Oh Honestly, Erin

This fucking sword! Matt and Kristen had to go along with impromptu decapitations and amputations for the rest of the evening, because you never knew when Chooch was going to slash you with a balloon sword in 100 degree weather. I kept hoping he would pop it off Henry’s beard. Chooch didn’t want to get publicly strangled by blue latex, so not once did he hit me with that stupid sword.

During our trek, we passed numerous stands where Boston Strong ribbons and memorabilia were being sold, and banners hung everywhere. It was super bittersweet. Part of me wanted to ask about where the recent bombings happened, but I didn’t want to be That Person. (Even though we all totally know that I am.)

“Aw, duuuude. The Bruins are totally gonna with the Cup tanight.” Totally what that guy was saying.

Matt asked if we were ready to eat dinner and I emphatically said yes but in lieu of food, I was actually salivating over the thought of an air-conditioned room and a cold glass of water. With ice cubes. Water with ice cubes! It was all I really wanted. Who knew I could ever want something so basic.

Every little eating establishment we passed, Chooch would say, “Can’t we just eat there?” and Kristen would tell him that place wasn’t good, or it was dumb, and I really appreciated that because he usually needs to hear this shit from other people. Otherwise, he will turn into an asshole because, “YOU GUYS NEVER GO WHERE I WANT TO GO!” and then the whole, “OMG OUR ENTIRE LIVES ARE PLANNED AROUND YOU SO STFU!” argument happens. I also appreciated it because it pretty much was always a stupid place he was pointing to. Get a life, Chooch.

I think this was where Matt got us LOST! Look at Henry’s expression. I’m sure he’s thinking about how, if he were leading us, he’d never get us lost, and I really wish he would have said that out loud so I could have jabbed him in the face with Chooch’s stupid sword while recounting the multiple times he led us astray in Salem — only a few hours ago! Get fucked with your stupid stripes, Hank.

Meanwhile, Chooch witnessed a real life interaction between two native Bostonians when a shop owner ran into a mailman he knew and the two began jovially shouting salutations and niceties across traffic. Literally, things like, “HOW’S THE WIFE, PALLY?” It was so stereotypical that part of me wondered if a TV show was being filmed.

Chooch lapped all of this up and then when it was over, he whispered in awe, “It was just like Alyson said!” That may have been the highlight of Boston for him.

“Seriously, are we walking back to Pittsburgh? Because it feels like it.” In the backround, Matt consults his phone for directions.

Heat and all, I really enjoyed the walk, but that’s not to say I wasn’t internally having a Fuck Yes dance party when we arrived at Faneuil Hall, which I still can’t pronounce even though Kristen repeated it for me like 87 times and I had to Google the spelling of it just now even though it’s right there on that Boston Strong banner in the above picture.

We melted, dripped and oozed inside the door to McCormick & Schmick’s where Matt and Kristen spoiled us with a lovely, super-filling dinner. When our waiter dropped off some bread for us, I was half-tempted to use a slice to soak up the oily sheath of humidity that was making my face look like the finest glazed ham up in that piece. And thank god the waiter was so overzealous with his water-pourin’, because I think we all had chugged the shit out of our glasses. I so badly wanted to nuzzle the glass and all of its sweet, COLD condensation against my neck.

In case you didn’t know, it was approximately the same temperature as the inside of a hippo suit at a Tunisian sex camp during Furry Porn Week out there in Boston. (Although, it’s been awhile since my last trip to Tunisia so I’m basing this off memory.) Thankfully, it hadn’t been that hot the night before at Hampton Beach, or I would have had to give the finger to the Summer Wind restaurant and it’s broken air conditioning.

Chooch got mac n’ cheese and complained about it because he’s a kid and that is what kids do, I guess. I wouldn’t know, because when I was his age, I was eating lobster and other fancy things because I was amazing and spoiled. I made some comment about how it’s hard for any restaurant to match up when I make the world’s best mac n’ cheese, which made Henry almost choke on his eyeballs, but Chooch agreed! Probably only because he doesn’t know any better.

Other than not eating, Chooch was relatively civilized during dinner, which is always cause for a big exhale afterward. You never know how restaurants and children are going to mesh! It’s known to be a volatile combo sometimes.

Matt and Kristen wanted to order a bottle of wine, and asked Henry and me if we would drink some, too. Me? Wine? Fuck yes. But the thought of Henry drinking wine made me LOL openly. Maybe if they had a Faygo-flavored blend. Our efficient water-pouring waiter asked to see my ID when Kristen ordered the wine, and since I’m so fucking naive, I didn’t realize he was joking until after I had dug through my purse for my drivers license, so then the waiter felt obliged I guess to feign shock over the fact that I’m 33 when I only really look 16. Nice try, buddy.

[Ed.Note: After I posted this, Kristen pointed out that I missed the best part of dinner, when Chooch was doing some word activity thing on the back of his placemat, one of those “How many words can you make out of these letters” games, and the first word he found was “retard.” That’s my boy!]

It had started to cool off a little bit by the time we finished dinner. Kristen had to take a work call as soon as we left McCormick & Schmick’s, which is something she will probably live to regret for the rest of her life. (Or at least a few days.)

Because she wasn’t there to veto my desire to “stick around and check out this promising street performer.”

“Oh, can we stay for this? CAN WE!?” I asked Matt, who shrugged a silent “OK, but guaranteed this guy is going to suck.” Besides, I had already made eye contact with Bob (that’s his name, and he’s a JUGGLER), so I felt obliged. Plus, literally only 3 other people listened to him when he called out for people to stay and gather in close to him for some semblance of an audience.

Chooch got to assist with removing a ball from his tube.

I mean…

Basically, this guy took decent juggling skills and mired it down with a heavy-handed, mildly-racist comedy script. And he made two young guys volunteer (the one was so resistant and by the end looked semi-homicidal) for a grand finale that may or may not have happened because we grew bored watching and then it started to rain REALLY HARD which is my fault because had we ignored Bob the Shitty Juggler in the first place, we probably would have been back at Matt and Kristen’s apartment.

But it was worth it just to see how totally annoyed Kristen was. Oh my god, she HATED BOB from the moment she returned from her work call and proceeded to spend the next—-how much time did we waste on Bob? 20 minutes? 30? seemed like a lifetime—xx minutes finding different ways to say that he sucked. Maybe the wine from dinner played a role in this, but I could NOT stop cheering ironically, which gave me laughing fits that required me to bury my face in Henry’s arm several times.

Kristen and Chooch got lost at the T station and admittedly, part of me was like, “Yay! No more balloon sword!” But then Matt wrangled them up.

Pondering about Bob. “How did he do all of those magnificent stunts!?”

Another blurry picture. I’m so mad that I left the real camera at home. WTF kind of amateur tourist am I?!

Hung out for a little bit back at Matt and Kristen’s. Kristen continued to win Chooch’s heart by sitting on the floor with him and asking him to help her play games on her iPad. Friends Forever!

It was so awesome seeing them again and I wish we had gotten there earlier like we had planned. Blame Henry. Besides, Matt probably wanted some privacy to watch “The Craft.”

Made our way out of Boston and found some lame hotel somewhere relatively close to Fall River and found out that the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup! But then I felt guilty for being so gleeful because it was hard not to get caught up in the excitement being in Boston and wanting to be all “Boston Strong, yo!”

Seriously, YOU try living with this dichotomy.

Henry sent me up to the second floor of the hotel ALONE AND IN THE DARK OF THE NIGHT to unlock the door and I was very nearly kidnapped while he stayed in the parking lot devising a way to carry every single piece of luggage all on his lone person. Bob the Juggler could’ve done it, but not without pretending to fail for 20 minutes while telling really frustrating jokes.

Chooch fell asleep immediately with Bunny Stew (he’s really into bunnies these days):

***

Several days after we came home, Henry texted me a picture he took of the TV. It was Faneuil Hall (WTF, had to scroll up for the spelling; I hate this word!!) from some show Henry was watching on the Food Network. “No Bob, though ;(” Henry captioned the picture. Bob the Juggler: NEVER FORGET.

 

After the beach, we spent the rest of the evening on the boardwalk which was my favorite part because I love boardwalks. Especially boardwalks that also have rides, which this one did not but that’s OK because it still had a 1980s vibe to it, as evidenced by the postcard Chooch and I bought for Barb:

Nothing was NEW and FLASHY about Hampton Beach and that made it easier to imagine all of the Lost Boys-era Corey Haims carousing up and down the boardwalk. There was also a significant bit of police action, mostly traffic-related, which gave Alyson the opportunity to teach Chooch to call them popo, much to Henry’s chagrin. You know how he loves the popo!

Fried dough is the big treat to get in that region, in lieu of funnel cake which is the big summer staple that I’m used to. I figured it was the same, just a different shape, but Alyson insisted that they didn’t really taste alike. She was definitely right, and I decided that I liked fried dough equally as much as I like funnel cake, which is “A good deal, but not enough to order my own.” So it’s a good thing that Chooch isn’t a total dick when it comes to sharing.

I would have preferred him to get a different topping other than “chocolate syrup” though. There were a ton to choose from! Alyson opted for powdered sugar, which seems like the classic route. I wanted Henry to order one with the vague topping of “Sauce.” What kind of sauce? SECRET sauce? I couldn’t even imagine. But then Alyson said she thought it was just tomato sauce and I was disappointed. And also a little disgusted because I don’t want fried dough to be savory. I want it to be stuffed with marshmallows and Sno-Caps and wrapped in spun sugar.

Ice cream on the side.

With sprinkles.

Rainbow ones.

Is it that obvious that this is being typed by a fat bitch on a diet?

I appreciate Alyson’s sense of balance and that Blink’s spells it “fry doe.”

OMG I’m sorry!! I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry!!

There is a fan on the ceiling near the entrance of Blink’s which Alyson warned us of ahead of time. Sometimes, she said, people will order fried dough with powdered sugar, and when they turn to leave, the fan will blow the sugar all over them. It didn’t happen to her too much that evening, and she seemed kind of bummed about it. Had it been me, that motherfucker would have made me look like I had just gone bobbing for cocaine. Trust me. I’m a magnet for food spills.

Remember my French waffle initiation last year?

I only took two bites of Chooch’s fried dough and felt like I had a chocolate beard. I kept asking Henry if I did and he’d say “Yes” over and over without ever looking at me because he is the worst boyfriend ever and never has my back. Or a napkin!!

We don’t have Rexalls in Pittsburgh, so anytime I see or hear about one, I always think about that Dave Navarro song “Rexall” and then I feel shame for owning that CD.

No one kicked me out, though.

Dude, THIS PLACE. We weren’t even over the threshold yet and this beautiful, antiquated musk wafted out from inside the arcade and suckerpunched my face.

“Oh wow, that smell!” I said to Alyson, but not at all in a tone of disgust.

“I knew you would appreciate it,” she said, nodding.

It was the perfume of a century of fun-having and Skee Ball-playing and ticket-redeeming and first-kissing. Alyson said this place is full of ghosts and she’s right. But the good kinds. The kinds that would die all over again if this place was ever completely modernized, the way Chuck E. Cheese was which subsequently took a huge dump on my childhood.

It was here that we discovered Henry is apparently “pretty good” at Skee-Ball. I wish he was also “pretty good” at buying a house. Or “pretty good” at playing Skee-Ball in a veritable Fodor’s guide of European destinations that he was also “pretty good” at taking me on vacation.

Sometimes I cry along with the ghosts.

The ghosts of my silver spoon childhood!

I’m not really much of a game-player, though I did call some young lad over to help me turn on Q*bert, only to expire at the beginning of level 2. That was enough of a fix for me! I spent the rest of the time watching Chooch and Alyson play air hockey like maniacs and Henry act cool for playing some poker machine thing. Then it took Chooch an eternity to redeem his tickets. He wound up with a stuffed penguin (yay, more stuffed things—we really think he’s going to grow up to be a furry) and a ball. And some candy, because the girl behind the counter was just trying to get rid of him at that point. HERE, TAKE SOME TOOTSIE ROLLS K BYE.

Henry stands beneath a sign of his People!

Finally, I had reached the point where my Parker’s pot-stirring grilled cheese had seemed like days ago and I decided for all of us that we must eat now. Alyson said that there was a good seafood joint up ahead called the Whale’s Tail, but we arrived to find that it had turned into the Summer Wind at some point along the way, the strip-facing windows of which told us that there were absolutely zero diners inside. It was around 7:30 on a Sunday night, but Hampton Beach was still packed so it seemed odd that a single table was occupied.

Red flag #1: deserted restaurant.

Still, we inspected the menu posted on the door and found that the restaurant had everything we were looking for…except other diners. I mean, yes, I hate crowded restaurants, but when you’re smack in the middle of a busy beach and there is not one soul inside eating some fucking clams, that’s weird, right? And just when Henry was like, “Let’s keep walking,” the middle aged hostess inside the restaurant made eye contact with us and started smiling wildly and waving at Chooch, because all the crazies sink their no-good hooks into him first. (Me second.)

Red flag #2: overenthusiastic hostess miming through a window.

Alyson and I decided that it could be an adventure to go inside while Henry was all NO NO NO NO, but majority rules, sweetheart.

“The air conditioner broke, so that’s why no one is here!” the hostess explained very Edie McClurg-y. “BUT WE HAVE FANS!! I CAN SEAT YOU BENEATH A FAN!!!”

Red flag #3: OMG no a/c.

It didn’t feel bad in there though, and it was already cooling down outside anyway, so we followed her to a table near the window, so that other people could walk by and wonder why only 4 people were eating at this weird restaurant.

“Are you ready?” the hostess called out to a young waitress sitting in a booth with a busboy. But the way she said it, it made me feel like, wait—ready for what? Was she going to sing us a song? Get the cameras rolling because this is actually an episode of Kitchen Nightmares? Did the hostess want her to alert the devil in the kitchen that his sacrificial lambs had arrived? Prepare the arsenic?

Red flag #4: WEIRD EMPLOYEE CUES.

And then of course as soon as we were seated, I started talking shit about how weird she was only to find that she was standing right behind me still. But she was too busy doting on Chooch to notice I think. God, Chooch gets ALL OF THE DOTING.

The waitress, who I guess was ready, came over to take our orders and let us know that they were out of French fries so there would be a no-charge substitution for sweet potato fries instead. I was glad for this, because I like sweet potato fries. So I ordered that and fried clams, Henry copied me, Alyson chose clam chowder and boiled clams and Chooch got something plain. Probably chicken strips which he didn’t eat.

When the waitress came back with our drinks, I noticed that she brought Henry water instead of iced tea. Henry either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and I chose not to say anything because I enjoy watching things play out on their own. But of course he noticed and waited until she came back with Alyson’s chowder to point at his water glass and ask simply, “Iced tea?” in a tone subtly tinged with ice. Do not fuck up Henry’s drink order, bitches.

Before our food arrived, Henry ran out to the parking lot to feed the meter. The waitress chose that moment to regretfully inform us that the kitchen was also out of sweet potato fries and offered to substitute HOME MADE tortilla chips and artichoke dip instead. At this point, I just wanted SOMETHING TO EAT^TM so I said that was fine.

“And him….?” she asked, motioning to Henry’s vacant chair.

“Oh, he’ll be fine with that too!” I lied, and after she retreated I said to Alyson, “Oh, Henry is going to be so pissed!” and we burst out in laughter.

Red flag #5: A restaurant that has not served any patrons all day SUPPOSEDLY is out of potato products. WHY?

But, despite all of the red flags, I found my clams to be just fine! And Alyson enjoyed hers too, and the Summer Wind had given us so many LOL-moments that the red flags only made it better. Plus, no one became violently ill afterward. Although I’m not entirely ruling out the theory that the old Whale’s Tail owner is now a life-sized Popsicle in a basement freezer.

Henry, upon returning to a plateful of HOMEMADE TORTILLA CHIPS and artichoke dip. Surprise, motherfucker!!

Henry, still displeased with the experience.

Right as we were leaving, some hungry people came in wanting a table and were turned away. “We’re closing early tonight,” I heard some waitress call out to them from inside the bowels of the restaurant. It was only 8:30, and they had been complaining about how no one had come in all day! Maybe they ran out of HOMEMADE TORTILLA CHIPS too.

Afterward, we stopped by the shooting gallery, and I don’t know what this old woman whispered into Henry’s furry ear, but it sure cheered him right up! Alyson swears this woman has been a shooting gallery icon even back when her mom was a kid, and I can believe it. I was watching this babushka’d woman the whole time as she leaned back and watched everyone shoot away, and I could tell that this was her happy place. But I’m fairly certain that when the gallery closes for the night, she links arms with the Sheriff in the corner and returns to her original mannequin form.

She even taught Chooch how to take his time and aim. It was a real Christmas miracle. Typically, as soon as Henry feeds quarters into the slot, Chooch kicks into rapid-fire shooting-mode and wastes all of his shots in the span of 5 seconds.

Made Henry pause for another photo-op on the way back.

One last stop for ice cream and it was sadly time to leave. I’m not much a beach person & usually opt to take several small weekend trips over the course of the summer, doing amusement park-y and concert-y things because I need constant action. The last time we went to one was Ocracoke in 2006 (and it was one of the worst vacations of my life), but spending the day at Hampton Beach brought back so many good childhood memories of summers in Wildwood, NJ with my Pappap and now my mind is made up that we are going to Wildwood next summer and staying in one of the same hotels that I used to stay in with my family. So have fun planning that, Henry. Don’t fuck it up.

During the car ride back to Nashua, Alyson sat in the back with Chooch and told him more stories of her Massachusetts-tongued co-workers and delivery drivers she encounters daily, and we were all laughing until our stomachs hurt. Even Henry twisted his mustache a few times, which means he is currently finding mirth in something but trying to fight it. Alyson would be in the middle of some deep, burly Bostonian improv when she would smoothly transition into dulcet tones in order to give Henry directions, which made me crack up even harder. I only half-joked that she should be a GPS voice.

Then Chooch realized he had my old iPhone with him and made Alyson start over so that he could record her. He then proceeded to watch these videos ad nauseum for the rest of our vacation. It was all fun and games until it occurred to me that Alyson had taught Chooch to mock the Boston accent when we’d be spending the next day there. I hoped he wouldn’t openly mimic anyone in public because I wasn’t sure if I’d be willing to take a punch for him.

Back at Alyson’s house, we said goodbye for what hopefully will not be another 5 years. Thank you, Alyson, for a weekend of pure happiness and many Tolhurst-moments!

GET TO WORK, BOY!

 

some gas station god only knows where.

We said peace out to Pittsburgh on Friday for a New England road trip. Our first stop is New Hampshire, so we drove as long as possible and crashed at some hotel in New York.

I got reaallllllly hyper when “Magic” by America came on the radio.

This video cuts off right as Henry screamed at me to stop.

There’s not much more to note about the first leg of our drive because Chooch spent most of the time reading in the backseat and Henry and I argued about who hates each other more.

sick curtains, bro

The Cure’s “Charlotte Sometimes” came on the new wave XM station just as we pulled into the sketchy Days Inn, which Henry bartered to get a lower rate—why can’t he do that at flea markets??—and then “Boys Don’t Cry” played as we checked out the next morning, so in spite of having a horrible night’s sleep thanks to my travel companions snoring like basic bears:

…I still took this as a sign that the day was going to be awesome. And I was right, because when we arrived at our friend Alyson Hell’s house in Nashua and gave her the first hugs since 2008, the day only proceeded to get better and better!

(P.S. there was a guy staying in the room next to us who resembled Jonny Craig kind of and Chooch and I both blurted it out at the same time. Henry told us to shut up.)