One hundred and two

"Somehow I always think that as long as I'm with you, we're invincible..and young, foolish definitely, but determined. and happy..happy most."
Wee Charlotte visited again a month or two ago. That's the second time in two years.
Once too many, I say.
We had a blast, what with her using all two of our laptops simultaneously to host her online gaming obsession, her teaching my son to lick and preen each other a la wild puma cubs, introducing my friends to her unique brand of inappropriate public humor and being able to establish my hierarchy in the pecking order by waking her up with a flying knee to the kidney.

As the next in age under me, the love/hate relationship runs deep. We were made to share a room, she always had a crush on my men friends, and has THE most amazing voice and music style that I've personally seen in a girl.

(Circa May. 2008)
Today though, in honor of this little of this little twerp, we are having an interview.

Inquisitor: How long have you been tormenting..I'm sorry, imposing..aahh, that is to say visiting the victim..er..sister?

Charlotte: Well that's a personal question sir... moving right along

Inq: How old are you, are you?

Charlotte (Yo mamma): The question here is, what's yo flava-flava?

Inq: Touche, creamer.

Charlotte (Looseface): You've always been there for me.

Inq: So, nubbin, who/what's your muse for the badass music you churn out?

Charlotte (the Wasted):
Well, in all honesty, I owe it all to Steve Buckle, he got me into that hole heart pumping fist shaking butt bumping genre of music which i've been poorly imitating ever since the first time, if you get my drift.

Inq: What's a good memory of you and I sharing a room in a clusterf**k of nine of us?

Charlotte (the Fartlet): You used to beat me up before bed, and then never remember the next morning. I would never have to settle an argument with you, I would just wait till morning to hear your innocently sweet voice saying, "Good morning, honeybunchkins. Lordy!! Who gave you that shiner? Show me the man and I'll fist his bellybutton!"

Inq: How old were you when you first became interested in men?

Charlotte (the Harlot):
I wouldn't know, I'm still into BOYS!

Inq: Favey ice-cream?

Charlotte (Licking-the-bottom-of-the-wineglass):
Rum Raisin or Junior Mints and Vanilla Icecream. (Editors note: Gross. Toothpaste and ice-cream don't mix)

Charlotte waves back and forth sloshily as I encourage another glass of Concha y Toro merlot down her throat. 'Heave ho!' she slurs merrily. She's a light weight and full of her...subject. If there's one thing to be said, it's that when everything goes to hell we've always been able to laugh together over until we cry. Many people find that inappropriate but we're going to live longer than them anyways.

Inq: Who's your favorite author?

Charlotte the (Challenged (mentally): Orson Scott Card. Because of his indepth character schemes.

Inq: What's your political leaning?

Charlotte (the Clinton):

What makes you smile?

Charlotte (the omelette):
Pussies. Double meanings. Fingering my guitar.

Inq: Drink of choice?

Charlotte (the Bibber):
----crickets chirping

She has stumbed off to the bathroom, I'm assuming to use it's facilities. Ten minutes later she plops back into the chair next to me wearing tight black sweatpants, a pink tee and a black jacket. Que trendy. (The moustache she could do without...)

"Ha ha, Liz," she says as she returns, all smiles, "My fingers are drunk!" She twitches them in a piano playing pantomime then slaps them and giggles, leaning her sloshed head on my shoulder.

Inq: What's something you've always wanted people to know about you? (YAWN)

Charlotte (the Floor): I have a deep side, 6 and 1/2 inches deep to be precise. RAARRRJHH. She blurps into a wine glass.

Inq: Insightful yet disturbing. Enjoy these mere demos as treats: