A cut above the rest.

Well, I trust you all enjoyed the Superbowl this past weekend. I didn’t. In case you’re wondering why, you can find a nicely arranged list of reasons here:  http://wp.me/pNzT7-ZJ

Superbowl Sunday does not give me a hard-on like most people. I despise football more than Lindsay Lohan apparently despises not being in jail. I did not watch the Superbowl, but I ate like I did. On Sunday I busted out a big ass block of Velveeta, a pound of chorizo, and a can of Ro-Tel and fired up the ol’ crockpot in preparation to whip up a nice fat pot of queso dip to enjoy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner until it ran out.

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After cubing the Velveeta and frying up the chorizo, I took the can opener to the Ro-Tel. Moments later, I stuck my finger under the lid of the Ro-Tel can to remove the top and dump out the zesty tomatoes and chillies, when -SLICE- , the stubborn aluminum lid sliced straight across my right thumb, leaving a deep cut that bled like a bitch.

“YYEEEEOOOOOWWWW!!!!”   I yelled (kidding, it was more profane). It was pretty deep, and bleeding profusely. Unfortunately, my father who usually stitches up my wounds is back in Iowa, and would be unable to tend to my gaping thumb cut. I had to act alone.

After applying pressure for about ten minutes with some tissues, I painted on some liquid bandage, and then tried to figure out what to do about the fact that my thumb was split wide open.

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I super glued it.

Duct tape is so 2011.

I am back in Colorado for a few weeks to enjoy some snowboarding. Unfortunately I have not  done any physical activity since March of last year. That’s eleven long months of being completely sedentary. Not even a jog. Not a single jumping jack.

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My body was not prepared. Day 1 was spent riding hard for six long hours at Breckenridge, followed by a three hour session at Beaver Creek the following morning. My body = destroyed. I need a wheelchair. My hamstrings, knees, and spine need some serious TLC. Won’t someone bring me a hot tub and some Percocet? I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

I hate it when people say  “slightly obsessed.”   Like,  “SoOoOo…I’m slightly obsessed with Glee.”   First of all, Glee sucks. Second, you can’t be slightly obsessed. That’s like saying you’re “slightly pregnant.”  Obsessed is an extreme. You’re either obsessed, or you’re not.

The Voice is back on television. I am absolutely jacked for a number of reasons. One, I love singing. Good singers give me a woody that could scrape the skies. Two, Adam Levine. Adam Levine is the sexiest man on planet Earth. He just is. I want to scream it from the top of a mountain. I love this show. Christina’s tits are as big as ever. They’re like beach balls. They have their own center gravity. They are just obnoxious. Blake Shelton, for some reason I like you, and I am happy to see you again. Cee-Lo, you have midget arms, but you say some funny shit.

Well, time to watch 11 more episodes of Dogtown. Talk to you fools later.

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“If I get strep throat, I’m gonna mail you some anthrax.”

Thankfull.

WHY HELLOOOOO!!!!!

I mean, oh, hey you guys. Sap?

Anyway, I trust you all had a filling Thanksgiving. I sure did. If you’re like most gluttonous Americans, you’re probably still digesting pecan pie and green bean casserole, and will be until Boxing Day. Trent and I whipped up a pretty braggable feast, and for all of you who were wondering if I could pull it off, I did successfully make a DELIGHTFUL sweet potato pie. In fact, it was such a hit that I am making two more this week. I should probably start jogging.

It’s really weird to me that female dogs have periods. Like….that’s not very fair. It’s not like they can just stick a tampon up there and take care of business. I’ve only ever owned male dogs, and I intend to keep it that way. I’m not interested in having an emotional, PMSing canine bleeding all over my living room, watching Lady & The Tramp, leaving empty ice cream pints on the coffee table five days a month. Slap a Kotex on that bitch.

I’m really pissed about people who are famous for having things like the “longest hair in the world” or the “longest nails in the world.” It’s so stupid. Having the longest (also see: most disgusting) fingernails in the world does not make you rich. It doesn’t make you more attractive, more desirable, envied, or of a higher social status. It just makes you gross. Cut your nails. They’re not making you any money.  “But I’m famous!!!”  You also can’t eat with a fork or wipe your ass. Cut your nails.
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CUT THEM!!!!

WELL, that’s about it for today. If you haven’t already, make sure you subscribe to Sheppard’s Pie (see right margin of the site to subscribe) and then start leaving comments in order to put yourself into the drawing for this month’s prize drawing!

(See more here: https://beccasheppard.wordpress.com/prizes/ )

This month I’m going to be sending one lucky reader a nice compilation of the rockin’est Christmas jingles you’ve ever heard, plus a few other Christmas surprises. Woo! None of those surprises is poop, I promise. Each comment you leave puts your name into the drawing. See the previous post for details! GOOD LUCK, LADS!

By the way, everyone. I know thankful is spelled “thankful.” It was a play on words. I am very “full” after Thanksgiving. Sigh. Don’t ever second guess my grammar like that again, or you’re OUT.

Toodles.

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B:   “An apple a day keeps the STDs away!”

S:   “I wish I woulda known that in college. I would’ve eaten ’em by the bushel!” 

Card Games.

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My eyelids are itching like Ke$ha’s crotch on a Saturday morning. Yesterday I treated myself to some nice amethyst colored eyeshadow, and today I am paying the consequences. You see, I have green eyes, and purple is really a great color for them. I religiously wore violet eyeliner for nearly two years, but had been simultaneously struggling with a weird eye infection. For several months, my eyelids had been swollen, red, irritated, and itchy. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Eventually it was so bad, I couldn’t wear any eye makeup besides mascara. After a few days of not wearing eyeliner period, my eye irritation went away. I went back to bedazzling my eyelids, and the crazy swollen eye came back. As it turns out, I am allergic specifically to purple dye in makeups. This is very irritating. Allergic to purple? How does this happen. Anyway, my eyelids are freaking out today. I’m regretting my rebellion against my biology.

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Why is it when you pick up a greeting card off of the shelf at the store, its proper place completely vanishes from sight. Suddenly you can’t find where it goes. At all. Where the f-ck did this birthday card come from? you wonder, completely flabbergasted. You’ve engaged in an involuntary game of Where’s Waldo, except in this case “Waldo” is a birthday card that sings “I’m too sexy for my hair.” The cards go Houdini on your ass, just like that. It’s like you pick up the card, and in the few short seconds it takes you to read it, the rest of the cards play musical chairs and the slot that it came from goes MIA. Next thing you know, you’re stuffing “Happy 30th Birthday” behind “Sorry for your loss.” No one’s the wiser.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I’m going to be trying my hand in the kitchen. This pie is going to be a big win for me if I succeed. I love sweet potatoes. Sweet potatoes are the elixir of my life. I hope this pie rocks. If it does, I’ll be bragging until Christmas. Then I’ll make it for Christmas, and I’ll be bragging until next Thanksgiving. It’s the circle of life.

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^ Some weird guy.

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My dog is dropping fart bombs like Nagasaki. If I didn’t know he loved me so much, I would begin to suspect that he was trying to pull an Auschwitz and gas me to death. It’s just one after another. His bowels are relentless. I wish he would just take a poop and get it over with. I’ve taken him out twice since this fart-fest has begun, and he trots around for a minute and resists the poop. JUST DROP THE DEUECE, RALEIGH!!!! Stop resisting nature.

Well, I wish I had more things to share with you nice boys and girls, but I just don’t have anything else to say. So….I guess….I guess that’s it.

FOR YOUR HEALTH!

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C:   I keep singing Adele outloud.

B:   Who doesn’t.

C:   I want to carry her voice with me in my pocket at all times. And take it out whenever I want to hear it.  I just invented the iPod.

Missed connections.

Listen everyone. I know you probably started to think that I had died or lost interest in writing or got into a horrific car accident damaging my brain so badly that I lost the ability to read, write, or eat solid foods, but I didn’t. The truth is….I’ve just been a lazy piece of shit. I am SO sorry. (For those of you who are reading this too quickly or who are stupid, that was seasoned heavily with sarcasm. In other words, I’m not sorry.)

Just kidding. I am sorry. I have dropped the ball and bored all of you readers who rely on this blog to make it through your shitty days at the office or your unstimulating college courses five days a week. Allow me to redeem myself. Nobody’s perfect, you guys.

ANYway, a lot has happened since the last time I blogged. I went shopping with Katie Holmes, I totaled my car, adopted a kitten, and was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. Just kidding. My car still sucks, I hate cats, and I’m healthy as a horse. I’m not kidding about the Katie Holmes part though. My good friend (yeah right, she’s a bitch) Alison and I were shopping in Southside, and who did we find ourselves shopping right alongside but Katie Holmes. Literally like right next to. Like, we could have touched her. Good thing we didn’t though, because there were two or three body guards roaming around pretending to be shoppers who would have electrocuted us with cattle prodders had we even looked at her queer.

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I’ve done a lot of clothes-buying this month. It’s bad. I moved out here to Pennsylgaynia this spring with like two shirts and a pair of pants (not kidding). Then suddenly I decided I needed more clothes since I left 98% of my wardrobe back in Iowa, so I “spruced up” the ol’ wardrobe. Actually I replaced my whole wardrobe. Meh. That’s what money’s for, right? I have a really hard time refusing autumn and winter wear, you guys. Sweaters, cardigans, jeans, boots, mittens, coats—IT’S SO GREAT!!!!! Anyway, I need to be invited to a bunch of parties and dinners and happy hours to show them all off now. Send invitations to 403 YEAH RIGHT LIKE I’M GOING TO GIVE YOU STALKERS MY ADDRESS!!!!!!

I’m out of control.

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So the holidays are HERE! I’m very excited. I am deeply saddened however that I will not be spending Thanksgiving at my parents’ house, being a glutton and stuffing my body with mountainous heaps of Thanksgiving fare.  😦   If I were back in glorious Iowa, I would currently be sitting at the kitchen table, blaring the Charlie Brown Christmas CD, chugging quarts of gravy, and consuming baked goods at an alarming rate. Oh boy. I have been whistling Anne Murray songs whilst traipsing up and down the grocery aisles, spreading Christmas cheer everywhere I go. I LOVE THE HOLIDAYS!

I’ve been using a lot of caps loc and exclamation points during this post. This is what happens when I let blogs build up inside me like this. Sorry for frightening those with heart conditions and/or pregnant or nursing women.

Anyway, since I am not going to be enjoying a Thanksgiving feast at the Sheppard residence this year, Trent and I are going to whip up some food ourselves. Granted, it won’t lay a finger on my mother’s gravy, but it’s better than eating Velveeta Shells & Cheese in celebration of the holiday. Our menu includes the following:

• Pheasant green bean casserole (….Trent went hunting last week)
• Chestnut stuffing
• Sweet potato pie
• Mashed potatoes
• Whatever else is on sale

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In case you aren’t aware, I have the biggest hard-on for yams. I love yams. I found this recipe that someone posted for this sweet potato pie, and drooled all over my keyboard and decided to try it:

PIE!

“Oh my gawd Becca, are you gluten intolerant? So cool that you’re trying to be healthy!”

Health has nothing to do with it, and I f-cking love gluten. This recipe just sounded dope. I used regular pre-made graham cracker crust, so there’s plenty of gluten to go around, folks.

Well, that’s all I’ve got in me for now. I will try to do this more often. OKAY?

Bye frans. Oh, and it’s not my birthday.

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T:   “I don’t think I want the dog getting on the bed anymore.”

B:   “Why!?!”

T:   “Because, babe. I watched him step in his own poop today. He stepped in his own poop.”