my heart and doing what makes me happy.

The day I got laid off, I endured emotions ranging from confusion to anger to happiness- the truth is that I really wasn’t shocked about the company’s decision. I had anticipated this coming for a few months and I was almost relieved when it all was over. Initially, I was so worried about finances and my quality life that I didn’t notice the shift in my mind, body, and surroundings, but once I figured about my bank account realized that I don’t give a shit about money, I was overwhelmed with the way I felt. For the first time for as long as I can remember, I stopped worrying about my job…in fact, I stopped worrying about everything. I remember the day after I lost my job: I woke up around 9 o’clock, got ready for the day, and called boyfriend just to tell him that I was wearing jeans and flip-flops on a Tuesday for the first time in over a year.

For the past two weeks, I’ve slept, spent tons of quality time with people that I love, practiced yoga, gone grocery shopping, played video games, watched movies, sold hula-hoops, worn ripped jeans, and absolutely 100% enjoyed this time without a single concern.


I vow to myself that I will never again spend 33% of my life doing something that makes me so unhappy.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Junk-Food Goddess

For the first time since I turned fifteen-years old, I am officially unemployed.
I don’t really know what this means, so I’ve broken it down a bit:

I no longer have a job.
I don’t need to wake up before seven o‘clock (or noon for that matter).
I don’t have to act like I am 35-years old.
Business/casual dress is OUT of my life.
I have eaten Ramen noodles twice in the last 24-hour period.
I do not have access to Adobe Illustrator (sad!).
I get to spend more time with the people I love.
I am going to be making serious budget adjustments.
I’ve reconsidered my lack of television.
I can stop wasting 10 hours a day on something I dislike.
I have more time to focus on school.
I have more time to focus on things I like to do.
I now have no excuse for my shitty commitment to blogging.
I now realize that what I’ve feared for so long is actually a blessing.

Other than spending time with my wonderful boyfriend, today consisted of two things: junk food and television. When asked what I’d done with my day at one o’clock in the afternoon, I promptly responded with, “Well I showered earlier”. I think I’m doing pretty damn well, right? Some people would consider this the mourning stage after such a traumatic and depressing event, but I’m actually just being lazy. I embrace this inner junk food goddess that has emerged…Superman slippers, messy house, racecar pj’s, Ramen Noodles, and all…I’m a complete package, you guys!



Friday, August 6, 2010

Twenty before 20.

I honestly cannot believe that I’m turning twenty this year. It either seems like I should be turning seven or turning seventy-seven…I don’t feel twenty at all. Regardless, it’s going to happen in approximately twenty weeks and I have twenty very important things that I’d like to accomplish before I start this new decade in my life.


1. Paint my apartment.
2. Create something beautiful with the many, many paper cranes I’ve accumulated.
3. Pay off Queen Loretta Long Boobs (my car).
4. Lose twenty pounds.
5. Read twenty novels (see the progress post).
6. Complete my 60 Day Yoga Challenge.
7. Save $1,000 (about $200/month).
8. Complete my college courses with A’s.
9. Prepare twenty recipes I’ve never tried before (#1-Cheesy Zucchini Pizza).
10. Broaden my career horizons and quit fearing the loss of my job. (I got laid off).
11. Fire hoop for the very first time!
12. Ban processed foods for twenty days straight.
13. Camp on my hammock for a weekend.
14. Veg. out for an entire day (Pj’s, snuggly bed, TV, ice cream, etc.)
15. Visit a town I’ve never been to before.
16. Learn how to change the oil & spark plugs in my own car.
17. Cook the following: pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, and blueberry muffins (basically just 3 things that I’m craving at this very moment).
18. Learn to drive a vehicle with a manual transmission.
19. Go on a twenty-mile (or more) bike ride.
20. Take a really, really big risk (I don’t know what it’ll be, but hopefully I’ll know when I get to it).


I definitely have my work cut out for me, but by the time I get through this list, I’ll not only be older and wiser, but I’ll have gotten quite a few wonderful experiences under my belt. I’ll check items off as I accomplish them and add the details in (date, location, outcome, etc.), so check back every now and then to accompany me through my last few months as a 19-year old (:

Thursday, August 5, 2010

TGIT3

It's Thursday, which means the following: tomorrow is Friday, it is one day closer to the weekend, and I have things to bitch about on the internet. Let's just jump on into this thing, mmkay?

1. 'Check Engine' Lights- Listen here, you pretentious bastards, why can't you just tell me what the hell is wrong? Can't there just be a 'Your Spark Plugs Shit the Bed' light? Instead, you put on your vague, unhelpful, useless blink-blink just to make me nervous and start envisioning fiery explosions. Now I have to drive to AutoZone, talk to an awkward associate, and pay them to hook my car up to a computer just so I can hear the news that my 3 year-old spark plugs need to be changed. This is why I hate the automobile industry (along with the depreciation factor and the lack of U-turn signals on cars).

2. Washer-to-Dryer Transition- I always forget about you. It's not that you're not important because in actuality, you really, really are. It makes me so sad when I forget to switch my clothes from the washer to the dryer in a timely fashion. By the time I remember, usually two days later, the contents smell like stale air, mildew, and crunchy laundry detergent. At this point, you have no choice but to rewash and restart this unfortunate process. Sorry clothing, I'll see you in two days when I remember that I forgot about you again. Little do you know, I won't actually dry you for about 2 weeks because I'll just keep forgetting you until I have to remember because I have no panties left.

3. Your opinion- I don't want it.


All done (: Out with the bitching, in with the FRIDAY! You guys have a wonderful weekend. I have an exciting post tomorrow...I'm really looking forward to sharing it. PS: I apologize for the lack of illistrations- it is almost 10 o'clock and I'm a mega-granny and it is far beyond my bedtime.

Monday, August 2, 2010

I'm a Criminal.

Remember the “Compliment Sandwich” scene from Family Guy? If not, here’s a refresher: “Now, I'm going to do something I like to call the 'Compliment Sandwich" Where I say something good, talk about where you need improvement, and then end with something good. Okay...something good... something good...you look like SNOOPY and it makes me smile...but you have smelly dog farts.”

I’m going to fly solo this round because I live with my cats and the people in my apartment complex only have bad things to say about me (i.e. “you’re a weird cat lady”, “you hula hoop too loudly”, “you are the one that caused the pita fire”, “you ran over my vehicle”, etc.) . Ready, set, go!

Good: I make wonderful lasagna.
Bad: I have a difficult time staying up past 9:30 pm.
Good (potentially creepy): I smile at strangers.
Bad: My house is kind of messy.
Good: My cats have great names.
Bad: I have the attention span of a goldfish.
Good: I like goldfish a lot…I have 4 at home right now.
Bad: I am a serial goldfish murderer.
Pathetic: I had to come up with a quadruple-decker, compliment sandwich before I could openly admit that I am a cold-blooded criminal. I have a serious problem- I should be in jail right now.

Everyone loves goldfish, you know? People come over and they instantly want to be my friend because they think that I have goldfish. But I’m sick of telling them why I have an empty fish tank (actually, they’re probably more concerned that there’s an empty fishtank where my television should be- “what the hell are we going to do at Shelby’s house?”).

Here’s a tale, ya’ll! For about five years, my sister and I begged my parents for goldfish. We had cats for a while until my mother gave them away one day without telling us, so we needed something to fill the void in our lives. One weekend, my parents went out of town (probably to Comic Con or a Furries convention…or Cripple Creek), so my sister and I bought eight goldfish. Dwight, Senior Gluteus Maximus, Lady Macbeth, and Karen lived in my room and Betty Crocker, Billy Cosby, Theodore Roosevelt, and Ed were stowed away with Alyssa. All four of my fish were dead before my parents got back from their trip two days later. Betty Crocker and Bill Cosby both lived to be over a year old…Ms. Crocker is still kickin’ it as far as I know.

I bought four more fish when I moved out of my parents’ house- dead, dead, dead, and dead. I bought four more shortly after their unfortunate death- dead, dead, dead, and dead. This routine has occurred six times- I have killed 24 goldfish in the past year. That is 24 times that I have come home, greeted the tank with a “here fishy, fishy”, spied the rigor mortis floating atop the water, scooped the fishy body out, and flushed it down to brown town. Do you know what that does to a person? Do you know how hard it is to come up with names for 24 goldfish?! This week’s goldfish didn’t even have names. RIP, Goldfish #20-#24.

If you or anyone you know needs a fishtank, give me a call :)



Still hungry? Have another sandwich!

Good: I recognize there is an issue and I’ll never, ever buy goldfish again.
Bad: I've killed 13 houseplants this year.
Good: I drew you pictures of houseplants!


Thursday, July 15, 2010

T3: Engage!

Thursdays: the day after Wednesday, the day before Friday, my 4th favorite day of the week, and the day that I get to bitch about everything that’s been bothering me all week. I actually did not do a Three Thing Thursday last week (we’re going to call this T3 from now on and sound really awesome, mmkay?) because of the following reasons: I forgot, I was actually doing my job that day, I didn’t have anything to bitch about, and I already met my quota of one blog last week...okay, so I suck, what are we going to do about that?

Here, Thursday, stick this shit in your juice box:

1. Chewing- Yep, you all knew that it was coming; in fact, I’m quite surprised that it hasn’t been posted on a Thursday before this one. I hate chewing...scratch that, I hate any sound that comes from a mouth, actually…usually including speech. I absolutely refuse to take responsibility for this pet peeve and severe form of anxiety that I suffer from: I solely blame this on my mother. Growing up, there was such a stress and concern placed on “smacking” or “chomping” as it was commonly referred to in my family. As a child, I was actually afraid to eat around my mother because I knew that I’d probably get scolded for allowing my Cool Ranch Doritos to crunch beneath my molars…this is something that has extended into mine and my sister’s adulthood and has imbedded its stupid, little self into our brains. The sound of chewing doesn’t irritate me…it’s an emotion that I find really hard to explain to people that have never experienced it for themselves. It makes me annoyed at first, but quickly turns into anxious, angry rage and discomfort. I almost always have to walk away from the culprit of this issue…I have to take a few deep breaths, remind myself that people chew in order to digest food, and that no matter how much effort I put forth trying to abolish chewing, it’ll probably never happen. But shit, people, can we keep our mouths closed?

2. Care Credit- I hate them. This is the company that I have my veterinary credit card through (for the aforementioned Pheobe/flower relationship that cost me over half of my college tuition, $35 a month, and my sanity). They call me every month complaining that I have not paid my minimum payment for the month. That’s a completely legitimate reason to bother someone, yes? Yes. UNLESS YOU AREN’T SENDING STATEMENTS TO ME AND I CANNOT PAY MY BILL WITHOUT THEM. The people that call me are: a) always assholes, b) always speaking poor English, c) always calling me while I’m at work, sleeping, at the gym, or extremely busy. I hate them.

3. Facebook- I’ve actually never been a big fan of Facebook, to be quite honest. If it weren’t for faraway friends and my lingering boredom while I’m at work, I wouldn’t have one. I went a few months recently without one and it was wonderful. I think that it can be a useful tool for connecting with friends and sharing information, but I don’t want to hear about what everyone on my friends list ate for lunch. I don’t think it’s necessary to update your status everytime you take a shit or put your child into timeout.



Alright, folks…there you have it. T3 done for this week and my mind is cleared. By the way, I know that it's really hard to fight your urge to propose marriage to me after seeing my dank skills with today's drawing, but you better just fight it because I'm taken. I hope everyone has some kickass plans for the weekend :)





Pheobe's Ass

Q: Who wants to hear about how my ex-boyfriend is responsible for my cat slicing her buttcheek off and leading to my absence in college this semester?

A: Everyone wants to hear about that.

Preface story #1: Back in January, I had saved up quite a bit of money to put towards my tuition for my 2nd semester of online schooling for my English degree…it was actually a pretty hefty accomplishment because I am NOT very good at saving money. I can only take one or two classes per semester because they’re so expensive and because I work full time, so it wasn’t a TON of money, but it was enough…about half of what my tuition was going to be, actually.

Preface story #2: I’m not a big flower person…they’re a waste of money, they die, I forget to put them in vases, I forget they exist and leave them on top of my fridge until they start getting really gross and stinky and then I remember why I just really don’t like flowers that much. It’s a wonderful gesture, but I’d really rather my man-cakes take me for coffee or buy me a book…or do pretty much anything other than give me flowers to show that he cares.

Preface story #3: I was dating my ex-boyfriend, Tit, at the time this story took place. His name is not actually Tit, but it has slowly taken over as his name and I’m almost positive that his own mother may adapt to calling him this someday. This event is his fault and I will go to my grave blaming him for its entirety. Way to go, Tit.



Preface story #4: I have two cats- Pheobe Bon Qui Qui and Penelope Garcia (named after the computer analyst on Criminal Minds).




Actual story
: In January, Tit brought me flowers. In all honesty, I don’t really know why: there is a 99% chance that I didn’t do anything to prompt that. He probably wanted something out of the deal. He probably did not get what he wanted out of said deal. Atop my refrigerator the lovely bouquet went in order to avoid any Pheobe/flower relations that would inevitably occur. Little did I know, atop my refrigerator Pheobe also went. She knocked the vase down and landed on a huge shard of broken glass, slicing through 3 major muscles in her little kitty-ass.


Using my extensive veterinary experience and keen women’s intuition, I stripped into my bra and underwear and took the patient into the bathtub to assess the damage without getting her AIDS infested blood all over my apartment. You know what happens when you put a cat into a bathtub? Apparently I didn’t know this either, but I do not recommend this. We then decided that an animal hospital would be the best option, so I swaddled my cat into a feline/towel burrito and made my way to the car. After spending 6 hours in the animal ER, smoking an entire pack of cigarettes while waiting, drinking 4 cups of coffee, and passing the 2 o’clock mark on my watch, the kitten I received for free just two months prior made her way from the operating room. All is well until I am told that I owed the veterinary clinic over $900. I had two options: pay the bill or give my cat to the Humane Society. I wish I were a smarter, less compassionate human being, but due to THIS post about Pheobe peeing in the dryer, we all know that I paid the bill. Kind of.

I only had half of the amount due, so the rest was put onto a line of credit through Care Credit (they don’t fucking care at all, don’t believe their gimmicks) and I am still paying for this misfortune today. I was not able to attend college this semester because I gave up my tuition for a feline that pisses on my work pants; I’m one of those people.

I made Tit buy me some food after we were done dealing with the crisis, but not even Waffle House could mend the pain that my wallet was feeling. Pheobe had stitches in her ass cheek for two weeks and healed up just fine (if it hadn’t been for the cone, none of this would have been worth it).