conversations | Oh Honestly, Erin

Friday Night Convo: Googling Special People

Feb 032012

Henry went to Chooch’s school today to eat lunch with his class; it was some kind of lame “special people” luncheon or some bullshit. I opted out of this one because isn’t enough I had to sit through a goddamn symphony with parents and now they want me to eat with them, too? Fuck off.

Henry was talking about the various “special people” that Chooch’s other classmates brought with them.

“And [Blah Blah] brought her mom, some guy I wished I had taken a picture of because he looked like a predator, and another guy that looked like he just came out of a garage.”

“That’s probably what they all say about you,” I mumbled.

“I don’t care. I really don’t.”

On his way back to the house from the lunch, he paused in the parking lot to talk to our neighbor Toya. I know this happened because even with the door and windows closed, I could hear him doing that strangulated dick-in-throat creepster laugh of his.

Hya hya hya HYUK!

“Toya was saying something about how you can pretty much find out shit about anyone just by googling their name* and all I could think was ‘Oh god, please no.’” And then, “If any of [our neighbors] find your blog, I’m going to act like I never knew about it.”

*(Breaking News.)

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Post-Sushi Convo

conversations, Henrying

Jan 212012

“I kept thinking our waiter reminded me of someone, like ALL NIGHT, and it just dawned on me: Gionni.”

“WHO?” Henry asked, confused & shocked once he processed my emphasized annunciation of the name and realized this wasn’t Excuse #467 of the Day to reference Jonny Craig.

“Snooki’s boyfriend on Jersey Shore,” I said, an implied “duh” drenching my tone.

“You’re so lame,” Henry sighed.

The 3 Ricks

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A New Year’s Convo

conversations, holidays, music

Jan 012012

Me, about Taio Cruz: “Oh, I always thought that was Akon.”

Mike: “Not quite as high-pitched.”

Laura: “I’m surprised you even know that.”

Mike: “I watched a biography.”

Laura: “No more winter breaks for you.”

Meanwhile, Henry was bristling his ‘stache.

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Predictable Xmas Wants

conversations, Jonny Craig

Dec 182011

“Are you getting me anything for Christmas?” I asked Henry. (We don’t always get each other presents because a certain 5-year-old rapes our bank accounts.)

“Yes,” he replied, to my surprise.

“Does it have anything to do with—”

“No,” Henry cut me off.

“How do you know what I was going to say?”

“Jonny Craig. And not unless it’s a death notice.”

“Damn,” I mumbled, all defeated. (Like its anything but predictable. Someone who’s only read my blog 5 times could have finished my sentence.)

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Midday Convo

conversations

Dec 072011

I’m sitting in Andrea’s hotel room while she gets ready after she purposely tried to sleep all day so she would miss our Really Big Appointment at the music box museum.

“I bought your Christmas present today!” I said all sweetly.

“Oh god. I’m scared,” she said while she adjusted her Mary Poppins hat in the mirror.

“Why?” I asked all sadly.

“Because who knows!” she yelled, going on to say it’s probably something “scary.”

“You’re so mean.”

“I’m mean? Who’s making who go to the fucking music box museum?”

Just you wait. It’s going to be the best time ever.

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Crack Heads & Romania, But Never Romanian Crack Heads

conversations, Jonny Craig, Obsessions, really bad ideas, romania

Nov 152011

On the phone this morning with Henry, I was spazzing out about a horrible dream I had about Jonny Craig, in which he was so much of a crack addict that he was beginning to lose his teeth. Even now, when I shut my eyes, I can see him with his mouth open all wide as he’s singing, and he’s missing a front tooth and the one next to it is all snaggled and he looks like he should be selling blow jobs at a truck stop in West Virginia, not touring the country with a Scene-popular band. (Except that in real life, he’s not even doing that.) And when this was happening in my dream, Sandy was there with me, seeing it all for herself and in my head, I was thinking, “Oh god, oh fuck no. Why does he have to be flapping open his crack-obliterated maw right now in front of SANDY? She’s going to torture me with Photoshopped portraits of his new tooth-lite look.” I was really panicked about this, not worried that Jonny Craig was about two hits away from stealing from kids (oh wait), but panicked because Sandy was going to make fun of me.

Henry laughed disgustedly. “That’s not so much a dream as it is reality.”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT’S HE’S LOST ANY TEETH YET!” I cried in defiance.

In other parts of my dream, I was on a cruise with Andrea, but the cruise ship was actually just a docked Motel 6 which at some point we were driven off of by Romanian gypsies so of course I woke up with my extreme yearning to travel to Romania rejuvenated. This clearly means that Andrea is supposed to go with me. I’ll start looking at itineraries, Andrea, while you get your palate primed for some placenta pie.

ROMANIA 2012, HOLLA.

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A Lot Like Birds, etc.

conversations, music, Obsessions

Oct 152011

This song is giving me bona fide chills right now. I liked A Lot Like Birds pre-Kurt Travis, but he adds a brand new element of awesome. I’m enjoying him so much more in this band than when he replaced Jonny Craig in Dance Gavin Dance.

I went out for coffee with my friend Evonne yesterday. (Working evenings while having a kid in school has suddenly opened up a world of coffee and lunch dates for me.) She is really into laws of attraction and that whole Secret phenomenon and is always urging me to visualize what I want and open a door to it in my mind. (Mostly this speech if preceding by, “Did you write that book yet?”) I always say, “Yeah sure, I’ll try that” or “No, but I’m working on it” where “working” can be loosely translated into “thinking about it occasionally but then feeling exhausted and watching shows on The CW instead.”

“You just have to think about what you want and put it out there in the universe,” she said. “If you really want it enough and concentrate on it, it will happen for you.”

Later that night, something clicked. I remembered Tuesday night, sitting at work and rooting through my purse. One of the pictures of Jonny Craig that I had stuck in a cheap frame for our trip to Tennessee was at the bottom of my purse, looking all lonely and rejected.

“I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you Jonny,” I said out loud as I taped the picture to my monitor. So then I had Jonny on my mind (Henry loves that) and spent the rest of the night at work listening to Dance Gavin Dance and wishing that they’d go on tour before the end of the year. When I got home that night, I went to their Facebook page, which is rarely updated, just to see if anything was happening with them since they actually weren’t going to be a part of the Rock Yourself To Sleep tour as previously promised throughout the music blogosphere.

The most recent update was from a few hours earlier that day, announcing their new fall tour. So there Evonne, I did it and it worked. This Law of Attraction shit might come in handy when I’m finally ready to take down Katy Perry.

A Lot Like Birds is also on this tour and Henry said we could go to the Columbus show. I ONLY HAD TO ASK HIM ONCE. Either he really fucking loves me lately or he’s just tired of fighting. (Or he has secretly grown to love Dance Gavin Dance, chances are slim.) Anyway, you just know I ran around the house screaming. It’s on a work night but I already requested off. I told Barb if it’s not approved, I’ll quit and she said she’ll quit too. BECAUSE AIN’T NO LAW FIRM KEEPING THIS BITCH FROM JONNY CRAIG.

“I’m not going to eat from now until November 14th,” I said to Henry, all serious-like. “Then maybe I’ll have a chance to run off with Jonny.” (The sad thing is that I was only partially kidding.)

“Yeah, do that,” Henry urged supportively. “Because then when you’re in Western Psych with an eating disorder, I won’t have to go see Dance Gavin Dance.”

In other news: I’M GOING TO SEE DANCE GAVIN DANCE IN A MONTH!

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SERVICE talk

conversations, Henrying

Oct 012011

Henry: I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with me being in THE SERVICE. That was only three and a half years of my life.

Me: Three and a HALF? Why the half?

Henry: Because I left early.

Me: OH MY GOD, YOU WENT AWOL?

Henry: Wha–? No! They let me and a bunch of others leave early because there was no war or anything going on at the time so I wasn’t needed.

Me, suddenly understanding: Oh, you mean they didn’t need you because you weren’t good enough.

Henry, tired of talking about it: Yeah, that’s it exactly.

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Your Weekly Choochisms + a Postcard Sign Up!

chooch, conversations

Aug 242011

Sweating at the fair.

Chooch is going through a shirtless phase (again) so all week, I’ve been getting dropped off at work by Henry and my hillbilly son. This is how I noticed today that Chooch had some red spots on his stomach.

“Are those bug bites or chicken pox?” I asked him, because all five-year-olds can properly diagnose themselves.

“Oh my god!” he exclaimed. “I’ve never been bitten by a CHICKEN before!” Finally, my kid said something age appropriate and swear-wordless—-something that normal kids would say!

***

No stranger to the joys of making Henry’s life as annoying as possible, Chooch approached me last night and said, “I have a really great idea. Find a picture of Jonny Craig on your phone and then I’ll say, ‘Daddy, come look at this picture of a cupcake!’ but really, it’ll be Jonny Craig. Daddy will be so pissed.” Of course, I responded with a resounding, “Son, that is the BEST IDEA EVER” and together we sat on the couch emitting low-octave, throaty giggles approved by 9 out of 10 deviants.

When Henry came over after being summoned and saw that it was a picture of Jonny Craig, he was indeed pissed.

God, how we laughed.

***

I got a letter today from the Catholic Diocese regarding the financial aid for Chooch’s school (yes, we decided to keep him in Catholic school, and yes, I’m aware of this irony). I was reading the letter out loud in a devil voice, and when I got to the part that said “God bless your family,” Chooch asked, “What? Did we sneeze?” But the way he said it, it could have been Joe Pesci sitting beside me, not a fucking five-year-old.

If Chooch wasn’t so entertaining, Henry would probably be a single father by now.

***

In other news (and apologies if we’re Facebook friends and you have already read this shit multiple times), we leave Saturday morning for a week in Tennessee and I love sending post cards; there is just such a satisfying feeling of scrawling out a ridiculous account of the time you’re having away from home and bugging your dad (Henry) for postage money. Makes me feel like a kid at Disneyworld. If you want one (a postcard, not a kid at Disneyworld), please email me your addess (butgavincantdance@gmail.com); someone might even be lucky enough to get one from Henry’s eyebrow (it’s been known to happen)!

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Maybe Tomorrow I’ll Grow Up. Just Not Right Now.

conversations, Henrying, Obsessions

Jul 312011

In between two of the 87 bratty post-birthday meltdowns I had today, I warned Henry that there was something I had to tell him. I used one of several “This is serious” tones I’ve collected from years of Days of Our Lives viewing.

Henry was walking past me when this happened, so he slowed to a tentative stop and cautiously asked, “What?”

Now, this could go several ways. I could tell Henry I’m cheating on him. I could tell him I used a fork on one of his precious cooking pans. I could tell him I can’t wait for the 2012 Olympics so I can take my no-holds-barred humanity heckling global. Nothing puts me in the mood for some ethnic bashing than some good old-fashioned synchronized swimming.

It was none of these things, though.

“Yesterday at the fair,” I started.

“Yeah?” Henry asked, his moustache bristling in trepidation.

I baited him slowly. “I did something.”

“What did you do?” Henry asked in an exhausted sigh, probably realizing that we weren’t together the whole time yesterday and bracing himself.

“Whenever I felt sad, I looked at a picture of Jonny Craig on my phone,” I admitted gravely.

Henry shook his head and continued on his march toward to the kitchen, bent out of shape that I wasted a whole minute of his life when he wasted my last ten years.

“And then it made me feel so not-so-sad!” I giddily called after him.

Right now, I am currently designing my own I <3 Jonny Craig t-shirt. I’m going to wear it to the mall and all the 15-year-old girls are going to want to sit by me in the food court.

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Chooch: Making the Neighbors Hate Me

chooch, conversations, Epic Fail

May 302011

Henry’s mom Judy babysat Chooch for us last night while we were soul skating. As soon as we came home, Judy said in a worried, apprehensive tone, “There’s something you should know.”

Apparently, Chooch had a lovely conversation with our neighbor Toya (the Mr. Wilson to his Dennis the Menace — he is seriously all up in that woman’s grill while she’s trying to garden).

“He told that nice woman over there that you painted a picture of her,” Judy said, looking nervous.

My first thought was that Toya probably thought I was in love with her. That I had some grandiose portrait of her above the bed and made out with it every night before stirring my vat of black market love potion.

“She asked him if it was a nice picture, and he said no,” Judy continued.

“Chooch!” I yelled. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s a monster,” he reasoned.

Judy said Toya was all, “OH REALLY??” And then Chooch tore the house apart, trying to find it.

“I didn’t know what to say!” Judy cried. “I couldn’t think fast enough. So I just told her it probably was very nice and that she should come over and ask you to see it.”

Three years ago, when I was on that monster-painting kick, I had just finished one and it needed a name. So I asked Chooch to name it. He had just got done pestering Toya from the side window, so naturally he wanted to name it after her.

THREE YEARS AGO.

But Toya probably thinks I have some hideous interpretation of her, hanging on my wall, and that maybe sometimes I fling cat shit at it to relieve my deep-rooted frustrations.

So now I’m going to have to seek her out today and show her this stupid painting of a stupid monster and explain that no, I don’t think she’s a monster, or looks like a monster, or acts like a monster; that my SON is the one who named the fucking thing in the first place.

It doesn’t help that she and I started off on the wrong foot when she moved here 4 years ago.

Still, this is decidedly not as bad as the time he told our other neighbor that I hate her. (Truth.) Thanks, son.

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Girl Power For the Loss

conversations, music

May 282011

“If any guy ever WOKE ME UP to ask me what color my eyes are, I’d be like, ‘Fuck you, motherfucker! You should have every facet of me memorized because I am the best thing that will ever happen to you!’ as I detached their penis with hedge-clippers,” I spat to Henry during the 86729864389317409 listen of Dance Gavin Dance’s “Blue Dream,” which ends with a recording of a phone call asking just that.

I should have just kept my mouth shut, allowed (what’s left of) Henry’s wavering male worth to be fumigated by my strong female independence, but instead I went on to add, “Unless it was Jonny Craig. Then I’d be all, ‘Why, what color do you want them to be? Tell me AND I WILL MAKE THEM CHANGE!’” I said this in a very weak and feminine tone, with a hint of floral and batting eyelashes. Because even though he’s a veritable petri dish for new and exciting STD strands, and has rodent eyes, I would drop Henry for him like a sack of hot balls.

Henry looked at me with a certain visage that made me think he finally realized he stinks of sewage. “You’re pathetic,” he sneered.

I just single-handedly fucked Girl Power in its liberated Susan Powter vagina. I HAVE MY WEAKNESSES TOO, OK.

(I have no idea where Susan Powter came from, but go with it.)

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A Photo-Stalker After My Own Heart

chooch, conversations

May 252011

Just now, I was sitting at the dining room table, talking to Henry about amniotic fluid while he eats his dinner. Chooch came over with my phone and said, “Wait until you see this, I got to the next level. I jumped over—-”

While Chooch was droning on about what was happening on the game he was playing, I noticed that Henry was trying not to laugh, and also that my phone was aimed directly at me. A (very dim) light went off in my head, prompting me to snatch my phone from Chooch.

That little fucker’s “game” was just a ruse to take my picture. My annoyance only made him crack up harder.

“What an asshole,” I muttered to Henry after Chooch walked away.

“A smart asshole,” Henry corrected.

And I can’t even be mad because he learned this shit from me.

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Hopeful Proposal

conversations, Henrying, Obsessions

Apr 302011

“Are you ever going to ask me?”

“Yeah,” Henry said, completely immune to my nuptial nagging by now.

“Do you even know when?” I prodded, arms crossed in petulance.

His affirmative answer seemed steeped in honesty, inspiring me to probe deeper.

“Is it going to be sometime in 2011?”

Henry said yes, and I screamed, “OMG ARE YOU GOING TO PROPOSE AT WARPED TOUR?”

He gave me a “don’t be stupid” smirk.

“But that would be so perfect,” I whined.

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “For YOU.”

Um, isn’t that the point?

Then I asked him if he planned on asking my dad for my hand (lol) but Henry reminded me that after we’ve lived together for ten years and spawned a child from our mutual hatred, my dad probably couldn’t care less either way.

Maybe by the time Henry finally puts a ring on it, Jonny Craig’s career will have collapsed upon itself faster than his veins and I can snag him to sing at our reception on the cheap.

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A Random Memory

conversations, Henrying, nostalgia

Apr 092011

After I broke up with my boyfriend for Henry in 2001, one of the last things he said to me was, “Have fun drinking IC Light and listening to country music.”

I’m assuming he was trying to insinuate that Henry is white trash, his only basis being that Henry is fourteen years older than me.

In these last ten years, I have not once brought an IC Light up to my lips (I’m a wino), and last I checked, there are no country bands playing at Warped Tour.

Nice try.

[It is not the opinion of this blog's writer that the enjoyment of either of these things, separate or in tandem, makes the person partaking in such "white trash."]

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