Look at this stuff… isn’t it neat??

So I’m even laughing at myself… but I am growing a watermelon.  And an eggplant.  I just picked one healthy un-blighted tomato.  And one lonely but luscious cucumber.  This is my world, and welcome to it.  If I never told you before… it’s the little things that make life worth living.


I was totally bitchy to a military vet in my last blog.  I’m not even sorry and I’m still laughing out loud, quite literally, at that. But in penance, I’m going to rip myself apart a little bit.  Recently, Charlie said, “You’re a hoarder.  I could take something out of your house and you wouldn’t even know.”  He is wrong, I would totally detect a disturbance in the force.  This is not my first intervention.  I really, really like my stuff.  Who else has a cock on the wall?  Just me, friends.  Apparently, my classic Georgia O’Keefe qualifies as a vagina…. Who knew?


It’s just possible that I might have too much stuff.  Like… I collect copper jelly molds.  I hang them in the kitchen.  The lobster looks alarmingly like a phallic symbol.  That’s what makes it my favorite.  You want to make my panties wet???  Find me a piece of walking ware, which is seriously weird English pottery, that I don’t own.  Clue: Miss Shannon doesn’t have any plates. Not even one. Bonus points for running ware.    Or, my god, if you should come across an Anne Geddes dragon, I will reimburse you.  People need weird art in their lives.  Or maybe that’s just me.  I’ll add that to my list of things to ponder.


Trouble is, I found myself a minimalist.  Miss Shannon likes busy walls… visual interest and texture.  While not especially talented, I’m an artist.  Artsy is probably the word I’m really looking for.  I can see the absolute beauty in a rock… in a skein of yarn, in a nifty drawer pull.  In myself, as I currently exist.  There isn’t a hell of a lot that’s minimal about me.    My ex-husband used to tell me not to be over the top.  I always wondered who he thought he’d married when he said that.  Because it sure as hell wasn’t me.   Now back to the point of this hoarding business…  This one isn’t a dick, so it’s just possible there’s a grain of truth to it.  As we aren’t making executive decisions together, I’m not going to redecorate or anything.  He’s really appalled by the Red Canna.  LOL.  I did manage to let go of the candy molds I never, ever use, three or four specialty appliances that I’ll never use and vowed to never, ever let this guy see my fabric stash.


I had to ask myself where I was really going with this… so here it is.  First… as long as I continue to pay my own bills, I will hang cocks and vaginas on my walls if the spirit moves me.  The spirit’s moving me at present, along with whatever impulse makes me like dishes that wear shoes.  Second…  I’m trying to work up some pleasantries about compromise.  And I’m thinking of a fellow that has multiple, entire rooms without decorations.  I think I’m trying to say that you have to decide whether or not something is a hill to die on.  This probably isn’t one of those issues, so I will refrain from decorating Charlie’s house…  and he will continue to question the sanity of a woman who hangs vaginas on her wall.


Oh, you window licker, you!

Ahhh, Facebook and dating a conservative republican.  I’m not really a democrat.  Charlie says I’m a libertarian… which makes me think of a librarian, but I digress.  Which is kinda why I blog.  Here’s Miss Shannon’s politics in a nutshell:  Stop killing each other.  There are way more entertaining hobbies.  Let the rednecks (of which I am a card carrying member) have their guns.  Stop killing each other.  Let the owner of the vagina decide what does and does not happen there… it’s none of your business.  Peeing is also a private activity – which I would like to remind the young lady who peed in the bushes across the street, is best done PRIVATELY.  If it’s not directly affecting you and is related to an intimate activity, mind your own business.  Oh, and for fuck’s sake, stop killing each other.



Sadly, I dared express the opinion that I hate the memes that make fun of Hillary Clinton’s clothes.  I’m Irish…not a hell of a lot offends me.  See previous paragraph.  The reason it bothers me is the same reason it bothered me when Michelle Obama (don’t love her, but she has great taste in clothes) was vilified for wearing a sleeveless dress, and the same reason I could give two shits if Melania Trump gets nakey for pictures.  I admit I find it humorous that the same conservatives who expressed shock and dismay for bare arms are A-OK with nakey.  Anyhow… it’s irrelevant.  Hillary Clinton is an insidious, evil woman.  Kk.  Let’s talk about the atrocities, the funny money and the list of the dead.  Not the fact that she isn’t as hot as Melania Trump.  Not that her taste in clothes sucks… and it does, it really does.  Dear Mother Earth… why is it your daughters, who should be revered, are instead brought down to the level of pretty vs. not.  I then dared say that I hope my daughters and my granddaughter (who is the cutest little button ever, ever) will not be on trial for their looks should ever choose to run for office.


Holy fuck balls, Batman…. I hope my daughters are treated with the bare minimum of respect that would be afforded a male opponent.  When I made this comment, I sure as fuck wasn’t hoping the blow hard on the other end of the post was going to jump in and “raise my kids.”  Fuck you and your closed mindedness.  And yet… he immediately told me I should ‘parent’ my children by turning off the internet and monitoring their tv viewing.  OK, asshat, my daughters are grown adults.  I’m not censoring anything for them.  They are all, every single one, gainfully employed and making forward steps in their lives.  Even when I don’t agree with them, I feel like I’ve done a good job as a mother because I have given them a voice.  Go forth and fuck up.  Heaven knows I did.  For the rest of their lives, they will have someone to fall back on as long as there is breath in my body.  Can Mr. Veteran Proud, Tried and True say the same?  IDK… are his little girls growing up to be ladylike Stepford wives??  Because I think they’re in trouble if they’re not!


For the record, Miss Shannon is grateful for every American Veteran that walks this earth.  Once again… thanks that I don’t say Heil Hitler, wear a burqa and that I can tell you to fuck yourself when it’s warranted.  And it really is, cupcake.  Further, Jiminy Cricket as a write in is sounding pretty goddamned good.  I am seriously considering abstaining from voting because I cannot vote for either candidate in good conscience.  Jiminy Cricket it is!!!



Miss Shannon was absolutely born into poverty with parents who taught that women had a place.  (I love you, Ma, but you totally did.  I know you’ve reformed.)  But this is America.  One of the many reasons I love this country is that I didn’t have to stay that way.  Once upon a time, somebody told me I could do more, be better and they made me believe them.  Thanks, Ari.   So… I’ll keep fighting the fight, I’ll keep telling little girls they can be anything they can conceive of.  I’ll keep saying that sexist memes are wrong.  I will continue to tell people to get their hands out of my vagina and that rape jokes are not funny.  I’d like to make a couple little points to my political enthusiast pals out there…. Because you guys are like rabid dogs sometimes.  There is a middle ground to every argument.  If you think only your opinion is valid, then you are an imbecile which I mean in the clinical sense.  That would be true even if you served in the military, which actually doesn’t give you supernatural powers of foresight and wisdom.  PTSD, maybe, and the absolute right to the gratitude of the American People.  No superpowers.


For the benefit of window lickers everywhere:  It is actually possible to have a pleasant discourse with a person you disagree with.  Sometimes, when you do that, you might even give the other party food for thought and the ability see another viewpoint.  When you saddle up, refuse to consider anything they are actually saying and let your eyeballs bug out of your head, you just make them think you’re a stupid blow hard who is following their party line, rather than the deeply concerned, passionate individual you would like to think you are.  Because, umm… you are acting like a stupid blow hard.

window licker

Now…  let’s talk about my friend Shawna.  Shawna is a fairly conservative, Christian republican.  Shawna is prolife in a very, very big way. We’ve chatted about it. I’m prochoice in a very, very big way.  I am definitely flexible in my theological viewpoint, kinda middle of the road politically and yet…. Shawna and I can be friends.  This is because Shawna and Shannon can disagree with one another’s viewpoints without a burning urge to stab each other in the eye with a fork.  Some call it socializing. And manners.  I call it being American enough to know that people are allowed to have opinions that differ.  Shawna is with me on whether or not it’s low class to make fun of a woman’s appearance because you dislike her politics.  This is true, even though we’re talking about Hillary Clinton, who we both quite dislike.  On account of our mutual desire to be afforded the same basic rights as penises everywhere.  Which is not a request for special treatment, kinda like thinking we shouldn’t get paid 78 cents on the dollar for the same job as a man isn’t really beyond the pale.   Now, Shawna makes one hell of a batch of chocolate chip cookies, but I still say her place is anywhere she wants it to be.

This is Shawna and her husband, who has never treated me with less than respect despite the fact that we have different beliefs:


When I hang out in Republican Land,   I like to say… I am Switzerland.  But I’m not… I have thoughts and opinions and they matter.  I’m getting tired of the blank, stupid smile I put on my face when I don’t agree with the conversation around me.  Miss Shannon has smarticles…. And she wishes people didn’t need to divide everything along party lines.

Waiting for Superman

Today, I appreciate why my ex-husband did not allow me to use power tools.  YouTube teaches everything, boys and girls, and being single, I have to fucking try to fix this stupid shit.  Yet, I am not really capable of doing so.  At the end of the day, I will create a passible proximity of an appropriate shower.  Because I’m fucking tenacious, dammit.  And I don’t have a choice.  That’s name is single mom, no money and broken stuff.

power tools

I am tired beyond all recognition of being tenacious.    My father used to tell me I didn’t always have to be the toughest kid on the block.  But I do, Dad.  I really do.  I was taught to be a woman, in all that used to mean.  I know how to be pretty, to be pleasing… I can cook damned near anything.  I can fix your hems and decorate your world.  At the end of the day, it’s useless because what I can’t do is fix my broken shower and that’s the thing I need.  If I were wealthy, this would be fine because I could pay someone to do it for me.  Alas, I am not, so YouTube it is!!


Miss Shannon had a fairly unpleasant day.  I’m sure you are gathering this.  I guess I’ll think about it tomorrow, because today, it’s all too much.  Most of my lady friends will get it when I say that crying only makes your eyes red.  It’s certainly never solved anything for me… Just for tonight, I would like to pretend that everything doesn’t suck.  I would like to pretend that this effort will not be a disaster of epic proportions.  So, that friends, is just what I’m going to do.  Everything will be fine in the end.  If it’s not fine, it’s not the end.  Ha!!


No, Charlie didn’t go anywhere. And I will find my big girl panties directly.  I will remember, if it fucking kills me, that I can do anything I have to.  The name of the game is fake it ‘til you make it, and I am a champion at that one.  I also don’t think it’s wrong to wish Superman was coming to save me.  Please know, no one has ever saved me in my life, thus far.  I don’t anticipate that changing in any meaningful way.  And that’s ok, because I have two hands and I can do it myself.




At some point, I will either have enough money to hire repair people or I will have learned enough stupid bullshit to do it myself without wanting to suck my thumb.  To date, I can install a dishwasher, I can lay tile, I can both lay and remove carpet.  I can fix a hole in the drywall and I can paint the hell out of anything.  That’s the girl I know… Miss Fix It… do it yourself.  It’s sheer stubborn pride, because there isn’t a penis on earth who wants to do it for me.  Miss Shannon does not beg.  Hell, at this point she knows better than to ask.