I couldn’t stop making this face on Sunday. I think the very idea of the Superbowl was electrocuting my facial muscles.
I STILL HAVE NO INTERNET! I have shit to do, Comcast, you fucks.
Feb 012012
A/k/a: Elephant, Jesus, Golilla, Donagal, Puppy Time, and Pierre.
On the other side of the blog: There are 5 unanswered questions for Henry rotting in a draft. That’s the last time I ever pre-pay him for ANYTHING.
I’m still going apeshit over apples. I forgot to bring my 7pm apple to work the other night and was absolutely freaking out over it, so the next day, an anonymous apple was lounging on my desk. Turns out it was from Barb, who was wracked with guilt after she got my kid gloves and NOTHING for me.
I would shank an orphan for a cup of coffee, that’s how dependent I am on it. Yesterday, I met my oldest friend (not in the sense that she’s a 300-year-old vampire) Christy for lunch at Pamela’s. She’s been perpetually late ever since I’ve known her (since we were 4!) but I still left my house on time because I wanted some goddamn coffee. I had already gone through most of a carafe by the time she arrived (she has an almost-3-year-old and 1-year-old twins; she’s allowed to be late, y’all).
Christy—who is also Chooch’s godmother—& I don’t see each other nearly enough but we always pick right back up. I don’t know why this was so funny to me, but she was talking about how she felt guilted into signing up for Build a Bear emails after her daughter built one, and now their updates are usurping her inbox. “I mean, how many bears is a person really going to build?” she said so earnestly that I had to put my head down because I was laughing so hard.
Let it also be known that she chose a Poor Henry pin with NO HESITATION.
This concludes another edition of Wordless Wednesday completely hijacked by my idiot words.
The day after Christmas, we visited Speck’s grave. Of course, none of the roadside places selling grave wreaths were open, so Henry had to run into a grocery store and grab some cut flowers, which is a no-no in cemeteries between November & March, but it would feel weird if we actually did things the proper way.
It made me feel better to have something on her grave, but my god did I cry a lot.
Merry Christmas, Speck. :(
Dec 212011
We went to Ogelbay, WV two weekends ago with Tommy and Jessy for the Festival of Lights. I’m not really all that into Christmas, but I do enjoy looking at lights. It makes me feel happy, and it was a healthier alternative to sitting at home and mourning the death of my cat. Tommy and Jessy really cheered me up, and Tommy even bought me some buttered popcorn Jelly Bellys, after teasing me mercilessly as he’s known to do.
Jessy kept making Tommy stop the truck so she could take pictures and he was getting so irritated, which made me even happier.
My favorite part though was when Tommy reached into the backseat to squeeze Chooch’s leg, who had been antagonizing him.
“Um Tommy, you know that’s my leg, right?” Henry said quietly, and I detected a distinct thrill in his reaction. Totally solidified their bromance.
We finished up the night with candy from the gift shop and I felt like a little kid.
Nov 302011
Went to visit my friend Nina today before she returns to work from maternity week. Her little baby Quentin is 7 weeks old and nearly made me want to open a baby factory in my uterus. And Nina looked great; I don’t remember looking so together and clean when Chooch was 7 weeks old. In fact, I think I was still rocking in a corner, moaning incoherently about my incision pain. Child birth was a huge, black TRAUMA on the map of my life.
After I had been there for, oh I don’t know, AN HOUR, I asked, “Can I hold him? I just want to see if I remember how.”
“Of course you can, fool!” she laughed. And then I juggled him awkwardly for a good long minute before passing him back over.
The furnace guy arrived right before I left.
“Are you the furnace guy?” Nina asked as she held open the door for him to pass through.
“Nina! You’re not supposed to ask that! He’s supposed to tell you who he is on his own!” I laughed, knowing full well I would have either done the same thing or ran upstairs and hid under the bed while he continued to knock and then I would obsessively wonder if I remembered to lock the door. Way to give the next Ted Bundy easy access, Nina.
“Hi, I’m the furnace guy,” the supposed furnace guy dead-panned, already in the house at this point. He didn’t look as creepy as that furnace fucker who comes to my house, so I felt confident in my decision to leave her there alone with him.
Fuck. I hope she’s OK.
On the way home, I called Henry.
“How’d your baby date go?” he said mockingly.
“Well, I’m still weird around babies, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“I didn’t think that would change,” he scoffed.
Nov 162011
Chooch’s class is going to Heinz Hall today for some little kid symphony bullshit and guess who’s a chaperone? This stupid bitch. So instead of finally writing about jury duty and the last of the haunted houses (celebrating my blog’s birthday all last week really fucked shit up), I’ll be trudging down the street with a pack of screaming kids, riding in a trolley with a pack of screaming kids, and then sitting through a (shortened, thank god) symphony with a pack of (hopefully not screaming at this point) kids.
Then I get to come home, turn around and go right back downtown for work.
THIS IS PUTTING A SERIOUS DAMPER ON MY LADY OF LEISURE ITINERARY.
While I’m doing that, you should enter my giveaway.
Peace out, girl scout.
Oct 052011
Thank god it’s Wordless Wednesday because I’m being tortured slowly by fuckerbitch allergies. Anyway, here is a scan of a photo from when I met The Cure in Canberra, Australia back in 2000. Someday maybe I’ll tell that story on here. But not today.
Definitely one of the Top 5 Moments of my life; but right now, at this moment, I’d be happy with just meeting The Cure for allergies.
(I’m the girl on the left with the long, stupid hair; not the man in the doorway, tonguing himself.)
Chooch has lived in a houseful of animal masks since he was a baby, so stuffing a pig mask on his head in the middle of summer ain’t no thang. But when he saw that Kara’s not-quite-2-year-old son Harland was less than tickled with his new porky visage, it became a calculated game in torture and torment. It’s probably for the best that I’m not giving him a younger sibling; the way he antagonizes other children makes me see so much of myself in him.
Henry is right: we are so similar it’s more alarming than cute.
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