Can't We All Be Winners? No?

No, H, I guess I should have known better than to think you'd let it pass.

Part of what makes H an interesting and lovable nemesis is her wiliness, and not in a classic cartoon coyote way. She's quite good and I've had quite the time figuring out how she does it. From an early age, she unassumingly got what she wanted; in all fairness, sometimes it was deserved. I wish I knew how she did it. I do know that she has a damn good memory. She is younger by nearly two years, and she did obsessively document her life, so that all helps. I'll start remembering events soon and return the many favours.

Until then, here it is: when H reveals and probably exaggerates less than flattering stories about me (when she's basically being, well, H), I'll award her a "bratty buck". We'll see how quickly she accumulates them, let's say, by the end of the summer. I haven't decided how to "reward" her. Suggestions are welcome. Perhaps I'll set up a poll.

Non negotiable, natch.

And the Wiener Is...

Phew! Now that M's birthday has officially passed, I can stop being all "Hurray, it's your special day!" and "Of course some people consider cat fur on a T-shirt fashionable." M, did you honestly think I was going to let you talk about that article (see M's previous post) and then not say anything? Whatev.

Hey, even if M's IQ is three whole points higher than mine, the fact is that her BQ (or Bitterness Quotient) is off the charts. I can trace it back to the summer of 1989. Our mother forced us to enter a summer reading program at the library, where the children who read the most books over eight weeks received glory, fame, and a gift certificate for a hot dog at Dock Lunch.

Now, M is a speed reader. Seriously, she went through Anna Karenina like it was a flip book. But that summer I got the prize. Now, maybe it was because they mixed up our first names, but I'm not going to sit here yelling "Recount!" after all these years. Also, she tried to stuff my victory hot dog in my ear. After I'd already put mustard on it.

But I digress. My big question about this article concerns the second-born siblings "who became the eldest in the household after an older sibling had died. Their scores came out the same, on average, as those of biological firstborns." So, does this mean that if something tragic and, of course, completely unexpected were to happen to M, my IQ would actually go up? Something to think about...

Tickling the Intellect

Birthdays are big in my family. We tend to make a bit of fuss, as ably demonstrated by H, the little scamp! Happily, I was properly fêted all weekend and am feeling quite good about returning to work and waiting another year before I can whine "But it's my birthday" to do whatever I want while encouraging other people to do things for me. I'm also feeling good about the next bit.

A friend sent me a link to an article from the New York Times on Friday, and it's simply perfect: Study Says Eldest Children Have Higher IQs

Take the article with a smallish grain of salt, though for my purposes, it's bang on. I have a lot of life experience, and I often - very sweetly - offer sound advice to my siblings when I feel they need it. (In no way do I resemble this guy.) So really, the best present of all is knowing that when I say to my sisters "here's what you do" or "if I were you", they should rightly listen to me. FACE.

For all their teasing, my sisters really do know my likes:

* Actually given to M, who can't wait to use it


** Actually drunk by M & company


*** Actually given to M - 31 delicious pieces of candy! Her dentist can soon finance his cottage.

Bonne Fête, M! [trans: M has bony feet]

So after many, many minutes of trying to come up with a suitable gift for M on this, the day of her birth, I ultimately let two factors rule my decision. #1 is my serious lack of this thing you call "money" and #2 is that, just like I'm not supposed to say "fuck" at Christmas, I'm not supposed to be a bitch on M's birthday. The following are three gifts that I think are very nice. Oh, and M might like them, too.

First, the song we sang for birthdays when we were children:

Ma chère M
C'est à ton tour
De te laisser
Parler d'amour

Second, a few of the best anagrams you can make with M's full name:

Lunar Lamb Algae
An Umbrella Gala
Grab All Alumnae
A Banal Mall Urge
Anal Bulge Alarm (H's personal fave)

Third, final, but certainly not crappiest, are some gratuitous animal pics, 'cause they're kewl.


Mortimerlin


Babs and Oblio


A Wild Wabbit

Happy 31st Birthday, M! (What, you thought I wouldn't mention the number?)

Present Tense

M's birthday is in just a few short days. (I think. Or was it yesterday? No, wait, my neighbour's sister's hairdresser's petsitter's was yesterday. M's is definitely coming up soon. I'll check on the exact date later, after my stories.) And now I am facing the same dilemma people have faced since time immemorial: What the hell do I get her?

I began my quest for the perfect present systematically, by writing a list of her interests. I hoped that it would spark something.

M likes:
- candy
- low-flush toilets
- Lola, her cat
- getting her driver's licence picture re-taken because the first take makes her look "too eager"
- getting her passport picture re-taken because the first and second takes make her look "kinda shiny"
- giving me dirty looks when I accidentally let out a tiny belch
- practicing my signature
- those bags of little carrots (and by extension, making orange fangs out of said carrots)

And so on, and so forth. As you can see, I don't have a lot to work with. This is a lot of pressure. How am I suppose to top that bottle of spray-on salad dressing she gave me for my last birthday so I could learn more about "portion control"? At least I still have a few days. (I think? It's not next month, is it?)



Cat food and catnip, for Lola. She's easy to buy for. (Yes, I repeat, catnip.)

Bringing Back the Memories

Seeing H with her freakin' diary again made me a bit nostalgic. I had my share of pre-teen/teen/adult angst over the years - still do - but diaries were quintessentially H. Too much effort for me, not to mention worries that my sisters would read them (a valid fear) and torment me even further.

Mostly, I like remembering the simpler time when we were wee: collecting stickers, creating stories worthy of soap operas for our Barbies, playing "school" in the basement, stealing candy from H (in my defense, she saved her Hallowe'en loot for months, a Herculean effort for a child). She always saved her allowance too, but I didn't know where she hid it.

Given my advanced years, I sometimes enjoy sparing the peevishness and spoiling the brat. Sappy, I know, but I found an empty beer bottle and thought fondly of H.

M & H: The Early Years

A Very Good Beginning


Holidays - H is quietly disturbed by my joie de vivre


We rocked those costumes!

The installment with the awkward teen photos will be much more interesting. Right, H?

The End of Exile

As a preteen, I wrote in my diary obsessively. In its pages, I worked out some pretty tough stuff (Why doesn't Wade Desroches like me? Will I ever get boobs? Who shot Mr. Burns?). These past few days, unable to leave the house, I've returned to my old ways. I think I feel better. Or maybe I've got a buzz going.