SHE IS JUST SO FLUFFY I CAN’T STAND IT! I demonstrated the other day for Henry how long it takes me to leave work each day because I keep coming back into the house to hug Marcy one more time.

Speaking of, here is a video of her playing with a pencil:

This photo still makes me so happy! Sometimes when I’m having a shitty day at work, I hold it close to my face and start laughing. Aaron was looking at it the other day and just as he started to make fun of it, I said sadly, “That’s my cousin.” He walked away before I had a chance to get into the gory details about how he passed away from complications with his sex-change operation.

I CUT THESE ALL BY MYSELF!! It’s the only fruit I had all week because Henry has really been dropping the fruit ball lately. I tried to buy an apple at a convenience store on my way to the trolley yesterday but the cashier looked at me like I was asking for escargot. Apparently, no, they don’t sell fresh fruit there.

This was Mother’s Day present to myself – new TOMS!

In other news, I’m still laughing at the “Glenn is a lesbian” rumor. It’s either that or continue crying over the Office finale.

And then Glenn walked by.

“We should start a rumor that Glenn is a lesbian,” Barb said. I don’t recall any overt hysterics from Nate or Debbie over this suggestion, but I fucking DIED. I was laughing so hard I had to walk away. Then I realized I had walked into a dead-end, so I turned around and had to find the nearest chair to sit in to keep from showwering my co-workers with gleeful urination.

“THAT IS THE BEST IDEA EVER!!” I squealed once I was able to speak again. I can totally picture him in a flannel and skinny jeans at a Tegan and Sara show, can’t you?!

So I was walking back to my office-thing and saw Glenn sitting all lesbianly at his desk and I lost my shit all over again. Amber2 looked concerned because when I get this giddy, it oftentimes appears that I am under some sort of duress, the kind of red-hued scrunched-up face one might put on immediately after learning of the death of a loved on or Corey Haim. Unfortunately, this is also my Ugly Laugh face.

I tried to explain to her what was going on, but this only resulted in my having to SQUAT DOWN and bury my face in my arms. Every time I opened my mouth to talk, I could only manage to vomit out incomprehensible, muffled sounds.

“I’ll just email you!” I wheezed. Even better is that there is a new processor who just started last week and she sits right in front of Amber2, which is unfortunately pretty close to me, so she gets to overhear all sorts of weird things that may or may not have something to do with weird things and me.

This uncontrollable laughing alone carried on for over an hour without reprieve (for me or those in direct vacinity of me). And then I started telling more and more people (most of whom where like, “That is not really that funny”) so eventually, Glenn was all, “Ha-ha, what is going on?”

This only made the remainder of my sanity expire in a mushroom-cloud explosion of tears and laughter and I had to literally run away from him.

Finally, I emailed him and said, “Barb just wanted to know if you like the Indigo Girls” which confused him even more.

I can’t even look at him now without hearing “Come To My Window” in my head. I tried to get my friend Natalie, whose office is right next to Glenn’s desk, to walk by him while singing the chorus but she was just like, “I hate you.”

I printed this out and taped it to his desk.

This is the best rumor ever! Does anyone have an “L Word” DVD I can put on his desk?

Yesterday, I was rooting around through a bagful of old photos when I found this old gem of me, my brother Ryan and our mom at Kennywood in probably 1986 or so.

I don’t know what happened to the lady in that photo, but I haven’t seen her in a long time.

I guess because it was so soon after Mother’s Day, but it really hit me hard. How did I go from having some semblance of a relationship with my mom to literally nothing at all? I mean, we have no contact. None. I even asked my brother Corey if she ever asks him about me or Chooch and he said no.

She literally doesn’t even ask.

I don’t really know what I’m getting at here. I’m not exactly pining for her, if we’re going to be frank about it. I know that I’m better off without her, and Chooch is DEFINITELY better off without her. (This is the lady whose response to my question of, “Why don’t you ever tell me that you love me?” was “Because you didn’t tell me first!”) But that doesn’t eradicate the confusion I feel about the whole situation and how shitty it feels when you realize that you are literally worthless and disposable to the very woman who brought you into this world. I guess I just want to know why. What changed? What happened to her? I mostly do OK with living my life and not dwelling on this, but holidays—and the accidental nostalgia binge—always trigger my neurotic obsessing and rehashing.

And while I was having a wonderful Mother’s Day with my kid and Henry and his mom, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a day my own mom was having — did she sit around and pity herself because she got one less card celebrating her as a “mom”? Does she understand that other women throughout the years have taken it upon themselves to step up and fill that void in my life?

Does she even notice that I’m not around?

And what if this is a glimpse into my future? What if this is the kind of mom Chooch is going to grow up to have? What if I can’t stop it?! During dinner on Mother’s Day, Chooch randomly broke down into tears and wailed (and I mean WAILED), “You didn’t even like the Christmas present I got you!!” which is complete bullshit, and maybe this was spurned by the fact that he was so fucking tired, but you know what? I realized that I couldn’t even remember what he got me for Christmas. Am I just as horrible as my own mom? Because I sure as fuck felt like it at that particular moment.

Maybe I’m not some little kid who needs a mom, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be kind of nice to have one.  I guess my point is, if you have a mom who gives you the time of day, give her a fucking hug every now and again. And an extra one for me, too.

(You think this was whiny? You should have heard me crying about my pinched nerve at work all day!)

When we went to DelGrosso’s mommy really wanted to go on the wacky worm so we did. then we went on the crazy mouse daddy did not want to go on it because he’s such a crybaby because of the big hill. so he didn’t go on anything grandma went on the crazy mouse ;-) twice and the marry-go-round and the yoyo witch is the swings. mommy went on the super SPIRAL and the XTREAM (I put that in capital letters because it’s so XTREAM ) :cry: mommy peed her pants :lol:

ME AND MOMMY WENT ON THE Casino. I got a picture with buddy witch is a bear. Dumb dumb Daddy won me a tiger I named it Tony I won 2 things a fish & a bear. It was mothers day and my mother rules and daddy doesn’t.

I was going to win this game but this stinky lady dumbest lady in the hole wide world cheated for this 4 year old and I was so freaking madddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd the game was called water races.

I like amusement parks because there’s roller coasters and swings and some water rides.

1. I hadn’t been skating since Chooch’s birthday party a year ago, what the fuck?!
2. This was going to be my first time hanging out with Elizabeth, with whom I became blog-friends through Sandy. (Though we did technically meet very quick-like at the Big Butler Fair last year, long enough for a handshake, and then the Wacky Worm pulled me in another direction.)
3. CHOOCH AND I WERE GOING WITHOUT HENRY.

Henry, who has been pulled all over the great state of Pennsylvania nearly every weekend lately, decided that this would be the perfect chance for him to finally get some shit done around the house.

At first I was like, “OMG WE CAN’T POSSIBLY DO THIS WITHOUT YOU HOW COULD YOU ABANDON US LIKE THIS YOU MONSTER!” But then I thought, “Wait….I get to go skating and then come home to a clean house? Tell me more. No, wait — STFU and just start cleaning, motherfucker.”

I think that the fact that Sandy and Elizabeth were going to be there made Henry feel a little more confident in his decision to usher us out the door, nary a compass nor bag of breadcrumbs. Not even a helmet for our precious heads!

Before we could even think about leaving, though, Henry had to go and put gas in the car, make sure we were properly monied-up, and then remind us of our respective skate sizes. It was a pretty large undertaking, but soon Chooch and I were on our way — and I didn’t even need directions!

Sandy and her daughter Elena were already there when we got there, and I proudly told her that Chooch and I had made it there all on our own. Sandy has worked with me for three years now so she is fully aware of my crippling dependence on Henry so it was all Blame Henry up in that parking lot for about 5 seconds and then my excitement for rollerskating eclipsed my abandonment issues.

*****

Parenting

I will say that skating-up took way longer than it would have if Henry had been there. Because when Henry is there, he laces both mine and Chooch’s skates before worrying about his own. Sandy would not do this for us, so Chooch wound up with his skates on the wrong feet, forcing me to rub my Care Bear belly-stretchmarks to radiate some of my dormant maternal magic upon the situation. (At least I put my skates on the right feet.)

I won’t even get into Chooch’s lacing-skills. Anyone walking by would have thought for sure he was an inbreed based on his skate-lacing alone. Jesus Christ.

(Sandy even took a picture of me fixing Chooch’s skates for parenting proof.)

We had barely begun skating before Chooch was all, “I’m hungry, feed me.”

I panicked briefly until I remembered that there was change from our rink admission. So I balled it up into Chooch’s hand and steered him toward the snack room. Thank god he is way more self-sufficient than me and was able to procure his own food. However, he summoned me from the doorway and made me sit with him, which was really annoying because seven-year-olds should be able to eat by themselves. But instead, I sat with him, straining every few seconds to hear what AWESOME POP SONG we were missing but sure to hear 87 more times throughout the day, thanks a lot for having the audacity to be hungry, kid.

He shared his nachos with me, at least.

*****

Socks & Socializing Attempts

Sandy forgot to bring socks so it was either wait for Elizabeth to bring her a pair or pay $2.50 for a pair at the skate shop and god only knows where they get their socks. This was such an epic subplot to the day—would she wait for Elizabeth or go sock-commando and risk contracting some fatal strain of Athlete’s Foot?!— that I might create a Twitter handle* for it.

*(SandysSocks, obviously.)

But then Elizabeth and her husband Mike arrived with a spare pair of socks before Sandy had to resort to wrapping her feet in snack bar napkins. Elizabeth informed me later that it was kind of a big deal that Mike agreed to come because he had some terrible spill at a skating party in 6th grade which was caught on tape and he has never quite healed. So I scratched his name off the adult supervision list.

The problem with meeting friends at the skate rink is that skating isn’t conducive to conversation. At least not for me anyway. Because I like to skate FAST. Too fast to talk!

Sometimes I will slow down long enough to comment on the current song situation though. Like when “Call Me Maybe” was playing, I had to make sure that everyone knew Chooch and I requested it. “Didn’t they already play this?” either Sandy or Elizabeth wondered, and I can’t remember which right now because every time I close my eyes to try and re-picture the scene, all I see are blurs because I skate SO FAST REMEMBER.

(I actually wasn’t skating at Turbo Speed on this day. I didn’t want to die! And god help the poor soul that would have to help lift me off the rink, seriously.)

We mutually decided that maybe next time, we will go out for drinks, fancy food, all of the above.

*****

Roller DJ Reunion

Before I could even consider skating, I had to get my obligatory chastising by Roller DJ out of the way. I mean, he gets angry when I take a season off, so I braced myself for the scathing I was about to get for being AWOL an entire year.

I made up some on-the-spot excuse about scheduling conflicts and sicknesses, and by that I meant, like, the flu, but I guess Roller DJ took it to some terminal level and gasped, “Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that!” So I just kind of ran with that because at least he wasn’t making me feel like a skating poser for dipping out of the scene. He was probably picturing Henry cloistered in a darkened infirmary run by monks, finally succumbing to some disgusting disease he contracted when he was in the SERVICE. Fucking Panama!

Or maybe that’s just me who would picture that.

On the outside of the DJ booth is a big neon-lit sign that boasts DJ Big Will.

“That’s new!” I observed, and Roller DJ beamed.

“I just had it made!” he shouted proudly over throbbing basslines. “You have to like my page on Facebook!” Oh, you bet I will!

Sadly, Roller DJ’s ‘fro is no more. Maybe I should make a Twitter handle for that, too.

*****

Falls

I have to be honest here — I was scared when I first stepped out into the rink. I thought for sure, being out of the groove for a year, that this was going to be the day when the rink transformed into one consecutive banana peel and I was going to have all sorts of bones protruding from my limbs and poor little Elena was going to proficiently skate past this writhing mass of contusions and shrieking curse words and be utterly traumatized for at least the next three years and then will probably forget about it until one day in her twenties when she hears Justin Bieber’s “Beauty and the Beat” on some oldies station in a grocery store and wonders why she wants to puke more violently than people typically do when they hear any song by that dickstick.

Oh, that’s just the repressed images of Miss Erin’s “Grey’s Anatomy”-caliber rollerskating injury that the Biebs is helping you to re-see, Elena.

And oh god, can you imagine if I sucked in front of two people who BLOG? They would have a field day with their “ERIN FELL! READ ALL ABOUT IT!” blog posts. But I wasn’t as rusty as I anticipated! I mean, like Sandy said, I wasn’t wrapping my legs around my head or even at the very minimal doing the jumps during the Cha Cha Slide, but I could probably beat most of you turkeynoodles* in a race!

*(This was my attempt at cutting back on the swears because my vulgarity came up earlier today and now I’m feeling extremely self-conscious about it, fuck. The old Erin would have called you all cuntnoodles. I miss Old Erin already!)

The best part about this particular session is that it wasn’t crowded — it looked like one birthday party was going on and then a handful of inoffensive people. There really wasn’t anyone there that got on my nerves!

Just kidding.

There was some semi-chubby 10-year-old girl in head-to-toe spandex and blond ponytail and I don’t know what it was about her, but she rubbed me the wrong way.

Maybe it was because she reminded me a little bit of myself.

She fell during the Hokey Pokey and I had to summon every last morsel of restraint within myself to keep from publicly heckling her.

One perk of leaving Henry at home is that I was able to freely glide around the rink like the graceful swan that I am and no one could say, “You’re an OK skater, but DAMN—Henry can skate, y’all!”

Henry, Henry, Henry! — whined in the stylings of Jan Brady.

UGH! It gets pretty cold living in Henry’s shadow.

But seriously, aside from all of the skate guards and the two junior derby broads, I was totally the best skater there. Although, there was some older guy in a Clyde’s Auto Repair shirt and feet stuffed into fancy quads who was doing some moderately slick moves, but he fell A LOT and was pretty wobbly even when he wasn’t falling. I mean, I’m sure he was probably real sick in his day, but is pretty washed-up by 2013′s standards. Sorry, bro. I’m better than you.

(This is based solely on the fact that I didn’t fall, even though Chooch kept trying to tell Henry that I did.)

In fact, you can tell that I must have skated without break the whole time based on the fact that I only have one picture from that afternoon. (No phones on the rink, duh!)

There was another dad-type there who flipped over the wall, which was incredibly hysterical and I hope Elizabeth’s husband saw it because that’s gotta make him feel better about his own vintage roller skating birthday party blunders.

You know who else fell a lot? My damn kid. Jesus Christ! I don’t know how we didn’t cap off the day with a Children’s Hospital visit. This is how I learned that I would be a terrible skate guard because I struggled every time I had to help him pick himself back up.

Plus, the whole “lacking compassion” aspect.

Meanwhile, Elena was diligently skating around the rink relatively independently with a skate gate to aid her. (Sadly, she seems like she’s way more independent than me in most life situations. And she’s only 3.) “You skate better than your mom!” I yelled at her encouragingly as I skated past. “Yeah!” she yelled happily. She fell a few times, as kids do, but considering she is already so low to the ground, none of these falls produced any tears. Still, Chooch was all concerned about her every time and had to check for himself to make sure she was OK.

I don’t know where he gets that! Two years of Catholic school, maybe? Nah, those people were dicks.

Maybe if the rink had offered those skate gates two years ago, more people would have skated at my birthday party.

*****

Music

So, my music tastes are definitely pretty off the grid, varying from 80s goth to screamo, synthpop to post-rock, but I do really enjoy pop music. And really, nothing is better to skate to than some bubblegum-poppin’ Top 40. Therefore, I requested “Heart Attack” by Demi Lovato without a single ironic fuck given.

“I don’t have that,” Roller DJ said without apology.

“Seriously?!” I cried. I mean, that joint has constant radio rotation!

“Is this it?” he asked, playing Trey Songz.

“No,” I sighed with attitude.

“Are you sure?” he pressed on. Meanwhile, Chooch had fallen on his hip right outside of the DJ booth and I was struggling to pull up 70 pounds of dead weight while assuring Roller DJ that I was positive it was not the song because that was a man singing and Demi Lovato is A GIRL.

“This is the only ‘Heart Attack’ I have, so it’s gotta be it,” he argued.

OMFG! One is R&B, the other is Pop!!! I was like, “Just forget it!” and skated off.

A few minutes later, the Demi Lovato version came on and Chooch and I cheered. I gave Roller DJ a thumbs up when I whizzed past him and he gave me one of his scary, sly smiles.

Pop music is just really the best music to skate to — it’s fun and energetic and even if it’s fucking Katy Perry, I can usually tune out her shitty vocals and focus on just the beat. I have an unapologetic love for hot pop songs, you guys.

But then the opening notes of the next song trickled out onto the rink and there was a collective groan, which salvaged some of my faith in humanity.

It was Mackelmore’s “Thrift Shop.”

“THIS IS MY SONG!” Chubby Spandex Tween shouted to all of the friends that her parents bought for her. “I ASKED FOR THIS SONG!”

God, I knew I should have heckled her when she fell during the Hokey Pokey.

I don’t know what it is about “Thrift Shop” that makes me want to scream. That’s a lie. It’s the horns, it’s the beat, it’s that obnoxious child voice. I don’t dislike the other Mackelmore songs that I have heard though, just this one.  And besides my hatred for this song, it is really not a good song to skate to.

I guess everyone has that one song (or 50) that they absolutely cannot stand. Janna used to HATE that Billie Meyer’s song, “Kiss the Rain.” I purposely bought the CD (I think this was 1998 maybe?) and put that song on repeat one day when she was at my apartment because that’s how awesome of a friend I am. I even sent her a YouTube video of a live “Kiss the Rain” performance for her birthday the other day.

You know what other song drives me nuts? That fucking monotonous Icona Pop “I Love It” song which of course was played during Saturday’s skate session. Chooch loves that song though, so we always argue about.

“I wish she would crash her car into a bridge,” I muttered after hearing it for the 87th time one day.

“Why?” Chooch asked. “She won’t care.”

OH SNAP, SON.

*****

“So, don’t you and Chooch ever go anywhere together without Henry?” Barb asked me at work the following Monday, when we were sneaking hot beverage and conversation together over by the kitchen.

“I mean, if we have to, but….why would we?” I said with a shrug. Barb made some sort of “Yeah, really” expression and that was the end of that conversation.

En route to Delgrosso’s for some unlimited Mothers Day rides on the Wacky Worm! Henry invited his mom and I am going to try my hardest to get her on the Wacky Worm but I can’t make any promises.

So far this Mothers Day weekend has been the bomb! Chooch and I went rollerskating, had dinner with Janna and her friend Jeremy at Mad Mex, bought myself some new TOMS, and the motherfucking Penguins advanced to the next round of the Stanley Cup playoffs. Feeling pretty happy right now except that Henry and his mom are practically shouting to each other in the car which is really upsetting my music-listening.

Should have brought my headphones, I guess.

Happy Mothers Day to all the REAL moms out there, regardless if you gave birth or not!

(OMG WTF is Henry’s mom talking about back there?!?)

Knoebels is an antiquated, beautiful park — the woodsy, old-fashioned kind that are few and far between anymore.  I’ve mentioned this before on the blog, but I really do prefer small, family-oriented parks like this one because that is where you get the weird, old rides. Don’t get me wrong, I heart roller coasters just as much as the next adrenaline junkie, but there is something to be said for entering some creepy funhouse that smells like old All In the Family episodes and moth balls.

I’m not a big fan of riding ferris wheels, but Knoebels had one of the prettiest ferris wheels I’ve ever seen. I think I must have taken a picture of it every single time I passed it—it was the mechanical embodiment of childhood summers.

But again, I did not ride the ferris wheel because I was too busy riding things that were flinging me about like a rag doll. Whiplash never felt so good.

SPOILER ALERT: My stomachache went away after Henry fed me. (And no, he didn’t feed me Rohypnol. This day, anyway.) But first I had to suffer on a bench, alone, while Chooch and Katelyn “panned for gemstones” under the guidance of an old man who really took his position outside of the Mine Museum seriously. (I’m not being sarcastic.) While I was on the bench, I had the opportunity to internally mock a family who tried to ride the Black Diamond only to be rejected because they didn’t have tickets.

Speaking of the Black Diamond — sick ride, bro! It was a dark ride, one of the reasons we were there that day, and it took us on a relatively macabre tour of a mining catastrophe. It even started off with some miner forcefully yanking on his mule’s* rope, which really upset Chooch, so good job Black Diamond! Your work here is done!

*(I knew this was a mule and not a donkey because the Mine Museum taught me so much, you guys!)

There was one especially chilling part of the ride where we passed a mural of skeletal angels lifting away dead miners. (Props to Kari for the heads up on that one!) This was Chooch’s favorite of the two dark rides because it had a couple dips, giving it a mild coaster feel.

Me? I prefered the Haunted Mansion. It was everything a dark ride should be: pretzel car bursting through the entrance door and the momentary panic when your eyes don’t adjust to the sudden darkness,  the sound of gears and chains as your car is propelled around corners, the heart-stopping sensation of having a car horn honked at death metal decibels right up in your grill, the parts that make you laugh (one of the dead props had hideously-sagging boobs, which Henry was obessed with), and the parts that make you wish you were riding with someone you could make out with, or worse. (Read: Jonny Craig. I wonder if his ginger hair glows in the dark?)

Included in our registration fee was an authentic Knoebels late lunch! The  thick slabs of glazed ham and fried chicken, which—and I’m going to Vegetarian Times Hell for saying this—actually looked so super good but I still haven’t completely rejected my anti-meat stance yet. Instead, I allowed a Knoebels worker to ladle some scalloped potatoes and cole slaw onto my bare compartmentalized picnic plate. And it was really good. This is where I learned that I really enjoy white birch beer. I mean, I REALLY ENJOY IT, Dottie.

Then we got to eat birthday cake for the Haunted Mansion’s 40th birthday!

On a sad and serious note, one of the DAFE members had recently passed away. Her name is Tanya and she was supposed to have been there with us that weekend. Being a DAFE n00b, I had never met Tanya, but during our meal, someone stood up and gave somewhat of an eulogy for her, and I can tell you that she sounded like someone I wish I had known: had a love of amusement parks and haunted houses and ran like Hell from chainsaw guys. She must have been so much fun! And it was clear that she was incredibly loved and highly regarded. I can only hope people care half as much when I die. I mean, I had never met her and I was totally welling up!

Afterward, a raffle was going to happen, but Chooch and I were like, “WE CANNOT SIT HERE ANY LONGER. WE WANT TO RIDE THINGS OMG!!” Henry is REALLY into raffles and tried his best to discourage a revolt, but we weren’t playing around. From where I sat beneath Pavilion L, I could see approximately 4.5 rides that I wanted to strap my ass into post haste, and I wasn’t waiting around to hear a bunch of numbers.

Especially since Henry refused to bid on any of the bumper cars being auctioned off. Dickbag.

Chris offered to listen for our registration numbers to be called, so I was like, “GREAT THANKS!!!” and hoped that he heard that over the sound of my feet hitting the pavement. Chris? Bless your number-listening heart. Meanwhile, Henry looked completely defeated, but followed us anyway.

Because really — Chooch and me alone in an amusement park? Not the best idea.

Knoebels has a flying carpet ride, which Chooch and I rode twice in a row. Henry shook his head when he saw that in lieu of rejoining him after the first go-around, we ran straight back into line to ride again. He obviously knows not the gaping orifice left in my heart after Kennywood shipped off their own flying carpet ride, else he’d have understood my urgent need to clean to that swooshing motion a little longer.

That ride is my jam, y’all.

Like so many other parks, Knoebels has their own variation of the log flume called Skloosh, which I actually did not know the name of until just now. I had just been calling it “that log flume thing” this whole time. Anyway, prior to our DAFE meal, Henry had already filled his quota of rides (two wooden coasters and two dark rides — I imagine his hemrrhoids must have been straight up picketing) so he skulked around with my large iCarly messenger bag, pretending to have friends to text, while Chooch and I waited in line in front of a small gaggle of super boisterous middle school boys.

One of them said “shit,” resulting in their Eddie Haskell-esque ring leader to lean toward me and apologize on his friend’s behalf.  I was like, “Oh bitch please, if you only knew the cussing dregs that pour out of this kid’s mouth,” jutting an elbow toward Chooch.

Seriously, that kid’s first word was “asshole.” He calls Bill a “douche cup.” Hearing the word “shit” isn’t going to drastically alter his already-snide demeanor.

Knoebels has one of the last remaining Fascination parlors left in the US. I learned this today by accident when I was Wiki’ing something else. (It’s really none of your business.) Anyway, I wanted to check it out because my friend Kate was telling me about her local amusement park in New York called Sylvan Beach and how she likes to play Fascination and I knew immediately that I needed to see this for myself because one of my favorite Cure songs is “Fascination Street” and what kind of poser fan would I be if I didn’t at least stick one foot inside a Fascination parlor.

So, it’s like a Skee Ball and Bingo amalgamation, right? Totally old fashioned and wood-paneled. Among the strange flea market assortment of prizes were crock pots and LAMPS, you guys. LAMPS. It was a nice change of pace from Bieber posters and stuffed Rastafarian bananas.

And you just put a quarter down and some chick comes around and collects it and then that’s it — you’re playing Fascination.

Henry and Chooch really sucked at it, though. I was really hoping one of them would win me that bantam green chair (pictured above) for my imaginary friend that just happens to double as a dwarf lifeguard.

Man, I bet Henry’s mom was the shit at Fascination back in the day. I’m going to ask her. Anytime I ask her things, she gets paranoid that I’m asking her things.

Chooch made me take this.

After the park closed, the rest of us laminate-wearing DAFE members got to stay for an addition 90 minutes of exclusive ride time on the two dark rides, free of charge. Yay, my favorite part! Flaunting my laminate!

Our group met in front of the Haunted Mansion, where a moment of silence for Tanya was held as the first car was sent in alone, carrying a bouquet of flowers. This beautifully bittersweet moment of silence as we all watched the floral representation of Tanya take the inaugural trip through the Haunted Mansion’s doors…

…when Chooch the Mouth asked in an inappropriately-decibeled voice: “What, did she like, die in the Haunted Mansion?”

Several people near us bristled uncomfortably.

“I don’t know,” I hissed, making throat-slashing motions which is Mom Sign Language for You Best STFU, Boy!

“Then how did she die!?” he pressed on.

It was everything I could do not to stuff the nearest caramel apple pork chop into his yammering maw.

Thankfully, I think the people around us understood that he is just a small kid with legitimate questions and meant no disrespect.

Still, it was pretty embarrassing. Meet your newest members, DAFE!

Before getting into line, we all hunkered down for a group photo which was cool because group photos make me feel like I’m part of something (paying for membership cards accomplishes that, too) and also because there were enough people huddled together that I have hopes the photo will be far enough away that the casual observer won’t notice my cake-rolls.

Afterward, I thought for sure we would all be in full-blown Sweep the Leg, Jonny-mode, clotheslining each other on our wild sprint to get into line. But everyone just walked calmly to the entrance and lined up without acting like the wolves I was raised by.

I was one of the first people in line because I am naturally in a hurry for everything. If I tripped you on my way there, sorry I’m not sorry.

You know what the worst is, when you’re with a bunch of people and they are walking so goddamn slow toward a ride at an amusement park and you see this huge group of d-bags coming from another direction and they swoop into line right before you because SOME PEOPLE don’t know the proper times to be in a fucking hurry!

Don’t be one of those people.

I think the reason I feel such a strong pull to darkrides is because most of them embody that flamboyant Hee Haw-esque psychedelic kitsch of the 1960s & 1970s and you never know what day-glo monster is going to laugh mockingly at you when your Pretzel-car bursts through those black doors. Kennywood had a ride called Le Cachot (lovingly known as Lick a Shit) which burnt down in 1998 and I promise you that part of my heart was singed along with it. Kennywood has never been the same since - the remaining old darkrides have been given modern makeovers, which basically means they’ve been raped of their magic.

Their beloved skeleton-haunted Old Mill was given a Garfield makeover, for Christ’s sake.

However, I’m sure 25 years from now, when the current darkrides have been replaced with CGI zombies and To Catch a Predator vignettes, my pruned-self will be pining for the days when we got to shoot at mechanical ghosts for points.

90 minutes of back-and-forth running between the Haunted Mansion and Black Diamond — it was this girl’s dream come true. And we were treated on a lights-on excursion through the Haunted Mansion, where Henry got to see his favorite pair of floppy monster boobs in better lighting.

(We almost got to ride through the Black Diamond with the lights on but then some ride engineer person caught wind of it and came over to tell the ride operator to turn the lights back off. Henry was super bothered by this which worried absolutely no one because what’s Henry going to do? Bristle his moustache, that’s all.)

This is the censored version. We all know what was really happening.

Knoebels is a super charming park, the kind you’d want to lose your virginity in (they even let you bring dogs! Not that I’m suggesting anything by mentioning that in the sentence as losing your virginity), and I can’t wait to go back!

My awesome friend Kendahl made me this mixtape blanket and it is AMAZING. It’s soft and warm and perfect for my freezing cold office-thing at work. I love it!!

I can’t remember if this was already posted. But this was after HENRY HUNG UP ON ME a few weeks ago. REALLY, HENRY?! In full disclosure, he actually had to “take the other call,” which I immediately translated as “go fuck my big-bosomed mistress.” He later told me it was the “garage door guy” calling, which I have been running with ever since. For instance, on the way to Chooch’s party, Henry took some crazy back roads and made some remark about “always forgetting that there’s a stop sign there.”

“What, do you drive on this road a lot?” I asked, teenage-snark oozing off my tongue.

“Actually, yes,” he said.

“Oh, is this where the ‘garage door guy’ lives?!” I snapped.

He might as well get that “E” on his ring finger turned into “GDG.”

OMG IT’S ALMOST LIKE DGD (Dance Gavin Dance)!

This was Chooch’s reaction after he pulled his Ju-On doll out of the box. Then he proceeded to make the Ju-On throat crackle all night.

Slugs.

My favorite cemetery. It’s like my outdoors gym. The upside of doing sit-ups there is that the prospect of zombies shambling behind me makes me do them a lot faster.

UGH I JUST LOVE MARCY SO MUCH.

OK. You’re free to go now.

Party Chick, officially.

Since we took Chooch to Knoebels on the other side of the state for his birthday, we toned down the actual party this time around and just had it at Games n’At, a retro alternative to Chuck E. Cheese with tons of Pittsburgh-flavor. It was a big hit with the kids, and awesome for Henry and me because literally all we had to do was drop off party hats, plates, etc the day before and they had everything set up for us. NO DECORATING! And each kid got to choose from a list of snack bar options, so NO PROVIDING OUR OWN FOOD!

Holy shit, it was a parental dream come true. With everything we’ve been doing lately, planning a party just wasn’t something that either of us had the energy for. And Chooch still had fun,which is all that matters.

“You’re only picking Ugli Doll stuff because you like it,” Henry accused me the day before at Party City. Well…I didn’t see any Minecraft stuff there! And Chooch likes Ugli Dolls too, God!

I secretly had Kaitlin make Chooch a “creeper” cake. It is my reluctant understanding that creepers are some sort of Minecraft villain and Chooch really likes them. When I met Kaitlin in an empty strip mall parking lot 9AM that morning, like some creepy—but delicious—drug deal, I was floored when she removed the top of the cake box to reveal this edible work of pixelated art. I mean, if it had been left up to me, I’d have just slathered green frosting on a rectangle and then finger-painted the face with black stuff.

Maybe the black stuff would be non-toxic. Maybe not.

But when you’re the presiding Queen of Zia’s Desserts, you go above and beyond and make that fondant pixels because THAT is what a true Minecraft player wants to eat.  When Chooch saw it, he gasped, “Kaitlin knows what creepers are!?!?”

When we first got to the arcade, I plopped my ass down on a couch across from some dad and watched the Penguins game for as long as I could until guests started to arrive. Fuck! I’m sorry, I know I’m the birthday boy’s mom, but theses are some important times in the NHL, OK? Step off

So then I tried to be actively involved for awhile. I even spoke with a parent! And heckled Janna mercilessly!

We all wanted something magical to be inside that armoire. But it was just a folded-up table. No Narnia.

But then something glorious happened: While I was in the party room talking to one of the parents (I did OK at that, you guys!), one of the arcade workers who looked uncannily like the dude from Ridiculousness approached me with a concerned expression and asked, “Do you want me to put the game on this TV here?” and then pointed to a TV in the corner that I hadn’t even noticed.

UM FUCK YES.

But then he couldn’t get it to turn on and kept leaving and returning with tools and various wires until finally he figured out that it wasn’t plugged in.

“Oh you have to pay for this,” Janna said, pulling her finger out of the Kiss-O-Meter and walking away.

You know who is really smart? Laura. She brought a present for me because she KNOWS. I was so excited and wanted to wear it right away but for some stupid reason, no one brought a switchblade to the Kid’s Birthday Party, so I couldn’t unleash it from the backing.

Ridiculousness serving up the food.

Chooch was so goddamn sweaty. No one else was. Just Chooch. God only knows.

Of course the kids were relatively uninterested in eating and decided to have an impromptu dance party instead. That might be because I said, “Hey you guys should have a dance party” and the Chooch’s cousin Zac started doing some frantic Gangnam Style seizure thing on the floor, which was a cattle call for the rest of the kids to get up and LOSE THEIR SHIT.

But hey. It’s not my house. Spaz it up, small people.

Blurry or not, you get the idea.

After the raucous cacophony of birthday serenading, Chooch started opening his presents. He was halfway through when he turned around and stopped mid-sentence.

“Where the heck did everyone go?” he cried when he realized he had been performing his gift-unwrapping in front of a roomful of adults.

“Dude, the kids went back out to the arcade a looooong time ago,” I said. Everyone cracked up but he just shrugged and went back to collecting his loot.

Meanwhile, I had made friends with the mom of one of the girls. But one thing to know about me is that I shit the bed when it comes to introductions. (Unless you’re in a band. Then I miraculously will remember your name right away.) So my memory proceeded to fuck her name into oblivion and I spent the rest of the party paralyzed every time someone came over that I wanted to introduce her to because I didn’t want to say, “Hey Laura, this is Astaria’s mom” because fuck if someone refers to ME as “Chooch’s mom.”

(Actually, this happens a lot and I’m OK with it. I think it happened 3x at Crafts from the Crypt in March. “Oh, you’re Chooch’s mom!” Castle Blood denizens would exclaim. Because everyone knows Chooch.)

So at one point, we were all sitting around a large table watching Game 3 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, which had  gone into over time, and I was struggling to replay the scene when we introduced ourselves, but all I could hear was pinball machines and this one Pierce the Veil song that has been in my head for 5 years. So, I covertly texted Janna and ordered her to ask the mom what her name is.

Janna did my dirty work, and I saved the text so I will never forget, you guys.

I win at friend-making.

Chooch’s girlfriend of the week made him a card that stressed in no uncertain terms how awesome and cool he is.

Laura, arcade seductress.

I would probably look like that too if I had to work kids parties every weekend.

This is not true. You’re only a winner if you win. I hope all the kids there knew that.

Blake showed up right before the party ended and asked Henry for an envelope. Henry didn’t have an envelope, so I suggested that he just MAKE one, because isn’t that the kind of bullshit nonsense they learn to do in THE SERVICE?

(Or at the very least by watching “She’s Crafty.”)

I took pictures with my real camera but we have a new computer and the version of Photoshop I’m used to doesn’t work on it anymore and I’m too bull-headed to let Henry show me how to use something new so all of my pictures are just festering in a folder, unedited.

I know there comes a time when the big extravaganzas need to come to an end, and Chooch still had a blast even though this party was waaaaay scaled down, but I can’t help but feel the itch to have one more big party next year. Maybe in the park again, and CREEPY CARNIVAL-THEMED. I could use my papier mache clown head again! Chooch seems down with this idea.

Which is good, because I already started planning it.

This post is going to be about me hating Jonny Craig. This is my worst nightmare. I hate doing this. I hate writing. In March, we went to see Jonny Craig at Smiling Moose due to the fact that I had a lapse in judgment and bought Erin tickets for Valentines Day.

It’s a good thing that it was an all ages show so that all of the little kids had to stand outside and wait for doors to open while we went inside and sat at the bar so that I could be drunk and power through a two hour concert. Unfortunately, someone else also had an idea to sit at the bar, that being JC. And Erin turned into her normal 13-year-old self as usual. Erin was like, “Oh my god should I talk to him? Oh my god, it looks like he’s looking at me. Do you think he hates me?”

At some point in time, Jonny had sauntered by me [ed.note: Henry used that word himself!!] and the words “Hey how you doing” somehow spewed from my mouth.  Erin had wanted me to follow him into the bathroom to check out his package but then she remembered she had already seen it, all the while making fun of me for actually saying hi to him. I don’t know why I said hi to him. I guess because he just happened to be there.

Erin said I had a crush on the waitress but I don’t remember.

Then I decided we should go upstairs which was really stupid because I hated all of the other bands and didn’t realize that the first band wasn’t even over yet and I could have stayed downstairs and drank more. Erin left me with a 13-year-old in body instead of a 13-year-old in mind [ed.note: I guess that's me?]  and I felt uncomfortable standing next to her.

Then Jonny came upstairs and stood within a foot of Erin. Erin wanted a shirt but his shirts looked like they had been drawn on  the way to the show in the back of a van and I believe she wanted was priced at $40. [ed.note: This is total bullshit -- it was like $18 or $20. He's such a fucking liar.]

Then I heard an interesting conversation between the sound man and tour manager. The tour manager was telling the sound guy that Jonny was difficult to work with. And then a little while later, the sound guy was talking to Jonny and Jonny mentioned that the tour manager was difficult to work with. I believe they’re both hard to work with.

When Jonny had taken the stage, as per Erin, I had ditched her and taken a spot up in the back near the bigscreen TV as to watch the hockey game. Internet, Erin wants you to know that she was upset because that was supposed to be our Valentine’s date but it turned out to be Erin up near the stage, crying, and Henry in the back watching the hockey game and not crying.

I don’t know why I hate him and his music so much, probably because of Erin. Even if he sang covers of Ted Nugent and Judas Priest. No.

Oh and I believe I had heard somewhere that it was Jonny’s birthday. I don’t have anything funny to say about that, but isn’t it funny enough that he aged another a year? He’s still a dick.