Remember how sometimes I would ask you guys to submit questions for Henry and then I would force him to answer then, interview-style and he would proceed to not speak to me for several days? That was so much fun! And I want to start doing that again more regularly, maybe like twice a month, but with VIDEOS too. So like, for example, HENRY REVIEWING VARIOUS FAYGO FLAVORS. Like who wouldn’t want to see a closeup of Faygo-drops glistening on his mouth-fur?

I’m just trying to come up with some new shit to plaster on this site for 2016 because I’m getting bored, and if I’m getting bored, you’ve probably done BEEN bored. So, hopefully I will find things to freshen up this stinky dump. 

So anyway, if you have something you would like to see review or if you have some burning desire to know more about his wardrobe of nondescript cotton sheaths, fire away. 

***Henry is 100% not going to be OK with this, but you just let me worry about that. 

I’m in zombie mode—winter depression has officially sunk in. So before I go back to moping on the couch while crying to Balance & Composure, here are some custom paintings I churned out for Christmas. Grateful to be so busy!     

I’m taking a hiatus from custom paintings just for a bit so I can work on finishing some things to add to my Somnambulant shop. I’m going to try to actually sell a thing or two from it this year! Woo, 2016. 

Seriously, me all weekend, step off:  

#hateful

I was home alone on Christmas Eve, feeling slightly under the weather.  Naturally this meant I felt compelled to exercise. I went to YouTube because there was a hip hop workout I did the other day and I wanted to see if that broad had any others. When I typed in her name, even though she’s Spanish, one of the first things that came up was SUPER FUN K-POP DANCE WORKOUT.

Oh shit, hold the phone, I screamed out loud to Trudy and my succulents. This was bound to be good. Plus, I went through a heavy k-pop/j-pop phase back in 1999-2002 when I used to get numerous foreign TV channels, like ZeeTV, included in my cable package (then they switched those to premium, good one, Comcast). My favorite programming was obviously the music videos, followed closely by the soap operas. But the music videos were like soap operas in and of themselves — especially the slow jams, so depressing and full of tragedy. I kept a blank tape in the VCR so I could record my favorite videos. Sometimes I would even opt to stay home when my friends were going out to the bar, because I was in so deep.

The bars don’t play k-pop, you guys.

My all-time favorite was Lee Juno’s “Return of the King of Dance.” Years later, I found the CD on some Asian music webstore, and I was sorely disappointed when it arrived and I realized that that was the only good song on the whole disc.

OK, so back to Christmas Eve. When I saw this workout video on YouTube, I forgot all about the coughing fits I had been having all evening and immediately pressed play to be sucked into a world of shiny Korean choreography.

IT IS A GODDAMN DREAM.

And somehow, I’m actually able to do it! I am never able to do any dance-based exercise workouts. Don’t even come near me with Zumba. I will fall and break my face. But k-pop fitness? It’s like it was MADE FOR ME.

My gateway into this niche of the fitness industry was through YouTube user SarahKayPop. She puts together 35 minute compilations of various k-pop dances that are on YouTube, and she even throws in some of her own in there too, which she performs in her bedroom. Not intimate at all. But through Sarah, I found the official KpopX Fitness channel and it hasn’t just consumed me—it has carefully digested me and shit me out as a better, more Korean version of myself.  It is honestly the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning, all I talk about at work, and how I end my days — pushing the coffee table out of the way and k-popping my fat face off.

I AM SO GOOD AT IT!

And I know this will come as a huge shock, but I’m following KpopX on Instagram now and have basically imprinted with their creator, #MaddyLim.

“Who’s that?” Henry mumbled last night during my post-dance routine of continuing to scour YouTube for the next day’s lineup while Henry watches with glazed eyes from the couch.

“THAT’S #MADDYLIM, THE CREATOR OF KPOPX!” I screamed. How did he not know this by now? But then he was laughing, which means that he was just trying to piss me off, which is really stupid considering my muscles are now inflated with gangnam style and cat ears.

I don’t have a huge floppy bow yet but Henry will make me one. He hasn’t said that he will yet, but come on.

One of my favorite moves requires one to put the hands together in the shape of a heart above the head and then lean forward while furiously shuffling the feet. It probably burns at least three Jollypong bag’s worth of calories. I tried to teach this move to Glenn on Monday morning but he wouldn’t get up from his desk, saying that it was “stupid” and telling me to “stop.”

I can’t explain how it makes me feel,  but I imagine rainbows squirting out of my feet and cartoon birds fluttering out of my armpits. So at least you know how it looks. I think that I need to set up some cardboard cutouts of toadstools around the room, though. And I should probably also get a nurse costume. (One of the instructors wears one, OK?!)

The other day at work, I went to the official KpopX website and learned that I can become a certified instructor online for only $189.99! Then I tried to order one of their official shirts, but shipping to the US is not available! WHAT WHY!? So now, just like when I didn’t get a Chiodos hoodie for Xmas 2007, I’ll have to make my own I guess.

And even though I’m not certified yet, I took liberties and taught Henry how to do this exhilarating and mildly perverse routine to Psy’s pony-play inspired hit “Daddy.” He was not filled with such wow like I was, though. I guess KpopX isn’t for everyone, surprisingly.

But so far, my favorite routine is to the crowd-pleasing banger “Hot Issue” by 4 Minute. I might know the moves by heart now, is all I’m saying. That song came on the other night when I was forcing Henry to fall asleep to a k-pop Spotify playlist and I nearly flipped him out of the bed, that’s how hyper I became. IT’S THE MOTHERFUCKING JAM.

****

“You have a really addictive personality,” Amber² laughed after I gushed about KpopX on a boring Tuesday afternoon at work.

“Yeah,” Todd agreed. “You go from one thing to the next so fast! For example, you never talk about your plants anymore.”

YES I DO AND THEY’RE SUCCULENTS OK.

****

Henry came home from the store last night when I was in the middle of a “Big Bang” routine and I went ape shit on him for corrupting my zone.

“I’m sorry!” he yelled. “I didn’t think you would STILL be kpopping!” Bitch please, I was going on 75 minutes straight by then. Maybe call ahead next time.

I also really like the k-pop routines by Crazy Sock TV, in case you care.

Sorry Paul Eugene, but I’m putting a moratorium on the gospel aerobics. Jesus ain’t got shit on these k-pop bitches.

   
It occurred to me yesterday as we were in the middle of eating that this was the 10th Cemetery Xmas Picnic for us! It started in 2005, when I was pregnant with Chooch and my family was being a bag of dicks and not speaking to me. Henry and I had nowhere else to go for Xmas so I yelled LET’S JUST EAT WITH DEAD PEOPLE THEN since no one living gave a shit about us.

So that’s what we did. 

I specifically remember buying Moonpies at CoGos on the way. Really fucking festive. 

And even when we do have a place to go on Xmas, we always hit up the good old cem first. It’s definitely been met with a lot of weird reactions over the years, but it’s our norm, you know? I mean, we’re just eating sandwiches and potato salad, not roasting babies over open graves and drinking goats blood. 

Just so you know. 

We keep it clean. 

 This year, we were able to sit for more than 5 minutes without the threat of hemorrhoids or frost bite!  Except it started to drizzle a little bit. 
    
It’s funny how traditions start. I wonder if Chooch will continue it when he has his own family…

 Sorry, Chooch’s Future Wife. 
Lol. 

  
We didn’t have time to make cards this year, so you get this charming photo of Trudy and Henry’s mom Judy, who is way more welcoming of our mannequin roommate than probably my own mom would be.   

Currently, Henry is ranting about batteries and now he and Chooch are arguing over PINs because they’re trying to set up Chooch’s new TV and I’m just over here blocking it all out with Real Friends playing loudly. Also, I sarcastically was like, “Hey where’s MY present?” And Chooch defensively sputtered, “Well, DADDY—” which made Henry cry, “Yeah it’s always MY fault!”

Oh, Xmas. 

I hope everyone has a beautiful day, whether you’re participating in Christmas frivolity or this is just your average December 25th. 

Henry, Chooch, and I will salute you from our annual cemetery picnic!

Tonight I’m going to take you way back to this one time when Henry and I began dating; he was all excited because he had the day off work and wanted to hang out with me. Actually, I’m going to go ahead and recall the word “dating” from this post because it was basically just like a really long one-night stand in the beginning. He just kept calling!

Just putting this out there: Henry was WAY more into me than I was into him. I mean, I guess I liked that he was buying me Michael Myers figurines but I was still like bro, stop sweating me. Calm down. 

Seriously. 

Ok so back to Henry having the day off of work. He was looking forward to having me sass him all day, but at the last minute I decided to go to Kennywood with Janna and my pal Brian instead, but I was 22 and did whatever the fuck I wanted with complex and utter disregard for all others. Totally not like 2015 Erin at all.

Henry was basically devastated, universe crumbled, as you can imagine, getting brutally blown off by some super young chick who he actually thought he was going to domesticate (guys, he doesn’t even try anymore). He kept calling me on my Nokia cellphone (again, this was a long time ago) and was all drunk (probably off Michelob #bluecollar) and whiny, which made me so disgusted, so I quit answering. Go to bed, old man! You know? I’m sure I did a ton of eye rolling and emasculated him to pieces with my friends. For sport. 

I would never do that now.

So Henry and I are having our typical bedtime convo tonight, which always involves me talking and him falling, when I remembered this incident and said, “Can you imagine if social media was around back then? You’d be constantly refreshing Instagram, Facebook and Twitter to track my every move at Kennywood WITHOUT YOU!” And then I pantomimed him pushing his glasses up and scrolling through his phone with a sad face and wiping away invisible tears, until I was laughing so hard that I had real life salty wets to brush off my face. 

I’m sure you can imagine the look on Henry’s face before he rolled over and went back to sleep. 

*Shout out to Carly  Rae Jepsen

For most of my adult life, I’ve been struggling with the whole glasses and contacts issue. Basically, I’m just a huge cry baby about going to the eye doctor and don’t even get my started on the strict criteria I have for eye glasses. I’ve gone round and round with numerous eye doctors and then when I realized that 1-800-Contacts was suddenly allowing me to order new contacts without an updated eye exam, I was like “IN YR FACE EYE DOCTORS!”

Except that during the last batch of contacts I was wearing, I started to feel like maybe my prescription had changed. My left eye was kind of struggling, so I decided that I wouldn’t order new contacts without getting a check up first. This is what BEING AN ADULT feels like I guess. Kind of boring.

So I put in my last pair of 2-week contacts back in….September. And then I just kept putting it off and putting it off until two weeks ago when I practically stumbled into work and so that everyone knew I wasn’t actually drunk, I admitted that I was having some sight issues.

“STILL?!” Amber2 exclaimed. We’ve talked about this subject quite a few times in the past. I always say I’m going to make an appointment and then I just end up ordering new contacts instead. And Amber is also a big advocate for eye glasses and has even offered to go with me on our lunch break to look at frames. Because I’m picky, they have to be gargantuan. Like, you should be able to fit your entire legs in them and pull them on like pants. That’s how big I need them to be. Maybe even just a large square that I can hold up over my face when I need to see. (So like, forever.)

I tested other methods of ocular enhancement, such as squinting through a bottle of severed fingers. No bueno.

And surprisingly, the follicle monocle didn’t activate the ol’ 20/20 either.

Yesterday was the breaking point. We came back from our group’s holiday lunch (I closed a door on Gayle and then she got stuck in the restaurant—that was my highlight), and Amber2 caught me slumped down at my desk, engaging in my daily AM I GOING BLIND???? squint-a-thon.

“THAT’S IT! Make an appointment right now!” And thank god for her and—I can’t believe I’m typing this—Glenn, because they essentially walked me through it. Glenn especially. He’s been on board with this since last week when he was walking toward me and I thought he was a stranger because he looked so blurry so I started to sink down behind my computer so that Stranger wouldn’t ask me a question — all strangers on our floor ask me questions! Like, “Where is the bathroom?” And I’m like “Down there!” while crossing my arms and pointing. But yeah, this time it was just Glenn and he was like, “You REALLY need to get your eyes checked! Good Lord.”

So after our lunch, he was trying to guide me through the insurance process of the eye exam.

“GO TO PEOPLESOFT AND PRINT OUT YOUR INSURANCE INFO IF YOU DONT HAVE THE CARD!” he barked and I was like “Yikes! Yessir!”

And that is how I ended up with an appointment after work at a place that claims on their website that they take my insurance but apparently only certain branches in the SOUTH do???  Don’t worry, they said they’re used to this and gave me all kinds of shit to send to the insurance company for reimbursement so I guess Wendy will have to help me with that.

I need to also mention that Henry and I had a huge fight when he came to pick me up from work because traffic had him angry and he YELLED AT ME and I was like, “OH NO YOU DIDN’T JUST YELL AT ME WHEN I’M ALREADY STRESSED OUT WE ARE SO OVER!” and then after three minutes of me pouting and staring wistfully out the window, he softly said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you” and then I berated him for a little while and all was well.

Anyway, as soon as I walked in to America’s Best, I was greeted by Randall (Randolph? I couldn’t see his name tag very well, lol), a congenial older man who signed me in.

“IM FREAKING OUT!” I cried because I have no filter when I’m nervous. My anxiety levels were through the roof and I literally felt my knees buckle when I walked in.

Randall was super nice and told me I wasn’t going to die, that I probably wouldn’t even bleed, and then my exam started, which went exactly as I expected: not knowing which one was better or worse! I was getting really frustrated and then I started to cry and the doctor was like “Hey kid, your eyes are actually healthy, don’t worry” but apparently my left eye either has a slightly swollen cornea (from the contacts) or IS JUST LAZY ALL OF A SUDDEN???

because no matter which corrective lens he put in front of it, he couldn’t get me past 20/40. Nothing about me is lazy! I TAKE THE STAIRS, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!

But at least I have new contacts in now (not the ones I need, but the best they could give me until mine come in next week) and I got a lengthy lecture about getting glasses. I KNOW OK?! God. I’ll get glasses as soon as someone can put my prescription in a welder’s mask.

The moral of this story is that my coworkers are bullies.

[We’re going to blame all of my typos on my SUPPOSED LAZY EYE, now, ok?]

Today, Chooch found a temporary tattoo and was just about to put it somewhere dumb, like his arm, when I stopped him and screamed, “NO PUT IT ON YOUR NECK!” Neck tattoos are my favorites. I have been trying for fourteen years to trick Henry into getting something awesome on his neck, but he won’t budge. (Hands are my second choice, but he won’t go for that, no; no can do.) Because I’m Chooch’s “bae lord,” he happily adhered a deformed monkey to the side of his neck.

(Side note: He has now taken to calling Henry “Papa Bae,” and it is slowly killing Henry.)

Anyway, Chooch looks hardcore as fuck now! We went outside and took some pictures because Henry was in the kitchen baking some kind of healthy version of snickerdoodles, i.e. bland non-cookies, and he’s mean to us when he bakes.

It was cold out there today.

Meanwhile, Blake gave Chooch his guitar, so he is currently YouTubing tutorials and just seeing that beautiful guitar in his lap is making my vision even more obscured than usual by all of the hearts. If this kid doesn’t grow up to be in a band, then I’m doing it all wrong.

Chooch + Doll 4L.

And on that note:

I signed Henry up for my friend Alex’s Blogger Cookie Exchange sometime in October and then, true to form, waited until the last minute to find him a cookie to bake. The Internet failed me i my search for “Really Bomb Traditional Romanian Christmas Cookies” so I eventually settled on some kind of zucchini jalapeno lime thingies because some website said that they were The Best. Henry didn’t start baking them until Saturday morning and then jawed off at me from the kitchen because I suck at conveying details to him, such as how many dozen he needed to bake and by what time. Meanwhile, I sat on the couch and fought with Chooch over the TV and I somehow lost, so I just kept taking pictures of him until he finally had enough and left the room.

I ALWAYS FIND A WAY.

Never fear, Henry got all seven dozen knocked out and even had a bunch to spare, so the day ended up not being as stressful as I imagined. I mean, there was the still the social stress, don’t worry. I haven’t suddenly learned how to converse strangers.

I’m still me! So I mostly hung out with the kids and that was OK because we on that same level, yo*. It was either that or stand awkwardly with the adults, blurting out things like, “So, how about those leaked Brand New demos, huh?” or “Guys, I found the best wheelchair on Craigslist and Henry won’t buy it for meeeee!” #unrelatable One thing I have learned from failed social situations is that I am a Grade A conversation killer. So now I just keep quiet.

And funnily enough, Henry ended up winning for best cookie and he totally thinks he’s so fucking awesome now. “Do I get a ribbon to put on my blog?” he asked. LET’S NOT FORGET WHO FOUND THE RECIPE….SO.

*(Henry just tried to correct that sentence and I was like, “It’s supposed to be that way…?” and he said, “Oh sorry, I forgot that my English is not the same as your English. I guess I’m not your level.”)

Later that evening, a car pulled into the church parking lot across the street from us and Santa got out! At first, Chooch and I were really excited. But then I was like, “Why did Santa leave his car on? Parked at an angle? With the door open?” We happened to be leaving for Castle Blood at that exact time, and our car was parked RIGHT NEXT TO SANTA’S. By the time we crossed the street though, Santa was on the move, straight stalking through the parking lot with the calculated gait of a killer. He was headed straight to some lady who was getting out of her car and I started to instinctively flinch and squeeze my eyes shut, anticipating the swing of the ax that he was surely about to pull from behind his back. But instead, she was like, “Blah blah blah” and then he turned direction and started to walk toward the church.

“OH MY GOD, HE’S ABOUT TO GO ON A SPREE!” I cried to Henry as we sat in the car and watched him disappear into the darkness. “FOLLOW HIM!!”

Henry was super annoyed about this because he wanted to drive the opposite way, but I made him drive through the back of the parking lot as I scanned the area for Scary Santa. The door of the church’s basement/cafeteria was open and full of people in matching t-shirts.

“They’re having a PARTY, Erin. Santa’s here for a fucking PARTY,” Henry sighed. I caught a glimpse of Santa inside the cafeteria, mingling with the guests.

THEN WHY DID HE LEAVE HIS CAR RUNNING!? The whole scene was confusing and shady as fuck. But I didn’t have time to stick around and sleuth it out because we were on our way to pick up Corey and go to Castle Blood for their annual Cryptmas tour!

I love that Castle Blood comes up with several non-Halloween tours throughout the year. For Christmas, the denizens decorate their rooms to reflect their own personal visions of Christmas, or “Cryptmas.” It might be a no-scare tour, but it’s still fun as fuck, and I know I say this after every visit, but I think this one is my new favorite! It’s been a long time since I’ve been there with Corey too, so I think that definitely made it more fun. He was having mild panic when we were in line because of the anticipation of crowd participation. I’m usually cowering behind a tall person in these situations too, but there is something about Castle Blood that brings out the Old “Ooooh, Me! Pick Me!” Erin. Too bad I have competition now: effing CHOOCH. He is such a Castle Blood attention hog!

Castle Blood was amaze as usual. My favorite parts were:

• When Chooch was instructed to write if he’d been naughty or nice and we were like “why is he writing so  many letters….?” and it was because he wrote “Naughty, because I’m Satan.”
• In Gravely’s office, when I was told to pick someone from our group and give them a Christmas wish, I chose Henry and angrily spat, “I wish that you get an engagement ring from Santa so that you can put it on my finger.” That didn’t make anyone uncomfortable or anything.
• Seeing my favorite vampire butler, Shard! I love him because he shoots down all of Chooch’s attempts at being a smart ass, haha. I had been referring to him as my Castle Blood boyfriend but then my friend Professor Scrye told me that I might want to wait until September and I was like, “Durr?” followed very quickly by an, “Oh my god.”
• The gypsy room where I was The Best at deciphering all 10 Christmas songs that had been Jeopardized. Chooch claims he got two of them on his own and I was like, “Look, Imma let you think that until we get in the car because I don’t want you causing a scene, but everyone knows I’m the true winner.”
• When I got to decide if Henry could have a cookie and I said NO.
• When Chooch was asked to explain what Christmas is to a confused denizen, and he immediately answered, “When my brother Jesus was born.”
• When I excelled at REALLY HARD QUESTIONS that required the use of LOGICAL THINKING in the room that I don’t know what to call.
• Failing at passing a Christmas ornament down the line 8 times using plastic spoons held in our left hands.
• GETTING TO SEE MY FRIEND DAWN EVEN THOUGH IT WASN’T HER REAL FACE!!

I love you, Castle Blood. Never stop.

Afterward, we went to Eat n Park in Monongahela where Chooch and Corey talked about Vine pretty much the whole time and at first we thought our waitress was legit because she didn’t need to write down our drink order but then she had to write down our food order so Corey was like, “Never mind, she’s not all that.” What a disappointment. Corey and Chooch were going to try and film an on-the-fly Vine in the parking lot while Henry was paying but Corey got all stressed out about it. “What if we make Henry drive through that Do Not Enter for a Vine, never mind, THAT’S STUPID, UGH.” Then they were kicking themselves because Chooch said at the end of Castle Blood, when Hexibart blindfolded him, he was going to say, “Bitch, where?” which is apparently a popular Vine theme? And Corey was like, “WHHHHHYYYY DIDN’T YOU?!?!?!?! WE COULD HAVE VINED THAT!!!!!”

And then some Vine-famous guy was sending Corey messages and he was straight squealing about it, which was making Henry question what he’d done in a past life to land him there at that Eat n’ Park in 2015, listening to Corey get flustered about Viners and me talking about haunted house crushes and Warped Tour.

On Sunday, Chooch had a date with his twin friends, Sophia and Olivia, so Henry and I went Christmas shopping, which I loathe. However, we saw my aunt Susie at Target so that was cool. This was after my morning sob-fest and I had that “just finished crying” spontaneous sniveling going on so I felt like a freak, but I also didn’t want to casually blurt out, “JUST CRYING OVER MY CAT WHO DIED LAST MARCH, NOTHING UNUSUAL GOING ON OVER HERE.” Ugh, I’m such a freak and I hate myself sometimes.

Since I had the Sunday Sads, I bought some new succulents. That always cheers me up for a quick minute. Actually, we stopped at Home Depot because Henry had to get something boring, so I picked up a succulent (actually, it was a tillandsia, no big deal) for my Secret Santa recipient. I was like, “One for her, four for me.

” Because that’s how selfish Leos buy presents.

The other highlight was that Hot Topic was one of our stops and if there is one place in this world that serves as an self-esteem boost station for me, it is fucking Hot Topic. I pretty much immediately bonded with the pastel-purple haired employee. It started with her showing me the Five Nights at Freddy’s bullshit but within a minute we were trading favorite moments from last year’s Warped Tour. Henry was like “Girl, bye” and walked away. And then when I had to give her my email address when checking out, she laughed knowingly and said, “Great email address!” BECAUSE IT’S “BUTGAVINCANTDANCE” you guys. Only Hot Topic employees ever get that, which is why Henry always walks away before I say it because he thinks it’s so stupid how excited I get when I’m complimented on it.

Later that day, I found the tree skirt, so now Trudy looks complete.

Henry was too exhausted after making separate dinners for me and Chooch, so all he could muster for himself was toast and a pretzel, lolforever.

Capped off the weekend with a riveting show about Satanists on CNN, thanks to Barb for the heads up.

I mean, I’m not a Satanist but I realized after watching it that I can really get behind a lot of their ideologies, especially after I found out that they don’t actually do any animal sacrifices.  It didn’t even occur to me at first that Chooch was sprawled out on our Baphomet rug, watching a show about an organized group of people getting ready to unveil their Baphomet statue.

There was one part where a bunch of Christian protesters were being interviewed and one man said, “They shouldn’t be allowed to practice their religion in public. They need to keep this in their basement” or something to that effect and I whipped my head over to Henry and just as my big mouth was opening to purge the obscenities from my system, he cut me off by saying, “I know, Erin. I know.”

Meanwhile, Barb was disappointed in the show. Not enough virgin sacrifices, Barb?

I might need to move to Detroit, is all I’m saying.

Realizing that probably a whole hour had passed without me bragging about something, I spun around in my seat and smugly announced, “I got invited to the Castle Blood cast holiday party, and I’m not even a cast member, NO BIG DEAL.”

“What’s that?” Todd asked in a mildly disinterested tone. He’s been trying to work on that though, I feel like. 

“Oh come ON, Todd!” I cried exasperatedly, as if I have never talked about CASTLE BLOOD before. “It’s that haunted house I go to all the time!”

“Look, you got too many things in your life, OK. I try to keep up with all of the bands, and then you go and throw a wrench in it with this haunted house now.” Todd sounded defensive, and Amber² was laughing at her desk.

“I wish Henry could hear this,” she said.

SORRY THAT I TRY TO LET MY CO-WORKERS INTO MY FABULOUS LIFE.

God.

Glenn was gone for the day when I made my announcement, which is why there isn’t a single derisive sentence up in there. 

I found this old Pentax photo that I took of Chooch when he was like one and a half (I was never into counting by months after he turned one). It makes me kind of want to use the Pentax again even though there are a million apps out there that basically achieved the same effect nowadays. Technology is kind of a drag sometimes. 

 Blog update: it’s half-fixed! I still can’t upload photos from my phone and at this point I’m kind of just over it. Blogging is kind of a drag sometimes. 

Also, Chooch titled this post. Titling posts is kind of a drag sometimes. 

I’m kind of a drag sometimes. 

GUYS! Chooch and I are taking our Carly Rae Jepsen obsession public — WE’RE GOING TO SEE HER AT MR. SMALL’S IN MARCH!!!! 

HENRY JUST CAME HOME (sorry, I’ll try to abstain from CAPSLOCKING at your face) and smirked at me because I’m sitting here under a blanket watching CRJ YOUTUBE VIDEOS ON TV AND CRYING HAPPILY.

(For real this time, CAPSLOCKS off.)

I just asked him if he’s going with us and he said NO in a tone that implied WHAT A DUMB QUESTION. 

Chooch and I are trying to get Corey to go with us OMFGGG I might have a heart attack. 

In other news, Henry still hasn’t fixed the photo-uploading problem on my blog and I’m too distracted to care. 

I wrote this on LiveJournal in 2005 & it’s making me laugh because not only am I exactly the same, but now I have a sidekick. It’s no wonder Henry grumbles and makes excuses every time I suggest going for a walk around the neighborhood.

****

People will tell me, “Hey, you really need a hobby.” And you know, I often find myself agreeing, as a means to excuse whatever odd personality quirk of mine that’s in the hot seat. But I was thinking about it this morning, and goddammit – I have tons of hobbies!

I like walking through cemeteries while making off-color jokes about dead people. I like stalking people of otherwise uninteresting stature. I like eating uncooked ravioli and tortellini. I like making up new names for my cats (I just changed Nicotina’s name to Breakfast Nook). I like making pets out of fruits and vegetables. I like to walk down dark streets, alone, while pretending that a murderer is after me.

So maybe my hobbies aren’t of your average crafty/sporty variety, but I’ve learned to embrace them with every fibre of my being. But I left out my favorite: Annoying Henry. I live for the satisfaction of pushing him to the point where he inhales through clenched teeth and widens his eyes in a furious glower.

Annoying Henry can take place anywhere, really: in the car, on a plane, in the house, while he’s cooking, at the grocery store, in a cemetery. But my favorite time to push the Henryific buttons is during our nightly walks. Add snow to the equation and you’re in for one night of flawless agitation.

I was fairly calm and collected yesterday, so Henry didn’t hesitate when I suggested bundling up for some neighborhood ambling. I waited until we had been walking for a good ten minutes before springing into my antics. That’s when the snow throwing began.

Henry never flinched as each ball of packed snow slammed into the back of his coat; his pace never faltered and he continued along the sidewalk, hands in pocket and head facing straight ahead. I spied a discarded beer bottle jutting out of the snow and reached down to pluck it from its nest. Henry, without so much as a quick glance thrown over his shoulder, matter-of-factly said, “Put it down.” How did he know? He does this psychic eye routine all the time. Here’s a quote from an entry about cemetery carousing:

So this lady was there with her dog, right? They went into the woods. They were back there for awhile and I said, “Hey, do you think that lady — ”
Hoover: “No.”
Me: “You didn’t even know what I was going –”
Hoover: “Do I think she’s having sex with her dog? No.”

HOW DID HE KNOW!?

Twenty minutes without provoking a reaction can really start to nullify the fun-having. I remedied this by forgetting the snow and moving on to bigger and better tools of attention. I dropped out of sight and while Henry unknowingly continued walking down the sidewalk, I began the laborious task of chiseling off a hunk of ice from a snow bank using only my shoe. Relentlessly stubbing my toe was a small price to pay for the exhileration of ambushing Henry. I crept back onto the sidewalk and, stooping down low, caught up close enough to whale the sharp block of ice-encrusted snow at his feet.  The chunk of ice skidded into the ground right behind Henry, erupting into a billion frozen shards and crystals, like a bag of uncooked rice exploding onto a linoleum floor, as the pieces of ice and snow swirled and clattered around his feet. And his gait never quavered. How he does it, I’ll never know.

Realizing that this plan of attack was no good, I accepted the fact that it was time to resort to the one thing that gets him every time – my voice. I caught up to him and fell into place at his side, and began tugging on his arm. “I’m bored. I’m hungry. I want hot chocolate. Do you love me? Have you ever been in jail? Wanna break into that house? Wanna steal that car? Who do you like more, Bobcat Goldtwait or Kato Kaelin?”

It wasn’t working. Time to dupe him. We turned off the main road that we had been walking along and onto a quiet street lined with houses. It was dark with very little through-traffic. I stopped walking.

“Let’s make out,” I urgently demanded.
“Why?” Henry was suspicious. Good.
“Because it’s so romantical out here! There’s the snow and trees…and look! There’s one of those Dippers!” I exclaimed, pointing toward the sky.
“That’s Orion, you asshole.”

Dipper or not, I had him right where I wanted him. Moving in for an embrace, I quickly slipped my snow-encased gloves down the collar of his shirt. Finally, I elicited the reaction I had been gunning for the whole time. He forcibly removed my icy gloves from his chest and shouldered past me. Acting hurt, I dejectedly said, “I just wanted to be close to you. Won’t you at least hold my hand?”

I really hate it when my plans backfire. He made like he was about to acquiesce with the hand holding, and took my hand in his. Only, this wasn’t what hand holding was supposed to feel like! Burning pain raced up my arm and I could hear the popping and snapping of knuckles and cartilage. Not ready to bow out so early into the fight, I sucked in a lungful of air and bellowed, “HELP ME HELP!!” We both froze in our places and looked up and down the street, waiting for houses to light up in vigilance. Realizing that he had been backed up against a wall, he flung my hand away from him and mumbled, “Why can’t you just walk? Just walk.”

And then he bought me a sundae at McDonald’s, but he refused to walk up to the drive thru like I suggested. Can’t win ’em all.

Remember how last week, WordPress was all, “Congrats, loser, you’ve wasted 8 years of your life blogging on this site”?

Well, apparently my present was to have my photo-uploading ability revoked. Actually, I’m sure it’s something that I did because I break all things, and after Henry spent FOUR DAYS trying to “fix” it on his own, he finally did what I suggested in the first place: contacted WordPress. They’re “looking into it,” so I can’t post anything that requires photos, which is, you know, all of them.

I just want to be able to tell my imaginary friends all about my new(-to me) gray wig, my unbirthday zombie doll that Gayle made for me, and my Vintage Snack Attack party that was actually kind of OK! (I mean, people-wise at least, it was great!)

So in the meantime, while I’m over here trying to be the P-WORD (“Patient” — blech), here are some Vines that Corey and Chooch made Saturday night, because they’re apparently a Vine Team now and Corey is keeping a note of “Vine Ideas” on his phone for the next time.

When they finished making this one, there was a huge eruption of “YES! WE DID IT!!!”s and maniacal cheering coming from Chooch’s room. Some friends were still at my house due to being attacked by vintage snacks, so Corey, Chooch and Kara’s son Harland (he was helping direct the videos) nearly bowled each other over as they ran down the steps to show all of us. Corey was bitter because the reaction wasn’t as enthusiastic as he anticipated.

“I GUESS NOT EVERYONE HAS VINE HUMOR,” he said as they went back upstairs to make more Vines.

They did another one too but I drunkenly agreed to let Chooch swear in it and because of my past inability to keep the line drawn between blogging and parenting, I think I shall abstain from posting it. As if anyone really thinks my kid doesn’t swear.

Alternately Titled: I Make Mistakes So You Don’t Have To.

See Also: Common Sense.

WordPress notified me yesterday that my blog is 8 years old. Actually, it’s a little older than that, THANK YOU very much; I first started blogging on ohhonestlyerin.com in November of 2007, but then Henry was like, “I’m going to switch you over to this WordPress thingie” and then proceeded to lose half of my posts and all of my comments. And guys, this was back when I used to get 10-20 comments on a post! Like, triple what I get now! I’d like to say “Look how far I’ve come!” but…it’s just a blog.

(Technically, I’ve been blogging since 2001, but do the LiveJournal years even count? If they do, I’m about due to retire, right?)

Even though 8 is an arbitrary number, and not really milestone-ish, I figured I would commemorate this achievement by telling you what I’ve learned in 8+ years of blogging. (Don’t worry—it’s not much.)

• If you post pictures of waiters from Dollywood and then put their name + Dollywood in the title of the post, they are likely to find it and ask you to take it down because they didn’t like the “unrealistic speculations” you made about his collection of women’s tongues and blow-up sex dolls.  It might take a few years, but it could happen. And then you’ll be forced to change his name from Sherman to Sherbet.
• If you talk shit on parents from your kid’s school on your blog, there is a chance they might one day find it, and then it will just escalate from there until finally there is a confrontation and did I mention that this is happening to you at a Catholic school? Because it is, and you have to stand there and allow them to say things to you like “We’re so disappointed in you” and “I can’t believe how mean you are” and you struggle to not say anything back because you don’t want to ruin your kid’s life, but then fuck it—just put him in a new school and continue writing shit about people who are dicks to you because it’s your blog and YOU DO YOU, GIRL.
• If you post pictures of your kid in cemeteries, you might have Child Protective Services called on you and an actual case worker will come to your house and start questioning your kid about his “goth mother” and then she’ll take pictures of the dinner that Henry made for him too, just for good measure because maybe he’s an incompetent parent, too. All because you enjoy traipsing around graveyards and some idiot on the Internet was offended by that.
• If you talk shit on carnival rides, don’t be shocked when an angry CARNY shows up in your comment section.
  • If you talk shit on a roller rink, don’t be shocked when an angry ROLLER RINK AFICIONADO shows up in your comment section.
• If you post candidly about every single facet of your life, you might draw attention from some MENTALLY UNSTABLE PEOPLE, one of whom might throw you an incredible surprise party in a mausoleum because she spent the first two months of your “friendship” obsessively reading your blog from the very first post to the current, so she knows EVERY FUCKING THING about you, and then when you don’t give her enough attention, she will flip the fuck out and send you an 18 paragraph text message about why she unfriended you on Facebook and then she will SEND HER HUSBAND TO YOUR HOUSE the morning after Thanksgiving to “have a talk with you”!?
  • This is just one example of the CRAZY that can happen. There have been many others. I mean, my awful ex-BFF Christina and I met on LiveJournal, after all. The ultimate cautionary tale.
• If you write a disparaging blog post about a moderately-famous singer in the post-hardcore scene, it might become your most-viewed blog post of all time which means you’ll have to take the heat from a slew of angry scene kids and douchebag apologists.
• If you swear a lot and use a lot of sex analogies when describing food, companies probably won’t be flooding your email with invitations for free meals in exchange for reviews.

Some random favorite posts of the last 8 years that you can maybe read while you’re avoiding eye contact on the bus or ignoring your screaming children:

1. Sunday Lock Out
2. Don’t Ask Me About Tofu
3. Best/Worst Picture of Me
4. Butler County Fair: Kirk vs. Andrew
5. Law Firm Walking Challenge, Part 1 / Law Firm Walking Challenge, Part 2
6. Henry’s Big Gay Secret
7. The Case of Chooch v. the Bee and Me v. Parental Paranoia
8. Chooch and Erin’s Sick Day

To anyone who still reads this,  I love you lots like tater tots. If I make it to 10 Oh Honestly Years, maybe I’ll auction off Chooch or something. SAY HELLO SOMETIME!!