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!

Alternately titled: Where We Torture Our Kid Under the Guide of “Art.”

I’ll tell ya, we’re met with more and more resistance every year when it comes to picture-taking. I got all exasperated, which is my usual go-to response to adversity, followed quickly by the ever-popular solution of “I QUIT.

” But then right as I was about to pack it up, Chooch started to use an old guard rail as a balance beam, so Henry fulfilled his quota of “one bright idea every five years” by tricking Chooch into having his photo taken while “doing things.

”

Then we dared him to run as fast as he could to another spot and then suggested he sit down amidst the leaves after he hurt his ankle.

Henry encouraged him to hurdle over headstones, which of course resulted in Chooch eventually catching his foot on one and falling, leaving him with a handsome bruise on his leg.

BLAME HENRY.

Then we paid him all the money in our pockets* to take his coat off for approximately 3 minutes so we could get some shots of his sweater, since that day’s outfit was a happy accident. (All three of us blindly picked out one component of the outfit, and somehow it worked.)

*(This amounted to $7. I actually had $4 in my pocket only because it was change from when we went to see Gremlins last week. I usually never have cash. Seriously, don’t ever bother mugging us.)

He looks thrilled, right?

It gets easier every year, this “dealing with Christmas” thing. Not celebrating with my mom has become the new norm instead of a shock to the “holiday tradition” system. And then a funny thing happened: I realized that I was starting to look forward to it instead of feeling like my soul was being devoured by a flesh-eating bacteria otherwise known as the deadly and highly contagious Grinch virus.

Honestly, the only downside to the whole day was that I was hahahahungover. Dear god. I even took a NAP, and I never take naps!

Chooch seemed pretty content with everything he got and didn’t spend the next three days fixating on what he “didn’t” get, which is what he’s done in his spoiled past. Kids, am I right? In addition to an ass-load of Simpsons bullshit, we got him a Casio keyboard, a ukulele and a harmonica, so that’s going to be one hell of a one-Chooch band.

“And you said there wasn’t going to be anything good in my stocking!”

Chooch was really pleasant to be around all day, and that’s all I really want on Christmas if we’re real-talking, here. Just give me some fucking peace, kid, you know?

Marcy had fun eating Christmas Eve leftovers. Hey, the vet told us to give her what she wants and keep her happy. So, Merry Fucking Christmas, Marcy. Have some potato chip crumbs.

Lurking.

Later in the afternoon, Henry prepared some sandwiches and I dragged my post-drunk ass to the cemetery for our traditional Christmas picnic, which gets less picnic-y every year because hello, it’s DECEMBER and cold as fuccccck. I ate my sandwich with gloves on and enjoyed approximately none of it. I don’t even know what I was eating, to tell the truth. Which is what I do 100% of the time: TELL THE TRUTH.

Henry was particularly Christmassy. Jolly Old Saint Nick must have literally given Henry jollies in his stocking. Do I look tired? I was tired.

Later that evening, we stopped by my dad’s house so I could give him the snack bowl I made him.

Snack bowl. A bowl for snacks.

My dad’s house is like one giant snack pantry. I don’t understand how he’s not 800 pounds. Every time we go over, he’s all, “DO YOU WANT A SUGARY SODA FROM THE VINTAGE PEPSI MACHINE? DO YOU WANT SOME COW TAILS? HOW ABOUT SWEDISH FISH? NO?! SURELY YOU’LL WANT SOME PEANUT BUTTER-FILLED PRETZELS!” So it made sense to me to make him a snack bowl (dude, get an old glass bowl, spray paint and adhesive foam sheets and you’re done).

I filled it with all kinds of crap that he used to make me hide in my coat pockets and smuggle into the movie theater when I was a kid so that he wouldn’t have to pay the inflated prices at the concession stand, things like Mike and Ikes and Good and Plenty. He loves that bullshit. (But not Junior Mints, however; he gave those to Chooch.) We also stopped at the Mexican market down the street and I grabbed some weird ethnic snacks from there. He was super stoked about that. “DID YOU GET THIS AT THE PLACE IN BROOKLINE THAT HAS THE TACO STAND OUT FRONT?!” he exclaimed. Yes, yes we did.

Then I noticed that Duck Dynasty was on and he tried super hard to extol the merits of that piece of garbage “TV show” and I sat there and said things like, “Oh.” Because I wasn’t trying to start a fight on Christmas Day about radical homophobes and the people who make them “famous.”

I was sad that we missed my brothers. I think they would have enjoyed the inside scoop our dad regaled us with regarding the time he was in a Columbia Gas commercial back in 1984, and how it never aired because the Steelworkers accused Columbia Gas of making them lose their jobs because they switched to PLASTIC PIPES, whaaaaat. Drama drama.

After my dad’s, we stopped over Henry’s sister Kelly’s house and hung out with his side of the family, which is always nice, especially when a plate of artichoke dip is placed right in front of me. Then Henry’s niece Stephanie’s cat James bit Henry’s hand and scratched his back as Henry leapt up from his seat. IT WAS MY FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MOMENT!!

Chooch made a vase for Judy, and was going to write “To Judy” on the gift tag but I was like, “OMG, your grandma will go through the roof!” She overheard him call Henry by his name once and I thought she was going to have a stroke.

Henry was originally helping him with this and thank god I walked by and noticed that it said “Your” before anything was permanently glued into place.

I also made this vase for Janna. She didn’t cry when I gave it to her though, like Judy did when she got hers, haha. It was a Very Merry DIY Xmas I guess, which is what happens when you totally run out of time and money, which we do EVERY SINGLE YEAR.

But it’s the thought that counts, right? Hope you all had a Wonderful Whatever Holiday You Celebrate!

Lately I’ve been feeling OK about our current living situation. I think all the furniture repurposing and purging of “stuff” has really rejuvenated the living room enough for me to feel comfortable about having people over again. Hosting parties was my thang, you guys. And then I just stopped because time (and lack of money) has really worn down my house, and we only rent so there is only so much we can do as far as sprucing goes. Thank god spray paint is so economical.

Anyway, all of this is to say that I wanted to have a small, casual Christmas Eve get-together. I know most people celebrate with family, but I figured maybe there might be some friends looking for something to do. There were a ton of Christmas Eves where I was alone with a cup of Manischevitz and tears. I don’t want anyone to have to be alone!

And I also just wanted an excuse to bring back the Beverage Buffet again because you know how I get obsessed.

We went with a Christmas Sangria and classic spiked egg nog. Turns out, Henry makes some fucking bomb egg nog.

Chooch was pacing all day. “When are people coming over? What time is it now? How much longer?” He’s definitely my kid.

Christmas Crack. I forget what it is, but it was really good.

Corey is probably the only other person as obsessed with the Beverage Buffet as me.

My friend Sean (ex-Law Firm) stopped by with some wheat beer for me, because so far that is the only kind of beer I am sort of able to kind of swallow. This particular kind tasted like an unknown vegetable, but I was able to drink TWO OF THEM back to back, which is how I know I was already drunk. Sangria/egg nog/beer/wine: GREAT FUCKING COMBO, DUMBASS.

Sean brought his friend Lee with him. I thought he looked familiar when he walked into my house, and then he was like, “I met you a few years ago at your roller skating party.

I’m the one—”

“WHOSE SKATE BROKE!” I cried, and then laughed because I’m super polite and socially on point. So then that’s how I introduced him to everyone, as the Guy Whose Skate Broke at my birthday party, and he was just like, “This is fucking awesome.”

Lee Whose Skate Broke and Sean.

Sean and Wendy.

Henry’s oldest son Robbie and his girlfriend Stephanie.

Shannon and Blake, who I don’t believe purposely coordinated wardrobes with his brother Robbie.

Evidence that Henry socializes with people!

The Handa’s! I was happy that they were able to stop by because usually our hangouts consist of us covertly waving to them as we pass through their rooms in Castle Blood.

Best Frenemies.

Janna stayed late and we watched Henry wrap presents while I commented every 15 seconds on how drunk I was. It was a really great evening, even though Henry’s weird pumpkin seed dip was a colossal fail. Good job, Henry.

I think it’s time to start having Game Nights again. RIGHT, KARA?

Before I get all up to my elbows in jolly holiday blog posts, I want to give a quick shout out to my California bestie Andrea who once again hooked us the fuck up. She makes me feel like a kid again on Christmas!

We don’t usually put any presents under the tree until late on Christmas Eve after Chooch is in bed, so he noticed immediately the other day when there was a mound of wrapped wonderment sitting idly beneath the boughs. “WHO ARE THESE FROM!?” he screamed while prodding and shaking each one.

“Aunt Andrea,” I said. “And stop fucking with them!”

“ANDREA’S MY AUNT!? AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME!?”

Ugh, kids are so literal. Later on, we were walking to CVS and he was STILL talking about the presents.

“I know that one of the ones for Daddy is Fifty Shades of Gray,” he said seriously. Because Andrea knows that Henry loves mom porn? DOES Henry love mom porn? Wait, does Henry actually like to READ porn?

Who cares, because I got NAIL SWAG! These decals come complete with a SQUIRTING WEENER!

Matryoshka doll decals!

A bag of fucking whistles, really? Well played, Andrea. She also got him the first two seasons of the Simpsons since he is apeshit obsessed with it thanks to Simpsons Tapped Out.

“Everything I got is basically stuff to make you,” Henry said as he unwrapped a book of vegetarian slow cooker recipes, and I cheered. Andrea, you’re the best!

Just some pre-Christmas thoughts, HOPE THAT’S OK.

• I’m currently wrapped in a Domo blanket and listening to some sultry club remix of The Last Unicorn theme song. Just in case you wanted to mimic me.
• It was really nice being home from work last night and having the ability to watch a Penguins game in its entirety, except that Henry was sitting next to me, gossiping about his work people and I was just like, “Bitch, don’t you have some cookies to bake?” Not like I was missing much—we lost 0-5!!
• I hate that I think about work even when I’m not there. Like this morning, I was washing the dishes and found myself wondering if there is any disgusting pee-splash on any of the toilet seats there right now. My work friend Lauren started this thing called Project P (get it? It took me awhile, too) where we try to use process of elimination to peg the culprit. But one night last week, there was so much of it on one of the seats (always on the back part!! How is this happening?!), that I was just like, “No. This is not from a woman. There is clearly a tranny amongst us.” And you know, that’s fine, but be a sweetie…

Obligatory Almost Christmas Selfie

• Janna and I took Chooch to see Gremlins at the Hollywood Theater on Sunday. (Have you seen “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”? It’s the theater the Rocky Horror Picture Show scenes were filmed in and it’s right down the street from me because I live in Awesometown.) There was this one older lady sitting near us in the balcony and she was cracking the fuck up at parts that I never really found funny (like the whole “I hate Christmas because my dad snapped his neck in a chimney while impersonating Santa” monologue that always made me horrified and sad as a kid!) and I was just sitting there thinking, “Wow, this broad REALLY likes this movie.” Anyway, one of the puppeteers was there doing a Q&A session afterward, because she’s apparently from Pittsburgh and lives one town over from me. Janna and I were stoked to stick around and hear what she had to say (she designed Gizmo, for fuck’s sake!) but Chooch was like, “Let’s go let’s go let’s go I’m bored this sucks I hate you for doing this to me you ruined my life.” Eventually, he went and laid down on a couch in the back of the balcony because this bitch ain’t gon’ be controlled by no 7-year-old. Learn ye some patience, bitch-child. And of course the puppeteer was the laughing lady, so then it made a lot more sense. After she was done talking, we went to the lobby to see the pictures she brought with her, but I got all weird and awkward like I do because I didn’t have anything to say to her and I was afraid that if I got too close to where she was standing with the photos that I would be required to say something profound. I was whispering all of my fears to Janna right when the puppeteer (her name is Valerie, I guess I could have mentioned that) interrupted someone to say to me, “I really love your purse!” So then we talked about my purse while Chooch’s head was practically spewing brain matter. Oh, how he hates when people like my purse.
  • The first time I saw “Gremlins,” I was 4 or 5 and my Aunt Sharon took me to the theater to see it. I got scared when the gremlins hatched out of those gross cocoons and started to cry so Sharon had to take me out of the theater. A few days later, I decided I wanted to go back and try again and it quickly became one of my favorite childhood movies. That summer, I was going to Wildwood, NJ with my family and Sharon had left me a present in the backseat. It said not to open until we got to Wildwood, and every time we hit a bump in the road, the box would jostle and I would hear a tiny squeak from inside. I KNEW she had bought me a mogwai. I JUST KNEW IT! I was so fucking excited to get there and open it, but it was just a Gizmo stuffed animal that made noise when it was squeezed. :(
  • I still want a fucking mogwai. The closest I’ve come was our cat Speck/Nicotina. (RIP, babe.) And Marcy will forever remind me of Stripe.
  • Chooch obviously was not scared of Gremlins at all. We have the DVD and he was probably 3 or 4 when he first saw it, and he wasn’t scared then either. Valerie was asking everyone in the audience if they thought it was too scary for kids, but I just sat there like a deaf mute because god forbid I should ever speak up and contribute to conversations.
• We finally got a Christmas tree last Friday and decorated it when I came home from work, which of course led to arguments and tears because can’t we all just get along? Apparently, no. No, we cannot. Anyway, there is nothing notable about this year’s Christmas tree, but in keeping with tradition (The Liberatree, the Obestitree, the Mediocretree, the Obscenitree), it needed a name, so behold the Last Minutetree:

Marcy hates it all.

• We’re having a small Christmas Eve soiree here tonight so Henry is elbow-deep in party food preparations right now while I lounge around blowing on my nails. What? I did my part already: I got the Beverage Buffet all set up and decorated!
• Chooch and I were talking about what we’re going to eat at our annual Christmas Picnic in the cemetery tomorrow and we were trying to remember what we ate last year. “Well, I know what I had,” Chooch said. “Tantrum-on-a-stick.” AND IT’S TRUE, TOO. He was such a little jerk-off last year during our picnic, at least he’s now acknowledging it. Hope we get Peaceful Chooch tomorrow, and not Mr. Miserable: