Notorious B.I.G Sister

Big Brothers Big Sisters, in a fit of profound misjudgement, have foisted a hapless thirteen- year-old girl onto me for some heavy duty mentoring . Inga is finally a Big Sister, mothabitches!

For confidentiality purposes, I’ll call my Little Sister Katy. And she is little. Well, petite. So petite that sometimes I forget she’s actually a teenager and has been through more upheavals in her thirteen years than I have in twenty-nine and a half. I sometimes catch myself talking to her like a little kid, and give myself a mental smack. Thirteen-year-olds are just tiny grown ups in puberty stricken bodies, dontcha know.

We’ve had a few play-dates together, and while she never acts particularly thrilled to see or hear from me, she always tries to make me stay a little bit longer, and makes me confirm a time to come see her next. It makes me feel extraordinarily good. She doesn’t say much, but out of the corner of my eye I always catch her scrutinizing the hell out of me, looking at my hair, face, clothes, body – and I really wonder what she’s thinking. Probably “who does this lady think she is and why does she smell like tequila?”

The whole thing is equally intimidating and gratifying. On one hand I’m terrified of doing or saying something wrong, and my brain goes into overdrive with the effort to behave impeccably when I’m with her. On the other hand, the BBBS staff have an amazing knack for building confidence and making me feel like I can do no wrong. Sometimes when I call my co-ordinator for a chat, I hang up feeling like the Vatican’s about to contact me for beatification. Saint Inga of the Smirnoff.

On top of that, her real big sister loaned me the entire DVD set of Charmed. I knew I did this for a reason.

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Take THAT, Dr. Phil.

I’m a cranky, venomous bitch. 2012 is starting off completely shithouse, so I’m arresting the trend before it gets out of hand. I’m going to print out this list and staple it to my forehead:

1. Blog more. I enjoy writing, I enjoy connecting with my fellow bloggers, and I like having a record of my various calamities and calumnies. My blog friends all over the world have inspired me, amused me and educated me for many years – all with very little input or commentary from my end. 

2. Get off the internet. I know this appears to contradict point one, but there’s good internet and bad internet. Quality blogs and anything Game of Thrones related are good internet.  Youtube, Memebase and Lamebook are bad internet. It’s a complete waste of time and bad for my already dubious eyesight and intellect.

3. Read more. Somewhere between Facebook and Big Bang Theory streaming online, I’ve forgotten how much I love to read. ENTIRE books, not 160 characters of mindless, trite idiocy. I’m going to the library, and no, you won’t ever find me with one of those satanic Kindle contraptions.

4. Train for the Melbourne Tough Mudder. The redoubtable Emmy was a finisher in last year’s event in New England, and is even considering a repeat performance. For some reason her traumatic narrative has inspired me to do the same. Not in New England of course, because I WOULD DIE UNTIL I WAS DEAD, but in balmy Phillip Island where I’m hoping the chances of contracting hypothermia will be significantly less.
 

5. Eat better. I won’t bore you with the horrifying details of what counts as mealtime in Casa de Inga, but it’s no bloody wonder I’m in a foul mood when my poor system’s spending 24 hours a day grinding through the masses of poison I pollute it with. So I’m currently aiming for vegan during the week (with the exception of whey protein for my workouts), and whatever the hell I feel like on weekends. I’ve had to go the pseudo-vegan route, because I know what I’m like. If I have a good day of healthy eating, I’ll be all “I deserve a Snickers and a bottle of wine and half a chicken now, RAAAHHHHH!” At least if I’m limited to vegan foods, the worst I can do is eat too many cashews – and usually my throat gets dry and I start to choke a little before I can swallow enough to ruin my diet. And if I really have a craving for half a chook, I can save it for the weekend. I’ve had 24 hours of veganism so far, and honestly I feel quite good. Though I suspect that’s self-righteousness rather than improvement in my homeostasis.

6. Spend more time away from the suburbs. Without meaning to sound like I’m sitting here in a sarong with a reefer in one hand and Pringles in the other, I have no connection with nature any more. I grew up in the great outdoors, with mud between my toes and grass seeds in my hair. I miss that.

That’s sufficient work on Point One for today. Now if y’all will excuse me, I have a life to get back.