Hello from somewhere in Maryland I think. We left shortly after I logged off from work at 5:30 to start our first leg of this season’s poorly-planned road trip. I’m not even giving our final destination on here for fear of jinxing it, as it’s been jinxed numerous times already and it’s actually amazing we even left Pgh at this point.
Anyway, it’s 8:40pm and I talked Henry’s ear off for the last three hours (he looooves when I tell him stories from when I was in high school, just fucking SAVORS that shit like it’s a piece of fresh jerky) so I thought I’d hope on this trash pile and type some things, post some pics, you know, things us BLOGGERS do.
I dunno why I screamed that bit.
Relevant to this drive, and I’ll tell you why in a minute calm down, here is a picture of Chooch from the weekend when he was trying to watch The Adam Project which made scoff dramatically, “Ugh, Ryan Reynolds” and Chooch asked, “Why do you hate him again?” prompting Henry to answer from the dining room, “Because he hurt someone or something…”
Ok first of all? STFU don’t answer for me.
Second of all, he hurt ALANIS MORISSETTE (and also Scarlett Johansson but I was focused on Alanis at the mo’) so I started screaming about this and Chooch was like “ok well I don’t know who that is so…”
And also, he just seems like an asshole. Like the type of guy in high school who you never wanted to have to sit near because you knew at some point he was going to openly make fun of you for having braces or something.
That kind of guy.
Also, BLAKE LIVELY?? Ugh.
I mean she literally was the worst part of Gossip Girl but cool. Marry her & then expect us to care?!
This morning, I woke up to an Alanis song on the radio and then felt inspired in the car to play some of my faves and then from there somehow I got on a Paula Cole / Shawn Colvin / Jewel kick so Henry was really loving life, especially when I put on Sarah McLachlan’s Fumbling Towards Ecstasy album in its entirety and proceeded to dredge up the Psycho Mike years which is another topic henry loves because now not only is he my chef, caretaker, and chauffeur but crisis counselor too.
“Man, I really had no idea who I was back then,” I murmured, lost in 1997/1998 for a minute.
“And you do now?” Henry sneered.
“Uh yeah. I’m born-again Korean?!”
I miss the cats so much already this is the worst part of vacation. :( My mom will be staying with them but I swear Drew knew since last night that we were leaving. She saw the suitcases in my room and just knew. Then when Henry was packing up the car today, she ran onto the back porch and sulked, ughhhh my heart.
Still thinking about this s’mores sundae Henry & I shared from Sugar Spell on Sunday. Usually we’d partake in the pint preorder but figured we’d switch it up and just get a sundae. It was decadent! Of course henry cried because I allegedly ate “all the good parts.” He also tried to criticize me for choosing banana as one of the scoop flavors but it ended up tasting sooooo good with the s’mores accoutrements – waiting for my apology.
Oh man, now .38 Special’s Caught Up In You is on the radio as if I needed more reasons to revisit the past. Goddamn, this song.
HOLD THE PHONE, I just got a story from Henry regarding his middle school days! I mentioned that MOLLY HATCHET opened for .38 Special when I saw them in 1997 with Lisa and Henry said that he will always remember middle school dances (“Not ‘dances’! One dance!” Henry just yelled as I’m reading aloud what I’m typing) where JOCKOS requested Molly Hatchet’s “Green Grass & High Tides” and I fixated on the JOCKOS part because I didn’t understand what he meant so I kept repeating, “JOCKOS?”
And he’d be like “YEAH JOCK. Os.”
So then I would say, “JACQUE O’S?”
And he’d be like “yeah.”
And I’d be like “Who the fuck is Jacque O?”
Like he said it with such certainty that I’d understand.
And then he’d say “NO. JOCKOS. YOU KNOW. JOCKS.”
Oh. Jocks. Sorry. In my school day we just called them “jocks.” That was good enough. No need for the extra syllable.
Apropos of nothing, this oatmeal is FUCKING BONKERS. 100% recommend this. Gimme a sponsorship deal because I would do dumb blog ad spots for this shit WEEKLY without giving a single fuck about selling out. It’s so good that I brought it on vacation with me!!
Henry didn’t dance with anyone at the middle school dance, btw. I just remembered to ask him now. He said, “It was 8th grade. No one danced.” Things were different in the 90s I guess because I remember being in 6th or 7th grade and having my HEART BROKEN because Chris L. danced with Monica L. to VANESSA WILLIAMS’ SAVE THE BEST FOR LAST and if I told you I didn’t think about that more than once when Desperate Housewives was on TV, I’m sure you’d know I was lying.
Pfft. Chris L. What a Ryan Reynolds-type he was though. Literally always braced myself for him to say something brutal all through elementary school but still had the dumbest crush on him SIGH.
“There’s a 24-hours Dunkin Donuts,” Henry pointed out.
“Oh my god” I yelled in my high-pitched mocking voice, so now he’s back to stewing in the drivers seat.
Michael Jackson’s THE WAY YOU MAKE ME FEEL just came on and it will never not sound like he’s saying “high giggles” instead of “high heels.” My mom and I used to argue about it when I was little because I insisted it was GIGGLES and she’d be all BUT THAT DOESNT MAKE SENSE.
“What did you wear to the dance?” I just asked Henry, because I’m still thinking about this.
“I don’t know! It was 40 years ago!”
“Was it polyester?” I probed. (Ah, classic polyester probe.)
“Maybe?! I mean it was the 70s…”
(Gentle reader, it is at this point that I’d like to point out that my middle school dance was in the NINETIES.)
“Do you have pictures?!”
“No! IT WAS THE 70s! Kids didn’t walk around with cameras!”
God ok Hemorrhaging Hank, calm down.
Ok I’m signing off now. I might not stop back tomorrow but possibly will return on Sunday which is going to be A Big Driving Day.
UPDATE: I am now BLASTING Alanis’ “Uninvited” so I eagerly woke Chooch up in the backseat to manically shout DO YOU KNOW WHO THIS IS?
“NO!” he hissed around his FORKED TONGUE OF TEENAGER.
“It’s Alanis Morissette!” I cried giddily.
“WHO CARES!” he cried back.
“Not Ryan Reynolds,” I mumbled.