I knew that my birthday wasn’t going to go by unnoticed at work yesterday (maybe the fact that I stopped nearly every co-worker on Friday to remind them had something to do with it), but I really wasn’t expecting as much of a to-do as I actually got. I figured there would be some mild decorating, maybe a card or two.

Instead, I walked into a confetti explosion, not one but two Happy Birthday banners flanked by pictures of Jonny Craig, a parade of gift bags and cards, and mini lemonade cupcakes.

What the fuck, you guys, I almost died!

You can tell I was excited because all my pictures are blurry.

Glenn could have at least signed his Post It Note. (I put the confetti there myself; he’s not that creative.) When I asked him if he got me anything, he handed me a piece of candy from my own candy dish. God, he is totally Work Henry.

My card from Gayle!

GAYLE MADE ME A JONNY CRAIG CHARM BRACELET CAN YOU EVEN BELIEVE IT?! I was wearing my prized jeweled elephant bracelet at the time and that sucker was shunned real quick in favor of dangling Jonnys. Barb’s reaction was, “Great. Now she likes Gayle more than me.” I just see this as motivation for everyone else to step it up!

Ruby-hued cocktail ring from Debbie, who had no idea that Ruby is my nickname. This inspired me to tell Barb the story about alter ego after Debbie left for the day (she might be too new to handle some of my over-shares) which was met with Barb’s standard WTF reaction.

Lee was jealous that my birthday caused more hullabaloo (God I love that word) than his did last week, so he confetti-bombed me. And I mean, he confetti-BOMBED me. Every time I moved, clumps of it would cascade down my back all the way into my pants.

It was sharp.

I ended up leaving a trail of it all over the department and brought even more of it home with me. I’m still brushing it out of my hair.

This was taped to the back of Barb’s card. She got me an I Love Being in the Cemetery pendant! And Wendy got me a fairy door locket so I’ll be able to put a picture of Jonny in it.

“Yeah, forget about Henry and your son,” Barb said sarcastically when I excitedly announced my intentions.

Jeannie got me some lip balm and a Shit List notepad (Wendy rolled her eyes and said, “Great, I know my name will be on that a lot”), Catherine got me a Starbucks card because I’m awesome, and Sandy (who hung one of the Happy Birthday banners up on her own!) and Sue got me cards. Everyone else fawned over me with words, which was acceptable.

A few people were like, “It’s your birthday, WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” and I just spread my arms and looked around my desk smugly. Seriously, stay home and miss all of this?! I have the best work friends of all time!

After work, Chooch gave me two cards: one was his signature ridiculous music-playing cards (he loves those things) and I couldn’t stop laughing because he used an Internet smiley face on the envelope. Seriously, he’s six.

The second card was handmade. He’s been obsessed with all of the Ju-On movies of late, so that’s the picture he drew for me, which I guess is better than the mound of shit he drew on Henry’s birthday card in June. He also got me nail polish and the new Used CD.

And Andrea’s mom sent me the most beautiful flowers!

I never get sent flowers! They made me feel so special.

Actually, everyone made me feel so special yesterday. I have had a notoriously long line of disappointing and depressing birthdays. It’s not about “stuff,” it’s about feeling like people care about me.

I always get so sad around my birthday because it makes me miss my Pappap so much, and it brings to the forefront all of the issues I have with my family and I can’t help but wonder if this will be the year my mom actually reaches out. It never is, but both of my brothers, my aunt Susie, and my cousin Danielle remembered my birthday, and aside from Henry and Chooch, that’s all the family I need.

This was the first year I didn’t cry (in a bad way) once on July 30th, and it’s because of all you guys. (There was a good chance that Henry would fuck that up once I came home from work last night, but he was careful with his words. I didn’t even flip out when he said that my present has to be given to me on a certain day which was not yesterday. This obviously means, “Erin, you spent all of my money with your dumb weekend amusement park tour, so now I have to wait until I paid again.” But look at me, being all patient and not spoiled!)

Meanwhile, Seri and Pete have something up their sleeves and it is driving me absolutely crazy. We’re celebrating my birthday in two weeks because they’re going to Delaware this weekend. Seri texted me when we were in Erie over the weekend and said that they bought my birthday gift and it’s so obscure and Erin-esque that she feels confident it’s the most perfect gift ever. They came over Sunday night after we got home and while Seri was inside discussing birthday plans with Henry, I tried to get Pete to tell me what my gift is and all he would say was that he’s not entirely comfortable having it in their house.

I was telling Barb all of this at work yesterday and I said, “Well, whatever it is, Seri was able to carry it into my house to show Henry, so it’ s not a wheelchair.” I paused thoughtfully and then blurted out, “Oh my god, maybe it’s leg braces!”

Barb almost died right there at the absurdity of my exclamation, but I was totally serious. Turns out that wasn’t even my actual present that Seri was showing Henry, but something that “goes along” with everything else they’re planning. WHAT THE FUCK, THIS IS KILLING ME! I’m so not used to this kind of birthday treatment.

Thirty-three already feels pretty spectacular. It’s time to close the crypt door on all of the childhood darkness.

It’s my birthday! I had an action-packed birthday weekend! I just ate a raspberry lemonade cupcake! Now I’m going to let Barb fawn over me at work!

You know what I want for today? I mean, other than a bedside serenade from Jonny Craig? I just want you guys to share my blog with your friends. Having people read this thing would make me happy on my birthday.

I mean, you don’t have to do anything, but IT IS MY BIRTHDAY.

33 is going to be better than 32. It has to be.

July 12th, 2012: Warped Tour, a/k/a Erin R. Kelly’s Christmas.

Oh you guys, I can’t even begin to explain how badly I need this day every year. It’s that one day where I don’t give a shit what I look like, how much I weigh, that my finger is engagement ringless. Mama don’t care! On this day, I’m not a mom, not a girlfriend, not a Law Firm grunt, not a blogger or a serial annoyer; I am just a music fan. I wake up with butterflies in my stomach – that awesome feeling of being on a roller coaster going up a hill? I’ve got that the whole way up until the gates of the venue are opened, and then it’s just an all-day, unrelenting rush of emotiblahblahblah blah blahhhh Erin is a scene ladykid who probably has a drawerful of YOLO tanks.

No one comes here to read this emo shit. Bring on the dramzzz, right?

There was definitely a big scoop of pre-Warped drama, stemming from when Henry nearly couldn’t be my date, CAN YOU IMAGINE? He almost had to work that day (actually, he was supposed to work that day but pulled some strings, moved some shit around, did what he had to do to keep his big bitchbaby girlfriend placated) and even tried to PAY Christina to go with me, which would have been a disaster so thank god she’s too wishywashy to say yes. (Worst Warped Tour ever was 2007 when I went with her and her sister; just awful.) My alternate date was Chooch. This seemed like a swell idea at first, probably because I was drunk when I thought of it. But can you imagine? Maybe all three of us together (with a SWAT team behind us) would be OK, but Chooch and me alone? No.

(He was actually on board to go once he saw pictures of Warped Tour that included girls in bikinis. Scandelous.)

I cried. I stamped my feet. I slammed doors. I didn’t talk to Henry for an entire day* because of this and made sure everyone at work knew that my boyfriend was a horrible human being.

*(That’s a long time for a couple who barely fight! No seriously, that wasn’t a joke.)

But then two nights before the day of Warped Tour, Henry came through and said that he would indeed be able to go. The next day at work, I was called a “crybaby” and “spoiled brat” by unnamed co-workers.

(Lee.)

I would have gone by myself if I had to, but I sure was happy that my official Warped Tour partner was able to come along for yet another year.  And I don’t care what he says, we both had a good time. I think Henry’s favorite part was when we were up front during Of Mice & Men and got to see the conveyor belt of injured fans being carried away by security staff and medics, such as:

• girl with busted nose so bloody, it almost appeared that it had been ripped entirely off
• guy who landed supine on the asphalt
• guy who was 100% unconscious
• girl who was crying hysterically to the chief security guy; Henry postulated that she had something in her eye (I have no idea where he got that idea) but I’m pretty sure she was telling him that she was touched inappropriately by another security guy.

The downside to Of Mice & Men was that Blood on the Dance Floor was playing after them and one of their members TOUCHED ME when he was cutting through the crowd to get back behind the stage.

 I apparently thought this was worth capturing for posterity.

The band I most wanted to see this year was Warped Tour darlings Pierce the Veil, because it’s the only band that Henry and I both mutually love. They just released a new album last week, and their first single features Kellin Quinn on guest vocals. It is so fucking sick, you guys. So fucking sick. What makes me like them so much is definitely the lyrics. Their songs are morbid, romantic (in a the truest Romeo & Juliet sense), heart-wrenching and violent all at once, without sounding like a funeral dirge. They make you want to dance while Vic is singing about post-mortem kissing.  Lyrically, I can’t help but compare them to the Cure and I think if Robert Smith ever read some of their lyrics, he’d be hard-pressed not to crack at least half of a red-lipsticked smile.

Basically, they write the songs I would write if I could write songs. I think Vic Fuentes is fucking brilliant.

For some reason, Pierce the Veil gets lumped in under the Bands That Little Girls Love OMG category, I guess because they’re a bunch of super cute Mexicans? But really, these guys BRING IT and the crowd can get pretty violent.  When bands play on the stage under the ampitheater, it makes it hard for those of us overprotective of our bones to get as close to the stage as we want. Everyone jams in this tiny pit between the front row of seats and the stage and it just looks completely unsavory to me and my old lady joints.

I grabbed two seats in the first row after the barricade, which Henry was totally not thrilled about. (He even “pretended” to “not see” where I went, so I had to sit alone for a few mintes before the set started. I had to stop myself from squealing to the teenage girls next to me, “OMG DO YOU THINK KELLIN WILL COME OUT AND SING WITH THEM!?” I mean, duh, of course that was going to happen considering Kellin’s band Sleeping With Sirens is also on Warped Tour this year. DUH, YOU GUYS.

A circle pit erupted almost immediately, causing a wall of bodies to press back against the barricade, which in turn pressed back against the row of empty seats in front of us.

“Um, I hope they used good bolts,” Henry yelled in my ear, pointing at the green plastic seats which were now being angrily thrusted against our thighs. And then the lady in front of Henry turned around and they shared some HAHAHAHAHA FUNNY REMARK about the peril we’d be sure to find ourselves in if those bolts gave out. That’s OK, lady, I’m sure Henry will save you first when the avalanche of bodies comes crashes through the barricade and I’m left vivisected and needing a wheelchair for real.

 And then I couldn’t stop fixating on it. I started looking up at the rafters, imagining other things that could go wrong; but despite all the Final Destination paranoia, I was still able to enjoy the show. (And cry a lot. God, I love them.)

Fucker put his arm up and blocked Kellin Quinn (OMG KELLIN QUINN CAME OUT AND SANG!) right when I took this picture.

I really loved Henry for about fifteen minutes after Pierce the Veil’s set. Residual ephoria, I guess. I don’t know. But that all ended later on during Sleeping With Sirens. He was behind me the whole time, as far as I knew anyway, and when I leaned back during the last song (our never-wedding song!!), it was not Henry’s nondescript shirt-covered Mountain Dew belly that I found myself lovingly resting against, but the SUNKEN IN CHEST OF SOME ACNE-RIDDEN SWEATY TEENAGE BOY, WTF HENRY?! Oh, I wanted to die.

And that’s when I saw Henry HUNDREDS OF YARDS (I don’t even know what yards are) away from me. I stormed over to him after the set was over and he said, “What? I was hot. I didn’t want to stand in the crowd anymore.”

HE COMPLETELY MISSED OUR (MY) SONG!!!

I stormed off quickly toward the stage where Taking Back Sunday had just started playing, purposely losing him in the process. This happens once every Warped Tour. It’s OK, you guys.

Then this text exchange panned out:

When he found me, I tried to psychically knee him in the balls, but my pissed-off act never lasts around him anymore. I guess I’m just too downtrodden at this point. We made eye contact and then both started laughing and lived happily ever after until I started bugging him about buying me merch. (Finally bought me a Vans tanktop near the end of the night when most of the other tents had already been taken down.)

The brightside is that Henry was already at that particular stage, because he actaully paid attention earlier and knew that Taking Back Sunday was on the day’s itinerary. D’aw, Henry loves me!

 Bands We Saw:

• Chelsea Grin
• Four Year Strong
• Vanna
• Emily’s Army
• Funeral Party
• We Are the Ocean
• Title Fight
• You Me At Six
• Of Mice & Men
• Pierce the Veil
• Sleeping with Sirens
• Miss May I
• LoveBite
• Chunk! No, Captain Chunk!
• Anthony Ranieri (acoustic)
• Bayside
• Taking Back Sunday
• Breathe Carolina
• I Fight Dragons
• The Used

 I don’t know what else to say. It was a wonderful day, but if I write anymore, it’s going to start sounding like the shit I write in my diary, with bubble letters in pink ink SMEARED BY MY ERRANT TEARS.  In a nutshell: we saw some incredible bands, ran into Blake who immediately panhandled on Henry, I got to release a ton of built-up angst and rage,  Henry got to take a short nap in the grass and for the first time since 2004, I was able to hear The Used without getting upset. I don’t even think I hated anyone that day.

Until next year, my fair Warped Tour. :(

FML. FML. FMFL.

Was forced to go to Warped Tour again. It was pretty terrible but not as bad as in previous years, mostly because we are only marginally poor now so I was able to buy as many bottles of Coke as I wanted and I even bought FOOD this time instead of sitting under a tree, nibbling on contraband granola bars. (Erin still did this because she is a cheap whore and honestly thought she was going to save money to buy merch; little did she know she was funding my free-flowing supply of COCA COLA.

)

I don’t even like Coke.

It was hot, but not “need to apply Desitin in a bathroom stall” hot.

The first shitty band we saw was Chelsea Grin. They weren’t even on the stage yet and I knew I was going to hate them based on their bleeding eyeball signs. And then they came out and the screamer started screaming and it was like being anally probed by their band name’s font. Then the screamer started to sing and I said, “He should just go back to screaming” and Erin did that thing where she looks at me like I don’t get it. But what is there to get about a band who sound like a satchel of shrieking newborns on steroids. Of course Erin would like that shit because it sounded as schizophrenic as one of her daily temper tantrums.

I got a free beef jerky sample and that was pretty good. Here is a picture of me eating that. I don’t know what stupid band was playing during that though, but I bet there was screaming in it.

Then I ate some wings and fresh potato chips. Here is a picture of me eating that too. Sure, my meal cost about $20, but I didn’t mind so much because that was one less pair of scene kid YOLO booty shorts Erin could buy from some obnoxious merch dick. The fact that some stupid band was shouting on a nearby stage negated the happiness that I felt from the food. At least I got to sit down while I ate, but that was only because Erin was waiting for some other band to start playing so she let me.

And then that band began playing and I got to re-taste my meal.

Everyone depended on me to hold up the barrier during Pierce the Veil. We are all lucky we’re alive. Those kids really act like feral hillbillies when they hear music sometimes. I was hoping one of them would hit me so I could punch them back call my mommy call the cops.

I know, it looks like I am sleeping while standing in this picture. That is because I am.

I’m surprised there was not a terrible band there called Sleeping While Standing.

Ugh, I hate kids and I hate music and I hate kids who love music. And I hate whatever band that is, too.

Sometimes I just walk away because I need to sit down.

Don’t look at the half-naked 16-year-old. Don’t look at the half-naked 16-year-old. Don’t let Erin see me looking at the half-naked 16-year-old.

Oh shit, don’t let the half-naked 16-year-old’s DAD see me looking at the half-naked 16-year-old.

COME AT ME, BRO.

Got to take a nap on the lawn during Breathe Carolina, which was great, but then I dreamt that I was drinking Yoo Hoo out of Jeffree Starr’s mouth with Jonny Craig. Woke up needing a cold shower and pissed that I know who Jeffree Starr is thanks to fucking Warped Tour.

Then the Used screamed some songs and I finally got to leave.

Highlights: beef jerky; avoiding Blood On the Dance Floor; not getting stuck in parking lot traffic on the way out.

Lowlights: Finding Erin after I lost her in the crowd; the existence of Blood On the Dance Floor; everything else.

Music has really gone downhill since I played in that Ted Nugent cover band when I was in THE SERVICE.

(I may have had some or a lot of help writing some or all of this.)

I am in a complete state of comedown today. Yesterday was such a blur: I wait all year for it and then it’s over in a whiplash-inducing flash. I’ve already cried in mourning. But the euphoria definitely outweighs the depression!

Before the gates opened.

Finding out Pierce the Veil’s set time was our (my) main priority.

Henry, dryly before Chelsea Grin even took the stage: I can already tell I’m going to love THEM.

I try to let him sit every couple hours.

Emily’s Army. I had a crush on the boy scout.

Ugh, Funeral Party was so sick. Of course there were only 10 people watching them with me because there were no gimmicks or ridiculous wardrobes or KISS-copying.

Waiting for Pierce the Veil.

;

Took this for Chooch. Missed him so much. :(

On the phone with his sister, fondling a broken pair of sunglasses he found on the ground.

AUSTIN CARLILE MAKES ME HAPPY. He screams the demons right the fuck out of my body.

Seriously, the best Mexicans ever. I love Pierce the Veil so hard and will probably start crying about it in 3….2….

The ever-omnipresent Jeffree Starr.

Our annual “I’m Stoked, Henry’s Not” picture. Henry actually did smile a few times though.

LIKE WHEN KELLIN QUINN SANG WITH PIERCE THE VEIL, ADMIT IT HENRY.

Backne popping during Sleeping with Sirens. Please join me in my repulsion.

Finally succumbed to exhaustion around the 7PM mark and crashed on the lawn during Breathe Carolina.

I still have to take the pictures off the regular camera, and I’ll be back with those and an actual account of Henry’s agony.

Fuck, that was the best day of the summer and I can’t wait to do it all over again 100 more times.

You with me, Henry?

I’m so glad that Pittsburgh decided to have a heat wave in tandem with Andrea’s visit from California. We don’t have a/c in our house, so the poor girl suffered all week. At least her hotel room was air-conditioned.

The cemetery wasn’t air-conditioned either, so she had to endure 90 degree heat & humidity for an hour in a wig and wedding dress while I took pictures on the Fourth of July. (More pictures to come once I can sit at the computer and edit them without sweat dripping into my eyes.)

We spent a lot of this week at the hotel pool, which gave Chooch and me short reprieves from the heat. We are like sweaty twins. Everyone else around us complains of the heat yet appears relatively dry; Chooch and I meanwhile have damp hair and faces mimicking glazed hams.

Some lady at the hotel pool let Chooch use one of her innertubes which I’m pretty sure he punctured.

Saw this at the cemetery. The universe is always throwing out Jonny Craig signs for me!

Bought fireworks.

That night, we went to Seri and Pete’s house to watch the Mt. Lebanon fireworks, which were completely underwhelming, but Seri’s Martha Stewart-rivaling hospitality more than made up for that. Their house is so inviting and she provided a handsome spread of finger food to be stuffed into my mouth. LOOK AT THOSE MARSHMALLOW KEBOBS! Even Andrea was delighted and she hates everything.

Andrea being delighted.

I didn’t want to take a cherry out of the narrow receptacle in which Seri had lined them up because it looked so perfect and decorative, but Andrea was all, “Just take one, stupid. That’s what they’re there for.” And then immediately after I plucked one for my plate, Andrea said, “You ruined it.”

Oh my god, and the sangria. So much delicious sangria! Seri was completely spazzed out all night, worrying that we weren’t having fun, but damn – I didn’t want to be anywhere else but on that couch hugging a red ball pillow that I had formed at unhealthy attachment to, eating food, telling stories, and having their two kids entertain Chooch.

It was a good night with new friends and old friends and even Henry smiled a lot. HENRY SMILED A LOT. And I learned that the key to placating Andrea is boxed wine and Latin music. Thank you, Seri and Pete!

(Also, the truth came out about Henry pushing a girl in a wheelchair at a Ted Nugent show. Will provide a separate post for that.)

[In light of recent activity, I have been struggling with whether to keep this blog up or take it down; I ultimately decided to keep it up because I haven’t done anything wrong; but this post, however, is password-protected* since it involves Chooch’s school friends and not these particular parents, but other parents in that class, have beef with me.]

[*Oh, fuck it. I don’t care who reads this shit anymore.]

Chooch decided a few months ago that he wanted to have the same birthday as his awesome mom. I mean, who can blame the kid for wanting to emulate such a loose cannon like myself. Hopefully, he develops a taste for foot and crow soon, because if he’s going to follow my path, he’s going to be dining on a lot of that.

So we rented out the rink for the kid and invited all his friends, most of which just happen to be grown-ups. I have never known a child to have so many grown-up friends. Which to me, that sounds like the opposite of a neglected, unloved child. But what do I know. I’ve only been a mom for six years.

Guest List

• My brother Corey and his girlfriend Danielle
• Henry’s mom Judy
• Henry’s sister Kelly
• Zac
• Steph and Kian, + a green-haired girl whose name I never got
• Danielle and Ean
• Lindsay, Anthony and Tiffany
• Lauren, Randy, Dean and Olivia
• Barb
• Lee
• Amber
• Wendy and Shawn
• Kaitlin
• Kaitlin’s famous cake
• Kristen
• Ricky, Chris, Kari and Katelyn, reppin’ Castle Blood
• Carol
• Laura
• Bill, Jessi and Tammy
• Mikayla, her sister and parents
• Nate, his brother and uncle
• Jacob, his sister and mom
• Emyle, her mom and cousin
• Bria, her sister and parents, who came from a wedding and changed in the bathroom, that’s how all about it they were
• Lisa and Matt
• Shawn, Cosi and Anais
• Peaches and Drake
• Our neighbor D and his friend who wouldn’t talk to me

Pretty sure that’s more people that came to my party. It’s hard being in the shadow of a six-year-old sometimes!

I. The Mix

I slaved over the perfect skating mix all week, staying cognizant of the fact that there would be Catholic school children in attendance, and let me tell you something: Rick Ross radio edits just don’t exist. EVEN IF IT SAYS “RADIO EDIT,” listen to that shit first, because I promise you it will all start to unravel by the end and you’ll find yourself clawing your way out of ramparts and carnage of “pussy” and “fuck.” Unbelievable that I actually rose to the occasion and did my due diligence on this one.

Reminding myself that it wasn’t MY party, I put on Chooch’s favorite Eisley song, which he totally missed because it came on while he was opening his presents. He asked for Frank Turner’s “Photosynthesis” (what 6-year-old requests that song, really), which proved to be horrible to skate to, but whatever – not my party. He threw me a bone and said I could put on “The Past Should Stay Dead” by Emarosa, but then when it came on, he switched directions just to clomp over to me and say, “Really Mommy? Emarosa? Really?” like he was totally disappointed in me WHEN HE GAVE ME PERMISSION! God, he’s always trying to make me look the fool.

But at least it came on after Lee and Amber were already there, so they got to hear what the true honey-tinged voice of a male siren sounds like. Even Lee admitted that he wasn’t that bad, for a drug addict.

That morning at breakfast, “Sussudio” came on, which made me, Tammy and Jessi laugh since we had just listened to an angry Phil Collins singing it the night before at my house.

“Well, this definitely has to go on the mix now, ” I laughed. AND IT DID.

And then after that, I mostly just threw on some 80s synthpop, Skrillex (unashamed dubstep fan in this hizzy), Britney Spears and some current r&b jams. At one point, I skated past Jacob’s mom, who was sitting on a bench talking to Bria’s parents, when I overheard her say, “And this music is so good. It’s really taking me back!”

That gave me the courage I needed to broach conversation with the enemy. Actually, these parents aren’t the enemy. Those parents were too cowardly to bring their children to the Evil Woman’s son’s birthday party. More on that at a later date. (And that is only one of the reasons this post is password-protected. For now, anyway.)

“I made this mix!” I shouted over top of the Breakfast Club’s mostly forgotten track “Right on Track.” And then we all had a really nice conversation about Spinning Wheels, the local rink that was poppin’ back in the 80s, and how much we miss it. It’s a Busy Beaver now. Get fucked, Busy Beaver.

They all gushed (yes, they gushed) about how they were having such a great time and thanked me for inviting them. (We put on the invitations that the entire family was welcome to come, admission was free, and skate rental was comped for the kids. Yeah, I know what that’s called. Sucking up. And I’m not beneath it.)

“Good,” I gloated to myself. “Now go back and tell those other bitch moms.”

II. Henry is the Best Skater

Cue the trumpets! Roll out the red carpet! Henry is about to take his inaugural roll around the rink and HE IS THE BEST SKATER EVER says everyone at the goddamn party. I know this based on the amount of times I skated away from people in a huff. Yeah, he’s the best skater ever, if that means he’s nearly 5o and able to skate to the tune of Peaches and Herb in his head while maintaining absolutely no rhythm, yet not falling. Bravo. Name a rink after this man, already.

I was crying about it to Barb, Lee and Amber, who all said that they were actually just commenting on how good of a skater I am, and then proceeded to stick out their arms to collect high fives from me the next time I passed their side of the bench. This appeased me, though they were probably just sucking up because they knew they would have to hear me cry about it all week at work otherwise.

Seriously, Henry is not all that. Sure, he’s a better cook, aircraft-identifier, moss expert, parent and person than me, but can’t I at least have something that I excel at? Jesus!

I am never skating with him again.

My Color Blind Brother Corey & His Girlfriend Danielle. They Will Never Be Able To Admire Rainbows Together.

III. Ultimate Party Foul

I was in the snack room when I noticed my friend Lauren’s son was crying and holding an icepack against his wrist. She told me they were taking him to the hospital and I totally felt like the biggest asshole ever.

“Why?” Lauren asked. “You didn’t push him!” She was so calm about it too. I would have been puking in my purse. After they left, Wendy’s husband Shawn was like, “His arm is totally broken” which made me feel even worse. Later that night, Lauren posted a picture on Facebook of Dean, sitting in the exam room with his entire arm in a cast. At least he was smiling, though!

First, Dean had to spend two hours with me last fall while I took pictures of him and his sister, and then he breaks his arm at my kid’s birthday party. That kid is probably so adverse to me.

Of course, one of Chooch’s big mouth friends went to school and told everyone about it, so now all the mom’s have new fodder. “Kids get broken around that evil family! This is the work of SATAN!”

IV. Pictures of Children

Some of the moms at Chooch’s school found my blog. This happened in February. The first wave of confrontations came through the day before Valentine’s Day; I took it in stride and still found the will to bake that fucking cake for Henry. The biggest problem was that they saw what I had written about them (in various field trip posts), but they also made a stink about their kids’ pictures being on the Internet. So I took everything down and apologized. Still, this is not the reason this post is password-protected. Yes, something even worse than that happened. A story for a rainy day, though. (Although I will say my favorite part was when one of the moms said, “And I looked at some of the other stuff on your website and I just don’t want my family associated with ANY of…that.” I took that as a compliment.)

Now, none of the parents who came to the party are the ones who create phalange crosses and hiss when I walk into the room. But still, I wanted to show respect for those parents who allowed their kids to attend a heathen’s birthday party, thereby editing out the faces of their children before they even have a chance to cry foul.

It’s a moot point now that I made this post password protected.

(I left my friends’ kids intact, because I think you have to assume that if you attend one of my events, you’re going to have your picture taken. However, if anyone reading this is angry about it, say so and I will Jonny Craig your face, too.)

V. Afro Rink Douche

In lieu of Henry’s man-crush Paul the Rink Ref, two of the younger staff members were out there, flashing their skating prowess in their blue Neville Roller Drome shirts. At first I was like, “Thank god for built-in entertainment, now Bill & Jessi won’t have to pump out balloon animals like at last year’s party.” Except that the one with an afro took his job way too seriously and lambasted Bill for “going too slow” when it was his first time skating EVER. God, way to not only embarrass the guy, but make him not want to ever try skating again.

He also yelled “Keep moving!” to Amber who was leaning against the wall while on the rink and talking to Lee. Hello, I didn’t pay all that money renting a rink to have my friends yelled at by some neon-skated prick with a superiority complex.

(Although, if I were Amber, I would have totally blamed Lee.)

Next time I see that guy, I’ll have his Afro on a plate.

VI. Cake & Presents

Kaitlin went above and beyond as usual and made the most delicious white batter cake with this ambrosial lemon filling. She is just MAGIC. And I asked her to maybe decorate the cake with monsters, but you know what she did? She made RED VELVET CUPCAKE MONSTERS. Of course, this made the children (all the girls, natch) argue over which one they wanted, leaving Poor Henry as the official monster delegate. They were not pleased with him when he began quartering the monsters to ensure they each got a piece. And of course, there was one whole monster left over in the end. GOOD JOB HENRY.

Someone made a lofty remark about how I should be the one cutting the cake. What a fool. I wish I could remember who that was so I could call them a fool to their face.

And then Henry proceeded to cut orphan-portioned slices of cake for all of the guests. We ended up taking home HALF OF THE CAKE. My saddlebags thank you for your stinginess, Henry.

“This wasn’t on my list!” Chooch spat when he opened Barb’s present. This became the “You invited BARB!?” of 2012.

I really enjoyed that she and my cousin Danielle both stepped up to be present helpers, since I was doing other things. What was I doing? Tweeting and spinning on my stool, I think. And taking pictures! That’s important. That is a very important party task.

Corey, learning how to cut curmudgeonly cake slivers from the Master Miser.

My wonderful Michigan buds had to hit the road during Chooch’s snail-paced gift unwrapping session. As I hugged Bill, Jessi and Tammy goodbye, I noted that “Sussudio” was playing out on the rink. I think in Yacht Rock terms, that means we’re bonded for life.

Amber and Lee were competing to see whose gift Chooch liked the most. Apparently, Lee’s Skylanders warranted a “Daddy, look!” so Lee self-claimed the title.

I probably should have been writing down what he got.

Barb was smart and got me a Hot Topic gift card! She learned her lesson from my birthday party, when she was audacious enough to bring CHOOCH a present, making me cry out, “YOu didn’t bring ME a present to HIS party!” Even after I opened it, I set the small red gift bag on the table with all of his presents, just so I could sneer, “HA! That’s MOMMY’S present!” when Chooch reached for it.

And then I wonder why I’m getting accused of being a shit parent.

Chooch also got a card with a monetary gift from Rink Ref Robin, Roller DJ and Doorman Billy, who told me that they wanted to contribute to the party since Chooch always entertains them when we attend afternoon sessions. I wish I was as popular as my son. Actually, no. No, I don’t.

Two hours was totally not long enough. Before I knew it, Roller DJ was announcing that the session was over and Henry was counting out something to the tune of LIFE SAVINGS to pay the rink owners. Sophie, the owner’s wife, refused payment for the skate rentals, so we were at least able to eat dinner the next two days.

(If anyone was at the party and wants to contribute their own highlights and memories (and pictures too!), you should totally comment! It was such a whirlwind and I know I missed a ton. Like Bria sneezing on the cake, pre-Happy Birthday serenade.)

I haven’t finished editing the photos from Chooch’s birthday party yet (a lot of the shots have Chooch’s school friends in them and I don’t want to get bitched out again for posting them on my heretic blog) so here are the ones from my phone (nice & blurry to cover my ass).

Barb learned her lesson.

****
Living Treasures Birthday Field Trip

Chooch kept calling the camels “cannibals” and I didn’t correct him.

It was a nice day, nothing much to complain about. The grounds were surprisingly dick-free and we even got to see some animal mating going down, including a particularly horny peacock who was totally embarrassing himself; finally, I have a benchmark when imagining Henry trying to get laid during his SERVICE years.

However, we went to Perkins afterward, where Chooch had a total meltdown over the restaurant’s lack of wifi and kept talking in angry tones about death and how no one would care if he died, themes that he’s way too young to be touching upon, and of course the two ladies seated in the booth next to ours had just come from Bible study and were giving each other concerned raised-eyebrows. Totally awesome. Can’t wait to see what he’s like as a teenager.

Monster cupcakes decorated by me, Christina and Christina’s sister Cynthia.

Chooch’s 6th birthday party was last night and it was a lot of fun*. However, the mom in me has been all nostalgic today; it seems like just last year we were trhowing him a 1st birthday blowout at my mom’s house, but then I think of how much things have changed since then, how I don’t even talk to my mom anymore, or my aunt Sharon, and how I’m always trying to overcompensate for this loss of family by trying to lure as many people as possible to my kid’s parties.

(*Unless you’re breaking bones, and then it might be a pretty shitty time.)

Not only was my mom at his 1st birthday, but it was at her house and she even helped me plan it. I spent my break at work today looking at pictures from that day and feeling bittersweet, but mostly happy because that was such a good day.

And I had a tutu.

And Christina was there. She has missed his last 4 parties because of our utter inability to iron shit out between us. Even though she wasn’t at his party last night, just knowing she’s back was enough for both me and Chooch. (Plus, she bought him shit when she was visiting last weekend, so that’s definitely good enough for Chooch. He is very easily won over with tangible tokens of love, just like his mother.)

My friend Bill baked Chooch’s personal  cake and then Kara decorated it in the likeness of the party invitations I made, while I breathed down her back and made idle threats.

….M.C.A.?

Chooch has always been kind of a big deal. I love that kid.

Big shout out to everyone else out there who loves him too. Thank you for making him feel special.

I’ve had this vision for Easter portraits in my head for quite awhile now, but getting Henry to go along with it was not that easy, even for me. Well, that’s not true – it was pretty easy. But he still waited until an hour before we left the house to pull some 13th hour divo stunt and tried to text his son Blake to be a fill-in. I completely lost my shit, started crying, screamed JUST FORGET IT! and stormed off to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

As if I wasn’t already stressed enough about the Penguins playoff implosion.

Approximately five minutes later, Henry came upstairs. I forget what exactly he said to me, but it wasn’t a distinct “I am not going to do this” so that gave me hope and I went back downstairs to harp on him some more. I even promised to take the trolley to work all week!

“Look,” Christina whispered to me while Henry was in the kitchen mouthing off about how he hates when I tell him what he’s going to do. “You know he’s going to do it. He just has to put on this little show to keep some of his masculinity.” But then Chooch started crying too because all he knew was that at some point that day, he was going to get to put makeup on, and now suddenly HENRY was going to take that away from him.

“You want me to drive to some abandoned private property, put on makeup and have my picture taken,” Henry barked. “That’s like a trifecta of things I hate.”

“He just learned that word,” I said snidely to Christina.

“You owe me,” he said before he left, and Christina told me later that the part I didn’t hear was him saying, “And I’m not talking about sex, either.” OMG THEN WHAT?!

Did I mention that Henry was also sick all weekend? He had a fever the day before, even.

But because he is the BEST BOYFRIEND EVER, he tucked his tail between his legs and drove us out to Elizabeth, PA (even stopping on his own accord to get an extra pair of bunny ears) where he then stood obediently in front of me while I smeared costume makeup all over his face.

“I’m not laughing,” he snarled as I was doing my signature “laughing til I pee”-squat. But I’m certain I saw the corners of his mouth fighting to curl up.

On Saturday, Christina and I went to Goodwill to grab a dress shirt for Henry. I knew I wanted it to be a certain color, and wasn’t sure yet if I was going to incorporate fake blood, so I didn’t want to run the risk of ruining one of Henry’s TWO WHOLE DRESS SHIRTS.

For once, Goodwill didn’t fail me and I was really pleased with the shirt we found (Henry was of a different opinion), and then on a whim I said, “Let’s see if anything looks good in the boys section.” And holy shit, not only did we find a blazer, but we also found these plaid skinny jeans that happened to be in Chooch’s size. The unfortunate part is that not only are they for girls (who really cares about that though), they’re from that asshole Gwen Stefani’s kids clothing line, and I REALLY CAN’T STAND HER. But at least they were only like, $3.

(They also came with a detachable skirt, which we quickly unbuttoned before Chooch had a chance to notice. Good thing too, because he ended up loving these pants and wanted to wear them all weekend.)

(His tie was also a last minute find, and also for girls; the bottom is encrusted with rhinestones, another thing he didn’t seem to notice.)

I love that he looks like he’s going to a Sex Pistols show.

Fetus came along for the ride. I love him so.

I was angry that there was so much foliage around, so I put Christina to work (she is my slave, after all); she wound up taking all kinds of cuts and scratches back to Ohio with her. She even tried (and failed) to construct a bridge for us to cross over the muddy path that separated us from the small building I wanted to use.

Henry isn’t posing, he’s actually watching for cops because he was so paranoid we were going to get in trouble for trespassing, oh noes.

I can only imagine what goes on his head when I make him do the un-fun parts of the photo shoots. Having Christina there allowed me to get an extra 5 shots out of him, though. Usually he peaces out much sooner.

Did I mention it was over 80 degrees on Sunday? It was.

Afterward, we went to lunch at Blue Flame. I posted one of the bunny pictures of Henry that I had taken with my phone to Instagram and when I showed Henry, he quietly said, “Send that to me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s a picture of me and I have a right to have it!” he said all defensively, because god forbid he should EVER admit that MAYBE he thinks something I did was KIND OF COOL.

Anyway, Henry kind of rules for doing this. And so far, I have not taken the trolley to work this week.

We did what any other sad-sack family does on a holiday when they have nowhere else to go – went and got sushi.

Chooch kept dunking his lo mein into his glass of lemonade (“What? It makes my noodles taste like lemonade and I like it.”), so now you’ll never again have to wonder why I have a strict no-share policy when it comes to my son and beverages.

Aside from Chooch shouting, “I just want to be able to recognize what they’re saying!” and then counting in Spanish to try and “fit in” with the Pan Asia waitstaff, it was a nice, drama-free Easter dinner. Since it was still early and nice out, we took Chooch to the playground afterward, where I made him cry because I’m better at sliding down slides than he is. Seriously, this happened. I’m even competitive at sliding down slides.

Henry just shook his head and sighed.

Then he convinced me that I should not take a left-behind bottle of Diet Mountain Dew even if it was unopened.

While I was swinging (better than Chooch), the parallels between that and my recent emotions were not lost on me. One simple text message received February 24th at 12:22AM and everything has been swinging out of control, my heart has felt like a fucking Elmo pinata at some dumb 4-year-old’s birthday party, and for as hard and as stubbornly I’ve been trying to slam that door in her face, for as many awkward (supposedly) last words we’ve had over the last month and a half, she is still the only one who called me on Easter to talk to me about how I was feeling, to comfort me, to remind me that I’m a better person than my family has ever given me credit for. So what am I doing. For the last two and a half years, I have had this emptiness in my heart and would constantly ask Henry things like, “Do you think I’ll ever talk to her again?” and “Do you think she still cares about me?” and then she finally gets the chance to come back, but for every brick she knocks down, I’m busy laying down five more; busy listening to all the naysayers, letting other people confuse me, when I should have been listening to myself, and to Henry who has literally only been wrong a total of 4 times in the 11 years we’ve been together. But I’ve been too fucking bull-headed, resistant and cowardly to admit that I want to be friends with Christina again (there, her name has officially been written), to have that person in my life who I can call to get a second opinion when Henry tells me not to take some stranger’s unopened bottle of Diet Mountain Dew, in spite of all the supposed “closure” I was trying to convince myself I could achieve by putting all of our sordid past out in the open for everyone to read.

And if it takes swinging on a swingset in South Park on the day that Jesus provided a lifetime of wet dreams for George Romero by rising from the dead to make me realize that maybe the ending doesn’t feel right because the story isn’t over yet, then so be it. I just know that I can’t keep having these psychopathic arguments in my head anymore; I need to make a decision and stick with it before anyone gets even more hurt. And I don’t want it to be a secret. No more texting a nameless Cincinnati phone number. Either her name goes back in my phone or I need to walk away from this for good—no more Limbo. I officially don’t give a fuck what anyone else has to say about that.

There was a middle-aged blind lady swinging next to me and it was the single most amazing thing that happened all day. She was so happy. We should all be that happy on the playground.

Totally stopped pouting after that. (Until later that night, of course, when Henry chose his words poorly, which is like the worst thing in the world for an already hyper-emotional girl.)

I found Henry standing on a tree stump, counting its rings. Apparently that was his favorite thing to do as a child after completing his daily paper route.

Went home and ate coconut cream pie (with NO meringue!), which is really all I wanted to do all weekend, although maybe in my fantasies it involved more of a swan dive into a pool of it, less spooning it into my mouth.

Thank you Henry and Chooch for salvaging yet another holiday. How can I be lonely when those two jerks are always up in my face, anyway.

I’m ready for things to be OK now. It’s like I’m punishing myself and I just don’t know what for.

When Henry and I were out doing legwork for the Easter bunny Saturday night, Henry mentioned that he wasn’t sure if we still had Chooch’s regular basket, which is this large, heavy basket that is entirely too bulky to be used to hold Easter bounty, but I bought it for Chooch’s first Easter, when he was still an angel and deserved these things. Nowadays, the thought of putting a jelly bean in a thimble isn’t far from my mind.

Anyway, Henry bought this small “just in case” basket at Target, but we ended up finding the traditional basket later that night.

Both baskets were sitting on the table over night, because I was too tired from a late evening of watching scary Islamic men on public access rant about how caucasians are always trying to take credit for the invention of every language in the history of the universe.

“Chooch never wakes up before me,” I reasoned, remembering two Christmases ago when I could not for the life of me get the little slug to wake up and was left to amuse myself all morning with some Prince video marathon on VH1 Soul. “I’ll hide it in the morning,” I told Henry, who shrugged and followed me upstairs to bed.

[Side note: before Chooch went to bed Saturday night, he and I were sitting on the couch and the front door was open. “Oh shit, I see him across the street,” Chooch said all calmly. When I asked him who he saw, he said, “Jesus” and I FELT SO SCARED.]

And of course, Chocoh woke up at 8:30. We were awake, but still in bed, so I had to call him into our room to stall him from going downstairs.

“Cuddle with us!” I blurted out, which is totally not something we tend to do together. He looked confused, but climbed into bed. Then I said I had to pee, but really I flew downstairs with him hot on my heels. I made it down there in enough time to grab the basket, dump it between the couch and chair and toss a blanket over top.

The first thing Chooch saw when he reached the bottom of the steps was the back-up basket, sitting on the table, completely empty.

He looked at it in horror and then we locked eyes.

“THE EASTER BUNNY HAAAAAATES ME!” he wailed, face turning red and eyes starting to well.

I was about to assure him that there was another basket, but I stopped myself. “Let this play out for a few more seconds, Erin,” the Devil on my shoulder pressed. He’s such a permanent fixture, he’s practically just a large mole at this point.

If there is one thing I love in life, it is pranking people, ESPECIALLY my kid. But this wasn’t even intentional, which made it that much more perfect.

After a few seconds though, he realized that this was probably Case #789696 of Mommy being a dickhead, and continued his search for the real basket. But my god, I couldn’t stop laughing. That’s what he gets for scaring me with that Jesus shit.

Henry and I used to divvy the candy up into plastic eggs, but now we just toss entire bags of it into his basket. We are so traditional.

“Holy shit, the Easter Bunny brought me a SKYLANDER?!”

The kid loves his damn Skylanders, whatever the fuck those are.

We were about to leave to go visit Speck’s grave, when Henry got all hush-hush and held up his arm.

“Don’t move,” he whispered, staring at the front door. “Your aunt’s out there.”

But of course she didn’t knock. She just dumped an Easter basket on the porch for Chooch. Inside, there was a card from her and Val (aka my “mom”), which said a bunch of lies about how much they love him.

“They sure have a funny way of showing it,” Henry mumbled. I wish that they would just not do anything. I’d rather have a real relationship, not just “stuff.” But that’s always been the easy way out for them.

So not only did I have major Speck-sadness (first Easter in forever that she wasn’t attacking the basket and pillaging for Easter grass), but then I had the typical “Ugh, it’s a holiday and I have no family*” nervous breakdown.

(*Yes, I have Henry and Chooch, but that is a family that I had to make on my own. Sometimes I wish I had teh normal mom/dad/siblings/grandparents set-up that so many other people could to enjoy and often take for granted. Living like this might keep the drama out of my life, but it is not always amazing.

)

Totally emotional at the pet cemetery. The assholes there completely lost the temporary marker on Speck’s grave, so we had to guess where to leave the flowers. I’m so angry about this and can’t wait until it’s been a year so I can finally buy a real bronze marker for her. Total bullshit. Chooch was so upset that he ran away from us and laid down on the grass alone. It was completely heartbreaking to watch. Then I started sobbing and Henry had to stand there, hugging me/holding me up. We’re not even close to being healed, clearly.

Luckily, we had moustaches to play with when we got home, so the afternoon wasn’t as somber as the late morning was.

And then Henry drew this on the sidewalk, which made Chooch’s head explode. I was in the house but I could hear him outside, frantically trying to get the neighbors to look.

But since I don’t have concrete proof that Henry himself actually wrote this, no one will believe me. You can all pretend it says “I love meringue” which actually isn’t a far stretch considering we had an argument about that Friday night after he went to Giant Eagle and bought a coconut cream pie to fulfill my (non-pregnant!!!) cravings, only to buy one capped with MERINGUE knowing that I HATE MERINGUE OH MY GOD.

Good thing we bought a real coconut cream pie the next night at Bob Evans.

God, what a fucking emotional start to the day.

Got to leave work around 6:30 because it was so slow, but Henry and Chooch were at Chuck E Cheese for a birthday party, so I had to take the dreaded trolley home. Almost not worth getting to go home early.

Sue kept trying to coax me into taking an entire box of pizza home and I was like, “I can barely carry myself on the T, let alone an XL pizza box.

So she gave it to the cleaning people.

But I blindly chose the correct one and made it all the way to my stop with little incident. Did overhear two hacky-sackers compliment each others dirty hats though.

Clammy Trolley Fare.

Then I arrived at my house only to learn that HENRY wasn’t home yet. HENRY who has the house key. Hot Naybor Chris invited me in since I looked like a poor, shivering sack on the porch, but I declined because I wanted Henry to find me in such state and feel bad.

He did not feel bad.

And that is how I kicked off my Easter weekend.

Thank god I have two Valentines or the day would have really been a bust*. Chooch, who put way more thought into than HENRY, didn’t like any of the songs that the Valentine cards played, so he gave me a birthday card instead. He will only choose cards that play music.

*(In all honesty, it really was a sweet night. It was nice coming home to a clean house and good dinner after I SLAVED OVER A CAKE for two days.)

Anyway, I’ve had the birthday card on my desk all week which invites people to ask if it’s my birthday. I just now realized how idiotic I’ve been by saying no. I could have maybe scored a free Starbucks out of it. Or at least spoken to in a nicer tone (or at all) from certain people in the department.

AND CANDY! Which he wanted back after giving it to me. I don’t know WHERE he learns these things.

And he made me another Valentine at school. <3  I try and act like I don’t give a shit about Valentine’s Day, but maybe I sort of do, you guys. It’s fun to draw hearts.

New Year’s Eve started off by me coming home Saturday afternoon to a beautiful picture of Speck drawn by my friend Julie. I had no idea she was doing this and I was so touched that I cried. But these were good tears for once. I all but ripped the current picture out of that frame so Speck could have her own home on the wall. I can’t even adequately express my gratitude. Julie, you are wonderful!

Later, my babe and I watched the hockey game together while Henry and Chooch went to the store to get party food. Then Henry came back and walked around, moving all the candles I had just lit because I failed the Flammable course in the School of Life. “You can’t put a flame this close to PAPER!” Fuck, he’s so critical.

I’m not a big New Year’s Eve person; in my history, I have had more disastrous, tear- and drama-filled New Year’s Eve than not, so I’m usually content to just stay home with Henry, doing nothing but making fun of the various NYE bullshit on TV. This year, though, we had a small get-together with Tommy, Jessy, Laura and Mike. It was laid back, devoid of drama and tears, and just nice to spend an evening with some of my favorites.

It wouldn’t have felt right if Tommy hadn’t made Chooch cry eight times in a 30-minute span.

Tommy molded a pink penis out of what remained of the Play-Doh that Janna bought Chooch last week. Chooch NEVER puts the lids on and I wind up sweeping up colored rocks within a week. I hate Play-Doh more than any other toy, except maybe all those Tickle Me Elmo fuckers.

Weener cleavage.

Chooch couldn’t wait for Laura to get there so she could help him with the science project kit she got him for Christmas. You might think having the sweat of strangers rubbed on you in the club is the only way to spend New Year’s Eve, but we made volcanoes and some kind of disgusting yet addicting pink goo that I absolutely could not stop dunking my fingertips in even after it wigged me out to the point of yelping like a girl seeing her first weener on accident.

Earlier in the day, Chooch was being a total fucker so I uninvited him to the party, which made him cry, and this in turn made Henry sigh exasperatedly and say, “You can’t say things like that to him; you’re his mother.” So for 2012, I’m going to buy some Mom Manuals.

After a few minutes of me sitting there, staring at my pink-stained fingertips in some kind of bizarre googly-eyed awe, Henry sneered, “If I had known you’d get this excited, I’d have given you a bowl of cornstarch and water a long time ago.” When Laura first arrived, she asked for a “Blame Henry” pin, but after about a half hour of my antics, she mumbled, “I think I’ll take that Poor Henry pin now.” Turncoat!

Jessy got me an APPLE RING, motherfuckers! A GODDAMN SPARKLING APPLE RING, OH I CAN HARDLY STAND IT! I spent most of the night admiring it; in fact, I even missed most of the countdown because I was so distracted by the glorious rays of crimson light emitting from my thumb. This could have been the perfect engagement ring if someone had been more proactive, just saying. (Operation: Propose or GTFO 2011 was clearly a shining success.)

I drank so much that I was sweating wine. Malachi imbibed his fair share, as well.

At the stoke of midnight, I tore off outside, down the front steps, and embarked on a shortbus journey to the land of inebriated celebrations. I have a vague recollection of Laura, Mike and Henry watching with moderate interest from inside the house. “Good thing there wasn’t any ICE out there,” Henry remarked when I came back inside after realizing I was the only one outside screaming and engaging in some sort of sad jumping jack mutation. Henry is always in Dad Mode, even after drinking vodka all night.

Later, I learned who my real friends were when I drunkenly got a pillow STUCK TO MY HEAD and no one helped save me.

It was a great way to say goodbye to 2011, which was a mostly wonderful year full of new friendships; rekindling old friendships; getting to finally meet my friend Andrea in person; fun trips; JONNY CRAIG; incredible shows; getting to hang out at the Alternative Press offices (this is destined to be one of my favorite memories); amusement parks and county fairs; having my birthday party at a roller rink; and Henry finally dropping some plus-sized, shit-filled baggage. It just sucks that now, whenever I think of 2011, I’m always going to think of Speck dying. But then I just remember all the wonderful friends who helped me through it, and that’s enough to make me smile again. Stoked for all the things I want to accomplish and experience in 2012! Happy New Year, you guys.

(Sorry to get all sappy and introspective. I’ll start being a petulant asshole again tomorrow.)