Showing posts with label Lady GaGa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lady GaGa. Show all posts

Monday, April 11, 2011

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

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

"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