January 05, 2004
So I received the following email today:
We are loyal readers of your blog.
We were intrigued by your discussion of your holidays, specifically, your sister, brother-in-law and niece. Who are these people? They appear, from your brief description, to be dynamic, sensitive and absolutely not the types who would ever spill wine all over a holiday celebration.
Please do tell.
Dear Gentle Reader,
I am very sorry if I gave such a dramatically untrue impression of my family. Sometimes, as a responsible online diarist, I try to hide the ugly truths regarding those I know in my offline life -- even if telling the real story would get big laughs. (And maybe some bloody comments, you ingrates. I know you're reading but who leaves comments? My parents.)
My sister Jennie (Or "Jumpin' Jennie Jemima" as she prefers to be called) is a screeching, alcoholic harpy with impeccable fashion sense. She's blonde like I am and skinny like I was in seventh grade. But do I secretly resent her for it? Yes. Yes I do. She enjoys spilling wine at holiday gatherings with her sister and causing International Incidents at Indian restaurants. Is secretly having an affair with Michael Moore. She does the world's best Valley Girl impression and buys totally awesome gifts for people, meaning me. Awesome things she has bought me include: the talking Pets.com sock puppet, Strawberry Shortcake pyjamas, the Elsa Perreti heart pendant and earrings, sparkly make-up, booze, and Care Bears days-of-the-week underwear. Thong underwear, which just makes them awesomer.
Today's bear: Grumpy, because it's Monday! Hee.
My brother-in-law Cary is a patient, patient man. He can restore your hope and faith in mankind. Hard to shop for. Also the lawyer of the family who gets all the freeloading emails from dippy sisters-in-law looking for legal advice.
My niece Allie was the world's most perfect child and is now the world's most perfect teenager. She's Rory from Gilmore Girls without the Princess Complex. If I could clone her, I'd have a baby in a heartbeat. I was 11 when she was born so she's never called me Aunt Amy or anything...though she did call me Mimi for about a year when she was a toddler. I tried to get her to stick with it because it was so gosh-darned frickin' adorable, but she was determined to be Right and Correct so nooooo, I was Amy. We played the "Oops Game" for hours on end, the rules of which consisted of me putting a plastic stacking ring on her head and then saying "Oops!" when it fell off. Hilarity ensued.
These were innocent times, when one could type "Oops!" without the inevitable Britney reference.
Today, Allie is a shockingly gorgeous 15-year-old with her mother's fashion sense, her father's excellent moral character and her aunt's brains, looks, humor, mad tennis skillz, natural born talent for drawing, social graces and gifts of snark, sarcasm and smart-assiness.
Anyhoo, Dear Reader Who is So Totally Not Related to Me, thanks for writing! Feel free to write again and tell me all about yourself. I bet you're pretty.
(Why are we all so blue? Because we descended from Smurfs, that's why. Also: computer that has Photoshop installed is on the fritz.)