Archive for the 'Things Around My House' Category
Porch interlude
We rearranged the back porch a bit and now it’s even cozier – I never imagined that my old, trusty chaise lounge would have a second life back there but it’s the perfect spot for it!
The wheelchair Henry got me for Xmas is soooo awesome but it was way too obtrusive to stay in bye living room. I kept clipping my shins off of it every time I exercised. But once we moved some stuff around on the porch, it was like it was made to fit back there.
I just love this view!!!
I decided that this is going to be the official FAMILY MEETING ROOM so I called Chooch down for a FAMILY MEETING then realized I had nothing to say.
Another development is that we moved my old Pier 1 wavy shelf back there. It used to be an awful catch-all on the upstairs landing but we took it down and replaced it with the neon-lipped CURE SPOT. I knew I wanted to keep it so I decided to (have Henry) paint it and afterward I realized that I subconsciously chose colors that matched the furniture in my teenage bedroom lol I’ll never grow up.
Penelope is NOT SO SURE about this.
Anyway, I styled it with some of my favorite things and hopefully it stays steady stylin’ and doesn’t turn into an open-air hoarder’s closet like before, yikes.
This Warped Tour book I made has been hidden on another shelf for so long that I forgot it existed! So now it gets to SHINE, bitches, SHINE.
Chooch used to gnaw on this Keith Haring top when he was a baby :/
See also: Chooch’s baby teeth in a lightbulb.
I still have way too much “stuff” in this house but…at least it’s somewhat organized now I guess. I mean, if Henry would ever get his shit out of the third floor, my collections of vacation journals and clowns and cameras and framed concert posters would have an entire extra room in which to spread!
Well, on that note, I’m going to bed – BYEEEEE
No commentsThings Around My House: Former Art Nook Edition
Hello. In today’s tour around my dumb house, we will focus on the nook in my bedroom where I used to do my painting when I was actually inspired to do art. I still have paint ALL OVER THE DESK TOP like I’m trying to prove that I actually used to do creative things.
OK, so let’s look at some of the shit on the walls and on the desk and I will type out a few descriptions because that’s just how we’re going to do this.
Here are some clowns (I think these ones were gifted to me by friend Patty but I have three other clowns that are vaguely similar and those ones might be from her?!? The perils of having tons of clowns in your house – the origins become murky!
Behind them is the Father Day’s portrait I made for Henry a few years ago which he is apparently too embarrassed to take to his office, that’s fine. He never took Chooch’s art piece either. That is what I would call UNGRATEFUL. Maybe that’s just me!
Here we have the blue jay tealight holder that was used as a centerpiece at the table I was sitting at when I went to a MORMON WOMENS CONFERENCE for an essay I was writing for a class at Pitt. This was one of those things that made my inner-self scream WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO but then ended up being such a memorable and interesting experience. I loved that class and the way it pushed my boundaries. Anyway, the Mormon missionary who invited me to the dinner was a total gem and every time I look at this (which I have since dusted and scraped of wax residue after looking at this picture), I am filled with such warm memories!
(Henry was totes shocked that I didn’t convert after this, tbh.)
Behind it is a silver box that I bought in Canberra, Australia! It holds my sacred charm bracelet and my Pappap’s diamond pinky ring that he wanted me to have when he died but then my family played a two decade long game of keep-away because they thought I’d pawn it. I HAVE NO SOUR GRAPES ABOUT THAT OR ANYTHING LOL.
Also behind it is STEVE FROM THE HIPPO from a previous THINGS AROUND MY HOUSE post maybe you remember if you’re a LONGTIME READER. (Or at least have been reading for the past year because this post was from almost exactly a year ago lol.)
Limited edition screen print from the DGD 10 year anniversary tour. That was a….very strange night because it was after I finally knocked Jonny Craig off the pedestal of my heart and started to see him for what he really is: a toxic man who manipulates, abuses, assaults and turns women into addicts. But, he was there that night because the BIG DRAW of this tour was that the two former singers (Jonny and Kurt Travis) were reprising their roles alongside current singer Tillian Pearson. Back when I decided to paint this wall pink, I knew that this print was going to be the centerpiece.
That prayer card is from my birth dad’s funeral – morbid much? I have a collection of prayer cards – the one in the picture below is from my Aunt Cecilia who died when I was like 1 or 2 and I have no memory of her aside from the fact that the furniture in our guest room in the first house I grew up in was hers and the whole room had that really heavy, antique-y scent to it. I also remember that there was green and pink taffy-like candy in one of the desk drawers and I ate it, thinking I was really showing my mom who was boss because I feel like I wasn’t supposed to be hanging out in that room, only to find out later that it was literally sticky tack. Also, fun fact, Cecilia is my confirmation name.
Also, Fall Out Boy concert ticket from before they became MTV and I Heart Radio darlings, and an ICP concert ticket which makes me laugh every time I look at it, what a night.
Here is one of my favorite pictures of my beloved Marcy, nee Marciples von Schlugenhusen. I miss her every single fucking day. Above her is a bumper sticker from the Day After Day soap pop-up at Ader Error in Seoul:
Chooch and Blake Pumpkinhead.
I kept this china cup that I found when I was cleaning out my aunt Sharon’s room a few years ago. I only just recently moved it from a curio cabinet to my desk and that’s when I noticed that there was still a Chinese price sticker on it. I have a VAGUE recollection of Sharon mentioning that she had been to China, but I asked my mom because I am a SRS BLOGGER who likes to collect the FACTS. My mom didn’t have a lot of information to provide aside from yes, Sharon had visited China and it was before I was born, so sometime in the 70s, I’d imagine. Sharon worked in the Sports Medicine department of the University of Pittsburgh for-fucking-ever (all the way up the early 2000s) and according to my mom, this was a work-related trip and she was accompanying Dr. Freddie Fu, an orthopedic surgeon so world renown, he has his own Wiki page.
This is so interesting to me! One of the many times I have wished a close relative was still alive so that I can ask questions for my imaginary book.
(Fun fact: whenever I would butt into adult convos as a kid, my Pappap would ask, “Are you writing a book? Well, leave this chapter out.” Lol. I think about that probably once a week, not gonna lie.)
Marquis de Sade painting from an unknown painting, taken from my grandparents’ clown room. The piece above it is from an artist in Seoul. I bought it from her in Insadong on our first trip!
Here is a photo of my bro Corey and me at the world’s largest cuckoo clock in Sugarcreek Ohio!
Chooch with Bradley Walden from Emarosa; another beautiful photo of Marcy <3
Framed photo of my Pappap that I used to keep on my desk when I worked at the shitty meat factory so the owners would be constantly reminded of the family I came from; a REALLY DAMAGED Polaroid of the time my BFF Christy “married” my brother Corey in our basement and I was the flower girl. Fun fact: SHE WAS ALREADY MARRIED TO MY OTHER BROTHER RYAN!! They married one summer before Corey was born, on a hammock in our backyard. I have a vivid memory of Ryan coming out of the house with some kind of snack – Twizzlers maybe? – and when I reached for me, he withdrew his hand real quick and snapped, “These are for my babe!”
Dance Gavin Dance lyrics handwritten by Tillian! The mat is custom-made by Henry.
Popcorn container from Everland in Korea! I use it as a purse and then people are like I LIKE YOUR PURSE OMG and Chooch gets mad.
Some reading material! One of my lovely Instagram friends, Tousled Elegance, sent me this AWESOME Cure comic several years ago – let me just tell you that it’s not easy for people to find Cure memorabilia that I don’t already have, so this was really exciting!
Well, that’s it for the former art nook. I think I am going to hang more pictures on the pink wall though and I definitely want to get a neon strawberry sign to complement the Dance Gavin Dance 10th anniversary print!
Um, I was going to make some empty promise that one day my blog posts will be exciting again but then I remembered that they never really were, pandemic or no pandemic oh hahaha ugh.
No commentsThings Around My House: First Five Things I See Edition
Henry went to bed early and I’m bored & wanted to blog but also am lacking the brain power for that shit but then I thought HEY ERIN U HAVE NOT DONE A THINGS AROUND THE HOUSE POST IN A MIN so I forced myself to get off the couch, spun around with my eyes closed in various rooms and then took a picture of whatever junk my eyes landed on.
Hello. This bell is something I bought for no good reason from some antique place on the south side in 1998 and then had the BRILLIANT IDEA to keep it in my car (1995 Eagle Talon called Cassie Layne* named by my friend Kenny who said I looked like some soap opera character of the same name) to use as a makeshift horn after my actual car horn died (it sounded like a sick mule for a few mths first though).
*(Wow it took me this many years to actually look that shit up – presumably because I didn’t have an iPhone to Google that shit the second Kenny said it – but no, no I really did not look like her.)
Next to the bell is a lightbulb filled with Chooch’s baby teeth. Duh.
In the kitchen, we have international candy! Henry is so happy that my candy purchases stay in the house now and aren’t being swept away from and into the law firm office where it’s enjoyed by…next to no one. And that’s pre pandemic lol!
Here is a piggy bank that Chooch made when he was taking pottery classes as a…7-year-old? 8? Who can keep track anymore.
And speaking of Chooch, here is a picture from the time we went to Gayle’s wedding!
I made that frame for it and that stupid baby doll falls off so much, it’s annoying.
Well. I guess that was five things. I also guess that five is ingrained in my head as some important number WHY I WONDER.
DID SESAME STREET TEACH ME THIS?
kbye!
No commentsA Friday Five / Things Around My House mash up
Is it weird to have your own art hanging in your house? I don’t think so, I guess. Most of my art is birthed from inside jokes (like the Tony Stewart portrait I painted for Henry while he was at store and he didn’t even appreciate it or the Ham Sandwich AF painting after I watched a Mamas and the Papas documentary) or inexplicably deep-seated obsessions (like this strange amalgamation of celebs with a token serial killer). I don’t really *miss* painting all that much, surprisingly considering it did provide some catharsis for a time, but it does make me smile to have some remnants of that Somnambulant Years scattered around my house. So for this Friday Five, I will show you OMG FIVE HOW DID YOU GUESS pieces of what I still consider “my fake art” because my grandma really gave me a complex when I was a teenager and said I wanted to go to art school in San Francisco and she scoffed and huffed, “Well, I’m not paying for that.” Lol.
- Twin Peaks Montage
I actually never finished this (the red is pretty streaky and I never even sprayed it) because I knew pretty much from the get-go that I wasn’t going to sell it since I love Twin Peaks so much and I’m a selfish person – I always had a hard time letting go of some of my paintings, most notably the Pee Wee ones.
2. Stars of the OJ Trial
This one has been half-obscured on a shelf for years but I think I’m ready to get a frame for it and hang it. The OJ Simpson trial was a HUGE PART OF MY LIFE as a teenager (OK maybe only for like 3 months). I don’t know why I was so fixated on it considering I was only like 15 and most teenagers didn’t give a FUCK about the news or whatever back then but I was so sure that OJ was innocent and I actually got kicked out of a class that year for cheering when the verdict came out lololol. And there was the whole Pog saga.
3. HOT JESUS
This is, IMHO, the best painting I ever made I think.
4. BLAH BLAH BLAH CHOOCH CHOOCH CHOOCH.
I bought this creepy-ass picture at Goodwill of a young boy and then painted Chooch’s head over top (this was back when he had pink hair, clearly) and surprised him with it.
He was SO MAD about all the “blah”s lol. I remember back when I painted it, Henry’s mom was all Weekend Art Critic about it and I was like, “I know Judy, that’s why I’m a fake artist.”
5. Murder Farm
This one is SO DUMB but I found this basic country/farm picture thing at Goodwill one time and liked the shape and the frame so I added some ghosts and blood and bones and then made Henry hang it in our bedroom and he was like, “HAHAHA – oh, you’re serious.”
So, that’s five. Maybe someday I will share five more.
WOW DARE TO DREAM.
No commentsSpots around my House
* I was going to originally say “spots around my pad” but…yeah. Good thing I stopped myself in time. This could have been a very different blog post. Whew.
Anyway, we’re in the throes of Valentine factory work (mostly henry although I have been getting better at helping him with packaging) so my nights are like: read, exercise, get huffy as Henry slides shipping labels over to me.
Between that and all the happy crying fits I had yesterday during all the inauguration festivities (an emotional cleansing 4 years in the making) I have been spending entire chunks of time just staring into space and there are some very soothing areas around my house for which I am thankful!
Henry still has to finish hanging up these concert prints that were taken down while the wall was being painted, but I’m so much happier with this little landing already. We used to have a broken bookshelf here that held card-making supplies and it was so junky. Now that’s in the basement. Bye bitch.
Look at how smug Drew is! She’s like, “Look at my fancy litter box, friendos. Don’t you wish you could piss inside a fake plant too?” I mean, no, I really don’t but I just smile and nod.
I bought this Robert Smith garland last year on Etsy and then promptly lost it. But then I found it! Obviously! Oh my god, I have such wonderful words to share, don’t I? My mind-muscle isn’t petrifying AT ALL.
(Honestly though I think I need to start doing Sudoku again or something because I am losing more and more of my mind. I can barely even spell anymore! I used to be a spelling ace! Now I could probably barely beat your average MAGAt at Boggle. Between that and my back, I’d like to return my thirties* now, thanks. Chooch imitates me by saying, “Ugh, I’m Erin. I’m 41. Ow, my back.”)
*(I typed “thirsties” at first! TAKE THIS BLOG AWAY FROM ME!)
Isn’t it perfecto??
I love G-Dragon. Taemin is bae. But Robert will always be my One True King.
I LIKE HOW MY NEON SIGN REFLECTS IN THE KITCHEN WINDOW.
Also, that neon sign is the best thing I spent money on in 2020, I swear to god. Designing your own neon sign and having it made by a reputable neon company is a game changer! I get so happy every morning when I say (often 5x times before she finally stops offering me facts on neon betas), “Alexa, neon on” and then she flips on the neon sign and says, “Taemin is the best dancer” and I said, “Duh” and then before bed when I say, “Alexa, neon off” and mumble “you dumb bitch,” under my breath, she pretends like she didn’t hear that, turns off the light, and says, “G-Dragon is king” and I sigh, “He really is,” never mind I literally just said earlier in this post that Robert Smith is my true king.
You know what they say: Erin, Erin, quite contrar—–in?
Adding LEDs below the spice rack almost inspires me to cook.
ALMOST.
Valentine Frown Town lololol.
OK, exercise time, a/k/a OW MY BACK time. And then I guess Valentine assembly line time.
No commentsThings That Kept Me Up at 5:30am On a Sunday
I woke up at 5:30 this morning for some unknown reason and the very first thing that popped into my head was “Versace wallet” which I haven’t thought about in along time since I don’t use it anymore because it just became too worn out serving me for a good 15 years (I bought it in Italy when I was in high school!).
(LOL @ “I” bought it. My aunt Sharon did.)
From there I thought about how UTTERLY OBSESSED I was with Gianni Versace when I was a teen in the 90s. Like most of my friends were into Devon Sawa (probably) and I was like “yeah but how about that Gianni Versace tho.”
I will never forget in a million years where I was when I learned of his murder: standing in the laundry room of my parents house, on the (landline!!) phone with Lisa, who had called me from the house she nannied at just to break the bad news to me. I remember sliding my back down the wall and landing in a fetal position on the floor, crying.
From there I thought about those kids Lisa nannied. What were their names? It was a boy and girl. Eventually, I remember their last name was Hayes. Couldn’t picture the mom but I remembered the dad. They never minded me hanging out over there while Lisa was nannying and we even used their house to film scenes for an English video. I vividly remember one of those scenes being a montage of Ken and Barbie with R Kelly’s Bump n’ Grind playing and I cannot for the life of me imagine what that could have possibly had to do with ANY English project we ever worked on together lol.
There was also a time over the summer of 1996 when we took the kids to Denny’s and I can vividly recall BLASTING “come on ride the train (and ride it)” and screaming along to it so I wonder what sort of lasting impression I had on those poor children.
From there I thought about Lisa going to college and the Hayes going the au pair route. One was Petra from Croatia and another was Jasmine from Australia but I can’t remember the order in which they arrived. They both had very short hair so it makes me wonder if Mr. Hayes had a “type.”* Anyway, I liked Petra better but Jasmine was nice too and what I remember the most about her is that she personally knew the singer from SAVAGE GARDEN, probably from school or something, I can’t remember now, but I used to tell people this for years like it was the biggest deal in the world that I knew someone who knew the chica cherry cola singer guy.
*Lisa had short hair too but I don’t think that happened until after she stopped nannying. Also I’m going to text Lisa today and see if she still talks to that family and/or any of the au pairs.
This is also how I learned at the age of 18 what an au pair was and I thought that was a really cool job and considered it briefly until literally everyone in my life pointed out that the main purpose would be taking care of children, not just living in someone’s house in another country. And yeah, ew.
Anyway!! Of course after I woke up this morning I had to dig out the ol’ Versace wallet (Chooch immediately tried to steal it) and it’s like a fucking time capsule. My goddamn learners permit is still in it, for God’s sake! I’m such a fucking pack rat when it comes to sentimental shit. Hopefully, empty pizza boxes and newspapers and general dirty refuse don’t become sentimental to me one day because it’s a slippery slope between innocent pack-ratting and hoarding, I’ll tell you that.
P.S. here is a picture I found of Jasmine during her au pair stint! This was from Lisa’s pre-birthday party dinner in 1998 at The Office Lounge (literally the only time we ever ate there and I honestly have no idea what prompted this). Me, Janna, Jasmine, and Lisa.
I remember there was this big-ass foam leprechaun hat for a St.Patrick’s Day Bailey’s promotion that was going on and I begged the waitress to let me have it and she was like, “OK” and then it moved around my house in various locations, always in the way, until Henry was finally like, “So can we throw this out?” one day and I was like, “Ugh fine” but to be fair, it was SUPER DECREPIT AND GROSS by then. So see? I’m able to be somewhat flexible in my pack-rat ways. Don’t you love when a blog post comes full circle??
ETA: Lisa just replied to me and yes, she keeps in touch with the daughter and both of the au pairs but I was wrong: Petra is from Slovenia not Croatia. Now you can go about your day, knowing the answers to these pressing queries.
No commentsThings Around My House: The Holy Shitter Collection
Hi guys, man, are you all in for a treat tonight or what. (You’re not.) Here’s bunch of religious stuff I keep in the bathroom because somewhere along the way, the theme of my loo became “Holy Shitter.”
I got this at a flea market and Henry was like, “WHAT WILL YOU DO THIS??”
Hang it above the toilet, duh.
The “Pray” mixed media thing is from a local artist, bought at least 15 years ago at the Three Rivers Art Festival. The thing below it is Victorian mourning art that I created one year when I decorate my desk at work like a funeral home, that sexy Jesus was bought during a delicious lunch at Zenith a long time ago, and that crucifix was given to me by the venerable BARB.
My pal Wendy got me this cool wooden art from Mexico. <3
Here you will find my Saint Rita statue guarding some of favorite pins and my CHUU face mask. Also, I dusted that after I took the picture, lol, I’m great at house work.
Chooch’s godfather Brian gave me this when he was moving; it was from his office at whatever church he was working at, who knows. But it must be extra-holy since it came from a church office!
UGH I GOT THIS IN JEONJU, SOUTH KOREA, WHEN CAN I GO BACK??
Janna got me this from her trip to Mexico several years ago. It used to have a mirror in it but then it fell off the wall and broke and I stuck a picture of Chooch in it which gave me double bad luck. (Side note: I love that my friends go to Mexico and bring me back religious things!)
Oh shit, this is my favorite thing in the bathroom (I mean, second only to that cool crack in the wall – this house is old as, well, shit)! When Henry took me to my very first flea market in….2005 I think? I saw this for $2 and knew I had to have it. He was like, “WHAT? NO.” but I bought it and he’s hated it ever since (along with pretty much everything else in this house!).
And it only makes sense that I would have a bunch of GODS on my shower curtain, which really pulls the whole room together, if we’re being candid with each other here, and I do believe we are.
So now you know that if you ever need to buy me a present (you never know!!!), I love religious kitsch. Just don’t be offended when it ends up in my bathroom – that’s where the cream of the crop are on display!
Well, on that note, I’m going to go back to staring lovingly at the new plants we bought today.
No commentsThings Around my House: Vintage Art Thing
This morning, I had my Howard Jones t-shirt in my hand, ready to shove an arm through a sleeve, when I decided to wear a tank top instead. Then, 25 minutes later, I was in CVS (YES, I WAS WEARING A MASK, I’M NOT A FUCKING NINNY) and as soon as I walked in, “No One Is To Blame” came on?! I rarely have wardrobe rejects as bad as the one I had this morning. Ugh.
I know, I know: “What does this have to do with the vintage art thing in your house, Erin?”
WELL, LET ME TELL YOU.
After I returned home from CVS, I went on a brief Howard Jones kick on YouTube, and it brought back the fondest memories of the time Janna and I went to see him perform in a freaking cathedral in Cleveland. It was pure bliss! That whole one-day trip was a blast, but one of the best parts was when I took Janna to my favorite CLE vintage shop so we could try on weird hats and whatnot, and I found this…(Mexican? South American? There is nothing on the back of the picture to help me out and I don’t want to wrongly assume and offend anyone!) totally pretty piece of art that is totally my style and it of course came home with me:
It’s right off to the side of the TV, so I see it every day and it makes me so happy! Here is the blog post from the day I bought it!
***
This was such a crazy throwback weekend: first I saw Mike + the Mechanics on Friday and then Janna and I were in Cleveland on Saturday to see Howard Jones; two childhood dreams come true in one weekend. My unpredictable navigational skills got us there with just enough time to squeeze in a quick lunch, staring at a disgustingly frozen Lake Erie, and, keeping with the theme of Retro Weekend, a necessary and apropos perusal of Flower Child. SPOILER ALERT: this blog post is going to be just about Flower Child. I will drone on as nauseum about all that other stuff later in the week because I love doing things out of order. All the times I’ve been to Clevelend, I never knew this place existed until my friend Jason took us there in 2011 and I bought a glorious light-up/holographic Jesus picture which made Henry grit his teeth.
Just like he probably grit his teeth yesterday when I began texting him pictures of $$$ swag lamps, alerting him to the fact that I had arrived at the place that wants all of my hard-earned monies.
Some of the sexiest Jesuses ever reside in the basement.
I have to touch everything when I’m in there, like I’m inviting midcentury spirits to enter my body through my fingertips and then everyone will be like why is Erin having uncontrollable fits of the Pony? And Janna will be like, “Because she touched some sequined boot and now she has a dead gogo dancer living inside of her, no big deal.”
I don’t think it’s very surprising that my heart belongs to mid-century interior design, considering I was raised in a house with shag carpet and foiled wallpaper. The yellow/burnt orange/brown color palette is instantly comforting to me and brings back memories of every afghan that ever covered the back of a couch in our house when I was a kid.
Luckily for Henry, I didn’t buy any murder weapons disguised as ash trays or 1960s prom dresses, but instead settled for this factory of happy thoughts:
It’s actually made out of paper mâché and the colors are just like SMILE OR I WILL PUNCH YOUR DUMB FACE. When Henry saw it yesterday, he did a slow exhale of relief that it wasn’t an Iron Maiden to go with my Devil rug. And since I’m going out of order here, before Flower Child we stopped int Big Fun, which was having a going out of business sale, so I snagged this Diane Keaton “Clown Paintings” book for $5!
When I posted this on Facebook, one of my friends said, “I feel like, visually, my day is ruined.” So then I posted this collage of some of my other clown memorabilia, because I’m a Little Miss Sweetheart like that:
There’s more Cleveland fun here!
No commentsThings Around the House: County Fair Root Beer Mug
For this week’s thrilling installment of THINGS AROUND THE HOUSE, let us ooh and ahh at this tin collectible beverage mug that I insisted Janna buy for me at the Fayette County Fair in….2013? I’ll tell you in a minute when I do an archive deep-dive in order to copy&paste that old blog post here because if there is one thing QUARANTINE has taught me, it’s to recycle/reuse/regurge those old-ass blog posts because hello lazy me.
Anyway, I wanted to share this here today because all these years later, I still smile when I see it! I never did it use it to chug additional servings of root beer from the comfort of my own home, but I have since repurposed it into a planter. JANNA I BET YOU DIDN’T THINK I WOULD KEEP THIS – actually, you’ve known me too long and my pack-rat sentimentalism is no mystery to you.
Because county fairs are possibly another thing that’ll be missing this summer, here is that the blog post that includes not only delirious fun on rickety death trap rides, but also the origin story for THE CHUCK WAGON SODA VESSEL.
(And I was off by two years. This happened in 2011!)
******
Spending a birthday at the county fair seems like a great idea on paper: gut-churning rides, complimentary (if not downright sleazy) carnies, fried desserts (calorie counts are nil on birthdays, everyone knows that), the cacophony of laughing children and tractor pulls (forgetting for a moment that I hate children and anything with even the slightest redneck-tilt).
Yes, a perfect day!
But then you add in Henry, whose face threatens to crack a million different ways if even the slightest hint of a smile creeps upon his lips; Blake, who is apparently an 80-year-old retiree in an 18-year-old’s body, adverse to sunlight and complaining of back pain and lethargy all day; Chooch, who is a little motherfucking birthday killer-in-training who makes the day all about HIM HIM HIM; and Janna, who won’t ride anything aside from a carousel and a 20-second-long Haunted Mansion ride that Henry’s SAT score out-scares.
Not to mention the fact that these assholes weren’t constantly fawning over me and winning me plush Family Guy characters. IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY, NEED I REMIND YOU.
Blake and his new friends, planning their upcoming move to Florida.
At first glance, I was like, “Aw shit, this fair might be pretty good.” I mean, it was run by Powers Great American Midway, after all, and I am obsessed with them. However, it was only about half the size of the Big Butler Fair, and I’ll tell you: That fair can spoil a bitch. Power’s light blue unit brought along some choice rides. (Is it sad that I know which “unit” PGAM deployed to the Fayette County fairgrounds? Maybe I look at their website too much.) And I saw lots of familiar carny faces, one of which was Kirk’s! I didn’t talk to him, though. What’s the point when my lame non-carny boyfriend was glued to my side all day?
But the layout of the fair sucked. And it was super muddy and smelled like sewage, but that was probably because Henry kept standing so close to me. Still: 100% better than the shitty Washington County Fair. (I go to county fairs a lot. It’s kind of become A Thing.)
You know you go to a lot of fairs when you start to recognize carnies, is all I’m sayin’.
Blake: Jeepers, it’s so hot! I think I’m dying! And I left my cane at the home and missed my 3:00pm dinner! I wonder if Dad has any individually-wrapped prunes in his pocket before I pass out.
Thank God Lisa and her husband Matt met us out there a few hours after we arrived. They joined us in standing around awkwardly, which is something that people need to master before even attempting to hang out with me. (I suggest going to a crowded store and standing right in front of a doorway or at the top of an escalator for practice. Do not move when you find that you are blocking foot traffic, and ignore the scowls you inspire. Only then can we hang out.) Lisa was in a really good mood and I like to think it’s because she knows how delicate of a situation my birthday is, like the entire premise of Speed, with less bus more birthday cake, but actually Lisa is always pretty chill and somehow wasn’t completely put off by the foul moods of my companions who need to be reminded that SOME PEOPLE AREN’T LUCKY ENOUGH TO GET TO GO TO THE FAIR.
Fuck!
Within minutes, Chooch claimed Matt and I’m sure everyone at the fair assumed they were father and son after that. I’m sorry, Matt. But Henry and I were relieved to be off the hook for awhile.
***
A week before the fair, I was on the phone with Lisa.
“I hope the fair is a good one,” she said thoughtfully.
“Um, Lisa? Of course it will be. It’s run by Powers Great American Midways,” I informed her haughtily.
“I don’t know what that means.”
THAT’S BECAUSE SOMEONE DOESN’T READ MY BLOG.
***
Lisa and Matt agreed to ride the Orbiter with me immediately after they arrived. I was SO EXCITED. Finally! I get to ride something moderately extreme! But then we got in line and I saw it said “No single riders” and those asshole words are ALWAYS BEING SNEERED AT ME at fairs because I am perpetually single in this world of grinding traps of pleasure (amusement rides, not vagina dentata). I looked at Janna who had accompanied us to the line and she said no before I even asked her. Way to tag along on something you’re not a part of, then Janna! So I had to run over to Henry and Blake, who had combined to form a Dildo-ic Duo while Chooch rode some stupid train operated by Kirk.
I hadn’t even approached them yet and I was already absolutely wailing about how Janna ruined my life and wouldn’t ride with me and Blake, while I was still approaching them mid-run, said no. Henry, however, said: “Fine.”
“What?” I asked in surprise.
“I said fine,” he sighed.
I guess he was trying to make up for the fact that he failed epically in the birthday present department once again. (Seriously, he got me a shirt that I already have, which proves that he doesn’t look at me. Ever.) This was the SECOND ride he rode on! (We rode on the Swings when we first got there. They made him sick.)
Oh, I was so happy! And the best part was that it took so long for the ride to get loaded to capacity, that Henry and I had plenty of time to talk about Jonny Craig!
Henry bitched about the Oribiter for the rest of his time at the fair. “I have cold sweats,” he kept complaining, though I’m not sure to whom because last time I checked, his mommy didn’t come with us and she’s the only person who gives a shit about him. He didn’t ride anything else after that, though I kept trying to con him into being my partner on the Skydiver, since it’s less commitment that being my partner for life. He kept saying, “We’ll see,” which everyone knows means NO.
After Chooch and Matt, Lisa, Janna and I had our turn at sliding down the Fun Slide, which I hadn’t done since I was a kid and good goddamn is that scary. Ascending the steps alone made me clutch my heart. I felt like there was going to be a religious cult waiting at the top to push me back down the steps into God’s eternal arms. It was like walking into the hospital on D-Day and wanting to run back out the doors but having 3 nurses pull you back in because “that baby’s gotta come out one way or another, sweetheart!” Longest climb of my life.
“I’m scared,” I told the Mexican carny who smiled, probably assuming I said, “Let’s go fuck behind that lemon cart you pushed across the border.” What? The Pennsylvania border, you guys.
Lisa thought it was the funnest thing at the fair, Janna had no comment, and I was just glad I didn’t slide through piss, shit, vomit, a chewed-up wad of Skoal or semen. And by “it,” I mean the Fun Slide, not Mexican carny sex. I know you were probably confused.
Things took a turn for the worse when I decided I was ready to eat something and made everyone halt and bow to my whims. I ended up getting a small bowl of haluski, which seemed like an OK choice as far as keeping my stomach lining primed and at the ready for vigorous riding. (And yes, finally I’m talking about sex!) Besides, it was either that or throw away 16 years of vegetarianism for some unidentifiable meat on a stick. There was some lame square dance bullshit happening inside the 4H building, so we all sat around and pretended to care about that while I ate. (Lisa really did care, though. She likes the simpler things in life.) This was about the time Chooch turned into the biggest prick of all the fair, and Blake did nothing but antagonize him which only increased Chooch’s crowd-drawing by 500%.
I attempted to not look like I belonged to the two of them by focusing my attention on the asshole inside the 4H building who was singing the most ridiculous square dance songs for these idiotic plaid-tastic children to clomp around to. I almost wished he had CDs for sale so I could buy one and break it in front of his face. God, get fucked with your pathetic farm melodies, douchebag square dance warbler.
In the middle of the Chooch & Blake: American Assholes show, there was an older lady sitting nearby (the blond Peg Bundy in the background of the above picture) who said about Chooch, “Boy he sure is cute” but what she meant to say was, “Damn, child. Your mama needs to put you in a cage because you are acting like one hell of a mother fucker.” And then to me, she said, “We just ate some fried Oreos for dessert. Boy they sure were good!” and what she meant by that was, “Bitch, why don’t you go to the other side of the fairgrounds, far away from me, and choke your bastard child on some fried Oreos, because he is being one hell of a mother fucker.”
Chooch flipped over a chair in response while I pretended that Janna was his mom.
The square dance brigade had some young child canvassing the area with literature. He approached me with his stack of white and green papers and said, “Would you like one, they’re free?”
“I want a green one,” I said with just the right drop of bitchy entitlement. He looked slightly stunned, like no one had ever bothered to make a color request before. While he shuffled through the stack in search of a green one, I said smugly, “It’s my birthday.”
Lisa and Janna were watching this pan out. Lisa looked mildly amused and Janna looked like she was bracing herself for the ‘splaining she was going to have to do to the kid’s mom by the time I was done antagonizing him. This is just how I talk to children: in a very demeaning, ironic way. They seem to like it.
Meanwhile, the guy who was inside singing the square dance “songs” promised “this next one” would “speed up.”
“You should join our square dance group!” He sounded nervous, slightly intimidated by me. Just how I like boys to be.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, as I folded up the paper. (The age limit is 20, by the way. THAT KID RULES FOR THINKING I’M NOT OLDER THAN 20.)
“This next one” still hadn’t “sped up.”
“Dylan!” a lady called from inside the 4H house. “Come dance to this last song!” Sure, maybe there was some plaid lass inside who missed being partnered-up with Dylan, but I have suspicions that this lady just didn’t want him near me anymore.
“Yeah!” I yelled in my best “I’m riding the Wacky Worm, motherfuckers!” impression and when he looked at me all startled-like, I gave him a thumbs-up and said, “Do it! Wooo!“
Lisa hadn’t heard the lady call for him in the first place, and admitted later that she thought I was just spontaneously excited, though she was confused why I was telling some young boy to “do it.”
Then I called Dylan my “new son” and Chooch got all upset. I win at parenting.
I have no recollection of Henry being anywhere near us that whole time.
Oh apparently he was off supporting his cocaine habit.
I told Dylan I was going to watch him, but that was actually the time we rose up as a group and went to the petting zoo. Fucking with children is the one true talent your God gave me.
Here is all I remember about the petting zoo: I relayed my birthday woes to a camel and then Chooch fell in a pig sty and Henry had to take him and Blake home.
Coincidentally, my night really picked up after that! Janna bought me root beer in a tin mug from an old broad who tried too hard to sway our decisions and Lisa and I rode the Gravitron with the cast of Jersey Shore. It was fabulous!
Lisa encourages me to take pictures of every little thing she does. She’s like Chooch, but grown.
The only downside to the Fair: After Hours (read: After the Douches Left) was that neither Lisa nor Matt would ride the Zipper with me. I was only able to ride it once, earlier in the day before Blake’s desire to drink a glass of Metamucil and take a nap got the best of him. We talked a little bit about music while trapped inside the Zipper’s jaws, but I could tell he wasn’t having too much fun.
Everyone is growing up but me.
Janna, Lisa and I rode this moderate thrill ride called the Tornado, which is pretty tame but Janna was still clutching her rosary and trying not to re-eat her haluski while Lisa manually spun our car around on top of giving Janna dating advice. My favorite part was when the ride ended and Lisa’s safety bar didn’t release. She pulled it toward her, hoping it would spring back, but it only made it tighter. I fetched the carny and then ran away to stand outside of the ride’s gate by Matt, who had been relegated to little more than a Purse Tree at that point.
The carny gave Lisa a hard time for awhile before manually releasing the bar for her. As she and Janna approached Matt and me, Lisa yelled, “And I love how Erin just ran away!”
Behind her, looking a gorgeous shade of gangrene from her jaunt on the Tornado, Janna irritably mumbled, “Yeah. She does that.” Possibly Janna’s way of suggesting that Lisa spends more time with me.
Janna bought* me a birthday ice cream cone from a girl who had been punched in the eye. Lisa opted for more scatastically phallic fare. Then we said goodbye to the fair and immediately upon leaving the parking lot, Janna’s GPS lured us out onto un-lit backwoods lanes and I’m not going to lie: It was scarier than riding the Zipper in a lightning storm with the cage unlatched. This was after Janna got raped by a bug.
(* This mostly happened because when Henry left the fair, so did my money.)
Happy fucking birthday to me, to me, to me.
No comments
Things Around The House: Lizzie Borden Souvenir Stemware
Hi hello welcome to my dive bar corner of the Internet. I’m currently reading a book about Lizzie Borden so I thought what better time to take a post a picture of a souvenir wine glass I bought way back in 2003 when Big Shot Henry booked us a room at the Lizzie Borden Bed & Breakfast for my birthday, back when we was still doing romantic gestures hahaha ugh.
And to make this a real two-fer, let’s also spin this into a Virtual COVID-travel post by revisiting the second time we visited the Borden house, this time with a 7-year-old Chooch because you know, educational, etc. I started doing another Jillian Michaels series which is helping to combat my depression, but my muscles and mind are fatigued AF so I still have no energy for this blogging thing. :/
I’m going to veer off schedule here for a minute and share the pictures from our tour of the Lizzie Borden house in Fall River, MA. After an entertaining breakfast at AlMac’s Diner where I had Portuguese bolo and will consequently never be satisfied with a regular old English Muffin ever again, we stopped here on our last full day of vacation. Chooch was pretty fucking stoked to say the least. The kid has grown up in a house where serial killer greeting cards are made, what do you expect? Henry and I stayed over night here back in 2002, but it was worth the return trip for us, too. Mostly to experience it all over again with Chooch, who knows the legendary story and has watched countless YouTube videos about the house. However, when we walked into the gift shop to pay for a tour, the tour guide behind the register looked a little skeptical at these two assholes toting a 7-year-old child to a murder house.
But then Chooch sprawled out on the couch in the waiting area, mimicking the crime scene photo of dead Andrew Borden, and the tour guide widened her eyes a bit. “Do you wanna help me out when we get in the house?” At first she suggested that he play the role of Abby Borden, but Chooch quickly said, “No. I want to be the dead dad.” “How old is he?” one of the three old people in our group asked. I could tell that they too were leery of taking an hour long tour with some brat, but I’d like to think they were pleasantly surprised by the tour’s end.
I mean, come on guys. You know I’m the first person to call my kid out for being a dick. But he was actually super well-behaved and genuinely enrapt in touring the house. I was so proud of my gruesome little brat!
Floral patterns suit him.
The house has changed owners since we were last there. To be honest, I don’t rememeber much of the original tour we got in 2002, other than being a served a plate of cheese and Oreos to snack on while watching some made-for-TV movie about Lizzie Borden, so a lot of what I saw on this day was basically brand new to me. I also feel that the guide we had this time was more knowledgeable. (Side Note: The guide we had in 2002 was also the summer caretaker and ended up being the only other person sleeping in the house with us that night. He was pretty creepy, but affable at the same time. I posted a picture of him on my blog a few years ago and someone commented, informing me that he had perished in a house fire. So sad! I mentioned this to our tour guide last week—I shamefully can’t remember her name but she was really wonderful—and she said that when the new owners bought the Borden house, they had a really hard time getting him to leave.)
The house was replicated as best as possible, considering they only had black and white photos to go on.
In the dining room, we learned that this is where Abby Borden’s autopsy was done. The guide had pictures of their mutilated bodies and said to me, “It’s up to you if you want your son to see these.” I asked Chooch if he wanted to see, and he shrugged and said, “Yeah, sure.” I found out later that I probably should have asked him if he knew what “autopsy” meant first. While the guide was demonstrating ironing handkerchiefs (one of Lizzie’s alleged alibis), Chooch was chomping at the bit to go into the next room because he recognized the couch immediately. You’d have thought he waited all his life for this one short moment of impersonating some dead dude with a crushed skull and dangling eyeball.
Chooch’s Shining Moment. The old people on the tour with us laughed uncomfortably during his performance.
We were all clustered in the foyer listening about Andrew Borden’s final moments on Earth; I was standing at the foot of the steps — the top of which was where Abby Borden’s dead body was first spotted prostrate on the other side of the bed in the guest room–with my back to the front door when the mailman began shoving circulars and bills through the mail slot. The new gray hairs I must have amassed in that moment has got to be a staggering number.
Chooch volunteered me to play the butchered Abby Borden, which required me to sprawl ass-up on the floor while Chooch giggled devilishly. Thank god there are no pictures. My ass is much wider than the last time I was photographed in this pose.
This lady knows her shit! We definitely got our money’s worth.
Borden spirits all up in Henry’s shit! J/K. I was just really bored in the car. Best use of a bokeh app!
In the corner of the guest room, the actual dress Elizabeth Montgomery wore in the final scene of the Lizzie Borden movie in the 80s is on display. When the guide mentioned Elizabeth’s name, Chooch put his hand up to his mouth and whispered, “Witch!” to me, giving me this faux-serious look. At first I couldn’t figure out why he said that, but then I remembered that the day before, we took him to the Salem Witch Museum and there was a wall of photos of famous witches throughout history, and of course “Bewitched” was one of them. The guide we had that day pointed out each picture and gave a brief explanation, and I guess that little jerk was actually paying attention (because I know I barely was). Yay for money not wasted for once!
Actual books that belonged to Lizzie. Check out “With Edged Tools.” LOL right!? Chooch was really into all the vintage cat figures he spotted throughout the house, and also the creepy trunk of toys that the owner keeps in one of the attic bedroom that is supposedly haunted by random children. Chooch said that’s the room he wants to sleep in when we go back and I was like, “That’s cool, bro. But have fun staying up there by yourself.”
Haunted or not, there is something to be said about standing in a house where one of the most sensationalized double-murders in this country’s history were carried out. I was definitely on edge the entire time while Henry just looked bored (or probably confused because the only way he understands anything is if the cast of Criminal Minds is acting it out on TV for him). Chooch would get fidgety here and there, but thankfully he didn’t do anything overtly dickish to draw attention to himself. For the most part, he honestly seemed like he was interested in what the tour guide was saying, officially making “7” my favorite Chooch age thus far. When I went back to the gift shop afterward to buy souvenirs, the guide admitted to me that she was a little worried when she saw us walk in with Chooch, and how pleasantly surprised she was at how he conducted himself. I’m so glad she told me that, because as a parent, I’m sure there are times when I think my kid is acting normal but everyone else is thinking, “TAKE THAT BASTARD BACK TO THE ZOO, MY GOD!” My fear is that we’re going to take him somewhere like this and he’s going to break something or cause a general scene by throwing a tantrum out of boredom. I remember the time when I was a kid, just a little bit older than him, on vacation with my grandparents in Europe. I think we had stopped in Assisi, Italy and, right befor walking into a shop filled to the brim with breakables, my grandma gripped me by the upper arm and hissed, “DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING!” Aaaaand guess who knocked over an entire display of glass figurines with her purse? GOOD OLD GRANDMA JEAN. Meanwhile, as the guide was praising my kid’s good behavior, Chooch was in the process of pissing on his shorts in the customer rest room. So, you win some, you lose some.
Can’t leave Fall River without paying our respects at the cemetery!
Stoked for Lizzie! I really was pleased with how we were able to sneak in educational bullshit on our vacation without it feeling like 5 days of war memorials and dry history lectures. I can’t wait for Chooch to go back to second grade and tell everyone about the shit he did, haha.
No commentsCheryl’s Clowns: Things Around My House
My co-worker Cheryl is retiring today after 23 years of The Law Firm service, and I have to tell you: I’m kind of glad that we’re all on this mandatory work-from-home order because I was able to cry alone at my dining room office rather than do that awkward thing I do in the real office where I try to hide from people on their last day because I want everyone to think I’m an anti-social robot who doesn’t care about people when I’m actually disgustingly empathetic to the point where I hate myself daily.
Anyway, what an odd time this is, having to say goodbye to a cherished co-worker via conference call instead of eating cake and awkwardly one-arm hugging. Cheryl has been my mentor in that department for years, and anytime a kpop group is going to be on daytime TV, she emails in case I want to “tape” it.
I’m actually crying again, hold on, OMG.
OK I’m back. I had to wipe my tears with a tissue and then wash and sterilize my hands for the 87th time this afternoon.
I thought today would be a good day to do another “Things Around My House” post and highlight the clown paintings that Cheryl sold me several years ago, which hang proudly above my bed!
Some guy made them for her mom in the 60s; she knew him from the campground they use to go to and he liked to sit around, drawing clowns apparently.
And thank god he did!
They were waiting for me at work one day several years ago and 90% of my co-workers were totally skeeved out by them, so that made me love them even more. I couldn’t stop smiling! I loved that one of them has a bird nest on his head!
“They’re so majestic,” I whispered, and everyone around me laughed BUT I WAS BEING SERIOUS. They were way more amazing than I could have imagined. Totally worth it.
Then Glenn meandered over, and in a total Henry-esque moment, he picked one up and to get a better look at the frame.
“These are nice frames,” he said, admiring it closer now. “The wood is really good,” he added, tapping on it. “I think it could be wormy oak.” I started laughing so hard, totally couldn’t help it. He looked annoyed, made some last minute disparaging remarks, and retreated.
When I put the pictures in the car last night, Henry also went right for the frames. “Those are really nice frames,” he said, and I began having deja vu. “Maybe wormy chestnut….or oak.”
Anyway! I’m glad that I have something to remind me of Cheryl! She also said that she’s giving me her bird coffee cup, so I’m happy about that too. It’s going to be SO WEIRD there without her. If we ever go back, I mean.
2 commentsThings Around My House: Steve the Hippo
Since there’s not much else going on in life during isolation aside from lounge wear and calling into meetings, I figured I would start a new “series” (but you know how I am with these things; I’ll probably do two and forget about it) featuring items around my house, tchotchkes and souvenirs that have little stories behind them, etc etc blah blah blah.
To start out, let’s talk about this stuffed hippo that I have had since I was 16, and in every place I have lived, he has always been out and about on display.
Please say annyeong to Steve the Hippo!
But, let’s back up. Like, back waaaay up to the summer of 1995. I was a freshly-minted 16-year-old on one of those coach bus tours through Europe with my aunt Sharon. These tours were always the same: a bunch of retirees, maybe some middle-aged couples, and then me, the lone kid. Lots of continental breakfasts where the hot chocolate is ACTUALLY OVALTINE, and hectic tours of one cathedral after another. And Sharon and I were so hot and cold with each other and more often than not, we would bicker and then go half the day giving each other the cold shoulder. But this time, on this particular trip, there was a slew of young’uns in our group and I could not have been happier. I had other people to sit with, walk with, eat with, and Sharon HATED THAT.
This tour consisted of mostly elderly people, still, but we also had Nick (14), who was traveling with his grandma; Amanda (15), Natalie (13), and Noah (10), who came with their single mom; Andrea (19) and Sarah (22), on a girls trip with their mom; and Greg (14), Steve (20), and Amy (22) who were with their parents. This was my favorite trip ever. Normally, when we had travel days on the bus, I would sleep or read, or stare out the window sullenly after having another argument with Sharon (seriously, oil and water, but damn do I miss her and these wild adventures she took me on), but now, I had friends to sit with and let me know you – we were total jackasses.
Sharon ended up befriending Andrea (who reminded me so much of Alanis Morissette – I was enthralled by her) and Sarah’s mom, Mary. When we were cleaning out my grandparents’ house in 2016, I found a bunch of cards and letters from Mary in Sharon’s room; they apparently had kept in touch for quite some time after the trip ended and that made me simultaneously happy and sad, because Sharon didn’t really have friends “in real life” so it was nice to know that she had made a somewhat lasting connection with someone from the group, but it also made me sad because I started to wonder about Mary – is she well? How are Andrea and Sarah? I was inspired to look them up on Facebook when I was still on there, and I actually found someone who might have been Sarah, but I felt weird about sending a friend request, like “Hi, I was just over here in Pittsburgh cleaning out my deceased aunt’s bedroom and found letters from your mom and so I did a deep-dive on the Internet and you probably don’t remember me because we only knew each other for three weeks in 1995 but wanna be friends?”
I guess it’s not that weird, really, but I was so emotionally drained during that summer in 2016 that I let it go.
Right before that trip, I had gone to get my hair cut at some shitty salon in Century III Mall called Shear Talent or something and I even brought a picture of Carrie Brady from Days of Our Lives with me and told the bald hairdresser that this is what I wanted, but he listened to my mom instead and cut my hair IN REALLY SHORT LAYERS, literally the shortest my hair has ever been, and it was actually traumatizing (oh, don’t act like you have never thought your life was over because of a bad salon experience!!!) and I remember wailing, “I NEVER SHOULD HAVE TRUSTED A HAIR DRESSER WHO LOOKS LIKE MR CLEAN!!” So, I went into this trip with relatively low self esteem. I was ultra-conscious about my hair cut and basically just didn’t want anyone to look at me.
But then one day, Mary looked at me and said, “You know who you look like?
Drew Barrymore.” And just like that, my confidence soared. All these years later, and I still remember this so vividly, this nice woman named Mary from Michigan telling me I looked like some cute actress instead of the total toad I saw every morning when I looked in the mirror. She was being very generous with her compliments, though.
I know, you’re thinking, “I thought this was about a stuffed hippo?” We’re getting to that! I just get derailed sometimes.
Out of all the young people in our group, Steve was the one with whom I had the best rapport. At first, it started with just little sarcastic jabs here and there, but then I found myself looking for excuses to talk to him.
I have always been super big into souvenirs. On one of our trips, I was obsessed with obtaining a collectors spoon (????) from each country, and I’m currently a serious magnet hoarder. But on this trip, it was all about key chains. And European key chains, at least in the 90s, were really hard to open. So I’d buy a key chain in every city and then sidle up to Steve and ask him to do it for me. Even if I could do it for myself.
I mean, I definitely have not outgrown this at ALL.
I totally had a crush on him—and even admitted it at one point in my vacation journal so you know it’s real—which probably definitely was not reciprocated by him because he was in college and I was some chubby, brace-faced 16-year-old from lame-ass Pittsburgh but our hyper-snarky love/hate banter always gave me that super minuscule inkling of hope that maybe THIS WAS LOVE.
In a truly passive-aggressive declaration of love, I bought a this small stuffed hippo at an Auto Grille in Italy, on a travel day from Venice to Florence. Back on the bus, we were trying to decide on a name for him, and I smugly said, “I think I’ll name him Steve.” And everyone laughed because you know, wow, Erin is insulting Steve, she must really NOT LIKE HIM AT ALL. (I was so fucking transparent.) All of the kids on the bus were obsessed with Steve the Hippo, for some reason. He became kind of a mascot and everyone would take turns holding him during the long bus rides.
Near the end of the vacation, we were on the bus, going to the overnight ferry that would take us to Greece. Natalie asked Steve, “If you were stuck on an elevator, who would you want to be stuck with?” and without even a millisecond of hesitation, Steve said, “Erin, because I’d like to get to know her better.”
My heart. My goddamn coal-chunk of a heart. I still get a little jolt in it when I remember this moment.
I mean, he also said I was the meanest person on the bus but that’s just because my flirting tactics are borderline-bullying.
Of course, we never kept in touch. And every once in a while, I would get inspired to Google him but always came up empty.
All of these years later, Steve the Hippo is still out and about, and oddly is one of the most precious and sentimental (and cheapest) souvenirs I ever brought back from one of those trips.
I was inspired to write this because a couple months ago, I was leaving the bedroom and said goodbye to Steve the Hippo, who lives on my dresser, and Henry was like, “?” so I yelled, “DO YOU NOT KNOW THE STEVE THE HIPPO ORIGIN STORY?!” Needless to say, he was subjected to a much more winded and gushy version than you just read here.
While reading my vacation journal to get details for this post, I said, “Steve threw Steve the Hippo at me so I hit him. Oh look, Steve and I arm-wrestled!”
“Of course you did,” Henry mumbled.
Every time I look at Steve the Hippo, I think about how one time, years ago, someone chose me in the hypothetical elevator game. As I age and lose more and more of my personality, become more introverted and wallflower-y, and am having a particularly low self-esteem day, this memory gives me a boost.
Steve is the first guy there on the left.
On the last day of our vacation, we were on the bus en route to the airport and Steve was holding the hippo. “You’re going to go home and rip all the stuffing out of this thing, aren’t you?” he said to me. I joked that I was going to give it to my dog, but man, if he only knew!
If.He.Only.Knew.
(I wonder if he even remembers me?)
No comments