Fun Fair = A Loose Interpretation Of Both Fun And Fair

I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a fair or not. Here in the Midwest, fairs are kind of a big deal. It’s all the farmers and corn and cows and stuff.

Thus, I have very specific expectations in mind when a “fair” is involved. There needs to be a hint of funnel cakes mixed with farm animals in the air. Questionable Carnies lurking in the shadows. A poorly assembled, rusted out Ferris Wheel. So you can imagine my disappointment when I helped my friend Jo out with a local fun fair for her workplace.

When you add “fun” in front of “fair” it apparently takes all of the awesome things out of a fair and substitutes it with cute, sticky, and greedy children who are attempting to eat their body weight in snowcones – which we were supplying along with cotton candy.

Anyway, we rose early on Saturday morning and loaded up the box truck to head out to the fun fair.

P.S. Nothing makes you feel quite more like a pedophile than driving around in a big box truck with a snowcone and cotton candy machine in the back.


I don’t know when she’s gonna finally realize that I’ll never stop taking pictures of her.

As we were circling for about and hour trying to find the place, I may or may not have noticed a Big Kmart with a Little Caesars blow up man out front. This information came in handy when we reached our destination and realized we had an hour to kill. Don’t even think we didn’t polish off a large hot n’ ready at 10:30am, while sitting next to the men’s underwear section.

Not to say that we couldn’t finish the rest, but we did start feeling like pigs a little bit. The confused looks from the cashier weren’t helping.

Back at the Fun Fair, we became cotton candy and snowcone making afficianados.

We may or may not have eaten all of our mistakes.

Seriously, she just needs to stop trying to hide.

That is an expert at work, my friends.

I don’t know if you’ve ever made cotton candy. I don’ t know why you would have, unless you ARE a Carnie (in which case I apologize for previous statements) but it’s probably the grossest, stickiest, cobwebbyest job ever.

Then someone came by with free ice cream sandwiches. I was taught never to turn down free treats from strangers.  The universe just didn’t want us to win that day.

By the end of the day, my cotton candy was so fluffy and perfect that the kids didn’t even want to go near any other forms of air-blown sugar.

Wondering where I went? I have returned to blogging over at my whole foods blog Celery and the City, where we live so clean it’s like your insides took a bath.

WANTED: Gray Haired African-American Man With Saxophone Skills

[Because it’s was my birthday, and because I’m refinishing cabinets and I started a new job, I’m recycling an oldie. If you remember this post, congratulations. You’re two years older and still like reading pointless stuff on the INTERNETS.]

I’m currently babysitting my best friend’s 6 month old.  Yes, the same best friend who pumps breast milk in my car and leaves it in my fridge, okay?  This is the first 10 minutes I’ve had all day and I find myself exhausted on the couch, drinking coffee that I poured five hours ago, and watching an Oprah special on loveless marriages.  Somehow I feel that I’ve just been given a glimpse into my life in about five fifteen twenty years.  I’m sorry, will you excuse me while I wipe the squash residue off my glasses?

Ok, I’m back. As you can deduce from its title – this blog ends with us pondering matters of Destiny, but first, it’s going to stop at the gas station and pick up some snacks while we avoid the subject.

Somewhere around 2am last night I was like, what the crap?  So I proceeded to pop in one of my all time favorite movies: Only You.  Stop scratching your head –  you’ve never seen it.  And if you have, you wrote it off within the first 5 mins or as soon as Marisa Tomei said, “He’d kill tigers for you.”  And you’d be justified. But I love it to pieces and that is just something you’ll have to live with. 

The reasons why I love this movie out number the reasons why I hate Neil Diamond. And no, it’s not just Robert Downey, Jr. speaking Italian. Or the runaway bride fiasco. Or Marisa Tomei. No, definitely not her. In fact, just ignore her the entire movie.  The main reason is because it is set in Italy, for which my obsession grew exponentially when I actually visited. Then my camera broke right in front of the Colosseum and ruined my trip.

Needless to say, I cannot express the beauty of this land. It’s magical. And I never use that gross word. Not only the scenery, but the people.  It’s a place where people actually care about something more than money.  They enjoy life.  They can’t understand you, but they’ll laugh with you and hand you some gelato.  Or a plate of pasta.  Go as quickly as you can.  It IS as beautiful as it looks. It WILL change your life.  And I PROMISE to stop talking about Italy now.

Anyway, I’ve never been a gooey person.  Shocker. I can’t even accept a compliment on my hair much less someone telling me that they can’t live without me. I hate receiving flowers or any other impractical gift that dies or has an expiration date; I would never dance in the middle of a street; I don’t want a fairytale wedding, and I certainly don’t celebrate “anniversaries,” whether they be actual legitimate yearly milestones or fake excuses to go out to eat, like, say, 7 months.

Although Only You may be a chic flick, the sheer beauty is that it actually makes fun of the concept of “destiny” and preconceived ideas that there is one true soulmate for everyone.  Because would I watch it if it didn’t?  Absolutely not.  I think when I was younger, I believed that your whole life was a search for “your other half,”  and now, I believe you could be happy with any number of people.  Just in a different way.  I’m not sure which conclusion is the right one, and I have a feeling I never will.

However, there are exceptions to every rule. 

And this is my exception:  if I should ever find myself strolling along a rainy, cobblestoney, Italian street, while being serenaded by a gray-haired African-American (note: he HAS to be African-American for this scenario to work) playing the saxophone, while talking to a charming and dangerously witty brunette who was able to quote Goethe  – I just might dance in the middle of the street.  Under the right circumstances, anything is possible.

If you’d like to witness this exact scenario, please skip ahead to 1:35.  If not, please watch the entire thing anyway. 

Only by joy and sorrow does a person know anything about themselves and their destiny.   

 – Goethe.

Wondering where I went? I have returned to blogging over at my whole foods blog Celery and the City, where we live so clean it’s like your insides took a bath.

The Universe Is Allergic To Me Turning 29

Every year, without fail, June 25th comes creeping in to steal away another year of my life and inconspicuously plant two more gray hairs that I won’t discover until I’ve just eaten an entire Little Caesars pizza at 10am and I go into the bathroom and notice them under the florescent lights.  Oh, just me? Although, a quick smile was brought to my face when I received this present from one of my favorite bloggers on all of THE INTERNETS, Bea Schooled – she’s a brilliant photoshopping goddess. This could quite possibly be the most disgusting combination of things the world has ever known. Well done. And thank you from the bottom of my blackened heart for all the warm birthday wishes. They made me want to vomit.

Remember that introspective birthday post that you’ve been expecting? Yea, that can’t happen now because did you see that picture I just posted? There’s no way I can concentrate when Neil Diamond is in the room.

Last weekend, it occurred to me that sometime soon I might be approaching 30. It’s just a hunch I had. And I decided I need to do something about that. Like, stop time. Or, jump off a cliff. But then, I thought of all the whining you’d miss out on if I did that and I set myself straight. Panties unbundled, please.

So we’re starting with my birthday eve – 6.24.11. I got together with my favorite girls and they knew exactly how to lift my spirits.

Homemade tiramisu.

Naked Goodwill barbies. It’s really tough to find the brunettes… I have such quality friends.

Then, the worst day of the year: my birthday… 6.25.11. My friend Jo got us free tix to see Lee DeWyze, who was playing in an outdoor venue downtown. I’ll be honest, I hadn’t heard his stuff before although I knew he’d won American Idol. I must say, he was rather good. Almost as good as the nachos.

Then, we met up with some of our other girls and got my favorite drink: Key Lime Martini.

At 11pm, we all sat in our cars in the parking lot determining whether or not we were too tired to go to another place. Then we got depressed because we were actually having that conversation. When the police finally broke us up cus we were blocking the entire gas station entrance, we went to another bar, where we scrunched on a couch outside and accidentally struck up a conversation with the keyboardist and drummer who were touring with Mr. Lee DeWyze.

It all started cus the keyboard player sneezed and I yelled, “Are you allergic to this town? Cus we definitely are.”

Then, they gave us some drum lessons on the street. And yes, I informed them I blog a lot and there would be a good chance they’d end up on there.

The evening ended at 6am. They were a blast and it was a good night. As far as birthdays go.

Oh, and Universe, you really outdid yourself this year with the hard drive crash with non-recoverable data, one grandma in the hospital, one grandpa dying and the ant infestation! Props to you!

Wondering where I went? I have returned to blogging over at my whole foods blog Celery and the City, where we live so clean it’s like your insides took a bath.

Warning: Don’t Google Yourself Or You Might Find This

Listen, there are concrete reasons why I don’t Google myself. These reasons hold steadfast to the three fundamental principles of my character: avoidance, denial and laziness. The first time I broke this rule was last night. I’ve been breaking a lot of self-imposed rules lately. And, I’ve definitely learned my lesson.

Maybe, someday, I’ll tell you the story of Jamie. But for now, just a glimpse. In college, I fell in love with the boy who worked in the bookstore. Our relationship, although short-lived, passionate and magnetic, was life-changing. He just got me; one of those unexplainable phenomenons. In fact, I wrote a short memoir about him and it became my first nationally published story. Three years ago, he told me that he had gotten hired for a job based on a story he wrote about me. I congratulated him and hadn’t heard from him since. You can see where this is going….

This week, I came across the essay he had written about me years ago for the job application, somehow archived on a website. But, he didn’t actually post it on the site, the owners did so I can’t be too mad.

After reading this, I’m both flattered and offended – sentiments which plagued every moment we spent together. Truth is, what he wrote about me is more honest than anything I’d ever be able to write myself and a million times more eloquent. I was surprised that he had anything nice to say at all.

I guess the most pure way to see yourself is through someone else’s eyes. As ugly, or beautiful as it may be.

Written by: Jamie M.

Maybe this is cheating. Like the real life version of taking Spanish 101 in college when you actually took 3 years of Spanish in high school. Easy A, right? If you said yes, I would agree. Except here.

Because I know Britteny, at least as well as anyone who got dumped then jumped an average of 3 times a week each could. It’s not like relationships aren’t hard enough. I’ve written about them on more than one occasion. But add a crazy woman into the mix who has no idea what she wants, and well, disco.

I don’t think I’ve cared for and admired someone I’ve hated so much before. [BLUNT SIDENOTE: my sentiments exactly.] It’s a very difficult rationalization with which to come to terms. Britteny is a lot of things but the one thing I know she will always be is a writer. She will always use words like they were boxing gloves, and the world around her like a punching bag. I have read her private journals, which are nothing like the poised abruptness, laced with wit and sarcasm, that you find on her blogs and websites. But I doubt if many people have seen her private journals. [BLUNT SIDENOTE: I used to carry my journals with me everywhere. Shortly after returning home from Europe, they were stolen. I’ve never opened a journal since.]

While she takes a no-holds-barred approach to her public writing, her private writing is eloquent and touching, yet somehow still laced with that “funny, but not really funny” sarcasm that touches me; in those corners of your mind that suddenly react when you don’t feel so alone because someone just said something that you have felt for so long but could never put into words, and never tried to because you thought you were the only one thinking it.

She has never been one to let the absurdities of life walk freely down the street disguised as tradition, or social standards. She will haul you up to the front of the class like a fourth grader caught passing notes and make you read it in front of the whole class.

But at the same time all she’s really doing is asking questions. Part of the question is poking fun at what she’s questioning, but usually it’s well deserved. This is a person who has tormented me mercilessly since the very first moment we met, but somehow I have never lost respect for her.

She has driven me to unbridled tears more times than I will admit to and yet even as I write this I can’t help but think that she should be the one contacting you. I love writing. I almost feel like I might have missed my calling. It comforts me and brings peace to my troubled mind. But if I were ever to say, this is what I think a writer should be, this is what I think makes writing great, it would be her that I turn to.

Footnote: My intention with this was not to be personal, though it was, but to show you what my thoughts look like written out. And with regard to this thing below here asking what is my relationship with Britteny, I’m sorry but tumultuous was not one of the options.

Hah. Tumultuous.

Yea, that’s about right.

Wondering where I went? I have returned to blogging over at my whole foods blog Celery and the City, where we live so clean it’s like your insides took a bath.

Plus Sides To Dating A Heroin Addict

Well, there’s always ice cream in the fridge.

And I don’t know if we’ve been introduced but that’s kind of a big deal.

That’s about it. Oh, did I say side(s)? Unintentional mislead, sorry.

So, with lightening speed we’re encroaching upon the worst time of the year: my birthday. For those who’ve been around awhile, you know that there are a few things in this life that’ll piss me off more than my birthday. Except this one is going to be extra special annoying since it’s my final birthday before turning THIRTY.

Can you even believe that crap?

And just as is the routine, I’m starting to have all these introspective and quasi-deep thoughts about life and where I’m at, or more importantly, not at. Oh, you couldn’t tell by the title that this was going to be one of those posts?

Good, cus it’s not. I wouldn’t do that to you on a Thursday.

But the next one will be. So get ready. I’ll also be giving out some props to select bloggers.

Like clockwork, every year, right around my birthday I lock myself out of my house. I never know when this phenomenon will happen, I am just at the mercy of the universe. But, there is always certain criteria, if you will:

1. It is hotter than a landscaper in Hates.

2. Humidity is at 600%

3. I am wearing either pjs or a swim suit.

4. I haven’t showered yet.

5. It always somehow involves working out/trying to get out of working out.

So, last week, at 11:00 am, the universe gave me my early birthday present. I was locked out, in pjs, looking disgusting, hundred degree weather, super humid, with no where to go except my cement patio which has full sun all day long.

Don’t ask how these things happen. Embrace the mystique.

My friend Jo, who is becoming a regular on Blunt Delivery yet is not at all okay with that, fortunately had the day off. The unfortunate twist is that she picked me up on her white horse posing as a Honda then hijacked me into “working out” via paddle boating. We get repeatedly disgusted at the rapid rate our metabolisms are malfunctioning and thus, we’re always searching for ways to exercise that aren’t really exercise.

Jo: Hey last year when we did this we saw a paddle boat of nuns, remember?

Me: Um. We gotta take these life jackets off so we can get a tan. Then this won’t be totally useless.

[after and hour of floating and talking]

Me: Where are we? Everything looks the same? Crap. I can’t feel my legs. I’m sweating everywhere. I need food.

Jo: When we get back, I know this mexican place where we won’t see anyone. I always go there looking like crap. And $2.49 margaritas.

[Two hours later after circling, fighting against extreme winds and what I’m convinced was a defective paddle boat, we got off torture island and effectively canceled our “work out.”]

And then double canceled it.

Then, as if the world’s most annoying day couldn’t get any longer, she decides to stop at the thrift store on the way home. Our eyes beheld many splendid treasures.

This is a choice no one should have to make. I’ll take them all!

Jo, thank you for rescuing me. I guess.

Wondering where I went? I have returned to blogging over at my whole foods blog Celery and the City, where we live so clean it’s like your insides took a bath.

 

An Open Letter To The Dentist

Last week, I posted a picture of my dad eating his ice cream with a butter knife because he was too impatient to wait for the spoon. What I failed to tell you was that when I commented on it, he said, “It’s not that big of a deal. Yesterday, I ate my yogurt with a screwdriver.”

And now it’s time to lift a burden that I’ve been carrying around for far too long. I feel like a suicide bomber that has alas been rescued by Jack Bauer.  I have avoided the dentist for so many years that I can only consume foods from the carbohydrate section of the pyramid at this point.

Why?

I have put it as eloquently as humanly possible, in the following video.

Wondering where I went? I have returned to blogging over at my whole foods blog Celery and the City, where we live so clean it’s like your insides took a bath.

Life Lately In Pictures: Failures Brought To You By My Camera Phone

I had like 7 dreams last night.

First, I was shot in the stomach and pulled the bullet out myself, while driving to the hospital. Then, I was being chased through the jungle by kidnappers. Then, I was eating cupcakes in my mom’s kitchen as I watched my dad get assaulted in the backyard.

Now either I really need to stop eating hummus before bed, or I need to quit falling asleep to 24 on Netflix.

You know how when you have so much going on in your head you feel overwhelmed even trying to put together a cohesive thought? Well, I can’t even choose which thought I’d like to try to put together at this point. That’s bad.

So, instead, I’m going give you a glimpse into my past week, which consisted of consecutive failures on my part. And on the universe’s part.

I’m gonna kick this one off with my mom’s birthday dinner, when my dad, who couldn’t wait for the waitress to bring him a spoon, ate his ice cream with a butter knife. Like a 5 year-old. Except not even that, cus they aren’t allowed to play with knives.

The next day, I was attempting to sit down on the couch with some food, watch TV, and relax for like two minutes. As I went to grab the blanket on the couch, it knocked over this glass onto my carpet, which was full of cranberry juice. Not only cranberry juice though, ground flax seeds because they are good for the ticker and you know how I almost had that heart condition. Ever try to get cranberry juice out of cream carpet? How about when it’s mixed with ground seeds? Oh, but what you can’t see is the wine glass that was still there left from the night before, which landed on the other side of the coffee table and splashed red wine all over the side of my white couch.

My friend Jo (eye patch girl) and I have decided start walking on a quasi-regular basis. We started last week. I also started discovering that McDonalds cheeseburgers are not only delicious when drunk, but also when you’re about to go for a walk.

When in the middle of the worst storm you ever remember having, while staring at a funnel cloud, it’s a bad time to realize you live in an upper unit condo, with absolutely no tornado plan whatsoever. Or flashlight. Or radio.

While setting up for your grandparent’s garage sale, this is high on the list of things you don’t want to discover.

Stumbling upon an entire AISLE of varieties of boxed wine. It was like a hidden paradise.

My nightstand the next morning. That is crust from a sandwich that I apparently demanded at 4 a.m. because I couldn’t get my hands on any McDonalds cheeseburgers.

Finally being in the mood to paint and then when you get all the colors home they look NOTHING like they did in the store, under the stupid florescent lighting. Yet another reason why it should be banned from the world. So, then you take it back 70 times to have it remixed and then you just decide to watch 24 on Netflix cus it’s too dark to paint.

Last week, when we were supposed to go walking, the apartment building next to Jo’s got struck by lightening and burned down. She also manages the apartments and so she was obviously preoccupied for a couple days. Then, Tuesday night, her car broke down in my driveway as we were about to drive to the park.

This girl will stop at nothing to get out of exercise.

It broke down in an “inappropriate parking spot” so I had to leave legitimate warnings for the neighbors.

We actually DID end up walking that night. But it doesn’t matter, cus the next day Jo needed to have a late night talk and I happened to have a 2-for-1 Steak N Shake shake coupon. It’s kind of our thing. We can’t have serious any kind of talks without them. Try the Key Lime if it’s the last thing you do. It’s got graham cracker crumblies on top!

Sigh.

Wondering where I went? I have returned to blogging over at my whole foods blog Celery and the City, where we live so clean it’s like your insides took a bath.

Bachelorette 2011 Premiere Recap: Meet The Bachelors [A Video Reenactment]

If one was reading a book about my life, one might come across a chapter with a lot of crap about reality TV. You guys know that my very first paid writing job was writing recaps for reality TV shows, right?

Ohhhhh hecks yes.

Then, it’s like reality TV threw up all over my life and suddenly I was writing five news articles every day, 356 days a year, for the largest reality TV news website. Every morning, I was scamming the celebrity sites for breaking news. At night, I was watching everything from The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills to Jon & Kate Plus 8. In between I was eating Speidi Spaghettios. Oh, and don’t forget about the time I was in charge of recapping the overnight live feeds for Big Brother. I like to refer to this time in my life as That Time That Everything Blew. I remember my skin was breaking out very badly during those days, most likely an adverse reaction to Jon Gosselin.

You’ll be happy to know, however, that I managed to sneak through that part of my life without ever watching one episode of The Hills.

So ever since kissing that world goodbye and the ridiculous editor who complained if I drank my juice incorrectly yet couldn’t properly use a comma to save her life, I have drastically reduced my reality TV intake.  Just the essentials: American Idol, if it isn’t infiltrated with country singers; an occasional food show; and every single season of The Bachelor and Bachelorette.

Sorry.

I realize this is a problem. It’s too horrendous.

And you know how much I love red roses.

I’ve done you all a favor in case you missed the Bachelorette 2011 premiere last Monday. I’ve compiled a short video reenactment of highlights from the evening. That Ashley Herbert is one lucky lady.

 

photo: abc.com

Life Lately In Pictures: Brought To You By My Camera Phone

It started out like any other Wednesday night in my living room. Except my hip had just popped out of joint, and I was sitting across from my friend Jo, who was wearing an eye patch.

I’ll address your concerns later. But basically, she chemically burned her eye and my hip always pops out of joint, rendering me helpless for about an hour or so. The doctor said working out would help to prevent the problem. Translation: I’ll have this problem for life.

As we were talking about the travesties and paranoias of our lives, while simultaneously trying to diagnose our relational hang-ups, she went to the bathroom. So, I got up and started hopping down the hallway to my bedroom. As I bypassed Jo in the bathroom, the door was open and she was applying a face mask. Around the eye patch.

I’m not sure what it was about that extremely pathetic moment, but I started laughing so hard that my one good leg gave out on me. Then, Jo, like any wounded heroine, came over to assist me in walking down the hallway. Only problem was that my bum hip was on the right side and her bum eye was on the left.

One of our friends said, “Together you guys make the perfect pirate.”

I’m not sure if we make the perfect anything. Then, we sat on the couch, drank boxed wine out of plastic cups, while we commented on each others FaceSpace statuses about the events of the evening.

In other news, life has been busy. And, I’d like to attempt to explain it, but who has the energy? So, I’m going to give you a brief overview in pictures, compliments of my camera phone.

My dad gave my grandma Mother’s day flowers, except she didn’t have a vase. So he made one out of a lemon-lime pop container.

My best friends moved away to California, again. Except this time, they took their newborn with them! How dare they! I miss trying to eat his head.

This is how I looked for the entire week after the move. It could also be because there are two country finalists on American Idol.

Then, I ate nothing but carbs for a day or so. And my scale gave me a subliminal message.

I babysat this girl, and her little sister. I’ve had my fill of Tinkerbell, play-doh and pink stuff for the rest of my life.

I ran out of spoons. It didn’t slow me down.

I got my first Starbucks cake pop, and at first I was grossed out cus it looked like an eyeball. Then, I was just grossed out cus it was gross.

A lot of these pictures have to do with food. … I’m not sure what that means.

I’m gonna eat the rest of this sandwich and get back to ya.

Wondering where I went? I have returned to blogging over at my whole foods blog Celery and the City, where we live so clean it’s like your insides took a bath.

My So-Called Life: If I Could Go Back

With the addition of Netflix into one’s household comes a whole lot of baggage.

Like, say, for instance, the fact that I’m re-watching the entire series of My So-Called Life and it’s bringing up a lot of tortured memories. Like how much I’m still in unrequited love with Jordan Catalano and secretly hoping we’ll run into each other in the boiler room. And how every time he leans up against a locker I still get all sorts of excited. And how I was even more awkward acting and looking in real life than Claire Danes or her character Angela ever tried to be.

So much plaid.

Then, there are, as pieces of fallen confetti, those random, amazing memories and firsts that can only high school can offer. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss those days – especially when I wake up to a stack of bills and grown-up problems, that seem to increase with complexity by the hour.

All of this has left me feeling nostalgic,and also wondering about things I would have done differently. You know, cus hindsight is 20/20 or some crap like that, right?

Well, I spose I can come up with a few. I’ll limit it just to high school – otherwise we’ll be here until 2012 when we all die. [Names may or may not be changed, just to make it more annoying for my friends who are going to dissect this.]

1. I would have actually raised my hand to answer questions in grade school as opposed to staring at the puke-stained carpet cus I was too shy to talk, while listening to Johnny s-s-spit out the answer already – which was always incorrect. I partially blame Johnny for my teeth-grinding habit.

2. I would have told Jack that I fell in love with him the very first day of 2nd grade when he picked me to be his wife during The Farmer in the Dell. Instead, we passive aggressively flirted with each other until we graduated – without ever admitting we had feelings – except it was no secret to anyone, but us.

3. I wouldn’t have let that creeptown Ben steal my first kiss, thus lumping me in with almost every girl in my school – including my best friend. How whack is THAT? Rite of passage, I guess.

4. I would have told that Susie [definitely a fake name – isn’t Susie always a fake name?] girl to back off, shut up, and mind her own business because she was nothing but a blond-haired, big-mouthed ball of meanness! And if she tried to spread one more rumor about me than I would yank her badly -box-bleached platinum hair out by the ever-loving roots.

5. I would have never been a cheerleader or rolled my eyes at my amazing parents.

6. I would have never driven to the mall that Friday night in a state of sheer devastation – against my mother’s wishes. She’s like the Nostradamus of mothers. Almost lost my life that night and my poor broken head will never be the same.

7. Ditto on #4 to about twelve other girls.

8. No, I still wouldn’t have gotten a class ring. I actually made the right choice the first time.

9. But I would have insisted on Senior picture redos at any cost.

10. I would have started plucking my eyebrows a lot sooner, tanning a lot later, and highlighting my hair a quarter to never.

So, my lovelies, would you have done anything differently?

Wondering where I went? I have returned to blogging over at my whole foods blog Celery and the City, where we live so clean it’s like your insides took a bath.