Apr 052013


“Who is Jesus Christ, anyway?” Chooch asked me one day last week.

“Um, he’s Jesus,” I said, totally astonished at the stupid question.

“Well, I didn’t know that was his last name!” Chooch cried defensively. So I guess the whole time I had been planning my Pizza Party for Jesus Christ, Chooch thought a real life person named Jesus Christ was coming over to eat pizza with us.

Let me start at the beginning.

Holidays give me anxiety because I don’t want to be alone. I spent most holidays in my 20s alone and even though I have Henry and Chooch now, I need those days to still feel like a holiday, like a celebration. Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and Christmas are fine because we have things to do, but Easter is different. Easter is the holiday my family gave up on after my Pappap died. I think over the years, my mom might have had two or three Easter dinners, but it will always be That First Holiday After Pappap Died. The awkward holiday that no one knows what do with because it’s so soon after The Death and no one really wants to go through the motions.

Last year, Henry, Chooch and I ate at a Chinese restaurant. I couldn’t do that again. I needed to have company over, I needed a reason to decorate and have fun. So I invited some friends over who don’t have family here in Pittsburgh, plus Janna who was free after having Easter brunch with her parents. My brother Corey went with his girlfriend, and Henry’s sons also went with their girlfriends, because having pizza in the name of Jesus Christ wasn’t important enough for them, I guess. Pizza heathens.

Jesus doesn’t save pizza for heathens on the other side. Remember that, boys.

Everyone else I invited seemed stoked to have something to do on Easter, and that was all I hoped to achieve. Laura and Mike were on board, as well as my friends Natasha and Bill, whom I don’t get to see nearly enough! I used to work with Bill at one of my old jobs, so I was looking forward to hearing current tales about Eleanor and the job itself, which I still don’t really understand and I worked there for almost two years.

Two years of having no idea what I was doing — it’s a wonder I lasted as long as I did without getting fired, wtf.

(Don’t worry — I understand my current job, I promise.)


Chooch and I had a dance party while Henry cleaned the house.

Without consulting with Henry, I sent out a Facebook event.

“This is the day after the craft show!” Henry bitched. “When am I supposed to clean!?”

I tried to reason that he didn’t have to really go all out because it was, and I quote, “just a relaxing evening eating pizza in the name of Jesus Christ.”

Kind of like a “Welcome home!” and going away party in one.

“And furthermore, where am I going to get pizza on EASTER? There won’t be any pizza places open!” his rant continued.

“Um, maybe a Chinese pizza parlor?” I suggested smugly which only proved to anger him more.


While Henry ran off to the grocery store Easter afternoon, I did my part: setting out some religious candles and Jesus’s head. Happy Easter!


And Easter candy in bat bowls! I even walked to CVS all on my own (OK, with Chooch) to get the candy! Then I realized I forgot balloons (for Jesus) so Henry ended up having to go back out to the store anyway.


I blew up a bag of balloons and then let them float in disarray in our fake fireplace. So yes, clearly it was imperative for Henry to make that special trip to the store to get balloons. (And also crescent rolls and marshmallows for EMPTY TOMBS because what’s a pizza party for Jesus Christ without EMPTY TOMBS for dessert!?)



Michonne was one of the things in Chooch’s Easter basket because we are one of those asshole families that treat Easter like a springtime Christmas and I don’t really care if you judge me for giving the economy a boost. (Chooch and I both got new Pierce the Veil t-shirts from Hot Topic, too! THANK YOU EASTER BUNNY.)

During one of Henry’s trips to the store, he came back with some meat product you people call “pork tenderloin.”

I got all bent out shape about this. “But it’s a PIZZA PARTY!” I cried.
“Yeah, and it’s going on a PIZZA. Just not YOURS!” Henry growled. He’s such a dick when he’s in the kitchen.




OK. Here is a list of clues I collected during the day, proving that Henry actually enjoyed himself:

  • He could have just bought pre-made frozen pizza and been done with it, but instead he came home with some kind of artisan pizza crusts and fancy ingredients.
  • He took great pride in serving a variety of pizza, including: mozzarella/basil/tomato, shrimp pesto, chorizo, the aforementioned pork tenderloin, and some kind of fancy cheese thing. Who does that? A man who is having a fun time at a pizza party for Jesus Christ, that’s who.
  • I caught him with a pizza hard-on a few times in the kitchen.
  • He even stated for the record,”If I’m going to make pizza, it’s going to be good pizza.”



Great hair.


“What a shocker, I got a movie about a cat!”


Laura and Mike. Praying, obviously. (Look at that yellow balloon! I blew that up!)


Chooch and I were dressed like we had just tumbled out of a Crayola box.


Freaking Natasha magically turned away every time I tried to take her picture! God, she’s good.


I let Bill sit in my wheelchair because it was Easter and I felt like being a little nice to my guests.


This pizza’s for you J.C.! (And for once, that’s not a Jonny Craig reference.)


Henry cut all the pizza into awkward hors d’oeuvres shapes but then didn’t walk around serving them along with champagne flutes, which I found to be just plain rude. Henry sucks at hosting.


Right when Henry was finally about to sit down, I yelled, “WHAT ABOUT THE EMPTY TOMBS!?” so he sighed and retreated back to the kitchen.

“OMG so wait! The marshmallow was supposed to be Jesus, and then it melted so that’s what makes it an empty tomb!?” I shouted in my best A-ha! voice.


Chooch during one of his temper tantrums. Sometimes he gets SO MAD when he realizes that people mght actually come to our house to hang out with ME TOO. It’s not always just about him!



Chooch made us play Pictionary Junior which only led to tears. If he’d just accept the fact that I’m the best, maybe we could play games together in harmony someday.

And then we watched the Walking Dead season finale and cried together.

This was hands down the best Easter I had in a long time. Thanks to my friends who came over and spent the evening in our crazy house. Mad respect for pizza and you too, Jesus Christ!


The next day at work, Cheryl asked me, “How was your Easter? Do you guys do something weird for that, too?”

I love that my co-workers know me.

  One Response to “Pizza Party for Jesus Christ”

  1. I’m not even a Christian and I celebrate Easter. Is that terrible? I just like candy, okay?

    I love your pizza party. My mom was getting mad at my atheist little brother and me for saying inappropriate Easter things and then I told her you were having a Jesus pizza party and she was totally on board with that. So maybe next year I’ll try it to make her happy.

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