honey please

Well folks, just like that the TexAnn trip is over. Time is such a silly thing, and until someone invents a life remote control where I can click "slo-mo" on all events, I'll just be over here whining about how fast time flies. 

Every time I leave family or family leaves me I feel like I need to write some ginormously juicy and sappy post about how much family means to me, and why everyone needs to have their family. Their people. Their support group. And why everyone needs to hug on and kiss on and sometimes annoy the crap outta those people. 

However I'll spare you all my roller coaster of post-sister visit emotions and stick with something a little less emo (as the 2000's kids called it). 

Sidebar: I will say the highlight of the sister trip may have been when my friend Rachel, Ann, and I harmonized Bitch Better Have My Money, and sang it acapella style for our bartender. We are waiting for our record deal from that exchange. Or at least a free cocktail. Either one will do. 

Anyways, let's talk about something really important. Like really, really important.

Your skin. The skin on your face, to be exact. I've mentioned a few times here recently that my skin look horrendous lately. The phrase pizza face was not created because seeing a pimply face made one crave pizza. I think, in fact, that when you see a face covered in zits, a pizza face, that you want any food other than pizza. This is me warning you not to look at my face anytime soon if you are wanting to eat pizza in the near future. 

My sister has the facial skin of the butt of an angel doll baby. That is as smooth, fresh, and clean as her face looks at all times. I couldn't wait to get her secrets. Spoiler alert: she has no secrets. No, I take that back. Her secret is that her selfless, humble older sister took all the bad genes and left only beauty and grace for her. Insert smirk emoji right HERE. Three or four of 'em. 

Emily, I brought the honey mask!

We have to do the honey mask.

Let's do the honey mask!

These were phrases I heard Ann exclaim several times at the beginning of her trip. I passed it off because A) honey sounds sticky and something I only want on my pb sandwiches, and B) we were too busy exploring to stop and mask it up.

Have you ever gotten a really bad sunburn? And then gotten really excited to peel that really bad sunburn? If you are grossed out by the thought of peeling sunburn then stop reading this blog right here, and also maybe stop being my blog friend because HOW CAN YOU NOT LIKE PEELING SUNBURN?! There is something so satisfying about peeling a giant chunk of skin off. Right? Right. Almost as satisfying as watching Medusa peel off her fake eyelashes in The Rescuers, but we can talk about fake eyelashes later.

Back to honey masks. 

Holy. All. Things. That. Are. Glorious. I cannot believe Ann didn't make me do this mask the SECOND we got back from the airport because it is 100% like peeling off sunburn.

And it is 100% satisfying. And 100% fun. And 100% something you should do.

Ann also 100% approved this picture to be on my blog. Not. 

Jury is still out on the magical zit-be-gone powers of it, but I will say that my skin, zits and all, felt almost as smooth as that angel doll baby's butt skin I mentioned earlier. Almost. 

This post is in no way sponsored, but Hey! Hey Honey! It should be! Because I screamed the most exciting screams as I peeled your mask offa my face. Over and out. 

TexAnn

By the end of the day I will (hopefully) be sipping on some wine and snuggling on the couch with my SISTER.

My sister! My younger-but-looks-older-and-is-the-coolest-human-ever sister is coming to big, bad Texas. Now I'm not quite sure what we will be doing seeing as the main things to do in Houston all revolve around eating, and my coolest human being of a sister is the world's pickiest eater...

Although who in his or her right mind wouldn't literally turn into the heart eyes emoji after tasting a fresh, Tex-Mex, melt-in-your-mouth tortilla?? Who?? Hopefully all of you are not in your right minds because that just means more tortillas for me. 

I digress...

In honor of today being National Emily's Sister Is Coming Into Town Day I thought it was only fitting that today's post be about my sister, too. Enter Five Reasons My Sister Is The Coolest. 

1) She takes and posts selfies like this and can actually get away with it. 

Meanwhile my selfie album is filled with gems like this...

2) She's the itty bitty baby of the family which means she's the brunt of most of the jokes. I will say 99.9999% of the time she brings it on herself. However 99.9999% of the time she's also a good sport about everyone poking fun of her, and even calls herself out before we/I get a chance. 

On that note, Ann has the handwriting of a five-year old trying to learn to write while their pet dog, Greta the Great Dane, is constantly nudging their arm and knocking them over. But she owns it.

Exhibit A:

circa 2014 in a birthday card from her to me. 

3) As seen in #1, she chopped off all of her hair for the second time in the past three years, and pulls it off better than Ted Mosby's red cowboy boots. HIMYM shout-out, anyone? Anyone?

4) When I say Ann is the youngest I mean the yoooooungest. In this instance, that many o's means she is almost six years younger than I am, and almost nine years younger than my brother. This meant she spent a lot of her childhood around our older friends which meant we were the nicest siblings and made her into our own little dress up doll. 

Meet Troy Bolton from High School Musical. I mean, Ann Bolton. I mean, my sister. 

5) She became obsessed with Lord of the Rings at an early age. Now, you might be thinking Emily! LOTR! That does not make her cool! It makes her #nerdalert!  To that I say...well, you are right. But she taught herself some Elvish and once upon a time three years ago she really, really wanted to come to Charleston to spend New Year's with me and Ricky when we lived there. Naturally we made her life more fun by insisting that she was not allowed to come until she spoke Elvish to us. 

She did it. She came to Chucktown for NYE in 2013. She's the nerdiest coolest. 

And now you know a bunch of random facts about a person you will probably never even meet. Which is your loss. So thanks (mom and dad) for reading this whole post!

Ann, get yer booty on that plane and come see these stars at night.

Happy Friday!

when your sister is old, but still young

Yesterday was my sister's twenty-first birthday.

You see, my sister is kind of famous on this here blog. Which really means that she's famous all around the country because this blog = a national staple. Obviously.  

I wrote about her hair (which is beautiful), that one time the Pope hit her (classic), how she steals my clothes (and vice versa), and that one time she turned seventeen (which hello, twenty-one is a way bigger deal) (hashtag wine and stuff). 

You know, there's something about little siblings, am I right? They just always are that: little. When I was going through my Pilates training, apparently I would talk about Ann a lot (I'm obsessed, what can I say?) and refer to her as my little sister. When my fellow trainees finally met my then twenty-year old sister they were really confused. I thought she was your little sister...? She's an adult!

And I was over there like Yeah, yeah whatever. She's little! She was like five yesterday! I swear. Ann, wanna go watch Dragon Tales?! Oh, you make more money than I do right now and you would rather go watch Star Wars? Gotcha. 

how I see Ann vs. how everyone else sees Ann 

Ann turning twenty-one has become quite an emotional time, and if I'm this sentimental with my younger sister then let's go ahead and put me on some kind of medication for when I have my own children. I keep looking at pictures of Young Ann and thinking of all the ridiculous stuff she used to say and do. 

Like telling us the Pope hit her.

Or when she watched Charlie's Angels a few times too many (one of the many perks of having older siblings: PG13 movies), and she told my mother she had to go number one.

Or when she had an imaginary friend named...what for it...Grandma, and would cry whenever my mom would drive by "Grandma's house" and not stop. 

Or when she got so mad at me that she slammed her bedroom door, shutting both of us inside her room. Did I mention she slammed the door so hard that we were stuck in there until my dad broke down the door? (classic) (again).

Or when she would hide her medicine and say, I'll take it if you can find it...

Anyways, back to the post that only my mother, father, brother, sister, and other close family members will care about...

Let's finish with some GIFs that will take us on a journey through the past twenty-one years with Ann-y Boop Doodle. 

Me, the day when my little sister Ann was born and all my dreams came true

My entire family when, as a baby, she had reflux and would just constantly throw up.

My entire family when she was out of the constant throwing up stage of her life...

...but then went right into the constant whining stage of her life. 

Fast forward to present day when we all realized that the whining youngest sibling turned out to be way cooler than any of us. 

And finally, anyone's face and demeanor anytime he or she is around Ann: pure bliss. 

Ann, I'm sorry Mom never took you to your imaginary Grandma's house, but somehow you still managed to turn out okay. 

Happy Day After Your Twenty-First Birthday!!

*Otherwise known as the beginning of the stage of your life in which you are constantly buying me bottles of wine. Thanks.

on the time the pope came over to georgia

There are many things that I love about Ann. Her hair (that is more of a love/hate thing). Her ability to eat 20 oz. of steak in one sitting. (and still be hungry!) (and still weigh 90 lbs!) But what I really love about Ann is her ability to say the craziest things.

Wi was home for the holidays and whenever she's around we like to reminisce. Reminisce about our old ballet days, about our weird we-are-losers days (still in those days, huh?), and oh yeah, about how that child, Ann Moore, said the darndest things in her younger years. Mind you, Ann-y Banany is still in her younger years so these things are still occurring for our and your entertainment. 

There are so many stories from which to choose. The majority of which Ann would kill me for posting on the internet. Hey, Ann! What Ann doesn't know is that only our family reads my blog so she's already screwed since they all know these stories. Hey again, Ann!

Should I tell the one about Ann asking point blank if Santa was real? And then calling everyone a liar for telling the truth. Or the time everything fell out of Ann's brain in PE class? Ann would literally hurt me if I told that one even though it is so so funny. But my favorite, my most absolute favorite up to date, is when the Pope hit Ann.

Intrigued yet? 

Betcha don't hear a lot of stories about the Pope going around hitting people...

back story/what you need to know: Ann went to a Catholic church for the first time with our family friends. The end. Now you are all-knowing and all ready to hear this short but super sweet Ann tale.

Ann tales...I feel a whole new section of my blog being born...

MC: How was church?

A: The Pope hit me!!!

MC: What?! Ann, what in the world are you talking about?

A: The Pope hit me at their church! He hit my forehead!

MC: Ann there is no way the Pope was there, much less hit you.

A (growing more emphatic): Mooooooom, he did! He hit me! Mary Frances made me go up during communion and said he would bless me and he did this thing and then hit me on my forehead! It hurt!! I'm not kidding!

MC: Ann! The Pope lives in Italy. There is no way the Pope came all the way to Brooks, Georgia to hit you on the forehead. You probably mean the priest.
A: Huh? No, it was the Pope. He hit me hard and I'm serious. 

Oh yeah, did I mention that one time we made Ann dress up as Troy from High School Musical? and it was super adorable...

the cuteness! I'm dying!


Ann, repeat after me: This is not embarrassing. I am funny and everyone loves me and that is why they give me attention and write about me in blogs even though it is not my birthday. 

share your hair

Have you ever thanked your parents for your hair? Say what, you haven't? How strange. Me either. I have thanked them for many things: changing my diapers, feeding me (sometimes...), celebrating my birthdays, my education, yadda yadda yadda you know how the list goes on. The thing is, I don't think I will ever thank them for my hair. Nope. Not since Ann Elizabeth graced the planet with her gentleyetvoluptuous wavy headed self.

Emily, you're crazy. Why does it even matter? 

Maybe I am crazy. If I am, it is only because living with Ann has caused me to become crazy. Every morning we go through the same routine. I wake up, yawning and rubbing my eyes like most human beings, and as I pass the mirror I see the usuals: 

1) Mr. Cowlick is mad at me for laying on him so to get back at me he stands straight up.

 2) The Pillow Crease. You know when you put your hair in a ponytail and when you take the rubber band out you have a crease in your hair? (oh my gosh, I need hairapy). Well, when I lay against the pillow and some of my hair happens to fold under or fold over or lie any way but straight down, I get a crease in it. This is my hair trying to be wavy/curly. 

3) Tangles. Self explanatory. They come, they takeover, and they hurt. 

I start to walk away pretending that I am totally okay with waking up like that. I am totally okay with never being able to like, sleep in and have to get up in a hurry to get somewhere on time without showering or doing anything and still look just great. Just as I am starting to feel like I'm on top of the hairworld, in walks Ann-y poo. Dun dun dun. Now, at first glance Ann looks like a normal human being as well. Do not be fooled! It is very important to stay focused. After yawning and rubbing her eyes and looking in the mirror at what appears to be a head full of messy hair, you will see Ann's hand slowly reach up and start to pull out the rubber band that has been restraining the curls and waves and goodness from eating her face all night. 

POOF.

I take the time to blink (mistake), and when I look again Ann's hair is perfect. Literally. Waves framing that ever so presh sleepy headed face. Not one hair outta place. (until I run up and punch her in the face...)

Sometimes I pretend I DO have Ann's hair, so what?

 I wanted a sister SO badly. I wanted to share shoes. Ann wears a 7, I wear a 9. I wanted to share clothes. Ann is size negative negative zero, I am not. I wanted to share hair tips. Ann does nothing and washes her hair annually. I do everything and still have hair straighter than paper and to prevent looking as greasy as a Big Mac, I wash my hair everyday. 

Ann, if you're reading this, I do love you. Mostly for your hair. Oh, p.s.-that's also the reason I don't love you so much. 

side note: This post was not written so that I could complain (really...). I wrote it just to let you all know that the Bruno Mars line, "your hair, your hair falls perfectly without you trying." was in fact written after Mr. Mars saw Ann one morning. 

Best Ever

May is turning out to be just a jolly little ole month. The first Sunday was Ann's birthday. Not just any birthday, mmkay? This was the one and only Sweet 16. We managed to pull off a surprise party for her and it will air on the next season of My Super Sweet 16.

Just kidding.

It was a pretty sweet party. Just minus the famous rapper, a few thousand bucks, and the new car. But, who needs those things when nothing is sweeter than celebrating with your closest friends and family? ;) Also, when you have a father with a car and a mom with a minivan, why would you even need your own car? (Ann, are you reading this? Is it making you feel better?)

Now, a week later, we are celebrating another fabulous day---Mother's Day! Just in case some of you were unaware it was Mother's Day, now you know. Although, if you have a Facebook I don't see how you could have possibly missed all the, "Happy Mother's Day to the BEST MOM EVER!"'s or the "You are the best mom a kid could ever imagine having!!!!!!"'s. What you don't know is that all of those statements are false. Wrong. Inaccurate. Because unless all of those people have my mom, then they just have no right saying that. (And I secretly hope you don't all have my mom because then I'd have way more siblings with whom I'd have to share her.)

DAWWW. Had enough cheese yet?

Seriously, best ever. That's exactly what the card I gave her this morning said--best ever. When I was four, I didn't go to preschool (HORRORS). Instead, I got to spend an entire extra year hanging out with MC. That is the year when I learned all the cool tricks that make me awesome now. I know you were wondering how I got to be this way and well, now you know. Partying up in 1993 with MC. Also, side note, we can read each other's minds. How cool is that?! 

We were telepathic-ly communicating about what we wanted to do when we woke up. Probs eat. 

Mom, I love you. I think you're fab. I channel some MC everyday when I am babysitting. I want to keep my kids home from Pre-K just so we can have party time everyday. Thanks for letting me be your favorite child...I mean, what?...