Usually by the third day of a three day weekend, Henry, Chooch, and I are at each others throats. But I mean, that’s normal family talk, right? YOU LOVE ‘EM BUT YOU DON’T LIKE ‘EM.

Except that by some crazy act of god, we had an exceptionally peaceful day and actually, dare I say, ENJOYED each others company??

And this was all without the aid of roadside tent-purchased firecrackers!

How motherfucking un-American, I know.

We went to one of our favorite nature spots—Homewood Cemetery—and ran amok like morons (two of us, anyway), namedropped birds (one of us), and spent a good ten minutes enjoying the show a groundhog put on by peeking his adorable head out of a nearby hole (ALL OF US). So much nature and dead things!

Here are some photos.

Chooch serenaded his broken stick with a creepy rendition of Sarah McLachlan’s ASPCA-anthem “Angel.”

Surprisingly not pissing in the pond. “Looking for frogs” is their claim.

This shirt was one of my Gillcrest finds and I love it so much. Battle of the Network Stars ringer tee vibes all up on yo’ girl.

Reppin’ that Hotel Books sad boy scene. You know what they say about families that listen to emo together….

….they cry together?

He looks so put out as usual, but I’ll have you know Chooch and I entertained him right down to the individually-wrapped prunes on his cargo pockets. He only yelled at us and called us idiots about 29 times! A low number for one of our family outings.

Shit really got crunk (lol yeah I went back to 2003 and I’ll do it because I’m a blogging renegade) when Chooch found a rogue TENNIS BALL and we played CATCH in the CEMETERY and successfully intimidated some poor kid who was learning how to drive in mom’s SUV.

I think “playing catch” is something that people did before smartphones happened.

Our version of playing catch is more like imagining that Chooch is perched above a dunk tank.

Henry apparently “hurt his arm” from whaling the ball so hard at HIS LAST BORN SON.

I hurt my arm too, but my hurt happened the day before when we were doing YARDWORK at my pappap’s house and I used….wait for it…

….hedgeclippers for the very first time and wound up with a callous and arthritis.

I did it for like 45 minutes!

Which, if you ask Henry, is more like 20 minutes in Erin Time.

Even my mom was kind of like, “I can’t watch this” and went in the house.

After the cemetery (and after I nearly peed my pants because LOL PLAYING CATCH), we went to Millie’s for an ice cream cone lunch because that’s how we chose to celebrate the day, OK? Also, no cookouts to go to. We’re loners, Dottie.

I had pistachio rose and yogurt date — what a divine combo. It felt like a real mythical pairing, you know? Like I should have been straddling a Sphinx.

Chooch got CHOCOLATE AND VANILLA. God, his palate is so fucking pedestrian. I’m so embarrassed. What a piss-poor job I’ve done at parenting. Here’s my basic kid, World. All your intricate and sophisticated flavor profiles make him puke in his mouth.

We have to seat him by the nearest napkin dispenser everywhere we go. (SPEAKING OF NAPKIN DISPENSERS!!!)

Later that night, our GROWN ASS CHILD went to Dormont Park with Dimajio and his older sister to watch the fireworks. I was equally “WOOOO FREEDOM!’ and “OMG DO YOU THINK HE’S OK WITHOUT US?!”

I didn’t grow up as a city kid–I was allllll suburbs and sheltered, baby.  So it’s pretty interesting watching Chooch living that city kid life.

Anyway. That was how we chose to celebrate our 7/4 and it was hilariously perfect. Look at that, I guess sometimes I like these assholes, too.

Guyzzzzzz. Today is Henry’s birthday! But it’s just a random one (51) so I didn’t bother to do anything special. He can just re-read last year’s joint post where Chooch and I listed 50 things we like about the old man.

I’ll add one more for 51:

This morning, when Chooch pointed out that he had poison ivy on his ankle, I panicked and yelled, “WELL WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO!?” He calmly said, “Nothing. I already took care of it.” You know why? Because HENRY taught him how to take care of himself! Love that about him.

You know what would be amazing? If everyone texted Henry today. He broke his phone and has been downgraded to some early-2000s flip phone thing which makes reading texts extremely difficult. Now that he’s FIFTY-FIVE, he probably needs to exercise those eyeballs even more: 412-605-2143.

*SUCH AN UNDERRATED WORD. There was an episode of Battle of the Network Stars in the 70s where some broad says, “What’s all the hullabaloo?” like eight times in a row and no one bats a lash because it was OK to use that word back then. Let’s bring it back. I’ll make pins. You write the song.

We didn’t have a grand scale birthday party for Chooch this year on account of us having to sell copper from abandoned houses* to take him to Disney World. But I wanted to still have a small cake-eating get-together at our house when we came back because cake. And also, friends. We just like company. (And by “we” I mean me and Chooch.)

*(THAT WAS A JOKE. Always gotta clarify since this dumb blog/hyperbole has gotten me into real life trouble so many times. God forbid I jest!)

I left the cake up to Henry and Chooch and they chose ice cream cake from Dairy Queen which is OK but I really wanted Bethel Bakery cake, ugh. Ice cream just doesn’t do it for me.

And this is clearly all about me. Me and my 10 year old C-section scar!!!!

The guest list was diverse and basically perfect because it was curated by me:

• Kara and Harland
• Henry’s mom, Judy
• Henry’s sister, Kelly
• Chooch’s cousin, Zac
• Chooch’s friends, Olivia and Sophia, and their mom Meggan (who has become my first ever mom-friend! And you guys thought I was forever tainted!)
• Wendy and Summer
• Robbie and Nikki
• Blake and Hailey
• Shawn, Jess, and Anais

Henry totally lost control of his wallet and bought COOKIES in addition to the cake. DISCOUNT GROCERY STORE COOKIES! In the background, please note that somehow Ted NUDEgent is still alive!

As soon as Blake got there, I told him about Henry getting BULLIED at work and Henry was so embarrassed. He should take Blake to work with him once and then I bet that son-of-a-bitchin’ salesman will think twice the next time he tells Henry he can’t wait to see him get fired!

(I wish he would bring me to work with him, though. I’m fucking ITCHING to start a fight with this guy. I found him on Facebook and I can tell that he’s totally the type of guy who’d hit a girl too. BRING IT.)

View this post on Instagram

The only candle we had in the house, inexplicably, was a lone “N.” It got the job done, though.

Did I mention that Megan brought me a present, too?! A cute little ornamental frog to guard over my succulents.

I love it!

This is the only picture I got of my kid during the entire party. He was busy, I guess.

BUSY GETTING HIS ASS KICKED OUTSIDE BY BLAKE!

At one point, it was getting so rowdy outside that Kara slowly leaned forward on the couch to peek out the front door. “Someone is going to get hurt any minute now, mark my words,” she said in that OH WELL tone that most moms store on the tip of their tongues. Literally 10 seconds later, Chooch came into the house with his hand over his mouth, and proudly exclaimed, “Blake made my mouth bleed!” He did some rinsing in the bathroom and then went right back out for more.

My favorite was that he was getting beat up by Harland, too.

Can’t say you don’t deserve that, boy! Nothing like a good old birthday beatin’.

Judy was flat out pissed at Kara for not bringing her youngest son, Theo, but then Wendy arrived with baby Summer and all was right in Judy’s world again. I wasn’t there when it happened, but Henry said Judy basically dropped everything she had in her hands and rushed over to steal Summer. She is A BABY INHALER.

Summer likes my house because of all the clowns, obviously.

I’m going to get her a clown for every holiday.

In this picture, Kara was talking about how much she wants another baby and Wendy was like, “Great, but you ain’t taking mine.”

Shawn brought up the very storied Gallaghers and we had a grand time regaling Judy and Jess with all their scandalous ways, like when Melissa Gallagher had a baby without knowing she was pregnant and her husband Mike thought she just had eels in her belly. Kara was like, “Please, let’s have a reunion with all the people you used to invite over from 2006-2008, like Ryan ‘OMG I LOVE JOHN WATERS, BALTIMORE, BALTIMORE, DIVINE!’ from LiveJournal; the Gallaghers; and Regan and Lance, the tax-evading Civil War reenactors who come complete with their own bench on which to sit and judge everyone.”

Those were some weird times, socially, for me. Sorry to all of my friends for making you endure such rude and infuriating people!

I failed miserably and taking pictures. I was distracted by hockey and all the good conversation. JANET JACKSON IS HAVING A BABY! FREE CONDOMS! ROLLING ROCK TOWN FAIR!

And then Chooch left his own party before it was over! He decided he was going to sleep over Zac’s so he left with them and then the rest of just there and talked completely shit on him. Chris and Monica texted me around 10:30 because they were going to stop by on their way back from their prior engagement (I’M SO FORMAL), but I was like, “He’s not here anymore.” And Monica was all, “Even better!” because she and Chooch are intense frenemies, but then Chris was like, “No Chooch, no Chronica!”

On the real though, it was a nice evening of celebrating my kid’s monumental cross-over into double-digits. Thanks to everyone who came or was there in spirit!

Chooch made me some sort of Mothers Day packet at school & these are the highlights — don’t ask me why he calls me Mumsy because I haveno idea but it cracks me up every time!

MY FUCKING HEART. The fact that he started expressing an interest to go to concerts at a young age (six!) made me feel like I was winning the Mom’ing game. That’s one of my greatest sources of joy and the fact that I have been able to share that with him over these last four years has been so rewarding and mind-blowing. There’s nothing better than looking over and seeing him feeling the same shit I am while our favorite bands are on stage, or ever better — watching his face change as he sees a band he’s never heard before and realizes that he’s into it and then yells to me, “WE GOTTA GO TO THEIR MERCH TABLE!”

I’ve successfully grown a mini Erin Rachelle. We may not look like (as I’m told constantly) but there is no denying he’s mine. 

Creepy places! Like cemeteries, haunted houses, giant Mary statues in the middle of nowhere, and the Lizzie Borden Bed & Breakfast! However, I think he felt obligated to toss in that “you take care of me” line because we all know Henry does that for both of us. 

Happy Mothers Day to all you bad ass broads there, single dads doing it all (this is almost Henry when you think about it), and pet-moms too! I always got so mad pre-Chooch because Henry would never give me a card on behalf of the cats. Fuck you, Henry. 

Being a mom is pretty great…except when it’s not. Like when your kid abandons you on Mothers Day!!!! (He slept over his cousin’s last night, and I don’t know why I’m sad about this because it’s not like he was going to wake me up with breakfast and fanfare.)

Enjoy your days, you guys! I’m going to buy succulents. And the cats can’t stop me. 

I got my hands on some old photo albums yesterday and some of them are filled with photos I’ve never seen before, like these EASTER BUNNY PHOTOS. Clearly, I’ve always had a soft spot for him/her.

I wish the Easter bunny at the local malls still looked like these ones!

GAH I JUST WANT TO HUG ALL THREE OF THESE FLOPPY-EARED FUCKERS!

I love how someone clearly didn’t like what I was wearing in one of these and took me back for a do-over after a wardrobe change.

In other news, I’ve only eaten bread and a sundae from Sarris in the last two days*, and I’m running on about 3 hours of sleep right now.

Ask me difficult questions!

*Lies. I also ate the mini KitKat that Glenn chucked at me earlier this morning. That’s how I know HE CARES.

We’ll be spending the day driving home from Lancaster and then watching The Walking Dead. I hope whatever you do today, it’s delightful!

Just don’t eat too many jellybeans. It might seem delightful in the moment, but nope. Don’t do it, my little bunnies.  

For a day that’s supposed to be steeped in calendar-dictated synthetic love and bacon-flavored sentiments on beds of rose petals (isn’t that what you young couples do these days? Wrap everything in bacon?), my house was popping off with explosive attitudes and screeching histrionics. I was still half-sick and miserable; Chooch was code orange whiny—and if we’re being frank, probably feeding off of my irritability;  and Henry was just tired of taking the brunt of it.

So, no gluten-free, lavender-infused, edible-gold-sprinkled, heart-shaped Pinterest-approved pancakes for us. :(

It was starting to look like Chooch and I weren’t going to the Never Shout Never shout that night after all. My only saving grace was that he hated me slightly less than Henry.

(Henry committed some heinous slight against him that evening, didn’t make him a King’s banquet for dinner, and then when Chooch whined about wanting more, different food, Henry started yelling about how he’s not a restaurant and he’s tired of making separate meals for everyone and then I got involved by yelling, “Well fuck me for being ethically against eating meat!” and the night just went south from there because it’s all about Henry. Henry Henry Henry!)

The only thing we had in common with Valentines Day was the color red we were all seeing.

But we managed to compose ourselves and push in our devil horns long enough to get in the car and have our chauffeur drive us to Mr. Small’s, where we were magically transformed into MOTHERFUCKING SWEETHEARTS.

This could only mean one thing.

HENRY is the catalyst. Henry, you reactant! Henry, you motherfucker. 

As soon as Chooch and I walked into Mr. Small’s, one of the guys from the opening band, Waterparks, interrupted his conversation with some young fan girl to say to Chooch, “Hey, I like your hair!” Chooch just casually shrugged, like, “Yeah, of course you do.”

Duh.

I wish I was more like Chooch. Instead of cooly brisking past, I was choking on my tongue in an attempt to thank the kind boy on Chooch’s behalf.

We purposely arrived two hours after doors. I rarely miss the opening bands, and I think it’s so important to support them, especially the ones that are local. But I have to consider that my nine-year-old has a low threshold for standing in one room. So, we missed Waterparks and Get the Picture (sorry, guys) but arrived just in time for JuleVera, whom I was really looking forward to after missing them at Warped Tour due to conflicting set times.

Their singer Ansley is only 18 years old. So young! And as soon as she started singing, Chooch looked at me with ruddy cheeks and this big goofy grin that I recognized as his I’M IN LUFFFFFFF AND CANT FIGHT IT HELP I’M DYING face of anguish.

“We have to go to their merch table after they’re done!” he hissed.

Guys, I didn’t expect to like them as much as I did, but they sounded great, and any young band that can spend three minutes between songs doing a drum and guitar solo without coming off as douchey or losing the interest of the crowd has genuine talent.

Chooch declared that this is his new favorite band and I’ll co-sign that.

As soon as their last song ended, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me over to their merch table, quickly, before the line gets too long!

Sadly, most people there were more interested in the dregs of the music scene, namely Metro Station who were up next. So not many people rushed to the merch tables.

I was super proud when Chooch passed up the row of CDs and pointed to the vinyl, which I happily purchased for him. CHOOCH IS AMAZING. THE NIGHT IS AMAZING. EVERYTHING IS AMAZING WHEN HENRY ISNT THERE!

Lol sike. But seriously, Chooch and I generally get along much better when. Henry isn’t in the temperament equation.

Right after I paid the top-knotted merch girl for the record, Ansley walked over. Begin obligatory awkward transmission of the night.

She seemed shy, he was definitely shy, and I was shoe-horned into an uncomfortable position of being Son’s Mouthpiece. So I quickly said it was our first time seeing them.

“Oh cool! Did you like it?” she asked Chooch directly.

“#^*^^+£[#^@&$” he gurgled with a nod. Then I quickly took their picture and whisked him away before we could fall any further into social peril.

LOOK HOW RED HIS CHEEKS ARE!

We went back into the main area afterward and scored a decent spot in a sparsely populated area by the bar barrier, and I was thankful to sit down on the floor with my back against a wall, because I had the day-after-food-poisoning weakness. Chooch smiled deliriously at his record for awhile and then eventually, Metro Station came on.

I try really hard not to flat out hate a band, but my feelings for Metro Station come very close to simulating bricks of ultra-negativity being hurled through glass walls. OK I hate them. They were pretty popular in what, 2007 or something? Because Miley Cyrus’s brother is in it? And they had one catchy song called “Shake” that made all the Radio Disney kids feel like rebels for listening to what they were told was “punk” music?

Then they went away and it was wonderful! Five Metro Stationless years!

And now they’re back. And disgusting. Honestly, they sound like mediocre karaoke at the corner bar. But they have BRIGHT STAGE LIGHTS  and TRACE CYRUS!

That’s MILEY’S BROTHER Y’ALL.

He took his shirt off at one point and all the girls screamed their panties right off their bodies and onto the stage, and I was just left standing there in a stupor, like “Ew, why?”

And when they lovingly name-dropped their homeboys in Attila and Falling In Reverse, I was ready to go home and start my own Pittsburgh chapter of Girls Against Misogynistic Bands.

Get the fuck out of my face with your Ronnie Radke shout-outs.

Total lowpoint of the night. And they didn’t really match the vibe of Never Shout Never anyway, so why. Even Chooch was cringing.

Turnover playing over the sound system while Metro Station’s fecal residue was being scrubbed off the stage. I actually cried out, “Ooh, it’s Turnover!” and I doubt anyone cared.  Chooch definitely didn’t.

The singer of dumb Metro Station walked past us and I was really angry to note that he had a CURE PATCH on the back of his dumb black denim shirt. Robert Smith’s face does not belong on such filth.

Never Shout Never took the stage at 10 and the night vastly improved. Chooch’s excitement was contagious. Every time Christofer would describe the next song, Chooch would quickly shout out what it was going to be and he was so happy the one time that I got it wrong, because he’s Mini Erin, and that’s something I too would gloat about.

At one point, Chris mentioned that he had been eating “marijuana-infused honey from Denver” all day, and what he really needed right then was a cup of red wine, half wine half gingerale, and someone should be awesome and get that for him. Chooch was like, “MOMMY! DO IT!!!” I mean, we were standing right on the other side of the bar so I could have easily turned around and snapped my fingers, but I figured 20 other broads were well on their way back to the stage with his wine…

Also, I’m such a great mom for exposing my 4th grader to this shit.

After another song, Chris said, “So…where’s that wine?” because no one had actually gone through with it so then I was like OMG SHOULD I BE THE ONE!? SHOULD I DO IT!? but by the time my mind worked out 87 different variations of how this scene could play out, some dude had climbed onto the stage and handed him a cup, courtesy of some chick who is probably still Snapchatting about her 10 seconds of recognition.

It would have been pretty hilarious to send Chooch up with it, though.

Ugh. Missed opportunity!

Anyway, they played one of my favorites, “On the Brightside” and I was so glad!

And Chooch kept screaming “Red Balloon!” and then when they finally played it, he smirked at me, like “See what I did?” Sure Chooch, whatever. He was stoked when a menagerie of balloons was released from a net in the balcony. Kids and balloons, amirite?

We moved closer toward the end of the show, once I was confident that I could stand without leaning back on something sturdy and we realized that there was an empty pocket near the left side of the stage.

Being there made me think of all the shows I’ve seen in that place, and how fucking fantastic it is that now Chooch is seeing shows at this exact same venue. This night was pure magic. (With the exception of Metro Station, ugh! That part was fucking voodoo.)

I left Chooch alone during the encore so I could buy him a shirt before the merch table was swarmed with people. The merch guy told me that Chris wasn’t going to be coming out after, and that he already had done a meet and greet before the show, so part of me was sad for Chooch, but super stoked for myself because all I could think about was RESTING MY WEARY BONES IN MY BED.

“Oh well, at least I’ve already met him once,” Chooch shrugged, content with his JuleVera experience and just an overall night of beautiful music (and 30 minutes of garbage cacophony).
  

***

On the way home from the show, I was angrily retelling the horror story of Metro Station to Henry.

“One of their songs was literally just them yelling ‘she likes girls girls girls,'” I seethed.

“Oh, I thought they were saying ghosts. ‘She likes ghosts ghosts ghosts….'” Chooch piped up from the backseat.

You’re giving them way too much credit, buddy.

You know how some people can be together for a decade+ and still want to swathe themselves in sequins and put on matching UNDERGARMENTS for Valentines Day? Henry and I are not that couple. In fact, I can’t remember the last time Henry wore sequins. :( So I don’t even stress over February 14th anymore. Especially after I baked him a cake one year and painted him an adorable ode to our polarizing feelings on music festivals, and he never does anything for me. NOT BITTER. Not even a little bit.

This year, my Valentine is Chooch, and we’re spending it with Never Shout Never at Mr. Small’s.

But then yesterday, Chooch ended up having his own pre-Valentines play date, so Henry was like, “Well, do you want to go to dinner or something?” SUCH ROMANCE!!

I decided that since this was the best he was going to do in the Valentine department, that we should go to Zenith since it’s my favorite and he never wants to go because he has it in his head that it’s a breeding ground for “pale, peaked* vegan hipsters.”

*(Pee-kid, not peeked—don’t get it twisted!)

His exact words. I have rarely encountered this human subset at Zenith, but full disclosure — I’ve never been there for their Sunday brunch so for all I know, that’s when all the vampire-complected Bon Iver fans come out to play, half-decapitated on their infinity scarves.

It’s almost as though I majored in Stereotyping.

We got there sometime after 5 because we’re nearly at earl-bird status, and I was smug to point out that there were only three other tables of patrons there, and none of them were boasting any offensive air of pretension about them.

One Man, Four Cups.

I’m not a big tea-drinker, but one of the things I always have to do at Zenith is order from their extensive tea menu. It’s part of the process! Kara will tell you. She knows. If I had spent half the time studying textbooks as I do that fucking tea menu…well, I’d still be in the same position I’m in now. Never mind. I forgot that I didn’t get far in life because of a different kind of stupidity. Hahahaha. Oh god.

I was torn between the Earl Grey Lavender and Maple Vanilla, so I asked the waitress for her opinion. She got all stressed out and called over to the proprietor, Elaine, for help.

“I don’t do anything lavender,” Elaine brusquely called over, scrunching up her nose. “So yeah, Maple Vanilla.” Elaine is my homegirl so I went with her choice, and it was a smart one because I’m currently chugging my Sunday morning coffee and crying that there’s no maple.

Elaine brought the pot over to our table. “Now, don’t pour this right away,” she said. “I mean it! I tell people all the time that it’s not ready, and then I go back in the kitchen and I can SEE them pouring it! I’m like, it’s gonna taste like crap!” God, I fucking love her.

OMG it’s a salad. You’ve never seen a salad before. Henry had to finish mine because I’m really picky with salads.

“Look at those lamps back there,” Henry casually pointed out, and I gave myself whiplash in my attempt to beat all of the invisible people around us in a race to see it first. Up in the corner, there were two majestic holy lamps dangling like carrots, begging me to buy them.

“YOU HAVE TO ASK HOW MUCH THEY ARE!” I cried, to which Henry responded with his patented “get real” smirk. I mean, why else would he point these out to me if he didn’t secretly desire to furnish our home with them!?

“I bet they’re $100 a piece,” he quietly guessed, before stabbing the rest of my salad with his fork.

“Well, you could be wrong!” I frantically said. “I thought that our wheelchair was going to be $500 and it was only $40!”

“Why would you think that wheelchair was FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS?” Henry asked in disbelief. Because I’m an idiot, OK? Is that what you want to hear?! The value of the dollar confuses me.

Meanwhile, on Facebook, Kara was 100% encouraging this purchase. It’s a wonder that Henry hasn’t tried to get me to stop being friends with Kara yet. (Jokes: No man controls my life.)

Our waitress reported back that the lamps were $80 for one, $150 for the pair. Henry thanked her and kept shoveling food in his mouth without giving me a definitive answer and I was losing my mind.

I was annoyed that Henry ordered the Moroccan stew, because that’s what I ordered and I wanted him to get the seitan so we could share. He’s so fucking selfish. He apparently didn’t “feel like seitan and asparagus” on this night. At least he ordered a different kind of vegan cake though, so we could share the chocolate blueberry and strawberry almond. Seriously, there are times when I consider stopping by just for tea and cake. Their actual food is always good, but those cakes. Those goddamn cakes.

Maybe I should have my birthday party there this year.

Meanwhile, guess whose puppy-dog eyes won the war of the majestic holy lamps!? I think once I cried, “IT CAN BE THE FIRST FUCKING VALENTINES DAY PRESENT YOU’VE GIVEN ME IN 10 YEARS,” he was overcome with guilt and decided that $80 was a small price to pay for an evening free of me pouting, slamming doors, and breaking glass objects.

So this guy came out with his ladder and Henry was all upset  because he didn’t want the man to have to do this during dinner hours and kept saying, “I’ll just tell him we can come back for it” but I was like, “You shut your face, he looks very happy to be shoving tables out of the way and untangling wires.”

(He kind of didn’t.)

But I needed to leave with that lamp that night. I had already imprinted with it.

“Where the fuck are we even going to put this?” Henry asked, the regret of pointing the lamps out in the first place rising up in his eyes like mercury in a thermometer.

“In our bedroom, duh.” It’ll be the perfect complement to the crucifix collection I’m starting on the wall behind our bed. Sometimes he just doesn’t think.

Here’s Henry acting like a Big Help by doing nothing more than standing with arms akimbo.

“Now you screwed us all up!” Elaine joked, standing by the kitchen door as Henry walked back to the table with one of the lamps. Now they had to find another lamp for that corner. But that’s what happens when everything in your restaurant is for sale, I guess! Anyway, they said it’s from Woolslayer in Bloomfield, whatever that means.

My favorite part of Zenith has always been the post-meal store perusing. This was way less fun with Henry. He wouldn’t try any of the vintage dresses on for me like Kara does. :(

On again, off again.

I don’t think there has ever been a time I visited Zenith and left without taking a picture in this bathroom.

There were other things that I wanted to buy but Henry had that steely look of DON’T EVEN etched all along his weathered face, so I just figured that I’ll wait for the next time I’m there with Kara.

“You should have bought them both,” I said on the way home, knowing as soon as the words came out of my mouth that it was going to stir the pot in a big way.

“You’re never happy!” Henry cried. “You get one, you want two. If you got two, you’d want three!”

He’s not wrong.

****

I started writing this post last night, but then I was interrupted by an evening of violent vomiting. Henry thinks it was food poisoning since I woke up feeling fine; not food poisoning from Zenith though, because we both ate the same things. “It’s probably whatever you had for lunch,” he suggested with a tinge of accusation in his tone. This is a strong possibility, considering I made my own lunch and god only knows what goes on when I step into a kitchen.

However, what I think actually happened is that I brought something home with that lamp, some type of holy spirit, and it literally was exorcising me last night. Thank you, lamp. I feel less demonic than usual today.

HELLO FROM 2016! I hope everyone had a wonderful and safe New Year’s Eve! Ours was low-key because I just can’t care about this particular holiday and usually I wind up with some awful end-of-the-year stomach bug so I associate NYE with toilet-hugging along with pretty much everyone else, except that I don’t have any amazing party stories to tell afterward.  Luckily, I wasn’t sick for this one, so Janna came over. The night before, she asked me what she could bring and I said “Your sports bra, because we’re going to be kpopping.” She was like “Lol OK” and I was like BUT I’M SERIOUS?!

Anyway, we watched the Pens game (we won!) and then, true to my word, I made her and Chooch do some of my favorite KpopX routines.

Henry yelling at Chooch.

Chooch making the face I hate.

Um…then we watched our least favorite YouTuber Gracie (of #cookiepizza fame) open her Christmas presents, which she would then fling to the side because she is a fucking spoiled brat. Seriously, I just can’t with that family. I mean, I’m sure I would have a gigantic head too if toy companies were just sending me boxes of things for no reason other than I somehow have amassed 500,000 YouTube subscribers for WHAT?

I’m not sure I would ever be comfortable with that.

Then we had animal mask fun!
  

I had to make Henry disinfect all of the masks first because Chooch and some of the neighbor kids have been wearing them and no just no.

It was a nice, casual, stress-free way to end a year that I didn’t hate. In fact, if Marcy hadn’t died in 2015, I might have actually been able to say that it was an almost-perfect year. But, as it is, 2015 will forever be branded in my mind as The Year We Lost Marcy. I’ll never get over it, and that’s OK.

Let’s focus on the good!

• Wendy had a baby!!
• SO.MANY.SHOWS. I promised myself that if I ever got to go back to working normal, daylight hours, I would make up for lost time by going to as many shows as possible. There were a lot that I went to this past year that I was only moderately interested in, but I still went because I COULD. What a liberating feeling. And there were many that I went to alone, which an older version of me never would have considered. But let me share with you a story of DELUXE REGRET that forever changed how I feel about saying, “I’ll just go see them next time.” It was the year 2012 and there was a little singer known as THE WEEKND who I was apeshit crazy for. He was playing a show at Mr. Small’s on a Monday night, but it was a late show and Henry didn’t want to go. The idea of going alone never occurred to me, so I passed on it, figuring I would catch him the next time he was in town. You probably know that The Weeknd practically blew up sometime after that and never again will I have the chance to see him perform in a small venue like Mr. Small’s. I blew it. So yeah, out of all the shows I went to in 2015, I think about 7 of them I went to alone. No regrets.
  • Off the top of my head, my favorites were the Kurt Travis house show, Emarosa acoustic, RIOT FEST.
    • Seriously, I will never be able to explain how many feels I have for Riot Fest. MY HEART IS IN CHICAGO.
• Our summer vacation and finally meeting Octavia!
• CHRONICA2015!!!
• Taking these pictures of Henry & Chooch. <3
• Reconnecting with my old friend Alisha, even though she lives in Arkansas now. :(
• Memorializing Marcy with friends and in ink. I’ll miss her forever, but these two things helped a lot.
• Oh my god, this whole entire thing with Bradley of Emarosa. I still think about it and get all flustered. This band is my everything.

I don’t really have any resolutions for 2016, but I do know that I would like things to continue moving along as they have been. I plan to fill 2016 with more music, more parties, and more poorly-planned vacations with my BAES, Henry and Chooch. I just want to have fun, become a KpopX instructor, and be happy. AND I HOPE THAT YOU WILL HAVE FUN AND BE HAPPY TOO! (Becoming a KpopX instructor is optional.)

Oh, and I want to go to Bledfest. Henry promised. That was my Xmas present: a promise for Bledfest.

Chooch got his main present before Christmas (that bed thing), and while he was over the moon* about it, I was still worried about actual Christmas Day, in terms of “shit for him to open.”

*(Oh my god, what an old lady thing to say.)

He still had one more decent present left (a TV for his room), and several little things like CDs, a Five Nights At Freddy’s backpack from Hot Topic, and a Bluetooth speaker so that he can listen to Spotify in his room. So like, not super junky presents by any means, but I would have been breaking the good China over my mom’s face if there were any less than 30 gifts under the tree for me when I was a kid.

I WAS SPOILED, OK? I’m (mostly) reformed now so I have no problem admitting this.

Creepy-ass face, ugh.

But shit, you guys. Turns out my kid is actually pretty grateful. He seemed extremely appreciative of all the stuff, even the lame crap Henry picked out, and didn’t once peer under Trudy’s sweater and spit, “IS THAT ALL!?”

Not that I ever did that.

My family’s Christmas tree didn’t wear a sweater.

I’m not going to lie, I was really excited for him to open one present in particular:

I couldn’t resist wrapping up Doll! However, children are now born with a firm grasp on Reverse Psychology, so he has been acting like he and Doll are BFFs lately, but that will not deter me. I know deep down, he is still sickened by her charred face.

As evidenced when he tossed his backpack on top of her a few minutes later and mumbled, “I can’t look at your face anymore, Doll.” So the new plan is to stall my mission for a little bit until he starts to forget, and then BAM.

DOLL STRIKES AGAIN.

Thank god he has a good sense of humor, because he was just as excited to read the gift tags as he was opening the actual present. Since he doesn’t believe in Santa anymore, I get great joy out of making up random people for the “from” part of the gift tags.

It’s always an inside joke, too, and he thinks it’s so hilarious.

(OK SO DO I.)

For example, his TV was from Paul Eugene, the gospel aerobics instructor. And Donna gifted him Doll. He even got something from NHL player Shane Doan, an inside joke we share from the first hockey game I took Chooch to last year. Henry kept saying he didn’t get it and Chooch and I were like, “NO SHIT BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T THERE.” God, go back to ‘Nam, Henry.

Circa Survive, ya’ll. My kid has good taste in music.

In his stocking, he got a ticket for the Never Shout Never show on Valentine’s Day and several scratch offs, on which he won $30 — I never win on scratch offs!  Chooch is a huge lottery fanatic, so he was definitely not hating this Christmas.

Then Henry set up his TV, which comes with Roku, so basically we never see him anymore.

I honestly didn’t even know what else to get him, anyway. He’s at that weird age where he doesn’t play with toys anymore (RIP Imaginex sets) and I didn’t even see any board games that looked exciting when we were at Target. (And by “exciting” I mean “something that I could play without losing my temper”.)

“All I need is love,” Chooch said in a perfect Shirley Temple, and we all started cracking the fuck up.

Later on in the evening, we went to my dad’s house. Henry brought a carrot pecan pie he had baked that day and I brought a bottle of spiced wine. My dad and brothers had already eaten, so Henry and I just kind of sat there with growling stomachs, uncomfortably watching an Impractical Jokers marathon with my dad and brother Ryan.

Until Corey came barreling down the steps and asked, “IS THIS THE PIE!?” And then thankfully declared he was having a piece so then I had a piece too and it was better than any pumpkin or sweet potato pie I’ve ever had, tell that to that guy who thinks Patti Labelle’s shitty Walmart sweet potato pie is the greatest.

Because it ain’t got SHIT on Henry’s carrot pie, bitches.

Go cry to your mama about it.

Anyway, yes, that is how awkward and not-belonging I feel in my own dad’s house, that I don’t even feel like I can help myself to my own pie without Corey doing it first.

I guess when you only see your dad once or twice a year, that’s just how it goes.

Some visits are way better than others though, and we’ll tell stories and crack up. But this time, it just felt off and only reenforced my stigma of not being welcome anywhere.

It was hard not to think that this was the fifth anniversary of the last fight I had with my mom, the fight on Christmas that turned into 5 years of not speaking.

Five years and counting.

I try to be positive and enjoy the time I have with Henry and Chooch, but sometimes I just can’t help but wish I had a family that wanted to see me on Christmas.

Meanwhile, my dad had just noticed for the first time that I have tattoos on my fingers (five years later) and made some almost silent grunt of disapproval, but don’t worry — I caught it! About the time he started talking politics is when I started gathering my stuff to leave.

“What do you think about Trump? Oh, don’t tell me you’re voting for HILLARY!?”

NOPE, NOT DOING THIS ON XMAS.

Man, I love my dad but sometimes the vibe in his house is just really tense. I had a feeling he was stressed out about other things, and maybe OPENING THAT BOTTLE OF WINE would have helped, but I figured our 90-minute visit was toeing the line of overstaying our welcome, so we peaced out and went to Denny’s for dinner.

On the way inside, we passed a man leaving with an armful of take-out bags.

“Thank god for Denny’s!” he laughed merrily JUST LIKE SANTA.

Thank god for Denny’s indeed!

The vibe in Denny’s was less depressing than I anticipated. The waitstaff was exceptionally giddy and there was a decent crowd of wanderers, just like us. So, in a way, we finally found somewhere we belonged on Christmas.

Afterward, Henry mentioned that when he was at the nearby Toys R Us a few days ago, he saw a kitten behind it.

“TAKE US THERE!” I battle-cried, to which Henry started wording about how “there’s no way it’s still there” and “it’s getting late” and “I want to go home and dream about my days in the SERVICE.” But of course, Chooch and I got our way and Henry drove the whole 10 yards to Toys R Us, where I seriously immediately saw the glow of the cat’s eyes from under a pine tree as soon as the headlights hit it.

So we made Henry park the car and then Chooch and I spent a good 25 minutes on our hands and knees, meowing and bargaining with this feral cat to come to us, which turned into another 20 minutes of us climbing through bramble as the cat backed away onto a hillside.

We determined that what we needed was CAT FOOD, so we made Henry drive us down the street to Walgreens, where he then bought three cans of it to appease the queen and prince of cats. (That’s me and Chooch in case you’re struggling to keep up, Barb.) But by the time we made it back to the Toys R Us parking lot, the cat was gone. That didn’t stop Chooch and me from spending an additional 25 minutes clucking our tongues, whispering “here kittykittykitty,” and looking up cat summoning spells on a Black Magick for Dummies website.

“JUST LEAVE THE CAT FOOD AND WE WILL COME BACK TOMORROW AND CHECK!” Henry yelled from his post inside the idling car. “For Christ’s sake.”

This could have been our Christmas miracle. Thanks a lot, feral cat.

Maybe next year, we’ll just go away for Christmas.

Ooooh, or have a cat PJ party!

(That carrot pie, tho. Good lord.)

Mouth lined with crumbs? Check.

Later that night, my dad asked if Chooch’s neck tattoo was real. Yes, I had a guy I met in prison come over and do it at the house, dad.

Chooch is down to one good pair of jeans because he trashes them so quickly. This is not that pair.

That pair was home in a laundry basket, caked with mud.

Yes, we fought about this on Christmas. You know how tightly-wound I get when it comes to my dumb pictures!

We had a fight about his hair, too.

We all felt this way.

Throwback to 2011.

Practicing his freestyle.

Who knows how many more years Chooch is going to exasperatedly give me. Gotta milk the “Because I’m your mom and it’s all I want for Xmas!” canned response as much as I can

   
It occurred to me yesterday as we were in the middle of eating that this was the 10th Cemetery Xmas Picnic for us! It started in 2005, when I was pregnant with Chooch and my family was being a bag of dicks and not speaking to me. Henry and I had nowhere else to go for Xmas so I yelled LET’S JUST EAT WITH DEAD PEOPLE THEN since no one living gave a shit about us.

So that’s what we did. 

I specifically remember buying Moonpies at CoGos on the way. Really fucking festive. 

And even when we do have a place to go on Xmas, we always hit up the good old cem first. It’s definitely been met with a lot of weird reactions over the years, but it’s our norm, you know? I mean, we’re just eating sandwiches and potato salad, not roasting babies over open graves and drinking goats blood. 

Just so you know. 

We keep it clean. 

 This year, we were able to sit for more than 5 minutes without the threat of hemorrhoids or frost bite!  Except it started to drizzle a little bit. 
    
It’s funny how traditions start. I wonder if Chooch will continue it when he has his own family…

 Sorry, Chooch’s Future Wife. 
Lol. 

  
We didn’t have time to make cards this year, so you get this charming photo of Trudy and Henry’s mom Judy, who is way more welcoming of our mannequin roommate than probably my own mom would be.   

Currently, Henry is ranting about batteries and now he and Chooch are arguing over PINs because they’re trying to set up Chooch’s new TV and I’m just over here blocking it all out with Real Friends playing loudly. Also, I sarcastically was like, “Hey where’s MY present?” And Chooch defensively sputtered, “Well, DADDY—” which made Henry cry, “Yeah it’s always MY fault!”

Oh, Xmas. 

I hope everyone has a beautiful day, whether you’re participating in Christmas frivolity or this is just your average December 25th. 

Henry, Chooch, and I will salute you from our annual cemetery picnic!

When I was little, there was some broad named Maureen who was the local notary public, and as a kid, I had no fucking clue what that even meant, but that my dad would openly call her a dish.

I didn’t know what that meant that either. I mean, my mom explained it, sure. “It means he thinks she’s hot,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. I always thought it was a stupid way of saying that someone is hot.

It wasn’t until we got Trudy that I truly understood the sentiment behind the term. Because good Lord, my friends, my fucking Xmas mannequin is a goddamn dish.

Especially now that she’s all metallic green and draped in glowing lights and glittering garland. She is a fucking BABE SUPREME.

Finally, after nearly 20 years of pining for a mannequin to pile Christmas presents beneath, I finally had one in my house, my dream was being realized after all this time. No more Christmas trees, real or artificial, that made me feel like I was being untrue to myself. It might seem like a joke to you, but I’m sure there are psychotherapists out there who could draw some conclusions, connect from metaphorical dots, and give my addiction a name.

But for now, let’s just call what it is: my time to finally get down with a holiday like the rest of you.

And finally, Saturday evening was trimming time. I invited Janna and Corey because who better to celebrate the unveiling of Douglas Fir’s hot sister than the two people who are like, “No, this is normal. I mean, there will be wine though, right?”

Corey was already wound up before he even got here. Sadly, Janna saw this on Instagram (I THOUGHT SHE RARELY CHECKED IT!) so she was on to Corey’s plan. Oh well. There will be other times to lace her ‘Tussin.

I happily set out Angie’s cookie dough truffles, and Corey mistakenly thought that I cared enough to get them specifically for him and Janna.

“Pfffft, no!” I laughed. “Angie had extras and gave them to me after breakfast today.” Corey didn’t seem to care either way, because they were delicious and he kept making me text her to tell her.

And then it was, “TELL ANGIE I’M EATING ANOTHER ONE! HERE, SEND HER A PICTURE!”

Meanwhile, Corey’s contributions to the night was a pack of Toasty peanut butter crackers. He shared, at least.

Henry didn’t even have the boxes of decoration ready to go! So I had to berate him in front of our guests while he flared his nostrils before disappearing into the basement to fetch our whopping two whole boxes of Christmas decor.

We’re really into holidays.

While Henry untangled lights, I reminisced over the first time we bought a tree for the house, when Chooch was 4. I had never bothered previously because for me, it was No Mannequin, Why Bother? But then this awful thing called SOCIETAL PRESSURE happened and I though it was The Right Thing To Do now that I had a kid in preschool.  My mom actually bought a live tree for us from Home Dept and brought over some of my old baby ornaments and a shit ton of tinsel and then peaced out before Henry had a chance to complain. It’s hard to remember back to a time when my mom was still a mom, and that was definitely one of the last happy memories she gave me.

My friend Alisha came over to help decorate that year, and when I realized that we didn’t have a tree topper, I cut a star out of a disposable baking tin and then taped it to a McDonald’s straw.

I’ve been using it every year (except for the one year when I swapped it out for a Jonny Craig Angel topper, ugh) but I had to replace the McDonald’s straw two years ago.

I sent Alisha a picture of the tree topper (she lives in Arkansas now) and she was like, “Gee, you know that you can get an actual tree topper at Walmart, right?” But even though I’m not poor anymore, I will never throw this away! It has too much sentimental value.

Anyway, After Henry strung up the lights, I strangled her with one strand of garland and then basically pawned the rest off on everyone else because decorating shit makes me tired and the hockey game was on and I wanted to drink more wine.

The phalanges came in handy.

HANDY.

Earlier in the day, she was in the dining room. I forgot she was there, turned too fast, and got slapped by a hard green hand right in the face. It hurt so bad but I was like, “Trudy, I can’t hate you” so I tried to just laugh along with Henry, who unfortunately witnessed the abuse.

I put a Henry ornament right up in the crotch.

Speaking of crotch, I considered dressing her in a pair of granny panties, but laziness overruled the idea, so bottom-nude it is.

My dream is to get Henry’s mom JUDY to pose with TRUDY for this year’s Xmas card.

“Is grandma going to have her pants off, too?” Chooch asked.

“Oh god, no!” Henry cried.
  

And then Henry reluctantly took our picture. Chooch couldn’t decide if he was happy or not.

FATHER XMAS.

Corey and Chooch both aspire to be Vine famous. Chooch made this Vine without any of us paying attention and then Corey saw it and was like YOU TOTALLY HAVE THE VINE HUMOR DOWN! and now I think he’s trying to be his agent or coach or something. I don’t know.

Making another Vine.

Meanwhile, Chooch taught himself how to play the Tetris music on his keyboard, so it was the perfect lunacy soundtrack for Corey’s incessant gushing over the truffles. Over and over, faster and faster.  Our house is literally onomatopoeia for “pandemonium.”

You guys know he secretly loves this shit.  
Trudy from a stalker’s POV.

You can hear Henry gruffly bitching at Chooch in the background. Something about crackers.

Henry in his typical state.

Everything feels more homey now that Trudy’s around.

I struggle every year when the holiday season rolls around. Some years are easier than others. This past Thanksgiving, even though I chose not to do anything, was just another reminder of how abnormal things became after the passing of my grandfather. Most years, I try to fight back by going out of my way to celebrate with friends and the few family I have in my life.  But now that Trudy is here, I finally feel excited again. It’s like a new beginning! A new tradition born! THE MANNEQUIN THAT SAVED CHRISTMAS!

I woke up the next day more hungover than I was that time we dyed Easter eggs in 2011. So…total success.

In related news, I couldn’t stop thinking about Notary Publics last night in bed.

“What are they even?” I asked Henry, who was about 85% asleep by then. “All they do is like stamp shit right?”

And then: “Do you think I could be one?”

“Sure. Be whatever,” Henry murmured into his pillow.

Last night, Wendy-and-Summer, Debbie, and I met up with BARB at Villa Reale for her BIRTHDAY. Don’t worry, though–I didn’t go too far out of my way. I can walk there from work in like 3 minutes now that I accidentally know my way around town. (It’s right down the street from the library that I just discovered a few weeks ago!)

Wendy was late because she has a baby now so we just sat around and talked about her for a while and it was really therapeutic for all of us, I think.

(Seriously, though, Wendy’s baby is the sweetest and I almost want another but then Henry reminds me that I’m only capable of loving one person at a time, and I’m not sure how Chooch would feel when he suddenly wasn’t that person anymore.

)

Anyway, then Wendy and Summer arrived and everyone decided to get pizza except for me, because I’m the difficult one, so I got spaghetti while they all scratched their heads and started scribbling out pie charts to determine how they were going to split up their pizzas while I just sat over there with my own personal meal and a fork.

I don’t like sharing!

Barb talked about how one of her dreams was to be an over-the-road truck driver, and I think it was Debbie who said she would be scared to sleep in the truck though because what if a serial killer came after her but I reasoned that sleeping in the cab would probably be safe because serial killers aren’t going to mess with truck drivers since they could possibly be brethren, unless you’re some Aileen Wuornos-wannabe. DISCUSS.

God, I missed having these pointless conversations at work. Because now that I sit near Todd, Glenn, and Amber hadababy, our conversations are Mensa-quality; we discuss the Pythagorean Theorem and its many proofs at least 3 times a week for no reason other than we’re fucking geniuses.

My favorite part about the Villa is that you have to go down a creepy staircase to the basement in order to reach the bathroom, which is decorated in 1980s shades of peach, and the Designing Women probably would have felt very comfortable stepping inside to powder their noses.

I always think of my friend Alyson when I’m in public restrooms. When I was pregnant and we were scoping out places to have my baby shower, I sent her a picture of the loo in the Elizabeth Fire Hall party room (also in the basement!!) and it was a really big deal at the time because that was back when I had my pink Motorola Razr and Henry was an absolute tyrant about my data usage.

I thought of her last night too, when I had to climb a step in order to board the elevated stall. I think she would have appreciated the regal privacy of it all, like literally being on a throne.

Barb’s gift from me was one of my succulent propagations. This is the first one from my nursery that I’ve given away! It’s a Black Prince, and I gave it to her unnamed, so let’s see what she decides on. The tea cup is from Wendy’s baby shower!

There was a big debate yesterday over whether or not I should get a gift bag for the succulent. Actually, the debate was basically just Glenn telling me it was bad idea and that it wasn’t going to fit, because in his monotone, monochromatic, monosyllabic world, gift bags are monosized, and that monosize only fits thimbles, I guess.  So I said, “You’re wrong” and went out to CVS where not only did I buy an adequate-sized giftbag, I USED THE SELF CHECK-OUT.

Barb, I did all of these things for you! And here you thought you were only getting a stupid plant, but this gift had LAYERS: an argument with Glenn, a flagrant display of my newfound independence at a store I knew how to find on my own, memorabilia from Wendy’s shower…

what else? Dirt that Henry bought, I guess. So much went into this!

In addition to placing bets on how long it will take Barb to murder this baby succulent, let’s add the phrase “pics or it didn’t happen!” to her repertoire of “Things That Were Popular to Say in 2010 But Barb’s Just Learned How To Use Them.”

Man, it was so nice to see these ladies. I mean, whatever, Wendy will be back to work in a few weeks and I’ll be over it after the second day, probably (kidding!).  I miss Barb fucking up the Roll call emails and enabling my Diva mentality, and I miss Debbie’s spot-on snark sessions and her ability to fall while standing perfectly still. I’m just glad that we’re doing an OK job at keeping in touch, although Barb needs to step it up!

Barb drove me home, not narrating the drive nearly as much as I hoped she would, although she did offhandedly say, “We’re gonna take this Liberty exit here…” while trying to exit the parking garage.

After she dropped me off, I was walking up to my house and a big fat gray cat was licking itself on my sidewalk! He ran off down my driveway, so I followed him.

“What are you doing?” Barb shouted from her car across the street, waiting to pull out of the parking lot.

I’M CHASING A CAT BARB, WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE.

(Look, I don’t see her every day anymore, so when I do, I have to milk it for every last drop of blog fodder. I LOVE YOU BARB!)