Henrying | Oh Honestly, Erin

Henry’s Night Out: An Exclusive Interview*

Interview with a Henry, Things About Henry, Uncategorized

Jan 042012

*(Because these aren’t getting old at all.)

You know what I think is interesting? Henry rarely declines when I say, “Let’s go to [insert city] to see [insert band].” As long as the driving distance is within reason, he will usually oblige, so you know what I think? I think that Henry ENJOYS it. You know what else he enjoys? Answering my questions. So let’s just get right into it.

Me: What style are you going for when you go to shows – Urban Lumberjack, Megan’s Law leisure or Amber Alert athletic?

Henry, looking up from Bakery Story on his phone and twisting that mustache into a snarl: What the hell are you talking about?

Me: Do you mean you’re denying pulling clothes from the Child Predator rack?

Henry: [*crickets*]

Me: What are your thoughts on Craig Owens?

Henry, mumbling and making put-out faces: Same as they were before.

Me, pressing the issue: Did you approve of his hair this time? You seemed concerned about the darkened hue when he was on Warped Tour.

Henry, annoyed that I’m making him think and string words together: It was a little better, I guess. I don’t know. It looked blond. What the fuck do you want from me?

Me, changing the subject so he wouldn’t completely shut down: Let’s talk about your caesar salad. What kind of man orders a salad?

Henry, smirking indignantly: One that wants a salad to eat.

[When asked if it was better/worse than tossed salad, he said better, which leads me to believe that he didn't understand the question.]

Me: If you actually had a say in what we listened to in the car on the way to Cleveland, what would it have been?

Henry, cutting me off before I had a chance to add “And don’t say anything but Jonny Craig”: Anything but Jonny Craig.

Me: Why didn’t you propose to me during Craig’s set?

Henry, my questions now wearing his face into the visage of a wild Appalachian man: What?! Because I was in the bathroom at the Mongolian BBQ!

[Henry went next door to the Grog Shop and went through the motions of getting a table at the Mongolian BBQ joint just so he could shit on their toilets. He quite literally missed half of the show and I didn't even notice. And also, nice try Henry. We all know it's because you don't even have a ring!]

Me, brushing off the bitterness: Yeah, speaking of, let’s talk about your gastrointestinal hiccups of the night.

Henry: What about it? And why do we have to talk about my gastro—[gives up because he can't pronounce it]?

Me, trying to get this over with so I could stare longingly at my Jonny Craig Christmas tree topper: Because some people might daydream about your bowel movements. YOU DON’T KNOW.

Henry: WHAT? People don’t…what the fuck are you talking about? You’re so…[goes back to playing on his phone]

Me: When you were young—-

Henry: No.

Me: —did you ever roadtrip for a show?

Henry, disinterestedly: No.

Me, pressing the issue: Not even for Judas Priest or Tone Loc?

Henry, all emphatically: NO. [And then repeated "Tone Loc" to himself and shook his head.]

Me, determined to dig deep beneath the non-descript t-shirts (worn over top of non-descript Henleys now that it’s winter!) for real answers: In your own words, describe the trip to Cleveland.

Henry, looking around confusedly. (Sorry, your mommy’s not here to hold up cue cards for you.): I don’t know. The trip was OK until we hit the snow that you didn’t tell me about. [Ed.note: maybe if he would use his phone for more than playing games and watching porn, he would have been privy to the weather forecast.] Then it became annoying. That was about it until the show and then the trip home which was not fun because I had to drive with a drunk girl next to me.

[Imagine how riveting it would be if Henry had his own blog.]

Me: That’s it?

Henry: Yeah. What else do you want?!

Me: Sentimental stuff.

Henry, repeating my request in a tired tone: My stomach was upset 90% of the time. Sentimental stuff went out the window.

[Or down the commode, as it were.]

Me, poking the bear one last time before we went to bed: Did you see any shows in the SERVICE? Like Bette Midler or Gloria Estefan.

Henry: What? No! You mean USO concerts? No. I did see Cheap Trick though when I was stationed in Texas.

Me, getting unnecessarily worked up: YOU DID? WHERE WAS IT?

Henry, looking at me suspiciously and clearly debating whether or not to answer: In a bar.

Me: [Dying of laughter, smothering myself with a pillow.]

Henry: [Ignoring me and trying to remember what album Cheap Trick had just released at the time of this show.]

Me: [Crying at this point.]

Henry, snapping out of his Cheap Trick glory: IT’S NOT THAT FUNNY. Really, it’s not that funny.

Me: Was that the show where you pushed over someone in a wheelchair?

Henry: What, no. That was Ted Nugent, and that’s not what happened.

Me: [Losing it all over again.]

This is what Henry looked like during most of our interview.

I’m going to try and really hone my investigative reporter skills by getting him to reveal what REALLY happened at that Ted Nugent show.

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Henry Buttons for 2012!

Henrying, Uncategorized

Dec 282011

I figured after writing on the Internet since 2001, maybe now would be an OK time to start promoting myself and what better way to do that than with Henry’s unmistakable mug. And there seem to be two distinct and staunch camps: the Blame Henrys, who love to see him fail, preferably while weeners are being drawn on him; and the Poor Henrys, who are all waiting for the day when he rises up, Mortal Combat-style, and starts swinging, at which point I will kill him and then he will become martyred.

I designed these real quick yesterday and then Andrea made them into pins for me because she is the BEST.

I’m going to make some more swag too, probably through Cafe Press, maybe throw some Chooch-related slogans up in there too. (“I can’t like that” and “You’re a douchecup”? Yes, I’m totally trying to capitalize off my 5-year-old AND HE OWES ME.) So if you always wanted an “I’d Rather Be Riding the Wacky Worm” t-shirt of your very own, well, you might have your dreams come true very soon.

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Melt: Take 2, + Bonus Henry Interview

Food, Henrying, Interview with a Henry, reviews, travel

Nov 292011

When my friend Jason presented me with the option of either going to the AP Fall Tour in Cleveland or at home here in Pittsburgh, I didn’t hesitate to choose the 2.5-hour drive to Cleveland because I wanted to go back to Melt.

I mean, I wanted to hang out with Jason.

While eating the fuck out of some Melt.

Saturday morning, Jason and his wife Emily were already standing outside of the back entrance, sentinels in anticipation of an impending line of grilled cheese aficionados. We were soon joined by Jason’s friends Terri and Christian from Philly, who were quick to apologize when it came up in conversation that I once stayed in a motel in Camden. Then I asked if they have ever eaten at Cereality, because that is all I know about Philadelphia. I’m not sure how well I sold the cereal bar, considering my review featured the line: And then I almost threw up on my drive home.

I think these were actually the first words I slapped them with after the standard “how do you do”s. I am not very good at small talk.

Once we were all situated in a booth (first ones in, motherfuckers!), Jason, Terry and Christian all ordered different root beers and I could tell Henry was bursting at the seams to start masturbating their minds with all of his lame bottled beverage knowledge. (And then he orders plain old iced tea.) Meanwhile, Emily’s palate twice rejected the grape soda she ordered so she finally surrendered and just got a Coke. Jason teased her about holding up the ordering process but if it had been Henry, my foot would have swiftly kicked his nuts in lieu of good-natured teasing.

Last May was my first time at Melt and I experienced a complete meltdown behind the curtain of my menu. Absolute ordering paralysis. So many choices! And nearly all of them can be made vegetarian/vegan. So what did I get? A plain old mushroom melt. Granted, not so plain when you get it at Melt, but still – it was a far cry from fancy and exotic. Delicious, but pretty pedestrian when wedged in between a line up of artery-clogging sensations like The Dude Abides (homemade meatballs, fried mozzarella cheese sticks, rich marinara, provolone & romano); Paramageddon (2 potato & cheese pierogi, fresh napa vodka kraut, grilled onions, sharp cheddar); and The Big Popper (fresh jalapeno peppers, cheddar & herbed cream cheese, beer battered, mixed berry preserves), which I almost ordered because my aunt Susie recommended it and also because of the mixed berry preserves (Henry puts jelly on my grilled cheeses at home; it’s the best way to eat a grilled cheese) but I was afraid the jalapeno peppers would ignite bonfires in my stomach for the rest of the day.

But then I saw that the special was the New Bomb Turkey, which could be substituted with seitan turkey, and just like that, all the other options paled in comparison. Terri and Christian are both vegetarians as well, and Terry also ordered the New Bomb Turkey so I didn’t feel like an asshole forgoing the meat like I normally do when I’m eating with a bunch of carnivores and being the “difficult one.” Jason and Emily ordered the regular versions of this, Christian I believe got the Dude Abides with vegetarian meatballs because I remember exclaiming that I might have wanted to get that instead but I already ordered. Henry got something dumb.

Waiting for our food went something like this: Blah blah blah, JONNY CRAIG DISCUSSION, blah blah blah, OH HENRY IS THE BEST FOR BRINGING A CASE OF BOYLANS ROOT BEER EVEN THOUGH IT WAS ERIN’S IDEA, music industry scoop, WHERE IS OUR FOOD MY STOMACH IS REVOLTING & IT SOUNDS LIKE NICKELBACK.

Oh, you guys. It was the most glorious sandwich I have ever had the pleasure of sloppily masticating. I softly cried when I took the first bite, like a woman meeting her baby for the first time. (I did not do that when Chooch was born; I was too shell-shocked and hyper-aware of the fact that beneath the sheet, my abdomen was splayed open like a freshly-fucked corpse on a row of milk crates in the back of a serial killer’s Econoline van.)

The bread alone on this sandwich was enough to grow a food baby in a belly. They use the thickest slabs I have ever seen on a sandwich and I don’t know what sort of liquid heart attack they use to grill it, and it’s probably best that I don’t know, but it makes the most glorious goddamn grilled cheese vessel of all time. If it won an award, Kanye West would probably interrupt its speech just to agree. Greasy as fuck, crispy around the edges, moist in the middle—just the way Henry liked his hooker vaginas when he was in the SERVICE.

And there’s so much going on between the slices, I have no idea how the sandwiches don’t topple over on their way to each table from the kitchen. Even the vegetarian versions had so much seitan turkey jammed atop a soft wad of stuffing, there was no way that bitch was fitting into my mouth (and I do have a big mouth) without the aid of a fork.

It was all the things I never get to have on Thanksgiving, punched inside a towering stack of Paula Deen-approved toast and served with a prescription for Lipitor.

The cranberry dipping sauce was like gilding a lily at that point, but fuck did it make for an ambrosial lily.

I had to take copious breaks, but I managed to polish off an entire half and I felt my stomach expanding sickeningly throughout it all. Henry had already engulfed his entire plate in that time.

Speaking of Henry, here is what he has to say about his lunch at Melt.

Me, watching Henry wash the dishes last night: What was on your sandwich?

Henry, in his standard indignant tone: It was gyro melt.

(I guess this means we’re supposed to figure it out on our own.)

Me: OK, no one cares anyway. How sad were you that you couldn’t sit next to Jason and dish secretly about root beer like two little 1950′s school girls?

Henry, maintaining his Man of Few Words image: I wasn’t.

Me, as Henry takes a hearty swig of Faygo Cola. Dish washing is hard work, ya’ll: What was harder to wrap your mouth around, your sandwich or the words “I do” in 1993.

Henry: Why do you have to do that.

Me: Seriously, which one?

Henry, adopting his “You’re pushing me” high-pitched squawk that I hate so much yet cause so often: I don’t know! Let it go!

(He hates being reminded of That Time in his life.)

Me, furiously scribbling in my important “I’m Interviewing Henry!” notebook (it has monsters on it): If you could have your own sandwich on the Melt menu, what would be on it?

Henry, trying to make my dinner at this point, so you would think I would back off lest a generous sprinkle of rat poison fall into the pot: I don’t know!

(This is assuming Henry has any imagination, but it would probably be some sort of flesh marinated in Faygo and served on a bed of emasculation, with a bandanna as a napkin.)

Me: Did you think our waitress was hot?

Henry: [Looks at me suspiciously and slowly says no. This means YES.]

Me: What about the guy who refilled your iced tea?

Henry, in a flat tone: No, I didn’t pay attention.

(This means he’s already downloaded busboy porn.)

Me: How disappointed were you that none of our lunch companions remarked upon your striking resemblance to serial killer Ed Kemper?

Henry, playing Bakery Story on his phone at this point: I wasn’t.

Me: If you found a finger in your sandwich, would you

Pull it out and set it aside, then puke in a flower pot;
Eat it. Meat is meat and they know what they’re doing at Melt;
Use it to replace the butt plug you lost during the Great Marital Separation of 2001.

Henry: [Laughs like a gay Santa, I think to illustrate the fact that this is going to be one of those NO COMMENT moments.]

Me: If you invented a sandwich at Melt in my honor, say if I died saving an albino support group from a hostile group of arms-bearing Serbians mistaking them for enemy Albanians, what would you name it?

Henry, no hesitation: Pain in the Ass.

(That sounds unappetizing and pregnant with pinto beans. Pretty apropos then.)

Me: There were some big words on the menu, like “muenster” and “diablo.” Did you use your phone to covertly look up the definitions under the table?

Henry: [walked away.]

Me: What would your SERVICE buddies say if they knew you were eating trendy gourmet sandwiches and not pork-n-beans?

(Totally typed porn-n-beans at first.)

Henry, in a beaten-down, wilted-dick mumble: Nothing.

Me: What did you eat in the SERVICE, anyway?

Henry: FOOD.

Me: No, seriously. All asshole-ness aside, I really want to know.

Henry: I ATE WHATEVER I MADE.

Me: So like, succotash?

Henry, slashing my throat with his glare: I don’t know.

We officially reached WOKE BEAR status at this point, so I quickly closed my notebook. Maybe someday Henry will regale us with tales of making messes in the mess hall. But today is not going to be that day.

Here’s a quick review from a special guest:

Henry’s Moustache: I have been trying for the last 20 years to emulate Tom Selleck’s lip wool. Maybe then I won’t walk around with meal souvenirs tangled in my bristle. Someone please send Henry a stencil.

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Thanks

Henrying

Nov 212011

I would like to thank all who read and commented on my post Can you believe we are still together after 4 years of OHE! Happy 4th B-day . It will probably be a long while before I do it again, maybe birthday number 8. So thanks for all the kind words.

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Sunday Lock Out

Epic Fail, Henrying

Nov 132011

Goddammit, all I wanted to do was go for a nice, leisurely family stroll around our crappy town, but dum-dum Henry left the keys in the house and started flipping out about how it was my fault because I rushed him out of the house.

I was like, “Why can’t we just go for a walk and worry about this later?” which apparently was not a Great Idea based on the look of utter incredulity Henry flashed at me.

Chooch and I carried on like cackling assholes while Henry tore apart the garage for suitable items to MacGyver a battering ram. I mean, I guess if he hot-glued together all of his old porn VHS tapes from the SERVICE, he might have something to go on.

He ignored my suggestions of calling the landlord or heaving a cinder block through the window and instead considered using a can of gasoline to burn down the front door.

I’m surprised he didn’t go next door to ask Hot Naybor Chris for a breaking and entering consultation, considering those two once helped the gas man break into our neighbor’s house in order to shut off his gas before our house exploded.

Yeah, this has promise.

“What? I coulda done it. If only I had remembered to eat my individually-wrapped prunes today.”

“NOW I HAVE HEDGECLIPPERS! THESE WILL HELP! I WILL MANICURE THE WEEDS INTO SILHOUETTES OF MY REPUBLICAN HEROES WHILE STARING LONGINGLY INTO OUR FRONT WINDOW.”

These are some of the things Henry said while Chooch and I buzzed around him like flies on a bear:

THAT’S ENOUGH!
YOU’RE A LOT OF FUCKING HELP.
GO SOMEWHERE AND PLAY!
THIS IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT. I DIDN’T EVEN WANT TO GO FOR A WALK!
FML FML FML FML FML
YEAH, THIS IS REAL FUCKING FUNNY.
AND I JUST KNOW I’M MISSING “SHE’S CRAFTY.” MOTHER!
YOU ASSHOLES CAN JUST STAY OUT HERE! I’LL FUCKING WALK TO WORK. AT LEAST I HAVE THOSE KEYS.

Oh God, Chooch. DON’T POKE THE BEAR!

…or KICK the bear. Henry almost gave Chooch “orphan” status after this.

Meanwhile, I found this fucker in the garage. WTF kind of creepshow is this!? I wish I had had it for my Murder Desk at work.

I was trying to chronicle this episode from all angles, which did not please the man one bit. He made like he was going to grab my phone off me and beat me with it, enlightening me on what it must be like to work for TMZ.

After fifteen minutes, Henry succeeded in prying open the window with a pair of pliers. Now you know how to break into my house and steal our cats. Seriously, it’s all we’ve got in there. Cats galore.

Just don’t forget to bring a small child to catapult through the window. (I mean, at least he’s going IN a window and not falling OUT of a window, right?)

You know that fucker is going to go to school tomorrow and tell his teacher about how his burglar parents made him shimmy up the side of a skyscraper.

Moments later, the house keys came whaling through the window straight at Henry’s face. Chooch rules.

“ENOUGH ALREADY.”

Reassembling the window.

And he did it all so he could go on a walk he did not want to go on in the first place. In this picture, I think he’s texting his boss: OMG I IS A HEROE. I NEED DAY OFF.

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Can you believe we are still together after 4 years of OHE! Happy 4th B-day

Guest Post, Henrying

Nov 112011

So here it is: the Big 4. It seems like it’s been so much longer that my life has been out there for all to see. Oh it has, ever since Erin started live journal sometime in the early 2000′s.

From the very beginning she has known that “I DO NOT LIKE MY PERSONAL LIFE OUT THERE”. But that didn’t stop her from posting about me. Now comes the 4th birthday of OHE and she asks me to think of 5 posts that I find are my favorite, that seems easy enough, but then I also have to write about them (another thing I hate, Writing) and post it as a guest blogger. Sounds fun and exciting to someone who hates to write, and I have been putting it off since she asked me to do it.

Unlike most of you who read OHE I happen to be in almost every post, except the ones that involve Jonny (I hope I spelled the asshole’s name right). I have had pictures posted of me in a dress, tutu and makeup. (Almost forgot the wiener pics, my favorite.)

She pretty much posts everthing I do or say that would make me look bad or embarrass the fuck out of me.

Examples: Christmas Eve, Part 2: Henry’s Big Gay Secret

You would think this would have nothing to do with me

She just loves my service years, and not for good.

I have only cracked the surface of my life altering embarrassing moments that she has exploited to the fullest. So you see why I have such a hard time picking 5 posts that are my favorite for the 4th birthday of OHE. I don’t think I could narrow it down to that few, but according to her I don’t read it. Do I really have to read something that I live day to day, sometimes that very same day, sometimes a week later?

Yes, I do have to read it, not daily like she wants me to, but I do get around to it eventually. Usually after she starts whining and hounding me to. I wouldn’t miss reading how I made her life a living hell or one of our many trips that suddenly have things in them that I don’t remember happening that way. Granted she does write about the good stuff but who wants that, that’s boring.

Man I hate to say this in an open forum where it can be seen by all and will be here for ever (A lesson Erin has not yet mastered and if she does, people will stop reading). But I have gotten used to all the ridicule and embarrassment that she puts me through on a daily basis, my life being out there for everyone to see and read about. There is only one reason that could have happened, that I could become numb to it all:

Because over the past 10 years Erin has become my best friend and love of my life. So here is to many more years of Henrying for all to read.

Thanks for reading

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Henry Sketch Submission: Deluxe Edition

Henrying

Oct 262011

You probably haven’t figured this out, but I am kind of obsessed with a singer named JONNY CRAIG. If you didn’t already know that, it’s OK. It’s not like I name-drop him on every other post I write on here or anything. You just need to know that I was going to see his band play in Columbus, OH next month but now they’re on hiatus because motherfucking Jonny got arrested for narcotics possession.

So now I’m sad.

Which prompted Sandy’s Henry Sketch Submission to look like this:

Jesus Christ, I love this so much. Sandy, you are the best.

There is more to this whole apple thing, a whole SAGA really. I will type out all the traumatic details tomorrow in between watching ‘tween shows, talking to my cats, and crying over Jonny Craig into one of Henry’s bandannas.

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Calling All Artists/Henry Aficionados: It’s Henry Sketch Time!

Henrying

Oct 252011

Chooch drew a picture of Henry cut in half

And then we shared an uproarious laugh.

(pg. 69 of the Living with Henry book of poetry.)

The Living with Henry book of poetry doesn’t actually exist, but maybe if everyone drew a picture of Henry and sent it to me, something amazing could be born. (Because I really need an additional project.) I’d sell it on Etsy for $3 and maybe use it as bribe money to get some more SERVICE stories out of him. Or at least fund his next Desitin and individually-wrapped prunes purchase. I bet Henry would really fucking love that.

Weeners optional, but encouraged.

[Sketches can be sent to: butgavincantdance@gmail.com]

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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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Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, Indeed

Henrying, Things About Henry

Sep 302011

This is supposed to be an illustration of Ed Kemper in my Serial Killer Coloring Book, but who does it REALLY look like?

Another striking similarity to note is that Ed had maintained his guise of innocence by befriending the police force and Henry is a HUGE popo sycophant.

“The frames of my glasses aren’t the same shape,” Henry argued futilely.

More red flags: Henry is quiet, mild-mannered, NONDESCRIPT, drives a WORK VAN. I think it’s time to start prying up the floorboards.

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Henry the Candy Man Can

Food, Henrying, Things About Henry

Sep 272011

Even though I waited until the night before The Law Firm’s fall food party
to tell Henry that he has to make a batch of caramels he’s never made before, and even though we don’t have a candy thermometer or any of the ingredients he needed, and even though he was tired from working on little sleep and I couldn’t totally remember where I had seen the recipe, there he was in the kitchen at 9:30 on a Monday night, stirring away at a bubbling pot of stout-spiked caramels.

Anyway, these are beer pretzel caramels. When I think of fall, I think of Oktoberfest and even though I hate beer, I’m a glutton for some beer-flavored food.

Sometimes it pays to have a Henry. It’s a good thing he was too busy paying attention in Home Ec to be a normal teenager collecting BJs under the bleachers or else I’d be fucked right now. I’m totally going to tell everyone at work who doesn’t read my blog that I made them myself though. Weekend classes and lots of Food Network, along with keeping a Michelin Star chef hog-tied in my basement.

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Douchebag in a Party Hat

Henrying

Sep 262011

We went to two birthday parties over the weekend: one for my friend Lauren’s 3-year-old daughter, Olivia, and one for Kara’s 2-year-old boy, Harland. My social quota is met for the rest of the year, or at least until next weekend when I have to do it all over again.

I feel like Henry and I got along pretty well the whole time, which means it must have been a pretty successful weekend.

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Henry’s FML Day

Amusement Parks, Fairs, & Carnivals, Henrying

Sep 172011

A giant cocknibbler, stomping out all of the fun at the amusement park.

Thursday morning, an Everfresh- and Rip It-logo emblazoned Henry spontaneously took me out for breakfast; this afforded me a chance to properly interview him about his FML Day (a/k/a Double Amusement Park OMG Epic Fun Day) with a spiral-bound notebook over a cup of coffee, like it’s 1945 and I work for Blue Collar Beverage Aficionados Weekly.

***

It all started when I found out that there is a small amusement park called DelGrosso’s about 2 hours away from Pittsburgh that has the Wacky Worm; I’ve been dead set on going before the summer’s end. And then when I realized that it’s only a few miles away from Lakemont, my favorite petite amusement park, I started to devise a plan where I could go to both in one day. They’re both small enough that spending a full day at one could get pretty boring if you weren’t there for a company picnic, family reunion or the scattering of body bag contents, plus they both have discounted admission in September: Lakemont is $5 if you go during the Altoona Arts and Crafts weekend (see also: a bunch of Republican propaganda and several wreaths beneath tents) and DelGrosso’s is $12.95 (free for all the Henrys in the world, i.e. non-riders!). The combined admission is still cheaper than most amusement parks but I still made a conscious effort to save some of our vacation money, unbeknownst to Henry. You see, I had it all worked out in that remedial mass of lobes and neurons that we’ll just generously call a brain.

Because I knew that he would pitch a financial fit as usual, most likely on the morning of. And he did, which caused me to cry.

Like a five-year-old. While our actual five-year-old was still asleep.

But I threatened to wake him up and fill him in on how his dick father was once again trying to rip the carpet of fun out from under our feet, and then Henry would have two crying five-year-olds on his hands.

Then I pulled out my wad of leftover Tennessee Fun Money and Henry suddenly changed his tune. So I had to text Janna back and tell her Never mind! We’re still going. And then Henry was all, “And tell her I didn’t call you a bitch!” because I told her he called me a bitch.

Like anyone would ever believe Henry had the balls to speak to me in such a degrading manner.

Anyway, it couldn’t have been too terribly bad of a day for Henry, considering he got to ride up there with just Chooch in the car since I rode with Janna and Laura, meaning that Henry didn’t have to listen to Dance Gavin Dance at all. (I didn’t get to listen to them either, though, or any music I like for that matter. Just a bunch of shit on Janna’s XM radio. I was scrolling through the menu and there was one point where Lady Gaga was on something like 8 stations at once. Sad times in the car. I eventually settled on Journey. Motherfucking JOURNEY. Which inspired Janna to sing. Countless ways this is terrible, but that is a rant for another time. Or for my private diary.)

Two hours and two weeping ear drums later, we arrived at DelGrosso’s, at the base of the Laurel Mountains. Because a week in the Smokies just wasn’t enough.

***

In this picture, he’s thanking me for giving him food money after he spotted me eating a slice of pizza when I swore all I would eat all day was energy bars to save money. “Is that what energy bars look like here?” he texted me, so I guiltily slapped $2 in his hand so he could also have pizza.

Me: List some things you’d rather be doing than going to amusement parks.

Henry, with no hesitation: Sleeping. Getting a tooth filled.

[Not like he has many left.]

Me: How did it feel to have to ask me for money to buy food?

Henry: It was the worst, because you’re so stingy and you would have let us starve to death. [Whenever I say I'm starving to death, he's quick to point out this isn't true, yet he's allowed to say it.] Basically we would have starved to death [that's 2 times now] because you never want to eat until you find out I’m buying then all of a sudden you’re hungry.

[Now, I'm a little taken aback but this response. I'm stingy, but he's the one who didn't want to go because we'd have to "spend money." Any kids reading this? This is what you have to look forward to when you get into a "grown up" relationship: Financial bickering. It's the best. And then even sex goes downhill because all the things you want to try "cost too much money." Anyway, the pizza was only $1.75 a slice. Eat up, orphan.]

I only gave him enough for one slice of plain pizza. However, he ordered pepperoni AND A DRINK, can you even imagine, so he had to turn his pockets inside out and slide a mound of coins across the counter.

Ordering food with A WOMAN’S MONEY. His SERVICE buddies would probably frown. Emasculation and all that.

Me: What’s your problem with the Wacky Worm?

Henry, sighing wearily: I don’t have a problem with it. I just choose not to ride it.

Me, unwilling to let the subject die: Because you don’t want people to see you having fun?

Henry, in a snippy, irritated fashion: It’s a kids ride.

Me, probing further: It’s because you’re afraid your Rip-It hat is going to blow off, mussing up your McNichol locks, isn’t it?

Henry, monotone & through clenched teeth: Yeah, that’s it exactly.

Me: What if there was a reunion for the people you were in the Service with, but it was on the Wacky Worm. Would you ride it then?

Henry, engrossed in his phone as usual and mumbling thoughtlessly: I don’t know. I guess.

[I'm sure there's enough room on the seat for his donut, if it's his hemorrhoids that's keeping him off the Wacky Worm.]

I mean, this asshole was nearly Henry’s age and he seemed to be riding it unabashedly.

I imagine this is how googly he looked the first time he saw tits in person.

Me: Did you know I serendipitously snapped a picture of you smiling at Lakemont? It almost looks like you might be having fun. Which makes me wonder, what is your idea of a fun day?

Henry, in that squeaky “You’re Pushing Me to the Edge” voice that I absolutely can’t stand and makes him sound like a spoiled 7-year-old girl, I fucking swear that’s going to be the impetus to my leaving one day: I don’t know. A day spent with….Chooch. Sometimes you.

[I'm pretty sure that was a joke, or that he was only saying that because he wanted the rest of my pancakes.]

Me: Get serious. You’d probably want to go fishing off an oil rig with a boombox blasting Judas Priest, but only if you have ear plugs.

Henry, on edge and quickly retorting with a smugness: Yeah, probably.

Chooch, shit-talking on the go-carts because he knows his father is too much of a pussy to do it.

Me: Did you and Chooch talk about me at all on the way to DelGrosso’s?

Henry, acting like this was a dumb question: No! Not until we saw those wind turbines [on the hill] and I told Chooch that you’re scared of them. Then we laughed.

[This is not something to make jokes about. I've been scared of them ever since I saw the Tehachapi Pass Wind Farm scene in Mac and Me when I was a kid. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT THOSE THINGS ARE CAPABLE OF.]

Henry refused to buy a ticket to ride the train, so he had to stand alone and stroke his…moustache.