Sep 272010
 

If this looks more like something you’d want to motorboat and less like something that’s sucker-punching your gag reflex, then read on.

I love pie. For years, I’ve wanted to have a pie party but usually complacency sets in and I put it on the backburner.

But then Henry made an avocado pie for my mom’s Labor Day cookout and it was smooth as silk, tangy, rich and to be honest, I just closed my eyes and smiled while thinking about it. He even made a citrus-tinged whipped cream which he plans to slather on the next avocado pie he makes. Which hopefully will be on October 10, 2010 for my first annual to nothing PIE PARTY.

It’s going to be held at a pavilion in South Park, and the invitation is open to any local person reading this who has a propensity for pies (or anyone who likes pies enough to travel to Pittsburgh!). I’m trying to convince Henry that we really need to pay extra to be able to have alcohol at the park because I can’t imagine spending an autumn day outside, eating pie, with NO MULLED WINE to wash it down.

Actually, I’ve never had mulled wine, but Alisha always talks about it like it’s her own invention, and has subconsciously convinced me that I must have a big steaming vat of this. I think she should make it in a cauldron. Alisha – we will discuss this soon. Look out for my telegram. Bring your decoder ring.

If we’re not friends on Facebook, here is the official event notice:

A Pretentiously Perplexing Pie Party

Sunday, October 10, 2010

2:00PM – 6:00PM

A Pavilion in South Park, TBD

Please pop a squat with me beneath a pavilion on a (hopefully) pleasant autumn day, plunging plastic ware into a plethora of piquant pies.

Please present one (1) pie for passage; a paltry price to pay for a party pinioned by prestigious proclivity.

Pursuing pies of all persuasions! Palatable produce, pungent pasty, puzzling pot pies.

Leave all picky palates at the plantation and come get your piper pied!
———————
In other words: let’s eat the crap out of some pies.

I’m having my mom make her amazing butterscotch pie, you guys. It could anally rape you and you wouldn’t even notice it, it is THAT good. And I might be cajoled into baking the only pie I’ve ever baked in my life (not including the raw pumpkin pie that left my ex-boyfriend with a persnickety duodenum): a succulent pear pie.

If you would like to attend, please let me know! Even if we’ve never met before, what better way to say hello and swap saliva than with chunks of cherry pie falling from our mouths like the remnants of that Civil War reenactor we cannibalized last Arbor Day?

Aug 052010
 

The downfall of Blogathon is that there are 49 posts in all, and not many people have time to read 49 posts. Especially when most of them occur smack-dab during the prime time of Saturday night. And especially when they’re written by me.

So here are my favorites, hand-picked and waiting for your lovin’.

#2: Henry Gets a Stripper

#8 Something Nice About Henry

#22 Girl First: A True Account!

#24 My 19th Birthday!

#26 The Laughter: A New Band <——–MY FAVE

#31 The Plaza Cafe

#32 Purple: An Erin’s Best Friend

#34 Alisha’s History Hour & Steel Magnolias

#37 A Necessary Weenie Roast

#40 Henry & Baby Selleck

#41 Chooch

#42 The Trunk

#48 Percolator

Aug 012010
 

Not gonna lie, didn’t think I was going to make it this time around. Not so much the exhaustion, but lack of inspiration. It was really rough there for a few hours in the beginning, where I felt like a panic attack was ready to shoot from cannon and envelope me in a bubble of harried hair-pulling and paper-bag breathing. Somewhere in the early evening, I hit my stride and it was pretty OK after that. I didn’t cry at all, except for when Alisha was talking about Steel Magnolias, which is on right now, and oh Shelby, why’d you go ahead and get yourself pregnant, child?

Thanks to you guys (fine, and Alisha), I stayed awake, blogged a bunch of crap, and raised $456 for the Oil Spill Relief Fund! That makes me happy! Does that make you happy? It should. We did this together. I would hold your hand in mine if you were here right now. And you. And you and you and you, too.

Now, I’m going to try and get some sleep. If past Blogathons have taught me anything, I probably won’t be sleeping for long. I’m hoping that when I wake up, Henry will finally decide he wants to celebrate my birthday.

Anyway, if you like what you saw here and hate oil spills, or hate what you saw here but still hate oil spills, donations are still being accepted. I think until August 6th or something? That’s something I should know. But I don’t.

donate!

maybe!

or not!

Thanks you guys! <3

Aug 012010
 

Andrea’s picture request was for Henry to recreate what actually happened with her husband Paul, which was that a baby shoe literally fell from above him when they were at a casino. Such luck! That NEVER happens to me. :(

In other news, Alisha was flipping through the channels and landed on “Steel Magnolias,” while it was still in the opening credits!

You know, since we’re talking about luck.

Aug 012010
 

I made a pot of coffee at 8:30 Saturday morning. A full pot, of which I only drank one cup because then Alisha arrived with a large iced coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts which lasted me several hours because I was too busy frantically typing and waving my arms around to remember it was there.

Then Evonne brought me green tea Frappucino from Starbucks, so I was on a cold beverage kick for awhile.

But about an hour ago, I thought to myself, “Huh. I could really go for some hot beverage, something in a mug. Something brown in color. Oh yeah, coffee.”

So I poured some nearly-day old cold coffee into the same cup I was using Saturday morning and threw it in the microwave.

“That’s really gross,” Alisha grumbled from the couch.

Look, when you’ve already got stomach acid coming up your esophagus, nothing’s really that gross that anymore. Except for maybe the turd milkshake Satan drank on Food Party.

Aug 012010
 

Alyson had the most random request this year, suggesting that Henry cradle a photo of Tom Selleck like a babe.

“It’s something I dream of every night,” she said during  our nightly three-way phone convo with Candy from the chatline. I heard a distinct shattering sound in the background, so I knew it was true; Alyson NEVER lies while she’s smashing Precious Moments with a mallet.

Henry was really trying to leave for work. Really trying. He had just scrubbed off coffee grounds from his face and was in search of his work shoes.

“It’ll only take a second!” I pleaded. “Just sit down and hold this!”

So he did, but not without fussing while Alisha tried not to laugh in his face.

“Um. You’re supposed to be holding it like it’s a newborn baby. Act like you love him. Use both arms.”

He was really glaring at this point. I’m not sure I have a boyfriend anymore. I might be on the market! Any takers? I’m not high maintenance AT ALL.

Aug 012010
 

I don’t know what started it. Maybe it was my fault, mentioning that some dude at The Law Firm just returned to work after serving his third tour of Duty in Iraq. But it made Alisha start talking about war. All the wars. Even wars that may or may not be happening  on Uranus right now.

She was asking questions out loud, to no one really in particular, while “Bewitched” droned on in the background. Then she started answering her own questions. And then she second-guessed her answers. At one point, this brought her to the question of “How old is America? Didn’t we just have a bicentennial? Wait…how many years is in a bicentennial?”

I was sitting on the chaise.

“Are you looking this up?” she asked me.

“Huh, me? No. I’m texting.”

She sank back down on the couch, defeated.

And then, “I love Shirley MacLane. She’s such a great actress.”

I agreed and followed with, “Every time I think of her, I think of her biography that my grandma kept on the coffee table for like, ten years.”

Alisha glared at me. My participation in the conversation wasn’t as film-snobby as she’d have liked. But then she distracted herself by talking about “Steel Magnolias” and the scene in the graveyard, and then I started remembering that scene too and the next thing I knew, I was crying.

“Laughter through tears is like, the greatest thing,” Alisha said with a far-off, half-deranged glint to her eyes.

I sighed. “It really is.”

*********

It was the only thing that got me through the exhausting, painful visitations at the funeral home after my pappap died. All the hand-shaking with strangers, all the pouting lips of distant relatives as they clasped my hands and tilted their head in that knowing fashion that read, “I know exactly how you feel.” My best friend Christy was there through it all with me, and we sat in two chairs tucked away in a corner, making fun of relatives I didn’t like, and asshole employees of my pappap’s drywall company who were chomping at the bit to take advantage of life at Expert Drywall without John Stonick.

We cringed as my cousin Zita flounced over to point out that she and I had chosen similar shoes to wear that night.

We cracked up as my step-dad’s friend Daryl arrived with his son Clayboy the Playboy, nee Clayton. “It’s the Claymation family,” I whispered, and we lost it some more.

I think that was the only time Christy and I ever really hugged, right there next to  my pappap’s open coffin. I wasn’t a very affectionate person back then. I guess I’m still not. Hugging is one of the many things I turn into an awkward display of misplaced hands and directionless chin-resting. She and I cried so hard standing there, reality sinking in that he was really gone. He was her family, too.

That night, we sat at the kitchen counter at my grandparent’s house, rummaging through the many fruit baskets sent out of sympathy from people we didn’t know.

“This is your boyfriend,” Christy said, turning over a small red disk of  cheese with a Dutch boy emblazoned onto the wax.

I grabbed a can of sardines. “This is your boyfriend,” I laughed, waving the cartoon depiction of a sardine in her face.

We sat there at the counter, laughing in that high-pitched way that sixteen-year-old girls are prone to, falling into each other as giggle fits overcame us.

My grandma finally kicked us out.

Jul 312010
 

Something just happened!

There is a church across the street from me. Every Saturday night, there is an NA meeting that takes place there. Sometimes it gets really rowdy, and the attendees will congregate in the parking lot, laughing and talking loudly at 2am. It’s like living across from a bar sometime.

I was outside having a cigarette with Alisha when I heard a particularly loud and boisterous voice emanating from within the bowels of the church.

“I’m going over there to inspect,” I informed Alisha. She didn’t care. She is EXHAUSTED today from having to post twice an hour in that blog that she doesn’t have. She sat on my front steps and let me go, didn’t even tell me to be careful, to call out “MERLOT TASTES LIKE FEET” if my covert operation went awry.

Hunched down low, I crept over to the steps that lead down into the basement of the church.

“I put my pants on in the morning like all of you do in hopes of staying CLEAN!” boomed the voice of a worked-up, feverish black man. I froze in my tracks. The hair stood up on my arms. This man was angry. He was preaching to his former-junkie apostles.

Just then, a car pulled in the lot. Spotted, I ran back across the street just as a man got out of his car and walked over to the steps. He stood there. I turned my back on the church and faced Alisha, horrified.

“There’s nowhere to run!” I hissed. “I LIVE HERE. NOW HE KNOWS. HE’S GOING TO GO IN THERE AND TELL EVERYONE I WAS SPYING.”

“He’s just finishing his cigarette,” Alisha mumbled as the man stubbed it out on the wall next to the steps; we watched as his head vanished as he descended the steps to join the others in the meeting.

Only a full workday left to go!

Jul 312010
 

Me: “That made me sweat.”

Corey: “Me, too. My forehead’s a little moist.”

It all started when Corey said, “Look at the picture in this ad!” It said “Who’s hungry?” and has three people hammily-eating a giant hoagie. I started laughing. Then Corey started laughing. But we never would laugh in tandem. It was like gang-laughter.

“STOP!” Alisha yelled from the chair in the living room.

So we did. But then, under my breath sneaked out a throaty giggle. Corey fed off it and laughed once, loudly. Then I laughed louder. Alisha was very upset at this point.

It sounded like this:

From the living room: “I hate you guys so bad right now.”

And then the laughing started ALL OVER AGAIN. Good job, Alisha Priddy.

EDIT!!! I just played this back and Alisha goes, all calmly, “Oh. I know what that reminds me of now. When I used to work at WESTERN PSYCH.”

Jul 312010
 

Tried doing this earlier for Andrea, but something about the pickles make them stick-retardant. HMM…Maybe all that brine-eriffic moisture. Mmm, MOIST. So they kept sliding down my face.

Then Alisha! She can be brilliant sometimes. Alisha suggested, “If you have needle and thread, we can string them up and hang them from your glasses.”

I knew I had needle and thread because just the other night, I was watching The Real World while sewing all the holes my son put in the couch’s slipcover with his scissors. When am I going to learn to toss those scissors out with the Monday night trash.

So hours later, Alisha strung those booger-y bitches up for me and Corey attached them to my glasses. Unfortunately, I had switched out my glasses hours ago for contacts, so I got to take this picture with double vision.

I’M REALLY THIS SAD IN REAL LIFE.

Jul 312010
 

In this picture, please find that Stacey is smiling while Alisha frantically checks her phone for the time to make sure I’m not fucking up the agenda.

When I came downstairs on the morn’ of my birthday, I caught a glimpse of a large box perched on the dining room table. I gasped! “For me?!” I said aloud, resting my lovely hand upon my birthday bosom.

It was just the light box, which I forgot to put away the night before.

My heart fell. My stomach sank. My fist plunged through a wall.

But a little while ago, Stacey came to visit!  With he, she brought a birthday present for me! A gift card for Best Buy so I can buy all the things that were in Henry’s invisible box of imaginary birthday presents for me!

Then Stacey got to leave to go to work, and I watched as Alisha’s eyes followed morosely. You’re stuck here, my friend.

So that was something nice that happened today (along with Evonne’s visit as well!), amidst all the technical difficulties, high blood pressure and incessant hair-chewing.

Jul 312010
 

So, with Erin only giving me about 3 minutes to think and type this up…this may not be as exciting as the rest of her posts for the remainder of this day..or any other day for that matter. (standard disclaimer)

This is a behind the scenes plea of Blogathon 2010.   While Blogathon is a GREAT idea, it can turn the most docile of us into a crazy hyper manic turtle.  That’s right, have you ever seen a crazy hyper manic turtle?  Me either, but still..  If you know Erin at all, you will know that she is far from a turtle.  I mean, she’s not even green!  Well, accept for that one time.

Last year I thought to come with stuffs.  I mean, I brought lots of stuffs.  I brought canned air(seriously) and wine and chocolates and all kinds of stuffs.  Which were never even used.  This year?  I brought myself.  Coffee.  And a veggie flatbread sandwhich thingie.  I now know the important things to equip myself with to keep Erin in the butterfly and rainbow moods.    That is my job.  Butterflies and rainbows…so, while this post is not so much with the words…I realize that they may be my last.  So, if anyone(ANYONE) reads this, please..remember that I was at Erin’s house until tomorrow morning..and if you don’t hear from me again, or hear of me again..please go feed my dog.  kthxbai

Alisha

Jul 312010
 

I just spent an hour fucking with the camcorder after PERFECTING THE DOUGGIE. I mean, it was amazing how thug I was, how much SWAGGER I HAD. I even had on Henry’s jeans and shirt and a BANDANNA AROUND MY MOUTH and Alisha’s BIG SUNGLASSES and a hat.

“You look like a dyke,” Alisha said.

It took a good fifteen tries before Alisha (“Did I do it good this time, boss? Durr de durr”) finally mastered the camcorder and by that time I was SWEATING. And my neighbors were pulling into the driveway and stopped to gawk through my open front door.

But I was FEELING IT. I’m all about the Douggie now.

TOO BAD IT DIDN’T RECORD AND I JUST QUIT OK, I QUIT.

And every little thing is setting me off. I freaked out and ranted to Alisha about how I hate contrary people and I’m ready to snap. But then Evonne showed up with a green tea frappucino thing from Starbucks and Zombie Squad marshmallow hand sanitizer, whatever that is, so I’m OK now. I’m good.

Although, the flesh on my shoulders hurt because when I was doing the “fly” part of the Douggie, I kept pinching myself.

Perhaps I will try it again later.

Jul 312010
 

“That he’s not here is nice,” mused Alisha as I typed the title to this post.

But seriously, I promised my sponsor Rob that I would write something nice about Henry. So here it is.

Before Henry and I started dating, we were just co-workers who occasionally hung out. It was 2001 and I had just met my biological dad’s mother and her sister Charmaine for this first time. Now, for the last 21 years of my life, all I heard was horror stories about how my father’s alcoholism, drug addictions, and the abuse who let loose upon my mom’s face. He was a monster, and not someone I spent a lot of time thinking about.

But sitting there with my grandma and her sister, looking at old photos of him and hearing about the good side that he apparently harbored, I felt really conflicted. Guilty for hating a man I barely had a chance to know, since he died when I was three. I was always thankful that he never had a chance to inflict pain on me, but these women were making me wonder if good things could have come from him being in my life.

I left their house that day and went straight the cemetery, where I sat by his grave and cried. My boyfriend called me while I was sobbing and said, “Oh. If you’re going to be crying all night, then I’m not coming over.”

Then I got a call from Henry, who wanted to know if I wanted to go on a drive with him. When he heard me crying, he said, “Where are you?” I told him and he said, “Stay there.”

He found me in the cemetery and brought me water. We leaned against his car and he let me cry. He let me talk about my family and my feelings and quietly made sure I was drinking the water; he would always lecture me for not drinking enough.

Later that night, my boyfriend wound up coming over anyway. We sat at my dining room table while he ate the fast food he brought over for dinner (for himself, nothing for me). And I sat there, watching him eat, and I realized he was totally not the person I wanted to be with. I made him leave.

“You still up for going for a drive?” I asked Henry when he answered his phone. We wound up sitting on a big rock in a deserted parking lot by Station Square, talking and laughing and just having a good time getting to know each other.

And then I broke up with my boyfriend.