The Shan Speaks: Notes from the Small but Wise

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Dear Lance Bass


Who are you? And why should I care that you're gay? Please return to the land of We Don't Even Care Where They Are Now.

I'm not rolling out the rainbow flag for you. Who gives a crap that you're gay. Got any thing else? You haven't even been to rehab. I've heard nothing about a failed self-loathing suicide attempt either. Did your father hit you? Were you molested by a trusted family friend? At the circus? Does your sexuality have anything to do w/ Star Jones or Tom Cruise's fake baby? If not, I don't get it.

Don't you know that your announcement is supposed to coincide with an album, movie or book release? What are you promoting? Just bein' gay? Well, la di da, Mr. Boyband. Snooze-a-paloser.

But I do have to say thanks for being cross eyed and kinda ugly b/c the boys' team has way too many pretty players.

Welcome,
SHANNON ENNIS

posted by Shannon E. Ennis at Thursday, July 27, 2006 | 0 comments

Ang and I are Out...On the Town


Angie and I made our first public appearance as a duo! Here we are at PRADA (Los Angeles) last weekend. The extensions were Ang's idea. The tumultuous lesbian affair was mine.

posted by Shannon E. Ennis at Thursday, July 27, 2006 | 0 comments

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Mean Thoughts

I feel bad for poor kids. It's hard to appear current and hip if you don't have any spare jing. I saw a little boy this morning with a "Howard the Duck" backpack. I cringed and threw a nickle at him.

Vintage Rock t-shirts are cool. Old Navy t-shirts with an American flag and the year 1998 are not.

Dude, is that a walkman? Are you listening to a tape? Have some pride. Hide that shit like you would blood stains from stabbing your kids for making fun of your walkman.

Homely is worse than ugly. Ugly is when there's a particularly unpleasing facial feature, one glaring error. Homely is when you can't discern exactly what's wrong, but you squint and tilt your head upon first sight, baffled and disturbed. Thankfully, ugly presents itself clearly. It's finite, too, whereas homely lingers like a fart under a goose down comforter.

I am karmically damned to give birth to twins: one homely and one ugly. On second thought, both homely. I'd be lucky to get an ugly.

Wear clothes that fit. You aren't Hulk, either Hogan or THE. Should the front of your shirt part like the red sea from button to button, it's time to bump up a size or two. Hypothetical situation: Five fully grown adults could fit into your pants/shorts while you're wearing them. That isn't the kind of party in your pants you're going for. How am I supposed to gauge the size of your ass or the fullness of your package in that skirt?

posted by Shannon E. Ennis at Thursday, July 20, 2006 | 0 comments

Wednesday, July 19, 2006


Athlete Kathy Brennan (R) of Washington, D.C., helps to apply tanner on Forrest of Ferndale, Michigan, before the Physique competition during Gay Games VII in Evanston, Illinois, July 18, 2006.

There are so many things going on in this picture that it hurts my brain when I look at it. A joke overload? An influx of material? Oui.

OK, so Kathy is the applier of lotion. She's Kathy Brennan from D.C., and she's lubing WHO? Forrest of Ferndale Michigan? Is Forrest a sur name? How much does it suck to be gay AND a chyck named Forrest? Double the mockery! The burden she must bear! (Which reminds me of this midget lesbian I saw playing pool in a dyke bar. She's probably the gutsiest person I know. Well, her and Kevin Federline's record producer. Or Steve Buschemi's dentist.)

The picture isn't just funny, tho. It's so indicative of the way our culture perceives and portrays gay men and women. Consider this: I didn't have to search for this pic. It popped up on Yahoo news photos when I searched Gay Games. And it happens to be one of the most viewed photos of the day. I had to go through about 10 photos of the GG before I found one depicting PEOPLE COMPETING IN SPORTS ACTIVITIES.

Think of all the action at the Gay Games. Gays actually competing. There are easily a bazillion events, a bazillion opportunities for amazing sports photography. But wait, sorry, I forgot we're talking about the homos. Screw the athletes! Fuck the Gay Games! Catch the gays doing their thing--being really gay, of course--and take as many photos as you can! I'd better not see a real guy jumping a hurdle! How about the fags doing synchronized swimming? First one to deliver pics of a dyke in the midst of her shot put gets a hug from Greg Louganis!

posted by Shannon E. Ennis at Wednesday, July 19, 2006 | 0 comments

MTA PDA

If I could say one thing to the couples riding the subway it would be this:

One kiss is sufficient when parting. Your sweetheart is going off to work, not war.

posted by Shannon E. Ennis at Wednesday, July 19, 2006 | 0 comments

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Shit At Your Own Risk

  • God hates me. It's 100 degrees and I have cramps. Neither my palms nor my wee little feet will stop sweating. AND I am armpit height which means I gotta breathe through my mouth on the subway all week long. If you've got B.O, I know it. I'm down wind of everyone.
  • I freaked out this past Friday because I could not get a hold of my Mom or my brother, and I hadn't heard from either of them for a few days. I automatically assume that someone is dead, bleeding profusely, lying by the side of some road, writhing on the bathroom floor after a bad fall, crying because their ribs have been broken so they cannot shout for help, stuck in a fire at Ford City or on their way to the hospital for any reason whatsoever. Here are a few: they're being transported via ambulance, they're driving themself while fighting crippling pain, they received an urgent call from hospital personnel b/c ER nurses and docs cannot identify a patient which is probably a family member wounded (without a wallet no less), someone needs blood and we're O+ (universal doners, sure, but no one can give us shit when we're leaking platelets), hurredly racing to meet my critical mother/brother/cousin/aunt/uncle (all grandparents have kicked, thank God) and practicing how they'll deliver the news to me via the phone.
  • That doctor who blew up his own home on the Upper East side so his bitch wife wouldn't get it died yesterday. Good for him. Not only is it pathetic to botch a suicide attempt (P.S.--accross the wrist is a cry for help, up the inner forearm is not fucking around) but that asshole injured several people while doing so, arranged the explosion himself hence NO INSURANCE coverage and would have had to pay the bitch wife anyway. That's a shitload of lawsuit settlement cash, and he'd have no shot at paying any of it. He'd live the rest of his life burnt to a crisp, deeply in debt and hated by all who knew of even heard of him. Whew! Saved by the flatline.
  • Since I saw that French soccer dude head butt his opponent during the championship game of The World Cup, I fantasize about head butting every dude I see right in the nuts. Being 'blow job height' isn't so funny anymore, huh fellas? Bam!

SOAPBOX:

I hate Bush a lot less today b/c he got busted saying "shit." I wish that wasn't the case, tho. First, I enjoy my loathing of the man. Why ruin a nasty thing? Second, I shouldn't know about it. Nor should anyone. I hate the (un-liberal) news media for making such a big deal out of it. I mean, really people. Shit? SOUTH PARK aired an entire episode where the boys just repeated the word 'shit' over and over again to see how many times they could get away with it, both within the show's context and in broadcast reality on Comedy Central. What does Brian Williams or an AP stringer say when they drop something? "Darn?" Want to hear real, genuine Presidential cussing? Check out the private tapes of Lyndon Johnson. FDR didn't exactly speak with the gentle tongue of a Bronte sister either. And I can only hope that during the Cuban Missile Crisis every other word uttered in the West Wing was "shit."

The world is in crisis. A whole lotta shit is going down. It's a shit mess out there. World leaders are gathered at the most influential circle jerk of the decade, the G-8, trying to get some shit done. That's serious shit. It's tense shit, too. Shit, if I were there, I'd be shitting my pants thinking, "Oh, shit! Is this mic on? Yes? Shit!"

posted by Shannon E. Ennis at Tuesday, July 18, 2006 | 0 comments

Friday, July 14, 2006

Sentinmental Surrender to Theme Songs

I had a weak moment while on iTunes today. Here's what I downloaded:

  1. "Endless Love," a duet between Lionel Ritchie and Diana Ross from the movie Endless Love starring nubile Tom Cruise and Brooke Sheilds. They played teen sweethearts who had The Sex with each other.
  2. "Up Where We Belong" Yes, Virginia, another duet. This one features Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes and it's from the film An Officer and A Gentleman. "Way to go, Pam! Way to go!" "Mayonaise!"
  3. "I'd Die Without You," by P.M. Dawn from Eddie Murphy's Boomerang, a movie that told me I wasn't alone in my loathing of stank feet. Remember Grace Jones' perfume? "I call it 'AFTERBIRTH!'"

posted by Shannon E. Ennis at Friday, July 14, 2006 | 0 comments

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Thanks For Answering My Prayer, God

I've been kinda restless, irritable, miserable and self-obsessed lately. When I feel like that I make some adjustments to the daily prayers b/c the usual meditations just won't do the trick. This morning, I asked God for ego deflation.

Upon arrival at my desk, I spilled my coffee all over myself--shirt, pants, socks, shoes, the whole shebang. Thankfully, after I'd completed The Shan rant, "Shit. Shit. Shit. Aaaah, shit!" I began to laugh b/c it was pretty freakin' funny. A waterfall of coffee washed over my desk and my lap was full of coffee, so much so that it looked like I creamed my shorts.

I wasn't going to sit around all day smelling like Dunkin Donuts. I wasn't going to walk around all day enduring the passing glances of strangers, folks who'd have to slap on their poker face while strolling past me, trying hard not to crack an "Ooops she crapped her pants" smile. Hell, I'd laugh at me, too.

So I decided to go home to change. I'd have sent my assistant to THE GAP, but I am damn broke and don't trust her to pick a t-shirt from the sale rack. Then it occurred to me that I couldn't exactly hop on the subway with my crapped pants, wet socks and scowl. No way. (Though now I'm thinking that the subway is EXACTLY where I should have gone. I'd blend right in with the midday freaks.) A colleague told me I should call the car service, have them take me home, wait while I cleaned myself up and bring me back to the Toy dungeon. Perfect, huh? It'd cost me nothing and I could pretend to start the day all over again.

As I impatiently waited for car # 237 to haul my tainted goods to Brooklyn, I stepped in a gigantic pile of greenish-brown dog shit. Awesome! I got to smear dog shit all over the inside of my free ride. Mmmm. Smelled wicked good.

At home, I peeled the clothes off, covered them in SHOUT, gave myself a G.I. shower (hurried cleansing w/ soapy washcloth all over body), got dressed for the second time, ran the stained clothes down to the basement, shoved 'em in the washer and got the hell outta dodge.

The moral of this story: Ask and you shall receive, sucka.

posted by Shannon E. Ennis at Tuesday, July 11, 2006 | 0 comments

Monday, July 10, 2006

NYPD Jew

  • Today, the cover of The New York Post reads: NYPD Jew. The NYPD has added a Hasidic Jew to the force. Too bad the headline upstaged the milestone.
  • Don't count on me to give you the Heimlich Maneuver. You'd be wise to choke near somebody else. I am not tall enough to help you out if your airway becomes obstructed. Children under 5, feel free to choke on a hot dog in my presence. Auntie Shan to the rescue!
  • I heard a woman say, "I'm not dating right now," as though she made a conscious choice to do so. This baffled and angered me. All I could think was, "You're not even cute, yet I cannot give it away." Sadly, though, her resolve was magnetic and suddenly, I kinda wanted to ask her out.
  • My new pick-up line? "I'm not dating right now."
  • Wimbledon concluded this weekend. I am jonesing to hear a well-struck tennis ball, to listen to John McEnroe and Mary Carillo (who pings as "lesbo" as Navratilova and Billie Jean King) call a match, turn up the volume on radio Wimbledon because I don't want to miss the Brit commentators describe a player's loss as "crashing" while I pretend to "work" at my "desk" for "the man."
  • At 31 years of age I remain hypnotized by potty humor. Case in point: I was watching SOUTH PARK this weekend and learned that the boys have a new teacher, Ms. Chokesondick. I waited with bated breath each time one of them raised their hand in class, got called on and addressed her.

posted by Shannon E. Ennis at Monday, July 10, 2006 | 0 comments


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