childish.

I haven’t been posting because there’s literally nothing to write about. All I’ve been doing is watching movies and trying to transport my body to New England.

I did go to “a cute little diner” with the Moms yesterday. “Cute” and “little” translates into cheap, low-quality food. To no surprise my mash potatoes were rocks, so my 2 year old niece and I were flinging them at each other.

I know, I need to grow up. I will in a couple of months.

olga.

One of the reasons why college kids look forward to vacations is the food. A few days before I left my friends couldn’t stop talking about the “Welcome Back” dinners their mothers were preparing.

I wasn’t able to contribute to the conversation because a home-cooked meal here means my brother and I standing over a pot of water, waiting for it to boil so we can throw our Ramen in. Sometimes if the Femme Mom is feeling domestic she’ll whip up an amazing meal, which just pisses everyone off because we know it’ll be another two week wait before we get the special food treatment again.

Unfortunately, the Femme Mom isn’t here so the Butch Mom has taken the reigns. That means handing each of us $20 for “whatever we’d like!” My sister has spent it on diapers for her daughter, my brother bought three packs of cigarettes, and my little sister got herself an iTunes card.

I “went crazy” at Wawa and got an unhealthy amount of sweets that proved to be a dire mistake. This morning I was jolted awake by shocking pains in my back molars. I looked in the mirror and saw the beginnings of a cavity or two, so I quickly made a dentist’s appointment.

I threw a big enough fit to have the office pencil me in for 10:00 a.m. Friday morning, and I learned that my dentist’s name is Olga who, the receptionist assured me, was “firm but nice.”A firm but nice dentist sounds like someone who will pull out my teeth with wrench but smile while doing it. In other words, I’m worried and might bail.

secrets come out.

My older brother just let me know he was bi. I told him I knew when I was eight-years-old and I saw him dancing along to Britney Spears’ videos with a turtleneck on his head so he could have long hair.

I also told him that for boys, bisexual is just temporary stop on the way to Gayville and he just smirked.

So, my mothers got their wish - there is now another homo in the family.

complaints.

My brother thinks I telepathically told him that I gave him permission to have my room. He keeps referring to it as his and asking me to not “muck it up.” No. I’m sorry if you taped up a few posters of naked women on my walls but that doesn’t make it yours. The Femme Mom usually settles sibling disputes like this but she’s in the south visiting her parents. Now it’s just me and my brother, dueling it out for the space.

I have the upperhand, I think, considering I’m a girl and need my personal space and The Femme Mom has missed me so much that she’ll bend to my every will. That’s manipulation and I’m scarily good at it.

Other news from the suburbs of Philly - my niece turned two yesterday. We had a quiet, little party with vanilla cake that was placed in the middle of the dining room table three hours before the celebration started. Naturally, all the frosting was picked off and the strawberry decoration half eaten by the time we sat down.

My sister was livid, of course, and we all confessed to “sampling” it so she’d pipe down, My older brother’s intentions were more sinister. “I wanted to sabotage her party, Elizabeth,” he said before cackling. She didn’t let him have any piñata candy.

There’s nothing for me to do for the rest of the week except live in Borders and buy useless stuff from Target. I’m counting day the days until I go back to college. The 30th is too far away.

home is where the wars start.

Growing up my siblings and I forced each other to grow some tough skin. Our nicknames were pretty cruel; my favorite was Man in a Dress for my tomboy sister. Our fights were vicious, too, most resulting in broken skin or bruised egos.

Since we were all adopted none of us looked similar – I mean, I’m black with some Swedish in me, my youngest sister is straight up black, my other sister is a black and white, my other sister is black and Indian, my older brother is just plain, ol’ black, Man in a Dress is black and Egyptian, my older brother is Italian, and my oldest brother was Hispanic.

Aren’t we fucking colorful?

Sometimes we’d compare how much our ancestors had suffered in order to get first dibs on the computer. Unfortunately, slavery is a trump card and we didn’t have any Jews.

While we were little assholes to one another I doubt any of us could have emotionally survived the blatant homophobia thrown at our parents. If some dumbass on the bus turned around and asked me how I could handle having lezzies for parents, he’d have boxes of chocolate milk dumped on him by lunch, compliments of my sisters.

And when we came forward with my older brother, who was seven at the time, having AIDS we’d all walk through the school halls, hand in hand while mothers were pulling their children from our classes.

I’m thinking of this because spring break is coming and I will probably get into arguments with all of my siblings. But thankfully we’ve all been fitted with some pretty tough armor.

The only time things really get heated is when one of my sisters and I are deciding who has the “good hair.”

(Obviously, I do.)