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Sister Story: Curiosity Can Gross You Out

Well, it didn't really gross out either Sis or I, but if it had been overheard, people would have run from us. When it's just the two of us especially if we're in the car, our conversations wander over vast and rarely connected territories.   We visit many subjects and you just never know where that conversation may lead.

I'm not really even sure how this topic sprang to Sis's mind, but on 1 January of this year, we were driving over to visit Bok Sanctuary which was a couple hour drive.  We got talking about all the problems and issues that can crop up when having your period. At one point out of the blue, she looked over at me and asked how women who go in the Peace Corp and similar postings overseas in little developed countries dealt with having their periods; did they stock up on tampons or what?

I actually knew the answer to this one (though I've never been in the Peace Corp).  I told her they used a washable, reusable silicone cup like the Diva Cup.  Really, I'm assuming that was the correct answer.  It was the only one I could come up with as reasonable.  I had to explain it all to her because she was a bit flabbergasted.  They're little flexible cups that you can wear for around 12 hours and are pretty easy to use.  When you remove them, you just dump the blood in the toilet, wash it in the sink and reinsert.  Simple, and economical.  If you're in a public restroom, just wipe it clean with toilet paper.  If I remember right, they don't come with the risk for Toxic Shock Syndrome either.  If you've lived overseas in such a posting, I'd love to know if I was right about what you use, by the way.

She didn't believe me when I told her so once we got home I had to pull mine out of a drawer in the bathroom to show her.  It was cool and comfortable but I just never got the hang of removing them.  When you insert, you fold it into quarters and once it is in, it will spring back into shape creating a vacuum seal.  My problem was always breaking that seal when I removed it.  Let me tell you, I found out that some places just are not fun to have hickeys. 

A couple of months later, they sent me a newsletter and I had to forward it on to Sis.  

Side note: If people tell you women are squemish, they've never heard my family and friends talk about our periods.  Description can get graphic.

Sister Story: Don't Make Me Turn This Car Around

We all know this saying.  We've probably heard it from our parents countless times.  In my family, I'm the one notorious for not only saying it but following through.  The first, and truthfully only, time was back in high school.  My sister was on the varsity softball team and I was the manager who kept score and tallied statistics.  We didn't play on high school property.  Only the guy's baseball team had a field there (well, until someone sued under Title IX and won).  The girl's team played on the public softball fields out at the marina. We'd both played summer slow pitch on these fields for years including the game where there was a gator in the outfield. It was always fun making sure vagrants were shoved out of the dugouts and restrooms before the games.

During one game early in the season when I was first learning my way around the score book, my sister made a play that she thought should be listed as something other than the error I had been instructed that it was.  Well, after the game she rode back with me for what, I assume, was the sole purpose to express her displeasure at that call.  I was not headed home but through a drive through and then back to the high school to get ready for a play performance. I had gotten on the side road where the fields were located and was waiting to turn on to the highway when I got tired of the badgering (haranguing is also a good word for it though what difference she though it was going to make I don't know) and shouted, "You want me to turn this car around?"  She kept up and I turned the car around when I got to the front of the line, drove back to the fields, and told her to get out.

In my defense, I knew that I had left before our parents and that even if they weren't still there other team parents remained.  It wasn't like I was leaving her all alone with no way to get home.  This was back before cell phones were ubiquitous.

Standing in the high school parking lot later that night, I got my ass reamed out by the Elders but it was worth it.  What good is a threat if you aren't willing to follow through?

Sister Story: Live Feckin' Fire Range

From our trip to Wales two years ago:

She wanted to get to Green Bridge or something like that (I didn't write the name down) but we missed the roundabout or junction (I still swear the city name on the map covered it up).  So she decided St. Govan's Chapel would do.  We (not so merrily by this point as it was after 5 pm on an already long day) wind our way over and about the single track roads until we get to this final turn.  We pass through a red and white gate, and as I look around, I start to wonder.  I asked Sis if she was SURE we were going the right way and she told me we were going to keep going the way we were going (through what I'm sure were clenched teeth). 

Well, as I'm worrying, I start to notice these signs, saying things like "do not touch debris," and "caution: live fire."  So I'm starting to freak out when we come to a car park with a sign saying, "St. Govan's Chapel" and another saying, "Castlemere live fire range."  Yes, this quaint tiny chapel in the middle of nowhere is on the coastal edge of a military live fire range.  A fecking live fire range.  I feel like I need to say it again.  LIVE FECKING FIRE RANGE.  Bunkers dotted the landscape.  Sis did not notice until I pointed the signs out. 

Then (nothing good can follow a bolded then) instead of looking at the information sign at the front of the car park we, like idiots, walk to the left and follow this elderly couple up and through a gate.  From there, we are walking around (in gusting winds) following the edge of the cliff, not finding the chapel.  Finally, we get on the cliff edge in front of one of the bunkers to get out of the wind and Sis spots it.  The chapel at last wedged in a fissure in the cliffs.  Now that it has been spotted, we have to get to it.  We hike back around, negotiate the gate, track through the car park and past the info sign to the head of the stairs.    I sigh.  She rolls her eyes.  We traipse down.  Well, she did.  Traipsing, stairs and I don't mix.  It's tiny; one and half rooms worth of tiny.  Pretty and austere but tiny.  Other than the chilly temp and high winds (and the live fire signs), I'd go back in a heartbeat.

The Automatic Flusher Dance

This one came from my darling, charming sister who can probably do better justice to the story than I.

One of my sister's old college buddies, E, was going to be moving from eastern Virginia to LA to work on another degree.  My sister and another college buddy, M, agreed to drive cross-country with E to help her move.  They took the time off work, got everything packed up in E's SUV and headed off.  E's driving did give Sis and M some pause for concern though since they were all going to be rotating driving shifts.  M wanted to take shotgun when E drove with the (probably futile) hope that if death was coming she could wrest the wheel away from E and save them all.  Sis was more pragmatic.  She napped in the back seat saying if death was coming she'd rather not see it.

Well, on one of their many lunch stops, they spotted a Sonic which we all love.  On a whim, Sis and M decided to try the Banana Cream milkshake (I think that is what it was) that was part of a promotion.  They both found it very tasty but later down the road had a few issues and had to stop at a rest area.  Neither had a fun time of it but while there Sis realized M was in the stall next to her (she recognized the shoes).  When M was done and ready to leave, she had a slight problem.   The automatic toilet hadn't flushed.  Well, M has good enough manners to not want to leave things as they were so she started moving around the stall hoping to trigger the sensor.  After a few moments, the movements got quicker and more dance-like.  Sis, next to her, was just watching the feet dancing back and forth covering the entire stall and listening to the quiet swearing trying to keep her laughter quiet.  Eventually, M gave up and stepped out of the stall. A lady came in while M was washing her hands and headed for it.  M looked at her saying, "You do NOT want to go in there," and left.  Poor Sis was left there laughing hysterically while the lady had to wait until Sis calmed down enough to finish up and leave.

Moral(s) of the story: Automatic toilets are not as helpful and clean as intended and don't drink milkshakes while traveling if you're lactose intolerant.

Sister stories: The Commando Story

I love my sister and have long recognized that she has a more interesting life than I do, in large part I think, because she is more restless than I.  She wants to be out doing things whether it's soccer, shopping, going to the gym, or a club, or a fair.  I'm more of a homebody.  The fact that she earns significantly more than I do doesn't hurt either.   She also has the capacity to get into some zany situations. She'll call or email with this long, convoluted story that is absolutely hysterical. Today's sister story is about a bad weekend from a few years ago (in her own words):

I guess everyone is seeing a pattern to my e-mails now.  I only email when I have done something slightly, or extremely stupid.  Well, this weekend was no exception.  It starts off well; both of my roommates were going to be out-of-town, this becomes important later, so I get the apartment to myself.  Oh, what a nice relaxing weekend this is going to be! 

 

I first drove to the library to drop off some books.  Lo and behold what happens when I stick my key in my car lock, the lock, which was loose, falls into my car door.  I know you are probably wondering how this happens, well don't ask me because I sure as hell don?t know.  All I know is when I tried to put the key into the door, the lock just pushes back and disappears.  I get my trusty maglite out, and I can see the lock just floating around in the door.  Of course something good comes out of this, now I can unlock my door without a key, I can just stick my finger in the hole that used to be my lock and use my finger as the key.  I would like to point out the reason that I know this is because on the passenger side door of my dad's corvette he did not have a lock, not because I used to steal cars to feed my bad porn habit. 

 

The next day, I go shopping, because of another stupid thing I did earlier in the week, to buy new trainers since mine were now in a car heading to Titusville, instead of a bus to St. Cloud. (to those who don't know country, that is a reference to a Trisha Yearwood song, but I am sure A will get it because she is that damn cool)  I swing by B's to feed her cats then go home.

 

I go for a run that night to break in my new trainers.  I put the key on my shoelace, like I always do.  I plop my ass down in front of the tv when I get back, all new Trading Spaces on, and I cannot miss that.  When the second Trading Spaces comes on, I am starting to get hungry, so during the first commercial break I jump in the shower.  I was really excited to take a shower because of the supercool new towels I got from Bloomingdale's, but this is beside the point.  When I get out Trading Spaces is back from commercial.  When the next commercial break comes on, I throw on some clothes, ones that I just washed and were next to me on the couch. 

 

I am going commando for no apparent reason other than I am just stupid.  So I have on my soccer shorts on with a tank top and a t-shirt with no shoes.  I lock the bottom lock and do a quick run to McDonald's.  When I get back I am going up the stairs and searching for my keys in my purse.  I will tell you there is nothing like the feeling of doom you get when you look at your keyring and see four keys when you are supposed to have five.  So my dumbass left the key on my shoe.  I am standing outside my apartment with my McDonald's with no underwear on and no shoes.

 

I call N to see if she has our landlord's number, unfortunately I cannot get through.  So I try to call my dad thinking he can talk me through picking the lock.  When I finally get through to him, he is describing how I need to do this with a card.  The first one I try is too stiff, it was my old ISIC ID, and then my sister suggested I use my Blockbuster card, unfortunately this is too flexible.  I flop onto my back and look up, and what do I see, a really large fire extinguisher on the wall.  Do not worry, I did not give in to the temptation to bust open the door, not because of fear of breaking the door, but because I was afraid of someone catching me and calling the cops. 

 

I am starting to get a slightly panicky feeling in my stomach.  Luckily I still have B's keys, so I can always stay there.  Unfortunately An is not due back until Monday, and N is supposed to be back Sunday.  I start to worry that N will stay with her mom an extra day.  So what happens if Monday comes around and I still cannot get into the apartment, am I supposed to call work and say, sorry can't come in today I don't have any underwear. My mom suggests I can go to Target and buy some, but oh, wait I can't get into Target, don't have shoes.  Then I remember I have hiking boots in my trunk.  Can you imagine me walking into Target in soccer shorts and a t-shirt, commando, with hiking boots on, with no socks? 

 

At this point, I realize there is no way in hell I am doing that, I didn't care if I had to stay out there the whole night, ruining every card I had in my purse.  I was going to get in the apartment.  So I get out my old military ID, and like Goldilocks, the third one is just right.  As soon as the door popped open, I get up and start singing the song from Rocky, dancing around jabbing at the air.