Friday, September 09, 2005

I don' t think you're ready for this jelly

I don't think I'm ready for Dan Barry.

I don't think you're ready for such cuteness.


* * *

My extended family is kind of, I don't know... difficult is such a colossal understatement. Which makes me appreciate my immediate family even more. Not to say we all don't have our moments (stories about my father could produce an entire separate blog's worth of material, and once had my friend Jim in such hysterics he may or may not have wet his undies. Also, S. used to tell same said stories at keg parties in college, making my father the MOST POPULAR FRAT GUY ON CAMPUS!, years before "Jackass," even though no one had ever met him and he lived several hours away. When I visit my cousins, we have Olde Fashioned Story Time round the fireplace, where we all tell our favorite tales about my father. It's really that bad. Or good.)

Anyways, besides my insane papa, one of the longest relationships I've had with a member of the opposite sex has lasted for 26 fucking years. A LONG 26 years. In some ways, it's the worst and most abusive relationship I've ever been in - resulting in bruises the size of grapefruits, emotional distress beyond comprehension, and an annual salary's worth of therapy that we both need but will never get. Dude once chased me with a knife, TRU STRY. Also, he was a biter when he was younger, and several people have scars to prove it.

As adults, we don't talk often because we don't have much in common and do not live in the same city. Bad things: we passive-aggressively needle and roll our eyes at each other when we are together. He's a total tattletale. I'm a total grudge-holder. He says I am an uppity bitch and I say he is a mainstream poser. Of course, if anyone else said such things we would launch total Mortal Kombat style kung-fu attack. Good things: We know the same movie quotes, have very similar senses of humor, he likes Kim Deal, and ON RARE OCCASSION the boy will put down whatever asshat jam-band music he is listening to and take advice from me ("hey, that Hold Steady album is really good!" ((MY EYES ROLLED OUT MY NOGGIN.)) )

Also, we share genetic code-type shit.

It probably has not been easy to be my brother. I'm sure my America's Top Model Beauty and brain so advanced it processes quantam physics problems in mere milliseconds is a bitch to live up to. Even with these challenges, my brother has grown into more than just a freakishly tall young man.

He is a solid tennis player. He is smart, and has a memory that is to kill for. He is witty, is an extremely hard worker (unlike his big sis, who is pictured in Wikipedia if you type in "sitting on potential" or "winging it.") He is incredibly likable, great with dogs, and goes to my 6-year old cousins baseball games just to cheer him on. He has the ugliest feet you have ever seen (seriously, his second toe is longer than my INDEX FINGER. It is so weird.) He dresses like a total fratty-frat boy- He'd probably wear puka shell necklaces if people (ie, me) didn't mock him, but we can overlook all that. His dating record has been total pap, but is finally dating a smart girl who I love and I want her to stick around forever. For a big sister to say this, it is amazing, because usually no one is good enough (and DEFINITELY not good enough was the brainless 17 year old Britney/dance major in a glitter thong who told my mom "she must live under a rock for not having heard of Weezer," when my mom was in the kitchen holding a KNIFE. She also called my father "daddy" the first time she met him. STEP. OFF. Anyways, we love current girlfriend.) He is willing to ask for help when he needs it, and is not stubborn. He is patient with my mother. He has nice eyes. He is honest to a fault, and respects women. He let me push him down the stairs in laundry baskets when he was little, just to see what would happen. He works as a Big Brother to inner city kids who he lets beat him in basketball, and he can probably cure lupus with a simple handshake. He's a great guy, and I'm proud of him.

So- he won't read this, because I respect his opinion and therefore don't tell him much about my life, including the fact that I am an internet phenom, but- happy birthday to my baby brother, a very old 26 come Sunday. In case anyone's keeping track, he has the misfortune of sharing his day with 9-11. Unlike me, who would have held that over the Taliban's head for the REST OF MY LIFE, he is so like: nonchalant and caring and whatever about it, because people DIED and it's just a birthday. (If you don't turn 26, the terrorists win.) Really, he's much nicer than me. You'd love him.

9 comments:

the Nabob said...

Was the picture of your dog taken on a 70's porn set. Whats with the wood paneling?

The Governess said...

Guy, it's YOUR beach house.

catherine said...

weird - that's my little brother's birthday too. and i love him just as much. that was really sweet.

The Governess said...

And to think I used to be jealous of a 9-11 birthday, because my birthday was always the day we had to return to school from Christams break, and my slumber parties got snowed out every year.

brett said...

as a 9/14 b-day myself (that's right, my 21st was a National Day of Mourning), i can def understand the non-chalantness. seriously, what's getting all worked up about it going to do? henceforth, i have a crappy birthday every 5 years. there are worse things.

catherine said...

ME TOO, G. january, i presume?

tom said...

I have an awesome birthday: feb 15. Attention is conveniently distracted from whatever lackluster romantic overtures I make the day before. I usually get to stay out of the doghouse as a result, which is all I really want for my birthday anyway.

It helps that Catherine takes birthdays way seriously.

The Governess said...

Jan. 2. I get regifts from christmas, still with bits of wrapping paper, and everyone has a giant hangover and doesn't recover in time to celebrate. AND, organized people who write such things down, actually have to rememebr to turn their calendars. Luckily, I don't take birthdays very seriously. I'm chill like that. My mother still gets me a gift every June, otherwise I'd be wearing sweaters in August swelter. I HAVE SO. MANY. SWEATERS.

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