A Letter of Apology

For my first order of business, I would like to apologize. I’m sorry for that last blog entry. Got on the soap box a little too much, so I figure I’ll lighten the mood a little bit. This is going to be a shout-out blog. Don’t worry mom, yours is coming soon. But today I have to focus on three women in my life. Three women that mean the world to me and without them, I would not be the person I am today. Their senses of humor clash so magnificently it makes a potent potpourri that is out of this world. I am of course referring to my three sisters. Together, they form the perfect snack, a chocolate covered pretzel. I’ll explain…
Starting from oldest to youngest, Melissa. Melissa is the kind of person who can brighten the mood of a room just by walking into it. She never has an unkind thing to say, blah blah blah. These are the types of things I would be writing if I were a weiner, but I’m not a weiner, so here’s the truth. Melissa says bad things about people, but what is so hilarious about it, is her personality casts her as the kind of person who would never udder an unkind word about anyone, get it? Udder? I threw in a Melissa joke. So, when Melissa does start making fun of other people, you really have to pay attention. Her snide, rude, simple, yet clever remarks are said without the least bit of animosity, thus making them innocent. However, she could tell you that you are fat, bald and ugly and you would leave the conversation thinking, that Melissa lady sure is nice. Yeah, that’s what we liberals call, “doublethink”. Or maybe that isn’t the definition of that, I don’t know. The fact that she can get away with saying just about anything to anybody is not lost on her, and she exploits this. That’s what makes her so great. My family would be pedestrian at best, without her. And the fact that she pretends to be conservative is a hoot. Ha ha ha. So full of satire. Just kidding Melis, this family would be nothing without you. Your sweet sense of humor is the chocolate of this tasty medley of flavors.
Amber. What can we say about Amber? Her dry, sarcastic, irreverent humor is the saltiness of the pretzel. What two ingredients clash? Salt and sweet. Right? On their own one would never think they would taste good together. Put them together and there is an explosion of flavor that starts out soothing and BAM! I’m here MOFO! That’s Amber’s sense of humor mixed with Melissa’s sense of humor. Often times Amber says the things that no one else dares to say. Should she say some of these things? Probably not. Their entertainment value for those of us not being directly attacked? Through the roof. Some people take offense to this style of humor, I say, grow up. Without Amber I could not imagine family parties. I mean sure, we’d still have people chucking bowls of ranch dressing at one another, maybe a gun fight or two, but we wouldn’t have the criticism afterward. I’m really going out on a limb here saying these things about Amber. Hope she doesn’t get mad, she feeds me twice a week which I’m grateful for. Without Amber, I would go slightly hungry for a few extra hours every Monday and Tuesday. Thanks Amber, for pointing out all of the negative in us.
Chelsea. My retarded, fat, Asian, communist, closet-conservative sister. We all know you hate the gays, and the abortion doctors, and anyone without legitimate health care. Okay? We get it. But seriously, Chelsea is the crunchiness of the chocolate covered pretzel. And while I haven’t figured out why yet, we’ll pretend what I’m about to say fits in fine with my crunchy pretzel metaphor. You see, ever since the day she slammed my head into the van door (which she later broke because I “cheated” at Phase 10) I knew we would be brother and sister for as long as I felt like it. (Which turned out to be a lot longer than I intended, who the hell knew this shit was for eternity?) But seriously, from our conversations in the strange whooping language we invented, to the urgent phone calls to Janelle asking her which one of our animal noises was best, we have had our fun. One thing I really want her to know, probably the most important thing I will ever say to her…oh damn. You know what just happened to me? I got one of those calls on my cell phone that was from an area code I didn’t recognize. While I have given my number out to various literary agencies, I answered it thinking it may have been one of these agencies wanting to talk about my book. I heard a female voice, which I now know was automated, saying, “please hold.” I held. For 17 minutes, I held. Finally, this guy answers saying he could lower the interest rate on my credit card. I DON’T EVEN HAVE A CREDIT CARD. So, I just wasted 17 minutes of my life on hold for some sneaky telemarketer. Anyway, where was I? Umm…. I can’t remember. Oh yeah. Maybe that’s why Chelsea is the crunchiness in our chocolate covered pretzel. She tried to crunch my head in the van door. Sure beats drinking gasoline though, eh?
Alone, my sisters are overbearing, ornery and finicky, respectively. Together, they’re the best sisters a guy could have. So, thanks you guys, for…umm…well…I guess for being born. Come to think of it, you guys really haven’t done anything to warrant any thanks at all. This is really a thank you letter to mom. So, thanks mom, for raising three daughters, who alone are very mediocre, but together make up an above average group of girls with a sense of humor slightly better than a charter member of the NRA, KKK and the new, ever popular Tea Party. It could be worse, I could be related to Marie Osmond. Dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.
‘Nuff said.