Blog About Me.

That's all she says. She's really quite strange. This I have deduced from fourteen years of the kid.
Her room smells a bit like that onyx nail polish she's applying for the second time to her left hand. And...she just coughed all over that hand...there's also a slight odor of used matches and hairspray that lingers in the air. And after I type that, I start hoping that she doesn't use the two in unison for her own personal fun.
I'm so oblivious to what she does in this room after 10:30pm. You wouldn't even know. I get off the phone around eleven and there's still yellow light spilt on the floor in front of her closed bedroom door like forgotten milk on the kitchen counter.
I want to say that she's just like me, that we're two of the same. But that would be an honest lie. Because we aren't. We're both outgoing. Both unnecessarily loud. Somewhat vicious. But she's a different make, this one. I seem to float around at school, calmly taking in my surroundings and absorbing my current state of the union. I just flow from one thing to the next.
But when you're fourteen. Wow. When I was fourteen, well, I can't say I was much different. I will say, with good confidence, that maturity has certainly made it's way towards me. Mentally, that is.
If you ask the cross country team, they will tell you how insane I really am. But that's beside the point.
She moves in her own way, that's for sure, but she's so in tune to the social scene I swear she's got this all planned out. Brave enough to rock the thickest high tops that I could never wear, even though I would love to (converse and I make a great pair), mean yet tough enough to bear the scars of what girls really are today. Solid as a brick house. She will knock you down. And she will like it. And when she catches me dancing, because this happens a lot, she has the nerve to stand and shake her head, or dance with me for a second before returning to that head shaking state.
Not the smartest choices sometimes. But she makes passionate ones.
Now I get the sudden urge to dance to my Animal Collective album playing on MY NEW LAPTOP SPEAKER. What?! We'll save that for another day children.
A report/webcam bananza-fandango-fantabulaza on the next post.

My first sister has been with me for almost fourteen years now. By the simple name of Gabby. From water-winggys to footy pajamas and applejacks, to the Rockies and back, and every single mile in between.
I'm crazy to enjoy it.
But every day I can't think of anything else more entertaining than coming home to a sister who collapses on the floor for no absolute reason.

Here's to you, you Vicks sniffing, creeper fool.
I wouldn't have it any other way.