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Wednesday, December 21, 2011

A Christmas Letter from THAT Family

Merry Christmas everyone! It’s us! The family you love to hate.
We hope everyone had a wonderful 2011. You didn’t? Bummer! Feel free to compare your worthless life to our fabulous one filled with achievement and positivity!
Read about our incredible children! They’re already more accomplished than you’ll ever be!

Lindsay is a junior at her wildly expensive private high school. She is a champion fencer, president of the chemical engineering club, volunteers for Habitat for Humanity, and still finds time to tutor that boy with Autism that lives down the street. If she didn’t get straight A’s we’d beat her! Just kidding, ha ha, we’d just passive aggressively verbally abuse her into success instead. All of her activities will inevitably get her a full-ride scholarship to whichever college she chooses, but that doesn’t matter, because we’ve been breeding her to become a Yale Bulldog since birth. Join the military? Fat chance, Lindsay! If you’ve already forgotten about any of the achievements listed above, don’t worry, we’ll remind you all over again when we bump into you at the grocery store in two months.

We are going to tell you that Connor is taking a semester off from his sophomore year at Pepperdine to travel to Thailand to teach orphaned children their ABC’s, but really, he has a massive cocaine addiction and was secretly shipped off to Sunrise Detox Center in Florida back in October. He used to play point guard for Pepperdine and used to be Vice President of the Sigma Chi Fraternity and used to date a girl that we were positive he was going to get married to and produce children-that-look-like-Ralph-Lauren-models with, but instead, his hair is down to his shoulders and his sense of smell is shot to heck. We had to Photoshop his face from a year and a half ago onto the picture we enclosed because if you saw him now you’d think he was homeless and that we were bad parents. The latter part of that statement is what really bothers us. See you in six months Connor! We’ll love you more when you stop bringing shame to the family!

Stephanie is our pride and joy. Stephanie is flawless. If we weren’t so overwhelmingly religious, Stephanie would be our Jesus. She is a senior at Vassar double majoring in neuroscience and Ancient Greek language and literature. She is a member of the Equestrian Club, a leader in the college’s organization to prevent child abuse, and a producer for WVKR (the Vassar radio station). We have left out that she is also a member of the group that advocates legal equality for the LGBTQ community because we don’t want anyone assuming she’s a lesbian. She’s not! We dodged that bullet by threatening to stop paying her tuition. On top of all that, Stephanie has two jobs that she doesn’t need but insists on having to pad her resume. Stephanie is naturally thin and has perfect hair that always looks professionally done. Even when she wakes up! It’s completely unfair to the rest of the female race! She’s probably going to cure cancer in five years and/or single-handedly lead a revival of Latin as the prominent spoken language on Earth. If you hear us refer to ourselves as “Stephanie” at any point in time, it’s okay, we’re just trying to live vicariously through her.  

Dave is still a financial advisor and is doing extremely well. Like, way way better than you do. Like, his salary is triple what yours’ is. Isn’t that wonderful?! I did not marry him for his money. We are just very blessed. And by “we” I mean “me.” I keep busy walking our two pure-bred German Shepherds and dabbling in interior design.

We hope you all keep the Christ in Christmas and have a joyous New Year! And sorry that your invitation to our annual Christmas Party was never put got lost in the mail! It’s nothing personal! Okay, it is.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

"Learn from Yesterday, Live for Today, Hope No One Took Pictures."

As much as I dislike self-reflection, I think it’s a very important exercise that forces you to check yourself before you wreck yourself and analyze just how acceptable your day-to-day behavior truly is. I might find dancing on bars and demolishing 48-ounce bags of M&M’s within a two-day period enjoyable, but in terms of my dignity and my waistline, they’re probably not the greatest things for me. For whatever reason, I chose 2011 to go as buckwild as a Flavor of Love contestant and from these uncharacteristic displays of stupidity I ended up learning quite a bit. Sharing is caring, so hopefully my list will evoke some thoughtfulness in you lovely people. At the very least, you’ll get a good laugh and I’ll be transported back to high school where everything I did caused crippling embarrassment and shame, just on a much nerdier scale. Let’s roll:

This year, I learned that wide-necked, off-the-shoulder tops are not a good look for me. I have a short torso, and all the extra fabric makes me look like I’m trying to hide an oopsie pregnancy. This may work for Jessica Simpson, but I don’t have a career to desperately salvage, so I just end up looking chubs.

This year, I learned that I’m actually a pretty ballin cook. I knew I could bake, but apparently the culinary world has a lot more to offer than a box of Barilla and a jar of Classico, and I discovered that. I have mastered gourmet chicken salad, oatmeal chocolate chip pancakes from scratch, and homemade mac and cheese, and that’s just the tip of the spatula.

This year, I learned that bragging that your fake ID “even worked on Bourbon Street!” is not impressive.

This year, I learned that a person can wear big ole Dolly Parton hair, or a tight red cocktail dress, or an obscene amount of black eyeshadow, but should never try to rock all three simultaneously. Yikes.  

This year, I learned that it’s not necessary to buy sunglasses because a new pair will inevitably fall into your lap at one point or another. I had two pair for a solid four years, and managed to lose them both between the months of March and June. At this point in time, I own three, and I have no idea where any of them came from. That’s called being coincidentally advantageous, and I’ve cornered the market.

This year, I learned that I am Charlotte York from Sex and the City. I’m not explaining this. Just go watch a few episodes and try to deny it.

This year, I learned that although gelato has less fat than ice cream, you can bridge the gap and still gain a solid six pounds when you make a habit out of visiting the nice Italian guys that run the joint every single day.

This year, I learned that I’m not as good around adults as I thought. German people don’t appreciate my humor and were not impressed by my botched delivery of “Guten morgen!” The fact that I don’t like sausage really sealed my fate.

This year, I learned that growing up does not actually mean getting any more mature. There is no shame in enjoying a classic Disney movie, calling someone a copycat, and wearing rain boots, Soffe’s, and a bikini top to the grocery store.

This year, I learned that if your core group of friends has more than five girls in it, two of them will undoubtedly hate each other on any given weekend. It’s science.  

This year, I learned that Madonna and Lady Gaga aren’t the only ones who can pull off the whole brunette-to-blonde thing with finesse.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

The Year Somewhat in Review

Every year around this time, publications of all varieties will put out their takes on the most important/exciting/influential/crazy moments of the past year, causing us all to think “Oh yeah, he died!” and “Wait a sec, I turned how old?” HAHA just kidding, only people above age 30 wonder that. Sucks. Anyway, I consider this blog to be one of those varieties of publications because I write it and apparently more than one person in Russia reads it (Здравствуйте, друзья!), so that’s all that matters. On that note, let’s chat about the freak show that was 2011:
  • The media as a whole ran with the notion that we all have secret desires to hook up with our buddies and shelled out No Strings Attached, Friends with Benefits, and the MTV show Friend Zone. The two movies were basically Black Swan if Natalie Portman would’ve just chilled the fuck out and gotten laid like the French guy told her to and if Mila Kunis wasn’t such a bicurious crack whore. Why they thought no one would notice that these films were the exact same story released six months apart is beyond me, but I’d give the W to FWB based off of Justin Timberlake alone (he is my ultimate). Friend Zone fostered the American young adult’s fantasy that their best guy friend of eight years would look past the fact that they tricked him into being their wingman for a fake blind date just so they could confess their love and hope that it was reciprocated because hey, we all need a fairy tale to believe in. I don’t know why all of a sudden we’ve given up on our hopes of meeting our soulmate in a crowded dive bar on a Thursday night, because that foolproof tactic has worked phenomenally well for everyone I know. It’s nice that Hollywood decided to give us hope that our one true love is posting raunchy Text From Last Night’s onto our wall and not paying for our Panera and that all it takes is some courage to realize our fate, but in reality, admitting your feelings to a close pal only creates an awkward situation and a ruined friendship. If the world’s coming to an end in a year, I’d like to send it off with all of my playmates in tow, thankyouverymuch.  
  •  Someone forgot to inform The Situation that “roasting” someone did not mean locking them in a tanning bed for 3 hours so as to achieve that cancerific orange glow. At the Roast of Donald Trump in March, it was clear that Man Grenade (seriously, his face is a modern tragedy) had no semblance of a sense of humor and produced one of the most uncomfortable on-TV moments of the new millennium. There are so many ways that this shebang went wrong: he began by referring to the Trumpster as “mah man.” There is no way the two are on the same playing field, let alone friends. As the crowd started to turn on him, he told them to “Ay ay ooh chill.” That just wasn’t going to be effective no matter what, and at that point anyone without a birth defect would’ve just stepped down and saved face. The be-all-end-all was when Snoop Dogg unwrapped a rillo right in the middle of the entire thing, inviting the rest of the audience to do the same because let’s be honest, no matter how drug-averse you are, we all needed a little weed after that situation debacle.
  • Another state came-to after years in a moral coma and finally legalized gay marriage. In June, New York became the seventh state (with D.C. piggy-backing) to let people do what they should have been able to do forever. Considering it took four years from the initial passed legislation for this to come into fruition, NY and its gays had to feel pretty baller about the whole situation. Don’t worry, it gets even cooler: Kitty Lambert and Cheryle Rudd of Buffalo were wed in Niagra Falls at midnight to become the first couple in the state to celebrate the newly-enacted law, and the Falls were lit up in rainbow just for the occasion. I don’t care what your sexual orientation or your feelings toward gay marriage are; that had to be the prettiest effing wedding in the entire world. I really hope the rest of America wakes up soon!
  • In September, the whole Occupy Wall Street, 99%, “Your degree will mean nothing in six months” thing started. To be perfectly honest, I have no interest in talking about this for several reasons, but mostly because I still don’t understand what it’s all about. That probably makes me a bad American and a disgrace to my generation. If I had a nickel…
  • A teacher at California State University at Sacramento walked out on his class after no one brought snacks. Apparently, psychology professor George Parrott requires that homemade treats are brought to his weekly labs and if the students don’t pull through, they lose that week’s instruction. When he walked out in November, students filed complaints with the university. First of all, those kids are idiots. All they had to do was dump a few dozen packages of Hostess Mini Muffins onto a plate and pretend they Betty Crockered them up that morning and boom, problem solved. Furthermore, who protests class getting cancelled? I totally side with Professor Parrott (sweet name, bro) because I, too, am a fan of the sweets. There are several situations that I would walk out on if there wasn’t food provided, such as a Weight Watchers meeting, or a marriage proposal. Bottom line, those students totally dropped the ball and it’s just another example of a school that no one’s ever heard of producing truly asinine people.   

Sunday, December 4, 2011

The Modern 12 Days of Christmas

...because we all know that no one in this day and age would be psyched about three chickens and a dozen Keith Moons invading their apartment. You know the tune:

On the first day of Christmas my guy-that-helped-me-jump-start-my-car-and-then-got-my-number gave to me: a 1.75 of KG.

On the second day of Christmas my guy-who-randomly-knows-my-roommate-who-vouches-that-he’s-really-funny-and-smart gave to me: two tickets to DayGlow and a 1.75 of KG.

On the third day of Christmas my guy-whose-guilty-pleasures-are-also-VH1-countdowns-and-Diners-Drive ins-and-Dives gave to me: three bites of his Qdoba, two tickets to DayGlow and a 1.75 of KG.

On the fourth day of Christmas my guy-who-suggested-we-go-do-something-together-sometime-if-I’m-not-too-busy gave to me: four Facebook “likes,” three bites of his Qdoba, two tickets to DayGlow and a 1.75 of KG.

On the fifth day of Christmas my guy-who-walked-me-to-class-even-though-his-next-one-was-on-the-other-side-of-campus-and-started-ten-minutes-ago gave to me: fiiiive com-pli-mennnnts, four Facebook “likes,” three bites of his Qdoba, two tickets to DayGlow and a 1.75 of KG.

On the sixth day of Christmas my guy-who-came-over-and-watched-a-movie-and-didn’t-even-try-to-go-for-a-feelski gave to me: six notes on the guitar he’s learning to play, fiiiive com-pli-mennnnts, four Facebook “likes,” three bites of his Qdoba, two tickets to DayGlow and a 1.75 of KG.  

On the seventh day of Christmas my guy-who-brought-me-a-Frappucino-as-I-studied-for-finals-even-though-I-hate-coffee-but-it-was-such-a-sweet-gesture gave to me: seven random smiles, six notes on the guitar he’s learning to play, fiiiive com-pli-mennnnts, four Facebook “likes,” three bites of his Qdoba, two tickets to DayGlow and a 1.75 of KG. 

On the eighth day of Christmas my guy-that-actually-called-me-to-see-how-my-day-was-instead-of-the-usual-“Whattup girl”-text gave to me: eight fits of laughter, seven random smiles, six notes on the guitar he’s learning to play, fiiiive com-pli-mennnnts, four Facebook “likes,” three bites of his Qdoba, two tickets to DayGlow and a 1.75 of KG. 

On the ninth day of Christmas my guy-who-drunkenly-told-me-how-beautiful-and-special-I-am-but-didn’t-remember-doing-so-the-next-day-hello-awkward-situation gave to me: nine bucks for a cab, eight fits of laughter, seven random smiles, six notes on the guitar he’s learning to play, fiiiive com-pli-mennnnts, four Facebook “likes,” three bites of his Qdoba, two tickets to DayGlow and a 1.75 of KG. 

On the tenth day of Christmas my guy-whose-friends-tell-me-he-thinks-I’m-“chill”-and-talks-about-me-all-the-time gave to me: ten fingers for hand-holding, nine bucks for a cab, eight fits of laughter, seven random smiles, six notes on the guitar he’s learning to play, fiiiive com-pli-mennnnts, four Facebook “likes,” three bites of his Qdoba, two tickets to DayGlow and a 1.75 of KG. 

On the eleventh day of Christmas my guy-that-I-think-I’m-dating-but-we-haven’t-had-the-“talk”-yet-and-I’m-afraid-to-bring-it-up-because-it’ll-freak-him-out gave to me: eleven minutes of making out, ten fingers for hand-holding, nine bucks for a cab, eight fits of laughter, seven random smiles, six notes on the guitar he’s learning to play, fiiiive com-pli-mennnnts, four Facebook “likes,” three bites of his Qdoba, two tickets to DayGlow and a 1.75 of KG. 

On the twelfth day of Christmas my boyfriend gave to me: twelve long-stem roses, eleven minutes of making out, ten fingers for hand-holding, nine bucks for a cab, eight fits of laughter, seven random smiles, six notes on the guitar he’s learning to play, fiiiive com-pli-mennnnts, four Facebook “likes,” three bites of his Qdoba, two tickets to DayGlow and a 1.75 of KG.