Archive for the ‘My sister Vanessa’ Category

One perfect limousine

Monday, March 29th, 2010

By Tiber 

As I’ve probably said before, besides me, my older sister, Vanessa, is the one of us with the most business sense. Of course, now I’ve been outsourced so, clearly, I have no sense or cents at all.

Iris Nell says there’s a poem by Dorothy Parker where she laments that instead of always being given one perfect rose, why can’t a man send her one perfect limousine?

Well, Vanessa has had more than her fair share of limousines. So that’s the business she chose. And now, she’s the co-owner of a small company. The other owner can be a real pain but Vanessa puts up with it for now because she wants to eventually buy him out.

All in all, she likes the work but it can make you very cynical. Seeing enough people crying after weddings and laughing after funerals can do that to you, I guess.

Vanessa will drive a limo herself, once in awhile, if the need arises. Knowing this and the fact that she’s so beautiful, it happened again this weekend that another man tried to book her as his driver, with the thought of the two of them being alone for an evening out.

The company’s wise to this, of course, and never promises a particular driver. And yet, still these guys try. When this happens, an “equally capable driver” will arrive, usually in the form of Semi, who, I think, was born in Tonga. Semi’s great but at some 290 very muscular lbs., he could probably crush you into a placemat.

Quickly, the guy, who’d been set on Vanessa being there with him, decides to cut his ride short, even though he’s already paid for it.

The company saves a lot on gas this way, plus Semi pretty much always gets a lovely tip.

Foiled again…It’s not cool to duel

Tuesday, November 17th, 2009
By Tiber
My older sister, Vanessa, is really beautiful. To her credit, she hasn’t let it completely define her but her looks definitely put her in a different world from the rest of us.
It brings out the best in men. It brings out the worst in men.
They certainly always want to do things for her. I don’t think she learned how to operate a door until she was in her 30’s. Men will inconvenience themselves, surpass themselves, sacrifice themselves, all to make her happy. But I’ve also seen them lose I.Q. points as if their heads had sprung a leak. They’ll miss on-coming traffic while they stare at her, mow down her girlfriends to talk to her and blow the rent money to buy her things she doesn’t even want.
She was staying here recently when two of her more persistent suitors showed up. Before long, the two men were hissing at each other like un-neutered cats.

And before they knew it, my father had them out on the lawn holding antique swords while he egged them on with, “Vanessa likes real men so show her what you’ve got!”

With no knowledge of fencing but a clear awareness of puncture wounds, both guys began the elbow-flapping  dance of “trying to look aggressive while retreating with every step.“ With most men nowadays, anything to do with charging usually only involves a card – which is why my father puts them up to a sword fight.

And it is pretty funny. Everyone in the house watched from the windows, except for the actual object of the fight, who quickly got bored and went off to wash her hair.

Fortunately for the guys, the cavalry soon arrived, in the form of my mother, and saved them. She reminded Dad – again – that he shouldn’t get any ideas about filing any injury as a “freak tree branch mishap.” His property insurance company knew what a sword wound looked like and no, his policy did not cover dueling.