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.

My Blog Is A Racist And Frankly, I’m Disgusted

[Remember when I told you to check out my Blogboyfriend’s interview of me last Saturday but then it wasn’t there? Yeaaaa, well that’s cus he just posted it. Everything you’ve ever wanted to know about me but were afraid to ask – right here.]

There comes a point in all of our lives where each of us has to take a cold, hard look at our blogs. We need to step back and analyze if they are, in fact,  the blogs that they painted themselves out to be in the honeymoon phase.

This is a sad day, friends.

I never could have saw this coming. Of course, it’s better to have found out now than five years down the road when my blog and I have a book deal and my entire extended family has purchased a wardrobe of white, draw-string pants and relocated to Bermuda to live off the ad revenues.

How did I discover this betrayal?

Considering I’m a private person, I normally wouldn’t expose the painful details. But if it can spare even one of you from going through this heartache, it is worth every tearful stroke of the pearly plastics.

Last Friday, it was 3 am, and I felt lone-ly-y. Ugh. Sorry, I hate when Rob Thomas gets all desperate for attention and hacks into my posts – I’m SO over needy guys whose musical careers peaked mid-nineties. So I was sorting through my posts, and obviously Blunt Delivery’s model of choice is the naked Barbie – cus nothing else seems to make sense in this life. As I was scrolling through the archives, I came across many pictures that you may remember.

Blunt Delivery’s first birthday:

Photo shoot with my mom’s chocolate chip cookies:

It was a laughter-filled trip down virtual memory lane, and then my heart started racing. All the sudden I got that all too familiar feeling in my throat like Wendys’ skilled sandwich makers had given me the wrong Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger and I’d accidentally ingested mayonnaise, and I couldn’t swallow, you know? I was sweating like my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend after I emailed him a screen shot of his profile. BUSTED.

Every single photo in the archives was of a blond-haired, blue-eyed, Caucasian Barbie.

Excuse me while I puke. How could it be that this entire time my blog has been a white supremacist and I was none the wiser? I’ve always prided myself on my ability to detect social injustices, and although this happened on my watch, I want you to know that I am taking active steps to remedy this situation. The excuses have come pouring in, but I will hear none of it. Don’t try to tell me that there isn’t much of a selection in the Salvation Army nekkid Barbie bin. Don’t act like you got laid off from the bank and couldn’t justify superfluous, brand-new Barbie purchases.

I am a brick wall.

This blog is turning a new leaf and if I have to beat it over the head with an equality stick, that’s what I’m prepared to do. The first step to recovery was to make everyone come in on Saturday at 6:00 am for an Embracing Diversity class. Then, I held a photo shoot to create new category buttons for the sidebar. You’ll notice, I’ve introduced some brunettes and a white trashy whore (for balance) along with two interracial couples. And don’t even think I don’t have an Asian goddess and a South African princess preparing for their closeups.

From now on, this blog will paint with all the colors of the wind.