Introduction Part V

Finally!  This is the last introduction that I will be doing.  And as you may have guessed, this introduction is about my family.  There may or may not be a person that is not included in my drawings here...but whatever.  First things first (that phrase has never made sense to me), I shall introduce you all to my sister.

This is my sister.  Her name is Angela, but I don't call her that.  See were kind of Filipino (and by kind of I mean half), so I call her Ate which is a Filipino prefix name for older sister or female cousin.  It's a respect term.  Anyways, my sister is weird.  I don't even know what she is.  She's like...hippy, mountain-folk, pioneer, farmer...thing.  She doesn't wear shoes and she thinks it's okay to wear brown and black together.  She is most definitely a proud Hoosier as she always says, "You can take a Hoosier out of Indiana, but you can't take Indiana out of a Hoosier."  I don't even know what that means.  (It's so bright, so vivid.)  Anyways, I've already kind of explained my sister in that one post about my bad mood, so I don't really feel the need to continue on about her.

Translation: I love Star Wars (written in Aurebesh)
This is Michael.  He's my big brother.  He has his sleeves flipped up 'cause he's a jerk-face (one of my biggest pet peeves is flipped shirt sleeves).  Technically he's my half-brother, but what does that half really matter?  It doesn't.  Anyways, Michael is pretty much a nerd.  About once every month he holds a nerd convention at his house.  And by "nerd convention" I mean a 7 hour Heroscape game.  Don't judge me I actually kind of enjoy playing Heroscape.  It's like nerd chess but with hexagons instead of squares...and Demon Lohans.  Demon Lohans will conquer the Earth! Anyways, he has this shirt with Animal from the Muppets on it (that's what I attempted to draw) and some dumb lady said it looked like angry Elmo.  I'd be pretty angry too if someone said I looked like Elmo.  I can't blame Animal for being so.  But yeah that's not a tumor coming out of the side of his head...it's hair.  He's growing it out for Locks of Love (or so he says).  This does not make our dad very happy, but I suppose that's what dads are for, right?

This is my mom.  I love my mommy :) .  She's adorable and precious and tiny.  She's only 4'10", but claims she's 4'11".  She's Filipino.  And by that I mean she was born and raised in the Philippines.  She's not one of those people that says they're Filipino when they were born in the United States with Filipino parents.  So all of the rest of her family is over there still.  And with her being Filipino, she doesn't always have the greatest English and doesn't always understand what's going on.  This was a real conversation between my mom and I:


Me: "Hey, Mom, knock knock."
Mom: "Who's there?"
Me: "Owls."
Mom: "...owls?!"
Me: "No, Mom, you're supposed to say, 'Owls who?'"
Mom: "Owls who...?"
Me: "Exactly!"
Mom: "Huh?"
Me: "Owls hoo...like hoo-hoo!"


We get along fairly well.  There are the occasional arguments every...week, but they don't really do any harm.  My mom is one of the senior designers for Vera Bradley.  So if you're out there carrying a Handbag, a Large Backpack (from 2009 or earlier), a Messenger, a Betsy, a Bowler, a Tote, or pretty much anything else patterned purse-wise you are carrying the creation of my mother.  You may ogle at that if you want...

This is my dad.  He looks like Santa Claus.

His favorite things in the world are airplanes, horses, woodworking, and being angry.  He doesn't like me very much.  Probably because I'm almost exactly like him and he doesn't want to admit that.  My sister is his favorite.  My mom even said that to me earlier this summer.  We don't really get along all that well.  Okay, we get along because I have to.  If I don't have to talk to my dad I won't.  There are never any arguments between my dad and I.  They would end badly.  I'm making my dad sound like the most evil man on the planet.  That's not true.  I'm not really as angry at my dad as I used to be; he is getting better with a few things.  And by that I mean he doesn't blame me as much for all of his problems.  I would explain why, but I'd really rather not.  Actually, I'm going to move on to the last introduction because I don't know what else to say...

This is my dog.  She is the spawn of the Devil.  Actually, she is the spawn of a hellhound, but got kicked out of Hell because she's brown and not black.  She's a chocolate lab and in my opinion is the dumbest chocolate lab on the face of the earth.  Okay, she's not dumb.  She's actually pretty smart; she just chooses to do what she wants instead of obeying us.  She expects us mere humans to bow down and worship all that is her grand, majestic, doggy self.  Yeah, screw that.  All she wants to do all day is play, eat, and annoy the crap out of me.  She's actually started to respond to "butthole" because we call her that so much.  It's kind of funny, but sad at the same time.  I feel like someone is going to report me for animal cruelty now because I just told the world that I call her Butthole.  It does no harm.  Her psyche is safe, I promise.