**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