Sister, Sister

I turn 25 today. Eek.

This is what my sisters had to say about it:

C — Happy Birthday Grandma!

K — In honor of your birthday you are on my listening section of my quiz tomorrow. I'm reading a description of what you like to do and they need to answer multiple choice questions about where you are from, what you like to do, what you like to do A LOT, and what you don't like to do. For the record: you are from paraguay, you like to read, you REALLY like to eat, and you don't like to run.

I haven't spoken to my brother yet, but he's a sweetheart so fingers crossed I'll just get a "happy birthday."

It's my sister's birthday and I'll freak out if I want to

My little sister turns 22 today. For some reason, I find that extremely more upsetting than the fact I'm turning 25 in a few months. Because, I feel like 22 was sort of an annoying birthday to celebrate. You're past all of the good milestone birthdays and all that's left ahead are the "DAMN I'm old" birthdays like 25, 30, 40, 50 etc. So it's utterly depressing that my YOUNGER sister has now reached the age where there's nothing to look forward to in life, in terms of birthday celebrations — which I narcissistically think are the best kind of celebrations. Obviously.

I'm not one of those people that's all, "Oh I just hate celebrating my birthday, let's pretend it's just like any other day." No let's not. It's the day I was born. It's obviously important, and I should be treated like a goddamn princess every second of the blessed day. And showered with gifts and praise for gracing the Earth with my presence. I've always thought those nonchalant birthday people were kind of cool, I wanted to be them. But puh-lease like I would ever pass up the chance to be in the spotlight and make it all about me.

Now... I had a point. Right, about my sister. I checked her Twitter to see what she was up to on this exciting turning point in her life and she had tweeted:

"My students got an 87% ave on the midterm, sweet bday gift!! I wish I didn't have 3 lesson plans to do..Do bdays mean nothing in real life??"

Sadly, they really don't. I remember when I started working and I was actually stunned when I realized all companies didn't automatically give you the day off on your birthday. In my defense, Lotus had always done that while I was growing up so my father never had to go into the office on his birthday.

I was sitting and feeling sorry for myself that my sister was getting so old, and the implication that this in turn, makes me old, when she gchatted me the following:

"Daddy said happy birthday through a fbook message ... devastating."

Burn. My pity quickly shifted back to my darling sibling.

Oh and one more thing: Happy Birthday Sister!! I hope you are having a delightful day! Don't worry about a thing — it only gets better from here...

MFTF: Are You There Dad? It's Not Me, Your Daughter

Daddy dearest, is that you? Are you reading this right now? If so, please just don't tell me. I don't want to know you are following the stories I tell about being drunk, slutty, naked, and just plain disrespectful.

I emailed my father a bunch of my sister's graduation pictures, and he asked me why the file was so large. I rudely but lovingly told him to get with the 21st century and make a gmail account, since he still uses hotmail. He instantly replied with just his gmail address in the body. (Being a smartass runs in the family.) I asked him when he started that account and he said:

"couple of years now... :-) I set it up as my job search email. I do look at it though, it's the one tied to my facebook page (yes! facebook) OMG."

Say whaaaaaaaat!? No, your eyes are not deceiving you. No, I didn't add my own commentary into that quote. As it turns out, today is not just any day. Today is a very special day. Today is the day my father introduced "OMG" into his vocabulary.

And through my feelings of pride and dismay, I sensed the tiniest bit of sarcasm in his response. Could my father have — gulp — found my blog? Does he know my thoughts on him and Facebook? Daddy ... is that you?

If it is — I ask again — don't tell me. But I would like to inform you darling father that I have appreciated your constant Facebook status updates, the new Robin Hood character you recently created, and the wall post from your neighbor that apologizes for her drunk husband  — whom she refers to as "Monkey Man" — going "apeshit" on you at dinner. And I don't know how to properly express my genuine delight in your gift of a Jenny Appleseed plant. Only you Daddy ... only you.

Why hello there foot! Meet my mouth.

There are a lot of stereotypical girlfriend things that I'm just not good at. I don't put on an apron, make a casserole and bake homemade cookies, for example. In fact, I don't even own an apron. I bought one once, and that night I got into a fight with the BF. It was right when we moved in together, and I remember I started to say, "I slaved over a hot stove for you and now you are picking a fight —" when I stopped myself, appalled. I was so ashamed that those cliched words had almost come out of my mouth that I took off the cute yet fashionable Anthropologie apron, threw it on the floor and made a silent oath with myself that I'd never purchase another one again.

I also don't clean the dishes, like, ever. I'm not neat and tidy. I don't wear a lot of pink.... well, you get the idea. I'm not the perfect girlfriend in many ways. But if there's one thing I'm consistently GREAT at it's families. Not to brag, but usually, parents love me. I've never really embarrassed myself too badly in front of a BF's family before. 

Well — there's a first time for everything right?

I recently stayed at the BF's aunt's house on a weekend where his grandparents were also in town. I'd met most of his family before, except for his aunt and uncle. We were all seated at the dinner table and chatting, when his grandmother started telling a story about when she was younger, and went shopping at a store in NJ:

"The sales associate walked right up to me and told me I couldn't afford to shop at their store. She refused to even help me look around."

Now, before you judge me, I want you to stop and think if this story sounds remotely familiar at all. Does it ring any bells for you? Because it definitely did for me. And before I could properly think about what I was about to say I blurted out:

"Oh! You were like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman!"

Stunned silence at the dinner table. Incredulously, the BF's aunt looks over at me and says, "Did you just call my mother a prostitute?"

Shit. When I think of Pretty Woman I of course just think of one of my favorite movies and one of my favorite actresses... but all of a sudden I realized, yes. I had in fact, just called the BF's beloved Mimi a whore.

Luckily Mimi and the rest of the family have a sense of humor, and laughingly poked fun at me a little before shrugging it off. Until, of course, later on when I jokingly berated a male dinner guest when he said something inappropriate towards women and I said "I'd be careful what you say, you are the only man here at a table full of girls." Oh right, except for my boyfriend who was sitting next to me and was mildly offended but mainly used it as an excuse to tell me I was on a roll.

When I said goodnight to Mimi she hugged me and whispered in my ear, "You have a lot of making up to do!" I figured she was referring to my faux pas about saying it was a room full of girls, and that the making up was to the BF and not to her after implying she was a prostitute. Which was less worrisome, although a tad more disconcerting. But maybe I just have an inappropriate mind.

Before going to bed, Mimi handed me a 17-page-story the BF's younger cousin had written, and asked me to read it and give her my opinion, since I'm an esteemed professional writer and everything. (Ok, I might have exaggerated that last part).

I came downstairs the following morning and as the family was getting breakfast together Mimi asked me, in front of everyone, what I thought of the story.

Absentmindedly, I answered, "Oh, I fell asleep after reading the first page."

In Yogi Berra's words  — it was like deja vu all over again. Everyone looked at me in silence for half a second, before I realized what I had just said.

"No! Sorry!! I didn't mean — it's not that I feel asleep because the writing was so boring! I meant, I was really tired so I tried to start reading it but wanted to dedicate my full attention to it today, so I put it down..."

But it was no use. The damage was done. 

"Do you always say such malapropisms?" the BF's aunt asked me.

No, not usually. But like I said, there's a first time for everything — even personally insulting the writing of a 12-year-old to her face, in front of her entire family. 

And of course, calling your boyfriend's grandmother a hooker.

MFTF: My Sister Joins the Facebook Chronicles

I went on to Gmail the other day, unsuspectingly, and was greeted by a new email informing me my father had sent me a Facebook message. Fabulous. He told me that he couldn't remember which of my phones was working and he thought this was best way to contact me. Um... hello Daddy. Ever heard of a little thing called email? At this point I think he's just messing with me.

I was retelling the story to my sister, who apparently was sick of being the only sibling not friends with our father. She informed me that not only had she friended him, she had written on his wall: "I really can't believe you're on facebook". Couldn't have said it better myself.

In response to her post, continuing in his love of FB msgs he said:

"Hey I didn't know if it would be OK to write on your wall so I'm sending you a message. I'm glad they didn't have this when I was in college...there would be too many incriminating pictures out there.

Be good!

Love daddy"

So many amazing things in this message. The fact that he know it wouldn't be okay for him to post on her wall. Plus 5. His comment about incriminating pictures. Ew, Minus 5. Be good! Totally expected, and probably necessary. Plus 5.

I, of course, focused in on the fact he could even write on her wall. I instantly wrote her an email to clear things up:

"Can he see your wall???"

"He could but then I changed it."

"Ha, awkward!"

"Yeah well, I didn't realize. Plus a girl had just written on my wall about me baby oil wrestling."

Classic.

MFTF Part III: Mystery Solved

I should probably just dedicate my entire blog to Facebook stories about my dad, but for now I'll just keep you all posted via my new series: My Father the Facebooker.

The latest installment brings some clarity to the confusing situation. I was speaking to my dad on the phone when the following occurred:

Father (out of nowhere, and very innocently): "So, should I friend your boyfriend?"

Me: "Daddy! You said you were never even going to friend me!"

Father: "I'm sorry! I thought it would be intrusive."

Me (confused): "Wait. What?"

Father: "You told me once it would be gross for your parents to friend you. So I'm sorry I didn't, but I wanted to give you your privacy."

Me: "But... you did friend me."

Father: "No. You friended me."

Me: "Trust me. I didn't."

Father: "Oh really? Well your cousin did and then your brother and sister did..."

I can hear my siblings in the background simultaneously yell: "NO WE DIDN'T!"

Father: "Oh? Hmm. I'm confused."

And then, it hit me. Friend Suggestion was the culprit!!! My Paraguayan cousin likes to 'friend suggest' different family members. And to be fair to my father, that is pretty damn confusing. You get a message that says, so and so has suggested them as a friend? Accept, Deny. And you click accept and it sends a request to said friend who is never the wiser on how all of this friending nonsense happened in the first place. So my wonderful, loving father was just trying to remain non-intrusive when Friend Suggestion came along and rocked both of our worlds. I should have known. I was feeling a little guilty at making it so abundantly clear that I did not want to be friends with my dad so I tried to lighten up the convo.

Me: "It's just funny to see your walls. Like with other adults."

Father: "Why? I'm a real person too you know." (Actually, you're my dad. So... no you aren't.)

Awkward pause and then....

Father: "I still haven't friended your sister in college yet."

YES! Saved by my delinquent alcoholic sister! (No offense K.)

Me: "Yeah. I think it's best you don't see her Facebook."

Father: "I agree."

Well, at least that's settled. I also had my father promise to try and keep my mother off Facebook. Bigger miracles have been known to happen.

Addendum: My delinquent alcoholic sister suggested I point out that she has made it on to the Dean's list at Duke more times than I have. (Which is easy since I never did at Penn. But she actually has, multiple times). She said "It would add depth." Depth, meet my blog.

My Father, The Facebooker Part II

I know I've already had a full blown freak out about my father joining Facebook, but I thought I'd update you on his progress, and my panic attack level. 

This is what his Wall looks like. And obviously not the old version of Wall, but the newer, more stalker version that makes sure you are completely up-to-date on every activity taking place in that person's FB life.

Erik wrote: Hey! You forgot to put Married as status. You will be in big trouble when your wife finds out! (True story, my mom is as crazy and jealous as I am. Hey, it had to come from somewhere)

Janet wrote: Surprised to see you here (ha! yeah, you and me both) You have to get your wife on here, it's much easier to keep in touch. (OMFG OMFG OMFG) LOL I just read Erik's comment, get to it FAST! (kill me.. and wait how do adults know what LOL means? Seriously?) 

FATHER is listed as Married.

Comment #1: Congratulations!

Comment #2: Why wasn't I invited? (from my littlest sister)

Comment#3: It's about time you made an honest woman out of her (DUDE! That's MY MOTHER you're talking about!!)

Let me be clear, I love my father. And my mother. My entire family in fact. So hopefully, if one day they stumble upon this, I hope they are not insulted. I mean this all, with complete and total love, devotion, and full blown anxiety.

Daddy's Little Drama Queen

Help. This picture terrifies me. Because, it may look like your standard blank Facebook profile picture, but it isn't. Because, next to this picture is a very, very scary name. Because, I thought this day would never come.

My father has friended me on Facebook.

I've heard of this happening — to friends of mine. But I never, ever, thought it would happen to me. I just thought it happened to everyone else. When Facebook first became open to the wild — or the public, rather — and parents started discovering it, it never crossed my mind that my parents would join. When other friends came to me crying, shrieking in agony that their parents had friended them, I said everything you are supposed to say in this situation: "Oh WOW, that is just so AWFUL, I am SO sorry. You know, there's always limited profile." But secretly, I was grateful that my parents would never subject me to this type of torture.

So today, when I saw that email ... you know the one... "The person who has taken care of you your whole life, who taught you to be mature, well-mannered, thoughtful and most of all DISCREET, who thinks or at least hopes you are all of these things, who treats you like the responsible eldest child you should be, has just added you as a friend." ... when I saw that, I died a little inside. They might as well stamp 'disappointing alcoholic potty-mouthed-slut' on my head and call it a day. Because when I joined Facebook I didn't Daddy-proof it. And my walls go WAY back. And I'm not just talking FB walls. I'm talking those figurative walls you put up in high school when you lie and say you just "had a sip of one beer" and "don't even have a crush on that boy, let alone stay by myself with him in the house," and you keep all the truth locked up inside your evil, evil, sinful daughter head.

Then, I saw we had 3 common friends and I thought to myself: Judas, Judas and Judas! Had my three siblings already accepted him, that effortlessly? Shit! But alas, it was just two of my cousins and a friend of mine — et tu Alana? 

So now, I don't know what to do. Do I accept defeat and limit profile? Do I ignore and feel guilty, like, forever? Do I call him up and say, politely, "Daddy, I THOUGHT WE DISCUSSED THIS!?"

I mean, his profile consists of his name, birthday (full, including year), high school and colleges (complete with their graduation dates) and this:

Oh, Daddy dear. I think I'll probably accept, and chide him about it. Gently. But the most terrifying thing is that this could be opening Pandora's Box. This could lead to... and I don't even want to jinx it so I'm knocking on wood but... this could lead to someone else adding me as a friend. 

My mother.

Help.

This explains everything

"Your mother hates watching scary movies. I've never seen Silence of the Lambs because we rented it when she was pregnant with your sister and two minutes into it she said 'Turn it off! I can't watch this or I'll have a miscarriage!' And how can I argue with that?" - my Dad

See, it's not my fault — drama's in my genes.

These sweatpants are all that fits me right now

I'm sorry I haven't written in forever. I spent Christmas in Paraguay with my entire family and it was amazing. P.S. Business class is the only way to travel. On the way home they tried to downgrade me to coach after I checked in too late, I through a fit (in true latin diva fashion — J. Lo would have been proud) and they put me on a flight direct home in business class... and then the special chair shattered my cell phone. Karma's a bitch.

Traveling wasn't so fun for the BF who was meeting the entire clan for the first time — due to a series of delays it took him 50 hours to get down to Py, and after spending two nights at various airports he was greeted with about sixty family members, all excitedly greeting him in Spanish (which he doesn't speak). Within an hour of arriving at my aunt's house he was forced to join everyone in a large circle where everyone took turns telling the person next to them how much they meant to that person and why — out loud to the entire family. He was also asked to start off a night of karaoke with a solo rendition of New York, New York. And by asked I mean my very overprotective cousins and uncles handed him a microphone and demanded "sing, child" in the voice of Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Ok not really, but I love that movie. Just so everyone knows, he passed all tests thrown at him with flying colors and was told he is now one of "los perros."

Anyways... my first day in Asuncion I went to the mall, or rather "to the shopping" as everyone down there says. Making the verb a noun — my kind of people. As we were walking in my cousin graciously noted that I am "more big boned than her" and I, a little surprised, tried not to think anything of it since she is microscopic and walked into an Argentinian based fashion shop.  I looked at a pair of jeans and asked a salesperson if I could have them in a size 25. She looked at me and apologetically said, "No tenemos esa talle aca." Translation : we don't have that size here. I looked down at the jeans I was holding and saw they were a size 22 — which doesn't even exist in the states. I looked at her and asked imploringly, "Y un 24?" She told me that they SOMETIMES carry those but they were all out since that was so rare, she threw a lot of "lo sientos" in there and and gave me pitying looks as I took my big bones and slinked out of the store.

Now, as far as I know, Latin people can be very thin, but not practically invisible. So how they didn't carry anything bigger than a 22 is beyond me. All I know is I had a serious flashback to The Greatest Movie of All Time, and thought about one positive thing that came from the experience — I'm one step closer to becoming Regina George. And I didn't even have to eat any Calteen bars to get there.

Upgrade me, I'm Irish

My mother and I had been desperately trying to change my flight to Paraguay next week since my ticket only allowed for a 45 min window of time between connections in Miami, and with the track record of NY airports that is just begging for a flight to be missed. I called American Airlines and spoke to an older gentleman who told me there was nothing he can do and the airline had denied my request for a change. I decided to channel my fiery Hispanic mother and give him my full wrath in response to this news. Apparently, I should have taken on an Irish accent instead.

As soon as he read my last name, his entire demeanor changed. "What are a bunch of Irish people doing going down to South America?" he said. (I chose to ignore any racism he may have been implying and go with it). I explained to him that I was half Hispanic and then answered all of his questions about where in Ireland my ancestors were from, where my relatives live now  — "I'm a Boston Irishman, you?" "My family is proudly Chicago Irish sir" — while he told me all about his ancestors growing up 20 minutes away from mine, how his son now is the assistant superintendent in a Long Island, has four kids with his wife, and his school placed fourth in his district. He then proceeded to change my flight, upgrade me to Business class for the long trip down and in turn I assured him I would tell my father how "Only an Irishman could fix my problem."

I hope my Paraguayan relatives will forgive me for fully abandoning them in order to make sure I get to them in time. And hey, the Irish are one of the only other cultures who have as bad of a temper and as much of a drinking problem as the Latins — is it a wonder I am the way I am?

From the mouths of parents...

"We have a new Christmas tree this year. I have to warn you ... it's aneroxic." -my Mom

"I signed up for a Facebook account but dont worry. I know I have no 'Friends' in this family." - my Dad