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

"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 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

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

Zombie Apocalypse for Dummies

Surgery is my favorite thing in the world.  I’m not having surgery, and I haven’t had surgery recently, but today I was reminiscing about how the only time I ever get any decent sleep is during surgery.  AND after surgery, the doctor comes in and is all like “can I get you some toast” and I’m like “duh.”  Then he even lets me pick a flavor of jam and also when I get home my mom is all like, “would you like some vicodin and Chinese food?”  Basically, 90% of the good things that happen in my life occur about three hours post-op.  I’ve only had surgery twice and it was on my pinky fingers.

This has nothing to do with my story, but I’m tired.  In fact, I’m SO tired that I sent several family members a nonsense underwear-related email.  Stockings are for underwear and toothpaste, and I wanted to get this right.

“Do you want special Christmas underwear?  I can only assume that Christmas underwear would make you feel all tingly from the magic of Christmas being so near your butt.  I don't know what I meant by that.  I should stop studying and go to bed.  And I'll get you regular underwear.”

I haven’t slept in a week.  Also, beware, anyone in my family...beware of Christmasy underwear.

I HAVE ONE MORE STORY BEFORE MY REAL STORY!

I was at Best Buy purchasing a few non-undergarment-related presents.  I had to stand in line for about an hour because that is what Christmas is all about.  By the time I reached the front of the line I was sweating shining with Christmas magic and grumpy not grumpy.  One of the Best Buy employees was sorting us into lines. 

DIALOGUE REENACTMENT!

Employee: Hey KIddo!

Me: Kiddo?  I’m like...married and crap.

Employee: **Squints at me, puts both hands on her hips, bends down and stares directly into my eyes** Does somebody need a cookie?

Me: **Pouts** Yes.

The moral of the story is...take cookies from strangers.  I assumed the cookie was poisonous, but I ate it anyway because I was hoping for surgery.  Also there is a very age-confused woman working at Best Buy.

ACTUAL STORY!

I feel like complaining.  Like complaining about the Zombie Apocalypse.  Because it’s stupid.  I think I am in a bad mood because I have two different brands of contacts in my eye and one is thicker than the other and you should probably pity me because I’m like Quasimodo except instead of the Hunchback of Notre-Dame, I’m the Bumpy Eye of My Particular Apartment Complex. 

Anyway, more often than one would expect, I am asked silly questions like, “Who would win in a fight: zombies or unicorns?  What about zombies or vampires.”  And I reply with, “Let me answer your question with a question.  Is there any trick to remembering how to spell “breath” versus “breathe?”  Then no ones’ questions are answered, and I have probably written a lot of awful papers in which I “took a deep breathe.”  Also, zombies will never win anything.  Here’s my book “The Zombie Apocalypse for Dummies.”

 I hope you all have a very neutral holiday,


-Whitney


PS A huge "thank you" to John from Strange Weapon of the Week, for some blogging tips.  Go check out his site if you want to learn about awesome things like vomit guns.  Seriously.  It's a thing.