Archive for the ‘Bloggers Blogging’ Category

  • What happens in Vegas…


    Yeah, it pretty much stays there. Except herpes, I imagine.

    I managed to lose my voice about two days before I left for #BiSC, and it’s still not really back. This means I spent the majority of the trip answering the question, “Who are you, again?”


    “Jen? Shannon? Sharon? Chai? Susan?” (Imagine me repeating “shine” in between each of the guesses.)


    “Oooohhh, Shine. That’s a pretty name.”

    “Um, right. It’s not my name, but there are three other people here with my name, so…yeah, it’s my blog name.” (My mom doesn’t have nearly enough (read: none) hippie in her to have named me “Shine.”)

    Luckily, the smarty mcsmarty who is @stratejoy had the brilliant idea to write twitter handles on everyone’s forearm. Yes, I know this sounds ridiculous. But really. It HELPED. For a list of all the fabulous ladies and gentlemen (I’m using both those terms loosely), please click here.

    Of course, one of my favorite parts of the trip was getting to meet @lbluca77 and @rsub27 (Mr. Beautiful 2.0, now with more brown!). I’m going to go kidnap them both and move them to Texas. They’re going to be PISSED.

    Some ridiculousness, bullet-point style:

    • I forgot to pack my toothpaste and then only travel-size I could find on my way to the airport was this Arm & Hammer baking soda shiz. Basically, it looked like jizz and tasted like ass, so I spent most mornings talking about “jizzing my mouth.”
    • There was apparently a sex toy giveaway (sex toys provided by Toy with Me, go check out the site!), but I saw no evidence of sex toys or giveaways, despite having what I suspect was the most interactive costume for our Theme Party Pub Crawl (which was less of a crawl and more of a “stay at Planet Hollywood where they gave us free booze,” because hey, we ain’t stupid. (Thanks, Planet Hollywood, my vodka was delicious!)
    • I played ONE penny slot machine (with ONE dollar) and won (then lost, of course) $5.40. I don’t gamble, dudes. It’s not my style.
    • I am not now, nor will I ever be, in the “cool kids” group. I just don’t care enough about having my voice heard to try that hard (dear friends who are reading this, shutupkthx). Plus this weekend, I didn’t have a voice to be heard.
    • I think I’ve officially seen the whitest of all white dancing. Sorry, @nataliecottrell , you’ve been bumped by @livitluvit and @rusb27 . For serious.
    • For reasons I don’t care to explain, I was wearing two pairs of underwear on my flight home.
    • At some point, I turned into the Incredible (Shine)Hulk, and refused to say much more than “SHINE SMASH!” (I wasn’t drunk.) I’m making some giant orange fists to smash together, don’t worry.
    • Our hotel room was littered with French fries for most of the weekend.
    • You will be hard-pressed to get me to give enough of a shit to RUN up and down the Vegas strip in the middle of the afternoon to win any kind of scavenger hunt. Unless the prize is Jason Statham or something. Then you better get out of my way.
    • Three girls walking down the Vegas strip dressed as a school girl (from Gossip Girl), an ’80s aerobics instructor, and an autograph book (that was me, and by this point, people had signed all over my clothes) will attract a LOT of male attention. But no one will find the outfits bizarre.
    • Vegas is one of the least awesome places to be if you’ve just had to give your electric company the last pennies in your checking account.
    • @nicoleisbetter talks about 37 miles per minute. About her vagina. So you can all rest easy in the fact that what you see is what you get, when you read her blog. (If I’m to be perfectly honest, I was a little about meeting her, but she was really nice to me the whole weekend. Plus, it was pretty awesome of her to plan the whole thing.)
    • One of the washcloths in our room was used as an ice pack for more than one person. We had a rash of bloody head wounds and unfortunate curling iron burns in our hotel room.

    That’s really about all I can give you as a recap. I’m far too old for this shit.

  • Viva Las Vegas!


    So as of tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be spending my weekend in sunny Las Vegas with about 37000 other bloggers for Nicole’s super awesome Bloggers in Sin City meet-up.

    I know. You’re jealous. And you should be.

    In case you didn’t already, you should go read my introduction. I even scared myself.

    So in honor of the “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” attitude I will be adopting immediately upon landing at the airport, I thought I would disclose some completely ridiculous shit I’ve done in the last couple of months. I’ve been hiding it from you.

    This one’s (partially) for you, @spicyem !

    Completely ridiculous shit #1:

    A couple of months ago, I was getting ready for work. Well, I mean, I get ready for work nearly everyday and I’m always late, so this was just an ordinary day. I was running late. I jumped out of bed and brushed my teeth. There was no time for showering, but I washed my face. Makeup? What’s that?


    So I grabbed a T-shirt, pulled it on, and shoved my feet into some shoes. I was making pretty good time. About seven minutes between waking up and heading out the door.

    I got my purse and keys, locked the door, and started making my way toward the parking garage. When I got to the stairs, I noticed a strange feeling on my legs. Like a draft. I looked down to discover…

    I had forgotten to put on pants. Forgotten. To put on PANTS. And I was in the hallway. WITH NO PANTS.

    I squealed a little and ran back to my apartment. Somehow, there was no one in the hallway. I put on some pants and went to work. I can only imagine what might have happened if I had made it all the way TO work without pants.

    Completely ridiculous shit #2:

    A few days after the “no pants fiasco of 2010,” I had to pack for an out-of-town trip. I got home from work and stripped off my shirt and pants (look, when I walk in the door, it’s pants off dance off up in my apartment), with the intention of putting on my pajamas. As my clothes hit the floor, I realized that I really needed to do some laundry.

    Of course, being the responsible woman that I am, I immediately gathered up a load (ahem, which was strewn about my bedroom) and put it in the washing machine. So I wouldn’t forget and have to go out of town with no clean underwear.

    Then I realized that I really needed to get the dishwasher going before I left town. I can’t stand to come home to a sink of dishes. Still in my underwear and bra, I got to work in the kitchen. For once, I didn’t bother to put on an apron. This isn’t the first time that was a bad decision and it won’t be the last.

    While doing the dishes, I thought, “Oh crap. I need to get my trash together and put it outside.” We have valet trash at my apartment, and they pick up Sunday through Thursday. I knew if I didn’t get it the trash out RIGHT THEN that I would forget and come home after four days to a smelly apartment. And that dead hooker under the mattress is enough, right?

    Not really thinking, I got my trash together, put it in the appropriate trash can and opened the door to sit it outside. Now, I actually have to go all the way out the door to get it in the right place. And I’m currently wearing my skivvies. My door swings closed automatically, of course (don’t worry, it doesn’t lock).

    I stepped outside and immediately heard the voices of several men. I looked up to find five of them staring at me with my trashcan in my hands and nothing but my pretties to cover my lady parts.

    Me: “Uh, hey guys. How’s it goin’? I’m not really wearing any clothes, so…I’m going to go back inside now. Okaythanksbye.”

    I did manage to NOT whack my face into the door on the way in.

    So yeah, I’m pretty. In less than a week, I walked out of my apartment without all my clothes on TWICE.

    Completely ridiculous shit #3:

    Men? You may want to stop reading here. Seriously. I promise. This is about tampons.

    Somehow this week, I had completely forgotten that it was about that time. You know what I’m talking about, ladies. And it’s always nice to realize you’re bleeding AND realize that you’ve completely forgotten that it was about to happen (as though it hasn’t been happening for nearly 20 years now) (jesus on a poptart I’m old). But I wasn’t wearing white pants.

    Anyway, I was meeting April and Natalie for lunch yesterday, and it was only like day TWO of the wretched thing, so before I left, I went to the bathroom to…change things up? I know some of you men are still reading. I’m trying to make this a little easier on your delicate senses, but it’s not easy.

    Anyway, I tugged on the string and nothing happened. It didn’t budge. Mind you, I was wearing a tampon approximately the size of the Washington Monument, because, as I said, it was DAY TWO. Also known as, the worst day.

    I tugged again. Nothing.

    I’ll admit I could already tell this was a bad idea, but at this point I had no choice. I tugged harder. Pretty sure I gave myself a free and accidental pap smear, as I definitely lost some of my delicate lady parts on that tampon. Wonder if I can just send it to my GYN in lieu of an actual visit?

    At lunch, I managed to smear a giant blog of barbecue sauce on my boob. I didn’t notice. April didn’t notice. Natalie didn’t notice. But my boss did!