Upon driving in the car with my sister...

My sister and I. We're complete opposites.

Leaving town one summer a few years back, we decided to stop for a coffee before hitting the lonesome highway back to our home town of GLendive. I bellied up to the counter while my sister stood back inquisitively looking over the menu posted above.
ME: "Tall double carmel mocha please."
HER: "Skinny or whole?" asked the barista.
ME: "Whole."
HER: "Whip or no whip?"
ME: "Whip. Definitely whip," I replied.

She smiled, plugged my order into the computer and glanced up at my sister, who offered an even warmer smile as she politely listed off her order.

CINDY: "I'll take a short, 1/2 shot (I swear she said decaf) vanilla latte please."
HER: "Skinny or whole?"
CINDY: "Skinny, please."
HER: "Whip or no whip?"
CINDY: "No whip. Thanks."

I slowly turned my head, eyeing her with eyebrows that spoke, "WHY BOTHER?" She smiled and shrugged her shoulders as she said, "I know. Shut it."

SHe's short, I'm tall. She's brunette, I'm blonde (or at least, I used to be). She's smart, I'm, well, not dumb.

Despite our differences, however, we tend to agree on a few things. Upon driving in the car with my sister a few weeks ago, this discussion came up:

Cindy: "What is one supposed to call one's "significant other" once one has passed the age of, say, 26? Do you call him your 'boyfriend?'" (I'm 26, she's....older, barely.)

Me: "No. Too junior high. How about your partner?"

Cindy: "No. That could, for some, solidify that thing that they've always suspected. God knows we can't add to the confusion. Roommate?"

Me: "No. Too 'unattached' sounding. Too 'three's company'."

Cindy: How about "significant other?"

Me: "Too formal. Way too formal. How about siggy?"

Cindy: "Nope, sounds too much like a bad habit."

Me: "Good point."

Cindy: "Yes, it is. I think that's what we should call them."

Me: "Yes. Yes you're right. We shall call them our siggies, and they shall be our siggies."

Cindy: "And so it was decided."

Me: "Should we stop for coffee in Miles?"

Cindy: "Yes. I'll have you know I've graduated to drinking Americanos."

Me: "That's what I drink! With or without cream?"

Cindy: "With."

Me: "Can't win em' all."


Only in Alaska

This past weekend, I got to be an Alaskan. Again. This time, for three days, not three years. However, I think I packed more Alaskan into my three days than I could have ever hoped to do in my three years. To help commemorate my experience with the Fur Rendezvous Festival, I've compose a short poem:

Ode to Alaska

Only in Alaska can you dress up like a star,
and be accepted, nay, celebrated,
with free drinks at F Street bar.

Only in Alaska, can you see the ferris wheel,
drawing crowds in zero degree weather,
and still think, "what's the big deal?"

Only in Alaska can you see Rocky's brother,
enjoying a glass of chardonnay wine,
as much as, say, your mother.

Only in Alaska, can my friends get big brown drunk,
and dance around in his lava lava,
to the beat of the white man funk.

Only in Alaska can you see greg, whit, et al,
dress up, get drunk, win a plaque and dance,
at the miner's and trapper's ball.

You better believe it bitches. Next year I'm writing a song, so you better start thinking of some damn good inspirational moments.

Though truly, I don't think it can get any better than Frank Stallone and chardonnay.
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