Boo.

And finally, we have Kendall, the baby of the family. We call her Boo (short for Boo-Chucka-Lucka) because she was the chubbiest baby in the family and "Boo-Chucka-Lucka" just sounds like a fat kid's name. I have probably spent hours of my life yanking on the excess blubber surrounding her thighs, cheeks, and arms. When I picture Kendall from birth to age 6, I see a protruding gut and the ever-present sweat beads above her lip, and I LOVE IT.

I would say that all of the Cook girls have fairly similar personalities with the exception of Kendall; she is the most unique. Hell, she's WEIRD. She's always off in La La Land doing God knows what. When Laura forces us to go on "family walks" around the neighborhood, Kendall's always ten steps behind us talking to herself / singing to herself/ or formulating new hip hop moves that she will surely be practicing in front of the mirror the minute she gets home. Sometimes I literally just stare at her in wonder, trying to figure out what's going on in that artsy brain of hers and baffled by the fact that we're related.

There's one thing the kid knows for sure though: she WILL be famous. Whether she becomes a model, singer, or actress (apparently, she sees herself as a triple threat) is irrelevant. Kendall is certain that her name will be in lights and if she has to stomp on the little people to get there, so be it.
Kendall's obsession with stardom started at age 11 when she created her very own Youtube channel. Yes, Kendall uploaded videos of herself modeling, acting, and (my personal fave) lipsynking. She hosted her own "America's Next Top Model" competitions where contestants got makeovers and took professional-style photographs in the hopes of winning the ultimate title of Top Model. The funny thing is that Kendall was the host, hairdresser, make up artist, and played multiple contestants in her own show. A true Renaissance Woman.

Fortunately, a great deal of middle-aged pedophiles began writing obscene comments on Kendall's videos, and she had to make the decision to delete her account or face possible kidnapping. Tough call, but Boo tearfully deleted her masterpieces until every last Black-Eyed-Peas lipsynked song was no more.

Nowadays Kendall focusses on another dream of hers: becoming Justin Bieber's girlfriend. If someone ever doubted the existence of Bieber Fever, look no further than Kendall Cook. That shit is real. Case and point: the girl wears an "I Heart Justin" bracelet everyday of her life and baked the Biebs cupcakes for his birthday. I know this because she uploaded a picture of them to Facebook with the caption "Happy B-day Justin <3 (: xoxo". Kids these days...


Kendall's now a 5'10" goddess that hangs out with the cool kids and goes to Ke$ha concerts. But no matter how grown up Kendall looks or how much makeup she wears or how much her popular friends scare the shit out of me, she'll always be the weirdo that puts peanut butter on her toes and lets the dog lick it off. Love you Boo =)

Kassidy

Today is Kassidy Leigh Cook's 16th birthday, which just blows my mind. I still see the fifth Cook as a rambunctious, hyper-active, obnoxious little nine-year-old, so it's definitely frightening for me to think that she's legally eligible to drive a vehicle. Beware, greater Houston area.

When I think back to Kassidy's childhood, one word describes her best: ANNOYING. That girl was the loudest child in the history of man. Put it this way, if a freight train had relations with a blender and their offspring impregnated a leaf blower, Kassidy would beat the thing in a volume contest... with her speaking voice.
My parents always talked about getting her hearing checked but, for some reason, they never find it necessary to take us to the doctor. What is that about? Seriously, I think I've been to the doctor's office a total of three times in my life and one time was because I needed surgery on my thumb. We probably all have malaria or some version of polio because there's no way in hell we've gotten all our shots. But, that's irrelevant. Point being: Kassidy was so loud and annoying. She would ask a million questions a minute without ever taking a breath or blinking an eye. And these weren't normal questions. No, Kassidy didn't ask why the sky was blue or where babies come from (unfortunately, I think she knew about sex at age 3. That's what happens when you have 4 older siblings that make you watch Titanic). Kassidy instead focussed on two topics: KIDNAPPERS and TERRORISTS. Why she obsessed over terrorists is fairly obvious (damn you, bin Laden) but how she got the notion in her head that she'd one day be kidnapped is beyond me. "Do you think that man is a kidnapper or a terrorist?" was a frequently asked question by poor, wide-eyed little Kass. She'd always ask what I thought "The Terrorists" were doing right now as if they were a pack of traveling Arabs wearing matching leather jackets and plotting the fall of America. Actually, that's probably not too far off. Ten years later, you can still see traces of her paranoia as she won't go to the bathroom alone in public places for fear of being kidnapped. Okay, weirdo.

Kassidy was without a doubt the most adorable child I've ever seen. Every picture of her from ages 2 to 7 is just so darling; her big brown eyes, her long, thick lashes, and her contagious smile made her the most gorgeous toddler in the world. But BOY did that girl have an awkward stage. (Cue the mullet.) What didn't help is that she had the worst fashion sense of anyone in our family. She absolutely REFUSED to be caught dead in a dress or anything girly, frilly, or, God forbid, pink. Her hideous wardrobe consisted of a variety of "Bobby Jack" attire in brown, dark brown, light brown, forest green, darker forest green, and camo hues. To those of you that are unaware of the Bobby Jack brand, congratulations, I wish I were too. Every piece of Bobby Jack clothing has a damn monkey eating a banana or swinging on a branch embroidered on it, and Kassidy went crazy for that shit. I don't know what it is about monkeys, but she's always had some strange platonic bond with the hairy primates. When Ka was about 7, we went to the zoo and she kept talking about the monkeys all freaking day. At the end of our zoo visit, we stopped by the monkey exhibit where Kassidy proceeded to speak in some sort of prehistoric-caveman-ape language to these creatures. No joke, she literally had full on conversations. The mokeys went apeshit (pun intended) over Kassidy, jumping up and down like Kassidy was freakin' King Kong, and it was at that point that I realized my mother most definitely had an affair with Tarzan in the mid '90s.


The crazy thing about Kassidy is she is so purely talented at everything. She excels at all things athletically and academically, and I honestly believe there is nothing she can't do. One day she just did a back flip out of nowhere. I was like, what the hell was that? She's never taken of day of gymnastics in her life and she just did a back flip? But that's Kassidy for ya. She was an all-star soccer player, could pick up a tennis ball and serve it perfectly, is fast as hell, and is an incredible diver, traveling the world and setting her sights on the 2012 Olympics. Not to mention she has a killer 6-pack. She works so hard, and I would say she devotes all of her energy to making the Olympics, but that can't be true because she still comes home from practice everyday with enough energy to light up a room and make everyone laugh. In a time where girls don't know who they are and wear high heels and makeup at age 14, Kassidy has stayed true to herself and doesn't change who she is for anyone. I love you, Ka, and I'm so proud of you. Happy birthday!

Kylie.

So this brings us to Kylie, the quintessential Middle Child.

I'm not going to sugar coat this... For the first 10 years of her life, everyone thought Kylie was a boy. Maybe it was the God-awful middled-aged lesbian haircut that Kylie rocked for a decade or the fact that her voice was like a raspy Darth Vader that caused such mass gender confusion. "What would you like to eat, son?" the waiter would ask. "Nice to meet you, Kyle!" said (whoever). Little Kylie didn't seem to mind, though. She continued to play 'kick the can' (shirtless, of course), climb trees in her underwear, and swim in puddles like it was nobody's business.

I don't know what my mother was thinking, but she put Kylie, the world's most tragically ungraceful child, in her two other daughters' hobbies: ballet and diving. Now, you'd think the fact that Kylie spilled her drink all over the dinner table literally EVERY NIGHT would tip our parents off that maybe this girl isn't the most coordinated of children. Well, despite the warning, Kylie was placed in dance lessons and was a diver for 8 years... Let's just give thanks and praise to Jesus of Nazareth for bringing soccer into her life, because I don't think anyone could take another dance recital starring Kylie "Oh My God She Is So SO Bad At Moving Her Body Maybe She's Slightly Retarded" Cook.

Being the middle child, Kylie was definitely blamed for everything. Who left the door open? Kylie. Who broke the lamp? Kylie. Who made a mess in the living room? Kylie. Who shot JFK? Kylie. The poor child was a scapegoat everyday of her life, and I'm pretty sure 90% of the time she was innocent. For example, one time my mom baked a cherry pie (AKA stuck a pre-made frozen one into the oven for 30 minutes) and told everyone to wait in the living room while it cooled. I wasn't havin' that. I snuck into the kitchen every two minutes to dip my fingers in that warm cherry goodness and ended up accidentally eating 1/3rd of the pie. Not wanting to take the blame on this one, I coerced Kylie to come in the kitchen and try a morsel of crust. When my mom returned to find the dessert she had slaved over was dilapidated compliments of my fingers, she was livid. In a fit of rage and anger, mommy dearest did the unthinkable... she stuck sweet, innocent little Kylie's face in the pie. No, I am not kidding you. Yes, Kylie was given a pie facial. For two reasons: 1.) I was a horrible sister and b) because my mother is a straight up psycho. Welcome to the Cook Household.

Kylie has since forgiven me for the pie incident of '98, and we're now not only close sisters but best friends. Kylie is the sweetest, funniest, most carefree and coolest girl on the planet. She is a great and loyal friend to everyone and has the biggest heart. Not to mention she's gorgeous and a certified badass soccer player at University of Houston. Honestly, I can't believe you turned out normal after all the crap Kelsey and I put you through. You're a trooper.
I LOVE YOU KY KY!!!!!

Kelsey.

Ahh, Kelsey. Where oh where do I begin...

Kelsey is third in line behind my brother and I. It's kind of hard to pinpoint Kelsey's personality because I feel like she has muuuultiple. She's evil, yet sweet. Dramatic yet realistic. Intimidating yet sensitive. However, I think we can all agree on one thing: she's awesome.

I suppose to the naked eye, Kelsey appears to be, well, a bitch. She's confident, driven, doesn't take BS, and yes she has punched a kid in the face at an LSU football game for making fun of her boyfriend. Her best friends are mainly guys, and she claims it's because "girls hate me when they first meet me." Uhh, DUH. You're beautiful, smart, hilarious, and you have no reservations when it comes to throwing a drink in a beezy's face. I would hate you, too.
But I'm getting too far ahead of myself... Let's go back to when Kelsey was a precious, sweet, little delicate flower (believe it or not, there was a time). I remember we all got fish when we were children. Kevin named his Michaelangelo (or something gay), mine was named Redhead, and what did little Kelsey name her fish? Cinderella-Snow White-Sleeping Beauty. Quite the tongue twister, but it goes to show that Kelsey believed in a magical land of princesses and sunshine and marshmallow clouds. That didn't last long, because, like I mentioned in my last post, Kevin and I sort of beat the happiness out of Kelsey and turned her into a the sarcastic, cynical young lady that she is today. (Don't worry, I got my payback in high school).
Despite making her cry all the time, Kelsey and I were AWESOME growing up. Just two peas in a pod torturing our au pairs (causing several to quit) and pretending to be Power Rangers (she called dibs on the pink one so I had to be the Asian. So pissed). The world was ours for the taking, and the only thing more fun than playing Harriet the Spy or putting on dance recitals to the Tarzan soundtrack was making Kylie's life a living hell. (See next post).
I think it was around middle school that Kelsey realized being known as "Kara's Sister" wasn't cutting it and hence made it her goal in life to be the exact opposite of me. I was good. Kelsey wanted to be bad. And ta-dah! Kelsey The Badass was born.

Back in high school, I really wished that my parents waited another year before doing the no-pants-dance. Being a close 16 months apart in age was not ideal, especially when you have two on-edge adolescent females living within 20 feet of one another and sharing a bathroom. We fought over everything. ev-er-y-thang-uh. Life was a competition, and damnit I wanted to win. We fought over clothes, boys, friends, makeup.. you name it. We even made a competition out of who had more friends on our AOL buddy list. (I may or may not have added fake screennames to my list in an attempt to be victorious... just sayin'). Also, Kelsey used to lock our stupid dog in my room so that he would poop on my carpet. Every day, without fail, I'd come home from diving practice and there'd be a nice little surprise for me in the corner of the room, which I appropriately named the "shit corner". Come to think of it, teenaged Kelsey kinda sucked.

Of course, our adolescent years were not all bad. We had some kickass adventures (like the time we got chiggers running from the cops), but once the pearly white gates of high school closed on us, Kelsey and I's relationship improved and now she's less evil and more awesome. She's always there for me when I need her... and more than likely with a bottle of vodka in her hand. Love you to death, and cheers to being the cat's meowwww, lil' sis.

Kevin.

I have a brother named Kevin. This is his life in a nutshell, the poor bastard.

Kevin is the oldest of all the Cook children, meaning he had to sit and watch for ten years while his 5 sisters were born. From the start, all Kevin wanted was a little brother, but as fate would have it, every small infant that popped out of mom was indeed female. He would beg our parents to try again until a little male counterpart was conceived, but all his wishing was in vain. Kev was a (reluctant) man amongst women from the start.
Although he didn't have a little brother, Kevin had me. He and I were inseparable in the early years. I recall following him everywhere: catching lizards, venturing to the "nature place", and taking off my shirt at age six whenever we were outside because "Kevin got to do it". Our bond only got stronger when we formed an alliance against the next kid in line, Kelsey. We would torture the poor girl and tell her to "TOUGHEN UP!" whenever she cried. We take sole responsibility for transforming Kelsey from the sweet, precious child she was into ...what she is today. My apologies, Kels.
Kevin was forced to attend his sisters' 4-hour long dance recitals for 11 years straight, was hauled to our countless diving meets, and, thanks to Laura, was a child model. I still laugh when I think about that. And you wonder where the homophobia originated, Mom? Kevin was also coerced into joining the diving team when he was 11-years-old because his grades were bad. I can still see little Kevy in his dolphin Speedo nailing that front one and a half. Needless to say he got his grades up faster than Tiger Woods banged the Waffle House assistant manager.
It's safe to say that my brother knows more information about women than any self-respecting male would ever want to know, considering his sisters' zero filtering policy. If he hears the word tampon one more time, he'll probably castrate himself.
It doesn't surprise me then that Kevin basically wants nothing to do with girls. We have scarred him for life, and it's way past the point of no return. He doesn't put up with the crap girls dish out or the dumb games they play, which I respect. So, naturally, girls flock to him (we're a strange species), and he could care less. He had this to say about us on a Facebook note:

"I am somewhat crazy about my family. I love and respect them all. I have been known to overreact to comments made about them. I don't really care what anyone says about me, as long as it is to my face, but if you disrespect my family, I will go apeshit on your ass. A warning to anyone who may have thought about dating my sisters: you break their heart, I break your face."

Despite being surrounded by FIVE younger sisters and, let's face it, a clinically-insane mother, Kevin turned out all right. Yayyy! He's smart, opinionated, funny, and 100% politically incorrect. And maybe a little racist. But hey, you can't win em all. Love you bro.

christmas.

As you can imagine, Christmas at my house is a blur of chaos. The whole family comes into town to live in one house like we did when we were children, and I can say with confidence that not much has changed. The drama, the fighting, and the inferiority complexes are still in full swing, as expected. However, only one time did my mom say to me "your attitude needs to change, missy!", which is a success story in itself.

For some reason unbeknownst to me, Laura has a fascination with anything that has to do with Christmas (i.e. decorations, fake Santas, candy canes, reindeer, icicles, you name it). But most of all, she is OBSESSED with Christmas lights. And by obsessed I mean she googles which neighborhoods in the greater Houston area have the "coolest lights!" and drags her 6 unwilling, complaining children to aforementioned random neighborhoods. Every year, wIthout fail, someone complains a little too hard and my mom blows up on us with the whole "I only ask for one thing for Christmas and it's to look at Christmas lights with my family wahhh wahhh" spiel and eventually we all give in and allow her to act like a 6-year-old in Toys 'R Us. This year was no exception.
We drove to downtown Houston, looked at lights where mom literally screamed "WOW!!!!" or "OH MY GAWWWD!!!" every 10 seconds, and after about an hour of such shenanigans we felt we had provided her with enough joy to last until next December and decided to head home.
But then our car overheated and broke down. At a gas station. In the middle of the ghetto.
Naturally, we packed 9 people in a car that fits 7, and as we all piled out, someone drove by and screamed "Hey Mexicans, get a bigger f***ing car!!" God Bless Texas.

Another highlight of Christmas would have to be my mom playing wii kinnect, dance edition. There's nothing like watching a 52-year-old woman "crank dat Soulja Boi" for over two hours. I can never hear that song again without the vision of her out-of-tempo attempts to lean wit it / rock wit it. Therapy please?

Happy Holidays!

embarrassing parents

We've all been embarrassed by our parents at one point or another, it's natural. You know what I'm talking about... the dropping you off at the movies and yelling "I love you, sweetie!" with the windows down in front of your friends or the over-enthusiastic soccer mom running down the sideline with you as you attempt to score a goal. Little things like that. But, unfortunately, my parents take public humiliation a few (million) steps further. Honestly, if there was a "You Are The Single Most Embarrassing Set of Parents A Kid Could Have" Award, they would win it, hands down, kick your parents' ass.

To understand the humiliation my five siblings and I go through EVERY DAY of our lives, you'll have to know a little somethin' somethin' about my mother. Prepare yourselves.

Meet Laura. The first word that comes to mind when I think of her? PSYCHO. She's psychotic. Like, for real. Love you to death but you're actually insane.
For one, she refers to herself as "Mamarazzi." This is because she is a dictionary of useless celebrity gossip due to the fact that she reads Us Weekly and perezhilton.com. Does she own a pair of teal & pink sneakers with 'Mamarazzi' written on the side? You bet your ass she does. "OH MY GOD, KARA, DID YOU HEAR ABOUT MILEY CYRUS AND NICK JONAS?!" No, Mom, and for the love of God listen to yourself.

Other fun facts: My mother is super loud, outrageous, thinks she's 25, listens to Ke$ha, always calls me to tell me what's "in style", and I'm pretty sure my friends like her better than me. No big deal.
She is constantly on a quest to embarrass her six children. Whether that be by submitting a yearbook ad of my brother in a Snow White costume or working as the "Crossing guard lady" (bright orange vest included) at my elementary school, she has a 100 percent success rate when it come to humiliation. I mean it; NOBODY can mortify their kids better than my mom.

(Lucky me.)

My dad, on the other hand, is embarrassing in a different way. I remember he tried to make me a long jump champion when I was on my middle school track team. He would show up to track practice every morning, and after a while just pronounced himself "Long Jump Coach." I'm pretty sure that's illegal. But it happened. Thanks for the help, Dad, I got last at County Championships.
Dad also likes to drink. And he gets very sweaty. Let us not forget Memorial Day 2009, drunk, sweaty dad on stage singing "Twist and Shout" with a Beatles Impersonation Band. And yes, he nailed the high notes.

I'd have to say that my most embarrassing memory occurred on my 18th birthday. The day started off normally; woke up, opened a present or two, ate some breakfast and went to school. It wasn't until after second period that I noticed some people shooting me strange looks and smiles in the hallway. Chalking it up to "people are weird", I didn't think anything of it... until i noticed that everyone was wearing something on their shirt. I caught up to a friend of mine and turned her around. Sure enough, the entire senior class was wearing a large circular pin with a picture of me in a cowboy hat that read "I'm 18 today!" Ironic, because I could feel myself turn 18 shades of red. But not only that, my mother had hung up poster board collages of me in my DIAPERS all over the school. It's kind of an uncomfortable feeling knowing that strangers are wearing your face on their shirts and viewing your 2-year-old nipples. I don't recommend it.

The pins + the posters + my mom showing up at lunch with balloons and a cake and making the entire cafeteria sing me Happy Birthday = QUITE a memorable day.

Kevin, Kelsey, Kylie, Kassidy, Kendall and I have lived through so many mortifying experiences like this first hand. Many of them have made us want to kill ourselves (or our mom). But I have to admit, Laura is an evil genius.

Will I put my own kids through this insensitive form of torture that has scarred me for life, you ask? HELL. YES.