Monday, May 28, 2012

It was always strange to me how "this little piggy" didn't have separation anxiety

One day, the little sister, Delaney, and I were driving down the street when we saw a very old man pushing a wheelchair and in it was a very old woman. He was in trousers and a button up cardigan, buttoned all the way up to his nose hairs, and she had a pink shawl around her shoulders and a cute little basket weaved hat with a flower in it. Just like every old couple should be. Yes. Delaney and I both go, "Awwwwww" and then we continue on our drive.

It's kinda quiet, she hasn't decided to blast a Katy Perry song just yet, so I take this moment to lay some sisterly bonding down. "Delaney, when I'm old..." she's already cracking up. To her, me being 22 is OLD. Like ancient. And it's her favorite thing to tell me that I'm 40.

She's 13 and she thinks she can get away with it. Well, she can't. Today I came prepared,
"When I'm 90, you'll be 81."
She stops laughing, "That's not cool."
Ha Ha. I continue, "When I'm 90, and you're 81, will you push me in a wheelchair like that?"
"Uh, sure... of course."
"Good. I'm going to wear a bikini so I can get sweet grandma tan lines."
Delaney finally stops laughing, considers this and holds out her pinkie finger towards me, "Fine." she says.

Then we do the handshake that she created when she was 3. That is why I love my little sister. Yes, there are millions of other reasons, but this one I'm documenting. For sentimental reasons and mainly so I can remind Delaney that I have proof.

Just a few minutes ago we skyped before she had to go to bed, and when we turned the cameras on we busted out laughing because the first thing we saw was that we were both rocking the crazy pony tail, sticking up in the air, every which way and eating pizza. We're more alike than I feared.

Delaney has been my own personal Barbie doll since the moment she was born. With two younger brothers, I was practically bargaining my skip-it and beanie babies for a little sister. Telling God I'd never boil cabbage and use the water to convince my brothers it's blue Gatorade... again.

I like unassuming and creative forms of revenge.


Me: You have a Twitter?!? What for??
D: So I can see what Justin Bieber is up to.

Of course. Why didn't I think of that. I've been using Twitter for the wrong reasons, clearly.

I've had a Twitter for a few years now, I got one when I was living in China as another way to tell everyone about my adventures. This didn't last too long, as I had a Chinese cellphone with me and it lacked certain capabilities (smart phones were just beginning to show their uprising). So there's a whole 10 tweets from that period of my life. I come in and out of phases of utilizing Twitter. And by "utilizing" I mean that my posts consist of mainly hockey, food, Harry Potter, and the painful burden of being a big sister.

Like taking Colton to Studio Movie Grill, where you order food while you watch a movie at table with reclining chairs. We get there early and Colton looks around, and I already know what he's about to do... "What happens if I press this button... ?" the smirk across his face is insane as he lets his pointer finger hover over the call box for when you need to summon your server. Well, the lights are still on in the theater as people are still filing in and finding seats, people sit to my left and Colton's right, this doesn't phase him. Colton looks at me, and I'm struggling to say anything because 1- I already know the joke 2- I know he's been dying to say this for ages, given the opportunity, and 3- It's funny. Colton smiles at me and quietly (not really that quite) shouts a terribly botched gurgle of accents and then sharply draws his pointer finger down, directly on to the call box button. He then looks at me, my hand over my forehead in dismay, and he says very matter of factly, "I just blew up Africa,". I'm trying not to laugh and encourage him, but he adds, "and if our waiter takes any longer I'll detonate Guam while I'm at it!  ---- Oh heyyyyyyy, I was just saying I'd like a hamburger." Perfect cue for our waiter to show up.


Then Colton said something about the people sitting next to us smelling like soup, which I thought was absurd, until I realized he was right. And then the soup lady opened her mouth and her voice sounded exactly like what celery would sound like if it could talk, so we had to move down a few chairs. Of course, this meant that Colton had to press the "new" call box button... same waiter... less amused.

I can't take him anywhere.


Lily Two by Matt Pond PA is one of those songs that I keep coming back to, year after year.

Monday, May 21, 2012

Don't worry, the spider is smaller than you. Yeah, so is a grenade.

I had a realization while at the grocery store earlier this week, and no, it wasn't that I'm too old for Fruit by the Foot, because I'm not and quite frankly I don't give a damn if I am. I'd like to see you pry the box from my hands.

I realized that I only have 2 phone numbers memorized. TWO. And then my mind went racing through all of the scenarios that any normal, sane individual would and it finally landed on this alarming scenario: If I was kidnapped and somehow able to spastically flail around and either A) injure the kidnappers B) free myself or C) injure myself and then the kidnappers feel sorry for me and let me go out of pity - and make it to a phone, I would be forced to call either my mother - which would suck because 1. She would freak out and that would make me freak out even more and then we'd cry. Or 2. She wouldn't answer. Not on purpose, but because the woman leaves her phone on silent for decades in the depths of her mom purse amidst the crayons and crackers. Honestly, we're all 13+ so crackers don't do much to calm my nerves anymore... but yes... I do want a peppermint... And then when she realizes that her phone has been blowing up, she calls back the second I set my phone down and walk out of the room. Then I miss the call by last ring (Hello? HELLO?!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What did you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?! So, there's option A. Mom and solid reasoning why this option is flawed.

Then there is the dreaded option B) An Ex Boyfriend. There are plenty of other people I'd rather call to come save me/kick ass/find my little brother Colton and have him come kick ass, but unfortunately, it's been pointed out to me that I do not have Jack Bauer, Bear Grylls or The Fonz's phone numbers. And only one of those people actually exists.

Please do not send old Kiefer Sutherland to free me, that man still scares me from his vampire days in The Lost Boys.

So, I would call the Ex and I'm sure he'd come save me and then I'd say something snarky, per usual, once we're safe and on the run. Like suggesting that he could use his ears to fly us to safety... then he'd probably threaten to take me back to the kidnappers himself. There isn't an option 2 to this scenario unless he chose to bring my brother and in that case our adventure home would probably resemble a mash up of Kangaroo Jack and Homeward Bound...

And that's what I was thinking about whilst at the grocery store in the produce section, deciding on whether or not to get raspberries or blueberries for breakfast tomorrow. I chose both.

It might just be me, but I enjoy going to the grocery store. Some how everything can be solved when I go to the grocery store. Everything that I need at that particular point in time is right there. Unless, it's midnight and you need something from the pharmacy, then you're screwed. But seriously, everything is organized with signs to guide you, it's the least stressful chore there is. That's not to say that things can't go wrong, just because you write it on a list doesn't mean that it magically jumps into the basket or makes it off the hood of your car because you left it there when putting the groceries away. I'm referring to the box of Fruit by the Foot that caught your eye and the decision to eat one before even starting the car. I'm good at making grocery lists that never actually make it to the grocery store.

Oh, and rambling about absolutely nothing of any significant value.


Make Believe by The Graduate

Monday, May 7, 2012

If I won a medal at the Olympics, I'd definately shout STARS during the national anthem.

That one time that I went off on a tangent about hockey a few posts back? Right here.

My dad works in construction and he used to receive "Thank You" gifts from different contractors, vendors, bosses, clients etc. One lucky day they gave him Dallas Stars hockey tickets and so began my NHL dreams.

Growing up, I was never much of a sports fan, even though the Dallas Cowboys game was always on the tv. I never got into football. I actually went to Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader Camp some 3 years in a row between the ages of 9 and 11 and the only thing I could tell my dad was how the salt and pepper are married. This was a direct quote from the "Little Miss Manners" portion that taught me when someone asks for the salt, you politely accompany the pepper and vice versa.

Let's take a moment to acknowledge this as the sweetest rule to ever apply to condiments. Maybe salt misses pepper and maybe pepper just isn't the same without salt. It's adorable, come on, stop making that gagging noise, sheeeeesh. Oh, and Troy Aikman set next to me and had the rudest table manners. Elbows on the table and everything. tsk tsk. But I got the cute costume, so in some realm it was worth it.

Yes, I can appreciate a good live game of any sporting variety. Let's exclude golf unless I get to drive the cart and have an Arnold Palmer in my hand at all times. A Drunk Arnold, if you will. Watching baseball on TV is not my idea of fun either, partially because I don't know all of the ends and outs, like why it matters that this pitcher did this or how a roster move affected the whole game or why aren't they all chewing Big League Chew?!

This is also why the roomie and I like watching sports with our guy friends that live a building over from us. Bert and Ernie, we'll call them. We can ask them all of he dumb sports questions we want and not be embarrassed. When we don't care about the team, they let us root for which ever team we think is cuter. This is why we cheered every time they showed Tom Brady's tush during the Super Bowl.

I know you're rolling your eyes, but we picked up the pizza and brought over beer, we're the best Super Bowl companions you could ask for. But if you put the Stars game on the little TV on the elliptical at the gym, I'll probably have to be carried out on a stretcher because I'll run for 3 hours.

There would be days when I was late to school because I was "sick" when actually it was because my dad was gifted tickets to a weeknight Stars game and OF COURSE I wanted nothing more than to go. Get home at midnight, no way I can make it to elementary school. Life's tough. No ponies for me, just mullet-having men knocking the teeth out of each other. Dad took me to every game he could get his hands on, bought me dozens of Stars hats (I don't wear hats), taught me the basics, and to always cheer when anyone from San Jose got the snot knocked out of them. I even had my first hockey swear. Every Dad's dream for his little girl, right?

Hockey was our thing. With younger brothers that played football non-stop, I was lucky to find a sports niche all my own. No one was more excited when Dallas won the Stanley Cup in '99. Thanks to my dad's sweet work swag, I was at dozens of playoff games in '98 and again in '99 leading up to the Cup win.

I know I'm from Texas and this is Cowboy country and blahblahblah.

Now, if only I could fit into my old Zubov jersey.


Round And Round by Imagine Dragons. My new music obsession.This whole CD has been on repeat for weeks. Thank me later.