Pungsnotded

I swear on the Curbdog

January 8th, 2009

I swear on the Curb Dog

     My older brother, Josh, has always been cooler than me. When we were little, he went to school first and he got to walk there, all by himself. He could climb things and ride a bike and throw hammers off the treehouse and hit me in the head with them. Or toss our newly hatched baby bird off of the top of that thing, claiming he was teaching it to fly. He could skateboard and freestyle. He can still walk on his hands and ride a unicycle and juggle fire,  the list goes on and on. He has the most grace and balance, more than any of my sisters combined.

I remember, when we were little, making a bicycle out of like 4 garbage bag twist ties once, and showing it to him. He laughed at it, and ten minutes later he made a bike with handlebars and functional forks, with brakes and spokes and even fucking pegs on the back wheel. Such was my life. I hated him for having way too many talents. And for shooting me in the leg with a staple gun, and mercilessly throwing me in the swimming pool, and throwing food at me constantly and sticking a burning hot glowing spoon to my knee. But I loved him, for understanding why we needed to keep throwing bologna onto each kitchen window, and giggling when we watched my mom try and figure out what caused the greasy circles that she tried to wash off all the time. And for listening to King Diamond. And for agreeing to pierce my tongue with a needle and salad tongs in my parent’s kitchen when I was 17. He can draw and paint and withstand any form of self-mutilation to an supernatural degree.

-but-

I always thought I was the cooler one. I have more fashion sense, I would never wear chaps or sleep in a flannel nightgown, like him. I am much wittier and he may be a Brad Pitt look-alike, but I am the cute annoying younger sister who is much more fun. Way more fun than Josh on a Friday night, he doesn’t even drink Miller Lite and he goes to bed early. He could at least have let me be the cooler one! But nooooo.

It was bad enough that he had to wind up living across the street from a member my favorite band this year. It was bad enough that he lives somewhere cool and gets to do things that I can only see on Youtube. It was bad enough that he once told me when I was 14 that I would never understand Jim Morrison’s poetry because it was way to deep for me. That was all bad enough. And then I find out that he met Buckminster Fuller’s great nephew, the other day at some community planning meeting. FUCK. What is next, Josh? Are you going to dig up Andy Warhol, bring him back to life and go drink fucking Miller Lite with him?

That’s right BUCKMINSTER FULLER’S NEPHEW.

I lose. But at least I have all my teeth.

I am so telling on him!

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