Things About Henry | Oh Honestly, Erin

SHUT THE DOOR

chooch, Henrying, really bad ideas, Things About Henry

Apr 232013

Friends: If you were at a restaurant with me and Chooch, and you realized our waitress was someone you went to high school with, would you tell us?

I DIDN’T THINK SO.

(It’s funny when I ask people this in person, their eyes get all big and they say, “Um, NO. God, no.”)

But Henry did just the opposite last Saturday night when we went to Eat n Park after the Pierce the Veil show. Now to be fair, I was hyper because I had just come from a concert and had a few glasses of wine earlier; Chooch was hyper because it was almost 11pm and he was delirious from an evening at his grandma’s cable-free apartment.

”I used to go to high school with her,” Henry said in a hushed tone. “We rode the bus together.” He was referring to our waitress Dawn, who definitely seemed like someone Henry would have “loafed” with (that’s what my dad always says, and I imagine Henry’s generation probably used the same term): super skinny, stringy dishwater blond hair, sunken cheeks, probably a meth addict. She had a really rough voice and called us all “hon,” and stood sideways, looking over her shoulder at us while taking our order. Also, and this is kind of hard to explain, but she had the swagger of a drag king, the way she moved her hips while talking. IT WAS BIZARRE.

So, you know, totally in Henry’s wheelhouse.

I snorted as soon as he told me. I LOVE IT WHEN HENRY BRINGS UP HIS PRE-ERIN LIFE! He gets so pissed when I laugh about his past and he recently yelled, “You act like I didn’t exist before you met me!” But come, did he really exist? Am I not basically his sole purpose for living? He basically won’t tell me anything at all anymore, so it’s surprising that he let this particular little nugget of blackmail slip out.

Then he went up to the salad bar* and I reiterated this to Chooch.

*(“Ew, he went to the salad bar at 11 o’clock at night?!” my co-worker A-ron exclaimed when I was telling him this story last night. Yes, Henry is disgusting and eats old, congealed food from the Eat n Park salad bar after hours. Henry does disgusting things.)

“Chooch, did you hear that? DADDY WENT TO HIGH SCHOOL WITH OUR WAITRESS!!”

“With DAWN!?” Chooch, for whatever reason, had immediately taken to mocking her from the get-go, saying things like, “OK, Dawn” and “Dawn doesn’t know anything!” every time she would walk away from us. He had zero respect for this lady. (Pro Tip: Don’t ever wear a name tag around Chooch.)

“You totally have to tell her!” I encouraged him, and we both started laughing so hard that Chooch literally almost threw up at the table. People were turning around and gawking at us. An entire table of elderly black women in particular gave us very disapproving Church lady scowls. Henry returned to two children completely turned inside out with giddiness and looked utterly apprehensive.

“What?” he asked. “WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

“Nothing!” I squealed, tears streaming down my face from all of the laughs.

“I’m telling Dawn that you went to school with her!” Chooch blurted out, cracking up all over again.

“I don’t care!” Henry spat defiantly, digging into his nasty Saturday night salad to mask the nervous twitch his moustache had acquired.

But you know he totally cared. He REALLY did not want this conversation to happen. Too bad Chooch was chomping at the bit to unleash this cannon of intel. Dawn came back with our check (I mean, at least this happened toward the end of dinner, right Henry?) and Chooch nearly gave up the ghost in his attempt to scream out, “YOU USED TO RIDE THE KIDDIE BUS WITH HIM!!!” while lunging across the table and pointing furiously at Henry.

Dawn seemed confused. Nay — Dawn seemed perplexed. She laughed nervously and asked, “What?”

Chooch was laughing so hard, the same deep-throating giggles that I too employ, that I had to explain to her what was going on.

She gave Henry a scrutinizing once-over and then said, “I’m so sorry hon, but I don’t remember….”

HAHAHA SHE DIDN’T EVEN REMEMBER HIM, BEST FUCKING NIGHT EVER!

So then Henry had to explain to her who he was and I’m pretty sure she was just pretending to recognize him at that point to get us out of her section.

“I mean, it was 30 years ago,” Henry rationalized for Dawn’s inability to remember the forgettable doof in the bitchin’ Adidas shirt and tinted glasses, which only made it better for me — THIRTY YEARS, HAHAHA!

“Have a nice night, DAWN,” Chooch seethed in faux-annoyance as we were getting ready to leave (Henry had already left us at the table, that’s how embarrassed we were apparently making him) and I had to SQUAT DOWN to keep from peeing.

“You two are fucking idiots,” Henry sighed tersely, shrugging away from us when we caught up with him at the register while he waited to pay.

And then this happened before we even left the parking lot:

My favorite part is when Chooch calls Dawn an asshole and it sounds like Henry is about to get all TOUGH PAPA on him, but then all he says is “Shut the door” for the third time. He was REALLY all about having the door shut.

(Side note: I rarely post videos of myself because when I get giddy—and I am often giddy—I wind up sounding like Bobcat Goldthwait and ain’t nobody got time for that.)

Shit, Chooch and I rode the Dawn horse all day Sunday (“Remember DAWN!?” we would ask Henry and then collapse in happy laughter); I came to work yesterday and told the story to anyone who would listen to me (some people walked away). Glenn asked me if Henry drinks a lot and I have NO IDEA what kind of question that is.

So, I think it’s safe to say that we will probably never go back to that Eat n Park.

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FAYGO BOAT SONG!!

Henrying, Things About Henry

Feb 192013

My friend Michelle posted this on my Facebook timeline because she is smart and knows that I would:

cry from laughing
annoy the shit out of Henry with it

Boy, was she right.

“I bet Henry sings this song at work,” Michelle said, and oh! what an image!

I haven’t had much opportunity to really get under Henry’s skin with it, but on the way to work, I played it in the car and said, “Do you know what this is!?”

He only needed to hear about 3 seconds of it from my shitty iPhone speaker before smirking. “Yeah, it’s an old Faygo commercial. It’s on their website!” he scoffed, utterly unimpressed. And then he added, “There’s a rap version, too.”

OMG PLEASE TELL ME IT’S BY ICP.

For those who don’t know, Henry works for a beverage company that distributes Faygo.

****************

In other Henry news, I found out that he was actually planning on getting me this beautiful(ly creepy) antique wooden wheelchair for Valentine’s Day, but the motherfucker on Craigslist never responded. Henry, you should just quit Craigslist already. Anyway, just knowing that he was trying to do that for me made me be pretty nice to him all weekend.

I mean, other than the whole Redbox debacle.

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Genital Dreams: Wordless Wednesday

Henrying, nostalgia, Things About Henry, Wordless Wednesday

Dec 192012

A little blast from the past. Henry likes his weeners like he likes his broads: short n’ fat.

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Frown of the Day: Monroeville Mall Bloodshed Version

Frown of the Day, Henrying, Things About Henry

Jul 032012

The “I Just Noticed My Arm Is Dripping Blood From A Wound I Did Not Know I Had & Now My Girlfriend Is Making a Big Commotion About It & Drawing Attention To Us” Frown.

Moments before this, Henry pointed a jaunty man with a long & glorious mullet.

“He was in the bathroom with me and Chooch and I was glad I didn’t let Chooch go in alone.”

Then Henry noticed his MYSTERIOUS wound. There was a long crimson rivulet running down Henry’s forearm. I wanted to take a picture but he had scraped the now-dry blood off too quick. All that was left was a tiny little puncture mark. It was actually not very impressive or heroic, but it was probably worse than any casualty Henry suffered while in the SERVICE, except for maybe when his ego was curb-stomped by a Panamanian hooker’s denial.

Meanwhile, Mullet kept pivoting his head around to stare at us while he retreated.

“It just occurred to me that those two things did not happen through coincidence,” I shouted from the backseat of the car on the way home. (I let Andrea sit up front so she doesn’t get tormented by Chooch.) “That man stabbed you in the bathroom!”

“Yeah, Erin. That’s it exactly. He stabbed me in the forearm with a pencil.”

But then there’s always the zombie attack theory.

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2 Things I Learned About Henry on Easter.

Henrying, Things About Henry

Apr 082012

1. He knows what silver sounds like.

My estranged (emphasis on strange) aunt Sharon dropped off a garbage bag-wrapped Easter basket on our front porch for Chooch. One of the items was a small plastic piggy bank, which Henry shook and said, “Wow, there’s silver in this.”

“How the fuck do you know?” I asked.

“Because I know what silver sounds like! They stopped making silver coins in 1970—” but this is where I peaced out of the history lesson because I was laughing too hard.

2. Henry used to be a paper boy!

We’re currently en route to visit Speck’s grave, when Henry commented on the traffic.

“Easter sure is different nowadays. I remember when there was never a car on the road until after noon on Easter Sunday. I used to be able to ride my wagon of newspapers all the way across Lebanon Church Road—–what?”

I was wiping tears away at this point. “You were a paper boy?” I cried.

“Yeah, so what?!” Henry spat, glaring at me.

My laughter reached the precipice of hysteria at this point, imagining a freckled, knickerbockered Henry hurling the Sunday paper at empty milk bottles.

“That’s why I have such a good work ethic, unlike most of YOU people!” he shouted defensively.

YOU PEOPLE? He must mean my awesome generation.

“You’re going to make me hate you today,” he just mumbled.

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Henry Speaks Out, Round 3: Where Henry Reaches His Limit

Henrying, Interview with a Henry, Things About Henry

Feb 082012

Henry said to me, “You’re asking a lot, you know.”

“It’s the least you can do since you won’t marry me.”

And on that note, here is what was supposed to be the final installment of the Harangue Henry questions. I am attempting to type this for him while he is busy assembling zombie Valentine cards.
***
Ally poses several Tough Thinkers for our Henry: Who does Henry want his mustache to be when it grows up? (e.g. Tom Selleck, Hulk Hogan, etc.)

[Oh the look I just got from him! Shoooooot.]

“I don’t know! Me! [Unintelligible mumbles.]”

Who was Henry’s favorite Teletubby?

“I don’t have one. I didn’t watch Teletubbies. I was freaking thirty years old when it came out!”

[Ed.Note. In other words: The Gay One.]

Sandra Lee, Giada, or Rachael Ray? Who is Henry’s favorite food network personality?

Henry, with extreme confidence: “Giada.”

[Ed.Note. Then why won't you make any of her recipes, you douche-kabob?]

Does he agree that Alton’s recipes always work and that Ina’s never do?

Getting tangled up in double-sided tape, Henry half-assedly answers: “I would say yes but I’ve never done any of Ina’s at all.”

Has he ever tried any of David Lebovitz’s recipes (if not, he should!)?

Henry, who likes to make up his own recipes for orphan gruel, mutters: “No.”

What would Henry do if he had an entire day, completely to himself?

“Sleep,” Henry said in a way that made me scared to press for more. “That’d never happen,” he mumbled. “You guys don’t even let me sleep when I’m sick.”

What is Henry’s favorite milk shake flavor?

With a face contorted in perplexion: “Probably chocolate.”

[The actual answer is: Whatever Erin or Chooch order that he has to finish.]

Which Golden Girl can Henry most readily identify with? I HAVE TOO MANY QUESTIONS, I CAN’T PRIORITIZE THEM!!!!!

“Which one has a girlfriend that’s a pain in the ass?”

***
That concludes this round. It only took a WEEK to get these answers, and then I made the mistake of asking him the last 2 directly after he got off the phone with Comcast, who have failed to fix our Internet for a week now. HENRY IS MAD YOU GUYS.

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Henry Speaks Out

Henrying, Interview with a Henry, Things About Henry

Jan 282012

The other day, I gave you the opportunity to shoot some questions at Henry. Facebook really came through with some good ones, so this is going to have to be split into parts, otherwise Henry will flip out about having to talk to me for me too long. So here are the first 5 questions!

Misty’s question is threefold: I want to know who he thinks is the hottest on Jersey Shore: Mike, Vinny, or Pauly D.

Henry, no hesitation: Pauly D.

Also, does he have any strange fears nobody knows about? (balloons, hair brush hair etc.) He probably won’t tell you but you never know.

Henry, making all kinds of confused and constipated faces: Strange fears? I don’t know! Getting cut by metal scares me.

[Pretty sure we covered that already at some point, so good job Henry.]

And also, If he could retire today and spend his life doing manly man activities what would he choose to do?

Henry: Manly man activities? Do you have to go with me?

Erin: Maybe to watch.

Henry, tapping his fingers and then getting distracted by Friends.

[Now we are both distracted by Friends.]

Henry, 2 hours later: I don’t know. I think I would travel and maybe go fishing.

Erin: Fishing for a new girl to not-propose to?

Henry: Sure.

My old school* bud Liz asks: I’d love to hear Henry wax poetic on the Kardashian clan. Who is his fave?

*(Not “old school” in the sense that she slinks around in Adidas tracksuits and Kangol hats with a boombox on her shoulder, but in that I’ve known her since 6th grade.)

Henry, with a crinkled nose and agitated squeal to his tone: I don’t know! I don’t even like the Kardashians! None of them!

[But he'd sure bang any of them in a pinch.]

Terry from Twitter has a burning curiosity: Name two things you love and two things you hate about @ohhonestlyerin?

Henry, using the aid of a toothpick to think: Why does it have to be TWO things I love? [Staring at me for several icy seconds with hate and disdain]

[Still thinking and staring miserably into his grim future. This is obviously a Very Hard One.]

Henry, realizing the faster he answers, the faster it’s over: Two things I love would be sense of humor & sex.

[Fantastic, now everyone knows my Virgin Mary qualities are bogus.]

Henry, on a roll now: Two things I hate are her semi-self-centeredness [Lies.] and that voice she just used.

[I don't like this game anymore.]

Andrea and Alyson could both kill to know more about the now-infamous Ted Nugent concert.

Answers are in video-form!

Bill of Funny Accent Land inquires: I would like to know which episode of Degrassi is Henry’s favorite.

Henry, laughing in disgust: I don’t HAVE any favorite episodes.

Erin: Not even the one where Paige gets raped by the frat boy? Is that what they’re called in Canada?

Henry: What? Which one is that?

Erin: Well, it’s the one where Paige gets raped by the frat boy.

Henry, pretending like he remembers: Oh. No. I don’t know, I never pay attention to it!

Erin: Then why did you cry when Jimmy got capped?!

Henry: I did not cry.
****
More answers later!

It’s amazing he answered any at all after I fake-broke up with him Friday morning and caused him all kinds of duress.

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Harangue Henry, 2012 Edition

Henrying, Things About Henry, Uncategorized

Jan 242012

(I was hoping to have a reason to recycle this photo!)

It was so much fun when we did this last year that I decided it was due time to do it again. Ask him anything! What it was like to have a porn wound. How badly he wants to kill himself every year at Warped Tour. Things about being IN THE SERVICE (his favorite topic!).

You ask all the questions and then I will interrogate him and post his answers on Friday. And believe me, I will do whatever it takes to get The Answers.

Here’s what he had to say last time.

[Ed.Note: I know the last few posts have been recycled cop-outs, but I haven't been feeling well. I'm either dying slowly from religiously watching the cast of Jersey Shore poison themselves with alcohol, UV rays & sexual stupidity, or I'm pregnant, as all nauseated females always are.]

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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: 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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Goofus & Gallant, OhHonestlyErin-Style #2

Goofus & Gallant, Henrying, That I Hate, Things About Henry

Jul 172011

This was supposed to be an ongoing series, but it’s taken me a whole year to make the second one. Sounds about right.

Hey, in other news, those of you who requested a People of Brookline postcard might actually get one soon! Henry is off all week so he can do fatherly things with the kid during the day and maybe I might actually get a chance to do something, anything.

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Henry’s Day at the Fair: An Exclusive Interview

Amusement Parks, Fairs, & Carnivals, Henrying, Things About Henry

Jul 072011

Where’s Henry? Oh, just standing alone.

Ever wonder what it’s like to be Old and Joyless at the county fair? Me too, so I decided to interview* Henry to get the geriatric scoop.

*I tried to accomplish this unbeknownst to him, but as soon as he answered the phone, it went something like this:

Henry: What.

Me: [throaty giggles]

Henry, with apprehension: What did you do?

Me, in a robotic cadence: [more giggles, staccato with giddiness] Can I ask you a few questions?

Henry, senses heightened: What? Why?

Me, still giggling & speaking like a robot with a dick in its throat: What is your favorite food at the fair?

Henry, sighing: I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.

Me: WAIT! THIS IS IMPORTANT!

Henry: [Dial tone.]

The rest of the interview was conducted both over text and in person when he came home from work, only because he kept hanging up on me every time I called him.

Henry slides his glasses down, grandpa-style, and Googles “fastest way to kill yourself at the county fair.”

Me: Is it true that you don’t ride anything because you’re worried the wind will rape your perfectly feathered hair?

Henry: No, because it makes my stomach upset. What the fuck?

Henry engaged in his favorite activity at the fair: eating. This typically occurs only after he takes care of feeding his son and girlfriend.

Me, via text message this time so as not to chase the subject away with my giggles: Seriously, what is your favorite part about the fair, and don’t say “Leaving.”

Henry: The food.

Me: Can you be more specific and maybe answer in complete sentences using lots of descriptive words?

Henry: No. I don’t trust yoi [sic].

I feel like it must be hot sausage, his favorite food I mean, because that’s what he got on Saturday and also in 2009 at the Westmoreland County Fair. Clearly I’ve been collecting evidence. He also got french fries molested with a sublime bourbon glaze, most of which I ate though.

Henry is never in on the joke.

Me: I understand that you ran into an “old friend from work” at the fair. Were you surprised that your so-so personality made enough of an impression that he remembered you?

Henry, walking away in a huff after reading the above and below questions: No, and you’re an asshole.

Me: Did you ever covet his wife? I mean, you seemed so excited to tell me that she’s a traveling horse vet and I know how much you’re into pony play. So…?

Henry: [see above response.]

It’s true! Henry has a friend who considers him a friend back! They’re even friends on FACEBOOK so you know it’s real. They talked about really boring Old People things and all I kept thinking was, “I could have ridden the Caterpillar three times by now.” So now I hate that guy. Whatever his name is.

Henry will bitch about how much of his Faygo paycheck is spent at the fair, yet he sees no problem with throwing away next month’s rent on carnival games. Yay, $45 for two goldfish! There goes dinner for next week.

Me: About how much, approximately, of our son’s college tuition did you give to the carnies? And I’m talking about just the games, not the reacharounds:

Henry: Um, about fifteen bucks. OK, maybe about twenty.

Great. I could have bought a CD with that.

Me: What is your favorite carnival game that you like to pretend you’re good at?

Henry, sounding extremely annoyed to the max: I don’t know. I don’t want to do this, you know that.

This means he knows deep down he’s not good at anything.

Henry poses pretty and only smiles when he thinks no one is looking. His smiles usually occur when I am far, far away.

(This is also a widely unknown yoga pose for truckers.)

Me: Would you rather, and this going to hurt your heart so be prepared, give up Mountain Dew for life or trade your collection of non-descript t-shirts for ones with….logos and designs?

Henry, after making me repeat the question because I was laughing too hard and we’re now doing this from separate rooms: Give up Mountain Dew for life.

I do not know what this has to do with the fair.

Henry, in the middle of saying: “No.” “Stop it.” “Grow up.” “You’re an idiot.” “Get that pine cone out of my ass.” Pick one.

Me: It has been proven that the Caterpillar is the Best Ride In the Whole Fucking World. So why wouldn’t you ride it?

Henry: Because it’s a KIDS RIDE and I’m NOT A KID.

You got that right.

Me: Please tell us, best to your memory, what you were saying in the above picture.

Henry, in a tone becoming increasingly high-pitched with irritation: I don’t know! I don’t even know where that was taken! [I then remind him it was when we were making a mess with waffle ice cream sandwiches] I don’t know! Probably something like, “Wipe [Chooch's] face off!”

Henry is the official beverage-holder at the fair. This prevents him from honking Tazmanian Devil-tattooed biker breasts, tugging his mouth into a frown.

Me: If you had to fight someone for the last piece of whatever your favorite carnival food is that you’re being so secretive about, would you rather it be one of the octogenarian ticket booth workers or one of the goody-goody 4H brats? Do you need me to tell you what “octogenarian” means?

Henry, rubbing his eyes tiredly: I don’t know. The octo—-[unable to pronounce it]. The ticket booth workers!

Henry tries to reflect on a time when he could still ride carnival rides, but comes up short. He’s just too old.

Me: Why don’t you ever smile at the fair? Is it because your moustache is too heavy?

Henry, from upstairs: I’m busy.

I then asked Henry to summarize his day at the fair. This is what the Man of Many Words had to say:

It was a good day. Today sucks because you just ruined everything.

Presumably because I had the audacity to make him talk to me. This took 4 hours to extract answers from him, but if there’s anything you want to ask Henry about his big day at the fair, leave a comment and I’ll see what I can do!

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My Sick, Musically Incompatible Boyfriend

Henrying, music, That I Hate, Things About Henry

Mar 232011

Henry is sick now. And when Henry is sick, it’s all, “Just leave me alone! I need to rest!” and then he barricades himself in the bedroom and leaves the rest of us incompetent beings to stumble repeatedly into the wall like dying wind-up toys.

He came home from work early yesterday with preconceived notions of “resting,” but too bad I was having major blog issues (it was basically BROKEN-DOWN).

“Get down here and fix this!” I yelled up to him. “You can rest when you’re done.” And I said it in such a way that sent ice-cold claws grating down his back, so even though he acted all haughty when he stomped down the stairs, it was obvious that his manhood was cowering underneath his feverish flesh.

It’s sort of better now, back to its original jacked-up state, at least. My blog, not Henry. Last I bothered to check, he was still a suffering mess of chills and aches.

He better get stoked though, because tonight is the Dance Gavin Dance show, which I had scheduled off work for two months in advance. He was nasally complaining about this yesterday, because not only is he sick, but he absolutely abhors Dance Gavin Dance.

“This is so unfair how you do this to me,” he bitched in a way that immediately lopped two inches off his dick measurement. “I’m going to wait until you’re sick and then make you go see someone you hate.”

“Go ahead,” I taunted, knowing this threat will never come to fruition because it involves spending money which Henry doesn’t enjoy doing unless it’s on bottles of Mountain Dew, computer parts and socks.

“Katy Perry!” he yelled, practically clapping his hands in delight. “I’m making you go see Katy Perry. Front row seats.”

I couldn’t stop laughing at the ridiculousness of this. Erin Rachelle Kelly at a Katy Perry “concert.”

“That’s fine,” I played along. “I’ll start a fight and get kicked out.”

“Ooh, Katy Perry and PINK!” Henry went on, dreaming up some stupid scenario in his stupid head. “A night of positivity.” (I’m constantly ranting about how I hate Pink because she’s so fucking positive. Just what women need, more anthems.)

My luck, they’ll probably be on tour together this summer and Henry will win tickets from whatever pathetic radio station he guiltily listens to when I’m not in the car with him.

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

Henrying, holidays, Things About Henry

Dec 262010

On the night of Christmas Eve, we went to Henry’s sister’s house for some holiday hootenannies. We passed out gifts to all the kids and then Henry’s mom Judy asked, “Where are the spinach pies?”

Henry looked at me like I was going to tug them out of my g-string, but unfortunately I forgot to stuff them in there. It’s tough when my pimp doesn’t remind me to stow sundry down my pants like a human pantry. Besides, spinach pies were Henry’s duty, and he evidently failed. Judy seemed very sad about this.

Toward the end of the night, Henry was in the living room watching the kids play video games, while I sat in the kitchen drinking wine with Judy and Henry’s sister Kelly. Henry walked through the kitchen at one point to grab some food and I made an off-hand remark about how I’ve been trying to get him to dress a little better, and they both said they had noticed and thought he looked nice. Once he left the room though, the atmosphere got very heavy and Judy leaned in and, with her face drawn into a grave expression, murmured, “You know the reason why my son doesn’t dress nice, right?”

Because he got the domestic piece of the gay gene and not the sense of style slice?, I wanted to say. Instead, I shook my head and said, “No, why?”

“Oh, that girl he dated after the Service!” Judy exclaimed, hand on her chest.

I gave her a blank look.

“You don’t know about that girl he was going with?” she asked, clearly astonished that Henry left that chapter out when divulging his life story to me after a night of cheap drinks and bad karaoke at McCoy’s.

I looked over to Kelly for some help, expecting for her to chime in and say that their mom was losing her mind—which typically is Kelly’s role in these conversations, to say that Mom is batshit crazy—but she too had gone all somber.

“No, I guess I don’t know about her,” I said, wondering what the story was since Henry has told me some Pretty Big Secrets in our time together.

“She was awful!” Kelly spat, looking completely repulsed. “I don’t know what he ever saw in her!”

“He met her at Jack’s, right when he got out of the Service,” Judy regaled. “They were always together, going out drinking. Oh, when he found out she was gay, he didn’t come out of his room for three months.”

RECORD SCRATCH. My ears were practically fluttering off my head, this unbelievably moist wad of gossip sending them into overdrive.

HENRY HAD A GAY GIRLFRIEND? Oh, how rich.

At this point, I was pretty sure Judy was trying not to cry. But the more I let it sink in, the less it seemed like a verified Henry Story to me, so I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I kept trying to imagine him, fetus-curved on a twin bed in a mostly non-descript bedroom that maybe had one lone Dukes of Hazard poster on a wall, hugging a pillow into his chest and sobbing because some broad left him for the vag, while the whole family convened out in the hall on suicide watch, fruity tones of Air Supply wafting out from under his door like so many homosexual farts. These images didn’t come as easily as maybe you’d like to think. But I really, truly wanted this story to be legit. More than anything, that would have been the best Christmas present ever.

“What are you talking about?” Blake asked, who was sitting with us at the table messing around with his new camera. I didn’t even think he had been listening.

“Nothing!” Judy snapped, waving him off. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“I hated her,” Kelly continued in hushed tones, after making certain that Blake wasn’t listening. “Chrissy, I think that was her name.” Henry’s mom nodded in recognition. “Yeah, she was always telling him what to do. What to wear. Where to go. She was so controlling. I was like, ‘Why are you letting this girl control you?’ I couldn’t ever understand it.”

Just as I was thinking this broad sounded an awful lot like me, Henry walked into the kitchen. Judy made lip-zipping gestures and acted all awkward and suspicious. I locked eyes with Henry, smirked, and shook my head.

“What?” he asked, stopping in his tracks.

“Nothing!” his mom shouted. We waited for him to grab another handful of chips and leave. “Don’t tell him I’m telling you this!” Judy pleaded. “He was so upset when this happened. If he hasn’t told you, it’s probably because it’s too painful for him to talk about.”

Henry texted me just then: “What is my mom telling you?”

I replied: “Oh, we’ll be talking later. I can’t believe you’ve been withholding from me.”

Judy wasn’t done.

“I’ve never seen my son so upset!” she continued, face still pulled taut in that expression of utter seriousness. “They didn’t date for long but she really hurt him. He hasn’t bothered dressing nice since her. I guess she ruined him, I don’t know.” By this point, I was chewing on my inner cheeks, trying not to laugh. I just didn’t buy it. It didn’t seem like something he would purposely omit from his oral history, but you better believe I was thinking of all the ways I could use this to fuck with him.

***

A few minutes later, I was in Kelly’s living room, sitting alone on the couch with Henry.

“So I just heard a terribly devastating story about you,” I baited.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Henry mumbled, not taking his eyes off the Wii game he was playing.

I started to sprinkle out little hints but he honestly kept saying he didn’t know what I was talking about.

“So you mean to tell me you never dated some broad who wound up being gay, plunging you into a downward spiral that left you house-bound for three months?”

“What are you talking about?!” he asked, looking at me for the first time. I filled him in on what his mom and sister told me. They told me not to, but it was too good! I had to chide him, at least a little.

“That girl?! I never dated her! She was just my drinking buddy.” I asked him what her name was, as a test, and he said he couldn’t even remember. I could tell he wasn’t lying.

“Oh, yeah. Chrissy,” he repeated absently after I told him. “Where the hell did my mom get that story from?” he asked mostly to himself.

According to Henry, he used to “loaf” (that’s what old people say instead of “hanging out,” you know) with her and some gay guy named Kenny.

“Oh my god, so you were dating BOTH of them?” I gasped obnoxiously.

“NO! They were just my drinking bud—-SHUT UP!”

The most I could get out of Henry, who is playing the Bad Memory card, is that she was “mannish and had short hair.”

I let it go for awhile, but in the car after we left I filled Blake in and together we rode him like a down-trodden mule all the way home.

“Nothing sexual was going on!” Henry swore.

“Hahaha, Henry said ‘sexual’!” And Blake and I cracked up even harder.

I asked him what ever happened to Chrissy, and all Henry could muster was that he “thinks” she moved to Florida.

“Yeah, you know that because you creep her Facebook profile on the daily,” I needled away.

“I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER HER LAST NAME!” Henry cried, the heat of the situation making him tug at his collar.

***

Today, we were in the car when I noticed that the skin beneath Henry’s bottom lip was bulging, like he was pushing his tongue down in front of his bottom teeth.

“Did you used to dip when you were dating Chrissy?” I asked.

“What? No. Why? AND I NEVER DATED HER!” He quickly tacked on to the sentence.

“Because I’ve never seen you do that with your bottom lip before, thought maybe all this talk of Chrissy was bringing back some old tics.”

“I’m going to kill my mom and sister,” he mumbled.

Maybe they were just that mad over the spinach pies.

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