Oct 252014
 

20141025-183151.jpg

We got Chooch’s school pictures back and I’m pleasantly surprised to report that he kept his cat bowtie on. (Actually, he took it off as soon as he got to school and then put it back on right before pictures were taken.)

20141025-183140.jpg

Then a week later, Henry finally took him to get his hair cut, so now he looks like a completely different kid. (I don’t know why he’s mean-mugging in this photo; he was so happy to be wearing his new cat Vans!)

20141025-201258.jpg

Henry bought Chooch the latest Sia album today (he sings “Chandelier” with such unabashed moxie that it actually brings tears to my eyes, WTF is happening to me) and you would have thought it was a puppy the way Chooch reacted. Then he immediately pulled out the liner notes and started reading the lyrics. One of the many reasons physical copies of albums will always trump digital.

And now I will leave you with this interesting quote that happened during pre-haunted house dinner at King’s tonight:

I asked Chooch what he would do if he woke up in an orphanage. He said, after killing the “orphanager,” he would “Annie his way home.” I wonder if that’s similar to last week when he accused Henry of “Kevin Bacon’ing” his way around.

(He’s been obsessed with Kevin Bacon ever since he watched Footloose last year.)

(I’m so behind on blogging that I pathetically wrote this in the car in between haunted houses.)

No tags for this post.
Oct 242014
 

20141024-201912.jpg

Fright Farm was scary 10/10. First, It took 1 HR to get there but I survived. When we got there the line was like 25 minutes long. There was a dj on a stage and then Taylor Swifts Shake it Off came on and i started twerking. And then 5 minutes for the Hayride to start. We have to sit at the edge of the Hayride it was like we would fall off. Next, after 45 or something minutes after the Hayride we went in the haunted house. It was scary 10/10. But Janna almost had a seizure. But she actually didn’t. Mommy was scared when I warned her about there was someone going to pop out. Then we went on the slide. I loved it. Janna almost fell on the steps so I warned her. She tripped on the steps one time. Last year, Erin and GOD FORBID JANNA said it took them forever to get through the maze. But when I was with them I said follow me but I purposely ran into a clown and he trapped me and Mommy in a corner and I ran. But the clown said to mommy Do you want to play death? She said No but the clown chased her in the maze. GODDFORBID JANNA tried to save her but the clown pushed her out of the way. She had a seizure. I said follow me again and they did and I lead to victory. Finally, We went to the last part. We got blindfolded and had to follow a rope. But sometimes it got higher and I couldn’t reach it so mommy said she had it and then It got lower and I could touch it again. I was scared like so bad I could cry and my eyes were closed and I almost fell asleep. We kept touching people and they said we were in line. But Erin’s blindfold fell off and they pulled it back up. We finally got out of terrifying death creepy maze like idiotic mean place. Then I had Hot Coco because it was freezing like a Winter Wonderland. Walking In A Winter Wonderland. When we were leaving Chandelier came on and that was my favorite part. In conclusion, That’s how I felt at Riches Fright Farm.

20141024-201919.jpg

No tags for this post.
Oct 232014
 

20141023-121600.jpg

Last night, Janna and I took Chooch to Rich’s Farm. This post is not really about that. (Chooch claims he will be guest-blogging about this and Castle Blood tonight; WE’LL SEE.)

This post is actually about how he and Janna could have easily filled in as Dorothy and Rose for Kristy’s Golden Ghouls group costume at Zombiefest last week.

Before we left Fright Farm, Janna decided to be nice and buy Chooch some hot chocolate. On the way back to the car, he spilled some of it.

“Did you spill your hot chocolate?” Janna asked, noting that he had stopped and was looking at his pants.

“No, I pissed myself, Janna,” Chooch said dryly. “YES, I spilled my hot chocolate!”

I mean, that haunted house was fucking awesome, but this might have been the highlight for me.

No tags for this post.
Oct 202014
 

Livermore is a supposedly haunted cemetery in Blairsville, PA. There are so many conflicting stories on the Internet (HARD TO IMAGINE – it’s outrageous how many people think that this is the cemetery from Night of the Living Dead) but I’ll just summarize by telling you that there was a flood at some point and people died. Or they didn’t. You don’t come here for history lessons.

DON’T LIE!

I know you just come here to do shots every time I squirt out a typo.

20141020-125236.jpg

I thought it would be fun to stop for a quick visit since we were about to drive past it yesterday on our way back from Knoebel’s; it’s been at least 10 years since we were there last. I could tell Henry wasn’t exactly down with the slight detour, but he did it anyway because I own him.

It’s not really all that scary there during the day, because the end of Livermore Rd spills out into a makeshift parking area at the entrance of a bike trail, which is right near the cemetery entrance. In other words, our parked car was wishing running distance in case something wicked happened back there.

Hopefully.

First we walked along the old train bridge because we like to live dangerously. BUT NOT TOO DANGEROUSLY! I kept yelling at Chooch for being too close to the edge, I didn’t trust that FLIMSY FENCE.

20141020-125248.jpg

What a beautiful spot for a family portrait, I thought to myself and then made my puppets jump. This one is definitely a Christmas card contender.

20141020-125257.jpg

I got suddenly smart and had us face the other way. I’m a good piktchur-taker.

20141020-125307.jpg

20141020-125316.jpg

Chooch and I were like WHY ARE THESE KEYS HANGING HERE and then Henry had to go and spoil all of our fantasies by going into a long, dull speech about how someone probably found them and hung them there in case the key-owners came back looking for them and we were like “STFU you’re stupid and boring.”

I’m actually surprised Henry didn’t take them for his gratuitous key collection that he keeps dangling in a clump from his belt like he’s ready to audition for the role of Schneider on a 2014 revamp of “One Day At a Time.”

After about ten minutes of being too close to the river, I quickly tired of all this supposed beautiful scenery and we all walked back toward the car, which was parked near the path that leads to the cemetery.

 

20141020-125323.jpg

 

This gate literally only keeps out truck-sized people.

20141020-125337.jpg

 

Henry REALLY didn’t want to do this.

20141020-125344.jpg

 

Pretty sure this was written in crayon. Also surprising that “cemetery” is spelled correctly.

20141020-125351.jpg

 

Henry wouldn’t come into the cemetery with us, opting instead to loaf (haha, loaf) near the handmade Livermore sign, hands in-pocket, head nervously whipping over his shoulder. He claims he was more worried about townies than ghosts. Oh ok.

20141020-125359.jpg
As soon as Chooch and I crossed the threshold into the graveyard, I experienced a pretty strong episode of déjà vu and it occurred to me that I was wrong: we have definitely been there before with Chooch. He must have been two and I remember that it was about to storm.
20141020-125406.jpg

SUDDENLY WE HEARD A TRAIN! IT SOUNDED LIKE IT WAS COMING STRAIGHT FOR US OMGGGGG GHOST TRAIN.

20141020-125413.jpg

CHOOCH’S INITIALS!!

Earlier, I asked Chooch if he had anything to add and he mumbled from the couch, “No. Yeah! Tell them* about the tombstone with my name!”

“I already did,” I said.

“Oh. Then…no,” he mumbled and fell back into his stupid video game.

*(I wonder who he thinks comprises “them.” Cats, probably. My blog is the one all the cats read.)

20141020-125422.jpg
I thought the trees were making weird noises but Chooch said they sounded like normal tree-speak to him, so maybe I was just being paranoid. But it really sounded like the one tree was trying to spoil the end of The Crying Game.

I don’t know why I thought that but it’s late and I’m writing this in bed with the lights off like I’m telling the Internet a ghost story where the ghosts forget to show up. RSVPs don’t mean shit anymore.
20141020-125429.jpg
We rejoined Henry after awhile and headed back to the car.

“Look,” Henry quietly said. “A squirrel.”

“WHERE?!” I cried as if this was Jurassic Park and Henry hadn’t just pointed out something that we see 61818293 times a day in our backyard.

Meanwhile, Chooch was walking with such Frankenstein-esque force upon the leaves that it sounded like vertebrae were crunching and cracking beneath his feet. “WHAT? WHO?! WHERE?!” he screamed extra loud to ensure Henry, the squirrel, the squirrels cousins in Pittsburgh, and all of the restless Livermore souls could hear over the sound of his leaf-murdering.

Henry sighed. “Remind me never to take you two idiots on a stakeout.”

And I will now end this with the original post I wrote on LiveJournal after Henry and I first visited this place in October of 2004.

++++++++++++++++++

Henry and I decided to try and scope out the Livermore Cemetery yesterday, during daylight. Livermore was once a town about an hour from Pittsburgh, that was flooded in the 1800’s. So of course it’s haunted there. The road that leads to where the town once sat is scary in itself; surrounded by woods with an occasional farm house here and there. The road eventually leads to a gate and you have to walk the rest of the way.

I would have been less frightened if the sun was shining, but it was miserably overcast. We walked along a trail for thirty minutes or so, over two old railroad bridges, with water on either side of us. Supposedly, if the water level is low enough, you can see the foundations of the town. I couldn’t see jack shit, plus I was cranky because the quest to find the cemetery seemed hopeless. Also, I hadn’t fed my fat face in like, two hours! I demanded that we turn around and go back to the car immediately before I died of malnourishment. Even walking proved to be a struggle for me, and I kept falling. My legs just kept giving out on me because I was so hungry. Henry, never picking up on the emergency of these situations, laughed at me and kept walking. Then I thought I saw a skull! But it was only a soccer ball.

As we crossed over the last bridge, Henry happened to look up to the left, and he shouted, “THERE! OVER YONDER!” And there it was, the Livermore Cemetery. A few lone tombstones could be seen on the edge of the hill, between the trees. Maybe it was just the sight of the cemetery itself that heightened my senses, but if I believed in God, I would swear to him right now that the atmosphere around us changed. The wind kicked up and there was a noticeable chill in the air. This is the part that elicited the trademarked Skeptical Father look from Henry: something grabbed my leg. Would I lie to you guys? It’s true, I tried to lift my right leg to continue walking, and something held the back of my jeans onto the ground for around three seconds. When I turned around to look, there was positively nothing that my jeans could have stuck to, and there was nothing on the bottom of my shoes.

From this point on, all I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears, and I grabbed Henry’s arm and power-walked him back toward the car, whipping my head over my shoulders every other second. I even made myself dizzy. I haven’t been this lethally afraid since we stayed overnight at the Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast last year.

My hair was slapping me in the face from the heavy wind. I reached up to swipe a strand of hair from my mouth, causing Henry to go ballistic on me.

Henry: “What did you just do!?”
Me: “Uh, I wiped the hair away from my mouth.”
Henry: “Oh, I thought you made the sign of the cross. I was going to say, if you’re crossing yourself and you don’t even believe in god, we have problems.”

There was a trail to the left of where we parked the car, and it was certain that that was the way into the cemetery. Henry pleaded with me to walk up with him, stating that “nothing was going to happen.” Now, I’ve seen enough movies in my twenty five years for this claim to make me lose control. “DON’T YOU EVER SAY THAT! YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW YOU STUPID ASSHOLE! DON’T YOU KNOW THEY WAIT AROUND FOR SOMEONE TO SAY THAT!? GET IN THE CAR!!” I adopted my ‘hissing through clenched teeth’ way of speaking for this moment; I felt it was the most fitting in my cache of tones.

And so we left. We ate at a restaurant that hosted the weirdest assortment of humanity I’ve ever witnessed. It was great fun, and it made me feel a lot better about myself. I especially felt better after I inhaled a soggy grilled cheese and fries and slurped my way through two cups of coffee. They had Presidential sundaes: Bushberry and Kerryberry (and strawberry for those who are undecided). I thought it would be so cute if Henry and I ordered our respective picks, but he didn’t want to play along. We left after I was becoming dangerously too engrossed in analyzing the differences between the two sundaes. (The Bushberry variety cost more!)

Something about the Valley Dairy restaurant made my courage surge, so I slammed my fist on the dashboard and demanded that we go back to Livermore straight away.

When we got out of the car after returning, we noticed that someone had dumped a garbage bag off the side of the path. Henry, being the curious garbage picker that he is, decided that he needed to have a closer inspection of the contents. Laying on the top was a piece of mail. Who litters a giant bag of garbage and leaves an envelope with their name and address on top? Ironically, the zip code on it was the same as ours. We thought that was rather coincidental considering we were nowhere near home. AN OMEN, perhaps. Livermore is partial to collecting souls from the 15226 area?

After a minute of silent deliberation, I finally heeded and followed Henry up the path. It was blocked off after a few feet, but this was not to deter Henry. He was eager to show off his trespassing prowess.

I’m getting antsy with this, and it also makes me feel kind of creeped out as I rehash it, so I’ll speed it up.

We came across the entrance to the cemetery

and crossed over the threshold. I thought for sure the sky was going to start hailing fireballs at this point, but everything was actually very quiet. From this point on, the time we spent in the midst of crumbling tomb stones was very leisurely and calm. I even started to zone about ice cream sandwiches, so it really couldn’t have been all that bad there, right?

Naturally, we couldn’t leave until we argued over the camera settings, which is customary for us. It certainly lightened the mood a bit. Until, as we began to walk back to the entrance, Henry pointed out that while it was windy everywhere else, it was absolutely still in the cemetery. Shut up, right? His observation made my heart threaten cardiac arrest for the second time in two hours, and I said, “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean that it’s haunted, right?” Henry shrugged and kept walking. Shrugging is not a good enough answer for me and I began to tug on his arm, begging him to tell me why it wasn’t windy. The phenomenon didn’t seem to be plaguing him as it was me, and he mumbled some half assed Discovery Channel explanation. I paused, letting it sink in, and said, “No. It’s because it’s haunted. OH MY GOD IT’S HAUNTED!! OH MY GOD THERE’S NO WIND!!! EVERYTHING IS DEAD IN HERE AND WE’RE GOING TO DIE TOO!!!!”

And then we got in the car and left. The end.


And the pièce de résistance:

Ha ha.

I mean, what? You don’t think that’s real?

No tags for this post.
Oct 062014
 

20141006-105008.jpg

Chooch bought some shitty Leaning Tower of Pisa puzzle at Goodwill. Anyone with a cat knows how impossible puzzle-doing is. Once, way back when, I was so excited to finally put in the last of a 5,000 piece puzzle, only to have asshole Marcy PUSH THE WHOLE THING OFF THE COFFEE TABLE.

She might be 15 years older now, but she’s still a fucking puzzle menace. Chooch found this out first hand Friday night.

Me: She’s just trying to help you!

Chooch: I DON’T NEED ANY HELP!

Marcy: I fucking hate puzzles.

Chooch was so angry that he gave her the finger on his way to bed and I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to tell him not to do that.

20141006-105016.jpg

Saturday morning, Chooch and I were watching Youtube videos of The Front Bottoms when I decided to see if there were any from Riot Fest. I found one and immediately said, “WE MIGHT BE IN THIS ONE, CHOOCH” because I could tell right away that it was being filmed by some doucher in the VIP area and we were standing right by the fence that separated Us from Them. AND WE WERE! Well, Henry was. I was standing to Henry’s left so I’m blocked by that dude in the white shirt and hat. (Which is funny, because I was originally standing on the other side of Henry but then hated the people in front of me for god knows what reason, I rarely even need one anymore, so I moved over.)

Anyway, this is basically what went down

ME: OMG HAHAHAHAHA THERE’S DADDY! HAHAHAHA YOU CAN SEE HIS DUMBASS BLUE FLANNEL!!

CHOOCH: OMG HAHAHAHAH WHAT AN IDIOT!!!!!

ME: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Henry: *frown*

CHOOCH: *LAUGHING SO HARD HE FELL AND HURT HIS LEG*

HENRY: It’s not that funny.

Here’s the video if you want to laugh about it!!!

20141006-105025.jpg

Later, I went to my pal Lisa’s house and tried to teach her daughter Gigi how to say HASHTAG SELFIE and then I told Lisa the Front Bottoms video story and she shook her head and said, “You’re so weird. Seriously. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like in your head” and maybe she said other things but I was too busy laughing to the point of tears all over again. OMG what a hilarious Saturday.

20141006-105315.jpg

Later still, Chooch and I went to Huston’s Haunted Hollow in Somerset with Janna, which meant Janna had to spend 3+ hours in the car with us. This picture was taken when she abandoned us to go inside a gas station, which was really pretty irresponsible of her because who knows what could have happened to us. We’re susceptible to kidnapping.

On the way there, Chooch started talking about Pi and then very seriously asked us, “Well then, what’s Pi + Cake?” Speaking of cake, there was amazing post-haunt cake at a diner in Somerset, but I’ll come back to that later in the week. Because you know how I love to make something small into A Thing.

20141006-105052.jpg

 

On Sunday, I let Henry wear my Emarosa “Versus” beanie and I love Henry in beanies in general, but the fact that he was wearing an Emarosa made me have a crush on him, so I kept squeezing his forearm while he was driving because I’m eerily attracted to his forearms (I’m niche, what can I say) and he kept frowning at me. And then I took this picture even though he was like, “Please don’t take my picture, I’m so fucking sick of pictures.”

20141006-105100.jpg

 

Chris and Monica had a pickle party! They had other foods too, and tons of homemade wine, and it was just a really great way to spend a Sunday afternoon, even though Monica kept making happy exclamations over the STEELERS game. I actually looked at the TV for a few minutes and allowed her to tell me things. It was OK. I’m still alive.

Chooch was doing his weird baby-talk thing again, and I think it might be a social tic for real, which makes me sad because he never used to seem socially anxious before. Although, I never was before either. That was the only low point to a weekend full of hangouts and haunted houses.

No tags for this post.
Sep 282014
 
  • If you have never been to Chicago, make sure you research the area your staying in. So when you come back the first night someones not jacked up against a police car outside your hotel room window.

20140928-210648.jpg

  • Make sure you take the proper clothing, ie: Boots, jacket so you don’t have to run out and buy them in a hurry.
  • Find a way to and from the festival that doesn’t put your life in danger by seedy so called “Uber” drivers, only to find out on the last day you could have drove and parked 100 yards from where you needed to go.
  • Learn to dodge and weave between people with minimal damage to you and others.
  • Bring lots of cash, for the girlfriend that wants everything.
  • Bring an appetite, the food is awesome.
  • Do not be so quick to say “yes we can go” before you actually look in to what riot fest is.

BANDS I DISLIKED (hate is a pretty strong word)

Pianos Become the Teeth – not my style. Like I have a style.
La Dispute – they go along with the other one.

I didn’t dislike as much as Erin thought I did. Maybe it’s just more that I didn’t want to be there.

FAVORITE PARTS:
Seeing the Cure.

IF MY MOM ASKED WHAT IT WAS LIKE, I WOULD TELL HER:
Nothing. She wouldn’t understand.

WOULD I GO AGAIN NEXT YEAR:
I don’t know yet.

THOUGHTS ON ANTHONY GREEN:
I don’t have any.

WARPED TOUR VS RIOT FEST:
Neither.

BANDS I WANTED TO SEE BUT DIDN’T GET TO:
Cheap Trick.

To summarize, all and all it wasn’t a bad three days, the rain, mud and cold didn’t help me like Riot fest. Though knowing that Erin was the happiest shes been in awhile was well worth it. Will i do it again, too soon to say. I’m sure by January or whenever presale starts ill start getting hounded.

No tags for this post.
Sep 082014
 

All day at work, I kept obsessively checking the tracking info for my Emarosa preorder bundle.

“Out for delivery.”

All day long.

Longest fucking delivery route of all time.

Henry picked me up from work at 5:30 and on the way home, I noticed that the status had FINALLY been changed to “delivered.”

I did an uncoordinated air-pump thing.

“Have you been home at all today? WAS IT THERE?!” I screamed at the side of Henry’s bristled cheek as he steered the car around potholes.

“I was home for a little bit but it wasn’t there,” Henry replied in the calm voice reserved for cloud-watching with kittens and lacking the URGENCY required when one is discussing the status of an Emarosa album delivery.

My heart began its nervous jig inside my chest. A parade of lost packages drove through my memory like a fucking funeral procession, my Emarosa bundle in the hearse.

I checked my email again.

“It says it was delivered at 2:06!” I cried, my wildly gesticulating heart inviting my cheeks to join the panic party by pumping warm blood into them.

“Well, it wasn’t there when I was home,” Henry mumbled.

He pulled into the driveway and I craned my neck to see the porch.

Empty.

He parked the car in the driveway and Chooch took his good old time getting out of the backseat so I ran around the front of the car, practically knocking Henry back into the drivers seat, and raced up the driveway. I yanked the screen door open to see if my package was laying in between the doors BUT IT WASN’T.

Henry had caught up with me by then and as he was unlocking the door, I was on the cusp of tears.

“PLEASE TELL ME YOU WERE JOKING AND IT’S IN THE HOUSE!” I screamed at him.

“It’s not here!” Henry insisted as I pushed my way into the house and ran around wildly.

He’s right, I thought as I looked at the package-less coffee table. It didn’t come. SOMEONE STOLE IT!!

I was eight, thirteen, nineteen, twenty-three, thirty-two all over again and not getting what I wanted for Christmas. I was just about to shriek, “THIS IS THE WORST DAY EVER AND I WISH I WAS DEAD!!!!!” when I noticed the MerchNow package resting surreptitiously on a dining room stool.

I snatched it and caught Henry laughing at me. And I started to cry.

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?!” I screamed, and my whole body WAS SHAKING because that is how much this shit matters to us kids, ok?

And then I proceeded to rip the package open, smash the Versus beanie on my dumb head, hug the CD, kiss the vinyl, put on my Emarosa shirt, and string up the fox ring on the included chain.

20140908-184025.jpg

20140908-184039.jpg

20140908-184046.jpg

Today is a good day.

No tags for this post.
Aug 262014
 

Guys! Did you know that Glenn is having a baby? Well, his wife is, anyway. So we had a baby shower for him today at work!

There was a group card for everyone to sign, but….come on. I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to ridicule Glenn in front of the department once again. So I made my own card.

20140826-140023.jpg

20140826-140050.jpg
It’s just too easy sometimes.
20140826-140015.jpg

20140826-141502.jpg

And then Glenn had to pose for pictures and pass around my card for further humiliation. In other words: IT WAS A GOOD DAY.

No tags for this post.
Aug 242014
 

Oh boy, has today been a day. Actually, you could say that for the whole weekend. Some exceptionally high points with some shitty lows sprinkled in. You know, for good measure. Keep that shit balanced, I guess. Definitely the highest point of the weekend was Kaitlin’s wedding yesterday! (That gets its own post, though, obvi.) But a low point was drinking waaaay too much for my low tolerant body and then basically laying awake, miserable, from 4AM on. This was my expression at many points throughout the day today:

20140824-172541.jpg

I had a fight with the neighbor yesterday. A parent fight. Just what I wanted, you know? I’m like, BITCH CAN’T YOU SEE I’M TRYNA TO PAINT MY FUCKING NAILS AND LISTEN TO EMAROSA? STEP OFF. Seriously, one of the worst parts of being a parent is DEALING WITH OTHER PARENTS. This is the same bitch who accused Chooch of punching her son in the face and giving him a bloody lip at school, when their teacher flat out said it DID NOT HAPPEN. And then they expected me to walk their kid to school every day last year?

Anyway, apparently Chooch kicked him yesterday (in the balls, lol) and THIS IS THE SECOND TIME IT’S HAPPENED AND IT’S GOTTA STOP! ONE OF US IS GOING TO HAVE TO MOVE! MY SON IS A FUCKING BULLY! These are these things she was screaming in my face immediately when I opened the door after she was BANGING ON IT seemingly with a sledgehammer. And Chooch was standing next to her, crying.

I’ve seen these two idiots playing together (which I don’t know why they even bother since they clearly don’t like each other) and they both do it to each other. They’re boys. They play rough. Yes, it gets out of hand and they’ll pout separately for a half hour, then go back outside.

So she’s screaming this shit at me without actually even looking at my face and then storms off before I can even really get a word in, which is definitely for the best because I fly off the handle at an alarming pace and I’m much bigger than her meth-addicted, drug-scabbed frame.

She retreated to her house and I called Henry on the phone and started screaming to him about it. I was shaking so bad and he was like, “Don’t stoop to her white trash level.”

I KNOW, I’M TRYING!

I talked to Chooch about it and he didn’t deny it. But then he calmly told me the other part of the story, which is where the kid rips Chooch’s phone from his hands and then shoves him to the ground when he asks for it back. And I believe this because I’ve seen that oaf-kid do these things and there’s not a doubt in my mind. So I asked, “Did his parents see all of this?” and he said no BECAUSE THEY WEREN’T OUTSIDE. But they heard their lame kid do his patented fake cry (honestly, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve scowled at him when he’s pulled this shit in front of me) so his mom came running out and started screaming because that is 100% all the Yinzer bitch knows how to do and let me just tell you how hard it is for a person who doesn’t speak like a yokel to decipher what the hell is being said/screamed.

This was the lowest low of the whole weekend, and I started drinking as soon as I got to Kaitlin’s wedding reception, because NO, JUST NO.

Then today, another mom came over to talk to me and basically sided with me because she spends a lot of time around both kids (her kid is 6, so she makes sure she’s outside most of the time when they’re all playing together) and she said that the bully kid’s mom yells at Chooch A LOT without ever seeing what happened, and she says things like, “You’re not innocent” and has her son spouting off things like, “Your parents think you’re so perfect.”

Yes, we think he is SO FUCKING PERFECT. Bitch, STFU. I don’t think my son is perfect but I think that he’s a boy and this is the shit that boys do, if you don’t want your precious cargo getting nicked, then don’t let him out of his room. I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO TELL YOU.

Other Mom also said that she sees a lot of these fights and that—shocker—Chooch isn’t the one who starts them. But god forbid he defends himself. And she also said that Chooch is always the one to try to make up and move on, but the other kid will say things like, “No, you’re stupid.”

He also calls people homos and faggots, so you see the savory sort of people we’re dealing with here. If I had 100% control of the situation, I wouldn’t let Chooch play with him AT ALL. But they are drawn together like destructive magnets.

20140824-172432.jpg

 

I felt pretty good after that conversation. And then we went to Station Street Hot Dog for lunch, and I felt even better. And then BILLY OCEAN came on while we were waiting for our hot dogs and I was like, “OH SUNDAY, YOU SEXY DAY YOU.”

20140824-172439.jpg

 

Remember my post about Henry on Friday? Yeah, forget that. I have a new boyfriend now. THIS GUY. ^^^^

20140824-172638.jpg

Also, when I was talking to Nice Mom, she interrupted herself at one point to gush about how much Chooch looks like me and I was like, “LADY YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH THAT MEANS TO ME.” Everyone thinks he looks like Henry and not me at all, which makes me sad because I think we look a lot alike. And then later, I was being my typical animated self which involved me pulling faces to get my point across, and she yelled, “OMG I SEE YOUR SON MAKING THAT FACE ALL OF THE TIME!”

20140824-172450.jpg

 

I got a vegetarian taco hot dog, yessss.

20140824-172508.jpg

 

We took everything to the cemetery for a picnic on rocks.

20140824-172515.jpg

 

You know what else Nice Mom told me? That bully kid’s mom told her that Chooch doesn’t talk to her kid at all in school, and if he does, it’s only to pick on him, but then he turns around expects her son to play with him all summer.

ARE.YOU.FUCKING.KIDDING.ME. First of all, Chooch tries to keep his distance from him because that a-hole gets him in trouble all of the time. Every year, the teachers learn that they have to keep them separated. I actually JUST pointed this out to Henry a few weeks ago, how it’s convenient for him to play with Chooch in the summer when he’s got no one else, and he’s guilting Chooch into buying him ice cream from the ice cream man. (THIS HAPPENED!!!! I WAS LIVID!! THAT A-HOLE’S MOM WAS RIGHT THERE TOO AND NEVER EVEN BOTHERED TO OPEN HER FUCKING PURSE, OMG I HATE THIS WHITE TRASH FAMILY SO BAD.) But then I KNOW he’s going to turn around and go back to being a super-dick to Chooch once they’re in school again. HE knocks on OUR door! Chooch never initiates it!

Ugh, I miss the days when Chooch’s only friends were adults.

20140824-172523.jpg

 

Henry yelled at Chooch for “getting moss on his pants,” thereby furthering his passionate stance on the fluffy green stuff.

Then we went to the worst Target in the city, which is always full of college kids and hipsters, and Target is usually such a happy place for me, BUT NOT THIS ONE. And then Henry bitched because we spent $100 more than he wanted to and I was like, “OH OK BITCH JUST GO RETURN ALL OF MY STUFF” and he was like, “NO I DON’T CARE, I WAS JUST SAYING” and then I was already still so mad about having to weave and wind through so many hipsters, it was like knowing what a damn Mumford & Sons concert must be like, so I just started yelling incoherent things and then bitched because it smelled in the car AND WHY DOESN’T HENRY JUST CLEAN IT ALREADY OMG.

So then he was like ,”Do you still want ice cream?” and I was like “OMG yes I almost forgot!” so then it was going to be a high point again, going to Oh Yeah! to get ice cream, but there was a long line with only one person working and my Perfect Son was being decidedly Imperfect so I stormed out and marched back to the car and Henry was so annoyed when they finally caught up to me.

ANOTHER LOW POINT.

But then we decided to just go and get some of these amazing Leona’s ice cream sandwiches but then got into another argument because he was making me look up where we could buy them and I hate when he makes me do that because then he will unfailingly ask impossible questions, such as, “What is the address?” and I’m like “I DON’T KNOW STOP PRESSURING ME!” and then he will yell, “FUCK YOU WE’RE GOING HOME!” and then I’m like, “OH THIS IS TYPICAL, THE ONLY THING I WANTED ALL DAY AND NOW I CAN’T HAVE IT” and he will scream, “THE LAST 457 THINGS YOU GOT TODAY ALREADY WERE SUPPOSEDLY THE ONLY THINGS YOU WANTED TODAY!” and then Chooch will be like, “Does wherever we’re going have wifi?” and we’re all like, “UGHUGHUGH.”

But then we eventually found a market in Lawrenceville that sells Leona’s and also tubs of vegan chicken salad!!!! So we bought that and each got an ice cream sandwich and we were all happy again. Mostly.

20140824-172534.jpg

Then we came home and I started working on this piece called “People To Watch Over You.”

20140824-181028.jpg

 

Chooch goes back to school tomorrow. I’m sad that summer is over, but it was time. Yesterday’s blow-up definitely proves that.

What a fucking bipolar weekend, you guys.

No tags for this post.
Aug 192014
 

Henry’s mom has been staying over a lot this summer to help out with watching Chooch since my schedule changed and Henry’s work is constantly jerking him around. Now, don’t get it twisted, I like Judy a lot. BUT if I have to hear one more second of the Family Feud music, Ruby might make a comeback.

(Ruby is my bi-polar psycho personality, for those who haven’t been graced with her presence.)

Try to imagine how you felt when you were 16 and too many grown ups were around. That’s how I feel. It’s bad enough when it’s just Henry!! Now I’m surrounded!!

Last night, I pouted in my bedroom and listened to Touché Amore REALLY LOUDLY and waited for Henry to come in and ask me what’s wrong so I could cry NOTHING!!! UGH!!!

Judy’s downstairs watching the Bachelor now I think. Sigh.

You guys? My life. This is it. What a fantastic summer this has been.

Tonight, I’ve been replaying the same Emarosa song over and over and crying because I am the ultimate emo song personified these days. Ever since I heard them play this song on the Devil’s Dance tour in May, it has haunted to me. It makes me feel like my heart has been carved and sculpted into a wigwam and I’m curled up inside it. YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN DON’T LIE, FUCKER.

^ That song title is wrong, FYI.

I salivate every time I think of this upcoming album. Less than a month until it’s released (I preordered it of course)! And then a week later I’ll be seeing them in Chicago at Riot Fest and that will make up for my lame summer.

(Oh boy, now Henry’s here to completely not listen when I try to talk about my FEELINGS.)

No tags for this post.
Aug 122014
 

For months, I had been giddily anticipating a visit from the only Flyers fans I like. Terri and Christian got into Pittsburgh the day after my birthday (WHICH IS JULY 30, PUT IT IN YOUR BOOK THINGS) and came over to hang out that night. Terri baked me chocolate chip cookies, you guys, and they were incredible but CHOOCH somehow seemed to eat most of them because “Those are mommy’s birthday cookies” means nothing to him.

We spent most of the time talking about music (which put me on a Felix Culpa kick, so thank you guys for rejuvenating my love of that band), shows that we’ve been to, bands we’ve met (Terri fucking drove Greg Dulli to his bus one time; how do you even recover from that??) and then Chooch was like, “OK, enough. Now you will all sit here and watch me play Xbox.”

Like myself, Terri and Christian are both vegetarians, so I was happy that I’d get to eat at places that actually offer more vegetarian fare than just shitty freezer aisle veggie burgers, because most of my carnivorous friends would rather than die than throw me a (tempeh) bone and go to a vegetarian restaurant. They’d just point out that I could at least get a salad, even at the meatiest of places. And even on my birthday! Vegetarians get no love.

That being said, Christian and Terri picked me up from work the next day around noon and we went to the OTB Cafe on the Southside, where seitan ruled the menu and we all ate happily beneath a ceiling laden with bicycles. I had a veggie burger with PB&J, go fuck yourself.

20140803-102007.jpg

Terri ordered fried pickles and seitan wings for us to share and I can’t remember the last time my belly was so happy. Goddammit.

Also? Our waitress looked like a young, bleached blond Mariel Hemingway with tattoos and gauges. And that will probably be the last time I think about Mariel Hemingway’s existence for another 20 years.

Afterward, we pissed around on Carson Street for a little while, because Henry was supposed to meet us but then his work fucked him over (or maybe that really is actually his euphemism for “Sorry, I’m banging my mistress”). Terri wanted to buy some Pittsburgh-centric magnets but we couldn’t find any and the one time I bothered to ask some I was sneered at like I was wearing orange in a city of black and gold (oh shit, I just realized that I actually was, too). When I was a kid, there was a store at the mall that sold a bunch of Pittsburgh souvenirs. It was called—wait for it—-The Pittsburgh Store. I couldn’t think of a single place comparable to that nowadays. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Time to expand my Etsy empire to include tourist-y Pittsburgh magnets.

Magnet-less, I took them to Dave’s Music Mine, where we flipped through bins of used CDs and shared our dirtiest, guiltiest pleasure albums.

20140803-102017.jpg

 

If I cared  a little more, I could have gotten my Christmas shopping for Henry out of the way.

20140803-102040.jpg

 

On the way out, Terri mentioned that she had the Livin’ La Vida Loca single from back in the day.

I didn’t even have that!” I laughed mockingly, to which she cooly replied, “Oh please, after all the albums you just admitted having? I think you’re way worse.”

And she’s totally right. But I just can’t get rid of my 90210 soundtrack, OK?!

Then it was time to ride the Incline, which is a true Pittsburgh installation. It’s essentially a funicular that goes up and down Mt. Washington, which arguably provides the best view of the my fair city. Anytime someone is visiting from out of town, it’s imperative to take  them for a spin up and down a treacherous hillside. It’s just what we do ’round here and I never really think anything of it.

But this time, I was with rational people who value safety. The plan was to park at Station Square and ride the Incline up, but as we passed the track on the way to the parking lot, Christian piped up from the backseat and said, “THAT’S IT?! No. I’m not riding that.”

I thought he was joking at first, but then I looked out the window and tried to see the incline from his perspective, and you know what guys? That’s some fucking scary shit, for real. I still laughed at him for it, though. Terri was still partially on board, probably because she was driving and didn’t get to really take long, lingering looks at it like Christian had.

20140803-102051.jpg

 

So I suggested that we just drive to the top of Mount Washington and then they could decide from there if they wanted to ride it because for some idiotic reason I thought that looking DOWN at the Incline would be so much more convincing. “Yes, you too can ride this super old-fashioned contraption clear down the side of a steep hill!”

“Is that it?!” Terri asked on t he drive up the hill as her car passed beneath the track. “Oh, well now that I’ve seen the underneath it, I’m definitely not going on.” And this prompted Christian to start muttering once again about how terrible of an idea Inclines are and how he can’t believe President Obama hasn’t put an end to this yet and why don’t we just skateboard down the hill, that would be safer.

20140803-102100.jpg

Alas, being at the top didn’t change their minds. It only solidified to them the fact that Pittsburghers are Sidney Crosby-loving reckless hillside travelers. Oh, how I laughed at them! But then my stomach flopped around like a fish chased out of water by shitty Katy Perry music blaring from a submarine. You know, just like that.

But we stayed on one of the overlooks long enough for me to take a touristy photo of them:

20140812-085804.jpg

Fuck yeah, Pittsburgh!

After getting some iced coffee at Grand Brew, Terri and Christian went back to their hotel, presumably to “rest” but really they just wanted privacy to watch a bunch of videos of the Incline doing terrible things.

Later that night, we all met up at Page’s Dairy for ice cream, which is just as much of a Pittsburgh-y institution as anything else, so suck it, Incline. I apparently hate the Incline now. PEER PRESSURE.

No tags for this post.
Aug 032014
 

It rained most of the morning and afternoon here in Pittsburgh, so I treated myself to a binge-session of the new (and final) season of The Killing. (This TV series has seriously affected me in some mysterious ways and I am so happy that Netflix revived it long enough for the series to get a proper wrap-up, but also devastated that it’s donezo.)

Then the rain broke, so I made Chooch go for a walk with me to try to balance things out. I hate being even a little sloth-like. This is why, even when I’m sick, I don’t rest. I brought my camera because I’m trying to get back into the habit of taking pictures of Chooch. I’ve been L-Z when it comes to using my camera lately, and then when I’m like, “Henry I want a new camera, buy me a new camera, Henry” he’s like “Why? You barely use the one you have.” True story. So if you’re ever thinking, “Why is she getting worse at this instead of better?”, well, that’s why.

But at least I’m getting a little better at remembering to bring the camera with me. Baby steps!

IMG_8328

We walked to the abandoned Bradley School, which used to be a school for deaf kids. (Or blind? I’ve been there often enough, kicking around shards of broken glass, that you would think I would know this.)

IMG_8276

IMG_8327

IMG_8333

This was Chooch’s idea. “Take a picture of me looking evil, and then photoshop a dead girl behind me.”

IMG_8318 IMG_8307

Chooch wants me to call this one “I’m Beautiful and Fabulous.” Done.

IMG_8305

It occurred to me, halfway through our fauxtoshoot, that no one knew where we were. So I texted Henry and told him “you know, in case something happens to us.” And all he said was “ok.” No “good luck” or “please be careful” or “OMG I”m so afraid for you” or “PLEASE DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS.”

Not even a reminder to be mindful of the “CAUTION: ASBESTOS” signs posted all over the property.

IMG_8320 IMG_8291

Don’t worry: we kept out.

IMG_8279-Recovered

IMG_8302 IMG_8278

Spoiler alert: we made it home safe and sound and Henry was like “ok.” Then I watched the series finale of The Killing and bawled my little bitchy eyes out. I’ll miss you, Linden and Holder. :(

No tags for this post.
Aug 012014
 

You guys. My friends Terri and Christian are here visiting, so I’m going to take advantage of Flashback Friday and post an older painting, which is available as a print, oh boy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

20140801-183459.jpg

It started out simply. Two old friends, meeting up in the city for some Milwaukee’s Best and beer nuts.

Paul talked ad nauseum about his new bride, Pricilla. Talked about how she picked up his dirty socks with a broad smile on her face and even wore a skimpy apron while cooking his meatloaf. If he brought her roses and Vodka, she would even make love to his anus.

Samuel, having been single for the last eight years, sulked a bit. He hated hearing about his friends’ good fortune with the ladies, while he was left to sleep alone, with nothing more than his pit bull to spoon. Though it was a step up from the iguana he tried to recruit as a temporary bedmate.

Paul didn’t like to see his friend look so sullen. He thought Samuel had some great qualities that many women would be attracted to. For example, the fact that he was the quietest farter Paul had ever met. (Though, were silent-but-deadlies any better?) And that he didn’t live with his mother. (Mostly that’s attributed to the fact that she’s dead.) And that he had a large weapons collection, with which to keep any woman feeling safe and protected. (Paul still wasn’t entirely sure why Samuel needed a bazooka just for fox hunting, though.)

But still, Paul couldn’t see any reason for Samuel to continue his dry spell any longer and became determined to find him a girlfriend. Or at the very least, a mute with a clean vagina upon which Samuel could practice, maybe get his groove back. So when they left the bar in favor for some totally non-gay window shopping, Paul broached the subject.

“Say, Samuel, what types of broads do you like?” Paul asked as the ducked into an Army Navy store, where Samuel darted straight to a counter displaying knives.

“Well, like I always say: I like my women like I like my ice cubes,” Samuel murmured absently, running a calloused thumb over the blade of a Bowie.

Paul laughed. “Frosty exterior with a piece of fruit in the center?” he asked, curling his fingers into exaggerated air quotes when he said “center,” and recalling that Samuel was really into freezing tiny pieces of nectarines in his ice cubes, which added pizazz to his signature summer Sangria.

“No,” Samuel replied, with a slight scoff. “Frozen in a tray,” he answered, sliding his credit card over to the cashier. “By the dozen.”
—————————–
This is a print of my original painting The Conversation. It measures 8×10 and does not come framed.

No tags for this post.
%d bloggers like this: