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:

After people started to receive our Christmas cards, I was asked several times if I put those heads on us using Photoshop. I promise you, these were real piñata-versions of us that fit over our big dumb heads:

So I figured I would post real quick about how obnoxiously frustrating this stupid “family portrait project” really was.

Over the summer, I was spending another mind-numbing evening at work when my eyes rested upon the paper mache clown head I made for my Halloween desk last year. I started thinking about how much fun it would be to make paper mache versions of Henry, Chooch and myself and then do a family portrait, since it’s occasionally pointed out to me that I have little to no family portraits of us guys. It wasn’t my intent to use the result as a Christmas card, but considering how many times this project kept getting pushed back, it kind of made sense after a point. I think Henry and I started working on these in November, sometimes with entire weeks of neglect in between because I kept stupidly filling up our weekends with all those extraneous outings that Henry loves so much.

I was trying to be quiet about it because if there’s one thing I hate, it’s saying that I’m doing something and then not being able to finish. And I’ll be honest, there were a ton of times when I thought for sure this project was going to fail, and even more times than that where I would scream, “JUST FORGET IT I QUIT!!” because paper mache is annoying. And messy. I’ll be honest and tell you that Henry did more of that part than me. (But he did NOT do all of it, like I caught him telling him our friends Rick and Tammy.)

There were a lot of pictures I couldn’t post before now because the damn heads were in the background, like this one of Marcy chilling out on a Saturday morning with a donut scrap, watching Christmas Cats TV with her Grandma Judy.

Once each head was fully dry, I was able to start decorating them in our likeness. Eventually, it started to come together and I didn’t feel so anxious or hateful about it anymore. Except that we missed out on all of the beautiful November weather by that point and had to settle for doing the photo shoot on a Sunday morning in 10 degree weather at a location that wasn’t where I really wanted it to be, but I guess we can always do another one at some point since we surprisingly haven’t whacked these things to pieces yet like your basic piñatas.

We finagled Janna into taking the pictures for us, and she was all nervous about having to use my camera, but I think she did great! The hardest part was not knowing what the hell Chooch was doing since none of us could see out of those heads. I hate hate hate feeling so vulnerable. And I hate not being behind the camera. But it wasn’t too bad since I knew at least no one could see my ugly mug.

I think next year, we’ll just buy our cards from the store, haha.

Merry Christmas, you guys! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find some kind of awesome egg nog to make for tomorrow night.

When Debbie S. suggested a few weeks ago that we organize a department Secret Santa, my vote was of the FUCK YES variety. I love surprising people almost as much as I love pranking them! And then I proceeded to do nothing while she did 100% of the planning and organizing. Debbie set a budget of $10 for the gift exchange, plus 5 days of $1 gift-giving during the week leading up to the big reveal/office holiday party. We somehow managed to get a good 15 or so people to sign up and I was excited because some of the people were co-workers that I don’t get to interact with very much, so I would have been happy no matter who I picked because I think it would have been fun to get someone random and then ALWAYS HAVE THAT CREEPY SANTA BOND with them.

Kind of like Stockholm Syndrome?
No?

The day of the name-drawing, I was walking past Sue’s office right after I picked my co-worker Sherry to be the receiver of my Santa-ly sneaking.

“Did you know those two bullied Glenn into signing up at the last minute?” Sue laughed as she gestured toward Debbie and Barb’s desks. “That man deserves combat pay!”

My immediate reaction was, “OMG I hope he didn’t get me!” and Sue started cracking up even harder.

By the time I made it back to my office, I already had an email from one very generous co-worker (OMG it was totally Bridget) which said, “I got your #1 frenemy” and then proposed A TRADE.

So that’s how Glenn wound up with me as his Secret Santa. (And that’s coincidentally also how Sherry wound up getting much better gifts than she would have.) His list of $10 gift options included: a Wines and Spirits gift card, a Starbucks gift card, or “any food item.” OH REALLY GLENN. At first I was like, “Asian Market, holla.” But then I got a better idea. Because this is Christmas after all, and I didn’t want to be a total asshole and waste Henry’s money on a bunch of bullshit that he’ll end up throwing away, because—ew. But, more on that later.

Do you know how hard it was for me to keep my mouth shut and just be cool about this? Really fucking hard. And I think I did OK, but there were a select handful of people here who knew (Barb immediately forgot though, so that’s good), and I quickly learned that if I just avoided eye contact with Glenn at all costs, I wouldn’t start cracking up and totally out myself as his big-bellied present-dropper.

And I was really subtle about it too! The first day I left him a candy bar that had beef jerky in it. The fact that it was being sold at Target and not out of the back of Jim Bob’s John Deere made it seem like this was an OK thing to give someone, and even Henry agreed that it was a manly candy bar and I was like, “How the hell would you know?”

His next gift was a One Direction journal, which I thought was useful because he goes to meetings sometimes and who doesn’t like to write their name 13,987 times on scratch paper, placemats, war monuments and bathroom stalls? That can’t be just me. Then I bought him some stuff from Big Fun when I was in Clevland last week, like a tiny book of office wisdom, a mini Vanilla Ice cassette case full of gum, and an Office Brown Noser that grows in water. All good things, yet no bombs or things with his face on it, so why would he think it was me?

Meanwhile, I was getting candy and nail polish every day, which was AWESOME. (On my list of things I wanted, I put: nail polish, cheap jewelry and exotic fruit.) I was convinced that my Secret Santa was either a boy or me, because I got chocolate-covered pretzel rods wrapped in a CVS bag and everything else was delivered in plain white envelopes. And boys, like me, don’t generally get into the whole “wrapping” thing. Especially the ones here, I wouldn’t imagine.

I don’t know what happened to my Day 4 photo, but Day 5 was a set of cotton candy scented nail polish wrapped with a Little Tykes advertisement, which made me laugh. My Secret Santa made coming to work way more enjoyable!

So for the final gift exchange, I did one better than a Wine and Spirits gift card and instead bought $10 worth of mini liquor bottles.

And then I designed Glenn-centric labels because you know I have to put his face on everything. (When my friend Elizabeth found out I was Glenn’s Secret Santa, she replied to me on Twitter: Did you put his face on all his presents?)

I’m not going to tell you the duress that Processor Punch caused me. Maybe another day, but I promise you I was a fraction of a centimeter away from shattering my phalanges and knuckles on a plaster wall.

And Other Glenny Flavors.

Glenn is a processor here at the Law Firm, which means he does stuff that I don’t care to understand. All I know about processors is that they import batches and sometimes refer to something called a synonym list. I wanted to incorporate those things on the Processor Punch label so that the processors could laugh while no one else would care. LET THEM HAVE THEIR MOMENT, YOU KNOW? Yes, even Mean Amber.

So that’s where “This batch was imported!

” and “On the synonym list for delicious” came from. I was pretty proud of it because it shows that I have learned something in the almost-four years I’ve been here.

40% Orphan Tears, you guys. Because Glenn is a sonofabitch.

But the real present was a box of oversized cupcakes modeled after the infamous Glenn Would Rather Be Riding The Wacky Worm incident of 2011. Glenn actually still has this hanging up on his desk because it was clearly the best thing to ever happen to him. I turned him into a Law Firm celebrity, basically! OK, not really.

Henry made the cupcakes and brought them to me the night before so that I wouldn’t have to carry them on the trolley the next day, because he’s such a fucking peach.

(As it turns out, I didn’t take the trolley that day after all, but that’s another story to tell at the same time I tell the other story I said I was going to tell.)

So I got to work yesterday, with all of my things, totally giddy because I couldn’t wait to give Glenn his stuff, when Mean Amber was actually being Nice Amber long enough to point out that the gift exchange was scheduled for 2:30 that day AND GLENN LEAVES AT 2:30. I had been having A Day so this was enough to put me over the edge and I almost cried real tears when I told Barb, whose best solution was to send an email to the department reminding everyone that Glenn and Sherry both leave at 2:30 (so I would have been screwed either way!) and their Secret Santas should think about giving them their shit sooner rather than later. I didn’t like this solution, because I wanted all of the Secret Santa players to be there when Glenn was being humiliated. :(

My boss Joy saw how upset I was, and agreed that everyone should be there, but instead of just emailing the group doing the Secret Santa thing, she replied to Barb’s departmental email, essentially telling the WHOLE DEPARTMENT to meet her at Glenn’s desk now. God love her. Thankfully, not the entire department showed up (most of them don’t like being told what to do) but a lot of non-Secret Santa people did mosey on over and you could tell they were thoroughly confused as to why they were being commanded to stop doing work and watch Glenn open presents of his face.

Anyway, he was totally thrilled, if not a little stunned as to why a small crowd of oglers had surrounded his desk. He even proudly took down his Wacky Worm picture and held it up next to the cupcakes so everyone could see. And then Nate said I win at Secret Santa, so I wasn’t as stressed out after that. Thank you, Nate, for always saying the right things!

“Where did you get that beef jerky candy bar?” Glenn asked.

“Why, did it make you sick?” I tentatively asked.

“No, it was actually pretty good,” he admitted. Dammit.

You guys, I am just so bored here sometimes (all of the times) that when I get an opportunity to have a little bit of fun, I fucking run with it. I would have still had fun with any other name I could have drawn, but getting to be Glenn’s Secret Santa totally made my holiday season, so thanks for looking out for me, Bridget!

I wanted to also make him a Starbucks-esque mix CD of Lilith Fair Christmas songs, but my fucking CD burner quit working.

(I also got Glenn a rubber band gun, what was I thinking??)

Then at 2:30, everyone’s Secret Santas were finally revealed! Only one person guessed correctly. And mine wasn’t a boy after all! It was Rachel, which explains why all of her tags were printed out because I used to work on this monster of a spreadsheet for her so I’d recognize her handwriting in a heartbeat. Especially if it was written in red ink. Anyway, my final gift was a bunch of bracelets that I love and I’m wearing three of them right now as I type this.

Me, Cheryl and Rachel.

But the moral of the story is that for a week, everyone got to be excited about something and it was so awesome seeing people giddily sneak around, trying to put stuff on their person’s desk while they were away. I suggested that we do this as often as we can, like have Clandestine Cupids, Lurking Leprechauns, Mystery Martin Luther Kings Jrs….? Yay? Nay?

I’ve been getting all nostalgic over past Christmases (in a good way, though) and tonight I found this picture of that time I ruined Chooch’s first Christmas by making him chill on a couch with clown dolls. (Merry Christmas, Chooch, have a hearty dose of coulrophobia!

) So I decided to post it as a wordless Wednesday-type thing because I’ve had A Day and can’t really contribute much else to the Internet right now. Plus, hockey is on.

Two more days of work and then I’m off until the day after Christmas, wooooo.

Chooch and I were DELIRIOUS by the time dinner was over. What else is new? It’s not like we’re going to keep it classy just because it’s a holiday.

Chooch suckered Corey into playing Mousetrap and Corey was thrilled that “Stacy’s Mom” came on Pandora literally minutes after he wrongly accused another song of being “Stacy’s Mom.”

(That song and all songs that sound like it suck, btw. If I was a writer for a music magazine when that song came out, that would be the extent of my review. What else can you really say about it? “Fuck that song with a flaming pine cone” is using more words than that song deserves.)

Chooch decided to start Googling pictures of Ted Nugent, since we love talking about the time Henry went to see the Nuge in the 1980s, you know—the time he pushed over some broad in a wheelchair! Earlier that day, while Henry was still cooking, Chooch put Ted Nugent on Spotify and was cracking up really bad. He decided that he loves the song “My Bow and Arrow” (WTF? I know nothing about Ted Nugent). But then some spoken word-ish song about HUNTING came on and I almost broke my neck in an effort to turn it the fuck off. I don’t want to hear things about hunting, you guys. It was so graphic!!! Now every time my friend Alyson talks about Ted Nugent’s Meat Emporium (Palace of Flesh? What do you call it, Alyson!?), it will make much more sense to me.

Anyway, having his fill of Ted Nugent, Chooch decided to take requests. Corey immediately shouted, “LILLIE MCCLOUD!” because that was his favorite contestant on X Factor. My request was for “butt unicorns” which made me start laughing so hard I almost peed all over my wheelchair. I didn’t even look to see what came up other than a picture of a butt with a unicorn tattoo.

And then there was a point where everyone except for Mike pulled out their phones so we could discuss the merits and frustrations of Simpsons Tapped Out.

It was literally the most serious time of the night. Look at Chooch’s consternation!!

Fuck you and your lame Springfield, Henry.

So, this was moments before Chooch took an extreme close-up of Janna and then started laughing so hysterically that he barfed all over the floor. This happens often. God only knows what he puked up since he literally ate zero things for dinner.

While Henry mopped up the puke, Chooch posted the puking catalyst on Instagram. It was a good night.

Let’s pretend for a moment that Henry goes by “Hank” so that I can call this year’s autumnal feast “Hanksgiving” without anyone asking me why.

There was only one reason I wanted to host Hanksgiving this year, and no, it wasn’t because I wanted to drive Henry to a stress-induced heart attack. I just wanted to put together a nice, memorable evening for Chooch, Corey, Janna, Laura and Mike because let’s face it: holidays just aren’t what they used to be. Especially if you don’t have any or much family in town. But that’s no reason to surrender to seasonal misery!

I have such a love/hate relationship with Thanksgiving. I loved it as a kid because hello: time off from school! Food! Parades! But what I didn’t like was suffering through whatever family feud was playing out at the moment, someone was always giving someone the silent treatment, my grandma was always taking passive aggressive jabs at me. And then some years we would go to my dad’s parents’ house and that was always uncomfortable. I wasn’t really close with any of them, and my dad was always losing his patience with his mom. It was just awkward.

But they did have that electric organ I loved to play…and Grandma Kelly’s homemade buckeyes….OK, maybe those Thanksgivings weren’t too bad.

And then as an adult, after my parents divorced, my mom would kind of try to put together nice Thanksgivings for us, but there was always that underlying bitterness and creepy facade of normalcy. Like you just expected the walls to crumble in. I would typically end up leaving in tears and then going home to drink Maniscevitz “wine” alone. That’s not what I want for Chooch! I want him to grow up with good feelings associated with holidays.

And even though I told everyone it would be a casual affair, I still wanted to make it pretty. We even used real plates as opposed to the paper fare we slopped food upon the last time we hosted Hanksgiving (back when we were still calling it THANKSgiving like the rest of you weirdos).

Corey was even surprised when he found out I used real flowers on the table, and not fake ones, haha.

REAL.

Chooch was clearly stoked! He gets really hyper and excited when he knows people are coming over, and he unfortunately got too crazy and ended up pissing off Laura immediately after she arrived. I’m still not sure what happened, but hey, what’s a holiday without tears? Made it seem that much more “down home.”

He just wants to entertain, you guys. That’s all.

We ran out of chairs so I conveniently used my wheelchair to sit at the head of the table. “Are you sitting in a wheelchair?!” Corey asked in disgust as he sat down to eat. “I hate you. In the best possible way.” My dream, in case you’re new here, is to buy a house and then have Henry build a dining room table out of pallets or old disgusting doors and then have all old wheelchairs as the seats.

REAL FLOWERS, OMG. This is what I did while Henry slaved away over various food-things in the kitchen: made things look nice to distract from the rest of our shitty shanty. Although, to be honest, we’ve been slowly sprucing things up as best as we can muster in a place we don’t own. And it’s been nearly a week and the house is still clean! At least the rooms that we can’t hide behind closed doors, anyway. My bedroom still looks like a dorm room.

I sliced that cheese!! And placed the deviled eggs accordingly! I was really excited for Hanksgiving, obviously. I used to love hosting parties when I was younger and the house was nicer and I WAS SINGLE. But you know, things change.

Henry made this cheese! I bought him a DIY cheese kit because I buy him things that I will benefit from. That cheese was some good shit, too. Even though Laura looked horrified when I told her it was homemade. :( Whatever, it made me feel like a legit hostess.

Speaking of Laura and homemade and cheese, Mike brought some sort of amazing creamed corn side dish that was loaded, and I mean LOADED, with cheese. I wanted to swim in it while “accidentally” forgetting to close my mouth.

 This is normal at our house.

Here is Janna, probably scolding me for something. Speaking of Janna, she brought these sweet potatoes that were absolutely drunk off bourbon. Holy shit, were they good.

I wish I had some right now.

Mike’s first tofurky! He was already sliding some onto his plate before he found out what it was. You can see how excited he was! EAT IT! EAT IT!

Corey gives hanks for tofurky. Can I also just say that this is only the third time in my life I have been BLESSED enough to have tofurky on (T)hanksgiving?? Henry usually “forgets” to buy it, and one year he bought it but then “forgot” to cook it. One of the only Thanksgivings I had it was at my mom’s house. Henry made it at home and we brought it with us and I was ridiculed mercilessly by my aunts to the point that I almost didn’t eat it. It was traumatizing! My mom kept making puking noises everytime I cut into it.

Even from a non-vegetarian standpoint, I genuinely like tofurky! That shit they stuff it with is the bomb.

I think that might have been the first time I called something the bomb. Better than “all that and a bag of chips,” I guess.

Not pictured: persimmon pudding. Oh for Christ’s sake, who has four desserts for eight people? So ridiculous. Shout out to Sandy for the cake hook-up!

Chooch ate approximately nothing. Sadly, his older brothers were unable to make it, because they could have shown him how to eat a Hanksgiving dinner.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I would consider the first official Hanksgiving a success. THANK YOU, HENRY. Maybe next year he will finally let me invite some vagabonds. Perhaps by then we’ll have more wheelchairs.

Pee Wee’s ass wants to wish you all a Happy Hanksgiving.

My big contribution for Thanksgiving was making punch(es). I took this extremely seriously because alcohol is such an important component to holidays, especially for people who are prone to stress-cries. Plus, Henry FINALLY finished that desk/cabinet thingie I found in the garage over the summer (apparently painting chevron stripes takes time) and I definitely wanted to build everything else around that. Because that’s how my mind works. Also, because I’m obsessed with it.

(Note that it’s missing the hardware. Henry had temporarily lost all of it. Now that he’s found it, though, I have decided that I want new knobs and handles. So I guess this project isn’t quite finished yet.)

I wish you could see how sparkly this thing is in person!! The blinds look like that because I literally have the pom-poms clothespinned to them. I even got tangled up in it at one point: the perils of decorating while home alone, I guess.

It was a painstaking process, but I finally narrowed it down to two punches days before Thanksgiving. Finding the perfect seasonal spiked beverage is serious business, you guys. I went with a pumpkin spice punch, which was primarily apple cider, two bottles of pinot grigio, bourbon and pumpkin spice, all of which I capably dumped into a bowl all by myself. But then Henry had to slice the apples and oranges for me. I can only do so much.

Next up was a delicious (and potent) cranberry sangria. This is where I learned that fresh cranberries are disgusting.

So this was basically just cranberry juice, brandy and a bottle of red. I forget what I used now. Also: cranberries (I measured a whole cup on my own!!), persimmons (how could I not choose a sangria that calls for PERSIMMONS??), and an orange which I managed to cut without help.

I helped myself to a glass of this before anyone arrived on Thanksgiving and my edge was nice and soft by the time dinner started. Thank you, Beverage Buffet.

Not pictured: wine from NARCISI WINERY, holla! And Henry’s dumb beer.

I’ve never been a very big shopper, so Black Friday does not appeal to me at all. I was, however, happy to have the day off work and spent it being leisurely with Chooch. We walked to Cannon Coffee on Brookline Boulevard and got some hot beverage.

Chooch somehow ended up with “100 People Who Are Screwing Up America” or something, and decided to read aloud from the first chapter, which was about shiesty lawyers turning us into a sue-happy nation and it coincidentally started off with a Simpsons analogy. Since Chooch is also OBSESSED with Simpsons Tapped Out, he was fucking thrilled about this.

Came home, tortured Marcy.

Henry came home around 3:30 and I abandoned him and Chooch. My friend Nina was visiting from Virginia and Wendy was hosting a small get-together for her. Everyone was all, “OMG Erin drove here all by herself!” like I don’t know how to drive or something! I just barely get to go anywhere on my own since we only have one car, you guys! I’m not THAT helpless.

Barb was there with her tricked-out boots, and also Sean and Angie who ditched the Law Firm last spring, so I was really happy to see them. Several of Nina’s non-Law Firm friends were there, too, but poor Sean was the only boy…

…so it was inevitable that he learned about Kegels.

Angie and Nina!

This is also the same face Wendy makes when ordering My Pretty Zombie eye shadow.

Barb and Baby Q!

OMG I miss working with Angie so much.

I think Wendy fed me an entire can of whipped cream while I was there. I need a fucking detox!

This morning, Henry woke up and resumed all the cooking that he started last night. Meanwhile, I’m catching up on the X Factor (OMG those stupid dancers they insist on using have got to go!!

) but it’s really hard to hear over Henry and his persistent mixing of foods in the kitchen. God.

I think only three people are coming over tonight but we have enough food for probably three dozen.

WE EVEN MADE HOMEMADE CHEESE! (We=Henry. I got bored and took a bath instead.

)

This used to be my least favorite holiday but I’m really starting to like it. Happy Tofurkey Day!!!

As Thanksgiving gets closer, I’ve been feeling a little less depressed and MAYBE even slightly excited. We spent most of the week getting some things together for our version of Thanksgiving (Hanksgiving) and keeping busy has been extremely helpful. We’ve only ever hosted one holiday dinner at our house (with the exception of the Xmas Eve soiree we did last year) and that was all the way back in 2008! I can’t believe we waited so long to try it again. I couldn’t remember if it was a success or not, so I went searching through my blog archives the other night and after reading it, I still can’t tell if it was a success. But Henry apparently burnt himself, so I’ll take that as a win.

It’s not Throwback Thursday or anything, but we can just pretend that Memory Monday is a thing so that I can repost this 2008 Thanksgiving tale. The format of the original post is all wonky and I can’t fix it. So sorry. Mayeb after you read it, you can leave a comment and tell me what your favorite Thanksgiving side dish is, because we haven’t finalized our menu yet and that’s just what Henry needs is MORE OPTIONS.

******

The night before Thanksgiving, Henry stayed up until 2:00am, rifling through his grandma’s recipes like a normal man rifles through porn. I don’t know what he was looking for, considering that I procured an entire feast worth of gourmet recipes from this little thing I just heard about recently called the Internet.Of course Henry found something wrong with every selection: Too-expensive-ingredients (“That will cost more than the turkey!”). Lack of industrial kitchen. Not enough education completed to comprehend recipe wording.

In the end, he settled on:

Smashed rutabaga with gingered pears

Turnips gratin (hello new edible husband)

Scalloped corn

Meatless stuffing

Mustard mashed potatoes (“OMG Tyler from the Food Network made them!”)

Sweet potato pie

Oh, and that over-hyped turkey bullshit that everyone is always buzzing about.

My contribution to the day was taking Chooch to my dad’s house so that Henry could cook in the highest, most divine level of tranquility. Now, you should know that I only see my dad on holidays. Shame on me, sure, I know. But it’s awkward because our relationship was once more strained than the ab muscles of a man attempting to suck his own dick. Technically my step-dad, he legally adopted me when I was in the fourth grade. We engaged in non-stop battles of wits and psychological warfare for the entire duration of my teenaged years. Then he and my mom divorced and ironically, we now get along famously; and in an incredible twist, he was the only family member who talked to me while I was pregnant.

Corey, who was staying there while home from college, failed to tell him that Chooch and I were coming over, so my dad was genuinely shocked when he saw us on his doorstep. It was probably 75% of an act, but he seemed happy to see us and proceeded to dole out peanuts, JuJu Bees and cans of pop. He even gave me some Bagelfuls to take home, complete with single-serving packets of cream cheese. A trip to his house is always like a mini-grocery trip.

While he cooked, I made sure Chooch didn’t fall down the basement steps, eat paint chips, or break any of my dad’s classic car memorabilia, while Corey acted disinterested in our presence and my other brother Ryan napped on the couch. I got roped into sitting down for dinner with them, wherein my dad immediately picked a fight with Ryan, who evidently didn’t load his plate with enough food. “I told you not to eat all day!” my dad steamed, to which Ryan grunted, “Jesus Christ, Dad, I only ate some cashews!” My dad countered with a surly, “I saw the cheese you opened up in the fridge!” at which point Ryan hunkered down lower over his plate which seemed plenty decorated to me.

In an effort to break the ice, I chirped, “These mashed potatoes are really good, daddy!” He muttered that they were too runny, but really, anything tastes delicious when the butter ratio is 50/50.

Corey and Ryan didn’t speak at all throughout the painful meal, and I’m sure they were just thrilled at how kind our dad was being to me. He even noticed my hair and enthused about its aesthetic merits for just a note longer than natural.

 I love my dad, but I was glad that I had a legitimate reason to shirk my way out the front door. Tension, it just doesn’t sit well with me.

Dinner at my house was supposed to be at 7, so that those who had other dinners to attend (Janna, Corey and Blake) would be newly starved by the time they came over for seconds. However, Henry’s tardy ass didn’t serve shit up until EIGHT O’CLOCK and everyone was bored, angry, hungry. Look at those mugs on Janna and Corey. You’d think they were watching a slide presentation of Henry’s mom dusting her ceramic kitten collection, that’s how glazed with ennui they are.

Sensing that a revolt was on the rise, Henry served up deviled eggs for us to stuff our mouths with while he frantically finished cooking.

For some reason, Henry was really impressed with himself. He kept boasting that the eggs were deviled with STONE GROUND MUSTARD. I’m not even sure what that means. They tasted regular to me, like he could have squirted in a quick fart of French’s for all I know. Something weird clearly went on in my house while Chooch and I were at my dad’s, because no one gets THAT excited over deviled eggs.

Finally, the moment for feasting was upon us, and we all loaded our fancy paper plates with mounds of seasonal slop. Blake pretty much questioned everything aside from the turkey, which was easily recognizable (good job, Henry). I explained to him that I wanted to eschew the expected and serve new twists on tradition. “You mean, you wanted my dad to make things that even YOU can eat,” Blake corrected. And oh how we laughed. (As I silently wished for Blake to choke on a turkey bone.) (Just kidding, Blake.) (No really.)

As I tore into my plate, I realized Corey didn’t have a fork. “It’s OK,” he promised. “I don’t mind waiting. I’ll just have a roll.” He paused, considering that statement, before holding up his broken hand and adding with the slight hint of chagrin, “Though, even THAT is a challenge.” He should have been giving less lip and more thanks for the fact that he has a hand AT ALL.

It would sppear that Henry is in the middle of saying an intense delivery of grace, but really he’s just acclimating to his newfound seated position after standing in the kitchen all day long.

Later, he momentarily lost his appetite when he mistook the really expensive paper napkins to say “Joyous Fetus” instead of the much less interesting “Joyous Fetes.” We all laughed, but I don’t think Henry understood what was going on because he probably doesn’t even know what “fetes” means.

We’re so classy that we used our best plastic serving bowls. Not even TUPPERWEAR. Just generic, microwave-ravaged plastic. And there’s the gravy that burnt Henry’s hand and thank God it did because I really enjoyed hearing him cry about it all night long. I thought his mom was going to rush him to the Veteran’s hospital. I could almost see Henry’s mind churning: “Remember what they taught you in the SERVICE, big guy. You will pull through this! YOU WERE IN THE AIR FORCE, GODDAMMIT.”

And then Henry’s mom called Janna a myriad of other J-names (Janet, Janice, Joanne) but never Janna, and swore she hated sweet potato pie before admitting that she had never had it. Now she’s had it and likes it, though I maintain that Henry’s version (apparently it was EMERIL’S RECIPE, what a fucking carving knife to my heart) tasted unlike any sweet potato pie I’ve ever had. Ever. Like, no semblance at all.

Overall, I thought it was pretty good for our first time hosting a holiday in my ridiculously small dining room. I know I had fun, and Blake and Henry’s mom seemed content. Janna basically looked like she had just finished watching a double feature of “Benji” and “Old Yeller,” and Corey just looked bored as usual. The shit Henry made was good, and even the gravy was vegetarian. I learned later that my mother translated Corey’s spot at my table into meaning that –oh my god — he’s on MY SIDE. And this is exactly why I was happy to do my own thing this Thanksgiving.

Last night, I yelled, “I can’t wait to have Christmas here too!” but Henry remained curiously silent.

This may have been the most stressful Halloween yet. I almost said it was the worst Halloween, but that’s not true, because Chooch had fun and even though I AM THE MOST SELFISH MOM EVER, even I am able to acknowledge that that’s all that really matters. Right? Right.

You know how I always said I would never put my child in a box, after spending most of my childhood Halloweens being chafed by cardboard thanks to my overambitious mother? (Just nod.) Well, it took seven years, but it happened. We put Chooch in a box.

But first let me say that I repeatedly asked him, “Are you SURE? Do you REALLY want to be this for Halloween?” and he kept saying yes, so I’m not really the bad guy, right? I don’t ever want him to look back on these years and say, “My mom MADE me be this and I hated it.” Not that I know anything about that.

Anyway, I know the Claw Machine thing isn’t exactly original, but I thought it would be fun to make it a little more post-apocalyptic. Have all of the stuffed animals be ripped open and bloody, etc etc.

Oh and also? This didn’t happen until last Friday night. Just the birth of the idea itself, I mean. And we were barely home at all during the weekend, which meant that Henry had three work nights to try and get this done. I’d nervously text him for updates while I was at work and he would give me vague responses, like, “It’s coming along” and “This is Henry’s girlfriend…who’s this?” and “I want a divor—-oh, wait. Haha!”

By Wednesday night though, he swore he was “like, 95% finished.” So then I was feeling kind of OK until I read the Halloween rules that Chooch’s school sent home which included the most restrictive costume guidelines ever, so why even bother celebrating Halloween!? No fake weapons (OK, I can understand that one!), no makeup, no masks, it has to fit into a bag, and no parents permitted in the classroom to help with the costumes.

Well, fuck. There was no way we were fitting a huge box into a bag and also no way he was getting this on by himself. In fact, I couldn’t even do it. Only Henry could, because only he could understand his own stupid design. Oh and also? Everything else we have laying around the house involves makeup and masks–animal masks, clown masks, gas masks. I couldn’t even resort to the old vintage ghost-sheet standby because god forbid, HIS FACE WOULD BE COVERED IN COTTON. And there was no way I was going to the stupid Halloween store….

….so it was decided that for the school party and parade, he’d wear his old ice cream cone costume.

Oh! And did I mention that no baked goods can be sent along for the class party? Everything has to be storebought and individually-packaged. No creepy cupcakes or cookies, no rice krispie treats or cakepop eyeballs. (I’m pretty sure Henry was actually relieved about this rule, though. One less thing for him to labor over!)

I know it’s not the school’s fault, and I know that these stringent rules have been implemented in schools all over the country, not just Chooch’s. But it just makes me so sad that this generation will never know Halloween like we knew Halloween. All those “Creepy Vintage Halloween” articles have been circulating on Facebook, but you know what? I would even take 1980s Halloween over what it’s become now, thanks to religious zealots and all of those motherfuckers who just can’t help themselves from shooting up schools. You assholes with nut allergies probably fucked this up somehow, too. (Kidding. Save the hate mail for next week’s blog post about Satanic abortions.)

It’s goddamn depressing. So I ranted and cried about this for a long while Wednesday night. I think Chooch genuinely felt bad for me (I do play a pretty fantastic sadsack), and he agreed to take his ice cream cone costume to school the next day.

And then I conveniently got a call from the school nurse that afternoon, telling me that Chooch puked and wanted to come home. I was 100% convinced that he puked his way out of the parade, but he insisted that he got sick off of a taco at lunch. By the time we got home, he swore that he was feeling better and wanted to go back to school for the parade and party. I asked him if he was sure at least 87 times before signing him back into school. (He’s lucky we live close enough that it’s less than a 10 minute walk.) When I was standing in the hallway talking to his teacher, some other mom was there picking up her kid and she overheard the teacher say that Chooch threw up after eating a taco for lunch.

“My son pukes EVERY TIME IT’S TACO DAY!” the mom bystander shared, so maybe he wasn’t actually Tracy Gold’ing it to get out of the parade after all.

45 minutes later, I was walking to school for the 4th time that day to watch the parade, which was scary because Henry couldn’t leave work in time so I had to GO BY MYSELF. Obviously I didn’t know anyone there because I’m so parentally antisocial, and pretty much everyone else was buddied up with other parents. So I stood next to the only other person there who appeared to have gone stag—some mom with a septum piercing.

Luckily, the parade was short…..and very anti-climatic. Tons of kids didn’t even dress up at all! And then there was Chooch, who was doing his best to smile in spite of the fact that he was probably daydreaming of killing me in my sleep.

“Everyone was laughing at me!” he told me afterward (and no, he wasn’t CRYING ABOUT IT).

“Because it’s funny! It’s SUPPOSED to be funny!” I cried. Yeah, I’m definitely going to bite it in my sleep one of these nights. You guys were all right.

Meanwhile, the school’s stupid costume policies allowed Henry more time to finish the real costume that was supposed to be 95% done but somehow took another three hours to complete. So while Henry did things that required the use of a ruler and math, I figured I could use that time to maim and mangle the stuffed animals. I asked Henry for the fake blood, which he SWORE WE HAD IN THE GARAGE, and it turns out we definitely did NOT have any fake blood. (I know, it’s hard to believe that people like us actually forget to restock our fake blood.)

So I threw a huge fit and Henry was all, “OH YES LET ME JUST STOP WORKING ON THIS AND GIVE A SHIT ABOUT FAKE BLOOD!” He suggested I walk to CVS and just buy some, but hey, FYI: CVS replaces all of the Halloween stuff with Christmas stuff on HALLOWEEN. I even asked one of the cashiers, thinking maybe they could just snag a tube for me out of the back, but she crinkled her nose and repeated, “Fake BLOOD?” like I was asking for a Englebert Humperdinck 8-track.

Actually, that’s a horrible reference because that cashier was like 70 so she would have been happy about that.

I ran back home after that. Me! Running! In the rain! In the rain I ran!

Did I mention it was raining? Of course it was raining—it’s Halloween in Pittsburgh. All fucking day, it was drier than a nun’s kooka* until an hour before trick-or-treating was set to start.

*(Unless it was one of the nun’s in the Italian porn we may have recently watched. And by we I mean Henry by himself because I am too classy for that, obviously.)

With no fake blood to transform the bag of stuffed animals, I focused on doing Chooch’s makeup. This part was pretty stress-free because Chooch suddenly enjoys being made-up and even dug around my makeup box for the shade he wanted around his eyes. (All makeup used was My Pretty Zombie, of course.)

The final step for Chooch’s makeup was to adhere some stuffing to his cheek, to give it that “ripped open stuffed animal” feel. Unfortunately, in order to get the stuffing, I had to cut open one of the stuffed animals, which was the whole point in buying them from Goodwill anyway. We were going to decapitate some, amputate some, etc etc. Chooch beat me to the bag and furiously dug through it, desperately yelling, “Wait! Not the dog! Not the kitty! No, not the dragon, either!!” and before I knew it, he had almost the entire bag of stuffed animals in his arms, frantically hugging them into his body.

Finally, I found a frog and tried to be all dismissive about it. “Eh, it’s just a frog,” I said with a wave. “It’s not even all that cute.” But son-of-a-bitch, when I raised those scissors up to its chest, I was overcome with a wave of anthropomorphic guilt.

“Mommy, don’t!” Chooch whimpered.

But…I had to do it, you guys. I had to slice open this poor fucking frog that already had the misfortune of being orphaned at a thrift shop. What dumb luck. As the sound of those dull blades slashing through fabric rang through the air, Chooch burst into tears. Like, REALLY BIG TEARS rolling down his poor wolf-cheeks, taking strips of makeup along for the ride.

“Oh for Christ’s sake!” Henry muttered as Chooch sobbed and I apologized profusely, more to the frog than Chooch, if we’re being honest.

Then when Chooch wasn’t looking, I smeared the frog with red paint.

Chooch, post-cry. I had to reapply his makeup afterward. At least he got to wear his Never Shout Never-inspired wolf hat!

So, that pretty much killed the stuffed animal idea. Luckily, we had enough pre-bloodied plush options, like the Batman that our friend Bonecrusher zombified for Chooch’s 5th birthday, one of Andrea’s zombie Barbies, Ju-On, a Jason Voorhees plush, the stuffed rabbit I bloodied for my Fatal Attraction costume last year and Chooch has still not forgiven me. All the while, I kept mouthing off to Henry about every last thing, all the way down to his audacity for even having been born. I have medals in this sport, you guys. My endurance for berating Henry is porn star-caliber.

Janna arrived right around this time, and she should really write a guest post about how comfortable and mellow it is to sit on the couch and listen to my mouth flap like your basic Roseanne Barr and Henry quietly simmers in a broth of domestic abuse and emasculation. I think my salutation as she walked through the front door was, “THIS IS THE WORST FUCKING DAY EV-HER-HER-HER-HER-ERRRRRR.”

He insisted on putting a non-maimed dog in the front with him, but he was telling everyone its name was Murder Victim.

I know, Chooch looks miserable in the video. But he was trying to look like a sad wolf, OK?! I’M NOT REALLY THAT BAD OF A MOM.

Finally, Chooch was situated in his box and we set off in the rain. We tagged along with our neighbor and two of her kids. Her son Josh is in Chooch’s class and they’ve known each other basically since they were born, since they’re only 2 weeks apart in age. Sometimes they don’t play very well together, but they made a good trick-or-treating duo. I was really glad for that, because this day did not need any more stress! Plus, Josh was really enthused about Chooch’s costume, which made him get even more into it.

Too bad the rain forced him to take it off after the first block. Totally broke my heart, which I communicated by being a complete asshole and stamping my feet and threatening that I was JUST GOING TO GO HOME. Because you know, it’s all about me and my feelings. Meanwhile, Chooch was like, “Erin, Imma let you finish, but not having to wear a box in the rain is one of the best Halloween costumes of all time.” And frankly, he looked adorable as that stuffed wolf, so I got over it pretty quickly. (Not without verbally raping Henry a few more times though. Because the rain was ALL HIS FAULT! Why didn’t he smear himself with his own feces and crump to What Does the Fox Say beneath the Harvest Moon like a REAL FATHER?!)

I really don’t handle this shit well. I act like every little tiny event is my wedding/funeral. And it always ends up being fine! And we have fun! And we laugh! But there is always that hour where I am such a raging control freak bitchnugget asshole that I have no idea why I still have any friends. Or, you know, a Henry and a Chooch.

So I will summarize the rest (thank god, right) by saying that:

• it rained like it motherfucker
• Henry tried to go home
• some lady in a Blazer almost ran us over and then put her window down to tell Chooch he had the cutest costume, and I said, “Thanks…FOR ALMOST RUNNING US OVER”
• Henry and I broke up over an umbrella
• I pointed out all of the things Henry forgot to put on the claw machine and he growled, “THERE ARE A LOT OF THINGS I WOULD HAVE DONE IF I HAD MORE TIME.” God, quit your job then, asshole.
• Henry tried to go home
• Chooch had to take off the box before we made it off the first block and went the rest of the night as a “sad stuffed wolf”
• Henry tried to go home
• Janna had a cold
• I called Henry a motherfucker (x 87)
• Henry got to go home

Fuck you and your purple umbrella, asshole.

Sopping wet chaperones.

I don’t even think they noticed it was raining. (Josh had a really cute pirate costume, and it sucked that he had to wear a windbreaker over it. I hate Pittsburgh weather.)

We probably only saw 15-20 other trick-or-treaters in the 60+ minutes we were out there. And most houses just left out a bowl on the honest

Tourette’s was trick-or-treating, too!!

Cast of Claw Characters

“What did you use for the blood?” Henry frowned, rubbing his wet, red fingers together.

“Paint. It was either that or Ketchup,” I said with a shrug, and then when he gave me The Disappointed Father look, I screamed, “OH DON’T EVEN START WITH ME ABOUT THE FAKE BLOOD, YOU SON OF A BITCH.” I mean, good fucking god. Sorry that paint takes so long to dry!

****

Afterward, Henry, Chooch, Janna and I went to Eat n Park for dinner, and miraculously Henry and I quit hating each other long enough to (BRIEFLY) hold hands at the booth. And now Chooch is apparently really into eyeliner. I came home from work last night and he had it on one eye. Henry gave me the “thanks for THAT, Erin” smirk.

All in all, it ended up being fine and we had fun in spite of the rain. I mean, if I had nothing to bitch about, how would I ever remember this night?!

Did your Halloween go off without a hitch? If so, fuck you.