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January 26, 2014

M. and I can’t quite agree on how many kids we want. He wants one — typical only child — and I must have two. The reason is simple: my sister is the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I love and value her more with every passing year and I just cannot imagine not giving our child that experience. (I mean who will they complain about their crazy parents to if not each other?)
Gena and I are 11 and a half years apart but we are as close as any sisters — we are best friends. She has been giving me advice since she was barely out of diapers. (“Well, Nora,” she once said when I was being particularly whiny to our parents, “you can’t always get what you wa-ant." Damn you! I thought. If it wasn’t for me you would never have heard that song. Of course she was right.) 
And I, in turn, taught her how to pose (hopefully a few other things too, but surely none as important as that).
Today that age gap gets a little smaller … she turns 21 (finally legal!).
I am so proud of her, so blessed to have her, so excited to spend the rest of my life being her sister.
Happy birthday, Gena. I love you. 

M. and I can’t quite agree on how many kids we want. He wants one — typical only child — and I must have two. The reason is simple: my sister is the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I love and value her more with every passing year and I just cannot imagine not giving our child that experience. (I mean who will they complain about their crazy parents to if not each other?)

Gena and I are 11 and a half years apart but we are as close as any sisters — we are best friends. She has been giving me advice since she was barely out of diapers. (“Well, Nora,” she once said when I was being particularly whiny to our parents, “you can’t always get what you wa-ant." Damn you! I thought. If it wasn’t for me you would never have heard that song. Of course she was right.) 

And I, in turn, taught her how to pose (hopefully a few other things too, but surely none as important as that).

Today that age gap gets a little smaller … she turns 21 (finally legal!).

I am so proud of her, so blessed to have her, so excited to spend the rest of my life being her sister.

Happy birthday, Gena. I love you. 

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October 23, 2013

Double exposure, New York x London (via nevver)

Me and my sister, currently.

(Source: dan.iella.net)

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October 18, 2013

Let’s all take a moment to admire my beautiful sister and seethe with envy at her incredible, semester-long European vacation. She’s ostensibly studying in London* and yet, in less than two months, has already found time to go to the Côte d’Azur, Lisbon, Oktoberfest, and now San Lorenzo, the town where she did a high school semester abroad in Spain. Next on her list: Amsterdam. Because Amsterdam.

Seriously … can I be 20 again?

* Ok ok she IS studying — and she ever scored (yet another) amazing PR internship there. Go Gena go!

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August 21, 2013

And just like that, #summerofsisters is over. She arrived in London this morning, triumphant that they served her wine with dinner (well, it is British Airways and it is legal there), and I won’t see her again ‘til Thanksgiving. Yesterday, Zoe and I saw her off with an America, fuck yeah kind of meal: cheeseburger spring rolls, lobster and bacon sliders, and Korean beef and spinach salad (thanks, Dad).
This summer was more than I could have ever hoped for.
I mean, we didn’t even fight ONCE.
If you have a sister, you know what kind of a feat that is. 
…ok, ok, that wasn’t entirely accurate.
We got in one fight on Friday, the product, I’m sure, of departure-and-packing-induced stress and one innocent but ill-advised comment I made about her hair. (Again, if you have a sister, you are feeling every word I’m saying. The first rule of Sister Club is we do not talk about each other’s hair.)
I may be left with a wounded foot (told ya that was a wild night), but das Boot will be off in, fingers crossed, two weeks, and these memories will last forever: 
Happy hour at Mermaid Inn like every other day
Creepy animal masks and hanging out with our middle sister at Tales
Starlit picnic on a Brooklyn rooftop
Taking the A train to Coney Island (nope, try again)
Celebrating Katie’s baby, Andrea’s bachelorette, and Chelsea’s engagement
Chilling all day errday with Zoe and Wilkes, who will miss her as much as I will
Dinners on the terrace, lunches at Lafayette, bloody marys at Saxon, frozen margaritas at Mary Ann’s, late-night cocktails at ECC….
Picking out the same necklaces and same entrees over and over again, ‘cause you know what? We’re sisters
Feeling a little annoyed at how much better she looks in my clothes
Pretending to be 24 again at PS1 Warm-Up
Getting to know her friends and their bottle service antics 
(Related: feeling old and being ok with that)
And most of all, getting to know her all over again, as a grown-up (almost), as a friend, as the best sister in the whole damn world.
I love ya, Gena. Let’s do it again next summer.

And just like that, #summerofsisters is over. She arrived in London this morning, triumphant that they served her wine with dinner (well, it is British Airways and it is legal there), and I won’t see her again ‘til Thanksgiving. Yesterday, Zoe and I saw her off with an America, fuck yeah kind of meal: cheeseburger spring rolls, lobster and bacon sliders, and Korean beef and spinach salad (thanks, Dad).

This summer was more than I could have ever hoped for.

I mean, we didn’t even fight ONCE.

If you have a sister, you know what kind of a feat that is. 

…ok, ok, that wasn’t entirely accurate.

We got in one fight on Friday, the product, I’m sure, of departure-and-packing-induced stress and one innocent but ill-advised comment I made about her hair. (Again, if you have a sister, you are feeling every word I’m saying. The first rule of Sister Club is we do not talk about each other’s hair.)

I may be left with a wounded foot (told ya that was a wild night), but das Boot will be off in, fingers crossed, two weeks, and these memories will last forever: 

Happy hour at Mermaid Inn like every other day

Creepy animal masks and hanging out with our middle sister at Tales

Starlit picnic on a Brooklyn rooftop

Taking the A train to Coney Island (nope, try again)

Celebrating Katie’s baby, Andrea’s bachelorette, and Chelsea’s engagement

Chilling all day errday with Zoe and Wilkes, who will miss her as much as I will

Dinners on the terrace, lunches at Lafayette, bloody marys at Saxon, frozen margaritas at Mary Ann’s, late-night cocktails at ECC….

Picking out the same necklaces and same entrees over and over again, ‘cause you know what? We’re sisters

Feeling a little annoyed at how much better she looks in my clothes

Pretending to be 24 again at PS1 Warm-Up

Getting to know her friends and their bottle service antics 

(Related: feeling old and being ok with that)

And most of all, getting to know her all over again, as a grown-up (almost), as a friend, as the best sister in the whole damn world.

I love ya, Gena. Let’s do it again next summer.

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August 9, 2013

Last night I was 20.
I drank a third of a bottle of rum. We did (mini) shots of mezcal. I threw my phone (did not drop, mind you. threw it like it was a disgusting piece of trash which I guess I thought it was?). I made friends with a spoken word poet on the PATH who recited a poem in her sonorous voice and we all shouted good riddance to every bad boyfriend ever.
We saw the Killers but they were meh (nothing can compare to this night at the Highline. Remember that night, Tumblr??).
Point was I was 20, with my 20-year-old sister and her 21-year-old best friend with their rocking bodies and black eyeshadow and gigantic heels.
Speaking of, I think I sprained my foot. Not joking.
I was a little stupid and a little crazy and totally, utterly 20. (They assured me I absolutely looked 26.)
It was awesome.

Last night I was 20.

I drank a third of a bottle of rum. We did (mini) shots of mezcal. I threw my phone (did not drop, mind you. threw it like it was a disgusting piece of trash which I guess I thought it was?). I made friends with a spoken word poet on the PATH who recited a poem in her sonorous voice and we all shouted good riddance to every bad boyfriend ever.

We saw the Killers but they were meh (nothing can compare to this night at the Highline. Remember that night, Tumblr??).

Point was I was 20, with my 20-year-old sister and her 21-year-old best friend with their rocking bodies and black eyeshadow and gigantic heels.

Speaking of, I think I sprained my foot. Not joking.

I was a little stupid and a little crazy and totally, utterly 20. (They assured me I absolutely looked 26.)

It was awesome.

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July 22, 2013

Tales ‘13: Cripple Creek pop-up, creepy animal masks, and our honorary middle sister, Katarina. Altogether, as debauched as ever.

PS: You can never see them in photos but the lace-up cutouts make that dress.

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July 1, 2013

My sister’s studying in London next semester aaaaaand … we just booked our tickets to visit her for Thanksgiving!!
Jolly good, I say.
Jolly good.
(Patrick Macnee via voxsart)

My sister’s studying in London next semester aaaaaand … we just booked our tickets to visit her for Thanksgiving!!

Jolly good, I say.

Jolly good.

(Patrick Macnee via voxsart)

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July 1, 2013

Having Z means a Sunday evening walk will never be the same. From tiny cool Manhattan kids to crazy bouncers who claim they can find “the spot” on “any mammal on earth,” down to an including a mole (“with a Q-Tip”),* everyone wants a piece of that pup.

* In fairness, he did find her spot.

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June 27, 2013

Cuban Evolution: Photographs by Joakim Eskildsen (viafotojournalismus)

My parents and sister went to Cuba without me in 1997 (I will probably never forgive them).

My mom was doing some research on hospitals and women’s health care, and my sister got one of her first lessons in relative poverty. She was four at the time and every day in Havana they’d go to the playground where she played with her amigitas nuevas. She had a clear plastic backpack (remember the 90s?) where she kept her markers and notebooks and random talismans, those little-kid-things — and one day mom and dad told her she couldn’t bring it to the playground anymore.

Why? I’m sure she asked *rather* petulantly (oh those Sherman girls).

Because not everyone has their own markers and notebooks, and it will make the other children feel bad, they explained.

It must have really made an impression on her because she told me the story in exacting detail months later, those big blue eyes wide with significance.

Granted, it’s no small thing, understanding what it means to have while others have not. Lord knows it’s a lesson that a lot of people in this country seem to have completely missed.

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June 25, 2013

Summer of Sisters: The First Weekend. In which we learn that Coney Island is NOT in the Rockaways, and in fact is not even close. In which we learn that maybe Big Sister should listen to Little Sister every once in awhile (“the F train goes to Coney Island,” she repeated, to no avail). In which we drink our brunch and eat our dinners (lobster twice in two days, nothin’ but the best for this one). In which we spend lots of QT on the BK waterfront with ZoZo Pup, great friends, and another fabulous sister duo.

In which it’s only just begun….

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