Good afternoon, people of the Internet. Today’s post is about the time I splurged on a Selina Sanders handmade shirt made from a vintage dishtowel because it reminded me so much of my Pappap’s game room carpet and general aesthetic. I could imagine these dish towels being used in one of the bar areas. (There were two – “too excessive” was not in my Pappap’s vocab.)

Anyway, I paid like $120 for this damn shirt thinking that it would be nice to wear in the fall when we returned to work – LOL such pure, wholesome thinking! We obviously have still not returned back to the office and the dressiest I get these days are when I swap my sweatpants for jeans but keep the hoodie.

My hair wasn’t looking too rat-nesty today so I asked Chooch to take some pictures of me wearing this dumb shirt so I could at least kind of get some use out of it and it’s still fall, so….

And you can imagine how thrilled he was!

One time a few years ago, I was on a walk while screaming at Henry about something over the phone and didn’t realize that there were people working on this balcony thingie that I posing under. I think about that every time I walk past this place because those worker guys exchanged “wheeeeeeew-eeeeee, better him than me!” glances.

Chooch is obsessed with the shrubbery in this yard and never fails to openly admire it every time we stroll past.

“Sit like your leg is broken.”

Obligatory jump shot.

I have a really hard time standing with my arms at my side. I always want them to be akimbo or waving like mattress store inflatable man thingies:

I’m kind of annoyed because I have a pair of boots that would have looked much better with this outfit but they’re under my desk at work, in a box with like 9 other pairs of shoes. Where they have been languishing since March.

It’s very hard for me to be on this side of the lens, you guys, you have no idea. And also hard for the person taking the pictures! Chooch was just like, “OMG YOU LOOK OK STOP.”

But then this happened and it’s 100% the BEST PICTURE ANYONE HAS EVER TAKEN OF ME. This effing bird came out of nowhere and Chooch and I both screamed so hard. It flew by so fast that it only registered as a blip on the live version of this picture which is insane. Henry originally thought it was a hawk but then obsessed over it for 30 minutes and is going with sparrow as his final answer. I put it on Instagram, so I’m sure all the high strung ornithologists will trip over themselves to “Actually…” him. GOOD!

Let’s be real, it’s been hard to make lemonade out of the dirty ass lemons that the coronavirus has chucked at us this year.  With all the staying-at-home that has been mandated since March, the one thing that has really kept me from spiraling out has been giving our rental home a refresher. I can’t even stress how much just a simple change in wall-color has boosted my mood!

But one of the biggest problems we’ve ALWAYS had is CLUTTER. We just don’t have a lot of room to put things (I mean, we’re not hoarders, but we’re…just messy. And by “we” I mean “Henry). After we redid  the dining room, I was like, “AND YOU NEED TO FIND SOMEWHERE TO KEEP THE CARD-MAKING SUPPLIES.” We have a shelf at the bottom of the steps, but that evidently isn’t enough because his supplies kept spilling out onto the dining room table, under the dining room table, next to the dining room table, on the dining room chairs…you get the picture. It’s his card-making station, you guys, and I can’t be too finger-pointer-y about it because we sell cards very consistently so he just got in a routine where he would leave the main supplies out, since he was “going to need them again tomorrow.”

Basically this is A LOT of words to say that we could never even sit at the table to eat because his paper cutter, his crafting knives, his tape, his envelopes, his etc etc etc, was always strewn across the tabletop.

So after we redid the dining room, he moved all of his supplies to the basement until we found a good storage solution.

I knew from the start that I wanted a buffet-type piece that could be useful if we ever get to host parties again but also double as hidden storage. I didn’t want to buy something new though – I wanted to find something at the thrift store so that we could dress it up in my dumb aesthetic, which varies.

We ended up finding this really solid mid-century buffet a few weeks ago for like $60 and it was, um, very worth it because the manufacturer is a very good one (we found out that this piece could possibly be worth between $1500-$3000…good thing we used good paint?). As usual, I have no before photo but just know that it was ugly and like, off-white.

Henry finally put it back together last night and brought it up from the basement and I love it SO MUCH. It’s perfect!

We bought the cabinet paint from Lowe’s and the cashier was like, “THIS IS A GREAT COLOR.”

Yeah, no duh.

I knew before we even found a buffet that I wanted to use some of my Pappap’s wallpaper on it. I felt that the print from the master bedroom of the Gillcrest House was the perfect complement to the pink I picked (literally typed “pink I pinked” the first time). Henry used actual wallpaper paste-stuff and the sheets went right on the doors like it was made just to sit around for 50 years waiting for this moment.

I chose gold glitter ribbon as an accent because pink and gold glitter is my signature, like it’s hard to believe I wasn’t in a sorority sometimes, like hee hee, bitches.

Here’s what the wallpaper looked like in the Gillcrest master bedroom.

When I was a really little kid, I used to sleepover my grandparents’ house a lot and I would always sleep in that room with them. That room was fucking magical, the bathroom alone was like no other, and I am so happy to have a piece of that room here in my house, on a repurposed piece of furniture that will hopefully live on for many more decades. (I mean, I can picture this in Chooch’s house someday, can’t you?

)

I just fucking love it and can’t wait until I can have people over here again so I can load it up with snaaaaax.

Henry was mad because I posted pictures of it on Instagram without including one of it with the actual buffet flap-things open. “THAT’S WHAT MAKES IT A BUFFET!” he yelled, because he wrote a thesis on midcentury furniture, didn’t you know?

Hilariously, when we first found this at the thrift store, it was SO UGLY TO ME, especially when Henry opened the flaps. I screamed, “OMG WHAT IS THIS????” and he calmly said, “A buffet…” and I was like, “Oh thank god, I thought it was some kind of exam table.”

Wheelchairs? Yes. Funerary paraphernalia? Fuck yeah. Exam tables? GTFO.

I have my limits, you guys.

True to form, Henry left the inside blank. I mean, I guess if he was refurbishing this to sell as a OOAK piece, he’d have gone the extra mile and fluffed up the innards, but we’re only going to stuff it with non compos cards supplies (and cats, apparently), so who really cares, you know?

Drew really fucking loves it.

“Thanks for the new spot!” she said.

So anyway, that’s my buffet story. It would have been really cool to have had this back when I had that vintage food party!

I must be officially old, because I’m getting all hot and bothered over attractive, yet functioning, storage solutions.

Bun had been haunting Gillcrest for the last 10 decades,

No one had bothered him, not even the wool-clad Mormon mission-maids.

But then one Tuesday a stranger arrived with a bag—

The new resident of Gillcrest, it was a horned stag!

Bun watched this scene unfold from a darkened upstairs window,

and wondered, “How in the hell can I chase off this bimbo?”

The new resident brought with him nine pounds of lunch meat in a chest,

three truckfuls of IKEA and paint swatches tucked near his breast.

His name was Bart and he was quick to make himself at home,

Tucking into bed with a trashy airport tome.

Bun waited for Bart to close his eyes for the night

Before pulling out a nightmarish delight.

A mannequin, green like slime and with nary an arm

Out from the closet to cause all sorts of harm.

When Bart arose the next morn’ with a stretch and a spit,

His heart skipped a beat at the sight of the broad’s plastic tit.

“I swear this tart wasn’t here when I turned off the light,”

He swiped at the beads of sweat along his lip, butt clenching in fright.

Bart fled from his room and sank down into a corner,

Wondering if he was dealing with the supernatural or a burglar.

Bart thought he heard some blips, some gurgles, and a bleet,

Coming from the basement far under his feet.

“That’s probably just the house groaning, or feral cats under the foundation, boning,”

Bart laughed nervously, thinking he might call his Mother for some chaperoning.

Oh, but it was Bun, partaking in his daily routine:

A rousing game of Pacman and a few swigs of hooch at 10:14.

Bun floated back upstairs just in time to hear Bart on the phone,

Talking to his mommy who made him feel a little less alone.

She said to vacate the spooks behind the peregrine doors,

“You need to redecorate, and make this house yours!”

Bart assessed his new home from a red corner chair,

and thought, “How can I change things up around here?

I’ll knock down this wall and tear up that shag carpet,

and turn that grand bathtub into a germ-filled ball pit.”

It was like reliving his midlife crisis of 1994,

Which came with a Porsche and an affair with a Gabor.

(Not Zsa Zsa.)

“He wants to put a ball pit right here in my loo?

I gotta get rid of him with something stronger than ‘boo.'”

Bun needed to sit down and have a good thought.

So he went and did just that on the master pot.

Bun considered going the poltergeist route,

Tossing around dishes, chucking an old rubber boot.

Not wanting to break his things, he went with something more malleable,

And summoned an army of one of each stuffed animal.

Teddy bears and puppies and some weird doll-thing,

Surged upon Bart, pinning him to the wall like one big butterfly wing.

“It was probably just a fluke, something-something about gravity,”

Bart’s mom sighed over top of her daytime TV.

“You know what you need, a good healthy lay.

Go call up Bernice from 1-900-PONYPLAY.”

Bart knew she was right, some company would do him good,

So he tried to fix himself up, he did what he could.

He lubed up his horn and filled his satchel with smelling salts,

Then when downstairs to wait for Bernice and all of her faults.

(Daddy issues.)

After waiting in his chair for more than an hour,

Bart thought he saw something, a figure the trees tried to devour.

“Is that Bernice?” Bart thought, bringing his binoculars  up to his eyes,

(He always kept them handy in case a neighbor bared their thighs.)

But what he saw didn’t resemble a hag rode hard and put away wet,

No, this looked more like…somebody’s Easter pet.

And what was that, just behind the bunny and to the left?

A head in a ditch, the chin had a cleft.

Was that Bernice, beheaded by this cuniculus killer

But Bart rubbed his eyes, and the bunny was gone, nothing out there but filler.

Bun came back into the house and changed his clothes,

Killing that stripper bitch left him bloody and anxious for her to decompose.

Bun knew that if he played his cards just right,

He’d have his estate back by the end of third night.

Just a few more moves left in this game by his pawn

Before Bart would be shitting his pants on the front lawn.

Bun spent time in the game room with his clown crew

While elsewhere in the house, Bart’s paranoia grew.

Was this some real life Amityville Horror ghost attack,

Or just another Vietnam acid flashback?

The bedside phone rang on Bart’s third night,

Not once but thrice, the trill giving his  faint heart a bite.

The first two calls were white noise, static silence,

Not even the slightest semblance of a sentence.

But the third call exploded with the angry bellow of Bun:

“Bitch you’re in my house, best run motherfucker, run!”

That was enough to get Bart to peace the fuck out, see,

So he called up a ride from the Teenage Hooker taxi company.

He waited and waited by the window, so harried and eager,

His hooves percussing the floor to the beat of Bob Seger.

“A real man would have lasted more than one day times three,”

He could already hear his mother say in between sips of her tea.

But mother can suck a dick, Bart thought as he ran out of the door,

To jump in the back of the cab driven by a whore.

(Out of Uber territory.)

Bun rejoiced on the deck beneath the sun’s bright rays.

“I got my house back and I have lunch meat for days!”

*****************************************************************

When I used to work with Barb, she would quote from Steel Magnolias a lot – it’s like her thing, so if you’re ever looking to get Barb a gift, just order her an aardvark cake or force a cup of juice into her face and yell at her to drink it.

And usually I would groan because that was my signature response to Barbisms, but anytime she would quote from the pivotal cemetery scene, I would get on board and buckle up. If you’re some weirdo who’s never seen that movie, there is a part where Dolly Parton’s character says, “Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.”

That’s what I was counting on to get me through Saturday, when we had our memorial service for Sharon, and also my grandma, who died almost exactly 5 years ago. My brother Corey went above and beyond, doing all the leg work with the funeral home, church, and cemetery to make sure all the arrangements were made. It was a huge burden off of our mom and will forever be appreciated.

I’m not trying to be morbid or tacky (though these qualities come so easily for me) by recapping this but I honestly want to remember it as a day where friends and family came together in Sharon’s memory, and how it provided a sense of normalcy for some of us to have that experience this time around. Corey did such a wonderful job organizing everything and I never want to forget it! And it was really comforting to see the familiar faces of my friends Lisa, Chris & Monica, Angie and her fiance Keith; and family members I don’t get to see very often like my aunt Susie and her husband Larry, my dad and brother Ryan, and my cousin Karen and Aunt Donna. Corey had his friends Dan and Michelle there, and my mom’s friend Debbie came, plus Henry’s mom Judy, so it was a chapel filled with friendly faces and it really helped me breathe better. We kept it simple and casual, and it was the best way to go, I think. Especially after how traumatic and stressful the last several months have been for us.

My meager contribution was making a photo collage of Sharon, which was certainly in my wheelhouse because I am obsessive when it comes to photographs and knew where every picture was before I even got started (which is why I literally waited until the night before to start piecing everything together – I work well under pressure kind of, but not).

And then when we realized that prayer cards hadn’t been ordered, I decided to save Corey the extra baggage by offering to just make them myself. I mean, I made them for work once so I kind of have experience?

I found some images of old, antique prayer cards, back when they were printed on actual lace. I thought they were so pretty and knew they’d be perfect. They just screamed elegance to me. I spent some time looking for appropriate poems/prayers to put on the back, and then Henry did all of the printing because I don’t get my hands dirty with that stuff.

Once we arrived at the church, I kind of started panicking. I mean, I modeled the prayer cards off of ones I already have in my collection (for my Pappap, dad, etc.) so they were the standard size and whatever, but I felt very self-conscious about them since they were DIY and would Jesus frown upon that? I mean, he was a carpenter so he should be proud when someone makes something on their own, right?

Turns out, they took on a life of their own. After the mass, we congregated in the foyer of the church and people started murmuring about them. Monica told me that Sister Mary Eunice (the resident nun’s Monica-given name) approached her and said, “I’m sorry for your loss, but do you know where these prayer cards came from?”

I snagged this photo from Corey’s Facebook because that’s how I do.

So then she found me and started pumping me for info.

“Did you get them from the funeral home? No? You made them!? Do you have a business?” she asked.

I mean, technically, I do have a business…but it’s serial killers not prayer cards.

And then, “Do you mind if I take a couple extra for the girls in the office?” I mean, who can say to such a sweet old nun? She was so earnest about it.

That provided some much needed levity, as well as my dad pointing out that the church left the key in the door and maybe I should take it to have a copy made so that I can come back anytime I want (you know, since I’m SO HOLY), and my eyeball purse making the family service worker and Father Dan bust out laughing at the cemetery. (Thank god Chooch wasn’t there. He hates that purse so he would have been real angry that it was getting attention as usual.)

Laughter through tears, you guys!

After the cemetery, some of us convened at Blue Flame for lunch, and that’s when I realized that Chris and Lisa are some sort of strange, parallel people with nearly the same hair cut (swooped to opposite sides), nose rings on the same side, and a penchant for chair-dancing to whatever 80s monster ballad was playing on the radio — in tandem without realizing it. By the end of the lunch, they were making plans to go kayaking together!

This was also when I learned that Chris knew she wanted to be friends with me when she saw my quotation mark finger tattoos – I never knew! So between that, the waitress nickel-and-diming us (“Just so you know, that’s an upcharge. Just so you know, that doesn’t come with it. Just so you know, that will be considered an extra side.”), and Henry’s dumb face, we had a lot of laughs and it felt so good.

AND THEN PHIL CAME ON THE RADIO! So I got to make a Phil Party Instavid, wherein I instructed everyone not to talk but my brother Ryan didn’t get that memo and NEARLY RUINED THE VIDEO by asking, “What are you doing?” Ugh, Ryan. Just ugh.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BINmtmtgrS6/?taken-by=ohhonestlyerin

After lunch, we took Chris and Monica back to The House so they could see it for the first time, and Corey and I got to share childhood stories with them with also helped with the healing process. I had to laugh because right as we were getting ready to leave, it started hardcore thundering. I think it was Sharon telling us to wrap it up in there, because she would always get so antsy and nervous any time people came over. We heard you, Sharon. :)

***

I went home that day feeling very peaceful and thankful to have known Sharon, to have such wonderful people in my life (a lot of my friends who couldn’t be there reached out via text & Facebook and it really meant so much), and to finally have that sense of closure.

Also, that was the second time in a week that I found myself in church and lived to talk about it. I fell right back into the motions of genuflecting, “Peace be with you”ing, and reciting the Our Father FLAWLESSLY thank you, so now I’m considering making this a weekly thing, maybe? Chooch seemed to enjoy all the parts where he got to repeat after the priest, so maybe he’ll go with me.

Laughter through tears. Every time.

***

The next morning my mom called me and said that her friend Debbie called to ask her about the prayer cards. She sounded so annoyed, haha. Those fucking prayer cards.

I will end this with a picture of Sharon in her signature Bon Jovi shirt. <3

We’ve been working on the outside of Gillcrest lately since we’ve reached a point with the interior where actual handymen will need to be hired. There is a ton of overgrowth happening in the backyard plus some felled trees, so today Henry bought a CHAINSAW.

I know what you’re thinking: what kind of man doesn’t already own a chainsaw? Aren’t they like born with one?

I don’t know why I was so excited about this. I knew the moment that Henry fired it up, I would probably pee my pants because HAUNTED HOUSE TRAUMA.

Still, I begged him to let me pick out the chainsaw, but he shouldered me out of the way (!!!!!!) and gruffly said something about “MAN PICK CHAINSAW. YOU NOT MAN.” Then he proceeded to put on this huge show of browsing the chainsaw showcase when we all knew he was just going to buy the cheapest one there.

C’mon now, Henry.

My favorite part was after he determined which was the cheapest, he asked the Home Depot guy, “BLAH BLAH BLAH?”

And the Home Depot guy was all, “BLAH BLAH BLAH.”

And then there was a MYSTERIOUS CAN HAND-OFF.

Followed by more BLAHs and another hand-off of A THING OF STUFF.

You guys missed so much. I’ll  bring the camera crew next time.

Back at Gillcrest, no one was there yet and I was like, “Do I really want to be alone here with a chainsaw-wielding Henry?” But then my mom and Corey were there and I realized it wouldn’t have mattered much because it took Henry FORTY-FIVE MINUTES to get the chainsaw started.

WOW MUCH MAN, VERY TESTOSTERONE.

I helped by throwing crab apples at him while Corey meandered about the backyard, taking pictures of trees.

Us Kellys are notorious for our yardwork ethics.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BHprL8Igv_q/?taken-by=ohhonestlyerin

Henry was really starting to get extremely pissed off, so I wasn’t exactly sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing when he finally got it started. I’m not sure what the issue was other than Henry just not being masculine enough? The guys at the haunted houses never seem to have a problem getting it started.

Just sayin’.

(Please enjoy Corey’s and my obnoxious gang-laughter in the above video. It really helps Henry deal with stressful situations.)

After about 20 minutes of chainsaw’ing, I noticed Henry milling about quietly so I went over to berate him for being a slacker. He held up his finger to show me that he had WOUNDED HIMSELF ON THE CHAINSAW!!!

“OMG DID YOU CHAINSAW YOURSELF?!?!?!” I screamed, bracing myself for impending faints.

“No, I burnt myself on it,” he said quietly, probably trying to hold back tears while praying that he his penis would eventually come back to him after being engulfed by the cavernous VAGINA that had opened up in its place. God Henry, you’d never know you used to be in THE SERVICE!

“Oh,” I said, disappointed that his injury wasn’t more manly and valiant. So I went back to sitting in the grass

Apparently the reason he burned himself was because the chain was too loose and in his attempt to tighten it, he touched some silver part whatever that means. Once he stopped crying about it, he picked up the manual and sat down for some summer reading.

Then my mom came back with PIZZA which was great because Corey and I had been working very hard, dragging chopped down branches into the woods. My mom said she did a spit-take when she saw me in the yard, working.

I have callouses now, maybe.

Our new tradition is eating pizza in the formal dining room that I don’t think my grandparents ever used after the year 1983, while blasting the soft rock station over the kitchen speakers. Usually, there is at least one Phil Collins/Genesis jam that plays, but today we were treated to BROKEN WINGS by MR MISTER.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BHp3ayYANOj/?taken-by=ohhonestlyerin

My mom didn’t understand what was going on and thought that I was filming the pizza because the song goes with pizza (“That song goes with pizza??” she’s incredulously asking in the background of the video) but it’s really just because I needed to focus on something while capturing some glorious notes of Broken Wings, you know? And why not pizza?!

After pizza, Henry casually announced that someone was there, and we all fucking lost our shit because it’s been HAUTE TENSION since March 30th, OK? Turns out my mom had recently renewed the insurance on the house and it was just some dude from the insurance agency who was there to take photos for the file or something, I don’t know, I wasn’t the one talking to him.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to go and put that Mr. Mister record on right now. KBYE.

https://instagram.com/p/BHIFWtDghpQ/
The Phil Collins vibes are strong AF at Gillcrest. Every time I turn on the kitchen stereo, there he is. And twice on Sunday!
https://instagram.com/p/BHIR903AATw/

It’s all at once comforting and haunting. Absolutely impossible for me to hear any Genesis or Phil jam and not think of my childhood in that house.

I guess that’s why when I couldn’t fall asleep Friday night, I found myself painting a picture of Phil.

When Chooch saw it the next day, he happily said, “Oh, Phil Collins!

I was just thinking about him, too…” Can’t imagine why.

Speaking of my fake stustudio, I finally got this bad boy up on the wall. It was originally hanging in my grandma’s clown room and she always said I could have it. And now I have it, so…

This post is brought to you by late night iced coffee, kettlebell fatigue, and MTV’s Are You the One*.

Coming up later this week: an emotionally disjointed recap of last week’s Cure show, maybe another music video no one will watch, an essay on my political stance (lol no), HOPEFULLY HENRY’S WARPED TOUR VIDEO, and probably some furry love because Anthrocon is this week and I have a date with a walrus!

*(I tried so hard to resist, but it finally sucked me in. I’M WEAK, OK??!!)

(Also, I wonder if Henry and I would be a match if we were on Are You The One. Omg lol that’s a hilarious thought.

I just woke him up to tell him that and his response was muffled on account of his dumb face being buried in his pillow.)

Yesterday was a good day at Gillcrest, full of productive conversations & planning…just a general sense of optimism. There is still so much to do that it often makes me feel like I can’t breathe, but Henry got the grass cut— so, there’s that.

(Hey, there’s a lot of grass over there!)

Dick in a tree.

Dick on a tractor.

Dick behind a mower.

More Gino Vannelli finds!

And this bitchin’ Winchester shirt that has stains but IDGAF.

I like to turn on the kitchen stereo so the house is full of soft rock. It’s comforting and makes it feel alive in there again.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BGzcC2Uu0BO/?taken-by=ohhonestlyerin

https://www.instagram.com/p/BGziB3qu0Cg/?taken-by=ohhonestlyerin

One can always count on Chooch for comedic relief.

My mom got a random head lamp thing in the mail as a free gift from Marlboro, so she brought it over for Chooch. But it actually was a pretty handy device for me because I was working on cleaning out some of the drawers in one of the gamerooms that has very limited light.

I haven’t worn one of these since I did that ghost hunt back in 2011!

After we left the house, Henry took us to Page’s for ice cream where I had major ordering remorse. I wanted a maple sundae but I didn’t see the sign for it, so I got the blueberry soft serve instead. And then of course right after Henry paid, I saw my maple queen on the fucking menu.

Dick at the ice cream shop.

“It tasted like ice cream. I never would have thought,” Chooch just deadpanned when I asked him if he wanted to review his ice cream cone.

Seriously, for being my back-up, you can’t really go wrong with soft serve made with real blueberries, you know?

Dick hugging a dick.

Dick with an angel.

Capped off a fine Saturday with “Crimson Peak,” which was way better than I thought it was going to be and felt actual sadness when it ended. JUST LIKE I DID WHEN SATURDAY ENDED.

Never enough Saturday. :(

My awesome friend Kara agreed to come to The House over the weekend and model one motherfucking bodacious wardrobe for me. The 80s were hilarious, and there were definitely some WTF moments as we sorted through the clothes, but there were definitely some HOLY SHIT THIS IS FABULOUS outburst too!

It was really nice to have the house filled with laughter. Even my mom was cracking up!

Anyway, the whole point to this is that while we have donated dozens upon dozens of bags to clothes to charity, we wanted to save the more vintage, unique pieces in order to raise some cash for the repairs that we need to make around the house. I promise that not a single dime is going to concert tickets or, I don’t know, hookers for Henry. This is just my way of trying to be helpful. Let’s see how that goes!

I made an official Instagram for the clothes (@Gillcrest_garments) and will be listing everything in this first lot once I go back over to the house on Tuesday and get the actual measurements of the dresses. Because that might be helpful! Sizes in the 80s were whack.

I’d consider getting a surgery to make this dress fit me. Double-decker sighs for days.

Jean jacket competition!

Pizza prom!

Corey’s wearing a multi-colored cropped leather jacket from Express. I used to beg my aunt Sharon to let me borrow it when I was in middle school. That jacket was the shit, man. I tried it on and now that I have a body ruined by The Child, I just look like an asshole.

(I’m so good at selling clothes already!)

This is a ONE-PIECE POWER PANTSUIT, YOU GUYS. Elastic waist. Totally bitchin’ for the boardroom.

This dress is killer. We also have one that’s sleeveless and navy blue.

ANOTHER PANTSUIT! This one has a sequined sweetheart top and literal MC Hammer bottoms. So fucking sick, and Kara said it was actually quite comfortable!

The pizza dress has a beverage twin! Same brand: Dressy Tessy. This still has the tags on it — can you believe it’s lived in a closet for thirty years, unworn!? That’s a travesty.

Rompers are in again, I think.

There’s so much more, but I tortured Kara enough for one day. (I mean, right down to accidentally snapping her bra with some middle school boy force. Sorry about that again, Kara!)

Don’t forget to follow Gillcrest Garments on Instagram and hit me up on here if you have your eye on something and want to get it before it goes public! I’m going the Instagram route because I don’t want to deal with listing fees, etc. I just want this to be quick and painless!

Everything is either new with tags or has been extremely gently worn. Most of the clothes are from the 80s but we’ve found a few pieces that look like they could be older. I think my grandma must have given most of the really old stuff away long ago.

I come home from work, eat dinner, and go over my Pappap’s house. This is my current normal and I’m not complaining.

My mom was polishing one of the porch light, this wrought iron lantern thing, and I said, “Wow, I never noticed that there’s a dragon on this.”

“There’s lots of things about this house I’ve never noticed before,” my mom said. It’s crazy, all the time spent in that house, how many tiny details slipped away unnoticed. Like the above face on the frame of the dining room mirror!

Never-ending Story vibes.

“I never realized what gothic tastes they had,” my mom said the other day about my Pappap and Grandma. Their interior design aesthetic was definitely niche, that’s for sure.

But again, I grew up around it and it never seemed unusual. So much time has passed since the days when I used to visit regularly that it’s like seeing the house with brand new eyes.

Like a tourist.

Like it’s not a home anymore and I’m just visiting.

Not sure how that makes me feel.

We focused on the various game rooms on Sunday, and I stumbled across this owl in the bathroom that I completely forgot about but the sight of it was so familiar and entirely welcomed. My mom told me to take it but I didn’t.

You never know.

Henry fiddled with one of the jukeboxes and thinks it should be an easy fix….for a professional. Yes, Henry actually admitted that he couldn’t fix something himself!

My mom attempted to teach Chooch how to play pool. Better her than me. I gave up after 6 seconds of him thinking that he knew it all.

He gets that from Henry.

The relics at the bar are so much fun to look at. It brings back memories of sneaking in during high school and drinking root beer Schnapps. Corey told me that he used to do the same thing, but he would break in through one of the game room windows. I was like “Why wouldn’t you just use the hidden key above the garage door and break in like a civilized burglar?”

So many steins up in this house.

HOTTER THAN HELL.

There are so many lessons that I’ve been taking away from this sitch, like learning that it’s OK to ask for help and some people will definitely not be there when you need it and that’s OK because there are plenty of dicks in this world for them to go suck. It’s also made me appreciate Henry even more for sticking by me, helping with all the dirty work, and having my back constantly. (Except when he’s playing Devil’s Advocate, which is like THE WORST and hello STOP MAKING EXCUSES FOR PEOPLE, you know? Tell him that.)

I can’t tell you how many shows I’ve skipped out on, but the progress we’ve been making has been completely worth it. TEAM WORK.

One more thing: where all my plumber/super fucking rich investor friends at?

LOL.

Sharing these photos has been really cathartic for me. If you’re still visiting my blog even through all my mopiness and ridiculously embarrassing navel-gazing (yes, I’m aware, but I can’t stop!), then thank you, baes. I like sharing my woes with the world. I’m just a generous kind of broad.

  Chooch inverted that crucifix the other day and I was like, “BOY! NOT WHEN WE’RE TWO DAYS AWAY FROM GOING TO A BIRTHDAY PARTY IN A CHURCH.” Shit, son.

  
The sunset was pastel AF the other night when I was leaving. I miss living on this street a lot sometimes. There is so much wildlife everywhere! Deer and turkey just like, casually stroll down the lane together, like it’s no big deal. And Henry pointed out a possum the other night when we were leaving. When I still lived at home, we used to have sheep as pets, for Christ’s sake. (And a blood-thirsty rabbit.)

I never noticed these faces on the dining room mirror before.

At one time, this porch was entirely open. Corey and I have been shaking Val down for Original House details. (There was a fire at one point and it was rebuilt into what it is today.) She pointed out that in one of downstairs bathrooms, there was a window where a mirror currently hangs, and that’s where she used to sneak out of the house, haha. Also?! Her bedroom pre-house fire was the current clown room! Which actually was never really called the clown room by anyone but me.

It was technically considered the “stereo room.”

I mean, here’s the carpet:

I’d like to curl up and die on that carpet. BIG FUCKING EMO SAD SACK SIGH.

Found a stack of these in a bathroom drawer.
  

Chooch’s new bae. He’s been spending so much time there that now he’s starting to have dreams about the house, which makes me sad, but at least it’ll live on in someone else’s memory now too I guess? He said he’s going to start writing it into his Amethyst story and my heart was basically pumping confetti and smaller, baby hearts into my chest.

Yesterday we made Val order us pizza (lol) and Chooch insisted on eating at the dining room table, which I swear to god probably hasn’t been used since…1983? I remember my grandparents had a really big Christmas dinner one year with lots of extended family, and people sat in the dining room, in the living room at a long table, and also at the kitchen table. There were people everywhere but more importantly, there were presents for me everywhere, too!  #spoiledbrat

#formalpizzaparty #whysoformal #usingthegoodpapertowels

  

This fucking bowling game was always so frustrating, even back when it was new and should have worked properly.

Music was clearly super important in this house. There were speakers all over the house so that you could listen to whatever was playing in the clown room, or the kitchen, etc. There was always music playing in the kitchen when I was growing up and I think that’s a big reason why I always leave the radio on in my bedroom.

I had so many good hangouts in this room during my teen years! This is the largest of the three game rooms in the basement.

Glass guns filled with wine, which Henry discovered in a drawer.

ALONG WITH A PROJECTOR!!

This is the carpet in the game room we always referred to as “the pool room” because, you know, that’s where the pool table is.
  I used to be so good at PacMan, but my Pappap was a champion.

I loved fucking around with the intercom system when I was a kid, making it squawk and being generally annoying which I know sounds shocking.

Corey was fiddling with the one in the den and it still works kind of! We heard Henry and Chooch outside. I never actually knew how to properly work those things, though.

That time Corey turned the corner and didn’t expect anyone to be there.

MORE TOM SELLECK!

This house needs preserved,  you know? Some of the things inside there, you just don’t see anymore. How does that quote go? It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. LOL. My life is that quote AF right now.

This post is full of pictures, so if you’re a member of the GET OVER IT camp, you are permitted to peace out now. :) I AM ACCOMMODATING EVEN IN MY EMOTIONAL STUPOR! Anyway, this is one of the walls in the den, featuring some framed baby prints of yours truly. Also my aunt Susie and some old people. The den is one of the only…how do you say…subdued rooms in the house. The wall paper in that room is textured, and I used to always scratch it with my nails, probably while watching HUNTER, who knows. I would be lying if I said I haven’t been sneaking in some gentle wall-scratches lately. Creature comforts, old habits, etc.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve pinched my fingers in that goddamn gate!

GIRRRRL, cover up.

Sharon was way into Cabbage Patch Kids in the 80s. She used to fly to Babyland, USA once a year to buy whatever those special ones were, I don’t know. I was never into it, even though she tried to get me to be. She bought me a preemie once (how weird is it now to think that you could get “premature” versions of Cabbage Patch Kids??) and I thanked her by repeatedly bashing its head off the road in front of my old house in South Park. (Sylvania Dr., holla!)

Henry found a drawer with a stash of Cabbage Patch Kids birth certificates the other day and just sighed.

When I was really young, the Christmas tree was in this room and we ate in the adjacent dining room. But then my grandma started inviting less people so we started having more informal Christmases on the porch.  I didn’t care where the tree was as long as there was a veritable toy store wrapped underneath it with MY NAME on it.

#COBWEBS

I’ve really been trying to take advantage of the situation by spending as much time over there as possible. Henry keeps saying that I’m too involved, too immersed, too obsessed…maybe the obsessed part is true, but I firmly believe that this is where I need to be right now, taking the time to go through the drawers and closets, remembering my old plastic bowling set that I used to play with on the indoor porch; the paper mache mail holder I made for my grandma (which is still intact 30+ years later!); the smell of the cedar closet where my old, baby fur coats still hang.

I gotta find that Bruce Willis cassette.

I am grateful for this time I was given, in spite of the circumstances. Plus, Corey and I collected a shitload of new hashtags that mean nothing to no one but crack us the fuck up.#SMELLMYGLOVE #POSTALBINSORGTFO #GOFUCKYOURSELF #DAWNSBLOCKOFCHEESE

Life, AMIRITE?!

But on a happier note, here are some things I’ve brought home and I promise to give them many more years of life.

My Aunt Sharon was apparently really into Magnum PI in the 80s and always had this padded Tom Selleck…art piece (?) hanging on her wall. Henry found it in a closet last weekend and I was like, “I HAVE TO HAVE THIS.” I mean, c’mon. First, Chooch was like, “This is hideous.” Then, Chooch was like, “Can we hang him in my room?”

“DO YOUR FUCKING HOMEWORK OR FACE THE WRATH OF THE ‘STACH, BOY!”

I promised Henry I wouldn’t take every single clown in the house even though he so very sweetly (and smartly) said he didn’t care either way, but there are several that I do want to keep because MEM’RIES.

LIGHT THE CORNERS OF MY MIND.

(This whole thing is bringing out my inner Old Person.)

And this beaut! I’m no doll expert, but Kara put on her Creepy Doll Investigator’s Hat, jammed a cigar in her mouth, and reported back that this is a Little Miss No Name doll, and that the ones with the tears are rare!

She fits in super well in my house.

More later!

Trying to spend as much time there as possible, which I’m sure is hurting my heart more than helping. Henry keeps saying annoying things like, “You need to pull back a little” and “How about taking break?” and I’m like HOW ABOUT YOU FUCK YOURSELF.  I just can’t stay away knowing that one day it will be gone, and with it the hugest piece of my childhood, so this is kind of like a time capsule for me.

I was in the house alone the other night and it was extremely scary, which made me sad because I’ve never been scared there before. But at the same time, I was kind of hoping something would happen. Some kind of contact, or sign. I KNOW: when you want something to happen, it won’t.

Chooch asked, “What is this, like a really old cell phone or something?”

He made up a song about Satan, and the smile on his face. Um…

There are so many layers to what is happening right now, and this is just one. In a way, it feels like I’m losing my Pappap all over again.

In lighter news though, I found out today that someone in that house was a HUGE Gino Vannelli fan. So many Gino records! Sometimes I listen to “Living Inside Myself” when I want to make myself cry. Which is often, because I am fucked up and clearly thrive on salty wets.