Zom-B-Rama 2011

I was a little leery of getting Chooch all made-up for Zom-B-Rama since last year he wanted to leave after 20 minutes. But a year makes a big difference and proves that 5-year-olds can be less dick-ish in some ways than 4-year-olds.

(Don’t get me wrong, there are still at least 68 occasions a day when I cry to the gods, “WHY CAN’T HE GO BACK TO BEING 4!” before flipping off my ovaries. Especially now that there’s all these kid politics in Kindergarten.)

I gave his recent zombie dweeb costume a reprisal because I’m lazy and didn’t feel like thinking of anything new. I have a bad case of mental exhaustion. Anyway, it seemed to be a hit with his zombie brethren at the Monroeville Mall arcade.

We arrived just in time for a short performance by a zombified Rocky Horror Picture Show troupe.

“I hate this song,” Chooch mumbled as the zombie Eddie lip-synched to Meatloaf. But apparently, “Hot Patootie / Bless My Soul” be damned, Eddie’s performance really won over Chooch, who spent the rest of the afternoon coveting his leather jacket and emphatically remarking that he was the best zombie there that day.

My friend/zombie self-defense class partner Kristy was there with her little zombie lover-in-training, Sarah, so it was nice to be able to hang out with them in the downtime after the RHPS performance. Aside from several zombie-themed carnival games and the museum in the back (which we’ve walked through a thousand times, and yes it’s awesome! But not very time-consuming) there was little else to do but stand around awkwardly. Kristy and Sarah split after about an hour and wound up missing the scintillating 2:00 performance of Time Warp.

But by then, Wendy and her step-daughter had arrived so they got to be wow’d by the flesh-eating RHPS cast.

They really drew a crowd each time they took the “stage,” including random non-zombie mall-walkers, but then people would leave as soon as it was over. Hey Zom-B-Rama: NEEDS MORE ENTERTAINMENT! There was not enough to keep everyone stimulated. Give me a call, I have some (like, a million) ideas for next year.

(Not really, but if asked to think of some, I would.)

“Is that your kid?” some guy asked Henry and me. “Because he is seriously creeping me out.” All he was doing was roaming around, bored because we were talking to Wendy and not showering him with money to burn. But I took that as a big compliment considering I AM THE ONE WHO DID HIS MAKEUP while Henry just stood there doing nothing. I win yet again.

Chooch actually played games this year. Some of the zombies were letting him win, which I thought was super-sweet. He accumulated enough tickets to get some sort of cowboy gun that he apparently has always wanted. Since when? I clearly don’t know my kid.

Chooch was less interested in the zombies, more interested in spending our paychecks on the claw machines.Wendy’s friend won a ball and Chooch was dead set on winning his own after that. Finally, Henry threw his hands up in defeat and cried, “I will just BUY you a ball, Chooch! For Christ’s sake!”

After Henry’s epic defeat, Chooch conned Wendy into trying to win him something.

Alas, he’d have to be happy with the fucking cowboy gun.

Hiding from the only thing that scared him all day…

…Zombie Spongebob. Seriously? He was so afraid of it. Wouldn’t even get close enough for me to take their picture together, even when Spongebob’s acquaintance persisted.

It’s weird the things that actually scare him when the obvious ones don’t.

Around 2:00, our new friends Rick and Tammy showed up with their daughter Jamie, who took on Chooch in a game of air hockey so rousing, some random man stood and watched the entire game play out.

That’s when I realized how much alike Chooch and I really are. He is a little smarmy cheater! However, he still lost, whereas I would have won. So, not entirely alike are we.

Then Henry and Rick meandered around the zombie museum, sharing memories of what it was like when the mall was still lit by gas lamps.

He quickly picked up his panhandling again, going so far as to beg Rick for $40 to buy a collector’s pack of Cereal Killers mini cereal boxes. Later on, Rick told him that if he could remember his and Tammy’s names, he would give him the .

Chooch came so close, but hesitated too long on Tammy’s name.

I silently exhaled, knowing that Chooch would have demolished those cereal boxes within .005 seconds of being placed in his grubby mitts.

PLEASE GIVE ME QUARTERS!

This was Rick and Tammy’s first time meeting Chooch, and Henry was quick to point out that contrary to how it appears, we don’t actually mainline caffeine and rock sugar into him. This is just Chooch, au naturale.

“He’s either going to make you a lot of money,” Rick remarked. “…or need to be locked up.”

That was definitely the quote of the day.

After 2 and a half hours of standing around in everyone’s way and letting strangers take pictures of our son (seriously, Rick is right; where’s my fucking check?!), Chooch had reached his “enclosed space” limit and we parted ways.

It’s cool having events like this to go to. If there’s one next year, we will likely go and hopefully they will have amassed more entertainment for us ornery folk.

Henry dropped me off at home and then went to the store with Chooch still scabbed and putrefied. Henry said some lady was all aghast and asked, “Was it a bike accident?”

Because that’s exactly where Henry would take our child immediately after the pavement fed off his face: the motherfucking dollar store.