And now for the booty contest

Ok. So last week I asked for booty shots. And it turns out girls (and boys) don't JUMP UP and immediately start photographing their arses.

It took some begging on my part, but 6 brave and beautiful people embraced their inner butt god and emailed me pictures.... of their backsides. You'll notice I received all kinds. Some clothed, some not, all hot. And just so you know, none of the booties on display are mine. I wouldn't want to cause anyone to go blind. Just sayin.

I've put together a team of judges (by the way, finding people to judge was LOADS easier than finding contestants) and they are spending time this weekend picking their favorite.

So without further adieu, here are the bootylicious booties, for your viewing pleasure.

Booty #1

Booty #2

Booty #3

Booty #4

Booty #5

Booty #6

Who's your favorite? Let me know in the comment section. Fan favorite will receive a "No wine til I lose the behind" t-shirt.

Don't be shy! Come on, vote!

Don't believe what your hear on "Friends." They're all a bunch of liars. And I choose to believe lobsters mate for life. So there.

So back in May, I was surprised and elated beyond words when I found out that Tim Rogers, who by the way, is like God, but with less hair, crowned me his favorite local writer.

Man, talk about ego trip. There are people who STILL won't return my calls because of all the braggin I did.

Anyway, he confessed he'd never heard of me before he'd been turned on to my blog, which, why would he? But he said he thought I was funny and thought it would be a good idea if we met and talked. And that was it for me. I immediately became a HUGE fan and subsequently became a HUGER fan of myself. (odd how that works, huh)

We emailed back and forth trying to fit a meeting in our busy schedules--which please, I'm not THAT busy. But when you're dealing with people who have REAL jobs and who aren't ridiculous and whose calendars don't read THURSDAY, 2:15, LIP & CHIN WAX on them, it's best to sound uber important--in my experience--or so I'm told.

So... we picked the date and jokingly I asked, "what should I wear?"

and he simply replied with "wear chaps."

Hmm. Chaps, eh. Oddly enough, I don't own chaps. I know that's shocking, seeing how I live in the Lone Star State and all, but chaps have never found a place in my wardrobe. Dang it.

What's a girl to do in this situation? Rent them.

The day before we were to meet I went down to the local costume shop. I went up to the counter and the woman asked if she could help me. I said, "I need to rent chaps for a meeting tomorrow." And I was SURE I was going to have to explain further, but apparently this lady hears this kind of thing all the time. She didn't blink, or seem puzzled, or even hesitate. She pointed in the direction of the *cowboys and Indians* section, where we spent the next 10 minutes looking at all the many different styles and colors of chaps. It was surreal. 

Finally I found the perfect pair and was on my way.

When I got to the meeting place (read: bar) the next day and walked inside, you should have seen the looks people were giving me. Here I was, this short, blond, really cute chick, sporting leather chaps with fringe--over my jeans. Oh, and I was wearing high heels too. It was a great look--don't be jealous.  I quickly surveyed the place, but didn't see Tim (he lets me call him that for real). So I found a table and ordered a glass of wine. And chugged it. Not long after, Tim walked into the place and I waved to him and stood up. When he realized I was wearing chaps he started laughing. Like really laughing. And he said he was impressed by my outfit and I don't know this for sure, and I could be totally making this up, but I think he was in awe of me. Which, please, who could blame him, am I right? I am an impressive girl. Pfft.

So like the chaps were effing hot (and not in the good way) so I turned to him and said, "you seen enough? Cuz these stupid things are coming off." Then I proceeded to undress right there in the middle of the Old Monk in front of Tim Rogers.

Since then, we've stayed in touch via email and twitter. 

Yesterday, he invited me to the Dallas Press Club's monthly happy hour. Which, by the way, let me just say, I've never seen this many old people outside a nursing home. It was sexy. I also met the world's oldest lesbian couple. They were adorable. It was weird though, because I didn't think lesbians were invented until the mid 1980's. You really do learn something new every day.

This is the rock star known as Eric. He writes for D Magazine. He's the 4th or 5th smartest person I know. But then again, I don't know that many smart people. So he might not be smart at all.

AND, this is how he introduced me to people. "Hey, have you met Shauna? She's a blogger."

I don't know why I found this to be so funny, but I laughed when he said that. I'm a blogger? For real?

I also learned that I'm NOT Tim Rogers favorite writer anymore. Some guy in California took the number one spot. The good news I'm still in his top five--or top 25. I guess I can live with that. But I promise you I will not rest until I'm number one again. Nosirree.

I noticed something about me and Tim. We appear to have the EXACT same ears. This is no lie. They are like twins. And I happened to mention that our ears were each other's lobster. And he looked at me funny and said, "explain. Lobsters?" And I said, "you know. Lobsters. They roam around the ocean floor in search of their perfect half. Then when they find each other, they mate for life. Don't you watch Friends?" He just stood there, looking at me, like I was jacking with him or something. And he totally didn't believe me. He said, "there's no way this is true. I've never heard of lobsters mating for life." And so I said, "Google it, bitch." (I didn't really call him a bitch--are you insane?) SO, Tim pulls out his trusty Iphone and googles DO LOBSTERS MATE FOR LIFE? And Wiki answers pops up first with this answer: They definitely do NOT. This is a myth originating from an episode of "Friends" in which Phoebe says Ross is Rachel's "lobster." 

And then Tim was pissed that he didn't bet me $20. Dude, do I LOOK like someone who walks around with twenty dollars to spare? I don't think so. 

But it was a good time, and I like hanging out with those boys from D Magazine. Oh, not pictured, but still as important, is Zac. He also writes for D, AND he wrote a book about Dimebag Darrell. You should check it out. I mostly love his tweets. 

Bonus of the night: I went to the ladies room and this is the first thing I saw on the wall..

Serves me right. Don't you think?

He's not a pervert... He's my dad.

So I don't know if I mentioned this or not, but my dad is MOVING BACK TO TEXAS!! It's exciting, I know. He's been living in Kauai for 6 years now and he FINALLY has the good sense to move back. Read: the guilt I've been laying out is getting to him. Not really. I only WISH I had that kind of power over people.

It will be sorta weird having him back for occasions like birthdays, sporting events, and holidays. But I'm SURE I can adjust. 

We've already decided we're going to get Dallas Mavericks tickets and that will be "our thing."

So this morning we were talking and he said he was looking for a car to buy when he moves back in November. And it was mentioned that he would like to own a convertible sports car. And then he added that I will look hot riding next to him in said sports car. Which, first off, ick. Having your dad say you'll look "hot" is kinda creepy.

And then I was like, "eww. People are going to think you're some dirty old man going thru a midlife crisis and involved with a much younger (and VERY attractive) woman."

He laughed.

I went on. "Seriously, I'm going to have to wear a t-shirt that says 'He's not a perv, he's my dad,' whenever I go anywhere with you. And I'm gonna need like a lot of them since we're going to hang out together so much."

Again, he laughed.

But I'm serious. That's what people think these days. Admit it. When you see an older man out with a younger woman you RARELY think she's his daughter. You immediately flip the switch to INAPPROPRIATE RELATIONSHIP mode. And then you sit in judgement. I'm right about this. Cuz I do it too. Face it, that's where we are as a society. (not that there's anything wrong with that--ok, maybe just a little).

BUT! God forbid something happen to Tommy and a younger man were to catch my attention, I'm not above going there. I'm just sayin. What? It's not the same! Cougar = Totally acceptable awesomeness 

Not my older boyfriend.

I call him "Dad."

Ok. I need t-shirt slogans. 

How about "No, we're not having sex. I'm not from Arkansas. Or Kentucky."

(sorry to all my Arkansas and Kentucky friends--but c'mon, this isn't the first time you've heard this)

Or... "Yes, I know the older guy with me is hot--see the FAMILY resemblance?"

And... "Older man + Younger woman = Bleck if you're related

Please feel free to leave your own suggestions in the comments section. Best one (as judged by yours truly) will receive a signed copy of my book, Heaping Spoonful. Sorry if you already have the book--enter anyway. I'll lick your copy. There. Bet you don't have one of those.

License Expired

My brother and sister-in-law recently celebrated their 10 year anniversary by renewing their vows. And it was really sweet and quite touching-- watching the way they looked at each other as they once again said their "I do's." 

And I thought about my own marriage, realizing that I'm only two years from the ten year mark, and wondered if I would want to renew my own vows with my beloved.

And the answer is a resounding "No."

But not for the reasons you're thinking. I don't want a "do-over" or a "mulligan" or a "take back." Tommy is a great guy and any girl would be lucky as a pig in shit to have him as a husband. I consider myself VERY lucky most days. I just don't have any desire to get "married" again. Because I'm afraid I wouldn't go through with it. Who needs it anyway.

So as I was thinking about this my thoughts took an entirely different twisty turn, when I wondered why marriage licenses don't expire. And even more so, can we get it changed so that they do?

I mean, you have to renew your passport every ten years, your driver's license every six, your fishing/hunting license every year.  So why do we not have to renew our marriage licenses?

And then of course the answer smacked me upside my brainless head. BECAUSE NO ONE WOULD RENEW THEIR MARRIAGE LICENSE.

(Well, no one except my brother and sister in law--they're the exception, not the rule, I can assure you)

So, anyway, whatever brilliant person came up with the "til death do us part" clause on a marriage certificate should be hung by his ball sack and fed to the wolves. I'm just sayin.

Can you imagine if marriage licenses expired after ten years? There would be widespread panic (also known as week long keg parties complete with strippers and all you can eat buffets) and bars would be flooded with once again single men and women, acting as if they were just released from prison. Which... Whatever. You KNOW you were thinking the same thing.

Maybe that's why the "marriage system" was designed the way it was. To KEEP people BOUND in their agreements indefinitely--to cut down on the number of drunken orgies.

You would definitely be able to spot the people whose licenses had expired. They'd be covered in hickeys and would show up to work with their clothes on inside out. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

But hey... the upside to all this is... divorce would be a thing of the past. Unhappily married people would suck it up and make comments to their friends like, "well, I've only got 7 months left until my license expires so..." and the friend would wince and say, "hang in there buddy, you can make it."

Expired marriage licenses? 

Who says I'm not a fucking genius, huh?

If I've learned anything, it's that it's easier to deal with a gnat than have to remodel your kitchen.

One of the things that sucks about having a blog that everyone knows about is that I can't really write about the stuff that's truly bothering me.

For obvious reasons. You get about 37% of the actual view into my world. 

And if I didn't care so much about how people might react to reading the down and dirty nitty gritty, I'd post it. Maybe. Ok, probably not. But I at least like to think that.

But in all fairness to the truth, I'm too big a chicken. Huge. Like a chicken with no balls at all. Wait. Do chickens have balls? Never mind. I'm no farmer but I'm going to go with "no."

God, I would so suck at farm life. Fingers crossed I never have to learn about chickens' balls. Or become a farmer. Or a sheep herder. Or anything that requires acres of land and animal husbandry.

Anyway, I've been banging my head against the wall trying to decide what exactly I could write about. And, FYI, it doesn't help to get emails that say, "Ok, Bitch, when you gonna post?" No. That just adds to the pressure. Because then I'm all, "What if it sucks? And it's not funny? And people have been waiting for me to be all ridiculous and stuff and then it's stupid and makes them want to kill themselves?" I DO NOT want to be held responsible for innocent people taking their own lives.

Side note: Um, yeah, I just read over this post and so far I want to kill MYSELF.  Can you say FAIL?

Focus, Shauna, Focus.

OK, ok. I know. How about a quick run down on the people I live with.

*Tommy, the big man: Good news on this front. He's been slightly less annoying lately. It helped when he started working outside the house. How dumb were we to think way back 2 years ago that it would *fun* to have him in the home. Every day. All day long. And then see him at night too. And then sleep in the same bed with him. And then get up the next morning to the sounds of his slurping, smacking, snot blowing, throat clearing, non-human noises. I'm no doctor, but I am quite sure that the twitching I experience on a regular basis in my left eye was caused by these sounds. It's kinda like being struck by lightning. The electricity enters your body and HAS to come out some place else. Mine comes out my eye, which isn't a great look, but I figure it's better than killing him--which is what I really want to do sometimes--not that anyone would blame me. Seriously, look up JUSTIFIABLE HOMICIDE in the law books and right under OF COURSE OFFING YOUR MOTHER FOR HER PASSIVE/AGGRESSIVE BEHAVIOR IS A FORGIVABLE OFFENSE you'll read HUSBANDS WHO MAKE ANNOYING SOUNDS IN THEIR HEAD AND ASS REGION SHOULD DIE A SLOW AND PAINFUL DEATH--SEE TESTICLE REMOVAL.

But! Killing him has been put on the back burner because he was insightful enough to notice that I no longer found him cute and cuddly but more like that gnat that flies around your face and you swat and you swat and you keep missing and the more you miss the more pissed off you get so you go buy a gun and you shoot at the gnat 12 times until finally you kill it. But really you don't kill it because let's face it, it's a GNAT, and bullets can't kill gnats because they're too small but instead you shoot up your entire kitchen and now you need a new one.

What I'm getting at is that Tommy now works outside the home. In an office type space. And our marriage has been saved. Which saved me from having to get my kitchen remodeled. And from possibly going to prison.

*Teenagers: Just typing that word gives me a sour taste in my mouth. What can one really say about having 2 teenagers in the house except for THEY SUCK. My oldest one had to go to summer school because she blew off her last semester of her freshman year. So the reason you didn't see her in any of our "family summer vacation" photos was because we left her at home. So she could go to school. Which I made her pay for out of her savings account. For which I was called a mean old hag. Whatever. I'm not the one in summer school. Now that she's finished she's taking driver's ed--parent taught driver's ed. Which, Hi, I'm the parent doing the teaching. You can imagine how excited I am about it. There's nothing better than trying to tell your I-know-everything-and-you-know-nothing-because-you're-stupid-and-don't-understand-what-it's-like-to-be-my-age 15 year old something about driving and the rules of the road, etc, only to see her roll her eyes in your direction and say, "Oh my God, I KNOW that already, Mother." I find myself often retreating to my closet and looking up at the ceiling and begging the universe, "Please, can I just punch her ONCE in the face? Please?" And the universe says nothing in return. But I swear I hear her laughing at me. Or.. that could be the sound of my own mother's voice in my head. And then I see my mother wagging her finger in my face and saying, "you were just like her when you were her age." Really? I was THIS big a nasty bitch? Because I REALLY don't think so. 

So... I haven't punched her lights out... yet.  I just chug the wine bottle and keep telling myself it won't be like this forever. Because it WON'T be like this forever, right?

The other one isn't much better. She's 14 and pretty much does what is expected of her. She keeps her grades up, her room clean, never misses curfew, and helps me when I ask. That's the good part. But... the attitude. And the entitlement. And the frowning face when things don't go just right--like if we want to eat somewhere she doesn't. Or if I say, "no friends tonight--you've had somebody over every day." You would think I cut off her arm with a grapefruit spoon. The drama that ensues, oy vey. It's enough to make me want to shove her back up my cooter and take the whole thing back. But until science invents a way to do that successfully (fingers crossed it will be any day now) I'll just have to deal with it. And by *dealing* I mean drinking. 

So basically what I'm trying to say is... Teenagers = Bleck

*The younger kids: This seems to be Harley's summer for losing teeth. And let me just say something about this. It's been my experience that by the time your 3rd child starts losing teeth, the tooth fairy becomes this lazy, forgetful, non-cash carrying loser. It's happened twice already this summer. And Harley is starting to be resentful. Like, the other night, just before she went to sleep she said, "mommy, my tooth is about to come out. Will you pull it?" So, naturally I did. Then we wrapped it in a tissue and she stuck it under her pillow. And then I went to bed. Without remembering that it was up to *me* to inform the *tooth fairy* (which is also me) that her services would be needed. So at 7 the next morning Harley came RUNNING to the kitchen screaming, "the tooth fairy forgot to leave money!" And I was horrified. I had to think quick on my feet. So here's what I did (and let me just say up front that little kids will believe ANYTHING). I said, "Harley, it's the middle of the night--she hasn't come yet. You need to go back to bed!" She stopped, looked out the kitchen window at the sun streaming in and said, "it is? Hmm. Ok." And then she went to my room and crawled in my bed. Tommy had been watching this scene and started laughing, saying, "How the hell did you just do that?" And as I made my way over to his wallet to try and find a dollar I said, "What? You think this is my first day on the job?" Please. I can do this shit in my sleep. Pfft. 

Ethan has had a good summer so far. He's nearly 4 and the boy is WAY smarter than me. As if there was any doubt, yes? I've learned that fish are dog mermaids (duh, Mommy), and that every store should sell food. Furniture stores, car dealerships, banks, Barnes and Noble--all should sell food. Ethan believes they would sell more stuff if they had hot dogs or cake to go with it. Which sounds perfectly reasonable to me. He's also into pinky promising. "Do you pinky promise that you'll buy me that Batman car if I brush your hair?" "Pinky promise I get to go to Chicken Lake (Chick-Fil-A) if I pick up all my toys." But my favorite thing he does these days is bargain for things using kisses as money. "Ok, Mommy. You take me to see Ice Age and I'll give you 7 kisses. Deal?" That's my boy. 

Anyway, I'm frightened because his IQ has already surpassed my own and I have a feeling that pretty soon I'm going to be working for him. Hold please. Ethan is calling my name. Oops, gotta run. He wants a sandwich, some cheese crackers and a red--no blue--gatorade.

it's not you, it's me

i've noticed something recently. 

people who used to talk to me don't anymore.

and it bothers me. for real.

i've thought about it a lot and i think it all started back in the fall of 2007. about the time this blog was born.

it was slow at first. because like anything, i didn't just jump on stage and start screaming SMELLY VAGINA! and MIDGET PORN! and OH MY GOD I CAN'T FIND MY VIBRATOR!

no. it was slow progression. i started the blog with a story of how ethan pooped on my boob in the middle of a restaurant and tommy tried to convince me it was guacamole. by the way, it WAS poop. and it was disgusting. and also, sometimes poop looks like guacamole (smell BEFORE you taste--learn from me)

people laughed. "oh shauna, you're so funny," they said.

and somewhere about that time "she" was created. "blog shauna." the content got a little more graphic and some people started getting squeamish and began backing away slowly. like if they were around "her" or read what "she" was writing, it might rub off on them.

so far to date, no one's caught what "she's" got. fingers crossed.

i'm not a mommy blogger. i never claimed to be and yet somehow i've given the wrong impression.  some people stumble on here thinking they're going to see cute pictures of my kids or reviews of products like breast pumps or the latest toilet training video. and then they read a story about how i hide my vibrator in the safe so my kids won't find it. 

(by the way, i think that is exceptionally responsible parenting, thankyouverymuch)

i've noticed that neighbors who used to stop and chat or at least wave as they drove past me, don't anymore. in fact they pick that exact moment to use their phone or change the dial on the radio--anything to appear too busy to look my way.

some of the moms at the kids' schools smile awkwardly in my direction when i see them at field hockey or soccer games. 

and for some reason, people have stopped asking if i'd like to join junior league. which, seriously, they're totally missing out because i could SO win the burping contest. 

it took me a while to REALLY notice what was going on. that i was slowly being cut out of all the acceptable social circles--probably because i was busy honing my skills as the devil's gatekeeper.

nowadays tommy and i will be at function (yes, he still takes me out in public. shocking, i know) and someone will come up and say, "it's so nice to meet you. i read your blog." and as a reflex i wince and apologize. which apparently sends mixed signals. so the person will say, "no. i like it. it's funny. and you say the things i WOULD NEVER say out loud." and because i don't know how to respond i'll go, "you're welcome."

tommy refuses to read the blog because he's not sure he likes "blog shauna." in fact, he's made that quite clear. sometimes when i've been "in character" too long and am acting out in "that way" he'll put his hand up and say, "go away satan's spawn. bring back nice shauna." and that's my cue that i'm being "her." and then i spin around 3 or 4 times and "blog shauna" goes into her black cauldron of fire until she's needed again. and voila, "nice shauna" returns.

i know the people who've known me the longest don't particularly like "blog shauna" either, but it appears she's here to stay. at least for the time being. she has a purpose. i promise. "blog shauna" keeps "real shauna" in check. and also, she's fucking hilarious. and inappropriate. and belches better than any big, burly man.

but just don't be disappointed if you see "real shauna" in public and she doesn't tell you your vagina smells terrific. she saves that shit for the internet.

having a HUGE butt does not make you a bad person. you're only a bad person if you have a HUGE butt and are also a serial killer.

my good friend, bert, sent me this cartoon because he said it reminded him of me. and now, i don't know whether to laugh and say "aww. thanks,"  or slit my wrists.

ok. so i got a booty. that's not the end of the world. is it?

and way back in 2008, i wrote the post, get outta my pants you nasty pigs, and had t-shirts printed. (i sold a TON of them)

so i have this idea. a butt contest. if you have a bootylicious booty, email me a picture and i'll post them here and we'll vote. the winner will receive a $50 gift card to target and a 'get outta my pants you nasty pigs' t-shirt.

don't be shy. we'll do it anonymously. who knows, maybe one of the booties posted will be mine. (depends on how much wine i consume first)

my brain is mush

i'm home now after flying all night. 8 hours on an airplane with 3 kids and your mom is taxing. although, everyone slept which made the trip pretty easy. well... everyone except me.

it's one of the universe's many cruel practical jokes. 

maybe it's just me, but i find it hard to sleep sitting straight up. also, it doesn't help that i'm only 5 foot 2 and my legs barely reach the floor. so for most of the 8 hours my legs dangled, causing them to fall asleep. which made it hard for me to relax enough to go to sleep. do you see where this is going?

so... yeah.  i'm tired. super duper tired. and now i'm going to try and nap. which should prove near impossible with 3 well rested children running through the house who will invariably need something from me--any minute now. i might try and throw them off the scent by curling up in a ball on the floor in the closet under tommy's hanging clothes. fingers crossed my plan works.

for now, check out this website. yours truly is featured there today.  and if you would be so kind, leave a comment so people who DON'T know me and read the profile think i'm somebody important. let's not spoil it for them.

now... i'm putting on my pjs and....zzzzzzzzz.

summer can suck it

summer sucks.

when i was a kid i thought summer was a GREAT idea, but now having kids of my own who are home with me for the 3 months of summer break is starting to cramp my style. and i'm afraid i might go insane(er).

you see people, i'm supposed to be writing. it's my job. i have deadlines. for which i'm not meeting. cuz i'm making mac and cheese and fetching juice boxes. and driving teenagers to the mall. and picking up their friends to bring to the house. for which i get to make MORE mac and cheese.

do you see my problem?

i try to hide. i go in my room and shut the door--as quietly as a mouse. because if they HEAR me close my door it sends a signal that apparently says "mom's trying to work so let's go in there and ask her to make pancakes. again." and then they bust through the door and pounce on me. and then i can pretty much kiss any work i was going to get done goodbye.

and now most days i'm afraid to open my email because i know there's going to be messages that say, "how's the writing coming? anything you want to send over for me to read? how much of the new book is finished? wanna get together and go over what you've written?" so i mostly avoid reading my mail. which is awesome and super responsible. i blame the children. because someone must be blamed. other than me.

summer also sucks because of the whole *bathing suit* thing. what masochist came up with bathing suits anyway? i mean, you might as well just wear a sign that reads: HI. LOOK AT MY ASS. AND MY THIGHS. AREN'T I SEXY? JIGGLY CELLULITE = DON'T YOU WANT A PIECE OF THAT?

fail.

i mostly wear a bee keeper outfit during the summer. it's super light weight and is made of material that breathes. so it's breezy. and comfortable on those days in texas where the temperature reaches 102. which is like every day starting june 14 and ending september 22. AND none of my trouble areas get exposed (read: thighs and ass). PLUS, wearing a bee keeper's outfit means you don't have to shave. like ever. so you don't have to worry about razor burn, or getting that bikini wax. it's a win/win. ALSO, it's super fashionable. when i go to the country club pool people talk--you can tell they're envious by the way they stare at me. and i'm like, "don't hate cuz you can't pull off the bee keeper look. it ain't for everybody." 

but then, there's this. summer in texas sucks hard because of the H.E.A.T.

it's so hot you can't breathe. i don't know why i live in a place where the average temperature is 100 for 4 months straight.

and people are always like, "but is it a DRY heat?"

i never understood this question. hot is hot. wet, dry, fluffy, light, upside down, inside out...hot is hot! OK?!

jeez.

see? the summer makes me an angry person.

i got these 4 kids at home so i can't get any work done.

i'm expected to put on spandex/lycra/non-ass flattering swatches of cloth for which to frolic.

AND it's hot as fuck.

my solution. cancel summer.

please write your congressman.

if you are what you eat then i'm a smorgasbord

well. it's official.

i'm disgusting.

disgustingly fat, that is.

and out of control.

someone please stop me before i start eating my own appendages. but wait. if i eat my arms and legs then i'll surely lose weight, right?

hmm. interesting.

i may revisit that option later. but right now i'm thinking about sausage.

seriously, this is madness. MADNESS i tell you.

i blame all the traveling. and the incredibly good food that has been shoved in my face. like cake. and wine. and fish tacos. and chips. and beef jerky. and cheeseburgers with extra cheese. and nachos deluxe. and guacamole. and...

it has to stop. and fast! or tomorrow when i get on the plane to fly home i'm gonna need one of those seat belt extensions. 

AND then hubs might not recognize the extremely plump (but still cute as pie. because you ARE what you eat) woman who keeps calling him honey while trying to get in his car. 

if i could *ugh* to the god of unfair calorie counting i would.  all i want to know is, WHY DO I EAT SO FRIGGIN MUCH?

you should see me. it's like i've been a castaway on a deserted island and haven't eaten in 42 days. i can't eat fast enough. it's like i'm starving to death.  and it's EVERY MEAL! 

my problem is that food rules me. it controls my mood. it makes me happy. it plans my day. 

like the whole time i'm typing this i'm thinking "i wonder if breakfast is ready. dad said we were having chocolate macadamia nut waffles this morning. i hope it's almost time to eat."

i. must. be. stopped.

i need to be home. when i'm home the eating thing doesn't seem to be so out of control. or so it seems. 

all i know is my clothes are too tight and my ass is hanging out of my swim suit like nobody's business. and it ain't pretty. (thank god for my winning personality and my quick wit--at least i still have that, right?)

please, for the love of all that is good and mighty, someone please help me.

wait. what's that i smell? oh my god, it's waffles.

so.... what were we talking about?

we're just your average family. really.

i took 2 of my girls to waikiki so they could experience what i like to call japan, part 2. and i figure this is the closest they'll get to seeing what it's like in japan--unless they go there themselves--on purpose.

as we walked along the sidewalk we stopped in front of the very famous waikiki beach and i pointed out the spot where we hung out the last time we were here. it reminded me of one of the funniest stories about harley.

she was barely 4 years old then and we'd come to the beach to play in the sand. apparently i wasn't cutting it as a suitable playmate and she began looking around for someone else to play with. she pointed to a little girl who looked to be the same age as her and said, "i wanna go play with THAT girl."

i saw the pretty little thing with her long, dark hair and smiled at harley and said, "great idea. let's go meet her."

then i heard the girl's parents speaking to her--in japanese.

so i said to harley, "listen. when we go talk to her she may not understand us because i think she's from japan--and she probably doesn't speak english."

harley stopped dead in her tracks and made a pouty face and said, "never mind. i wanna play with someone NORMAL."

i remember snorting. and laughing. and retelling the story. a lot. because really? kids are truly the funniest people on the planet. and they don't even mean to be.

i saw this chair and immediately thought, oh this was SO made for me. i wonder if i can check it as luggage and take it home. i asked the "woman in charge" how much it was and she told me it wasn't for sale. and i was like, "but you don't understand. i NEED it. this chair and i are like soul mates." and then she started walking away and muttered something in a language i didn't understand, but i'm pretty sure she told me i was beautiful and had the voice of an angel. 

this is the statue of the big kahuna at waikiki beach. it's weird because when we got home from visiting waikiki, i opened a bag of chips and found one that looked JUST LIKE THE BIG KAHUNA. i think i'm going to sell it on ebay. i'm going to be so rich. AND i'll probably be on the news.

these 2 psychotic birds came out of nowhere and attacked riley. look how calm she appears to be. do not let her smile fool you. she was truly terrified.  i reached in my bag for mace, but some man stopped me claiming, "stop! these are my pet birds! they're tame! don't shoot!"

but i wasn't fooled. look at their beady little crazy eyes.

harley was having no part of the "bird story." she kept a safe distance from them. smart girl.

you may be a REAL housewife

my friend, tracie, wrote this funny and oh-so-true post about what it means to be a housewife. it's hilarious and i couldn't have said it better myself.

like many of you, i watch the real housewives of orange county...actually i watch all of them...new york, atlanta..if there was a real housewives of zimbabwe, yes, i'd watch that, too. as much as i enjoy the show, it really kills me that they call these crazy women housewives. so, in case you are wondering if you fall in the housewife category, i've compiled a list of criteria to help you decide:

you may be a housewife if:

~by the end of the day, if you have not ripped out your hair, forgotten one of your kids at the grocery store~or anywhere for that matter~or had to ask the question, "why didn't you tell mommy you had to poo-poo?" then you have had a highly successful day.

~during the course of any given day, you acquire several stains on your clothing and at least one of them is a bodily fluid...not belonging to you. this could be anything from vomit, poop and/or urine.

~you secretly daydream about what song you would sing if you auditioned for "american idol"
knowing full well, that you can not sing. AT ALL. that's why they call them day "dreams."

~the thought of going to a restaurant that does not include a kid's meal, can be intoxicating. almost orgasmic. husbands: THINK ABOUT THAT.

~the thought of having an adult conversation at said restaurant that does not include the words: fruit snacks, "you gotta go potty?" or "please stop that." is also orgasmic.
again, husbands: THINK ABOUT THAT.

~you do not know the words to the latest hit songs but can sing every word to the theme song to dora the explorer. and go, diego, go. and backyardigans.

~your drug of choice in the a.m. is caffeine...lots and lots of caffeine. and in the p.m. wine. large amounts of wine. in fact, the FDA should include two new food groups for housewives: coffee and wine.

~you get super excited if you score a package of "chip clips" in the dollar section at target.

~you have actually been so excited about a new box of tupperware, that you opened it up, laid it out on the coffee table and just stared at it. every. last. piece.

~the lady checking you out at walgreens asks if you have your hands full today because you look really tired. bitch.

~you can actually be on the phone, put in a load of laundry, and nurse a baby. ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

~you feel you need to show your husband a power point presentation on why girls night out is a NECESSITY, NOT A PRIVILEGE.

~a good friday night is several glasses of wine and 20/20. a GREAT friday night is being able to stay awake for an ENTIRE movie.

~you spend a large amount of time assuring your husband that you are very grateful for being able to stay at home, but it is still a job. it is STRESSFUL, EXHAUSTING AND HARD.

~when your baby spits up on you, you don't look for a towel or tissue. anything close will do. that could be the sheet on your bed. or your own shirt. whatever.

~in your purse, you can usually find one or more of the following: a goldfish cracker, some sort of fruit snack and/or a few french fries from a happy meal....that was probably purchased a week ago.

hi. it's me again. see? funny. and painfully true. 

be sure you visit her blog

they expect me to stay in THIS dump?

so i'm in hawaii. and getting here wasn't as bad as it could've been. 

when we arrived at the airport we were greeted with "welcome to american airlines. sorry, your flight's been delayed an hour. enjoy your day."

and i immediately looked to the sky and pleaded, "please don't let this be a sign of things to come. please?"

so we made our way to the gate after stopping in *several* shops to buy things we didn't need.

awhile later, it was announced that the plane was now boarding first class. i jumped up, grabbed our stuff and said, "let's go. we're boarding now." my 14 year old daughter riley said, "but they said first class only."

i looked at the silly child and said, "that's only a suggestion. besides, look at us. we're like a traveling freak show with our carseat and our carry on bags full of snacks, dvd players and trashy magazines. people will THANK us for getting on first. trust me."

so she and my mom and the 2 little ones followed my lead as i pushed my way through the sea of people to get to the front. along the way i *may have* accidentally smacked some people in the head with my gigantic why-do-these-things-have-to-weigh-so-much industrial sized carseat.

side note: i think people were generally impressed with my ability to bulldoze past them. and i noticed if you say, "coming thru. coming thru. excuse me. woman with a carseat here. pardon me. watch your wheelchair there ma'am. coming thru," they're more inclined to happily move out of your way. 

we boarded and settled in and 5 minutes later ethan yelled out (while people were still making their way onto the plane), "WHEN'S THE MOVIE GOING TO START? I'M THIRSTY. I NEED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM. WHERE'S THE LADY WITH THE DRINKS? I DON'T WANT TO SIT IN MY CARSEAT."

i wondered, "is it too late to bail out of going on this trip?"

both harley and ethan wanted my mom to sit between them and i was like, "ok. y'all have fun. i'll be two rows up with my head phones on so i probably won't be able to hear you for the next 8 hours. bu-bye."

and i turned and bolted before my mom had a chance to change her mind. 

well.... that lasted 3 hours. and then we played musical chairs. the only person to stay in his original seat was the e-man. and that's only because of the whole carseat thing. but don't you worry. he spent several hours sitting in my lap. which was awesome.

at one point i stopped the flight attendant and asked, "excuse me, ma'am, how much longer?" and she smiled and said, "about 5 hours." horrified i was like, "are you sure? it seems like we've been flying an awfully long time." she pointed out the window and said, "look out there. what do you see?" and so i looked and then reported back. "land? trees?" she smiled again and said, "exactly. we haven't made it to the ocean yet. i'd guess we're somewhere over california. we'll be landing in about 5 hours. enjoy the flight."

she was so darn nice about it that i couldn't even hate her!

unless that was sarcasm. in which case i say "touche." 

so anyway, we landed--finally! 

my brother arranged for a car to pick us up and then we headed to the house.

and let me just say, "holy shit! how is it that we're staying HERE?!"

this house. oh. my. god.

now, i had nothing to do with it. i'm just a guest. so technically this isn't bragging. but OH MY GOD. this house.

also? i've never been in a room with an original andy warhol painting before. but there's one here. it's of elizabeth freaking taylor! apparently she's bffs with the people who own this house.

wow. rich people are WAY better than the rest of us. that's all i'm sayin.

ALOHA!

the hammock in the backyard. 

my brother, phillip, riley, harley, ethan, and my nephew, anson.

PERFECT WORLD: Nothing says parenthood like a leaking bag of throw-up and a little blood

the glenns are headed out of town again. well, everyone except tommy. tommy opted out of the this trip for "work." pfft.

my brother and sister-in-law are celebrating their 10 year wedding anniversary by renewing their vows...on the beach...in hawaii.

guess who gets to go witness the happy occasion?

yes. ME!

hawaii! for a week! with my kids! and my mother! (see how it started out really cool and sort of trailed off into holy-shit-that-doesn't-sound-like-fun)

anyway, we're leaving in about 2 hours so i asked my good friend, drew, to guest post today. wait til you read this. it's hilarious. you see, drew and his wife don't have any kids...yet.

and the weird part? he still thinks he wants kids after knowing ME.

anyway, i'll be live from oahu later tonight or in the morning.

if i make it there without jumping out of the plane first. you know what i'm talking about. ethan. confined to a small-ish space for 8 hours. wish me luck.

now take it away drew!


I am ready to be a father.

I know there are a lot of people who know me that think that statement is…

a.) Scary
b.) Humorous
c.) Unimaginable
d.) All of the Above

The reason why I say that….you have no idea how many people have told me – with a devilish smirk and a slow shake of the head – “I can’t WAIT until you have kids.”

I think I’ve heard that statement around 86 times – each reference with the same underlying meaning: “Don’t worry, Drew. When you’re a dad, you’ll get yours!”

Well, I’m ready to get mine.

Tanya and I have started seriously trying. (“Seriously” consists of ovulation tests, prenatal vitamins, and her screaming “hurry up and put the dog outside.”)

We’ve also been talking about the possibility of adoption. Because of our ages, our desire for a large family, and our intense desire to give back, this is a tremendous option. (Tanya’s involvement in CASA – a national child advocate program – has also helped open our eyes to the lives we can touch through this process.)

In a perfect world, we would get pregnant right now, have a summer baby, start seriously looking into adoption – possibly pull the trigger this time next year, conceive another child a year later, and have a BIG, loving family in less than three years.

WOW!

“Drew, are you really sure you’re ready for that?”

It’s funny you ask.

This weekend, I received a sneak peek into my “perfect world.” I spent two days with my business partner, her husband, and their children. (Three boys – ages 4, 6 and 8.) We made a marathon trip to Oklahoma to watch TCU play the Sooners.

It was towards the end of the trip when someone made a slap-across-the-face comment to me. I think I was staring blankly at the three little boys running around their uncle’s living room like they were on fire.

“Don’t worry. If you spread them out a little bit better than we did, it’s not as overwhelming.”
Ummmm….remember earlier in the post…have baby, adopt, have another baby, adopt…BIG family…not spread out?

SLAP! SLAP!

I think I’ll be OK, though. This weekend was a good test. Here were some of the highlights (Not to brag, but I think I scored a C+ ... which IS passing):

TEST 1: The six-year-old got carsick 40 minutes outside of Fort Worth.

THE PLAY-BY-PLAY:
• “Daddy can we pull over?”
• He threw up in a grocery sack just as we pulled into a Braum’s parking lot.
• The bag had hole in it and started to leak before he could make it outside the van.
• The oldest kept talking in third-person and reminding himself not to look.
• The youngest, very aware of where we were, kept asking for ice cream in the middle of the chaos.
• The sick child had to be stripped down, and he rode the rest of the trip in the seat right behind me with no shirt, a package of Wet Wipes, and a new plastic bag.
• There were no more incidents.

MY PERSPECTIVE: The site and smell of throw-up didn’t make me hurl … I think anytime someone speaks in third-person it’s hilarious (especially when that person is eight years old) … the fact that there were no other incidents was HUGE – especially because of the new seating arrangement in the van.

TEST 2: The youngest decided to head-butt the sidewalk.

THE PLAY-BY-PLAY:
• He actually tripped over the curb in a dimly lit parking lot and smashed his face pretty good.
• After the initial shock wore off, he realized he was injured and wanted everyone else to know it, too.
• His sweet aunt ran to his rescue.
• Even though he looked like he was in a car wreck, he was bouncing off the walls the next morning.

MY PERSPECTIVE: I saw him face plant, and while his aunt was loving him up, I just kept telling him to “shake it off” . . . when I saw the blood, I decided to let a “real adult” handle the situation . . . I also learned that kids are pretty resilient.

TEST 3: On our way home, we had to stop for a bathroom break 6 minutes into the trip. (That is no lie and/or exaggeration . . . 360 seconds from leaving the house.)

THE PLAY-BY-PLAY:
• As we’re pulling out of the driveway: “Did everyone use the bathroom?” . . . “Let’s see if we can make it all the way to Fort Worth without stopping!”
• Six minutes later: “Daddy, I need to use the restroom” . . . “I thought you went right before we left” . . . “I went pee pee, but I held my poo poo.”
• As they’re getting out of the car, the youngest says, “I need to go poo poo, too.”

MY PERSPECTIVE: It really wasn’t that big of deal, we had to stop anyway because in the hustle and bustle of packing up and leaving, their mother left her keys at the house. A family member was in route to deliver them . . . It made me wonder, though: Would they have continued to “hold their poo poo” all the way home OR would we have stopped a few minutes later anyway? . . . I think kids just know when to take advantage of an opportunity.
Other minor tests included a running request/inquiry to play with my cell phone, the peaks and valleys of sugar highs, and the fact that watching cartoons and playing Wii trumps Sportscenter on Sunday morning.

Here are some other things that I simply learned:
• Kids don’t sleep in – even if the adults tailgated for over five hours the day before and finally went to bed around 1 a.m.
• If you give a child under 10 years old the choice of where to eat – it’s going to be McDonald’s.
• Chocolate milk is VERY popular with young kids. (Temperature of the milk is not important.)
• If you don’t want kids to climb on the furniture – don’t buy it.
• There is always A LOT of hustle and bustle when there are kids involved.

When I told their parents that I was going to blog about me tagging along on their weekend family get-away, I saw both of them cringe.
ME: “Are you worried?”
MOM: “I just don’t want people to think we’re a crazy family.”
I wasn’t going to use the adjective “crazy” – I think “perfect” is a lot more fitting.

you know what i should do? become a deaf person

you ever meet an older couple and learn they've been married (to each other) for over 50 years and you think to yourself, "how the hell have they been able to do this?"

then you find out they have separate bedrooms and have lost most of their hearing.

so then you're all ohhhhhhhh.... i totally get it now. makes perfect sense.

i think they might be onto something.

take my own marital situation, for example.

tommy and i have been married nearly 8 years. and i have liked him for most of those 8 years--off and on--but mostly on. and really, i couldn't have done much better. he's a great guy. really he is.

but sometimes i question why i haven't killed him yet.

like lately he's been on a you-know-what-you-should-do kick. i'll be telling him something...really just talking out loud...like we women do. because we don't want you to "fix" the problem, we just want you to say something like, "oh. i'm sorry. gosh darn it, that DOES sound problematic. good luck with that." and then we would say, "aw. thanks for listening. you're the best." and then we'd embrace and then there'd be cupcakes.

but somehow the mister didn't read the "how to have a conversation with your wife without opening your trap" manual.

so he'll say, "well shauna, you know what you should do..."

and then i'm all, "don't tell me. i got this. um, is it....stab you in the throat?"

but i don't say it out loud. because i'm not a violent person in real life you know. i just play one on the internet. (lucky internet version of me)

so i listen to his *advice* on how i should handle the problem i'm having....with the dog peeing in the house....or something similar.

i thank him (because i'm nothing if not polite) and then i go in my closet, open my sock drawer, take out the voodoo doll i fashioned to represent him, and stab its little throat with a straight pin.

surprisingly, it makes me feel better. AND he doesn't have to die in real life. it's a win/win.

this morning the alarm went off at 4:30. tommy was going on a business trip and his flight was leaving at 6:45. being that i'm a light sleeper, i of course, woke up too. i was so sleepy and knew i'd have no trouble going back to bed. i lay there and just as i was about to drift off again, i heard, "COUGH COUGH GAG GAG GGGGGUUUUUGGG BLLLLLBBBBB KAAAAAKKK KAAAAKKKK COUGH COUGH SNNNOOOORRRTTTTT SNNOOOOORRRRTTT...."

and just then the skin starting pulling away from my body. i was literally melting, like someone poured sulphuric acid all over me. and you know what? compared to the horrifying sounds of my husband brushing his teeth, gargling, blowing snot out his nose and hocking up loogies, it was quite pleasurable. acid poured on your body = nirvana

i put the pillow over my head to try and drown out the noises, but it was useless. my hearing is THAT good. unfortunately.  a few minutes later he emerged from the bathroom, looked over at the bed and saw me lying there, staring at the ceiling. and he said, "oh. did i wake you? i'm sorry. i was trying to be quiet."

that was you trying to be quiet? my grandmother heard you and she lives 25 minutes away AND is hard of hearing.

he kissed me on the forehead, told me to "go back to sleep. it's only 5 am." and then added, "oh, you know what you should do? take a tylenol pm at night so you won't wake up so early. no wonder you're tired in the afternoons."

i smiled, gave him the thumbs up sign, and when he turned to walk out of the room i flipped him the bird.

this whole experience has made me envious of deaf people. oh. to be deaf. what it must be like not to hear unwanted *advice* or the god awful sounds that come out of grown men. 

deaf people are so lucky.

fingertips

you ever think you might be going crazy?

well i do.

and i know what you're thinking. "duh, you ARE crazy. have you read your blog?"

that's not what i'm talking about. not the kind of crazy where you mention midgets, coconut cream pie scented va-jay-jays, and nazi trainers in the same paragraph and everything thinks you're a whack job. no. that's not what i'm talking about at all.

i feel like i'm suffocating (literally with a splash of figuratively). lately i've thought, "i can't breathe. i can't breathe. I CAN'T BREATHE!"

i wake up in a swell enough mood. in fact i'm actually quite chipper. i love mornings. mornings and i are like 2 peas in a pod.

and then THEY get up. and they need stuff. like food items. and drink options. and wiped bottoms. and clean clothes. and channels changed.

and i feel myself slowly creeping towards the edge of the ledge.

i wouldn't actually jump. but not cuz i'm scared to. but cuz i'm afraid of dying. ok. that might be the same thing as being scared to. but i like to think that if these beings who insist on constantly smothering me to the point of near asphyxiation do not stop--AND SOON!--i just might...pack my bags and leave...for an afternoon....or the length of a movie. and dammit, do NOT tempt me.

you know the sick part of all of this? i asked for it. ASKED. FOR. IT.

shit. why do babies have to be so cute. 

nope. now that i think about it, it's not the cuteness factor that's gotten me where i am today. what i really blame is my list of really cute baby names. i simply had too many. for which i wanted to name children. i had 4 really good names for kids and felt it necessary to birth said number of children for which to bless with awesome names. is that the MOST fucked up reason to have kids? i say, i win. 

what's worse is that the other day i came up with THE CUTEST name for a baby and my uterus screamed out in this loud, non human shriek, "OH HELL TO THE NO!" 

i got the message loud and clear. there won't be anymore babies for which to don my cute baby names.

and not just because my uterus said so, but also because right now i can hear the 2 youngest kids in the kitchen now, fighting over the last gogurt. and oops, something just crashed to the floor. it sounded like a glass. someone should really go in there and see what the hell is going on.

oh yeah. that would be me.

in my mind, i'm hanging off the second story by my fingertips.

please send help.

the moron test

let me start off by saying that I. Am. A. Genius.

ok. so you know about the iphone, right? i mean, who doesn't. it's the greatest invention since the portable toaster and honestly, i don't think we'll ever be the same. it's a whole new world, people.

so. the other day while using my little nugget of scrumptiousness, i pressed the App Store button and scrolled thru the featured applications, looking for the next thing i HAD to have. i've had recent good luck with purchasing applications for my beloved iphone--my favorite so far being THE MORON TEST. turns out, i'm a moron cuz i can't complete the "test" without the buzzer zonking and the word FAIL flashing on the screen. 

(no worries, tho. i just bought the study guide and have vowed to win the mother lovin game if it's the last thing i do. side note: harley has already "passed" and likes to throw that in my face every time i ask her to clear the dishes or put her bike in the garage. pfft. 7 year olds. it goes something like, "harley, please get your bicycle out of the middle of the driveway so daddy doesn't run over it with the car again." and she's all, "but i'm not a moron." which now that i think about it might have more to do with the fact that she thinks her dad IS? and not anything to do with the game after all. brilliant.  side note #2: i may not give her enough credit)

anyway, so i'm scrolling the apps and nothing is catching my eye. and then it hit me. you know what's missing from the iphone?

porn.

and that my friends, is how i'm going to become rich.

forget all this writing crap and selling books and having my own radio show, i'm going to develop an application for the iphone that is nothing but porn. 

who's the moron NOW?

ooh. it gets better.

it will be affordable too.

there will be 2 different types of porn apps for the phone.

regular sized porn-- $14.99

midget porn-- $9.99 (you know, cuz they're smaller)

it's genius and i can't wait to get started on the technology. 

ok. so. anyone know how i start on the technology?

well. i'm sure it's just a minor detail. 

i'm gonna be so rich.

twitter kills

yesterday was a bizarre/surreal/topsy turvy day.

we lost 2 major icons in one fell swoop. and today i find myself glued to cnn and mtv. 

side note: mtv is showing music videos today in honor of michael jackson's death. you heard me right. MUSIC VIDEOS. it's weird. i feel as if we've gone back in time--somewhere in 1985--when mtv was worth watching.

i think the world has gone mad.

anyway, i asked my friend, talking beans, to guest post today in my stead. 

after a few back and forth and somewhat awkward emails which pertained to him "inserting things into my box" (can't type that without giggling), here's what he sent...

everyone, i'd like you to meet the very funny and tragically canadian, talking beans (aka craig)

Twitter Kills:

June 25th will go down as a day to remember for many of us, including myself. Oh sure, it was a thrill to be asked by Shauna Glenn (https://twitter.com/shaunaglenn) to be a guest writer on her blog, truly it was, but it was somewhat overshadowed with worldly events that where spinning like a bottomless sugar top right in front of my outrageously wondrous eyes.

It was around 2:00pm (PST) when I heard the news about Michael Jackson being rushed to hospital due to a cardiac arrest. Wow, he did? I am just getting over the loss of Farrah Fawcett, and now I have Michael Jackson being rushed to hospital due to a cardiac arrest, I hope he can survive this! So naturally, what a lot of us do now, is we turn to our “friends” in our social media groups, like Facebook, or in my case Twitter. (https://twitter.com/talkingbeans). Surely my Twitter friends, or Twiends as I call them, are wondering the same things I am. How is he? Is he ok? Is he going to survive this ordeal? Could we really lose two celebrities in one day? Let’s chat people, lets keep our spirits high, have some laughs, and send our good healing vibes to that Los Angeles hospital.

Now while I was logging into Twitter, for some silly reason, I was also following CNN for my updates on Michael Jackson, because usually they know the news when it happens. They report the news every day, so they have experience. They even gloat: “CNN.com delivers the latest breaking news and information on the latest top stories.” That alone tells me that I should be following CNN to the full extent so I can find out exactly what is going on with Michael Jackson, King of Pop, and his cardiac arrest. But you see, that’s where all the silliness happened.

Somehow, Twitter knew Michael Jackson died before he was actually declared dead! What? Twitter knows he is dead before he actually was pronounced dead? I began toggling between Twitter and CNN, confused and sweaty. CNN reporting he is in hospital, Twitter reporting he is dead. Then, craziness continues on Twitter as commemorative videos are quickly designed by Twits to pay tribute to the fallen King of Pop...and again, CNN hasn’t even said Michael is dead. Poor God is up in heaven twittering on Twitter, still deciding if he wants to take Michael, so he tweets a direct message with St. Peter and says, “Dude, did we take him yet? Everyone on Twitter says we did, can you check the Gates to see if he is moonwalking out front?” I am still in a frenzy, CNN now reporting he is in a coma, so my tweets into the Twitter world went like this at the time:

@shaunaglenn What? I thought Thursdays at your house was the live show of the String Panty Quartet of Rock n Roll Elves featuring Johnny Rod

Wait, that had nothing to do with my story....ok, here are the correct tweets:

Wait, I agree it's not looking good for MJ, but how does Twitter know he is dead before CNN reports it to be official? How does this happen?

Wait, now I am seeing a video posted commemorating MJs life...has he officially been declared dead? Or are we declaring this on Twitter?

It just freaks me out that Twitter knows stuff before it officially occurs. I heard coma.

Ok, CNN, Fox & NY Times reporting too, based on LA Times. I couldn’t base it on TMZ or Twitter - would be weird.

Ok, Michael Jackson was officially being declared dead. It’s sad that the King of Pop died, it is sad that it happened at the young age of 50. But in Twitter, did we give him a chance today, or are we like everyone in the media that we hate, reporting on stories before they even really have all the answers? Did we rush to be the first ones to jump on a story? Did Twitter Kill Michael before he actually died? I don’t know but I did find it interesting that he went from being the number one trending Twitter topic of the moment until he officially was pronounced dead by CNN and others, in which case he suddenly dropped to the number EIGHT trending topic at that moment. But I do know this, if I ever need to know things ever again, before they actually happen, like a prophet in the night, Twitter will tell me my future and the fate of others. Tweet out!

how starbucks saved my life. and i don't even LIKE starbucks.

someone yesterday made the comment, "i've been wondering why you haven't posted much lately and then it hit me--it's summer! your kids are home!"

and i sighed heavily and gulped more of my margarita.

it's true. they're home. all of them. and it would be F.I.N.E. if i didn't have a J.O.B. 

i know what you're thinking. YOU HAVE A JOB?

and i would be offended by your thinking that except you're right. what i "do" doesn't fall under the normal parameters of "job." but dang it, i like to think it's important work. i mean do you KNOW how many people count on me to be more ridiculous than them so they can feel better about themselves?! i'm doing the public a service, thankyouverymuch. 

take now, for instance. i'm coming to you live from starbucks. it's true, i'm not a fan of starbucks. i think i've been quite vocal about that. their only redeeming quality in my book is their black iced tea (plus, i'm DESPERATE). but where else can i sit in the air conditioning, listening to person after person order their venti-iced-mocha-extra-ice-with-1-splenda. (i've started counting the number of people who order this particular drink--8--so far--and i've only been here for half an hour). it's like the best gig ever. 

anyway...

this morning i woke up completely funkified. i made the mistake of taking benadryl before i went to bed--to help me sleep--and was awakened by a certain 7 year at 1:36 this morning. i knew she had entered our bedroom because upon entering she slammed the door shut. immediately i grabbed my chest because i was sure i'd been shot. (perhaps i'm a little paranoid, yes? or maybe not. there are people who hate me you know. i know. shocking). soon i realized i hadn't been shot at all, just jolted from my dream where me and the bloggess were making out in the bathroom at blogher (fingers crossed it will come true).

the 7 year old (who i lovingly call harley) tiptoed (REALLY? you're concerned about making noise NOW?) to my side of the bed and reached for my water glass.

side note: my kids come in during the night, EVERY NIGHT, and get water off my bedside table. i find this annoying on several levels. A. there are a plethora of other available glasses in the house (i'd start with the room i call 'the kitchen') for which to get water. B. why the fuck you gotta come in MY room and wake me up? have we just met cuz EVERYONE who lives in my house knows i'm a light sleeper. like i can FEEL you coming down THE HALL. hell, i can hear you breathing while you sleep--and i'm 3 rooms away! C. shit. i forgot C because typing B got me all worked up. plus, this one girl just came into starbucks and ordered her drink and is staring at me while she's waiting for it. i looked up and smiled when i first felt her looking at me--as did she. but now she just keeps looking at me and i feel like maybe i have something on my face. or maybe she's a lesbian and thinks i'm cute and is trying to pick me up. oh my god, i'm so flattered. a lesbian has a crush on me. or... perhaps she's not a lesbian at all and is actually one of the people who hates me and is right now this very moment planning her attack. she DOES sort of have a wicked, crazy eyes look about her. 

ok. false alarm. she left with her drink. but i'm SURE she has a total girl crush on me now. i love the gays.

wait. where was i? oh yeah, in a funk. 

so the 7  year old drinks my water, and then stands next to the bed, staring at me. again with the staring. what gives.

then she whispered, "mommy. are you awake?"

i try my best not to shoot fire out of my eyes. "yes. what is it harley?"

"can i sleep with you?"

"sure." and then i scooted over and let her crawl in next to me. immediately she began sniffing. and sniffing. and sniffing again. and sniffing some more. and i felt a sharp pain behind my left eye.

meanwhile, mr i-can-sleep-through-anything-because-that's-in-the-asshole-job-description, moved CLOSER TO ME and that's when i realized i was in hell. i was sandwiched in between a large man who snores, and a child who, when she sleeps, grows extra limbs for which to kick me in my various regions--not limited to, but including, my chin, stomach, and vagina. and now she's sniffing.

it didn't take much of this to realize one of two things was about to happen: i was going to completely lose my shit and scream at the top of my lungs just how bad my life sucked; OR kick both of their asses (why tommy? mostly for breathing. i didn't say it would be a rational ass beat); OR move harley back to her bed. i realize that's not two things, but three. hey, i never said i was great at math.

i opted for the third thing and walked harley back to her room. where we proceeded to get into an argument about monsters under the bed. that she knows FOR SURE are there. and because i was zonked out of my mind on benadryl, this is what i told her about that. there are no monsters under the bed cuz if there were, our dogs would have sensed them and already eaten them. and then i reminded her that i'm right about this because we'd earlier witnessed the dogs eating used maxi pads out of the trash can and if dogs will eat those, then surely they would eat monsters. because monsters probably taste like chicken. oddly enough, my explanation worked because the argument ended with harley falling back to sleep. in her bed. 

and now thinking back i'm wondering how the hell she bought a story that fucked up. but. she IS 7. and believes in monsters. so i guess it's totally plausible in her mind. 

kids. 

anyway, i was finally able to fall back asleep around 2:30. only to have the mister wake me up a few hours later to ask this question. "you awake?"

i peeled one eye open and said, "if by awake you mean are you asleep, then yes. i'm awake."

and then i growled the word, "coffee," in his direction.

so...getting back to the comment yesterday about my recent lack of posting on here, the long answer is "i think my family is trying to kill me."

it's summer school and field hockey practice, and soccer practice, and soccer games, and entertaining kids, and swimming lessons, and multiple weekly trips to the grocery store for more food for kids who eat all the food in ONE DAY, and wet towels, and toys strewn all over the house, and mommy-can-you-please-take-us-somewhere-cuz-we're-bored.

and now i'm hiding at starbucks because i'm afraid to go home. and i have to get my "work" done. because i'm nothing if not dedicated to you. 

ps. am looking for guest bloggers. i'm going to post one a week for the next 8 weeks. if you are interested and would like to be considered, please send me an email. shauna@shaunaglenn.com.

a conversation with talking beans

i don't know if you've heard about this *new* thing called *twitter* but it's become quite the popular way to communicate with random strangers. (although if  you ask me, it too will pass--i mean, look at facebook--it's like the 2009 version of a t-rex....hold on just a minute....someone is talking in my ear piece...what's that? facebook is still alive and well? and very much relevant today? are you sure?--ok. turns out facebook is not dead yet. but trust me, if it's anything like the *internet* it will slowly fade into obscurity)

anyway, at first i was like, "no effing way am i doing something ELSE that requires constant upkeep/input/anecdotal humor.  and then drew (who's pretty much the boss of me) was like, "um, but this is what you DO. you're a writer...who needs an audience...for which to read her writings. you WILL tweet and you WILL like it. or not. it doesn't matter. JUST DO IT!"

and i was all, "ok. ok. don't burst a blood vessel. geez."

and that is the story of how i came to twitter.

when i started i'll admit it was scary. i mean, there's all these people in this room and they're already friends with inside jokes and cliquey clubs and i'm the new girl who wears braces on her legs because she's a wee bit bowlegged.

but i powered through. i made some funny remarks, some quirky comebacks, some gross comments about sweaty ball sacks...and before i knew it--BAM! i was in with the cool kids!

ok. maybe not ALL the cool kids. but i met ONE that i really like.

his name is talking beans. and he's a comic genius. ok. he's not exactly as funny as me, but darn it he sure tries. and i know that he could totally be a figment of my overactive imagination--because REALLY. who names their kid talking beans. only parents who hate their baby, right?

so anyway, we've had some pretty entertaining conversations. which, now that i think about it might not be entertaining AT ALL to the people who aren't IN the conversation so you can stop reading right now if you want to and wait for me to post something entertaining. or maybe you don't find me entertaining at all and accidentally ended up here because you googled "smelly vagina." well, if it makes you feel any better, you're not the first one this has happened to. sorry.

anyway, here are the twitter conversations between me and my new twitter bff.

it all started when i tweeted this: i want to marry jon stewart.

tb: (Lets make this happen for her, I feel love tonight.)

me: Awww. UR the best!

tb: Anytime, good luck with that too! Will try hard for you here.

me: you're awesome. the only snag in the whole "marry jon stewart" plan is that he's already married. and so am i.

tb: No worries, I can still do this. Its a small problem, but if we all put our heads together, we can do anything.

me: that's the spirit! You should really consider becoming a motivational speaker. Can I call you Tony Robbins?

tb: Tis what I do. You call me whatever you want. Tony Robbins, Tony the Tiger, Tony Danza, whatever makes you happy.

me: i like you.

then i tweeted to no one in particular: Just saw another one of those 'I love my wife' bumperstickers. Am I missing something? Cuz I don't get it.

tb replied with: Wait, was this on Jon Stewart's car? I think he is trying to send us a message. Darn you Jon Stewart!

me: come to think of it, the WOMAN driving the car did look eerily similar to Jon Stewart. message received.

tb: It makes me wanna try harder. I am pretending I didnt see message. He will need to do better than this.

me: I like your persistence. It's sexy. Perhaps I'll marry you instead.

tb: I talked to my wife. She did say that if I screw up again, she would sell me to you for a fresh baked banana loaf.

me: question. what drugs are you on and can i have some?

tb: Its all secret stuff, made by fairies and pixie people and frogs named Albert. Will see what I can do to get you some.

me: I'm wondering if you can do something about the heat in Texas. My brain is boiling! #heatstrokecantbegoodformycomplexion

tb: I just called Texas, no one is answering. I think they are all out on giant slipnslides. But here is what I need you to do: Dress appropriately, keep body hydrated, & run naked as fast as you can for breeze. Run so fast...like you really mean it!

me: is there any other way to run??? #talkingbeansreallyknowshisshit

tb: No there isn't. I run like this everyday, and may soon hire an assistant to hold my goods just to help wind resistance.

me: try emailing them. it's ohmygodit'sfuckinghot@whydoyouhatemetexas.com #talkingbeansisamanofaction

tb: You know, its what I do, check me out eh? I tried to email, but I get out of office replies saying, "I am too hot to reply".

me: so typical. ive a mind 2 move somewhere else. except tx was the only state that accepted a-holes. i guess i COULD leave hubs.

and then later i tweeted to everyone in twitterverse...

i just went looking for something in my purse and found an unopened mozzarella cheese stick. the date stamp read feb 09. i wish i was lying.

and then tb tweeted to everyone in twitterverse:  Hey, I just went into my desk to get a cheesestick that I have left there since February for a special occassion, its missing!

me:i found it! send me your address and i'll have it fedexed right away. oh. it's a little moldly/discolored. hope that's ok.

tb: You found it! Please address label to Talking Beans - Canada. They know who I am. If not, fax it, I will wait by the fax!!!

me: better yet. i just bought the new iphone app that beams objects thru time and space. and it was only $4.99! sending...now!

tb: Right on! I just bought the iphone app that beams me thru space & time...I will meet it half way!

and i've been laughing ever since.

ok. maybe tweeting isn't half bad. and you know what i'm finding out? there are freaks JUST LIKE ME out there. finally. a group i fit in. in a fucked up sort of way.

you should join me on the dark side. http://twitter.com/shaunaglenn

we totally accept people with corrective leg wear. we do NOT discriminate.