Lemmonex keeps it simple:
Shannon reminds me every day that you can be a complete spaz...and still maintain your charm and wit.
Brando apparently credits me with book larnin' and forcibly getting him to wear shoes by throwing him on his back:
Picture it--a broke and bedraggled immigrant from the wilds of Maine, who barely speaks the language of the Mid-Atlantic region, and had never heard of "scanner jockeys" let alone ones who were disaffected. I certainly needed bloggalicious guidance to help show me how to be "cool" and "hip" and "not a social disaster area that leads people to have parties celebrating the fact that I couldn't make it to the party".
Back in the Wild North Country, being "cool" involved knowing the Red Socks starting lineup (and spelling it "Sox", which was hard to get used to, like ordering vodka on the rox), wearing a fleece year round, and answering "ayuh" to any question involving me wanting more beer. I would have been lost if it weren't for a blog known as Disaffected Scanner Jockey. With this blog, I learned what "skeevy" men were--and how to avoid them!--as well as the perils of being petite on public transportation. I learned that there was something called "shangria" and it could lead people to drunken debauchery. I learned, in short, of what was humming in this fair city of ours.
Since that time I've become savvy to the ways of the world, and no longer ripped off by guys at airports selling colored pieces of yarn. Damn those yarn guys.
If only I'd had Disaffected Scanner Jockey years ago. Happy 500!
Meanwhile, Malnurtured Snay would like to thank me for my emotional distance, my status as the emotional taker in our friendship, and a side order of crusty trans fats:
I'm really glad that I started reading and commenting on Shannon's blog ... not so much for the actual posts themselves, but because I guess I got her to feel like she owed me something for all the reading and commenting (side note: how many times has she posted on my blog? Zero. Zip. Nada.), that one day, she brought left over doughnuts from her office to me and my coworkers at my part-time job.
Even though they were stale, the wage slaves I work with were really happy to get free food, and I was the recipient of sexual favors from the less repulsive members of the staff the whole evening. By sexual favors, I mean they didn't throw books at my crotch, which was a welcome relief, and if you've ever had some douchebag, who somehow got a job in a bookstore despite thinking that Q comes after R and before Z, slam a hardbound edition of The Lord of the Rings into your preciouses, you'd be thanking her, too.