Monthly Archives: March 2011

Scar Buddy!

Man, I totally discovered my scar buddy last night.  Sasha from the club and I have the same surgical scars on our arms from breaking our arms in various gnarly ways.  The scars are, like, two long straight scars, one either side of the forearm, where the doctors go in to put the stupid bones back together.  I have seriously never seen anyone else with these scars, so I was pretty excited.  Sasha broke his arm in a being cool in high school football, while I was an idiot child who fell off a hay bale.  We also have similar knee scars.  I’d say three scar match-ups make scar buddies.  As such, Sasha and I are scar buddies.  I think that’s only a thing you can have if you’ve lived a certain kind of life.  A poorly thought-out life.

Oh, we had some fun exercising last night.  Some switching from high knees (jumping-as-high-as-you-can-and-tucking-your-knees-to-your-chest) to squats (squatting).  One day, I will get trapped in an old school Super Mario game, and I will rock the crap out of it, and it will be all thanks to my constant practice at jumping and squatting, courtesy of Gerald’s kickboxing class.  “Oh yeah, here’s a block, I’mma jump up and break it.  Now here’s a ledge, just let me squat down and slide under it.  Not even breaking a sweat, hell yeah.”

We also did human leg presses, which I really love.  These are like a normal leg press you would do with weights, but weights are hard to find, so instead you use a person!  The funniest thing about these is, for me, I have a harder time being the weight than I do being the lifter.  It’s a real trust exercise!  You can’t actually have any of your weight on your feet, so you’re just barely balanced on the tips of your toes and trusting your partner won’t let you fall.  I trust, I trust, but I’m a huge baby about that stuff!  Another thing about this exercise is that is wasn’t designed for the ladies, so to speak.  There is the possibility I had a footprint in my cleavage when I got home, is what I’m saying.  It’s faded!  Maggie also said she could feel my ribs shifting around, which is so delightfully weird.  I kept getting told to engage my abs.  I’m told that a lot.  I think, really, I should just do that automatically, all the time.  Kickboxing, yoga, at the grocery store, sitting in class.  Just Shannon, engaging her abs.

We did a lot of Thai kicks, which I love and got some good pointers on so I’m better at now.  Thai kicks are like a round kick, but with the shin contacting instead of the foot, and they are very fun.  (I would find a video, but we’re getting into kickboxing/Muay Thai distinctions that the YouTube search algorithms are just not equipped to deal with.)  Anyway, basically with a Thai kick you can kick a person from the same range that you can punch them from, and that is just gravy.  Those Thais think of everything!

I have looking through my tags, and I noticed a lot of my entries are tagged “shenanigans”.  If I were naming this blog now, I probably would’ve gone for some sort of pun, along the lines of “Shannon-igans”.  Which is probably why it’s good that I’m not naming this blog  now.  I would’ve had my internetting license taken away right then and there.

Oh wow, in other blog news, I might start doing some sort of weekly linkspam of all those ridiculous links I put up on Facebook, since they are apparently a source of excellent time-wastitude and not everyone reading this on my Facebook and anything I can do to spread the link/timewasting love is cool with me.  If I put them in a separate post, I’ll make sure they don’t post automatically to Facebook, just because a Facebook update that the blog post of all my links that I put up on Facebook last week is just too tedious for thought.  Oh man, oh man, but I will value-add.  I will tell you the best parts of the articles to read.  “Just skip to the middle, that’s the cool part.”  I’ve been holding off on that, but forget it, I’m just gonna do that from now on.  “Paragraph three is where it’s at.  Just past the picture.”

I have a week and a half left of this graduate degree, then I will be done!  Done like dinner, stick a fork in me!  So much homework, so I am blogging.  No energy for shenanigans.  Not even one shenanigan.  Must finish projects.

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Spin me right round

Chilling on the desk.  Man, things are winding down so fast, pretty soon you guys won’t be getting reference desk updates from me any more.  And if I were a more together sort of person, I would actually know the date I finish and everything.  I like to be surprised, OK?  My life is a goddamned magical journey.

I fiddled with the my blog some more, and now I have a tag cloud (ooohhhh) and a blogroll (woooow).  And I put the Archives way at the bottom, because fuck archives.  Not the discipline, I’m cool with the discipline.  I also have no specific hostility toward that class other people are in but I am not.  But the box.  On my page.  That I feel obligated to have, but it’s throwing off my feeling of design.  Man, fuck that box.  Also, regarding the blogroll.  There’s four of them for some reason, so there’s that.  And, yes, I know I have a loose definition of the word “blog”, in that many of my links are not remotely blogs, by any stretch of the imagination, not at all.  Anyway, I only inflicted one linguistics blog on you, and zero newsy-politics things, because this is a fun-times blog and I am a deeply insecure person.

In “punching things” news, I have been terribly slack this week because school classes are so close to being finished and homework is, like, so totally real, dude.  I didn’t get to the club at all this week, as I am a huge lame-o.  But this was the last week of Dal classes for a while, so I made sure to get there.   We did piggyback calf-raises, which is my favourite way to do calf-raises.  Then we learned how to dodge a round kick to the head, which meant your partner had to miss kicking you in the head, repeatedly.  Holy crap, there is just no way to make that look graceful.  Your leg goes way up high and then just sails away into the ether and you spin.  At this point, apparently your best bet is one of those cool spinning back kicks because just why the fuck not?  You have to salvage that stupidness by trying something extra-awesome, and you’re already spinning.

Attended a fancy drinks night and drank fancily.  My contribution to food was Superstore sushi, because I suck like that.  And sushi is awesome, even if it’s from the Superstore.  Anyway, I said incandescently hilarious things that I can’t repeat here because I forget what I said, which I’m pretty sure is my brain is trying to protect all of you from me.  (Every time I get close to remembering, I have a seizure.  True story, by which I mean complete lie.)

I got that Firefox 4, which is kind of weirding me out.  It switched around the “open link in new window” and “open link in new tab” buttons are on their right-click menu, and I don’t know if you guys know this about me, but I open pretty much every link ever in a new tab.  So I keep opening things in new windows accidentally and crying in frustration and throwing things out the window and setting fires.  Now I’m at work and everything’s backwards again and I’m messing up backwards.  Pretty sure this is hell.  If I were stubbing my toe and biting on tinfoil, it would definitely be hell.

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The Tale of Little Miss Monster-Hair

Once upon a time there was girl named Sally, with long blonde hair.  Her hair was so beautiful that a thousand tiny monsters came to live in it.  They climbed up her hair, and whispered in her ears, and gnawed on her eyebrows.  At night, when she fell asleep, they tangled up next to her and fell asleep, too.  But no one could see them but Sally.

Sally went to the doctor, but unfortunately she was already a diagnosed schizophrenic, so the doctor just upped her medication.  The monsters were real, though.  Life is difficult when magic realism and real realism intersect.  Sally decided she had to solve this problem by herself.  She was a proactive kind of gal.

She wore a hat, but they pushed it off.

She got that shampoo kit for lice, but they told her it just “cleared their sinuses”.

She shaved her long hair, but they piled up on her bare head, and dug their little claws into her skin.

Sally was desperate.  No matter how long it took, or how far she went, she would find a way to get rid of her monsters.  She travelled to the deepest jungles, the highest mountains.  When witches and wise men were fuck-useless, she consulted with camels and polar bears.  When animals didn’t work, she asked rocks and trees.  The monsters reminded her to take her medication.

At the age of 112, Sally was nearly finished building her submarine.  She had a few questions for the Mariana Trench.  The monsters were sharing some opinions on welding.  And then she died.  When she was buried, the monsters tangled up in her long grey hair and fell asleep.

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Banana Superman!

So many shenanigans this week, I barely know where to start.  Sex Toy Bingo with classmates on Wednesday night.  This is, playing bingo for sex toys, and instead of shouting out “bingo” you shout out some sex term that the bar agreed on beforehand.  Basically it gave us disturbing insight into what some people consider to be sex terms.  Anyway, I didn’t win anything, alas.  I never win bingo.  Of course, I never go to normal bingo.  I’ve gone to this and Trailer Park Bingo, that’s pretty much it, ever.  I like it when I don’t have to pay for the cards, and also I can be drunk if I want.

Oh man, this was not the classiest bar, and I asked Steph to get me some white wine.  Apparently this was the exchange at the bar.

Steph: Can I get some white wine?
Bartender: White… wine?
Steph: …yeah.
Bartender: Um… Wha… *asks boss* Do we have white… wine?

So, yeah, in the end I did not get wine.

Thursday was St. Patrick’s Day!  This apparently translated into morning drinkin’ with Steph and various other Newfoundlanders.  I’m pretty sure Paddy’s Day is the one day of the year that getting drunk in the morning is socially acceptable, so it’s cool to blog about it.  Anyway, we were to Durty Nellie’s and had an enormous breakfast that was probably as authentically Irish as you can get without beans.  I drank wine, because I am a complete lameass.  The Newfoundlanders were explaining to some Navy guys at one point that I count as cool because I’m from rural Nova Scotia, but I was sitting there with glass of chardonnay, so I don’t think I was really selling it.

Oh yeah, by the end of the morning I was done drinking, as wine goes faster than Guinness.  So this is apparently my idea of appropriate ordering in a bar:

Steph: Guinness.
Shawn: Coffee.
Shannon: Cheesecaaaaaake!

The bad thing about morning drinking is the afternoon hangover.  And I had kickboxing to do!  Oh my.  I skipped a couple of classes this week because of homework, and I was not skipping Thursday’s, hangover or not.  Ah, it wasn’t too bad.  We were doing this thing where we fling ourselves out of the way of a punch, which we do a lot (called a ‘slip’), but this time practicing doing it really fast, with the idea of punching our opponents before they were finished punching us.  I was sucking hard at it, but last night we did it again and I was much improved.  Hurrah!

Holy crap, holy crap, last night’s kickboxing involved what might be the funniest exercise I ever have seen.  It’s called something like the Superman/Banana.  You start out on your stomach, and you raise your arms and legs just barely off the ground.  Hold for five.  Then you roll onto your left side without using your limbs, still keeping your arms and legs bowed up off the ground.  Hold for five.  Roll over onto your back, arms up above your head, barely off the ground, legs barely off the ground.  Hold for five.  Then onto your right side, do the same thing.  Then you roll all the way back, the same way you came!  An entire roomful of people doing this is a thing that I’m pretty sure needs to be filmed.

After last night’s class, I got a bit of extra grappling practice.  Gerald helped me out with some takedowns, because I am complete shit at takedowns and I was whining about it.  Seriously, in rolling I pretty much just wait for the other person to take me down so I can do ground stuff.  Not good form at all, Shannon.

Today involved a trip to the Dartmouth Farmer’s Market.  In a related story, I finally got to eat one of those Two If By Sea croissants.  Holy crap, enormous and delicious.  I’d just had lunch, but I was ridiculously determined to eat to entire chocolate croissant immediately, because I figured that a half-eaten, cold croissant wouldn’t be as nice four hours later.  I will never be proven wrong, either.  Because I will never leave one of those croissants half-eaten.  My logical systems are goddamned perfect, is what they are.

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Whatever Shannon’s Whatever Guide to: Repaying Your Student Loans!

OK, this is seriously the most boring blog post in the whole wide world, but I figured this would be the easiest way to share this.  I took notes from the talk on how to repay your student loans, and it was a really useful talk (well, mainly just to sign your consolidated agreement, but whatever).  Anyway, this is here, and keep in mind they are notes taken by an easily distracted moron with a hobby of getting hit in the head.  I promise I’ll update with a funny post later.  Oh, I have had shenanigans.

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So damn lazy

I’ve had so much homework, so I’ve been skipping my various ass-kicking classes.  Well, two of them this week.  Not too bad, I suppose.  Except I’ve been writing boring papers instead of working out/beating ass.  My little row of post-it notes is getting steadily shorter, though!  Success!

Did do a nice amount of sparring on Saturday, though, mainly with Rosie.  We’re well-matched, so it was really fun to spar together.  We were also practicing trash-talking with each other.  I think I’m too nice to be a good trash-talker.  Oh well!  We were doing a lot of practice with the clinch, learning how to escape the clinch and immediately lock your opponent up in your own clinch.  So Rosie and I decided to try to see how long we could keep going with an uninterrupted chain of clinches.  Rosie would get me, then I’d get her, then she’d get me… I think we had up to five or six in a row before we gave up.  Anyway, now I have this ideal of the Eternal Clinch.  It’s where warriors go when they die.  It’s like poetry, because I don’t understand poetry.

Went clubbing Saturday night.  I learned that people who go clubbing with leg casts receive lots of high fives.  As for me, I was planning on having bare legs because clubs are hot and sweaty, but I realized when I had my dress on that my legs were all bruised.  Dang!  The life of a lady fighter is a tough one.  And like five of the guys I saw wandering around had no shirts on.  Lucky bastards.

We discussed blogs in class today, and the prof asked who had blogs, and what did they put on their blogrolls.  Man, I don’t have a blogroll.  I read blogs, but a lot of them are newsy, political things.  Or completely ridiculous.  I guess I should make a blogroll.  I also want to go through and start tagging posts as to topic.  It’s hard!  Every single post is just going to be labeled “red hot inanity”.

Kathleen and I went to a talk on repaying student loans on Monday, which was super-informative and I will share my notes on it with whoever wants them.  Like twelve people from all of Dalhousie came, and three of them were from the library school, because we are awesome dorks.  The guy who put it on had a vocal cadence kind of like a movie thug, though, which made me think that Student Loans may have repurposed him from “collections” or something.  They have this new image, they’ve stopped cutting off thumbs and breaking kneecaps, they need to find something for this guy to do, as far away from a switchblade as possible.

Yesterday I was having a weirdly high self-esteem day.  I mean, my self-esteem is pretty high anyway, but yesterday it was just off the charts.  I really should’ve written some cover letters, but they might’ve gone badly.  “Why should you hire Shannon?  Because I rock.  I will rock the reference right outta your desks.  Call me, bitches~  Peace out, double kiss.”

I had the great brainwave today that we should all write cover letters for each other.  Because we’d be more relaxed, and it’s easier to talk up someone else than yourself.  Again, this might go badly.  “If you don’t hire Kathleen, I will come for you.  In the night!

OK, I’ve added tags to this post.  Holy crap, are they inane.  I don’t know how specific I’m supposed to get.  I’ll go back and add them to my previous posts, too, when I’m feeling like avoiding homework sometime.  Oh, man, maybe I’ll even add that excerpt thing, a blogroll, and I’ll be like a fully formed blogger.

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Who would pay to see this?

Man, so, in kickboxing today, we were practicing stuff with jabs.  So we had to keep jabbing, over and over again, which, if you don’t know, is the quick little punch you throw with you left hand.  Needless to say, as the exercise continued, the left arm got more and more tired.  Rosie and I were discussing how it was good conditioning for an actual fight, but I figured an actual fight would probably let you use your other arm eventually.  Then it dawned on me.  The World Jab Championships!  I have no idea how these fights would be set up, all I know is that they would have to go on for hours, and they could only involve jabs.  Two men enter the cage, only the best jabber leaves.  Oh yeah, this idea is gold.

My hair is becoming a definite issue.  It’s gotten so long that the bottom of my ponytail is getting all sweaty and tangled up over my face while I’m training.  Maybe I need to figure out french braids.  Or become less disgusting, one of these.

Tuesday kickboxing involved an exercise where Gerald let us chose “Do you want to do 20 pushups on your own count, or 10 on my count?”  We voted 20 on our own.  So he switched to 30 on our own, or 15 on his count.  Dammit!  Basically, the number would keep going up until we agreed to let him count the pushups.  We did 5 reps of 15, and he was, like, “If you think about it, 75 isn’t really that many pushups.”  I’d whine about it, but my sweet biceps speak for themselves.  And they ask for more pushups.

(Oh yeah, I discovered that, whatever else may suck about them, doing pushups on your knuckles is way easier on your wrists.  So, you look completely hardcore, make your punchy muscles… punchier, and keep your delicate, ladylike wrists in prime tea-drinking condition.)

I had some fun times making myself useful at an office today, for a group project.  Cubicle fun!  Well, really, I was just acutely aware of the fact that other people could probably hear me talking.  Weirdly, I worked in a cubicle all summer, but they were the waist-high cubicles, and the fact that I could see everyone anyway just led to me being as loud and giggle-fabulous as I usually am.  As soon as I can’t see people, apparently it’s time for stage whispers and miming stuff out.

It is homework season!  I seriously have less than a month left of classes, I don’t understand.  Basically, I’m doing lots of homework and neglecting my poor blog because I have nothing interesting to write about.  Today I spent hours looking for trade publications on the dairy industry!  Whoo!  I have to say, I’m kind of disappointed that I didn’t run across any sort of skin magazine called, like, “Canadian Milkman”.  Not that I’m looking for that, but I feel like it should exist.  It’s a matter of principle!  Sexy milkman principle.

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In which Shannon gets punched in the head for, like, five minutes

Oh man, sparring with headgear is sweet.  I can’t actually get hit with full power, because there are limits and all that, but I still got to get hit in the head.  A few more rounds of this, and I will figure out this whole ‘dodging’ thing that the kids are raving about.  Or forget third grade.  One of these.  For the last sparring round, we traded on defense and offense, meaning first Judy could only strike me, and I could only defend, for five minutes, then we switched and I could only strike Judy, and she could only defend.  Taking away the ability to strike made us really work on our defense, which was the purpose of the exercise.  Having headgear on, it basically lead to me running around while getting hit in the face for five minutes.  But I learned!  Being on offense was stupidly fun, though, because I could throw the really impractical, like, spinning back kicks that telegraph from a mile off and there was nothing Judy could do but dodge and be exasperated.

Oh yeah, on Thursday we learned spinning back kicks, like Chuck Norris does in those movies I never actually watch.  I feel very cool while doing them, but can’t actually remember them five minutes later and also at this point would probably get stabbed several times while setting them up.  By which I mean, while sparring, my partner would have time to leave, buy a knife, probably haggle with the knife salesman, come back, and stab me three-ish times.  Of course, it’s only a matter of practice, I will get faster and better the more I do them.  But it feels so far off!

Grappling today!  I requested that we learn sweeps (like, flipping your opponent), and boy howdy, did we sweep!  We were doing some tripod sweeps and using the momentum of our falling partner to propel ourselves up on top of them.  Being the bouncy little lunatic I am, I was somehow rocketing, like, right over Jodie’s head like a bullet, way into the beyond.  Near as I could figure, my strategy here is to land in the next match over and beat both of fighters using the element of surprise.

Kristian at the club was asking me exactly how cold it has to get for me to wear long work-out pants, as opposed to my knee-lengths.  I was being evasive about it, and finally he was just, like, “You just like people seeing your pretty boots, don’t you?”  Ding-ding-ding!  It is true, I will suffer a lot of cold just so I can show off my sexy boots.  $4.50 at Frenchy’s!

In things that have nothing to do with fighting, I did my annual volunteering at the LiveArt fundraiser last night.  I’m always up for a free dance/comedy show.  This is the great thing about volunteering.  Coat check is a relatively easy task, and then I get to watch an awesome show for free.  But coat check can be hard in some ways, because some people have fabulous coats that I covet so hard.  And then they want them back, but already I’ve become emotionally attached.  I’m all, “Have you seen my coat?  It’s sensible and functional.  I might as well wear a Stalinist boot factory.  You take it, I’ll keep your furry thing with the buttons.”

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It’ll be the Poor Man’s Vajazzling!

Holy crap, Kickboxing Erika and I came up with the greatest idea ever yesterday!  It started with her offering to give me a ride to Game Night after kickboxing, and I really wanted to show up wearing my cup, because wearing a cup to Game  Night is just a good gag.  Then we got on the idea of how all the other library students are really good crafters, and I suck so hard I can barely knit a square, and next crafternoon I am just gonna sit in the corner and bedazzle my jockstrap.  That’s when it suddenly became clear we had stumbled across the world’s greatest idea, ever.  Bedazzled Jockstraps!  It’s the sporty version of vajazzling.  Don’t think I won’t do it, either.  And don’t think there won’t be pictures.  And eventually some sort of commercial empire.  We’ll need taglines.  “Get kicked in the crotch with rhinestones.”

Game Night last night was delightful!  In the hours I was there, we managed to play, like, four rounds of Balderdash.  There is nothing more fun than ridiculous lies with friends.  I also came up with a new version of “That’s what she said” for this decade.  Everyone say it so it catches on, OK?

Leah: “I’m confused, but I think I just lost.”
Me: “That’s what I say every time I make love.”

A leftover issue from the trip to the giant-themed restaurant last week.  Do you think, dear Internet, that a proper giant-themed restaurant should have giant food, because it is for giants, or tiny food, to make you feel like a giant?  Kathleen believed it should be the former, I thought it should be the latter, and this terrible issue threatened our precious friendship right up until we got normal-sized food and were united in disappointment.

I finally did some pushups yesterday, after not doing any for well over a week.  I was getting worried about my buffness, OK?  We also did an exercise where we had to dodge either a jab to the face or block a right hook.  Only two choices, and I still kept fucking up and getting hit.  This is why I’m always bruised.

In grappling, I rolled with poor Angela and kept her locked up in a choke for, like, a minute and a half before I finally had it tight enough to actually cut off her air.  So she just couldn’t move and was extremely uncomfortable while I was flipping her around and trying to make the choke proper.  My arms were actually starting to hurt from flexing so hard.  This is how my showdowns with muggers will end.  “Damn, my biceps are aching.  Can you just, like, go?”

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