Tag Archives: cars

Your Daily Dose Of Embarrassment And A Free Photo

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[I apologize for all who tried to comment on the guest blog by Jen on Monday. Apparently, there were some issues with Explorer not allowing comments. Thank you for your emails and all the great advice! I really appreciate you guys. But more importantly, why are you still using Explorer?]

Yesterday, the moon was in the second house. The sun was shining. It was quasi-warm in the Midwest for the first time since Christmas. The alignment of all these rare events led to a brilliant idea on my part. And by brilliant, I mean an idea that led to devastating embarrassment.

I decided, for the first time in five years, to clean out my beautiful baby Saturn. I have oft neglected such duties on account that my baby is 12 years old, has a hole in the hood, leaks on me every time it rains and is probably about to breathe it’s last breath. And I figure that would just be quality time wasted on cleaning, when I could be Twittering or Facespacing, or thinking of more reasons to hate Neil Diamond.

Let me first set the scene for you. I had just gotten out of the shower and I let my hair air dry. Let me just tell you that you’ve never seen anything like an air-dried pile of half-curly, unruly Italian hair. That being said, I also had applied some white zit cream to my chin and left cheek due to an overly stressful week. I put on my “house glasses” and all of you who wear glasses know what I mean by that. You have the normal pair, which can be seen in public. Then, you have the “house” pair, which used to be a normal pair until someone sat on them or the prescription became outdated and now they are solely used for laying in bed and watching TV. Also, since it was warm, I was wearing my daisy duke plaid PJ shorts and a wife beater. And Ugg boots.

I went in the garage and started cleaning. The world was at peace and that’s where this story should end.

But it doesn’t, cus I’m full of bright ideas, remember?

I thought to myself, “It’s sunny out and everyone is at work. I’m just gonna back out of the garage for a bit so I can see things better, but I’ll still be inside the car so no one will see me.”

Well, I suppose that would have generally been the case. But NOT YESTERDAY. Around the corner, I see a man walking by out of the corner of my eye. I had the driver side door open, with one leg out, like some sort of car straddling white trash person.

I ignored him at first, because, I’m sort of the hermit of the neighborhood and no one talks to me.

Except, of course, new neighbors who move next door and want to introduce themselves.

Are you starting to connect the dots?

He walks straight over. Probably about thirty. Gorgeous, wearing a suit. As he approached, I instantly panicked. There is NO WAY I can escape this. He shouts, “I’m new here, trying to get around and meet all the neighbors.” I stared down at the floormats and kept cleaning. I said, “Oh, nice to meet you.”

For goodness sakes, isn’t that enough recognition for any ordinary person? This is America, after all.

Then, only because it’s my life, he kept walking closer. He stands right next to me and I quickly adjusted the shorts, considering the very compromising position I was in. At that moment, I was so preoccupied with not flashing him that I did not recollect the zit cream on my face until he blatantly glared at my chin. As he stuck out his hand, he said, “I’m Todd. I work for the local news. Nice to meet you.”

Oh, the news. Of coursssssssse you do.

I get a lot of emails asking if people can purchase photos from my blog. So….I introduce to you: Free Photo Fridays.

[Free Photo Fridays are a little break from my regular blog posts. I love photography. And I love sharing it with other people. So, on Fridays, I post a high resolution download of one of my favorite pictures for you to use. Hang it on your wall. Use it for your desktop. Frame it and give it to your mom. Do whatever you want. Also, if you have a picture you’d like to add, send it to me at info@bluntdelivery.com and I’ll feature it with a link back to your site. Share the love people.]

Since it is finally getting warm out, I will start with this picture of melting Midwestern ice. Click here to download. [3216 x 2136 px]



Dear Universe,

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Why dost thou continue to sabotage me? Here I always thought you were on my side.  For the first time in my miserable, out-of-shape existence, I’m trying to do something about it.  This week, I turned a new leaf. Whitestrips, here I come.  Jogging, here I come.  Well… I’m not really sure what whitestrips had to do with the whole being-out-of-shape thing, but they certainly have a way of making me feel more fit.

Come Monday, I wanted to jog, but SOMEONE decided to make Monday a holiday full of tasty treats, lounging in the sun, and irresistible bbq delights didn’t they?!  Oh please, don’t even think about looking over your shoulder.  What did you expect me to do, dishonor the veterans?

Come Tuesday, it was my mother’s birthday and even though she hates birthdays, I was forced by guilt, only child syndrome, and the powers that be to make her pies and other delectible things.  And who’s fault is that? I’ll tell you one thing – not mine.

Come Wednesday, I wanted to go jogging, but you rained, which forced me to stay inside and do nothing but lay in bed and watch Tyra Show reruns all day. Since I couldn’t jog, I decided to make it vegetable night so I could at least save on a few calories.  Again, the amount of effort that I’m exuding here is incredible.  But then you ever so gently whispered sweet nothings in my ear regarding the delectible things that were inhabiting my fridge from the day before. All I can say is that I was brought up to believe that you don’t waste food, okay?  So I had a giant bowl of ice cream.  No biggie.  An hour later, I decided that if I just ate the rest of the box then I wouldn’t be tempted for the remainder of the week.  Again, brilliant.

…Then about ten o’clock, I decided that I could really go for a bacon-grilled cheese sandwich with a side of pasta.

Look what you freakin did!?

Come Thursday, I rounded up my support system, actually drank some water, and went to the bike path.  But after I reached half way around the track, I got a stabbing pain in my stomach.  The pain was followed by dizziness, which led to nausea, which led to me collapsing in the middle of the path.  An old man came by and said, “Are you okay DOLL?”  When my support system, who had long since jogged away without me, realized I was lying in the grass, I discovered I had a migraine.

Oh, well isn’t that just cute. What’s it gonna be tomorrow, ha?  A bio-nuclear attack?  My liver suddenly explodes and I become a horrific, but interesting scientific rarity?  My car gets hijacked and I’m left for dead in a nearby ditch?  What?

Dear Rickety Old Lady,

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I think now would be a perfect time to discuss goals.  Making them, keeping them.  For example, one of my goals in the New Year was to stop procrastinating. Actually, you know what?  I don’t have time for this, let’s talk about it next week.  But what I DO think we should talk about today is the fact that any attempt I’ve made in the last week to “eat on the lighter side” has been shot to heck after polishing off that entire pepperoni pizza and order of bread sticks.  Pizza hut, no less, which means I might as well have just hooked up an IV of Country Crock to my veins.

But on a super serious note, I’d like to take this moment to formally apologize to someone near and dear to my heart.

Dear Rickety Old Lady From Whom I Bought My First Car,

You probably don’t remember me considering you were old as dirt at the time.  When I was a Sophomore, you had a 1964 Dodge for sale.  It was in perfect condition since it had been sitting in your garage for the better half of the 20th century.   For some ungodly reason, I wanted that car more than I wanted to see Titanic for the eleventh time.  I remember I came to you with a stack of cash and told you that was all I had to my name.  I might of teared up a bit.  And there’s also a good possibility that may have all been a lie. 

1964-dodge-440

But listen Irene, I want you to know that I had many fond memories in that car.  I could practically transport the entire school choir in my backseat.  Except, of course, for the time that it completely died on me in the middle of an intersection at the bottom of a hill and a car slammed right into me at 70 mph, nearly taking my life.  But thankfully, the car was so enormous that the accident left merely a scratch on my bumper – although the other person’s car was completely totaled.  Anyway, stop side-tracking me, Doris.  My point in writing to you is that I want you to know that I sold that car a month later and quadrupled my money.   I know it may seem like I took advantage of your oldness, but really, I think it shows my rather astounding eye for investment opportunities and savvy business sense at such a tender age.  Twas only a sign of what would follow.  And really, you have to admit that it was grossly under priced -anyone would have known that Margaret.

Ok.  Well, I guess that’s about it then.  Just wanted to clear the air, sorry for the harsh delivery.  We cool?
Stay young,

Blunt.

The Hole In My Head: Explained

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The only thing that I might find creepier than Neil Diamond or V8 juice would be toddler beauty pageants. That being said, let’s discuss the hole in my head.  Since mention of the injury in my last post seemed to cause a great deal of stress for most of you, I thought I’d take a brief moment to explain this before your blood pressure rises to unprecedented levels.

It was the Spring of 1997.  The air was hot and so was her white fiberglass Saturn sport coupe.  It was a stick shift (which was a really bad idea since she could barely drive the lawn mower).  This very car would eventually lead to her almost-death.

One rainy night, Blunt was driving around aimlessly.  The next thing she remembers is laying on a stretcher and staring up into the night sky, thinking “Is this a dream?  Why can’t I feel my body?  Crap. I’m about to die.  Or maybe I did drugs? No. I’m dying. Here we go.” [[[[back to unconsciousness]]]]    The next thing she remembers is being in an ambulance with 6, possibly 7, very hot paramedics.

Hot Paramedics: Do you have any pets?

Blunt:  Um, I have 4 cats: Pebbles, Bam Bam, Mittens, and Muffin.  … I named them when I was five okay?

Hot Paramedics:  You were in an accident.

Blunt:  You’re kidding. Was it my fault?!?  My dad is going to KILL ME. [[[[back to unconsciousness]]]]]

saturn-sport-coupeThe next day she would awake to find herself in the ICU wearing a neck brace, with various tubes coming out of her and over a hundred stitches in her head.  Apparently, she had been struck by a drunk driver in a large Astrovan, directly on the driver’s side.  But would you expect anything less from someone in an Astrovan? The impact was so hard that it somehow managed to cause a piece of her skull (about the size of a half dollar) to break off and press on her brain.   “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” she thought, “three weeks before prom?” The doctors weren’t sure if she would be normal and said if it was a millimeter closer she would be paralyzed for life.    ***Status on the car: lets just say that pieces of it were scattered in various directions.  Bye bye sweet Saturn sport coupe.

Doctor:  We might have to do brain surgery.

Me:  WHAT? Why?

Doctor:  Well to relieve pressure on your brain.   And to extract the bone and glue it back to your head.

Me: Will I have to shave my head?

Doctor:  Only the left side.

Me:  Well, that’s out of the question.  What if I don’t have the surgery?

Doctor:  Well, you could have several side effects and if you ever get hit in that spot again you’ll die.   That means, no accidents, no “rough housing,”  NO SPORTS.

Me:  Doctor, no offense, but do you know me at all?   That certainly won’t be a problem.

For a month I could not move, shower, or wash my bloody, crusty hair.  Tons of visitors came, only to be kicked out by the nurses.  It was a great time.  So, I left my head as it was.  I have had none of the anticipated side effects of the injury, except some VERY BAD headaches and some memory loss.  Oh, and the occasional panic attack, which probably has less to do with the hole in my skull and more to do with the crippling insanity of my daily life.

After much prodding, I was released the DAY OF PROM. Phew.   My first stop: the tanning salon.  Please, I had a white dress okay.  Then, I passed out from overheating and not having any food in my system.

Then there were a plethora of “airhead” jokes at school, and every other possible reference to how I was missing part of my head.  Don’t feel bad, I came up with most of them.