May 262014
 

8:00am: I asked Henry if I should live blog on the way home
and he said no, that’s dumb. So I’m going to do it, obviously,
because fuck Henry.

8:10am: Hotel breakfast stresses me out because
I hate doing things!! I saw Henry had scrambled eggs and I was
like, “There are eggs?! I don’t know how to get them” so Henry got
me some scrambled eggs. It’s a miracle I was able to operate the
cereal dispenser.

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8:43am: Henry tripped on the way out of the
breakfast room and then tried to deny it.

9:18am: OMGOMG I forgot
to mention that last night when we were at that stupid brewery
place that didn’t have apricot coriander beer or anything else I
wanted to I had to get a cucumber basil martini and I hated our
waitress, Henry very quietly said, “I liked the third band that
played.” OMG HENRY LIKES MISS FORTUNE PASS IT ON!! “Why didn’t you
tell them?!” I cried. “The singer was standing right in front of
you during Slaves!” But he just made up some excuse about how he
can’t talk to guys that cool.

10:21am: Kill me.

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10:38am: I guess I’m not allowed to go into Sheetz
with Henry. That’s OK, I’ll just sit in the car like the dog that I
am. :( Could have at least rolled down a window for me though.

11:02am: FINALLY MY QUEST TO HAVE A BOSOM FRIEND IS OVER!!

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11:13am: Just talked to Chooch! It went like this:
Me: Guess what I don’t like Jonny Craig anymore.
Chooch: Good. He’s stupid, obviously.
Me: I didn’t even clap for him.
Chooch: OK great.
He’s not much of a phone talker. Or a believer in enthusiasm.

12:23pm: I’ve had to pee for the last hour but my controlling boyfriend won’t stop anywhere. Also, pissed that the fucking spider died in Charlotte’s Web. Still dwelling after 30 years.

12:26pm: Just passed a billboard for a window company and it reminded me of this one time when Christina and I weren’t friends, maybe the 7th time, and she was obsessed with her job at Gilkey Windows, so I would tweet about how Pella Windows were the bomb and even tweeted a picture of a Pella window display at Home Depot because I KNEW IT WOULD UPSET HER. DUMB WINDOW WHORE.

12:35pm: Henry just yelled KEEP IT UP, FUCKER to me and no, it was not in a hot, porn-y context.

1:49pm: Drove around Altoona looking for somewhere to eat lunch which of course culminated into a huge fight & break-up so finally Henry stopped at a Sheetz to get snacks after I berated him for being a joke of a man who doesn’t think to buy SNACKS WHEN GOING ON A ROAD TRIP, and then I made the blah blah motion with my hand to him as he walked past the car, which really endeared me to him, surely. We made eye contact when he came back out of Sheetz and he started laughing because who can stay mad at my adorable face other than my mom, Henry’s ex, Christine Haney, Christina, that vapid cow Seri, Gay Ryan, those two cockbags from Canada? (I’m sure I’m forgetting at least a dozen assholes here.) Then I bit into the Lara bar he bought me and my jaw actually ached since it had been HOURS since it had to chew anything. Fuck you, Henry.

2:30pm: Henry finally decided to stop and feed me, when we’re like an hour away from home. Not even hungry anymore.

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2:44pm: Henry just spilled coleslaw on his shirt and he knew exactly why I picked my phone up (to blog about it, obv) and said, “Really?” YEAH REALLY. ASSHOLE WITH A COLESLAW STAIN.

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2:55pm: I ate this without making a mess.

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Dean’s Diner. Horrible waitress. Dean, check yo’ staff.

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4:33pm: Dear blog, we got home about 30 minutes ago and Marcy was pretty ambivalent about our return. Then we remembered we have a child so Henry left again to go retrieve him. I want an ice cream cone with sprinkles. Thanks for reading this nonsense. Fuck you, Jonny Craig.

  3 Responses to “Liveblogging Home to Pittsburgh”

  1. I was dying about the coleslaw stain and Lasership just knocked on the door.

    Please, please liveblog in the future, because these moments captured are full of golden TRUTH.

    *still dying*

  2. I love this live blogging. It’s a riot, even if I’m reading it days later.

    I need a grilled cheese sandwich in my life, stat.

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