Favorite Toy

People often ask what was your favorite toy growing up, and I rarely answer with the truth. I don’t think people will get it, it will turn awkward when I try to explain. But here, in the privacy of my blog, I will admit, Ethan was my favorite toy. Now I know many people with siblings will laugh at this. For me, it's true. He was always entertaining. Looking back, Ethan may not have always appreciated my feelings. He may have known that I would become a thorn in his side, which would explain why he ran me over with his big wheel when I was brought home from the hospital. “Hi Baby Sister” Bump, Bump. It was the first of many vehicle accidents that were not my fault.
Family and friends will say we became close cause our parents divorced, but in reality we lost each other a few years after they divorced, just two trauma victims living in the same house. It was our younger years that cemented the relationship together allowing us to become friends when we got older. The middle years were a little rough.
When we were young our best friends were cousins and lived next door to each other. The four of us were always together. Getting into mischief. Be it playing under the porch (where Quinn gave me my first kiss) or running around in the back forty. I enjoyed getting him in trouble, but then always felt bad when he got sent to his room. Or maybe I just got lonely. I would then sit outside his bedroom door and sing “Ethan… Ethan… Ethan come out and play” Eventually he would sit in his bedroom and me outside the door and we would play. I remember talking to him thru the bedroom walls at the house in Gillette, we would keep going till Dad made it to the top of the stairs, versus just yelling at us from the landing. There was a day when Quinn and Ethan convinced me to ride my bike down the railroad tracks. I don’t know that I had ever been that scared, but no way was I going to let the two boys know that. Of course, it was evident when crying I refused to cross the train trestle. In my defense, the planks were farther apart then my feet. We rode for hours, I knew we were lost. Yet Ethan was positive he knew the way home. Finally we found the road. At the top of the big hill leading into town. Riding down was like flying, didn’t even have to touch the pedals of my bike, just sailed like the wind. Worth every moment of terror.
We use to jam out to Def Leppord and Huey Lewis and the News. Every day was an adventure. Be it playing Monopoly with Aunt Crystal for hours (OK, fine, DAYS) on end, or Duck Hunt on Nintendo at the Treptow’s. Riding our bikes to the beach or having grilled cheese sandwiches at G’ma V’s. All of my best childhood memories have Ethan in them.
Dad use to take us on camping trips. Once to Canada, where the only things I remember from the trip is the McDonald cookie package was written in French, we each got to pick out a toy (I chose My Little Pony, Ethan got a Transformer that I couldn’t play with) and we each got these little teddy bears with t-shirts that have the Canadian flag on them. We played with those teddy bears all the way back home. Road trips with Mom, singing to the oldies station. Our first concert, Poison and Warrant. Climbing rocks at state parks, family game nights. Ethan taking a HUGE drink of Ed’s drink, thinking it was his Kool-aid. It was not, as he spit it promptly out all over the table. Watching ‘CHiPS’ on TBS. Sunday mornings with classical music and donuts.

I also remember him being with me the first time I stayed out all night. Going camping with his friends, who will always know me as ‘Ethan’s little sister,’ which lead to learning that the forest rangers will leave an abundance of orange notes telling you that you are a bear hazard. Trying to find his place in Madison, and being horribly lost. Drinking in Madison. Sleepover’s at the Treptow’s. Playing in G’ma Fern’s hayloft.
Sure I may have irritated him to no end, it’s genetically programmed into all younger sisters. When I flip thru the mental images of my life, Ethan still comes up as my favorite toy, with a side of safety blanket. Yet how do you explain all that to someone who asks a simple question, so I usually go with My Little Pony or Strawberry Shortcake, all little girls loved them. It is SO much easier to explain.

A demonic bunny haunts me

Most days I enjoy being a girl. I like being pretty and feminine, I like not having to kill bugs (though I can if the situation presents itself), I like high heels and smelling pretty, I like flirting with cute boys. I definitely like being a girl. But some days, some days I could do without. Like the days when my emotions seem to be controlled by a demonic bunny. When I swing between wanting to curl up with my stuffed monkey and wanting to unleash the fury of nuclear warheads upon those around me.
I may need to create some type of sign, beware, crazy girl in vicinity. Let the world know that at any moment I may cry or hit. No way of actually projecting which will occur. It starts out simple enough. I wake up, maybe I’m a little tired, maybe I had a dream that make me feel squishy. Then I go about my day. Suddenly everything that is being said is being decoded to mean something else. The problem is my decoder ring is defective. “Have a nice day.” Is secret code for, “I know your day is going to suck and it makes me smile on the inside.” Or “Nice pants” means “I find it hilarious how big your ass looks in those.” The examples go on and on, but you get the drift. EVERYONE is mean, and my reaction is to either burst into tears or to hit them. So I walk around all day on the verge of an emotional breakdown. Living for tomorrow when the demonic bunny goes back to sleep. Since I’m in the middle of my demonic bunny possession I’ve been pondering random thoughts. Trying to keep myself and others safe.
Some things I would like answers on:
At this point, is there an abundance of men who are not aware that Calais exists? Based on the amount of commercial time used to advertise it, I’m going to say yes. Which is odd, since American’s watch a lot of TV, so I would have thought everyone is well aware that a little pill will fix erective dysfunction, assuming they don’t have a heart attack in the process? (Taking a moment to tip a glass to G’ma). All I know is I’m bored with all the commercials about being ready when the time is right. Also, who are these people that frolic in separate bathtubs in the back yard? Or get turned on by looking in the refrigerator. What is in there???
HDTV commercials. If I don’t have an HDTV showing me how awesome the will look is, the purpose of the commercial is lost on me. If I have an HDTV showing the commercial is redundant. I find these commercials to be useless.
Shooting fish in a barrel. Why are there fish in a barrel, and if they are in a barrel, why shoot them? Just grab one out. Shooting them, pardon the pun is overkill.
All dressed up with nowhere to go.. why did you dress up? When I have nowhere to go, I stay in my pajamas all day. I assumed everyone did this; do people really get dressed up when they don’t need to?
Monies, it is not a word. Money is both plural and singular. I remember learning this in school. Why has it changed? Monies is a stupid word. It sounds stupid, it looks stupid. It is stupid. I refuse to acknowledge that it exists except for right now, when I’m talking about how stupid it is.

Indiana is not my favorite state. Here are some laws that I feel support why Indiana and I do not get along:
• If any person has a puppet show, wire dancing or tumbling act in the state of Indiana and receives money for it, they will be fined $3 under the Act to Prevent Certain Immoral Practices.
• Smoking in the state legislature building is banned, except when the legislature is in session.
• Baths may not be taken between the months of October and March.

Magic Monkeys

I wanted to start a blog for a couple of reasons, one I am happiest when I am writing and two I have some weird and messed up stories. What I forgot to add to the equation is that I’m easily distracted and scatterbrained. Well maybe not scatterbrained, I just have a thousand thoughts at one time, so it’s hard for me to settle on one. It is a struggle to pull one thought out and stick with it.

Do I write about the weird interactions I have had with people. This would be a good transition into the guy who asked me to pee on him, or do I talk about my dysfunctional family some more. I have Grandma stories that can go on forever.

I could tell horrific stories of past relationships, how my ex thought it was normal to pass out on the toilet. I could talk about how my brain works, giving more examples as to why blogging may be beyond my capacity. For example the other day I spent way too much time designing a sliding bookshelf as a door into a bathroom. This would be from the library into a guest bathroom. Since I don’t have a house with a library, I had to first design the house, then the library, then the logistics of the door. If it operates on the premise that the door opens by sliding a book out, how do I look it from the inside, so that people didn’t walk in on one another. There is nothing worse than when someone walks in on you in the bathroom, though the conversation is always the same. They apologize for doing it, and you sa it’s ok. When it really isn’t. No one finds it ok to be walked in on in the bathroom, it is not socially acceptable. What was I talking about? Oh yes idea’s for a blog, I could tell a story about how sometimes I randomly fall down. Or that awkward moment on a date when you are trying to decide, handshake, kiss or hug.

Instead I think I will tell a story about something that happened at work today. But first I need to set the scene, at work I am a full fledge adult. I work in Corporate America; most of my days are spent running or attending meetings. Which means I have to be knowledgeable and articulate. I have to inspire confidence that I understand what is going on, help find solutions to ongoing issues, develop and maintain plans. All things that are very adult, no day dreaming or childhood whimsy involved. Most days this takes all my energy to do, but I manage to get it done. I need to take a moment to admit that I’m normally sarcastic and have a dry sense of humor. I deal with stress and tension by being inappropriate. So sometimes it’s an effort to not make jokes about kicking bunnies and snaggletooth people. Most days. Today was not one of those days.

During one of my meetings today we were having a discussion about some unachievable deadlines. A suggestion was made that was to me rather ludicrous. I responded with ‘well that will only happen if we get some magic monkey’s in here.’ As soon as it was said, the quietness descended, I tried desperately to think of a way to cover the mistake. But my mind was blank, all I could think about was magical monkeys and all that they could do. I mean sure, they would wreck havoc because they are not known for cleaning up after themselves, but they could get the job done. Then I realized the awkward silence had gone on too long. It was now obvious to everyone on the phone that I had not only stated magic monkeys I had no recovery. Finally a co-worker broke the silence with a laugh and “Magic Monkey’s we need some of those.” Laughter ensued. I thought ok, I can recover. Nope the rest of the meeting magic monkeys were brought up. It is moments like these that I understand why I think working in corporate America is not the right career choice for me.

I would like to say I will post again soon, but I don’t want to lie. I do promise to try. Cause I realized I also have hilarious pet stories.