Chooch and I were home alone together on Monday. He didn’t have school because of Open House or whatever, so I took the day off since, you know, he’s only 10 and apparently shouldn’t be left alone in the house I guess.
It was pretty anticlimactic though. We didn’t even fight, if you can believe it. I even let him use my phone to play Pokémon Go while we were on the loose in Brookline.
We talked a lot about the election, which is crazy to me because when I was a kid, I gave literally NO FUCKS about politics, but this kid has been enrapt in this election, and he was very interested in the last one too (he used to angrily rant about Mitt Romney and it was hilar). Even before Henry and I started talking about it, Chooch would make passing comments about how much he dislikes Trump, and I think it speaks volumes how many children are voicing their opinions with this. Even when we were at Kennywood, we were standing in line behind several girls who appeared to be around 12 and they were absolutely skewering the man.
The awareness is real.
“Is it OK to call Trump retarded?” Chooch asked me. I quickly said no because that word, ugh that word. It admittedly took me a long time to retire it from my own vocabulary. Old habits, right? So I told him no but I gave him a list of words that he can use, like: racist, misogynist, bigot, homophobe, disaster, sleaze, pervert, uninformed, etc etc etc. And then I used that as an opportunity to beat into his head once again how not to assault women, and most of all, how to just be a decent person.
I want to believe that these things go without saying, because Henry and I certainly don’t sit around spewing hate speak and building walls and grabbing random pussies, but I think it’s important to still have an open dialogue about this because IT STARTS AT HOME. I mean, I’m right about this so shut up.
(SORRY. I’M JUST A LITTLE HEATED LATELY.)
During our walk, we passed by Wyld Chyld Tattoo and if you’re a tattoo enthusiast, you might know that this is the shop of Sarah Miller from Ink Masters. RIGHT HERE IN LITTLE OL’ BROOKLINE. She is masterful at portraits (google that shit, I’m tired of doing it all for you) (j/k here you go please don’t stop reading my blog) and I low key fan girl over her. One time, she walked past me on the boulevard and cheerfully said she liked my purse (the eyeball one that Chooch hates, of course) and it was all I could do to not sound like fucking Bullwinkle when I thanked her.
Anyway, Sarah was standing outside her shop, smoking a cigarette and looking at her phone.
“CHOOCH THAT’S SARAH MILLER” I hissed urgently at the side of his head.
“Ok?” he shrugged. Like what does he even know.
(Other than everything, apparently, as we would learn later that night at Open House when his teacher essentially was like “This kid is the ticket to your future beach house and you gotta get him into SciTech because his brain was built for math and science.” NEWS TO ME BUT OK, TEACH.)
So then I did the whole “SHOULD I GO SAY HI” song and dance but by the time I worked up the courage and we turned around to go back, she had already gone back inside.
I hate myself.
Then I called Henry to excitedly relay this entire episode, to which he responded, “Is that all? Because I’m trying to work.”
After all of that excitement, we walked to Dormont where I flipped out because they are still doing work on Potomac and the sidewalks are all jacked so we had to go a long, roundabout way, just to get to Fredo’s where Chooch ordered a egg sandwich with no meat and then pouted because he lost a Snorlax or whatever.
(I’m told by other Pokémon experts my age that this is a valid reason to be sad.)
Then Henry came home and we were all like HENRY TAKE CARE OF US OMG WE NEED ATTENTION.
Meanwhile, this shitty 50 Shades meme keeps going around on Facebook (it’s been ALL WOMEN I’ve seen posting it) and it’s nice to know that while I’m working hard to make sure my son respects women, these assholes are basically unraveling it all by teaching their daughters that it’s OK to be talked about that way because IT’S JUST LOCKER ROOM TALK RIGHT? Who gives a fuck about self-respect.
I was so mad about this that at one point my brain felt like it short-circuited and I just kept saying “Brock Turner. Brock Turner. Brock Turner” over and over.
And yes, I 100% unfriended the idiot who posted that.
Let’s end on a happy note! HERE IS ANOTHER DANCE GAVIN DANCE SONG! I was recently added into a DGD support group on Facebook and I finally feel less alone. I’m with my people now.
Since 2005 I’ve been living a lie
I’m not even a man I’m just a cat in disguise
I was born by surprise in the Egyptian times
Bring me a treat and I’ll imprint your face forever.
If you changed that 2005 to 2006, this could be about Chooch.
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