Today started with a pickle cupcake from Potomac Station because Pittsburgh has been transformed to Picklesburgh, as is what happens every July for the last, I dunno, 9 years? Chooch and I went to the inaugural Picklesburgh and that was enough for me. Back then, it was 100% located on a bridge. That was a NOPE for me, fam. Now, it’s spread out into other areas of downtown but it’s a nope for me.

But I’ll still indulge in some offsite novelty pickle action (as long as it doesn’t involve usurping tennis courts and hitting a wiffle ball with a paddle). If I had to actually go into the bowels of Picklesburgh for this cupcake, well…I wouldn’t have.

You know what? This wasn’t bad. It’s not a flavor I’d indulge in regularly, and I only had 1/4 of this, but to be honest I have been craving more of it since then. It just kind of works. The cake part had actual pickles in it and the frosting most def was spiked with pickle juice.

Later, I said to Henry, we gotta get outta here, man. Chooch is at a grad party, Penelope is hibernating on the back porch, my squirrels are off scavenging in other ‘hoods I guess, and I am fucking lonely, bored, frustrated, miserable, etc. But look, I’m not dumb, I know that this sad sack era is annoying. Trust me, I’m annoying myself. You think I don’t want to experience happiness again?? I do. But also, baby steps.

Anyway, I didn’t want to go to a cemetery (we did this last weekend and I cried to the point of near-hysteria) and I didn’t want to do NATURE because I didn’t feel like changing out of my Vans. So, I suggested going to Washington, which for you NON-LOCALS is a small city about 40 minutes from Pittsburgh. Henry won’t say to me right now, so we silently got in the car and stopped at CRAZY HORSE COFFEE on the outskirts of Washington first for some bev.

I got a DELECTABLE local favorite called a butterfly latte which was made with blue matcha, vanilla, lavender, and I opted for soy milk.

And since I have been subsisting on mostly desserts since Drew died, Henry and I got a vegan chocolate zucchini bread to share and that too was DELECTABLE.

The one thing that was questionable to me was the cafe’s use of a b&w American flag throughout their cafe and on the other side of the cup cozies. I told Henry that it made me uncomfortable and he didn’t say anything because he knows that whatever he says will be the wrong thing. I literally just told him that I think we will end up getting divorced over all of this and he was like “o m g.” But honestly, I just feel nothing and am not sure how things will ever get better especially once Chooch leaves for college, but hey, just me being OH HONESTLY, ERIN I guess.

But yeah, that latte was a beaut!

And then we parked in downtown Washington and walked around for a bit just for exercise. It was weird though because PSYCHO MIKE lived here briefly the summer after high school, 1997, above a Pgh Paints shop in a really shitty, sketchy, dirty apartment shared with two other guys, one of which he knew from the teen asylum place he lived in for a few mths after smashing a picture frame over his dad’s head (while I was on the phone with him) and generally being loudly suicidal.

Washington things.

Then we went here because pretzels are Henry’s prozac.

Some older gentleman came in and started loudly narrating his quest for a specific kind of BBQ that they NORMALLY have but DID NOT HAVE at this time (he made the employees look) and then he started telling me about how IT MAKES FOR THE BEST BBQ HAM HE HAS EVER HAD AND LOOK HE IS NOT NORMALLY A BIG HAM PERSON, BUT THIS BBQ SAUCE IS SO FREAKING GOOD and on and on and even after I told him that I don’t eat meat he still gave me detailed instructions on how to make it and I was like, “OK but even if I ate meat, I don’t cook, so…”

Anyway, this bro was such a fucking a hype man for the sauce that I ended up pulling one of the jars off the shelf (it wasn’t the one he was looking for, but it was the same brand) and said, “OK you sold me on this” and then to Henry, I whispered, “You can just put this on tofu, can’t you?” and Henry was like, “I can put anything on tofu, I am a Tofu Master Chef.”

Then we got Amish pretzels. I got mine unsalted but it still had a buttery glaze on it just like the one I got at Sheetz last week when Chooch and I had our MOMMY-CHOOCH DAY and just like that pretzel, this one made me immediately sick as I was eating it.

Ignore my gnarly nail polish. I can’t really muster the fucks needed right now to make my nails presentable to the public.

And then I had to walk down the MILITARY HALL (literally a hallway pockmarked with photos of old ass local vets I guess, I didn’t really stop and browse) to get to the bathroom where I took this grotesque selfie – my face doesn’t hold a smile these days so this is the best I can do.

Now I’m home. I just came back from my 4th walk of the day. I have some old Wimbledon match on YouTube because again – so many things are triggering now but tennis matches in the background seem to be somewhat soothing at the moment.

 

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