Sister Act

I’ve realized that I’ve made an egregious omission in this blog, and I won’t stand for it any longer!  I’ve failed to satisfactorily write about someone who is so much a part of who I am that I forget she needs to be recognized in her own right, and as such I’m composing an entire post about this particular family member.  May I present to you the Sister of Cole…drumroll, please…BEAVE: the awkwardly charming mad scientist extraordinaire.  She’s got the most hardcore work ethic of anyone I know, the most amazing laugh (the full shabang only a lucky handful have experienced), a painter’s hand, a researcher’s mind, and a tattoo that I still maintain looks a little bit like a cat’s anus…in a good way.  As follows is a wholly inconclusive list of a few reasons why I’m so lucky to have a best friend, confidante, partner in crime and mutual therapist wrapped up into one genetically united ball….

  • This weekend she left me a dry-erase mustache on my bathroom mirror, which I wore with pride and a sense of distinguished nobility.
  • She’s the Queen of Typos, which is hilariously in diametric opposition to my grammar stringency.
  • She doesn’t get mad when I enforce said severity in harsh and judgmental Red Pen attacks.
  • When we have to share a bed, she laughs really hard when I fart on her.
  • She’ll go on guiltless junk food binges with me in the middle of the night when we have nothing better to do.
  • She’ll run and hike and sweat with me when the guilt kicks in as we wake up to the sea of empty wrappers from our midnight foraging.
  • She loves and/or loathes the same things about my parents that uplift and/or enrage me, and as such we can counsel each other on navigating the turbid filial waters with a wisdom and insight no one else can provide.
  • She can go toe to toe with me in Spontaneous Interpretive Choreography, especially to Disney music and Queen songs.
  • She has the same wacky taste in literature as I do.
  • When she calls me to commiserate about life’s shenanigans, I always laugh my ass off because her life is Stephanie Plum adjacent, only more hysterically pathetic and with less serial killers.
  • Speaking of which, her Tales from the Bus are the stuff of legend, and I quote her life all the time.  Like, ALL the time.
  • Regardless, she willingly admits that I’m the funnier one.
  • She taught me how to do my eye make-up like a rockstar and not an eighth grader.
  • She lets me wear her coat when I’m freezing, i.e., all the time, even though she’s cold too.
  • This happened. And no, I won’t explain why.
  • She still won’t let me live down the time I dropped an iron on her shin and practically crippled her, from the way she tells the story.
  • She’ll never be able to live down the time she dropped her fist-sized pet rock from the second story balcony onto my forehead.
  • She was absolutely the cutest toddler I’ve ever seen, and I hope my kids are as hilarious and sassy as she was.
  • Her feet are too big for her to be able to steal my shoes.
  • A tough, snarky, no-bullshit bitchbeast on the outside, she’s one of the most caring, openminded, and accepting people I’ve ever met.
  • She’ll play Ship’s Mast with me in Paso Robles.
  • She can go from talking about sex to politics to Doug Funny to hip hop to Shakespeare to the Bedroom Intruder to organic chemistry without missing a beat.
  • She doesn’t try to impress people, which really impresses them.  As someone who is constantly evaluating how others evaluate me, that trait of hers is remarkable, admirable, and infinitely enviable.
  • While doing laundry together over the holiday, I found a pair of pajama shorts that used to be mine…in 1996.  SHE HAS SHORTS THAT ARE OLD ENOUGH TO DRIVE.  Now that is impressive.
  • “Sisters share the scent and smells–the feel of a common childhood.”  For your consideration in the category of Favorite Thing About Beave, may I submit the fact that she and I can speak in a code that would make the Navajo weep.  We can reference things that happened 20 years ago and still resonate hugely between us…I can hum a song, she can toss out a word, and we’ll both be lost in hysterics because of the shared secret meaning.  “Green toof…hard poof…jewf.”

So, yeah.  There’s a criminally short list of why I kinda love my little sister.  Over and out.

Tune du Jour: You Don’t Know Me by Ben Folds feat. Regina Spektor


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