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

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.