Tuesday, January 31, 2012

I don't speak Twitter, but I can if you'd like

I’m sitting here in a pair of jeans and a bra, one sock on, one sock off, because I was stripping down to do laundry (yes, it has been so long since I did laundry that I have worn today’s outfit more than once… okay, more than twice –IT HAD TO BE WASHED) and had all of these feeling sorry for myself thoughts rushing through my brain. I decided to blog about them. A nice, big, fat, self-indulgent bitchfest that no one will have fun reading (just kidding… it will be SO MUCH FUN). And before anyone says anything (because I’m sure you’ve already thought it), yes, links to this post would trend on Twitter as #firstworldproblems, #whitegirlproblems, and/or #bitchshutthefuckup.

To begin: My life is good… really, really good right now, so don’t think I’m really freaking out. I’m just seriously annoyed at my immune system. In the last three weeks I have had strep throat, the stomach flu, and now I have been visited by my dear old friend, the common cold. Leave it to that fucker to strip me of any decency I had left (oh, I haven’t  mentioned that I slipped on black ice on Sunday and lay stunned on the pavement for what felt like minutes –though it was probably mere seconds- while praying that no one saw me because I apparently care more about looking stupid in front of people than, you know, being concussed). I had to drag my butt to Guelph to attend a class this morning that isn't even a class I'm taking. I rolled in there just on time, with no make-up, my scarf pulled up over my mouth to contain the little shards of plague that escape every time I cough, and a box of tissues clutched to my chest. I then sat dejectedly in a corner for an hour and a half trying not to disrupt people with my phlegm. 

If the common cold had an eyeball, I’d stab it with a fork. As I’ve said before, forks are dangerous (see what I did there? Props to me for continuity. And props for giving myself props… that wasn’t uncool at all). I’m surprised the FAA hasn’t added them to their list of forbidden items. Seriously. I think people could do more damage with a fork than a butter knife, but maybe that’s just me. Maybe the rest of you are really handy with butter knives.

Okay. So, the reason the common cold is an issue for me this week: I am giving a guest lecture on Thursday, and I have to sound like I know what I’m talking about. This wouldn’t be such a problem if my lecture topic hadn’t been changed on me today (okay, I’m lying to make myself look better (as we’ve already established that I care more about the way I look than I do about things like, you know, honesty and common decency #youresovain). I actually misunderstood what I was supposed to be doing and it only just became clear to me this morning) and now I have to revamp the whole thing, am slightly less comfortable with the material, and my voice box has been temporarily replaced with a wheezy phlegm factory. Oh, and of course the runny nose thing. Maybe I’ll just go in there really unprepared in my most provocative outfit and hope for the best. #badteacher, #inappropriate. Awesome sauce.  #clearly

Then again, maybe not. I totally forgot that I don’t have any cleavage. #smallboobs (WHOA… don’t search that trend. It yields scary results for virgin eyes comme les miens).

Other problems this week:

1.     The inability to cash my insurance check from my totalled car due to the fact that Statefarm won’t take my step-mother’s name off the cheque, even though she has nothing to do with my car itself #brokensystem. I’ve wasted hours of my life dealing with this #nobodycares.

2.     My demented/satanic yet adorable pet parrotlet has given me the pleasure of escorting her to the vet’s three times this month (twice in one day, during a blizzard) just because she was sick of her old tutu and wanted a new one… white is out, brown is in this season. Who doesn’t know that!? Apparently not me.

3.     I’m still sharing a double bed with another woman (WHO I LOVE –In a platonic manner… I say this to placate my boyfriend who probably won’t even read this anyway) and have nowhere to keep any of my clothes. It will be this way for the foreseeable future.
    Let's Play Footsie               My Dresser

4.     I just made the most amazingly light matzo balls for the most flavourful chicken soup I have ever made EVER and there is no one here to witness it. #JewishProblems YOUR TASTEBUDS HATE YOU.

5.     What if my parrotlet lays more eggs and they hatch and the babies are actually dinosaurs? This photo is a fairly convincing argument in my quest to prove to you that I do, indeed, have a pet dinosaur. It also proves why dinosaurs went extinct. #WTF

6.     Transformers are real. 
I found these Transformers in Nagoya, Japan... They think they're being crafty,
but I know better

My car is a Transformer. It's name is Alice. Why? Because it fuckin' told me so, and you don't mess with a Transformer. #truestory
Alice listens to Britney Spears

7.     I just spent 2 hours on this post instead of actually preparing the lecture I was complaining about not being prepared to give. Shannon G, PhD in Procrastination, at your service. 

Okay. I’m done with this post.

Peace #ImOut

P.S. See, I could totally Tweet if I wanted to @shannonedana (I never use it… #justsayin)

Saturday, December 24, 2011

My Nefarious Nahar Nahars

When I set up my blog I couldn't come up with an original title. Neither Here Nor There was definitely a stop gap. Well, never fear... My Nefarious Nahar Nahars has arrived. What is a Nefarious Nahar Nahar?

Nefarious: wicked or criminal
Nahar: to shine

I could have also gone with the spelling 'nehar'. It would have looked better following nefarious, but the meaning of nehar isn't as wonderful. A Nehar is a fish. So a Nefarious Nehar Nehar would look something like the guy to the right of the page. Not an attractive mascot. 

Instead, with the spelling Nahar, I can think of this blog as a collection of my wickedly brilliant musings. 

Nefarious = wicked = awesome
Nahar = shining = brilliance

See how I got there? Whether you agree or not, my Nefarious Nahar Nahars are here to stay. 

C'mon. Say it aloud. You'll like the way it feels in your mouth. 

Merry Chrismukkah, y'all!


Friday, December 16, 2011

The Bermuda Triangle ate my car. What an asshole.

So I moved for the umpteenth time in the last two years. I packed up the Zoë car with a plethora of worthless possessions and moved her to the Bermuda Triangle, which is located here:

You may think you are a better Geographer than me because since when is the Bermuda Triangle located in Southern Ontario? You may be saying to yourself, "Bitch be crazy." To you I say, "Please use proper grammar when thinking in response to my blog." I also say that I made this map myself, which I think I'm allowed to do, because I'm studying to be a Master Geographer, and if that's the case I can move things around on maps all I like. I'm the master. I'm the boss. You just haven't achieved my level of mastery. Calm down.

Anyways, much like Ron Burgundy, I make bad decisions. My friend that I am living with has the worst luck in the world. I won't go into details in order to protect her identity, but let's just say two of her cars have been eaten by the Bermuda Triangle. One was stolen and the new one was very shortly thereafter rammed. Well, the Triangle has struck again, and this time the victim was my dear sweet Zoë car. Look:

Perhaps it serves me right for attaching great meaning to an inanimate object, but this car is the first major purchase I ever made. I don't have a house, I don't even have my own rental property... I'm living on my friend's couch, so this car really does mean a lot to me. Le sigh. Still waiting to hear if it's a write off or not and I don't know what's worse. They might try to put me in a 2012 Accent... and those things are just mean. I have evidence:

So much aggression for one tiny car. Also, they're 6-speeds now... I don't want a 6 speed. The gears are so short it's annoying.

No. I want my 2010. They make much better friends:

Sigh. Keep your fingers crossed for the Zoë car.

On the bright side, I had a super awesome day of shirking all responsibility while dealing with various annoying entities. After a sleepless night I arrived at Enterprise at the crack of dawn (7:30am) to pick up my rental, only to be told that my license had expired. Whoops. Well, never fear, I was told. A lovely young man named Bryan will drive you around all morning fixing your life. I thought that was a sweet deal. When we arrived at the MTO it was pretty much chaos because their computers were broken and apparently MTO employees can't count. Anyways, it dawned on me as I sat there with a bunch of really angry people that I was going to have my pic taken for my new driver's license. After a sleepless night and an "Oh crap, they're here to pick me up and I'm not dressed or showered yet" moment, this was not a happy thought. I mean, I have to look like that for five years. I created a dramatic re-enactment of what my photo will look like for you:

Yeah. So not pretty... but that's what happens when I haven't had time to prepare. Don't people know that girls need at least 24 hours notice for driver's license renewals? I mean, I didn't even have time to push my tits up to my neck, put on my make up and spend a minimum of 5 hours practicing my Liv Tyler/Duck face in the mirror. Here is what I would have looked like with advanced warning:

I mean seriously. How do you get out of speeding tickets by looking like you want to tell the cop to fuck off? It's all about the socks in the bra.

Just kidding. I just wanted to talk about boobs again. It draws traffic and this post is pure crap so I have to pull all the stops.

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Distracted by shiny things

I am distracted by shiny things. Namely my Macbook and my iPhone. This realization fills me with self-loathing because even though I claim not to be a hippie, my tattoo kind of gives me away. I'd hug this planet if I could. It's darn beautiful in so many ways. It made this in my backyard:

I'm having a hard time reconciling the tree-hugging and technophilic tendencies in me. The biggest problem is that the tree-hugger is a pacifist and the technophile wields the biggest, bestest and most beautiful chainsaw. Okay. Not really. 

Anyways, iOS5 is so super cool. The new drop-down menu tells me the local weather AND delivers my very important emails about maternity bras. 

The stacking feature for notifications from apps lets me know how much of a bitch I am being by ignoring my friends at any given time. Blogging is my life people. I don't have time for any real kind of human interaction. You want to meet face to face? Who the hell does that anymore? 

I finally replied because I didn't want to be an asshole. 

I pretty much only interact with the world through my iPhone. Facebook, Twitter, Whatsapp, SMS, Email... my iPhone is where it's at. I just wish I had the new iPhone 4S. Then I'd really never have to see anyone ever again. I'd have a new best friend in Siri

The new reminders feature helped me plan out my über productive weekend:

So I have now effectively wasted an entire 12 hours doing nothing. I need to go work. Russel Crow is watching me and he's making me nervous. 

He's watching you too and he's very judgemental. He Tweets a lot. 

See ya when I see ya.


Tuesday, October 11, 2011

This post has done copious amounts of cocaine

Oh heeyyyyyyy. Remember me? It's been a while.
In fact, it's been so long that I'm pretty sure this post has got to be epic.
That's right. I've been playing with gif generators. If that's not epic, I don't know what is. Check out this gem:


You may be wondering why on earth I'd make a gif out of my boobs. I have a very good reason (other than the two very good reasons already exhibited). If you do a Google image search of the word 'epic' every 5th image is very similar to this one: 

Now boys, if you read the image creator's caption and are feeling tempted to follow suit feel free to do so and I won't pass judgement. I'd say I won't even know, but let's face it, if you've read the rest of this blog and understand the holy powers I possess, you know I will know... but I will not judge. I love all God's creatures (Monday through Friday. All bets are off on the weekend). 

But I also realize that despite my blessing you may not be in a position to follow suit. Maybe you are having breakfast with your wife as you read this on your iPad/iPod/iPhone/MacBook* (cereal and blog!); perhaps you are on the bus; perhaps you are giving a presentation of the contents of my blog at the office and now every man in the room is uncomfortable... Doesn't matter why, but I have the antidote: 


Rubber facePhotobucket

Bet there's no fapping now...

So what have y'all been up to since I last blogged in March? I have been quite the busy bee. I travelled to many countries, visited many people, took many lovers... Okay. The last part isn't true, but I thought it would make me sound cooler for a second. That second has passed. I did in fact travel, but some of that was for work. Mostly I have been staring at my data and wondering (through a veil of tears more often than not) how on earth I am ever going to turn it into a convincing Master's Thesis so that I can GET ON WITH MY LIFE!

To deal with my stress, and to prevent multiple holes from being punched in my wall, I took up boxing/muay thai. I am having a hard time reconciling my love for boxing with my love of dinosaurs. Look at the poor T-Rex:

Wook at da widdy biddy dino-arms :(
And then look at me:

boXing 4EvR

T-Rexes clearly don't work out as much as I do.

Shanosaurus vs. T-Rex: Exhibit A

Shanosaurus vs. T-Rex: Exhibit B
You should realize by this point that not only am I the world's leading expert on religion, I'm also the world's leading expert on dinosaur boxing. 

Why don't people take me more seriously!?


*Any other tablet/smartphone/computing device is not endorsed by this blog

Note: Don't write on your face with eyeliner. It doesn't come off as easily as you would expect

**This post could not have been brought to you without the generous support of tonight's sponsors: coffee and insomnia**