Alternately titled: Another Dumb Idea!
Last week when I was meandering about town during my lunch break, I kept pausing to either tweet or text Henry about all the perils in my path. You know, like Planned Parenthood protestors, city school kids, an errant paper bag skipping across the pavement. (I COULD TRIP!)

And it made me think about how much more fun it would be to SEND A POSTCARD instead of these electronic means of communication. Like my lunch break is a vacation and oh motherfucker, do I wish you were here. 

Perks: 

-snail mail is never a bad thing and gives the mailman something to read other than Pennysavers and campaign mailings. 

-I love handwriting things and it will give me something other than my name to scribble over and over again at my desk. And let’s be real, I don’t have the time/attention span to write full blown letters. 

-I’ll have something to give Last Mail!

-WHAT A PERSONAL WAY TO STAY IN TOUCH!

If I have your address, don’t be surprised if you get some weird sketch of the Stalker of the Day (I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE SOMEBODY’S WATCHING MEEEE) or a poem about the trash in the river. 

And if I don’t have your address and you want to get a random post card, email me! Butgavincantdance@gmail.com

I’ll probably also send them to random addresses as well because that’s not creepy it’s sweet. 

I’d like to send one a day and I’ll start as soon as Henrh buys me stamps, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. #HenryProblems

And if you wanna send one back from your own lunch break, PLEASE DO! Postcard frenzy!!

“Well, WHAT?!” Pearl cried worried.

“She’s not breathing,” Garnet sighed.

Pearl’s eyes grew red and tears flowed down her face. *Beep Boop* A sound approached the creepy hospital.

“Vrob Br Pls,” a weird noise came into the hospital.

“I think there are aliens here!” Pearl cried with tears still flowing down their face.

They peered over at Yuki as she banged her head off the wall.

“Should we leave her?” Garnet asked.

Pearl and Amethyst nodded together.

*Whoosh*  the door slammed open upstairs. *Boom* the creature or thing fell to the ground.

“Should we hide?” Garnet questioned.

“Yeah,” Pearl and Amethyst agreed together.

Garnet walked over into a closet and set Scarlet down. She then ran behind an office desk and hid under. Pearl ran over to a ladder and climbed it. When she reached the top she found the exit. She saw a grey round ship with handles at the bottom. She felt something in her pocket. She reached in and grabbed a walkie-talkie. She turned it on and talked.

“Garnet, Amethyst. I think I know what’s happening. I climbed a ladder and I got up to the main floor. I see a green, skinny, black-eyed figure staring at me!”

“Okay, we’ll check it out,” Garnet said into the walkie-talkie.

Pearl climbed back down and there was another green figure staring at her.

“Arrest her! This hooman has found our secret! Execute her!” The “ALIEN?” shouted to his guards.

One of the guards had like 7 layers of steel armor. The other had a vest on.

“All I wanted was to give Penelope some orange jellybeans. God!” Amethyst thought herself.

“There’s more of them I can smell them!” the Alien Lord shouted.

He walked over to the closet. Scarlet fell out and hit her skull off the floor. She started to breathe. Thank god!

“Told you! There’s more of them! Find them all!” the lord bragged.

He looked over at Penelope and Yuki.

“Capture that beast and hooman, NOW!” he demanded.

Penelope hopped around and dodged the rope and cuffs. Yuki had tantrum and hit the guard. The guard fell, cracked his green skull open on the asphalt ground. The blood was green. It was everywhere.

Tons of highs and lows this weekend. What else is new. My manic-depressive life, woo. Things are winding down. It’s raining and the sound is calming. But then Chooch comes barreling into the room and my nerves are poppin’ off again.  Ah, such Sunday.   

My favorite part of Saturday was when Chooch strode into my room while Xiu Xiu’s “I Love the Valley Oh!” was playing, and without skipping a beat, he said, “Ooh, Xiu Xiu!” And then sang the “la la la la la lalala” part. 

“Are they going to come here soon?” he asked. “Because I have to see them.” My heart sang! I’ve only seen Xiu Xiu once, in Kentucky in 2008, and it was one of the scariest, most bone-chillingest shows I’ve ever seen.  I will never forget the first time I heard Clowne Towne in 2004; I had the best nightmares. 

Two Xiu Xiu fans under one roof. This etched more frown lines in Henry’s brow. 

 :(   

We went to Waggener’s Country Kitchen (???? I’ve been there three times and just don’t know) with Blake and his girlfriend Hailey last night for dinner and Chooch’s comedy act was on point. Which is to say, I have no idea how he didn’t get us kicked out. He was so sassy to the waitress too and I silently prayed she wouldn’t have the cook spit in our food. 

Spit or not no spit, my grilled cheese was perf. 

“You always get grilled cheese,” Blake laughed. 

Yeah, because it’s the best! One day I’ll finally get that tattoo that my pal Sarah drew up for me. One day. Sigh…

Also, if Hailey ever comes to hang out with us again, I will be super shocked. I hope we didn’t scare her off because we like her!

  
Shit got rowdy. 

 We spent most of the day working on phase 1 of this year’s Easter portraits. And I hope you read that as: “We held butcher knives to each other’s throats and screamed about how much we fucking hate each other.”

We’re ok now. But I think this house is definitely on its way to being haunted. 

One upside of the day though was this morning when Henry actually sat down and watched CNN with me and for the first time in 15 years, we found ourselves politically aligned. Thanks, Donald Trump. Vehemently disagreeing with you has brought Henry and me closer together!

And now, The Walking Dead, where we get to watch other people being violent. 

My friend Jessi has been posting some old pics of Chooch on Facebook and getting me all nostalgic, so I decided for Throwback Thursday to repost the time she and Bill came in from Michigan and helped us throw Chooch a zombie-themed party for his 4th birthday. This is also notable because it was the last time my mom was involved in any of Chooch’s birthdays. #sadtuba

This was in May 2010. HAPPY THROWBACK THURSDAY.

———

Guest list:

• Alisha
• Bill & Jessi
  
• Kara & Harland
• Charlie
• Henry’s mom
• My mom-mom-mommy
• Henry’s sister Kelly & some of her kids

• Blake
  
• Evonne, Sadie & Lydia
• Christy & Claire
• Janna
  

When Chooch told me months ago, like literally it might still have been 2009, that he wanted to have a zombie themed birthday party, I had every intention of going all out. I even started thinking of ideas for like, ten entire minutes.

With the exception of designing the invitations with Chooch (which actually was not last minute and were mailed out in timely fashion), there wasn’t much more that I accomplished, aside from a last minute trip to Goodwill on the morning of his party, to shop for clothes to mutilate and bloody for the photos I wanted to take of each individual party guest, as a souvenir. Kind of like a prom picture, except with blood, a fake cemetery in the background, and a pine tree with Christmas lights haphazardly slung across its lower boughs, which really bothers me now when I look back at all the pictures. I think Bill should have painted the wires green. It could have been a zombie / Alice in Wonderland crossover, guests arriving while an undead Bill slops green paint on a tree and nervously yells about the scary queen (THAT’S ME) who’s running around with hedge clippers and shouting, “Off with your balls.”

The plan was to have the party outside; but like last year, it was around FIFTY DEGREES with the threat of rain. In May. So everything was set up in my mom’s garage to protect the guests from the impending deluge of rain. The kids had enough rain-free time to run amok outside for most of the party, at least. Because I can’t imagine Chooch being contained in a three-car garage for three hours.

Chooch the Zombie Enthusiast flipped his shit when he saw Bill for the first time, post-zombie makeover. We thought Chooch was just playing into it when he used the car as a barrier, but then Bill noticed he was legitimately crying and we all had an “oh shit” moment. Bill retreated to the garage to allow Jessi and I to try and coax Chooch from the car.

“You can open one of your presents now!” I pleaded. That worked. Good thing I used that first, instead of “You can cut Bill with this knife I got here,” because maybe Jessi might not have liked that. (And Bill wouldn’t have had much say.)

And Chooch was fine after that. So fine, in fact, that he wanted Jessi to make him up as a zombie too. I think it was just initial shock combined with Bill’s overzealousness (which Chooch ended up loving later).

Jessi somehow encouraged Alisha and Janna to get made-up, too. They kept trying to get me to do it as well, but having that much make-up on my face is yet another item in my treasure trove of neuroses and just the fact that I had to keep saying no nearly made me break out in hives. It’s probably not good that I took myself out of therapy all those years ago.

BFFs again, no biggie.

And the food! Don’t get me started on that. I had this great vision of mini meatloaves baked in over-sized cupcake tins and then Ketchup’d, like chunks of bloodied flesh. Well, Henry took that vision and fucked it up the ass. He basically made a plate of meatballs. When I voiced my aghast-ness, he then tried to get all Alton Brown: meatloaf edition on me, but I think he was lying. It could have been done.

I don’t even know what else there was to eat, to be honest, aside from what I initially thought were turtles (chicken breasts, apparently). But I will tell you there was no gelatin brain.  I mean, why would there be something so disgustingly anatomical at a zombie party??

It’s a good thing a four-year-old doesn’t give a shit about the catering at birthday parties.

That morning at Goodwill, I found (fine – Alisha found) these two lovely nightgowns and I instantly had visions of my friends Kara and Christy swathed in bloody versions of night attire, and holding their babies in front of the cemetery I set up. The cemetery was the only thing I was concerned about all day. It was a very big deal for me. I texted Kara before she arrived and said, “I have a nightgown; will you wear it?” She said yes and thought nothing of it, because I’ve asked her to do dumber things before.

This ended up being my favorite picture of the day.

I barraged Christy before she was even out of her car. She just rolled her eyes at my request because we’ve known each other since we were four and short of auto-amputation, nothing I do really shocks and awes her. At first, she tried to say that she couldn’t get the nightgown on over her hoodie and I was like, “Bitch, you best be tryin’ a little harder. Don’t make me pretend I’m in a girl gang again.”

Also, this was my first time finally meeting Christy’s baby Claire and she is so sweet! The combination of Claire and Harland was like an upper-cut/right hook combo to my ovaries, though. At one point, Henry even grabbed my silk-gloved hand and said, “Darling, shall we try for another?” And then I rammed my parasol up his tweed-trousered asshole.

The best part was that Kara and Christy both kept their respective nightgowns on for the rest of the party. I like to think it’s because they thought it was AWESOME, but warmth probably had a little more to do with it. They spent most of the party together, in a baby bubble, and I couldn’t  help but crack up every time I turned around and saw the two of them in their bloody nightgowns, cooing to each other’s baby.

“Just another night at the shelter,” Charlie said at one point, and I could NOT STOP LAUGHING. Don’t worry, I said the Rosary that night.

Charlie opted to play the role of “Victim #1.”

I realized afterward that I have zero pictures of Blake or any of the cousins, except Zac. None of the teens wanted to dress up, which I thought was strange since that’s like, something kids want to do. I mean, other than betting on cock fights in Biloxi and foxtrotting with trannies. (Is that still what teens do nowadays?) And Blake didn’t talk to me the whole time. I guess that’s a new thing or something. It wasn’t awkward at all and it certainly didn’t make me cry to Alisha behind the garage.

My mom ordered the cake undecorated, aside from the Happy Birthday part, and then made the graveyard scene with those new Oreos and zombie finger puppets. She apparently forgot to make sure it flowed with the writing on the side, but that’s just my bastard nit-picking coming out. I thought she did a great job! Unlike the photo I took, which is out of focus because I had like, 20 people staring at me and I just wanted to be done. Yet another reason why I’d never consider photography as anything other than a hobby!

He got a ton of great loot, like: a Jason Voorhees action figure, vampire movie collection, Night of the Living Dead DVD, and a Spiderman book (being held in above photo) from Bill and Jessi; a Spike Jr. and a dragon from Evonne, Sadie, and Lydia; a remote control zombie from Alisha; a Leatherface figurine, with interchangeable heads and arms, from Charlie; two plush zombies and a Tony Hawk bike from my mom; this really cool zombie figurine from my brother Ryan; a complete artist’s orgasm from Kara; gift cards from Christy and Kelly; and a Spiderman skateboard from Janna.

It really made me wish I was still a kid!

Before I knew it, three hours had passed and everyone started to leave. There was a Penguins game on that night and I’m sure most of the guests were happy to know that I’d be the first one to abandon my kid’s party for it.

Bill and Jessi had to check in to their hotel first, zombie makeup and all, but came back to my house later to hang out and, more importantly,  so Bill could get called a “douche cup” by Chooch when he had the audacity to deviate from the Lego instructions.

When they came back over the next morning for breakfast, Bill held out his hand and said, “Here, somehow Leatherface’s head made it into my pants last night.” So, now we know what Bill does after drinking a little Manischewitz.  I think that was the highlight of my entire weekend.

Thanks again to everyone who came and showed your love for my little zombie-child. It was so great to see everyone, especially you guys who came from hours and hours away. It really meant a lot to us! (Maybe not Henry, because he’s rude.)

And ever since his party ended, Chooch has been going on and on about his next party. “It’s going to be a CARROT party,” he says so full of certainty. “With CARROT ICING.” And no, he’s not just insinuating he wants a carrot CAKE. This is a full-scale carrot PARTY, you guys. And he wants everyone to dress as carrots. Have fun with that!

Ladies and gentlemen, my dandy kid.   

It’s not that Anne and her mother had a bad relationship. Mother cooked warm and hearty meals for Anne. Mother braided Anne’s hair just right for school photos. Mother took Anne to the zoo in the third grade and to the gyno in the tenth, after she found out Anne was promiscuous.

But there was something Mother would never talk about, and it drove Anne wild with curiosity.

June 5th, 1956

Diary, today I overheard Mother talking to that beastly Constance Huffington from down the street. Mrs. Huffington asked Mother when she is going to settle down again with a nice man. Mother got all choked up and said she’s not ready, not since the accident.

What accident, I wonder. Did she poop in her pants?

It wasn’t that Anne and her mother didn’t talk. Mother told Anne about the sales she read about in the weekly circular. Anne told Mother about gawky Penny Pisshawker and how she got chewing gum all caught up in her head gear. Mother told Anne to clean her room.

But Mother would always change the subject when Anne asked about the accident.

April 18th, 1960

Diary, Mother and I were at the department store yesterday and I was looking at the swimming suits. Mother started crying when I asked if she was going to buy one too. She said she hasn’t worn one since the accident! The accident! What accident??

But oh Diary, the swimsuit I bought is pink and blue and has the most darling bow which lies plumb against my tailbone and camouflages my sway-back.

It wasn’t that Anne’s childhood was defined by not having a father around. Mother would call up her brother for situations that required a man’s finesse. Like teaching Anne how to throw a baseball. Like putting together the dollhouse Anne got for her birthday. Like blacking the eyes of the boy who groped Anne on the bus.

But Mother would never talk about Anne’s father, and Anne didn’t remember ever knowing him.

January 31st, 1995

Diary, Freddie proposed to me tonight! Oh, it was beautiful. We were watching Romeo+Juliet and I nearly choked on the ring because that slick son of a bitch had hidden it in a jar of macadamia nuts! I said to him, “Baby, why would you do that? You know I chug these fuckers like it’s a frosted mug of lactation and I’m a nursing baby.” Then we had sex and spilled a box of wine all over Mother’s white shag. After she was done screaming at me about that, I waited for her to take a Valium before asking about Father. We had a huge argument and she was crying and pulling at her hair. I said that it’s only natural for a father to walk a daughter down the aisle and she was sputtering all sorts of nonsense.

But I swear I heard her say she hasn’t heard from him since the accident. WHAT FUCKING ACCIDENT.

It wasn’t that Anne was glad to see her Mother marinating in her own piss at the nursing home. Anne didn’t like that her Mother’s once-tanned skin had turned into a translucent sheath, scaly tracing paper revealing the blue and purple tubes snaking through her body. Anne didn’t like that her Mother had to push a button for a nurse to come help her take a dump. Anne didn’t like the fact that when it came down to it, she was the one that would have to pull Mother’s plug.

But maybe, if she was to be honest for a second, learning the truth about the accident would make that easier.

“Mother, please,” Anne pleaded, her fingers intertwined with her Mother’s near-skinless phalanges. “Tell me about the accident. I’m a grown woman now and you can trust me.”

Mother expelled a wad of mashed potatoes from her throat with one forceful cough. The unswallowed morsels splatted against the lampshade and hung there like maggots on shit. “You,” she wheezed, hacking up a tawny membrane of gooey phlegm for dessert. “You were the accident.”

[originally written 4-4-09. Happy Flashback Friday.]

They all stared in aw, as Penelope smiled and hopped around. “Wait we shouldn’t be happy, we should be mad at Penelope,” Amethyst remembered.

“Well actually Penelope was trying to help us,” Garnet implied.

“Uh huh. Sure,” Amethyst snapped.

They all stared down at Penelope, they then picked her up and walked away. They walked back to the trail to keep their adventure going. “So we’re about 10 minutes away from your house right, Amethyst?” Pearl asked.

“Well actually 10 minutes and 26 seconds.” Amethyst mimicked Garnet.

“Hey! Well actually we’re 10 minutes 23 seconds away now, so ha!” Garnet came-back.

“How bout’ you shut up!” Amethyst screamed.

“How bout’… NO!” Garnet squawked.

“Girls. Girls. Calm do-”

Garnet jumped Amethyst before Pearl could finish her sentence. Garnet started to punch Amethyst right in the cheek bone. It took about-

“7 minutes and 26 seconds before we finished fighting,” Garnet interrupted.

Shut up Garnet, I’m speaking as you can see. So as I was saying it took about-

“7 minutes and 37 seconds before we finished fighting,” Amethyst also interrupted.

Okay now shut up both of you.  It took about 7 HOURS, 2 minutes, and 45 seconds before they finished fighting. When they finished beating up each other, they kept walking, Penelope disappointed, Amethyst wounded, Garnet angry, Pearl proud. They walked past the Fairy Clubhouse. It was theirs but since half of them are angry at each other, they would burn it down.

“Okay, should we burn this down?” Pearl insisted.

“Well, why not.” Amethyst grinned.

Pearl had the lighter and looked at Scarlet.

“Hey Scarlet want to burn it down?” Pearl asked.

Scarlet shrugged and went up to grab the lighter. She lit it up, then started to cry. She walked away from the club house and threw the lighter and hit Garnet in the head. Garnet was asleep, then she woke up.

“Scarlet you’ve been awfully quite today what happened?” Pearl whispered to Scarlet.

“Well… I… am… SICK!” Scarlet cried.

“Oh-oh, sick by what?” Amethyst peeped.

… a moment of silence broke through, as the girls walked and stared at Scarlet. They had wide puppy eyes, like a 5 yr old would have on his face when he wants something.

“Well, I have leukemia. I will live,” Scarlet sighed.

“No you won’t! We need to get you a doctor!” Pearl cried.

“I’ll be fine, just.. calm down,” Scarlet insisted.

“No you won’t,” a familiar voice came in.

To Be Continued…

  
Pee Wee’s Big Adventure is one of my favorite movies of all time, and one of probably only three that I ever quote from. (The amount of times I’ve referenced the Alamo on this blog alone is really pathetic.) I had so much fun painting this and kind of don’t want to part with it. 

One of my most vivid childhood memories is sitting in the family room of my house in South Park, watching this on HBO with my bff Christy who lived down the street, and asking her what “scenery” meant because Mickey tells Pee Wee to just enjoy the scenery. She explained it perfectly well but my kindergarten brain couldn’t comprehend it. It seemed like such a complicated concept.

Scenery. 

I was a dumb kid. 

Anyway, I just really love painting birds on wires, so this just felt very natural to me. Methodical and cathartic, especially while the Penguins were getting slaughtered last night by the Bruins. :(

I have some more custom paintings on tap (I keep saying I’m going to take a break and then a request comes in and I can’t say no!) but then I’m going to start one called The Pittsburgh Zoo, a painting of various famous Pittsburghers with animal bodies (like the Buscemi and John Water ones).  

Probably Mr. Rogers, Mario Lemieux, Sophie Maslof, Andy Warhol, and God only knows who else. 

NO STEELERS THOUGH.

In other news, I’m drinking blueberry cobbler coffee and it feels like warm arms enveloping my broken soul. 

This has been a quick update posted from my phone. 

My friend Alisha recently brought up the time she and I sang some Spice Girls song during Blogathon one year, because someone (my friend Alyson, I believe) donated extra to have this happen. 

Blogathon was this incredibly annoying but super fun and rewarding event where people stayed up blogging for 24 hours, in an effort to raise money for the charity of their choice. Participants had to post twice an hour and even though I always said “NEVER AGAIN!” after hitting publish for the 48th time in 24 hours, I’d always sign up again the next year. 

But then whoever was charge of the organization gave it up and no one took over, so no more Blogathon. 

Anyway, Alisha posting that Spice Girls video made me super nostalgic and this picture immediately came to mind: 

  This was from one of the Blogathons (2009 maybe?) where people donated a certain amount in order to command Henry to do things, such as pose with a fried egg on his head, and suck on a lollipop while wearing his hair in pigtails. This one was just him being served beer by Alisha in a tutu which was excruciating for her because ALISHA BOWS TO NO MAN.  

My favorite part of Blogathon is that my friends were always on call to cheer me on: Alisha, Kara, Evonne, Blake, Corey—we had some good fucking times churning out words and poor, REALLY POOR, karaoke. 

Now I’m depressed. 

Alisha, next time you’re back in Pittsburgh, we’re pulling an all-nighter for absolutely no reason. 

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I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, talking on the phone to my on-and-off again boyfriend Justin when my mom burst into my room and shrieked the words that would forever rattle in my brain with all the other loose screws. I spent the rest of the night filling my Composition book with orange-inked screams, denouncing God and making promises to the devil.  

Teenaged angst mixed with true tragedy is one volatile recipe, guys. Look out. 

  
That one moment in time completely changed the course of my life. I didn’t understand how my Pappap could suddenly be dead when I was just at his house earlier that evening, and he seemed fine. He was sitting on his Reserved For John spot on the couch, talking to someone on the phone about business as usual. 

  
He was alive, and then he wasn’t. 

 In his element: manning the grill during the copious cookouts and pool parties we had every summer. 

I credit my friends and teachers for helping me get through the aftermath. My friends Lisa and Christy, especially. And I don’t think it’s random that while so many other friends have come and gone, they’re still here. They walked with me through the deepest trauma of my life and made sure I didn’t sink. This day is making me think of so many things and I am so glad that I wasn’t alone then. 

  
Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him, how he was taken from us abruptly, on a fluke, and I certainly don’t miss him any less than I did in 1996. But I think what I miss most about him, is his uncanny, effortless knack to hold our family together, like sane, stable mortar between our crazy, cracked bricks.   He was the greatest father figure to me. He was my goddamn hero.   

Finally, they made a video for my favorite song on their album. Ouch, my black fucking heart of coal. 

:(

My plan today was to come home from work, boss Henry around, and then at some point blog about various weekend things that didn’t involve me puking or buying holy light fixtures. But then I watched last night’s mid season premier of The Walking Dead and now I’m dead. All the ghost of  me feels like doing is posting pictures of cats, so that’s what is going to happen. Maybe the church lamp will resurrect me sometime during the night and Alive Erin will waste your time with other, non-cat-related things. 

Mostly just pictures of crackhead Drew this round. 

 She spent a good hour tearing around the house yesterday with a fortune cookie wrapper stuffed in her mouth like some sort of take-out dinner dessert mouse. She ran around growling, like anyone of us cared enough to take her treasure from her. This is exactly the kind of behavior that Marcy frowned upon. 

   
 Right after Henry told her she’s not allowed beer. 

Oh wow, shocking, even in my supernatural state, I can’t stop spewing bullshit. So in other before-I-died news, Chooch is angry because Henry bought me cherry pie yesterday since I was sick and apparently when Chooch is sick, Henry never buys him pie. 

“You never ask for pie…?” Henry answered tentatively, because like with me, you never know what you’re going to get when verbally sparring with Chooch. Earlier this evening Choochaccused me of saying “either” when I clearly said “neither”! AND YES, IT WAS THE PROPER USAGE. Oh, it was a fucking war up in here. 

Ok fine. I want to talk about lamp one more time because I’m obsessed with it and also terrorified of it. Henry actually hung it in our bedroom yesterday instead of leaving it in the middle of the floor to be tripped over for 7 months. I guess the power of Christ compelled him. 

  
We were talking about it at work today and of course Glenn had all of these boring technical questions about how Henry hung it (or how Henry’s hung LOLOLOL) and I was like, “Dude I don’t know? He took down our other light thing and then put this one in the ceiling?” And then Glenn used some man-word and I was like, “yeah sure, that’s what he did.” Glenn seemed impressed that Henry can do electrical things so now I’m picturing Glenn cutting down trees for the cabin that he and Henry are going to build together, and then Henry can make it light up with his electrician skills. 

As I’m typing this, the cats just collided with each other in mid-air and both dropped straight down to the floor, like a fucking cartoon. As long as they quit breaking my stuff, I don’t care what they do. BUT LEAVE MY FUCKING SUCCULENTS ALONE. 

You know how some people can be together for a decade+ and still want to swathe themselves in sequins and put on matching UNDERGARMENTS for Valentines Day? Henry and I are not that couple. In fact, I can’t remember the last time Henry wore sequins. :( So I don’t even stress over February 14th anymore. Especially after I baked him a cake one year and painted him an adorable ode to our polarizing feelings on music festivals, and he never does anything for me. NOT BITTER. Not even a little bit.

This year, my Valentine is Chooch, and we’re spending it with Never Shout Never at Mr. Small’s.

But then yesterday, Chooch ended up having his own pre-Valentines play date, so Henry was like, “Well, do you want to go to dinner or something?” SUCH ROMANCE!!

I decided that since this was the best he was going to do in the Valentine department, that we should go to Zenith since it’s my favorite and he never wants to go because he has it in his head that it’s a breeding ground for “pale, peaked* vegan hipsters.”

*(Pee-kid, not peeked—don’t get it twisted!)

His exact words. I have rarely encountered this human subset at Zenith, but full disclosure — I’ve never been there for their Sunday brunch so for all I know, that’s when all the vampire-complected Bon Iver fans come out to play, half-decapitated on their infinity scarves.

It’s almost as though I majored in Stereotyping.

We got there sometime after 5 because we’re nearly at earl-bird status, and I was smug to point out that there were only three other tables of patrons there, and none of them were boasting any offensive air of pretension about them.

One Man, Four Cups.

I’m not a big tea-drinker, but one of the things I always have to do at Zenith is order from their extensive tea menu. It’s part of the process! Kara will tell you. She knows. If I had spent half the time studying textbooks as I do that fucking tea menu…well, I’d still be in the same position I’m in now. Never mind. I forgot that I didn’t get far in life because of a different kind of stupidity. Hahahaha. Oh god.

I was torn between the Earl Grey Lavender and Maple Vanilla, so I asked the waitress for her opinion. She got all stressed out and called over to the proprietor, Elaine, for help.

“I don’t do anything lavender,” Elaine brusquely called over, scrunching up her nose. “So yeah, Maple Vanilla.” Elaine is my homegirl so I went with her choice, and it was a smart one because I’m currently chugging my Sunday morning coffee and crying that there’s no maple.

Elaine brought the pot over to our table. “Now, don’t pour this right away,” she said. “I mean it! I tell people all the time that it’s not ready, and then I go back in the kitchen and I can SEE them pouring it! I’m like, it’s gonna taste like crap!” God, I fucking love her.

OMG it’s a salad. You’ve never seen a salad before. Henry had to finish mine because I’m really picky with salads.

“Look at those lamps back there,” Henry casually pointed out, and I gave myself whiplash in my attempt to beat all of the invisible people around us in a race to see it first. Up in the corner, there were two majestic holy lamps dangling like carrots, begging me to buy them.

“YOU HAVE TO ASK HOW MUCH THEY ARE!” I cried, to which Henry responded with his patented “get real” smirk. I mean, why else would he point these out to me if he didn’t secretly desire to furnish our home with them!?

“I bet they’re $100 a piece,” he quietly guessed, before stabbing the rest of my salad with his fork.

“Well, you could be wrong!” I frantically said. “I thought that our wheelchair was going to be $500 and it was only $40!”

“Why would you think that wheelchair was FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS?” Henry asked in disbelief. Because I’m an idiot, OK? Is that what you want to hear?! The value of the dollar confuses me.

Meanwhile, on Facebook, Kara was 100% encouraging this purchase. It’s a wonder that Henry hasn’t tried to get me to stop being friends with Kara yet. (Jokes: No man controls my life.)

Our waitress reported back that the lamps were $80 for one, $150 for the pair. Henry thanked her and kept shoveling food in his mouth without giving me a definitive answer and I was losing my mind.

I was annoyed that Henry ordered the Moroccan stew, because that’s what I ordered and I wanted him to get the seitan so we could share. He’s so fucking selfish. He apparently didn’t “feel like seitan and asparagus” on this night. At least he ordered a different kind of vegan cake though, so we could share the chocolate blueberry and strawberry almond. Seriously, there are times when I consider stopping by just for tea and cake. Their actual food is always good, but those cakes. Those goddamn cakes.

Maybe I should have my birthday party there this year.

Meanwhile, guess whose puppy-dog eyes won the war of the majestic holy lamps!? I think once I cried, “IT CAN BE THE FIRST FUCKING VALENTINES DAY PRESENT YOU’VE GIVEN ME IN 10 YEARS,” he was overcome with guilt and decided that $80 was a small price to pay for an evening free of me pouting, slamming doors, and breaking glass objects.

So this guy came out with his ladder and Henry was all upset  because he didn’t want the man to have to do this during dinner hours and kept saying, “I’ll just tell him we can come back for it” but I was like, “You shut your face, he looks very happy to be shoving tables out of the way and untangling wires.”

(He kind of didn’t.)

But I needed to leave with that lamp that night. I had already imprinted with it.

“Where the fuck are we even going to put this?” Henry asked, the regret of pointing the lamps out in the first place rising up in his eyes like mercury in a thermometer.

“In our bedroom, duh.” It’ll be the perfect complement to the crucifix collection I’m starting on the wall behind our bed. Sometimes he just doesn’t think.

Here’s Henry acting like a Big Help by doing nothing more than standing with arms akimbo.

“Now you screwed us all up!” Elaine joked, standing by the kitchen door as Henry walked back to the table with one of the lamps. Now they had to find another lamp for that corner. But that’s what happens when everything in your restaurant is for sale, I guess! Anyway, they said it’s from Woolslayer in Bloomfield, whatever that means.

My favorite part of Zenith has always been the post-meal store perusing. This was way less fun with Henry. He wouldn’t try any of the vintage dresses on for me like Kara does. :(

On again, off again.

I don’t think there has ever been a time I visited Zenith and left without taking a picture in this bathroom.

There were other things that I wanted to buy but Henry had that steely look of DON’T EVEN etched all along his weathered face, so I just figured that I’ll wait for the next time I’m there with Kara.

“You should have bought them both,” I said on the way home, knowing as soon as the words came out of my mouth that it was going to stir the pot in a big way.

“You’re never happy!” Henry cried. “You get one, you want two. If you got two, you’d want three!”

He’s not wrong.

****

I started writing this post last night, but then I was interrupted by an evening of violent vomiting. Henry thinks it was food poisoning since I woke up feeling fine; not food poisoning from Zenith though, because we both ate the same things. “It’s probably whatever you had for lunch,” he suggested with a tinge of accusation in his tone. This is a strong possibility, considering I made my own lunch and god only knows what goes on when I step into a kitchen.

However, what I think actually happened is that I brought something home with that lamp, some type of holy spirit, and it literally was exorcising me last night. Thank you, lamp. I feel less demonic than usual today.

After exploring La Hütte Royal last Saturday, Corey, Kara and I ended our cultural afternoon with PB&Js at Peanut Butter Jelly Time in Bloomfield. 
  

Mean muggin’ apple juice chuggin’

This spot is relatively new and we all felt #soblessed to be there, especially after Corey was almost vehicularly manslaughtered in the parking lot by a man who had even less ability than me to park his damn car. 

Peanut Butter Jelly Time is very tiny (I think there were only six tables?) but the people behind the counter were genuinely friendly and didn’t make me feel like a poser like I oft feel in Bloomfield/Lawrenceville— Pittsburgh’s Little Portland. We took menus back to a table and stressed over what to order for a good fifteen minutes. Corey ended up going with a classic Elvis: PB, bananas and bacon, which came with a story about how one morning before preschool, he was at our grandma’s watching Nick Jr and “Face” was eating a PB&banana sandwich so our grandma made one for Corey, and that was his first foray into the dreamscape of peanut butter sexin’ with the ‘nanas. Cool story, bro.

(No seriously, I really did enjoy it!)

Corey also got a carton of apple juice which was endlessly funny to Kara and me because it JUST WAS OK. It was such a small, child-sized carton and Corey is like a giant. How he made that last for more than 2 sips is beyond me. 

Kara ordered a PB&J calzone which wasn’t even a real calzone, but made on flatbread with a variety of fruit and honey shoved up in there. 

And I ordered something with Princess in the name, because it came with SPRINKLES. Also it was on Cinnabon bread, which was delightful. But dammit, our sandwiches weren’t oversized slabs of Americana like I anticipated, but just standard Wonder Bread-girth. 

Which was fine, but with a side of 10 animal crackers & a bottle of water, my lunch was close to $10. 

And I was still really hungry afterward!

So was Kara!

Corey seemed fine because he’s not forever fat like me or training for the full marathon like Kara. WHATEVER. 

How have I never thought to garnish my sandwiches with sprinkles before? I did go through a phase about three years ago where I sprinkled mini-Cheezits on my peanut butter sandwiches. DONT KNOCK IT. 

But honestly, the best part was just hanging out and catching up, especially because Kara and I rarely get that opportunity! 

Cute concept, friendly PB&J artisans, and it tasted good but this honestly wasn’t anything I couldn’t just walk into my kitchen and make myself. 

“Oh please, like you would ever ‘walk into the kitchen’ and make one yourself,” Glenn grumbled the following Monday when I was reviewing my lunch for all of my SUPER ENRAPT co-workers. 

I mean…true. But if I did, it would have tasted the same because none of their ingredients were like, churned in the basement. Tasted just like Jif and Smuckers to me! AND I HAVE THOSE IN MY KITCHEN RIGHT NOW. 

AND MARSHMALLOW FLUFF. 

I’m going to recreate this tomorrow. Bitch, watch me. (And in that episode, the role of Erin will be played by Henry J.)