Brother-sister interactions
As I was sorting through photos the other day, I came across some that were taken on Father’s day that I had totally forgotten about. My mother took most of these photos while we weren’t paying attention, so it really shows what we’re like on a day to day basis, e.g., a collective base of immaturity.
It’s so awesome how well we get along.
Like botox, only better
The other day, I made my dad sit through an episode of Hannah Montana with me. My brother is probably going to kill me, drag my body out of the ground and then nail my guns on a steel post just for writing this—ON THE INTERNETS, no less—but he usually watches Hannah Montana with me.
Unfortunately for him (and believe me, after the kids at his school find out he watches Hannah Montana, it will be unfortunate for him), he has been 500 kilometers away from home all week and otherwise incapable of watching a tween show with his adult sister. So naturally, to replace the deep-seated loss of my Hannah Montana watching companion, I found another: my dad.
He sat through the entire thing without making even so much as a comment. And when it was over, the first thing he said was, wow. Followed by, how old are the kids watching this supposed to be again?
“It’s called recapturing your youth,” I told him smartly. “It’s like botox, only better!”
And really, if you think about it, Hannah Montana and botox have a couple things in common…
- They’re both super popular in show business.
- Some people love them, some people hate them.
- Once you start—providing you enjoy experience—you’ll keep going back for more.
- There is a certain stigma involved in admitting you indulge in either.
- They both leave your face frozen in a certain expression for a little while afterwards.
- Some people will tell you they’re harmful to your health.
- They both provide an element of temporary “youthfulness”.
Hannah Montana and botox! You heard it here first.
Brother becomes an entrepreneur, makes a 60% return on his investment
Internet, I would like you to meet my brother.
Some may know him as the boy who uses his sister for target practice. Other may remember him as the boy who doesn’t bathe. But now, you will remember him as the gun-shooting, non-bathing entrepreneurial hustler who has just leveraged $25 to make $40.
Did I mention he’s only 13?
Let me explain how he did this.
Sometimes, I bet he wishes he wasn’t related to me
For the last two weeks, my brother has been on spring break. Having him home all day, every day, has made me realize how much I missed him since he started school in September.
Of course he’s going to be mortified that I am telling the internet that I missed him, kind of like how he’ll be mortified (most likely for me) when I tell you that I frequently trick and/or attempt to bet/bribe him for hugs. By the way? I suck at tricking, betting, AND bribing, so I just settle for telling all the old ladies at church that he ABSOLUTELY! LOVES! HUGS! And you should see the murderous looks he sends my way when that happens.
According to him, staying at home was “boring” and he was “really looking forward to school tomorrow”. I can see why he would think this, because you what sucks? Having a forced two week vacation from school where you use your sister for target practice and play video games all day. And by the way? I’ve been helping him mod his nerf guns so the ‘bullets’ hurt more when they hit me. AM I THE BEST SISTER ON THE PLANET OR WHAT.
Point, missed.
The scene: It’s family time. I’m showing my father my iPhone, while my brother is showing my mother his PSP. He’s customized it to have the exact same kind of interface as the iPhone. It does a lot of the same things an iPhone does. My brother and my mother are currently surfing the internet on it.
My mother: “Bring up her blog. What did she write on that thing now?”
My brother, pretending to read out loud: “I hate my life. I hate my mom. I’m really sorry I got an iPhone, because Denzil’s PSP is just so much cooler. This will be my last post here. Save the flies. I hate my life. The birds are dying. I’m going to kill myself now.”
My mother: “… DID SHE REALLY WRITE ‘I HATE MY MOM’?!!”
More comic relief from my brother
Talking about a piece of gum that dropped on the floor:
“I’m going to go wash this.”
“Don’t wash it! It will only turn sticky.”
“I washed a cookie I dropped on the floor once…”
“Denzil, washing doesn’t help everything.”
“I know… that’s why I don’t take baths anymore.”
It’s moments like these that make me proud to have him as a brother
9:30 pm, over instant noodles I just cooked for the two of us:
Me: “Denzil… Do you ever wish your butt was bigger?”
My brother: “Do you ever wish your butt was *smaller*?“
The war on pseudo moths, Part III
Last night, a mosquito took advantage of me in my sleep.
He (because I unconsciously associate despised insects to the male gender) no doubt watched me sleep before deciding to strike—and just shortly before 3am, strike he did. Three times on my back and once on my cheek in fact. Bastard? I think so. Your sucker needle in my cheek was uncalled for.
In other fluttery creature news, my brother has found a new hobby: scaring living daylights out of me. It all started one sunny day not too long ago when we were out in the yard. I was taking pictures for layout ideas (incidentally, the header image of this layout was taken in this shoot) and he was… doing something else.
I should halt the progression of this tale to inform you that my fear strong dislike of moths is not limited to the ugly brown variety. As far as I’m concerned, anything even slightly resembling the moth is a moth. This, naturally, includes butterflies. They might be prettier than their night flying relatives, but they’re just as scary. And dangerous. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.
So I’m minding my own business, looking through the lens of my camera and happily clicking away when I spot a white butterfly coming straight for me. Purely by natural instinct, I scream and duck. My brother laughs at my behavior. “You’re afraid of BUTTERFLIES?” He asked in tone only a younger brother can use when he has seen his older, fully grown sister duck and scream from something an mere two inches big.
I shoot him a nasty glare, but shake it off and go back to photographing things. Not too long after, I feel a fluttery sensation on my bare shoulder.
A fluttery sensation.
There is only one thing I associate to fluttery, and it starts with a big, ugly, brown ‘m’. This is not good.
Naturally, I let out a blood curling scream, jump to the side and turn around accusingly. I was ready to beat that butterfly into oblivion for using me as a landing pad, so imagine my surprise (and rapidly increasing anger) when the “butterfly” in question is actually a bamboo leaf being held by my treacherous brother, his face displaying a huge grin that suggested he found the whole situation amusing.
I was sorely tempted to sock him one.
You see, I have a very sensitive back. I’ve never had a back massage that didn’t cause me pure anguish. When people touch my back unnecessarily—particularly my spine—I get all skirmish and highly sensitized. The idea of something as disgusting and foul as a moth landing on my bare back is utterly revolting.
Of course, now that my brother has discovered this, he has been pseudo-moth attacking me at every given opportunity, and dammit to all, I can’t help but scream every single time. After having my room taken over by moths last summer and being attacked by several others a year later I am prepared for anything. The prospect that a seemingly innocent light fluttery sensation on my bare shoulder could, in fact, be a five inch month waiting to suck out my soul is not all that far fetched to me.
In other news, I’m buying an IKEA mosquito net canopy to go over my bed as soon as the workers at the closest IKEA decide to end their strike and go back to work. I’m done with being molested in my sleep or getting up at ungodly hours of the night to kick moths out of my room in fear of accidentally swallowing them or something.
So moths? Bring it, bitches.
(Just wait until I get the mosquito net first)