Everything was fine last night until around 11:30 when I began noticing it while lying in bed: the low-grade rumble of a radio that was not mine. One thing, a HUGE thing, to note about me is that I cannot stand hearing radio (more specifically – BASS) coming through my wall. I’m fine with it at a concert or in my own car, but there is something about it filtering through my wall that clashes with my sanity, creeps under my skin, flips my bitch switch. So what started out as a nice night quickly morphed into WHERE IS THAT COMING FROM AND WHO DO I HAVE TO KILL TONIGHT?!

Henry, of course, didn’t hear anything because he doesn’t have psychotic aural powers like I do.

Henry quickly assured me that no one was home next door, because we have decent neighbors post-Boots’ arrest & eviction, and Henry will do anything to preserve our docile relationship with them. He looked out of our bedroom window and noticed that there was someone (“a fat white guy,” Henry eloquently noted) sitting in a running car in front of our house. “It’s just this car out there. He’s probably waiting to pick someone up. It’ll stop soon.”

But what I heard was, “Some cocksucker is outside my house with complete disregard for the residents on this street and now he must die.”

Several minutes passed and he was still out there. It didn’t matter that I had Kpop playing on our own bedroom radio, now that I knew there was foreign noise flitting about outside my bedroom wall. In fact, it seemed louder now.

“It’s not even music he’s listening to, it’s talk radio,” Henry pointed out and I was like “I KNOW, IT SOUNDS LIKE CHARLIE BROWN’S TEACHER IS OUTSIDE OUR HOUSE SQUAWKING IN A BULLHORN.”

Another fifteen minutes passed and now it sounded like Rush Limbaugh was LIVE FROM ERIN KELLY’S BEDSIDE. Literally, my skull was vibrating in time with the monotone murmurs from outside.

“Let’s just throw a brick at his car.”

“NO. WE CANNOT THROW A BRICK AT HIS CAR.” Henry is so fucking quick to snuff out all of my brilliant solutions.

By now it was after midnight. My next plan was to go downstairs, whip open the front door, and stare at him menacingly from my front door. Except that I didn’t have my contacts in and all I could see was a maroon blob that was presumably the source of the commotion. I flicked the porch light on and off several times, hoping he would catch on to my impromptu signal for STFU AND GET AWAY FROM MY HOUSE YOU CUNT.

This didn’t work so I threw on a coat and was ready to go out and confront this motherfucker face-to-face. Henry was quickly trying to get dressed in case he needed to follow me out and actually, god forbid, protect me. 

I had two strategies in mind:

1. Go out with proverbial guns blazing and scream my face at him
2. Fill him with guilt by sweetly telling him that my sick baby was trying to sleep and THIS GUY’S RADIO kept waking him up. I mean, Chooch was a baby once. And he’s kind of sick right now?

But then we discussed this and Henry convinced me that a personal visit was probably not safe because what if it escalated and knowing me, it would probably escalate. When I reach this level of irrational anger, I am a completely different person and feel invincible and want to fight the fucking world. And this guy’s talk radio was pushing me to let Erratic Erin out to play.

I HATE THAT I CAN’T EVEN BE MAD WITHOUT THE RISK OF GETTING SHOT NOW.

“Ew, are you wearing Chooch’s shoes?” Henry asked as he noticed my Midnight Confrontation Costume: winter jacket, bare legs, Chooch’s tennis shoes.

And then I realized that EW GROSS yes I was wearing Chooch’s shoes WITH NO SOCKS time to burn my feet off.

But before the feet-incineration, I started pressuring Henry to just call the police.

“ISN’T THAT WHAT THOSE BASTARDS ARE THERE FOR? SO PEOPLE LIKE US, HARMLESS CITIZENS, DON’T HAVE TO RISK GETTING A FIST IN THE FACE BY CONFRONTING PEOPLE ON THEIR OWN?”

Plus, it was now 1:00am. That guy could have cruised up to our house straight from the bar, who the hell knows.

So Henry, knowing that his night was over no matter what option was chosen, reluctantly called the police and made the most petty complaint of all time, right next to when our other neighbor called the police because someone’s car was blocking the driveway by a centimeter and a beaten-down cop had to go door-to-door to find the owner of the car.

After Henry made the call, we went back up to bedroom to see if anyone would actually come. Henry’s your basic middle-aged white man-bitch who has the police scanner app on his phone, so that was turned on with a quickness. There was lots of reporting of a girl in red pants and a green shirt running through traffic on the Liberty Bridge, clearly one of Santa’s elves, so that was exciting. Then we heard the dispatcher bleep in about an ordinance call from our address and we perked up.

“I’m in Brookline,” some copper chimed in and we were all OH SHIT ITS ON. Well, I was all OH SHIT ITS ON. Henry was too busy stepping inside his ever-growing frown with a bindle stuffed with his balls and a few issues of Good Housekeeping, and hitching a ride to What Have I Done? Town.

Within minutes, a cop car rolled by slowly, inspecting the scene.

Before that cop had a chance to turn around, another cop pulled up and stopped across the street, shining a light at the PERP.

Then another cop rolled up with lights blazing, and by then the first cop had turned around and come back so now there were three police cars outside our house, shining lights at the perp’s car.

Seconds later, the guy’s radio went quiet and the cops were gone.

“Good job, Erin,” Henry mumbled. “Now we’re marked as the house who makes petty police calls.”

“You should have given them Hot Naybor Chris’s name and address! They’re used to getting those calls from over there,” I laughed, and then spent the next 10 minutes cracking the fuck up while Henry tried in vain to fall asleep.

“Wait—I think I hear it again!” I yelled.

Henry looks out the window and said, “Well he’s not even there anymore, so….”

I guess at that point, the noise was just embedded in my ear drums.

But just to summarize:

Amount of cops sent when a lunatic was trying to bash in my old neighbor Boots’ door last year, threatening to kill him: 0

Amount of cops sent last night when we called about a car parked in front of our house for over an hour with the radio blasting at 1am: 3

Today is Saturday and here are some snaps of Drew. Yes, Penelope is still here but she has been avoiding the paparazzi. So, just Drew. (Also, please enjoy my sick bed-making skills up there. I AM A DOMESTIC GODDESS.)

(This is rare because our bed usually is never made. We live like college students over here on Pioneer Ave, you guys. Come sit on the floor with us and eat ramen some night.)

She is still very much Chooch’s cat (that is, no one else can hold her but him) but she and I have developed our own little thing together in which I stand behind a wall and pop my head around the corner, make eye contact with her, then slowly retreat. She gets REALLY UPSET ABOUT THIS and will slowly creep toward me while making squirrel noises.

It even works if I just sit on the couch with a pillow over my face, like some strange game of peek-a-boo. Chooch is so pissed because finally something that doesn’t include him!!

I had the day off yesterday (it’s my yearly rush to use up my extra PTO before I lose it) so Drew and I had a lot of time together. It was an exhausting day of ruining Chooch’s puzzle, knocking a brand new candle off the table & shattering it thirty seconds after I put it there, climbing on Trudy & almost toppling her, and relearning the sights and sounds of the kitchen like she hasn’t lived here for two years. Honestly, she and Penelope both acted like they had never seen the kitchen before when I was in there making coffee Friday morning, and were too afraid to even cross the threshold!? Finally they came in, all jumpy and skittish, and then slowly remembered, “Oh, this is the room before the back porch that we have walked around in a million times in the last two years.” And then Celine Dion started singing.

Gotta go, Henry just came home from spray-painting new-to-us dining room chairs which need to be done BY DECEMBER 30TH, IT’S CRUNCH TIME MOTHERFUCKER, and I think he wants to dance to Kpop with me because I just overheard him singing along to “If You Do” by Got7.

It’s snowing in Pittsburgh so I feel that sharing this song is apropos and #moodAF. I watched the video this morning before walking to the T so that was two days in a row I had mascara running down my face before work.

Zion.T is so good. Chooch and I saw him at KCON last spring and he was such a golden highlight.

This song makes me miss living in my childhood home that had two fire places. I feel so cold and sad. But I’ll be okay.

Hey, today wasn’t terrible but as far as Mondays go, it was up there with some of the Monday-est. I think I have some major holiday blues.

I’m stressed and bitter and I just can’t wait for it all to be over.

At least a new Twice MV was released today though so I got to watch that before work, and then just now Henry was walking out of the room during a live performance of Taemin’s “Press Your Number” and he was trying to be cute by dancing (I think that’s what that was) except that he tripped over the coffee table so that was a nice good laugh that I sincerely needed.

OK I’m going to do sit-ups now or something because the only time I don’t feel like I’m going to punch a hole through the wall is when I’m exercising or watching Kpop videos or, my favorite, both at once.

안녕하세요!

During our daily walks around the ‘hood, I’ve been learning a lot about Chooch’s life outside of our house. Sometimes I wish I could shadow him for a day because he tells me these stories and I’m like WHO ARE YOU.

So this post will be interspersed with stories and facts, because I’m going to force him to answer some questions.

Such as:

Question: What’s your current favorite song?

Answer: “New Rules” by Dua Lipa

Mr. Gray & Cindy

Chooch is friends with this younger kid down the street, we’ll just call him Pita for anonymity purposes, and also because Henry has him as a contact in his phone as Pain in the Ass. Anyway, every time he comes home from hanging out with Pita, it starts out the same: PITA AND I HAD A FIGHT BECAUSE [insert some awful injustice served to Chooch].

Last weekend, he came home and started immediately with, “Pita is so annoying! I was walking Mr. Gray—”

“Whoa,” I interrupted him. “Who the fuck is Mr. Gray?”

“Cindy’s cat,” Chooch shrugged, desperate to continue his tale of woe.

“Who’s Cindy?!” I asked, and when Chooch said she lives next to Pita, I realized she’s the same lady whose old cat Teddy knocked up my cat Marcy back in 1999, which is how Don and Willie came to be. (RIP to all.) So I kind of know her.

Turns out, Cindy pays Chooch 75 cents to walk her cat and on this particular day, it was because she was trying to eat breakfast and Mr. Gray was bothering her.

I don’t remember what about this situation caused Chooch and Pita to fight because I was too fixated on Chooch getting paid to walk a cat named Mr. Gray.

Also re:Cindy, Chooch told me that he recently mentioned to her that her old cat Teddy was the dad to two of our now-deceased cats and she denied the probability of it which is confusing to me because that’s the only interaction I’ve had with her, was when we were talking about being kind of related now because of our cats and it was like such a cute Stars Hollow moment but now she’s acting like this is an incredibly non-truth. Is she suddenly worried I’m going to ask for back kitten support??

Question: What is your current favorite Kpop song?

Answer: “Wolf” – EXO

Chooch vs. Greensleeves

Chooch’s school has this thing called the Trifecta Awards, which happens twice a year (I think?). It’s based on grades, perfect attendance, and citizenship, whatever that means. Chooch has won it multiple times, including this current time, but the ceremony is during the school day so Henry and I couldn’t attend. Chooch reminded us all last week that we’re shitty parents (duh) and mentioned in passing that he also played the piano during the ceremony, which was news to me. He said he played Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy and Greensleeves, and we left it at that, but then earlier today he casually said, “I only played half of Greensleeves and then said, ‘That’s all I know. Bye’ and left the stage.”

WOW THAT’S MY SON, LADIES & GENTS.

Question: Do you think the Mexican taco cart guy likes me?

Answer: I don’t know. You’re obsessed. Yes, sure.

Rob’s Firecrackers

One night a few weeks ago, Chooch came barging in the house. “Rob’s in his backyard lighting firecrackers with a cigarette!” he panted. Chooch is always on Neighborhood Watch and in this particular instance, he was on the hunt for Pita, because Pita’s mom didn’t know where he was. Anyway, he found Pita with Rob, who has lived on this street longer than me but I never knew his name until Chooch became such a boy about town and befriended everyone in Brookline. The first time I learned who Rob was when Chooch casually told me that Rob pays him five bucks to help carry the groceries in the house for his wife, who is Chooch’s neighbor nemesis, maybe even more so than Larry.

“I have to go tell [Pita]’s mom that I found him,” Chooch yelled as the door was shutting behind him. Then he came back and asked where our leftover firecrackers were because Rob’s wife wasn’t home (Chooch calls her the Witch because she yells at him for being in his yard all the time and I’m kind of like relishing this payback because when I first moved here, her son was Chooch’s age and he TERRORIZED ME) and Chooch wanted to join in the pyro-action while he had the chance. So he collected some small firecrackers we had and then split.

Did I mention that this is the same guy whose house was on fire a few months ago?

Fun fact: Rob’s wife is Cindy’s sister!

Fun fact #2: Chooch still has all his phalanges and eyebrows.

Bus Driver Beef

In addition to the lunch lady, the gym teacher, and the librarian at the Brookline public library, we can now add GIFTED SCHOOL BUS DRIVER to the list of Chooch’s on-going beefs. He told me last week that he was sitting with Dang (pronounced: Den; he’s Vietnamese) and Dang kept pushing him so that he was nearly falling out of the seat. He pushed Chooch off the seat once; the bus driver looked in the mirror and GLARED AT HIM (his words — he’s telling me the story again as I type this), and then focused her eyers back onto the road. Then she kept making VERY SHARP TURNS and it was so rough that he fell off the seat AGAIN and she looked in the mirror AGAIN and glared even WORSE. And then she did it again and he fell off the seat AGAIN. She looked in the  mirror again and yelled, “IF YOU FALL OFF YER SEAT ONE MORE TIME, I’M GONNA MAKE YOU SIT UP HERE WITH ME SO YOU CAN’T FALL OFF YER SEAT.” He wants you to read this to yourself with a strong Pittsburghese accent, you guys. Chooch looked at her and rolled his eyes and went back to the convo he was having with Dang. I fell off again and she looked in the mirror again and glared the worst yet but she didn’t make him sit with her. They finally got to the gifted center and when he walked past her to get off the bus, he said, “I wasn’t falling off on purpose.”

“YES YOU WERE. NO ONE ELSE WAS FALLING OFF THEIR SEAT!”

He hopped off the stairs and said, “‘No bitch, it was your fucking driving,’ Just kidding, I didn’t say that. I said, ‘It wasn’t my fault’,”

And that was Chooch’s story in his words but written by me.

Question: What question should I ask you?

Answer: I’m not answering questions about questions!

Question: OK favorite hobby I guess.

Answer: Right now it’s pretty much playing games on Kongregate.com.

Puzzle Update

The puzzle is still not finished. Chooch spends more time re-piecing the parts that the cats have demolished that actually assembling any new sections. I was on the phone with Henry during my lunch break on Thursday when he said, “Oh, wait for it….wait for…” and suddenly I heard a blood-curdling scream in the background. Apparently, Chooch had come home from school and found his puzzle in even worse condition and had a mental breakdown over it. So then I had to stand there in the middle of downtown with the phone to my ear while he and Henry fought about the puzzle because Chooch was mad that Henry saw the puzzle in such a state and didn’t try to fix it and Henry shouted, “IT’S NOT MY FUCKING PUZZLE!” so now we’re about to have a fucking family meeting (maybe even in a courthouse at this point) to come up with a solution because Henry wants the puzzle off the table but there are no other tables to move it onto so Chooch suggested buying a card table to put on the backporch so that the cats won’t bother it when it’s unsupervised because we can close the door, but Henry doesn’t want to buy a table and I personally don’t care either way because I lost interest in the puzzle a day after we got it. Actually, probably that same night.

So that’s where we are with that.

Question: Are you embarrassed of Trudy?

Answer: No she looks badass now with the gas mask because you can’t see her stupid face.

Question: when did you stop believing in Santa?

Answer: I either watched a video or you guys accidentally did something, I can’t remember.

(I probably told him in the middle of a fight haha.)

Well, we’re both bored with this now and I want to do jumping jacks so goodbye.

It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving weekend without Henry slaving over a turkey DIY project.

A few months ago, one of the neighbors was throwing away a plain wooden end table.

I was like, “I WILL TAKE THAT THANK YOU” and enlisted Chooch’s help in dragging it across the lawns under the veil of night.

We needed a table for the back porch and this was perfect. But…it was so plain. Have you seen my house? It’s a mod podge of spray-painted furniture—some of it literally does have Mod Podge on it too. So I knew I needed to spice this up.

We’re working on a much larger project using engineer prints and Henry was talking about needing a smaller project to practice sealant techniques on the prints, so I GOT THE BRIGHT IDEA to have a G-Dragon engineer print made for the table!

With a bit of practice, Henry managed to find a way to adhere and seal the print without the image running so now I have a beautiful and completely frivolous G-Dragon coffee table for the back porch.

Just DONT PUT YOUR COFFEE ON IT. It has sealant on it but let’s not get crazy with it, OK IMAGINARY HOUSE GUESTS?!

We had to run to the craft store today to get glue for the gems and I ran into the director of our department. First of all, I was carrying a huge candy cane for Trudy so Sue was like, “Oh wow what projects are you working on now?” so I had to explain that the candy cane was for our mannequin Xmas tree and that we were also there to get supplies for a G-Dragon table. Sue was like, “OK! Well um I can’t wait to see pictures!

” I should have told her I was making a traditional Xmas wreath with pine cones and ribbon – she probably would have been way more shocked.

I wanted Henry to make the table light up but he was like I CANNOT MAKE EVERYTHING IN THE FUCKING HOUSE TWINKLE, OK?!

And this has been: The Making of a Kwon Jiyong Furniture.

Stay tuned for my follow-up DIY: The Lighting of a Lee Taemin Lamp.

Thanks for reading. Please continue to support me. (THATS WHAT KPOP IDOLS SAY TO THEIR FANS, OK.)

Oh hey hi hello. Here I am, coughing a bit less but still talking like Kathleen Turner. Let’s look at some things I’ve been super into lately:

1. Like a sheet mask for your neck & chest:

2. Nose veils. Looks great paired with a turtleneck and leggings.

3. Swiss candies.

4. Taemin’s sweet, sweet dance moves in this live Press Your Number video:

5. ANIMALS NOT DYING ON TV SHOWS:

6. COLE SPROUSE AS JUGHEAD:

So, what are you into lately? Hopefully not a basketful of respiratory infection like meeeeeeeeee.

Oh hey guys, what’s up. I’m just over here slowly perishing from whatever gnarly chest cold bullshit I have. I thought I was getting better over weekend BUT NO now it’s manifested itself inside me as the cough of a 70-year-old chainsmoking secretary from the 1950s.

Yesterday was the most miserable day yet. I woke up from a night of next to no rest and tried using mind-control to convince my body that I was OK, ready for the day, we got this. But everything was working against me, from the moment I walked out of the door. As soon as the front door clicked shut, I realized I left my wallet on the couch, my wallet that has all of my credit cards, my Connect Card for the trolley, my work ID—that one I could have managed without, but without my ConnectCard or the ability to get cash, I had no way to get to work.

You’re probably like, “OK so just use your housekey and get your wallet, how is this even newsworthy, yawn” but what you should know is that I NEVER HAVE A HOUSEKEY and I will tell you why: I let my dummy son borrow mine after he lost his copy and then HE LOST MY KEY WHICH WAS THE MASTER KEY TO THE HOUSE AND THE ONLY ONE THAT WORKED RIGHT!!! Henry finally one day was like, “Enough is enough” and made me a copy using his key, which is the worst-cut key ever and I have never been able to use it in all the years he’s had it. So you know the copy he made me was even worse!

I have hurled that key across the room countless times, the last time was last year when I couldn’t open the door with it and had to get Chooch’s nemesis Larry to help me and even Larry was like THIS IS NOT A KEY, THIS IS THE DEVIL’S PUZZLE! As “luck” would have it, that fucking key had somehow made its way back into my jacket pocket, the same jacket I was wearing that miserable Monday morning, so I sighed, clenched it tight in my hand, and mumbled some quick JUST STAY CALM mantra before plunging that motherfucker into the lock.

OF COURSE IT DIDN’T WORK so I called Henry and was like, “You listen to me, motherfucker. I am about to have a heart attack on this porch. Everything is going wrong AND THIS KEY IS A WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!!” He was saying something about staying calm, he’d to come get me, don’t let the neighbors see my true colors, blah blah blah but I had already hung up because I was determined to conquer this bitch-ass housekey. Between my Hulkian twisting, simultaneous kicks to the door, and guttural screams to the Hell below, I eventually managed to wrench the door open, grab my FUCKING PUSHEEN WALLET, and punish the sidewalk with my maniacal stomps. When I arrived at the trolley stop 10 minutes later, the trolley was just pulling up and it was more crowded that I have even seen it. The able-bodied MAN in front of me grabbed the only open seat and I know this is the age of GENDER EQUALITY but I so badly wanted to play the chauvinism card in that moment because I sick, for god’s sake, couldn’t he SEE THAT?

So I had to stand, which on a normal day I would not have minded, but literally as soon as that trolley door slid shut, it was like a vault being sealed and I became acutely aware of the tickle in my throat.

Oh god, I needed to cough, and I needed to cough BAD.

First, I tried mind over matter. I tried to picture myself healthy and I don’t know, walking in a garden or something, BUT OH GOD THOSE FLOWERS! THAT POLLEN! COUGH COUGH COUGH!!!

So then I thought, well, let’s picture myself already off the trolley, coughing freely.

Yeah, that didn’t work.

I let myself cough into my arm once, hoping that would quell it. But it just made it worse, because now there were 87 more coughs queued up, getting all unruly in my throat, trying to line-jump.

I needed a new cough drop, but since I was holding on to the bar with one hand, I had only one hand left to rummage through my huge bag and I wouldn’t find it, I couldn’t find the cough drops, why god why. OH GOD I NEEDED TO COUGH AGAIN. NOW MY NOSE WAS STARTING TO RUN. EVERYONE IS STARING AT ME AREN’T THEY?!

I kept swallowing back the urge to cough until my body was racked with shudders and twitches, I was lurching and my face was getting red, but DON’T YOU DO IT ERIN, DON’T YOU COUGH, NO ONE WANTS TO BE ON THE TROLLEY WITH A COUGHER.

Tears were rolling down my cheeks now. I wanted to murder the guy who took that last seat. He is forever on my list.

I finally screamed UNCLE and got off the trolley three stops early, at Station Square, and walked the remaining mile to work, where I was able to cough freely into the wind.

When I arrived, I looked at Glenn and in what sounded like a failed Kathleen Turner impression, I growled, “DON’T TALK TO ME TODAY.”

I left work at 2 because I was annoying everyone with my hacking and Glenn was like, “Amber, can Erin go home now, or….?” I would have left earlier than that, but I had to wait for Henry to be done with work because I refused to try my hand at that FUCKING HOUSEKEY AGAIN.

“You’re so pathetic,” Glenn sighed, after I alerted everyone that I would be there for another hour. YOU KNOW WHAT GLENN?! You’re right. I’m pathetic. Ugh, I hate being sick.

Came home and coughed my dumb fucking head off all goddamn night. I bet the neighbors love me.

Luckily, I already had today scheduled off work because I had to attend a parent-teacher conference at the gifted center, and then I had a dentist appointment (that’s a whole other odyssey that I don’t even want to talk about right now). I managed to get through the conference without coughing until the very end, but I had to cancel my dentist appointment because I am a hot fucking mess. My eyes are all bloodshot from coughing and I look like I’m strung out, not to mention the whole “can’t go 5 minutes without coughing” thing.

So today has been pretty terrible as far as days off go. I have just been laying on the couch watching Riverdale which is pretty great until it starts getting into parent stuff, and then it just gets confusing. I want less shady dealings and extortion, more Jughead. You feel me.

Also, is Archie like the most boring character or what? All of his friends are involved in all of these complicated plots and then Archie walks onto the scene and it’s like, “Guys, shhh! Archie is here to talk about the lame song he just wrote and that’s more important than the rest of us solving crimes and being multi-dimensional characters!”

Also #2, Luke Perry and Skeet Ulrich are in this? 1990s Delia’s-wearing Erin is fucking sprung.

I called Henry crying because it’s lunch time and I don’t know what to do about that so he suggested that I go to Parker’s and I was like NOT WITH THIS COUGH BITCH PLZ and then he said, “Maybe your Mexican taco cart boyfriend can make you a veggie taco” and I shrieked, “NO I CAN’T LET HIM SEE ME LIKE THIS!” to which Henry laughed and said, “OK bye.” Unless that’s code for “be right there to cook for you” he can just GTFO.

I don’t do “sick” very well.

This has been a “Sick on the couch” free-form blog post. Guess I’ll go eat a piece of bread.

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I’m still ill but left the house just for some 11/11 Pepero! I guess I’ll share them with my “loved ones.”

And now back to my scheduled evening of being miserable. 

I worked late shift today from home which was an unplanned blessing because I had a really restless night and woke up feeling worse than the day before. It was nice not having to drag myself into work in the morning.

Chooch didn’t have school today, which was the sole reason why I volunteered for the dreaded Friday late shift. Before I was sick, we planned on having breakfast at Parker’s and I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to make it. Once the DayQuil set in, I was about 50% alert so we walked out asses through the unseasonably blustery winds to Brookline Blvd and had a nice, chill breakfast. I sincerely love Parker’s – the vibe is something Brookline has been missing but didn’t know it.

Anyway. Chooch has to do this intense genre report in his Communications class and I suggested that he choose The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin because it was my favorite book as kid and it’s all about me,* so.

*(Seriously – Chooch had to write an All About Me essay and when it was time to write about his family, I made sure I got the largest paragraph. He read it out loud to me and when he got to the last sentence**, he punctuated it with a hefty eye roll.)

**(“She is very talented.” LOL.)

So Chooch brought his book with him to read and I was so excited about this. I actually did a book report on it as well but it was in 4th grade. Not saying I was more advanced than Chooch, but…

J/k there’s no competition here!

(My work friends are like yeah right tell them about the cookie dough, Erin. Um, maybe the next post.)

The Westing Game made a big impression on me. It’s one of the few plots I actually remember (my memory rules in a lot of way but books are not one) and I was so happy when he seemed open to my suggestion! He has only just begun to read it and is already intrigued. I keep telling him to stop googling (he wanted to know if there was a movie) because I would cry if it’s spoiled for him.

The main takeaway I had from this book is to swish with hot tea and bourbon to alleviate toothaches. I can’t tell you how many times I have utilized that remedy over the years. Ugh, it’s such good pain!

If anyone still reads this and feels like weighing in, what was your favorite book as a kid?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to do some shots….of NyQuil. Woo, Friday night.

We were in the car over the weekend when I said, “My lymph nodes feel tender.”

Henry thought this was hilarious because he’s insensitive, but I was serious! I knew that sickness was on the horizon. 

Sorry that I’m a part-time doctor, Henry.

(Apparently, it was my use of the word ‘tender’ that was such a knee-slapper.)

Halfway through yesterday, it hit me and by the time I came home I was low-key dying. If you ask Henry though he will tell you that I was SO DRAMATIC and driving everyone crazy. You guys will never believe this, but I actually RESTED all last night (except for when I woke up on the couch at 10:30 and realized I was 200 steps away from my daily goal so I shambled around the house like ninny until my Fitbit was happy.)

Today was better but not much. I made it through work but I felt like my body was crawling with frozen ants and all my joints felt like hostels for arthritis. I wore my coat for the last two hours. Even though it feels like there is a bonfire in my ears, I supposedly don’t have a fever. I accused Henry of tampering with the thermometer 

Anyway, all I want to do is writhe around on the couch, moaning and watching Weekly Idol. So here are two pictures of my cats. 

Someday this blog will have content again. 

(OMG IT FEELS LIKE MY SPLEEN IS SWOLLEN NOW.)

I think of him often and hope he’s doing well. <3

To piggyback on my last whiny bitchy blog post about Halloween, I also learned first thing yesterday morning of the passing of Korean actor Kim Joo Hyuk. I’m disturbingly upset about his death (gnarly car accident) and I keep waking Henry up, a day later, to tell him things, like, “Song Joong Ki went straight to the funeral from his own wedding!” and “I just saw a picture of Defconn crying and it broke my heart” and Henry is like, “Please stop watching videos about it and go to bed. You’d think he was your best friend, the way you’re acting.”

There is a video of the Running Man cast walking into the funeral (which is weird and such an invasion of privacy, but yeah I watched it so I’m just as bad as the rest of them) and I just started crying so hard because I loved it when Joo Hyuk was on Running Man. I am really sensitive and emotional right now, step off. 

Maybe I need ice cream. And medication. 

A new Twice video can make any Monday feel like a holiday! I asked Henry what he thinks of it and he shrugged and sighed. 

This in addition to all the Mueller excitement has me so ready for today! 

It has rained pretty much all weekend with no reprieve. And it’s really cold on top of that too.

I’m not complaining though because it kind of forced me to relax (a little). And I guess I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to just sit the fuck down.

We still did some stuff though, such as attend a Halloween parade with our friends Patty and Tim in their neighborhood. Did I mention that after over a year, Patty is finally home from the nursing facility? Exciting times! It was great to be able to hang out with her outside of that place, though it was also kind of sad not getting to see all the familiar faces in the activity room.

Patty’s friends Kaitlin and Steve joined us. We weren’t sure if the parade was still going to happen since it was raining, but Munhall goes hard, y’all. They don’t let a little rain deter them. It was really cold and dreary out there, but it was worth it to see Patty enjoying herself, and to see all the kids in their costumes. Chooch wasn’t in costume (he’s in 6th grade now and not as motivated to dress up), but when we saw that people were hanging out treat bags to everyone in the parade, regardless of costume, we all coaxed Chooch to jump into the parade so he could get a bag. He did it begrudgingly, and when he was handed a bag, he shot us a glare that said, “The things I do for you people.”

Then he befriended some older woman, and they joined forces to get the most candy from the firefighters. They were even trading with each other at one point. This kid will talk to anyone and it’s all once charming and alarming.

There were a bunch of young kids standing near us and their parents wouldn’t let them run into the street to collect the strewn candy, but savage son gave no fucks about getting close to firetruck wheels, so he would go out and collect it all and then pass it out to the kids on the sidewalk. He was a hero, you guys, a real Halloween hero.

Trump would never do that.

CHOOCH FOR PRESIDENT.

Then Chooch and I stood in this outrageous line snaking out of the firehouse because there was free pizza and cake to be had and I wanted free cake in a bad way. We got stuck behind this huge family of dunces who were not as IN A HURRY as I was and would just stand there in a daze every time the line would move. I was getting so angry! But then I reminded myself that I was line for FREE FOOD and I shouldn’t complain but still—WAKE THE FUCK UP AND MOVE, DUMMIES! Oh my Lord, they were awful. At one point I said to Chooch, “What is the protocol here for line-jumping when the people in front of you clearly don’t give a shit about being in line?” and he was just like, “Chill out, we’re almost there” because my 11-year-old is more rational than me.

The cake wasn’t worth it. I gave it to Henry, who was so angry that we ran off to get free food and left the rest of them standing in the rain. SORRY BUT PATTY SAID IT WAS OK!?

Then I found out after the fact that the pizza was from Italian Village and I wish I had known that because I like Italian Village a lot and would have chosen that over cake, ugh. #freefoodremorse

After the parade, we said goodbye to Patty and Tim because we had big plans of going to the craft store and then spending the rest of the night binge-watching the new season of Stranger Things. I’m not a big binge-watcher of things (unless it’s Korean You Tube vlogs, lol) but the cold, dreary weather was really inspiring.

First though we had to wait for Chooch to finish the first season, after which he cried, “Why did I ever stop watching this with you last year?!” Because you have no attention span? I don’t know. And then we had to go eat dinner first too. We went to Frank & Shirley’s because it’s close and fast, and I wanted a grilled cheese.

Chooch brought his colored pencils with him because he wanted to draw on the placemats but there were no placemats, so he actually asked the waitress for a placemat, and she was like, “We don’t have any…?” He was visibly distraught over this and when she realized why he was asking, she said, “Do you want a coloring book instead?”

She barely finished her sentence before he was practically panting like a dog, and saying yes. She brought over a whole stack for him to choose from and he immediately grabbed, and I do mean snatched, the first one he saw because it had bunnies on the cover.

He’s very sensitive to animals, you guys.

“Are you sure you don’t want to look at the others?” she asked, fanning them out.

“Nope,” he said, but then out of the corner of his eye, he saw something that made him say, “WAIT!” She fanned out the coloring books again and he grabbed, and I do mean snatched, a Disney one of the stack. He flipped it open right to the page with the Bambi spread, squealed, and then ripped open his box of colored pencils.

His Bambi obsession is so weird, but also completely adorable. Please don’t grow up, Chooch.

Henry hated our waitress because she never refilled his iced tea, but I think she will forever go down as Chooch’s favorite.

On the way home, we were making fun of Henry as usual to the point where Chooch started puking out the back window because I made him laugh too hard. I love when that happens!

When we came home, Chooch and I were so ready to start watching Stranger Things but Henry was all, “I have to go to the store” and we were like, “Are you fucking kidding” because dude is like always going to “the store” and Henry got all defensive and cried, “I haven’t been to the store in four days!” Chooch and I kept repeating “Four days!!!” over and over until Henry stormed out while muttering under his breath about how we’re fucking assholes or something, wow, how rude.

Chooch and I went for a walk in the rain to kill time while he was AT THE STORE and somehow we started talking about what if Henry was a prostitute or a stripper at Blush and I can’t explain it, other than to say maybe you had to be there, but we were laughing so fucking hard that our hyena-cackles were doing somersaults down Pioneer Avenue, making dogs bark and passers-by do double-takes. We’re kind of loud, I guess.

When we got home, Chooch exclaimed, “Eight o’clock! Made it just in time.”

“For what?”  I asked.

“…eight o’clock,” he said with a shrug, like duh, why didn’t I know that.

Henry came home and we finally watched the first several episodes of Stranger Things. It was the perfect October Saturday night.

Today, I was home alone while Henry and Chooch were at piano lessons, so I decided to try and paint something. It’s been about a year since I painted anything, and I have been turning down custom requests because I just haven’t been feeling it. It’s not depression, because I don’t feel unhappy or tired, but kind of the opposite. I have all of this manic energy and I just can’t sit still long enough to seriously focus on painting.

But I just recently finished a creative project for work and I had some leftover inspiration. (Not to mention a ton of leftover canvas!) So I made myself sit down at my desk for a bit and gave it a go.

It was a struggle. I felt rusty, had no confidence, and even felt a little scared to make mistakes. It was sad. But I was determined to finish a painting for once instead of adding to the collection in the canvas graveyard. So I chose my favorite picture of G-Dragon and went for it.

I only spent about an hour on it because I just wanted to finish and not obsess over every minor detail (Henry and Chooch are probably laughing at this without mirth because I was so dramatic this afternoon about how bad I suck). But G-Dragon is the most perfect human being in the world and I didn’t want to desecrate his image in any way.

I’m sorry, Jiyong. :(

But then Henry made me kimbap and I was happy again, even though at first I screamed, “THERE’S NO DAIKON IN THIS!” and then Henry realized he gave me Chooch’s bland version instead of the good roll.

And now we’re just waiting for The Walking Dead to come on. Life is pretty OK, you guys, rain and all.