My brother Corey has been a constant reminder to me over the last year that we should appreciate what and who we have and stop wasting valuable time with people by holding grudges. I missed out on an entire three months with him because of some petty argument/miscommunication. I mean, I hate to have to stoop to Internet meme levels in order to convey my sentiments, but…ain’t nobody got time for that!

What better way to show him how appreciated and loved he is than by having a SURPRISE BIRTHDAY PARTY?! God, do I love planning surprises! However, everyone reacts differently to surprises so I figured I’d play it safe and go with a low-key surprise dinner at his favorite restaurant Bravo, rather than send out a mass invitation to every single person on his Facebook friends list and then have him be mortified.

Corey’s best friend Jackie was immediately on board and was my right-hand (wo)man for this endeavor. It was really fun having someone to help me, and also getting to know her better in the process. Corey is lucky to have a friend like her.

In the end, we were able to snag my dad; Aunt Susie and her husband Larry; and my awsome friends Janna and Christy, who have known Corey since he was born.  (Christy even married him in 1995. Don’t ask.)

We purposely didn’t tell Chooch it was a surprise because, well, kids. You can’t tell Chooch anything. So, as far as Corey (and Chooch) knew, it was going to be a nice, quiet birthday dinner with just me, Henry and Chooch. I was so worried that Corey would try to change plans around at the last minute, so I lied and told him we had reservations at 7, but the real reservations were at 6:45 and I was so nervous that someone would be late and he would see them.

Of course, as soon as we got there, we met up with Janna, which made Chooch cry, “You said no one else was coming!” So I decided perhaps it would be best for Janna and Chooch to just go inside and get the table so that he wouldn’t feel compelled to blurt out the dinner guests when he saw Corey.

Miraculously, everyone arrived and was at the table before 7!

Meanwhile, Henry and I were waiting for Corey outside.

“Where’s Chooch?” he asked, and I made up some lie about how he wasn’t feeling well and stayed at home with Henry’s mom. So then Chooch got to be part of the surprise too, which he loved.

Janna said while they were waiting at the table, he told her about how he was reading my Westmoreland County Fair photo book and that all of the funniest parts were about her. She was thrilled as usual.

Corey said first he saw our Aunt Susie and thought, “Oh what a coincidence. Susie is here for a dinner party.” He was genuinely surprised that this was all for him and I was so happy!

I haven’t thrown a good surprise party since high school, which is unbelievable to me because I love surprises so much. It was Janna’s 16th birthday and I decided that I wanted to have a surprise birthday dinner for her at ChiChi’s. My Pappap paid for most of it, but I decided to collect $5 from everyone who was coming (and there were a lot of people!). The money shakedown took place in the cafeteria, right in front of Janna, who told me later she just assumed I was selling drugs.

I just realized you can see idiot Henry with his idiot mouth open in the reflection in the photo above and now I can’t stop laughing at it because it looks like he has Moe hair.

Chooch was on comedic fire that night. Sometimes I just sit there and watch him, wishing I could be half that charismatic. He’s a true entertainer. Or the next Charles Manson, whichever.

My favorite part was when he told everyone that Henry has really hairy legs and used about 18 different words to describe them, and  then said, “Mommy is always saying she’s so fat, but then if I say she’s fat, she’s like GO TO YOUR ROOM. What the hell?”

I also found out that before Henry and I brought Corey in, Chooch introduced himself as “Leo” to Susie’s husband Larry. Larry, who had never met Chooch before, had  no reason not to believe this and then he got confused when Susie handed “Leo” a present which was supposed to be for Chooch.

Also, I guess Chooch will actually eat at a restaurant as long as he’s not sitting near his parents. Look at that spaghetti kebob he’s got going up there!

Chooch switched seats right away so that he could sit with Corey, but this also put him next to his godmother Christy, who is really good at tormenting little boys. She had A LOT of practice on both of my brothers! She kept trying to hug Chooch and he was acting like he was going to melt.

I couldn’t wait until after dinner; I gave Corey his presents as soon as we sat down. He had mentioned awhile back that he wanted one of my Snacks paintings, so I made him his own:

AND I framed a picture of The Broad for him!

Also included, as a little gag gift, was a bottle of sprinkles because Corey went through this phase in his younger years where he loved to drink sprinkles straight out of the bottle. I remember one night in particular, when he was around 10 or 11. It was one of the weekends when Henry had his kids (Robbie is the same age as Corey and Blake is only two years younger) so Corey decided to sleep over. It was definitely after 10PM and he had Henry driving around, trying to find a store that was open that sold sprinkles. I think this was a different night than the time Janna and I waited until almost midnight to decide that we wanted waffle sundaes so Henry had to go to the grocery store and buy everything on our list of demands. God, those were fun times.

The waiter hated us because it took us so long to order and then, god forbid, we weren’t all on one check, so I was too scared to ask him to take another with the flash on. Jackie said he’s a regular customer of hers at GNC so I’ll just leave it up to her to find a way to ruin his stupid protein-full life.

My favorite part of the night, aside from Corey being surprised, was when Janna got a stain on her shirt.

Happy birthday again, Corey!!

This was his “I’m scared to know what you got me” face last night.

So today is Henry’s birthday and he’s FORTY-NINE, WHAT. I’m surprised he hasn’t already been playing the age card to get out of things like Warped Tour and amusement parks, but I will say that one of my gifts to him is that I’m going to see Circa Survive alone next month.

I figure that’s something he would want, a “Sit This One Out” coupon.

I mean, I’m not always heartless. Or a dick, which is why I put on my Sweetheart cap the other day and painted him something sentimental (ugh):

He didn’t cry, but he did do that weird mouth-twist thing that he does when he’s being overwhelmed by emotional sensations and is afraid of sacrificing whatever speck of masculinity he has left by expressing how his heart FEELS SO FULL OF LOVE RIGHT NOW. So instead, he hugged me and jokingly said, “I mean, it’s no blow job, but….”

We started dating when mixtapes were being phased out by mixed CDs, and he actually used to make me some of those before we lived together. They were filled with synthpop that he would download for me in an effort to show me how computer savvy he was. See? Even Henry once used music to win my heart.

Before we were dating and were just platonic co-workers, he made me a Cure screensaver, totally out of the blue, and that’s when I knew I had him by the weener.

I guess he liked it OK because he took it to work to put on his desk. (Or so he says.)

Happy birthday, Henry! I don’t care if you’re 70—you’re still going to Warped Tour.

Chooch’s LOLCat Party Attendees:

• Bill, Jessi and Tammy (all the way from Michigan for the meowtivities!)
• Corey
• Chris and Monica
• John, Jenn, Abby and Gavin
• Kara, Harland and Theo
• Christy, Claire, Anthony and Julia
• Kristy and Sarah
• Danielle, Cory and Ean
• Lisa and Gigi
• My dad
• My sister Amy, Dick and Brooke
• Kari and Katelyn
• Patty, Tim, Tim’s mom Sue and sister Kaylie
• Angie and Rachel
• Wendy
• Judy
• Red Sticky Hand
• Missy, Jim, Jemma and James
• Janna
• Owen
• Liam
• Lucy
• Sharyn
• Sophia and Olivia

I’m going to try and keep this short and sweet since there are so many pictures, but Chooch’s 8th birthday party went off without a hitch! Well, mostly. It rained the entire time. And I don’t just mean a light drizzle. It poured, and there was the occasional clap of thunder too, which was fantastic. So, OK, I guess that counts as a hitch, whatever a hitch even is. But the kids gave no shits about the spring downpour and ran around like maniacs, getting all disgusting and muddy. Their moms didn’t seem to care, so I decided that I shouldn’t care either. Which is hard for me, relinquishing care.

Decorating was super easy this year because I have finally surrendered to streamers. We just don’t get along, and it’s OK. No one cares about streamers anyway. I would like to add though that Henry had absolutely no hand in decorating because he so conveniently took an entire hour to pick up the cake and grab “odds and ends” at the dollar store. I interpreted this to mean that he parked his Faygo van in an alley somewhere and listened to the Frozen soundtrack.

Thank the lord I had Jessi, Tammy and Bill here to help. They are heaven sent! (Or “Michigan sent.” Whichever.) I can’t believe I just used such a cheesy description, but I am just THAT thankful for their extra helping hands, I guess. Get off my back.

Bill blew up balloons, which Tammy and Jessi hung with great care and precision. They don’t fuck around with balloon-placement.

Tammy and Jessi helped me decorate cat cookies the night before the party. It was actually a lot of fun (there was wine involved)! The cookies didn’t last long though—they were a big hit with the kids and approximately zero were left over! Pretty damn happy about that. Even though Pillsbury actually made them.

Originally, I wanted to make Grumpy Cat donuts using bakery donuts and then decorating them the rest of the way on my own, but it ended up being so humid on Friday night that it was a failed effort from the start. All the icing was dripping down the sides plus Henry bought the wrong kinds of donuts and if we hadn’t had company in the house, I probably would have used one as a boxing glove and sucker punched Henry in the mouth.

So, that’s what’s up with the Grumpy Cat sign up there.

These were my idea! PB&J cat heads in the house! Henry made them though because what do I know about Rice Krispie treats? Not a damn thing. It was so hard not to put them all in my mouth though when I was helping Henry press them into cat heads Saturday morning, because they smelled so goddamn good!!

I just wanted a reason to have a Marcy lookalike saying “Balls!” The kids ate the shit out of this jug like they’ve never seen a damn cheese ball before, and it was nuts. At first, they were using a serving spoon to fill cups with cheesy crack balls, but after awhile, it became a snack-fisting free-for-all. There was a little bit left in the jug by the end of the party, but I made the executive decision to pitch it, because—gross.

Every year, I get all nervous about the kids from Chooch’s school because I suck at talking to parents. But Bill reassured me that I was doing a great job after I talked to Owen’s mom in a (what felt like) effortless fashion because thankfully Chooch had gotten stung by a bee the day before on his way home from school, so I had something to talk about. “Thankfully.” You know what I mean!

Anyway, three cheers for being relatable for once.

And just as people started to arrive, Henry decided that it was time to start grilling, which he impressively dragged out into a three-hour task. HOW CONVENIENT.

I know, Gigi. That’s how I feel when I look at Henry, too

Here is where I was too tired to use the real camera anymore and relied entirely on my phone.

Thank god we had the foresight to buy these stupid cat things and provide crayons and markers because this kept the smaller kids happy and the bigger kids occupied when the rain started to fall too hard.

Meanwhile, Henry was grilling.

I think the children responded well to my sarcasm all afternoon.

My old office-neighbor, Angie. I MISS HER!! :( Also, she just ran the Pittsburgh Marathon, you guys. THE WHOLE THING.  She’s a beast.

Where was Henry? Oh, yeah: grilling.

FAMILY! I was so excited to have so much of it there. Here’s Henry’s mom and my cousin Cory. Not shown: Cory’s mom Danielle and brother Ean, my brother Corey, my dad (yay!), my sister Amy and her family. I was bummed that Henry’s sister and her kids couldn’t make it. It was really weird not having them there! But even still, this might have been the most family I’ve had under one roof in more than a decade, I’m not even joking right now. I know Chooch was too busy splashing around in the rain with his posse to care, but someday when he’s older he’ll get to look back on this and see that there are lots of people who love him. And for me, it showed that there is still hope for my side of the family. Maybe we all didn’t get to grow up together, but we’re together now and that’s pretty fucking cool. SORRY TO GET ALL SERIOUS AND HALLMARK CHANNEL. I’ll add more swears to my next blog post.

Chris and Monica sat at the kids table and loved it.

No sign of Henry! Must be grilling! I didn’t realize we even bought that much to grill so if your burger tasted weird, perhaps it was one of the guests who mysteriously didn’t show up.

Or just a squirrel.

Squirrel, why do you have to be so challenging to spell? I want to type “squireel” every single time.

OMG the cake. The goddamn cake. Those kids WOULD NOT STOP TOUCHING IT. And then someone  closed the lid because they were tired of the cake collecting fingerprints and no one told that person that the box wasn’t supposed to be closed because the cake would get smashed. OK THAT PERSON WAS ME, GOD! Sorry for ruining the cake! (Also, this is the first time I’m admitting it so now I’m starting the countdown to when Henry finds out.) SORRY SORRY SORRY!!

Anyway, when we decided on the cat theme, I knew right away that we had to get the cheeseburger cake from Bethel Bakery. It’s pretty legendary, but I never had a use for it before. Especially because I’m a vegetarian. (Although I guess we could pretend it was supposed to be a Boca Burger?) My plan was to order the burger cake and then print out the I Can Has Cheezburger cat to stick into the top of the cake, and it seemed to be a pretty big hit, so thank you Bethel Bakery and your novelty cake offerings.

“I always wanted the cheeseburger cake for my birthday!” my brother Corey sighed.

“Aw,” I deadpanned. “I guess your parents didn’t love you enough.”

And then we laughed because it’s true!

So then we all sang Happy Birthday and I had to fight my way to the front like I was at a Jonny Craig show, wtf he’s my kid, MOVE OUT THE WAY! MOM WITH A CAMERA COMING THROUGH! Kids get so clingy and possessive at birthday parties!

Henry was there long enough to light the candles and then disappeared. So everyone was standing there, about to riot because they wanted cake and they wanted it now, but no one was there to cut it! I started to panic and made eye contact with Sharyn’s grandma, who started cracking up.

“Where did he go?!” I cried, and she pointed over to the grill. (AGAIN WITH THE GRILL!) He does this shit to me every year, I fucking swear to god. So I had to do the bottom lip-jut and ask my cousin Danielle to take the cake by the reins, and she did just that! Thank god for Danielle! My mom was such an astute cake cutter, but she never thought to pass those skills on to her dumb daughter, I guess. One time, I had a birthday party for Lisa and was so frustrated when it came to cutting the cake, that I threw down the knife and started plating fistfuls.

Meanwhile, Corey somehow fell into the role of a babysitter while Christy went to pull her car down closer to the pavilion and he was panicking about it because he’s about as fluent in childcare as I am. Then when she came back, one of her kids was sitting at an entirely different table and had a piece of cake. I think Corey should start a nanny service as a real estate side gig!

Kristy’s wrap-job was one of my favorite parts of the day! AND SHE BROUGHT ME A PACK OF PEE WEE’S PLAYHOUSE CARDS. Later the weekend, Henry saw them sitting on the table and asked, “Who got Chooch the Pee Wee—–”

“THOSE ARE MINE!” I snapped before he could finish.

Here’s Bill making sure no sticky red hands try to take off with Chooch’s presents. He had a lot of fun interactions with the under-10 set that day and I think he should dust off the ol’ LiveJournal to tell us all about it.  Meanwhile,  the gift opening segment of the day was basically the only time Henry stepped in so I could actually talk to my friends for a hot minute. Apparently, Lucy and one of the twins had Chooch flanked and were assisting him, because deciding which present to open next is apparently rocket science.

I wasn’t there when this happened, but Henry supposedly made some comment about how nice it must be to have TWO girlfriends to help when he can’t even get ONE girlfriend to help and then Monica said something that he didn’t hear and I’m willing to bet it was hilarious so Monica, if you’re reading this and you remember this part of Rain Fest 2014, please tell me!

Corey was so excited to tell me that Lisa’s baby threw up on Janna.

“See that wet spot on Janna’s leg? THAT’S WHERE THE PUKE WAS!” and then we just started laughing uncontrollably. I was so excited about it that I high-fived him. This was the highlight of the day for me and I didn’t even get to see it!

One of the girls started crying near the end of the party (not because of me! She was scared because her grandma left) and I honestly was so awkward and uncomfortable about it. Only I’m allowed to cry at parties, you guys, come on now. Unfortunately, “go go, maternal instincts!” is not something that actually works for icy broads like me.

I should have just told her to go sit with Corey.

We only had one game planned, because there’s a playground next to the pavilion and anytime we’ve had parties in the park, the kids seem fine with free-form play. Plus, I don’t know how to do the whole “structure” thing. Can you imagine me being all, “Children! Children, come now! Time for ring around the rosy!” No, you can’t. But then we decided that in lieu of a litter box cake, which is overdone and just disgusting anyway, that we should have a game involving a litter box. So we filled this pan thingie up with sand (Henry bought the wrong kind and it was damp and sooooo gross to touch, which I guess is a good thing in this case) and then numbered a bunch of Tootsie Roll poop.

I spent ALL WEEK painstakingly wrapping dollar prizes with corresponding numbers written inside of cat heads. Just like the rubber duck game that pretty much all carnivals do. PRIZE EVERY TIME. Just not good prizes. But one of the prizes was more annoying than the other prizes.

I almost forgot about the game, so some of the kids had already left by this point (again: structure what now?), but I hurried up and made the rest of them sift around for poop, and then of course they all fought over the prizes they won and some of them kept begging to go again and asking if they could trade. Finally, I was like, “DO WHAT YOU WANT I DON’T CARE OMG” because kids, amirite? I can actually still hear them hounding me. AND WHERE WAS HENRY? Where indeed.

I don’t think Wendy kept her stupid prize. How insulting!

Everyone started heading out around 5. Lisa asked me to throw away a napkin that she had wrapped in plastic. “Be careful, Gigi’s puke is on that,” she warned. As I was walking toward the garbage can, I saw Janna sitting at a picnic table with Henry’s mom and I COULD NOT RESIST, HAD TO DO IT, NEEDED TO OR I MIGHT HAVE DIED.

“Hey Janna,” I said sweetly. “WANT SOME MORE OF THIS!?” and then I pretended to shove the pukey wad of napkin in her face, but it FELL OUT OF THE THING LISA HAD WRAPPED IT IN AND LANDED ON JANNA’S CHEST!

Holy shit, new highlight of the day!

This is what Chooch looked like by the end of the party. So damn disgusting. Aside from Bill throwing one of the guests out, it was a pretty drama-free party! Can I retire now?

When we settled on a LOLcat theme for Chooch’s party this year, there was only one thing that I knew we had to do. At the risk of being one of your typical Pinterest Moms, I wanted to have a photo booth-type set up where everyone could choose their own feline accoutrements. I was going to buy cat ear headbands on Etsy, but apparently those sons of bitches are infused with Jesus’s bone marrow and I wasn’t trying to bleed out any more money on this damn party. So Henry and I bought some plastic headbands for 49 cents and a few sheets of felt. Voila, cheap ass cat ear headbands. Go fuck yourself, Etsy.

But then I was like, “OMG WHAT WILL THE BACKGROUND LOOK LIKE?!!?” And of course at the last minute, it occurred to me to just use the image I designed for the back of the party invitations. Duh. And then Henry waited until the day of the party to print them all out and glue them to cardboard, because Last Minute is the only way we know.

I love this thing and hate it all at once.

Before the party started, I practiced on Jessi (who thankfully loves having her picture taken!). Ideally, I wanted to have the backdrop facing out of the pavilion so that everyone could stand/sit in the natural light, but it poured all afternoon without letting up once. We had to keep the backdrop inside the pavilion and if you’re like me and struggle with lighting and camera settings because you’re a fauxtographer, this is bad news bears. I really liked how this picture turned out with my real camera, but I knew that children at a birthday party were not going to be as patient as Jessi, so I just used my dumb iPhone for the rest of the pictures. And once I took my invisible OCD pills, it was fine. Really!

These are the things I stress out about. Honestly. Some days I can’t wait to be old and in a nursing home where all the things are planned FOR me.

OMG I GLUED THOSE WHISKERS ONTO THOSE STICKS ALL BY MYSELF!! Also: Chooch and I wore matching Warped Tour shirts and it made me really happy even though he was like, “I don’t really care, can I open presents now?” There were actually quite a few guests wearing cat shirts and it was so much fun!

I’m being smart and not posting pictures of Chooch’s school friends. It took 10 years of blogging to finally drill that through my thick skull.

Jesus, my friends and family are good sports! I wasn’t able to wrangle everyone, but I tried! My friend Elaine pointed out on Facebook that there isn’t one of Henry and FUNNY YOU SHOULD MENTION IT because that motherfucker somehow made grilling hamburgers and hot dogs into a 3-hour-long affair and was conveniently not involved in basically anything. Thanks for feeding me to the wolves, er, children.

Anyway, I know it’s not that big of a deal, but I really want Chooch to have good memories of his childhood, and memories are even better when they come with photographical evidence. These things are important to me.

More later! This broad is goddamn exhausted and having a terrible Monday.

Mother’s Day is always so bittersweet to me because of my strained relationship (and that’s being generous) with my mom. So many friends post beautiful photos of themselves with their awesome moms on Facebook, but I can’t hate them for that. They’re lucky to have a bond with their moms and I’m happy for them.

What I’m lacking on one end is more than abundant on the other: Chooch does a good job reminding me that he’s not mad about having me as a mom. I mean, look at his acrostic poem up there! Does that kid know me or what? All the way down to my love for “ovocados.”

So whatever kind of mom you are: bio, step, pet, foster or just the type of broad with natural maternal instincts that kick in when dumbasses like me are trying to cut/peel fruit at work, HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY! I hope you’re getting some extra respect today.

ETA: Chooch asked me to put on Dance Gavin Dance’s “Strawberry Swisher Part 3” in the car, which obviously made my heart swell, so I mentioned it on Twitter because that’s where I put all of my emo updates, and then Dance Gavin Dance retweeted me. Happy Mothers Day to me, indeed! God, I love them so much.

It is mandatory for bloggers to commemorate birthdays of their offspring every year and pretend that the entire world has halted. You didn’t know? It’s written somewhere, I don’t know. I’m not a real blogger, so you’ll have to ask one of these ones.

But back to Chooch! Eight years ago today, I was having this 10lb 2oz sack of chunk extracted from a SCARY INCISION THAT STILL HURTS SOMETIMES, OK? It seems like an eternity ago, but I can still remember how excited/anxious/horrified I was like it was yesterday, and the nurse asking me if I had a Living Will, OMG just what I want to think about right before I go in for a stomach filleting. And I think here is where I’m supposed to insert some flowery prose about how hard parenting is, but so worth it. It’s true though. Once I quit wondering when things would get easier and accepted the fact that this parenting job will NEVER get easier, I think I became kind of better at it. (I still fuck up A LOT, though, don’t get it twisted.) Chooch himself has made me so much better in so many ways!

I was the first one out of all of my friends to get pregnant, and I heard a lot of predictions like, “You’re not going to be fun anymore.” And that makes me laugh because I have more fun now than I ever did back then, so thanks Chooch! (I am also not friends anymore with the people who said shit like that to me, because fuck them.)

Here’s Henry sleeping in the hospital room that day, which is probably one of the last times Chooch and I have let him take a nap.

LOLworthy:

1. Bandanna

2. Faygo sweatshirt

3. Mr. Mom jeans and shoes

4. Awkward holding of his own hand

And here’s the birthday boy himself, on our walk to school this morning! You guys, he was in the best mood and a total fucking joy to be around for once. I LOVE BIRTHDAY CHOOCH, OMG.

Anyway, I guess we’re going to dinner tomorrow at Olive Garden of all places, because this is what he has requested we do. He’s never been to Olive Garden before and he hates pasta, so…..

This Easter was nice. I mean that: it was really nice! Like having dinner with a pretty-faced man who loves cats and has good manners: you’re probably not going to bang him later, but you will definitely be sure to tell your friends he was nice even though you’re sure he was definitely wearing stockings under his pants. And that’s how Easter was. It didn’t culminate into a rager or other assorted cross-dressing debauchery, but it was nice.

We had zero plans and obligations and that was, wait for it, NICE. However, I had to direct Chooch to his hidden Easter basket before he lost his mind because of a combination of Henry hiding it too well and Chooch being born with his mother’s half-assed searching skills. (Seriously, if what I am looking for isn’t in the first drawer I open, then I call it quits and make Henry look.)

Sometimes as parents, we have to make sacrifices. This Easter that sacrifice was paying actual money for a Maroon5 CD because Chooch inexplicably likes them suddenly. I guess it could be worse. (Katy Perry.) But, like I mentioned last week, who am I to deny someone of their love of a band? God knows I get ridiculed enough for the music I like. However, at least he can go from listening to dumb Adam Levine to Bring Me the Horizon like it’s no big deal, just like I can swap out Phil Collins for Dillinger Escape Plan. Settle down, Erin Rachelle Kelly.

Also got him Taco Cat headphones. He actually really needed a new pair of headphones though, and Henry and I really needed to not have to hear the stupid Minecraft videos he watches, so this was no superfluous purchase. We are trying to not go overboard with Easter like every other American family we know, and believe me, we have been super guilty of that in the past. But Chooch’s birthday is less than a week away from Easter, so enjoy that candy, son.

How did Easter become Christmas Lite, anyway? When I was a kid (I know, “here we go”), I was actually quite spoiled, yet for Easter, my parents never did anything more than a basket full of jellybeans, chocolate and one small item (for me, it was usually a My Little Pony). And I’m sure my dad thought even that was too much. Times are so different now! And Henry and I have been totally guilty of stuffing ridiculous amounts of non-candy things into Chooch’s basket every year, to the point where some things had to just rest on the floor next to the basket. Sickening. I’m such a fat commercial American conformist pig. THERE I SAID IT.

And the funny thing is, I don’t even think Chooch realized that he got way less this Easter. And if he did, he didn’t care. At least I know my kid isn’t as spoiled as I was? (Haha, I love that I used past tense.)

It was really a very nice day, all blue-skies and sunny, so I demanded that we go to the fitness trail in South Park, even after I declared I was going to rest on Easter since that would probably be what Jesus Glenn would tell me to do. Fuck the Law Firm Fitness Challenge! Eat some chocolate! But…no. I couldn’t rest on my Easter bonnetted laurels (wtf?) which means Henry and Chooch couldn’t either.

I love the fitness trail! It’s right across from the tree my biological dad crashed into back in 1983, resulting in his coma and eventual death! True story!

I also love the fitness trail because it is fucking hilarious watching Chooch trying to do fitness.

We begged Henry to demonstrate some basic training moves he learned in THE SERVICE but he was like, “No because you’re going to record it; I wasn’t born yesterday.” Sorry guys. I tried.

A nice tree on nice Easter!

What is this pose, OMG.

Then we walked to the playground which always brings back fond memories of my own childhood except that basically nothing is the same about it. God forbid a playground should have monkey bars or a staggeringly steep metal slide. GOD FORBID.

(Actually, as a mom who gets Jello-legs every time her son is so much as a foot off the ground—-thank god they took those death traps out.)

Made Henry pose for some nice Easter selfies! Happy Nice Easter from us!

There were two teenage boys there and Henry hated them but they seemed fine to me except neither was wearing a band t-shirt so I couldn’t judge them based on their music preference and that made me sad for a minute. So sad being sad on such a nice day, even for a minute.

Then we made Henry buy us snow cones from a sketchy snow cone vendor in the playground parking lot. Chooch ordered chocolate which sounds absolutely disgusting to me. One of the guys was like, “This smells like root beer” when he pulled out the syrup but the other guy was like, “No, it’s chocolate. It says so.” So the first guy shrugged and made the snow cone, which Chooch immediately described as “not chocolate” as soon as he spooned some into his hole of vulgarity. So then the guys were like, “This is probably definitely not chocolate then” and let Chooch order a different flavor.

Meanwhile, I had ordered passion fruit even though I had forgotten what passion fruit tasted like but the guys were staring at me, waiting for me to decide and I felt so pressured. As soon as I tasted it, I regretted not ordering Georgia peach, fuck this Easter. Worst Easter ever.

Here is a picture of Henry two minutes later when I decided I didn’t want to eat anymore of my passion fruit snowcone and Chooch decided that he didn’t want to carry his scooter anymore. This is why we don’t ever leave the house without Henry, you guys. Well, that and also because he knows the way to everywhere. And he doesn’t consistently leave his wallet at home like I do. And he cuts our food for us. And we love to make fun of him!

Walked past these assholes playing cricket and it was so stupid. The orange team won, which was a given because the green team looked like a fucking sack of grandpa shit out there. Then Henry saw a large plastic container discarded over a hill and we were sure that there’s a dead body in it.

After I referred to a little girl in her frilly Easter dress as a “little bitch” and Henry sped up his pace, we left and went to eat at Golden Wok, because it was the closest Chinese restaurant that was opened and who the fuck is Henry going to cook an Easter ham for? We’re loners, Dottie.

Some old bitch came in to pick up her food and said to the Chinese waitress, “Hey you know that plane that crashed? The Malaysian one?” Honestly, this was the first thing she thought to say right after “I’m here to pick up my food,” like you just know she was dying to talk about it the whole drive to the restaurant. The waitress just giggled nervously and said she hadn’t heard, which I interpreted as, “Yes, but I don’t want to engage you” so the old bitch went on to say, “One of the passengers lived on my street!” which got no response. I was waiting for her to ask the waitress if she knew her, because that just seemed to be which racist freeway this out of control 18-wheeler was barreling down, but luckily the waitress walked away.

Anyway, I know tofu looks disgusting, like some kind of muscus-y, alien afterbirth, but holy shit this was some of the best tofu I have ever eaten. I couldn’t wait to tell the waitress, the same way that old bitch couldn’t wait to tell her about the Chinese crash victim, and in the same way the waitress didn’t care about that, she didn’t care about my tofu praise.

“Oh OK,” she said with a rushed, disinterested laugh. “Thank you.” Because who ever raves about tofu.

Then we went home and watched The Ten Commandments like I mentioned last week, but we didn’t have to watch it on a box TV from 1998 because our TV was done being repaired and we picked it up last Saturday, yay we’re kept up with the Joneses again! (That makes no sense!)

It had been a long while since I had seen this movie, and goddamn I forgot how long it is. I mean, get the fuck on with it already. The Ten Commandments are basically just a cameo so why not just name it Things Moses Did? And I mean, yeah, he was hot AS FUCK, but I’ll be damned if I’m fighting other broads to wash his feet, I mean let’s get real. Ugh and he probably stunk so bad. I can’t even. But it was still fun to overzealously gasp and shake Henry in mock disbelief.

Easter 2014 was just about ready to go down in the books in the “No Tears” column, until Chooch overheard me tell my cat Marcy that she’s the only good one in the whole entire house and he actually started to fucking cry*, are you kidding? So then I laughed, which only made it worse. But I can only control myself for so long on a holiday.

*(In full disclosure, he was in the middle of writing a book report that I forced him to do,plus it was pretty late, and he can be a real oversensitive jerk after hours. JUST SAYIN’, CHOOCH.)

We are pretty apathetic when it comes to traditions in our house. I remember really loving the whole egg dyeing experience as a kid, and then getting stoked for it out of nowhere a few years ago to the point where I had an egg dyeing party (and, because I looked at the wrong calendar, I accidentally had it like 4 weeks before actual Easter, oh well), but mostly I’m just totally ambivalent about it. Chooch hadn’t even mentioned it, so I assumed we were going egg-free this year, but then at the last minute Henry was like, “Are we dyeing eggs?” and then Chooch and I were suddenly Egg Dyeing’s Biggest Fans.

“This is dumb.”

Chooch immediately cracked every egg he dropped into the dye cup-things. Did I mention that HENRY bought the dye kits without us? Immediately made the process 87% less fun. WHO DOES THAT?!

Goddammit, so did I.

Erin + Jonny = Easter pukes for Henry.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

I love that Henry stands around acting like some superior King Pinterest douchebag, judging our slipshod handiwork with smug smirks and disgusted lip curls, but then never EVER steps in to “show us how it’s done.” God, why don’t you just open an Etsy shop of judgments, Henry?

You deserve this, Henry.

Chooch and I lost interest in < 10 minutes. Henry tried to get us excited by adding vegetable oil to some of the colors so we could try our hands at marbling, but…bitch, please. That’s not enough to stroke our attention erect.

Henry said this is the last year for egg dyeing. #toomanyweeners

Then the Penguins lost game 2 of the playoffs and my night was over. (And, in turn, so was Henry’s.)

Read more: http://www.post-gazette.com/local/region/2014/04/20/Brookline-man-arrested-after-fight-with-girlfriend-police/stories/201404200224#ixzz2zYWREwCv

I was able to knock out a few more Biblical/Easter Glenns before my eggs were cast aside for more commercial ones. Kind of like a plastic egg version of vinyl vs. mp3: only the cool kids liked my eggs.

BUT I’M NOT MAD BRO.

Here we have: David Glenn & Goliath Glenn, Vatican Glenn, Swiss Guard Glenn, Friar Glenn.

Fire & Brimstone Glenn, Tenebrae Glenn, Hatching Spring Glenn, Glenn Falls For the 2nd Time.

Jeannie finally opened her egg while Nate played dramatic Game of Thrones music, even though for some reason I felt something from the Wicker Man would be better but I can’t explain why. Nate’s epic music suited the situation just fine though.

Anyway, Jeannie got Saint Lucy in her egg and was like “I don’t know who this is” which reinforces my claim that this was a FUN, LIGHT-HEARTED & EDUCATIONAL way to fuck off work.

Happy fucking Easter.

This is what my desk has looked like all week, thanks to Easter Glenn Hunt 2014. If you weren’t around on these blog-parts last Easter, this is basically when I turn Glenn’s employee ID photo into an array of Biblical characters and usually one or two that are tableau-esque. (Last year it was a department-themed Noah’s Ark and the Last Supper.) Then I stuff one into an egg with candy and hide it somewhere around the office and pray that whoever finds it won’t run to HR. I like to live on the edge.

I was way more prepared this year though, and even ordered a box of Jesus-y goodness from Oriental Trading, like Christian-themed jelly beans (the red ones symbolize God’s shed blood, y’all), candy bracelets with candy crosses, Jesus stickers and Biblical finger puppets. Oh, what good wholesome fun.

Fun fact about yours truly: I was once super into religion. I was born and raised Roman Catholic and went to church every Saturday night like clockwork, and then went to Sunday School/CCD every Sunday morning. Do you want to know something sickening about me? I FUCKING LOVED SUNDAY SCHOOL. Oh shit, I loved learning about Bible things! Not because I was some holy roller, but because I considered it history. It was interesting and entertaining to me. And when we started getting tested on this shit in fifth grade and everyone groaned, I did a clandestine fist-pump under my desk because I was finally going to get all those A’s I deserved!

(I did, too. I aced every test because I was hot for Bible.)

And then in college, I took a few religion classes and considered minoring in that bullshit until I decided just to stop going to college altogether, which is what I do. Quit. I quit everything. WHY TRY WHEN YOU CAN JUST QUIT? That’s my imaginary bumper sticker.

So making these Glenns has been a huge refresher course for me! They make me so giddy and full of glee, and of course almost no one here knows WTF they’re supposed to be, but that’s OK. They’re still special to me.

l. to r. Stigmata Glenn, Judas Glenn, Manna From Heaven Glenn, Stoked for Passover Glenn.

l. to r. Ash Wednesday 4 Lyfe Glenn, Veronica’s Veil Glenn, Hot Cross Bun Vendor Glenn, Saint Glenn

I half-assedly hid an egg in Jeannie’s office on Monday and she must not have noticed it because she came back from lunch and just let it sit there. I waited for her to leave her office again and I rolled the egg so that it was in the middle of the floor, in plain sight. She came back to her office AND KICKED THE EGG TO THE SIDE. Totally disregarded it! I was like, “OMG WHY DON’T YOU CARE ABOUT THE EGG?!”

“I’m just waiting for you to be even more obvious about it,” she said in her patented grumpy demeanor.

She still hasn’t opened it and I’m dying to know which Glenn she got.

l. to r. Easter Bunny Snack Glenn, Saint Francis Glenn, Saint Lucy Glenn.

FINGER PUPPETS!

I noticed there was a theme on Facebook over the weekend, where parents bitched about their kids not getting any eggs at Easter egg hunts because other parents let their children be savages. THE SAME THING HAPPENED HERE, YOU GUYS. Co-workers would be like, “SO-AND-SO GOT THREE EGGS SO FAR AND I HAVEN’T FOUND EVEN ONE!” OMG. So then I had to deliberately plant eggs in places meant for only certain people to find them. For example, I put one on the floor of Wendy’s office and she was so upset the next day when she found out there was an egg in her office but someone else got to it first.

Oh, you know who it was? Mr. “I DGAF About These Eggs” himself, GLENN.

“What? It’s fair game,” he rationalized with a shrug and then sauntered away with the smugness.

Shepherd Glenn and his Processor Sheep (Todd, Chris, Mean Amber 2, Gayle, Amber1, Lauren)

l. to r. Water to Wine Glenn, Lion’s Den Glenn, Archangel Michael Glenn, Lot’s Wife Glenn 

l. to. r.: Good SamariGlenn, Obnoxious Bible Quoter Glenn, Glenn on a Grilled Cheese, Sacrificial Lamb Glenn

l. to r.: Sacred Heart Glenn, Saint Patrick Glenn, Palm Sunday Glenn, Billy Graham Glenn. 

I was really starting to scrape the bottom of the barrel after awhile, but luckily I have a connection with a Theology major. (Thanks again, Monica!!)

While I was making some of these over the weekend, Chooch was like, “WTF is that?” about one of them and I was trying to explain it, and then it occurred to me to ask him if he even knew the story behind Easter AND HE DID NOT which I guess was silly of me  to assume that his pathetic Catholic school would have taught him that. So I started asking him other religious-y questions and he just kept shrugging. And that is how I spent twenty minutes out of my Sunday night watching an animated cartoon about Moses on YouTube.

Chooch seemed pretty intrigued by the whole story, and at the end he asked, “So, what? God is like, a hacker?”

OMG. Needless to say, we will be watching more Bible shit this weekend.

But anyway, the moral to this is that Glenns are educational! Get stoked for Bible study!

We did our obligatory Easter bunny photo shoot over the weekend. The “DIY”approach started when Chooch was four and my mom made me feel like a shitty parent because we hadn’t taken him to see the Easter Bunny at the mall. LUCKILY I always keep animal masks in the trunk, so we dragged my mom’s rocking chair outside and made Henry put a rabbit mask on.

It’s been variations of that ever since.

And since today is the start of the Law Firm Walking Challenge, I will leave you to a bunch of pictures and no more words. What a nice change, right?!

His one vest button came unpopped and I didn’t notice until we got home. I was going to Photoshop it, but it’s way more “Chooch-esque” this way, I think. There’s always something slightly off with him.

Everyone was happy because these were taken literally a three minute drive down the street at some abandoned school for blind kids. Usually I pick a location way off the beaten path with no cell service so Henry can’t call the police on me, ever.

It was exhausting.

P.S. Chooch’s rate these days is $10 + ice cream.

Henry’s sister Kelly posted this on Facebook for sibling day or whatever and I couldn’t stop laughing because the idea of Henry ever being a child (or someone who smiled, for that matter) is endlessly hilarious and intriguing to me. And then!! Then there’s the cone-headed Easter bunny with alien eyes.

That’s apparently some weird Easter egg Henry is holding. I thought it was a bike helmet.

Thank you for this gem, Kelly! It’s nice to see that while Henry may have outgrown that whole “smiling” scene, he’s still way into striped shirts.

Well, that mushy Hallmark holiday is done-zo and I hope everyone survived being sufficiently glutted on chocolate hearts strewn about the workplace. Henry and I aren’t exactly a walking example of a Nicholas Sparks “novel,” so it’s kind of nice to have an option to celebrate Valentine’s Day without needing to make reservations at a crowded restaurant or relying on Henry to suddenly sprout a romantic notion and surprise with some glittery romantic bullshit.  So for the second year in a row, we pretended to somewhat like each other at Castle Blood’s special VD event.

I know I have virtually clung to Castle Blood’s jock numerous times over the years, but it’s because it is a fantastically imaginative haunt produced by talented people who pour their blood, sweat and costume makeup-stained tears into it, their Gothic lilts never wavering; the whole experience has given me so many beautiful Halloween memories since I was 16.

And now that they’ve officially nested in their Monessen location, Castle Blood is not just your standard October pop-up haunt anymore. With a set-up way too creepy to waste, Castle Blood is the only Pittsburgh-area haunt that reworks their story for Christmas, Valentine’s Day and even a special Midsummer’s Nightmare, which is just enough to keep us horror hounds pacified until the official Halloween season without completely stripping itself of that original autumn novel.

Of course we brought our spare limb Chooch with us, just in case the urge to openly love each other conquered our carefully-built cinder block wall of mutual disdain. (Not likely, but you never know. You’re welcome, people of Monessen.)

This year’s theme was “Love & Death,” and it revolved around one of the Castle denizens, Vapor, and her bloody trail of dead husbands. She greeted us in the first room of the Castle, which was full of placards featuring the names of all of her dead husbands. She told us to pick three and Chooch was absolutely beside himself, raising his hand and “Ooh ooh”ing like a rabid teacher’s pet because one of the cards said “Henry.” I mean, this kid was in anguish, hopping from foot to foot, squealing through clenched teeth, ready to projectile vomit the word “Henry” all over Vapor’s bloody face. I wonder if he’s like this in school, too…

However, there was a young couple in our group, probably high school-aged and totally adorable; Vapor chose one of them to answer before Chooch and he acted like his head was going to explode, like some punishable crime had just been committed before his eyes.

(I’m sorry that my son tried to disembowel you with his mind, Vapor.)

Finally, Chooch got his turn and instead of just telling her which name he wanted, he practically choked on his tongue while shouting “Henry!” and then walked over and grabbed the card, too, completely ignoring Vapor’s insistence that being handed the card wasn’t necessary. He just REALLY wanted to make sure she knew he chose “Henry” and not “Ivan,” I guess.

Now I can’t even remember the story of Husband Henry’s demise because I was too busy trying to keep Chooch from having a seizure. He gets so excited to participate, but sometimes he forgets that there are other people with us and they too would like to play along. So then I have to hiss, “LET OTHER PEOPLE HAVE A CHANCE” because I may or may not have approximately 7 entries in my Haunted House journal where I’m whining about getting stuck in a group with attention hogs.

After Vapor told us the story of three of her husbands’ untimely deaths, we were set off into the Castle with an order to find a fractured heart, a fluffy, and a flame, which Chooch happily screamed when we were acquainted with our guide for the evening. She asked if Henry and I were married, which delighted me greatly because it gave me a chance to emit my patented Harumph of Disgust. I guess she liked my response, because I was rewarded with a plastic ball and chain to carry around through the castle. Chooch kept trying to pry it from me; Christ, kid, let me have a thing or two every now and again!

We paused in a small room outside of the library, where our guide encouraged us to check out the art work on the walls.

“I think you’ll like the one behind you,” she said to me. It was a painting of a lady being attacked by an angry mob. She explained that it was Lady Bordella, and apparently she did some things that some people did not appreciate, which automatically made me think of myself and the Catholic School Incident and I was like, “OMG DOES THE GUIDE KNOW ABOUT THAT!?” So then I was paranoid and looked over my shoulder only to find myself face to face with a werewolf, which made me scream and then Chooch did the “Parents are so lame” eye roll. I get no love from him in haunted houses.

In the gypsy room, I got another chance to verbally articulate my disdain for Henry by answering “pffft” when asked if anyone in our group was in love. The cute little high school couple were the polar opposite of Henry and me and they tended to cuddle up on each other in response to these types of relationship status inquiries. It was adorable and sickening all at once, but they seemed like some kind of scene kid offshoot, so I decided to go with the “adorable” judgment. Anyway, we scored the fractured heart in this room, which was given to the scene kid for safe-keeping.

Next up was the lab, which was lacking a considerable amount of dorkiness and at first I just couldn’t…put…my…finger on it. But then I realized it was because Professor Scrye wasn’t there for the first time since, I don’t know, practically the beginning of the Castle. But his new assistant Zap was there and immediately made Chooch blush.

“Shut up,” he whispered, ramming his elbow into my ribs when I tauntingly fluffed his hair.

Professor Scrye’s fill-in tried to put the fractured heart back together for us, but failed. As he handed it back to the scene kid, Chooch made a swipe for it because god forbid if he doesn’t get to touch every single talisman. Scene kid let Chooch keep the heart and you would have thought it was cold hard cash (or…a stuffed cat) what with the way Chooch rejoiced and hugged it to his chest.

Before our guide took us through the mausoleum, she turned to Chooch and asked, “Do you even know what a mausoleum is?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “It’s like a building in a graveyard where they keep dead bodies.” Like, duh.

“Hmm, this is surprising,” she said, her mortal-hating tone softening a bit. “How do you know this? Does your mommy let you play in graveyards?”

“Yeah,” Chooch answered with a shrug, because this is Normalcy in our household.

One of my favorite parts of the tour was when the creepiest, most Peter Steeliest-looking vampire emerged from a corner and demanded that the scene kid in our group sing him a love song.

“What genre?” the boy asked, and I so badly wanted to scream, “POST HARDCORE!” because you know me, stereotyping people everywhere I go. (But seriously, I want to believe that on their way home later, that cute couple put on some Emarosa.) Anyway, the kid tried to pass the buck, so Vampire Peter Steele went down the line, asking each one of us to sing him a love song, and let me just tell you that Henry is lucky I suck at coming up with a medley on the spot because mine would have been a fucking 87-verse funeral dirge about how I wasted 13 years on a blue-collar d-bag who won’t marry me so I stabbed him in the eye socket with an icicle, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, love is an enema for the heart, tra la la.

So then it was back to scene kid, who blurted out Itsy Bitsy Spider and was awarded a small fluffy pillow for his effort. Chooch was like, “OMG FLUFFY WE GOT FLUFFY!” (I’m telling you, there’s nothing like an interactive haunted house to make a seven-year-old feel important.)

In the end, we wound up with all of our talismans (talismen?) and walked away with honorary vampire fangs, a Hershey Kiss, and a satisfyingly non-mushy Valentine memory. I deemed this trip to Castle Blood as one of my favorites yet; the whole “going to a haunted house in February” brings back some of the novelty and I even found that I was more jumpy than usual. Castle Blood doesn’t focus on scares, but they do have an occasional “boo!” moment, and every last goddamn one of those made me jolt. I guess I’m just much more stoic in October.

Chooch and I spent the rest of the night making fun of Henry for being one of Vapor’s murdered husbands. Obviously.

———————

I started writing this a few days ago, before the news of Castle Blood’s eviction was announced. For the second time in as many years, they will be looking for a new home and I can’t tell you how much this breaks my heart, knowing how much work goes into this (OK, Henry knows more about that part that I do, since my definition of “work” is “standing around in everyone’s way”). This is so much more than “just a haunted house.” For a lot of us, this is a standing Halloween tradition. I’ve been going to Castle Blood since I was 16, and we started taking Chooch when he was two. Some of the people involved in bringing this place to life every year have become my friends, and I know that they won’t let this ruin them.

So, here’s hoping that Castle Blood v.4 will be the best one of them all.

(Seriously. They have to come back because I WANT TO HAVE MY BIRTHDAY PARTY THERE.)

I don’t necessarily hate this day, but I don’t really care much for it either. (Although I really am a sucker for glittery pink and red heart accessories.) I think it all stems back to the time in high school when I spent $toomuch on a coffin-shaped Misfits boxed set for Psycho Mike and even did the whole pathetic rose petal thing, only to get taken to Donut Connection where he bought himself a donut and coffee with a coupon, but I had to pay for myself because he only had the one coupon.

However, it’s better now that I have a kid, because I get to give him all kinds of cheesy heart-boxed chocolates and novelty Peeps and make him inside joke-laden cards. This morning, he was all excited to give me Godiva chocolates and a Valentine card with, of course, a kitten on the front. If HENRY has chosen to participate in this day, he has not shown any signs yet.

(Although, he’s paying for the tattoo I’m getting tomorrow, so I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on him.

)

Tomorrow night, the three of us will be reveling in the anti-Valentine spirit by attending the second annual Castle Blood Valentine’s show, so if you live anywhere near Pittsburgh/Monessen, you should go too. Because Castle Blood is awesome.

And, I will end this with a vintage Valentine’s Day photo of Chooch.

Go eat lots of chocolate hearts (and real hearts, if that’s your thing) today.

My New Year’s Eve might have been mellow, but it was still pretty fun. I was off work that day, so Chooch and I walked to Tom’s Diner where I substituted tomatoes for potatoes as my omelet side. It pained me, you guys. It pained me. But it was OK, because I like it when Chooch and I get to venture out on our own and I can prove that I’m capable of getting us somewhere in one piece without the aid of a police escort or bread crumbs. We do turn a lot of heads, though, when we’re on foot.

Back home, I made Chooch do some book reports. He has to have 25 of them done by the end of the year and his teacher didn’t tell us this until the middle of October at the parent teacher conference. Apparently, he was supposed to be doing them during free time at school, but hadn’t been, even though he reads books all the time.

So, that was a nice communication breakdown.

Anyway, after he did a report on one of his chapter books, I cut him a break and let him do the next one on a smaller book: Neil Gaiman’s “The Day I Swapped My Dad for Two Goldfish.” I was telling him that Neil Gaiman also writes books for adults.

“OMG did he write Fifty Shades of Grey?!” Chooch cried in earnest. He is fucking obsessed with these books and I have no idea how he knows about them! (Unless Henry really does have a secret library of mom porn…)

****

Later on, when most normal people were probably just starting their night of wild debauchery at the corner bar, I discovered that a workout video from one my favorite aerobics instructors, Jacki Sorensen, is on YouTube! Thank god we can watch YouTube on our TV, so I quickly changed into my workout clothes (unfortunately, this ensemble does not include belted pastel leotard) and made Chooch and Henry watch me essentially dance like Pee Wee Herman. Because what else could I possibly do on NYE that would be more fun?!

(Fun fact: Frankie Avalon sings this in one of my favorite movies, Back to the Beach, in which Pee Wee has a cameo!)

Chooch and Henry sat on the couch looking positively miserable, eyes glazed over, wishing for a shotgun.

“Why are they all smiling?” Chooch asked in disgust. “Why aren’t they laughing at her?” And then he pointed out every thirty seconds that I was “doing it wrong.”

The worst part for Henry was that the workout video was split into 14 parts, so when one would end abruptly, he would sigh heavily and search for the next one on my phone while I stood there, sweating and screaming at him to hurry up.

Then Henry and I had a mild argument over whether or not one of the exercisers was Morgan Fairchild.

“THAT’S NOT MORGAN FAIRCHILD,” Henry shouted and then laughed without mirth, which is what he does when he finds something incredibly appalling. SORRY if my only brush with Morgan Fairchild was some shitty 1980s Lifetime movie (oh, redundancy!) and “Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.”

….I’m sensing a theme here.

I am now wildly obsessed with that man in pink shorts, by the way. Making fun of him (and me) was the only enjoyable part for Chooch.

Then we played this shitty Scooby Doo game that made no sense and I lost, which makes me think it was defective because I never lose.

And then Chooch twerked to D.R.U.G.S. and made up scarily good stories on the spot with these Story Cubes he got for Christmas while we tried to avoid Miley Cyrus on all of the NYE Countdown shows. (We settled for the Carson Daly one—where was MTV’s?!?!)

And as far as resolutions go, I don’t normally get into that, but this year I decided that:

• I want to learn more life skills
  • things like “learning how to cook rice”
  • and “making paper cranes”
• I will put forth the effort to avoid any predicaments which could:
  • find me falling into a hole
  • and/or hearing Mackelmore’s “Thrift Shop.” Other Mackelmore tracks are OK, but that one in particular makes me want to put on ear muffs made of working power drills
• I will finally get Henry to:
  • wear something from Drop Dead Clothing
  • and/or get a throat tattoo

So, that was our banging New Year’s Eve, you guys! Hope yours was just as full of sensational 1980s leotard!Merry 2014 my friends!