My little sister (who will be 38 on June 29th MY GOD) and I fought - literally - like cats and dogs as kids, but we were also each others playmates until I was about 14 or so.

We kinda of had an stormy relationship - we were just both bullheaded and teenagers and had different personalities types - we are too similiar in some ways, and were not similar enough in others.

But it was still a case of "I will fuck with my sister as much as I want but YOU DO NOT HAVE THAT RIGHT." We have a VERY close relationship now, started when Suzy was about 29 or 30, and the other week, she brought up an incident I had TOTALLY forgotten from when we were in college.

We went to the same college, and I was a Big Deal in the English Department, and hung with other Big Deals in the arty/philosophy/English crowd. (OMG, I laugh at myself so much, but it was fun.) Ah, youth...

I was having a party with my roommates; It was my last semester (1994) and my sister was a sophomore. I was TRASHED, friends. It was my house, my party with my crazy married swingin' (at the time) roommates Dave and Suzanne, and my ex-roomie Lisa was there.

Lisa had been my roomie for a year and knew my sister pretty well, and found me and told me some girl AT MY PARTY was in the hallway trash-talking my sister to LISA!

I mean, it was a party, this chick was in the English Dept, she was my sister's age and lived in her dorm. Probably had no idea who was giving the party - she just came along with another friend of mine.

SO Lisa of course finds my tipsy (and, since Lisa was CHRONIC, I was most likely massively baked also)self and told me all this about there was this girl, she was calling my sister a fucking lying bitch and yadda yadda of that nature.

Now my sister wasn't at the party. And I had no clue what the chick was mad at my sister about, but I knew my sister -- she was a good girl. A really nice, if very blunt-spoken girl. So I knew that she hadn't stolen anything, including a boyfriend, or killed her cat or anything.

I don't remember but a little bit of it, but apparently I called this girl out in the middle of a crowded kitchen surrounded by all my friends, most of whom were The ReallY Fun People You Wanted To Party With (most of whom I am close friends with to this day) and just fucked her verbally. I guess I reamed her out good -- I can't remember what I said, but apparently it was majestically, cooly, verbosely bitchy and accurate, and the girl left in tears.

(And, um, apparently the girl believed me when I said I could ruin her reputation in the English Department, because Suzy said she dropped out at the end of the semester. I certainly hope I was not the cause of that.)

I do remember that feeling of righteous rage -- HULK SMASH -- I was so offended by someone coming into MY house and talking to MY friend about MY sister. I was furious because that is MY LITLE SISTER, you know, that you're saying hateful stuff about.

But I had forgotten this until she brought it up. But it was instinctual for me, I guess, even though we weren't a close as we are now at the time that happened.

Shit like that, though, is why I really try not to get mad at people. I am pretty laid-back and try to be fair-minded, but I have had to learn to just walk away from a situation and keep my damn mouth shut and try to work the zen.

Because I DO rarely get massively ragey and it's ugly, and I don't much care for the bitterly vicious things I say...and a tiny, petty, coldly practical part of me is glad I have the ability to verbally eviscerate someone if need me.

Wow...who ordered therapy with my coffee?! Damn.

And with that, I have to go take the dog to the vet. JOY!

So, like the Hulk, but with words, then?

That's a pretty cool superpower.

Yeah, pretty much.

No green skin, thank god.

As a prelude to grad school? If so, in what area?

Natural Resources Leadership, aka my job. But it's something to do, and I might be able to get it partially paid for.

Just had three teeth out (molars that my mouth is too small for), and I'm pretty stoned. Typing is a challenge. My friend F. is here keeping an eye on me. Yay!

Mostly for smonster and Calli: two of the kinderqueers (one of them a NC boy whom I've known for 14 years, since he was 16) got engaged last night. Yay! (This is us in my beloved Terminal 5, though I don't know what J's Facebook privacy settings are, so I don't know if you'll be able to see it. Hooray future gay marriage! )

::back to sleep::

That's great, amyth! (Both the grad school plans and the engagement.)

If you need me to nab anything for you on the way home, I'll be going right by the hippie co-op and the regular grocery store. And if you're awake enough to read this, give F a "hey" from me.

A sibling would have come in handy for deflecting half the blame for everything. And for dealing with the elderly 'rents.

But then I'd have had to share my toys, and have even less bathroom time, and he or she'd likely have been prettier and smarter, and made crazy in different and incompatible ways, so, you know. Only may be lonely, but there's a certain pride in surviving.

No green skin, thank god.

I dunno, in the right 'verse green skin could be a plus.

I guess I reamed her out good -- I can't remember what I said, but apparently it was majestically, cooly, verbosely bitchy and accurate, and the girl left in tears. ...I was furious because that is MY LITLE SISTER, you know, that you're saying hateful stuff about.

Sounds like the Julia Sugarbaker speech: Because when Suzanne Sugarbaker threw that baton into the air, it flew higher, further, faster than any baton had ever flown before, hitting a transformer and showering the darkened arena with sparks! And when it finally did come down, Suzanne caught that baton, and 12,000 people jumped to their feet for sixteen and one-half minutes of uninterrupted thunderous ovation, as flames illuminated her tear-stained face!

And that, just so you will know, and your children will someday know, is the night the lights went out in Georgia!

Bestest sister-defense ever. Of course, she had writers.

Frank, yes. I found out yesterday that even a pounding headache isn't as bad as it could be without obnoxious neighbors making it worse.

Marshalls fail. They renamed the handicap dressing room the family dressing room and removed the large bench that made it possible for me to actually try on clothes.