I'm Thinking About Writing a Book

A lot of books, actually. I mean, I've got shit to say. And, like my mom says, if Sarah Palin can write a book, anything can. (And I do mean anything.)

Specifically, though, I think I'm going to write a book about my experience as a young, intelligent, American woman, graduating with a Master's degree and her quest to land an entry-level, 30K a year job (the meat of the book being all those part-timers in between). I mean, after my interview today I could potentially have 5 jobs. And still, still, find myself completely unable to take care of myself. I mean, I live a home (no rent, no utilities, and most of my food is paid for), and my dad pays for my health care and car insurance, and my mom has paid for all of my medical care over the past nearly year and a half (because insurance doesn't cover anything you actually need, unless you want to surrender yourself to a live of misery and lies).

Currently, my jobs are: spokes model, barista, test prep instructor, and Census taker. I'm thinking of applying to train to be a bar tender a few nights a week and am interviewing to be a "photo booth attendant" (I see potential for a lot of chapters to be written with that one) this afternoon. That would be six--SIX--jobs. Come on, America. You really need to do better than that.

Of course, I could just save up all of my material for one long, unpublishable memoir that no one would ever read. The story of my life could be edited to be very entertaining. I mean, let's be honest, shit happens to me that just doesn't happen to other people, especially when you throw Julie and Caleb stories into the mix. But then, as was already stated in the description of such a book, no one would be able to benefit from my insightful perception of our existence. Wouldn't want such a treasure going to waste, now would we? ;)

All in all, this job hunt has been an adventure all its own. And whether or not the story ever makes it way to the pages of a New York Times bestseller, it's certainly a tale to take note of, even if I'm the only one taking notes.

Bah Hahahahahahaha!

Seems that everything is back to normal:

Last night Julz and I, looking darling I might add, were bar hopping like crazy in desperate need of finding a happening place. On a Wednesday in the 'burgh, that's just not happening. We exhausted our resources in Oakland and Shadyside then headed to the logical last ditch location: the South Side.

Pittsburgh is the only place where nobody can be out and there is still no parking. So, we snatched a spot on a side street and bounced out the do'.

"That's such a cute place," Julie said of this modern, swank little condo.

"That's Max Talbot's place."

"Really?"

"No," I said, casually. "But he does live in the South Side and that place is pretty nice."

Just as I say this, a black Range Rover pulls into said condo's garage. Julie sneaks up to put the inside of the garage in her eyeline.

"I want to see if it's him," she whispered.

Now, there's no explanation for the next thing I say. A simple mind malfunction perhaps, but for some reason--even though I knew darn well there was a home game tomorrow I say, "Nah, they're in Carolina anyway." So, yeah, just ignore that...

Upon seeing only a leg and a flip-flop exit the car, Julie convincingly (and loudly) proclaims, "That's a chick."

I peer in for the first time in this whole ordeal, now met with the entire mystery figure--who looks directly back at me.

"No, that's Max Talbot."

And, with that, he closed the garage door.


Now, there's nothing particularly rock-star about this story. We didn't tell him off at a bar this time or anything. But, given that history, of all people, how funny was it to see him.

Also, the timing. We bar hopped like mad, just happen to park on that street across from his place as he was pulling in, and--obviously--one of the funniest parts of it all was that I have JUST SAID "Yeah, that's Max Talbot's place," in jest! Which was only prompted by Julie's admiration of the condo.

So, yeah. We still got it. That magical ability for everything to be funny, and for Max Talbot to be everywhere.

Still late posting everything

Just, I don't know. Forgive everything. This blog is not what I wanted it to be...but summer, bad internet connections, and a lack of fresh ideas has led to this.

I will do better...or probably not. Here's our lovely rendition of "The Best is Yet to Come." Hope you can believe that.

EatnPark's the place for smiles

Good times at the EnP. woot, woot.









Julz and Hayz...so nice.









http://www.pghmono.com/Home_Page.html

Thanks, Pat!

Bar hopping--somehow, it never gets old

Wednesday June 11th

Out
Julz and I hit the town again...I for some reason insisted it was Tuesday the entire night. We ran into some cool people she sort of knew and hung out with them the whole night. Jim, the guy in the photo, told me two of the most disgusting stories I have ever heard. Contact me if you would like some reserves to tell at parties.

2 days' posts--cause i screwed up, aight?

DMB. 'Nuff said.

You can find us in the club

Late posting. This is the post for Thursday, the 29th.

Went out in the 'burgh for the first time in a loooooooong time with Julz. We got all dolled up (cause girls do those things) and made a night of it.

This picture was taken at Town Tavern, a complete shit hole in the South Side, but really the only bar where you can dance (without going to an all out "club"). Nobody knows who that guy is in the photo with us, but he was really nice and offered to take a picture of just me and Julz. ;)

Before we arrived at the yinzer convention (not a hater, just calling it like it is), we stopped off at Harris'. Harris' became my bar before I left for Colorado, and it caught fire on the day that I moved there. They got it back up and operating a month or so ago. The bar was really me and Eric's place, and now he even works there (though he wasn't last night). Walking through the door I was immediately greeted by Christina, the friend largely responsible for talking Eric through the idea of proposing. She was always so delightful to both me and him; I adore her.

But I was very, very nervous at first sight. I didn't know how she, or anyone else, would be towards me. I hadn't seen anyone since Eric and I had broken up. To my surprise (and relief) she was just, well, as she always was. And excited to see me. We chatted and caught up. She was working, so our interaction was brief.

Julie and I saw several other people that night, and I got the same reaction from all of them. Kevin, Caleb, Rick, and Matt all hung around for a while. It was nice. I missed Eric a lot. So strange how I can go away for 9 months and completely change my life and then walk back into a place (that had burned and been rebuilt) in the city I'd been missing, and just have everything feel like old times.

What a strange thing this life is.

People have lame movie taste

Ok, so I am most definitely not a music snob--I like the Backstreet Boys, Enya, and shitty radio hip-hop--but I gotta be honest, I think I know a thing or two about what a good movie should be, and apparently most people don't.

I never saw The Notebook when it was first released. It just didn't appeal to me. But then it started getting all this hype and acclaim. Everybody love's The friggin Notebook. Well, my dad recently joined its fan club, and--of course--insisted that I see this supposed masterpiece of stylistic elegance.

Allow me to be frank--that movie ain't that good. And here's why.

I like a good fantasy. I like a gritty reflection of reality. I like contrived elements in a plotline. Because all of these things a movie make. What I don't like is a movie trying (pathetically) to incorporate all three, or, more accurately, be both of the first two with the third tossed in.

That's exactly what The Shitbook does. It plays itself off as a telling of this real story of two people and how beautiful that was. But then it goes and makes the romance entirely unrealistic. When exactly did they fall in love? Somewhere between nearly getting hit by a car in the middle of the street on they're first forced date and riding on bicycles--being "inseparable"...with nothing more than a scene change and narration explaining this fact between them. Sorry hopeless romantics, but Allie and Noah are just too in love. It's not realistic, believable, or--from where I'm sitting--even desirable. There's no reflection of real life or true emotion in the simplistic way there undying love and monumental romance came to be.

Another thing. All Allie does throughout that entire movie, from the first time Noah spots her and all the way through her youth, is freaking scream. All the girl does is scream. Have you seen it? Yes, well watch it again, and see if I'm right. Scream, shriek, squeal, whatever. It never stops. If I were Rachel McAdams I would have been like, "No, sorry, not screaming anymore. Why, director? Because I've been doing nothing but that for the past 25 minutes." That girl screams more than Kate Winslet's character said the name "Jack" in Titanic.

Anyway, that's my friendly neighborhood rant of the day. I don't like that movie and I don't see all the hype. It's not a terrible movie, by any means. But it also in no way warrants a fan following like has been in existence since its creation. Click "The Notebook" under some poor schmuck's favorite movie section on facebook and you'll see just how devastating the results have been.

Really people. Really.

Blast from the Past

The Pens are going to the finals!!!

For this special occasion, I have decided to tell a story from last spring. I do hope that it brings a smile to your face.

Girls' night out. Me, Julie, Dara, Melissa, Sara, Cathleen, and some other lovely young ladies (yes, I suppose I did just refer to myself as lovely) headed out for a night on the town, ending up at Matrix, a 21+ den of dancing, alcohol, and sin that is oh-so addictive to the youthful twenty-somethings.

Sometime in the night, a group of guys "approached" us, if you will. Some of them danced with some of us. They sort of talked and flirted. There were a lot of them, and they moved about the dance floors, never committing to a particular group, but seeming to take interest in ours.

They were strange. It's hard to describe. They were all attractive, relatively well-dressed, and in notably good physical shape. But, they didn't actually approach us individually, they were joking and laughing to each other, and seemed more interested in themselves than in the ladies.

One in particular was an all out mess. Oddly enough, the most physically attractive of the bunch, he ran about grinding on any random girl, yelling things somewhat lacking in cohesion, and pulling his shirt up to reveal a sexy six-pack, which he subsequently rubbed on unsuspecting victims before taking off for another young lady.

I danced with this crazy gent for a while, while my friends looked on and laughed and cheered. He was fun, and funny, and--if he would just tone it down a bit--really quite attractive.

Then things took a turn. Mr. Crazy-abs turned into a flaming asshole as he pulled his torso revealing stunt on a woman then ran over to me to report that he had "Danced with a fat black girl." To this I responded, "You're a douche-bag; get away from me." I returned to my chic posse.

Also, Dara, likely miffed or at least confused by the boys' apparent interest in each other, asked them if they were gay. The response was as puzzling as it was hilarious: "No, we're hockey players."

The girls tossed out various responses, mainly to each other, not the strikingly large men with Eastern-European accents. Oooooo, athletes, yeah, that'll take you somewhere. Go Robert Morris (insinuating that they were players for a not so impressive college team).

The night ended a few hours later without the not so gentle men, rather uneventfully.

Two weeks later my phone rings as I'm walking down Craig. It's Dara.

Hello?
Hey Shannon. Do you remember those guys at Matrix two weeks ago?
Ummm...Sort of, which ones?
The group of 'hockey players' and the one really crazy guy?
Oh, yeah, them. Sure, why?
Did you know they were the Penguins.
--pause--
What?!
Yeah, the Pittsburgh Penguins. That crazy guy, you know, the one you called a douche-bad and told to get away from you, that was Maxime Talbot.
--pause--
You have got to be shitting me.


And so, that's my special little connection to Pittsburgh's very own Stanley Cup hopefuls, the Penguins.

Go Pens!