Today I was going to post this video that Corey took of ourselves on some death trap at the county fair two summers ago, but figured two county fair posts in a row was enough for right now, so instead I guess I’ll tell you about Henry’s 45th birthday party.
We had a party for Henry at my mom’s house. A cook-out thing. A few people came. It was OK.
I won’t get into the fact that this is the third party I’ve had for him in the nine years we’ve been together, as opposed to the ZERO he’s had for me. Yeah. My thirtieth birthday? Doesn’t exist in the history books.
But who am I to cry over SPILLED MILK?
It was supposed to rain all day, as it had the entire day before. But MIRACULOUSLY, the rain drops ceased and the sun shone for the entire day. Only the best for fucking Henry Robbins and his big shot birthday.
Henry’s mom was there, and his sister came with four of her kids. Blake was there because there was free food, but Henry’s other son Robbie had to work. Corey and I had a mild disagreement back in April and he apparently has been making much more of it than it actually is, so he stayed in his room all day. He said he was sick, but my mom said he was sulking. Some people were out-of-town that weekend, and others were just like, “Wait – who’s Henry?” So they didn’t come, obviously.
And then Alisha and Stacey were there too, thank god, because there was some family tension going on and it was nice to have friends with me. And I know Henry was glad that Alisha was there, because while we, and I do mean just Henry, were setting up for the cook-out, I was about .00002 seconds away from a full-blown temper tantrum because it had been a shitty weekend and there was an issue with disrespect against Henry and myself, which I won’t get into here but I will say that after nine years you’d think some people would fucking let shit go by now and grab on to some semblance of a life. And I projected all of that aggression onto the table and the fact that I didn’t like where Henry was putting it. So I sat myself with my arms crossed, wanting to go home, but then Alisha came over and talked to me in soft tones and then we went for a walk and I was OK. And that is how a person takes care of Erin R. Kelly.
Henry tries to act like, “Oh, Stacey is so annoying!” but look at his face! Behind that smirk, he’s like, “Oh hell yeah, some blond broad is totally hanging off me, what’s up NOW, Air Force roommates?” Stacey wanted to jump out of a cake but Henry said he’d rather her just be the pinata if she had to go and be anything at all. I suggested getting some oranges so they could recreate the game we played at my baby shower, where you have to hold an orange between your chin and chest and transport it to your partner’s chin/chest cavity without using hands. Stacey and Henry were partners and he still accuses her of somehow chipping his tooth. So that suggestion wasn’t very well-received by Henry. Besides, he’s 45 now and everyone knows 45-year-olds don’t run, have fun, or have the space under their chins to hold an orange. At least those named Henry Robbins.
I didn’t see Chooch sit down for the entire three hours we were there. His faux hawk fell on one side and was held there firmly by the salt of his sweat; I couldn’t stop seeing Drop Dead Fred every time he ran past. And then Alisha was like, “That is my favorite piece of cinema!” and I always do double takes when she talks about culture and shit since she grew up wearing floral dresses and riding mules in Arkansas.
The first time I met Stacey was at a ChiChis back in 2004. This was right after the whole Weiss Meats debacle happened, so I was out of a job. She paid for my margarita! I’ll always remember that, because it was like a real life date. The second time we hung out, she came to my house. I don’t know why I made such a big deal out of it, but I had Henry put together a cheese plate. Kind of like, “I have no friends, Henry, don’t let this one get away!!” But actually, I did kind of have friends back then. I know, can you imagine?! So anyway, here comes Stacey, walking through the door, kicking off her shoes, and curling up on the couch, like we were old college roomies. And then she immediately began antagonizing Henry, who got all ruffled, and I was like, “Oh shit, this girl KNOWS.” And then I let her to drag me to the Regatta, where I was coerced into wearing a Froggy sticker on my tit AND carry around a Froggy balloon all Goddamn day, so you KNOW I must have thought Stacey was worth it. (But more importantly, that was also the day I learned about Furries.)
Oh. Anyway. That picture just reminded me of that, that’s all.
First, Henry was riding a scooter with Chooch chasing after him, wanting it back. Then, he tried to be all cutesy and board the tricycle and I was like, “What the fuck kind of retardedly stunted mid-life crisis are you HAVING? My God, go get a fucking Mustang or gamble away your child like a normal man.” (I’d have said Porsche instead, but come on. Henry’s lucky he could afford a Pinto.)
ARGH! Manos: Cake Hand of Fate! Val was thoughtful enough to get Henry a birthday cake. Good call! Because I totally would have dropped the ball on that. And then his sister Kelly was like, “Wait, aren’t we singing?” Meanwhile, the cake had already been cut and 75% of us were inhaling it.
A feeble attempt to make it look like we had more guests.
So there you go. You could have had an AWESOME VIDEO of ME on a RIDE, but instead you get shit about Henry.
(I have no idea who I’m referring to every time I say “you.” You, I guess.)