RIP, Floyd…

So Darren Criss…

I know you just opened your new show on Broadway. And I really shouldn’t be bothering you when you’re so busy. But I really need to talk to someone, and Juli isn’t here because…I can’t remember. Something about Australia, or its less poisonous cousin New Zealand.  She’s like, there, or something. I don’t know. It has been really hard without her these past couple weeks. I felt so alone. But I always had someone to turn to.

His name was Floyd. And he was sort of our pet spider. Let me preface this by saying that I’m not racist or anything, but I hate spiders. Or at least I did…until Floyd. He had been living in our bathroom since August, and originally I didn’t kill him because I was afraid, and Juli was too busy singing Journey songs to reach behind the sink and extinguish his life force. And I respect that. But I was always checking to make sure I knew where he was, because I knew that if he was behind the sink, he couldn’t be on me. 

And you know what made me grow to appreciate Floyd? He always was behind the sink. He never moved, unless I blew on him, but I only did that once, and I would never do it again. I wouldn’t have done it in the first place, but I’d had too much to drink, and he said I was beautiful. Wait. No. That was someone else. 

Anyway, I always knew where Floyd was. And that made me feel safe. I figured that the odds of there being more than one spider in the bathroom at any given time were pretty small, and as long as I knew his location, I would be fine. It’s kind of like Battleship, really. 

But then Floyd and I drifted apart. I got too comfortable, I guess, and I stopped checking in with him like I used to. Today I thought of my old friend, and decided to drop by. But when I looked behind the sink, I was met with the devastating realization that he was dead. 

And it really bummed me out. High Fives! Catch you later,

Chelsea

Criss-mas

So, Darren Criss, 

I hear that you’re going to New York soon. To be on Broadway. I think that’s cool…but don’t you think maybe you should make some time for your friends before your trip? You know, your real friends. Me. And Juli, I guess. (Mostly me). I could really use some cheering up around the holidays. I guess I just want someone to wish me a Darren Criss-mas. 

Also, my hamster is a big fan, and she would like an autographed picture. I would never stoop to asking for an autographed picture for myself. I think that is just tacky. Especially since we are such close friends. But there is no reasoning with Eleanor, she has her little hamster heart set on it. It sure would make her happy. 

Hey, did I ever tell you the story of how I almost didn’t get a hamster when I was 8? 

I probably did. It’s a good story, I tell all my best friends that story. 

Another good story is how I saw a whale throw up today. At the aquarium. Where I work. 

Well, that’s all for now. High Fives! Catch you later,

Chelsea

PS (Juli not included) 

Fin Coe-tastrophe

So, Darren Criss, I assume you get a lot of mail. And not all of it is from us. Chelsea sent you some cookies. Don’t worry, she didn’t make them herself. And there is NO anthrax in them. She is much too busy working at the aquarium to bake. That’s where she works. The aquarium.

The thing is, according to the U.S. Postal Service, six people live in our apartment. This is untrue. It’s just Chelsea, Juli, and Eleanor Roosevelt. And she’s a hamster. She doesn’t get mail. Well, not much. Well, more than Chelsea and less than Juli. 

It’s not just junk mail either. It’s comic books. The comic books of one Fin Coe. I know you have a lot of experience dealing with people named Finn. But this guy only has one “n”, so it’s like a fin on a fish. Like at the aquarium where Chelsea works. Also, Chelsea says he’s Asian, because she googled him and read his blog and watched his videos. Just the once. But maybe it’s not the same at all. He’s also an actor, so I assume you know each other. Isn’t that how that works? Like how Chelsea knows everyone at the aquarium. And the fish. 

The comic books are Dakken Dark Wolverine. So we can’t even sell them, because they’re worthless. He’s not the real Wolverine. 

Pictured: The real Wolverine.

P.S.- Since you probably know Hugh Jackman, because he’s an actor too, tell him hello for us. He’ll know what it means. Don’t say “Starfish” to him unless you’re looking for a good time though. Chelsea says they’re actually called “sea stars”. She learned that at the aquarium. Juli thinks that’s dumb. Because starfish sounds better. Ugh. Don’t tell Chelsea that she thinks that. Chelsea knows. She doesn’t like to be called stupid.

Juli needs to learn that words can hurt. And Fin Coe needs to forward his mail. 

High Fives! Catch you later,

Juli and Chelsea

P.S.- We checked the comics for genies. No luck.

Philosophy…is the top off a cereal box religion.

So Darren Criss…

I was just wondering: Have you ever had the feeling that you were lost in the woods, because you have no idea where you are, but there are a bunch of trees? 

High Fives! Catch you later!

Chelsea

PS. I work at an aquarium. 

Laundry room 1408….get it?

So…Darren Criss,

Have you ever been frightened for your life while doing laundry? I have. Aside from my phobia of Snuggles the Fabric Softener Bear, which I won’t get into, I have a legitimate concern. I can’t go into the laundry room behind my apartment without feeling like my tetanus booster shot is long overdue. It’s creepy as hell back there. And I just feel like there is no possible way that taking my clothes back there makes them any cleaner. It smells like an old garage. But not in a good way.

Also, I’m pretty sure that my missing socks have been eaten by demons.

High Fives! Catch you later,

Chelsea 

Sponsorships? A little advice please, Darren Criss.

So, Darren Criss, what do you know about sponsorships? Do you have a lot of them? We’re looking for a little advice. You see, we’re pretty our Diet Coke consumption levels are high enough to attract a little corporate attention, if you know what we mean. 

Then again, if aspartame really does cause cancer, we’ve got both feet in the grave. But our dying wish, through the much-lauded Make a Wish Foundation, will be to hang out with you. Don’t worry, we’ll pay for lunch! Do you like sushi? You look like you do. Chelsea doesn’t like sushi, because she works in an aquarium. She’d have to get rice or something. Or sake bombs?

Anyway, we figured we’d send some photos to illustrate how much we deserve a sponsorship. This is how much Diet Coke we’ve had this week. Chelsea is there for scale. And because she’s too drunk to get up. We’re joking, unless you think that’s funny. 

Pictured: One week’s worth of recycling. Don’t worry, before we recycle, we ALWAYS check for genies. 

Aside: we just had to take a break to kill a giant centipede. Well, Juli killed it. Chelsea cleverly screamed in terror to alert Juli to the situation. She’s kinda like Lassie, but she actually is a girl. She’s not played by a boy dog. Or a dog. Actually, she’s not much like Lassie. But they both enjoy a good rawhide bone. And long walks on the beach. REALLY long.

So what are the odds of our apartment getting sponsored? Juli even wrote a song. Chelsea thinks it’s kind of okay. (What does she know? Dogs don’t know anything about music. They hear differently.) 

High fives! Catch you later.

Chelsea and Juli