Laughing All The Way

Friday, July 29, 2005

Like a Jerry Springer episode waiting to happen

Today is a double post; I didn’t want to combine the two so read on after you finish this one.

I don’t often talk about my family, at least not the specifics of our relationship, but after last night I feel compelled to directly address my sister and her husband.

First and foremost, when they read this, they are going to do a little dance. They love the idea that they are the center of my world (they’re not) and love the idea that I can’t get enough of them (I can). The fact remains that I love them for all they are worth and I understand them probably better than most. Other than my sister’s husband, I am the only one who has shared a room over a prolonged period with my sister. I understand the workings of her mind better than I would like, but we are sisters and we share the burden of our upbringing. There is no one else in the world who knows what it was like and we sustain each other in a way that no one else can. Similarly, when my sister gets to that place where her husband just shakes his head and sighs, he and I can share in the knowledge that she is absolutely fucking crazy (in the nicest of ways of course). This funny bond that the three of us share has received a fair share of comments from outsiders, but for those on the inside, this all makes sense.

So it is with a heavy heart I say this: Big sister, fuck you bitch. I have to been totally funny this week. I mean Pig juice. How could you forget about pig fucking juice? And then saying I gave it up for lent. We’re Jewish, that shit is funny. I/m taking my ball and going home, oh, wait, I’m going to your home after work. Oh, yeah. Whatever.

Last night, when my sister tottered over in her stilettos and pickled in her four glasses of wine and three martinis she bellows some incoherent statement about her fucking husband. I just look and shrug. What can you say about a man who gets Salmonella poisoning from stabbing himself with a chicken bone. Then swears that his big toe is broken even though he’s walking just fine. He then follows this up by falling off a curb and tearing his tendons and ligaments. He has nothing to say about it because my sister and I, rightly so, pointed out that it’s not like he’s wearing heels and hauling across town like we do. He’s also not a terribly clumsy person. He’s just really unfortunate.

So he just called me, about 8:30 this morning and moaned. He wanted to know why I wasn’t hung over. I told him that I have been at work since 7:25 and I wasn’t mixing drugs and alcohol last night. See, I make it all look so easy. It’s not. You really need to know what you’re doing if you’re going to mix vodka with painkillers. I have already spoken to him about getting a re-fill on his prescription because, like they say, a friend in need of Percocet is a friend indeed. I also explained to him that the 1.5 years between us make him that much older and that much less able to drink like I do. I am not saying it’s fair, but it’s so true. Why last year I could drink from Tuesday through Sunday and not have a problem getting up. These days I have to wait till Wednesday to start. Oh so sad growing up.

Anyways, I think that I should have been drunker (should have been drunker, such questionable grammar) because I went to the gym and did…wait for it…an hour of cardio. People, by the end I was pretty sure my knee was going to pop, but it didn’t and the shin splits were behaving themselves. Usually I have to stop at 43 minutes but I am a little too OCD for that so I stop at 40 because I don’t think I can make 45. But then I ate that doughnut and figured on 10 extra cardio minutes. Well once I got to 50 there was no way I was going to stop till I finished the hour. I totally understand those people who over exercise because once I got to the hour mark I could have kept going. If I hadn’t already made plans to go out drinking I would have stayed and worked out longer.

The trick to a happy life is the following: sweat out all the water in your body; take a very hot shower; replace all the lost liquids with vodka. This process will help you lose weight, get you drunk and make you forget about the bulimic girls at the gym. Seriously, the gym is not the place to purge. If you are going to do that, use the bathrooms at work, or better yet, just starve yourself because the last thing I want to see and hear is some underweight girl purposely making herself sick.

I will never be one of those impossibly thin girls, I love digesting food too much and as much as I enjoyed the work out yesterday, the amount of workout time it would take for me to lose my ass and tits would preclude me from doing anything else, ever. And I like doing other things. Like eating. Did I mention I like to eat? Just in case I forget, people I LIKE TO EAT.

Moving on to the other side to that whole I will never be able to stop eating enough to give the Lohans, Simpsons, Aguileras, Richies, Hiltons of this world what for argument. I just won’t be able to suppress my genes. I know that no matter how much I work out I will never look like that. I also know that my genetic make up precludes me from ever maintaining that shape. Seriously, Jennifer Lopez will forever be haunted of pictures of her ass in black and white striped spandex from her In Living Color days. Nothing that girl does, short of having her ass surgically removed will remove her ass. So, I am happy to be a little less soft by working out regularly and I happily accept that I will never be a hard body. As long as I get to eat all the complex carbohydrates, which I’ll have you know, includes vodka, that I desire, life will be good.