I’ve had this vision for Easter portraits in my head for quite awhile now, but getting Henry to go along with it was not that easy, even for me. Well, that’s not true – it was pretty easy. But he still waited until an hour before we left the house to pull some 13th hour divo stunt and tried to text his son Blake to be a fill-in. I completely lost my shit, started crying, screamed JUST FORGET IT! and stormed off to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

As if I wasn’t already stressed enough about the Penguins playoff implosion.

Approximately five minutes later, Henry came upstairs. I forget what exactly he said to me, but it wasn’t a distinct “I am not going to do this” so that gave me hope and I went back downstairs to harp on him some more. I even promised to take the trolley to work all week!

“Look,” Christina whispered to me while Henry was in the kitchen mouthing off about how he hates when I tell him what he’s going to do. “You know he’s going to do it. He just has to put on this little show to keep some of his masculinity.” But then Chooch started crying too because all he knew was that at some point that day, he was going to get to put makeup on, and now suddenly HENRY was going to take that away from him.

“You want me to drive to some abandoned private property, put on makeup and have my picture taken,” Henry barked. “That’s like a trifecta of things I hate.”

“He just learned that word,” I said snidely to Christina.

“You owe me,” he said before he left, and Christina told me later that the part I didn’t hear was him saying, “And I’m not talking about sex, either.” OMG THEN WHAT?!

Did I mention that Henry was also sick all weekend? He had a fever the day before, even.

But because he is the BEST BOYFRIEND EVER, he tucked his tail between his legs and drove us out to Elizabeth, PA (even stopping on his own accord to get an extra pair of bunny ears) where he then stood obediently in front of me while I smeared costume makeup all over his face.

“I’m not laughing,” he snarled as I was doing my signature “laughing til I pee”-squat. But I’m certain I saw the corners of his mouth fighting to curl up.

On Saturday, Christina and I went to Goodwill to grab a dress shirt for Henry. I knew I wanted it to be a certain color, and wasn’t sure yet if I was going to incorporate fake blood, so I didn’t want to run the risk of ruining one of Henry’s TWO WHOLE DRESS SHIRTS.

For once, Goodwill didn’t fail me and I was really pleased with the shirt we found (Henry was of a different opinion), and then on a whim I said, “Let’s see if anything looks good in the boys section.” And holy shit, not only did we find a blazer, but we also found these plaid skinny jeans that happened to be in Chooch’s size. The unfortunate part is that not only are they for girls (who really cares about that though), they’re from that asshole Gwen Stefani’s kids clothing line, and I REALLY CAN’T STAND HER. But at least they were only like, $3.

(They also came with a detachable skirt, which we quickly unbuttoned before Chooch had a chance to notice. Good thing too, because he ended up loving these pants and wanted to wear them all weekend.)

(His tie was also a last minute find, and also for girls; the bottom is encrusted with rhinestones, another thing he didn’t seem to notice.)

I love that he looks like he’s going to a Sex Pistols show.

Fetus came along for the ride. I love him so.

I was angry that there was so much foliage around, so I put Christina to work (she is my slave, after all); she wound up taking all kinds of cuts and scratches back to Ohio with her. She even tried (and failed) to construct a bridge for us to cross over the muddy path that separated us from the small building I wanted to use.

Henry isn’t posing, he’s actually watching for cops because he was so paranoid we were going to get in trouble for trespassing, oh noes.

I can only imagine what goes on his head when I make him do the un-fun parts of the photo shoots. Having Christina there allowed me to get an extra 5 shots out of him, though. Usually he peaces out much sooner.

Did I mention it was over 80 degrees on Sunday? It was.

Afterward, we went to lunch at Blue Flame. I posted one of the bunny pictures of Henry that I had taken with my phone to Instagram and when I showed Henry, he quietly said, “Send that to me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s a picture of me and I have a right to have it!” he said all defensively, because god forbid he should EVER admit that MAYBE he thinks something I did was KIND OF COOL.

Anyway, Henry kind of rules for doing this. And so far, I have not taken the trolley to work this week.

Today is Chooch’s last day of Easter break so we went outside under the pretenses of doing “normal” child activities.

Writing inoffensive slogans with sidewalk chalk kept Chooch busy for approximately 5 minutes.

And then we played with what I hoped would be Thingie Ball 2012, but it is sadly a cheap imitation of my beloved Thingie Ball set from 2010, which I have been unable to find in Target ever since.

We gave up after I screamed, “THIS SUCKS, I HATE IT & NEVER WANT TO PLAY AGAIN!” Chooch was like, “God, calm down Mommy. We’re outside where people can see AND hear you.”

Finally, Chooch could contain himself no longer and we spent the rest of our time outside playing zombies.

Flexible Zombie.

Then the FedEx guy came to deliver a package for our neighbor, which made Chooch cry REAL TEARS because I NEVER ORDER ANYTHING FOR HIM, WAAAAH.

Guess what, kid—Mommy likes getting mail too, so GET IN LINE.

The public access channel on Saturday nights never fails to entertain. Henry and I usually watch belligerent Bible shows with our jaws slack, but on this night we were entranced by Moyé’s Hair Talk Show, which didn’t actually feature much talking but did have a wonderful Anita Baker-esque soundtrack going on.

The girl getting her hairs did was talking about how she is going to be in a fashion show even though she is actually quite shy, and that she is looking forward to walking down the catwalk in front of all of the rich people.

Henry was hyper-critical about the show’s name, as if that was the biggest thing wrong with it.

The next morning, I ditched Henry and Chooch in favor of a Blue Flame breakfast with Tommy and Jessy, where we had the best waitress ever who talked to me about my tattoo and Chiodos and Jessy was all, “God, just friend each other on Facebook already.” Then we went to the Perry Flea Market, where I didn’t really see anything too cool aside from a bin of vintage noisemakers going for NINETY DOLLARS and a buffet of multi-flavored whoopie pies, of which I bought two to share with Jessy, so now she can never say I haven’t done anything for her when I spent A BUCK FITTY on her, you guys.

I said we didn’t see anyTHING cool, not anyONE. This man had the most majestically out-of-place moustache in all of the east coast. I was frantic to capture his facial coif to treasure for all of eternity, but one of his daughters quickly caught on to what I was doing and saw right through my “I’m just taking pictures of my friend’s shoulder” charade. Considering this happened right when we got there, I decided to quit while I was ahead.

I let Tommy explain to me what was so special about this fishing bait bullshit because that’s what a sweet person I am, except that my intentions were stewed in sarcasm and irony. Jessy walked away immediately so she wouldn’t be bored to death, then we giggled about it later behind Tommy’s back.

When Tommy surreptitiously veered the truck onto a back country road upon leaving the flea market, I thought to myself, “Oh how nice, we get to enjoy the beautiful sunshine by looking at the countryside” which is completely out of character for me to think; approximately .0005 seconds later, my new thought was, “Wait — I think he might be driving us to our freshly-dug graves.”

Instead, he pulled into a junk yard (I LOVE JUNK YARDS!) to see if he could find a new handle for my car, because now we can’t open the drivers side door from the outside. Everything Henry and I touch breaks. When I go somewhere alone, I have to get in on the passenger side and pretend like I’m looking for something in the glove compartment while attempting to lean over and inconspicuously pushing open the drivers side door.

Our last stop was Marcell’s Pottery, which is this really iconic building that I’ve passed a million times in my life but have never stopped in because, well, it’s a pottery shop. However, as soon as I walked through the door, I was met with an icy glare. It took a few seconds for it to register, but I realized it was the Moustache’s Daughter.

I ran over and tugged on Jessy’s arm, hissing at her in a hyper-giddy squeal.

“What are the odds?” she laughed. I mean, the pottery is literally right down the road from the flea market, but we spent all that time, what seemed like an hour, driving around aimlessly, looking at country houses and cars propped up on cinder blocks.

Fought to get a good shot of the ‘stache, to no avail. His daughter was watching me like I was a hooded teenaged boy with Skittles on my person.

This place had the motherlode of religious shit though, so I was glad we stopped there.

And pupil-less Dutch kids!

The end.

A few years ago, I bought a 1980’s prom dress off eBay but it doesn’t fit over my rack; it finally occurred to me that I should just dress up Sam and Steph in that and my all-purpose tutu. So I spent yesterday doing just that.

;

I figured Green Man’s Tunnel would be a good location, because it’s grunge-y and abandoned, and hello – The Green Man lives there. Steph’s boyfriend Kian came with us and he really triggered that small “Mom” alarm that’s hidden inside me by doing the sorts of dangerous things that teenaged boys are born to do. Every once in awhile, he would say things like, “Hey, I have an idea” and I would find that I was spontaneously bracing myself.

He was, however, the most polite teenage boy I think I have ever met, and even carried all my shit for me. Good pick, Steph!

Meanwhile, Henry wouldn’t come anywhere near the tunnel with us because he thought the police were going to show up. So he just walked up and down the road looking like a walking sandwich-board for Megan’s Law. I was a little pissed because he’s my designated lens holder.

I lost sight of him eventually and became convinced that he was fishing in the creek across the street.

After I took the first few shots by the creek, I realized Henry was creeping in the background and had to yell at him to leave, which made him hate his life even more.

God, I really needed that.

Here are some of my favorite photos, which you might be expecting if you read the title of this post. I’m not motivated to do much else today.

Not even roller skating!

I haven’t had time (or available suckers models) to take pictures lately. Hoping to change that tomorrow. I think I’m trying to do too much when I only have two arms.

I’m really whiny today. MY BACK HURTS AND I HAVE A HEADACHE!

THE PENGUINS ARE LOSING TO THE STUPID SABRES! I DISLIKE SUNDAYS! WAH.

Hi, hello. Merry Sunday. Have some photos that I took this weekend.

Someone get me on a Wacky Worm, STAT. (The sleaziness of that statement will never get old.) This is pretty much how I looked all week: morose with a general feeling of malaise. I’m getting better, though. I can almost eat again without feeling seasick! (No, I’m definitely not pregnant, don’t fret.)

Chooch ran into this Star Wars display at Target and is suddenly really feeling Valentine’s Day.

Marcy & Chooch’s Art Class.

Again, I say: fuck off, winter depression! There is too much to look forward to.

***

Coming up: a post (with video!) where I wanted to fight a 13-year-old girl to defend Henry’s honor, and more of Henry’s answers to your questions on the “Harangue Henry” post. Woo, this blog is so full of substance I can hardly stand it. (Sarcasm 101.)

My Lame Bio

Lots of roller skating funnery to blog about, but first I got some photos to dump.

Breakfast Brats

Had breakfast with Tommy & Jessy. I’m so glad to have those two around again. It’s nice to have “family days.” Meanwhile, Chooch the Creep took eight pictures of Tommy with my phone.

1 of 8

After breakfast, we went to Trax Farms so I could fawn over the apples. Henry is trying to get me to understand that apple season is over but I still throw tantrums when I go somewhere and I see the same old boring apples.

“I ALREADY KNOW ABOUT GALAS AND FUJIS! I WANT SOMETHING NEW!”

“APPLE SEASON IS GODDAMN OVER! LOWER YOUR EXPECTATIONS!”

This is really how Henry and I talk to each other in public: emphatic screams.

AN APPLE CONVEYOR BELT! I want one in my house that goes straight to my mouth. Bitch.

And then I ran my hands lustfully over top the waxy bodies of cheese. God, I love cheese so much it’s painful. Literally.

And then and then and then! Chooch bought me the most awesome ring, the end.

When I first saw this gargantuan Christmas bulb outside of our building, I thought, “Fuck, I hate Christmas.” But apparently when Nate saw it, he thought, “Fuck, I love Indiana Jones.

” So per his request, Sandy facilitated a quick photoshoot yesterday at work featuring Nate as Indiana Jones and Sean as an evil elf. I was told to show up with my camera, so I did.

These are just some of the things we do in lieu of working.

I wasn’t back at my desk for more than 5 minutes before one of my co-workers came over and said that she was surprised security didn’t chase us away because only “firm-approved” people are permitted to take pictures out there.

Thank god Nate made me a post-it badge that says “The Law Firm-approved Photog” under my name. TRY AND STOP ME NOW.

We went back to Union Dale yesterday, this time with a fully charged camera battery (apparently our spare is dead forever) and I had a moderate level of success this time.

I was still a big pouty bitch and yelled at Henry a lot because obviously it’s his fault that I am an amateur photographer. (Blame Henry 2012 pins coming soon!

) I am mostly satisfied with the results and now willing to admit that perhaps I need the Xanax hookup.

Janna and I took Chooch to the playground so Henry could clean the house. It was apparently Dad Day there, presumably because all the moms were out fighting bitches over Black Friday bullshit.

One of the dads was super cute so suddenly I didn’t mind too much that my kid was begging me to push him on the swings.

Anytime someone new would arrive, he would rush over to them and start his interrogation, demanding to know the kid’s name and age. He waked back over to us at one point with Jack (3) and Jack’s dad, who had already been acquainted with Chooch as evidenced by the way he casually said to his son, “Riley wants to play with you Jack, go ahead.

”

I don’t know where Chooch gets it, because Henry and I surely are not socialites.

Then I got to witness Janna’s Special Olympic attempt at hopscotch and laughed so violently that I almost puked up the two apples I had previously eaten. (Tell me what your favorite apples are; I’m trying to eat them all.)

We actually talked about apples a lot at the playground, but you’re probably not surprised. I think Janna was tiring of the subject; she did, however, alert me to that fact that some places offer apples tastings so I will be researching this phenomenon soon.

Later, Henry took us to Pizza Hut, which is one of my least favorite places but Chooch got a certificate for a free pan pizza through the Book It program at school. Our waiter was some mentally-arrested man who was dying to tell someone that a lady, in the throes a Black Friday hysteria, pepper-sprayed other shoppers in some state that is not ours.

So he told us and none of us cared.

But Janna at least pretended to.

Chooch was begging for quarters for the claw machine, but I dared him to eat hot pepper flakes first, so he licked the top of the shaker which I think is even more gross so I gave his stupid ass the quarters.

Friday Night Ice Cream Club!

Henry had his own ice cream club with Marcy and it sickens me.

Later in the night, Henry picked up his mom who was spending the night since she’s watching Chooch today. The Penguins game was nearly over, with like, three minutes left in the third.

We were up 6-3 and his mom was sincerely concerned that we might lose. Then I gave her a glass of wine and she started divulging all kinds of stories about her past lovers and also some scintillating tales about Henry’s ex. Henry wanted no part of that little wine fest. I love buzzed Judy.

And now Henry and I are en route to Cleveland, where we will be gorging on greasy gourmet grilled cheese at Melt with our friend Jason and then heading to the House of Blues for the last night of the AP Tour. I’m so stoked to see Sharks again.

If my blog remains un-updated for more than 2 days, please assume that Henry purposely drove our car over a ravine.

It was pretty stupid.

My goal for 2012 is to kidnap/marry Jonny Craig. And also buy a better camera and learn how to use it.

During the pie party on Saturday, I was able to snap a few pictures of Sandy’s little girl, Elena. I’m looking forward to doing it again, with her Halloween costume, so then she too will hate me like all other kids do (including mine).

Later, I might write real words on here! I was going to last night at work, but I was too busy listening to the hockey game. And um, working of course.

I know blogging shouldn’t be a chore, but goddamn—-I woke up today and just the thought of all the stuff that happened over the weekend made me feel so exhausted. I guess that’s a sign that it was pretty successful! So while I have the pie party and an awesome night at Castle Blood with Henry and my new friends Rick and Tammy to frenetically type out, I wanted to first share some photos I took of my friends Lauren and Lindsay’s kids yesterday. I was really honored that they wanted me to do this, because I’m no professional, and even more excited when they suggested a cemetery locale. You know how I love me some boneyards.

We did some regular autumn-ish shots and then they got to change into their Halloween costumes. Some of those ones were shot on my mom and aunt’s street (where Lindsay’s parents also live so we all just parked in their driveway, lest my aunt come flying out of her house with a broom and a shotgun). Oh look, here are some of the photos now.

Dean & Olivia: Any kid with pink streaks in her hair is cool in my book, but now I miss my own pink streaks. I think she was scared of me at first (most kids are) but by the end she was posing and then demanding to see the shot on my camera’s screen. Total diva!

Anthony & Tiffany: Tiffany is Chooch’s female counterpart. She loves horror movies and was all excited for a second when she thought the pond at the cemetery was full of piranhas. She was mad toward the end of the second cemetery shoot because it was supposed to be scary but it wasn’t. I mean, Henry was lurking in the background—wasn’t that creepy enough?

These kids did great. Two hours, three locations, and one wardrobe change and they barely bitched. It was at least 80 degrees and I was sweating my ass off, so I can only imagine how hot they were in their costumes. The only one whining was me, though. (I have a low threshold for discomfort, plus Henry was there and his presence always exacerbates the bitch-baby in me.)

Then I spent the day panicking that I fucked it all up, because that is how someone with low self-worth rolls. (Or stumbles, as it were.)

Now, I have to get back to putting things in jars for my murder desk. Ciao for now.

[The final shots can be seen here]

In between Chooch’s extreme divo antics, we actually had a pretty good time at the Evans City Cemetery last Sunday, even though every ten minutes found me asking, “OMG are we going to get yelled at?” every time a random person would approach.

It always turned out to be a fellow zombie enthusiast though, some having traveled as far as New York and Tennessee. Wendy was about 4 seconds away from developing a Facebook friendship with one of the creepier of the graveyard tourists.

Zombie Guy Smiley

This is pretty much all Henry did the whole time: stood around with a stupid smirk on his face, playing Words with Friends and being of little assistance.

We dined on Burger King, post-boneyard romping. Andrea was intrigued by the “zesty sauce” I got with my onion rings, because the Burger Kings in California have apparently not caught on to this condiment craze.

She tried it and immediately deemed it “too zesty.” Maybe her palate is just “too pedestrian.”

Then we were treated to a long, obnoxious ride home because Chooch lost the magnet to his Drawing Thing pen back in the cemetery and had nothing to keep him busy but the sound of his whiny bitch-factory voice. Besides Andrea going back to California, that was probably the lowest point of the whole weekend for me.