Bears.

Ted's brother vomited in my hair this weekend. Which, in retrospect is really funny. It's funny because we were in the middle of the dark roads in Maine and I didn't actually think he was sick, because it's Dave, who I love, but has a history of feigning illness to leave a family event. I thought that's why we were getting on the road so early. Nope. He really didn't feel good and puked in my hair.

I love Maine. I don't do the out doors all that well, but somehow I don't mind so much when I'm on an Island listening to the ocean and trekking through the woods behind a Labrador puppy digging up deer bones. Or human bones. I mean, it was pretty big and looked like a femur of some kind. Not that I know human bones from deer bones... but still. Maybe there is a serial killer on the island. A serial deer killer.

Oh wait, those are called hunters.

I didn't mind camping so much when we went white water rafting last year, but that wasn't really camping. I had a shower, and I only peed outside if I wanted to. Which I did want to at night when it was dark and scary and the bathroom was too far away. I also felt super self aware that the only people sleeping could hear my pee on the leaves. Which made it hard to pee. But I digress.

I love watching Survivorman type shows. I mean, I think Cast Away was a freaking amazing movie. What's better than Tom Hanks playing Tom Hanks BUT WITH A BEARD?! A good beard will make any movie. Especially a movie about a gay man trying to hide the fact he's gay at a wedding so he brings his best Fag Hag.

So, though I haven't tested my outdoor capabilities I wonder how I would fare. Clearly I would have to get over the peeing thing. And I'd have to learn how to make a good fire. And ward off bears. Or at least talk them down from being such grumpy faces. Which, if you consider how good I am at calming down my grumpy cat, I may be pretty good with the bears. I don't want to brag, but if I rub Gus's ear he is putty in my hands.

Maybe I'm better off than I thought....

The whole reason I bring this up is because I think it's all going to affect my Zombie experience... when it does happen.

I still promise that Zombie Plan Part II is coming soon.

Hickey

I was driving to work this morning, multi-tasking, as I applied make up and brushed my hair at the 15 redlights between my house and the highway when I noticed it.

I was pulling my hair back and there was a hickey on my neck.

There is no mistaking the the broken blood vessles in a circular formation. It look like someone sucked on my neck for ten seconds too long.

Here's the rub: Ted and I didn't make out or even get a little bit fresh last evening. Hell, I was so tired last night I don't even know if we made eye contact. But there it was-on my neck left like the tag of a 16 year old boy.

How did this happen? The cat slept with us, is he a vampire? Are there really Chupacabras? Explain yourself Hickey!

A pain in my bow.

I have a terrible horrible no good very bad pain in my elbow.

After Web MDing it at work today, I have concluded that I have a serious infection resulting in what will be a slow and painful death sparked by untreated strep throat months ago, OR either* tennis elbow or golfer's elbow.

I think it's the golf one. I played a golfer in a scene last night.

That must be it.

* Yes, or either. Not either or.

Snarting.

After I had a glass of wine last night I laughed and boogers came flying out of my nose. I then proclaimed:

"Oh no! I snarted!"

Is that a thing? Snarting?

Okay thanks bye.

I want it bad... in my three holes..

Haven't posted much lately cause I've been a bit on the cranky side, and I'm telling you right now that I am no good at finding the funny when I'm cranky.

One thing I've been super excited about is Three Hole Punch. By now, you all know about my femme fatal group. It consists of three of the ladies that I started doing improv with circa 2002. Since then we've grown and learned the game together. We have a remarkable chemistry that is difficult to develop without years of personal of experience together. Trust me, we've nailed the personal experience.

Recently we were accepted into the Chicago Improv Festival. This submission was a big deal to us. We want to get some festivals under our belt and Chicago is certainly a big one. I did, however, made a huge ass of myself when it came to the whole acceptance process.

It went like this:

I submitted our group. It's like college applications. There are fee's, questions, and instead of an essay-a video.

We were told we would hear back about our status.

I received an email that read "Shannon, thank you for your submission to the CIF. Unfortunately we are unable to accept your group this year... blah blah blah."

Irate that they didn't fall in love with us I forward the message to the girls that read something along the lines of "Stupid butt head dumbfaces. Whatever. It's fine. Who cares?" and hit send.

No. No I didn't. Oh my God I did.

I sent it back to the producer of the festival. Realizing this about .2 seconds after I hit send I hastily sent an email back groveling over how sorry I was. I didn't really mean it. The CIF has been great. I completely understand...

I get an email back from said producer laughing it off and complimenting us on how good we seemed. He said he didn't really know why we didn't get in, we were certainly on the board for submissions to make it. There were just a lot of groups.

I was still mortified. There goes our chances next year.

Fast forward to two hours later.

I get an email from Mark Sutton. Mark Sutton is kind of an improv idol of Three Hole's. Back in 2003 during our Mission Improvable days, one of the first workshops we took were with Bassprov at the Annoyance.

Mark wrote "I'm sorry that there was some kind of mistake Shannon, but you guys are indeed accepted into the festival."

I would like to think that my insulting demeanor got us in.
That and our good looks.

So to my Chicago friends, we have a prime slot. We'll be performing at the Annoyance Theater Friday April 17th at Midnight. The party is also at the annoyance. So as my dear mentors told me back in the day (mainly Drex), "Come for the party and stay for the show."

Until then you can catch Three Hole this Saturday night at Umass, and in May during the Women in Comedy week.

See you there!