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.

As usual, we’re at a crossroads with Chooch’s Halloween costume. He changes his mind constantly and then seemed set on something that would be so easy (and free) to pull off, so we thought we were all set, but then I had to go and be a dummy and accidentally thought of something better so now Henry’s Sunday is going to be super busy. As a child who was forced into boxes (literally) every year for Halloween, I vowed to not be That Mom with my own kid, but Chooch just might end up in a box after all. Unless we can use fabric instead.

Or unless Chooch changes his mind again.

Anyway, I thought it would be fun to revisit all of his past costumes, like the ones from when he didn’t have his own ideas yet and we could just buy something from the Halloween store.

HOW FUCKING QUAINT.

———————

2006: Ice Cream Cone. God, those were the days. (Here’s a reprisal of that costume. At least I got my money’s worth.)

2007: Hobo? I guess this was a hobo. This costume cost nothing except for the black makeup stick we bought at the Halloween store.

2008: Frankenstein. Why am I having a hard time remembering this costume? (I do remember that the makeup job sucks because I was still at work when trick-or-treating was starting so dum-dum Henry had to apply it.

Good job, Henry.)

2009: Jason Voorhees. He was OBSESSED with Jason when he was 4.

This was also back in the days when I knew how to use my camera even less than I do now, if you can imagine.

2010: Psycho Clown! I think this was my favorite costume. This was another one that cost nothing because I already had that shit on hand from a photo shoot I made Christina do.

2011: Zombie Justin Bieber. This one kind of flopped, as evidenced by the ZERO people who could tell what he was supposed to be, haha.

Also that year, we went to a Halloween party so Chooch and I dressed up in our PJs and went as a Zombie Sleepover.

And he was a Zombie Dweeb at the Zombie Carnival at Monroeville Mall.

2012: Daryl from the Walking Dead. If you ever need to dress up as someone that no one will ever guess, come to me for ideas. I’m apparently chockful of ’em. (Seriously, that year’s Halloween really stressed me the fuck out.)

So, there you have it. The evolution of Chooch. I’ll leave you with a photo of him looking evil on just a regular day. Have a good weekend, boyyyy!

SATURDAY!

Dear Blog,

I will start with Saturday, because that is typically what one does when recounting their weekend. On Saturday, Henry and I went to a co-ed baby shower for my friend Lisa and her husband Matt. They’re expecting their first baby and I’m so stoked for them! Way more stoked than Henry was to be there! I was really hoping he would decorate a onesie, but he totally pussed out.

I drew a mustache on mine and wrote “I [mustache] you to change me.” A total cop-out I thought, given the popularity of the “I Mustache You a Question” phrase these days, but no one seemed to get it, as it hung there shamefully on a clothesline in the kitchen, so then I was just pretty embarrassed. But, that’s what I am 75% of the time, so it was OK. I ate some damn good cookies and moved on.

I’m always thoroughly awkward at these things, especially because it’s mostly Lisa’s friends from college and church, and I know her from high school. I for real cannot make small talk with a person to save my life. I know that there’s a formula, and it goes something like this:

person asks <x> question.

you answer <x> question.

you ask person <y> question.

person answers <y> question.

repeat until some type of conversational flow is established.

But when I’m involved, it goes like this:

person asks <x> question.

I stutter a lot before attempting to say something witty in a monotone slur which may or not satisfy <x> question.

attempt at wit falls flat. crickets.

but one thing’s for certain: she has the best damn food at her get-togethers. I mean, I’m sure I maxed out my Weight Watchers anytime points for the week on the potato salad alone!

Lisa and Matt’s friends Carrie and Wes were there, and it was nice to see familiar faces. Henry and I met them last year at the Rib Fest (I was only there to see .38 Special, obvi) and then again a few weeks later at Matt’s surprise graduation party. I was super happy the next day when Carrie sent me a friend request on Facebook because that means she doesn’t think I’m 100% boring like I always feel that I am at social events!

Anyway, Lisa looks absolutely radiant for a pregnant lady and I’m a little jealous about that. I allowed one photo of myself to be taken during my baby shower and I looked haggard and beached. I did not have that “glow” that all the women speak of.

Now I’m just rambling. I’m on my 4th cup of coffee.

SUNDAY!

Sunday, as previously mentioned on this blog, was a day full of DIY bullshit. It started first thing in the morning with a trip to the flea market. We’re making pie stands for the pie party so we were on the lookout for things that could be suitably fastened together to form somewhat of an aesthetic Atlas for pies. Dude you guys, this pie party is going to be the best one yet, I promise! The pies might taste like rotten ass, but boy is the décor going to be pleasant to look at. I’m excited to show a little bit of my pretty side for once, which actually does exist. (i.e. no bloody fingers or clown heads on the table.)

“Mommy, look!” Chooch cried. “Lizzie Borden’s hatchet!” This was met with some winning gawks.

We walked past the right table at the right time and got to witness an angry old man who had recently found out that the GOLD COINS he bought from WEIRD OLD PEOPLE at a FLEA MARKET were COUNTERFEIT. (Please see: last part of the above video.)

YOU DON’T SAY!!!

While he was angrily pacing back and forth, shouting at them, the old man coin swindler never stopped playing his harmonica and his old lady cohort just kept laughing and waving it off.

“WHAT’S THE NUMBER ON THIS!?” the coin chump barked, examining the number painted on the ground beneath the table so he knew officially who to narc on once he GOT TO THE FLEA MARKET OFFICE!! Because that’s where he was headed! I know this because we followed him from a parallel aisle. I wanted to REALLY follow him, but Henry was all, “This might get dangerous” so I never got to see if anyone was taken down by the flea market popo.

And then Henry kept purposely walking real fast by any table that might have held something he thought I would like, so I got all bitch-pouty and stormed back to the car.

But at least we worked on the coffee table when we got home.

Ha-ha, “we.”

Later that night, we drove all over the South Hills until I settled on a suitable establishment for ice cream. I just didn’t like the first two Henry picked and then the third place was closed and Henry was seriously wishing he had purchased that $5 hatchet at the flea market.

But we settled on Tasty-Crème and I was happy with it, except that ice cream places always give me ordering anxiety because they all look like this at the window:

Too many choices! And of course after I ordered my vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles, Henry noted that they had TOASTED COCONUT TOPPING, WTF. I totally would have gotten that instead.

This was some really good soft serve. When I mentioned that out loud, Henry gave me a weird look but I’m sorry — not all soft serve tastes the same, jackass. Try refining your palate.

There was some vacant-eyed pod family sitting at the picnic table, so we opted to just loiter near our car, lest they suck off some of our life force with their milkshake straws.

LABOR DAY:

Man, did I have some big plans for Labor Day. I wanted to get up early and go have breakfast, which is one meal we rarely go out for together anymore. That doesn’t seem so lofty of a want, until you get to the part where I add, “And also, let’s drive for an hour to accomplish this.”  All weekend, Henry hemmed and hawed, until finally I modified plans so that we could leave later, after working on the furniture refinishing project some more, which, by the way, is taking FOREVER. It was so humid all weekend, and apparently paint doesn’t respond well to that? I don’t know. So everything is taking way longer than I had thought it would, and then I had a can of gold glitter spray paint in my hand for five seconds and completely fucked up a drawer, so now Henry will have to sand it down and start over. Ugh, this is why I hate “projects”!!! I want to be able to come up with ideas and then, wow, look at that, it’s done.

For some reason, that never happens. God, being a muggle sucks.

But that’s another blog entry.

We ended up leaving the house around 10:30 and set off toward Uniontown, which is…south of Pittsburgh? I don’t know. But we hadn’t been in that area since last summer when we went to Laurel Caverns, so I thought it would be fun to eat at some towny diner and then go into the wilderness.

Henry overshot Uniontown and continued on up into the Laurel Highlands, which was OK but not WHAT I WANTED. So then it was all, “Where do you want to eat?” and I’m like, “One of the many places we past miles ago, duh” but he just kept driving and driving until we ended up Lone Star which was a real shit hole.

Chooch was in a really bad mood for god only knows why. I’m guessing it was because I wouldn’t let him play on my phone when we got there. So he “punished” us by not ordering food. His excuse was that he wanted pancakes but the shitty Lone Star only serves breakfast until 11AM because they SUCK AS A RESTAURANT.

And then he started crying about something Minecraft-related and I just sat there thinking about how my good intentions for a Labor Day spent with my dumb family was totally RUINED.

Apparently, we arrived at the Lone Star right on the heels of a hunting party, so it took us an hour to get our stupid lunch. I ordered a grilled cheese, you guys. A grilled cheese. It ranked in the Top 5 Worst Grilled Cheeses I’ve ever eaten (and two of those were made by me) and I actually passed it over to Chooch, but he wouldn’t eat it either, so hooray for Henry ending up with two lunches! That doesn’t necessarily mean that he won at lunch, though. Trust me.

The grilled cheese tasted like it had been boiled in water and then microwaved and then possibly smashed with a hot iron long enough to burn one side. And it possibly only had a half slice of cheese in between the wrecked bread. I didn’t even have the will to complain. It was so disappointing and I just wanted to get out of that grimy establishment before any parasites had a chance to crawl into me. I had to pee so bad but the bathroom door was being blocked by some mountain hick in a messy bun so I decided to be stubborn and just hold it. I SURE SHOWED THEM!

Afterward, Henry drove us toward nature things and then turned around because I guess he felt that looking at trees and signs for Ohio Pyle and the Deer Lakes from the car window was what I meant when I said, “And then I want to go and do nature things.”

Obviously I was a huge bitch baby after that. Henry kept trying to hold my hand from across the console and I would shrug my arm away from him and shift my position so I was practically curling up against the car door.

But at least Henry was wise enough to make up for Lone Star (it was his fault!!) by taking us to Gene and Boots for ice cream, which ended up being my lunch since I refused to eat that gnarly grilled cheese.

Um, I don’t really know when photographing raised ice cream cones became my “thing,” but I suppose it’s better than some other things I could be photographing. (Depending on who you ask.)

At the very least, I could now probably put together one really tasty summer montage.

Seriously, Chooch needs to stop making such a disgusting mess with ice cream cones or he’s going to have to start getting his scoops in a goddamn bowl. Ugh! I can’t even look at him when he’s cone-in-hand.

How does someone manage to look so angry while eating ice cream? I know this picture wants you to think I’m a liar, but Henry was actually the only one of us who was in a good mood all day.

Here are some photos of things that happened this summer that don’t involve amusement parks and Warped Tour, which is actually not all that we do around here, contrary to popular belief! :)

This gentleman on the trolley was pouring the contents of an Old English into an empty jug of iced tea. Like you do on the trolley.

THIS IS NOT ICED TEA, YOU GUYS.

It’s looking like I’ll be riding the trolley to work for the rest of forever because things at Henry’s job got totally whack. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to riding the trolley, even though I have the same resurrected Bob Ross driver everyday who pretends to be all happy to see me. There was a good two week stretch when Henry was able to take me to work, and when I returned to my 12:47 trolley ride, the driver jovially exclaimed, “HEY! LONG TIME! Thought maybe you bought yourself a motorcycle to ride to work in style!”

My god. I’m a fucking regular. :(

I won’t see him today though. He’s off on Fridays. (I know this because every Thursday he cries, “HAPPY FRIDAY! TODAY IS MY FRIDAY! I’M OFF TOMORROW!”)

This cat ear ring was only like $3.

This hair band was decidedly more expensive than $3 and came from England, but it was totally worth it.

I still have to get my actual lenses put into these. THEY ARE THE PERFECT SIZE FOR ME!

Here’s some leftover birthday pictures:

Chooch with Kara’s baby Theo, who was only 9 days old and already living it up at Pamela’s for breakfast! (Chooch hates when we meet people at Pamela’s because it means we have to walk there, oh no.) This was on my birthday. Later that day, Janna and I went to Tillie’s for dinner (and I turned the light off on her in the bathroom, which was my favorite part of the day because I love torturing her), and then we met Laura at a movie theater in North Versailles to see The Conjuring which was fucking fantastic and I’m still thinking about it. Laura cried and prayed to her rosary through the whole thing! I’m glad I got to see three of my favorite people on my birthday, but in some sick and twisted way, I kind of missed spending my day with my friends at work like last year because they are so good at making me feel special!

This pretty scarf was left in an unmarked gift bag on my desk last week. I asked my boss Sue if it was from her, and she said no, but then a week later, she was all, “OK fine, that scarf was from me.” Duh! I love it so much!

And my sweet friend Kendahl sent me some beautiful nail polish!

Of course my birthday card from Chooch features a cat. But what I didn’t know until later is that he chose this card because he wanted it to remind me of the time a few weeks ago when Marcy woke me up at 5AM by PEEING ON ME IN MY BED because she was angry at being locked in our bedroom all night (we had the a/c on so we kept the door shut). Marcy, in all of her 16 years, has only peed outside of litter box one other time, and that was when she was about 2 years old and I yelled at her for doing something diabolical I’m sure (probably had something to do with Speck), and she literally stalked back over to where I was sitting, squatted near my feet and peed on the floor while GROWLING AT ME.

So, thanks Chooch.

Henry said Chooch was like, “Let’s get Mommy things that she hates,” which apparently included a Taylor Swift card, so thanks for stepping in, Henry. (But can we all just stop for a second and be amazed at how much like me Chooch really is? I love finding out what people hate and inundating them with it!)

A few weeks ago, my friend Octavia told me she was sending me something for my birthday that required lots of wall space and that Henry would hate it. Henry, thinking for sure it was going to be some grand-scale Jonny Craig collage, was getting ready to prepare a wall in the corner of the basement. But instead, these amazing circus posters came in the mail and Henry breathed a great sigh of relief. Octavia “borrowed” these from light poles in Norway ten years ago and thank god for that because they are incredible! They will have a good home here with me, so thank you again Octavia!

And my boss Joy got me an apple cozy! When I opened it, I immediately screamed, “OMG IT’S AN APPLE COZY!” and she was like, “You KNEW??” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve almost bought myself one!

I think books make such personal gifts, and this one from Sandy made me tear up a little because it’s the book that inspired one of my favorite Cure songs.

Barb, Gina, Elissa and Gayle hooked me up with so much fun jewelry:

Just my kind of JEWELRY!!!! Barb is so afraid I’m going to poke myself in the eye with the bird cage ring she got me. The tail really is sharp, but I think it’s more Henry who should be afraid.

Wendy and Evonne eating from their Beetlejuice bowls at Savoy a few weeks ago. That was a fun dinner! (Although, any weeknight dinner that doesn’t involve a Law Firm microwave and a Lean Cuisine is a fun dinner!) A little too rich for my Weight Watchers-trained stomach though, so I got kind of sick afterward.

This is kind of birthday-related! A few years ago, Gina and Elissa got me this pretty coffee cup but like a dummy, I chipped it one day while washing it, so it just kind of sat on the kitchen window sill for a long time. But now that I’m on some weird fake green-thumb kick, one of my co-workers gave me a spider plant thingie in a red Solo cup and I immediately thought of a new purpose for my pretty-but-chipped cup. So I brought it into work and Amber2 helped me re-pot it. (And by now you should know that means she did everything herself while I stood there and watched.)

LOOK HOW PRETTY! (Don’t worry, there’s a fake spider in it now too.)

Chooch and Downton Bunny at Tom’s Diner. I’m going to be so sad when he goes back to school and we can’t have leisurely mornings anymore. :(

We had some Jimmy Buffett Buffet at work in July so I made Henry bake these lemon brownies with blueberry lemon lavender frosting. I thought they were super good, but Henry was all, “SOMETHING WAS OFF ABOUT THEM, WAH.”

Ciao for now.

Chooch & I, pre-birthday dinner. (His Lollipop Guild smirk cracks me up!)

I remember reading somewhere in my blog-travels that people should cease having birthday parties once they become grown-ups, like literally just stop cold turkey straight out of high school I guess. And that drinks at a bar with other grown-ups is an acceptable form of celebrating ones day of birth.

I have to politely disagree. In fact, I started writing this whole quasi-rant about birthdays last week which I might still post (especially after the film screening that Wendy and I went to Saturday night, because it all kind of ties together), but the gist of it is, why is it so obnoxious to celebrate ourselves once a fucking year. I spent many, many birthdays alone, pouting, feeling sorry for myself, etc etc. The 20s are hard years, you guys! But now, I choose to spend my birthday with as many friends as I can round up because that is what makes me happy. It’s not alllll about the attention or the presents (I mean, it kind of is—I can always use a Hot Topic gift card!—but not totally), it’s about being with my people, my homies, my FOLLOWERS. It’s all very Kumbaya, really.

Also, I’m a Leo with the emotional age of a 12-year-old, so birthdays are important to me, you guys! Even OTHER PEOPLE’S birthdays! Can you imagine!? I care about things sometimes that don’t have anything to do with me, OMG.

But really, I’m not even kidding: If my house wasn’t a pit of despair, I would totally have birthday sleepovers and make everyone watch “Paperhouse” and “April Fool’s Day.” Probably “St. Elmo’s Fire” too.

This year, I decided (kind of last minute) that I wanted to have dinner at this restaurant called Shakespeare’s, because the website falsely alluded of tackiness. It turns out that it wasn’t tacky at all (though there WERE dragonhead door handles and suits of armor), but actually a really nice restaurant on a golf course.

Since it wasn’t a milestone birthday of any sort, I tried not to go overboard with it because god forbid Henry should have to ask for the banquet hall. That might be too wedding reception-esque for him, and we all know he’s allergic to the W-word. The only thing Henry had to do other than making reservations was order my fucking cake. I asked him to do this a month ago, before I even had birthday plans, and he was all, “OMG YOU MAKE ME DO EVERYTHING!” Excuse me for wanting to someone else to actually take the reins for once, my god! I always have to plan my parties, which is fine, but a little help would be nice. And ordering my own birthday cake made me feel sad and pathetic. I figured he would have asked Kaitlin to FINALLY make me that Jonny Craig cake I’ve been loudly hinting around about for the last two years, but then I found out last week that he still hadn’t gotten off his birthday cake La-Z-Boy.

“Can’t you just ask Kaitlin yourself?” he asked. Yes, 6 days before my birthday dinner and while she’s on vacation in California. That works, Henry.

Saturday, I begged him to admit that he was bluffing. “No, I really didn’t get a cake. I thought about it…”

THE THOUGHT DOESN’T COUNT THIS TIME, YOU MOTHERFUCKER. I mean, it’s just a cake! You don’t even have to bake it! Here, how about this: Find a fucking bakery or I’m going to find Chooch a new father.

By Sunday, we had a fullblown about it and I uninvited him to my dinner 18 different times, gave him a list of things to fuck himself with, and then made sure to remind him of all the ex-boyfriends I have who would have ordered me a fucking cake, which just happens to be ALL OF THEM.

He stayed upstairs for another hour and I assumed he was sulking; meanwhile, I searched for bakeries that are open on Sundays and don’t suck, when I remembered that my favorite cupcakery in the city is in fact open on Sundays and I like cupcakes better than cake anyway! So when Henry came downstairs, I barked at him to go to Vanilla Pastry Studio.

Apparently, he had the same idea. “I know. That’s why I’m dressed,” he mumbled. (Usually on Sunday mornings he’s just in his UNDERWEAR EWWWWW.) So then we laughed about it and he apologized, which is all I wanted anyway, for him to admit that he sucks at life.

But now that I think about it, I don’t remember ever re-inviting him to my birthday party….

So this place ended up being about 45 minutes away from Pittsburgh, which I thought for sure my friends would bitch about, and maybe they did behind my back, but look! People came! And I didn’t have to sit by Henry! (I did miss Chooch, though, but it’s too hard for us to share attention when we’re right next to each other. It was better this way. And he really did a great job entertaining that section of the table, from what I hear.)

Henry’s mom came with us and she spent the whole time talking about people we don’t know and cooing over the scenery.

“I want to move out here,” she cried as we drove down the main street of some small, totally quaint town that I would bore me in about 3 hours.

“Then you better do it soon,” Henry said dryly.

I always get super on edge before a party of any kind, even my pie parties, so I was pretty much like, “Can you all kindly STFU please?!” It was looking like we were going to be late, so I was completely stressed out. Everyone pretty much arrived at the same time though, so we all walked in together and it was fine because they didn’t even have our stupid table ready anyway.

“Isn’t that the point of a reservation?” Gina asked rhetorically AND I HOPE THE GUY IN THE TIE HEARD HER.

Barb was stoked because she’s obsessed with Game of Thrones and this place was very reminiscent of it, I guess. I do not watch that show, nor am I even a big Shakespeare fan, so it’s kind of unclear why I was so insistent upon celebrating my 34 years here.

Deciding what to order was hard work, you guys. Henry’s mom was memorizing her menu across from Gina, which made her nervous.

“I feel like I just finished a test early but everyone else is still working,” Gina said, picking up her menu to fit in.

LOOK! PEOPLE ARE LAUGHING AT ONE OF MY PARTIES! This is so much better than when people yawn, which is what typically happens. (i.e. GLENN YAWNING AT THE ROLLER RINK.)

Chooch antagonized Barb from across the table all night. At least he didn’t scream, “YOU INVITED BARB?!” like he did at his fifth birthday party. (An outcry that has become legendary.)

Elissa and Gina were sweet enough to come to my dinner straight from a weekend of debauchery in Cleveland.

Janna and Chooch basically talked about Minecraft the whole night. I kept overhearing snippets and my mind would melt a little each time. Good job, Janna!!

Wonka a/k/a Shawn is one of my favorite people ever but we don’t get to hang out nearly enough (the fact that he lived in Texas for way too long didn’t help). This my first time meeting his girlfriend Jess and she is totally sweet and adorable (we bonded over our mutual pink/purple/blue hair highlights). Definitely looking forward to getting to know her!

Shawn also happens to be one of Marcy’s worst victims:

My front steps were stained with blood for months after that maiming.

Why does Henry look so paranoid in all of my Shakespearean feast photos? Or maybe that’s just his “bracing for the check” face. And poor Wendy—she had to hang out with me two nights in a row! Probably explains her tired smile.

Bill and Natasha arrived while we were all still loitering in the entry way under the watchful stares of the hostess and manager, waiting for the table to be prepared. In lieu of a simple hello, Chooch spat, “Oh, great. Thanks for talking while we were trying to watch the Walking Dead!” Which is something that happened back on Easter and that’s apparently how he identifies Bill and Natasha now. That kid is such a dick sometimes.

Laura & Mike, as seen by Janna’s iPhone. I’m so glad these two came! Plus, they sat across from Shawn and Jess, and I think that was the best accidental pairing of all time, because every time I glanced down the table, the four of them seemed embroiled in conversation. I like it when my friends get along!

Kara even came out with her 2-week-old baby, Theo. That is a good friend! Theo was much quieter than Chooch, who sat with his arms folded and said, “Blah blah blah” while everyone sang Happy Birthday to me. God forbid someone else should have a birthday!

And I loved my non-tacky dinner! I got some sort of salmon thing only because it came with a maple strawberry glaze and I’m on a maple kick ever since Parker’s Maple Barn’s maple coffee last June, which I was telling everyone about and then realized that I hadn’t actually had anything else maple-y since then, so I guess it’s not that great of a kick. More of an idea of a kick? I don’t know. But that glaze was motherfucking delightful.

Henry of course has been bitching about his sirloin ever since that night so I’m 7,697,908,709 times more glad now that I didn’t have to sit next to him and hear his complaints in real time. Jesus. Like it matters anyway if he liked it or not, it wasn’t HIS birthday dinner!

In order to make the prospect of having to drive great distances for my birthday dinner, I told my friends that they didn’t even have to get me presents. And I almost meant it too! I must be getting old, for real, because all I could think about was how I would rather have nice company than gifts. WHO AM I?! I DON’T EVEN KNOW ANYMORE. God, age 34 has been so fucking weird so far.

Anyway, Shawn and his girlfriend Jess got me this beautful wooden birdcage thingie with some kind of cedar things inside, which lead me, Barb, Judy, Gina and Elissa to believe that perhaps this was some sort of candle holder.

“But it’s wood,” someone pointed out, I forget who now.

“You could just fill it with doll heads,” Gina suggested because she knows. I was overjoyed at this suggestion so now I’m going to the flea market this weekend to collect some more heads.

Barb wasn’t satisfied, though, and yelled down the table to Shawn, who answered that it was a torture chamber for moths.

That made sense to me, but Barb thought he was joking. I asked him later to confirm, and that was indeed his intended purpose for the wooden cage. “That’s why I even put those cedar chips in there!”

I told Shawn and Jess about Gina’s doll head idea and they were on board with that as well, but maybe I’ll try to lure some moths in there anyway for good measure.

The cupcakes turned out to be better than serving an entire cake, I think. And I like that the waitresses brought them out on big serving platters and let me pick mine first because I rule, and then everyone else got to fight each other for their desired flavor. Well played, Shakespeare’s Restaurant.

Chooch was all pissed because Barb got a chocolate one, so she was nice enough (smart enough?) to give him hers and choose another, only to find out he swapped the chocolate one for whatever Henry had chosen.

“He’s just like his mother,” Henry mumbled.

Barb said that Chooch looked like a young Frank Sinatra. Then to me she whispered, “That’s a compliment”— like I don’t know who Frank Sinatra is! I’m flattered that Barb thinks I was born yesterday, though.

For some reason, it wasn’t clear to me that this was the women’s room and I was very hesitant to enter. Everyone who had gone before me had come back speaking of the nipple-chilling temps in there, but I was unable to fully understand until I sat on the frigid commode myself.

There was literally even a blast of cold air when I opened the door to the throne, like I was being duped into a future of hanging from a meat hook in a walk-in freezer.

Oh, but how the regal mirrors made up for the uncomfortable temperature!

On my actual birthday, Janna and I went to dinner and then I turned the light out on her when she went into the bathroom. I was telling everyone that it was the highlight of my birthday, and the reaction I got was one of, “You poor, sad, pathetic girl.” What?? I enjoy fucking with Janna! It’s my role in this world.

Can we all just stop and observe the fact that Henry is about to ejaculate from a camera?

Basically, I made all my friends drive far away to a fake castle just so I could have my stupid picture taken with a suit of armor.

My Leno chin even came out to party.

Elissa and Gina brought Chooch a belated birthday gift (they know how to win his affections), which included some cat stickers. Chooch put one on his shirt (as pictured above) and now I wish I could get it to stay there permanently because everyone was all, “OMG Chooch’s shirt is so cool.” Find a way, Henry.

So much to love about this picture: Shawn’s party hat horns, Mike ogling Shawn’s party hat horns, Chooch desperately trying to photobomb Shawn’s party hat horns.

I tried this new thing this year called “Not Nagging People,” so once I sent out the Facebook invitation, I posted ONE message closer to the date just to remind people that I needed a head count, and then left it at that at. Of course, there were people who ended up not seeing the invitation at all until after the fact when I began posting pictures from the dinner on Facebook so now I just feel sad that I wasn’t more of an RSVP Hitler like I typically am. I just can’t win.

That was fun you guys. Thanks to everyone who came out and ate birthday foods with me! Because at the end of the day, this really was just an elaborate excuse to hang out with my peeps!

I was so thankful to get the fuck out of our classy Super 8 hotel room Sunday morning.

It wasn’t the WORST hotel I’ve stayed in, considering I’ve stayed in MOTELS too—the PAY BY THE HOUR KIND, can you even imagine—but the beds were rock hard and Henry snored all fucking night. Get fucked in the nostril, Henry. Really.

I had to pee so bad by the time we reached the part of Cleveland where we were scheduled to brunch it up, so Henry stopped at one of their local supermarkets, a Heinen, and I have never in my life felt underdressed in a grocery store, holy fuck. It was in Rocky River, which evidently is pretty uppity in and of itself, so there I am, in leggings and a bright pink Cure t-shirt, walking like a frantic pigeon in search of the bathroom. But my nagging bladder proved to be very fortuitous because this grocery store had MOTHERFUCKING CHERIMOYA, WHAT’S UP?! And also fresh figs! And a kind of apple I’ve never devoured before!

So I’m sure Heinen didn’t care that some ragamuffin family utilized their facilities once we spent $20 on designer fruit. After which came brunch at Market, which had valet parking. We were thankful that we had a nice, clean rental car to hand over and not our disgusting, squeaky, stinky, garbage-strewn (from HENRY AND CHOOCH, THEY ARE SLOBS) Ford Focus.

Anyway, brunch was phenomenal. I had an omelette with shrimp and lobster cream cheese that was so fucking amazing and not stewing in a pool of its own grease, so I didn’t even feel like a bloated pig for the rest of the day! And I got to talk about music, Warped Tour, Jonny Craig, and more music the entire time and no one stopped me because it was my motherfucking birthday weekend, get on board or die.

The waffles have chives and corn in them. I thought it would have to be disgusting (I can’t wrap my head around savory waffles; I know they exist, but I’m going to order mine with strawberries, blueberries, cinnamon, honey, ice cream, whipped cream and angel dust every single time, thanks) but Henry gave me a bite of his and I wanted to cry, it was that good. And Chooch got blueberry pancakes. Let me tell you a story about Chooch: he’s a kid, and 99% of kids have horrible appetites. But he ate all of his pancakes! Ate them like they were going out of style. Clearly, valet parking is key.

The main reason I wanted to go to Cleveland was so we could visit the Museum of Divine Statues, which is only open on Sundays and the last 3 times we have visited Cleveland have been on Saturdays. I tried to go twice earlier this year, but Henry conveniently made up reasons why we couldn’t go, because even more than Henry hates making me happy, Henry hates religious roadside attractions.

From the website:

The Museum of Divine Statues opened April 10, 2011 in the former home of St. Hedwig’s Church. It is the vision of restoration artist, Lou McClung, who was passionate about creating a reflective and reverential space where ecclesiastical statues could be displayed.

His mission to rescue and restore religious statues, many of which come from parishes recently decommissioned by the Cleveland Catholic Diocese, will help preserve the history of those churches, as well as traditional Catholic art.

This is a thing for me! And finally, after two years, I got to leave my blasphemous mark on the wall.

I was concerned about Chooch though. I didn’t want him acting like, well, himself. It’s hard taking children to things of this nature because if they’re bored, they’re going to let everyone know it. Luckily, he had my old iPhone with him so when the lady in the gift shop told us photography is allowed, I encouraged him to take pictures to post to Instagram later. This appealed to him. Other things that appealed to him were St. Lucy’s eyeballs on a plate, a skull next to St. Francis, and the museum’s mascot: an elderly dog named Daisy.

I love, love, love St. Francis and have visited Assisi, Italy numerous times. But I’m used to seeing him with animals around him, or in the middle of a birdbath, not with a skull at his feet, so it was nice to see a darker representation of him.

The restoration artist was there, hovering around non-intrusively, and he eagerly answered all of my questions without making me feel like a moronic heathen, which really added to the experience.

  I learned that real glass eyeballs were used in a lot of the creepier statues, and the really old ones were made with plaster mixed with horse hair to give them better strength. He was super cool with Chooch and didn’t treat him like a wrecking ball, but rather bonded with him over the dog.

Some Celine Dion song came on at one point, and I was just like, “My god, where the hell am I?” The whole experience was pretty surreal.

He even had a small collection of relics!

We let Chooch light a candle (he actually tried to light 96,987 candles) and then he knelt down to say a prayer, which was pretty much the sweetest thing ever. He made me go away for that though.

(If his prayer had anything to do with Minecraft….)

Chooch was actually pretty into it! I was really surprised. All of the statues had laminated pages of info next to them, and Chooch even flipped through some of them. He spent a little bit of time trying to find a Mary statue that looked like the one we saw the night before, so hey—at least he was able to make some sort of a game out of it.

Can you imagine, most of the statues were going to be thrown out until Lou started collecting and restoring them. Thank you, Lou!

We were there for about an hour. On our way out, the lady in the gift shop called out, “Your little boy was so well-behaved!” It’s these little victories that keep me from packing a bag and running away in the middle of the night, so thank you for not being an asshole in the religious statue place, Chooch.

I felt so peaceful by the time we left! Divine statues FTW!

Next, we went to Big Fun, which is my favorite toy store ever and I’ve bought a lot of shit there for Chooch. But this was his first time.

He was pretty much in heaven.

And I actually bought myself stuff this time! A Goonies coffee cup and a $6 Mystical Garden which is sitting on my desk in full synthetic bloom.

I’m easily pleased.

Next, we went to Flower Child, which is a treasure trove of Brady Bunch furniture, creepy art and tacky dresses. I fucking love that place so much! Henry said NO to everything I wanted because he’s a dickhead. (And probably because it reminds him too much of his childhood since he’s so old.)

Flower Child taught Chooch about Playboy, which he proceeded to talk about for the rest of the day, but only when there were enough people near us to hear. “HEY MOMMY, REMEMBER ALL OF THOSE PLAYBOYS!!

??!?!”

Playboy Face.

Seriously, they were everywhere and Chooch was always the first to spot them.

I wish I was having breakfast there right now. :(

“WTF is this?”

BURNT ORANGE EVERYWHERE!

Yes, another place we managed to make it out of without Chooch breaking anything! Although I probably should have checked the waistband of his shorts to make sure there was no rolled-up Playboy wedged in there.