Holy Fuckballs, Batman…. I realized in the last couple of days that I lost the entire contents of my beloved blog. Seriously, the whole damn thing. I experienced this like losing one of my kids, it was a bad bad day and there were tantrums and pouting involved. Like a phoenix, Miss Shannon will rise from the ashes and rebuild. Really, what would people do without my random theories and recipes? Surely the world would end. Do not disabuse me of this notion, please, it makes me happy in my heart. It’s been an odd couple of weeks at Casa Gypsy. For starters, my daughter tried to make gluten free cookies without ever having checked on the difference between wheat flour and other varieties… I have tons of different kinds of flour and my cabinets sport things that you pause to wonder about when you read it in ingredients lists. Gluten free baking is kind of like a science experiment and in this case, it was apparently mimicking the eruption of a volcano during a category 5 hurricane inside of my oven. Considering that every flat surface in my kitchen was covered in cookie dough, it never occurred to me that there was enough left over to be inside the oven, but here we are. I turned it on to preheat and visited Mount Washmore, returning only after whatever the hell combusted in there was a charred mass of what appeared to be lava rock adhered to pretty much the interior of the oven and all three racks. The moral to this story is that it can always, always be worse. There are things in life that defy explanation. Very, very high on my list is why does my daughter hate me and throw cookie dough (with sugar and eggs, like freaking glue) all over my kitchen?? This chick is 22, not a kid anymore. Did I not hug her enough? I don’t know. Why, oh, why does Dozer yell at me when the pizza delivery man is late? It defies explanation. Why do we need so many warning labels? What the hell is wrong with you that you don’t just know you shouldn’t operate an iron in the bathtub?? Why the fuck don’t you people know what a yield sign means?? Or that the posted speed limit is a minimum suggestion? The mind boggles. This is a picture of my fabulous daughters: Here's what I know: There is a rare species of turtle with a towel strapped to his back running through my house. My little cupcake Brenna is my mini-me… she comes from a long line of contrary women. Brenna is no exception. She’s learning when to release the flying monkeys and wear the bitch hat. Someday, Fiona, (which is what we call our little Brenna) you will take your rightful place as a matriarch of our gypsy clan. It’s not a lucrative gig, but these people know how to circle the wagons. Meanwhile, men are like buses… there’s another one around the corner. On Mother’s Day, I will make a stupid amount of Majestic hotdog sauce (Which is from Jesus, Dozer. It really, really is.) and call it a day. Dozer will continue to yell at me for things that are outside of my control and take excellent care of me for the rest of my life. What I’m getting at is that you have to take your joy where you can find it, while also taking your knocks. I would rather, a thousand times, have my grumpalupagus grousing because I moved his mail, while he has my back 10,000% than listen to the sugared dialogue from the boys I’ve known before. Life isn’t pretty, tied up with bows. It only took me forty years, but the answer was a dirty biker in scruffy leather. I’m going weigh in with two thumbs up for dirty bikers, but maybe your prince charming is a guy in a suit or a farm hand wearing dirty work boots. Doesn’t matter… wait for the one who will rescue you. Aspire never to need rescuing, but he should at least want to make it all better. Don’t settle. Forever is the guy who thinks the sun shines out of your ass, even as he makes colossal messes and denigrates your hotdog sauce. You still need to be an I before you can be a We, you need your own bank account and your dignity. If you lose your shoes at midnight, Cinderella, you should have stopped three drinks ago… but you want Peter Peter the Pumpkin Eater to take you home. It’s about priorities, people.