This weekend was good, a strong start to October. I got one painting started, another finished, and yet another closer to its anticipated deadline. Baby steps. No pressure. Constant loops of Pentimento and State Champs music videos on YouTube. This is how I function.
Did you know that Henry is a wedding handyman on the side? It’s true. He’s in the process of helping Chris and Monica build a display for their wedding desserts so we had to run to the craft store Saturday afternoon, which usually I bitch and moan about because the craft store is annoying but I love it in October because of all the Halloween shit. Plus, I had stuff to get for the upcoming pie party, decoration-wise. When we were checking out, the elderly cashier asked us what we had planned for the burlap sacks we purchased. First of all, none of your business? Also, Pinterest-approved body bags.
AND ONE OF THEM WILL BE FOR YOU IF YOU DON’T STOP ASKING QUESTIONS.
I was in a mood on Saturday.
Chooch is bona fide infatuated with YouTubers (what 9-year-old isn’t) and has much love for Hannah Hart. We actually just had a huge argument because made the mistake of telling him that I have known of her existence for quite some time now and fun fact about Chooch: he knows everything and also, he knew it first. He’s worse than a hipster in that regard.
Anyway, all last week he was begging us to take him to Barnes and Noble because he wanted to get her book and if you read my blog like a good little pair of Internet eyeballs, you already know that Henry took him there on Friday and they struck out.
Well, Saturday evening we were on our way to a haunted house in Sharon. Chooch fell asleep because he was pouting about something or other, it all blends together. Henry, feeling a moment of charity, pulled off one of the exits and stopped at a B&N, where he successfully procured said book and Chooch was one happy jerk-son when he arose from his backseat nap.
(I like Hannah Hart. I used to watch My Drunk Kitchen and thought it was hilarious. But this book….? It makes me seriously think any ol’ motherfucker can publish pages of basic thoughts and call it a book.)
(John Green wrote her foreword. Apparently it’s a thing for YouTubers to have John Green help them with their books? I learned this from Chooch the other day when he told me that if I ever wanted to be an author, I would have to seek a LOT of help, maybe from John Green.)
After the haunted house, which Chooch is supposed to blog about, Henry and his deep pockets took us to the Middlesex Diner in Middlesex, PA which made Chooch and I laugh hysterically and Henry yelled at us for being 12-year-olds.
Our waiter was new. Possibly even new at life. He screwed up nearly everything but in such adorable fashion that I implored Henry to leave him a decent tip. Poor guy.
I got a salad with oil and vinegar and Henry to walk me though the ratio process.
Then there was a guy whistling and I sincerely thought it was a prelude to murder, like after receiving the chicken salad he came to pick up, he was going to whip out an Uzi and let loose.
I’m super paranoid. I think it might be a bordering on an actual psychological condition at this point. The amount of times I’m walking around downtown, see something shady, say “Nope,” and then change directions is alarming.
Oh wait, I just remembered that’s normal.
There was hand sanitizer behind Chooch which was a good thing because that kid needs it. Also, I ordered coconut cream pie and the waiter brought me french silk. I really liked that kid, I sincerely did, so in lieu of slinging it back to him Chinese throwing star-style, I peacefully held the pie out to him and in a gentle tone said, “Thanks, but I could I have the coconut instead?”
“Right,” he sighed, “because that’s what you ordered. I’m so sorry.” And then I thought he was going to punch himself in the head, but maybe he waited until he was locked in the broom closet at Ma’s house to do that.
My pie was eh. I always have high standards for diners when it comes to pie because if you’re calling yourself a diner, you should have the homemade pie to back it up. This pie was definitely not homemade. It was firm yet gelatinous, and had a layer of skin between it and the meringue, which was the worst part for me, the meringue. I really dislike meringue and prefer my coconut cream pie to have a heavy helmet of fresh whipped topping on it.
I peeled off the meringue and threw it on Henry’s plate, which was really Chooch’s plate of pumpkin pie that he didn’t like so now Henry was eating that along with my meringue, in addition to his own dinner and also half of Chooch’s dinner because WASTE NOT WANT NOT or whatever your grandma had embroidered on her idiot tea towels.
The next day, we went to visit Wendy and baby Summer after Chooch’s piano lesson! (Don’t worry, I ended up not actually being sick like I thought I was on Friday. It was all in my head, even though everyone kept telling me that and I was like, “No no no this is West Nile.”
Is West Nile still a thing? Don’t tell me. I don’t need to know. Anyway, look at how miserable Henry made Summer! One look at his grizzly visage sent her over the edge, man. Don’t worry, Summer, that mean man has the same effect on me.
Wendy looks amazing, by the way. A-MAYYYY-ZING. I was like, “How the hell is it possible to look so good one month after birthing a child?!” I still looked like a sebaceous glob for a good year after Chooch was born.
Fine. Two years. Then Jillian Michaels helped me.
Then I got fat again.
It’s a vicious cycle. Chooch has actually been working out with me and he hates Jillian but I think he is secretly enamored of her. I know I am! At first, he bitched about it but here’s the thing: 4th grade was when I started my journey to Fat Status. And that journey was at break-neck speed, you guys. I was unlocking that level faster than my mom could replace my wardrobe with huger sizes. Without giving Chooch a complex, I’m trying to subtly teach him that fitness and exercise are such important things to make a habit of at an early age, plus healthy food. Otherwise, he’ll be 36 and terrified of food just like his broken mother. I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I wish someone in my family would have come to my aid back then instead of waiting two years and then flipping out because I looked too hideous to be a junior bridesmaid in my aunt’s upcoming wedding, thus putting me on Slim Fast. Because that’s normal, right? For an 11-year-old to be substituting meals with Slim Fast shakes and getting Slim Fast popcorn in their Easter basket?
So yeah, exercise was done over the weekend, too.
Then we went to Castle Blood! That will be its own post though. I think Chooch and I both going to review it, so that should be interesting.
These weekends are just the absolute best. I love you, October!