I was really looking forward to dyeing eggs on Saturday night. Alisha came over and even though she’ll deny this, she was super stoked to get all up in the Paas. Unfortunately, my party was crashed and I was quickly reminded of how teenage girls take the douche crown. One of them even had the audacity to ask if Chooch can understand words. I don’t know, can YOU?
But that is a rant for another day.
Chooch seemed to enjoy himself at least, and that made me happy (even though I did a lot of internal cringing as I watched his sleeve get stained with dye). Also, the Penguins won and that was a very good consolation as well.
Easter morning started out decent enough. Chooch tore through his basket, which was filled with really annoying toys, like a potato gun, squirt guns, and one of those Let’s Go Fishin’! games which make incessant plastic gear-grinding music and he doesn’t even play it right which makes me nervous because god forbid he should lose any of the fish, then the game will be RUINED. I HATE missing pieces. HATE!!
He also got one of those pooping pig keychains, and also a Dracula keychain, so I guess now he’ll have to get some keys. Perhaps when I finally get my wish of building him his own house 50 miles away* from mine, he’ll have a need for the keychains. (* A joke! Really, I’m thinking of five states away. Though, as he’s upstairs right now throwing tantrums, Alaska is looking very sexy.)
Shortly after basket-ravaging, my aunt called and stressed me all out (re: my mother) and my heart was palpitating so hard that if there were any vampires in the vicinity, they’d have been salivating on my doorstep. Apparently my mother is telling people that I’m not speaking to her because sometime back in October, I wanted to go to a haunted house but she wouldn’t babysit for me. Yes, that’s it exactly, mother. Because I’m fifteen years old and that is where my priorities lie.
And then after that, my ex-best friend and I had a fight too and I was like, “Happy fucking Easter, where’s my shotgun?!” She is so lucky she lives five hours away and I don’t care enough about her to waste my time by driving there and kicking her in her gap-toothed lying mouth. I hate a fucking liar.
(Clearly I don’t respond well to being fucked over.)
Happily though, Dyanna and Alisha came over that night for a casual We Have No Family In Pittsburgh Easter Dinner. Henry made spaghetti and some digusting soil-crusted meat-product that snaked malignantly across the plate and taunted me with its fleshy petulance.
I could have done without that, meating-up my lovely dinner party. I was also disturbed that Henry bought Cool Whip for the pie, and not ice cream. Who puts Cool Whip on apple pie? NOT ME. A la mode does not mean WITH COOL WHIP, it means SUFFOCATED UNDER A SOPPING WET BALL OF FUCKING DELICIOUS ICE CREAM. And don’t even get me started on the pineapple upside down pie. With pecans. It’s meant to be CAKE. NOT PIE. It was very upsetting to a pineapple upside down CAKE afficionado (i.e. myself) to not get to have that satisfying sensation of the fork splooging down into the moist and springy mound of CAKE. You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t front. The way the pineapple syrup bullshit coagulates into a sticky glaze? Has ever there been a dessert so demanding to be fucked by your mouth?
Fuck you, Aunt Martha, whoever the piss you are, making a mockery of the entire institution of pie.
Most of the night, Chooch rode sinisterly back and forth through the house on his tricycle, like that midget thing from “Saw,” blurting out lovely sentiments like, “Shut up, I hate you, bitch.” Then he went to bed and I made Alisha and Dyanna watch the Eternal Word Television Network with me, because it’s my favorite thing to do when I have company. Seeing Alisha squirm and hide under her hoodie during a riveting show that consisting of nothing else but a bunch of nuns reciting the rosary in unison completely made up for the stress I endured earlier in the day. And then Dyanna got the hiccups and I couldn’t stop laughing and eventually I had to bury my head in a pillow.
It was a really good evening.
I never did get over the pie perturbance, though.