Author Archives: Blunt Delivery

Back When I Was A Gang Member

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culottesImagine if you will,  a young lady full of promise, who always got A’s on her report card.   The very thought of seeing disappointment on her parent’s faces prompted her to never disobey their rules.  She played quietly, said “thank you,” and helped her mother, (who had her dishwasher ripped out of the kitchen in order to create more cupboard space) every night with the dishes.   She attended a ridiculously strict Baptist school for fifteen years, where she was forced to wear culottes and brainwashed to believe that pants were evil.

<————- (if you can’t pronounce culottes [koo-lots], I don’t blame you, considering most of the world has no reason to ever say that word) 

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My Lemonade Stand Can Beat Up Your Lemonade Stand

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how-to-beat-lemonade-standMy entrepreneurial spirit and business savvy disposition began at an extremely young age.  Younger than most.

I remember waking up at 5 am., walking over to my neighbor’s  house, and telling him that he needed to get his butt in gear and come help me make the cranberry juice.  (neither of our moms ever had lemonade, so we had to improvise).

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Finding Myself, Losing My Sanity

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It’s a day for introspection, my friends…

Before, after, and during my college years, I was told by many a new agey individual and philosophy teacher that I needed to “discover who I was” or “find myself” or get in tune with “my inner person” or whatever.  The only thing about myself that I ever knew for sure was that I liked to write, I liked to make people laugh, and I didn’t want to rush off into marriage and five kids like the rest of my friends had.  I didn’t believe in all that inner self crap.  So although I was pretty confident that I knew who I was [after living with myself all those years] it sounded kind of entertaining… maybe, I’d find that I was cooler than I’d originally thought?

So as I set out on my self-discovering journey, I realized that trying to find myself was really just a whole lot of “hanging out“ and “gaining weight” and “drinking coffee while having delirious late night conversations” with random other people who also couldn’t find themselves.  This all resulted in alot of deleriousness, altering of career paths, meaningless friendships, and relationship choices that would damage me for the better part of my life, which I would inevitably spend undoing all the things I’d done while finding myself. london-at-night
Every person who is trying to find themselves thinks that they must live somewhere other than where they are currently living.  You cannot possibly find yourself in your hometown, you have to go far, far away.  I was no exception to this rule.  Even though I’d never been on a plane and I couldn’t even drive to my next door neighbor’s house without getting lost, somehow, some way, one of my meaningless friends talked me into getting out of one of my damaging relationships by moving to Europe… this took place over a late night cup of coffee, of course.

After going away, traveling the world, partially losing my mind, realizing that Italy was all I had hoped it would be, turning down a proposal on the Eiffel Tower, and then coming back with a newfound sense of whatever, I had quite a bit going for myself.  I had “discovered” a strapping young British lad who followed me back to states and was quite taken aback by my charming American accent [and the cheap cost of Midwestern living].  I quit college and started my own business.  To my dismay, I didn’t then realize that strapping British lads are also quite good at disguising the fact that they are millionaires, heroin addicts and manic depressives. Oh well.  I gave it the old college try.

Years later, after seven career changes and two business ventures, I finally became a writer.

So here I am, and after all these years of self-discovery I’ve come to realize the same thing I always knew: I’m a complicated, indecisive, independent girl who likes to write, and all of my experiences have led me back right to where I started.

That sure was a waste of time.  But it was fun. Sorta.

By all means, everyone, please go find yourselves.

Teenage Acne And An Italian Boyfriend

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Let me start by saying that I currently drive a plum-colored ’99 Saturn with duct tape on the hood.  The purpose of the duct tape is to cover an actual hole in my hood that was created when I veered into the shoulder and crashed into a road sign, which fell on my car and poked a hole straight through it. 

So heed my advice at your own discretion.

So back to this whole matter of me being in a beauty pageant.  Typing that very sentence makes my skin crawl, but you brought it up.  Let me first say, that I hate pageants and all the creepy girls and moms associated with them.  Okay.

Once upon a time, I was dating a charming young Italian gentleman, who I thought at the time was my long awaited knight in shining armor. Ok.  Let’s start over.  Once upon a time, before developing my completely pessimistic realistic views on the ways of the world and men, I happened to get the wool pulled over my eyes by an Italian crazypants in preppy clothing who sang in a band.

As most young women who pay their way through private college, I was broke beyond my wildest dreams.  The Italian came to the ridiculous conclusion that I should be in a pageant.  My immediate protest was stifled by the mention of  “but you can win alot of money.”    I have a habit of doing things spur of the moment, without much thought or consideration to what said thing will entail, so about a month before the pageant I said, “fine. what do I have to do?”

clear-4-inch-heels-beauty-pageantAfter having said yes, I recanted my admission; but I was further coerced that it would be no big deal to prepare for.  Lies…   So big even Satan was shocked.   In one month I had to:  find a pageant gown, 4 inch clear heels [what am I a stripper?], figure out a “talent” [except I can’t sing, dance, or do anything requiring hand-eye coordination], get a professional picture, learn how to walk in 4 inch clear heels [again. the coordination problem], learn the group dance routine [there’s a WHAT?],  get a swimsuit that I’d be comfortable wearing in front of thousands of people, freak out, and actually stop eating enough food for a small lacrosse team so that I could not embarrass myself while wearing the swimsuit.  

If my first problem is that I make impulsive decisions, my second problem is backing out of them.  I can’t do it.   So after one month of freaking out, chewing the Italian a new one, and eating nothing but apples – I competed in the pageant.

My talent?  A comedic monologue about my teenage acne.  Yes.  And you are correct if you are thinking that you’ve never seen anyone do a comedic monologue at a pageant before.  I don’t believe anyone ever has.  Probably because they can sing and dance like all the other pageant going freaks.  Did they love it?   Does Giraldo Rivera love his mustache?

Swimsuit competition?  You know I rocked that.

 

 


Kenny Chronicles: How to Talk Yourself Out of Dating Almost Anyone

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So Kenny and I were discussing dating.  Not dating each other, but dating in general.   We often times find ourselves having these kind of conversations in hopes of understanding our issues so that we may become a beacon of light, a shining example for our gender.  Or we do it because we are the only ones who will not judge ourselves.

First, there’s something you’ve got to understand about Kenny.  Kenny once broke up with a girl because of her elbows.  And I rejected a guy one time because he was too Italian.  And I love Italians, so as you can imagine, this was a travesty of mass proportion.   The point is: we are relationally challenged. We’re very good at talking ourselves out of things using any justification at our disposal, and if there isn’t one available then we just make it up.  Most of our conversations resemble reruns of Seinfeld or something of that nature.

elbowSo we’re sitting there, discussing our problems, and the following conversation takes place:

Me: ok.  so, again….why can’t you like her?

Kenny:  well, the personality is great.  face is great.  everything is great.  and I might even say it’d be the real deal if…

Me: ….if what?

Kenny:  it weren’t for the gap.

Me: what gap?

Kenny: the teeth gap. can’t get passed it.

Me: Okay…  so you’re not going to date this girl, who otherwise might be the one, because you can’t get passed the gap?

Kenny: no, its not just the gap.  but thats a big part of it.

Me: well that’s good to know.  I’m glad it’s not just the gap, but that it’s a whole slew of frivilous things.  progress has been made.

Kenny:  i mean, if i could just close it somehow……… [holds up his first finger and thumb to form a gap]

Me: close it? no.  not gonna happen.  and you can’t suggest that.  no.  NO.

Kenny:  no?  but what if….

Me: NO.

For more of the Kenny Chronicles:

I Hate People Who Smell Like Breakfast

A Conversation at Starbucks

A Metrosexual in a Yankees hat

A Bad Gordita and Some Classy Water

Black Friday, Depression, and a Salvation Army Chair

How We Met

Technologically Challenged

Kenny Chronicles: A Metrosexual in a Yankees Hat

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If you’ve read any of my previous posts regarding my best friend Kenny, you’ll be not so surprised to hear that he is indeed a metrosexual male.  And when I say metrosexual, I mean he’s one manbag away from starring in an Off-Broadway musical and getting regular pedicures – except he likes the ladies.

When I say metro, I mean that he doesn’t comprehend the words “just throw on some clothes and meet me at the bookstore.”   He comes with all the glorious benefits of a girlfriend,  yet [ BONUS] I don’t have to be tormented witless by the catty moodswinging madness!  Drama, yes.  He does have that.  But at least not between us.  Indirect drama I can handle.

So Kenny is one of these people who says he’ll meet you at noon, but by the time he gets done tweaking his hair, changing his outfit five times, and analyzing his level of winter “paleness” sufficiently – it’s over.  The moment has passed and I’m in my PJ’s, watching reruns of Family Matters.  Maybe it was the massive amount of whining I’ve done over the years, or maybe he just got sick of all the hassle -but Kenny decided he was going to become “I don’t care” casual.  Of course, the effort involved in Kenny trying to look like he doesn’t care, takes an awful lot of caring.

[ Cut to conversation at my house]: Kenny walks in…

me:  what? why are you wearing… a baseball cap?

kenny:  It’s the new-casual-I-don’t-care-Kenny.    [points to hat] what do you think?

me:  it looks weird.

kenny:  like, weird different or weird ugly?

me:  like, weird I’ve-never-seen-you-in-a-hat -ever-weird.   and a baseball cap?  I need to sit down.

kenny:  I searched for weeks to find just the right one that would look good on my head.

me:  the reason guys wear baseball caps is so they can disguise their unshowered hair.   it’s not supposed to look perfect on your head.   and it’s a Yankees hat.  do you even know who the Yankees are?

kenny:  yea, they’re a baseball team.

me:  you could have at least gotten a Cubs hat.  That would have made more sense.

kenny:  yea, but my other friend got the Cubs one, I can’t have the same one.

me:  everyone has a Cubs hat – we live next to Chicago.

abercrombie-sweaterkenny:  well I like this one, it looks good on me.

me:  wait…. hold the phone.  is that a SWEATSHIRT you’re wearing?

kenny:  yea.

me:  wow…i actually like it.  looks good on you.

kenny:  yea, it’s a fitted one. picked it up at Abercrombie.

me:  ok, seriously?  this isn’t your thing.

For more of the Kenny Chronicles:

Kenny Chronicles: A Bad Gordita and Some Classy Water

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Again, if you don’t know who Kenny is, please do some research, get your life together, and then return back to this post.

[a telephone conversation between Kenny and I]

Me:  [yawn….]  so are we looking for paint colors for your room today or what?

Kenny:  [several seconds, but what feels like hours of groaning, sighing, and cover rustling]  well, I don’t feel so good.  I have food poisoning. I’ve been up all night vomiting.

Me:  Oh thank God, because I have waaay too much stuff to do today.

Me:  Food poisoning?  What did you eat?

Kenny:  Some kind of Gordita-nacho-something or other at Taco Bell at 3 am.

Me: Well, did you ever think that wasn’t going to give you food poisoning?  Oh, wait! I almost forgot to tell you the good news, World Market is going out of business.  I’m going to go see if I can find some cheap stuff.

Kenny:  When you’re there can you check and see if the Voss Water is on sale?

Me: Seriously?  I really doubt that water will be on sale.

Kenny:  Well, can you just check because I need some.

Me: You only like it because of the cool glass bottle.

Kenny:  No I don’t.  I like the taste of the water.

Me: It can NOT taste that much better than the other waters of the world that you can justify paying 3.49 a bottle.

Kenny:  Yes it does.

Me:  Ok.  Well, I’ll going to level with you.  I’m going to World Market today.   While I’m there, I’m going to wander aimlessly and manhandle a a large amount of useless nic-nacs and large African vases that I have no intention of buying.  But chances are, I probably won’t have time to check on the price of the water.

For more of the Kenny Chronicles:

Kenny Chronicles: Black Friday, Depression, and a Salvation Army Chair

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I woke up the day after Thanksgiving with a massive headache.  No, I wasn’t hungover.  No, I wasn’t getting sick.  It’s just the after effects of a very stressful week.  Friends visiting, friends having babies, grandpas in the hospital, the usual.  I also witnessed my best friend give birth to a child, which was at the very least:  horrific. But not as horrifying as it is two days later when the images keep popping into the forefront of your mind.

grandma-playing-wii-bowlingThen my Thanksgiving consisted of watching my grandma, who is a self-proclaimed Wii bowling champion at her assisted living home, battle it out with my uncle and dad.  Well, she currently has a bad hip and wears frog green polyester pants, and every time she pulled her arm back to release the bowling ball, she let out a fart.   Pretty soon I had to move to the other side of the couch, where my mom and my aunt were having a huge fight about who was going to host Christmas.

[Let me preface the next section by saying that my 99 saturn with duck tape covering a hole in the hood, although esthetically phenomenal, is not an all-terrain vehicle.  More on that later. ]

So I had made my annual plan to go shopping on Black Friday.  But when the morning came I called my girlfriend, who was supposed to accompany me, but she actually was hungover.  And depressed.  So I called Kenny.  Kenny’s always up for shopping.  Well, Kenny was depressed too.  I guess depression rates really do rise around the Holidays.  So after five hours of trudging through crowds of unruly shoppers by myself, I had seven bags on my arm cutting off the circulation to my heart.  After narrowly escaping a heart attack, I went to pick up my yellow Salvation Army chair with Kenny.

So I accidentally wandered into the Salvation Army again last week, and took a liking to a yellow chair, which I asked if i could pick it up later that day.  Of course, five days had passed since that conversation took place.  So Kenny had no choice but to help me.  For over 30 minutes, we were shivering in the parking lot (with several onlookers) having the following conversation:

me:  its GOING to fit

kenny:  no.  no it’s NOT.  how in the world can you think this is going to fit?

me: cus it’s not that big!

kenny: thats what she said.  haha.  ok seriously, yes it IS THAT BIG, because we can’t get it in!

me: thats what she said.  haha. ok, seriously, if we could just take the legs off it would be fine.

kenny: yea, thats a really good idea.  except they are attached.

me: well, lets try it diagonal in the backdoor again.

random guy:  you know, I used to move furniture for a living.  .. do you guys need some help?

Kenny and me:  NO, we’re fine.

random guy:  well, do you mind if i just stand here and watch?  cus this is pretty entertaining.

kenny:  we’re just gonna have to put it in the trunk.

me:  but i won’t be able to close it AT ALL.  isn’t that illegal?  isn’t that a hazard?

kenny:  we’re gonna have to come back then

me:  it’s already been sitting here 5 days, i have to take it.  but how will we tie it down?  I don’t have anything.  Go find some twine.

[kenny goes back inside, comes back after ten minutes, holding what appears to be rope]

me: you are AWESOME!  this is why i love you.   [ I grab the rope and start putting it around the chair] wait, what is this?

kenny:  a telephone cord.

me: A TELEPHONE CORD?  what the?!  how am i supposed to tie anything with a telephone cord?

kenny:  Don’t worry, i got two of them.  and a scarf.

me: So?!#$#

For more of the Kenny Chronicles:

How to Talk Yourself Out of Dating Almost Anyone

A Conversation at Starbucks

A Metrosexual in a Yankees hat

A Bad Gordita and Some Classy Water