I haven’t finished editing the photos from Chooch’s birthday party yet (a lot of the shots have Chooch’s school friends in them and I don’t want to get bitched out again for posting them on my heretic blog) so here are the ones from my phone (nice & blurry to cover my ass).
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Living Treasures Birthday Field Trip
Chooch kept calling the camels “cannibals” and I didn’t correct him.
It was a nice day, nothing much to complain about. The grounds were surprisingly dick-free and we even got to see some animal mating going down, including a particularly horny peacock who was totally embarrassing himself; finally, I have a benchmark when imagining Henry trying to get laid during his SERVICE years.
However, we went to Perkins afterward, where Chooch had a total meltdown over the restaurant’s lack of wifi and kept talking in angry tones about death and how no one would care if he died, themes that he’s way too young to be touching upon, and of course the two ladies seated in the booth next to ours had just come from Bible study and were giving each other concerned raised-eyebrows. Totally awesome. Can’t wait to see what he’s like as a teenager.
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Monster cupcakes decorated by me, Christina and Christina’s sister Cynthia.
Chooch’s 6th birthday party was last night and it was a lot of fun*. However, the mom in me has been all nostalgic today; it seems like just last year we were trhowing him a 1st birthday blowout at my mom’s house, but then I think of how much things have changed since then, how I don’t even talk to my mom anymore, or my aunt Sharon, and how I’m always trying to overcompensate for this loss of family by trying to lure as many people as possible to my kid’s parties.
(*Unless you’re breaking bones, and then it might be a pretty shitty time.)
Not only was my mom at his 1st birthday, but it was at her house and she even helped me plan it. I spent my break at work today looking at pictures from that day and feeling bittersweet, but mostly happy because that was such a good day.
And I had a tutu.
And Christina was there. She has missed his last 4 parties because of our utter inability to iron shit out between us. Even though she wasn’t at his party last night, just knowing she’s back was enough for both me and Chooch. (Plus, she bought him shit when she was visiting last weekend, so that’s definitely good enough for Chooch. He is very easily won over with tangible tokens of love, just like his mother.)
My friend Bill baked Chooch’s personal cake and then Kara decorated it in the likeness of the party invitations I made, while I breathed down her back and made idle threats.
….M.C.A.?
Chooch has always been kind of a big deal. I love that kid.
Big shout out to everyone else out there who loves him too. Thank you for making him feel special.
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I’ve had this vision for Easter portraits in my head for quite awhile now, but getting Henry to go along with it was not that easy, even for me. Well, that’s not true – it was pretty easy. But he still waited until an hour before we left the house to pull some 13th hour divo stunt and tried to text his son Blake to be a fill-in. I completely lost my shit, started crying, screamed JUST FORGET IT! and stormed off to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
As if I wasn’t already stressed enough about the Penguins playoff implosion.
Approximately five minutes later, Henry came upstairs. I forget what exactly he said to me, but it wasn’t a distinct “I am not going to do this” so that gave me hope and I went back downstairs to harp on him some more. I even promised to take the trolley to work all week!
“Look,” Christina whispered to me while Henry was in the kitchen mouthing off about how he hates when I tell him what he’s going to do. “You know he’s going to do it. He just has to put on this little show to keep some of his masculinity.” But then Chooch started crying too because all he knew was that at some point that day, he was going to get to put makeup on, and now suddenly HENRY was going to take that away from him.
“You want me to drive to some abandoned private property, put on makeup and have my picture taken,” Henry barked. “That’s like a trifecta of things I hate.”
“He just learned that word,” I said snidely to Christina.
“You owe me,” he said before he left, and Christina told me later that the part I didn’t hear was him saying, “And I’m not talking about sex, either.” OMG THEN WHAT?!
Did I mention that Henry was also sick all weekend? He had a fever the day before, even. But because he is the BEST BOYFRIEND EVER, he tucked his tail between his legs and drove us out to Elizabeth, PA (even stopping on his own accord to get an extra pair of bunny ears) where he then stood obediently in front of me while I smeared costume makeup all over his face.
“I’m not laughing,” he snarled as I was doing my signature “laughing til I pee”-squat. But I’m certain I saw the corners of his mouth fighting to curl up.
On Saturday, Christina and I went to Goodwill to grab a dress shirt for Henry. I knew I wanted it to be a certain color, and wasn’t sure yet if I was going to incorporate fake blood, so I didn’t want to run the risk of ruining one of Henry’s TWO WHOLE DRESS SHIRTS. For once, Goodwill didn’t fail me and I was really pleased with the shirt we found (Henry was of a different opinion), and then on a whim I said, “Let’s see if anything looks good in the boys section.” And holy shit, not only did we find a blazer, but we also found these plaid skinny jeans that happened to be in Chooch’s size. The unfortunate part is that not only are they for girls (who really cares about that though), they’re from that asshole Gwen Stefani’s kids clothing line, and I REALLY CAN’T STAND HER. But at least they were only like, $3.
(They also came with a detachable skirt, which we quickly unbuttoned before Chooch had a chance to notice. Good thing too, because he ended up loving these pants and wanted to wear them all weekend.)
(His tie was also a last minute find, and also for girls; the bottom is encrusted with rhinestones, another thing he didn’t seem to notice.)
I love that he looks like he’s going to a Sex Pistols show.
Fetus came along for the ride. I love him so.
I was angry that there was so much foliage around, so I put Christina to work (she is my slave, after all); she wound up taking all kinds of cuts and scratches back to Ohio with her. She even tried (and failed) to construct a bridge for us to cross over the muddy path that separated us from the small building I wanted to use.
Henry isn’t posing, he’s actually watching for cops because he was so paranoid we were going to get in trouble for trespassing, oh noes.
I can only imagine what goes on his head when I make him do the un-fun parts of the photo shoots. Having Christina there allowed me to get an extra 5 shots out of him, though. Usually he peaces out much sooner.
Did I mention it was over 80 degrees on Sunday? It was.
Afterward, we went to lunch at Blue Flame. I posted one of the bunny pictures of Henry that I had taken with my phone to Instagram and when I showed Henry, he quietly said, “Send that to me.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because it’s a picture of me and I have a right to have it!” he said all defensively, because god forbid he should EVER admit that MAYBE he thinks something I did was KIND OF COOL.
Anyway, Henry kind of rules for doing this. And so far, I have not taken the trolley to work this week.
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We did what any other sad-sack family does on a holiday when they have nowhere else to go – went and got sushi.
Chooch kept dunking his lo mein into his glass of lemonade (“What? It makes my noodles taste like lemonade and I like it.”), so now you’ll never again have to wonder why I have a strict no-share policy when it comes to my son and beverages.
Aside from Chooch shouting, “I just want to be able to recognize what they’re saying!” and then counting in Spanish to try and “fit in” with the Pan Asia waitstaff, it was a nice, drama-free Easter dinner. Since it was still early and nice out, we took Chooch to the playground afterward, where I made him cry because I’m better at sliding down slides than he is. Seriously, this happened. I’m even competitive at sliding down slides.
Henry just shook his head and sighed. Then he convinced me that I should not take a left-behind bottle of Diet Mountain Dew even if it was unopened.
While I was swinging (better than Chooch), the parallels between that and my recent emotions were not lost on me. One simple text message received February 24th at 12:22AM and everything has been swinging out of control, my heart has felt like a fucking Elmo pinata at some dumb 4-year-old’s birthday party, and for as hard and as stubbornly I’ve been trying to slam that door in her face, for as many awkward (supposedly) last words we’ve had over the last month and a half, she is still the only one who called me on Easter to talk to me about how I was feeling, to comfort me, to remind me that I’m a better person than my family has ever given me credit for. So what am I doing. For the last two and a half years, I have had this emptiness in my heart and would constantly ask Henry things like, “Do you think I’ll ever talk to her again?” and “Do you think she still cares about me?” and then she finally gets the chance to come back, but for every brick she knocks down, I’m busy laying down five more; busy listening to all the naysayers, letting other people confuse me, when I should have been listening to myself, and to Henry who has literally only been wrong a total of 4 times in the 11 years we’ve been together. But I’ve been too fucking bull-headed, resistant and cowardly to admit that I want to be friends with Christina again (there, her name has officially been written), to have that person in my life who I can call to get a second opinion when Henry tells me not to take some stranger’s unopened bottle of Diet Mountain Dew, in spite of all the supposed “closure” I was trying to convince myself I could achieve by putting all of our sordid past out in the open for everyone to read.
And if it takes swinging on a swingset in South Park on the day that Jesus provided a lifetime of wet dreams for George Romero by rising from the dead to make me realize that maybe the ending doesn’t feel right because the story isn’t over yet, then so be it. I just know that I can’t keep having these psychopathic arguments in my head anymore; I need to make a decision and stick with it before anyone gets even more hurt. And I don’t want it to be a secret. No more texting a nameless Cincinnati phone number. Either her name goes back in my phone or I need to walk away from this for good—no more Limbo. I officially don’t give a fuck what anyone else has to say about that.
There was a middle-aged blind lady swinging next to me and it was the single most amazing thing that happened all day. She was so happy. We should all be that happy on the playground. Totally stopped pouting after that. (Until later that night, of course, when Henry chose his words poorly, which is like the worst thing in the world for an already hyper-emotional girl.)
I found Henry standing on a tree stump, counting its rings. Apparently that was his favorite thing to do as a child after completing his daily paper route.
Went home and ate coconut cream pie (with NO meringue!), which is really all I wanted to do all weekend, although maybe in my fantasies it involved more of a swan dive into a pool of it, less spooning it into my mouth.
Thank you Henry and Chooch for salvaging yet another holiday. How can I be lonely when those two jerks are always up in my face, anyway.
I’m ready for things to be OK now. It’s like I’m punishing myself and I just don’t know what for.
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When Henry and I were out doing legwork for the Easter bunny Saturday night, Henry mentioned that he wasn’t sure if we still had Chooch’s regular basket, which is this large, heavy basket that is entirely too bulky to be used to hold Easter bounty, but I bought it for Chooch’s first Easter, when he was still an angel and deserved these things. Nowadays, the thought of putting a jelly bean in a thimble isn’t far from my mind.
Anyway, Henry bought this small “just in case” basket at Target, but we ended up finding the traditional basket later that night. Both baskets were sitting on the table over night, because I was too tired from a late evening of watching scary Islamic men on public access rant about how caucasians are always trying to take credit for the invention of every language in the history of the universe.
“Chooch never wakes up before me,” I reasoned, remembering two Christmases ago when I could not for the life of me get the little slug to wake up and was left to amuse myself all morning with some Prince video marathon on VH1 Soul. “I’ll hide it in the morning,” I told Henry, who shrugged and followed me upstairs to bed.
[Side note: before Chooch went to bed Saturday night, he and I were sitting on the couch and the front door was open. "Oh shit, I see him across the street," Chooch said all calmly. When I asked him who he saw, he said, "Jesus" and I FELT SO SCARED.]
And of course, Chocoh woke up at 8:30. We were awake, but still in bed, so I had to call him into our room to stall him from going downstairs.
“Cuddle with us!” I blurted out, which is totally not something we tend to do together. He looked confused, but climbed into bed. Then I said I had to pee, but really I flew downstairs with him hot on my heels. I made it down there in enough time to grab the basket, dump it between the couch and chair and toss a blanket over top.
The first thing Chooch saw when he reached the bottom of the steps was the back-up basket, sitting on the table, completely empty.
He looked at it in horror and then we locked eyes.
“THE EASTER BUNNY HAAAAAATES ME!” he wailed, face turning red and eyes starting to well.
I was about to assure him that there was another basket, but I stopped myself. “Let this play out for a few more seconds, Erin,” the Devil on my shoulder pressed. He’s such a permanent fixture, he’s practically just a large mole at this point.
If there is one thing I love in life, it is pranking people, ESPECIALLY my kid. But this wasn’t even intentional, which made it that much more perfect.
After a few seconds though, he realized that this was probably Case #789696 of Mommy being a dickhead, and continued his search for the real basket. But my god, I couldn’t stop laughing. That’s what he gets for scaring me with that Jesus shit.
Henry and I used to divvy the candy up into plastic eggs, but now we just toss entire bags of it into his basket. We are so traditional.
“Holy shit, the Easter Bunny brought me a SKYLANDER?!”
The kid loves his damn Skylanders, whatever the fuck those are.
We were about to leave to go visit Speck’s grave, when Henry got all hush-hush and held up his arm.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, staring at the front door. “Your aunt’s out there.”
But of course she didn’t knock. She just dumped an Easter basket on the porch for Chooch. Inside, there was a card from her and Val (aka my “mom”), which said a bunch of lies about how much they love him.
“They sure have a funny way of showing it,” Henry mumbled. I wish that they would just not do anything. I’d rather have a real relationship, not just “stuff.” But that’s always been the easy way out for them.
So not only did I have major Speck-sadness (first Easter in forever that she wasn’t attacking the basket and pillaging for Easter grass), but then I had the typical “Ugh, it’s a holiday and I have no family*” nervous breakdown.
(*Yes, I have Henry and Chooch, but that is a family that I had to make on my own. Sometimes I wish I had teh normal mom/dad/siblings/grandparents set-up that so many other people could to enjoy and often take for granted. Living like this might keep the drama out of my life, but it is not always amazing.)
Totally emotional at the pet cemetery. The assholes there completely lost the temporary marker on Speck’s grave, so we had to guess where to leave the flowers. I’m so angry about this and can’t wait until it’s been a year so I can finally buy a real bronze marker for her. Total bullshit. Chooch was so upset that he ran away from us and laid down on the grass alone. It was completely heartbreaking to watch. Then I started sobbing and Henry had to stand there, hugging me/holding me up. We’re not even close to being healed, clearly.
Luckily, we had moustaches to play with when we got home, so the afternoon wasn’t as somber as the late morning was.
And then Henry drew this on the sidewalk, which made Chooch’s head explode. I was in the house but I could hear him outside, frantically trying to get the neighbors to look. But since I don’t have concrete proof that Henry himself actually wrote this, no one will believe me. You can all pretend it says “I love meringue” which actually isn’t a far stretch considering we had an argument about that Friday night after he went to Giant Eagle and bought a coconut cream pie to fulfill my (non-pregnant!!!) cravings, only to buy one capped with MERINGUE knowing that I HATE MERINGUE OH MY GOD.
Good thing we bought a real coconut cream pie the next night at Bob Evans.
God, what a fucking emotional start to the day.
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Got to leave work around 6:30 because it was so slow, but Henry and Chooch were at Chuck E Cheese for a birthday party, so I had to take the dreaded trolley home. Almost not worth getting to go home early.
Sue kept trying to coax me into taking an entire box of pizza home and I was like, “I can barely carry myself on the T, let alone an XL pizza box.
So she gave it to the cleaning people.
But I blindly chose the correct one and made it all the way to my stop with little incident. Did overhear two hacky-sackers compliment each others dirty hats though.
Clammy Trolley Fare.
Then I arrived at my house only to learn that HENRY wasn’t home yet. HENRY who has the house key. Hot Naybor Chris invited me in since I looked like a poor, shivering sack on the porch, but I declined because I wanted Henry to find me in such state and feel bad.
He did not feel bad.
And that is how I kicked off my Easter weekend.
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Thank god I have two Valentines or the day would have really been a bust*. Chooch, who put way more thought into than HENRY, didn’t like any of the songs that the Valentine cards played, so he gave me a birthday card instead. He will only choose cards that play music.
*(In all honesty, it really was a sweet night. It was nice coming home to a clean house and good dinner after I SLAVED OVER A CAKE for two days.)
Anyway, I’ve had the birthday card on my desk all week which invites people to ask if it’s my birthday. I just now realized how idiotic I’ve been by saying no. I could have maybe scored a free Starbucks out of it. Or at least spoken to in a nicer tone (or at all) from certain people in the department.
AND CANDY! Which he wanted back after giving it to me. I don’t know WHERE he learns these things.
And he made me another Valentine at school. <3 I try and act like I don’t give a shit about Valentine’s Day, but maybe I sort of do, you guys. It’s fun to draw hearts.
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New Year’s Eve started off by me coming home Saturday afternoon to a beautiful picture of Speck drawn by my friend Julie. I had no idea she was doing this and I was so touched that I cried. But these were good tears for once. I all but ripped the current picture out of that frame so Speck could have her own home on the wall. I can’t even adequately express my gratitude. Julie, you are wonderful!
Later, my babe and I watched the hockey game together while Henry and Chooch went to the store to get party food. Then Henry came back and walked around, moving all the candles I had just lit because I failed the Flammable course in the School of Life. “You can’t put a flame this close to PAPER!” Fuck, he’s so critical.
I’m not a big New Year’s Eve person; in my history, I have had more disastrous, tear- and drama-filled New Year’s Eve than not, so I’m usually content to just stay home with Henry, doing nothing but making fun of the various NYE bullshit on TV. This year, though, we had a small get-together with Tommy, Jessy, Laura and Mike. It was laid back, devoid of drama and tears, and just nice to spend an evening with some of my favorites.
It wouldn’t have felt right if Tommy hadn’t made Chooch cry eight times in a 30-minute span.
Tommy molded a pink penis out of what remained of the Play-Doh that Janna bought Chooch last week. Chooch NEVER puts the lids on and I wind up sweeping up colored rocks within a week. I hate Play-Doh more than any other toy, except maybe all those Tickle Me Elmo fuckers.
Weener cleavage.
Chooch couldn’t wait for Laura to get there so she could help him with the science project kit she got him for Christmas. You might think having the sweat of strangers rubbed on you in the club is the only way to spend New Year’s Eve, but we made volcanoes and some kind of disgusting yet addicting pink goo that I absolutely could not stop dunking my fingertips in even after it wigged me out to the point of yelping like a girl seeing her first weener on accident.
Earlier in the day, Chooch was being a total fucker so I uninvited him to the party, which made him cry, and this in turn made Henry sigh exasperatedly and say, “You can’t say things like that to him; you’re his mother.” So for 2012, I’m going to buy some Mom Manuals.
After a few minutes of me sitting there, staring at my pink-stained fingertips in some kind of bizarre googly-eyed awe, Henry sneered, “If I had known you’d get this excited, I’d have given you a bowl of cornstarch and water a long time ago.” When Laura first arrived, she asked for a “Blame Henry” pin, but after about a half hour of my antics, she mumbled, “I think I’ll take that Poor Henry pin now.” Turncoat!
Jessy got me an APPLE RING, motherfuckers! A GODDAMN SPARKLING APPLE RING, OH I CAN HARDLY STAND IT! I spent most of the night admiring it; in fact, I even missed most of the countdown because I was so distracted by the glorious rays of crimson light emitting from my thumb. This could have been the perfect engagement ring if someone had been more proactive, just saying. (Operation: Propose or GTFO 2011 was clearly a shining success.)
I drank so much that I was sweating wine. Malachi imbibed his fair share, as well.
At the stoke of midnight, I tore off outside, down the front steps, and embarked on a shortbus journey to the land of inebriated celebrations. I have a vague recollection of Laura, Mike and Henry watching with moderate interest from inside the house. “Good thing there wasn’t any ICE out there,” Henry remarked when I came back inside after realizing I was the only one outside screaming and engaging in some sort of sad jumping jack mutation. Henry is always in Dad Mode, even after drinking vodka all night.
Later, I learned who my real friends were when I drunkenly got a pillow STUCK TO MY HEAD and no one helped save me.
It was a great way to say goodbye to 2011, which was a mostly wonderful year full of new friendships; rekindling old friendships; getting to finally meet my friend Andrea in person; fun trips; JONNY CRAIG; incredible shows; getting to hang out at the Alternative Press offices (this is destined to be one of my favorite memories); amusement parks and county fairs; having my birthday party at a roller rink; and Henry finally dropping some plus-sized, shit-filled baggage. It just sucks that now, whenever I think of 2011, I’m always going to think of Speck dying. But then I just remember all the wonderful friends who helped me through it, and that’s enough to make me smile again. Stoked for all the things I want to accomplish and experience in 2012! Happy New Year, you guys.
(Sorry to get all sappy and introspective. I’ll start being a petulant asshole again tomorrow.)
No tags for this post.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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We had Christmas dinner at Laura and Mike’s, after getting spoiled with presents. One of the gifts Laura got us is a set of these dark wine-colored velvet drapes. Henry was especially thrilled by this because he’s spent the last 10 years living in a house that has pink see-thru curtains on the front window. (My house, my choice!)
Henry, thinking of how he’ll be able to prance around in his underwear now without those pesky Mormon missionaries seeing him from the sidewalk.
So many new rings!
Root beer float, made totally with vodka. Laura likes getting me drunk and watching Henry frown.
No one wanted to read the directions, so this game was put back into the box just as fast as it was brought out.
Malachi came with us! (Yes, he’s named after Malachi from “Children of the Corn,” and yes, he’s a boy.)
Speaking of corn, Mike made the most glorious creamed corn I have ever had in my life. It had GOUDA in it.
Apparently, when I get drunk, I try and breastfeed dolls.
It was a really great evening, but Chooch was really wound up and even though Laura assured us that he wasn’t bothering them, his behavior was embarrassing to us, so we brought him home and then searched the house for the wolves that raised him.
No tags for this post.We went back to Union Dale yesterday, this time with a fully charged camera battery (apparently our spare is dead forever) and I had a moderate level of success this time. I was still a big pouty bitch and yelled at Henry a lot because obviously it’s his fault that I am an amateur photographer. (Blame Henry 2012 pins coming soon!) I am mostly satisfied with the results and now willing to admit that perhaps I need the Xanax hookup.
We went to Henry’s sister’s house tonight for some post-Christmas revelry. I specifically requested that we pick their mom up on the way because Judy has the best, oft-nonsensical stories.
A series of conversation twists had us talking about strip clubs, primarily a now-defunct club outside of Pittsburgh that not only had a swimming pool, but offered drive-thru services.
We kept pumping Henry for more insight, and he said, “I was never there!”
“Yeah right!” Kelly and I exclaimed in tandem.
“Well, not the drive-thru part!”
Judy was being unnaturally quiet during all of this, and with a thoughtful look on her face, she said, “One time I was in a backseat with another girl—”
Right away, we all got quiet.
“Mom, do I need to be drinking for this?” Kelly asked apprehensively.
“—-and the guys put a blanket over our faces so we wouldn’t see where they were taking us.”
Kelly, Henry and I all exchanged looks, unsure of what direction this was going.
“They took us somewhere in McKeesport—”
“To a strip club?” Kelly guessed.
“No, to an alley,” Judy corrected. “They were driving us down alleys.”
We were all laughing, but with more trepidation than mirth.
“For what?” Henry asked, totally perplexed.
“They were knocking on doors,” Judy calmly added.
“For drugs?” Kelly asked, horrified.
“Whores!” Judy shouted, like she couldn’t imagine why this was so hard to figure out. I nearly gave myself a migraine from laughing so hard.
“When was this?!” Henry asked in the high-pitched tone of a son disappointed in his mother.
“I don’t know, let me see. The 60s, no the 50s. The 60s. No, definitely the early 70s.”
“Oh my god, I was alive when you were knocking on doors for whores in alleys?!” Henry shouted.
“I mean, the 50s!” Judy cried, but she was laughing too hard for her retraction to be taken seriously.
During the course of the night, I also learned that Christmas in the 70s entailed Judy stomping on presents and then catching herself on fire. God love her. If only I could get her to guest post on here. Imagine all the Henry dirt she could share!
No tags for this post.I hope everyone enjoyed their holidays. Here is the card I made that hopefully is now safe to post on here. It’s a smorgasbord of shit that pops up on the blog.
In no particular order: Wacky Worm, Law Firm Lamb Cake, Ugly Dancer, Warped Tour*, cemetery shout out*, rollerskating, best/worst picture of me + deodorant commercial guy, bait shop, ghost hunting, pig mask, JONNY CRAIG. I sent this card to some people who don’t read my blog and I’m sure they were thoroughly confused. Maybe you are too, which is why there are handy hyperlinks to click. (* Do I seriously need to explain these ones, though?)
I already had the first batch sealed in envelopes and ready to go, and then Speck died. I felt so guilty that Marcy was on the card, and not her, that I made Henry print out stickers with her face on it, then I ripped open every envelope and added her to the cards. For the second batch, I had him photoshop her into it because it was breaking my heart to look at her every time I peeled off a sticker. (For the record, that is the ONLY part of this card that Henry contributed to.)
And now, thanks to the suggestion of my friend Octavia, a larger version of the Jonny Craig angel has been printed out, taped to a straw, and shoved down onto the top of our tree. It’s glorious!
Andrea said her favorite part is how I’m protectively clutching Chooch’s arm, because that would never happen in real life. This is so true!
Thank god Christmas is done-zo for another year.
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Finally, a reason to use the real camera! Not that I need a “reason,” but I’ve got to say, taking pictures with my iPhone and then uploading them straight to WordPress has really turned me into a lazy ass fauxtographer.
Henry had one responsibility all day: charge the camera batteries. Well, he did. Except the one is apparently dead forever and the other one he LEFT AT HOME. I managed to take maybe 3 pictures before the camera died and it was back to fauxtography for me. (Insert lots of screaming, swearing, crying and THIS IS THE WORST XMAS EVERing in between all of that though.)
Creepy Doll came with us. I haven’t officially named him, though I HAVE been calling him Buddy a lot. I thought it would be cute to recreate these two pictures from 2007:
Maybe that can happen when I go back with my real camera.
Every Christmas I say, “Next year’s picnic will be better, we’ll plan ahead and make it good.” And then a year goes by and there we are, snatching bags of chips and stale processed baked “goods” off the shelves of CoGo’s, just like the year before. I guess it’s part of the tradition, eating convenience store crap in the cemetery. This year, they were out of egg nog though. Fuck!
As soon as we got out of the car, this wicked gust of wind kicked up out of nowhere and we were fighting to walk through it. It was actually pretty intimidating and I kept telling Henry that I felt it was pure evil and he was sort of giving me this look that read, “What? It doesn’t feel like you at all. It’s much warmer.” It’s weird how some days I can go to the cemetery and carry on my business (gutting hobos to sell to the bait shop) like nothing, but then other days I feel decidedly unwelcome. We wrapped up quickly and split.
I mean, I’m sure Creepy Buddy had nothing to do with it.
Take Two happens today.
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