Tag Archives: sister

Touch my monkey.

27 Oct

With Halloween approaching, my sister and I were recently chatting on Facebook about costumes. She was planning to go as Frida Kahlo, the Mexican painter.

Me: That’s a bit obscure. How would people know?
Alicia: Long wig. Flowy Mexican dress. Uni-brow. Mustache. Monkey.

Me: Got it.

Fortunately, she lives in Ann Arbor, so most of her (well-educated and artistic) friends would be able to put that together. If I tried to pull that off in DC, where things run a bit more political and less cerebral, I think people would just think I was aiming going as a transvestite with a monkey fetish.

A few days later, I chatted her again.

Me: How is the costume progressing?
Alicia: It’s not. Too expensive. I’m at $35 already and I don’t even have the wig or the monkey. Pulling the plug. Besides, I don’t know where I would get a monkey.
Me: What about that monkey you had when we were kids?
Alicia: ???
Me: The puppet. Where you velcroed its arms around your neck and stuck your hand up it?
Alicia: I had this monkey?
Me: Yes. It had a squeaker in its mouth you could squeeze.
Alicia: Sounds like you were jealous of my monkey. You remember it a little too well.
Me: I was. You wouldn’t let me play with it.
Alicia: Had I known, I would’ve worn it around constantly.

Me: No doubt.

And because older sisters never outgrow their urge to taunt and get a rise out of their younger siblings, the next day this is what she posted on my Facebook Wall:

In case you’re curious, her latest costume idea is even better than Frida and would play well anywhere. Any guesses?

That’s right – she’s going as a bad ventriloquist. We’ve already decided that has the potential for sheer comedy after a few glasses of wine.

The best part? She’s been practicing saying, “Who’s your daddy?” through gritted teeth all week, which – even without the puppet – is pretty awesome.

I’ve got your Swiss Cake Rolls right HERE.

9 Sep

With an almost six year age difference between us, my sister and I didn’t have much use for each other when we were growing up. We were kind of like Beezus and Ramona. Fortunately, as adults, through the wonder of modern technology, we’ve discovered that we share the same demented sense of humor.

We often chat each other on Facebook in the evening, discussing scenes or dialogue to include in our screenplay. [Note: we don’t actually have a screenplay, but we’re convinced that if we could just focus, we’d be able to give the Cohen Bros. a run for their money.]

Recently Alicia switched her profile photo to this image of Little Debbie:

So wholesome.

I think the impetus for this was that she had served a box of Swiss Cake Rolls for dinner the night before. (Dinner, not dessert.)

On Facebook chat, the person’s profile photo shows up next to every comment they make, and it was cracking me up to chat with this little farm girl wearing a hat. To enhance the visual exchange, I switched my profile photo to this:

Wholly awesome.

Now whenever we chat, it looks like I’m on brink of punching Little Debbie. Which brings me no end of amusement.

See what I mean:

 <–New profile photo = “Welcome to the gun show. Prepare for some kidney thumping.”

 Little Debbie says, “Eat my Swiss Cake Roll.”

  RR says, “F*ck your Swiss Cake Roll.”

  Now that’s just potty talk there, Miss Rosie.

  Rosie don’t have time for pleasantries.

One situation, two takes.

24 Mar

With her thought process, this is what my sister's sons' braces might look like. Except I have no idea who this kid is.

My parents are coming to visit this weekend, so they hit the road earlier this morning. Around noon I got a message from my mom, calling to tell me that she had just done something and there was sizable chip in one of her front teeth that was large enough to make her self-conscious.

I immediately called my dentist and scheduled an emergency visit for her tomorrow to fix it. Then I emailed my sister and updated her on the situation. This is her response:

My solution would have been to unbend a paper clip and superglue it across her front teeth so it looks like she’s in a temporary set-up from a hockey injury. That’s what they did with me last summer when I broke off the one tooth and bent the two others: bend them back out and glue a wire across to hold everything in place. With all that metal, no one noticed the missing tooth. And if they did, they just though I was badass. Cuz I didn’t give a shit.

My mom should be glad she’s visiting me instead of her other daughter.

And I think we all know who she’s going to want to be her caregiver when she’s too old to dress herself.

You can tell we’re related. And not just because of our humor.

11 Mar

In the middle of my otherwise stressful work day, I checked my personal email and found this gem waiting for me from my sister, who shares my sense of humor:

Last night I had my spinning class and was super gassy. I’ve never done this before, but last night had to go to the bathroom to let off a little pressure because I was getting crampy.  There were 2 girls in there, probably middle-school age.  I go whipping in (trying to hurry so I can get back to class), go in a stall, and though I tried to be quiet, end up ripping some of the largest, squealiest farts.  Then the girls started giggling.  I peed and then had some more gas, which was just as obnoxious.  They whispered and giggled some more.  I went out to wash my hands and figured I had to own it.  I said, “I know.  It’s nasty.  But I figure better here than in class.”  They couldn’t even look at me.

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