An Explanation and an Apology

In all seriousness, if this is your first time visiting this blog, or possibly the second, please start here or here.

For the rest of you, this is a short explanation as to why it seems like I’ve dropped of the face of the blogging world.


If you read the blogs of even the most talented female comedy writers (This is me giving you a second to go “Oh, yeah!  Jenny Lawson and Allie Brosh!”) they always have one post, or maybe even two or three that are “real.”  It is always shocking when you happen to stumble upon that post, because you realize that even the strongest and most hilarious women struggle with something, and every once in awhile, they succumb to those struggles and that is okay.

All this to say that this is my “that post.”  And it will never happen again.  And it is a very minor “that post.”

A lot has gone wrong, a lot has been hard, a lot has changed, a lot has been remembered that I had so desperately tried to forget, and a lot is slowly getting better, but I don’t actually trust that it is going to get any better at all.  I avoided even logging onto Blogger because God forbid that anyone actually know what I’m thinking or feeling.

After the second time I went to a fast-food restaurant, and some poor 16 year-old girl asked, “What can I get for you?” and I started crying a reply of, “...my best friend back and also I’m not entirely sure because I don’t entirely trust your tacos,” I knew that blogging would jump to the backseat of the priorities list while I spent a month or two picking up some pieces and putting them back together.

To those of you who have sent emails asking where I’ve been, I absolutely adore you.  To those of you whose blogs I usually frequent, I will be back.  Promise.  To those of you who haven’t left, thank you for staying.  To the friend who was so unexpectedly thrown into my life, and who is already forever in my heart, thank you for helping me pick up some of those pieces.

I know that I don’t need anyone’s permission to take a break from writing on my own blog, but so many of you have become so dear to me.  You are all so funny and witty, and really the only sense of community that I have, so I thought I’d give you this quick explanation because I consider you my friends.

However, I cannot write an entirely serious post because there are very few things that I can actually take seriously, even when everything falls apart, so I’ll leave you with a “Whitney and Ryan Conversation” and the promise that I will be back in no less than a month.  Rachel will still be here.

Ryan:  What do those ribbon things mean?

Me: I think they're to support the veterans.  Or breasts. 
...It is probably to support the veteran’s breasts!


Just so you know, I just decided right this second that I’m starting a new cause called “Breasts for Vets.”  I have no idea what it’s actually going to be about, but taking the time to start a cause that has a half-rhyme in its title is practically as good as knowing what your cause is for.  Right, my Paper > Plastic interns?

Also, I have been wanting to write this letter for years:

Hang in there with me,
-Whitney

A story about me scaring off another one. Enjoy.

Annnnnnd...she’s back.

Hello again, followers of CKN!! I have missed you. Not really. Because I don’t know most of you...and the ones I do know I see pretty often. But still. 

I know it’s been a while since I’ve blogged, so once again I have to grovel a little and give you a list of lame excuses.

Excuse number one:  I’m really busy....doing important stuff.

Excuse number two: I’ve been on another continent, helping...people...and endangered monkeys.

Excuse number three: My contract at my office job ended, so I have had fewer funny things to gripe about.

I’ll give you a hint: two of these are lies.

Anyways, yeah, no more boring office job!! But now I have too much down time, which is kind of good because I like to do laundry and read books, but soon I’m hoping to be working again, and taking classes, because, quite honestly, I’m boooored.

But to occupy my extra time, I’ve been working on some writing (not blog related, apparently....) and doing a little bit of socializing, which is good, because I didn’t do much of that for like...a year.

I’ve recently started going swing dancing weekly, with some of my friends. The repercussive opinions of my friends have been rather mixed on this subject....

Some friends:

Other friends:

But it’s ok because the best kind of friends are the kind who can hate and disdain you and still be your friends! Wait......

Anyways, there are some nice people who go to swing. There are also some gooberish people...who are still nice. But also gooberish.

For example. There is this physically disabled guy (we’ll call him....Disabled Guy) who keeps coming onto me. Don’t get me wrong, I have noooo problem with disabled people.  What bothers me about this guy, is that he sort of uses his disability to instill pity in girls in order to pick them up. Not cool.

So this guy has some sort of disability, I don’t know what it is exactly, because it’s not bad enough for him to be wheelchair bound, but it’s bad enough that he seems to have some difficulty walking. Which begs the question, what is he doing at a swing dancing social?? Thing is, I’m not that good of a dancer myself, so it makes it really hard when the guy who’s leading isn’t easy to follow...but I’m a nice girl. So I don’t turn boys down when they ask me to dance. Because that would hurt their feeeeeelings.....and then their tentacles would bleed all over me. Ew.

So this guy asked me if I wanted to play the “Random Questions” game while we danced....which is the second lamest pickup. But I humored him, and we asked each other dumb irrelevant things that real adults don’t actually ask each other, such as, “What’s your favorite color?” or “If you could have any superpower, what would it be?” Yaaaawn.

Then he asked a brilllllllliant question. “Soooo....I’m not coming onto you or anything, but do you have a boyfriend?”

Yeah, boys, I hate to break it to you, but when you guys ask us that, we ladies are smart enough to know you’re lying.

But I politely said, “No....”

To which he replied, “Fiance...?”

“No......”

And then my favorite part happened. This is where I became Not a Nice Girl, and I said, “You didn’t ask me if I had a husband.”

The look on his face gave me leave to be convinced he’d crapped his pants.

Like I said. It really wasn’t his disability that turned me off, I just didn’t like him as a person. But seeing as there’s no nice way to say that, I carefully avoided him for the rest of the evening.

The End.

Love, 

Rachel

"Dostoevsky's Points are as Solid as Taylor Lautner's Abs" and Other Similies That Will Disappoint Your English Teacher

This weeks was like being slapped in the face with my own hand, which wasn't actually too bad because I moisturize.  Then the week got better.  And then my futon turned on me, so it was bad again.

Me: Hello my dear, beautiful futon to whom I am so grateful.  Let me reclineth against your “really dirty because the cat sheds and I accidentally give away my dust-buster charger to GoodWill but that’s okay because someone is probably wearing it as a makeshift belt right now” cushions, that I might starteth my German homework.

Futon: Nope. I gonna fold you.

And it did.

I would have asked Ryan to take a picture, but as the futon folded me in half, I forgot that it was just a futon, and for about 4 seconds, I thought that a fire-monster was trying to drag me to Hell.  So Ryan did not have time to take a picture because of my instantaneous reaction to flail wildly, and also my new-found fear of futons means reenactment pictures are an impossibility.



WHITNEY’S SCIENCE CORNER
(That’s not really going to be a thing, but "Whitney's Science Corner" sounds like a place where kids would go to make fruit snacks out of Kool-Aid, and that's adorable.)

Today I am giving you an anatomy lesson, because anatomy is sexist, so I changed it.

This is Adam and Eve:

Why is it Lego Adam and Eve?  It may be because all of the other pictures of Adam and Eve were super naked, and Lego naked does not strip away innocence as much as regular naked tends to do.  OR, it may be that I believe that God intended everything to be very plastic and pointy, and after the fall of mankind, God let some guy create Legos so that man would see a glimpse of perfection: plastic stuff.  Once again I have proved that Plastic > Paper.

Just in case you ARE offended by naked Legos, I added the black bar because I care.

Adam and Eve each have their respective "neck bulges," which is referred to as the "Adam's Apple."  But Eve has her own neck fruit, so I named it.  Someone needs to keep track of how much I contribute to science, because it is a lot.

And now you are much more educated than before you read this blog. Actually, you're pre-educated because the "Eve's Peach" is ahead of its time and hasn't been accepted by the many science professors to whom I pleaded my case and called chauvinists.  Then they were all, "Whitney, I'm a girl scientist and I teach computer science which really has nothing to do with naming body parts."  And then I walked away because my attempt to use big words and my inability to distinguish between the various branches of science defeated me once again. 


DEER

If you didn’t read last week’s post, go do that.

I had a couple people send me emails, and a couple people left comments like, “WHAT HAPPENED NEXT!? I CAN’T STAND NOT KNOWING WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THAT DEER POOPED AT YOU!”  And I’m like, “Woah, read a book.”

But I will let you know what happened because I love all you weirdos so very much.

Nothing happened.

Well, I guess that's only kinda true.  I came downstairs the other day and saw about 25 deer lining the perimeter of the house, and the next day, a deer sacrificed its body to damage my sister's boyfriend's car and when I found out, I whispered under my breath, "It's begun," and everyone was like, "what?" but I was too busy running upstairs to find my old fencing swords and a Nerf Gun.  It wasn't until a few hours later that I realized that old fencing swords were not going to be enough protection because they have those little plastic balls on the tip, so if I stabbed the deer, he would be all like, "That was a lovely parry and thrust," and I'd be like, "Thank you, deer," and then I would die.

I'm kinda planning on waking up to this:

And I'll be all, "You can't call me that!  Only my best friends call me that.  And hold on a second while I grab my fencing sword that I totally destroyed because I tried to get the plastic ball off the top in anticipation for your attack.  I also have this Nerf Gun, but the darts got bent when I stuck the suction cups to the door and tried to climb up them like Spider-Man, so they don't usually actually leave the gun, even when I push this little button.  See?  Also, I was going to eat this Pop Tart, but if giving it to you will postpone my death, you may have it."

-Whitney

I'M YELLING AT YOU. Now I'm not.

TWO Whitney and Ryan conversations!

Conversation One

Whitney:  You’re just jealous because Conan O’Brien is my emergency contact and you’re not!

Ryan: What???

Whitney:  He helps me get out of trees.

Conversation Two

Whitney: ...and then I force them, using threats of violence, to...to...
I forgot what I was talking about."

Ryan: Blanket ice skating*.

*Blanket ice skating is when you throw a blanket on the wood floor, and then you slide around on it.  Whitney happens to be a blanket skating prodigy, but everyone no one recognizes her skills.  They also don't recognize Blanket Ice Skating as something at which one can be a prodigy.  Mothers appreciate blanket ice skating and will say, “I guess my annual mopping has been done for me.”  Blanket ice skating makes you a hero.

ACTUAL STORY
This week...a deer pooped at me.  I know you’re thinking, “I'm hungry Whitney, that’s not a thing,“ but it is a thing.  You rush to the window, hoping to have one of those moments when you gently lean your head against the window, stare out into the world thinking about candy art, lift your head off of the window, wipe off that little mark that your face left from your face grease, and walk away feeling content, but also knowing you need to wash your face...but NO.

I’ve actually illustrated it for you.  You're welcome.  I've also named each picture something very artsy stupid.

Confrontation

Confusion

Fear and Contemplation

Confusion on the Other Side

"I'm Gonna Poop"

The Visual

And so ends a very short post about the one topic I swore to myself that I would never write about: poop.

PS  TINA FEY I AM ON TO YOU!  You stole both my discotheque joke AND the one about how anyone who says "this thing we call life" should be beaten.  I know you're reading this blog.  You owe me some money friendship!!!!!

-Whitney

Whitney Won All the Cars, but More Importantly, If You Lost Your iPhone, it is Probably Because She Stole it

Once again, it's been too long!  Unfortunately, after my intensive German class ended, a 19 credit semester began.

This week, I won all the cars.  After I won all the cars, I also learned that I was the winner of all the tobacco and all of the oil, but those responses will have to be saved for another day.  My point is, I am probably king now because I have all the things.

EMAILS

from: marchillojm@sbcglobal.net
to:
date: Tue, Feb 8, 2011 at 3:57 AM
subject: Your Email-Id Has Won £950,000.00 In Mercedes Benz On-line Promo.Send:- Name....Address...
Tel‏‏signed-bysbcglobal.net

Your Email-Id Has Won £950,000.00 In Mercedes Benz On-line Promo.Send

fromWhitney Bradley <rachelandwhitney@gmail.com>
to: marchillojm@sbcglobal.net
date: Tue, Feb 8, 2011 at 9:43 AM
subject: Your Email-Id Has Won £950,000.00 In Mercedes Benz On-line Promo.Send:- Name....Address...
mailed-bygmail.com

I. AM. GONNA. PEE.

from: Mercedes Benz Company <uknagodoh@gmail.com>
reply-to: nat.west-transferdept@hotmail.co.uk
to: rachelandwhitney@gmail.com
date: Tue, Feb 8, 2011 at 11:52 AM
subject: Serial Number MBA/8114/09


Congratulations on emerging as one of our award winners. Mercedez Benz Promo offers awards to Lucky owners of selected emails that came out in our Random Draws.For Claims purpose do contact the Natwest Bank Plc immediately with you information and Serial Number MBA/8114/09 on the contact details below:
Email: nat.west-transferdept@hotmail.co.uk

fromWhitney Bradley <rachelandwhitney@gmail.com>
To <nat.west-transferdept@hotmail.co.uk
date Wed, Feb 9, 2011 at 7:14 PM
subject I Win All Your Cars
mailed-bygmail.com

Dear Person,

Another person told me to tell you that I won all your cars.  I was not told what to include in this response, so here is a brief biography.  My name is Whitney, and I am homeless, but we don't call ourselves that.  We prefer "permanent wanderer" or "ex-pro golfer."  I access the internet by stealing iPhones from graphic design majors the community college.  I spend most afternoons down by the river making “science.”  I mix together different measurements of rocks and dirt, ingest them, and note the side effects on the wall under my bridge with one of those rocks that somehow makes chalk even though it looks like just a plain rock.  A lot of people laugh at me now because of my science, but no one will be laughing when I finally create a dirt/rock pill that prevents both pregnancy AND STDs. 

Since the car you are giving me will be my home, I would like to invite you to my house-warming party, but it will actually be very cold.  It would be lovely if you would bring the chips and salsa, but please don’t spill on my new, luxurious leather interior or I might get stabby.  Luckily for you, I am so weak from a diet of only my own failed science that if you do get stabbed, you will likely suffer no more than the equivalent of a paper cut.  But like, thick paper.

Please RSVP ASAP!

-Whitney

Attached is my party flyer.

You guys can all come to my party too.

-Whitney

**UPDATED** Welcome to Preschool. Everything is a Test.

First of all...

The top searches that led to this blog.

If this is an actual thing, someone needs to email me a picture.

**UPDATE**  I did indeed get a picture sent to me, and I don't know whether I'm ecstatic or terrified that there is actually a tampon taser.  "The Pink Stinger."  You should probably go look at it RIGHT NOW.   http://inventorspot.com/security_system

I shouldn’t be writing right now because I need to start my paper on diversity which might get handed back to me because the title, “A Badly Made Churro is Hardly a Churro at All”  may have racist implications, but in all honesty I was just eating a churro.  But, I love all of you very twisted people, so here’s a post.

STORY!

I was talking with my dear friend Candace a few months ago, and she told me that “when she grows up” she wants to be a preschool teacher.  Then we started talking about how, to teach grades K-12, teachers have to take a test covering the basic knowledge needed to teach these grades.  PROBLEM.  There is no test for preschool teachers, and honestly I don’t trust most people to have any knowledge of anything.  I just read a Facebook status from a 21 year-old who said that she couldn’t wait until she graduated “collage” after this semester.  Then I kicked the kid sitting next to me in the computer lab because I don’t have an appropriate outlet for my anger.

 

You sure did, you diverse group of people.  You sure did.

So I made up a test to make sure that our preschool teachers are qualified.  And I’m going to send it to the governor.  Only I don’t know who my governor is, so I’ll probably send it to my mom and she’ll throw it away know exactly what to do!

Are YOU ready to be a preschool teacher!?  Well...we’ll see.

Welcome to the preschool teacher entrance exam!  Please read over the following rules before the test begins at 10.30am, or whenever we get you all to quiet down.

1. As you may have noticed, there was a paper bag sitting in your chair when you walked in today.  This bag is filled with goodies to help you perform well on the test!  Inside, you will find a juice box, some crackers, and a napkin with a note from each of your mothers that says that you will all be loved no matter how well you do on this test.  Your mothers are liars.


2. Please refrain from blowing bubbles in your juice box during the test.  It is okay if you forget once, but if you forget a second time, the test Procter will rip up your exam in front of your face and you will be asked to leave the room.

3. The test should take no more than 15 minutes, because you goof-balls just can’t sit still!

4. If at any point during the exam you feel as if you need nap time, raise your hand, and your sleeping mat will be brought to you.  If you say you’re tired, but you lay on the floor giggling, you will be asked to return to the exam room.

5. After the written exam, you will have a 10 minute “blocks improvisation test.”  You will be graded on your creativity.  Points will be subtracted for every block that you lick.

The Exam

Congratulations!  You’ve completed the exam!  Please head over to the next room for improvisational block time!

I think that test should do the trick.

-Whitney

PS If people are sending you awesome spam mail, PLEASE forward it to me so that I may annoy some people.  I’m bored.  rachelandwhitney@gmail.com

Yeah...Like That Time I Tried to Decorate My House with Gas Station Novelty Items

You guys, I had a five day break because apparently learning the entire German language in fifteen days entitles you to such a break.

I did NOTHING FOR FIVE DAYS.

Well, maybe that’s not true.  Yesterday morning, I both burped and played video games.  I spent the afternoon concerned for my, you know...unparalleled femininity.  So in the evening I devised a plan to make me feel like a girl again:

Whitney’s Optional Steps to Returning to Femininity Post-Burp
1. Think about painting your toenails.  Dismiss the idea of painting your nails because you don’t own nail polish.

2. Try to make your own nail polish out of water, red food coloring, Elmer’s glue and some glitter.

3. Mix the ingredients in a bowl. 

4. Try to avoid letting the glue dry in the bowl.
 
5. Fail at avoiding letting the glue dry in the bowl. 

6.Throw the bowl away and learn a hard lesson about how being creative doesn’t mean you have common sense.

7. Tell your boyfriend/husband that you’re so fat that all you’re going to eat for dinner is this apple.

8. Manipulate your boyfriend/husband into telling you that you’re not fat and that you should eat more than that apple.

9. Pour chocolate sauce on your apple.  Eat chocolate apple.

10. Get on Facebook and tell your friends that you’re so fat that all you ate for dinner was an apple with chocolate sauce.

11. Take a nap and dream about a sparkly place where anything is possible.

12. Say “Hugh Jackman” a lot.

BAM. Femininity reinstated!

MICHELLE MARCEL PT. 2

I heard back from Michelle Marcel.  For those if you who do not want to go back and read that post, all that you really need to know is that I am in cahoots with some criminals.  We banter.  Oh yeah...her name suddenly changed!

From: Mich Marceline
To: rachelandwhitney@gmail.com
Date: Tue, Jan 25, 2011 at 2:14 AM
Subject: help

Dear Whitney,

Thanks for your mail and still alive, living in fear, hunger and danger here since our country is under military threat because of wicked president who refused to step down after losing election, please do everything in your power to save my life and future, hope for news from you soonest.
God bless
Michelle


From: Whitney Bradley <rachelandwhitney@gmail.com>
To Mich Marceline
dateTue, Jan 25, 2011 at 8:42 AM

Today at the store, I bought another gallon of milk even though I have half a gallon left in my fridge “just to be safe.”

-Whitney


From: Mich Marceline
To: Whitney Bradley <rachelandwhitney@gmail.com>
Date: Tue, Jan 25, 2011 at 12:28 PM
Subject: with good faith

Dear Whitney,
I am very glad to hear from you. The fund will be transferred to your account and there will be no problem. This transaction is 100% risk free and legal.  I just want to leave this country because I have suffered lots of humiliation from my immediate uncles, because they want to inherit everything my late father acquired, as a respect to the long aged inheritance tradition here in my country.  I am a young girl that has a bright future and wouldn't do anything that will jeopardize my future. I do not want anything illegal in my life, so be rest assured that everything will be concluded with transparency, understanding and sincerity between both of us.  In as much as I need your assistance in the fund transfer, I will also want to live with you and continue my life as soon as the money is transferred to your account...Please I would want you to send me your full scanned copy of your identity.
Michelle

She attached these.  But don't read them because they are "top secret."

From: Whitney Bradley <rachelandwhitney@gmail.com>
To: Mich Marceline
Date: Tue, Feb 1, 2011 at 8:42 AM

Mich Marceline,

I can totally relate to the “humiliation of immediate uncles.”  Once, my uncle playfully hit me in the face with a pool noodle, so I can only assume that he is after my inheritance. 

Today I put on my finest sweatpants and headed to the bank.  I was all like, “You have to help Michelle Marcel/Mich Marceline because she’s in danger of being humiliated by her uncles!”  And they’re like, “You mean she’s going to get hit with a pool noodle?” and I was like, “EXACTLY.”  Then I showed them all your documents, but they quickly averted their gaze and said, “We can’t read that!  It’s.  Top.  Secret.”  I told them that I would read the document to them so that they didn’t have to actually read it, but they closed their eyes real tight, wrinkled their noses, shoved their fingers in their ears and went “LA LA LA LA LAAAAA.”  I left without completing the transaction.  I spent my afternoon in a janitor’s suit and my finest fake mustache wiring the speakers in the bank to my MIDI keyboard.  Do I even know if that’s a thing you can do?  I do not.  Now, I’m tapping in your top secret message through morse code, so all the people in the bank are subconsciously hearing your fathers message.  The money should be to you soon.  I have no doubts.  My ID is attached.

Click on it to read it.

PS  I don’t have an extra bedroom, so you will be sleeping in my bathtub.  I’ll throw the cat in there so that you two can try to keep warm.  Just a “heads up” I like to shower in the middle of the night and then go back to bed.  You know, 2am-ish.  I’ll do my best to shower around you as you sleep, but if you wake up, you’ll sure be in for an unpleasant surprise!

Lovsies!
Whitney


PS Thanks to everyone who joined our little Facebook fan page!  I'm planning on getting some discussions going on the page.  We'll have some fun ;)

My brother is so cute. Please don't murder me.

Okay. So. I haven’t blogged in a long time. This is because not much funny has gone on in my life, and I just have not been able to compose a worthy post.

This is code for: Rachel is lazy. But she is working on it, so please forgive her. ....Eh, me. I mean me.

Oh, and excuse number 2 is that sometimes I want to blog about people that probably read my blog, and I am afraid they will be insulted. For example, I have a funny story about my brother that I am hesitant to tell you......but it’s SO blogworthy. So I am going to tell it, and if I don’t post again soon you will know that it is either because I am lazy, as is my usual excuse, or that I have been murdered in my sleep by my big brother. Both are equally likely.

So here goes....

It was Christmas Day, 2010. My brother got an iPod. That’s all he got, because an iPod=lots of dollars. 

****You know, just in case that wasn’t clear enough and you needed a picture to comprehend it.

I got lots of presents. So many of them. I don’t want to brag here, but I got a glorious amount of presents that were monetarily equal to my brother’s single present, but still. A. Lot. Of. Presents. Fake Santa came through.

Anyways. One of my presents was a Chemex. In case you don’t know what that is, it’s a fancy glass vessel for making pour-over coffee. It looks kind of like this:

And now I must explain my brother. He is a barista at an Indie coffee shop, and he is incredibly passionate about Good Coffee. If you mention the word “Starbucks” to him, he will probably take a Venti Sugarfree Non-Fat White Chocolate Mocha with Extra Whipped Creme and shove it down your throat, cup, lid, cardboard sleeve and all.

So on Christmas morning, when I opened my present and out came a Chemex, which I had asked Fake Santa for the previous month, my brother said...

So then he proceeded to remove my Chemex from its box, and assemble all the pieces and whatnot, and then he had to make ME a pour over, because I don’t do it right and it’s a science and you have to control all the variables and time it and make it JUST RIGHT......

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he makes it way too strong for me, and variable and science or no, I always like it better when I do it myself.......

So the next day, I told my dad, “I’M GONNA MAKE MY OWN DAMN POUR OVER!!”

And I did.

(Part 2 of that story.....)

The other day I was at my neighbor’s house, because it was Emily Kate’s third birthday, so we ate pizza and cake and did birthdayish things, and as the evening progressed, Emily’s six-year-old sister Madeline began sulking a bit because Emily wouldn’t share her birthday present with Madeline.

I secretly empathized with Emily. She just wanted to make her OWN damn pour over. I mean.........whatever.

Love,

Rachel

My Metaphorical Soap Keeps Requiring me to Pick it Up

There is a very good chance that this post will not be funny at all.   I just took my German final, and just when you start to believe that nothing is more unfunny than German...you have to take a test about German.  And then, when you think nothing can be unfunnier than a German test, you finish your test and try to go hand it in, but your butt gets stuck between two desks and you have to gracefully remove yourself do a little flailing dance to get unstuck and then you accidentally blurt out, "Oh my, pay no attention to me, classroom of people, and keep working diligently on your exam" “That was sexy,” but it wasn’t. sexy.  Basically German is embarrassing and not sexy. 

If you’ve never been here before, maybe you should start here. Or something.  Anywhere but here.

It’s been one of those weeks when you think things are under control, but then bad stuff happens.  Umm, I’m trying to think of a metaphor.  Uhh...this week has been like when the bar of soap falls off of its little ledge in the shower and it lands on your foot but you don’t pick it up so that you can teach it a lesson, but next time you get in the shower you HAVE to pick up the soap and the soap wins.  Soap is smarter than me and German isn’t sexy.

Wait, nevermind.  I just got smarter than soap.

I think I just made an invention in my mind.  Now I have to go draw it!  It’s like shower shoes, only much more...bigger.  It’s basically a tissue box that you stick your foot in.  And since Plastic>Paper Inc. is so successful right now, these shoes are going to have a soft, spongy center, and a thick plastic outer shell because, seriously, is paper going to help you survive the trauma of light foot bruising?  I think not.

Here, I started sketching a commercial, but I can’t think of a name for this invention, so if you think of something, you should let me know.  “Shower Shoes” is both taken and lame, so, yeah.  I’m out of ideas and you guys are really creative.

 

Then also when your friend comes over and says, “Hey, why do you have two plastic bricks in your bathroom?” you can be like, “Because they are my shower shoes and those shoes protect me BETTER THAN ANY MAN EVER COULD!”  Then your friend will not care about your shower shoes, but he or she will know that you are very bitter about being single.


Before I got so distracted, I was ACTUALLY going to write about how Rachel and I were nominated for “Best Original Artwork” on 20sb and how that must make you all idiots because everyone knows that “Best Original Artwork” belongs to a kid who got an associate’s degree in photography and took a picture of a bee that is really close to a flower.  Not ON the flower, but really close.  Seriously. I’m going to google “Bee Close to Flower.” 

Was that not EXACTLY what you were imagining?

But in all seriousness, thank you for the nomination but also go to an art museum.

-Whitney

PS Michelle Marcell emailed me back, not once, but twice.  With like...pictures of "her ID."  I'll post her email and my reply once I work up the energy.  

Crest Finally Made a Line of Toothpaste for Big Kids Like Me, but This has Nothing to do with That

You guys are gonna have to hold on tight, because this is a lot of reading. 

I’ve started replying to spam email because friends are hard to come by  I like to  6   ...nope.  No good reason. 

So, this email is from "Michelle Marcel."  And she sent me this really heartfelt letter while she was crying all over her computer which was a big risk for her because rumor has it that “wet” and “electronic” usually don’t go well together.  I haven't really tested this theory, but I once saw Groundhog Day, and also my hair dryer is really close to my sink, so, yeah, any day now I should find out what really happens.  Anyway, she could have died, you guys.  Actually I just googled “wet and electric” and was shocked that this phrase and many variations had been  googled it looks like vacuums can be both wet and electric so probably Michelle wrote this with a vacuum.


Michelle Marcel

WITH TEARS!!!!!!!!
Quite frankly, I know it may have sounded pretty strange for you on why I chose to contact you who are a complete stranger to me and I must tell you this, I contacted you for the simple reason that we do not know each other. It would be very difficult for me to contact anybody here who knows me for this purpose as I may stand the risk and chance of being cheated of my inheritance because the person would have known my weaknesses. I may even lose my life that is why I decided to contact you a complete stranger.
My name is Michelle Marcel the only child of my parent. During the civil and political crisis in our country, my parents were poisoned by heartless people. Fortunately for me, I was in the school when this tragedy took place to my family. I was in coma for almost two weeks. But I thank the almighty God because I never knew that I could support the shock of losing almost my family.  Right now I am still here in country but very unsafe for me.
I'm living in great fear and bondage. I intend leaving this country as soon as possible but only one thing kept me back. My late father has deposited with one of the prime financial institution the sum of money, $3.2Million USD .But unfortunately he did not complete the transaction before he sudden died.  I have mapped out 25% out of the total money for your help and assistances because it looks stupid for me trying to confide in a total stranger I never met before. By instinct I am convinced you are an honest person and you have the capacity to handle this transaction with me.  As soon as it is done, I will come over with to meet you and spend the rest of my live in your country. I wish to invest the money into estate business and other good business you may propose. I promise to greatly compensate you for any assistance you may offer me. I do not know how you may feel about this but I want you to take this very serious and confidential.

Best wishes
Michelle Marcel

REPLY

Michelle Marcel,

Absolutely!  What do you need?  My social security number?  DNA?  A picture of my mother in a bathing suit?  Just like blond girls on Spring Break, I believe in living life with no regrets.  I would so totally regret not helping you out, you super fantastic girl you. In fact, the only regret that I DO have is that I never heard back from the girlfriends of those four Nigerian Princes for whom I emptied my bank account on several occasions.  I sure hope they're doing alright.

You have a very cool name.  It's too bad with someone with such a cool, alliteration-y  name is stuck in such a lame and unspecified country!  And wow, your the child of only one parent!?  I'm gonna jump way ahead of and assume that you're like...a fungus...or the offspring of an asexually reproducing alien species.  If living in America has taught me anything, it is that I should know nothing about politics but still try to make political jokes, and also I should shoot aliens.  I won't shoot you though because I believe all creatures are like ponies: beautiful, and they just want you to leave them alone with some apples.  Also, if you are an alien and you are just landing here, you should know that surviving in America will require you to own a pantsuit that is both professional and revealing.

I can't wait to hear back from you!  Since you're a girl, and I'm a girl, and we have now had a back-and-forth email conversation, we must be best friends, so good for us!  When you get to America, we should try to bake cookies like all American girls do for fun, and oh will we ever giggle when we drop eggshell in the batter!  I just can't wait!

-Whitney

PS I have some great business ideas for you once you get here.  Like a meat shop called "Bread."  Or a pet store called “Bread.”

PPS  Me: Knock, Knock.  You: Who's there?  Me: Sarah Palin? <Example of American political humor

I’ll update if I hear back from her!

Also, if you guys want to work for Plastic>Paper...we need to come up with a business plan with bar graphs and pentagon charts and whatever else business is about.  We also need advertisements.  I’m thinking our slogan can be, “Paper Burns.  Plastic Gets Melty.” or “Plastic.  Stuff has Plastic on it.  Shouldn’t you?”  Any other suggestions?  I haven’t really decided what our company is going to actually do so we’ll start with a slogan and go from there.

-Whitney

I Don’t Think I’m Going to Shave My Legs Tonight. Stop Thinking about My Legs.

Dear Internet Children,

I’m sorry it’s been so long, and I promise I will never be gone for so long ever again.

...

You know when you fall asleep in a cardboard box and then you wake up and your husband’s all like, “Did you just fall asleep in that cardboard box?”  And you’re all like, “Yeah, I just did that.  We need reenactment pictures.”  And then you take reenactment pictures, only you move the box slightly to the right so that people won’t see that you were sleeping kinda close to the trashcan?  Well I can relate because that happened to me this past weekend.

In my defense, I've been in this German class that last for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week.  Followed by 5 hours of studying.  Then I had to drive 2 hours.  Then I was selflessly playing with my cat because Ryan bought a new computer and who can resist playing in such an awesome, big box?

Actual Story...

I have a new favorite thing.  That favorite thing is when people who have never read my blog send me emails that are all like, “By reading your blog, I can tell that you’re a great cook.”  And I’m like, “Seriously?  I think the only time I ever mentioned food was when I said I was going to ignore my imaginary children to drink grown-up lemonade."  That’s not even cooking.  Only someone who didn’t know how to cook would even suggest that mixing drinks could possibly be considered “cooking.”  Anyways, I went searching through my email trying to find this one particular message that said something like, “Thank you for using your blog to make the world greener,” but I can’t find it, so I’m going to paraphrase it.  By “paraphrase,” I mean that I’m going to completely make up the email, and you’re just going to have to believe that I’m not lying to you.


The Email

Dear Whitney Bradley,

I have read your blog, and I noticed how you are taking action to make the world greener and cleaner!  Good for you!  I want you to know that I also care about the environment, for I am typing this from a “green” computer.  This means that I am sitting in a dead tree that I hollowed out, wearing a tank-top made of soy that I purchased after working for 3 weeks at my local vegetarian restaurant, “Hide That Bacon,” and my computer is powered by an extension cord that is twelve miles long and plugged in at a “green” coffee shop that has pictures of all the Kenyans, who have been paid more than 15 cents an hour, plastered all over the walls so that they don’t look as incriminating as Starbucks.  Wasn’t that a long sentence?  By making such a long sentence, I just saved some “.”s.  See how green I am?  Anyways, you should give my company some money.  Soy clothes don’t buy my themselves. 

Won’t you snuggle our world with us?
Earth Snugglers Inc.

The Email Back

Dear Earth Snugglers’ Inc.,

Nope.  I’m not snuggling your anything.  You haven't read my blog.  Although begin your email convincingly with, “I have read your blog, and I noticed how you...” rarely has anyone ever finished that sentence with anything but, “must not have graduated college.”  Did you even visit my blog?  I don’t mean “did you skim it it for blatantly obvious grammatical errors.”  Did you read that post that had pictures of me stabbing live trees with forks for the woodpeckers?  Woodpeckers are natures small and inefficient lumberjacks, Earth Snugglers’ Inc.  If ever there was an animal that should NOT be saved, it would be woodpeckers.  OR...do you remember that time when I had nothing to do so I went outside with a pair of tweezers and started plucking individual blades of grass from my lawn?  That’s because it hasn’t happened yet, but now I have plans for tomorrow.  I’m going to go back to my room and sit in my pile of yet-to-be-recycled pile of Dr. Pepper cans.  Maybe tonight I’ll try to hide them in the gas tank of my diesel engine trunk.  That is, if I can take a break from standing outside and spraying my aerosol hairspray directly into the wind.

Love you Bunches,
Whitney, of Plastic > Paper Inc.

I really like replying to emails with nonsensical emails because sometimes I get replies from really annoyed people.  I’m thinking about starting a business where you pay me $5, and I send emails to people you want to annoy, anger, or dump.  This business would probably only work for about a week before I would be assassinated and my obituary would be all like, “Everyone outlived Whitney.  Who’s Whitney?”  And I’d be all embarrassed from Heaven.

-Whitney

This is a Post from Rachel. She didn't Include a Title When She Sent this File to Me. This is Whitney. Also not Including a Title.

If you have read some of our earliest posts, you may remember a man named Franco (a.k.a gay, hairdressing weenie.) In reality, Franco is neither gay, nor a hairdresser, nor an exotic cereal inventor. He is actually a handsome Asian man that likes to flirt with me at work at the most inconvenient times. In my mind, however, he is still always wearing a hotdog suit.

First of all, I’m not really the flirtatious type. I’m not apt to like people in general, and as I’ve already established, I am kind of antisocial at work because I am too busy thinking about all the places I’d rather be and conjuring ways to make the hours go faster (such as counting the day in musical albums rather than in hours, rationing my food to break up the day with snack times, and writing myself lists of all the amazingly fun things I am going to do when I get home, such as...yoga. Or fingernail painting....or...basically anything besides everything I have to do at work.)

I am also not a morning person. I hate it when anyone tries to talk to me in the morning. After ten am, I’m all yours (within reason), but before then, unless you are quietly bringing me a latte and then immediately making yourself scarce, I really want nothing to do with you. I am overall pretty good at disguising my Morning Hatefulness, but Franco caught me at a time when it was making itself inescapably clear.

Apparently I looked really attractive. I mean, who wouldn’t want to hit on THAT, right?

Anyways, so I went to the cafeteria to get myself a bagel, hoping to not encounter anyone I knew. Ok, I actually went and hid in the bathroom for a few minutes when I saw someone else I knew going to the caf, because I really didn’t feel like talking to anyone and didn’t want to enter at the same time for fear of having to make conversation.

So I was at the bagel table, when I started dropping stuff, because I hadn’t had my cup of coffee that morning and I had my headphones in so I kind of had negative 10% alertness going on....and it seems to me, that every time I am dropping things or having an otherwise ridiculous clumsy moment, THAT is when guys choose to approach me. I think it’s because they’re secretly scared to talk to girls so they just lurk in corners and watch for you to do something stupid so that they can pop out and make fun of you for it  so they seem all cool and composed and smooth and whatnot, when really they’re just too chicken to talk to you at your best. Feel free to defend yourselves, guys, but I probably won’t buy it. I’m onto you.

So my half-awake, food and caffeine-deprived brain, that was at that moment using all of its capacity to absorb the Postal Service which was playing on my iPod, took an absurdly long amount of time to understand what was happening, and I stared blankly at him as I tried to think of an adequate comeback. Nothin’. Absolutely nothing.

I must have looked kind of ticked off, because his confident, flirtatious air started to fizzle, and he began backpedaling, with “I’m just...kidding.........”

And then he walked away and I very calmly said something super lame like, “I guess I am just kind of clumsy this morning”, at which he politely chuckled.

After that I hastily got in line to pay for my bagel, and he made another feeble attempt to flirt with me, because he obviously wasn’t getting the picture that I was pretty much at my grumpiest and wanted to be left alone.

Of course, later I thought of many adequate comebacks....well, no, I didn’t. But I could’ve yelled something like, “OH YEAH?? WELL YOU’RE ASIAN!!!”

Which is neither an insult, nor a valid argument, nor even relevant.....but it might’ve caught him off guard long enough for me to make a run for it.

Or I could’ve said, “YOU DON’T HAVE A BEARD!!” which would have been an insult, AND a valid argument, AND an adequate comeback.....all of which only I would have understood. But once again, ample running time.

Bottom line, be warned Francopants. Next time you disturb my morning I’m going to deck you in the face.

Love, Rachel

I don’t feel like writing, so here’s my Christmas card. Nevermind, I actually wrote a lot.

Whitney and Ryan conversation:

Me:  I need to write a blogpost, but I don’t wanna.  I don’t feel funny.

Ryan:  You just told me that you are pregnant with salmonella.

Me: THAT’S NOT FUNNY.  THAT IS SERIOUS.

I am not going to give you any back-story.

Christmas Cards

Now that I’m married, I have to fake being an adult and do things like go to work send out Christmas cards.  Whoever whomever? started this tradition which forces me to stress about, and then send pictures of myself to people who don’t remember me, was an idiot.  I’m googling this idiot.

John Calcott Horsley 1817-1903. 

He doesn't really look like he invented the Christmas card, but I guess everyone needs a hobby.

“I invented Christmas cards and child abuse because THOSE STUPID KIDS WON’T STAND STILL AND I JUST WANT THIS PICTURE TO CAPTURE HOW BEAUTIFUL OUR FAMILY IS.  PLEASE JUST THIS ONCE.  FOR MOMMY.  MOMMY IS GOING TO CRY AND USE PHOTOSHOP.”

 Thankfully, I am not a mommy, and I have no idea how to use photoshop.  I’m not sending out Christmas cards because I like to push the hilarious boundaries that a flamboyant British man established in the 1800s.  BUT, I will show you my Christmas card and EVEN write an annoying Christmas letter filled with stuff that I think is cool about my life, but that significantly lowers your respect for me because you thought that I spent my time rescuing orphans, but really I just spent a year playing Super Mario and eating.

Dear estranged family members and people whom I don’t know but came to my wedding,

Well, it’s that time of year again!  That time of year when implied social law demands that I send you a card which inclides with pictures of a baby in a lobster pot adorable pictures, a witty one-liner, and an out-of-context Bible verse.  I couldn’t fit my Bible verse on my card, but here is one of my holiday favorites:

“I wish those who unsettle you would emasculate themselves!”
Galatians 5:12

May you all carefully reflect on Paul’s words during this holiday season.

I would like to thank those of you who sent us Christmas cards and letters!  It was so nice to see that those kids you have that I forgot about have grown up so well!  Really starting to look like mommy and daddy aren’t they?  How wonderful.  Make sure you give my phone number to the one who looks like George Clooney once he turns eighteen.  Haha, I’m just making awkward jokes because I can.  Many of you asked us if we have yet to be blessed with a child.  And then when we so "no," you recommend that "we get going." What a well-though-out completely inappropriate comment!  No, Ryan and I do not have kids, because I met one once.  Also, I will have no idea what to do with it.  If it’s a girl, I’ll have to tell her she's not fat, and also invent ways to raise her self-esteem.  And outlaw Barbies.  Unless it's like...Oily Complex Barbie.  If it’s a boy, that means that the toilet seat will be left up twice as much, and consequently, I will fall in the toilet twice as much.  I’ll still include a picture of a baby though.  A baby in a lobster pot.

As far as what I’ve done with my life this year, I once acted out an episode of Jersey Shore.  Ryan has been much more prolific, but he also acted out an episode of Jersey Shore.  We have a cat.  I threaten to drop-kick it a lot.  I do drop-kick it a lot.

Love,

Whitney, Ryan, and Rimsky 


PS  Enclosed is the address “of the apartment I am moving to, so please send next year’s Christmas card here.”

New Address

Nope.  I’m not creative enough to think of a fake address.


PS that has unrelated to the Christmas letter.  We have a fan page up on facebook now because I want to meet Tina Fey.  Don’t try to make the connection.

-Whitney