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I looked through old photo albums for maybe three hours today, and learned three things about myself that I either didn't know or had forgotten.

1. My freakish stage mother used to love dressing me in frilly pink dresses and making me do ridiculous faces. Might explain my general aversion to the color.

2. I went through a very, very extended awkward phase from fourth grade to last year. And when I say awkward, I mean AWKWARD. (Technically, I'm still going through it, but...y'know.)

3. I used to really love my brother.

The last one surprised me most, I guess. At least half the pictures in the albums were of him and me hugging and doing ridiculous things (like trying to snowboard one one cheap, plastic snowboard and dying, repeatedly) and playing around in our backyards...
After I hit about fifth grade, though, those pictures just sort of...disappeared.
It's really depressing, but I can't say that it's possible to go back to that sort of thing. I mean, he's made lots of decisions in his life that I absolutely hate, and he's been acting like a total d**k to me ever since he hit college (I swear, that place sounds HORRIBLE). Not to mention that he's so much more mature than I am, and shares such totally different beliefs, that we could never get along.
Perfect example, and perfect opportunity to create a rant system for this journal: if you see the word RANT in big, bold red, you can skip if you don't feel like reading an angryfest of pent-up emotions and such. That's, of course, assuming that anyone is actually reading this.

...Anyways.

RANT.
I went to visit the dear broface at college not too long ago. We went out to dinner one night, to a really packed bar-place-...thing. It took forever and a day to get seats and everything, because it was a really popular spot around campus.
The thing that bothered me was my brother talking about the greeter. He called him a f** about fifty times and discussed with my equally idiotic cousins how gay this man was, and how (thus) stupid he was. He knows my opinions on homosexuality, so he either didn't care, or was trying to piss me off. And I responded with something pretty damn tame, like "wow, way to be a total p***k".
And he starts calling me a piece of s**t and a b***h under his breath, so that our parents couldn't hear.

/RANT.

So it's not like I feel like I can forage any sort of relationship with the guy. He's an a*****e, and he fails to notice it.

It's just sort of depressing that I can have more of a bond with some random biker I wave at on the street as I drive to a flute lesson than my own family.