Jun 172009

It wouldn’t have seemed right not to go, so Henry came home a little early on Monday and by 10:30am we were en route to the Penguins Victory Parade downtown. Now, I live a 5-minute’s drive from downtown, so I suggested that we just take the trolley, which is within a few blocks from our house. But Henry, good ol’ Henry, he’s all, “Oh no no no, we’ll drive and park at Station Square (which is right across from the river from town and has several parking lots) that way you can just drop me off at work after the parade.”

Immediately I was leery of this great plan.

We reached Station Square and, naturally, were met with gridlocked traffic because of course every fucking person outside of the city limits swarms en masse like fucking Syrian locusts looking for a parking spot to plague. (Just remember who suggested taking the trolley.)

We crawled ahead a few feet in five minutes,  and it occured to me to ask, “You have money to park, right?”


Let me reiterate that for the few people who might think Henry is actually smart: He said no.

OF COURSE HE DIDN’T BRING MONEY. Why should I have been surprised at all.

What happened next may seem like an accident but I’m convinced it was carefully plotted stratagem.

“Jump out and go to that ATM,” Henry ordered, pointing across the street. “No one’s going anywhere, so don’t worry about me leaving,” he laughed, sweeping his hand out the window at all the cars idling ahead of us.

Funny how in the ONE MINUTE it took me to take out money, he was GONE. I’m not kidding. And where I had gotten out was right about where the road split, and then there were three different lot entrances he could have gone through.

I convinced myself not to panic and for the first minute I did really well. But after that, I sat on a retaining wall and cried behind my Mary-Kate sunglasses while throngs of excited Pens fans trampled past me, on their way to the parade that I just wasn’t destined to attend. I kept thinking I’d see Henry and Chooch amid one of these packs of fans, but they never emerged from any of the lots. I was four years old again, lost in the grocery store and all the faces looking down on me had the morphed and oblong faces of the kidnappers in my nightmares and I just knew the rest of my childhood was going to be spent in a moldy cellar eating stale crackers and Cheez-Whiz in front of a constant loop of American Gladiator reruns, if I was even that lucky.

Oh but I could just call Henry, IF ONLY I HAD MY PHONE. Which was in my purse. Which was in the car.

I WAS OMG LOST I’M GOING TO DIE. And scared. And pathetic. My future was looking grim, like I would never reunite with my family and left to my own devices, how would I ever survive long enough to make it home? I had a twenty in my pocket but if I came upon a panhandler, you just know I’d be guilted into buying that bastard a Big Mac, Hustler, and a jug of Old Crow.

So I sat there, on that wall, hugging my knees to my chest and feeling desperate and completely sorry for myself, and I even heard myself whimper once or sixteen times. And then I thought, “Jesus Christ, did I just whimper in real life?”

It took me twenty-minutes to find someone willing to let me use their phone. His name was Tyrone and he was a janitor who literally LEANED BACK and slid his glasses down so he could ogle my tits while I was trying to locate Henry.

“Your man LEFT YOU?” he asked when I handed the phone back, clucking his tongue to illustrate just how appalling this was to him.

Look Tyrone, NOT ON THIS DAY, my friend. I thanked him, shook his hand (he held his grasp a little too long and I was honestly bouncing on the balls of my feet because hello, I was about to miss this fucking parade. I had to walk in the opposite direction to meet Henry and Chooch. They were relegated to a lot a good half mile away from where I was with Tyrone, and Henry needed the cash I took out so he could get his license back from the lot attendant who was leaving soon.

I ran as fast my boobs, sans sports bra, would allow me, and when I finally met up with those two assholes, I yelled, “Do you know how scary it is being lost???” to which Henry replied, “Um, you’re an ADULT.”

Yeah, adults go missing too, asshole. I was practically a sitting duck back there, any serial rapist could have dumped a burlap sack over me and THEN WHAT. My body becomes a penis cozy, that’s what.

To summarize what happened next – Chooch was being an asshole, Henry was being slow, and I lost my fucking temper on a walkway next to the RIVER, and I hate the RIVER. I hate a clusterfuck. I mean, who doesn’t. And it was about a second away from defeating me. I was ready to go home. I was sick of ambling around that fucking parking lot with no direction and I took this plastic snack bowl of Chooch’s and whaled it against the pavement, screamed “FUCK” in several different contexts, and demanded Henry take me home. Seriously, Henry had parked so far away that there wasn’t a soul around to hear my moment of crazy lady anguish. But Henry got that hissed tone of his and goes, “I am NOT going home after making it this far, we’re going to this fucking parade.”

We eventually caught up with the rest of the last-minute stragglers, walked across the Smithfield Street Bridge, which of course made me convulse and re-eat my breakfast, and somehow, someway, found a really nice spot right on the parade route that wasn’t clogged with gyrating and sweaty fans fifteen-heads deep.

And all the frustrating pratfalls of that morning became worth it as soon as the parade started and I found myself crying again, but in a good way this time.


Seriously. Mario Lemieux.


Typically, I’d have found 1,000 people to hate in one minute flat on any other day, but on Monday I loved everyone. (Not Henry, though.)


Hossa: Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.


You guys! Billy Guerin, you guys! You guys OMG!


Three of my faves, one truck: ORPIK!!, Cooke, and Sykora. I cried.


Malkin was the only one I couldn’t get a good shot of, because every girl started boinging up and down with thrusted boobs, waving their ring fingers frantically. I may or may not have been apart of that.


Oh hello, best hockey player in the world. Fleury was on the other side of him.


I want so badly for Jessi to have this shirt, and to always stand in that exact pose while she’s wearing it.


These were set off as we were making the long trek back to the car. Henry told Chooch they were day fireworks, but Chooch heard it as “gay” fireworks, so that’s all he’s been talking about. “Mommy, remember when we saw the gay fireworks?” And then I have so many things I want to say to that but there’s only so much a three-year-old’s mind can handle.

More pictures (and larger sizes) here. 

(We may be the “City of Champions,” but I still don’t like the Steelers. Except when they’re playing the Bengals.)

  19 Responses to “The Day There Was Almost a Murder Instead of a Parade”

  1. That shirt is awesome. Next time we head out for a visit Jessi wants to do some serious Pens swag shopping, especially any Satan love she can get. I’m glad you got to attend the parade and represent. I got pissed by the retarded Red Wings fans again when they scoffed at the 350K fans that showed up for the parade. “We had almost a million fans show up.” No you didn’t you stupid assholes. Here’s to the first of many victory parades in the city of Champions (I need another Steelers victory baby!)

    • Hail Satan!

      I’ve been reading all the backlash, like how Crosby snubbed Lindstrom (and Hossa defended Crosby, wtf). I was wondering if anything was going to be said about our parade — that’s funny!

      There’s City of Champions t-shirts that have Fleury and that Harrison Steeler guy on it. You would probably really like it!

    • OMG, I love that shirt, and I would gladly pose for you while wearing it! I tend to strech a lot as it is, especially sticking my chest out, mostly because it somehow keeps Billy interested… My apologies, I digress.

      You created a monster in me, just ask the boy, I was cheering and jumping around. You would certainly have been proud of the fandom that ensued during the series. I especially loved pissing off Wings fans, they are seriosuly some of the most obnoxious, self righteous, entitled a-holes ever and it felt good to crush their dreams a little… Bill’s not kidding about the Pens swag, I truly want a Satan jersey and I’ll psort it around Detroit with a smarmy grin!

      • I think my favorite part, aside from them actually winning, was when you guys called me and were so excited that I could barely understand a word of what was being said! It was mass confusion and hysteria over here, mostly from Chooch who was seriously highly disturbed by my exuberance, lol.

        Remember when you guys were here for Chooch’s party and I was so sure you weren’t coming back that night after Mad Mex because you didn’t want to watch the hockey game? I swore to myself that night that I would watch a Steelers game with you guys in the fall. But you guys have to try and explain it to me, because I think why I hate it so much is that I just don’t understand it. And Big Ben resembles my birth dad which REALLY creeps me out.

  2. oh, hay, i was just reading fmylife and this reminded me of you..


    okay, mostly it reminded me of something your kid would do to poor you.

    great website, btw, if you’re unfamiliar with it. you should contribute!

  3. omg i dot understand the basketball or whatever but its wicked you got to see those duders

    henry is so meannnnnnnn omg if i were hetero i would be all ‘i can make you forget all about henry, babybuns’ or some shit like that and cause some unfaithful shit. you’d make chooch call me uncle or something and tell everyone im your yoga instructor (but, behind closed doors… fill in that blank)

    i’ve had four hours of sleep

    adults get lost too henry! why it happens to old people all the time and theyre old so theyre super adult.

    i was gonna hit on you to make you uncomfortable but you can forget about that now! that boat has sailed

    • Francesco Swedish Edition is the funniest!

      And for some reason I just pictured us as Thelma and Louise. ???

      • we’re totes thelma and louise except we curse and drink more and are totally more scene and lack the mom jeans

        we’re probs more lez than thelma and louise

        I think you should do a blog post dedicated to all of your favourite comments that I’ve posted over the years. And… I really do think that you should.

        oh yes

        • i think that because of the ego – huge and expansive ego – which requires regular nourishment

  4. I can relate to being lost as a grown ass woman. I hate crowds and people touching me and stuff.
    Penis cozy? Geez, i just totally snarfed my coffee

  5. Enjoy every minute!
    We’ll get it next year. ;)

  6. The gay fireworks picture is the best one of all, and I can’t stop laughing at this. God, all the people! How did you stand it?

    I forgive you for hating the Steelers! ;)

    • We got lucky with the spot we picked — it wasn’t very densely populated! Thank god. Before we left the house, I had a mini panic attack, because I just don’t like stuff like that (concerts are the only instance where I’m not bothered by it).

      I don’t know what it is about the Steelers. I think it might be the fact that people here in the city have honestly made me feel alienated for not giving a shit about it,and the fact that I’ve been turned off watching interviews of various players (though I will say that Palomalu guy seems alright). It made me develop a grudge!

      But I am going to try to give them a chance since my two Michigan friends relented and became hockey fans this year.

  7. ERIN!! That really sucks that you got lost, but I’m glad that you got ahold of Kidlet and Hoovmeister. YAYYYY!!

    I’m sooo happy that you got to see the parade!!! You had a good vantage point, too. I’m sooo jealous. You got to see the Pens in the flesh! OMFG. I wasn’t allowed to call off work because a few people had already taken that day off. Boo. But! I did get to see the parade from 9 floors up…and I did get to see the Cup. =D

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