Ahhhh… politics: Or get your head out of your butt.

I went to a second hand store today and someone should give me a cookie for not stabbing anyone in the eye.  There was a loud and proud beater there, and Miss Shannon did not engage.  This little man was just slovenly… generally unkempt and his very being gave me a little squick.  Then he opened his mouth.  He actually began berating his female companion by stating that if she were from the country, she’d know she ought to be grateful because he only breaks stuff.  A country woman knows she needs to follow instructions because if she don’t, there’ll be consequences.  ‘Cause, he voted for Trump, and he whoops his kids and dammit, when he was in the military you did what you were told or there were consequences.  Nope, not a cookie.  I need a cookie cake, people.  This guy is the poster child for why the left hates the right.

I remain a moderate, which basically means I have friends on both sides of the great divide.  For my liberal friends… you know I agree with you on almost all social issues.  For the most part, folks should just mind their own damn business and let people be who they are.  But guess what??  We, as a nation are going broke.  Like, welfare Christmas broke.  I know you don’t like it, but we can’t actually just print more money and call it a day.  We really do have to cut out some programs.  It sucks, but it’s like the budget at your house.  You can’t have all the things.  You have to choose the stuff that matters most… rent, electricity, food… then you use what’s left for the other things.  I am so wound up about some of these cuts that I literally cried on a Republican biker.  For me, hunger is always my deal breaker… I will personally march on Washington if they actually cut school lunch.  What I’m not going to do is blow up anything at all, because (REALITY BASED THOUGHT ALERT!!) Miss Shannon is concerned about humanity, like the average liberal, and that precludes bombings.

Lately, I have been seeing a lot of liberal rage that concerns me deeply.  Y’all embarrassed me when you were wearing stuffed vaginas on your heads, but this is getting out of hand.  It’s like a dick pic… no one wants to see it.  No one.  Ever.  That said, what in the sweet fuck are you thinking, talking about a revolution???  Beloveds, you have spent a lifetime fighting against the right to bear arms.  Most of you have never discharged a firearm.  And you want to have a war with the right?  Are you aware that these folks are commonly card carrying members of gun clubs and own multiple weapons they know how to use.  Maybe rethink the viability of this plan, hmm?  It can’t end well, surely you can see that?

Onto military action… boys and girls, the United States is at real and serious risk from the terrorist group, ISIS.  It continues to irk me that this awful group of misogynistic bastards have usurped my favorite goddess’s name.  Anyway, why are you possibly bitching and moaning if a bunch of terrorists who want to kill us all and/or force women worldwide to wear a burqa, get bombed?  Are you stupid?  ISIS is not the same as Islam… I am 100% opposed to the persecution of anyone based on their religion.  That is not what is happening.  These are folks who want us dead, as painfully and publicly as possible.  They are chopping off the heads of journalists and pilots.  This is the USA.  We do not negotiate with terrorists.  I don’t know about you, but I would prefer that our nation gets to write the history books because we won.  Thus, ISIS will remain a terrorist group, as opposed to Jihad warriors or fighters for Allah.

I implore you to pick your battles with a little common sense.  Yes: war bad, feeding hungry people good.  But it isn’t ever that simple, that black and white.  Take Syria… now you can be pissy that we bombed them because you hate Trump and nothing he does will ever satisfy you or you can recognize that as a nation we really must take a stand against what Assad is doing.  Yes, Spicer is a total douche-nozzle who should never ever have made the comments he made about Hitler.  That doesn’t negate the fact that Assad is shooting nerve gas into civilian populations filled with women and kids.

Moving on to my Conservative beloveds…knock off your silly bullshit.  You don’t actually want the little poor kids to go without food, nor do you want the elderly eating cat food.  Instead of reveling in being in  power, for the first time in a long time, why not try to unite our country?  Unknot your panties long enough to admit you have no business dictating toilets or putting your hands inside of vaginas you haven’t been invited into.  Worry about yourself.  The thing that kills Miss Shannon about the toilet thing is that it never occurred to you to worry about her safety before you thought someone different from you might tinkle next to your chick.  Of the very large number of LGBTQ folks I know… I am in far, far more danger from a heterosexual man.  Screw statistics… not one drag queen has ever touched me in a way I did not like.  Miss Shannon wishes she could say the same for the straight guys she’s known.  So, maybe don’t worry so much because a politician tells you ya ought to.  Maybe trust me to tell you if I think I’m not safe… I’ve had a lifetime of practice to know when I’m not and I’m right 99% of the time.  Try to trust women to know what they need.  If I ask you to help me, please do.  If I feel safe, please respect that.

My Country ‘Tis Of Thee

We had hair day at daycare, today.  Hair day is a good time for all… Sometimes kids get their hair done, sometimes it’s just us grown ups.  Stylists are special people.  They have to make tactful suggestions while praying to the gods of fashion that you aren’t going to insist on some sort of crazy, godawful thing and then tell people they did it.  They’re like hostage negotiators for follicles, and I know Miss Nikki has talked me off the ledge a few times lately.  That’s kind of a chick thing, at least in my family… oh, things are unpleasant or stressful in your world, get some dye and pop your head into a weedwhacker.  Go ahead, honey, it’ll help.

Nikki:  Stylist/Hostage Negotiator

It was a lot of fun to chitchat with people whose company I enjoy and not focus on the stress of the week.  Sometimes, we get pretty lofty in our discussions.  We naturally had to hit on Mick Mulvaney’s comments that there’s no proof that providing poor children with a free lunch is beneficial.  I’m not going to blow this fellow up because I think he’s a soulless fiend, which I certainly do.  But let’s call a spade a spade… This fellow and any other person who wants to discontinue free lunches for children living in poverty knows perfectly well that the program benefits those children’s education.  It’s not a matter of getting enough bang for your buck, if you aren’t sporting the IQ of a turnip, you know they need food if there’s ever to be hope they can overcome the circumstances of their birth.  What you are saying is that these particular American children don’t matter.  Stay classy.

Americans are supposed to be the good guys, although I am starting to think that’s gone the way of the buffalo.  I have no complaint about trying to curb spending and make a dent in the national debt.  It’s the thought process of where that I can’t understand, like the recent shift in child care subsidies… there’s no money for that because we suddenly need to provide free Narcan to heroin users.  That’s where money previously enabling people to access child care was redirected.  Somehow, somewhere that made sense to somebody with a whole lot more power than I will ever have.  It comes down to world views… I think America cannot be great if we turn a blind eye to hungry little kids, to the elderly and that is precisely what we are doing.  Granted, this is currently just talk about free lunch and instead they are cutting before and after school programs.  They cut a whole lot of funding to Meals on Wheels, because not starving the elderly doesn’t show results.  Call me a wackadoo, but I really thought the not starving was the desired result.

If Miss Shannon were in charge, she’d be looking to fund effective programing that levels the playing field for children.  I’d be cutting things like corporate welfare, capping the salaries of elected officials at a reasonable (less than they’re getting) amount and evaluating health care with the intent that all people should be able to access care.  This isn’t us against them, we need to work towards the collective good of the American people.  I don’t have all the answers, I only know what I think is important.  For example, it’s more important to me that old ladies not eat cat food than to build a wall bordering Mexico, even though I agree that illegal immigration is a problem.   You’ll notice I said not one peep about travel bans… that’s because I agree that terrorist activity is a real and present danger.  I don’t know if the ban was the right thing, but I also don’t have a better idea.

I like money and I wish I had more of it, I’m not going to make any bones about other people’s desire for a comfortable life.  You don’t get rich teaching preschool, which is why I burned myself 26 times yesterday while hot gluing rocks to a seriously ugly mirror.  I don’t necessarily have money for extras, and that’s ok.  I dedicated my life to improving the lives of little kids.  In my world, you feed them because they’re hungry little kids.  Full stop.  I was a hungry little kid and when my own kids were little there were a whole lot of times I didn’t eat so they could.  I know hunger intimately.  I promise, there was never a spelling test I did well on that happened before free lunch.  I have a kid in my program whose teacher sends him a book bag filled with food for the weekend every Friday, and I am ashamed I didn’t think of it myself.

I had to work on this post for a few days because my conservative republican beloveds get a little pissed off at me when I write about politics.  I love this country.  Should the need ever arise, I will take up arms to defend her.  (You should probably lose sleep over that, it can’t end well.)  Please, please consider what’s happening here.  It is no more acceptable to starve poor people than it is to have homeless veterans sleeping on benches.  PBS… I love you, but you can fund raise.  And please… don’t say the words survival of the fittest.  This isn’t the Darwin awards, it’s not the Hunger Games.  I want our country strong, too.  I just believe we make that happen by investing in the future of our children.

Unanswered Prayers

It’s just possible that I am a stubborn woman.  This can be a hindrance to my life goals, but often it serves me well.  Lately, I have dealt with a lot of stress and personal difficulties that I am not going to bore you with and here is what I have learned:  Miss Shannon is not God.  She really wants to be, but omnipotent power just escapes her.  As ever, I will do what I can… and it’s never enough.  I always tell my kids that you’ve gotta take your joy where you can find it.  Life is hard, there isn’t an instruction manual and therefore, you should totally refinish the cabinet, paint the rocks and generally do the things that make you happy.  You don’t have to paint the rocks, that’s probably just me.

Meanwhile, a bit back Dozer and I went to an estate sale… at which he told me I was not allowed to look at a couple of cabinets.  I then became the proud owner of two awful, badly painted peeling veneer, very green cabinets.  Mother of God.  I have refinished the china cabinet and I want to tell you all about that totally suckish process.  These puppies had peeling veneer, which in laymen’s terms is a pain right in the ass.  Peeling veneer can only be removed… which involves scrapers, blow dryers, irons and sanders.  Based on my own experience, it also requires the blood of a forty year old mother.  Gracious Lord, I am still forty.  WHY is this happening?  Oh, ‘cause I haven’t died.  Gotcha.  This is what we started with:

Here’s what I’ve learned, for your edification:  Boil the hardware with baking soda and then clean it with a toothbrush.  Spray paint the hardware in light coats so it’s pretty.  Chalk paint is amazing and it solves an awful lot of problems.  I passionately love refinishing furniture, it fed my soul and I am super likely to do it again.  And periwinkle is my favorite color… it’s sort of a light bluish purple.  I used Glidden periwinkle petal in a flat paint with additives to make it have a chalk finish and Glidden Siberian Blue for the exterior.  I used flat paint because I was making chalk paint, which is not really a glossy thing.  I have no idea whatsoever why I need this cabinet, but it stays with me until I die.  This is where we ended up:

Here’s what I have learned from the entire process, start to finish:  Miss Shannon is 100% ready, willing and able to make purchases based on the fact that she has been told NO.   While researching the process, another blogger commented that the refinishing process was eradicating her will to live.  I feel ya, sister.  Now that I have one cabinet complete, my gypsy soul is feeling pretty darned satisfied.  I’m going to put some of my china in there, because I think it will be pretty.  Plus, I spent a lot of money on the dishes no one is allowed to use and they should at least be decorative.  Just to even things out, I’m also going to get a new tattoo… I’m thinking a phoenix, because I keep rising from the ashes upon demand.

Next project is the bathroom my kids use.  Dear gracious lord does it need love.  It’s going to involve painted rocks.  Again I say:  take your joy where you can find it. Last night, I told my poor mother, (who grocery shopped with me for three hours last night and lost me in Home Depot and had me paged, even though I was standing right next to her) the best thing that ever happened to me was getting divorced while my house was falling down around my ears.  I learned so much (YouTube teaches everything) and I now know where everything is in Home Depot and what a whole lot of it is for.  I’m absolutely digging up bones… Tonight I’m proud of myself.  I can do all the things.  And some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.

Just funny :-)

There are so many things in this wide world that Miss Shannon does not understand.  Certainly, difficult things like astrophysics or how to program the remote, but I’m talking about my children this evening.  For example, there is this rectangular vessel that lives in my kitchen.  I use it to store rubbish until it reaches capacity, then I put it in larger rectangular vessels outdoors.  I am relatively certain I taught them the function of these items when they were small and yet… only I see it.  Everyone who requires glasses (Me.  Just me.) possesses them.  And here we are.

I recently had a conversation with my two teenaged sons about refuse removal.  I said, really, if you just put the garbage in the garbage can, the house will stay clean.  My oldest boy said, that can’t be all it is.  It can baby, it really really can.  This is not rocket science.  Can you even believe that it is possible for humans other than mothers to place a toilet paper roll on the holder?  Brothers and sisters, I declare that this is a real and possible thing.  Just not at my house.

I’m scheduling a family meeting, which my kids detest like I detest headlice.  In this meeting I will prattle on about how I work a minimum of sixty hours every week and how M is for Mom, not for Maid.  I will say that there is only one little kid in this house and that people need to pull their weight.  We have enjoyed this game of charades many times.  Someday, my little humans will have spouses who want to kill them like I do.    I want to apologize to these fine people in advance.  I have obviously failed as a parent and as a human being.

Meanwhile… Kohls has Wonderbras.  If you are unfamiliar:  These are foundation garments that make the girls look like they did before you used them as udders for the short people who do not understand the magic of the fucking garbage can.  All hail a good bra and putting the garbage where it goes.  Dozer said we should go on vacation… just the two of us… for a week.  And we totally should… someplace with a nice spa that gives hot stone massage to go with my drinks with little umbrellas.

Miss Shannon can be an awful person

Sometimes I don’t like myself very much.  Lately a series of things have made me feel angry, mean and generally unkind.  I know I’m not the only person who can’t always shelve the stressors, but I’m not very proud of myself right now.  I also know that this means I need to regroup, and figure out what I have to do to make myself stop being an evil bitch who’s releasing the flying monkeys every five minutes.


For one thing, I need to finish the papers to complete my degree.  This is a lot of work, I’m super stressed about it and I need it done.  The sad part is, this is extremely important for my future plans and it feels like extraneous bullshit.  It’s anything but… Next I need to have a little personal space.  Finally, I need to take a hard look at my habits and resolve them satisfactorily.  I’m not entirely certain what that looks like… but I am not ok right now, I feel very undone and I need to find my bearings before I destroy anything else in my life.

Miss Shannon is not always a very nice person.  I strive to be better… and sometimes I fail.  This is one of those times for me.  Sometimes things that sound funny in my head are just mean spirited.  Sometimes I just get carried away… and sometimes I’ve burned the candle at both ends for longer than is sustainable without breaking the wick.  I can only hope that the loved ones I have harmed in my crazy festival will understand that I am currently pushed beyond my limits.  And remember, I generally choose not to burden you with my problems.  Which are prolific at the moment.  I’ve got an unhealthy little boy, a couple of teenaged boys who clearly want me to have grey hair and two young adult daughters who are making very big life choices that worry me.

Financial issues abound, I am working towards opening a second business, and I’ve gained fourteen pounds.  Now it’s time for blessings:  I love the five completely nutty monkeys that make up my circus.  I wouldn’t have missed them for the world.  My boyfriend is fabulous, my mom survived breast cancer and I have a project refinishing furniture.  I also have several very good friends, a grandchild on the way and the ability to solve most of my problems.  Even though I feel completely out of control, life is good today.  So…. Adios and vaya con dios!


When my whole world is going to hell in a handbasket and I don’t know what my next move should be, I call JC.  Oddly enough, this generally relates to my love life.  If I don’t know if I’m making a good choice, and when I find myself hesitating, he’s the guy I call.  He’s also the guy I call when I want to choose new weaponry, but that’s neither here nor there.  When I introduced him to Dozer, he said… this is a good one, Shan, but you are not an old lady.  Don’t fall into that…. And he’s right.  Dozer is a good man, and I am not an old lady.  I’m also nobody’s bitch.

You can call me a bitch… I’ll own it.  I spent the last twenty years coating myself with a light veneer of classy behavior, but I know where I come from.  Miss Shannon can make a quilt, frost pretty cupcakes and clean your house like nobody’s business.  I will cook you dinner and even plate your food.  I enjoy the kitchen and you’re probably going to make a mess anyway.  While this is traditionally ‘women’s work’ it doesn’t lessen me, because it’s work I enjoy.  When Dozer called me his bitch, (in public, no less)…well, fact is, I was fairly ready to fuck up his day… I ended up just beating him with his own hat.

When you call a woman your bitch, you’re saying she’s less than you.  You place yourself in a position of ownership and her in one of servitude.  If I liked being treated that way, I’d still be married.  In defense of Dozer, he erroneously thinks he’s funny and that he’s somehow paying me a compliment.  He forgets that I walked through the bowels of hell to get where I am, he has no idea what an insult it is to imply ownership of my person.  Miss Shannon has a college degree, runs a successful business, and has thus far raised two tiny humans to adulthood without breeding a serial killer.  It’s also looking pretty good for the boy children, although the little one is still in his violent urchin stage, so I’ll get back to you in a few years.  So yes, darlin’, I ride bitch.  Gladly and with pleasure… but I am not now, nor will I ever be your bitch.

My friend Amy, and I are planning to take a motorcycle safety course in May.  I’m pretty stoked about it and I look forward to being licensed.  Like every other part of my life, I’ve got two hands and I can do it myself.  Amy is the perfect person to do this with, because she’s my friend most likely to tell me to woman up.  You’ve got this, sister.  Sometimes, it’s what I need to hear.  I also need the impetus to put my money where my mouth is… Though I freely admit that it’s tiresome to always have to prove yourself.  I am woman, hear me roar…. Just once, I wish I wasn’t still roaring over the same stupid bullshit I was bitching about in high school.

Couple little details about Amy… she’s an amazing woman.  All by herself, she has more grit, more heart and more plain sense than any three women need.  She’s gorgeous and funny and always, always has your back.  Amy is someone I am glad to have in my life.  Thank you for being my friend.

In the immortal words of Virginia Slims, we’ve come a long way, baby.  And we have.  Yet, here I am, forty years old, and I have to have a conversation with the man I love about why he can’t publicly denigrate me and why what he is saying is, in fact, denigrating.  And Dozer is one of the good ones.  I’ve had enough bad ones to know for certain… I always say…once a beater, always a beater.  Once a cheater, always a cheater…. I’m not wrong and I know this from bitter experience.  People don’t change who they fundamentally are, I really can’t speak to whether it’s even possible.  As ever, Miss Shannon can only really tell you what NOT to do.  In this instance, the thing to not do is to accept and tolerate.  This is a hill worth dying on.  I fought hard for my me… It was the fight of my life, and while I’ll censor myself and sometimes shrink myself to fit into this particular borg…. The Whore of Babylon finds she cannot give this part of herself away.  Miss Shannon has never really liked a precipice.

Game Over

This site went down earlier in the week and ate my last post.  I’m not going to bother to repost it because my give a damn’s just busted.  Suffice it to say that I like my home, my things and my lifestyle.  Like it or lump it… I have arrived in my comfort zone and I like it here.  I’m going to hunker on down and enjoy the fact that I can refinish furniture in my kitchen and nobody gets a vote but me.  Probably there’s excellent reason for that, but I’m going to relish my ability to do what I like.  This is especially relevant to me at present because I am dealing with several wretched human beings whose primary function in life seems to be the extraction of joy from all forms of life in their vicinities.  I feel as if I’ve somehow stumbled upon a nest of incubi… without any of the positives associated with that sort of demise.   Since my Incubus and succubus have arrived to me via their DV survivors, I’m not really going to focus on that because I don’t have the heart for it right now.


I’ve been shying away from politics lately because I feel frustrated and it’s causing me to have angry disagreements with people I love.  The thing about the whole political arena is that I don’t really think that there’s just one right answer to anything.  I’m especially fond of the whole snowflake moniker because it just epitomizes the ever-widening schism in our country.  We are on our way to major internal conflict… and I don’t think we’ve even begun yet.  If these groups of people – ALL of them- could get off their high horses for a nanosecond, it might be possible to make some progress.   For example, how dare women march for equality?  They aren’t under sharia law (because that’s our yardstick) so they should just be grateful.  The fact that you think I should be grateful for basic and not entirely equal equality tells me that you don’t understand equality.  It’s a god given human right… but it’s not an amendment to the constitution.

There is a profound lack of empathy in our country.  We live in one of the richest countries on the planet and a congressman just suggested children should be forced to sweep floors if they receive a free lunch.  At least half the nation begrudges healthcare, food assistance and people even mistakenly believe that Social Security is a welfare check for the elderly.  I completely understand that our social welfare system needs reform.  Yes, nothing is really free.  Yes, kids need to develop a work ethic.  Do you really need your pound of flesh from a first grader?  There is something inordinately wrong with this… why not bring back the workhouse?  In 1977, Hubert Humphrey said, “the moral test of government is how that government treats those who are in the dawn of life, the children; those who are in the twilight of life, the elderly; those who are in the shadows of life; the sick, the needy and the handicapped.”  I tend to agree with the fellow and that is liberalism at its finest.

It is very difficult to pass a spelling test when you haven’t eaten since free lunch, yesterday.  Clearly, academics are not a vital concern to anyone in any sort of position of actual power, but maybe We, The People ought to concern ourselves with this just a wee bit.  Maybe it’s my wretched liberal leanings… because wanting equal opportunity for all people is apparently a bad thing.  You think little kids need to learn a work ethic?  Maybe volunteer for Junior Achievement, which is a fun program that teaches kids about being entrepreneurs.  Maybe consider actual reform in education so kids in schools in high crime and poverty areas have access to a decent education.  Those are things that help in real, tangible ways.  One major lesson I have learned in life is that in order for a child to escape the poverty of their parents, they must first know that is a possible thing.  You want people off welfare?  Take some time and teach a kid something.  It’ll help.


I still believe in the basic decency of most Americans and that is a completely bipartisan statement.  We all want America to be the best she can be… We just have to change how we think about how you get to that place.  You don’t get there by spewing hatred and being rigid.  You don’t get there by shaming children for being poor and you don’t get there by not caring what happens to other types of people.  Here’s a bit more reality based thought for you:  I am totally aware that nothing I write here makes any positive change in the world.  It occurs to me that my spirit is well and truly crushed. I’ll rally, because if it’s not fine, it’s not the end, but there it is.  I have six months to decide whether it’s worth renewing this mess I call a blog… It’s not looking good.

Like Frankie said…

So, it’s my birthday.  Woohoo… I am forty years old.  I look better than I did when I was thirty, so I can’t really complain, right?  I can feel myself wobbling over this… I could go one of two ways… weeping and gnashing my teeth (the night is still young) or I can be grateful to be in the place where I’m at.  This is the part where you choose whether to be happy, people.  Which way to go??  Waffle, waffle…

For the first time in my life, I rode a bicycle on this, the day of my fortieth birthday.  Apparently, you can, in fact, teach an old dog new tricks.  My children helped me.  Now this all started with a stubborn old man who decided to buy his midget eight-year-old a ten speed.  This went about as well as could be expected considering I couldn’t reach the pedals on my best day, in my wildest dreams.  After a week of falling every. Single. Time. I said… nope, not today.  After a couple of years, it was just too embarrassing to admit I had never learned and that continued to be true for the next thirty years.  Here’s very poor quality photographic evidence:

At the surprise party that Dozer very nicely put together for me over the weekend, my sister, Mary gave me a very nice bicycle.  This is because she knows what I really want is to have my own motorcycle and it seems a logical first step to understand the basic balancing involved with traveling on two wheels rather than four.  My poor mother lost her shit when she heard this, largely because she was pretty much oblivious to my misspent youth which included a whole lot of riding bitch with some fairly unsavory gentlemen.  I’m using the term loosely.   (My little Tugga just came and gave me bike riding tips.  Aww.) Anyway, she actually pleaded with Dozer not to allow me to do this.  First of all, Dozer does not make decisions for me.  Miss Shannon is at least a thousand times more likely to engage in an activity if she has been denied permission, especially since I’m not asking for it.  The more you disapprove, the more I will enjoy that activity… that’s a mathematical certainty.  I do appreciate the fact that she wants me to outlive her, so here’s my concession:  I will take the motorcycle safety course offered locally in the spring.  I was doing that anyway, because I’m not reckless.  I’m not angry with my mother for thinking my boyfriend has the right to grant or deny permission for anything at all in my life.  She really thinks he ought to have that kind of power, because that’s the way she was raised and how she lived her life.   As I said at the time, when your number is up, it’s up.  Do with that whatever you will, but I intend to live while I’m alive.  Yes, I can hear Bon Jovi, too.

This brings me to the many women’s rights marches taking place across the nation as people lose their ever-loving minds over the inauguration.  I’m trying to put things into perspective.  I’m not overwhelmed with joy either… but stay classy.  That would not include wearing stuffed lady parts on your head nor does it include ripping up a ten-year-old kid on social media.  Which also reminds me of the degenerate who held up a sign outside of that same little boy’s home calling for the rape of his mother.  Personally, I support women’s rights – the right to choose, not just your reproductive rights, but your own destiny.  I include things like the fact that rape is the only crime for which temptation is a viable defense.  I was recently advised that it makes me selfish that this is a priority issue for me.  Change comes about because people come together and fight for it.  That is how we won the right to vote.  I guess I’ll keep being selfish while I think there’s a need.  In the current political climate, there’s a need.

OK…back to my happiness and joy.  Riding a bike was on my bucket list.  I may have turned forty, but I’ve got a whole lot left to do.  I’m working to finally finish that god forsaken degree, which I will have before I’m a year older.  My kids are doing well and I’ve got a grandchild on the way.  I’m going to get that motorcycle and make my poor mother crazy.  I’m also going to lay in a hot bath with Epsom salts and essential oils so I stop feeling like I got run over by a truck.  Hell, I may even make it a detox bath and throw in some baking soda.  This works, kids, don’t knock it until you try it.  Baking soda is also the best skin exfoliant going, 89 cents.

My final thoughts today are this:  life is a bowl of cherries.  You have to learn to live with the pits.  True story… There are many crass and fairly trashy people who take away from today’s women’s movement.  I think the meme that annoyed me most was the one suggesting that these ladies ought to be focusing on Veterans.  I’m not wearing a burqa, for which I thank a vet.  I want you to be well and I actually do work on the behalf of vets.  My desire for their well-being has nothing, nothing to do with my desire to decide my own fate.  If Miss Shannon had her own way, there would be no homeless, no abused children and no women raped and beaten.  No one would suffer from hunger and the world would be at peace.  In the meantime, we’ll have to fight the good fight.

And I ain’t looked back

I got a new stereo for Christmas from my fabulous younger daughter, Samantha… sometimes known as Aphrodite.  I’m sure the kids are sorry about that and the fact that my son, Hunter taught me how to use the Bluetooth function.  It’s way louder than my phone, which sports You Tube.  Lucky for them, it’s not a Disney night.  Then again, I’ve been having post mortem love affairs with Chris LeDoux and Johnny Cash that I’m not sure they’re overjoyed with.  I tell them it’s culture… and certainly better than the ka-ka rap shit they play for me!  No joke, there was a song about a boy raping his own mother.  This was a lady who had been working double shifts to buy that kid’s cheerios for twenty fucking years.


When you’re a single mom, life’s about choices.  You can be on welfare and never, ever have enough.  Or you can work yourself half to death.  I chose the latter… I work at least sixty hours every single week and that’s a good week.  For this, I get a decent house and adequate food for my babies, who are raising themselves.  I hope they do as well at raising themselves as I did.  They’ve got a leg up… there’s always food.  Betcha five dollars they would rather have had milk and cookies at the end of the day.

Most of my tiny humans are grown adults now… I have a married girl, a girl expecting a baby, two boys who are physically larger than me and one who is still little enough to want me to sing the muffin boy song to him.  When they are little… you’re their best friend.  They love you so much they want to watch you pee and then they hit puberty.  Somehow your serious awesomeness turns into embarrassment and requests to drop them off a block away.  All bets are off if it’s raining, because they will fucking melt.

Meanwhile, I’m already not loving 2017.  Dozer and I took the Star Wars loving kids to see Rogue One Monday afternoon and got rear ended at a light.  The important thing was that all the people involved in the accident were OK.  The lady wasn’t paying attention, she freely accepted blame and apologized profusely.  Shit happens.  She was ok, we were ok and everybody had insurance.  This should really be where it ends, but it isn’t.  I now have the dubious pleasure of figuring out where I’d like to take my car, find time to get an estimate and get the darned thing fixed.  Oh joy, oh rapture.

In a few short weeks, I’m turning forty.  Still don’t have my bachelor’s, still not independently wealthy and kind of alone.  See, I’ve let go of a lot of things in my life because I’m not who I was twenty years ago.  Thirty nine was a changing year for me… My circle was already small, now it’s minuscule.  I spend more time with Dozer’s friends than my own… and they are nice people, I quite like almost all of them.  When you’re being assimilated into a Borg, you have to remember it’s not your Borg.  So you shouldn’t get too comfy, they aren’t your people.  This is true for Miss Shannon, as well as anyone else who is developing relationships later in life.  Don’t kid yourself, hold a little bit back and hang onto your basic self.  You’ll thank me later.

Miss Shannon sucks at not getting vested.  I’m working on it.  I have heart… I know how to hurt for you and work towards resolution of your problems…. I might have been born plain white trash… and I was… but all that separates us from the beasts is our ability to feel empathy.  A hundred times, I will tell you that when you are raised by wolves, you either mire on down in the muck or rise above it.  When you don’t know how, I won’t judge you.  That shit is hard… I still have moments, myself.  There is someone just now, who finds me and mine lacking.   It hurts me… particularly because that person isn’t wrong.  So many times, I made life choices because I didn’t know better or I didn’t have a superior idea.  Hind sight is 20/20 and I cannot go back and do it over.  Neither can my siblings, my momma or anyone else affiliated with me.  All you can do is change what’s next.

Courage is….

Somebody pissed in my cheerios yesterday.  If you are on my Facebook page, you are probably aware of that.  I never really care what anyone’s faith is… if your religion makes you a kinder, more generous person, I consider it a good thing. You need me to feel like hell because I don’t sit in the same pew?  I’m afraid that won’t be possible.  These days, I place my faith in me… my own steadfastness and willingness to fight for what I believe to be good and righteous in this world.  Miss Shannon usually wants to fight for women and children…the poor, the marginalized.  We get a raw deal.  As socially liberal, hippie dippy, do you, darlin’ as I am… I have to tell you an awful lot of the time we do it to ourselves.

Every day of your life you choose whether to let the voices in your head control your actions.  Maybe that voice sounds like a parent, a romantic partner or some moment when you felt small.  Some of us have an invisible yard stick that grew exponentially out of proportion.  As long as you keep using that as your touch point, you will never measure up.  So, why are you using it?  OOOh… Aunt Jane (who you hate) says XYZ and it makes me feel horrible so it must be true.  Say it out loud, because it’s going to sound just as idiotic.  Somewhere along the way, these are ideas that were embedded into your psyche and they become the background music to which you live your life.  You really want Aunt Jane in the driver’s seat?

Back to my thoughts about how we’re doing it to ourselves.  I’ve been thinking about this for a couple of days and I have a little list of things.  We let the negative crap people have fed us our entire lives control how we approach life.  Stop it.  When I start off on a new venture, I’m usually terrified.  I don’t want to fall on my face… at least partly because there are people in my life who would so enjoy it.  You know what?  When I opened daycare eight years ago, I was petrified.  Somehow or another, it keeps working out.  I’m in the preparation phase of a new venture and I am scared out of my mind.  I’ve made up my mind to do it afraid.  Maybe I’ll succeed, maybe I’ll thrill the special snowflakes in my life with a vast, costly failure.  Holy cannoli, do I hope it’s that first one.

What’s the point, Miss Shannon???  The point is that you have to ignore all the reasons people have given you to fail and give it your best shot anyway.  Everybody has a narcissist or two in their world.  I have long said that when you are raised by wolves, you have two choices:  You either mire on down in the muck or you rise above it.  So what’s it gonna be?  Is the fact that you are female or gay or some shade of brown going to keep you pigeonholed, or are you going to grow a set and try to realize your dreams?

Awesome Painting Credit:

Old painting from around 2001 - "Voices in my head"