When someone helps you move, the polite thing to do is immobilize them in plastic... right?

"How am I a 27 year old woman that doesn't own a matching set of glasses, but has a shot glass from every state and seven cookie sheets?" - A worthy question from a worthy Sister as we pack up our kitchen.

I am facing my last week in my lovely little home in the Wood. Not that this matters to most of you, as most of my readers and friends are spread across the country/globe/universe. I can hear you questioning now "Oh shoot, is this going to be sentimental nonsense instead of a funny story?" The answer is a resounding NO! I just wanted to share this awesome picture of the TDS* wrapped up in mover's plastic wrap.

She came to the house and spent hours helping us pack asking for nothing but the nickels and dimes she found on the floor**, and we rewarded her by wrapping her up and taking photos. Lovely.

This is my last week in this little state, and then my adventures will be coming to you via the road between here and San Francisco!

*Third Durham Sister. We have accepted her as one of us.

**She did ask for wine, which also seemed reasonable. However when I returned with a cheap white we realized that the kitchen had already been packed. The most logical thing to do? Unpack the kitchen boxes until we find a corkscrew, drink the wine, repack the kitchen boxes. Not the most brilliant plan, but definitely the most rewarding.

Turns out, my sister's not a murderer

Before you get too involved with the post, please consider how similar these two pictures are: 

 It's no secret that Maude and Sister don't get along very well. One of them consistently calls the other mean names while the other habitually urinates on the former's carpet. (See if you can figure out which is which...) I love them both, and usually try to stay out of whatever feud it is that they have had running for the past two years.*

Yesterday was a banner day for the two of them. Maude somehow broke free of her kennel, broke out of her diaper**, broke into Sister's room and defecated*** throughout. Sister was a little angry and told me she was going to "kill my dog", a threat I've heard before and never taken to heart. I told her she should be impressed that my severely handicapped dog was so handicapable.

Some hours later, Katie sends me a text warning me not to park in the driveway. When I ask her why, she sent a very disturbing text:

(Warning. This photo has been blurred to protect you from the gruesome image that appeared on my phone screen).

Holy smokes, my sister actually killed my dog! I knew she was mildly passive aggressive, but this was just downright cruel! Just yesterday I had seen Maude in the same position and found her pathetic and adorable: 

To make what could be an episode of Judge Judy short- the animal in our driveway was a rabbit. And it was dead when she got there. Sister has once again evaded the iron hammer of the law by doing nothing wrong. If you could zoom in on the picture that I blurred, you would see a large pair of rabbit ears, just like I saw when I zoomed in on the text. But you can't zoom in, because I don't want to put a picture of blood and guts on my blog. That stuff is yucky, and this isn't that type of blog.

Some of you may ask why I just spent a whole twenty minutes typing a story about how I thought for a split second that my sister killed my dog. Why is this worth your time? Why did you bother reading to the end? I'll tell you: Think what a good story it is now that she didn't actually die.  You just had all of the joy of reading a story of sibling rivalry, revenge, and animal cruelty- but nothing bad actually happened at the end so you don't have to feel sad. Louisa May Alcott wishes she had written this story!

*I know what the feud is over. I'm pretty sure it is about me. They both want to be the center of my attention and for me to take constant care of them. Yea, that's probably it.

**Because my dog is not only blind and deaf, but she wears a diaper. Only yesterday she didn't. 

***Somebody should give me an award for using the medical term instead of something juvenile. I could have used any number of words****, but I chose to stay above bathroom humor. 

****Words I could have used instead of "defecated", were I less mature: feces, stool, poop, doo doo, turd, mud cake, dookie, dump, deuce, load, butt mud... but I didn't use any of those. Yay me.

My sister finally killed my dog... but Maude lives on!

First and foremost, thank you for all of the wonderful birthday presents/texts/songs/and statements. Here are a few of my favorites in each category...

Sung Voicemails: 
1). 
(To the tune of "Call Me Maybe")
Hey Molly its Jill. And it is Sunday. And I am calling, to say Happy Birthday! I know you're 25, but don't you worry. It's a good age, so Happy Birthday!

2). 
Well here's a cheerful little ditty for you birthday:
Happy Birthday. Uh. Happy Birthday. Uh.  People dying everywhere, misery and dark despair but Happy Birthday. Uh.
And many happy returns.

Spoken Voicemails:
1).
Hey buttface I was just calling to say Happy Birthday. So, Happy Birthday.

2). 
Well I hope you have had a great birthday, if you chose to celebrate it. Because sometimes you like to pretend it didn't happen. If we are pretending, then ignore this message.

Texts: 
1.)
You did it! You were birthed, way to go.

2).
I'm texting you to say Happy Birthday even if you aren't celebrating again this year. Because not celebrating is dumb. I don't mean you're dumb, just some of the things you do and think. Hope this made your day a bit brighter. 


What great friends and family I have! I love/hate how my friends like to recognize that I don't like celebrating birthdays by calling me to talk about it.* The only thing missing was my annual text from Wham Bam with my face in a plate of bacon.**

There were a few not so great things about my birthday. Like how we left our first establishment and Sister had blood on her shirt that was definitely not hers.**** Or how some moron fell on the dance floor and got his adult beverage in my eye. Or how I got ridiculous flowers from some idiot I dated a few months back.*****

No matter though, my birthday was truly spectacular- I even got to see RY and his fabulous AY! Everything was going swimmingly until the next day when Sister killed Maude.This post has gotten a bit long though... I'll have write that story in the next installment!



*Not that I've ever been accused of being too dramatic, but I think my life ended after my 21st birthday. After all who was it that said "You're almost 16, you become 21, you turn 30, you push 40, you reach 50, you make it to 60". Aging is awful and I want no part in it. I've decided to stay 21 forever.

**He used to text it to me every birthday. I didn't get it this year and a piece of me died. (But a significantly smaller piece than the piece of me that dies seeing a picture of myself asleep in an IHOP booth at 3 am with my face in a plate of bacon)***

***Don't judge the things that happen after a long night of karaoke! 

****Guh-ross. I don't know that we'll ever know who's blood it is. I do know that she is surprisingly adept at getting blood out of her shirt in a bathroom. Makes you wonder how many bar fights she's been in!

*****I guess when I said "Never contact me again", I must have added in, "Unless it's to send me flowers on my birthday". I've gotta stop doing that!******

****** Seriously though, the card was signed "Star crossed love". I mean, it has been awhile since I read R&J, but I'm pretty sure they weren't together because of circumstances out of their control- not because one of them was married and the other one found out and peace'd out asap. Should I brush up on my Billy Shakespeare before I head back to school?