Ummm. Hi. Remember us?

It's okay. We wouldn't either.

Well, it's been nearly a year. Fuck. We've clearly gotten lazier -- even for us. And fatter. Although you can't really tell that part via the blogosphere. But trust us. W's doctor and B's latest bridesmaid dress confirm such facts. The anxiety-induced anorexia appears to have transformed into full-blown macaroni-and-cheese-inflicted depression. Whatever, cellulite is hot for '11.

Other than that... Looking back... Nothing else has really changed.

W still has awkwardly inappropriate run-ins with HOBG at the fridge. B still gets regularly harassed by / infuriated with G (although they haven't dated in...oh yeah...a year). W is still a coffee-lugging, copy-wenching assistant... Oh! Here's something new -- B has a new job! She markets things that keep you from shitting your pants! No really, she must say the word "diarrhea" approximately 47 times a day. And you think we make these things up. B also may or may not have experienced slight penetration from a recent bikini wax...which is the most action either of us have received in months. Real talk.

So what spawned the bitch resurrection? Need we repeat the coffee-lugging and pants-shitting part? We needed some creative outlet. And by creative we mean whining. But that's why we started this thing in the first place. And you're obviously still reading it. So eat our macaroni asses.

Now. Where to start? Given that we have a year of aggression pent up in us, we'll just start listing things in life that have been annoying us lately and see where the next few posts take us...

1. Dear Open Letters in Twitter: You are not clever anymore. Once fashion publicists and illiterate teenagers catch on, your once witty phrasing is retired. Sincerely, Us.

2. Messages on dating sites are just as much a first impression as meeting someone in public. You cannot compare us to a Spice Girl and expect a reply...no matter how many times you've read I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell.

3. If you are several years younger than us with better jobs than us, you are never allowed to comment on pop culture. Ever. Say for instance, you're utterly perplexed to why Reese Witherspoon is posing with elephants for Vogue May. Keep it to yourself. You'll just end up embarrassing yourself and pissing us off.

4. The deafening crescendo of our neighbor's new girlfriend's orgasms went from being once a weekend...to once an hour. Have we sufficiently touched upon W's cooter sabbatical?

5. Words of wisdom: Dirty hippie college boyfriends can (and do) eventually clean their shit up. Give them a chance before you toss them aside and they turn out to suddenly have Ph.D.s and rolled-up dress shirts and horn-rim glasses and, ya know, haircuts...and you're the psychotic, sweaty loser with a dead-end job. It happens.

Glad to be back, guys. We promise to keep it up this time, and (god help us) we hope it gets funnier for all our sakes.