Dear Janie

Today, you turned 19.

On this day, in 1989, Joey and I were dragged upstairs to our parent's bed (most reluctantly, might I add). I remember not wanting to go. I remember wondering what all the commotion was about. I remember that I wanted to stay up and be a part of the fun.


Fun, indeed.


"Wake me up when the baby is born!" I demanded

Does it shock you that I also remember what dress I was wearing that day?
Yeah, I didn't think so either (it was the gray one with the pink sash, in case you were curious)

And then, several hours later, I was dragged back down the stairs, into what is now (or was, really) our bedroom, and rubbing my eyes while the doctor estimated your weight by balancing you on a beach towel. Those crazy homeopaths...
Then he handed you to Mom, and Daddy took me by the hand and lead me over the the side of the bed, pointed to the pink, squishy, screaming lump in her arms and said, "That's your new sister. Her name is Jane."
But I already had an aunt named Jane.
"It's okay. Now we have two Janes."
TWO Janes?
It was going to take some time for me to wrap my head around THAT concept.

But I was still overwhelmed by the magic of it all.
There had only been two of us when I had gone to sleep.
And then I woke up, only to find that there were now three.
There was another girl. Another little person to play with my Barbies and wear my clothes and sing songs with me and dance in the living room. We would be exactly the same.
Because we were sisters.
And that's what sisters do.

Except, it didn't turn out quite like that.

19 years later, you and I are different in almost every way possible.
And yet, I don't feel entirely complete when I'm not with you.
When I'm the only Sullivan girl around, I have to maintain a calm, levelheaded persona. I have to be serious. I have to be responsible. What other choice do I have?
When we're together, you're laid-back attitude allows me to be the exuberant, flighty, fantastical one. You're the one who stays objective, while my head wanders above the clouds. And yet, you always pull me back down to Earth.

That's how we work, you and I.

Does it seem like you're the older sister sometimes?
Because you're so responsible and hardworking and calm? And I'm, well, not?
I hope not.

I wish you knew how proud I am of you.
I wish you knew how proud I have always been, and will always be.
I wish that you could see what the rest of us see when they look at you, and all that you've
accomplished in your short life.

I wish you knew how beautiful you are.
I wish you knew how smart you are.
I wish you knew how funny you are.

When I turned 19, I felt that it was a little anti-climactic.
I mean, 19? What's so special about that.
In fact, it made me feel old (which makes me laugh now, five years later, because if that logic works, than I'm a senior citizen).
But, regardless of whether or not it makes sense now, it sure did make me feel like that was it. That my life had reached a plateau.
Janie, listen to your big sister: do not feel this way.
There is so much beauty in this big old world.
Please, please remember that.
There is so much to experience, so much to see and hear and taste and breathe.

Remember Stockholm and London? Remember riding horses in Indiana? Remember standing on a mountain in Texas, and building a house in Mexico? Remember singing The Dixie Chicks in the middle of a snowstorm? Remember reading Chicken Soup for the Soul in the car on Christmas day aloud, and we all burst into tears?
What about the time that I was pushing you in the shopping cart in the grocery store and I crashed you into a display of hot fudge sauce in glass bottles?
Or the time you fell out of your bed to the ground six feet below, only to land on your dollhouse and I didn't even wake up?*

*That last part is not so much an example of beauty, but more one that makes me giggle.

You add to the brilliance and intellect of this world with each day that you spend in it.
I know that you will continue to do so for the rest of your life.
Because, you don't know how to live any other way.
You don't know how NOT play like you're in the big leagues.
Do you think other people are jealous that I get to have a sister like you?
I bet they are.
Especially since their lives are better for having lived in the same universe as someone so intelligent, so giving, so open-minded, and so loving.
But I get to share a bedroom with you sometimes.
Not to mention DNA.

Even with your sometimes crazy-Medusa hair (relax, I said sometimes), and your swarms of imaginary friends, and your cleanliness O.C.D. (I did mention how different we are, right?) and your snoring...
You're a ray of light.

Being your sister has been, is, and always will be an adventure.
A joy.
A miracle.



Happy Birthday, Janie Marie.
I love you.

XOXO
Your Sissy

4 Turkeys, Awesome Friends, and the Undead

Isn't that what Thanksgiving is all about?

So maybe I haven't posted in a while.
And maybe, because of that, a certain Southern Belle is about ready to kill me.
As such, I'm taking a break from my really super-important Twilight reading schedule to update her about my life.
And I guess the three other people who read this can get an update, too.

The picture above = NOT from Thanksgiving, in case you're an idiot.....

Because I'm an adult now (as evident by the fact that I had to name a beneficiary for my life insurance last week... don't even get me started down that road), I couldn't go home on Thursday. So, we had "fake Thanksgiving" last Saturday with my Mom's family at Tommy and Beth's sprawling Glen Ellyn estate. I ate my weight in pumpkin pie and mashed taters, plus my Gramma made me cookies. Then I played Legos with Ethan while Sophie yelled at the top of her lungs that her American Girl doll needed more Redi-Whip on her ice cream. Then we played Mexican Dominoes and everyone asked me what I was planning to do with my life, other than reprise my role as a blight on my parent's bank account.
But...
Pie and cookies!
It was pretty great.

So that was Thanksgiving (and turkey) numero uno.
Numero dos (however unexpected it was) came in the form of my dear friend Lara's awesome family.
Wait, wasn't I supposed to work on Thanksgiving? Thus creating the need for a completely seperate (yet equally awesome) fake Thanksgiving, as mentioned int he previous paragraph?
Yeah, I thought so too.
You see, at about noon in Thursday, my cell phone rang-- work, calling to say that they were slow and that I didn't need to come in if I didn't want to.
Which made me kinda mad. Because I could have, reasonably, gone home and had *actual* Thanksgiving with my family (except it would have been with my Dad's side of the family, and they're not NEARLY as cool...that's right, Gramma! I said that you're cool!).
Of course, I could've also gone in to work, but I was planning on leaving at 5 anyhow, so that I could go have Thanksgiving with Marie's family in Auburn.
Naturally, I called Lara to yell about my irritation for a minute, and also to make plans for later that evening because Gabe was in town (more on that later), and she suggested that I haul myself over to her aunt's house and let them adopt me for the afternoon.

Call me crazy, but that sounded WAY better than work.

And it most certainly was.

After that, came Thanksgiving III, at Marie's aunt's house (what's with all the aunts in this post?).
I was kind of hoping that someone was going to get arrested.
Or, at the very least, there would be a smack-down of some kind.
No such luck.
I guess I'll have to wait until Christmas for that.

Finally, Thanksgiving round 4 commenced this evening at Blake's Mom's house.
I made a pumpkin cheesecake (vegan!) and Blake walked into the kitchen about halfway through the process and said "How's it going?", at which point I turned around to reveal that not only had I managed to get cornstarch all over the counter and the floor, but also down the front of my black sweater, my face, and in my hair.
I let him do the dishes for me.
He's so sweet sometimes.

Verdict: four Thanksgiving dinners later, I resemble the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.
But I also have really super-great friends.
With really super-great families!
Thanks for recognizing my orphan status and taking me in on this, the most gluttonous of holidays!

And speaking of super-great friends...

So, Thursday night, it was decided that since Gabe was in town (and that never happens anymore because he apparently now resides in Antarctica), it would be used as an excuse to get the ol' band back together.
Amber had mentioned that Gabe, being the kind and generous boyfriend that he is, promised to take her to see "Twilight".
Of course, Lara and I jumped on this.
"Gabe promised to take Amber!"
"What do you MEAN you don't want to go see a movie about sexy vampires?"
"If Gabe goes will you go?"
And this, my dears, is how the six of us, included Blake, Bryan, and Gabe, ended up at Showplace 12 for the 9:30 pm showing. The boys sat on one side, the girls on the other. Gabe and Amber sat in the middle.
A buffer-zone, if you will.
You might recall that this is the second time I've had the privelage of viewing this cinematic masterpiece, and it was even better this time around.
And not just because they showed a preview for the new "Harry Potter" and I got so excited that I totally punched Lara in the knee cap as soon as I figured out what was going on.
After the movie, I looked down the row of seats, and asked the boys, "On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you guys that we made you see this?"
They just glared at me.
I'm thinking about a twelve or thirteen.
But I'm also pretty sure that I can live with that.
Because hell-LO?!
TWILIGHT?!!

Also of note, pre-Thanksgiving activities included Rock Band, and a gathering at Bradley and Christopher's house that may or may not have involved the use of a fire extinguisher inside the apartment.
PS- there was no fire. We were just really, really bored.
What?
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
What?!
I didn't have anything to do with it. Swearsies.
I just laughed really, REALLY hard.
And then got Black Lung disease from inhaling all the chemicals.
It was awesome.


OH!
And.
Tomorrow (technically today, but whatever) is my little sister's birthday!
Stay tuned for a thought-provoking, moving, and downright badass birthday tribute post tomorrow night.
Why not tonight?
Because I'm reading Twilight.

Duh.


PPS-
Alabama: I'm sorry I didn't return you text. I was busy making a huge mess in the kitchen. And eating lots of food. Look for a special you-related post in the coming days in response to a really, really long comment thread you left on one of my previous posts. I would do it tonight, but... well, Edward Cullen needs me.

Ruth and Ray have a conversation

Making pancakes...

Dad: How much batter should I make?
Mom: Well, look at the recipe. How many does it yield?
Dad: Yield? What is this yield business?
Mom: It's a cooking term.
Dad: Yeah, but it's the kind of thing that gets written at the end of a recipe. No one actually uses it in real life.


Discussing their new fireplace, a little while later....

Mom: So, have you talked to anyone about how to do the gas fittings?
Dad: Nope. I'm just gonna wing-it.
Mom: What happens if you blow yourself up? More importantly, what if you blow us both up?
Dad:Well, if that happens....then we've yielded three beautiful children. They can collect on the life insurance.
Mom:...
Dad: You don't trust me, do you?
Mom: After 30 years, I've learned to trust you. But when you say things like that, you don't always convince me.


I run to the computer, and furiously start typing their conversation, because I'm convinced that Molly and Marie will think it's hilarious...

Dad: What are you doing?
Me:...definitely not typing a transcript of the conversation you just had...
Dad: Jeez! Is anything in this family private anymore?!

Apparently not.

Just for Molly Beth

The Pieta
(95 Cranbrook style)

oh wait
I almost forgot about this one.

You're welcome.

I might be a traitor...

But...SERIOUSLY.

I take back all the negative, snarky* things I said.
Should we just put thison the list with Pride and Prejudice?
Someone save me from myself.

*Other Molly word

There's a Light on in Chicago...

I'm going to my parent's house tomorrow night.
I'm staying until Sunday.
As long I don't completely lose my mind before then.
Just kidding. I love my Mom and Dad's house.
Most of the time.

I'm also totally copying the Other Molly's post.
Not creative, you say?
To you, I would say: We share a brain. What do you expect?

Evidence is presented above.

This is all the bidness I have to take care of before I drive to Chambana to pick up Janie and Becca. Did I mention that I'm leaving at 11:45 am?
'Cause I am.

-Get flat tire patched (I know, I know. This should've been done days ago. But you have to understand, when faced with the choice of either getting out of bed into the freezing cold rain and trudging to Wal-Mart...aka my version of HELL...or staying in bed, where it's nice and clean and flourescent lightbuld-free--- I don't think I even need to finish my thought)
-Drop dry cleaning off
-Clean my house (or, shove everything into my closet so that Blake doesn't trip over it when he comes to feed the cat this weekend)
-Pack
-Dishes
-Trash
-Litter box
-Bang my head against wall
-Sleep

Remember high school? Remember how the teachers used to give out progress reports that charted our current class-rankings?
Do you think there is any way I can get my hands on MY progress report regarding adulthood?
Because I think I may have to re-take the class.
Again.


Although, my boss told me today that we can now wear jeans when we come in at 2:30.
Score one for Nada!
Expect me to be wearing nothing but jeans and mocassins to work from now until eternity.
Unless it's raining or snowing.
In which case I will, of course, be wearing my red wellies with white polka dots. (Thanks Mom)


Does someone want to put a but in Santa's ear that one of these little guys would be a really super-great Christmas present for a girl like me? PSSST-- I like the one on the top right the best.

And SPEAKING of Christmas... I've got a few more things for your list, Mommy Salami.
And anyone else who thinks I'm special.

-New silverware, because my collection looks like the cutlery bin at the Goodwill threw up in a kitchen drawer.
-Tea kettle
-Ceramic containers with plastic lids, like the kind you'd take in a lunchbox, but can microwave. You know, so the harmful chemicals from the plastic don't leech into my food when I zap stuff (because I bring my lunch everyday like the good little conservationist that I am) and warp my fragile little mind.
-And, or course, I'm always on the lookout for a pretty hardcover version of the original Wizard of Oz. Not a first edition necessarily (unless Daddy Warbucks wants to buy it for me), but an illustrated one.


And finally, before I get lost in my book again, I found this today and I just HAD to post.
Things:
-There's a book called 'I'm on Facebook--- Now What???'. Um, that's pretty fantastic. I may just get this as a Christmas gift for every adult in my extended family. That way, I won't get calls at 7 am on a Saturday saying "Someone just poked me. What's a POKE? It sounds dirty."
-If you don't want to be someone's friend, then perhaps you should... oh, I don't know... not send them a friend request? Thereby solving the awkwardness of being friends with someone you don't actually know?
-Someone should write an equally (read: only slightly) intelligent piece on what to do when weirdos message you on MySpace because they take one look at your profile picture and decided that they want to give you shoulder rubs. 'Cause a girl could use that kind of advice (true story).

Peace and love!

Toil and Trouble

Wanna know what a really dumb show is?

The Sarah Connor Chronicles

And not just because Brian Austin Green is now a cast member (apparently).
The HELL?
THE. HELL. I SAY.
There. I said it.
Okay, moving on.


Today is a day involving the dreaded double.
Double shift, that is.
I've been here for almost twelve hours now, and my carrot sticks and I are getting a little bored. And, of course, the subsequent heartburn that comes along with the carrots.
I'm an old woman sometimes, what can I say.

And now, a letter to my dear friend Molly Elizabeth (aka The Other Molly, aka VintageMagnolia)

Dear Molly,
I'm reading this book called I Capture the Castle.
Perhaps you've heard of it?
Anyway, it's pretty spectacular.
It reminds me of a Bronte novel. Or of when we were living in the unholiest of unholy places.
I don't know if you've read it, but you probably should. Because, you know. You have so much free time.
Love,
Molly


I'm going to my parent's house for Thanksgiving this weekend. Yes, I'm well-aware that Thanksgiving isn't until next weekend. However, due to the whole "being a grown-up and having a job" thing, I have to work Thanksgiving day. Therefore, my family in all it's loud and vocal glory will be gathering on Saturday to celebrate. Except we'll most likely be having lasagna or mostaccioli or some such nonsense.
Because that's how we roll.

Oh yeah.
I saw a preview for the new JJ Abrams joint.
It's called "Star Trek." Maybe you've heard of it?
I've never been much of a trekkie (and by "much", I of course mean not in any remote sense do I fall into that category). However, the preview looks un poquito badass. So I might have to go see it.
Okay, I'll probably definitely go and see it.
Plus... SYLAR.
I mean, hel-LO!