#23: LAME

 blogathon 2010
Jul 312010
 

Lawson (l.) and Evan, who was always nervous and hyper-aware of my presence.

Eleventh grade started out to be a horrible year for me.

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Rumors were started by a bunch of janiform assholes who were merely masquerading as my friends.

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Half the time, I didn’t want to go to school. I was being harassed on the daily. Teachers were intervening. My friend Lisa stepped in at one point too, and there was a confrontation which made the situation worse for me, but I loved Lisa for trying.

Of course, the whole brouhaha started over a guy. And one that I didn’t even give a shit about, to boot.

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I wasn’t super close with Lisa until that year. She took me in under her wing and slowly but surely, we found ourselves as the nuclei of our own group. In addition to the two of us were two other girls, Angie and Martha (her name was actually Melissa but we all called her Martha, the origins of which I’m unsure). We called ourselves L.A.M.E. accordingly.

There were some guys in our group, too. Lawson and Russ from the previous post, and Evan. We went to haunted houses togethers. Had parties at each others houses. Watched hockey games in my grandparents’ basement while Sharon stamped around in a huff upstairs. (She HATED that my pappap let us hang out there.)

Of course, when my pappap passed away halfway through my eleventh grade year, all those other assholes were suddenly remorseful, showing up at the funeral, calling me with their hollow sympathies. Two of those people continued to make my life shit even after high school; one of them befriended Henry’s ex-wife and alerted her of my pregnancy before Henry had a chance to tell his kids.

But the people in this picture below? None of them ever fucked me over.

Angie, me, Martha, Lisa, Russ, Lawson, Evan: in my pappap’s game room.

#21: Scattered Update. Too Much Stimulation.

 blogathon 2010
Jul 312010
 

OH MY GOD.

All of this is happening simultaneously:

  • My brother Corey is sitting next to me, eating yogurt and telling me about a safety video he watched at his summer job at Columbia Gas (our dad works there too AND THEY SAT TOGETHER).
  • Chooch is dangling my charm bracelet (guess it’s not so prized after all!!) in front of me, exclaiming, “A NEW BRACELET? MOMMY YOU GOT A NEW BRACELET? COREY DO YOU LIKE YOGURT?” Oh my god, he just almost dropped my camera.
  • Alisha is at the door dealing money to the pizza guy (I’ve forgotten to eat all day; Alisha has rectified that.)
  • Henry is hovering behind me, breathing

Oh my god, so much is going on, my head is spinning and just now, I started to cry.

Corey and Chooch are looking at my old pictures of dead pets.

It’s a sobering moment.

Now Corey is telling me that he was in the garage attic looking for something for our mom, who called up to him, “You know, your dad used to have a big glass bong in that corner over there, see if you can find it!” Unfortunately, it must have been something our dad remembered to take with him after The Divorce.

#20: A visit from Stacey

 blogathon 2010
Jul 312010
 

In this picture, please find that Stacey is smiling while Alisha frantically checks her phone for the time to make sure I’m not fucking up the agenda.

When I came downstairs on the morn’ of my birthday, I caught a glimpse of a large box perched on the dining room table. I gasped! “For me?!” I said aloud, resting my lovely hand upon my birthday bosom.

It was just the light box, which I forgot to put away the night before.

My heart fell. My stomach sank. My fist plunged through a wall.

But a little while ago, Stacey came to visit!  With he, she brought a birthday present for me! A gift card for Best Buy so I can buy all the things that were in Henry’s invisible box of imaginary birthday presents for me!

Then Stacey got to leave to go to work, and I watched as Alisha’s eyes followed morosely. You’re stuck here, my friend.

So that was something nice that happened today (along with Evonne’s visit as well!), amidst all the technical difficulties, high blood pressure and incessant hair-chewing.

19: My Prized Possession

 blogathon 2010
Jul 312010
 

My pappap wore this big thick diamond ring on his pinky. It was masculine, just oozing with rich testosterone. We would go to church together every Saturday night (yes, when my pappap was in my life, I really did believe in God), and sometimes he would rap his pinky against the pew and whisper, “One day, this ring will be yours.”

And it was. For a day.

He Willed it to me, and I was “allowed” to wear it on a chain for my senior pictures. It was really the only piece of him I had after he died.

And it was taken from me.

My family was afraid I’d run off and pawn it, which was apparently, to them, a typical Erin thing to do. I haven’t seen that damn ring since I was seventeen.

According to my Aunt Sharon, my grandma put it somewhere “safe” for when I was “older” and now she “can’t find it.”

That bullshit smells worse than the hair grease on the cast of Jersey Shore on a humid day.

But what I do have is a charm bracelet. My grandfather used to take me to Europe when I was a kid, and on one of the trips, he thought it would be a good idea to put together a charm bracelet for me. So every city we visited, we would stop in several jewelry shops, looking for the perfect representation of that city in charm-form.

When I went to Australia by myself in 2001, I carried on the tradition and found a gold koala. It was bittersweet, coming home and taking it to a jeweler without my pappap. But it’s the one thing I own that I look at feel like I do still have a piece of him with me.

I almost never wear it for two reasons:

  • It’s easily the most expensive thing I own and it makes me feel like I’m flashing a strobe light for all the muggers in the city.
  • It’s REALLY FUCKING JANGLY.

#18: weener spotting

 blogathon 2010
Jul 312010
 

All I was doing was putting gas in my car at a gas station. It was night time, near my apartment, and I was eighteen. A lot of things happened to me when I was eighteen.

“Is that an EAGLE TALON?” some ginger guy shouted with thick Pittsburgh intonations. It turned out he also had an Eagle Talon at one point in his life, so we started talking about that. Then I thought it would be a GREAT IDEA to invite him back to my apartment for a get together! Because that’s what you do when you meet strange men at the gas station late at night!

I wasn’t home alone though. My friends Heather and Brian were there as well. Brian gave me his typical “What did you DO?” eye brow raise when my new friend Kevin arrived with his friend. We ordered pizza and for the most part, Kevin and his friend sat at the dining room table, drinking large cans of Miller. Every one in awhile, Kevin would blurt, “MAN DO I LOVE THIS PLACE CAN I MOVE IN WITH YOU” and I would giggle sweetly. Because that’s how I do.

Kevin’s friend excused himself to use the bathroom.Getting to the bathroom required one to cut through my bedroom. A minute or so later, I went up to my room to get something.

The bathroom door was open.

In the reflection of the mirror, there quite clearly hung a large penis.

I screamed, because I was a VIRGIN! Sike, naw. But I did scream, because I was very immature about things like this. I would NEVER screamed right now if I saw some random penis! Not in a million years would I!

I ran back downstairs and crumbled to the floor in laughter.

This was a much better story at the time. Now it’s just DUMB AND I’M SORRY I CAN’T ENTERTAIN YOU, MY GOD.

I look so psychotic in that picture. I NEVER look like that! Not in a million years do I!

#17: Guest Post from Alisha (wish you could have heard the jingle I turned that into.)

 blogathon 2010
Jul 312010
 

So, with Erin only giving me about 3 minutes to think and type this up…this may not be as exciting as the rest of her posts for the remainder of this day..or any other day for that matter. (standard disclaimer)

This is a behind the scenes plea of Blogathon 2010.   While Blogathon is a GREAT idea, it can turn the most docile of us into a crazy hyper manic turtle.  That’s right, have you ever seen a crazy hyper manic turtle?  Me either, but still..  If you know Erin at all, you will know that she is far from a turtle.  I mean, she’s not even green!  Well, accept for that one time.

Last year I thought to come with stuffs.  I mean, I brought lots of stuffs.  I brought canned air(seriously) and wine and chocolates and all kinds of stuffs.  Which were never even used.  This year?  I brought myself.  Coffee.  And a veggie flatbread sandwhich thingie.  I now know the important things to equip myself with to keep Erin in the butterfly and rainbow moods.    That is my job.  Butterflies and rainbows…so, while this post is not so much with the words…I realize that they may be my last.  So, if anyone(ANYONE) reads this, please..remember that I was at Erin’s house until tomorrow morning..and if you don’t hear from me again, or hear of me again..please go feed my dog.  kthxbai

Alisha

#15: SHORT FUSE ALERT

 blogathon 2010
Jul 312010
 

I just spent an hour fucking with the camcorder after PERFECTING THE DOUGGIE.

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I mean, it was amazing how thug I was, how much SWAGGER I HAD. I even had on Henry’s jeans and shirt and a BANDANNA AROUND MY MOUTH and Alisha’s BIG SUNGLASSES and a hat.

“You look like a dyke,” Alisha said.

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It took a good fifteen tries before Alisha (“Did I do it good this time, boss?

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Durr de durr”) finally mastered the camcorder and by that time I was SWEATING. And my neighbors were pulling into the driveway and stopped to gawk through my open front door.

But I was FEELING IT. I’m all about the Douggie now.

TOO BAD IT DIDN’T RECORD AND I JUST QUIT OK, I QUIT.

And every little thing is setting me off. I freaked out and ranted to Alisha about how I hate contrary people and I’m ready to snap. But then Evonne showed up with a green tea frappucino thing from Starbucks and Zombie Squad marshmallow hand sanitizer, whatever that is, so I’m OK now. I’m good.

Although, the flesh on my shoulders hurt because when I was doing the “fly” part of the Douggie, I kept pinching myself.

Perhaps I will try it again later.

#14: My Yo-Girl Years

 blogathon 2010
Jul 312010
 

In middle school, I was REALLY into rap. I wore Cross Colours. I wore Karl Kani. I had African beads that I wore and made my mom buy me a black angel Christmas ornament for the tree (which she wouldn’t let me use, so I hung it from a shelf in my room).

This went on in high school too, and at one point this guy Jeremiah I knew who lived in one of the “bad” urban parts of Pittsburgh was going to help me join a gang. This was my ambition, to run away from my big house and wealthy family in favor of living on the streets and engaging in knife fights.

My therapist at the time said it was my way of “rebelling” against the fact that my family were constantly trying to buy my love. REALLY DO YOU THINK SO? You mean it’s not normal for a teenage girl to want a grill and a tear drop tattoo?

Fifteen years later, and I’m sitting here typing this post in an oversized t-shirts and a pair of Henry’s jeans, because I’m about to attempt to “do the Douggie” for my friend Alyson.

Actually, I already did it but that asshole Alisha hit “photo” instead of record. She got a nice still of me in my thug-stance though.

I’ll be back in 30, my brosefs.

#10: HydroTech

 blogathon 2010
Jul 312010
 

The summer of 2005, I was placed at HydroTech for a totally craptastic temporary secretarial assignment. Pasted inside my journal, I found this email that I sent to my friends regarding my short time there, so I will now transcribe it because I’m panicked for content:

I arrived at this pipe-cleaning place at 8am and met my “boss” for the day, Anton. Literally, my only duty all day long was to answer the phone and take messages. I was supposed to get their name, company, phone # and reason for calling. Basic secretarial minutia.

Right after I arrived, Anton gets a call on his cell.

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He stood next to my desk and repeated in a raised voice everything the caller was saying to him. Common sense told me, “Hey fatty, maybe you should be taking this down” so I grabbed a pen and scribbled down everything he was repeated. When he hung up, he put his hands on my shoulders (gross) and said, “That’s really excellent that you knew to write that down when you heard me raise my voice. You’d be surprised how many people wouldn’t know to do that.

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Good job.” I wanted to yell, “Yo, I was on the Dean’s List.”

After an hour, he said he had to go to the doctor and then he would be back. He called about 45 minutes later to tell me not to be alarmed, but he was being admitted into the hospital. I was officially there alone, save for the very weathered and grizzled mechanic in the garage (John). He had me put John on the phone so he could take care of the scheduling and other odds and ends.

Shortly thereafter, Anton called again and had me take down some info. Basically, he had a few companies he needed me to call to confirm appointments. When he got done with one of them, he said, “You have their number, right?” I said, “No” and he literally freaked the fuck out on me,

“What did I tell you this morning?! The most important thing is to get their phone number! Without that, I can’t do anything! DO NOT DEVIATE FROM THAT! Do you see what you did?! Where does that leave us now, Erin?!”

I somehow calmly (and you know my temper, so this is a feat) explained to him that the company in question had not called, and that maybe John had spoken with them because I knew that I had not. He yelled (from his hospital room!), “Why the hell is my goddamned mechanic answering the phone?! This is the only think I asked of you!!

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” And I indignantly said, “I HAVE ANSWERED EVERY CALL THAT HAS COME THROUGH HERE TODAY. PERHAPS JOHN CALLED THIS PLACE ON HIS ACCORD.” Then I suggested that I could just look up the number, and you know what that fucking blue-collared prick said to me?

“You aint’ that good.”

Excuse me?! I’m not good enough to LOOK UP A FUCKING PHONE NUMBER?? So while he continued on his tangent of how I’m a moron who can’t take a message, I somehow mustered up enough intuition from my sorry moronic ass and FIGURED OUT HOW TO WORK THE BIGSHOT ROLODEX ON MY DESK and found him his motherfucking number.

Nine hours of sitting alone in a wood-paneled office and dealing with THAT cocksucker? No thanks.

And that’s today’s issue of my Summer Jobs newsletter.

Signed,

Erin “Housewife Never Sounded So Good” Kelly

——————-

DONATE NOW!!

#9: Mustard Moustache

 blogathon 2010
Jul 312010
 

I decided to start out easy, work up to more ambitious facial food-placing once the wine bottle is popped.

Because when I think of moustaches, I think of Henry, and then I think of anger and frustration.

I stood outside and stared at people for a minute or two, then I came back in. Alisha was trying to talk to me about some show she likes, and I kept scrunching up my face and stroking my mustard goatee to emphasize my interest.

“I can’t even look at you,” she yelled. And then, “I hate you.”

Please send over your requests. If it’s a food I’ve got in the house, I will slap it on my face.

#8: Something Nice About Henry

 blogathon 2010
Jul 312010
 

“That he’s not here is nice,” mused Alisha as I typed the title to this post.

But seriously, I promised my sponsor Rob that I would write something nice about Henry. So here it is.

Before Henry and I started dating, we were just co-workers who occasionally hung out. It was 2001 and I had just met my biological dad’s mother and her sister Charmaine for this first time. Now, for the last 21 years of my life, all I heard was horror stories about how my father’s alcoholism, drug addictions, and the abuse who let loose upon my mom’s face. He was a monster, and not someone I spent a lot of time thinking about.

But sitting there with my grandma and her sister, looking at old photos of him and hearing about the good side that he apparently harbored, I felt really conflicted. Guilty for hating a man I barely had a chance to know, since he died when I was three. I was always thankful that he never had a chance to inflict pain on me, but these women were making me wonder if good things could have come from him being in my life.

I left their house that day and went straight the cemetery, where I sat by his grave and cried. My boyfriend called me while I was sobbing and said, “Oh. If you’re going to be crying all night, then I’m not coming over.”

Then I got a call from Henry, who wanted to know if I wanted to go on a drive with him. When he heard me crying, he said, “Where are you?” I told him and he said, “Stay there.”

He found me in the cemetery and brought me water. We leaned against his car and he let me cry.

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He let me talk about my family and my feelings and quietly made sure I was drinking the water; he would always lecture me for not drinking enough.

Later that night, my boyfriend wound up coming over anyway. We sat at my dining room table while he ate the fast food he brought over for dinner (for himself, nothing for me). And I sat there, watching him eat, and I realized he was totally not the person I wanted to be with.

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I made him leave.

“You still up for going for a drive?” I asked Henry when he answered his phone. We wound up sitting on a big rock in a deserted parking lot by Station Square, talking and laughing and just having a good time getting to know each other.

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And then I broke up with my boyfriend.

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