To understand my style of sarcastic low-filtered humor, you have to know the L. family. To start off with the biggest character of them all, my father. The best way I can describe him is a mix between a homeless person and Hitler. Why you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. Don’t get me wrong, I love my memories but not who he has become. Anyways, I see my father as a hobo for the less obvious reasons. He doesn’t pan-handle the streets asking for your spare change smelling like an old bag of Fritos, but because when I pass by the homeless on the street I try to imagine who they once were. Maybe the man on the corner of a busy Chicago street was once a happy business man with a family until untreated Schizophrenia swallowed him whole. Or maybe the starry eyed lady outside McDonald’s was just a lonely woman who desperately wished for adventure and acceptance finally found a friend; meth. Thats my dad. Somewhere along the way he grew too tired of let downs and gave into his frustration and never looked back.

Which brings us to Hitler. You know how even though Hitler’s morals were beyond effed up but he was still amazingly powerful? Thats daddy for ya! Making good money, spending it horribly, and has friends in high places. Its like this, even though Hitler was corrupted and cruel, you gotta admit, his actions were impressive. Impressively devastating but still impressive none the less.

Next on the list is mumsy. The seemingly quiet, keeps to herself, cable knit sweater wearing mom. But, get to know her and she’s almost the opposite. One day she is reminding me to stay positive or not to forget that there’s two sides to every story and the next day she’s as catty as a high school prom queen. My mom is the mom you expect to gasp at the word intercourse while scolding you for saying the lords name in vain, but, not so much. Don’t get me wrong she loves quiet nights at home, walking the pup, and knitting her heart away. But at the same time she enjoys a good cosmo and a good Family Guy episode. At the end of the day, she’s the person I love to spend my nights watching Role Models or Knocked Up with.

My big sis is the self-diagnosed autistic. Not to be mean. Just honest. Cal is a gentle soul living in a big city with a job in politics. If you haven’t noticed a trend everyone in my family likes to contradict who you would think they would ever be. I could go on a rant about all the things about her that annoy me. But, that is neither here nor there. We are as similar as a hippie and a bodybuilder, plain and simple. I enjoy a good cigarette and a room full of people. She enjoys a good macaroni casserole and an online blog. Keep us in a room together for more than 15 minutes and without a doubt we will be fighting. But, she is my sister and you have to love a person that knows who they are, what their not, and what she will be doing in the next ten years. Respect a person with more motivation than Mother Teresa on crack. But, still hate her for being the Antarctica in my Sahara. She’s everything I’m not and that’s the only reason we connect so well.

Big brother is big brother. He doesn’t care if I’m off smoking weed with a high school drop out, hooking up with a different guy every night, as long as he doesn’t find out I hang out with his friends. Cause that means someone’s getting their ass beat and I’m getting the worst lecture of a lifetime followed by a cold shoulder for at least a month. My brother was the blue eyed blond curly haired little boy on the playground, playing swing jumping contests the day he learned to pump on his own. And had the smile that melted the hearts of mothers around the world. Now, with each passing year he reminds me more of my dad. John is the wounded soldier on the battle field you lust to save until you realize you have to hold your own front before you risk it all on someone else. Everyday I worry my brother will be sign up for my dads miserable army before I can keep him sane enough to see how big of a mistake that would be. I love him and I miss him. I want my big brother back before he forgets who he is.

And last, me. My first impressions are horrible. I’m a loud, random, sarcastic, with a big ol'’ glob of b**** on top. I’ll take your breath away with psychobabble because I’ve graduated from a program or five. My daily prescribed pill intake could knock out a rhino. I have hand tremors of a 95 year old woman. On the flip side, I hit up LA Tan as much as possible and love a good pair of fake nails. But, you can never call me fake. I’m as brutally honest as they come. Love me or hate me. Just don’t get under my skin because I will do two things. One, put you on the spot with one of my famous guilt trip b*** outs, and then leave you in the dust. I’ve been to hell and back and banks (my baby blanket) is my best friend.