Look, Do You Want To Die?

Posted on March 18, 2009 by Blunt Delivery

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I’m sure you’d never guess it now, but I was a strange child. I grew up in the country so my days consisted of collecting caterpillars, creating my own farmer’s market, and attempting to build tree forts that definitely endangered the safety of not only my life but also of my one neighbor friend that actually lived on my dead end street. Of course, he was a boy so that didn’t help my quest for girlishness. We were like Forrest and Jenny -except we never ended up dating. Or having an illegitimate child. Or getting AIDS.

My other neighbor, Bill, was a farmer so we’d play around on his tractors and then go back to his house where it always smelled like catfish and cigarettes. (they thought they still lived in Mississippi) He and his wife were typical farmers, missing a couple teeth and living on black coffee. I don’t think I owned one single doll except for the cabbage patch my grandma bought me. And I’m quite sure I threw up on that.

A nerd right from the get-go, I would gravitate to the office supplies aisle every time we stepped foot in a store. In the picture you will see that I’m sitting in an actual school desk – one of the most amazing purchases my mom has ever made for me. Still. And as you’ll see from the picture, I’d sit and write in my closet for HOURS and HOURS. Even from a young age, it was all I wanted to do. I think if most people would think back on their childhood, they’d discover that their interests haven’t changed that much. Aside from picking their nose and stuff.

chris-brit

Speaking of my one childhood neighbor, do any of you remember a period of about 1-2 years where you were TERRIFIED OF ALIENS???!? Cus, it’s very vivid in my mind. I don’t know what was up, but there was some kind of alien frenzy going on during my younger years. It was all over the talk shows – people talking about being abducted and what not. Anytime I was outside I’d keep a close watch on the sky and strange noises. Of course, I was always protective of my friends even back then. One time, I was playing softball with my neighbor and his brother. There must have been a bunch of planes nearby, but as soon as I heard the noises, I immediately took action:

me: STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING!!!

boys: What? Why?

me: GET IN THE GARAGE!!!!!

boys: the garage? but we’re in the middle of a ….

me: JUST DO IT! DON’T ASK QUESTIONS!

boys: but…. I …

me: LOOK, DO YOU WANT TO DIE?!

Dilemma: Finding “The One”

Posted on March 13, 2009 by Blunt Delivery

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Lately, I’ve received alot of questions to the effect of “how do I find the one?” Well, it just so happens that I have more than a few answers up my very svelte sleeve. I’ve spent weeks, possibly even months [if I were to have logged all my time] researching and compiling data for what I am about reveal to you. As per usual, you can expect to pay not a single PENNY for the knowledge that I am about to impart upon you! It is but merely the beginning of a lifetime of benefits that you will reap by reading this blog. How shall I be compensated, you ask? The smile on your face.

For many of you, it’s not that you’re unlucky, you’re just looking in all the wrong places. As you can imagine, I’m going to break the disturbing news to you right now. You’re never going to find creme brulee on the Taco Bell menu, and unfortunately, you never will [because it would be awesome to be able to get a Chalupa and creme brulee all in one stop]. I will further demonstrate my point in the following chart. Please study it with ravenous desire. memorize it. picture it. dream about it at night. frame it on your wall. tape it to your fridge. fold it up into a teeny tiny piece and carry it next to your heart… for contained therein you will find the answer to one of life’s most perplexing questions.

dating-finding-the-one

Now, if you look carefully, you will observe that you have equal chances of meeting your future mate in: rehab, space camp, a safari, solitary confinement, or your mailbox. But now I want you all to take out your microscopes because we’re going to delve into this and chizzle away to find out how this affects your dating life. With closer analyzation, you will discover that you actually have a greater chance of meeting your future mate in solitary confinement, than you do at the bar.

staggering? perhaps groundbreaking?
something to think about.

How To Avoid The Dentist For Life

Posted on February 26, 2009 by Blunt Delivery

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Throughout the ages, many philosophers have attempted to answer the question, “Why would I rather be tied up in a glass box and left for dead in the Sahara desert than go to the Dentist?”

For me, it started when I was six. It’s bad enough that I inherited my mother’s unbelievably awful teeth, and I always had an average of three cavities EVERY visit and they could never get the Novocaine right. As horrible as that was, it is not what drove me to camp out by the mailbox so I could tear up the ”time for a checkup” postcards the minute they arrived and bury them in the garbage before my mom would notice.

Fluoride. Do any of you recall having trays oozing with “bubblegum” or “mint“ flavored fluoride shoved into your mouth to protect your teeth from cavities? Then once the trays were in place you had to sit there struggling not to gag as the slimy goo (which resembled Windex more than it did any of the above mentioned flavors) started trailing down your throat, all the while you’re gasping for air because that ridiculous vacuum was sucking it all from your airway. I remember each visit (which ended up being once every two years, when the postcard sabotage went according to plan) lying there, staring up at the poster of toothbrushes hidden in the forest, shuttering in fear, and wondering if maybe – just maybe – they would forget the fluoride this time. But they never did. It’s as if they possessed some other -earthly -futuristic -robot memory. And I didn’t stand a chance. Eventually, I started pleading with them. “Come ooooon, my teeth are going to have cavities no matter what, don’t you see? Look at my mom. That’s just my lot in life. I’ve made my peace with it. It’s time you got on board.” But all my attempts proved futile.

Flossing. I have done this section in red. Red, for the color of the blood that my gums have shed at the hands of various hygenists throughout my childhood. As I grew into my adult teeth, I was relieved to find that fluoride would no longer be a part of my torture. FREEDOM AT LAST! That was, until, I discovered a whole new world of anguish. Flossing. Throughout the duration of high school, every conversation with my hygienist would follow this format:

her: “hmm.. how often do you floss?”

me: “bout once every couple days.” [lies. lies. all lies. straight from the pit of hell!]

her: “you really need to do it at least once a day. not flossing can lead to Gingivitis and gum disease. do you know how to properly floss?”

[then she does the whole demonstration with the index finger blah blah]

me: “yea. yea I know. I just forget sometimes.”

her: “hmm.. I’m a little concerned. do your gums normally bleed?”

me: “no. no actually they don’t. only when someone probes them with sharp metal objects.”

Root Canals. Finally, when I was “of age” I could choose my own dentist. So I set out with my suitcase in hand and all the optimism in the world. I didn’t stop searching until I found a guy who specialized in gentle, no drill dentistry. Plus, he was Chinese. I don’t know what it is about Chinese people, but I automatically assume they are smart. This guy won’t be shoving tubes down my throat and destroying my gums for no good reason, he’s above that. He also informed that the reason I couldn’t chew on the left side of my mouth for the past two years was because I needed a root canal. Smart dentist? maybe. More costly than adopting my own Chinese baby and putting him through dental school? Definitely.

After shuffling around to the better half of all the dentists in the white pages, my dad recommended his childhood dentist. On my first visit, I was pleased to discover that the hygienist was as gentle as a feather blowing in the summer breeze. I smiled on the inside.. Could it be? Then the dentist comes in and as he’s examining my mouth I realize he’s not wearing a mask, his face is really close to my mouth, and he is really old. Afterall, he was my dad’s dentist. Thats ok, that means he has lots of experience. Experience? maybe. Halitosis? definitely.

Sigh.

Like Black On A Chalkboard

Posted on February 24, 2009 by Blunt Delivery

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One of my goals for 2009 was to “stop fabricating the truth” so that means that what you are about to witness is definitely legit.

My family is hilarious. We’re like the token Italian family they always showcase in movies, who talk over eachother and have 8 different conversations happening at once. Except, my mom isn’t even Italian. And I don’t have 7 siblings named after famous Italian statues.

There’s a couple of things you must know about my parents to fully appreciate this story. My dad is quite possibly the funniest person alive – to everyone except my mother, who never gets any of his jokes. Or maybe she does, but she thinks they are super lame. On the other hand, no one on earth ever laughs at my mother’s jokes, except my mother, because they are just horrendous. My dad and I often challenge each other to see who can ignore her jokes the best, because if we give her even the slightest bit of encouragement she will keep repeating them. over. and. over. In a nutshell, they are on completely different wavelengths. In fact, the only thing they might have in common is their confusion over anything related to pop culture.

We’re watching American Idol, some nerdy kid sings, and my mom loves it.

mom: you know who he reminds me of? that kid on King of the Lords.

me: what?

dad: King of the Lords?!? you mean, Ring of the Lords?

mom: oh, IM SORRY. that’s right, I meant Ring of the Lords.

me: no. no. it’s Lord of the Rings.

mom: well, I like him. he reminded me of Clay Aiken.

me: I guess. I like Clay Aiken. Can’t believe he had a kid.

mom: a kid???? he got married?

me: not exactly. he artificially inseminated his 40 yr old roommate and then he came out of the closet.

mom: WHAT?!?! since when?

clay-aiken-people-cover me: like, a year ago?

dad: [randomly changing the subject] you know, if you need get those pictures off my camera I’ve got a SUB cord and you can hook it up.

me: SUB? what? It’s not a car we’re talking about here. you mean a USB cord?

dad: Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. Sometimes I transpose my numbers.

me: …… sigh… you mean letters? [going to grab some paper so I can write all of this down]

[Nathaniel, the annoying emo kid sings…]

mom: he looks like he has a booger in his nose.

me: it’s a nose ring.

mom: so tell me more about this Clay Atkins?

me: it’s AIKEN.

mom: so does he have a boyfriend then?

dad: well that’s usually how it goes.

[then Jose, the Puerto Rican sings his song and gets emotional afterwards]

dad: [all annoyed] well you know he’ll make it now

me: cus he cried?

American Idol dad: of course. but you know who I liked was that little brunette. She was the best one with the best voice that messed up the worst.

[meanwhile, Lil Rounds sings her R&B song….]

mom: well that was just terrible. She’d of been better off singing Mary Had A Little Lamb than that crap. it was like black on a chalkboard.

dad: well that’s cus you just don’t get it. That girl’s gotta lot of class.

me: you said black on a chalkboard.

7 Reasons to Despise Neil Diamond

Posted on February 23, 2009 by Blunt Delivery

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Why 7? Because it’s God’s number.

1. The biggest, bushiest, salt -and -peppery sideburns of all time. That goes without saying.

2. Songs like Cracklin’ Rosie, Really? What does that even mean. Cracklin oat-bran? Cracklin fire? … or perhaps you meant to say cracklin whip? Cus you’re a pervert?

3. He’s a pervert. Not only did he sign with Bang Records, but he made a song that contains the words, “girl, you’ll be a woman soon… and soon i’ll be your man.” Well gee Neil, lets try and wait for the poor girl to stop running from the boys because they have “cooties” before attempting anything that could get you 3-5.

4. Gravely voice. beaty eyes. That was a two-for-one special.

5. He breeds abnormal fans.

6. Clearly, he has an anger management problem – possibly suffers from permanent insanity or syphilis. Or both.

7. He is a constant embarrassment to society, and a mockery is to be made of him. Only then, might he stop.

“I’m a Believer” in that!

5 Reasons Not To Date An Only Child

Posted on February 21, 2009 by Blunt Delivery

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What I’m really here to talk about is dating a middle child. I’m not one, but I’m here to tell you that if you are it’s okay. A middle child is not the one you need to worry about… it’s the only child thats the problem. For the love of everything peaceful, do not date an only child.

only-child Take it from me, a quasi-only child. Considering that I’m not even a full only child, I’m messed up. If you’re wondering how it came to be that I’m not a whole only child, well that is too bad because I’m not getting into that tonight kids. So here are the 5 reasons why you shouldn’t date someone like me:

1. We all want ginormous families. You try spending countless summers selling lemonade by yourself and playing house with only a mommy or daddy and see how you feel. Plus, all the stress of grandkids rides solely on our shoulders.

2. We don’t like to share things. It’s not so much that we don’t want to share, but we just like the things that are ours, to stay ours.

3. We are either obsessed with pets or can’t stand them. There’s no happy medium for an only child. Growing up, we either learned to console our loneliness by surrounding ourselves with fuzzy woodland creatures, or we were so self-absorbed with ourselves that the thought of taking care of a pet was entirely overwhelming.

4. We have a tendency to be control freaks. Most only children are the center of their parents’ universe, thus are the product of an overprotective and overbearing upbringing. Which means when we grow up, we freak out and have to be in control of everything. Everything.

5. We have ridiculous, impossible to meet expectations. And unfortunately, we don’t just put these expectations on ourselves, but everyone we meet. This is because all the focus was on us and we have an inner need to over achieve. So good luck with that.

My Lemonade Stand Can Beat Up Your Lemonade Stand

Posted on February 21, 2009 by Blunt Delivery

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how-to-beat-lemonade-stand My 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).

Continue reading →

Teenage Acne And An Italian Boyfriend

Posted on February 21, 2009 by Blunt Delivery

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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-pageant After 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.