Humming Burritas

Here is the album art for our upcoming single release.

The big question: What should we name our band?

Quiet On The Homefront

Thanks for all of the well wishes regarding Operation: Ring Retrieval. What a crazy day!

I’ve already decided that Operation: Arnie Lifeguard is next. When I return from my vacation, I will make it my personal mission to track down Mr. Orange Cone White Teeth and snap a photo for you all.

In the meantime, I will be enjoying time* and relaxing** with my family.

Have a great weekend!

* drinking heavily
** passed out

Performance Art 2007 Will Not Be Denied!

Lala just reminded me that her craft is not hindered by something as trivial as sobriety. She’s a performance artist of the highest magnitude, yo. (I am completely over the “yo” phenomenon, but I CAN’T STOP TYPING IT.) It is I, Duchess of Whoorl, who needs a leetle liquid courage from time to time.

And since the liquid courage will be a-flowin’, we just might attempt a video post while in Santa Fe. What this video entails, we do not know. Frankly, I find video blogs to be a bit creepy. I mean, a video. Of me. On the Interwebs! Creeps McGee. (Not to be confused with Crams McGee, which is entirely a different story. Does anyone else use that phrase? Just me? Ok then.)

However, after ingesting several tequila shots, creepy becomes slightly sketchy. Slightly sketchy turns to into no big deal and no big deal morphs into WE ARE SO FUCKING FUNNY! AND TALENTED! PEOPLE WILL LOVE US! WE’RE TAKING THIS ACT ON THE ROAD!

Does the idea of a poorly-made and possibly humiliating video titillate your senses? With hints of my drunken Oklahoma twang? Possibly singing and/or dancing? If I sense enough interest amongst my fellow users of the Interwebs (who else is loving 30 Rock?), we shall move forward with our plan. The caveat is I DECIDE how many comments equal “interest”, and unfortunately, visions of the hundreds of Crayola crayon comments from earlier this year are filling my head. P.S. - That entry was lost in the Great Whoorl Rebirth, but I remember…oh, I remember…

You do realize this is my insurance from actually having to DO this, right? I am not particularly fond of my video persona. (quivering in fear)

Most importantly, do you have any suggestions for our possible ground-breaking piece of history? If we end up utilizing your idea, I will send you a small token of my appreciation (coming from here).

Not to insinuate we are for sure doing this. That’s up to you guys. (OH HOW LAME IS THAT STATEMENT? COMMENT WHORE, COMMENT WHORE!)

Performance Art 2007 - Shut Down

There will be no von Whoorlie Family Performance Art this year during our annual Spring pilgrimage to Santa Fe. While my father and I might perform the infamous Endless Love duet, my mom and The Magnate might shake a tail feather to some Motown oldies, my sister Lala will not be part of the massive drink-a-thon because she done got knocked up.

Can you BELIEVE the audacity? Two years in row, the whoorlie sisters have put a stop to the performance art! No more Britney escapades, no more re-acquainting ourselves with NSYNC dance moves (via a VHS tape from 1994), no more karaoke…WHAT HAS THIS WORLD COME TO?!

This year, I will have the pleasure of joining the cool club, while Lala will be the lonely outcast, partaking in a lot of this.

Well, there’s always 2008.

Wito’s going to be a cousin! Congrats to Lala and The Magnate!

Peeves

I truly believe the majority of Orange County residents are passive aggressive. It’s just the law of the land around here. Unfortunately, my four-year tenure must have seeped into my psyche because I catch myself pulling the same shit all of the time. For instance, I really need to stop saying “You know, I find it so funny when you {insert a completely annoying action}” to my husband. Obviously, I don’t find it funny. Irritating as hell? Maybe.

Case in point - I’m in complete awe as to how my husband manages to dirty an ENTIRE kitchen counter when buttering toast. It’s like a mini-tornado of toast crumbs has descended upon the kitchen. People, how is this possible?

I’ve come to the only plausible conclusion that he must scrape three-fourths of the toasty bread onto his butter knife and proceed to blow in a staccato-like movement, much like a sprinkler system, all over the countertop. Thus leading me to make the invariable comment, “It’s so funny how you manage to make such a mess with whole wheat and butter” (insert fake squirrelly laughter). He rebuts with an explanation of the countertop’s function, including but not limited to, providing a place for food preparation. Fine. Shitbag.

Honestly, I can’t complain too much, being crowned the Queen of Leaving Shoes All Over The House. And I don’t just leave a pair of shoes lying around here or there, I actually manage to walk from one end of the room to the other, kicking off the shoes and leaving them to completely obstruct the walkway for others. It’s a talent, really. In fact, right now, I have 6 pairs of shoes lying haphazardly around this house. I try to explain to others that you just never know when you might need a pair of shoes right that very instant (house fire! earthquake! US Weekly just arrived in the mailbox!). I’m just taking my planning abilities to the next level. And therein lies the difference, my friends.

Risqué

Do you know what’s super fun? Getting denied from health insurance companies. You know, the mysterious three-week waiting period, the non-information from the sugary sweet customer service rep, the all-business letter that arrives in the mail…wait, you don’t know what I’m talking about? You all got insurance right away? With no problems? WHAT? FUCKING WHAT?

It seems that my husband and son are prime candidates for health insurance with their big healthy smiles and shit. Alas, I’m what they consider risqué…stated in a letter that read something like this:

Dear Whoorl:

We would be more than honored to underwrite your husband and son into our wonderful and happy health care family.

Unfortunately, even though you have very shiny hair and darling shoes, we have come to the decision that you are not worth the risk (like, HEY-EL NO). After careful analysis, we are pretty sure you are going to cost us a shitload this year. You are welcome to sign up for one of our guaranteed-issue plans (also known as our “dead man walking” plans) which will cost $13,265 per month.

Thank you for your (really just your husband and son’s) business. May God be with you.

Sincerely,
Mr. Positive Thinking

Oh no, THANK YOU! You’ve made my day so much brighter. No pre-existing conditions, no medications, but hell, you get something removed from your breast 2 years ago and it’s finito with the big dogs. ARF!

In other news, has anyone tried this new gum? It’s pretty damn tasty and according to my strange husband, smells like “sex candy”. Interesting. That was this first thing he uttered when he returned home from work and yes, he was serious. Um, wow. I’m not really sure where in the mental rolodex that one’s going to reside.

UPDATE: Once again, the write-something-on-your-blog-and-the-opposite-happens phenomenon has struck. I just found out I was approved by a another good company. Seriously, what is UP with this phenomenon?!

Burgerama

D’s foray into the world of meat-eating was taken to the highest level last night. Up until this point, he had slowly climbed the mountain of non-vegetarianism- spaghetti with meat sauce (Base Camp), a little steak (Camp I), beef and chicken chili (Camp II), but last night he reached the peak.

His first hamburger in 14 years. 14 YEARS! That’s like the age of most myspacers. Over the past month, we’ve discussed at length where the inaugural burger should come from. Fast food joint? Major restaurant chain? At home? The possibilities were endless!

We decided that my cousin, CJ4, would be the expedition leader. And did he ever take the reigns. These burgers were like 3 inches thick. I think little whoorlito was jealous (or maybe I should say BIG whoorlito- 6 months old and 21 POUNDS). However, the beef itself wasn’t enough for my brave D. Apparently, he wanted to completely rip his innards to shreds so he requested BACON on the burger. That was my job for the evening - official bacon maker. As you can see, I rocked a fantastic white-trash apron (aka paper towel) while completing my task.

The burgers were good. Really good. D ate every last bite and sported a completely rock-hard stomach (not in a good way) for the rest of the evening. But guess who’s paying for it this morning?

ME.

Not cool. Not cool. Although, I must admit my consumption of 4 different kinds of beer over the course of the evening could be a contributing factor. Here’s a helpful Sunday morning tip. Do NOT mix these beers and bacon burgers:

1. Pyramid Hefeweisen
2. Shiner Bock
3. Stella Artois
4. Heineken Light

This could cause major time spent in the loo. I hope you all have a much more pleasant Sunday.

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