Apr 192014

I was able to knock out a few more Biblical/Easter Glenns before my eggs were cast aside for more commercial ones. Kind of like a plastic egg version of vinyl vs. mp3: only the cool kids liked my eggs.



Here we have: David Glenn & Goliath Glenn, Vatican Glenn, Swiss Guard Glenn, Friar Glenn.

Fire & Brimstone Glenn, Tenebrae Glenn, Hatching Spring Glenn, Glenn Falls For the 2nd Time.

Jeannie finally opened her egg while Nate played dramatic Game of Thrones music, even though for some reason I felt something from the Wicker Man would be better but I can’t explain why. Nate’s epic music suited the situation just fine though.

Anyway, Jeannie got Saint Lucy in her egg and was like “I don’t know who this is” which reinforces my claim that this was a FUN, LIGHT-HEARTED & EDUCATIONAL way to fuck off work.

Happy fucking Easter.

No tags for this post.
Apr 182014

Hey just a heads up that it’s Good Friday and I feel like your basic upended hornet’s nest today so these are gon’ be some bruised fucking bullets. Also, the Law Firm Fitness Challenge has left me pretty depleted of, well, everything.

  • Might as well just start with that then, huh? The Law Firm Fitness Challenge has me so exhausted. Since other activities can be counted in addition to walking, I’m only walking 15,000 steps this time around and then averaging around 70-90 minutes of cardio a day (most of that taking place in the morning, with shorter sets of cardio after work). The other night, Henry flipped out and said, “OMG YOU’RE NOT TRAINING FOR A TRIATHLON! SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” He only gets mad because he wants to watch TV, not me writhing in pain. (You’d think he’d love that though.) Anyway, the good thing about this is that since I’m in a competitive mindset, I’m not slacking off like I would generally do. My normal routine is only 30 minutes of cardio 5-6 days a week. But now I’m purposely seeking out hard things that make me cry. Yesterday, I thought I hurt myself but I’m OK. Although now I think I have water-on-the-knee. Whatever that is.
    • If I counted “boxing with Henry while he tries to sleep/watch TV/cook dinner” and “throwing explosive tantrums every time Henry ignores my daily phone calls” as the vigorous cardio I know it to be, I would blow my Law Firm Fitness Challenge competitors out of the water.
    • You might be surprised to know this about me, since I’m a perpetual Captain Chubs, but I’m actually pretty athletic & enjoy fitness-y things. I played tennis competitively when I was a kid/in high school. I chose tennis because I’m not a team player.


  • I changed Marcy’s name  to Hugs & Kisses last weekend. Janna came over and laughed really hard when I told her, and that upset Marcy.
  • I hate everything today so badly, OMG. Every single voice around me is like a serrated blade to my ear drums, help. I have a fake office-thing so shutting the door doesn’t help.
  • A secretary I dislike just called right now but my office-neighbor Patrick answered it so I will be erasing his name from The List.  (For now.)
  • We were at Target over the weekend and Henry was like, “YOU CAN GET TWO CDS AND THAT’S IT” (actually, he didn’t tell us we could get any, so….). Chooch got Bastille and he also wanted to get Maroon5 but I just couldn’t let him put that in the cart.  Mostly because it’s music that I just can’t get behind, but also because I wanted to get the new Used CD. Anyway, I felt like an asshole about it afterward because I don’t want to be That Guy who makes someone feel like shit for liking dumb music, and when I was his age, I was listening to a TON of mainstream music like Phil Collins and Hall & Oats (and yes, even the Cure was kind of mainstream, for awhile there anyway) and I turned out fine. So I guess he’ll get Maroon5 in his dumb Easter basket this weekend.
  • The new season of MTV’s The Challenge started last week and THANK GOD CT IS ON IT AGAIN. OMG he’s the hottest. Anyway, Henry tries to be all, “*grumble* I hate the fucking Challenge *grumble*” but then he gets all cozy on the couch with his stupid jug of iced tea and says things like, “OMG WHAT HAPPENED TO LAUREL!? OH YAY CT! STFU FRANK.” (See below for a picture of Henry watching the Challenge with his jug of iced tea.)


  • Hey remember when I was putting lots of time & effort into spreading Glennish Easter cheer around the office but then a mainstream Easter egg hunt usurped my renegade shenanigans and of course no one cared about my paltry eggs anymore because mine only have Glenns in them and not precious “golden bunnies,” which are redeemable for stupid gift cards.  If I see one, I’m smashing it.
    • I mean, perfect timing for the Judases to come out of the woodwork, though, amiright?
    • I AM ONLY HALF-JOKING ABOUT THIS. I spent a good bit of the last two days pouting in my office, because that is what bi-polar 34-year-old “professionals” do, along with filling 28 pages in their diary about HOW NO ONE UNDERSTANDS and considering quitting their job to become a freelance “daily specials” sign scrawler, but probably winding up working at a gas station instead.
    • See also: I’m not a team player.
  • There’s some Minecraft-related online course that teaches kids Java so that they can build their own “mods,” whatever the fuck those are, so Henry bit the bullet and enrolled Chooch, figuring that it’s never too early to start learning about programming in this day and age. Anyway, he is fucking zooming through this shit! He’s teaching himself how to make a unicorn demon (???) and I guess there was some issue last night where Minecraft wasn’t working so Henry was like, “You’re going to have to email the admins; that’s what they’re there for” so Chooch did that, but this morning he hadn’t heard back from them and somehow figured it out on his own. I know this because he used my phone to text Henry, “I got Minecraft to work and I fixed the errors all I had to do was erase ‘es’ to fix the addRecipe so Minecraft is fixed by me.” I don’t know what any of that means. But maybe soon he can redo my blog since Henry has been making empty promises for the last 7 years. Fuck you, Henry.
  • In the span of a week, our TV broke, our computer monitor broke, and now our car is breaking. Henry has gained a lot more wrinkles this week. We’ve been using one of our old box TVs while the real TV is getting repaired and I feel like a pioneer person. Yet I’ve been surprisingly blasé about any of these things. Oh, that’s probably because I’m dead inside.


  • I got this brochure thing in the mail yesterday and it was addressed to “Mrs Erin Kelly Robbins.” What a fucking joke. JUST LIKE THIS WHOLE ENTIRE STUPID WEEK.
  • Mean Amber2 gave me a package of dried persimmons because she hated them since she’s mean, but at least for once I benefitted from her meanness!
  • I decided to revisit Open Hand the other day and forgot how attached I was to their album “You and Me.” I used to listen to it on the drive to visit Christina in Cinicinnati, so….basically another album that makes my heart feel like a raw, salted wound. But, if I let things like that stop me from loving certain bands, then I’d be fucked. Especially if Henry and I ever break up, OMG. So then I texted Terri to see if she likes them too and she does, and it’s these little things that make me feel grateful and less alone. I hope I never stop being able to connect with people over music, even though it’s rarer and rarer these days. HAPPY EASTER.
    • Hey since we’re talking about music over our coffees right now, you and me, I thought it would be a cute idea for Chooch to give out mixed CDs as birthday party favors, but then I remembered that we can add the CD burner to the list of broken things in the house.
    • The amount of times Christina has popped up in my memory lately makes me think that perhaps she’s died, but my general complacency prevents me from looking into that any further.
  • I’m strangely excited to watch The Ten Commandments on our TV from 1998 this weekend.
  • I’m also strangely excited about Easter in general, in spite of the egg fiasco, but I’m not sure why because we don’t have any plans other than “go to a Chinese restaurant.” (Last year’s Pizza Party for Jesus Christ was super fun but between hosting that Stella & Dot party and planning Chooch’s LOLCat birthday party, I’m just too tired to host another thing.) It’s supposed to be nice out so maybe we can go sit in a field or something.
  • Birchbox is usually so hit or miss, but the one for April was pretty spectacular. TheBalm’s How ‘Bout Them Apples? lip cream is my new fucking jam and you should all go get some. (SEE BELOW for how it looks on my pudding face.)


  • OK. I just came back from a pee-break, wherein I zoned out in the stall to the point where I started to fall asleep. You guys, it hasn’t even been a full week of the LFFC (Law Firm Fitness Challenge, come on now); how am I going to make it to the end of May? Good god.
  • Today it occurred to me that I can never use the excuse “Henry had surgery and needs me to stay home and help him” to call off work, because who would ever believe that I was going to help Henry do ANYTHING?
  • I like to eat popcorn and then rub Henry’s glasses. It’s how I flirt, OK?! And oh, it makes him so mad.

I’m going to end this with a compilation of Instavids from last weekend because let’s have a little bit of joy around here, why don’t we.

No tags for this post.
Apr 172014


Remember how I bribed Chooch with ice cream in exchange for Easter portraits? Well duh—that’s because I wanted ice cream, too. Yeah, yeah, yeah: I know that you can still eat ice cream during the winter (and trust me, I do!) but I am super partial to soft serve ice cream with sprinkles and well, they just taste better in warm weather. So even though this was supposed to be Chooch’s treat, I kept trying to give him gentle shoves toward soft serve places, but he was deadset on going to Scoops on the Boulevard, which is only HARD ICE CREAM. (And it’s really good too but I just wanted a soft splooge of vanilla majesty in a fucking cone, OK?

But then Henry pointed out that there is a new place down the street from Scoops called Carnival Treats and they supposedly have soft serve. Plus, this meant we could walk rather than drive, since it’s right down the street. And that’s a win/win because I’m really into walking. An enthusiast, even.


Carnival Treats is still new and does not have its shit together yet. It used to be a pretzel place that Henry jacked off over for about a month, but I never liked the pretzels. I’m picky about my pretzels. (I was just talking yesterday about some sort of food I’m picky about and Chooch was like, “Ugh, you’re just like a teenager. Teenagers are picky about EVERYTHING.” Oh OK, because 8-year-olds aren’t?)


I want to redo their sign in the worst way. It was making my eyes itch while I was waiting for my ice cream. You’d never know it based on the grammatical shit stains on my blog, but I am actually pretty good at spotting other people’s errors. And I’m REALLY GOOD AT MAKING SIGNS. That was my favorite part of working at that shitty meat place from 2000-2004 (which I’m technically not ever supposed to write about as part of an agreement from when I won a settlement against them after I quit and it pains me to think about all of the salacious tales I can never tell on this blog). But yes, in addition to managing the office, I was responsible for hand-writing the deli case stickers. My beautiful lettering, wasted on “PORK BUTTS” and “ALL BEEF WIENERS.” But I still churned them out with a gentle flourish because I take pride in anything I make by hand.

Even meat price tags.


But I digress.

The damn vanilla side of the soft serve machine wasn’t working because why would it be? So I had to get CHOCOLATE instead and I’m just not a fan of chocolate soft serve unless it’s a Frosty from Wendy’s.  But I ate it anyway because I was determined to enjoy my first ice cream cone of the spring, even though I complained about the sprinkles, too.

I’m picky about sprinkles.

These were too big and chewy.

Henry didn’t get anything because he was being a cry baby for some reason.


The next day was even more beautiful, so we took Chooch to Round Hill Farm to see the animals. Apparently, it was the location of the Great Allegheny Easter Egg Hunt which was scheduled to start an hour after we got there, so we rushed Chooch through in an effort to get the hell out of there before it started because I am way too much of a bitch to be a part of something so competitive involving children.


Chooch really wanted medicinal herbs.


THEN WE GOT MORE ICE CREAM. This time we went down the road to Yough Twist in Elizabeth because that place is the shit.  There was an old couple that arrived on their lame bicycles right before us and basically ordered a three course meal but luckily one of the other girls there who looked like she could have been a member of Danity Kane opened up another window for us to order because I guess she realized that her co-worker was going to be stuck helping the elder bicyclists for quite awhile. Ugh, I hated them so bad, I can’t even get into it right now.


I was a dummy and ordered a pretzel cone, which was totally disgusting. Why did I do that!? Why am always trying to gild the lilies?!


Thank god that girl had the foresight to give me a plastic cone protector thingie because my ice cream was melting at lightning speed. I actually had a bigger mess on my hands than Chooch, which is really saying something because he’s the grossest food-eater ever.

Also, I don’t care how annoying it is, I have a compulsion to photograph every single ice cream cone. It’s just what I do. Sorry if you have an eye allergy to ice cream pictures.



Henry, finishing both of our ice cream cones after he had already eaten his own.  He should look so much happier than that, right!? (Look at that dumb lock of hair sticking out of his hat, hahaha.)

Overall, not the greatest weekend of ice cream cones, but there’s, like, however many more weekends there are from now until next dumb winter.

No tags for this post.
Apr 172014

Over the weekend, Janna and I were playing some stupid memory game with Chooch and I kept winning so Chooch threw a fit.

“YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO WIN!” he wailed. I tweeted “Chooch is crying again because I’m the best LOL” and my friend Bill replied with, “At least you didn’t smack his face off an awning.” Which is what he did to Chooch in Gatlinburg, TN. This inspired me to go back and revisit that vacation, and now you get to, too, OMG thank you Throwback Thursday! Don’t worry, I’m just reposting the first day, not the whole weeklong trip. I’ll spare you this time!
Originally posted August 28, 2011

Henry: “The Smokies are pretty big, you know.”
Me: “Yeah, like your asshole.”
Henry: “I don’t even know why I talk to you.”


We’re here! The trip down was not very eventful, except for THE MYSTERY HOLE which deserves its own post and I will do that when I’m home since I can’t get the pictures off the camera and am relying on my good ol’ iPhone to write this.

However, we did almost wreck minutes outside of our destination when some douchebag knocked over a traffic cone in front of us on the highway and Henry swerved into a barrel trying to avoid it.

I printed out two pictures of Jonny Craig to keep at my bedside while here. Henry was perturbed & disturbed by this, and threatened to stay home.


We did some grocery shopping in Pigeon Forge this morning and you know I hate that shit but no way was I passing up the chance to snicker openly at the Tennessee drawls dripping like honey over the Food City intercom system. However, Chooch and I were being a bit rowdy, maybe running around too much, because I began to notice that we were on the receiving end of some nasty glares from other patrons. So we left and went to some souvenir shop next door where I got a wonderous Jesus pen (he’s real Big In Tennessee):

Then Chooch got yelled at by a cashier because while I was trying to pay, he found an axe and was running around the store with it. True story.

Later, we followed Bill, Jessi and Tammy to downtown Gatlinburg which apparently is owned by Ripley’s. We had JUST gotten out of the car when Chooch bit down wrong on a candy bracelet and tears instantaneously sprung from his eyes. Then he was embarrassed because his idol Bill saw him crying so he started crying even harder.

I was able to calm him down and then Bill gave him a piggy back ride, which brings us to injury #2. Bill was bouncing Chooch up and down and didn’t realize that he had stepped underneath a store front roof and bashed Chooch’s face right off it.


BIG TEARS ensued. Because I’m such a great friend, I pointed out that this was the second time Bill had injured my kid via Piggy Back.

Bill bought him ice cream to make up for it and then took him to look at a mini golf course after he spontaneously started sobbing because he misses our cat Speck.

Later on, a cashier in another store asked, “Who knocked you upside the face, boy?” and we all joyfully got to point at Bill.

I guess I shouldn’t be so smug considering I turned out and smacked him in the OTHER EYE with my big fat camera. (Injury #3, if you’re using a scorecard.)

More BIG TEARS ensued, but at least there wasn’t an audience for that one compared to the veritable Dinner Theater that Bill had.

Chooch almost fell down a flight of steps too.

(Chooch, when you’re taken away from us & dumped in foster care, please try to remember the good times.)

In between all this, we went into some optical illusion exhibit where Bill slammed a door in Henry’s face, I bought some cheap but amazing rings and AMISH PEANUT BUTTER, Bill had his palate scorched by salsa and I had to try to be sympathetic but really I thought it was pretty funny, and Henry scanned the area desperately for a barber to shear his luscious Kristy McNichol locks.

Tennessee rules.

No tags for this post.
Apr 162014


This is what my desk has looked like all week, thanks to Easter Glenn Hunt 2014. If you weren’t around on these blog-parts last Easter, this is basically when I turn Glenn’s employee ID photo into an array of Biblical characters and usually one or two that are tableau-esque. (Last year it was a department-themed Noah’s Ark and the Last Supper.) Then I stuff one into an egg with candy and hide it somewhere around the office and pray that whoever finds it won’t run to HR. I like to live on the edge.

I was way more prepared this year though, and even ordered a box of Jesus-y goodness from Oriental Trading, like Christian-themed jelly beans (the red ones symbolize God’s shed blood, y’all), candy bracelets with candy crosses, Jesus stickers and Biblical finger puppets. Oh, what good wholesome fun.


Fun fact about yours truly: I was once super into religion. I was born and raised Roman Catholic and went to church every Saturday night like clockwork, and then went to Sunday School/CCD every Sunday morning. Do you want to know something sickening about me? I FUCKING LOVED SUNDAY SCHOOL. Oh shit, I loved learning about Bible things! Not because I was some holy roller, but because I considered it history. It was interesting and entertaining to me. And when we started getting tested on this shit in fifth grade and everyone groaned, I did a clandestine fist-pump under my desk because I was finally going to get all those A’s I deserved!

(I did, too. I aced every test because I was hot for Bible.)

And then in college, I took a few religion classes and considered minoring in that bullshit until I decided just to stop going to college altogether, which is what I do. Quit. I quit everything. WHY TRY WHEN YOU CAN JUST QUIT? That’s my imaginary bumper sticker.

So making these Glenns has been a huge refresher course for me! They make me so giddy and full of glee, and of course almost no one here knows WTF they’re supposed to be, but that’s OK. They’re still special to me.

20140416-142454.jpgl. to r. Stigmata Glenn, Judas Glenn, Manna From Heaven Glenn, Stoked for Passover Glenn.

20140415-194447.jpg l. to r. Ash Wednesday 4 Lyfe Glenn, Veronica’s Veil Glenn, Hot Cross Bun Vendor Glenn, Saint Glenn

I half-assedly hid an egg in Jeannie’s office on Monday and she must not have noticed it because she came back from lunch and just let it sit there. I waited for her to leave her office again and I rolled the egg so that it was in the middle of the floor, in plain sight. She came back to her office AND KICKED THE EGG TO THE SIDE. Totally disregarded it! I was like, “OMG WHY DON’T YOU CARE ABOUT THE EGG?!”

“I’m just waiting for you to be even more obvious about it,” she said in her patented grumpy demeanor.

She still hasn’t opened it and I’m dying to know which Glenn she got.


l. to r. Easter Bunny Snack Glenn, Saint Francis Glenn, Saint Lucy Glenn.



I noticed there was a theme on Facebook over the weekend, where parents bitched about their kids not getting any eggs at Easter egg hunts because other parents let their children be savages. THE SAME THING HAPPENED HERE, YOU GUYS. Co-workers would be like, “SO-AND-SO GOT THREE EGGS SO FAR AND I HAVEN’T FOUND EVEN ONE!” OMG. So then I had to deliberately plant eggs in places meant for only certain people to find them. For example, I put one on the floor of Wendy’s office and she was so upset the next day when she found out there was an egg in her office but someone else got to it first.

Oh, you know who it was? Mr. “I DGAF About These Eggs” himself, GLENN.

“What? It’s fair game,” he rationalized with a shrug and then sauntered away with the smugness.


Shepherd Glenn and his Processor Sheep (Todd, Chris, Mean Amber 2, Gayle, Amber1, Lauren)

20140415-194605.jpg l. to r. Water to Wine Glenn, Lion’s Den Glenn, Archangel Michael Glenn, Lot’s Wife Glenn 

20140415-194626.jpg l. to. r.: Good SamariGlenn, Obnoxious Bible Quoter Glenn, Glenn on a Grilled Cheese, Sacrificial Lamb Glenn

20140415-194837.jpg l. to r.: Sacred Heart Glenn, Saint Patrick Glenn, Palm Sunday Glenn, Billy Graham Glenn. 

I was really starting to scrape the bottom of the barrel after awhile, but luckily I have a connection with a Theology major. (Thanks again, Monica!!)

While I was making some of these over the weekend, Chooch was like, “WTF is that?” about one of them and I was trying to explain it, and then it occurred to me to ask him if he even knew the story behind Easter AND HE DID NOT which I guess was silly of me  to assume that his pathetic Catholic school would have taught him that. So I started asking him other religious-y questions and he just kept shrugging. And that is how I spent twenty minutes out of my Sunday night watching an animated cartoon about Moses on YouTube.

Chooch seemed pretty intrigued by the whole story, and at the end he asked, “So, what? God is like, a hacker?”

OMG. Needless to say, we will be watching more Bible shit this weekend.

But anyway, the moral to this is that Glenns are educational! Get stoked for Bible study!


No tags for this post.
Apr 152014


Henry hates it when Chooch & I walk to the bakery and buy him a donut because he knows there is absolutely nothing altruistic about it. We just want to take pictures of pretty pink frosting grazing his bristling moustache so that we can endlessly mock him later. It’s one of my favorite past times.

So now Henry tries to act like he doesn’t want the donut. In fact, he was only pretending to eat it just so I would take a picture and leave him alone.

Henry’s dumb lunch.



He kept trying to sneak bites without me noticing so I wouldn’t take any pictures but I’m too fucking good. Get real, Henry.


It never gets old.

And this concludes my Law Firm Fitness Challenge Cop Out Blog Post. I feel guilty if I waste too much time sitting and typing when I could be pacing and lurking. (I lost two pounds since it started yesterday morning! My body fucking hates me today!)

No tags for this post.
Apr 142014


We did our obligatory Easter bunny photo shoot over the weekend. The “DIY”approach started when Chooch was four and my mom made me feel like a shitty parent because we hadn’t taken him to see the Easter Bunny at the mall. LUCKILY I always keep animal masks in the trunk, so we dragged my mom’s rocking chair outside and made Henry put a rabbit mask on.

It’s been variations of that ever since.

And since today is the start of the Law Firm Walking Challenge, I will leave you to a bunch of pictures and no more words. What a nice change, right?!


His one vest button came unpopped and I didn’t notice until we got home. I was going to Photoshop it, but it’s way more “Chooch-esque” this way, I think. There’s always something slightly off with him.




Everyone was happy because these were taken literally a three minute drive down the street at some abandoned school for blind kids. Usually I pick a location way off the beaten path with no cell service so Henry can’t call the police on me, ever.







It was exhausting.

P.S. Chooch’s rate these days is $10 + ice cream.

No tags for this post.
Apr 132014


Henry’s sister Kelly posted this on Facebook for sibling day or whatever and I couldn’t stop laughing because the idea of Henry ever being a child (or someone who smiled, for that matter) is endlessly hilarious and intriguing to me. And then!! Then there’s the cone-headed Easter bunny with alien eyes.

That’s apparently some weird Easter egg Henry is holding. I thought it was a bike helmet.

Thank you for this gem, Kelly! It’s nice to see that while Henry may have outgrown that whole “smiling” scene, he’s still way into striped shirts.

No tags for this post.
Apr 112014

“It’s going to be a roomful of girls!” Henry shuddered when I broached the subject of going to see Eisley. This made me roll my eyes. I mean, probably only 95% girls, Henry. Get a fucking grip. Plus, he’s totally annoyed by the fact that I follow every single member of the Eisley family on Instagram and am always trying to make him look at their babies. (THEY HAVE THE CUTEST BABIES.) I’m just obsessed all around. What’s the point in hiding it.

Besides, I knew after dragging Henry to three concerts in three days (one of which was 6 hours across the state), that he was definitely not going to want to accompany me to another show a few weeks later.


I have been a fan of Eisley since 2004, when reading a review of their EP prompted me to download (illegally, I’m sure, but I ended up buying the physical CD shortly after) some of their songs, which I put on a mix CD that would accompany me on a failed trip to Cincinnati. One of those songs was “I Wasn’t Prepared.” It was definitely love at first listen. Followed by 87 more listens.

I kind of stopped following them for awhile though after I got my then-friend Alisha into them and she totally played them out. After awhile, Eisley made me think of her and our failed friendship and that was just no good. But somehow a few years ago, Chooch heard some songs from their album “The Valley” and he became obsessed, to the point where he made me put their song “Sad” on his roller rink birthday party mix. And then I was reminded how much I once loved them and fell right back into the Eisley rabbit hole.

Anyway, the point to this story is that in ten years, I have not once had the opportunity to see them live, so I was going with or without Henry. And I was fully prepared to go solo, but then Janna said she would go even though she didn’t know anything about them.


Their show was last night at the Smiling Moose, which is kind of an awkward place to see a show since it’s relatively the size of a giant’s shoe box. But the bar itself is fantastic and has beer-like things that I am able to palate, plus really good vegetarian sandwich selections. For these reasons, Janna and I got down there a little early so we could chug beer-like things and stuff our faces with sliders while I tried to prime her on the members of Eisley, explaining that they’re a family and that Sherri is the one with pink hair and she’s my favorite so don’t you dare ever in a million years say anything even slightly disparaging about her because her entire being radiates joy and hope. JUST STFU JANNA.

(Honestly, Janna wasn’t even saying anything. How could she, with my incessant rambling? I never get to talk about music, so when someone gives me even the tiniest opening, I start talking like a 16-year-old auctioneer.)

Anyway, it’s a good thing I’m an old hag who the bartender didn’t card, because I realized when we got in line to go upstairs for the show that I only had my expired license. WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH ME AND LICENSES LATELY. Oh well, I wasn’t planning on drinking anymore during the show anyway, so I didn’t lose any sleep over it when the bouncer at the door barked, “THIS IS EXPIRED. NO” and shooed me away with nothing more than a scowl and implied, “No 21+ bracelet for you, skank.”

The Smiling Moose is set up where there is no other way to get on the stage if you’re the performer other than WALKING THROUGH THE CROWD. No backstage. No escape hatch in the floor. No fireman’s pole from the ceiling. Totally awkward for bands, I’d imagine. It wasn’t too crowded at this point though, so the opening band—Merriment—didn’t have too much trouble breaking through the complacent hipster girls on their way to the front of the room.

Merriment is a fine band. It’s made up of the two youngest “Eisley” siblings: Christie and Collin DuPree. Just very pretty, calm and quiet music. And thank god for that otherwise we might not have been able to hear the guy next to Janna when he sniffed his hands with zeal and shouted, “MY HANDS SMELL LIKE SHAWARMA!”

“What?” his girlfriend shouted back.

“MY HANDS SMELL LIKE BEEF!” he shouted back, louder this time and in layman’s terms, alerting the attention of the two girls on the other side of him, as well as me and Janna.

“That’s a really random thing to say!” the girl next to him laughed, and we all cracked up because he just kept inhaling his entire palms, like he was trying to relive his dinner.

Just then, the current song ended and Christie DuPree said, “Wow, it’s so quiet in here.”

“I agree!” Beef Hands said. “I totally agree.” And we all started cracking up again. He looked like John Mayer a little bit, but younger, and now I can’t stop picturing him taking deep drags of his fingertips like Mary Katherine Gallagher: Beefy Pits Edition.

Meanwhile, three girls had pushed their way through the crowd and stopped right in front of me. The one was pretty tall and, after she glanced over her shoulder at me, she yelled to one of her shorter friends, “Switch places with me so I don’t block this girl’s view!”

WHAT. This shit never happens to me at shows. I generally wind up with, standing in front of me, the most inconsiderate douchebag who seemingly has a tophat of hair on his douchehead, so close that his natural stench wisps its way into my nostrils.

Anyway, those girls wound up moving further up before the end of Merriment’s set and were replaced by a tall boy and his girlfriend. The boy was similarly very concerned about impairing my view. He turned around at least 3 times to make sure I was still able to see OK and I was like, “Am I at a fucking Gino Vanelli show or what? Why is everyone being so polite!?”

Too bad Janna didn’t have the same experiences from where she was standing, hahaha.


About 20 minutes after Merriment finished their set, the house music went off and the crowd parted for Eisley. You’re going to be so shocked about what I have to say next:

I started to cry.

Like, when have I ever cried at a show before, right?

Of course I fucking cried. That’s what I do.

I don’t even know that I have it in me to formulate cohesive thoughts about last night. They were spectacular. And they were all sick! EVERY LAST ONE THEM HAD COLDS and they still sounded like angels. How is this possible? And Sherri just smiled and smiled and you know how sometimes you go and watch a band and think to yourself, “Wow, they hate this. They’re so fucking bored up there right now” and it’s so disappointing because if you wanted a flat performance, you’d have just played their CD in your car while driving through a cornfield? Well, Sherri exuded enough joy and passion through her smiles alone that it’s so obvious she belongs on a stage. And she has the best personality. Someone in the front row asked her a bottle of water that was sitting on the stage, so she took one out of the case and handed the rest over to the person.

“Now don’t be greedy!” she said in a faux-stern drawl. “Make sure the people in the back get some too!”

Janna was all pissed off because the couple in front of her who she hated got the last bottle.


One of my favorites: Mr. Moon!

Meanwhile, Beef Hands was having conniption fits next to Janna. He was jumping and dancing and “Wooooo!!!!!!!”ing through the whole show and it was SO NICE to see because most of the crowd seemed to just be standing around like upright logs. I really wished Henry would have been there to witness Beef Hands, since he apparently thinks Eisley is not for men.


They played “I Wasn’t Prepared” and I honestly lost it. So many memories.

Someone on Instagram posted a picture from last night and the caption said, “Heaven is probably a lot like seeing Eisley” and I’m going to go ahead and back that sentiment. Their talent is boundless. Stacy sounds like a siren and when Chauntelle sang Millstone, I was like “YESSSS!” because she rarely sings and her voice is just as much of a treasure as Stacy’s and Sherri’s. I hope they never stop making music.

Oh, and Janna is totally a fan now, so THERE people who assume I like shitty music. Sometimes my friends actually like what I like. RED LETTER DAY!


No tags for this post.
Apr 102014

I miss my work anniversary every year. I knew it was coming up and thought it was April 8th for sure, but then April 8th came and went and I forgot all about it. Just now I was inspired to check my blog to see if I ever posted on my first day. Of course I did, because that’s the shit that I do. I also learned that my work anniversary was April 5th, not the 8th. I also found a blog post where I talked about how obsessed I was with the beautiful Law Firm restroom, because it was still brand new at that point (and not just in a “new-to-me” way; the Firm had just moved into that newly renovated building two weeks before I started working there so everything was sparkly and shiny and there were CANDY BOWLS ON THE TABLE BY THE KITCHEN which is how they lured me in). Don’t worry, that bathroom is disgusting as shit nowadays.

Anyway, please enjoy my first blog post from The Law Firm. And my finger was “broken” due to a Jillian Michaels injury that morning. That was one of the first conversations I had with Barb, explaining to her why I kept wincing every time she handed me papers. So…not much has changed. (And I did become friends with those two girls, but BARB ended up being my first friend. Of all the people! Anyway, the reason I even excitedly mentioned that in a blog post from 2010 was because I wasn’t used to working at a place with normal people that I could actually imagine hanging out with. People who work late shift doing data entry are a….how do you say….special breed. And that was what I had been doing for awhile before getting this job. So no, I wasn’t interested in becoming friends with middle aged women with mullets who wore Crocs and Country Jamboree t-shirts to work.)


I’m at my new job! With a broken finger! Henry will have you believe it’s just bruised but what does he know? He thought Maunday was a misspelling for Monday ( SO DID ALISHA) until I opened my big bag of Biblical knowledge on his ass. (I’m still galloping around town on my high horse about that.)

Anyway. My desk area is bare. Stark. Inadequate. But at least I didn’t set off any alarms today.

Already there are two girls who I can imagine being friends with, which is pretty much where friendships start and end with me oh ho ho ho.

No tags for this post.
Apr 092014

OMG so this week’s bullet point post is happening today because I’m going to see Eisley tomorrow which means I might (should?) have real sentences to structure on Friday. Oh who am I kidding. This blog has been like a derailed train for god knows how long. Ain’t nobody be structuring shit.

  • Remember how I was freaking out about getting stabbed thanks to The Following? Well, there was a mass stabbing this morning at a local high school and I can’t fucking stand it. Thank god no one died, although a few people were critically injured.  I am torn between wrapping my kid in 87 kevlar* vests or just homeschooling him altogether (while wrapped in 87 kevlar vests).  Please do not mistake me for some old bitty sitting in a nursing home atrium, but I can’t believe how different the world is already just from when I was a kid. I hate it so bad. (I mean, who doesn’t?) I graduated in 1997, so a few years before Columbine happened, and I just don’t remember hearing too much back then about all this fucked up shit happening in schools. I know for a fact that I definitely wasn’t afraid of going to school and getting shot. And now that’s what kids have to worry about, as if worrying about getting good grades, “fitting in” and getting bullied wasn’t already enough.
    • * You will be shocked to know that for once I actually put forth 20 second’s worth of fact-checking/research, otherwise that was about to read “mylar vest.” Probably wouldn’t do much good.
    • This was definitely not the first time I Googled “bulletproof vest” at work.
  • You know what is similar to fact-checking that anyone who writes on the Internet should be doing consistently? Proof-reading. You know who doesn’t do that? This one right here. Ugh, you guys just don’t understand! I hate reading over something I just typed. I’m always rushed to begin with, usually at work (during down time, get over yourselves!), and I just hate reading my writing. So I post it as-is which is unprofesh but I am not getting paid to blog so whatever, right? Sometimes Henry will actually catch a typo and then rub it in for hours, but usually they remain there to fester for all of eternity, unless I am revisiting an old post for nostalgia-reasons or because I want to prove something to someone and need facts (also known as “Erin-skewed fantastical memory beliefs”). Like last night, when I was re-reading something from September and found that not only did I do the whole to/too thing (FML), I also confused “recant” with “recall” AND poorly-worded an entire paragraph which came off sounding super racist and I had no idea at the time. I fucking win at blogging. So, my point is that I would like to make a promise that I will try harder at proof-reading, but we all know that I’m going to hit “publish” and forget to even do a half-assed cursory glance.
    • Whatever happened to the days when Janna had access to my blog so she could correct my embarrassments?
    • See: first line of this post where I talk about “structuring real sentences” and then feel free to LOL forever.


  • Chooch’s birthday is April 25th, but we’re not having his birthday party until the second weekend of May because it’s going to be outdoors and who knows if it’s going to snow again. Anyway, I kept pressing for a creepy carnival theme but I could tell he wasn’t into it and god forbid I should be one of Those Parents who forces their kids to want the things that they want. So he picked a cat theme instead and I’m 100% on board with that. However, cat-themed party supplies are either Cat In the Hat or kittens swathed in ribbons of pinks and purples. So the natural solution was to go with LOL Cats, which means DIY city for us. I already designed his invitations (the picture above is the back of the invitation) and I have a bunch of cat-themed food in my head. (Grumpy Cat donuts!) (Taco Cat Salad!) (Cheesy Hair Balls!) (NO kitty litter cake, though. I hate those! And you know, since I hate those then Chooch has to hate those, too. #hypocrite) This is pretty much the funnest (suck it, grammar) party I’ve planned yet. OK, maybe second only to Janna’s Poopy Birthday Party back in 2003. They can’t all be that shitastic. Speaking of, Janna’s coming over this weekend to make Nyan cat puppet-things. (You didn’t know that, Janna?) I WISH ALL OF YOU COULD BE THERE! (The party, not my house making Nyan cat puppet-things.)
    • It was like I’m sponsored by Parentheses up there in that last bullet.
  • Hey, you know how I’ve been with Henry since 2001? Well, I only just recently realized that he pronounces “going” the same way a normal person would say “boing.” So now EVERY TIME he says it, I interrupt him to scream GOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYNG! and he gets so frustrated. “One day I’m just going to stop talking altogether!” he sometimes pouts.
    • Of course, now I’m wondering if the reason I never noticed this before is because he only just recently picked it up from HIS NEW MISTRESS. OMG Henry is a philanderer!!
      • But the bigger possibility is that I just never really listened to him that much before.
  • A waiter from Dollywood found my blog and didn’t like the “unrealistic speculations” I made about his collection of women’s tongues and blow-up sex dolls. So, that was awkward. My nervous tic is making up lewd stories about 75% of the strangers I come in contact with and I honestly can’t help it. So I changed his name from Sherman to Sherbet. Hopefully that will smooth things over.
    • It’s a constant struggle between good and evil with me.
  • OMG remember last year when I signed up for that health screening thing at work and then found out right before that I WAS GOING TO GET MY FINGER PRICKED? (Just pretend.) Well, I signed up again this year but I was determined to go up alone this time since I’m practically a seasoned pro by now and I knew what to expect. However, as it got closer to my scheduled screening, I started to get heart palpitations and finally I just went up early because I thought I was going to pee my pants if I had to stare at the clock any longer. Anyway, I told the finger-pricker lady that I was scared but trying to be brave. She had my hand in her hands, trying to warm up my fingertips, and she interrupted my insane panic-rambles to cock her head and said, “Seriously? You have TATTOOS ON YOUR FINGERS and you’re afraid of this?” Touché, finger-pricker. Touché. But seriously you guys, I DID IT ALL BY MYSELF! And my numbers were all healthy, even though I have no idea what any of it means. Came back to my office-thing and immediately swapped out my ugly bandaid for a Candy Land one.
  • IT’S ALMOST HOCKEY PLAYOFF TIME!!! Speaking of, the other day Barb was all, “Oh and by the way, the Stanley Cup is right up the street if you care.” I guess there was some Canadian thing going on in some building that I never knew existed, so Mean Amber walked me up there and we got to have our picture taken with it. Phil, the keeper of the Cup, was also there and I was adamant upon him being in the photo too because that guy has been in commercials so he’s essentially famous. Also, he wears nice white gloves. Originally, I didn’t want to be in the picture at all because I honest-to-god cannot pose for a picture to save my life, but at the last minute, I sighed and let it happen, thinking that maybe it could be that 1/1,000,000 chance where everything aligns and I look like a person who knows the difference between smiling and having a stroke. Yeah, I didn’t hit the photo lottery. I mean it’s not the WORST picture I’ve posed uncomfortably for, but I still wound up looking deranged, like a woman with a secret, and that secret might be a box of women’s tongues in a box under her bed because she learned it by watching Sherbet. #fakesmilecity
    • That night, Henry was pressing me for more details on exactly where I was that I got to see the Stanley Cup. “I don’t know, some building that Barb claims used to be Home Depot,” I said, totally annoyed. “Home Depot? I literally have no idea where there used to be a Home Depot downtown,” Henry pondered, totally thrown off at the fact that he didn’t know about something being somewhere. A few minutes passed and I said, “Oh, I think maybe it was Office Depot. Same thing.” Henry shouted, “THAT IS NOT THE SAME THING!” STFU, Henry. 20140409-190702.jpg
  • Henry broke our TV somehow so he is officially the Enemy of the House, according to Chooch and me.
  • Chooch is going to invite the helmeted boy who bit him to his birthday party and I’m so happy about that.
  • Writing this is severely cutting into my Easter Glenn time, you guys. See the sacrifices I make for you?
  • Today a co-worker was sitting  next to me, showing off her flaky skin (yes, that happened) and some of it floated down onto my leg and she just carried on like it was no biggie and I mean, I get that we all basically spend more time with our co-workers than anyone else, but if I won’t let Henry flake his dead skin onto my person, then you can’t do that either.
    • Nate asked me if I needed an umbrella.


  •  My friend Terri inspired me to listen to the Used tonight at work, and I admittedly haven’t listened to them in quite some time because of dumb Christina. I feel like I’m wrapped in a blanket right now. I mean, I actually AM wrapped in a blanket right now because it’s always 30 degrees in my wing of the department, but you know what I mean. Metaphorically, or whatever. Like my heart is blanketed. God, just forget it. Never mind.
    • After all these years, it is still hilarious to me that Christina is the biggest liar I have ever known in my entire life, and the Used (her FAVORITE BAND) has a song called “Liar, Liar.” I wish I was God because I would make sure that fucking song played every single time she walked into a room.


No tags for this post.
Apr 082014

I’m a little fan girl of Kris Crummet. He has produced some of my most favoritest records of the last decade (including Dance Gavin Dance, Emarosa, Man Overboard, Bizzy Bone!!!!, and A Lot Like Birds). I remember reading an article about the making of Emarosa’s 2010 album, how the band opted to use Brian McTernan for that go-around rather than Kris, and Jonny Craig was so adverse to this that he actually left the band on the east coast with Brian and flew back to the west coast to record his vocals with Kris. (But I mean, it’s Jonny, so it’s not like this is too surprising.)

Naturally, I follow Kris on Instagram and Twitter because I like to keep up with his career; he’s a cool guy! So when he began posting about the upcoming Artifex Pereo album he was working on, my interest was piqued. The snippets he and the band were sharing of the process sounded SO GOOD.

Artifex Pereo just signed with Tooth & Nail and I’m so stoked for their upcoming album that I just now pre-ordered it. %^%*$%^*$, MUSIC!! Seriously guys, don’t ever stop buying it. Maybe give a little less to the Katy Perrys of the music scene and a little more to these bands that could actually use the support. I drank way too much coffee again.

No tags for this post.
Apr 072014

Henry and I are getting ready for bed, which means it’s time for me to ask him questions that he doesn’t want to answer because he’s old & tired constantly.

Tonight’s question was good, though! I wondered what he would have been like if the Internet and Twitter were around when he was 21, and of course he had no response so I had to answer for him.

“You probably would have used #YOLO and beer & poop emojis incessantly,” I laughed, right before getting the best idea of my life: CREATING A FAKE TWITTER ACCOUNT FOR SERVICE-ERA HENRY.

“That’s a stupid idea,” he mumbled into his pillow.

“Did you have to keep a log when you were in THE SERVICE?” I probed after he said “none” when I asked him what his SERVICE nickname was.

“WHAT? A log? No,” he spat. “It wasn’t Star Trek.” And then after a few beats (as in SECONDS, not THOSE KINDS OF BEATS you guys, god!) he asked, “Why would I keep a log?”

“You know, so you could write things down like Today I learned how to put sheets on my bed.

“Why would I be learning how to put sheets on my bed in THE SERVICE? I wasn’t retarded!” He was getting really ticked off. I was getting pretty Goldthwait-y.

“What color were your sheets?” I pressed excitedly. “Army???”

Now Henry was super ruffled. “What? No! They were white,” he muttered.

I lost it at this point, had to pull the blanket over my face to muffle my insane laughter so my neighbors wouldn’t think I was torturing a milkmaid again.

“It’s not funny!” Henry huffed.

“I bet they got dirty real easily,” I cried, actual drool sluicing down my chin, the result of sloppy laughter.

Henry ignored me, turning over so he was facing away from me.

“You know who else will think this is funny?” I wheezed.

“Alyson,” Henry mumbled immediately. “Because she’s stupid too.” And then after a few seconds of nothing but my psycho bray filling the bedroom, Henry asked, “Wait—why would my sheets be dirty?”

And I just lost it all over again.

No tags for this post.
Apr 072014

I kept saying that I didn’t want to do anything this weekend.

“I don’t want to do anything this weekend,” I said to Henry. See? It happened. And these words were like the theme music of NCIS to Henry’s ears. This is all he ever wants to do on the weekend: NOTHING! I really thought that was what I wanted too. We have been doing so much lately that I was starting to feel a little run-down, physically and mentally, anyway. So aside from taking Chooch to his piano lesson Saturday morning, nothing else happened that day aside from binge-watching HBO while it was free and screaming at the hockey game.


The next day, Chooch went to the neighbor kid’s birthday party, which was right next door so we didn’t have to do anything but open the door and boot Chooch out of it. It was glorious! But then I became immediately bored again. I left the door slightly ajar because all of the jackass birthday party kids were running around outside the house making me super nervous and annoyed and I needed to adapt my role as Crotchety Bitch-Neighbor in case something happened that would provide me an opportunity to run outside and chew out some dumb kid.

About an hour into the party, someone started to knock on my door, which blew open because of the wind; this left me in an awkward predicament because I absolutely hate answering the front door but now whoever was knocking could basically see into my house.  DO YOU WATCH THE FOLLOWING!? It seems like every motherfucker that opens their door for someone gets stabbed to death. I don’t want to get stabbed to death. WHO DOES? (I mean, I’m sure there are plenty of people who do, but they’re probably singing Crash Test Dummies song(s) while coloring walls with their feces in a mental institution.) I figured it might be one of the parents, that Chooch probably fucked up somehow (he’s my kid, after all), so I exhaled and bravely pulled the front door open the rest of the way.

It was an older man looking for his missing cat. RED FLAG, right? Total Yinzer, dishelved, possibly a little buzzed, and definitely dressed worse than Henry. So, your basic Brookliner. Whether it was true or not, I indulged him while he struggled to not only describe the cat, but remember her dumb name. (Tia.) And then he struggled some more to tell me where he lives, which is literally like 5 houses down the street.

“OK, we’re the first house down there that has a porch that sticks out. Do you see the porch sticking out? Maybe you can’t see from here,” he squints real hard, practically hemorrhaging while digging in his brain for a house number. “OK, you see that gray car? Not the one on the street. The gray car in the driveway. That’s our house past the driveway.”

I promised him I would keep my eyes open for his car and we shook hands after he told me his name is Gary. He was just about to leave when I reminded him to watch his step. (Our front porch steps are all crumbled on one side and are hopefully about to be repaired soon. The landlord knows, and I hope he doesn’t want a law suit. But maybe he does. Maybe getting sued gives him an erection.) At my simple suggestion, Gary took that as an invitation to pause and study the porch.

“You know, I painted one of these porches awhile back,” he said. And it suddenly all started coming to me and I knew exactly who he was.

“I remember that!” I exclaimed, because he and his weirdo brother-in-law (who lives next door to him) kept me wildly entertained that day with their half-crocked banter. “Hey, do you by chance have a cat named Teddy?” I asked.

“Teddy! Yeah, he’s dead now though. He was a good cat!”

“He really was!” I agreed. “He got my cat Marcy pregnant in 1999,” I explained.

“Oh, no! Do I owe you kitty support?” he laughed, and we went on to talk forever about cats. I told him that Teddy used to come and sit on the windowsill after Marcy had the kittens, like he wanted to check in on them, but Marcy would go absolute ape shit on him through the screen. She used to make these terrifying, gutteral screams that I have never heard from a cat before.

Don looked exactly like his father Teddy.

“Hey, you should come over in the summer and go swimming!” Gary suggested happily after finding out that we’re basically in-laws. That is definitely not going to happen, but I cheerfully went along because CATS! What a great topic.

Something like 15 minutes later, I was pulling the door closed behind me just in time to find Henry on the couch cracking the fuck up.

“What?” I squealed. “We were talking about CATS!”

“Have fun swimming at his house this summer,” Henry tried, and failed, to say without laughing.

That’s one of the few times you will ever find me not resisting human contact.


I still wasn’t feeling 100% myself (obviously something was wrong with me if I willingly spent time small-talking with a neighbor) but it was really nice and sunny out that afternoon so I made Henry go for a walk with me.

Jo’s Salon decorates for every holiday. Love the bunnies and sexy Jesus-in-a-basket!


There used to be this totally sketchy bar on the Boulevard that you had to walk down steps to get to, basically a rape-trap, but it was closed down (I think there were a lot of drug busts there) and now it’s some strange church-thing.

I was hoping that this would the day I could finally get Henry to go inside the African market but he’s still being a baby about it. Aside from him being secretly racist, I’m not sure WTF is going on with Henry and the African market. Maybe he tried to get them to sell Faygo and they laughed at him?

So we went to Pitaland instead. I used to be inexplicably terrified of that place, but then I learned that they have the freshest dates around, and also a super-hot guy working there named I forget now but he is really handsome and I like to remind Henry of that fact every time we go there.


Cactus pears & nub-things.

I got to witness some incredibly old man with a walker pick up a box of Mediterranean candy and honest-to-god bellow, “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS” before slamming it back down. Dude, they’re ANGEL KISSES AND THEY LOOK DELICIOUS SO STOP SLAMMING SHIT.

(Henry just responded to my urgent text. The Hot Pitaland Guy’s name is Marvin. Thanks for paying attention when I kept dreamily saying his name in your ear yesterday, buddy.)

Then I made Henry buy a container of these delicious looking powdered pastries that the non-Marvin Pitaland guy described to us in a bored mumble. Turns out they were $10 and DISGUSTING. I couldn’t taste anything but ROSE and the choking was almost as terrible as the time Janna tried to drown me in rose water at the Palace of Gold.

Back outside on the Boulevard, I stopped abruptly and tried to take a picture of this guy standing in front of the red door of one of Those Weird Churches, but I wasn’t fast enough and he had already started to walk down the steps. I was so upset that I missed such a great photo-op, but Henry was perplexed and annoyed.

“What the hell are you trying to take a picture of!?” he hissed, wanting to continue on so we could get home already.

“The way that man was standing at the top of the steps, it was such a Jesus pose!” I cried irritably, knowing he wouldn’t understand.


And he didn’t.

It’s funny that all this religious stuff was happening on our walk because I just ordered a bunch of religious candy to stuff in plastic eggs because it’s time for another EASTER GLENN HUNT! Just a little while ago, I made a Veronica’s Veil Glenn and a Hot Cross Bun Vendor Glenn. I love religious Glenns.


This was when we were fighting about who likes dates more.

“I’ve been eating dates since before you were born!” he bragged.

“YEAH WELL I ATE DATES IN MOROCCO!” I cried and then kicked him, because that’s what I do. But then we started reminisicing about the date milkshakes we drank at a date farm in California, so that was nice.


Almost as soon as we got home, Henry “suddenly” got a fever, WTF? So he spent the rest of the day in bed which affects me greatly because no one was available to make me dinner. I kept calling him, and I could hear his phone start to ring (he has a Dance Gavin Dance ring tone for me and I didn’t even download it on his behalf!!) and then it would stop suddenly because that dumb motherfucker was DECLINING MY CALLS. So then I would march upstairs and be him to come down.

“Just order pizza,” he mumbled in a (fake!!!!) fever-induced drawl.


“Oh my god, tell me you are not even crying right now,” he sighed and rolled over, putting his dumb blanketed back toward me.

I ate a dumb bagel and Chooch had Apple Jacks. Sorry kid, but I’m not one of those broads who rises to the occasion and suddenly knows how to make a roast. (Not like Chooch would ever eat that anyway.)

I was telling Barb about the dinner tragedy today and she asked me something dumb, like, “Did it feel like Henry was burning up the bed?” or something.

“Yeah, that’s funny,” I laughed sarcastically. “I slept on the couch last night because I didn’t want to get sick.” And Barb looked like she wanted to say something about that but then remembered who she was talking to, so she kept it at a simple, “Oh, Erin.”

Way to ruin the whole entire weekend, Henry. You’re so selfish.


No tags for this post.
Apr 052014

Chooch started bitching about his underwear Friday morning, how I gave him a baby pair and they were falling down, wah wah wah. I got all annoyed because if they’re too small, throw them out!! Stop putting them back in the hamper for Henry to wash, for god’s sake. This was right after he bitched at me for pointing out that he hadn’t finished his homework. SO FAIL SECOND GRADE THEN, WHAT DO I CARE.

One time last week he bitched because I pointed out that his shirt was on backward and then he OMG had to turn it around, but he didn’t do it right so it was still backward and I was like “Your shirt is still on backward” and it was like [MAJOR BITCHING]. Sometimes I wonder if he’s eating estrogen pills.

“All you do is bitch,” I yelled as we splashed along the rainy sidewalk to his dumb school. “You’re like a nagging housewife. You should have your own damn show where you can just bitch about your whole life to everyone. Because that’s all you do! Bitch!” And then I started singing a jingle for his hypothetical show—because I love making up jingles—which went like this: Chooch’s Morning Bitch Fest….Monday thru Friday!*” And it was totally loud and theatrical like an orgy between the Boylan Sisters from “Annie” and Joey Gladstone from “Full House.” Also, it obviously had jazz hands (only one though because I was holding an umbrella) and it concluded with a little dance.

*(This recording was way less inspired & boisterous than the original heat-of-the-moment jingle & I apologize. But I’m sure I will be provided with ample opportunities to sing it. Again and again and again.)

And then something made me turn around, that strange sensation of paranoia that sometimes radiates into your back when you’re being watched, just in time to see that Chooch’s gym teacher was right behind us AND I MEAN RIGHT BEHIND US, cracking up. I was kind of embarrassed but Chooch was REALLY embarrassed and just shook his head.

“Hey what’s up Swaggy?” he laughed over the rain. Chooch earned that nickname last year because he’s got swag, y’all.

Chooch, still shaking his head and perfectly mimicking Henry’s patented smile-without-mirth, just gave a little grunt and kept walking.

“He’s miserable in the mornings,” I confided, hoping to detract from my makeup-less morning visage and pillow-tousled curls (that’s a fancy way of saying I had The Bed Head and it was not hot) by throwing my own flesh and blood under the blush.

Still laughing, the gym teacher assured me that he’d straighten him out later and I unclenched when he parted ways in order to enter the school from a different side.

“Good one,” Chooch spat.

“I mean, maybe he didn’t hear everything…” I suggested naively

Chooch just glared, his lips upturned in a disgusted scowl.

I have to say though that his gym teacher is not the worst looking gym teacher I’ve ever seen. So if he likes my jingles, he’s welcome to come over for more.

No tags for this post.
%d bloggers like this: