Sexy Grilled Cheese Diet. And Velvet.

Pardon the boobage; husbands cannot be trusted with camera angles

There should be very important conclusions.

Without shopping, there has been time to contemplate the universe. Tough, personal examinations have been made.

The female heart of darkness is...dark. And without fashionable accessories.

Okay, enough histrionics. Life has been just fine without purchasing new clothes or accessorizing with the latest stuff. A little challenging at times, but that's all.

Not really sure if I'm any wiser for it. Or deeper. Or introspective.

Example: 2 days ago I heard a statistic claiming most women think about food more often than sex. This hurt my feelings. I feel like it reflects poorly on women somehow.

Brendon balked, immediately twisting it to imagine women thinking about food as often as men think about sex. Something cartoon-style--like we have a perpetual thought bubble above our head with a leg of lamb in it.

I don't like lamb. I like sex, though.

I think I'm allowed to publicly say that now that I'm married. The sex part, not the lamb. Upon getting married, I did not sigh with relief knowing I could finally freely admit to the world how I'd always felt about lamb chops.

Anyway, so this is how introspective I've become: I decided that from now on, when I think about food, I'll change my mind to think about sex instead. I don't want to hear that statistic gaining strength. I want to single-handedly change it with my own super powerful brain.

Brendon's playing the part of Encouraging Husband on this one. He really admires my stance on this.

But here's how it worked:

My growling stomach actually woke me up the first night. Like the growl was a part of the dream, and then I woke up afraid thinking a big scary creature was outside my window (that this still happens at age 27 really disappoints my whole image of adulthood).

Adult Shannon kicked in. "Just my stomach," I thought. I must be hungry.

Mmm, food sounds good...I mean, sexy sexy sex sounds good. Think about sexy sexy sex!

Daniel Craig or Eva Green are EACH sexy enough on their own. This image should work!

Try as I might, I couldn't think of anything hot n' heavy. Only hot n' cheesy. Like visions of grilled cheese and nachos and things like this:

At least it's a sexy grilled cheese, right? 

It was a rough, hungry night.

So I don't know if this is going to work so well. Maybe the statistic is true and cannot be changed.

But that's not even the point; I was telling you this to help prove that I have not achieved enlightenment through this little endeavor. Like you haven't noticed for yourself.

Maybe there have been a few minor personal improvements. But I think I'm still the same slightly looney Shannon.

Case in point--I went to a New Year's Eve party last night, and I chose to wear velvet. Aqua velvet, with sequins, and my disco pumps.

What is mother of pearl? I don't really know, but it's on these heels, and it's what's saved this pair of pumps from several clothing donations. Nothing says classy like satin and mother of pearl.

Come on now, this was the last time I had to choose from what I already own, so I intended to go out with a bang. A big hair bang, because you really ought to have crimped hair when wearing aqua velvet.

It's been a couple of decades since my hair's been crimped. This is the sex kitten hotness I envisioned for the overall look:

Well, without the rusty car of course. 

As usual, my vision didn't exactly materialize. This is more of what came out:

Gosh I love the interwebs for giving us these amazing images!

See the similarities?

Anyway, so now here we are, New Year's Day and the experiment is over. You're wondering if I could possibly continue to talk about myself here, and the answer is yes. I'm not finished with this post yet. Or this blog.

Conclusions? Yes, but nothing mind-blowing.

But it's New Year's Day and I'm a little sleepy. (That's the grown-up way of saying hungover, and I'm an adult now and use big girl words.)

So non-mind-blowing conclusions will have to come another day.

In the meantime, I'm going to go wash the crimp out of my hair. And try to think about Brendon's biceps instead of a big, cheese-covered breakfast.