Today is my little brother Ian’s birthday. Funny, it seems like yesterday that he was making homeade guillotine’s and freaking out my friends by chopping off his WWF wrestling figures heads. When I was in high school, Ian always seemed to be the little kid in the background sticking up his middle finger and telling the neighbors he owned a pellet gun. He’d offer my boyfriends dog treats masked as “beef jerky” and try to tell them that I was actually a large Italian man named “Toney” with an anchor tatoo trapped in the body of a 17-year-old girl.
Of course, I was not the innocent bystander, and being eight years older, clearly should have known better. When Ian was six or seven, I remember reading him books before bedtime. Only, I’d change the words to say things like, ”Jimmy said, ‘Susie, you’re a dumb bitch! Don’t steal my toy!’ Then Jimmy stole a car and went to jail.” I’d buy him and his friends cigars and illegal fireworks and high five him when he told me he pushed over a Port-O-Potty on a local construction site. The two of us would devise ways to play mind games with our parents and laugh hysterically at their confusion. I guess the kid didn’t have a chance at being wholesome.
Happy Birthday, Brother! Love ya!
You may think this was Halloween, but actually, this was Ian's everyday wear. You'd never believe how he could accessorize with a Freddy Krugger glove!
On game days at Penn State, the name on every one’s lips is “JoePa,” our 83-year-old coach and father figure to the school. I swear, not since Jesus has a man had so many loyal followers. Plus, Grey had never been to a PSU game before, and this also happens to be the last semester for my 23-year-old brother before he graduates college, we figured we’d watch some ball and give Ollie quality time with his Uncle all in one fell swoop.
Bringing the baby proved to be a giant mistake. While we were at the game, I think Ollie’s poor babysitter (a cute girl I found on Facebook) seemed to be run ragged by my wild son. We think he even sampled the fine vintage of toilet water in our hotel. When we came home he was soaking wet, missing his pants, and with a bruise on his head from God knows what. As my brother put it, “At least he’s still alive.” Yes, survival rate percentage is very important when booking a sitter.
All things considered, it was a great day, and worth the hassle to hang out at my alma mater with my hubby, son, little bro, and 110,000 shirtless screaming frat boys.
Joe Paterno is one of the few names in sports I actually know. So I like to talk about him
Earlier this fall, Grey, Ollie and I drove up to State College, PA to visit my brother and cheer on PSU in a football game. It wasn’t an easy trip — waking up before dawn, a screaming toddler hellbent on mastering the sound of swine being slaughtered, winding roads in the backwoods of Pennsyl-tucky (at one point I feared we were to be anally raped by a particularly deranged-looking Amish family), but it was all well worth it for a weekend in Happy Valley.
I was feeling a little old as we drove to PSU; the entire ride up I had this sense of nostalgia for my 21-year-old self. A girl who could sleep in her contacts for three days straight, consume nothing but pizza and beer and still remain bright-eyed, svelte, and cellulite-free (well, kind of, at least). Not that 31 is old, but ten years makes a big difference; I mean for Pete’s sake, I now identify more with the clothing at LL Bean than at Bebe.
But as much as I loved being back at Penn State and visiting with my brother, instead of feeling sad those days were over, it actually emphasized how happy I am to NOT be a college student anymore. Squatting over a toilet that is probably laced with everything from genital warts to Polio just didn’t appeal. I couldn’t stomach eating slop at 2AM and waking up bloated with as much of a hangover from salt as from alcohol. I can’t imagine sleeping in a 4′X7′ room in a twin bed so close to my roommate that I can smell their breath. Nope, not for me.
Now for my brother, I say enjoy it, because all too soon you’ll be where I am and wonder where all the time went.
"Delta Delta Delta...Can I help ya help ya help ya?" Oh yes, my Delta days at PSU were ones to remember!
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