Wednesday, July 11, 2012

What Is Wrong With You?

This is a question I’m forced to answer more often than I’d care to admit.  I’ve heard it said that we are often victims of our upbringing and I’ve had to dig deep to remember when it all started.  As I’ve reflected on my childhood, I’ve not been surprised to see that everyone has always been against me since the beginning – specifically my parents and more so my brother…Mitchell Royer…he’s trying to kill me.

It all started when that tyrant was born.  Even as a toddler, I remember thinking that this would not stand.  My parents, Mimi and Jim Royer, kept talking about the new kid who’d be coming around and I was not impressed.  HOW DARE THEY!  I was certain they were replacing me and on the day my mom went into labor, I was shipped off to my grandparents’ house.  REAL FUCKING COOL MIMI!  I SEE THERE’S A NEW ROYER IN TOWN!  I was clearly being banished so I figured I might as well get comfortable.  Out with the old, in with the mother fucking new.

You can imagine my surprise when I was picked up and taken to the hospital to meet my new brother, Mitchell.  What a bullshit name.  My eyes squinted, upon arrival, in an attempt to intimidate the wretched offspring.  He was god damn adorable.  So this is the monster they chose to replace me and now they’re gloating by showing him off?  It was heartless. 

Mimi and Jim Royer, and their master trickery, have always managed to outsmart me.  I’m pretty sure this is called MANIPULATION!  HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW MOTHER FUCKERS?!  GUESS WHO’S BEEN TO THERAPY!?  Ugh…anyway, after a moment of being in the hospital room, I was presented with a gift from the newest and least impressive Royer.  He had gotten me a doll.  I was suspicious but accepted this gift.  Mimi, that sneaky little devil, went on to tell me what a big responsibility being a big sister would be.  She informed me that I would be attending Big Sister classes at The Park District so I could fully come to terms with what my duties were to be.  AH HA!  OH SURE, THIS KID GETS TO LIE AROUND ALL DAY AND BE BREAST-FED AND I HAVE TO GO TO SOME CLASS JUST TO KEEP HIM ALIVE?!  I was furious.  This was worse than being pushed out but what was I supposed to do?!  I had to move forward seeing as I was now single-handedly responsible for this ankle-biting brute. 

As you can see, my parents tricked me and then forced me to raise the only child they’ve ever loved.  It was the beginning of a series of circumstances in which I was royally fucked over by the world-at-large, starting with the people who were supposed to be protecting me.  After Mitchell was born, I was relegated to serfdom.  I would never be able to outshine that masculine son-of-a-bitch.  My grandmother had given birth to three women and when she got a look at Mitchell’s wang she regarded it as a king’s scepter.  I didn’t have a dick and I knew this meant trouble.  What was I to do?  Mitchell was the first male born to a family of bitches and the last thing they were going to be impressed by was my flimsy jaydge.  I was cursed with a vagina.  I had heard that sex denoted power so I attempted to assert this power as soon as I had a chance…in high school…with anyone who was willing.

My four years at Lincoln-Way were debaucherous.  I had been misled!  Abandoned!  Beguiled!  Mitchell was three years younger than me but quick on my heels.  I was a senior when he was a freshman and I was quickly overtaken.  At that point, my high school career consisted of terminal one-night-stands that often resulted in aggressive gossip and pregnancy scares.  Big dick Mitchell rolled in and was immediately Homecoming King as well as a star football player.  My biggest claim to fame had been the etching of my name into several of the boys’ bathrooms.  In my final days of school, I was almost expelled after a dean had found drugs in my purse.  AND GUESS WHOSE DRUGS THEY WERE?!  MITCHELL MOTHER FUCKING ROYER’S! 

To be fair, I was also partaking but I doubt I would have gotten in trouble had I not been forced to carry around a bizzaro bowl that had been crafted out of some sort of extravagant bamboo.  This thing was out-of-control and Mitchell had received it as a gift from one of his many worshipers.  I tried to explain to the deans that this was my brother’s doing but they were not having it.  The real problem here is that I was trying to be masculine, cause clearly that was the solution, but some of my hare-brained girlfriends had forced me to start carrying a purse.  I was able to grasp the idea that you where supposed to fill it with stuff but couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that it then needed to be taken with you everywhere.  I had filled it with my belongings (cigarettes, weed, obscurely constructed bowl) but had forgotten to actually take it with me past the high school commons.  Ultimately, the deans took pity on me seeing as my mother was the principal at a neighboring school.  I was able to graduate but Mimi and Jim thought it was probably time for me to move the fuck out.

They were really fucking tricky about that shit.

Mimi: Honey, we think it’s so great that you want to be an actress.  You should immediately move out.

Me: Um…I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I have a D.U.I. making it virtually impossible for me to actually go anywhere.

Mimi: If you move to the city, you won’t need to drive.

Me: But my leg is broken.  It’s not real easy for me to walk.

Mimi: We’ll buy you some crutches.

Me: It’s just that…

Mimi: Ok love you bye!

That was it.  I got kicked to the curb and Mitchell was left to rule over his people.  If you go into my parents’ house there’s an entire wall dedicated to Mitchell’s football achievements.  It’s covered with ribbons and awards and blown-up pictures of him, in his jersey, on a snowy day, tackling someone less advantaged than him.  In the far corner of this room is a picture of me as an infant.  It represents a time when the world was still filled with hope and possibilities.  I didn’t yet know about penises or alcohol or the necessity to carry a handbag.  I was docile and hopeful and if you look closely…it truly seems…like nothing is wrong with me.      


  1. I remember feeling like I should carry a purse too! I filled it with paper clips, pez,and the diaphragm I found in my sister's room when she went away to college. Also, F MITCHELL.

  2. I was just shy of 7 when my younger sister was born and negative 1 1/2 when my older sister was born. I took my younger sister under my wing and taught her the joys of smoking newports, weed and bud light. I was never jealous, she was like my little doll, my smoking doll. I used to like to take her by the shoulders and give her shaken baby syndrome when she wore clothes I didn't like, specifically neon peach spandex. My parents didn't have money for dolls and toys and food stamps and things of the like so they gave me a toy human and I tried to get her into the guinness book of world records for the worlds youngest alcoholic but she couldn't dream big like me, apparently I didn't shake her hard enough. Today she is an adult and I can't help but think if I made her smoke more I could've stunted her growth and kept my pint sized smoking doll forever. Thank god the spandex are gone but true to the cause- she is still an avid smoker. True story with a somewhat happy ending. Also, F MITCHELL

  3. Dont get me going on the little sibling bullshit! Great blog! I feel you sister, I feel you! :D