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My 12-year-old brother, Zach is pretty much a boy version of me. We have the same hair color, we’re the same height (which makes beating him up really hard), and we have the same nose. The only big difference in our looks is our skin. Although I have a lot of Albanian genes in me, my mothers prominent Norwegian descent gave me very white skin. While my brother got awesome olive skin. Making a trip to the beach not as worry free for me, as it is for him. Besides that you would have to be blind not to think we’re related in some way.
I met my brother on November 22nd, 1997. The day after he was born. Although my brother was not born at some ungodly hour of the morning, my dad refused to take me to the hospital to see him. My dad being a fan of logic over emotion thought it best for me to be well rested and fed when I met my brother, instead of cranky at the hospital. Me being six, decided that this was unfair and my dad was out to get me. My teen angst had already started.
Meeting my brother was very exciting. Looking down at him he looked like the hundreds of other baby dolls that I had at home, except this one was real and it wasn’t my responsibility to put him back where he belonged. I gave him the present I bought him from the hospital store, and was a little miffed that he didn’t say thank you. He’s had a long day being born though, so I let it go and quickly assumed the role of his second mother, carrying him around wherever I went and telling him what to do any moment I had.
When my mom and Zach came home from the hospital him and I had to share a room. His sleeping patterns were backwards though, and he would spend his days fast asleep and his nights wide awake. This created the first tension in our relationship, and when my parents finally bought a house with three bedrooms I was quick to take the room farthest away from his. From then on no matter how cute, or funny he thought he was being he would always annoy me. This baby doll turned out to be more of a headache then I had bargained for.
Watching Zach grow up has shown me just how opposite we are. When someone told me don’t touch the stove, its hot. I’d touch it anyway, get burned and learn my lesson. When someone told my brother not to touch the stove, he’d touch it anyway, get burned, forget about the pain the last time he touched the stove, and touch it again. This is how Zach is to this day. He’s started entering the dreaded days of puberty, and wants to spend as much time away from the family as possible. When my parents found out what exactly he was doing while away from the family, a very strict grounding was placed on him. I tried to explain to Zach that if he would just get good grades, and be honest with mom and dad that he wouldn’t be questioned so much and would be free to do whatever he wants. But being 12 going on 22 means that he knows a lot more about life then I ever will, and I need to stop acting like his mother and leave him alone. The teen angst on his part, has officially started.
As of right now Zach wishes he had a brother, and I know this only because he loves to remind me every free moment he has. I try to explain to him that I would have liked to stay the only child, but when I open my mouth he tends to shut his ears. Making our communication with each other very difficult. Right now we get along only when he knows I’ll buy him something, seeing as my parents give him limited money and he knows I have a job. I wish I could have treasured the days when he couldn’t talk, but unfortunately their long gone and his vocabulary just keeps growing every day. Maybe when he’s 18 there will be a common ground between us, but as of right now I’m his older sister,something he did not ask for, and I therefore suck.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Almost everyone in the entire world has a facebook. There are claims that its an easy way to keep in touch with people, and whoever doesn't have it can expect someone to say "how do you live?" Gone are the days of picking up the phone and calling your friend. If you want to meet up with someone, send them a quick facebook comment planning out the details. Want to host a party? No need for adresses, just send out a facebook invite to your chosen guests. Although facebook boasts to make your social life easier, and more manageable I have uncovered the ugly truth about it. Facebook changes everything. Its even gone so far as to change my family dynamic. Instead of my parents coming downstairs and talking to me about my recent "attitude problem" I receive a facebook message. Instead of happy birthday phone calls my family turns to facebook and leaves me happy birthday comments, along with my 200 other friends. Even bonding time has been limited to comparing farkle scores, and sharing crops on farmville.
And when I say family, I mean..my ENTIRE family. Not only does my little 12 year old brother have one, but my mother, father, grandmother, uncle, cousins, and aunt have their very own facebooks. Its gone so far that not only can I add who my husband/boyfriend/open relationship/its-complicated-with is, but I can add a link so you can see who my sibilings, and parents are.
Facebook has even made it so "convenient" that if my parents are in a fight all I have to do is look at their status's to see. StellaNYC is "it's always my fault huh?", or I can check out their wall to wall "I love you!", "I love you too", "We're going to a wedding tonight", "yippie! lovelovelove!". It makes me want to gag, talk about some major Internet pda. Gross.
Not only has facebook change my family, it changed my social life. I realized that the more friends you have, the more popular you are. And people are quick to judge you based on the number of photos you're tagged in, and what you're doing in those photos. If you tag yourself in a lot of photos, oh no girlfriend...that's a red flag right there. But if you have 500 some odd pictures tagged of you from other people, then you're golden.
I tend to be selective about the people I accept on facebook, I like my facebook friends to be people I'm either actual friends with, or have at least shared a couple of conversations with. This I've come to realize, is considered being a facebook bitch. I have gotten myself in trouble time and time again for not accepting a friend request from someone in school, and then hung out with afterward. The tension is unbearable. You sit there thinking in your head "shit, this girl requested me 5 times and I denied her. She definitely told Suzy that I'm a bitch, but I'm not a bitch...I'm just choosy. I'd never talked to her, and now I am! So now we can be facebook friends. Maybe I should explain this to her, or maybe I shouldn't".
On and on it goes, the guesswork of what exactly is the proper "facebook etiquette". If I write on someones wall, and they don't write back well you can expect me to be a little miffed. Or if I look at one of my good friend and my wall-to-wall and I've written much, much more then the other person delete, delete goes my comments. Facebook is just one big popularity contest that I am constantly trying to get a one up on. Want to be a totally different person? Change your interests, or your favorite movies.
I will say that facebook has done one good thing for mankind, and that is dating. If you met a cute guy, and you add each other on facebook. You can tell right away if he's dating someone, or a man whore. Even if its not on a relationship status, if you sufficiently facebook stalk his ass you can figure out almost anything and everything you could possibly need to know.
It's a sad, sad world we live in where all we have to do to acquire friends, and significant others is to sit behind a computer and tweak our profiles. But I continue to live in this world, because...well how else am I supposed to see what my crush is doing every day?
And when I say family, I mean..my ENTIRE family. Not only does my little 12 year old brother have one, but my mother, father, grandmother, uncle, cousins, and aunt have their very own facebooks. Its gone so far that not only can I add who my husband/boyfriend/open relationship/its-complicated-with is, but I can add a link so you can see who my sibilings, and parents are.
Facebook has even made it so "convenient" that if my parents are in a fight all I have to do is look at their status's to see. StellaNYC is "it's always my fault huh?", or I can check out their wall to wall "I love you!", "I love you too", "We're going to a wedding tonight", "yippie! lovelovelove!". It makes me want to gag, talk about some major Internet pda. Gross.
Not only has facebook change my family, it changed my social life. I realized that the more friends you have, the more popular you are. And people are quick to judge you based on the number of photos you're tagged in, and what you're doing in those photos. If you tag yourself in a lot of photos, oh no girlfriend...that's a red flag right there. But if you have 500 some odd pictures tagged of you from other people, then you're golden.
I tend to be selective about the people I accept on facebook, I like my facebook friends to be people I'm either actual friends with, or have at least shared a couple of conversations with. This I've come to realize, is considered being a facebook bitch. I have gotten myself in trouble time and time again for not accepting a friend request from someone in school, and then hung out with afterward. The tension is unbearable. You sit there thinking in your head "shit, this girl requested me 5 times and I denied her. She definitely told Suzy that I'm a bitch, but I'm not a bitch...I'm just choosy. I'd never talked to her, and now I am! So now we can be facebook friends. Maybe I should explain this to her, or maybe I shouldn't".
On and on it goes, the guesswork of what exactly is the proper "facebook etiquette". If I write on someones wall, and they don't write back well you can expect me to be a little miffed. Or if I look at one of my good friend and my wall-to-wall and I've written much, much more then the other person delete, delete goes my comments. Facebook is just one big popularity contest that I am constantly trying to get a one up on. Want to be a totally different person? Change your interests, or your favorite movies.
I will say that facebook has done one good thing for mankind, and that is dating. If you met a cute guy, and you add each other on facebook. You can tell right away if he's dating someone, or a man whore. Even if its not on a relationship status, if you sufficiently facebook stalk his ass you can figure out almost anything and everything you could possibly need to know.
It's a sad, sad world we live in where all we have to do to acquire friends, and significant others is to sit behind a computer and tweak our profiles. But I continue to live in this world, because...well how else am I supposed to see what my crush is doing every day?
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Doctors
This blog is going to seem like I have a huge thing against health care professionals, and I do. Maybe it's my moms hippy approach to never giving me medicine, and never taking me to get check-ups or maybe its that health care "professionals" don't know what they're doing anymore. I believe it's a little bit of both.
Anyhow, a couple of days ago I had a doctors appointment scheduled with what my mom said was a "highly recommended doctor". I waited in the office for about 30 minutes (after I had already gotten there half an hour early), and met with my doctor who was obviously Jewish and who obviously had a problem with me. Before I even met the doctor though, I had to fill out a questionnaire. Usually these questionnaires make me feel like a bad girl, which I'm not, but its nice to believe for a couple of seconds that by checking off yes to drinking, and smoking that I'm a force to be reckoned with.
As I sat down and she looked over my questionnaire I was quick to realize this woman was 1) judging me and 2) was highly unqualified. The first question was, do you smoke? Yes. Have you smoked in the past? Yes. Upon seeing these answers the woman who claimed she was a doctor said "smoking is bad for you. how often do you smoke a week?" Honestly I'm not a smoker I have the occasional cigarette when I'm drunk, which recently has been a lot but a pack usually lasts me a month or so. Which I tried to explain, but this bitch was not having it "well smoking a little or a lot is still smoking, you should cut that out of your life. You're only 18, quit now!" and I felt like responding "quit your job now and go on one of those fucking truth commercials. They'd LOVE to have you" but I gave her this one, doctors are supposed to say don't do this don't do that. So I swallowed my pride and moved on to the next question.
Do you drink? Yes. Have you drank in the past? Yes. Oooohh no. I knew if she found out how MUCH I drank, she'd have a cow. I braced myself for this one, "well you obviously know drinking is bad for you...how much do you drink?" I have a lot to say, and am usually great at comebacks and if you ever want to stump me, ask me how much I drink...I will NEVER be able to tell you. Do you really think I count how many beers I'm consuming? I can barely remember the night, let alone what I drank. So I figured the best answer to this was to say "a lot". She didn't seem to enjoy this answer as much as other people have in the past, so she made me explain. Upon hearing what I consumed just the night before she explained to me that yes, I do drink a lot (and the night I told her about was minimal drinking for me). She told me I should be the person to drink the club soda, and the lime. Let me tell you fellow bloggers, and readers out there something about me I am NEVER the club soda and lime girl. I think this concerned her because she asked me if she felt my drinking habits were a problem, which I quickly replied NO...and they're not! We were stuck on this fucking topic for a while until finally she found the answer to yet ANOTHER question.
Do you do drugs (Maryjane, cocaine, etc.)? Yes. Have you done drugs in the past (Maryjane, cocaine, etc.)? Yes. "YOU DO DRUGS TOO?" this incompetent bitch declared. I felt like saying "honey if I needed someone to sit here and be shocked that an 18 year old girl is not studying her ass off and praying to God or sitting in synagogue or some shit...I'd be somewhere else. Check me the fuck out, let me know I'm fat and have bad habits and let me be on my way. NO reason for you to be shocked by my answers. Next time I'll lie you stupid bitch" Obviously, I did not say this but I was very tempted. I mumbled some answer and she smirked at me, checked me out and sent me on my merry way with a prescription for birth control and an attitude.
I felt the only way to deal with this was to cry, and to decide never to go to the doctor again.
Anyhow, a couple of days ago I had a doctors appointment scheduled with what my mom said was a "highly recommended doctor". I waited in the office for about 30 minutes (after I had already gotten there half an hour early), and met with my doctor who was obviously Jewish and who obviously had a problem with me. Before I even met the doctor though, I had to fill out a questionnaire. Usually these questionnaires make me feel like a bad girl, which I'm not, but its nice to believe for a couple of seconds that by checking off yes to drinking, and smoking that I'm a force to be reckoned with.
As I sat down and she looked over my questionnaire I was quick to realize this woman was 1) judging me and 2) was highly unqualified. The first question was, do you smoke? Yes. Have you smoked in the past? Yes. Upon seeing these answers the woman who claimed she was a doctor said "smoking is bad for you. how often do you smoke a week?" Honestly I'm not a smoker I have the occasional cigarette when I'm drunk, which recently has been a lot but a pack usually lasts me a month or so. Which I tried to explain, but this bitch was not having it "well smoking a little or a lot is still smoking, you should cut that out of your life. You're only 18, quit now!" and I felt like responding "quit your job now and go on one of those fucking truth commercials. They'd LOVE to have you" but I gave her this one, doctors are supposed to say don't do this don't do that. So I swallowed my pride and moved on to the next question.
Do you drink? Yes. Have you drank in the past? Yes. Oooohh no. I knew if she found out how MUCH I drank, she'd have a cow. I braced myself for this one, "well you obviously know drinking is bad for you...how much do you drink?" I have a lot to say, and am usually great at comebacks and if you ever want to stump me, ask me how much I drink...I will NEVER be able to tell you. Do you really think I count how many beers I'm consuming? I can barely remember the night, let alone what I drank. So I figured the best answer to this was to say "a lot". She didn't seem to enjoy this answer as much as other people have in the past, so she made me explain. Upon hearing what I consumed just the night before she explained to me that yes, I do drink a lot (and the night I told her about was minimal drinking for me). She told me I should be the person to drink the club soda, and the lime. Let me tell you fellow bloggers, and readers out there something about me I am NEVER the club soda and lime girl. I think this concerned her because she asked me if she felt my drinking habits were a problem, which I quickly replied NO...and they're not! We were stuck on this fucking topic for a while until finally she found the answer to yet ANOTHER question.
Do you do drugs (Maryjane, cocaine, etc.)? Yes. Have you done drugs in the past (Maryjane, cocaine, etc.)? Yes. "YOU DO DRUGS TOO?" this incompetent bitch declared. I felt like saying "honey if I needed someone to sit here and be shocked that an 18 year old girl is not studying her ass off and praying to God or sitting in synagogue or some shit...I'd be somewhere else. Check me the fuck out, let me know I'm fat and have bad habits and let me be on my way. NO reason for you to be shocked by my answers. Next time I'll lie you stupid bitch" Obviously, I did not say this but I was very tempted. I mumbled some answer and she smirked at me, checked me out and sent me on my merry way with a prescription for birth control and an attitude.
I felt the only way to deal with this was to cry, and to decide never to go to the doctor again.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Therapy
Growing up with a mother who has more problems then Britney Spears herself, I've sat in my fair share of therapist offices. I've even seen a couple who at the same time have seen my mother. Let me tell you, therapists and I do not get along. Anyone who carries that title better run far, far away from me because for some reason I tend to be very mean to them.
My last horror story of a therapist was this woman, who wore the same fuckin' shoes every single time I saw her. Maybe it was so she could make me feel like she was a steady person, that I could always count on her to be available and never-changing. But I'm a fashion snob, and when I am going to see a therapist and she is wearing the same pair of shoes..I would like to know where the money my insurance is giving her is going too. Did she just smoke some crack before I got here? (and let me tell you, I would not be surprised).
Anyway...the shoes weren't even shoes you could get away wearing with everything. They were these cork, wedge heels but the cork looked like something you find off a fuckin' bulletin board slapped on the bottom of a pair of...get this...METALLIC silver wedges. Terrible, just terrible. Not only was she "never-changing", she was a fucking bitch. I HATE IT when therapists just sit and let me talk and don't say anything, because then I just start to make shit up so I can throw them for a loop. "I don't ever want to speak to my grandmother again" ......silence ensues......"because when someone was going to mug us, she ran away and let me get mugged because she was "carrying Chanel" as she explained to me". Obviously not the real story, but come on woman..talk to me! I can do your job and I promise I'd be able to afford more then one pair of shoes, maybe even jimmy choo's honey.
So when my mom made an appointment for me to see another therapist, I was less than thrilled. I judge people by the way they look, and although the office was nice..if some busted-ass looking woman came out with metallic shoes I'd run the other direction. Thankfully for me, this woman had on a fairly cute outfit. I mean...nothing that I would wear, but it was definitely a step up from Dr.Metallic Bitch I encountered before her. She looked very nautical, and since I love the sea I knew it'd be love. And....SHE ACTUALLY TALKED...oh man, finally, a therapist that speaks! For a minute there I thought they were all mute!
I have an appointment with her next week....lets see how this goes.
Until then....<3 Theresa
My last horror story of a therapist was this woman, who wore the same fuckin' shoes every single time I saw her. Maybe it was so she could make me feel like she was a steady person, that I could always count on her to be available and never-changing. But I'm a fashion snob, and when I am going to see a therapist and she is wearing the same pair of shoes..I would like to know where the money my insurance is giving her is going too. Did she just smoke some crack before I got here? (and let me tell you, I would not be surprised).
Anyway...the shoes weren't even shoes you could get away wearing with everything. They were these cork, wedge heels but the cork looked like something you find off a fuckin' bulletin board slapped on the bottom of a pair of...get this...METALLIC silver wedges. Terrible, just terrible. Not only was she "never-changing", she was a fucking bitch. I HATE IT when therapists just sit and let me talk and don't say anything, because then I just start to make shit up so I can throw them for a loop. "I don't ever want to speak to my grandmother again" ......silence ensues......"because when someone was going to mug us, she ran away and let me get mugged because she was "carrying Chanel" as she explained to me". Obviously not the real story, but come on woman..talk to me! I can do your job and I promise I'd be able to afford more then one pair of shoes, maybe even jimmy choo's honey.
So when my mom made an appointment for me to see another therapist, I was less than thrilled. I judge people by the way they look, and although the office was nice..if some busted-ass looking woman came out with metallic shoes I'd run the other direction. Thankfully for me, this woman had on a fairly cute outfit. I mean...nothing that I would wear, but it was definitely a step up from Dr.Metallic Bitch I encountered before her. She looked very nautical, and since I love the sea I knew it'd be love. And....SHE ACTUALLY TALKED...oh man, finally, a therapist that speaks! For a minute there I thought they were all mute!
I have an appointment with her next week....lets see how this goes.
Until then....<3 Theresa
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