The Red Sox are losing to the Yankees. It brings back bad memories.
So I thought I would write a little about memories.
I went to the movie Ice Princess with my cousin today. I had free passes and we couldn't see Miss Congieniality II: Armed and Fabulous so we had to settle for something even more cheesy. But this isn't about the movie.
Well, maybe it is.
On the ride back to drop my cousin off, we started talking about our childhoods. We're only a year and a half apart and it just suddenly dawned on me that we aren't very close...but we really should be. We have quite a bit in common, like our mutual love for cheesy movies, hatred of U2 and quirky senses of humor, just to name a few. We are also genuises...both of us.
But then she told me a story about my miserable excuse for a mother, and I understood why I had just recently come to realize all that we had in common.
I was six and she was a day shy of being eight. We were in a car accident somewhere in a parking lot in New Jersey. But the interesting part of the story came the day after. For my cousin's birthday, I, for some strange reason, also received presents.
I barely remember my childhood, while my cousin has an impecable memory of events. Every time I learn something new or all of a sudden remember a small piece of my past, I understand things just that much more. Even though my mother did her damndest to make us feel we were competing (jealous, etc.) with each other, we both came out pretty fucking good...considering. Sure, there were some bumps in the road (guilt, depression, etc.) but we're both the stronger for it.
Even if it took so much longer than it should have, we're better friends and cousins for it.
And plus, I cried during a fucking Disney movie and she mad fun of me for it, which she should have. I'm sensitive. I can't help it.