Am I the only one that gets seriously annoyed when they are corrected by random people online? I’m talking about the grammar police in all their unholy glory. Here in the “blogiverse,” (that word chaps my ass a little) it seems like everyone and their mother has an English degree and likes to shove it in the face of unsuspecting writers when they spot a mistake. What’s with that? Don’t you guys have something better to do with your time? Why leave a random comment that has nothing to do with a blog post solely to correct someone you don’t know? Am I missing something here?


Usually the amazing lessons from the self-appointed grammar police begin like:

“I think you meant to say…”
“Not to be rude, but…”
“My mom thinks I’m special and smart, it would be a shame not to share my knowledge…”
“I won my 8th grade spelling bee, so I’ve got the credentials to correct you…”
“I don’t get enough attention in real life, so I feel the need to make strangers feel belittled.”

News flash: nobody likes a know-it-all. You guys really are the bursting ass pimples of the internet.

/end rant.


Also, I totally get annoyed by terrible grammar and spelling, so I’m not completely exempt in all of this. It’s the people that go out of their way to correct it is what drives me nuts. It always seems like people do it just to pat themselves on the back for being smart.


People in costumes make me violent. No, not your cute 5-year-olds dressed up as Pocahontas and John Smith, just the adults. It doesn’t matter if it’s women shoved into slutty nurse costumes that leave little to the imagination on Halloween, or if it’s a Chewbacca-nerd at a Star Wars convention. Either way – I’m uncomfortable. The first time I went to Disney World, two people dressed as mimes followed my sister and I around because they thought they were being funny by scaring us. I threw my half-eaten corndog at one’s eye, and dumped my drink on the other. Don’t mess with me – I’m armed with food.

I was at a birthday party this weekend for two of my nieces, and of course, there was a clown. We found ourselves alone inside while he was getting set up, so I thought it would be a good time to have an adult conversation with him.


Me: I just want to let you know in private, I’m afraid of clowns. I know it’s irrational because you’re probably just a normal guy with a family, but I felt the need to tell you. Hopefully it will help me keep my shit together today.

Clown: Hi, I’m Bozo! Being a clown is normal!  Everyone in my family is a clown and we love making people laugh, especially with our tricks! If you promise to not use potty language, I’ll make you a balloon animal! What one would you love to have?

Me: Bozo? That’s a fitting name… because you’re not getting my point. Can we just talk like normal adults? We’re alone.

Clown: Well, whatever do you mean, normal? A clown is normal, and everyone loves balloon animals!

Me: I hate you. Next time someone throws a pie in your face, I hope you choke on a rogue blueberry.

Clown: Ho ho ha ha. You’ve got quite the imagination! Want to be my very special helper today? There are bunnies involved! If you do well, you can even hold one! Isn’t that so exciting?

Me: I will kill you.

I spent the rest of the day lurking in the background of the party with a wine glass clutched close. Do you have any irrational fears? Ones that are rational? Shouldn’t clowns be illegal?


I wish depression was tangible so I could go all Lizzie Borden on its ass and swing an ax in its face 40 times. That’d be fair, right? Something has to be done because it’s not like it’s doing me any favors or anything. I’ve been hiding lately because, well… my brain has been in timeout. I should be back functioning and writing soon. There really needs to be a pause button on racing thoughts/doubt/paranoia/crazyshit so they aren’t constantly flooding our heads. All I need is a break. Is that too much to ask?


Alex and I are desperately counting down the days until June because we have two trips planned. One is a short 3-day trip to the beach, and the other is a week-long road trip to Michigan for a wedding and family time. We are so close, yet so far. In the meantime, I found this hilarious list on Reddit about real reviews of vacations people went on. Sometimes the stupidity of people is the best way to brighten your day. They are a good reminder that, hey… at least you aren’t dumb as hell.

“They should not allow topless sunbathing on the beach. It was very distracting for my husband who just wanted to relax.”  

“The beach was too sandy. We had to clean everything when we returned to our room.” 

“No one told us there’d be fish in the water. The children were scared.”

“Although the brochure said that there was a fully equipped kitchen, there was no egg-slicer in the drawers.”

“I think it should be explained in the brochure that the local convenience store does not sell proper biscuits like custard cremes or ginger nuts.”

“It took us nine hours to fly home from Jamaica to England. It took the Americans only three hours to get home. This seems unfair.” 

“When we were in Spain, there were too many Spanish people there. The receptionist spoke Spanish, the food was Spanish. No one told us that there would be so many foreigners.”

“It is your duty as a tour operator to advise us of noisy or unruly guests before we travel.”

“I was bitten by a mosquito. The brochure didn’t mention mosquitoes.”

We are surrounded by geniuses, folks. Be scared.

Do you have any plans for relaxing this summer? Vacations? Staycations? Laying around on the couch like a vegetable while you stuff yourself full of ice cream and margaritas?


Last week I wrote a post that was made up of random thoughts/experiences I had during the week. I thought it went pretty well, plus I love any reason to talk about the random insanity that plagues my life so I’m going to do it again. Strap yourselves in because here we go, friends. Here. We. Go.

It’s getting hot in here – I was in Barnes & Noble the other night and there were two teens making out and groping each other in the horror section. Seems fitting, right? It made me pretty horrified. What happened to the days when kids sat in the back row of the movie theater and let their hormones rage in the dark? Keep it classy, guys. Nobody wants to see that. I was feeling particularly snarky that night, so I found a book called ‘God Is Watching You’ (or something close to that, can’t remember the exact name.) I tapped one of them on the shoulder and handed it over. They were embarrassed. I counted it as a win. Justice was served. Book stores are always an adventure (especially when you are crazy.)


Updates – The mother of the kid I kicked in the balls a few days ago dropped by this morning to offer an apology. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen this woman take an interest or responsibility in her child. She told me she has barred him from stepping foot on my property (which, hello – he shouldn’t be anyways) and if he does again to let her know. She also brought me brownies with ‘nuts’ in them. Jury’s still out if they are poisoned or not. I love me some brownies, but pretty sure I’m better off passing on these ones. It pains my heart to say no to chocolate.

Sadness – I wasn’t originally going to say anything about this, but since it’s Mental Health Awareness Week, I figured it was worth putting out there. It’s been a rough week for my in-laws (that includes my sisters/brothers-in law as well) because a childhood friend Alex grew up with committed suicide a few days ago. I didn’t know him, and I don’t know his family, so I can only imagine the devastation they are going through. I know it’s easier said than done, but please, if you are having thoughts of suicide, or just need to talk to someone – reach out. Talk to anyone. Hell, you can talk to me. Message me on Twitter and it will ping my phone. We can get through this.


I have a lot of random thoughts that I want to write about, but I can never actually form them into a legitimate blog post. I mean, I probably could, but I doubt anyone would want to read an entire post about the piece of chicken that I ate that I swear was in the shape of a cow. Yes, a cow. Unless you’re into reading that kind of stuff.  Chicken in the shape of beef. Don’t say you’re not impressed.  So, I figured it made more sense to combine my strange thoughts into one post. Here we go, friends…

Dessert – Last night Alex and I were having an important conversation about my extreme craving for ice cream while laying on the couch. When I yawned, one of my cats took it upon herself to sneeze in my mouth. I’m sorry to announce this, but… I might have cat-scratch-fever. Or, at the very least – Ebola. This wasn’t exactly the type of dessert I had in mind, but thanks, Pix.  You’re really helping end the stereotype that cats are assholes.


Therapists – Speaking of Ebola, there’s been a recent spike in my hypochondria.  My mind has escalated the common cold into the flu, which means there’s a 98% chance I’m going to die from related complications. A pulled muscle in my hip has turned into hip dysplasia and a 99% chance I’m going to need a hip replacement at the age of 29. I thought it would be a good idea to check in with my therapist to talk about it, and she gave me some pretty solid advice I wanted to share. “Blair… just calm down.” JUST CALM DOWN, GUYS. Hey, all people suffering with depression – just be happy, okay? All anxiety sufferers – don’t worry about it! Everything is good here. People with eating disorders – it’s just a cheeseburger, eat up! (You all owe me $100 for this really solid advice. This is what my therapist charges, and clearly … she’s a freakin’ genius.)

Spiders – I’m pretty sure spiders are messengers from hell. These tiny bastards are invading North Carolina and my house is under siege. We have had our home sprayed by an exterminator, yet twice this month a wolf spider has spindled down from the ceiling right in front of my face. TWICE. One time the spider was the size of a quarter. What fresh hell is this?  How many of these things do I have to pop like a blueberry (while screaming, mind you) before the message is clearly sent? Stay away, evil bastards! There’s no room for you here.


Anyone know where I can get a pair of these?

May has been a great month so far. How’s yours going?


It really bothers me that the slang ‘sheeple‘ has such a negative connotation. I always want to call y’all it but I feel like I’d be insulting you, and, why would I want to insult you guys when I like you more than 99% of the people I meet/know in person? (Or a bigger question – why does everyone I know in person seem to suck so much?) So, since my mind goes to the word every time I sit down to write, I figured if I use it one time maybe the obsessive thought will go away.  Don’t worry, I’m not trying to say you guys have no brains and follow things blindly. It’s solely because this blog is called The Shameful Sheep. If I wanted to insult you I’d come up with something a lot wittier – like calling you a poopyhead or something.

So, here we go…. HAPPY MONDAY, SHEEPLE!


I moved to a self-hosted site so I could have more freedom to do what I want and expand a little. Today I wanted to share with y’all some ideas I have. They are in the rough draft phase, so I’m hoping someone will have some cool ideas. Especially for the giveaway section.

Over the past month or so I’ve been trying to come up with a cool way to do a giveaway every month. It will most likely just be an Amazon gift card or cash via PayPal or something. (Because who would turn that down?) I like the idea of giving a theme for a photo contest and having people vote on which one they like most. Example: the theme is funny, so people will send me their photos of their drunk friends with writing on their faces, or their kids with cake frosting smeared into their eyebrows, or whatever else they think is funny. Then I’ll pick my favorites and put them up so everyone can vote on them. Winner gets the money. Thoughts? Any other ideas? I’m trying to think of things that are slightly fun/interactive and not just “guess what number I’m thinking of.”

I also want to start doing a sort of advertising around here. I know this is the land of aspiring authors and self publishers, so I thought it would be kinda fun  to start a book club. I’ll put your book on my front page with a link to your site/amazon. Make an actual page on my site dedicated to the books in the club. Do an interview. (I also want to do something similar with bloggers wanting to get their site out there. Have a spot on my front page/make a ‘cool kids blog’ page/interview(or maybe a guest post?) I’m open to ideas/suggestions. (If you want to try either of these out, or ask me questions about it, email me here: blair@theshamefulsheep.com . The first month or two will definitely be discounted as I get everything set up and in order. I’ve been slacking on checking emails lately, but I promise I’ll respond faster from now on!)

Everyone else: don’t worry. I promise any sort of changes won’t take over my usual posts.

I think this is the longest post I’ve ever written. Thanks for hanging in there! Hope y’all had a great Mother’s Day, and have a great week ahead 🙂


Yesterday while grocery shopping I asked the clerk if she could show me where the orgasmic grapes were. She was young. I was embarrassed. Then, without missing a beat, she said ‘well, I can tell you where the organic grapes are. I can’t promise they’re going to be that good… but I can promise they won’t fertilize you.”  Touché, random 18-year-old, touché.

A few days ago I decided to adopt a ‘paleo’ diet. If you don’t know what it is, it’s basically eating nothing processed. I’m pretty sure giving up caffeine, sugar, and dairy all at once is worse than detoxing from heroin. I’ve had killer headaches, I’m agitated all the time, and I have the constant urge to bitch slap my cats across the face. I’m primarily making the change to see if it helps with some medical problems I’ve been having, but damn… it sucks. If you want to piss a woman off, take away her freedom to shove pizza and an unlimited amount of cheddar Sun Chips in her face. That’ll do it. How do you deal with diets without going crazy? I feel like I’m tiptoeing across the border into crazytown. Send help.


Do you have any tips? Or… paleo recipes? I don’t know how long I can go on just eating a bunless turkey burger for dinner.

I have a new-found respect/sympathy for everyone starting off on a new diet. The first week blows.



When I was 13 my mom came to pick me up from school with tissues corkscrewed in her nose and pajamas with pink bunnies plastered all over them. Her go-to method of punishment was always embarrassment. If I was going to call my teacher a bitch and my behavior was going to embarrass her, she was going to storm in freshly rolled out of bed and looking like a hot mess to embarrass me. And, believe me… it worked. Every. Damn. Time. One time I got suspended from school for drinking and she came to pick me up during the lunch period with Baby Got Back blasting from the car. Believe me, there’s nothing more embarrassing at the age of 17 than your mom rapping about big butts while she raises the roof in front of your entire school. Cringe.


My parents live on the complete opposite side of the country from us so we only see them one or two times a year. Honestly… it’s painful. Even though I live in the same town as Alex’s entire family and see his mom multiple times a week, nothing will ever be the same as MY mom and MY family. Yes, you can be 29 and married with a life of your own and still miss your mom. Don’t judge, guys. Didn’t your mother teach you that?

So, early Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms around these parts. I know there are a lot. Thanks for being strong kick-ass women. My respect for y’all runs deep.

(Yes, I’m posting my Mother’s Day post early because, let’s face it – everyone is going to post their’s on Sunday. This way you won’t be like ‘dear lord, another Mother’s Day post? Haven’t I read a million of these today already?’ BAM.)

(Also, I was a really good kid. These are literally the only two times I ever got in trouble at school.)


Lately I’ve realized the quality of my writing has taken a turn for the worse. Even when I know what I want to say, the words aren’t flowing out at a standard I want them to. My brain feels like its got the worst bout of constipation imaginable. We’re dealing with some really serious blockage here, guys. Adding in some extra fiber won’t do the trick this time around. (Million dollar idea – brain enemas for writers. Someone needs to invent this.) I’m chalking it up to the fact I haven’t been reading much of anything lately and I’m lacking some inspiration. Can you recommend a book to me that you’ve enjoyed or felt inspired by? Have you read a writer that has inspired you so much you’ve been able to get back in touch with your voice?


Things I like in a book:
1. High quality writing. (None of this Twilight crap that could have been written by a 16-year-old, okay? PS- I actually kind of enjoyed those books. I just think reading that right now would make my constipation even worse.)
2. I can’t do books that take awhile to get into it. If it’s too slow I’ll give up on it in the first 50 pages.
3. I like any genre as long as it’s written well, but have an affinity for humor. (I’ve read The Bloggess. I have a feeling a lot of people will recommend her books, so I’m just gonna say that now lol)

HELP please!

(Thanks in advance, guys. I hope I can take y’all out for a beer someday or, at the very least, share a pizza with you. Well, just a small slice. Or a bite. Pizza is important to me. Don’t judge.)


Remember in junior high when your science teacher made you tack open the stomach of a frog so you could poke and prod at insides with a rusty scalpel? (Who trusts a bunch of kids with raging hormones in the midst of puberty with a weapon anyway? Doesn’t seem very smart.) Most people didn’t mind, but I was one of the kids who stood in the corner clutching my Lisa Frank pencil box instead, because… animal rights, hello?  I wouldn’t touch that frog with a ten-foot-pole. My parents were so proud of me taking such a strong stance for my beliefs even though they thought I was overreacting. They took me out to dinner and bought a cake with pink lettering boldly stating  “we’re so proud of you.” Guys, I really didn’t give a flying fuck about that frog. I just thought it was disgusting. Thanks for the cake though, mom.


Later the same year another teacher had their class dissect a fish. My friends regaled me with tales of how crunchy the eyeballs were when stabbed and how the female fish had eggs spill out when cut open. I was appalled. Disgusted. But nothing was more mortifying than when they told me that one of the boys in their class kept a bag of fish guts to put into someone’s food at lunch. Poor Evan… he never had a chance when he bit into that sandwich. I guess that’s what he gets for picking friends that were certifiable pricks.

Choose your friends wisely. Don’t stick yourself with people who will think it’s funny to stash rotting guts into your egg salad or blow snot into your diet Coke. Life is too short to be friends with assholes. 


Also – kids are assholes.