Mar 292015
 

Emotionally crippled by the sounds of crying, screaming, laughing, talking kids, ugh. Why me?!

We had to take Chooch to Chuck E. Cheese last weekend for a birthday party and it totally ruined my day. Originally, I was going to stay home and make Henry deal with it, but I was having a really clingy day and didn’t want to be home alone, god forbid. Plus, the party was for the neighbor kid (the one whose mom was on my side when another neighbor screamed in my face) so I felt like it would behoove me to go and pretend that I’m neighborly.

(I’m not neighborly.)

We were going to just leave Chooch there after a few minutes, but then the grandma was all, “You’re sticking around, right?” Ugh, grandma guilt! Just what I needed that day.

OMG that place was a screaming sea of anklebiters. There were approximately 87 parties going down in tandem, not including the moronic parents who thought it would be a great idea to bring their idiot children there ON A SATURDAY AFTERNOON.

FOR NO REASON!

And the music! I heard Pharrell’s “Happy” twice in two hours, god help me.

There were two highlights though: when the other party kids discovered my holographic eyeball and obsessed over it for the first half hour, much to Chooch’s chagrin. He HATES that my purse gets attention.

The second was when the birthday boy’s father arrived and I realized that HE IS REALLY FUCKING HOT. I got overly giggly about it (not unusual) and later, after he came over to introduce himself, I whisper-cried in Henry’s ear, “REMEMBER WHEN I HELD HANDS WITH MARKIE’S DAD?!”

“That’s called a handshake, asshole,” Henry muttered.

When our ex-neighbor (the one who got in my face last summer because her son is a d-bag and Chooch kicked him in the nards) arrived with her brood, things went from bad to worse. I just get so angry at the mere sight of her cunt-face. Luckily, we were separated by an entire table so I at least didn’t have to hear her grating Yinzer-speak.

And then Chuck E. came out of a door and Henry frowned. “Chuck E. lost some weight.”

I turned around to look and got really angry because this looked nothing like the Chuck E. I knew and loved! Oh, this was just pathetic.

Hyperactive children aside, what I hate most about that place is how much it’s changed from when I was a kid in the 80s. Man, Chuck E. Cheese was THE SHIT then. I used to primarily go to the one in West Mifflin, and I have fond memories of it being dimly-lit with multiple rooms, which really seemed to keep the crowds at bay. There was a room to the right that had animatronic….Beagles? I can’t remember now exactly what kind of animals they were, but you could walk up and press a button to awaken them, at which point they would serenade the room with Beach Boys classics while everyone burnt the roof of their mouths on pizza.

(The pizza was also better back then. Even as a teenager, it was fun to go to Chuck E. Cheese because PIZZA.)

One of the game rooms had a ball pit, which are apparently outlawed now in all play areas. Children these days are so goddamn fragile!

The main party room was a cavernous multi-level room featuring a stage with Chuck E. and all of his friends, like that chicken lady thing and Pasquale the Italian pizza guy. There was some purple thing too, I think. (Munch!?)

The Chuck E. Cheese we went to last week didn’t have any animatronics! They used to though, as recently as when Chooch was a baby, circa 2007:

The pizza is some kind of bullshit now too.

The best/worst part about the Chuck E. Cheese from my childhood was the Cheese Factory. Please, somewhere out there has to know what I’m talking about. It was the traumatic, closed-off maze that was essentially built into a wall. Once you were in it, it was like Baby’s First Claustrophobic Experience. Its intention was to make you feel like you were climbing through a giant piece of swiss cheese, I guess, and you would have to hoist yourself up through carpeted holes while disorienting lights flashed and cosmic sounds played overhead. I  have a vague recollection of a hallway where parents could stand and pray that they wouldn’t lose sight of where their children were inside this unintentional haunted house.

I associate it with real terror, tears, and the hysterical sensation of abandonment.

God, I wish it was still like that in there!

I feel bad for all of these millennium kids who will never get to experience the strange joys of being an 80s kid, like clothes-shopping at Kids R Us and playing Tic Tac Toe on one of the large electronic game walls that were located around the store in hopes of keeping children satiated while their parents piled the cart full of corduroy pants, leggings, neon socks, and sweatshirts with puffy paint-esque bears on it.

Anyway, by the time the party was over, my nerves were shot. I’m just thankful that Chooch is at an age where I didn’t have to follow him all around the game area, because I might have been arrested. (OK, probably just 302’d.)

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Mar 272015
 

It’s been A Week. I actually felt delirious when I woke this morning and remembered that it was Friday. Thank god. Here are some pictures that have been accumulating on my phone, because let’s face it: I have no time to type words right now, and you have no time to read them. Can life just slow the fuck down for a second?

This was my “I have to go to Chuck E. Cheese” face. I actually started writing a post about that. Maybe someday I’ll finish it, along with all the drafts haunting my WordPress dashboard. Sigh. I MISS YOU, BLOG. This weekend I still have to write my guest post for the annual Pittsburgh Guest Blogger event thingie that my friend Alex orchestrates with such patience and panache. I mostly know what I’m writing, but you know me: I stress and stress and stress like stressing is my motherfuckin’ job. But the thing I’m writing has a companion painting. I either overachieve or half-ass. You never know with me.

So many good shows coming up! I bought my Puddles Pity Party ticket the day it was announced. Chris and Monica are going too and I’m so goddamn excited! I want to get my picture taken with him so that I can frame it and hang it up in my future clown room. Before that though, I have La Dispute next week, and then Circa Survive! Thank god for shows.

This St. Rita figurine is on my bathroom wall and every time Janna comes back from peeing, she starts chirping about how she always thinks homegirl is holding a machine gun. Now I wish she was. AND THAT SHE WOULD SHOOT JANNA! Just kidding.

Kind of.

We are still trying to organize Chooch’s room. He had somehow developed hoarder-like tendencies without my even realizing it. So that’s awesome. It was nice to re-discover some of his things though, like that wooden gumball machine that I made in Industrial Arts class in middle school (there should be an upside down mason jar on its head, but it never operated properly so why bother), and that cute little zombie doll that I bought Chooch when he was a baby. We named him Rot. Rot used to go everywhere with us until he was lost in Chooch’s landfill.

More Chooch-stuff. I bought that Keith Haring picture in Switzerland when I was a teenager. It’s significant because it was the first time my crazy aunt Sharon let me go off on my own. God, I felt like I was the coolest little bitch! So, this picture has been hanging on my walls for, dare I even say it, 20 years. I like that it’s Chooch’s now, though. Spreading the Haring love!

I’ve been helping out with some admin stuff until they find Barb’s replacement. (Not that Barb can EVER be replaced!) I finally decided to make my own AWAY signs though, and thankfully I had 6 pages of Pierce the Veil posters just laying there on my desk. When I came to work the next day, SOMEONE had slapped on a post-it note on my sign that said “good luck.” OH I WONDER WHO.

(Speaking of Barb, I got to have lunch with her today! And also Wendy, but I see her everyday so…I almost started crying when I saw Barb and after she hugged me, all I could manage to say was, “I hate you.” It’s not easy having such a loose grip on your emotions.)

I play this fun game where I accuse Henry of cheating on me every single time I see him even glace at another vagina’d human. So when Henry was making an ATM withdrawal next to some lady, I instantly Instagrammed it and casually captioned it, “Here’s Henry and the broad he’s cheating on me with.” One of my Instagram friends got all upset about it, like I was on a stake out when I took this picture. Which, to be fair, I totally could have been. You guys know me.

Ahh, I have so much more I want to say! I wish I had more time.
If you still read this hot mess, god bless you.

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Mar 222015
 

   

Henry went to the laundromat this afternoon and forget to put Chooch and me in our cages, so we decided to run around Brookline like average idiots. If we threw pinecones at you, sorry I guess. But you probably deserved it. 

We walked to that abandoned blind kid school that we love so much, and as usual I know we were being spied on by eyeless ghosts. 

            

We’re not very adept at using the camera timer but this was still less frustrating that if HENRY was taking the pictures ugh he’s the worst. 

     

Then Chooch took us home his way, which involves a lot of cutting through people’s backyards, jumping off walls, and screaming “OMG RUN!”

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Mar 172015
 

OMG a blog repost and it’s not even Throwback Thursday or Flashback Friday, how dare I. Anyway, this is an excerpt from this post because I just ate at Melt again over the weekend & I apparently even get nostalgic over Grilled Cheeses I Have Eaten. 

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Here is what Henry has to say about his lunch at Melt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Henry: Why do you have to do that.

Me: Seriously, which one?

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Did you think our waitress was hot?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • Pull it out and set it aside, then puke in a flower pot;
  • Eat it. Meat is meat and they know what they’re doing at Melt;
  • Use it to replace the butt plug you lost during the Great Marital Separation of 2001.
Henry: [Laughs like a gay Santa, I think to illustrate the fact that this is going to be one of those NO COMMENT moments.]
 
Me: If you invented a sandwich at Melt in my honor, say if I died saving an albino support group from a hostile group of arms-bearing Serbians mistaking them for enemy Albanians, what would you name it?
Henry, no hesitation: Pain in the Ass.
 
(That sounds unappetizing and pregnant with pinto beans. Pretty apropos then.)
 
Me: There were some big words on the menu, like “muenster” and “diablo.” Did you use your phone to covertly look up the definitions under the table?
Henry: [walked away.]
 
Me: What would your SERVICE buddies say if they knew you were eating trendy gourmet sandwiches and not pork-n-beans?
 
(Totally typed porn-n-beans at first.)
 
Henry, in a beaten-down, wilted-dick mumble: Nothing.
 
Me: What did you eat in the SERVICE, anyway?
Henry: FOOD.
Me: No, seriously. All asshole-ness aside, I really want to know.
Henry: I ATE WHATEVER I MADE.
Me: So like, succotash?
Henry, slashing my throat with his glare: I don’t know.
 
We officially reached WOKE BEAR status at this point, so I quickly closed my notebook. Maybe someday Henry will regale us with tales of making messes in the mess hall. But today is not going to be that day.
 
Here’s a quick review from a special guest:
 
Henry’s Moustache: I have been trying for the last 20 years to emulate Tom Selleck’s lip wool. Maybe then I won’t walk around with meal souvenirs tangled in my bristle. Someone please send Henry a stencil.
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Mar 162015
 

This was such a crazy throwback weekend: first I saw Mike + the Mechanics on Friday and then Janna and I were in Cleveland on Saturday to see Howard Jones; two childhood dreams come true in one weekend. My unpredictable navigational skills got us there with just enough time to squeeze in a quick lunch, staring at a disgustingly frozen Lake Erie, and, keeping with the theme of Retro Weekend, a necessary and apropos perusal of Flower Child.

SPOILER ALERT: this blog post is going to be just about Flower Child. I will drone on as nauseum about all that other stuff later in the week because I love doing things out of order.

All the times I’ve been to Clevelend, I never knew this place existed until my friend Jason took us there in 2011 and I bought a glorious light-up/holographic Jesus picture which made Henry grit his teeth.

Just like he probably grit his teeth yesterday when I began texting him pictures of $$$ swag lamps, alerting him to the fact that I had arrived at the place that wants all of my hard-earned monies.

Some of the sexiest Jesuses ever reside in the basement.

I have to touch everything when I’m in there, like I’m inviting midcentury spirits to enter my body through my fingertips and then everyone will be like why is Erin having uncontrollable fits of the Pony? And Janna will be like, “Because she touched some sequined boot and now she has a dead gogo dancer living inside of her, no big deal.”

I don’t think it’s very surprising that my heart belongs to mid-century interior design, considering I was raised in a house with shag carpet and foiled wallpaper. The yellow/burnt orange/brown color palette is instantly comforting to me and brings back memories of every afghan that ever covered the back of a couch in our house when I was a kid.

Luckily for Henry, I didn’t buy any murder weapons disguised as ash trays or 1960s prom dresses, but instead settled for this factory of happy thoughts:

It’s actually made out of paper mâché and the colors are just like SMILE OR I WILL PUNCH YOUR DUMB FACE. When Henry saw it yesterday, he did a slow exhale of relief that it wasn’t an Iron Maiden to go with my Devil rug.

And since I’m going out of order here, before Flower Child we stopped int Big Fun, which was having a going out of business sale, so I snagged this Diane Keaton “Clown Paintings” book for $5!

When I posted this on Facebook, one of my friends said, “I feel like, visually, my day is ruined.” So then I posted this collage of some of my other clown memorabilia, because I’m a Little Miss Sweetheart like that:

Ciao for now!

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Mar 082015
 

Bathroom plaques are filling up the shop again! I used to make tons of these back in the day and when I used to sell my stuff at Wildcard, they were super popular for some reason. Yinzers like their loos, I guess. 

Now when someone asks, “Which door is the lav?” you can just let them grope their way down the hallway and find it themselves with this helpful, can’t-live-without-it bathroom signifier. They’re available in a variety of styles and the choice is all yours.

Here are some of the glowing reviews that have been dumping in (oh, see what I did there? DUMPING?):

Jen Shitcan from Missouri has been heard saying, “Shiiit, I was so sick of my bitch ass husband bringing his broads home from the bar and asking me where the can was so they can empty their Diva Cup.  Now they just look for the sign and I don’t gotta be bustin’ caps no more.”

Isaac Outhouse from the wilderness sent a telegram saying, “Sign good. Rust proof.”

Peter Pisser from a place with a large blind population sent a box of chocolates with a note saying, “Works good. Except my one blind friend still needs help finding the commode. Make one in braille, you should.”

Melissa Purell informed in green ink, “My son has a penchant for smearing fecal matter everywhere but the hand wipes I keep on the sink specifically for these occasions. Luckily, the unsavory smudges wipe right off my bathroom marker. The stench, not so much.”

And Alyson from Waltham, MA was so thrilled to have her friends stop crapping in her potted plants that she left this flowery feedback: Thanks so much!! I absolutely love it!! My house plants thank you from the bottom of their rooty hearts. It’s the perfect size, too!

Possibly only one of those are real.

These guys are 4×4 and ready to hang. I love doing custom signs too so holla at me. 

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Mar 072015
 

Piggybacking off of Chooch’s previous post, the Devil rug is now mine. I’M SORRY CHOOCH, I HAD TO. It was speaking to me like a backward Beatles record. I bought the last one in stock, too.

This is really going to add a lot of….something….to the house. 

#taxrefundFTW

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Feb 162015
 

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This is how Chooch looked the day he got on stage at school to play Amazing Grace on the piano during the Trifecta Awards assembly. Luckily, it wasn’t a formal, dress-up affair so it was OK that he looked like the keyboardist of a post-hardcore band. Of course, I didn’t even know that this was a thing that was happening until the night before, when he looked at me and in all seriousness said, “I’m going to get on that stage tomorrow and say ‘Listen up, shit heads. I’m about to play Amazing-fucking-Grace and you’re going to RESPECT it.'”

I laughed so hard, but then said, “No seriously, please don’t say that.”

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Finally got the prize package sent off to the winner of my giveaway! Henry walked in when I was wrapping it and said, “Oh my god. Here, let me—-never mind.” Because he knows that it’s futile. Anyway, I threw in some extra goodies, like a Somnambulant Skull and some Henry pins, woo! I love hosting giveaways! Enjoy, Courtney!

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In between bands at the Pierce the Veil show last week, I checked Instagram and saw the BEST NEWS EVER! EMAROSA IS PLAYING WARPED TOUR! And luckily, Pittsburgh is one of the dates they’re playing. Conveniently, there is a two-day gap between their last day on Warped and Slaves’ first day. (I’m so thankful that Slaves isn’t playing Pittsburgh. Just knowing Jonny Craig was that close to me would make me dry-heave. And NOT in a fan-girl way.)

I was already like cry-cry-cry during the show but then once I saw this announcement, I was like CRYCRYCRYCRYCRYCRYCRY. God, please don’t let me ever stop feeling like this over these things!

 

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Henry got a new phone and is excited that he can use emojis now. (I don’t know why he couldn’t before?) Anyway, I’m happy that he can now see the emojis I text him everyday. Bang bang, motherfucker.

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OK, so we’re trying to watch our spending because we have so much shit we want to get down around the house, etc. but then I went and splurged on the biggest pre-order package for Dance Gavin Dance because 1. I’m worth it 2. HAND-WRITTEN LYRIC SHEETS 3. It’s goddamn DGD, guys. They’re one of my (many) weaknesses. Anyway, earlier that day I had my evaluation at work and it went really well (it is so nice being in a position where I’m appreciated!) so I used that as my TREAT YO’SELF excuse. I can’t wait for this album!!

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In the spirit of Alyson rejuvenating my love for the Mehoover days, I made her an official Mehoover Valentine and now I wish I had thought to do this before Valentine’s Day, because I would have made one for EVERYBODY.

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But no Mehoover Valentine could compete with the beauty that is this exquisite Paul Eugene Valentine which was included in this month’s newsletter. BE STILL MY HEART.

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Me and my Marcy, who Chooch has taken to calling a skank. So rude.

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Speaking of…(Chooch, not skanks.)

In other news, Barb resigned today and I feel the same way I do when the Penguins lose in the playoffs.

 

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Feb 122015
 

Today my friend Alyson texted me and said that she had the urge to go back and read the fake LiveJournal I ghost-wrote for Henry. It was called MeHoover, because Hoover was his LJ nickname (he sucks the fun of out of everything). My LJ nickname was Ruby. I started “writing” this journal in 2004 after Henry and I had a huge political blow out and he called me uneducated. I was like I WILL SHOW YOU UNEDUCATED. Anyway, Alyson inspired me to go back and read some too and I was sitting at my desk, silently crying from the strain of stifling my laughter. So I was inspired to take advantage of Throwback Thursday and repost Hoover’s adventures at Magee Hospital one night while I was pregnant. Just a heads up, it gets a little TMI because that was Hoover’s m.o. back in 2006, I guess.

so this is what happened right – ruBY was standing in the kitchen on suNDAy and was like, “uh oh something happened” and she said a tiny bit of watery stuff leaked out of her u know what!!!! i was like “bitch we’s goin to the hospal” but she was all, “no way man my friend kara is comin over and i want to be hangin’ out with her, u no?”i was like “what if that bag of water inside your gut has breaked open?!” but ruBY was like “i am not concerned yo! go hang out with your kids” and she made me leave!!! i was so worried all day and i kept calling her cuz dude, i did not want to come home with blood all over my house and a giant 15 pound baby running all over the place, you no?

so then the next night ruBY went to class and she called and was like “HEY it happened again twice in a row” so i was like “bitch you better be coming home right now!” and I called the doctor cuz that is what a good boyfriend does. the doctor was all “you need to come in to the hospal so we can make sure youre WATER did not break!!” but RUBy was like “i dont think i is ready to be having this baby!” but i made her pack a bag anyway. she was crying and i was trying not to laugh cuz i love to see her in pain!

we got to the emergeny room and as soon as ruBY went to the treeage window and they seen that she is prego, they was like “COME BACK RIGHT NOW” and she left me in the waiting room with all these scary people!!

i was down there by myself for like a long time and some chick with a bleeding crotch was SMILING at me! i was like “bitch step off” i dont want to get more dieases!!

THEN some lady called down to the treeage (sp) place and told them my name and to send me up to the BIRTHING UNIT on the second floor! i was like “holy shit ruBY is having the baby!” but when i got there she was not popping out any bloody life forms. she was just sitting there. so i sat there with her.

we was sittin in this corner right and next to ruBY was a table with someones hospal food on it. It was wearin’ a cover, but damn did that shit stink!!! it was like mashed potatoes and some kind of meat. so This lady comes over and was like “is my food bothering you?” and rUBY of course was like, in shock since we was in the hospal so she did not use good judgment and said “NO the food is not bothering me” and then the lady left!! she just walked away and left her food there!!!

we sat there for like two hours or maybe more and i Kept thinking “damn that RUby better not be having no diseases going on down there” she can not be trusted u no? she is likely to have sex with a gold fish if not watched properly!! i think maybe that is why i love her so much (but dont tell her).

so then there was these women sitting there cuz the one girl was in labor and they was like rilly funny. we was laughing and shit with them and they made rUBY feel better (i liked it better when she was all pale and nervous tho). so then the girls mommy came over and sat with us. she was like, “bitch i no this food aint gonna stay here and continue stinkin!” so she threwed it away!! me and rUBY was like “horray!” cuz remember i told you before that shit stank! so like right after she threwed it out, the lady came back for it!!! Our friend was like, “Girlfriend i threw that shit out, it stank” and the lady pointed at us and was like “YOU KNEW IT WAS MY FOOD” and stormed off! i was like “Bitch please, we gots more important things to worry about other than your stinky food” and i was hopin to get a “HELL YEAH” from that black lady but she ignored me. i do not think she liked me cuz of my bandanna – some times it makes people think i am like some confederite dude u know? she LIked RUby though and calmed her down.

so then it was our turn to go back to the room with a nurse. she told ruBY to take off ALL her clothes and then she started to pull back the curtain to give RUby privacy and i was like “Wait!!” cuz i had to get back there to. the Nurse was like, “what, she won’t let you stay with her while she undresses?” and i was like “bitch is you kidding me? she will yell!” and the nurse pointed to ruBy’s big fat prego belly and was like “then how did you –” and i said “that’s different” and she understood. mayBe she thought some other sad sack knocked her up.

OK and then another nurse came in and asked rUBY all kinds of questions and i sat there and read a magazine cuz I really dont care about this female shit right? but then she asked ruBY her weight and now i know how much she weighs as a prego girl and let me just tell you that vomit burned my throat!!!!! i was like so repulsed!!! so i sat there and kept starin at the girl in the OIL OF OLAY ad in the magazine and thought “damn i wish she was my lover” just like that sofie b hawkins song.

then the doctor came in and shoved that metal thing up RubY’s thingie and i was like “holy shit man this is gross” cuz i never seen one in person before!! anyway, it was a good thing ruBY went in cuz she has like one of those yeast infection things and did not no it!! so her water bag thing was not leakin, but while they had her hooked up to the monitor she had a contraction and now she is ONE CENTAMETER dilated, what ever the hell that means. that is gross that ruBY’s crotch has that bread bakin’ stuff in it. i will not be touchin her for a VERY long time. she is dirty.

but damn, did RUby do a LOT of whining. can u imagining how awful she is going to be when she is pushing my giant son out of her crotch?? god, all they was doing that nite was sticking her thingie with this metal thing that like, pryed her open, and you would havethought it was the end of the world! i rilly wanted to kill her, specially now that i know how much she weighs. i like wont even hold her hand in public anymore and when i kiss her i have to close my eyes and when i do that, i can see her weight number flashing!! maybe i should play that number.

then she made me buy her a goddamn candy bar since i made her go to the hospal and she was not even in labor. i was like “here’s 75 cents fat lard!” i do not even care any more. i here that lots of dudes leave there women after they have a baby cuz they get so fat and then they never loose it and next thing u no, they is not moving from the couch and eating them bonbons all the live long day. and here i thought i was cheatin’ life by bagging a young chick like ruBY. boy was i wrong.

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Feb 092015
 

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Corey and I try to swing by the Mattress Factory once or twice a year to stare studiously at Contemporary Art, but when my friend Sandy recently visited and reported back that there was a CIRCUS EXHIBIT, I quickly texted Corey because OK, we need to see this ASAP.

I didn’t know until we got there that it was INTERACTIVE. And there was a whole shelf of paper mache masks to wear while attempting to walk a tightrope and ride a tiny bicycle! (Corey spent the rest of the afternoon convinced that he had contracted ebola and/or measles because of the mask. And hey, why not!?)

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Something close to 87 voices in my head told me that it would be a bad idea to try out the German hamster wheel, but when do I ever listen. The first time I tried it, I didn’t expect it to start tilting so far to the right so I screamed like Michael Jackson and jumped off with so much  momentum, that there was almost an Erin-shaped outline in the wall from where I crashed through when I was unable to stop running. Thank god I had an audience for this!

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But then I saw Corey do it and he made it look so easy (“Look, you just have to Stretch Armstrong yourself so you’re super-tall like me and then it’s fine!”) so I decided to try once more, pretending like I don’t have T-Rex arms.

Except no. Now with my feet strapped in and my hands gripping the appropriate handles, I felt like I was being quartered! And then it started tipping but this time I had no momentum (I know this because every time Corey re-watched the video, he would laugh and say, “YOU HAD NO MOMENTUM! HAHA!”) so I just kind of hung there, wailing, “I’m stuck. I’M STUCK. I’M STUCCCCK” until Corey finally ran over to help me. It reminded me of the time I was four-years-old and our asshole neighbor left me in her tree house, knowing I was too afraid to climb the ladder to get down, and didn’t TELL ANYONE I NEEDED HELP. Her dad eventually came out and found me (in my mind, it was nighttime and I was shivering, but it probably was only around 30 minutes after the fact) and then people wondered why I bit that bitch on the face later. DON’T FUCK WITH ME, I HAVE TEETH.

(No joke, A-ron was just over here talking to Patrick and me and then he said, “OK, I’m going to leave you fine young cannibals…” and I’m like HOW DOES HE KNOW!?)

(My first impulse to this day is to lunge at Henry with bared teeth. I guess I never grew out of that phase.)

Ahem. So anyway. The same people were still watching and you know what? I DIDN’T CARE THAT THEY HEARD ME CRY LIKE A BABY. Oh god, did they laugh.

In addition to making an asshole of myself on the German hamster wheel, I also took it upon myself to straddle a tiny bicycle, which my audience explained that no one was able to ride it. Oh, I rode it alright. Almost straight into the side of the tent. Corey said it was his favorite moment of the day. I’M SURE.

Corey would be a much more graceful circus performer than me. I’d only be able to accidental laughs. STORY OF MY LIFE.

Then we left that part of the floor and realized there was a disclaimer outside of the exhibit, and for good reason!

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“You know what would have made that even better?” I said to Corey in the next room. “IF JANNA HAD BEEN THERE TOO!” And then we started laughing at Janna, who wasn’t even there, but that’s OK. She’s used to it.

Incidentally, Janna couldn’t go with us because she was with her mom, buying an ACTUAL MATTRESS.

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This room was cool. It had tiny buildings and circle things.

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See?! I took pictures so that you too could try and figure out contemporary art. Quiz at the end.

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A lot of these reminded me of the building I work in so that was kind of a killjoy, being reminded of work while playing.

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So futuristic! Such mini!

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I really enjoyed this room because it was fun to look at it and accessible. I didn’t feel the need to struggle to find the bigger picture or hidden meaning. Plus, everything was made from recycled objects!

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Spots and Dots. Funny story about this jacket (OK, not really funny) but I was rooting around in the attic Saturday morning for photo shoot costumes, and found this old jacket that I haven’t worn in 15 years because Fat Happens. Out of curiosity, I shrugged it on and was pleasantly surprised to see that it (mostly) fits! And by mostly I mean “enough to wear it without feeling like Fat Man ->Tiny Blazer.” One of the docents there even complimented me on it and she definitely had that Slightly-Dirty Art Student look about her, so you know that’s a big deal. (Is it though?)

Anyway, a few days later, I was on the trolley and right before we headed into town, the man next to me said, “Excuse me.” NO ONE ever talks to each other on the trolley in the morning (thank god), so I thought he was signaling to me that he needed me to move so he could get off at the next stop. I started to rise, when he put his hand on my arm (and here is where I died a little) and asked, “Where did you get this jacket?”

So of course, I’m thinking, “Why the fuck does some middle-aged man care about where I got my jacket?” UNLESS this was the same coat his WIFE was wearing the night he caught her having an affair and now he was feeling the uncontrollable desire to shank me in the same manner he had shanked her.

But no, he was only inquiring because he felt that his daughter would love it.

OR SO HE SAYS.

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What does it all mean!? I don’t know.  I always carry along the information sheet that you’re supposed to consult while eyeballing the art, but I rarely read it because I’m already so overstimulated. So then it’s hours later and I’m skimming it at home and realize that were certain things we were supposed to be looking for, etc. My attention span is not exactly museum-caliber.

Or, sometimes I start reading it but my mind is like OVERSTIMULATION! PUT PAPER DOWN AND TOUCH ART!

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This needs to be tattooed on my fucking body, now.

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This was an installation the basement, where mist was sprinkling down from the ceiling and a rainbow was projected through it. I was more interested in repeatedly shoving my fist through the droplets to actually read what was going on in there.

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I bet Henry can relate to this.

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Sometimes, I think it’s OK to not “understand” art. I barely understand my own “art.” But I sure love going to art galleries and museums and looking. It beats staring at a TV screen all day!

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Feb 082015
 

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Leticia loved haunting the Appledale’s farmhouse. It always smelt of blueberry syrup and fresh linen, with a tiny tang of far-off manure to keep it real.

She loved watching the Appledale brothers dig for worms, and later, watching them stuff those worms down their sister Amelda’s cotton blouse.

Leticia loved bobbing invisibly behind Mother Appledale, watching as she darned Papa Appledale’s socks with a slightly arthritic hand. Leticia knew that soon Mother Appledale would “accidentally” be tossed into the combine, but she didn’t try to warn her because it would be handy to have someone like Mother Appledale on the other side; on top of the darning, she made a mean chicken fried steak.

Papa Appledale. Big, overall’d Papa Appledale with the grass stains on his forearms and worn leather belt for whippin’. Leticia generally stayed away from him. He always moved within a flock of pernicious energy which often stunk of cabbaged flatulence.

While Papa Appledale was killing Mother Appledale, the boys were down by the train tracks playing with the box car children, Amelda was at her girlfriend’s house learning about Kegel, and Leticia cowered in the safety of the washing machine.

And that’s where she remained while Papa Appledale lumbered into the laundry room, peeled off his ensanguined murder uniform, and stuffed it into the washing machine, along with Leticia and a handful of sweaty socks unappreciatively marked by Mother Appledale’s handiwork.

“Hey Leticia,” one of her friends taunted back home. “What happened, someone throw you in with the reds?” A bunch of them held their bellies and laughed till they wheezed, all a’shimmer in their God-given pearlescent suits.

“Yep. Something like that,” Leticia muttered, while waiting for Mother Appledale to ladle some gravy on her chicken fried steak.
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Pastel on canvas, 5×7.

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Jan 302015
 

Gayle is off today and of all people, GLENN is taking her late shift which sucks because today is also MY late shift day, UGH UGH UGH. In order to make this less painful (for me), I decided to live blog it. Apologies in advance.

11:54AM: Just got here a few minutes ago and was dismayed to see Glenn was already here and not late. I really wanted him to be late. Anyway, I asked him if he was ready for our Big Late Shift and he said he’s heavily medicated so I guess that’s just the long way of saying yes. Then Pregnant Amber turned around and said that this was going  to be the most boring live blog ever because Glenn is boring so I’ll probably just make stuff up if I have to.

11:56AM: Glenn was rummaging through a plastic bag and now I think he might be eating yogurt. Probably some dumb flavor too, like prune.

12:15PM: Just had a semi-civil conversation with Glenn about an audit. It was OK.

12:21PM: Non-Glenn related, but Amber just went to get her glasses fixed. She was supposed to get them fixed yesterday but when she got to the eyeglass place, she realized SHE BROUGHT AN EMPTY CASE WITH HER. Oh, the trials and tribulations of Pregnant Amber! She was telling Glenn about this and said something about how I was laughing about it yesterday or something, she couldn’t remember and Glenn was all, “Basically, you just heard noise, right?” Shut up.

12:38PM: Several people mentioned the live-blogging thing in passing but I don’t think Glenn fully understands what is taking place here. I’m reminded of this time in elementary school, probably 5th grade, when I had this tiny forest green notepad and I decided it would be fun to essentially spy on my classmates—it basically turned into some weird analog TMZ of its time, because my friends started to find out about it and then everyone wanted to read it, especially because there was an entry in it about Mike Harrison calling the lunch lady MRS. GLUMAC a bitch during recess and then HITTING HER IN THE FACE WITH A KICK BALL AND CALLING HER A BITCH! This was a big deal, kids getting to not only hear a swear but also READ a swear all in the same day, can you believe it. I’m going to call Pregnant Amber “Amber GLUMAC” today since she has broken glasses too. I don’t think hers broke in such a violent way though.

1:01PM: Barb just sent an email to the department because the printers are getting switched, whatever that means. “What an exciting day!” I exclaimed, to which Glenn mumbled, “Isn’t it, though.”

1:29PM: Amber GLUMAC is back with her glasses! She said she didn’t check them to see if they’re actually fixed, though, so I’m hoping they sent her on her way with the wrong pair because I really can’t stand to think of this saga being over. Plus I haven’t had a chance to call her Amber GLUMAC enough times. Then we were talking about the Mattress Factory because Corey and I are going there tomorrow and Amber was like, “You should take Glenn too” and then he mumbled something about how terrible of an idea that was and how that place sounded dumb. Because ew culture gross. And then I showed him a picture of the orange juice accident Henry had this morning at work, and Glenn giggled (YES GIGGLED) and said “Oh shit.” I’m breaking through, you guys!

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(Henry’s Orange Juice Accident. Maybe he will guest post about this!)

1:40PM: It appears that Amber1 is getting some sort of advice from Amber GLUMAC and I wish that she would come back and talk to me about it too so that Glenn can pipe up with some type of curt advice in the style of Ron Swanson. OMG GLENN’S CELL PHONE JUST RANG AND HIS RING TONE IS SOME SORT OF METAL-SOUNDING GUITAR SNIPPET and I asked him what it is and he said he doesn’t know?!?!?! I believe it was “Crazy Train.”

2:51PM: Glenn just took care of something work-related before Amber GLUMAC even had to tell him to do it and now she just thinks he’s so great and totally on-the-ball and I’m trying not to puke up my Smart Ones over here. Meanwhile, we have no printers to use thanks to BARB’s boyfriend The Copier Fixer, who decided to come in like gangbusters, no warning, and “switch the printers” which I think I found out literally means he is switching the printers.

2:55PM: I am going to the kitchen to open my orange. Be back in like 20 minutes. (It takes me a while.) NEVER MIND!! I’m still here because I got a breaking news text from ESPN which I read out loud to Glenn: “Tiger Woods shoots a career-worst 82 at Waste Management Phoenix Open, missed cut in second straight in event.” So then we had a pleasant conversation that I will title The Sucking of Tiger Woods, and we both commented on what a horrible name for a tournament Waste Management is. “I’m playing in the Garbage Bowl, yippee” Glenn monotoned but I think he was actually trying NOT to monotone for once? And then I said, “He’s no Phil Mickelson” and now I’m going to excuse myself because I have an appointment with an orange in the kitchen.

4:09PM: PRINTER UPDATE!! The printers have been effectively switched, but now some of our print jobs are being sent to different floors. I nominate Glenn to be the print job liaison. GO GET OUR PRINTED THINGS, GLENN. GO, GLENN, GO.

4:38PM: Barb, bless her heart, tried to host an impromptu intervention at her desk. She told Glenn that he just needs to open his mind to my amazing-ness and his face turned a little green. In other news, I had to tell Barb that various print jobs are being routed to other floors and I’m pretty sure she’s going to quit her job and learn to live off the land. When the printers were being switched earlier, she was swearing profusely and practically speaking in tongues and then she yelled, “Put THAT in your live blog!” Yikes.

4:42PM: I just noticed that Amber GLUMAC is wearing her glasses so I guess they’re OK. How anti-climatic. She didn’t even make a big production of putting them on.

4:59PM: “Hello? ‘Sup.” — how Glenn answers his phone.

6:38PM: Two more hours to go! I tried to get Barb to smuggle me out with her a few minutes ago but she’s cruel and told me to basically suck it up. This night is almost as boring as when Amber GLUMAC was telling us the story about how her dryer is broken, which is less of a story and more of just a fact, and I was sitting here thinking, “Wow, this is a really boring conversation about household appliances” when meanwhile, Glenn was hanging on to her every word, and asking her questions about the drum and some other things and since we’ve been pretty slow tonight, I’m pretty positive that Glenn is sitting behind me, googling “DRYER PARTS” and looking for people on Craigslist with broken dryers so that he has fodder for his weird appliance fantasies. I think he was trying to bait Amber into asking him to fix the dryer for her, to be honest.

6:48PM: ALERT! ALERT! GLENN IS GOING TO GET HIS KEYS! He has to go down to the big scary parking garage so I told him to be careful but then I started laughing because like I care if he gets devoured by a parking garage troll.

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7:11PM: Glenn has been furiously typing behind me. WHAT IF HE HAS HIS OWN BLOG AND HE’S LIVE BLOGGING ABOUT ME. “7:10PM: Dumb Erin just twirled her stupid hair again.” IT IS A NERVOUS HABIT OK. I actually recently read that there’s a psychological disorder associated with manic hair touching/twirling/braiding/tugging. If that’s true, then I’ve got it.

7:29PM: Virginia just said, “Have a nice weekend!” as she left and Glenn responded to her. I snapped my head back and said, “She was only talking to me.” Meanwhile, Sandy just forwarded me an email that Bossy Glenn sent out regarding a rush. Yeah, Glenn. Everyone’s jumping.

He could at least say thank you.

8:04PM: Oh my god, the funniest thing ever just happened Glenn just fell!!!! He tripped over the cleaning person’s vaccuum thing and then broke it and asked if he could fix it because he is obsessed with appliances! And the cleaning person accused him of harassment! Probably because of the way he said he’s good with hoses. And I was like, “It’s OK lady, he’s just naturally creepy.” Just kidding. NOTHING FUNNY IS HAPPENING BECAUSE IT IS BORING LATE SHIFT WITH BORING GLENN.

8:32PM: I MADE IT! But I had to ride down in the elevator with Glenn for an extra one-minute kick in the pants. Then he was like “Is Henry here yet?” as if he cares that I may be stumbling around downtown in the dark. I said “Yeah, he just sits out there…” And Glenn said, “Just like how he spends most of his life: waiting for YOU.” YEAH AND HE LIKES IT!

I’m on my way home now. Told Henry that people were real excited for the Glenn-centric live blog event and he mumbled, “I seriously doubt that.”

Me too.

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Jan 292015
 

I listen to the alternative R&B playlist on Spotify a lot when I’m doing write-y things at home and every time this song comes on, I’m like SHHHH SHUSH STFU GODDAMMIT mama’s in a movie right now.

Usually I’m home alone when this happens, but STFU imaginary hostage in the basement of my mind, you know?

This is the jam. I’m going to stare at my reflection in a puddle now. I’ll send you a post card.

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