Nobody takes me seriously. Some may say that this is my punishment for doing nothing but be sarcastic or joke around for 80% of my dialogue with others, but this is no joke. I have lost my right to be legitimately angry with people in my house. Allow me to provide you with one of my classic examples. In the popular TV show entitled "Supernatural," there is a reoccurring joke in which one of the lead characters will call the other a "bitch" and he will respond "jerk." Now, at first I thought it was cute when my sisters would say "bitch" to one another and the other would respond "jerk." "Oh those crazy kids," I would think, unaware of the danger that this witty retort would cause. I have lost my primary method for really layin' one on my sisters. Lets say Sophie has gotten herself up into a tizzy (as is, of course, a rare occurrence) and I wanna REALLY wanna give her a left hook to the jaw (verbally of course). I will cock my head back, suck in my chest and call her a "bitch" with just a little too much disdain in my voice. She will chuckle, say "jerk" and give me a hi-five. WHAT?!?!?!? People now chuckle when I call them obscenities. Like, really not cool at all. Oh, and while I am ranting about things that just don't seem to make any sense, let me talk to you about something that really "grinds my gears." Spicy food. WTF is up with spicy food. I'm sorry India, and much of Latin America, but my food shouldn't hurt me. When my food hurts me, we have a problem. What kind of sick masochistic person seeks out pain in what is supposed to be providing them with nourishment? Sense makes this not does.

Bah

Hey there folks....
I haven't posted anything in a really long time so i figured, "What the heck! Let's give it a whirl." Anyways, the reason I have been so absent is due to the fact that I haven't had much material. You'd think that living with Sophie would supply me with plenty of zany antics to comment on. Well, the problem is that Sophie is not very creative with the ways in which she makes my life hell. In fact, she tends to anger me in the same ways over and over again, simply in a new setting. However, I have recently returned from wonderful Universal Studios in Florida and I felt i needed to share my brief period of satisfaction with the general populous. So, at a time when I am feeling less exhausted and a little more capable to formulate a proper sentence, I will post a few entries having to do with my glorious vacation. Cya then.

Lotto Ticket Night

In the Ruff house, even the smallest of achievements are recognized. Especially on lotto ticket night. Allow me to elaborate. On my father's 50th birthday (342,672million years ago) his sister gave him the gift of lottery tickets. Now at the time we were like, "Lotto tickets? Really?” But we have found that it was the most exciting adventure we had ever embarked on. She bought us 50 tickets. Each ticket costs a dollar. So, whatever we won, we would use toward buying more tickets. Hence was born, lotto ticket night. Whenever we would cash in our tickets for new ones, we'd all crowd around the table with excitement hoping to win more than 7 dollars. You see, that’s the thing. We, the Ruffs, are not very good at lotto ticket night. The most we've ever earned was somewhere around 37 dollars. Well, tonight was lotto ticket night, which I could not have been more excited about. In order to build suspense, I am not going to tell you how much we made. If you want to be a party pooper, go ahead and scroll down to the bottom to ruin the surprise. Go ahead. I'll wait. (Elevator/Hold Music) You back? Good. For those of you, who decided not to ruin the surprise, thank you. And I am sorry you had to sit through that horrible elevator music. Well, on with the story. Tonight, my father (who is making his "cameo" appearance in my blog) endowed me with the intense responsibility of dividing up the cards. He left and I proceeded to tear along the perforated edges, ripping cards in half and swearing under my breath. Of course my father, who my mother has deemed the drama queen, insisted that the cards were ruined. But, the rest of the family just laughed at what an incompetent dumbass I was. Time came for the first card to be scratched. I go first, because I never win anything and because I like going first. I didn’t win anything (Cash winnings so far: $0). My father stared at the card in front of him for a few hours trying to decipher that incredibly blurry language we like to call English, only to realize that the directions he was trying to read were the same ones that I had just read, and mostly based on common sense. He scratched off his card, also winning nothing (Cash winnings so far: $0). Samantha was next to scratch off. She scratched her card. "YEAA!!! THREE DOLLARS!! BIG MONEY!!" We all proceeded to cheer and high five. This is what I meant by even the smallest achievements being recognized. It is Sophie's turn. "Sophie comin 'round to save the day," she says. I tell her she needs to work on her negative self image. She scratches her card. "TWO DOLLARS BITCHES!!!" I told her that her inferiority complex was starting to worry me. You want to know what I've learned? Everything sounds more triumphant when you add "bitches" to the end of it.

The Deep Voiced Sophie Translator and the Evolution of Phone Conversation

ahh.... Been a while hasnt it? Again, I wasnt busy or anything, I didnt even forget, I just didnt feel like it. But this morning on the bus I recieved some inspiration. There are these radio commercials for the Sylvan Learning Center (an extra-help program for kids struggling in school). You will hear a kid slam the door and say in a loud, clear, yet obnoxiously cheesy voice, "I'm stupid okay? I'm just stupid!" Then, in a deep voice that challenges the octaval powers of Barry White, you will hear, "I am frustrated and I don't know what to do...". Then, a girls voice will scream, "I give up!!". Then, oddly, yet again that burly voice that could seduce even the stubbornest of mules says, "I don't want to have to face failure again." Obviously, you get the point. They are implying that what the child says is not what they REALLY mean. Because, of course, when a kid says, "I give up", we need a burly man voice to explain what they really mean. So, I decided that I want that burly man voice in real life. Except I want him to translate Sophie. Because, according to her, I often misinterpret her words. For instance, one minute she will be scream her tiny, tiny little head at me. Then, the next minute she is asking for me to cook her macaroni and telling me she loves me. I suppose if that reliably manly voice had be there, when Sophie said, "I negate, Noah is a big doodoo head." he would have said, "I love you. Will you cook me some macaroni later?" While on the subject of me cooking Sophie macaroni, let me explain to you the evolution of Sophie's plea for macaroni. She will be on her way home from the barn and she will call and say Mommy would you cook me macaroni?" (Obviously she was to tired from sitting down on a horse while it jumps over things to cook it herself) Then, later my mother decided that she didnt really feel like cooking Sophie macaroni. But, of course she wants her princess to have everything her little heart desires, so she tells me to cook it. Sophie would come home and say "Mom, is my macaroni ready?". I would answer, "yes" and she would race of to the kitchen and hug me. Just kidding. She would rush over to the kitchen and grab a bowl and dish out her macaroni. Later, Sophie just decided to call my mom and say "Will Noah cook me macaroni?" Of course my mom says yes, less to anger te princess.

I am a servant in my house. No, worse, servants get payed. I am a SLAVE. But how is it that I know when I am wanted to do something. WEll, there are quite a few ways. I will be presenting to you several scenarios, demonstrating the many ways in which I am asked to do things in our house.

Scenario 1: Noey
Lets say that my sister would like me to get them a glass of water. First, their voice will get about 6 or 7 octives higher than it normally is. Then in this earsplitting voice they will say, "Noeyyyy... Will you get me a glass of water?" Of course I oblige, not wanting to hurt their feelings, and not wanting them to hurt my face. During Samanthas high school years she used this phrase so often that as soo as she said, "Noeyyy..." I would cut her off with "Fine". It wasnt until she was in college that I realized that she had used Pavlovian conditioning on me, making me no better than old Isaac's dog drooling for a bell.

Scenario 2: Permission
This is one of my mother's personal favorites. Lets say she would like me to gather the laundry. She will say, "Noah, while I'm gone you can gather the laundry." Obviously, this fills me with joy. You see, as a slave, I have no free will, so I am thrilled that she has given me permission to gather the laundry.

Scenario 3: The Statement
There are many statements that my sister/ mother will use to "ask" me to do something. The first goes something like this. "Noah, Rebel needs to go out" Well, then TAKE HIM!!! Obviously, I dont say this, you know the whole "fear of them hurting my face thing". The next is one that my sister used just a moment ago. "Noah, there is a necklace in my backpack". Oh my, Samantha, what should we do about that?

Scenario 4: My Favorite Things
Sophie. This is her method. This is more of a redirection method then a straight on asking method. YOu may be confused. Allow me to demonstrate.
Mother: Sophie, go do the paper garbage.
Sophie: What? No....
Mother:What? Yes...
Sophie: Let Noah do it. (Again the permission)
Mother:No Sophie, YOU.
Sophie: But Mom, paper garbage is Noah's favorite...
Mother OH! NOAH!!! COME HERE!!! YOU GET TO DO THE PAPER GARBAGE!!

Fashion Sense. Some have it, some don't. Luckily enough for me, I grew up with two sisters. I am not claiming to be a fashionista (whatever that is) all I am saying is that I know my way around an outfit. I do not succumb to the stereotype that all girls are fashionable. However, I do believe that all girls have a ridiculously keen fashion sense. For example, Sophie wore sweatpants and tshirts until like, 5th grade or 6th grade. Now that my sister Sam has converted her, and tapped into her fashion sense, she is ridiculous. She wears THE most exotic pants and coats. While on the subject of clothing, I would just like to say that the women in our house have become far to obsessed with my boxers. Let me clarify. In 6th grade I made the conversion from tighty whities to boxers (a very manly right of passage). Ever since, My sisters AND MOTHER have very much enjoyed picking out wacky boxers for me to wear. I now have boxers with penguins and boxers with abomoninimonoable snowmen with boom boxes. Guess what I got from my sister for Christmas? BOXERS.