two sisters

Blagmail

finley85 — Sat, 02 Jul 2011 01:12:25 +0000

I don’t have much time.
My sister has threatened to release some very delicate information at 8:30 pm central time unless I, as she so lovingly puts it, ‘GO BLOOOOGGGGG!!’

Like any good sister, I went to my sister today with a story -and a question -so that I might gain her insight. She threatened to let my story, (a very private one involving her least favorite topic out of my mouth: boys) become common bar fodder for her and her friends. People that also sort of know me and who thanks to this blog, will not now know that story.

The title of this post shall heretofore come to be known as ‘Blagmail’ -a mixture of the terms Blog & Blackmail, since that’s just what this is. Blagmail.
Anyway, well uhhh.. I think I’ve served my purpose here. I came up with some mildly clever pun of a title, I have a few sentences now and I mean, I don’t remember saying anything about this post actually being ‘good’. So look sissy: I’ve fulfilled your every expectation. I was only required to blog. I’ve done that. So yeah. I’m out.

I’ll probably blog later though I’m sure.

I have this funny feeling that every personal incident from my childhood until now is about to be threatened with full disclosure unless I do this a few more times.

Hey, you ever accidentally say your name outloud at night when you’re drunk and all alone and then feel kinda weird about it?

darlene79 — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 07:08:13 +0000

Well, it IS WEIRD, especially if you pair it with an encouraging adjective, like, I dunno, ”responsible.” Let’s say it’s 1:30 in the morning and you’re carrying your empty wine glass to the kitchen and you catch a glimpse of yourself in your mind’s eye actually placing the glass in the dishwasher instead of the sink and you get all excited by this uber mature version of yourself and as you’re gracefully walking down the hall (because of course you’re not stumbling. you only drank one bottle of wine and oh god when is that online statistics class quiz due, it wasn’t tonight, was it?) that you blurt out “WAY TO GO, RESPONSIBLE DARLENE, WAY TO GO!” And you even inflect the exclamation point because that’s the type of person you are, drunk perhaps, but totally dedicated to the new responsible uber mature version of yourself (Darlene 2.0, if you will. and yes i will, thank you, and can you put that on the rocks) which includes being HELL BENT on accomplishing this random ass chore of placing your effing glass in the effing dishwasher in the middle of the night. And who knows? maybe your responsible-uh-ness will carry over and you will put ALL dishes in the dishwasher and clean the whole GODDAMN kitchen with an effing toothbrush and dental floss RIGHT NOW AT THIS VERY MOMENT because that’s just who you are! But it doesn’t matter what your intent is, it just sounds weird to your ears, hearing you say your name out loud like that in a dark hallway with a strange supportive adjective before it, and you pray to God that your passed out roommate doesn’t hear you talking to yourself (but so what if she does? she’s drunk too, and hell, she passed out on the couch, mumbling something about chelsea somebody or another, and who is that, anyway? and why do i have a feeling it’s some random ass character from that goddamn Urkel show, or wait, was that a dream i once had?). And then you’re so busy thinking about this whole new “responsible” version of yourself that puts glasses in the dishwasher IMMEDIATELY once they have been soiled that you need more time to think about this version of yourself, and what kind of career you would have, as this super mature version of yourself, and who would your friends be, that you no longer have any time to waste on putting stupid dishes in the dishwasher so you just set your glass in the sink so you can go sit in bed and think about what type of cute people will be attracted to DARLENE VERSION 2.0.

Anyway, all’s i’m saying, is that it sounds weird.

Weird Ass Dance

finley85 — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 04:01:22 +0000

..is just one of the tags my sister created for her last post. She also felt the need to make the tags: “Goonies”, “Chunk”, “Elephantitis”, “Truffle Shuffle”, “Weird Sister”, and “Palsy”-

which I’m seriously hoping does not get us any visits to our page- because, well I kind of seriously hope that we NEVER get any visits to our page sometimes (for reasons too obvious to point out), but also because if someone is running a search for ”Palsy”, I’m sure they are looking for serious information and not just the offensive ramblings of a drunken Darlene.

(..But if you do wind up here after running a search like this and are offended, please do not be. Darlene can’t help it. She has Palsy.)

Ya know how in Goonies, Chunk does the “truffle shuffle”? Well, ol’ sissy has a little dance that we’ve always endearingly called “Finley’s Palsy 2 Step”

darlene79 — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 17:42:37 +0000

And the really cute thing about it is that you don’t have to be liquored up at a wedding or a karaoke club or wherever it is you go to be liquored up to talk her into doing this cute little geriatric gig of hers! No! That’s just how she walks! It’s so fucking adorable the way her head seems like it’s just about to fall off that ol’ scrawny neck of hers, and the right side of her body just isn’t quiiite matching up to the left side and oh my, is it possible that her left leg is longer than her right, cuz why else would she be dragging that elephantitis looking foot of hers and oh it doesn’t matter cuz then you’re back to the head thing, all shaky and unsure of which direction it wants to point in until, thank Jesus, she finally just sits down. And then you’re like “Yay! Do it again!”

Oh gosh, she’s so cute.

Ummmm, in a figurative kind of way.

Obviously.

just because i’m drunk doesn’t mean my sister isn’t funny.

darlene79 — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 03:40:18 +0000

i mean seriously. sure it’s only 10:30 on a Saturday night. but so what? i’ve been drunk since 9. don’t you dare judge me (honestly, though, it’d just be a waste of time since i’m not nearly as drunk as i’m gonna end up being.) But what I’m trying to say is this…. i mean did you even read my sister’s last post? It was awesome! I mean, don’t get me wrong, she is most definitely a shitty person, but wow! the construct of that post just left me feeling blissfully satiated. good job, sissy! Oh, and don’t tell her I said that, and don’t tell her I wrote this either. And if she’s around your computer while you’re reading this, hold your hand up over this post so she doesn’t interpret this as a compliment.

Oh, and by the way I’m drunk.

Are You There Blog? It’s Me, Finley.

finley85 — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 05:34:42 +0000

Of course you’re there. You’re a blog.

My sister has now taken to harassing me hourly when I don’t post. I get sick of lying that I’m about to and feel even more shame at my subtle insinuations that I have something better to do with my time. I don’t.

It’s Tuesday. This was once my Lost night. I don’t mean that in some deep, poetic way- whatever that’d be. I mean the TV show, obviously. But sadly the series ended at least 3 Tuesdays ago, if not a few more,and now the only Smoke Monster around here is me, complete with a pack of Camel Lights and my (oh god) ..blog.

Does it say anything about me that my boyfriend is currently at a bar drumming & looking cool whilst I sit on the couch with my dog ..blogging? Don’t answer that. And yes, I blog with my dog. Anyway, I suppose I should be at the bar with the beau &the beer, but the dog/ blog combo doesn’t require me to shower and the beau will understand. I just texted him, in fact:

“Lets get drunk and blog.”

I meant it to be poking fun at how geeky it is that I’m blogging instead of going out; but his reply, (which I won’t be posting) made me realize he thought I was using some strange brand of dork innuendo.

Oh yeah baby. You heard what I said. I want to blog.

I want to blog alllll over this world wide web. (heh)

No I dont. Not in the literal form or the figurative one (excuse me, I’m a lady!). But while I’m on the subject, I should probably mention that most things are regarded as innuendo by Blarrison (the fake blog name I’m granting him, which I think has a nice ring to it). You know those people that can’t help but say, “Thats what she said” at least once in a conversation, whether it be a discussion on politics, weather, quantum physics, or the death of a family member -they truly cannot help it. ..Yeah. He’s one of those. That’s what she said; well, thats what he says. And he says it with such precise timing &enthusiasm that you’d think he’d been set on auto-response as he belts out ThatsWhatSheSaid! to a variety of otherwise PG comments from me in order to conjure up these vulgarities, which generally range from the blatantly disgusting, [e.g., during my relaxing coffee time: “oh great, i got cream on my shirt!” (blech) ], to the typically pervy, [while we’re smoking: “you just blew that all over me” (sick) ].

But these still don’t bother me as much as the last two brands. There’s the strangely confusing TWSS he’ll offer up while I’m discussing something pseudo-technical, possibly to do with computers or car problems. Something not specific to, but maybe along the lines of:

“My engines not turning over properly and I’m wondering if there could be a hole in the transmission.”

And any protests I have for TWSS being uttered for one of the gems in this category are simply waved away. If I say, “SHE DID NOT SAY THAT. SHE WOULD NOT EVER SAY THAT BECAUSE SHE’D REALIZE IT MAKES NO SENSE. SHE HAS NEVER SAID THAT. I SAID THAT,” he simply informs me that, well- SHE said it too, (the bitch). And if I dare to question the TWSS logic or mention that I simply don’t understand WHY she’d say that, I am given a look which makes me feel naive. A look to say, “ah child, there is much you do not yet understand.” But not from Yoda or anything. From my boyfriend.

Anyway, the last kind is a bit more rare. It’s the lazy TWSS. The kind where I say something along the lines of, “Hey Blarrison, whatcha doing?”

..And now I know she did NOT say that.

She did not even blog it. I did.

my sister just told me she grew a set of balls overnight….

darlene79 — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 04:50:48 +0000

and she probably meant it in this great metaphorical sense, meaning she’s gained some insightful blah blah blah…

but really, Fin? that’s just gross.

i mean, really.

The combination of drunk prank sexy texting and 80′s beloved childhood icons is nothing short of magical.

darlene79 — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 00:10:11 +0000

Firstly, is there a word for this prank drunk texting? I mean something cool the kids have come up with? Like how they did with ‘sexting’? Like, I dunno…. “prexting” or something? Well if it has a label or not, it is absolute and utter sheer joy to experience! The other night my bff and me sent out a few to some random contacts we stole from our favorite blonde’s phone and one to dear ol’ Finley. Enjoy!

Text #1: Omg! Thought it was so sexy the other night when we role played dorf and ernest gettin at it! Ya know what i mean? Ha! Call me!

Text #2: Um, dude, what was that strange stain all over my bart simpson nightgown this morning? Right below the “don’t have a cow, man” speech bubble!

And this is what we sent to Fin: Omg! Just want you to know that i replayed that sex tape we made the other night on my teddy ruxpin and i can’t convey to you how hot hot hot it made me! Holy hell! Call me soon, babe!

Needless to say, no one texted back, but I can without a doubt recommend this as a very satisfying and fun thing to spend a big chunk of time on.

Ya know, Einstein was really onto something with that whole “E=mc^2″ thing…

darlene79 — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 00:57:24 +0000

especially if you substitute E with “my sister” and mc^2 with “sucks”.

I find it most encouraging that I actually was just fired. And that my sister just called me a drunken whore.

finley85 — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 23:39:07 +0000

Okay- So I really was just fired. But from a real job.. not my drunken whore job. (That job’s actually looking up. I have a feeling I’ll be getting more hours in now that the other one didn’t work out.)

This other job wasn’t a major job though anyway. I mean, I wasn’t looking to make a career of it or anything. It was part time nanny gig.Two days a week, five hours a day. Or so I was made to believe.

And I wasn’t REALLY fired. I mean, I was ‘let go’, but from a job I wanted to quit and by people who are insane. (I’ll blog on this later.)

But my cracked-out slut of a sister totally did just call me a drunken whore.

That happened.

And it hurt. Ya ol’ slut. It hurt.