Tag Archives: blunt delivery

Before You Judge Me, You Need The Facts

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You know, I feel like a lot of people make snap judgments about me. And it hurts. It hurts all the way from my chipped-nail-polished fingertips to my cold, blackened heart.  And when I hear these accusations, I cannot help but to curse the wretched stars, Carrie Underwood and the phrase “I heart it” for causing me to be so misunderstood in life.

I just don’t really know who else to blame.

But as long as you’re here, and I’m here, I thought we could have a box of wine and talk about our problems. But since I drank it all last night… I figured I could address some of your concerns instead. So, if you would, please sit Indian style and form a circle on the floor. If at any point in the demonstration you feel weird, it’s probably cus you’re wondering how you’re supposed to form a circle on the floor with just yourself. But please, try to focus on me cus we have bigger problems.

Accusation #1: I’m cray cray.

Well-thought-out defense: This is my father:

Like father like daughter. I’m just not quite as… shirtless.

Accusation #2: I’m lazy and have no desire to physically exert myself in any way.

Sort-of-thought-out defense: My friends coerce me into eating copious amounts of high carb-count foods in short periods of time, which spikes my glycemic index and causes lethargy.*

*fancy terminology compliments of WebMD

For example, I went on a girl date last weekend with my friend Dana to the apple orchard. Cus it’s fally and wonderfully out and that’s what we do in the Midwest.

sidenote: aren’t my friends cute?

Sidenote: aren’t my friends cute?

Disgustingly full and nauseated from the over abundance of sweetness from the apple pie a la mode before noon, we bought 2 dozen donuts. Then, as we’re about to leave, Dana sees a baked potato stand and says, “Oh, that will get the sugary taste out of our mouths.” That was the worst logic ever. But I’m not the logic police. The job didn’t come with a badge or a cool hat, so I was all peace out.

BONUS: this picture doubles as a handy tool to help you identify if you are an Italian (me) or a Mexican (Dana). If you choose jalapenos as your third potato topping, you’re Mexican. If you put onions on anything regardless of it’s a potato or not, you’re Italian.

Accusation #3: I’m a hot mess.

Obvious defense: None. But, you should just know that according to Lady Gaga, I was born that way. So, now I have to snap my fingers in your face and say get over it.

Accusation #4: I hate women, Neil Diamond, mayonnaise, smooth talkers and China.

Murky-but-still-valid defense: This can be traced back to the fact that I was born in a trailer park. If you’re unsure how the two are correlated, you probably didn’t attend college. Cus they would have explained it there.

So, to sum all of that up… you should probably feel bad about what you’ve done.

I have returned to blogging over at Celery and the City where I write about clean eating, healthy living and post allergy and gluten free recipes!

September 2001: A Glimpse Into My Life

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You’ll have to excuse me, but this summer has been a freak show of chaos and if it weren’t for the expiration date on my mozzarella, I would have had no clue that we were approaching the 10 year anniversary of September 11, 2001. I know lately I’ve put on my introspective alter ego and you’re all, “What the crap – where am I?”  Well, I’ve got bad news. It’s not gettin any better today. Because how crass would it be of me to write about my newest Facebook stalker or my dad’s latest embarrassment story on the upcoming anniversary of such a horrendous day?

Pretty crass. And even I’m not that crass.

So I got to thinking about 9/11/01 and where I was. Not just physically, but in my life. It was my first year of college and I was curling my hair in my box of a bedroom (and most likely accidentally burning my forehead) while my mom was making pancakes. Sidenote: my mom’s pancakes might be one reason why I’ll never leave the Midwest. At that time, just one tower had been hit and I headed off to my college class… something about morals and ethical gray areas. Class was cancelled but we all sat there glued to the TV, completely awestruck. As I got in my car to go home and a Lifehouse song came on the radio, I found myself looking around me, as if something was going to blow up in front of my face. It was a weird feeling.

As for the rest of my life, it was all very blank. I was dating one of the best men I’ve ever met to this day, and yet, I would soon discover that timing really is everything. I had yet to experience that nauseating feeling in your stomach when someone tells you that they just don’t want you anymore. Or even worse, when they do something that proves they don’t.

My eyebrows were tragic. But not as tragic as my dark lipstick. Or my Orange County tan. I had yet to experience a good kiss. The kind that makes you forget where you are.

I had plans of settling down at 24, kids by 27 and hanging around the house with a husband who made me laugh. Assuming, of course, I would have the same friends by then and we would all have dinner parties together and our kids would grow up to be besties. I’ve never been so entirely wrong about anything in my life, aside from those eyebrows. And using the term “bestie.”

I hadn’t seen first hand how drugs could destroy someone, or, how watching it happen could destroy me. I had never boarded a plane, much less flown to Europe to live. I was fearful of almost everything, yet slightly more optimistic than I am today.

I loved my parents just as much as I do now. That kind of love does not diminish with time.

I had yet to discover what it was I would do with my life. And even three years from then, when I was supposed to have it all figured out, I still wouldn’t. I didn’t understand the mental toll of working 40 hours a week at a job that made me want to breathe in the exhaust from my sweet action Saturn and how it would change my life when I lost it unexpectedly. I never thought in a million years that I would actually be paid for writing down the words that had been up to that point a nuisance, merely adding to my Insomnia. And I had never heard of Radiohead. Or boxed wine.

Six months prior, everyone in my graduating class had picked me as the first to get married. They should have known better than to make bets on me.

I had never lived anywhere but my parents house and was screaming for independence. Little did I know, as soon as I got a taste it would intoxicate me, so much so that it would cause me to run away from anything that threatened it.

Ten years. Wow. Maybe I’d go back.

Maybe I wouldn’t.

I don’t suppose it matters though, now does it?

 So tell me, where were you ten years ago?

I have returned to blogging over at Celery and the City where I write about clean eating, healthy living and post allergy and gluten free recipes!

Blunt Bites: It Always Comes Down To That One Day

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[ Blunt Bites break away from my normal, detailed posts. They are short snapshots of a significant part of my life. Sometimes, they’re serious. Sometimes, they’re funny. But they’re always gonna be delicious. Yum. ]     

Riding the Underground to I don’t know where, I was writing in my journal and thinking of how well I fit into the rainy landscape of London. I’ve always been a rainy day person. I suppose it’s the writer in me – or just the manic depressive shining through, something like that.

I was thinking about you and how much I didn’t love you, but couldn’t tell you that. I’m sure I jotted down a brilliant free verse poem about it but thank God those journals would be stolen in three months. A lot of things I didn’t want to hang on to in there, but I never would have thrown them away. Otherwise, what would people have to sift through when I died? Unread books, gifts not given, unfinished projects, notes that wouldn’t make sense to anyone but were going to somehow morph themselves into a bestselling memoir down the road?

Well, I guess that’s all they’ll have now. A stack of random notes and unfinished things. My life is perpetually unfinished.

I’ll always remember the day I started loving you. The night you took me to Chicago and brought a blanket and contact case in the car so I could sleep on the way home since I had to work in the morning. You were very thoughtful. You paid attention. You were, in fact, everything I had never found in someone.

You often asked me when it was that I fell out of love with you. I never understood that question because it seemed like some sort of self-inflicted torture; but then again, don’t we all torture ourselves? I always told you that we either love someone or we don’t and it’s a compilation of many things. It’s a process – a slow dulling of feelings and building up of resentment over time.

Or maybe that’s just what I was brainwashed to believe by old married couples. Because now that I think back on it, there definitely was a day. And I have an answer for you now. But do you really want to know? Nah, I figured. ‘Cus in the end, it doesn’t matter. Not now and not then.

But, just so you know, there was a day. An exact moment in time when I looked at you and you weren’t the person who drove me to Chicago that night. You weren’t even close.

Everything in life always comes down to that one day.

I have returned to blogging over at Celery and the City where I write about clean eating, healthy living and post allergy and gluten free recipes!

Blunt Bites: Somewhere Inbetween Victory And A White Flag

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[ Blunt Bites break away from my normal, detailed posts. They are short snapshots of a significant part of my life. Sometimes, they’re serious. Sometimes, they’re funny. But they’re always gonna be delicious. Yum. ]

I had known it for a while, like the way my mom had known I shouldn’t get in the car that night.

You always know; but the thought of confronting you or telling anyone or proving it to myself just paralyzed me. Why? Because then, I would have to let you go. Because you were right – I’m not the kind of girl who lets a guy to mistreat her, although I wanted it to happen in some twisted, cosmic, full-circle kind of way.

Our history. It was sordid and confusing and wonderful. Magnetic. Full of passion and betrayal and a thousand beautifully broken things that came alive only when we were together. And after all of those years, I could not accept that to be the final curtain. It was never supposed to end that way. It was never supposed to end at all.

Maybe it was like when you’re five years old and you dress up as the rich, long-haired princess because deep down you know that pretending is as close as you’ll ever get.

As it turned out, we were both fantastic pretenders; although one of us – far more convincing. In the end, I felt many things; the most surprising of which was relief. Because who really wants to be a princess anyway? I always hated the color pink.

And I have way better hair.

If only I could have possibly fathomed how easily I would get over 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.

Gandhi’s Top 4 Tips On How To Have A Crappy Blog

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I realize it’s possible that a few of you might have been slightly distracted by the crumbling economy and possible impending doom of our country’s unresolvable debt crisis, therefore you might not have been tuned into the Discovery channel like I was last weekend. And that means, you missed the recent archaeological discovery of a lifetime.

Gandhi was so cool. Not only was he the change he wanted to be in the world, he was waaay ahead of his time. Yes, he might have been barefoot, but he knew things about the future. And it was no surprise to me when his list of  Top 4 Tips on How To Have a Crappy Blog were excavated. Obviously, when he wasn’t selling his quotes to card companies, he was busy documenting his wisdom.

My heart is too big and full of love for you just to let you sit there all non-educated. I inherited my mom’s sense of compassion. And maybe even a little of Gandhi’s too?

Here is what they were able to interpret from the hieroglyphics. Don’t ask me why Gandhi was writing in hieroglyphics. Some things aren’t meant to be understood in this lifetime. Lucky for you I took Intro to Hieroglyphics in college. Right before I dropped out.

1. “Felesnale eef  linxeicve bi w.aiven.a wefiengt!  slfiewh!”

Translation: Why in the name of my visible sternum do you make it so impossible to leave comments? Do you hate me? Why do you hate me when I am just trying to act interested in what your dog did yesterday? Cus it seems by the obstacle course you have set up that you’re trying to scare me away. Ouch! Is that an electric fence? (there’s the forward thinking again) Ah! I think I just gashed my leg on some rusty barbed wire!

Gandhi’s advice: Captcha sucks. Especially if it shows up after I have already submitted a comment. Half of the time, I have already left the page before it pops up, in which case my comment is lost and I’m too busy making up quotes to resubmit. The other half, I can’t read the captcha correctly, not because I’m a robot, but because it’s stupid. Also, if you have the captcha Nazis in place, why do you need to approve comments? You don’t. Comment approval cramps my style and the natural flow of conversation. It makes conversation and replying difficult. P.S. WordPress automatically catches spam without captcha, so maybe you should switch over. 

Hey, his words not mine.

2. “wao;ifwa #() frefwas fwal;ifaw;oinee fneifms e! wefiens!”

Translation: See these dreadful round glasses I have to wear? It’s because your black backgrounds and tiny fonts make my eyes hurt. After I read your posts, I have to close my eyes and meditate to alleviate the stress and ward off the dizzy spells. Which is okay, because it gives me so much more time to think of quotable quotes, but dangit.

Gandhi’s advice: If you must have a black background because you feature art, or cartoons (ahem, Bearman aka Mr. Hotlink) then by all means. But if you can help it, you should have a light background with dark text that is easier on the eyes – many people have issues with dark backgrounds and light text. Oh, and have text that is LARGE enough for me to see without my spectacle! Reading your blog shouldn’t be a struggle!

3. “stop being an idiot”

Translation: None needed.

Gandhi’s Advice: Posting every day will not make you famous. It will only annoy me because you have nothing quality to say. Although all of your words might not end up on a greeting card like mine, you should still put some thought into what you’re saying. My time is precious. I am busy making peace and I don’t have time to hear about what your kid left on his dinner plate last night. Plus, I cannot possibly leave a comment on all of those posts. Not that I would anyway, because your barbed wire fence got in the way.

4. “awoefne lfleell! fwlifweoi, flwiefw, wflieefjisisi!”

Translation: The Blogger commenting structure sucks. It’s very discouraging if you don’t have Blogger. I have been to some Blogger blogs where the ONLY option to leave a comment is to enter my Blogger ID or Google account. How very discriminatory of that blog. I know Google is taking over the world, but you do realize that not everyone has a Google account right? And even though I do, it doesn’t link back to my blog.

Gandhi’s Advice: If you choose to use the Blogger comment system, you must enable ALL options for leaving comments. This includes the name/url option, for those of us who have self hosted sites. Otherwise, there is no way for us to comment. And I don’t. And then you get all “where’s my comments?” and I tell you to shut it. My best advice in this scenario would be to install Disquis.

That being said, if you’re out there and you have a Blogger blog with a black background and captcha with barely any commenting options, you have the crappiest blog ever! If you have a blog with only a few of these things wrong, your blog is only a little crappy and there is still hope for you.

Peace be with you,

Gandhi

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 Day I Met Tom Cruise And NBC

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Sometimes she will say, “I think I’m losing my mind, Brit. I don’t know up from down anymore.”

Then I’ll look at her, smile, and ask, “Which way is up?”  She points to the sky; I call her a liar and she laughs.

It’s the most appropriate human response I have to fact that she is, indeed, losing her mind. The other option is running away. The most tragic and heartbreaking part about Alzheimers is the moments when they realize their mind is going. As hard as it is for us, I cannot imagine what it’s like for them.

A couple of days ago, I took my grandma for a walk. It was hard for her to even move her legs considering she sits in a chair all day long. Since I couldn’t bare the thought of going back inside the sterile rehab facility where she is temporarily staying, we sat down on the bench to talk.

She still remembers who we are, but rarely knows where she is and always looks scared. My grandpa takes care of her; unfortunately, he was admitted to ICU last week and most likely won’t make it out. She constantly asks where he is.

Out of nowhere, in a moment of perfect clarity, she looked up at me and said, “My how the tables have turned.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Well, I used to take care of you…and now you’re taking care of me,” she responded with a somber face.

It’s the kind of full circle you never want to happen. I quickly distracted myself by eavesdropping on the conversation between these two men:

I heard one of them saying he has been married for 65 years, but his wife hasn’t recognized him for the last two. I empathized with him and struck up a conversation immediately.

I asked them what their names were. The 60 yr-old African-American guy turned to me and said, “Tom Cruise, ‘cept I ain’t got his money.” I laughed and was trying to determine in my mind if he was joking or if he actually legitimately thought he was Tom Cruise. “That’s funny,” I said, simultaneously rolling my eyes.

“No, that’s really his name,” his friend said with all the authority of Dwight Schrute. “I eat with him and I’ve seen his ID card.”

“Well then, that’s easy to remember,” I remarked.

“And I’m NBC” he affirmatively added.

Ok. Yep, these guys are officially nuts.

“Niles Baldwin Claussen,” he continued.

“Like the pickle?” I asked.  “Yes, but you can call me NBC.”

I learned that he had beaten pancreatic cancer 17 years ago. “But that has a 99% fatality rate, right?” I asked.

“Correct. I’m Mr. 1%,” NBC replied. “Well, well, maybe someday I’ll see you on a Smuckers commercial when you turn 100,” I said.

He was currently at the rehab facility while he was undergoing chemo for bladder cancer, which my grandma also battled several years ago. He said the reason he didn’t have any friends to take care of him was because he had outlived them all.

Tom Cruise kept interjecting into the conversation with little comments. “My wife died last year,” he mumbled under his breath. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “I been married three times… But she was the best I ever had.”

Oh, that Tom Cruise. Such a character.

Although he was completely debilitated and confined to a wheelchair, he kept saying, “Blessed to be alive. Fortunate to have lived this long.”

On the way home, it occurred to me how rarely I remember that just being young is something to be thankful for. To have empty pages. Quality years ahead, where health problems are nothing more than just hypochondria. To be starting a life with someone, not anticipating the end. To have the opportunity to try things and fail.

To even have the ability to remember.

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

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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.

Plus Sides To Dating A Heroin Addict

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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

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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

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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.