It’s tradition for us to go to Kennywood on Father’s Day. I can’t remember how it started. I think Henry randomly heard someone say that it’s one of the least crowded days of the years (all those deadbeat dads don’t wanna leave their couch and beer cases, I guess?) so we went when Chooch was a baby and it was pretty awesome. But for an amusement park like Kennywood, even the supposed “least crowded day” is going to have some lines in which  to wait and count prison tattoos.

Unless you go during a rainstorm!

But we almost didn’t go. It was raining so terribly hard when we woke up on Sunday morning that I almost made the decision to not go (because it is ALWAYS my decision). But deep down, I had a really good feeling that it would turn out to be OK. One of the best Kennywood experiences of my life was back in the late 90s when my friend Lisa and I went on a day that called for thunderstorms — everyone thought we were nuts, but we sure showed THEM. (I think?)

It stopped raining for about two hours before we got to the park, so we were all smug on our drive out there. Of course, rain began to drop in torrents right when Chooch got off the first ride of the day….

 …which was promptly shut down as soon as the ride ended.

I wasn’t about to let the rain get us down, so I led Henry and Chooch toward rides that are under cover, like the Musik Express and the Exterminator, which is kind of like an indoor Crazy Mouse but a million times better and usually has a long wait time.

But once we walked inside the building that houses the Exterminator, we discovered that there were only about 10 people in line in front of us. Smugness reactivated! I have NEVER been able to get on the Exterminator that fast before ever! The downside is that it eliminated the opportunity to get the inherent need for humanity mocking out of my system. But another upside was that we didn’t have to stand in an endless queue under a roof amid sweating Yinzers for an hour – like being in Hell with a lid on and having to endure the otherworldly stench of rotten underpits and nicotine breath.

Speaking of nicotine, the rain took a long enough smoke break to enable Chooch and I to ride the Jack Rabbit — another 0 minute wait in line — but then it started up right after Laura arrived so we took shelter in the arcade, which was coincidentally the first time in my 33 years of visiting Kennywood to ever give a shit about the arcade.

It was still pouring — the kind of rainstorm that comes down so hard it actually hurts — so we figured that would be a good time to eat….under a roof.

“I just spent $30 on food and all I got was a lousy soft pretzel and my dirty kid’s germ-fingered leftovers. And also, this sick Tom Selleck ‘stache. So…priceless, I guess.”

Chooch kept going on and on about wanting to on “God’s Boat Ride,” which was what he was calling Noah’s Ark all day long, without a single pelvic thrust of irony given. It was still raining kookas and albinos by  the time we finished our lunch that rivaled the price of park admission, so for once I was on Team Chooch and agreed that we should run for our lives to the nearest Noah’s Ark post haste. We were halfway there when I finally bothered to notice that Henry wasn’t with us.

“He was still eating,” Laura said in a sad tone, like she couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t notice something so significant as my life partner mid-lunch. But clearly the rain was affecting her tone, because duh — of course I wouldn’t care to notice something like that. Hahahaha. Hahaha. Hahahahah, oh god.

(I have residual Kennywood giddiness and it is ALL I CAN DO NOT TO WRITE THIS ENTIRE THING IN CAPSLOCK OK OMG.)

Noah’s Ark ended up being one of the only rides we stood in line for all day long, I guess because it was still raining at that point and Noah’s Ark screams SHELTER to all of us wet fucks at Kennywood. God, I’m so good at sleuthing.

My favorite part of Noah’s Ark was when they completely changed it from its original glory and made it into one of the crappiest, pointless rides in the park. J/K. My actual favorite part was when I hid behind a corner and scared the hemorrhoided SHIT out of Henry, he was looking in  the opposite direction at the time, making him even more startled, which he will deny but I saw the way his eyes bulged out behind his dumb black-rimmed glasses. That motherfucker be scared.

The best part of Noah’s Ark is the bouncing floor that makes everyone involuntarily twerk, two-by-two. Suck on that, Noah.

Even Henry’s hemorrhoids be twerkin’.

Too bad Chooch isn’t still in CATHOLIC SCHOOL. Maybe they’d let him wear street clothes for a day if he told them he twerked on down in God’s Boat Ride. Until they wiki’d “twerk” and find 40 ways to connect it to the Devil.

There was an old man in our group who only had a stump for a right hand and I prayed a little right there in God’s Floating Church that Chooch wouldn’t notice.

(He thankfully did not notice.)

(I really wish that guy would have been creative with his stump. If you’re not going to strap a bayonette on it, at least draw it a fucking Sharpie face, for Christ’s sake.)

(Christ’s face?)

And then I got REALLY giddy, you guys. We decided to go on the Racer….

OK, I know this going to be really hard to understand, but the Racer is a RACING rollercoaster with TWO TRAINS that RACE EACH OTHER OMG.

Chooch and I ran to the backseat of the red one, and Laura, fearing the outcome of being our opponent, opted to sit in the same train as us. She’s smart.

Henry, however, chose to sit ALONE in the blue train, which made Chooch and me die with evil laughter. You would have thought this was the funniest thing ever, the motherfucking Kings of Comedy tour on the goddamn Racer at Kennywood, with the extent of our Level 10 belly laughs. Everyone around us had undulating “STFU” thought bubbles above their rain-frizzed heads. Henry kept turning around to glare at us.

Then one of the guys working the ride made the mistake of getting on his microphone thingie to ask everyone if they were having fun, and of course Chooch and I were the only motherfuckers who responded obnoxiously.

RIDING ALONE AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Oh shit, we heckled the motherfuck out of Henry the entire way up the inaugural hill. It was the FUNNIEST THING IN THE WORLD to Chooch and me, you guys. HENRY! RIDING ALONE! ON FATHER’S DAY!

DON’T STAND UP, MOTHERFUCKERS.

From the very first hill and on, I proceeded to fake-scream as obnoxiously and blood-curdling as possible.

“My God! You sound like you’re being murdered!” Laura shouted over her shoulder, which of course made me channel my inner Janet Leigh/Jamie Lee Curtis Scream Queen until even the people on the other train were looking around for the source of the nails on chalkboard. Most notably was the older man in the backseat of the blue train. He was riding with his young granddaughter and straight up SCOWLED AT ME when our train whizzed by at the very end, bringing us to sweet, sexy victory.

“YEAH! WE WON! YOU’RE ALL LOSERS!!!” Chooch shouted across me at the assholes on the blue train. We continued our asshole parade all the way off the ride until we met up with Henry near the exit for his side.

“WE EVEN BEAT YOU OFF OF THE RIDE!!!” I screamed, laughing so hard I had to squat to keep from peeing. (This is my signature move. I perform it at work at least thrice weekly. However, I’ve already met my quota today alone.)

Loser Train.

Henry acting like he doesn’t care that he lost, because with family like me and Chooch, he’s clearly a winner.

Walking backward to mock Henry some more.

Then I came across the old man who was scowling at me and realized it was the librarian from my high school and I totally fucking lost it. Oh my god, I was laughing so hard that my breath was caught in my throat. I was such a pain in that man’s ass when I was a teenager, so it was only fitting that I put a aural blemish on three minutes of his Father’s Day all these years later.

Then we rode the Jack Rabbit, another wooden coaster, on which I proceeded to scream like an elderly lady from the 1920’s getting a sexual tickle from a feather.

Henry, as much as it must have pained him, actually cracked a smile during that one, though, if you can try to imagine.

So today is Henry’s birthday! He is 48, which is waaaaay older than me, lest ye forget.  I went the super-personal route and sent him a present via Facebook, which was supposed to be private but instead posted openly for all of his friends to see and the message I included was mildly suggestive about how I still have another present for him IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN so now everyone knows that I bring him fresh corpses to eat.

I mean, now everyone knows that we have sex. 

Anyway! I got him a molecular gastronomy kit, which is sure to collect dust in the kitchen with the unopened cheese-making kit I got him for Christmas. Facebook alerted me the minute he “opened” his present and when he didn’t rejoice immediately, I texted him a sarcastic “You’re welcome.

He responded an hour later with, “Thank you….but what is it?”

DEEP HEAVY SIGHS IN PITTSBURGH.

So I had to explain to him that now he can make the brine of feta cheese into foam dollops, or whip beets into jellied cubes, maybe morph sardines into candied cupcake toppers, perhaps turn castor oil into chocolate, or—I don’t know, what would motherfucking Willy Wonka do!? Jesus Christ, Henry, the item description says that the possibilities are endless if you use the imagination that I know you apparently once had because how else were you able to get into bed with any of your ex-lovers without vomiting into their hairy chest-butts.

The best presents to give are ones that you yourself benefit from. This is why I tend to gift people with frosted humps of birthday joy, because 99%* of people are definitely going to twist my arm into partaking along with them.
I’m really looking forward to getting violently ill from the test tube cheese he concocts in the kitchen.

*(The other 1% are stingy assholes like me who don’t believe in sharing their treats.)

Meanwhile, everyone is leaving him birthday wishes that includes some version of hoping me and Chooch leave him alone. I mean, shit you guys. How insulting! Warranted, but insulting.

I don’t know. You guys are right. Maybe I will just let him sleep tonight instead.

Sike!

Just wait until his 50th. I’m going to make sure this is reenacted, but with a real transvestite:

OMG I was 16, likely “loafing” at the mall (A/K/A stalking Scott Dambaugh) while Henry was getting juicy scabies smeared on his jeans. So sleazy. (I wonder if one of those books on the mantel is his SERVICE YEARBOOK OMG!?)

Maybe I should end this while I’m ahead.

“And her boob was THISBIG.”

Pet doom & gloom aside, I still have to write about Memorial Day, which didn’t feel like Memorial Day because it was only in the 50s and there was no cooking out. There was, however, the shitty parade that limps past our house every Memorial Day, so that was the only real tell-tale sign that there were soldier-things to be recognizing and appreciating.

So we did that, but not without making fun of the terrible small-child dance troupes doing crippled cartwheels in front of our yard. I really don’t know why they bother.

The Shriners are the only good part of the parade because they drive stupid miniature trucks and tricycle-like things. I’m down with that. Even though I have no idea what the fuck the Shriners do aside from wear* dumb hats.

*(Totally spelled that as “where.” Proof that I’ve been spending too much time with Henry.)

Then we got to see some of the Catholic School Cunt-Moms oozing down the road cuntastically with their stupid Girl Scout daughters. God, I hate those bitches. See? That was me talking to God. I don’t have to send my kid to a stupid Catholic school to share a God with those Bible sluts. In fact, I think I might start believing in God just so they DO have to share him with an asshole like me.

Chooch saw a bunch of girls he knows from school and also ate a bunch of candy that was chucked at him by people who have no real purpose being in a parade, so he was already pretty hyper. But then this happened:

So, Courtney is in 8th grade at Chooch’s school and she apparently helps out is his classroom. His teacher was telling me about how Courtney and the other helper are always so excited to come in and see what Chooch is wearing that day, and they like the same bands he does so now he is SUPERINTERESTEDOMG in going to Warped Tour. The other girl even made Chooch’s teacher tell Henry to have Chooch wear his Pierce the Veil shirt on Twin Day so that he could be her twin.

It’s pretty ridiculous, but it gets even more ridiculous.

Last week, Henry was picking Chooch up from school and overheard him telling Courtney to call him. She of course laughed and said no, but Henry was like, “WTF, why are you telling her to call you!?” and that is how he found out that Chooch gave her Henry’s cell phone number. I think it would have been even better if she actually called Henry. As my friend Rob said, “It’s all fun and games until Henry goes to jail.”

Anyway, Courtney was in the parade for whatever reason. It’s apparently not very hard to earn a spot in a parade as pathetic as this one. So when she was walking past, she happened to casually glance over at our house and did a double take when she saw Henry. (She wouldn’t recognize me because I very rarely am able to get Chooch from school because of work.) Once she saw Henry, she started craning her head all around until she spotted Chooch. She pointed at him and yelled his name, causing him to turn beet red and fall to the ground.

Ah, young love. Chooch likes ’em old, just like I do I guess.

Later, we went to Sheetz and got food for a Memorial Day picnic in some park where Henry started preaching about how you can drink your own pee if you really needed to so that became our new Mocking Henry subject matter.

We don’t even let the man swing in peace.

This was right after he pointed out some nature thing, which made Chooch and me double over in laughter.  Henry tried to make some sort of threat about how sorry we’ll be when he doesn’t warn us that Big Foot is running out of the forest toward us.

Then Chooch and I raced Henry to the bathroom but he cheated and I was REALLY MAD about it. What a douchebag!

On the way home, I made Henry stop at a roadside produce stand that we had just bought fruit from the day before, because I really wanted a Gerber daisy. And you better believe that bitch bought me one, too. But then Chooch started whining about wanting one too because god forbid I have something that he doesn’t, so Henry bought him one too, which he immediately dumped over in the backseat of the car and I laughed, which he did not appreciate.

So yeah, it was a good Memorial Day Weekend, even though I had Marcy’s upcoming vet appointment on my mind.

*********

The next night, Chooch was doing his homework, which included this:

This totally set Henry off.

“Too bad you didn’t pay attention to me when we went for a walk yesterday. Now what are you going to write? ‘I went for a walk and made fun of my dad’?”

No, he made shit up. Because he’s my kid.

Mother’s Day used to suck for me (mostly because nothing is ever good enough and I will find a reason to be an entitled asshole) until last year when I learned that DelGrosso’s Amusement Park in Tipton, PA has FREE ADMISSION for mothers on Mother’s Day and you don’t even have to provide DNA samples.

Granted, it’s a two-hour drive and a ride-all-day pass is only like $12 normally, but it’s the principle of the fact that I am being rewarded for those nine suicidal months where a fetal Chooch abused me internally and ballooned my stomach out to the point where people thought I was having twins.

Of all the horrors of pregnancy, THAT is the one thing that sticks with me. Vanity wins.

Plus, I was hoping that maybe the Douchebag Doppelganger would be back. You never know – maybe it’s Mother’s Day tradition for his potato sack wife. (“You have problems,” Lee said when I giddily mentioned this possibility to him at work.)

Henry invited his mom Judy to join us, which initially I thought was super sweet until I realized his motive was to hope her presence tamed me. I always try to curb my obnoxious streak when she’s around because I’m afraid she will yell at me. She has never yelled at me before, but there’s always a first time for everything and I don’t know if she keeps a wooden spoon in her purse or not.

I mean, even CHOOCH checks himself around her.

After two hours of me progressively turning up the radio over Judy talking about people I don’t know while admiring the countryside and pondering how people could live out there (“Do they have electricity?” she wondered as we passed a house that had a DirectTV satellite, a swimming pool, at least 4 quads and an SUV in the driveway. “They’re not AMISH,” I answered.), we finally made it to DelGrosso’s.

And it was COLD. Only around 50 degrees, I think.

Since I’m a mom, I didn’t have to get the ride-all-day wristband. But Chooch did, and now he’s winning our weird wristband competition. We keep our fair/amusement park/special event wristbands on until they fall off on their own, which drives Henry absolutely nuts. I wore my Jonny Craig concert wristband for over a month before it finally disintegrated on my arm. My co-worker Pam noticed it one day and thought I had been in the hospital. When I explained it to her, she shook her head and said, “I’d make you take a nap and then cut that off in your sleep!”

We both still have our Knoebels wristbands on (they’re plastic, so these bitches ain’t budging, much to Henry’s chagrin — he takes his wristbands off before we even get to the car), but now Chooch has a DelGrosso’s wristband on his other wrist and I hate it.

Anyway, wristband woes aside, it was a great day to ride shit! It wasn’t crowded at all, not that I have ever seen DelGrosso’s especially packed, so Chooch and I of course ran right onto the Wacky Worm. We asked Judy if she wanted to ride it too since it’s so mild, and she just laughed and said, “Yeah, no.”

Which is weird, because minutes later, Chooch and I were standing in line for the Crazy Mouse (the only ride there that ever really has a line because it’s the motherfucking Crazy Mouse), when Judy sidled on up behind us. I thought she just wanted to chat since Henry had wandered off on his first of 870 bathroom pilgrimages.

“I’m going to ride this,” she said all nonchalantly, causing Chooch and I to laugh. Good one, Judy! “No really, I was watching it from over there and it doesn’t look so bad,” she continued.

Meanwhile, Henry had returned from counting his hemorrhoids and was all, “What is the meaning of this?” At least, that’s what I assume his facial expression meant, but it could have been gas.

“She’s riding this with us,” I said in a “duh” tone with a shrug. So a 70+ year old lady is going to ride the Crazy Mouse, there’s nothing to see here. Go sit down, Henry.

The kids running the ride were stoked that Judy was riding and took extra care with getting her strapped in, which is good because I was like, “I don’t know. Maybe put your seatbelt on?” I’m not the best when it comes to being helpful. And absolutely no one is surprised.

“This is what you do for your grandkids,” Judy said as our car ascended the inaugural hill. Quick, someone tell my mom that!

Immediately after, Judy went on the merry-go-round with Chooch.

A little while later, after we had eaten (Chooch’s least favorite part because god forbid he has to sit down at a table, and I can relate to that but I have officially reached that age where eating is imperative to help temper some of the impending motion sickness that I am inevitably going to face), Judy said, “I want to ride those airplanes.”

We couldn’t imagine what she was talking about. I thought maybe she had seen some ride in Kiddie Land that she wanted to try, but then as we continued to walk, she pointed and said, “There! The airplanes!”

It wasn’t “airplanes,” it was the fucking Yo-Yo.

Let me tell you something about the Yo-Yo: these aren’t your ordinary amusement park swings. These sons of bitches are SCARY. County fairs usually have the Yo-Yo in their arsenal of death traps. I always feel incredibly unsafe and especially white-knuckled on the Yo-Yo.

But Judy wanted to ride it so I obediently followed suit.

There is this one point during the ride where it waits to pick up a good, semi-whiplash speed before this sickening “whoosh” is sounded and all of the bucket seats TILT BACK to the point where I always feel like I’m going to slide out backward. And I don’t know if it was because it was so windy that day, but we were all literally banging and crashing into each other.

I prayed for the most painless death possible. Please god, fling me into that tree and not one of the 785912 metal spikes around the Yo Yo’s perimeter that are suddenly so apparent to me that I know I AM GOING TO PERISH.

But Judy loved it! Look at her go! I hope I’m as cool as she is when/if I’m a grandma (and I better be a grandma someday because I already have tomes upon mental tomes of incriminating Chooch tales to share with his future spawn).

“I rode the Yo Yo better than you!” is what I imagine Chooch is saying in this photo because he makes everything a competition. He must get that from Henry.

I thought about asking Judy some questions about her day at DelGrosso’s, but if she’s anything like her son, I’m sure it would have been a bunch of monosyllabic answers. I’ll have to get some wine in her.

Party Chick, officially.

Since we took Chooch to Knoebels on the other side of the state for his birthday, we toned down the actual party this time around and just had it at Games n’At, a retro alternative to Chuck E. Cheese with tons of Pittsburgh-flavor. It was a big hit with the kids, and awesome for Henry and me because literally all we had to do was drop off party hats, plates, etc the day before and they had everything set up for us. NO DECORATING! And each kid got to choose from a list of snack bar options, so NO PROVIDING OUR OWN FOOD!

Holy shit, it was a parental dream come true. With everything we’ve been doing lately, planning a party just wasn’t something that either of us had the energy for. And Chooch still had fun,which is all that matters.

“You’re only picking Ugli Doll stuff because you like it,” Henry accused me the day before at Party City. Well…I didn’t see any Minecraft stuff there! And Chooch likes Ugli Dolls too, God!

I secretly had Kaitlin make Chooch a “creeper” cake. It is my reluctant understanding that creepers are some sort of Minecraft villain and Chooch really likes them. When I met Kaitlin in an empty strip mall parking lot 9AM that morning, like some creepy—but delicious—drug deal, I was floored when she removed the top of the cake box to reveal this edible work of pixelated art. I mean, if it had been left up to me, I’d have just slathered green frosting on a rectangle and then finger-painted the face with black stuff.

Maybe the black stuff would be non-toxic. Maybe not.

But when you’re the presiding Queen of Zia’s Desserts, you go above and beyond and make that fondant pixels because THAT is what a true Minecraft player wants to eat.  When Chooch saw it, he gasped, “Kaitlin knows what creepers are!?!?”

When we first got to the arcade, I plopped my ass down on a couch across from some dad and watched the Penguins game for as long as I could until guests started to arrive. Fuck! I’m sorry, I know I’m the birthday boy’s mom, but theses are some important times in the NHL, OK? Step off

So then I tried to be actively involved for awhile. I even spoke with a parent! And heckled Janna mercilessly!

We all wanted something magical to be inside that armoire. But it was just a folded-up table. No Narnia.

But then something glorious happened: While I was in the party room talking to one of the parents (I did OK at that, you guys!), one of the arcade workers who looked uncannily like the dude from Ridiculousness approached me with a concerned expression and asked, “Do you want me to put the game on this TV here?” and then pointed to a TV in the corner that I hadn’t even noticed.

UM FUCK YES.

But then he couldn’t get it to turn on and kept leaving and returning with tools and various wires until finally he figured out that it wasn’t plugged in.

“Oh you have to pay for this,” Janna said, pulling her finger out of the Kiss-O-Meter and walking away.

You know who is really smart? Laura. She brought a present for me because she KNOWS. I was so excited and wanted to wear it right away but for some stupid reason, no one brought a switchblade to the Kid’s Birthday Party, so I couldn’t unleash it from the backing.

Ridiculousness serving up the food.

Chooch was so goddamn sweaty. No one else was. Just Chooch. God only knows.

Of course the kids were relatively uninterested in eating and decided to have an impromptu dance party instead. That might be because I said, “Hey you guys should have a dance party” and the Chooch’s cousin Zac started doing some frantic Gangnam Style seizure thing on the floor, which was a cattle call for the rest of the kids to get up and LOSE THEIR SHIT.

But hey. It’s not my house. Spaz it up, small people.

Blurry or not, you get the idea.

After the raucous cacophony of birthday serenading, Chooch started opening his presents. He was halfway through when he turned around and stopped mid-sentence.

“Where the heck did everyone go?” he cried when he realized he had been performing his gift-unwrapping in front of a roomful of adults.

“Dude, the kids went back out to the arcade a looooong time ago,” I said. Everyone cracked up but he just shrugged and went back to collecting his loot.

Meanwhile, I had made friends with the mom of one of the girls. But one thing to know about me is that I shit the bed when it comes to introductions. (Unless you’re in a band. Then I miraculously will remember your name right away.) So my memory proceeded to fuck her name into oblivion and I spent the rest of the party paralyzed every time someone came over that I wanted to introduce her to because I didn’t want to say, “Hey Laura, this is Astaria’s mom” because fuck if someone refers to ME as “Chooch’s mom.”

(Actually, this happens a lot and I’m OK with it. I think it happened 3x at Crafts from the Crypt in March. “Oh, you’re Chooch’s mom!” Castle Blood denizens would exclaim. Because everyone knows Chooch.)

So at one point, we were all sitting around a large table watching Game 3 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, which had  gone into over time, and I was struggling to replay the scene when we introduced ourselves, but all I could hear was pinball machines and this one Pierce the Veil song that has been in my head for 5 years. So, I covertly texted Janna and ordered her to ask the mom what her name is.

Janna did my dirty work, and I saved the text so I will never forget, you guys.

I win at friend-making.

Chooch’s girlfriend of the week made him a card that stressed in no uncertain terms how awesome and cool he is.

Laura, arcade seductress.

I would probably look like that too if I had to work kids parties every weekend.

This is not true. You’re only a winner if you win. I hope all the kids there knew that.

Blake showed up right before the party ended and asked Henry for an envelope. Henry didn’t have an envelope, so I suggested that he just MAKE one, because isn’t that the kind of bullshit nonsense they learn to do in THE SERVICE?

(Or at the very least by watching “She’s Crafty.”)

I took pictures with my real camera but we have a new computer and the version of Photoshop I’m used to doesn’t work on it anymore and I’m too bull-headed to let Henry show me how to use something new so all of my pictures are just festering in a folder, unedited.

I know there comes a time when the big extravaganzas need to come to an end, and Chooch still had a blast even though this party was waaaaay scaled down, but I can’t help but feel the itch to have one more big party next year. Maybe in the park again, and CREEPY CARNIVAL-THEMED. I could use my papier mache clown head again! Chooch seems down with this idea.

Which is good, because I already started planning it.

I gave Chooch some of his presents before school, one of which was a Creeper shirt (some character from that Minecraft game he games, I guess).

“Do you know why they’re called Creepers?” he asked me as we walked to school.

“….because they creep?” I wagered.

“Dammit,” he whispered, dismayed that I was right.

His teacher calls him Swaggy because he has so much swag.

She’s pretty cool for a 1st grade teacher, obvi.

Henry’s mom and Janna came over in the evening and we had cake when I came home from work, which was awesome but hello—THERE WAS A HOCKEY GAME ON. Chooch tried to change it at one point and I swiped the remote back.

“I don’t care if it’s your birthday! You don’t ever turn off the hockey game!” I yelled.

Henry’s mom looked scared, but come on guys. It’s me. And it’s hockey.

Just, no.

Henry bought Chooch a shit-ton of scratch offs. “Grandma-in-training,” Andrea texted me after seeing this picture of his loot. “He just needs some Pall Malls and a Bingo dauber!”

Which is funny because one of his lottery tickets was some Bingo thing which Janna scrutinzed for 20 minutes to see if he won anything, and then Henry double-checked for another 20 minutes. Janna was apparently way off.

And then Chooch turned intoa cranky son of a bitch because it was late and he all of my drama genes.

Tomorrow, we’re taking Chooch and my incision to Knoebel’s, where we will be meeting up with the Darkride and Funhouse Enthusiasts Group and having cake in celebration of the Haunted Mansion’s 40th birthday.(Some of my co-workers have been giving me weird looks when I tell them about this which I have been translating into: JELIS.) AND THEN RIDING RIDES ALL THE LIVELONG DAY.

I’m so excited! So is Chooch! Henry is not!

 (Yes, I got my way!)

———–

I just wanted to thank everyone who reached out yesterday and wished Chooch a happy birthday. I was kind of bummed at one point when I realized that my mother has missed all but THREE of his birthdays (I mean, if she didn’t care that he was born, she sure as shit isn’t going to care that he turned 7) but we’re lucky to have  Henry’s family, my extended family and also a ton of really kind friends who stepped up and reminded me that he is loved. I’m not going to let one rotten apple spoil the day.

 So, thank you all very much!

Today is Chooch’s (and my phantom C-section incision pain’s) 7th birthday and I can hardly believe it. SEVEN! I hope that things continue to go up, because six was a not-so-bad age (as opposed to every single year that came before it). His little bitch ass temper tantrums have all but died out (probably because he’s moved on to more sophisticated ways to make us miserable) and his interests have certainly broadened. Six was the age he could finally start riding some of the bigger rides at amusement parks (obviously a very big deal for me and me alone), he went to his first wedding and his first concert (Pierce the Veil, whaddup!) and also started to really get The Walking Dead — before he was only interested in the zombie parts, but now we have these long, meaningful conversations about the characters and what we think will happen, and it’s really awesome because it’s something we do without Henry so then we get to say things like, “Ha-ha, Henry doesn’t know what we’re talking about because he sucks and doesn’t watch The Walking Dead. He probably wouldn’t understand it anyway.” And then Henry frowns.

Six was the year of “Call Me Maybe” dance parties and crossbows. Of starting a new school with normal people where he flourishes and is able to be himself with no judgment from all the prudent Catholic moms. Of making secret friends and going to haunted houses.

Six was a sweet age and I’m really looking forward to see what entertainment seven will bring!

And now here is a gratuitous photo montage of Chooch as a 6-year-old for you to enjoy while I go lay in bed and cry because if he is seven then that means I am OLD OMG CRISIS.

(This was technically a week before his 6th birthday, sue me.)

Zombie party!

Photobombing Andrea’s photoshoot.

At Conneaut.

Annoyed with me.

Oh Jesus Christ, our first attempt at a photoshoot without Henry there to supervise. Disastrous.

Pissed off at me at Lakemont Park.

First day of 1st grade!

Another disastrous photoshoot.

Everyone and their creepy dentist says that Chooch LOOKS JUST LIKE HENRY OMG and that’s fine, I’ve come to terms with that because Chooch has brought home 100%s on every single spelling test he’s had this year and he sure as shit doesn’t get THAT from Henry. That’s a tradeoff I’ll take, thanks.

One of the biggest things I’ve learned since becoming a parent is to just let the kid be himself. I’m sure there are people frowning down on me for letting him watch horror movies and speak freely (to this day he still NEVER swears in school and in public, or around his grandma, but we let him get away with it at home because after all, they’re just words & it’s not like it’s a Tarentino screenplay up in here), but I think it’s important to not have a super tight grasp on him. He is his own person and I’m proud of that. He might be a little smart ass, but he has a big heart. For example, when Henry took him to get cookies to take to school for his birthday, he got chocolate chip but then made sure to get butterfly ones for the girls. HE IS SUCH A LADIES MAN.

Happy birthday, Chooch! Here’s to another year full of photoshoots that increase your resentment for me! And also hopefully your first WARPED TOUR HOLY FUCK GET STOKED!

“Who is Jesus Christ, anyway?” Chooch asked me one day last week.

“Um, he’s Jesus,” I said, totally astonished at the stupid question.

“Well, I didn’t know that was his last name!” Chooch cried defensively. So I guess the whole time I had been planning my Pizza Party for Jesus Christ, Chooch thought a real life person named Jesus Christ was coming over to eat pizza with us.

Let me start at the beginning.

Holidays give me anxiety because I don’t want to be alone. I spent most holidays in my 20s alone and even though I have Henry and Chooch now, I need those days to still feel like a holiday, like a celebration. Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and Christmas are fine because we have things to do, but Easter is different. Easter is the holiday my family gave up on after my Pappap died. I think over the years, my mom might have had two or three Easter dinners, but it will always be That First Holiday After Pappap Died. The awkward holiday that no one knows what do with because it’s so soon after The Death and no one really wants to go through the motions.

Last year, Henry, Chooch and I ate at a Chinese restaurant. I couldn’t do that again. I needed to have company over, I needed a reason to decorate and have fun. So I invited some friends over who don’t have family here in Pittsburgh, plus Janna who was free after having Easter brunch with her parents. My brother Corey went with his girlfriend, and Henry’s sons also went with their girlfriends, because having pizza in the name of Jesus Christ wasn’t important enough for them, I guess. Pizza heathens.

Jesus doesn’t save pizza for heathens on the other side. Remember that, boys.

Everyone else I invited seemed stoked to have something to do on Easter, and that was all I hoped to achieve. Laura and Mike were on board, as well as my friends Natasha and Bill, whom I don’t get to see nearly enough! I used to work with Bill at one of my old jobs, so I was looking forward to hearing current tales about Eleanor and the job itself, which I still don’t really understand and I worked there for almost two years.

Two years of having no idea what I was doing — it’s a wonder I lasted as long as I did without getting fired, wtf.

(Don’t worry — I understand my current job, I promise.)

Chooch and I had a dance party while Henry cleaned the house.

Without consulting with Henry, I sent out a Facebook event.

“This is the day after the craft show!” Henry bitched. “When am I supposed to clean!?”

I tried to reason that he didn’t have to really go all out because it was, and I quote, “just a relaxing evening eating pizza in the name of Jesus Christ.”

Kind of like a “Welcome home!” and going away party in one.

“And furthermore, where am I going to get pizza on EASTER? There won’t be any pizza places open!” his rant continued.

“Um, maybe a Chinese pizza parlor?” I suggested smugly which only proved to anger him more.

While Henry ran off to the grocery store Easter afternoon, I did my part: setting out some religious candles and Jesus’s head. Happy Easter!

And Easter candy in bat bowls! I even walked to CVS all on my own (OK, with Chooch) to get the candy! Then I realized I forgot balloons (for Jesus) so Henry ended up having to go back out to the store anyway.

I blew up a bag of balloons and then let them float in disarray in our fake fireplace. So yes, clearly it was imperative for Henry to make that special trip to the store to get balloons. (And also crescent rolls and marshmallows for EMPTY TOMBS because what’s a pizza party for Jesus Christ without EMPTY TOMBS for dessert!?)

Michonne was one of the things in Chooch’s Easter basket because we are one of those asshole families that treat Easter like a springtime Christmas and I don’t really care if you judge me for giving the economy a boost. (Chooch and I both got new Pierce the Veil t-shirts from Hot Topic, too! THANK YOU EASTER BUNNY.)

During one of Henry’s trips to the store, he came back with some meat product you people call “pork tenderloin.”

OK. Here is a list of clues I collected during the day, proving that Henry actually enjoyed himself:

• He could have just bought pre-made frozen pizza and been done with it, but instead he came home with some kind of artisan pizza crusts and fancy ingredients.
• He took great pride in serving a variety of pizza, including: mozzarella/basil/tomato, shrimp pesto, chorizo, the aforementioned pork tenderloin, and some kind of fancy cheese thing. Who does that? A man who is having a fun time at a pizza party for Jesus Christ, that’s who.
• I caught him with a pizza hard-on a few times in the kitchen.
• He even stated for the record,”If I’m going to make pizza, it’s going to be good pizza.”

Great hair.

“What a shocker, I got a movie about a cat!”

Laura and Mike. Praying, obviously. (Look at that yellow balloon! I blew that up!)

Chooch and I were dressed like we had just tumbled out of a Crayola box.

Freaking Natasha magically turned away every time I tried to take her picture! God, she’s good.

I let Bill sit in my wheelchair because it was Easter and I felt like being a little nice to my guests.

This pizza’s for you J.C.! (And for once, that’s not a Jonny Craig reference.)

Henry cut all the pizza into awkward hors d’oeuvres shapes but then didn’t walk around serving them along with champagne flutes, which I found to be just plain rude. Henry sucks at hosting.

Right when Henry was finally about to sit down, I yelled, “WHAT ABOUT THE EMPTY TOMBS!?” so he sighed and retreated back to the kitchen.

“OMG so wait! The marshmallow was supposed to be Jesus, and then it melted so that’s what makes it an empty tomb!?” I shouted in my best A-ha! voice.

Chooch during one of his temper tantrums. Sometimes he gets SO MAD when he realizes that people mght actually come to our house to hang out with ME TOO. It’s not always just about him!

Chooch made us play Pictionary Junior which only led to tears. If he’d just accept the fact that I’m the best, maybe we could play games together in harmony someday.

And then we watched the Walking Dead season finale and cried together.

This was hands down the best Easter I had in a long time. Thanks to my friends who came over and spent the evening in our crazy house. Mad respect for pizza and you too, Jesus Christ!

———

The next day at work, Cheryl asked me, “How was your Easter? Do you guys do something weird for that, too?”

I love that my co-workers know me.

I wondered why Henry was being so weird about me buying tickets to the upcoming Jonny Craig show in March. Every time I’d say, “I’m buying those tickets tomorrow,” he would snap, “No!!” I thought it was because he was writing checks behind my back again and we actually had no money.

But then he forwarded me the email ticket confirmation because I guess he was afraid I was going to start putting myself up for auction on fetishist websites again in order to buy the tickets myself.

So I guess I’m supposed to consider this my Valentine’s Day present (“I bought the tickets and I’M GOING WITH YOU, TOO. That says a lot!” Henry fought for his cause), and that’s sweet and all, but we all know I was getting these tickets one way or another.

Therefore, he still has to do something for me for Valentine’s Day. Maybe I’ll have him clean out the car or chase down a Mexican fruit cart. We shall see.

(What the fuck is up with that sinister Johan up there, anyway?)

———-

In other V-day news, I passed out my serial killer cards (and some of Chooch’s zombie ones as a safe bet for the people I wasn’t sure about). They were mostly well-received! However, I gave an Albert Fish to one of my co-workers, even though I don’t know her very well. Later, she came over to my office and, with a horrified look on her face, said, “I wiki’d the guy on the card you gave me and that was the most disturbing Wikipedia page I’ve ever seen!” And then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “Thanks for the Valentine.” I think she liked it!

I was telling Barb about it later and she was all, “OMG you gave her one of those cards? She’s so sweet and innocent! Good job, Erin!”

You know me, making friends wherever I go!

(Speaking of the serial killer Valentines, they got a little shout out on the FEARnet website!)

OK, OK, this is the last one, I swear! I just couldn’t rest over the weekend until I had an even number of sheets and I had all these ideas and then realized, “Wait, do I seriously not have ANY Green River Killer cards?!” So I made one and that is how I justified needing to make 5 more different designs. When I’m on a kick, I can get pretty out of control. I mean, you should see the fruit in my kitchen.

So here is the final sheet of the Serial Killer Valentine series (although, I might potentially be making zombie versions).

(I’m sorry for the enthusiasm, but I’m just really excited and proud of these! I’ve wanted to make them for a long time now and I worked extra-hard on them.)

Richard Ramirez, Harry Powers, The Ken & Barbie Killers, Green River Killer, HH Holmes, David Berkowitz/Son of Sam.

Each one has their name printed on the back, so if you give one to someone and they don’t know who it is, they can ask Google. Sick AND educational, see!?

In case you missed the post about this last week (which can be found here), each sheet is $6 but there are different bundles you can get to save money. All the details are on Etsy: non compos cards. If you prefer to not go through Etsy, leave a comment or email me directly: noncomposcards@gmail.com

You won’t find anything like this anywhere else, I promise. Henry and I have been making these cards since 2007 and put a lot of love and effort into them. They’re not cheaply or sloppily made. Check my feedback on Etsy, you’ll see!

The sheets are sold in protective cellophane sleeves. I just shipped a bunch to Warriors 3 Comics in Michigan, so if you live near the Wayne/Detroit, go check ’em out!

(And by that I mean go buy some!)

UPDATE: these are now even better, check out this post!

****

For the last couple of years, I’ve really wanted to make sheets of mini-Valentines, like the kinds that kids pass out at school. Remember making those stupid cardboard mailboxes so our classmates could slip in Barbie and Hot Wheels Valentines, and then acting repulsed when you got one from the kid you had a crush on? That’s what I had in mind for my serial killer Valentines, and this year I finally made some. Three different sheets of 6, to be exact! Each sheet is perforated, so you just tear them apart and pass ’em out to whoever is on your hit list this year. I have several of my own people in mind.

I also thought these would be fun to pass out at the office, your AA meetings, church collection baskets. Leave them on the bus for the next person who sits in your seat to find! Stick them in those things called “books” before you return them to that weird place called “the library.”

The possibilities are endless! I just don’t endorse giving these to your kids to pass out at school. (Don’t they have an app for passing out Valentines now anyway?)

These are printed on high-quality paperstock in eye-popping ink. I couldn’t be happier with them!

Want a sheet of all Manson? Half Gein / half Borden? See one that you’d really like as a regular-sized card to send in the mail? These are easily customizable so holla at me with any requests. (That part will just become Henry’s burden anyway, so what do I care?)

This is honestly what I’ve been doing all week: staring at serial killer mugs and eating fruit. I might need a little rest.

DISCLAIMER: These are meant to be tongue-in-cheek. I do not think murder is cool, nor do I condone it. But what’s life without a little humor?

These were some of the best frowns of 2012. Here’s to many more in 2013!

Andrea suggested a calendar of frowns. Looks like we know what I’ll be working on this week!

Henry’s sister Kelly usually hosts Christmas Eve at her house, but we wanted to give her a break this year so we had everyone come to our crib for once. You guys know that I am embroiled in a hate-hate relationship with my house, but Henry really gave it a good cleaning and then I lit a bunch of candles.

Because candles make everything better.

Chooch picked out some Christmas M&Ms at Target and I poured them into a red bowl. Then I filled two other bowls with Chex Mix and some sort of spicy chips that no one but Chooch and I liked. I thought I did a fine job and made sure to point this out once everyone arrived.

Earlier that weekend, Chooch and I walked to the Mexican market to buy candy. I put some of that in a Mason jar. Something for everyone, you know?

There was a time when I was really super into having parties and had a spread so good, most people just wanted to stand around the food table all night.

I don’t know exactly what happened, but thank god for Henry, else our Christmas Eve crew would have gone terribly hungry. I had no idea he was making half the shit he made. Like ham. Did I even know Henry could make ham? Why would I know that? When’s the last time a vegetarian*  asked someone to cook them a motherfucking ham?

*(I eat fish now though, so I’m a poser.)

Henry also made mashed potatoes; some weird Lebanese dish with lamb and green beans, prompting an argument over whether or not I like green beans; peanut butter blossoms; shrimp-y deviled eggs; and an array of finger sandwiches which was actually my idea, I just didn’t feel like executing it.

I was really upset that I made room on one of the platters for Henry’s cocktail weiners and then he never put them out. The more wine I chugged, the more weiner-compassionate I became. “The weiners still haven’t been put out!” I would cry and Henry’s sister would laugh, because I get it — weiners are funny, but this was SERIOUS! There was this gaping void between the pepperoni and carrots that needed to be filled. IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

“I’ll get to it!” Henry kept saying, while ruining my pretty red serving platter by carving his fucking ham upon its face. Whatever.

So much cheese — I PUT THESE ON THE PLATTER! I also put out the goat cheese and I would have also put out the brie but I wasn’t sure how to open the package so Henry had to do that later. The cheese in the middle was some sort of whisky aged cheddar? Mike, Laura and Henry made fun of me because I couldn’t taste the whiskey, and then Henry asked, “Do you even know what whisky tastes like?”

I thought about it for a second and then realized that the fact that I had to even think about it probably meant that no, I don’t. If you gave me a flight of scotch, whiskey, brandy and bourbon and told me I could have STD-free sex with Jonny Craig if I correctly distinguished all four, I’d be scooting my radioactive kooka across the floor for some relief right about now.

That is to say: I would fail that taste-testing sesh.

At least I wasn’t eating the wax like Henry’s mom was!

In lieu of ingesting it, Mike made architectural masterpieces out of his cheese refuse.

Stephanie called my finger sandwiches “delightful.” Technically, I only made approximately four of them (but to my defense, they were the prettiest ones) before hysterically whining about how difficult it was while flailing about, leaving the rest for Henry to prepare.

It’s OK. He’s used to this.

Camera lens had no less than 7 fingerprints on it, but I was too drunk to notice. Besides, maybe I was going for that dreamy holiday haze. YOU DON’T KNOW.

Oh, and would you look at what is on Henry’s mom’s plate? Why, that would be an Erin Kelly Original Cookie. And by original, I mean that it originally came out of a plastic tub of fundraising cookie dough. I made these when Henry ran to the store earlier that day, thinking he would be so delighted when he came home to see that he had one less thing to do.

But no.

He was apprehensive.

And then when he saw the first batch, and how they had all adhered to each other to form one slimy pile of botulism, he said, “No. You can’t put these out. People will get SICK, ERIN.” My next batch was monitored closely and once Henry deemed them properly incubated, I was allowed to put those ones out on the table.

And then Henry had the audacity to almost forget to bring out the other thing that I sort of helped to make!

Weird shrimp egg things! He showed me how to pipe that shit into the eggs using a plastic bag. It was exciting, and when I grew tired after injecting the first three, he made me keep going.

Ugh, it was awful! I hate making food things!

Blake and Sam, sitting in the one corner of the room that wasn’t cleaned.

After texting back and forth with my friend Jessa about Newtown tragedy, she filled me in on the Sandy Hook Snowflake project, where people all over the world are making snowflakes to help turn the new elementary school into a winter wonderland. I thought, “What better time to undertake a project than when I have a houseful of minions guests to help me. I found this tutorial on some lady’s blog on how to make really fancy snowflakes out of junk mail, so I made Laura demonstrate. I’m not a good teacher. And besides, Laura had JUST looked at the instructions on my phone! They were fresh in her memory!

Even Mad Henry made one.

Snowflake Sweat Shop.

Mike made German Chocolate brownies, OMG.

Cousins.

Stephanie, Kian and Samantha. They appreciated the Jonny Craig-touches on my Christmas tree. So there, Henry. (We are in the same demographic though.)

We managed to not kill each other! Let’s have all of the parties at our house, Henry!

News flash, Chooch: Christmas ain’t all about you, OK? Mommy & Daddy got some shit, too!

In addition to a freak show bracelet & a collection of vintage photos of handicapped people, my favorite pretend-sister, Andrea, hooked me up with a Wheelchair Jimmy t-shirt!

It’s no engagement ring, but a dental disaster around my neck is enough to keep me quiet for a day or two. Thanks for paying attention to my Etsy wish list, HANK.

I was actually going to buy it for myself and then honest to god shrieked when I saw it had been sold. Henry said he had considered contacting the seller and telling her that if I sent her a convo (which I was considering) to tell me that she was never ever ever ever getting back together making another one.

I honestly had no idea that Henry bought it. Do you know how many times a day I send him things from Etsy and say, “I want this”? Christina even said she was has an entire email folder full of my wants.

My friend Tammy made this Robot Blood nail polish & I fucking love it!

I have to thank my friend Laura for posting this purse on my timeline. Henry took note and bought it for me.

I bought Henry a Krochet Kids hat, which I then decorated with a handful of Dance Gavin Dance pins that I purchased from eBay specifically for this occasion. You can tell by his delirious expression that he was stoked beyond belief.

I also gave him a DIY cheese-making kit. The gift card said “Merry Xmas. Now make me some goddamn cheese.”

I put a lot of thought into my gifts for Henry.

Please forgive me, but I still have a ton of Christmas bullshit to fling all up on these pages like Pollacked ape shit. However, I’m sick (again—December can blow me) so this isn’t happening as fast as I need it too.

Today’s cop-out post is a picture of the Darkride & Funhouse Enthusiast Christmas card that Henry, Chooch and I are on. I wasn’t expecting it so it was a fun surprise when it came in the mail.

I got made fun of at work for joining this group, but I just really like being a part of things, OK?!

Next: Christmas Eve pictures, Chooch-designed Christmas cards, PRESENTS!!!