Henry, Chooch and I drove to Wheeling, WV on Saturday to meet up with my sister Amy, her boyfriend Dick, and her daughter Brooke at the Italian Festival. It was probably about 100 degrees that day. It was like a back sweat swimming pool out there.
For those of you who have kids or Alishas, you’ll know what a big deal this was: Chooch fell asleep on the way there and Henry and I got to have adult conversation! And by that of course I mean Henry sat silently in the driver’s seat while I rambled on and on about music and changed CDs at whim. It was awesome.
There were no rides there, but there were like 127875654 different bouncy houses, all of which cost a dollar to enter. One of them was just a tunnel and it pissed me off that it cost an entire dollar for literally the ten seconds it took to get to the other end. I kept begging Chooch to go slower, but I think he was getting claustrophobic.
Chooch and Brooke scaled that sucker in no time. Meanwhile, that dumb blond girl kept losing her footing and tumbling back down to the bottom. It was hilarious. If I was her mom, I’d have left her there out of shame.
It’s funny how kids don’t need to really talk to each other when they’re playing. Because I’m not sure I’ve seen these two speak to each other yet, but they were all about rolling down a hill together.
A few days prior to the weekend, Chooch had dumped cereal out the window of the car. Yes, it could have worse, like a plastic bottle or Faberge egg, but we still yelled at him. A few minutes later, a cop car flew past us with its lights and siren on and Henry said, “Oh you’re lucky. They were looking for you but must not have seen you back there.” Chooch was real heightened in his car seat after that.
At the Italian Festival, there were a group of cops standing together on an overlook above the wall on which we were sitting. We had Chooch totally convinced they were watching him. He was like a human Litter Gitter for the rest of the night.
(Note: He’s not wearing shoes because he was playing in the bouncy houses, not because West Virginia got to us.)
Hottest man there, OK?
- Buying a pina colada that came in this thing and having the entire population of the Italian Festival want to talk to me about it.
- Making a new boyfriend named Alan who was working at the seafood stand and was very interested in my “coconut.” We chatted for awhile and he said, “Please come back and see me tonight. I would really like that.” But then I went and sat down directly across from him, right next to Henry, Chooch and Brooke. Kind of killed my chances. Oh, and Henry witnessed the whole sordid episode and completely didn’t care. Probably because he turned it into porn in his mind.
Oh shit, we seriously stood around for an hour, letting the vocal delights of West Virginia’s finest tickle our ear drums. This broad with the vat of beer sang “Love is a Battlefield” and thought she was God’s gift to the entire institute of hearing. And when she wasn’t singing, she was drunkenly leaning against the cotton candy stand for support, hungrily waiting for her next turn.
Her name was Becky in case you want to find her and hire her for your next bachelor party.
Amy was obsessed with this broad that had enough confidence to allow herself to leave the house without tucking her back fat into a pocketbook.
Amy was hoping to get to see her sing, but she couldn’t stick around long enough. It’s a shame too, because she finished her set with a very dexterous display involving cans of Schlitz and the crushing they endured inside the flaps of her posterior breasts.
And that is all that I’m writing because I’m trying to conserve all those words and shit for Blogathon on Saturday, where I’m certain to run out of fodder after hour three. And then I will have a meltdown and then Henry will say, “There, now you can write about having a melt down and breaking all the good China over your head.”