I’m Not Here for your Entertainment

Hello friends and readers,

It is not yet time for me to share my Shallenge with you this week. That will come Tuesday, July 28th.

But I felt there was something I needed to address today.

Men, boys, (friends, Romans, countrymen!) LEND ME YOUR EARS.

Just because you hide behind your iPhone, your computer, your iPad, does NOT give you a hall pass to marginalize women to nothing more than tits and ass with faces.

Last night I received a text from someone (at 12:21 am) whom I’ve deleted from my phone on several occasions. We went on one single, solitary, mediocre date a year and 1/2 ago. I really liked him, but quickly found out he was no looking to date anyone, let alone treat me with even a sliver of the respect that I deserve as a human being. I quickly phased him out, and yet he has managed to come out of the woodworks about every six months, texting me and telling me that he “misses me” and “wants to get to know me better.”

I try to see the best in everyone, so the first time, I acquiesced to haphazard apology.

Big mistake.

So last night, in the midst of working a 12 hour overnight shoot where I was dressed in 80s attire, with shoes a size too small, and a gorilla mask that kept me from breathing during takes, I was in no mood for shenanigans.

The text when something like this,

Him: Hi Shannon

Me: Hi. I’m sorry. Can you remind me who this is again? 

(I honestly had no idea. I’ve deleted several numbers with that particular area code over the three years of living here. Yes, there really are that many douchebags I’ve been lucky enough to encounter and exchange numbers)

**He then gave me several hints, which lead me to believe it was this one, particular former fling.

Me: Oh. Hi ****

Him: Ha ha ha 

**After another 20 minutes of me not responding

Him: What’s up

I said something nonchalant about working, never asking him how he was. (Half of me didn’t give a shit, and half of me wanted him to feel like I had all the power… because I did.)

Him: Interesting when ya out? Any interest in a night cap?

(Now please note that it is now 12:53 am, I’ve just made it clear that I’m at work, and this motherfucker is still asking me to come over.)

I got pulled to set for literally another 2 hours and did not look at my phone. I came back to holding to see this text that was sent at 1:23 am, a whole 30 minutes after he asked me over.

Him: (again, it’s 1:23 am) That’s a no

So at this point, it’s 3 am. I’m exhausted. I’m hungry. My thoughts are solely on how good it will feel when my head will eventually hit my pillow.

Glancing at my phone, I felt a rush of fury run through me. What the fuck does this person want from me?! I have not seen or spoken to him since 2014. Literally the last time I saw his face was probably October of last year. It’s not like we’ve even had any kind of casual texting here or there. No, literally (and I mean literally in the literal sense. None of this figurative nonsense…) I haven’t spoken to him in nine months.

I could have said a lot of things, but I took a breath and wrote this,

Me: Sorry. Still at work. And not really interested in being anyone’s booty call. 

I knew he was probably sleeping. That text was sent at 3:04 am, and I’m almost positive he was drunk when he initially texted me, but I didn’t care. I could have ignored him, but that would just open the door for him to try and text me on some other night when he felt sad and lonely.

I expected to at least receive a text this morning from him saying, “I’m sorry for getting drunk and texting you,” or “I’m sorry, that wasn’t meant to be a booty call,” (which would be a total lie, but at least it would include an apology.)

Alas, I received nothing. No apology. No explanation.

Typical Millennial, New York, boy. You would think at 28 years old, someone would learn to grow up and be a man.

Now, I’m sorry to sound so bitter, but this interaction really bummed me out last night. I gave this guy second, third and fourth chances when he asked for them, and I finally had to cut him out of my life, and I was completely fine with that. I have no respect for someone who gives me zero respect in return.

What bothers me the most is that he probably has no remorse for contacting me, and doesn’t even care. It makes me sad for him, that he is so out of touch with the emotions that make him human, and that he will (and is probably currently) making women feel like they are worthless because ironically, he is the one who feel inadequate and worthless. It also bums me out that this is just one instance, of many that I’ve dealt with since I moved to New York. I keep thinking each year that as I get older it will change, people will change, dating will change.

It makes me sad. It bums me out. Things like this chip away at all the optimism I have in men, in my generation, in people.

I’m bummed. 😦

And to quote my girl, P!nk,

“I’m not here for your entertainment

You don’t really wanna mess with me toinght

Just stop and take a second

I was fine until you walked into my life

And you know it’s over, before it began

Keep you drink just gimme the money

It’s just you and your hand tonight.”



Sad Shan 😦


The Craft of Deceit

So I know I’m overdue for a post, so I’m just going to compile my thoughts, and hope that it presents itself as some sort of nonsensical discourse that eventually all makes perfect sense. Okay?


So I feel the need to vent/be a little sad about something that happened to me a few weeks ago.

Side Note: I own a tank top that states: Be nice, or you’ll end up on my blog.

You were warned.

So here it is. I met a person that I felt an instant connection with. I felt like I was comfortable around him; we fit strangely into each others’ lives even though it seemed as though we barely had anything in common. We came from different places, different backgrounds, had different types of friends. All this being said, I felt like we complimented each other.

Now, I’m aware that sometimes these things tend to get so intense, that they burn out like an exploding star, but I honestly didn’t think this particular instance would end like that.

Until it did.

Like this:


Why is it that I allow myself to get close to these men, who often have to PRY my emotions from my clenched, cold hands and make me have The Feels, and then kick me to the curb!? It’s almost like one gigantic cosmic joke. Almost like the Universe is telling me that it’s going to dangle these men in my face who do and say all the “right” things and then lay the smack down and say, “HA HA SHAN! Just kidding! You can’t have a man who is smart, and funny, and successful, and good looking, who likes you and might actually care about you!”

No. That would just be too easy.

Look, Universe, I’m twenty-fucking-seven. I’m not saying that I’m “old” per se, but I am getting “old-er” and I feel like it’s not fair that you keep treating me like some broken baby doll from the Land of Misfit Toys.

Except it doesn’t look like this:


It looks like this:


What’s the fucking deal???

And the PROBLEM with this, is that each time something blows up in my face like one gigantic bomb, that sets fire to all the blood and tissue and sinew in my poor, sad broken heart, I feel the need to EXPLAIN MYSELF.

Well then THAT just ends up blowing up in my face like another land mine that was left undetonated and the cycle continues.

And I look like this:


Long story short, when this particular boy blew up in my face, I thought perhaps I could justify my feelings by writing a well-written, concise email that explained EXACTLY why I reacted the way that I did and gave a DETAILED account of “The Feels.” I hoped that this person would read my heartfelt words, and know that the only reason I reacted the way I did, was because I had actual FEELINGS for this person. And they were indeed reciprocated. How do I know this? Because this person did things like call me “just to hear my voice,” send me text messages about future plans, wanted our lives to be integrated with one another. He told me that he was happy, and I was too.

Then, WHAT here is the problem?

And here’s what I think it is.

The men of my generation know how to say and do exactly what women want them to do. The sincerity of everything has been brushed aside. It’s an equation; a way to solve a problem. Men are usually the ones to find solutions to problems that their ladies present to them (often at the annoyance of the lady, who only want to vent).

My generation of men has perfected the craft of deceit.

And this is how that makes me feel:


Now I know I appear to sounds like a broken record about this particular subject, but I still cannot believe I continue to be duped by these men. What drives me crazy is that this one in particular felt so REAL. Perhaps I still fail to see the risk I’m taking every time I try to see the best in people.

I don’t know.

Anyway, after my email was sent and I presented my unfiltered feelings to this person, his first reaction was (and I quote), “I think it’s best for both of us if I take a step back.”

WHAT?! AM I TAKING CRAZY PILLS. I was aggressively courted by this person; swept off my feet, introduced to his best friends, told I was beautiful, told I was cared about. I did not concoct an imaginary person out of thin air!

So why does it always feel like I’m the one suffering when things go awry?

Here is this person who essentially took me for this magnificent ride in his flashy car full of “promises” and “futures” and “respect” and “caring for one another,” and then the MOMENT I decide that I would ALSO like to reciprocate feelings, he needs to take a “step back.”


I call bullshit.

I call bullshit on the entire thing. It’s like women of my generation can’t be fucking honest about how they feel because they will be labeled as “crazy,” whereas the men of my generation I believe actually WANT relationships and WANT to care about another person, but if they let themselves too close they feel like they are losing something. In New York a big excuse is the “career.” Another one I’ve heard is that they are just “confused about what they want, and looking for someone to help them figure it all out.”

What? Help you figure your shit out so that you can leave me in the dust, while you pursue your budding finance career and go off to fuck some other chick with a thigh gap and an IQ of 50?

I don’t get it.

I will never “get it.”

I’m sorry Taylor Swift, but boys don’t only want love if it’s torture. In FACT, the first hint of torture they start running. The reason they stay with you is because you’re beautiful, and powerful, and famous.

I feel like I’m almost a different species to these men. And I’m not talking about being a woman in general, I’m talking about being the specific kind of woman I am: strong-willed, driven, emotional (without qualms), blunt, honest, but also loving, and nurturing, and respectful, and thoughtful.

You don’t get to have one side of my personality and run aways when things don’t go the way you want them to.

Basic human interaction is full of choice and compromise. I feel as though my generation has become so self-indulgent that we’ve forgotten this. We’ve forgotten what it feels like to love and be loved. We allowed ourselves to achieve greatness in our lives, but not with each other. We’ve become hard; addicted to machines, and sex, and instant gratification.

Let’s let go of the deceit and start getting real.

Until then… scratch everything I said in this blog post (What I Think About on Airplanes) and let me go back into my shell until the winter is over and have someone else use a hammer and chisel to try to get my heart-sickle to open up again.


Shan Baby

Grumpy Cat/Shan Baby Thoughts

Today is not a good day.

In fact. Today has been the worst day I’ve had in MONTHS.

However… this bad day has come after a series of extremely good days, so I suppose it was bound to happen.

I’m incredibly sorry for my radio silence the last month  and 1/2. I’ve been busy, busy, busy as I always tend to be. So in order to catch you up, I’m going to do one of my blogs where I just let myself stream-of-conscious, talk-to-myself, Shan Baby rants.

Hey Shan Baby, how are you doing??

Ugh, not so great today. Having a bad one, ya know?


Oh yeah, I know about those. What happened?

Well… there’s a situation with a boy that I EPICALLY fucked up. Then there’s the fact that I’m poor, despite my best efforts to chase my dream. AND the Holidays are coming up which tend to make me sad. AND I’m worried about my health since I’ve always been a hypochondriac. AND I feel like I keep going back to people that make me ultimately feel like shit. 


Woah, woah woah. That’s a lot of stuff. Let’s take it one step at a time. So boys. That’s been an ongoing problem. Talk to me.

YES! I need to just stop gravitating toward these men who take my wild energy and positivity and turn it into something negative. I’m tired of not being taken on dates. I’m tired of being open and honest with a person and then them telling me my honesty is too much. I’m tired of being Murphy’s Law when it comes to men. I know that right now I should be focused on myself, but I HAVE been focused on myself for almost twenty-seven FUCKING years! I don’t think it’s too much to ask for someone to accept me and love me the way I DESERVE to be loved. 


At least you can write a song about it, yeah?

Oh absolutely! I wrote most of the lyrics on the train ride home. 

Good girl. Bouncing back as usual.

Yeah, but unfortunately being creative also makes me poor.  I LOVE what I do, but I feel like my career is a series of “almosts.” I’m ready to make an “almost” a “break.” I still have not let myself get bogged down by rejection. It only fuels me to get better, but at some point, something MUST happen. I’m almost 27…


You’re right. We aren’t getting any younger…

I remember when I used to tell myself I would be “famous” by the time I was 25. Well… I’ve done a lot of great things (more than most in my industry) in almost 27 years, but I’m not a spring chicken anymore. I’m hoping with hard work and passion, I can make the last three years of my twenties count. 


Yeah… December 20th is fast approaching…

Yes it is, and that also means that it’s almost my old favorite time of the year, Christmas. But these last few years, Christmas has lost its luster. I’m still not done needing a mother, and the Holidays only remind me of that. I want to enjoy Christmas like I used to. Now it just seems like an obligatory gathering when I put on a smile and brave through the gatherings and food and presents, when I just really want a chance to go back in time and make some of those pre-2011 Christmases count. 

 Yep, the Holidays suck when you are part of the Dead Mothers Club.


I heard that. I just think I’m in a bit of a funk, but I need to remind myself that I have done a lot of REALLY significant, career-moving things in the last few years. I love myself, and I have a lot of love for my family and friends, so if I continue to hustle and spread the love, how could I not keep moving myself in a positive direction. 

Good thinking. I like where your head’s at.

Me too. Now it’s time to keep hustling and get ready for this overnight tv shoot. 

That’s my girl! Now get out there and hustle Shan Baby!


Thanks Shan Baby! 

Anytime. xoxo

I Would Like to Date a Soccer (Football) Player

Single woman, 26, seeks a professional, attractive soccer (football) player.

Me: Lives in New York City. Fun. Rock and Roll singer/songwriter/actress living the starving artist lifestyle. Likes whiskey, craft beer, and live music.

You: A professional soccer player. Speaking English is NOT a requirement (accents encouraged). Likes to drink, have fun and go on adventures. Must love curves.

Not required, but STRONGLY suggested that you look like this:


(Miguel Veloso – Portugal)

Or this:


(Geoff Cameron – USA)

Or this:



(Gabriel Achilier – Ecuador)

Or this:


(Roman Burki – Switzerland)

Or this:


(Sergio Ramos – Spain)

Or this:



(Ciro Immobile – Italy)



(Gerard Pique – Spain)

Thank you for your consideration.

Serious inquiries only.


Single, Broke and Looking For Love (or a fun night with a soccer player)


I Need to Clarity: I’m NOT Giving Up


The amount of concern coming from people today is unbelievable. If I had this many “friends” in real life, I might not be feeling the way I do about my city.

I need to clarify this to everyone who has chosen to flip out at me via Facebook, Twitter, blog comment, phone, or text:


Just because I’m considering moving out of New York, does NOT mean I have any less plans about pursuing my dreams.

All it means is that New York might not be the right place for me.

Also, never did I ONCE say that this is something that is for SURE going to happen.

Everyone should calm down.

Let me explain, before I bite someone’s head off.

LET ME CLARIFY EACH OF THESE STATEMENTS BEFORE EVERYONE JUMPS DOWN MY THROAT. Also, I’m entitled to the way I feel. Just because YOU may not think these things true, does not mean that they are any less real or important to ME. Let me try telling you how to feel about something you are incredibly insecure about and let’s see how that conversation ends.

1. I might leave New York because I feel like my talent is wasted. 

Now let me explain to you what this feels like.

Imagine you spend your time going to audition after audition, and having casting directors tell you that you are a wonderful singer, have a mature voice, and can clearly hear my range of vocal style. And then not getting a callback.

YES, I realize that there are MANY people who don’t get callbacks at auditions, and spend YEARS and YEARS going back to face only more rejection.

But my question is, why am I feeding into this bullshit where a “tastemaker” (ie casting director) sits there and tells me how wonderful and talented I am, but then chooses another direction? Aren’t there places where I can go and be appreciated for my talent?

Yes, I believe there are several different places I can go and be a singer. Perhaps New York is not picking up what Shan Babe is laying down.

Perhaps it’s because I’m a rock singer and not a theater singer. Perhaps it also has something to do with my body type. I’m not sure.

I also was lucky enough to get my SAG card this past year, but what those of you who don’t work in the industry may not realize, is that a SAG card does not guarantee that you’re going to be a rich and famous actress. Basically all it means is that I owe them a SHIT TON of money up front, pay dues twice a year, get to vote at the awards, and make more money per day than non union, but also sometimes receive less work since there are often limited union spaces on shoots. Also, being a background actor, although very cool at times, is not really a big deal. It just means that I am used to color the background of a scene, so it doesn’t look awkward when a lead is in a scene.

Again, New York is not the only place in the entire world where I can be creative. There are so many places that I’m sure would be happy to accept my talent.

I’m also not afraid of being the little fish in the big pond. I’ve done it for two years now. I have absolutely been validated that I HAVE the talent, but I would just like to use it, rather than beating a dead horse and continuing to audition for parts that are not right for me. There WILL come a day when someone gives me the big, “YES,” and it might not be here.

2. I might leave New York because I’m the “fat girl.” 

If ONE more person in New York City has to make some fucking comment about what I eat, how much I weigh, or the shape of my body, I’m going to respectfully tell them to fuck off. ESPECIALLY the gay community. I listen to all my Queens complain about their bodies 27/7 and I have NEVER once made a negative comment to them about anything of the sort. But for some reason, gay men find it incredibly fulfilling to tell me just exactly how they feel about my body. And it isn’t always so in-your-face either.

I’m talking about the backhanded compliments. The, “Oh you look SO much better than you did 6 months ago,” comments. Or the, “I love grabbing your love handles,” comments. Or the, “You’re such a REAL/THICK girl,” comments.

You don’t want to sleep with me, so get the FUCK out of my head about my body.

Since I’ve moved to New York, I’ve accrued a severe case of body dysmorphia. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror half the time in the morning, because all I do is pick myself apart or immediately start telling myself how ugly and fat I am. I then turned to the gym, where I blew out my knee from obsessively exercising 7 days a week without breaks and cutting my calorie intake, so that I barely had enough food to sustain myself the day.

I’ve NEVER had a problem with this before I moved here. In fact, when I was at my skinniest in Boston, I had a boyfriend who I would constantly drink mass amounts of craft beer with and eat things like fried chicken and nachos and hot dogs. Sure, I was active and went to the gym, and I didn’t indulge ALL the time, but I think I was skinnier back then because I was just plain HAPPIER.

3. I might leave New York because I’ve become a prop rather than a friend. 

I’m tired of being invited out by friends, and then ditched when it’s time for them to hook up with their significant other. When I signed up to be your friend and go out with you on a Friday night, I did NOT sign up to become your prop until you find a hot girl/guy to sleep with that night.

I did not sign up for a half-of-a-night friend date.

4. I might leave New York because no one wants to make art, everyone just wants to get paid. 

I haven’t had a band in two years since I left Boston. Every single player I’ve encountered who wants to play because they believe in me, is too busy with their lives, which I can’t fault them.

However, then there are the players who clearly have no idea how the music industry ACTUALLY works, especially when it comes to unknown bands and original music. I was told that in order to keep my band happy, I need to pay each player $50 per rehearsal, and $50 to $100.

So this means, in a band that is bare bones (ie singer, drummer, bass, guitar), I’m paying $150 for rehearsal (in addition to the cost of a rehearsal space which is usually $50 for 2 hours), then shelling out another $300 at a gig that will most likely only pay me a percentage of tickets after the break-even point, which then is most likely split between a few bands. (There are many kinds of deals, but I don’t have time to give you a lesson in the music industry at the moment.

So let me ask you this, where the FUCK am I getting $500 every time I want to gig? Also, PLEASE remember, that I’m not getting paid for these gigs either. I don’t get paid to write the songs, the charts, the arrangements, book the show, rehearse, or sing. So the fact that someone wants to come to me, TELL me they want to play with me and believe in me… but for a price, is just about the most insulting thing you could ever do to me.

I’ve ALWAYS been up front about the fact that I will split my earnings with my band evenly. I’m not trying to play the diva.

If you want to make that kind of money for a gig, you better join a touring act, a cover band with a residency, or a wedding band.

Don’t fucking insult me and my talent. That is INFURIATING.

5. I might leave New York because I’M BROKE. 

Rent sucks. Food prices suck. Utility bills suck. Transportation – ehhhh, it’s okay considering we don’t have to pay for gas or car insurance. Beer/wine/liquor prices suck.

The job market is still very lean. No one is hiring. Even the shit jobs can’t pay more than $10 an hour, which is insulting considering what the average New Yorker pays in rent every month. Most of my friends have multiple jobs, and STILL have trouble paying the rent.

6. I might leave New York because I simply CANNOT go on another first date in this city. 

I actually shouldn’t even call them dates. They are more like, “wanna meet up for casual drinks where I’m going to tell you that I don’t want anything serious and if you try to contact me after this ‘date’ or whatever it is I’m going to label you as a ‘crazy’ girl because I told you I didn’t want anything serious and you read too far into it,” thing.

Misogyny is alive and well in this city (as it is everywhere) but throw in the egomaniac nature of the finance, layer, even the actor/musician guys and it’s amplified times A THOUSAND.

I don’t even know the last time I was even treated like a proper lady.

7. I might leave New York because there is a great big world out there, and I’m only 26. 

New York is not going anywhere, and I’m not getting any younger. Shouldn’t my happiness trump living in a city that is currently making me unhappy?


So there you have it. There’s my short list of BIG reasons influencing my POSSIBLE decision to move.

Now, you may be asking, “Where will you go, if not New York?”

Well, my short answer is this, “Anywhere I fucking want to go.”

But honestly, my first move would probably be home. I might need some time to regroup and get my life together before I make another big move. Since I’ve been 18 I’ve moved to Cincinnati, Boston and now, New York, so making yet another gigantic move is a big deal.

Somewhere I’ve been considering very seriously is Austin, Texas.

Some of you might be wondering why my answer wasn’t LA.

Well, to be quite honest with you, I feel like I might have similar, if not the EXACT same issues in LA.

But something about Austin, Texas appeals to me.

1. First of all, it’s cheaper. I could make my dollars stretch significantly further in Austin than in New York.

2. I would have to drive, but Austin is also a very bike-friendly city and I would most likely live someplace where I would be close my job and my industry.

3. I would be close to my family. My brother and his wife are in Houston, which is only a few hours away. It would be nice to be around the corner from them.

4. The weather.

5. I could bring Blue (my dog)

6. Just based off the ads I’ve seen on Craigslist, I would be better off moving to Austin and finding a band, than sitting around here for another six months to have more musicians flake out on me.

7. There is live music (ESPECIALLY rock music) EVERYWHERE. EVERY. NIGHT.  I’m not hating on the theater, because LORD knows I love the theater, but I wouldn’t have to worry about being talented, but not the right “fit” in Austin. Austin is a rock and roll city. The place THRIVES on it.


9. There is a large Berklee community in Austin. Even though I’m not currently close with any Berklee alumni in Austin, I know that connection is there. It’s like when I go somewhere and find out they were in my sorority; I don’t know then personally, but there is always a connection.

10. New York will ALWAYS be there. Period.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE stop sending me text messages asking me why I’m leaving. I’ve already made is CRYSTAL CLEAR that this is only something I’m thinking about and not allowing myself to make decisions about until I’ve weighed all my options. Who knows, in two days I could write another post saying that I was just being dramatic and that I’m back in love with the city and want to live here for ten more years.

Who knows.

I don’t, so STOP badgering me and just please respect that this is something I’m trying to work out.

I’m NOT giving up

I’m NOT doing this for attention.

I’m NOT moving right this second at this very hour.

I also would appreciate if everyone would stop telling me that my feelings are wrong or incorrect. How a person feels is never incorrect. You may see something one way and I may see it another. Unless we’re talking about laws of science (which we’re not) I’m pretty sure that I’m allowed to feel the way I want to about subjects pertaining to my life.


Glad I got this off my chest.


Shan Babe who is NOT giving up, just considering her own happiness as a priority.

The Game

I was texting a good friend of mine the other day and our conversation went something like this:

Him: “Yeah, I really like this girl. I don’t think she’s interested. She can’t return my texts, but she sure can post on Instagram.

Me: “I don’t understand why she can’t just answer a text. Or tell you she’s not interested. Have some courtesy.”

Him: “I’m tired of playing this game.”

Me: “Me too. Maybe I should just become a nun.”

And here we have: The Game

It’s the same story with most 20-somethings.

There is a girl. There is a boy. Sometimes there are two boys. Sometimes there are two girls. Whatever the scenario, it’s always the same: How do I play this game so that he/she will like me?

I can’t even begin to tell you how frustrating it is to date in 2014. Those of you who are single; I’m sure you feel my pain. For those of you who are taken, fuck you.

I jest, I jest.

But seriously though… fuck you.

I can’t wrap my brain around the idea of “The Game.” The last relationship I was in started way back in 2009, and it went something like this:

Him: “Hey, I like you!”

Me: “I like you too!”

Him: “Wanna be my girlfriend.”

Me: “Sure!”

There was none of this let-me-text-you-cryptic-messages-that-I-need-a-fucking-Rosetta-Stone-to-decipher bullshit. None of the how-long-do-I-wait-to-text-him-back questions. None of the well-we-are-kind-of-seeing-each-other-but-we’ve-never-really-discussed-specifics ambiguity.

Now, you’ve all heard me complain about my general dislike for the way my generation dates. If you haven’t, please read this little gem:


I feel like I’m absolutely in the minority of my generation when I say I wear my heart on my sleeve. My generation is all about the protection of oneself, and keeping options open, and a debilitating fear of commitment. And I’m not just generally making these statements. I’ve talked to SO many men and women in their 20s, and it’s all generally the same story, we are all trying to play “the game” with one another.

And you can literally plan a game, in the form of Tinder, that acts as a psedo dating/hookup site.

Fucking Millennials. (Hey! I’m allowed to hate on my own!)

I was talking to a co-worker today and I said something along the lines of, “I know this sounds stupid, but I really DO believe in love.”

And I do.

But love does not always love me in return, because I live in New York City in 2014, and love just doesn’t always happen that easily.

Right now a LOT of amazing things are happening in my life. I’m getting auditions for things, I’m making music, I’m more stable than I’ve ever been.

But then there’s this whole thing we call “dating” that always knocks me on my ass.

When I “date” I feel like I have to put a filter on myself, because people in my generation don’t like to communicate with one another.  Dating is like a never ending Labyrinth of texting, and not telling the other person too much, and timing out when to text back, and using words like “casual” and “fun,” and always trying to be the one who cares less because that’s how you get the other person to care more.

And David Bowie makes NO cameo in this version of the Labyrinth… which means it BLOWS.

Side note: This

Screen Shot 2014-04-16 at 12.14.15 AM

I digress. Back to “The Game.”

Basically, this endless cycle of fuckery drives me to drink.

And THEN because I feel like I have a sober filter on myself, everything just comes FLYING out of my body when I drink.

MjAxMy0yNjZmY2UwNTk3ZWE0ODQ4 zzzz1 MjAxMy02YTY5OTBhM2M5YmI1Njlk


(Also… that last meme should NOT have an apostrophe after the Vodka. That indicates possession. Ughh… ecards, get it TOGETHER. )

So after all is said and done, love and feelings and emotions and being interested in another human being just becomes way too stressful for me.


Stupid love.

I don’t even know if this post really has a point, other than I’m just tired of dating.


Shan Baby

Sing Me To Sleep and Then Leave Me Alone

There might as well be a sign on my forehead that says:

“Shannon: Wears heart on sleeve/Trusts too much/Loves to love — Please take advantage”

Well… That sign is much too long for my forehead, so maybe I can just wear it as a sign around my neck.

As a creative person, I am often criticized for being “too sensitive” or “overly emotional,” but I don’t know how to be any other way. It’s not like I’m trying to make my heart feel anything other than what it’s feeling.

When I was younger, I used to think that everyone else felt like me. I used to think that everyone experienced the depth of feeling I felt when I was sad, happy, anxious, ashamed, depressed, excited, etc. But now I understand that this is absolutely not the case. “Normal” people can experience similar situations to me, and not feel a thing.

In fact, I’m starting to realize that many people are exceptionally good at falsifying real emotions in order to self-serve.

This is perhaps where we begin… and also where we end.

A week ago, I “cleaned house,” and got rid of every online dating application, phone number, Facebook, saved picture, of every single guy in the past two years with whom I’ve ever had any kind of romantic connection.

I also deleted a slew of “friends” in my contact list.

What I’ve come to understand, is that my personality lends itself to others taking advantage of me. The fact that I’m willing to trust easily, give second chances, and dive into emotions that normal people might put up a bit of a guard about, allows people to essentially use me for what they want, benefit from my trust and love, and then subsequently leave.

And then I’m left alone, with nothing but another crack in my soul; wondering what I did wrong. Worse, I’ll start questioning myself, and my self-worth, because at the end of all these situations, I’m the common denominator.

I’m the common denominator.

So am I to assume that there is something wrong with me? Or is it that I am just misunderstood because I am “too” (fill in your favorite adjective) for anyone to handle?


Lately, the fact that I’m 26 has set in.

Now I am by no means “old,” but what I mean by “26,” is that all my friends are in the beginning stages of “growing up.” I have friends getting married, having children, moving in with their significant others, buying dogs together, taking vacations, joining bank accounts, etc.

I think this is all great. Obviously I want my friends to be happy and healthy individuals.

But my problem is, my pool of people that I can go to is becoming smaller and smaller. It’s more difficult to come to a friend with a “single girl” problem, when they are worried about their grown up lives. I often get lots of eye rolls or “Oh I remember when I was single,” stories. There is also a level of disconnect that you tend to have with a person whose life is in a different stage from theirs. My financial situation is far different from that of a lot of my friends, and it’s becoming harder and harder to give the “I’m a starving artist trying to make it in NYC,” speech to them, because their already in the place in their lives where they are no longer struggling financially.

Not only this, but they have someone to come home to.

I ALSO just want someone to come home from work to and talk about my day. I ALSO want to share my life with someone. I ALSO want someone to check up on me when they haven’t heard from me in a few hours.

One of my biggest wake-up calls this week was seeing a news story about a missing woman and thinking to myself, “If I were to go missing in New York City, how long would it be before someone realized I was gone?”

This might be a bit dramatic, but I can’t lie and say the thought didn’t cross my mind, and give me a tiny panic attack.

… and now that I’ve gone and laid my guts out on the table for the world to see, I’m going to find a way to keep moving on.

So now, instead of allowing myself to be the person being left behind, I’ve decided to be the one to leave for a change.

I’m leaving the dating world.

I’m out. I’m not going to accept invitations to go on dates, or allow myself to get mixed up in any of that silly nonsense any longer. No more “drink dates.” No more, “Hey my friends are all out at this one spot. You should come join!”


I want no part of the dating world.


I’m also going to leave the social world for a bit. At least cut down on it.

I’m tired of spending Friday nights texting friends who could give a shit if they see me anytime soon. I’m also tired of getting invited out when someone just needs a filler when their Plan A has failed. I’m tired of being drunk and watching everyone around me desperately trying to find someone to fuck before the night is over.

It’s all too shallow for me.

What I really want is someone to go for a run with me in Central Park. I want someone to go to Restaurant Row with and pick off their plate because I realized their food was better than mine. I want someone to talk Game of Thrones and Harry Potter and slasher films and Nickelodeon cartoons with me. I need someone to hug me and be silent when I get sad because I really want to talk to my mom. I want someone to steal my covers, someone who wakes me up in the middle of the night because I snored too loud or drooled all over their pillow.

I want someone to care.

I also want someone who doesn’t care that I “feel” too much.

I don’t necessarily need someone who feels as much as I do, or even understands how or why I feel the way I do… just someone who is willing to accept it, along with all the other parts of me.

All of me.

That’s all.

So until then, “sing me to sleep/sing me to sleep/and then leave me alone”


Shannon Rose Allen