Contact

This new puppy is ruining my life, and greatly contributing to my future as an alcoholic. My brother called to check in on things last night and I vented my frustrations.

“Ben this dog is so wild. I am not sure I can handle her.”

“Yes, Sarah, you can. You’re just not used to puppies. Daisy was never a real puppy, she was more like an aging butch lesbian when you adopted her.”

“I guess… I just can’t deal with wild.”

“Her namesake was probably just as wild in her youth. You probably jinxed the dog by naming her after Rosie.”

“Not possible. Did Human Rosie eat boxes?”

“I can’t say for sure.”

“What about underwear? Do you think human Rosie chewed on those?”

“Without a doubt… I also expect your dog to fall in love with Frank Sinatra and pick up a nasty smoking habit any day now.”

I hung up with Ben and walked outside to find that Rosie has dragged all my purses into the backyard. I ran back inside to see what other damage she had done and found this:

I think it’s safe to say the bitch will live another day. I’m a sucker for cute.

For years my brother, Ben, and I have been fighting over who my grandma loves more. It’s a ridiculous thing to argue about, as I am clearly the favorite.

Sure, Ben hangs holiday lights for her, but I named my scooter after my grandmother. Plus I have better hair and shower more often.

Ben went to visit my grandparents the weekend before Easter. When I called, all my grandma could talk about was how great it was to see my brother. Rather than be thrilled he made her so happy, I was pissed at him.

I immediately planned a trip the following weekend. It’s important to remind her I’m the one she love the most.

While driving to the country, I left Ben a voicemail with my somewhat deviant plan to win her back.  Here’s the voicemail from his phone. Try not to pay attention to my icky manlike voice.

For the record, my grandmother declared me the winner. She encouraged future competition. She said it’s to ensure more visits from the both of us, but I know she’s only going along with it so Ben doesn’t get his feelings hurt. She’s a good woman and doesn’t want to tell my brother she loves me more.

Even though it’s soooooo obvious.

“Sarah, I found the new love of my life.”

“Oh, you got a new pug?”

“No, it’s a Swiffer WetJet.”

“You’re in love with a mop?”

“Sarah it’s not JUST a mop. It’s a mop and broom combo.”

“What did you name her?”

“I didn’t.”

“Benjamin, if you don’t know the name of your true love, then it’s not love. That’s called a one-night stand. You’re having a one-night stand with a freaking mop.”

“I told you, it’s not JUST a mop. Why can’t you just support my choices?”

“Um, because you’re a weirdo.”

I’ve never been a huge fan of Facebook. Partly because it’s stupid, and partly because I detest the game applications. Sure, it’s awesome for stalking old boyfriends, but lately that’s not even enough to keep my attention.

In an attempt to find something worthwhile on the site I spent last night trying to hack into my brother’s account. I tried every password combination I could think of:

mysisterisawesome

sarahismyhero

mysisterkicksyoursistersass

thisismylastwillandtestamentandileavesarahEVERYTHING

I finally gave up and asked him for his password, which he willingly gave me. SUCKER.

This was the result:

I took some “Sex and the City” quizzes on his behalf, and he’s totally a Samantha. I respected Ben’s privacy and didn’t read any of his messages. I’d point out how this makes me the best sister ever, but I joined the Sarah Palin fan group which is pretty much the shittiest thing a sister could do.

“Ben I have two questions. Did you know that 62% of bankruptcies in the U.S. are due to medical bills?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then you don’t even want to know how many of those people had private medical insurance. It’s totally screwed up. Also, do you think a raccoon could get through my dog door?”

“I have no idea. Why are you asking me? You have a raccoon expert on your speed dial.”

“I know, but Carl won’t answer the phone. What good is having an expert if you end up using Wikipedia as your source?”

“True.”

“I had a dream that a raccoon got through the dog door and Daisy wrote about it on Twitter while I was at work.”

“Sarah, I’d be more concerned your dog was using Twitter. Shut off her phone service, and your problem is solved.”

“No, it’s not! There’s still a fucking raccoon in the house killing my dog. I just won’t know about it.”

“Maybe Daisy will leave a note.”

“Ben, that’s ridiculous. If I find a note and a dead dog how will I know she left the note, and the raccoon didn’t coerce her into writing it? The raccoon could easily get away with murder by making me think it was a suicide.”

“I’ll tell you what… if Daisy dies a violent death we’ll do a thorough investigation into her death.”

“OK, cool. Thanks Ben. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sarah, are you coming down here for the 4th of July?”

“I will try, but I’m super stressed out and can’t think straight so I may end up in the wrong small town.”

“Bring your brother. Between the two of you perhaps you can make one functioning person.”

My niece, Hannah, was admitted to the hospital this weekend after having some trouble breathing on her own.

When I walked into the pediatric unit to visit I sailed right though security. Ben, on the other hand, was stopped. This hospital has a strict no molestation policy. Maybe now he’ll finally understand his mustache isn’t funny, but instead creepy as shit.

Hannah is now home and doing much better. Though I do think they may have released her early just to prevent Ben from coming back.

My brother, Ben, and I are in the country for the holidays.  The country, in case you don’t know, is the most boring thing ever.  When we complained to my mother about how bored we were she suggested we do her hair, go caroling to the neighboring cattle or read Christmas stories to one another.

Umm… no thanks.

Instead we opened a few presents.  One of which was from my grandmother and contained a package of needles.  I’m not really sure why, but it was fun nonetheless.

The needles resulted in all sorts of Nielson madness.  Next year I’m asking for surgical tubing.

The last part of the video is by far the best–Ben always makes me laugh. His concentration in this video is remarkable, but not nearly as funny as the other.

My brother, Ben, called last night to discuss his wedding nuptials.

“Hey, Sarah, I think I finally figured out when I should get married.”

“Um, never? Because that’s good for me.”

“No… April Fools’ Day. This way if I get cold feet and want to back out I can and call it an elaborate joke.”

“That’s actually a really good idea, and I’m obviously going to steal the idea for myself.”

It matters not that neither of us are in a relationship.  It’s just good planning if you ask me.

My brother and I went to see Body Worlds 3 at The Leonardo last Sunday.  If I was going to look at dead bodies of course I was going to drag Ben along with me.  Nothing says family bonding like skinless bodies, right?  That last sentence was far creepier than anything in the exhibit, except maybe the guy behind me in line that kept brushing up against me inappropriately.  I’d like to have him skinned and tossed into the exhibit, but I wasn’t entirely sure how to go about that.  OK, I’m creeping myself out here.  Just go read the damn column.