The Christina Chronicles: The Worst Memorial Day Weekend, Part 2: And I Hate Your Breathing

 The Christina Chronicles
Jul 252010
 

She denied it up to the day the final nail was driven into our friendship’s coffin, but Christina was crazy jealous of my friend Alisha. I often wondered if it would have been an issue if Alisha had been my friend first, but as it turned out, she didn’t enter the picture until nearly two years after Christina put her possessive fingerprints all over my life. Christina’s jealousy was rooted in a few factors:

  • Alisha and I became fast friends and quickly began spending pretty much every weekend together.
  • Alisha is a lesbian so clearly we were having sex together here, there and everywhere during all those weekends.

Unfortunately, this was not true, but it’s how Christina acted.  I thought she would be happy for me because at that time, I didn’t really have many friends around Pittsburgh. And now I had found one with whom I connected on a deeper level than I would typically. Alisha and I could spend hours just sitting in her kitchen, smoking cigarettes and talking about everything; I could be myself around her, serious and silly all at once. And I quickly found that she was open to new music, so I started making her mix CDs.

Another thing that boiled Christina’s blood, I’m sure.

Alisha was also the one, back in March of that year, who warned me of the potential dangers of getting romantically involved with Christina. We had a talk about boundaries and when I told Christina this later, she insisted Alisha was trying to talk me out of it because she wanted me for herself.

Obviously! But I wonder why Alisha, after FIVE YEARS, has yet to make a move? Maybe because WE’RE JUST FRIENDS?

***

That Sunday, the day after the infamous pb&j meltdown, Alisha came over to meet Christina. I’ve never really felt like that before, but I was actually embarrassed to have them meet.

Embarrassed that Christina was going to act like an idiot.

Embarrassed that Alisha was going to think, “Oh my god, THAT’S what you’ve been having sex with?”

It was pretty awkward. I don’t remember the two of them really talking at all. I can close my eyes and picture Alisha sitting in the chair by the window, her back to Christina, eyes on the TV. Eyes still closed, I can picture Christina roiling about on the couch, animation level kicked up to 900.

And then Henry left to pick up pizza, at which point the tension increased significantly. It was obvious that Christina wasn’t going to make an effort, and I honestly didn’t feel it was Alisha’s job to go out of her way.

Since the next day was Memorial Day and Henry was once in the SERVICE, I decided we should make him a card. Not out of love or respect, of course; don’t get it twisted. But out of my special brand of emasculation that I reserve for Henry.

I got out all the supplies and set to work on the floor of the living room. All the other two had to do was sit there and wait for their turn to sign it. I’m very Type A when it comes to arts and crafts. Since we didn’t have much time before Henry came back, I tried to be as simplistic as possible, relying mostly on marker but adding a small amount of glitter glue for spunk. A very small amount.

Before handing the card over to be signed by Alisha and Christina, I warned them to be careful they didn’t smudge the glittered outline of the stars.

Alisha signed her name with competence.

Christina grabbed the card and immediately rammed her big fucking thumb into one of the stars, smudging the perfection of my masterpiece.

It was not a good weekend for something like this to happen and I probably made a bigger deal about it than I should have. But there was already an air of annoyance steady radiating around Christina all weekend. Even when she was sitting quietly, I was finding things to hate about her. Glitter-thumbing Henry’s card was the last straw. I was over it. Done-zo. Couldn’t co-exist in the same room with her anymore.

It’s safe to wager that I made her cry after vomiting my wrath all over her face.  I had a knack of making her cry just by slitting my eyes in malice.

***

Apparently, Henry liked the card so much he jizzed on it.

Then Henry had to ruin the already-cursed card by pointing out that he’s not technically a Vet, which caused me to cry, “OMG YOU HATE MY CARD!” (This card’s clearly been through the war over the last five years. OH!)

***

At the end of the night, I wanted to take Alisha home by myself.

“She only lives 10 minutes away, if that,” I argued with Christina. “Just stay here.”

“But I want to come!” she begged. She wasn’t taking no for an answer. God forbid I should be alone in a car with Alisha! She might try to impregnate me. Short of distracting her with a toy and sneaking out like I do with Chooch, it was clear no ditching was going to happen that night.

So not only did she get her way, but she sat in the front seat! Alisha is very mild-mannered and didn’t make a big deal about it, but I was pissed. Alisha was my guest and Christina should have sat in the backseat where she belonged.

We drove in silence.

Alisha got out.

We drove back in silence.

That night, I lay in bed with Henry and blurted out, “Henry, what have I done? I can’t stand to be around her! I want her to go home.”

He just laughed and mumbled something about the bed I’d made.

***

After watching the annual Memorial Day parade that goes past my house, Christina and I were sitting on the couch together. I was trying to watch the French Open, but all I could hear was her breathing.

And her toes cracking.

And her breathing.

There was a good three feet between us on the couch, but it felt like she was melding into me.

“When does your bus leave?” I asked with gritted teeth.

She answered, “6:00pm” and I felt my heart sink. It was only 11:00am.

“Aren’t there any buses that leave earlier?” I prodded. She shrugged and I suggested, “Maybe you should go FIND OUT.”

There weren’t. Short of dropping her off at the Greyhound station seven hours early (which I wanted to do but Henry stepped in and stopped that), I was pretty much stuck with her.

And her toes cracking.

And her breathing.

This was not something I’ve ever experienced with friends before – only boyfriends that I’m growing tired of. It’s the inevitable closing credits of the honeymoon period where the reality of all their flaws and peccadilloes come bubbling to the surface, leaving a trail of strewn socks and Q-tips and puddles of urine all over the lip of the commode. There’s little physical contact and everything is amplified. I never noticed her breathing before. Or the cracking toes. Or how pathetic she looked when she stared at me with her jutting lips and drooping eyes. I wondered how much her presence  was responsible for tipping the scale during my bi-polar episodes; if the pb&j craving would have even inflated to such Sybilacious proportions had she not been there.

I knew that it was time to end this bizarre relationship and try to salvage what ever pieces were left of our friendship. I didn’t want to hate her. I wanted to go back to the way things were. We didn’t talk about it that day. The whole weekend was so traumatic to me that I just wanted it to end on a good note. So Christina watched old home videos with me, videos from when I was 18 and living in my first apartment. It helped to see myself so happy on TV. It distracted me from the cracking toes, the breathing, and the Dear John letter that was looming around the corner. We were able to spend the last few hours laughing together as I immersed myself in the backstories of everything she was watching on these videos.

Sharing those memories with her made me realize that I definitely didn’t want to ruin our friendship.

***

I emailed her after that weekend and explained it all to her, how I felt that every time we crossed that line, it might have seemed like it was making us closer at first, but I was afraid that it was actually chipping away at our bond and I didn’t want to reach that point of no return, where it became all or nothing.

Her reply:

i just don’t know what to say.

i understand that our “relationship” wasn’t typical,
or as you say it was barely one… but even so- it
meant a lot to me. i can move on though- because our
friendship means more to me than any of that other
stuff ever did. i’m not trying to do anything that
makes us not friends…

She swore she was fine with things, but I knew she wasn’t based on the fact she had resorted to her old ways of drowning her problems in sex. She still hadn’t fully come out yet and would pretty much give herself to any man with a working penis. I remember one day that June, she called me and bragged that she had given a blow job to this guy Jack from her work. He was married. His wife had just had a baby. Kudos, Christina.

I didn’t seek out to hurt her through the whole process. I never felt that I was playing games with her. I was following my heart. I was willing to give her a shot. It didn’t work out and now she was going to make me pay for it by whoring herself out and bragging about it to me.

We were supposed to go to Warped Tour together in Columbus (our halfway point) shortly after that, but I bailed on her the morning of. I just couldn’t imagine spending an entire day with her so soon after breaking up with her and then processing the fact that she was essentially doling out blow jobs at the workplace. Christina wound up still going with her sister instead and told me later that she saw Sylvia there. Awfully coincidental that Sylvia, whose brain isn’t developed enough to appreciate anything that isn’t Mariah Carey or anything equally as banal, would not only go to Warped Tour, but one that wasn’t even in her own city.

Even when Christina and I were just platonic friends, that hag was always hanging around, waiting, plotting, salivating hungrily for her turn at Christina. I always knew in my heart Sylvia would eventually get her way, but I still had faith that Christina would make the right choice.

Butler County Fair: Revisited

 Amusement Parks, Fairs, & Carnivals
Jul 182010
 


Jul 10 2010 082[Promise this is the last of this series!]

There were two reasons I had to go back to the Butler County Fair last week:

  1. When Chooch found out that I had gone to the fair without him, the sad dog pound eyes he gave me seriously made me feel like the biggest asshole of a mother
  2. I’m so neurotic when it comes to photos that the fact I left the Canon at home absolutely gnawed at my heart

I needed to go back with:

  1. my son
  2. the good camera (it’s a sickness, I’m aware)

Alisha was game to go back too. We decided we (Alisha, Henry and myself) would just stick with the $5 general admission and just get the ride all day pass for Chooch. I thought I would be OK with this, having had just re-learned how to walk without bowing my legs after all the riding I did the previous week. But as soon as we walked through those gates, that goddamn itch was there. I saw the Wacky Worm and the Freak Out and began wistfully chewing on my lip. Then I saw KIRK! and yelled to Henry, “OH MY GOD IT’S KIRK, LOOK! NO DON’T LOOK! LOOK IT’S KIRK!” He was walking right toward us and I was practically weaving a disguise out of Alisha’s hair so he wouldn’t see me.

Jul 10 2010 030

Then we saw Andrew and his Dutch pancakes and I shouted, “Oh my god, there’s Andrew! Henry, do I have your permission to have sex with him? OH MY GOD, DON’T LOOK OVER THERE!” It was so surreal, like we were walking through an alternate plane, seeing all these people Alisha and I had met a week before, but now they were like celebrities that we couldn’t approach. (Mostly because I was being too idiotic at that point.)

In my other Big Butler accounts, I never mentioned this one super slick guy Alisha and I previously met. She and I were innocently sharing an order of cheesy tornado chips at a table tucked away behind two food vendors when this really smooth guy sauntered over and asked, “Do you think I should put this shirt on, or would it be too much blue?” Currently, he was wearing a gray wife beater with blue plaid shorts. Alisha and I both agreed that he should just leave well enough alone.

“That’s what I was thinking, too,” he said, stuffing his t-shirt under his arm. “I’m Jordan. What are you guys drinking?”

“Well, I have water, and she has tea,” I answered slowly, wondering where this was going and instinctively palming the top of my water bottle to block any imminent date rape. The next thing I knew, he had grabbed his friend John from one of the food booths and, after introducing us to him, smugly added, “They’re partying with us tonight.” Oh OK, how lovely. Alisha and I exchanged surprised glances. Actually, hers was more of a “Do they not know I don’t like dudes?” smirk. There was some more braggadocio-laden banter, when Jordan realized he had a customer at his sunglasses tent. “Customer, be right back. Don’t leave!” he yelled over his shoulder.

We left. Quickly.

And then we saw him again a week later, as Henry was ordering food FROM JOHN and I did everything but stuff lit cigars in my eye sockets to keep from making eye contact.

Jul 10 2010 094

JOHN. He “owns all the booths on the block,” according to Jordan.

Jul 10 2010 046

JORDAN. He was actually sort of cute, but his personality was trying way too hard to be Jersey Shore. Alisha said if she liked weeners, he would be her type. Then she fist-pumped.

I made sure to tug on Henry’s arm and point Jordan out to him. “I could’ve had sex with him last week,” I added, in a bored tone, blowing on my finger tips. “But he was trying too hard.” Henry really enjoyed this virtual walk of carnival boyfriends. I think he would have probably handed me over to Kirk though. Actually, I kind of wish I had instigated a fight between those two.

Jul 10 2010 068

Unlike Kennywood, Chooch was actually very eager to ride things. I couldn’t get him to ride the fucking Wacky Worm though! He preferred instead to ride things where he could make girls do all the work. I really don’t know where he learned that considering I don’t do shit for Henry.

Chooch’s favorite ride seemed to be that stupid Fun Slide; you know, the one that requires asses to be swathed in potato sacks? There was another little boy who was just as charmed by it, and they began racing each other. They’d get to the bottom, throw their sacks at the Mexican carny, then run right back to the entrance. Finally, the carny was like JUST KEEP THE SACKS, JESUS. Alisha and I were sitting in the grass, watching this spectacle, while Henry stood off to the side looking like a creeper. The little boy’s mom deduced that I was Chooch’s mom and inched her way closer. At first it was a brief laugh and smile, a shared acknowledgment that yes, our sons looked cute racing each other down the slides.

And then, before I knew it, she was popping a squat right next to Alisha, and delving into a tale about how her sister Amy was on her way from PITTSBURGH to bring her cigarettes and she sure hoped Amy would arrive soon because her phone was dying and she sure did need a cigarette.

“I’d take anything at this point!” she said, passively hinting to Alisha.

So Alisha sighed and fished in her purse for a cigarette. Sometimes Alisha is nice like that.

Jul 10 2010 109

Meanwhile, I’m trying to prop my camera up on my thigh to shoot clandestine snaps of her.

I got a text from Henry that said, “You are the WORST at stealth photography.”

A helicopter flew past and Anonymous Mom asked if any of us had gone up in it yet. Rides were $15 per person. We said no and she told us that she and her son had done it and it was totally worth it. Alisha and I pretended to be impressed.

My brother Corey and his girlfriend Danielle were there that night and came over to join our awkward pow wow. Corey sat right next to Anonymous Mom and began pulling out all the Silly Bandz he and Danielle had purchased. “This entire pack is fast food scented,” he said, draping each bracelet carefully across the bag on his lap so we could all not ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh.’ Danielle was excited to show off her collection, too.

Jul 10 2010 116

Then Corey brought up the helicopter, since we were sitting relatively close to it’s little launch area.

“Oh, she went on it with her son!” Alisha announced with faux enthusiasm, pointing to Anonymous Mom, which prompted her to give Corey the same spiel we already snored through. While she was talking about it, I texted Corey: She just sat down with us…?

Once he learned that we had no idea who she was, he put on this exaggerated guise of interest, totally making her think like we gave a shit about her helicopter ride and sister Amy from Pittsburgh.

We must have sat there with her for thirty minutes without ever making introductions. It was so uncomfortable (clearly not for her, though). When we finally pulled Chooch away from the slides and began to walk away, Alisha hesitated and then said, “Nice meeting you!”

Later on, we saw her again. Amy was with her! We rejoiced.

Jul 10 2010 117

Naturally, this girl’s mom had to come running over to make mom-talk with me, too. Thank god she didn’t linger though.

Jul 10 2010 025

“It’s that damn soup place, don’t make eye contact!” I yelled, but then I was like, “Piss on that, I want some samples.” So once again, Alisha and I promised to be back for a full bowl but we stood them up because it’s SUMMER TIME. That soup was seriously good though. I went to their website and they have apple pumpkin soup, so now I want to buy a batch and have a soup party at Alisha’s house.

Jul 10 2010 103

Eating tornado chips like a champ. (Don’t ever call them tornado fries. Alisha made that mistake and almost got punted out of the fairgrounds by a grisly old lady in a red cowboy hat. It only got worse when she ordered “pop” and not “soda.”)

Jul 10 2010 026

Chooch just walked right up to the food places and said things like, “I WANT LEMONADE.” Then Henry would be all, “SHIT now I have to pay for this, thanks.”

In the end, I caved and decided it was imperative to at least ride the Freak Out and the Zipper. So Alisha, Corey, Danielle and I bought tickets. I loved Freak Out even more this time, though I was pretty aware of the group of guys across from me who mimicked me during the entire ride, and decided that I really need to have this in my backyard, just as soon as the house behind me accidentally gets hit with a “meteor.” A quick jaunt on the Freak Out will soon become my new morning coffee. You just wait.

Jul 10 2010 138

Danielle was so happy to have survived her first time on the Freak Out, that she began doling out hugs to everyone.

Before we left, Chooch begged me to ride the Sizzler with him, so I had to pay another goddamn $3 for a ticket, but it was worth it because he was laughing his little underoo’d ass off the whole time. And I didn’t drop him after the ride ended. Not that that’s ever happened before.

Jul 10 2010 175

I don’t see how any other county fair this summer is going to outshine the majesty that is the Big Butler Fair.

Jul 10 2010 158

[MORE PICS HERE.]

Big Butler Fair, Part 4: Ride Round-Up

 Amusement Parks, Fairs, & Carnivals, Bullet Point Thoughts
Jul 152010
 

overview

The morning of the fair, I panicked a little about what to eat for breakfast. I knew that I wanted to ride everything, all the day, all the time, possibly two rides at once if Alisha was bringing her cauldron and spell book. But I didn’t want to wind up puking like Blake did that one time. In the end, I eschewed the hemlock-laced trucker’s breakfast Henry was plating inside a tire, and wound up forcing down a small bowl of cereal instead.

“Let’s pace ourselves,” I said as we entered the gates to the fair that day. Ride all day passes were $20 (ours were $15 because Alisha bought them online before July 1, she’s such a savvy coupon clipper) and I wanted to be sure we woke up the next morning with safety-bar grooves indented into our flesh and a gaping anal wound, a good sign of us getting our money’s worth. But that wouldn’t happen if one or both of us wound up disgorging our breakfast and life matter after three rides.

We had our favorites, that’s for sure.

  • Mind Blaster: This was more Alisha’s jam, but I think what she really liked were the exaggerated faces of horror I flashed toward her during the ride. I have two things fighting for ‘least favorite’ position: a) it’s too short of a ride, and b) all three times we rode it, I wound up sitting next to an empty seat and getting pelted by the unbuckled seat belt. So instead of bracing myself against the collarbone-cracking oscillations, I was too busy shielding my kneecaps from whipping belts.
  • Freak Out: Oh, this ride is a hobofucker! For our inaugural trip, Alisha and I were the only ones riding it.
    buy nolvadex online nolvadex online no prescription

    It wasn’t so bad at first! Kind of like riding on a giant backyard swing set. But then I realized it was only swinging back and forth lethargically at first because it was gaining MOMENTUM and suddenly we were shot up into the sky. I guess I didn’t pay much attention when we were spectating from the ground earlier, because I failed to notice the point where it pendulates you up so high that your back is parallel to the Heavens and your face is staring point blank at all these things that seemed so harmless when you were on the ground but now they are nothing more than death instruments and now suddenly you’re wishing there were more concession stands over by the Freak Out to better your odds of landing on a trampoline of Kool-smoking muffin tops.  You better believe I was screaming like I had Bieber Fever while playing keep away from Ben Roethlisberger’s  protruding dick in the bathroom of some shitty Georgia night club. In fact, my screams  were of such Tobe Hooper audition tape  quality that the ride began to slow down. “I think I made it stop!” I laughed to Alisha, who had kept an empty seat between us in case one of us began to bleed out. “What?” she yelled over pulsating club beats of Usher. “I think I made them stopppppppp—-” and then that motherfucker sped up again in a DIFFERENT DIRECTION and let me tell you, the first round was basically when your brave boyfriend is feeling out your asshole with the tip of his cock. There’s pain, but then you’re like, “Well, this isn’t too bad I guess” and then he plunges right the fuck in with the whole goddamn shaft, giving an entirely new meaning to the experience. There was one point, as I was flung backward, where I saw my bowels exit my body and suspend in a frozen Karate move in front of me. I had a cold sweat when the ride was over. BUT IT WAS FUCKING GREAT, YOU GUYS! Just like anal.

zipper

The Zipper  is too awesome for bullet points.

Alisha had never been on the Zipper before and I was so excited to corrupt her. I got Henry to go on it once. He wasn’t really paying much attention I guess when we stood in line because he believed me when I swore, “Oh, this doesn’t go upside down.”

Alisha and I hate our lives so much that we rode it three times that day. The first time, I spent the entire ride fucking with the camera, trying to figure out how to get it to record. This meant that I wasn’t holding on. There are two ways I know this:

  1. Alisha kept screaming I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE NOT HOLDING ON.
  2. I slammed my head off the metal grating of the cage enough times to do some damage, which I think is why I tried to eat my porridge out of the commode the next morning.

And then something absolutely horrific happened. We’re suspended something like A LOT of feet in the air, smashed into a cage that’s spinning faster than Sybil on sugar cubes, when something FELL.

All I knew was that it was orange and it was a vital piece to the safety latch of the cage, thusly, we were frozen Looney Toon-style, mid-air, waiting for Satan to snap his fingers.

I’m screaming, “WE’RE GOING TO DIE, WE’RE GOING TO FUCKING DIE, THIS IS IT!

buy strattera online strattera online no prescription

I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HOW I’M GOING OUT, I HAVEN’T EVEN EATEN SUSHI OFF A NAKED BITCH YET” and then as I paused to swallow a gulp of Butler County air, I caught the tail end of Alisha yelling, “—my fucking phone! That was  my brand new fucking phone!”

Oh how I embraced life at that very moment. I laughed like Alisha’s phone was a fucking double rainbow and then sobbed a little and then laughed harder.

IT WAS JUST HER STUPID PHONE! Not the world’s orangest bolt. Unfortunately, Alisha didn’t share my same relief because she had just literally got that phone the day before. I was able to clamp it down under my foot to ensure it didn’t get ejected from a carnival ride that makes the Iron Maiden look like a foot massager. So then my trip on the Zipper became REALLY fun and purposeful.

buy vibramycin online vibramycin online no prescription

My foot actually cramped from the urgency of which I was pinning down her phone.

Alisha said the second time we rode that other asshole ride, Freak Out, the guy next to her was texting the entire time. I don’t think I would have been able to save his phone too.

insidezipper

I like this photo because you can see Alisha holding on for dear life in the reflection of my sunglasses; meanwhile I’m like, “Just another afternoon on the yacht with Brody Jenner and Kristen Cavalleri, ya’ll.” I hate this photo because it was taken with the SHITTY CAMERA, you guys. I promise, I have a nose.  That Leno chin is real, though.

zipperview

The second time we rode it, I recorded the entire trip. It’s over three minutes of me swearing, screaming, and saying “Oh my God” in a way that was meant to be filled with crisis but came off sounding like I’m orgasming. This particular go-around felt much more violent than the first one! There was one point where our cage somersaulted a good 10-12 times with no relenting.

“That’s what sex must sound like on a crashing plane,” I muttered to Alisha as we stumbled out of the cage and crossed ourselves post-haste.

phone

Alisha, on the swings with her precious phone that I basically died for.

We rode one last time before we left, because KIRK was at the helms and I kept promising we’d be back to bunch up our lives in his hands like cum-covered panties.

zipper1998

Oh my god, this was me after riding the Zipper at the same fair in 1998! And I keep coming back for more torture. There’s a term for that. I think it’s called “Katy Perry fan.”

Big Butler Fair Part 2: Kirk vs Andrew + awkward soup slurping

 Amusement Parks, Fairs, & Carnivals
Jul 092010
 

[This may have been written by someone drunk off wine.]

Alisha and I had just bought ourselves awesome rings (she got one that sparkled so she could pretend it was made from Edward’s vampiric flesh) when a husky man clad in the native threads of Holland summoned us over to his booth.

“Have you ever heard of poffertjes?” he asked, his ruddy cheeks giving him the sort of farm boy naivete that makes me immediately want to step up to the challenge of behind-the-silo corruption.

I looked at Alisha, thinking that it might be some weird Bible collectors cards from her home planet of Arkansas, but she looked just as blank as I look 389 days of the year.

“They’re little Dutch pancakes,” he went on to explain, gesticulating to the HOT GRILL and Dutch-chapeau’d broad behind him, who was chatting on a cell phone, a decidedly non-Dutch thing to do, in my opinion. But then he noticed Alisha’s hate/love tattoo and broke character, telling us of his brother’s obscene chest-piece and announcing several times that he had just relocated to Philly from Tucson.

“So, do you want to try some of these?” he asked hungrily. “We’re on a mission to make people aware of these delicacies!”

I did, really. I wanted to try at least fifty of them. There was little else I wanted to stuff down my gullet that day, except maybe ice cream and elephant ears and tornado chips and grape leaves and pizza and fried mushrooms and deep-fried Oreos and 34 heaping ladles of cheese sauce. But I just wasn’t feeling it right then, and I was also a little turned off that he hadn’t offered us a sample.

“I’ll tell you what,” I propositioned, because everything comes down to a proposition with me. “We’ll be back for some of those, and you have to let me take your picture.”

He jovially agreed and Alisha and I walked away, straight into the arms of the BEST SOUP SLINGER in the WORLD. He was from Long Island, which I never knew was known for their lobster bisque and dizzying array of chowder, but why would a banner at a county fair of all places lie to me? Everything at the fair is built on TRUTH, right down to the safety certificates of the rides and the inhabitants of the freak show tent.

This guy knew how to play the game and immediately offered us samples.

I chose a plastic thimble full of lobster bisque and awkwardly tongued it while he watched me with slobbering anticipation.

“OOOOH! LOOK AT HER FACE! THIS GIRL IS LOVING IT!” he shouted to the younger guy toiling around behind the row of soup pots. People passing by had slowed their pace to see if I was female-ejaculating.

That wasn’t awkward at all. It felt like the first time I masturbated in front of your WoW guild back in 2004.

I assume the public consumption of hot soup from Tinkerbell’s Diva Cup gets just as easy after time.

Alisha opted for the cajun corn chowder.

“OK now that one is spicy, just so you know,” the maniacal soup slinger warned. “It’s because it’s CAJUN.”

Here is a fun fact about Alisha! She doesn’t like being told things she already knows!

“Yeah, I got that,” she said dryly.

He really wanted to fill our bellies with an entire bowl of the shit, but it was like, NINETY DEGREES that day. Yes, let me drink down some steaming hot chowder right before I go on the Claw, you mother fucker.  I told him we would be back. And we were at one point! Except we all but walked sideways so he wouldn’t recognize us.

Leaving the soup chamber, we continued our prowl along Clogged Artery Alley.

“I think we Imprinted,” I blurted.

“Huh?” Alisha asked, with a coating of surprise and impatience, which she has perfected through years of dealing with me.

“Andrew,” I sighed dreamily, before adding, “The Dutch pancake guy.” You know, in case her mind hadn’t been infected with his exotic Dutchness like mine had.

“SHUT UP,” she demanded.

***

A few minutes later, we found ourselves strapped into the Fireball, a mini rollercoaster that does nothing but cycle across a loop relentlessly to the tune of popping bolts and squealing metal.

“Am I going to die?” I asked the carnie.

He laughed. “No, you won’t die. Not yet anyway. But you probably only got another 40 years…”

I considered this; dying at 70 didn’t seem too bad.

“…you’ll live to be 60,” he continued, laughing harder at his brilliance.

HE ONLY THOUGHT I WAS 20, YOU GUYS!

“I like you!” I blurted, and then the ride started and I screamed bloody murder and lobster bisque  in Alisha’s face the entire time.

After the ride, he teased us some more and I decided he was the best carnie ever, which was why I called him over a little bit later and shouted, “CAN I TAKE YOUR PICTURE?” because I can’t ever just ask things in a normal tone. Alisha hung back, wanting no part of this.

kirk“What’s your name, anyway?” he asked. “I’m Kirk.”

I made a point of waving in Alisha’s direction and telling him her name too, but unless “Alisha” was my bra size, I don’t think he much cared.

We chatted for a few more seconds, and then I pranced back over to Alisha.

“I snagged myself a SUPERVISOR,” I bragged.

“Oh, yay,” Alisha patronized.

Later, we were on this really awkward hang-glider ride which requires you to board it by laying on your stomach and scooting up until this plastic wedge separates your legs. It was located right next to the Fireball ride.

So we’re just hanging there on our stomachs, like we’re ready to be mounted, when Kirk turns around and spots us. “Hey!” he shouted. “Come ride this again!”

Alisha pointed out that I was giving him a prime boob shot with the way I was squashed down on my stomach. “And he’s totally checking that out too,” she mumbled.

Later still, we ran into him when he was manning another ride, and we totally held up the line as he came down to the gate to chide me some more.

“And again, he was totally looking at your boobs,” Alisha told me, and I think she was jealous because hello, she thought I wore that shirt for her!

I remembered Andrew and started to feel guilty. Surely, since we’d Imprinted, my flirtations with Kirk must have been stabbing his soul with plastic carnival cutlery. I decided it was time to go back for those fucking pancake things.

***

poffertjes

“WE’RE HERE!” I announced, after we found our way back across the herds of prison-tattooed wife beaters and stench of diesel. ” I told you we would be back!” I said proudly to Andrew.

Before I handed over any money, I made sure he and Henrika made good on their promise of a photographical keepsake.

andrew

(Have I mentioned yet that I was stuck with the hideous point-and-shoot? Fuck that camera with the Devil’s dick.)

While Hendrika griddled up my pancakes, Andrew talked to us about how the wind kept blowing out the flame under the grill! And that poffertjes date all the way back to the 1400s! And they’re traditionally served with powdered sugar and either grenadine, amaretto, or cassis! And he tried to teach us how to say poffertjes but I forgot before the last syllable had a chance to gyrate off his tongue because I couldn’t stop staring dreamily at him and wondering when he was going to take me behind that piping hot griddle and impregnate me with his Tucson lineage.

hendrika

Then these fucking fat fair queens came clomping over in their stupid country dresses and tiaras (no really, they were the official fair queens) and Andrew turned his attention on them so I pretended to be wildly interested in Hendrika’s precise placement of pancakes atop the river of cassis. (Andrew said that was the best choice. DEEP SIGH.)

I handed Hendrika the money and walked away with Alisha and my Dutch fuckcakes. “I’m trying to play it coy,” I explained as we turned a corner.

“Yeah, I noticed,” she said sarcastically.

I can’t believe I know how to spell “poffertjes.”

pancakes

“They’re really hot, you might want to —-” Alisha started to warn. “Or you could just shove the whole thing in your mouth,” she said sardonically, as I winced in open-mouthed agony.

They were good, those little pancakes! Real doughy and soft in the middle, like I imagine Andrew is post-coitus. I’d totally make him keep those wooden shoes on, by the way.

“I feel like Bella,” I said later. “Are you Team Kirk or Team Andrew?” I asked Alisha.

She was pretty much OVER IT by that point.

#9 Flea Market, Meeting My Iconical Needs

 blogathon, flea markets
Jul 252009
 

Last Sunday, we went to Rossi’s Pop-Up Market (and Alisha wants everyone to know that the essay I wrote about it for my creative non-fiction class was no exaggeration, thank you). Now, the last few times I hit up any flea market, I’ve struck out and spent most of the day pouting about it. Not even any Christopher Pike books?

REALLY?

But this time, I made out. It’s a good thing I have very low standards.

First, I got a Virgin Mary bracelet which I probably paid about $3 too much for and realized that I have one almost identical to it at home, but whatever. I used Henry’s money.

THEN. Then I found this piece of hot ass shit:

rainbowframe3

WHAT? They just don’t make picture frames like that anymore.

After I scrounged fifty cents out of my pocket, it was mine. ALL MINE. I grabbed that sonofabitch so fast and held it close to my face. To the lady behind the table, I said, “And I’m totally keeping these pictures in it, too!”

Then a piece fell off of it.

rainbowframe2

I have a hat like that! I should wear it today in honor of what I’m doing. Wait – what am I doing again? Oh yeah, sitting and typing.

rainbowframe

I want to look like that when I’m on the phone!@!

It’s hanging above my microwave right now, you guys! Can you stand it!!

mary

And then some old hag wanted FOUR DOLLARS for this but Henry was like, “Tell her you only have $2” and I have to say that I felt guilty lying to someone’s great-grandmother, but she was like, “FINE TAKE IT” and then went back to chugging her Metamucil. (Alisha tried telling me that was spelled wrong, but I emerged victorious.)

It’s hung up real nice above my commode, a nice companion for my Last Supper (the epitome of religious eye sores) and this other Mary thing I have:

maryscrabble

Then Chooch pissed his pants and we had to leave.

Day Trip Diner Action

 Photographizzle
May 192009
 

It was all Alisha’s fault. She tricked us into driving out to Sharon, PA by boasting of this really fucking awesome chocolate kingdom at Daffin’s and some Coney Island restaurant that had like, the best food ever, though she wasn’t sure if there were non-meat options for me but who cares about Erin anyway. I agreed because I thought maybe it would be fun to leave her there, in Sharon.

And so, with Henry driving and Blake sitting comfortably in the passenger seat, Alisha and I squeezed in the back of our modest Ford Focus with Master Chooch, who was thrilled for the human contact. I had him on one side, pulling my hair, and Alisha on the other, jamming her elbow between my ribs. I spent a good portion of the billion-hour road trip wailing, “HEENNNRRRY! They’re hurting me!”

After pulling over in the parking lot of some run down factory where I took pictures of Alisha and Blake lounging on a run-down tetanus-laden car, we arrived at Daffin’s Chocolate. The “kingdom” was really just a wimpy display of a decrepit castle tower with a giant turtle thrown in the center to provide a weak distraction of the fact that it was less kingdom, more trailer park. And it stunk real bad in there too, and not just because Henry’s old and losing control of his faculties.

Chooch ran around the shop like a fucking crack addict, causing old women to gape in horror (some of them still had stroke-face after getting a glimpse of the very-pierced Blake, and that always makes me laugh), so I had to pull him out before I ended up owing Daffin’s my life savings. (But not before grabbing a handful of complimentary postcards; if you want one, holla.)

daffins

Alisha’s much-hyped Coney Island was closed (I thought Henry was going to kill her) but LUCKILY I saved the day when I spotted a diner. Henry and Alisha tried to ruin everything by suggesting, with no basis, that it was closed. Well guess what motherfuckers it was open and it was awesome.

donnasdiner

So awesome, in fact, that it has two names.

dineroutside

A quaint brick and moss courtyard next to the diner. There was a river at the other end and I kept envisioning Chooch falling into it and promptly had Mommy Heart-Flips.

dinerinside

Thank god we were the only people there because Chooch was acting like a poster child for Ritalin. Blake eventually had to take him outside and then I remembered the river and had Mommy Heart-Flips again. I will not feel calm until I get that kid hooked up to a leash.

choochjelly12

Chooch likes to spoon jelly into his loud mouth. It could be worse. It could be shit.

tableThis retro pattern made me feel dizzy, and then I started thinking about my kidneys.  And then boomerangs. And then clown porn. What?

alishablake

Blake ordered every breakfast item on the menu and proceeded to stare longingly at the syrup carafe. For a long time. And Alisha spent the whole time looking like she was trying not to puke and maybe it’s just me, but I’m starting to develop a sickening paranoia about that. Do I really make her that nauseated? Probably it’s from all the LAUGHTER I provoke in her.

The women’s room was labeled “Dolls” which I thought was very charming. But then I became worried! Where would ALISHA pee??

Henry ordered wings and ate them like it was his last meal before succumbing to H1N1. The sauce-smear across his moustacioed lips was very attractive, like he had just went down on a barbequed street walker.

And then we left and spent another fifty billion hours driving aimlessly through Amish turf, where I started to write a script for a brand new television drama starring Henry’s eyebrows*, and became arrested by strong desires to relinquish the hold all these material things have upon me and join Team Amish, where I can don a bonnet, write with a quill and ink,  and have sex through a hole in a sheet. And sell my bathroom plaques to tourists from the Big City.

[*A few minutes later, we passed some weird building consisting of two side-by-side domes and Henry goes, “It’s a breast-stop, get it? A breast-stop” because it looked like boobs sort of (but not really) and it was really lame and no one laughed, but then I said, “That will be the first joke your eyebrows tell in their new show” and Alisha was trying so hard not to laugh that her face was all red and Blake was doing that high-pitched snort thing which means he thought it was REALLY FUNNY so fuck you, Henry.]

Edit: Srsly, I have 14 of these lame-o postcards and maybe you’re into collecting lame-o post cards, then you should tell me and I’ll send you one.

When Michiganders Infiltrate

 where i try to act social
May 122009
 

Bill and Jessi (my MICHIGAN friends) came to visit over the weekend for Chooch’s birthday party (more on that later when I’m not coughing up my ghost). Perhaps they think I’m making fun of their state, but the real reason I introduce them as “my Michigan friends” is so everyone will be like, “Wow, Erin is so wonderful that people will drive from MICHIGAN to hang out with her” even though the secret is that most people come for Chooch. Probably my friends walk away thinking, “I don’t even like to cross the Liberty Bridge to hang out with that cunt, but these assholes will drive five hours?”

billjessimay


So I happened to be sick all weekend (and I still am, but at least now I have that phlegmy cough that I love so much) but luckily Alisha came over on Saturday to act as a liaison of sorts. We took the aliens, I mean Michiganers, to Mt. Washington, where they could take in the breathtaking view of our city. And this is where I learned that Alisha moonlights as a Pittsburgh tour guide, because she was whipping her arm all over the place, pointing out buildings and rivers and I think I heard a few dates roll off her tongue too and I was kind of like, “Wow, I lived here my whole life and I did not know that.” And Alisha is from Arkansas!

Still, I was thankful to not have to speak too much, because I was sick. Like, take-me-to-the-nearest-infirmary sick. And to make it worse, Alisha had given me some bogus drug combo and I lost feeling in my finger tips and then I almost fell into the river at one point, too.

buy priligy online buy priligy generic

I think I even blacked out and I’m pretty sure Alisha picked my pockets when my consciousness was AWOL.

Bill and Jessi got to ride the incline, which is probably the biggest treat to offer Pittsburgh visitors. Yes, our city is THAT awesome — people can sit in a house that goes up and down a hill. Space Needle what now?

(I am  not the biggest fan of our city, I don’t know if anyone noticed.

buy vilitra online buy vilitra generic

)

Anyway, on the incline’s return trip, some douche with Wolverine mutton chops sat with us and I thought Jessi was going to slice him because Bill has to have the best ‘chops. “There can only be one!” she kept saying. For what it’s worth, Bill’s are so much better anyway.

I think 45% of the day was spent talking about nasal douches.

Then we ate at Mad Mex with Henry and Chooch and I’m pretty sure our waiter thought that Chooch was Bill’s son and I was growing sicker by the second with the aid of Alisha’s traveling medicine cabinet and all I could think of was the girl on Prom Nightmares who used to be a raver but got out of the scene only to decide to take that one last hit of Ecstacy at her prom and she died, she fucking died, and none of her friends listened to any of her complaints until she past out and then you know what happened? She started to turn BLUE, motherfuckers. BLUE. And then she was in a coma and DIED.

And when I shared this cautionary tale with my dinner companions, they all kind of looked at me stupidly and then said, “Yeah, you’ll be fine.” MY HEART WAS FLUTTERING!!! I am so lucky I made it home that night, for fucking realsies.

Good thing too, because the Penguins won their game that night and I was able to scrounge up just enough energy to cheer.

(On the real, I love these guys. They watched hockey with me and Jessi hates it and didn’t even complain and even said that if she were ever to hit her head real hard and suddenly like hockey, she would be a Penguins fan.

buy amoxicillin online buy amoxicillin generic

That, my friends? That is love.)

 Newer Entries