Warning: This blog will not induce uncontrollable laughter. Read at your own discretion.

Big sisters are the crab grass in the lawn of life -Charles M. Schulz

So today I got in a fight with my sister. I was in one of those sleeping moments where you could get up from bed and be fine for the rest of the day, or you could continue to sleep for no reason whatsoever. Well, my sister called at that moment. This was not the cause of our argument, and the reason for the argument is not important. But what is important is that I was bitchy and gave her advice that maybe I should have kept to myself. I know right. To be honest, it’s hard being the older sibling and in this case I was a super-bitchy one.

But let’s back this story up. I guess you could call the story of siblings a love story just like any other. My sister is 3 years, 355 days younger than me exactly. Apparently when I was told that I would have a baby brother or sister my entire family was on the way to Put-In-Bay and I asked if the baby would come “Before the boat ride.” Wasn’t I preciously precocious? I don’t remember that, but I do remember when my sister was born. I recall riding to my grandparents’ house in the dark and I was wearing a white and yellow striped shirt with skiing penguins on it. No lie. I remember it clearly.

Then I remember weird things about her infancy. Like when we got our first family picture taken as a four-member group instead of a trio, and I almost dropped her on the floor. Then laying on the floor in her nursery in the pink shag carpet and smelling that pink baby lotion. I also remember when she got to the point when babies cry for long periods of time for no reason and my mom would take her out on our front porch and rock her on our swing…and I would sit in the living room with my fingers in my ears.

Her toddler years were a blur to me and I don’t recall lots about them sadly, but then again I was like seven. She was a unique kid back then to put it mildly. She used to cram several pacifiers in her mouth at once and her clothes were perpetually stained with mustard or, on more interesting days, a sucker might be stuck to her back. She also started wearing her pants low-ride style far before any gangstas did…so don’t be hatin’.

I think we got along ok back then. But then things went downhill pretty fast. Probably from ages six to ten I hated my sister and she hated me. Ok, we didn’t really hate each other. But the domestic violence got pretty nasty. She clawed, I hit, she pulled hair, I kicked. I threw a softball at her head once, and she kicked me in the jaw when I was lying on the floor. Straight out of COPS huh? They probably would have pulled us out of the house in handcuffs kicking and screaming at each other. When I had friends over it seemed to me that she would purposely ruin my life by being a little pest. I would have liked to lock her in a cage and throw away the key. I think our family thought we were like oil and water and would never, ever get along. And I remember people saying “Those girls couldn’t be any more different.” And it’s true. I was pretty sensitive as a kid: quiet, artistic, prone to having my feelings hurt. But my sister was a “firecracker” to put it mildly. Or as our grandparents may have said “That girl is full of piss and vinegar.” She was very social, stubborn, and didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. And maybe that’s why I hated her so much. She was all the stuff I didn’t have an ounce of. The big sister is supposed to be the tough one and I probably envied her.

Things mellowed out as we got older and we were just less interested in each other. She was popular in school and I wasn’t so much, but it didn’t seem to matter. People still couldn’t believe we were related (“You’re not step-sisters?”), and we were more different than ever. Then I went away to college, and things began to change. It’s the epitome of “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” And being three hours away and not seeing her for weeks, sometimes months, began to be more difficult.

I think that’s when I realized that she was my ultimate best friend because she knew more about me and had more shared history with me than anyone else could or would ever have. She’s the only one who could ever truly understand the weird oddities of our family or appreciate little quirks about our childhood. We both love the classic rock of our young days and have the same laughs at our made up games as kids. We can remember the names of each other’s Barbies and exactly what we used to chose for our Happy Meals (I got a hamburger with only ketchup, she got nugs with hot mustard sauce). I know that despite shared pasts some siblings just won’t get along or don’t have a similar bond, and I’m very lucky that I finally realized that I have that with my sister. I sometimes find myself pitying only children because in the future as our parents get older I’m going to need her to lean on. As much as I want to give her advice and be the big sister who takes care of everything, she’s pretty tough herself and I’m going to need that.

So now that my sister and I are essentially grown-ups, we get along better than we have since those early days when I tried to get her out of her bassinet while my mom was in the shower. That was not a wise choice as a four-year-old. We have our differences still (I like trashy reality shows, she berates me for it), but she’s half the reason I decided not to move too far away from home when I graduated. I need someone to dominate Classic Rock Catch Phrase with and somebody that will shout out why the song is important (because my dad played it while we were riding in his old rattle-trap MG convertible). So this is for her as an “I’m sorry for being a jerky, know-it-all older sister” and a “Happy 22nd Anniversary of the Day we Met.” i'm proud of you and I love ya Malooch!

Movin’ On Up, To The East Side

Much of my blog posts in the last year have focused on my quest for a job and the things I did to pass the time after moving back home. Well, I’ve made some progress! I don’t have a job yet, but my friend/platonic husband/domestic partner got one and I made the move with him. It was sort of in the works for awhile and will most likely afford me more opportunities in my professional field. So I did it. It’s done!

So where did I move? Let’s play a guessing game! 1) It’s a decently sized-city…and because there are many of those in the contiguous 48 states I will say it’s 2) near a body of water. Seattle? No. New York City? Nope. San Francisco? Uhn-uh. Miami? Nein. You’re probably thinking...Oh God let it be at least Myrtle Beach or something to which I would say …Oh no! Much colder. Yes…I have moved to Cleveland. The Mistake on the Lake. But don’t you dare call it that. Considering the other city I wanted to move to has been known as Shittsburgh, I would say I have a penchant towards things that need fixed. Let’s hope that doesn’t end up including men and used cars. But I do love rust-belt cities and I’m very excited to live here. It’s no cosmopolitan place…but when you think about all the rats and garbage in NYC it’s not that perfect either.

One of the best things about my new ‘hood is that I can literally walk to a drug store, coffee shop, movie theater, Goodwill, and lots of awesome restaurants. Also if I’ve got five dollars burning a hole in my pocket there’s a Subway right around the corner. We also can see the rapid trains from our apartment door, so I finally live near really great public transit! There’s also a two story Target not far away…you should see how you get your cart to the second floor. An amazing feat of engineering.

One of my favorite things to do is learn a new city and if that didn’t involve actually moving my shit to a new one I would do it every few years. I like learning the best pizza places and bars for happy hour. I enjoy finding the local grocery stores and getting a new library card. And I also love driving around and figuring out the best way to get places so you can talk about it with other locals later. But that is proving to be a challenge for me because my ‘hood has some panic-inducing intersections to contend with. You think I’m a wuss? No no no…these intersections have like 5 streets coming together and complicated signage that is supposed to help but only makes me cry out in horror “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” So I usually just pray that I’m behind someone who knows that their doing…regardless if it’s the way I need to go. But I’m slowly figuring it out. Trial and error can be a fun game if you’re patient enough…which is a virtue I’m trying my best to attain.

Other fun things that have happened:
•We broke our built-in microwave the first night we were here. How? I dunno… but when they came to replace it this week they did so while I was sleeping and I had no idea the repair man was in my apartment. We essentially had an intruder and I continued to sleep. That bodes well for me I think.
•My roommate’s cat vomited on my bed…and I think I might be slightly allergic to him. It makes me very sad. :(
•We essentially painted our entire apartment the first week, and let me tell you, these are some INTENSE colors. But I love it. I’m so damn tired of painting though. I kept pitying my grandfather because he used to be a house painter for a living. How did you do it grandpa? How?
•There’s a pizza/pasta place by our apartment called Capitan Tony’s…and it’s owned by a middle-aged Asian man. The day we signed our lease my dad came with us and then we went to Capitan Tony’s for dinner…and my dad and “Capitan Tony” became great friends He even made us complimentary chicken wings to entice us back.
•The first grocery shopping trip we went on was to a store really close to the apartment. We took our sustainable reusable bags and went over…thoroughly intoxicated by the walkability of our new lives. It was all well and good until we bought waaaay too much stuff…including beer and milk. I really would have liked to see us walking home, from the perspective of an onlooker. We were walking really fast then adjusting the bags, then cursing because our arms were dying under the weight of canned goods. At one point we walked up to the rapid train tracks and I just kept walking to which my roommate said “Aren’t you going to look both ways!?” I replied “Well either the weight of these bags or the train is going to kill me…so just keep going!” It was a good lesson in buying less food more often.
•We got a speeding ticket already. I won’t say which of us…because it doesn’t matter. We just did. Then we saw the cop the next day at Walmart. He’s super hot.
•We’ve watched Jeopardy every night and kept score like we always told each other we’d do when we moved in together. A couple times we’ve been drunk…which always makes it more fun. And we’ve gotten in fights already about it. This week is the College Tournament of Champions, which automatically is very exciting because we will know more answers! It’s going to be a really fun week during the Teen and Kids Tournaments.

Well…that’s a good beginning to Cleveland I think. There will be many more stories to share and bars to report on. Thanks to those who have read my blog when my life was a little less interesting and independent. I’ll try to keep my thoughts coming and snarkier than ever.