A Tale of Two Shans

There are two Shans.

Shan #1 is the Shan I am out in public, the Shan that tries to be well-dressed, charming and funny. The Shan that always has a clean house and clean kids who are dressed adorably in coordinating outfits. That’s not to say that the public me is any less “me”. Don’t get me wrong, Shan #1 is still quite goofy, thinks the word “balls” is funny and has a potty mouth, but it’s filtered.  Slightly, anyway.

Then there’s Shan #2. Ha – I crack myself up every time I say #2, it’s immature I know, but I just can’t help it… but this is what I am talking about… Shan #2 is the unfiltered Shan, my inner monologue, if you will.  The one that thinks poop humor is the best, is slightly messy, happiest in tshirts and jeans and who’s mouth would offend even the most hardened sailor. The “me” that a very select few have had the opportunity to meet and get to know… Because there are things about myself that I like to keep private. (So I put them in a blog.  Makes perfect sense, right?)

I hate clutter.  Hate it.  It drives me insane.  And I freak out if people ever see my house looking anything but clean and organized.  I have made people wait outside until I have had a chance to quickly clean up before letting them in. I try really hard to keep my house clean – which I know my husband and kids find highly annoying. Just don’t open any closet doors… Or drawers.  Because it’s like Sanford & Son in there.  Every now and then I will clean them out and organize everything, but they’re back to their previous state within days.  If you ever come to my house and feel the need to open a closet door and something falls on you… well, you can’t say you weren’t warned. (There are two exceptions to this – my closet and my underwear/sock drawer.  I keep these extremely organized and I’m quite obsessive about it.)

My two favorite words in the english language: cock sucker & mother fucker. I like to use them together.  Maybe it’s the way they rhyme, I don’t know… Try saying it.  (Brief pause here for you to try it…) Doesn’t it just roll off the tongue? (Writer’s note: I am aware that those words are actually both phrases and therefore I should change the previous wording to read “my two favorite phrases” but I’m too lazy to go back and fix it and would rather expend more energy and time into explaining the fact that I realize my previous header needs correcting instead of just taking the two seconds necessary to fix it.)

As I alluded to in the previous paragraph – I don’t like people to know that I’m inherently lazy, even though my brain never stops – at any given moment I’m thinking of at least 20 different things and often change topics all together for no reason when talking… or writing.  I also feel the need to defend everything.  Or maybe defend is the wrong word…  It’s more like explain everything.  Everything I said, everything I did and why I did it.  I’m sure it drives people crazy…

OK – I’m about to go way TMI on everyone here and talk briefly about my bodily functions.  If you want you can skip this paragraph and go to the next…  I can’t go to Target without having to take a shit.  It’s crazy.  I have been this way for as long as I can remember. I walk into Target, and immediately my body is like, “It’s poop time!”.  I find it quite interesting.  What is it about Target of all places that causes my body to have this reaction?  Even weirder… I know for a fact I am not the only person whom this strange phenomena effects.  Others have told me that they are affected in the same manner.  Is it something in the air in Target? A chemical that Target puts in their extremely delicious, cost-efficient popcorn?  What is it?

I like to eat raw ramen noodles over the kitchen sink (because they are messy).  I will only do this in complete privacy because I think it’s gross (but it’s sooooo good).

I’m a big Star Wars nerd. I will watch Star Wars (Episodes IV – VI) whenever I come across them while channel surfing.  A couple Halloween’s ago I dressed as Leia for work (the costume was chosen for me) and I pretended like it wasn’t fucking awesome.  But it was. I even got to carry a blaster.  It was an Imperial blaster which a fellow SWN (Star Wars Nerd) pointed out was incorrect. But – I was dressed as New Hope Leia – in the white, with the buns.  The blaster she used in that movie was Luke’s, which was when he was disguised as a Storm Trooper, so therefore the Imperial blaster was the correct one to carry for the costume. I did not tell the fellow SWN this as I usually try to filter some of my nerddom in public. (Shan #2 is waaaay nerdier.) I think I just shrugged my shoulders and in my inner monologue said, “and you call yourself a Star Wars fan…”



F*** Yeah! I’m one excited Aggie tonight…

First of all, notice that I didn’t actually cuss in the title. That’s because I’m keeping it classy (San Diego), like my precious Texas Aggies. Who just beat the hell outta’ OU in the Cotton Bowl. Take that all you drinking the haterade, who said that A&M wouldn’t amount to crap in the SEC. Take that all you whiners that said your player was robbed of the Heisman. I truly wish you the best of luck playing Alabama (a team A&M beat, btw). I mean it, too (some of my best friends are Notre Damers). But, in this instance, I just have to gloat, because I totally personally had something to do with this win. So, f*** yeah!

That is all… Enough pretending that I really know anything at all about football.


Anyone who is familiar with Texas football knows that it’s been a few seasons since A&M fans have had much to gloat about.  (Especially as an Aggie married to a Longhorn, with two Longhorn brothers and a Longhorn brother-in-law).  So I am soooo enjoying this opportunity to talk crap when I am usually the one upon whom crap is talked.  And don’t worry – this will probably be my only football related post.  Because I really know nothing about football. But I do know one hell of a win when I see one!!

My Child Went Potty in Coach OR Why I Don’t Like Stairs

“I have to go potty! I have to go potty!”, shouts my three-year old.  As she’s going potty.  In the middle of the Coach store.  At the height of holiday shopping season. Horrified, I watch the growing puddle under  her feet…

Later, as I’m in the mall restroom washing out my daughter’s clothing and holding it under the hand dryer while she stands there in a diaper I fashioned out of toilet paper so that she wouldn’t be bare-assed in a public restroom I realize that I may just have a new contender for the “Shan’s Most Embarrassing Moments Top 10 List”.  Not that I actually have a Top 10 list – shocking and hard to believe, I know, I make lists out of everything as any regular reader is well aware of  – but if I had one, that moment would be on it.

I have had a bunch of embarrassing moments in my 34 years, just to give you a small sampling:

– the time the skirt of my pep-squad uniform was tucked into the back of my bloomers (which are basically like underwear) so my ass was on display for all to see for at least three class periods before I realized it (thank goodness I have always had a pretty nice ass… or so I’ve been told, I’ve never really checked out my own ass)

– the time I farted in my office and then a coworker walked in literally right after and I had to pretend that I hadn’t farted and didn’t smell anything even though we could both clearly smell my fart lingering in the air

– the time I knocked myself out cold when I collided with the swimming pool wall doing the backstroke at a swim meet

– the countless times I have put my foot in my mouth

– the even more countless times I have fallen. Anyone who has spent oh, an hour or so with me has seen me fall. Half the time my husband doesn’t even think anything of it anymore unless I look truly injured.  But, there is one fall that has topped them all, and to this day no fall has been as embarrassing as “The Greg Martinez Incident”.

In sixth grade, Greg Martinez was the (unrequited) love of my life. Just like any other rational sixth grade girl who wanted to keep her love a secret, I had his name written over everything; “I love Greg”, “Greg+Shan”, “Shan Martinez” – you get the idea.  I may have well just tattooed it onto my forehead.  One day, as my best friend (who just happened to have a thing for Greg’s best friend – Eric something, I can’t remember his last name, clearly he was no Greg Martinez) and I were walking up the stairs to our last period class that we had together, I tripped.  On the last stair.

Note: Stairs and I have never been friends.  I approach stairs with trepidation and caution because stairs have always had it out for me.  I don’t know what I did to them in this life or a past one to make them hate me so, but it’s clear that they do not like me.  Never have, probably never will.

I was almost home free, I had only one more stair to go, but that bastard last stair reached out and grabbed my foot and I fell.  The interesting thing is that I actually somehow managed to fall backwards, crashing into the person behind me who caught me, then kind of shoved both of us forward so that we didn’t fall backwards and careen down the entire flight of stairs. Books and papers went flying as the person behind me landed on top of me, and in the force of the fall my head crashed into the wretched stair that had tripped me in the first place.  What probably took all of 5 seconds to happen felt like an eternity.  In a daze I struggled to get up and apologize to the stranger who I had almost killed.  “Hey, are you OK?”, the stranger asked. “You hit your head pretty hard.”  I knew that voice, and as I looked up I froze.  Because it was Greg Martinez. Greg Fucking Martinez, who had been walking to class with Eric Something when some girl who apparently was lacking in basic motor skills (me) almost took him out. He helped me gather my books that had “I love Greg Martinez” written all over them while I turned bright red with embarrassment and shame, and offered to walk me to the nurse because “It looked like my head was bleeding” which I turned down, swearing that I was “OK” and then limped off to class, bleeding head and all.

Now, if that had been a John Hughes movie, that was when the dorky girl would have gotten the guy.  I would have bitten my bottom lip and then said “Hi” as he sheepishly handed me a book, and he would have said “Hi” and then picked me up and carried me out of there while the Thompson Twins or Simple Minds played and we would have lived happily ever after.  (Until three months later when we would have broken up. Because this was sixth grade after all, and no relationship in sixth grade lasts longer than three months.)

You know, looking back, while I was mortified when they were happening – I’m glad to have had those embarrassing moments that I can look back on and laugh about.  Everyone has fallen on their ass a time or two, and those moments certainly make for entertaining stories at parties. And honestly, if my three-year old taking a piss in the middle of the Coach store is the worst thing that’s happened, then I’m doing pretty darn good.

Here’s to hoping you can embarrass yourself and live to tell us all about it.  I’ll bring the wine.


*I need to thank my husband who I left behind in the store to clean up the puddle of pee by himself while I cleaned the kid – that had to have been pretty embarrassing.  You’re a trooper and one hell of a Dad and husband.

Merry Christmas to All…


It’s the first year that both girls have really been into Christmas and it’s been quite fun to see it through their eyes. We’ve been busy making gingerbread houses, cookies, wrapping presents, visiting family and friends – I’m worn out.  And, I’ve gained at least seven pounds in the last few days, because there have been tamales everywhere which is awesome!!  And snickerdoodles, too.  (Tamales and snickerdoodles = my kryptonite.)

We just finished helping Santa with his gifts for the little munchkins so… to all a good night!




PS – I’m glad the world didn’t end.  Because if my girls had missed out on all this Christmas fun, I think I would have been pretty pissed.  And now my reserve end of the world outfit can be my Christmas outfit. Score.

Well… The World Didn’t End.

Anyone else slightly disappointed that the world didn’t end today?  Me too.  I was ready to fight for something (and I had on a cute outfit today, too).   On the plus side, since the world didn’t end, I got to have dinner with my BFF and her awesome family. KHR, you’re the Bee’s Knees.  Hope you know that.  Love you!!!


PS – If for some reason the world does end while I’m sleeping, it’s been a good run.  Good luck to all of you…

WILOW – Oh Crap, It’s Wednesday?

Yeah…  So at 11:11pm I realized it’s Wednesday, when I typically do a What I Learned on Wednesday post.  Aside from the fact that apparently I have lost the part of my brain function that tells me what day it is, I did learn one thing.  That even whilst being a female, I have the biggest balls of them all.  Or so says the t-shirt I got for Christmas.

Thanks Harold, for enlightening me.


Ode to Spam Mail

Not the “meat” (if you could call Spam meat), the mail… What’s the deal?  What is it about this blog that certain spammers feel the need to repeatedly spam me?  Not that I mind.  In fact, I quite like it.  Many times their comments are so nice:

– “Cool blog!  Thanks for posting!”

– “This is the perfect webpage for anybody who wishes to find out about this topic. You understand so much it’s almost hard to argue with you (not that I actually will need to…HaHa).”

– “You definitely put a fresh spin on a subject that has been discussed for ages. Great stuff, just great!”

Aren’t they just the nicest?  I have yet to delete any of my spam comments (there’s 40 of them).  I call them “keepers”.  So what that they are often misspelled and rife with grammatical errors?  They’re good to read on a bad day and lift my spirits. So thanks, Gratis Sexdate, I appreciate you.


PS – Anyone else craving Spam now?  I recently read a blog post about different ways to prepare Spam.  I don’t even cook – but this post made me want to.  I guess I better stock up – what with the impending doom and all…