It’s been kind of a long time since I took “real” photos of Chooch. Not that I don’t love my iPhone snaps of him, since those are the most candid, but I just feel like my stupid “real” camera has been sitting here, collecting dust because it’s so goddamn easy to fall into photography-apathy when you have the convenience of a tiny camera phone that fits comfortably in your palm.

I guess it was at my birthday dinner last week when I looked at him, like REALLY looked at him, and realized that he has grown so much since the last time we had a little photo shoot thingie. (God, I think that was in Decemeber. I’m a slacker.) And he looked so handsome in his little castle dinner attire that I decided we needed to take photos ASAP.

Henry was happy because it didn’t involve 87 trips to Goodwill, looking for the perfect costume or tea cups or animal masks. It was just Chooch and a guitar. (Although, Chooch really wanted to paint lines on his face, a la his new idol Christopher Drew, but CVS didn’t have thick brown eye liners that weren’t less than $10 and I didn’t feel like digging through my crap at home. Seriously, Wet n Wild, where’s your damn thick brown liners?!) However, it did involve a very Erinlicious temper tantrum and a moment that Henry told me later almost ended our 12 year run. (He is SO DRAMATIC though.) We were in this park—the same park where we letterboxed back in 2009, actually—and I just lost my shit because I hate when I ask Henry for help and HE DOES NOT HELP ME so I started coldcucking his face with death threats, and we made it MAYBE 10 minutes in the car, driving in silence, before we both started cracking up and I said, “Hey let’s just go home and eat lunch and then do this thang for real in the cemetery” and he was all, “Oh ho ho ho, I love you, my pretty princess” and the rest of the day was just a regular ol’ jubilee, you hear me?

EXHALE.

This is the lone photo I was able to salvage from Take #1 in the park. I was all angry because there were so many people who kept trampling by while I was TRYING to murder Henry with my silver tongue, but Henry was like, “Yeah. This is a PARK, Erin.”

You can see, reflected upon Chooch’s face, the utter disdain felt by all. Henry even accidentally made Chooch cry (he supposedly hurt his back when he was lifting him up onto a log, but I think Chooch was just feeding off of our Amityville-caliber hatred for each other) at the precise moment a mom and her four kids walked past us, which is like, OK, whatever, but considering that my shrill motherfuckering mere moments before likely echoed through the valley, this entire brood was probably like, “OMG I hope our nice afternoon in the park doesn’t end with us having to call 911 on this lunatic woman.”

Thankfully, we were all in much better moods by the time we ate lunch and arrived at our favorite cemetery.

If you read Chooch’s guest post from Friday, then you already know he is REALLY INTO THE SUMMER SET all of a sudden. The funny thing is that they were at Warped Tour but we didn’t see them there and he didn’t realize that he liked them until one afternoon last week. So now it’s my fault that we didn’t see them at Warped Tour, of course, and I’m like, “WTF kid, they’re not my priority.” But anyway, Henry took him out to buy their latest CD and it’s OK, I don’t mind it. It’s pretty catchy pop-rock, I guess. I’m just thankful it’s not like, Miley Cyrus or something horrible. He sits in the backseat, poring over the liner notes, and singing along.

It makes my heart swell. PLEASE BE IN A BAND WHEN YOU GROW UP, CHOOCH, OMG PLZ. I would 157% support that.

Our neighbor Toya gave Chooch this old kids’ guitar when she was moving out.

He doesn’t actually know how to play it, and now it needs restrung, but he has expressed interest in learning so I’m all over this. ALL OVER IT. I won’t lie—there is a huge part of me that is praying (and I don’t pray!) that Warped Tour sticks around long enough for Chooch to make it on one of those stages OMG CAN YOU IMAGINE. I would be the proudest mom in the entire world. I’m totally not above riding on my son’s coattails.

But, you know. I’m trying not to be some big, asshole-y stage mom about it. Just like I’m letting him like the bands he wants to like, even though they’re not bands I’d necessarily be excited to see.

To see him get excited is enough for me!

How Chooch does an arm party.

We were at Hot Topic on Saturday and when I saw this cat-head bow tie, I bought it STAT.

We did one wardrobe/location change but it was hot and we were all getting on each other’s nerves again so I pronounced this photo shoot dead. And then we got ice cream, but of course first we had to fight about WHERE we were getting ice cream. Yay, Sunday!

(Seriously, it’s hard to enjoy your orange cream cone and the soul-soothing tones of Christopher Cross’s seminal hit “Ride Like the Wind” when your company is sitting across from you arguing. GOD, GET SOME COUNSELING HENRY AND CHOOCH. See? My life is far from perfect, my friends. But that’s kind of how I like it.)

Here are some photos of things that happened this summer that don’t involve amusement parks and Warped Tour, which is actually not all that we do around here, contrary to popular belief! :)

This gentleman on the trolley was pouring the contents of an Old English into an empty jug of iced tea. Like you do on the trolley.

THIS IS NOT ICED TEA, YOU GUYS.

It’s looking like I’ll be riding the trolley to work for the rest of forever because things at Henry’s job got totally whack. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to riding the trolley, even though I have the same resurrected Bob Ross driver everyday who pretends to be all happy to see me. There was a good two week stretch when Henry was able to take me to work, and when I returned to my 12:47 trolley ride, the driver jovially exclaimed, “HEY! LONG TIME! Thought maybe you bought yourself a motorcycle to ride to work in style!”

My god. I’m a fucking regular. :(

I won’t see him today though. He’s off on Fridays. (I know this because every Thursday he cries, “HAPPY FRIDAY! TODAY IS MY FRIDAY! I’M OFF TOMORROW!”)

This cat ear ring was only like $3.

This hair band was decidedly more expensive than $3 and came from England, but it was totally worth it.

I still have to get my actual lenses put into these. THEY ARE THE PERFECT SIZE FOR ME!

Here’s some leftover birthday pictures:

Chooch with Kara’s baby Theo, who was only 9 days old and already living it up at Pamela’s for breakfast! (Chooch hates when we meet people at Pamela’s because it means we have to walk there, oh no.) This was on my birthday. Later that day, Janna and I went to Tillie’s for dinner (and I turned the light off on her in the bathroom, which was my favorite part of the day because I love torturing her), and then we met Laura at a movie theater in North Versailles to see The Conjuring which was fucking fantastic and I’m still thinking about it. Laura cried and prayed to her rosary through the whole thing! I’m glad I got to see three of my favorite people on my birthday, but in some sick and twisted way, I kind of missed spending my day with my friends at work like last year because they are so good at making me feel special!

This pretty scarf was left in an unmarked gift bag on my desk last week. I asked my boss Sue if it was from her, and she said no, but then a week later, she was all, “OK fine, that scarf was from me.” Duh! I love it so much!

And my sweet friend Kendahl sent me some beautiful nail polish!

Of course my birthday card from Chooch features a cat. But what I didn’t know until later is that he chose this card because he wanted it to remind me of the time a few weeks ago when Marcy woke me up at 5AM by PEEING ON ME IN MY BED because she was angry at being locked in our bedroom all night (we had the a/c on so we kept the door shut). Marcy, in all of her 16 years, has only peed outside of litter box one other time, and that was when she was about 2 years old and I yelled at her for doing something diabolical I’m sure (probably had something to do with Speck), and she literally stalked back over to where I was sitting, squatted near my feet and peed on the floor while GROWLING AT ME.

So, thanks Chooch.

Henry said Chooch was like, “Let’s get Mommy things that she hates,” which apparently included a Taylor Swift card, so thanks for stepping in, Henry. (But can we all just stop for a second and be amazed at how much like me Chooch really is? I love finding out what people hate and inundating them with it!)

A few weeks ago, my friend Octavia told me she was sending me something for my birthday that required lots of wall space and that Henry would hate it. Henry, thinking for sure it was going to be some grand-scale Jonny Craig collage, was getting ready to prepare a wall in the corner of the basement. But instead, these amazing circus posters came in the mail and Henry breathed a great sigh of relief. Octavia “borrowed” these from light poles in Norway ten years ago and thank god for that because they are incredible! They will have a good home here with me, so thank you again Octavia!

And my boss Joy got me an apple cozy! When I opened it, I immediately screamed, “OMG IT’S AN APPLE COZY!” and she was like, “You KNEW??” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve almost bought myself one!

I think books make such personal gifts, and this one from Sandy made me tear up a little because it’s the book that inspired one of my favorite Cure songs.

Barb, Gina, Elissa and Gayle hooked me up with so much fun jewelry:

Just my kind of JEWELRY!!!! Barb is so afraid I’m going to poke myself in the eye with the bird cage ring she got me. The tail really is sharp, but I think it’s more Henry who should be afraid.

Wendy and Evonne eating from their Beetlejuice bowls at Savoy a few weeks ago. That was a fun dinner! (Although, any weeknight dinner that doesn’t involve a Law Firm microwave and a Lean Cuisine is a fun dinner!) A little too rich for my Weight Watchers-trained stomach though, so I got kind of sick afterward.

This is kind of birthday-related! A few years ago, Gina and Elissa got me this pretty coffee cup but like a dummy, I chipped it one day while washing it, so it just kind of sat on the kitchen window sill for a long time. But now that I’m on some weird fake green-thumb kick, one of my co-workers gave me a spider plant thingie in a red Solo cup and I immediately thought of a new purpose for my pretty-but-chipped cup. So I brought it into work and Amber2 helped me re-pot it. (And by now you should know that means she did everything herself while I stood there and watched.)

LOOK HOW PRETTY! (Don’t worry, there’s a fake spider in it now too.)

Chooch and Downton Bunny at Tom’s Diner. I’m going to be so sad when he goes back to school and we can’t have leisurely mornings anymore. :(

We had some Jimmy Buffett Buffet at work in July so I made Henry bake these lemon brownies with blueberry lemon lavender frosting. I thought they were super good, but Henry was all, “SOMETHING WAS OFF ABOUT THEM, WAH.”

Ciao for now.

It’s not a summer Saturday without some goddamn ice cream.

I just wanted a twist cone and at the last second, I changed my order to something called Porky’s Parfait because it had pecans in it.

But it also had cherries, which was actually this heavy, gloopy cherry sauce.

It was OK but I got sick.

For Sale: 1 Sad Ice Cream Cone Holder. This was seconds before some mean fly thing bit my foot, so Henry was all gleeful after that.

Henry ended up with everyone’s ice cream again. Actually, he kept trying to take mine too, which is why I forced myself to eat it.

Later, Chooch and I were being public assholes so Henry tried to ditch us.

Got some ethnic grub at It’s Greek To Me in Brookline but they got rid of almost everything I enjoyed so I pouted and ordered falafel because that’s the only non-meat option they have now. Not even meatless grape leaves!

Henry, hating his life.

This cuts off right before Henry glares at me, OMG it was so scary.

The house that gave me a TV.

Henry, turning around to tell us to stop being dicks.

Henry trying not to smile at something adorable we’ve done.

Later that night, we went to Henry’s workplace to set off fireworks. Janna came with us, because fireworks are cool. We tried to hide from Henry in the warehouse among pallets of gross Faygo, but it backfired and he scared us really bad which made Chooch cry and carry on like an infant because he is not like me at all.

Get it, Henry!

Yelling at me.

Then he tried to lock us in. :(

/end Saturday.

Spent all day downtown at the Arts Festival and now I’m watching horror movies. Good Saturday. Here’s some random photos because no one’s got time to write & read blogs on Saturday, my people.

So this is my new purse.

Chooch’s school had “Fun Day” yesterday and this is what his 8th grade girlfriend wrote on his shirt. Apparently she also had “Kellin Q” written on her face and her friend (Chooch’s other older gf) had “Vic F” on hers so clearly I should be hanging out with them too.

Like most cats, Marcy likes a good pat-down with a doll arm.

Getting ready for the arts festival.

A little confused.

Some random pictures I made over the week on my phone. See? I’m not ALWAYS playing Candy Crush.

God.

Staring contest ends in 3…2….tears

Trying to get some new paintings done for the craft show thingie I’m doing next weekend. I rarely paint anymore (usually just customs and presents for my buddies) so this has been very trying. When I painted A LOT, I was vacillating between a period of sinking depression and circus-level mania. I’m a little more evened out now and I find that makes it difficult to tap into that part of myself. I was pretty sad last week though, so that helped me get some shit done.

I don’t foresee myself ever getting back into this regularly again though. Plus, I never paid my Etsy bill for the Somnambulant shop and it has been SUSPENDED, you guys. Etsy ain’t playin’.

Those shit-stained tentacles are actually gold, but you can pretend they’re really shit-stained if you want. Who knows what these octopi have been doin’ to each other. IT IS NOT OUR BUSINESS.

Resurrected the old bathroom plaques, too. Holy Shitter was always a hit, and hopefully it will be next weekend, too. When I used to sell shit at this local shop called Wildcard, they sold every last one of my bathroom plaques during their grand opening, and that has always been one of my coolest achievements, I guess.

Chooch’s first pottery project, which he did NOT take to school for his teacher because I put my fucking foot down. I believe my exact words were, “Did she pay $99 for these goddamn pottery classes? NO, I DIDN’T THINK SO. WHY DO YOU LOVE HER SO MUCH MORE THAN ME!?!?”

A throatpunch to the motherfucker who invented these belt buckles, for fucking real. There are two pairs of jeans that Chooch can’t wear to school because neither of us can unbuckle the belts in order for him to put them on. (He takes them off by yanking them down his body so he doesn’t have to piss with the belt, which is how we get into these predicaments in the a.m.!)

Fathers, this is a cheap alternative to chastity belts. Planned Pregnancy-endorsed, probably!

It doesn’t matter how mant times Henry has demonstrated, WE CANNOT COMPREHEND THE WAYS OF THESE BUCKLES ONCE HENRY ABANDONS US. I have BLED myself trying to work these things. And it never fails to result in World War What Number Are We On Now? between Chooch and me. Good morning, motherfuckers!

Anyway, I posted this on Facebook & Instagram and it was amazing how many people chimed in via comments and straight up text messages, offering instructions and even suggesting that I bring the pants into work because someone could probably use their law degree to wedge it loose.  That’s great guys, but unless you are sending me the hand of motherfucking Hulk, your advice is of no use.

Because the truth is, I don’t care if you make me a Power Point presentation, a YouTube tutorial, or have Jonny Craig sing a song about it, WE JUST DON’T GET IT.

Fuck Henry for never being there in the morning to handle this for us. God, what a fucking deadbeat.

On a lighter note, here is a picture that Henry sent me from Chooch’s pottery class tonight. Apparently, they also made masks. Guess what kind of a mask Chooch made? A scary devil mask painted with his own testosterone!

Just kidding. It was a cat.

I have other things to rant about, but I don’t have pictures to go with them and since this is a post about pictures,  I guess I will just save those rants for another day. Like probably tomorrow.

Henry just doesn’t get it sometimes. AND WE ALL KNOW I’M DRAMATIC, THANKS HENRY.

Chooch bought this Saturday night. It was only $5, and giant, even. Plus, it has all of the cats.

Chooch: No dumping? No dumping WHAT?

Me: Dead bodies, obvi.

Shit, my kid is so fucking dense sometimes, I can’t stand it. Reminds me of the time I told him he missed the boat and he ran to the window and yelled, “BOAT!? WHERE?!” Granted, he was only like two and a half then. Which means the word “asshole” was probably peppered in there somewhere too. That was his favorite word back then.

Purple Pants in my rearview mirror! We were just coming home from the cemetery on Saturday and there she was, walking past our house, which is an interesting side note: Every time Henry comes home, there is ALWAYS someone walking past our house. This infuriates him because he has to, god forbid, wait to pull into the driveway. It is endlessly hilarious to me because he will furiously bark, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? JESUS CHRIST!”

You know, it’s really all pedestrians that gray Henry’s McNichol-locks. When he used (operative word: “used”) to drive me downtown to work, he would get so outraged at all of the jaywalkers.  The one time he shouted, “I DON’T CARE IF THAT ASSHOLE IS IN A WHEELCHAIR!” which would have been kind of hot if it was anyone but Henry making such douchey declarations. The best is when he threatens them with the car windows up. They’re shaking, Henry.

I made this just now on my break so people walking past my office were probably like, “Oh wow, Erin is actually working.”

I took this by accident when I was trying to have an impromptu photoshoot with my cat, Marcy. I think I was trying to re-situate myself so she would be behind me, but then she skulked away because she knows better. Anyway, I liked this picture for two reasons:

• Tammy Faye Bakker eyes in the house
• I look sad, which is apropros because [SEE BELOW PICTURE]

HENRY BOUGHT ME A BOOKLET OF TROLLEY TICKETS WHICH MEANS I’M GOING TO BE TAKING THE TROLLEY FOR THE REST OF EVER.

However, there is a girl with a pink mohawk who sometimes rides the same trolley as me and in my fantasies, she comes over to me and says, “You look like a Jessica Simpson fan, but I bet you are way more cooler than that. Do you like Xiu Xiu and cemeteries?” and I’ll say, “OMG yes!” and then we’ll playing start playing Ruzzle together.

YOU NEVER KNOW.

But then I remind myself of my uncanny ability to attract sociopathic whore-liars (at least one a year!) and I go back to silently staring out the trolley window.

I had these grandiose plans to go to both of these amusement parks for my birthday weekend this summer, but then Henry gave me a lesson in geography. Now I think we’re going to Holidayworld and King’s Island, and I guess I’m OK with that.

I still don’t understand why Henry can’t just charter a jet. Cheap ass motherfucker.

Spring made a sneak peek this weekend, and I could not wait to get the fuck out of the house. The one good thing about the way my job has been going lately is that it makes me savor every last motherfucking second of the weekend. I cling to it like you would not believe, and then feel crippling sadness on Sunday evenings. (It doesn’t help that The Walking Dead depresses me so badly this season! I feel more emotionally connected to every character now more than ever.)

So anyway, all I could think about when I woke up on Saturday was eating a hot dog. And not some stupid veggie dog that I explode in the microwave, but a veggie hot dog made by godlike hands and gilded with insane toppings. I was allowing myself one splurge over the weekend, and a Station Street hot dog was it.

“I don’t like hot dogs!” Chooch pouted.

“Yeah, because usually they’re made in the microwave by me,” I pointed out. Kevin Sousa, the best chef in Pittsburgh (I have a sickening chef-crush on him) not only owns the joint, but he was there that day, grilling up the hot dogs himself like it was no big thang. I almost died.

“I can’t believe no one is bothering him!” I hissed to Henry, who was not as impressed as me, but that is only because he hasn’t experienced the edible sex this man can serve on a plate*. I mean, really.

*(Kara, Janna and I are doing a reprise of the infamous Vegetarian Beer Dinner next Monday night and I guarantee it will be the only thing that gets me through the work week.)

“No one here probably even knows who he is,” Henry said with that typical “you’re so lame” smirk. And that made me start judging everyone in the hot dog shop, eating their bun-hugged meat logs unbeknownst that they’re smearing their lips & chin with mustard and siracha in the presence of culinary greatness.

I got the veggie Devil Dog, which comes with a large plop of egg salad and a potato chip helmet and was so fucking worth it even though I panicked for the rest of the day about gaining all of my weight back. While eating inside and staring dreamily at my chef-crush was tempting, we wanted to take advantage of the pretty weather so we drove a few minutes to one of my favorite places — Homewood Cemetery.

Chooch ended up really liking his hot dog and actually ate the whole thing which was a small miracle because that kid never eats the whole thing of anything that isn’t made with ice cream and/or Cheez-Its.

Nnnryghhhhhhh.

Sometimes I wonder what kind of effect this will have on Chooch when he’s an adult, this whole cemetery thing. It’s really normal for us and we spend a ton of time at graveyards, and Chooch doesn’t really know any different. I’m not saying it’s going to ruin him or anything, but I can only hope it’s molding him into the next great horror film director.

Henry was teaching us about frogs and turtles. SNORE. (Don’t you just want to push them in? Or maybe you want to push ME in. It’s OK. I know Henry is the favorite.)

Ugh, it just felt so good to be out there! I turned on the Sucre Spotify station on my phone and then we pissed in the mausoleum. Chooch made me pretend to pray after that. It was uncomfortable.

And then fox took an unfortunate spill and perished.

OH NO, FOX!

Poor Fox. I told you you should have waited in the car. Dumbass.

On our way back to the car, some young jogging woman ran over to two elder-yuppies and panted, “Can you tell me where the entrance is!? I have been stuck in here for hours!”

She was all harried about it, but to me that sounds like A Good Time.

—————–

Later that night, Janna came over to watch the Pens game. The official plan was that Henry and I were goingt o make pendants at the same time, but Henry was being a big bitch baby about that and sat in front of the computer alone most of the night because he sucks.

Meanwhile, Chooch was playing Minecraft on his Kindle.

“I’m not wasting a diamond on a hoe!” he midlessly exclaimed at one point, not realizing the golden double entendre he had masterfully woven.

“That’s what Henry says when people ask him why he won’t propose,” I blurted in a very frantic “That’s what she said!” fashion, like I was in some sort of punchline race.

And then! This is the worst part of the whole weekend. I just happened to check my Instagram feed during a commercial (Janna was too busy mentoring Chooch in Minecraft to entertain me)  when I saw the WORST THING EVER. Jonny Craig posted a picture of a Jonny Craig doll in his tour van. THE SAME JONNY CRAIG DOLL I HAD MAYA MAKE ME LAST YEAR! Turns out Christina’s Native American doppelganger found it on my blog and ordered one from Maya and then FUCKING GAVE IT TO JONNY because she’s some cuntwiping sycophant. Now that means when I see Jonny at the end of the month, I can’t show him my doll because he HAS HIS OWN.

You guys, I was so upset about this that I started storming about the house. Finally, I had to drink a glass of wine to calm down. Janna and Henry just laughed about it.

“He’ll have that doll shooting silk in no time,” Henry commented on Facebook. (God forbid he should just say it to my face — I was sitting right there!)

When I read that, I started laughing so hard.  “I didn’t know silk was slang for heroin!” I cried, the wine settling in at this point. “Is that what you guys called it in THE SERVICE!?”

“What? No. I meant silk as in silk,” Henry explained.  “Because he’s a doll?” he elaborated, upon seeing the question marks undulating above my head.  “Never mind. People who sew would get it.”

“No, I get it. It was just funnier when I thought you and your SERVICE buddies did ‘silk’ in the 80s.”

Found this picture from 2 Easters ago and decided to re-share it because it’s my picture and I can do that OKAY?! I mean, happy Wednesday.

A few weeks ago, Chooch unearthed his very first Halloween costume in his closet, put it on and then surprised me with it. I almost died laughing, seeing his big head shoved through the small opening of a fabric ice cream. It pleased me because he was 6 months old that Halloween and it poured down rain so aside from a quick photo op at my grandma’s house, that costumes was totally wasted. I even considered putting it up on eBay a few times, or giving it to someone who has a baby, but now I’m really glad that I didn’t, because nothing is funnier than someone wearing something that they’re too big for.

One day, he wore it in the backseat of the car and waved to people at red lights.  He’s even considering wearing it for real next Halloween and I will fucking die if he does because I love this costume so much, so yes — PLEASE WEAR IT!

In the meantime, I wanted to do a little photo shoot with him wearing it. The weather was so amazingly warm this weekend, and I couldn’t stop picturing him eating an ice cream cone while wearing an ice cream cone. There’s an ice cream place right down the road from the abandoned building we use for some of our pictures, but we didn’t learn it was closed until we drove all the way out there (only like 30 minutes, but still — Henry’s frown is in full effect over things like this).  We figured McDonald’s was probably our best bet at that point, and remembered that there was one down the street from the closed-down ice cream shop we took pictures at last September.  Even better!

“But does McDonald’s have rainbow sprinkles? No, I don’t think they do. You’ll have to stop at a grocery store on the way and buy some, just in case,” I said, planning ahead.

Henry glared at me.

“What? There HAS to be rainbow sprinkles! I can’t do it without the sprinkles!” I cried. EVERYTHING IS IN THE DETAILS, OK?!

So that was another 25 minutes in the car with Henry who had almost completely shut down verbally by then. I even tried to calm him down by ironically holding his hand. He wasn’t amused.

Rainbow sprinkles procured and a vanilla cone in hand, we drove back to the Twist behind a partially disabled elderly man who cruised along at a pace of about 18 mph, melting the ice cream and our patience.

But we made it with the cone mostly intact! I jumped out of the car and poured the sprinkles on while Chooch stuffed himself in the costume cone.

I positioned him in front of the closed-down ice cream shop and handed him  the severely-dripping cone.

“Vanilla? REALLY? VANILLA? You knew I wanted CHOCOLATE!” he cried.

“Well, McDonald’s only has vanilla,” I muttered, but really — he was getting vanilla no matter where we went. It had to match his costume!

And the rest of it panned out smoothly! Henry and I didn’t even argue. We were only there about 5 minutes before I got what I needed and Henry got to finish Chooch’s cone.

This was right after 2 teenage girls walked by and giggled at Chooch. He was totally angry with me.

He even DANCED for me at the end. You know why? Because that little sucker got paid to do this. I have found that giving him a few bucks is a small price to pay for cooperation and amiability in front of the camera.

God, Henry is totally going to start asking for payment now too.

<3

Good afternoon. I’ve been too busy thinking about fruit, researching fruit, looking for fruit and eating fruit to do much writing in my blog. (“Writing” – this term is looser than Snooki’s vag.) Plus, Chooch and I are finally shaking off the death shroud that’s been enveloping us since Christmas so I’ve been enjoying doing things like:

• walking without getting out of breath
• breathing through my nose
• not coughing to the point of vomiting

So while I bask in the sound of my recently-recovered voice, please enjoy a variety of photos from the last few days.

My favorite photo of Henry! I turned it into a pendant. (No, Henry still has still not set up a shopping cart thingie on my blog. He sucks. Please direct angry fist-shaking in his direction, thanks.)

Fuzzy sweater nails! Totally impractical, but so much fun. I pet my hands all day on Friday.

OMG FRUIT SALAD. Look at those bitchin’ kumquats. I hated them at first, but then I couldn’t stop thinking about them and wanting them in my mouth again. Kind of like the first ever blow job, citrus edition.

I can’t believe I used to only eat apples.

Henry left me and Chooch alone in the car Saturday night because he’s a bastard.

Speaking of Chooch, yesterday I asked him if he wants to go to Cleveland this weekend and in this tone of faux-regret, he said, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Like he was regretfully declining a dinner invitation from Jehovah’s Witnesses. And then he added that he was going to be too busy “kissing ponies.”

OK.

We’re going to Cleveland anway.

Yesterday, I forced Henry to join Chooch and me for family time in the cemetery. Henry was all pissy about it because god forbid he should actually walk around outside, but as soon as he got out of the car, he began pointing out deer and various bird migrations, totally immersing himself in his obnxious Nature Know-It-All role, so I knew he was content.

And then it was all, “LOOK! THERE’S A CROW CHASING A HAWK OMG!” God, he’s so lame.

Awkwardly dodging snowballs.

Sometimes even Chooch has had enough of having his picture taken.

Dirty bare footprint in the snow. Just one!

Chooch wrote this to Corey on the back of his school picture without any coaxing from me. (He did ask me how to spell “uncle”, though. I was going to lie and spell “ulcer” but Chooch is too good at reading to fall for that.)

This was Chooch on Monday morning before school. Shit, I wish I felt that good on Monday mornings. The general consensus is: It must be the pants.

OMG I found this picture last night when I was doing totally 100% work-related shit at work. I loved it so much that I printed it out at home and now I need to make an appropriate frame for it, maybe send some copies to my clown-lusting friend Kendahl.

God, it just fills me with so much joy, like a bellyful of pornographic jam.

To conclude, Henry, Chooch and I went to Eat n Park for dessert on Sunday night. By the register, there was a stack of used books, the proceeds of which benefit Children’s Hospital. Chooch and I lunged for the same book in tandem, some “Things to Make and Do” piece of wonderment from 1970. I wanted it for the illustrations, Chooch wanted it because it’s full of projects for me to fail at.

There was no set price on it, just a donation, but Henry started mouthing off to us about not having any cash, so the manager asked, “Is this for him?” and gestured at Chooch. When I said yes, he waved me off and said, “Then don’t worry about it. I got it.”

I’m always startled when people do nice things.

Anyway, thanks to that Eat n Park dude, I now have instructions on how to make racial puppets and match my shirt and socks to my hair color.

Meanwhile, I’m really getting into the holiday spirit for once! I’m excited for Thanksgiving, which is extremely fun for me because I get to scour the Internet for pretentious, gourmet dishes full of exorbitantly-priced ingredients which will force Henry to rub elbows with yuppies in speciality markets for some tiny rock of $25 French cheese and a spice he can’t pronounce but can read the price tag very clearly.

To me, that’s what Thanksgiving is all about. Putting Henry to work.

Wait…that’s every day.

Oh well, I’ll think of something later.

What’s your favorite thing to eat on Thanksgiving? (Other than turkey; I can’t get behind turkey.)

Blake turned 20 on Saturday. I can’t even believe it. He was 8 when I met him after Henry and I began dating, and it blows my mind to see that this green-haired maniac kid in an over-sized Korn tshirt  has grown up to be such a cool big brother to Chooch. And Chooch just adores him, even though he started crying earlier at TGIFridays because Blake “always hurts [his] feelings!”

Chooch kept threatening to tell our waitress that Blake wanted to dance with her. I think he would have told her too, had she not have been blond. Chooch has a super-hard time talking to pretty blond girls.

Blake agreed to go to the cemetery afterward and take bro-photos because it’s been awhile. I just wish Henry’s oldest son Robbie would have been there too, to make it more legit! Oh well, that gives me more time to find matching outfits for them.

Posing by the “farm of weeners.” Thanks for teaching him that one, Blake!

There was some yuppie bitch there trying to take Christmas photos of her spoiled brat children and I was getting so pissed because they kept popping up in the background of my shots. We crossed paths at one point, and I could tell she was super jealous of my cooperative subjects as she attempting to pick up one of her tantrum-throwing dick kids off the ground.

Amateur.

Their idea.

Chooch HATED this photo because it was one that Blake wanted, not him. I’ve realized over the years that the easiest way to get this shit done is to just let Chooch do what he wants. He gets really into the idea of having his photo taken as long as we’re using his ideas.

Later that day, it occurred to me that at some point during the year, Blake is 14 years older than Chooch, I’m 14 years older than Blake, and Henry is 14 years older than me, but this never happens all at once.

(And yes, I know: Chooch and Blake look so much alike, and Chooch looks nothing like me. You got me! Chooch isn’t my kid!)

Chooch found these two pictures in the neighbor’s backyard. The house next to theirs is being cleaned out so I guess that’s where they’re from, but Chooch and I still tried to accuse Henry of going out with the afro’d ginger in the picture.

I painted this picture frame for Chooch’s paper zombie while marching in place.

Law Firm Walking Challenge stops for no crafts.

My Castle Blood friend Dawn makes these old-timey pumpkin pins and sells them in the Castle Blood gift shop. She also has owls and monsters – it was really hard to choose!

Went walking through a downpour in the cemetery yesterday, beneath a broken, hole-ridden umbrella. Of course I blamed Henry.

Chooch stayed home sick today. He’s much better than he was yesterday, but not well enough for school. I fed him a healthy dose of The Walking Dead, and even Marcy tolerated him. (That’s how you know he’s sick—his subdued demeanor keeps Marcy in the same room.)

Right now I’m on the trolley, going to work. It’s eerily quiet. (There are still about 6 more stops before mine so I probably jinxed myself.)