The worst part about my work schedule is that I never get to eat a single meal with my family during the week. I absolutely hate it. And the worst part about eating healthy is that I never get to eat a fucking French fry.
I absolutely FUCKING hate that. So sometimes a weekend diner trip is a must. Except when I decide that I want to go somewhere different and then we drive around aimlessly looking for something that’s not closed on a Sunday. Seriously, restaurants that are closed on Sundays can go suck God’s dick. Which is probably what they want to be doing anyway.
Assholes.

But then Urban Spoon directed us to Bob’s Diner in Carnegie. And I know you must be thinking that it was either realllllly good or phenomenally abysmal if I’m devoting a whole blog post to it. But it was neither. Just decent, really. It’s just that I became obsessed with Bob.

Henry kept saying, “I doubt that’s Bob. I REALLY doubt that’s Bob. IT’S NOT BOB OK?!” Why was he so passionate about it not being Bob? WHAT DOES HE KNOW ABOUT BOB?!

OMG HE WAS CLEARLY IN THE SERVICE WITH HIM!!

That’s the only explanation.

Meanwhile, our waitress was obsessed with my coat.

“Oh I just love this. It reminds me of a sofa. What do they call that? BROCADE!” she cried while literally STROKING MY ARM UP AND DOWN like it was a golden tapestry-swaddled elephant penis.

She was really into us for about 90 seconds but as soon as I slipped out of my coat, she dropped us like a bunch of jizz-stained brocade sofa cushions.

The rest of the time there was OK. I mostly fixated on the whole Is It Bob? quandary.

“WHERE IS HE?” I would hoarsely hiss to Henry, who would mumble things like “I don’t know. In his office. Dead. THAT’S NOT BOB.”

“Mommy, is that Bob?”

And then this happened:

Waitress 1: “I just found out a good friend of mine died.”
Waitress 2: “Oh no! How?”
Waitress 1: “Herpes.”
Waitress 2: “Showoff.”

Sometimes I hear what I want to, but I swear to god this really seemed accurate.

Henry was irritated because I ordered coleslaw after he did. He hates it when we both enjoy the same sides.

Bob’s might not have been much to write home about (though I clearly did) but I must say: their fries are the GOOD KIND! I would go back just for the fries. And obviously to unlock the mystery of Bob and Henry and the porno they filmed in 1983.

After people started to receive our Christmas cards, I was asked several times if I put those heads on us using Photoshop. I promise you, these were real piñata-versions of us that fit over our big dumb heads:

So I figured I would post real quick about how obnoxiously frustrating this stupid “family portrait project” really was.

Over the summer, I was spending another mind-numbing evening at work when my eyes rested upon the paper mache clown head I made for my Halloween desk last year. I started thinking about how much fun it would be to make paper mache versions of Henry, Chooch and myself and then do a family portrait, since it’s occasionally pointed out to me that I have little to no family portraits of us guys. It wasn’t my intent to use the result as a Christmas card, but considering how many times this project kept getting pushed back, it kind of made sense after a point. I think Henry and I started working on these in November, sometimes with entire weeks of neglect in between because I kept stupidly filling up our weekends with all those extraneous outings that Henry loves so much.

I was trying to be quiet about it because if there’s one thing I hate, it’s saying that I’m doing something and then not being able to finish. And I’ll be honest, there were a ton of times when I thought for sure this project was going to fail, and even more times than that where I would scream, “JUST FORGET IT I QUIT!!” because paper mache is annoying. And messy. I’ll be honest and tell you that Henry did more of that part than me. (But he did NOT do all of it, like I caught him telling him our friends Rick and Tammy.)

There were a lot of pictures I couldn’t post before now because the damn heads were in the background, like this one of Marcy chilling out on a Saturday morning with a donut scrap, watching Christmas Cats TV with her Grandma Judy.

Once each head was fully dry, I was able to start decorating them in our likeness. Eventually, it started to come together and I didn’t feel so anxious or hateful about it anymore. Except that we missed out on all of the beautiful November weather by that point and had to settle for doing the photo shoot on a Sunday morning in 10 degree weather at a location that wasn’t where I really wanted it to be, but I guess we can always do another one at some point since we surprisingly haven’t whacked these things to pieces yet like your basic piñatas.

We finagled Janna into taking the pictures for us, and she was all nervous about having to use my camera, but I think she did great! The hardest part was not knowing what the hell Chooch was doing since none of us could see out of those heads. I hate hate hate feeling so vulnerable. And I hate not being behind the camera. But it wasn’t too bad since I knew at least no one could see my ugly mug.

I think next year, we’ll just buy our cards from the store, haha.

Merry Christmas, you guys! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find some kind of awesome egg nog to make for tomorrow night.

I was surprised when I met Never Shout Never. they mean so much to me like this much ——————————————————————————————————– that’s how much they mean to me.

When we met them, I did NOT know what we were going to do. So Jason was there, I told him that I wanted to meet Christofer Drew and then he said “yeah and I want to meet Christina Hendricks.

” When we walked into the room to meet them I was like OMG really you’re making me meet them? OMG. Christofer said nice shirt and I said thanks, actually I was shy. He took my hat off of me and put his hat on me and my hat on him and I felt like OMG now I have his ghost inside my hat and my ghost inside of his hat.

I got my picture with them I still was shy.

Christofer gave me a guitar pick I broke real quick on an accident. They told me to play the tuba and that I would get all the girls haha and then they told me to go to Chicago with them.

My favorite part of the night was when they played my favorite song Lost at Sea. It’s on the album Time Travel. When they played it I sang the whole song.

OMG I finally met them and I probably will never again.

You should listen to Harmony. It’s an album. My favorite song on that album is First Dance! And Trampoline. Actually, Trampoline is mommy’s most favorite.

Because I love her. So there.

• You would think today was Christmas Eve by the complete lack of interest everyone has in their work. (I mean, even moreso than usual.) Earlier, I listened to my office-neighbor Patrick watch vintage Japanese video game commercials on YouTube and then spend fifteen minutes obsessing over the name Fronia, which means “gentle” in case you were considering using that on your next goldfish. Both of these tangents were somehow perpetuated by Nate, so thank you for today’s entertainment. All of this was after Nate and Patrick had a heated dispute over the office heating system.
  • While I was writing this, I couldn’t remember the name “Fronia” but thank god Nate is still here so I went over and made him stop doing actual work. “Is this for the blog?” he asked, and then after I shook my head affimatively, he said, “Well then it’s important.” Nate Knows. (Knate Knows?)
• We finally got our Christmas tree last night.
• Henry and I had lots of fights in the last week!!
  • First, we fought because I was enraged at how poorly monitored the sidewalks have been during all this hazardous weather we’ve been having. Every day last week, Chooch and I practically ice-skated to school because dumb motherfuckers don’t know how to sprinkle salt on their dumb sidewalks. EVEN ERIN RACHELLE KELLY KNOWS HOW TO DO THAT! The one day it was REALLY BAD, so bad that I nearly turned around and took Chooch home. I saw numerous kids fall! I almost fell! On my way home, some mom had to take my hand and help me step off the curb that was coated in slick, solid ice and onto the street. I came home and screamed to Henry about it and he calmly said, “Well, people have 24 hours after it storms to shovel.” I countered with the fact that it had been like this for days and he was all, “Well, that’s because it keeps snowing, melting and then freezing.” LIKE IT AIN’T NO THANG. Oh, that’s because HE doesn’t have to walk—EVER. “I hope I break my face open,” I threatened. “And then I’m going to sue Brookline. No, I’m going to sue the entire city of Pittsburgh!” And Henry was all, “Good luck, you can’t sue them. It’s the home owners.” So I said I would sue the homeowner and he was all, “Good luck, they have 24 hours to shovel.” GO FUCK YOURSELF AND YOUR LAW KNOWLEDGE! I need to look into this, I think. Maybe there’s a lawyer here at the Law Firm that specializes in sidewalk maintenance ordinances.
    • THAT IS ALL ICE IN THAT PICTURE BELOW!! This particular stretch of pedestrian property belongs to some Yinzer sloth who sits on her front porch every morning slurping coffee out of her Stillers mug, sucking on a Newport, and BARKING DRAMA INTO HER PHONE. She was sitting there when I took this picture too and she can fuck right off, hopefully on her ass while sliding down her icy sidewalk. Yinzer cunt.
• 
  • Then Saturday morning we had a fight because I said Katy Perry sings like someone with Down Syndrome, because I’m sorry, but she’s terrible. AND I DON’T HATE POP MUSIC SO DON’T GIVE ME SHIT ABOUT HOW I’M A BEING A MUSIC SNOB. I like Lady Gaga and Ke$ha just fine. I just have very strong opinions about Katy Perry and I’m, to this day, baffled at how she was able to dupe the music industry. “That’s really mean,” Henry argued, appalled that I could make such comparisons. “Yeah, I know,” I shouted. “MEAN AGAINST ALL OF THE DOWN SYNDROME PEOPLE!” And for that I am deeply sorry’ I shouldn’t have said that. I should have said Bobcat Goldthwait instead. Did you know I’ve heard Katy Perry sing live before? It’s true. She was, for some fucked up reason, at Warped Tour in 2008 and we happened to be walking past the stage she was “performing” on and she sounded like the time Henry accidentally stepped on Marcy’s tail.
  • Our last big argument was Saturday night when I put on some fucked up TV show called Buying Alaska, which follows several idiots around that disgusting state of ALASKA while they look at sickening cabins in varying degrees of repulsion with gratuitous shots of blood-curdling GLACIERS and it only took about 2 seconds before I was screaming at the TV, and then of course Henry had to defend Alaska because he can never just be on my side. Here’s a tip: try buying a house in a state that’s not hideous.
  • I had to go to Chooch’s Christmas concert on Wednesday morning (haha, I “had” to go; I’m such a fantastic mom) and it was, you know, a Christmas concert. With kids. I prayed for the gods to take me peacefully. The music teacher at that school is so self-aggrandizing, like he’s conducting down at Heinz Hall and not at some city elementary school. And then he kept reminding us that it was a LIVE SHOW, in case some of us thought it was DVRd. So when some band kid needed his violin tuned, the music teacher was all, “HAHA what did I tell you? THIS IS A LIVE SHOW!” like we’re sitting in NBC Studios watching Carrie Underwood do that Sound of Music thing and he proceeds to explain to us the art of tuning a violin and like, no one gives a shit about your anecdotal interludes. We want to see our kids sing and then go the fuck home. And thank god they don’t perform in order, else I wouldn’t have had the chance to watch 10% of the 5th graders sing “Feliz Navidad” while the rest of them stood there stewing in racism. Finally, the second graders came out and sang “Jingle Bells” and Chooch fucking cracked up the whole time. I found out later that it was because his cougar girlfriend from last year had returned and was throwing him horns from the front row.
• Also on Wednesday, I was leaving the house to walk to the trolley stop when I realized that I shut the door behind me without grabbing the housekey. Which is no big deal usually, because it’s not like I ever come home from work to an empty house. But the problem was that I was fairly certain that I didn’t have any money on my trolley card thingie and my wallet was in my other purse in the house so I had no way of either adding money to my card or taking money out from the ATM and paying the old fashioned way. I had no way of knowing for sure though until I got to the trolley stop and checked my card balance on the fare machine thingie, and it was as I suspected: $0. Henry was like an hour away so that wasn’t an option. So then I attempted to panhandle which was a terrible idea and people were actually turning their backs to pretend that I didn’t exist, as if it wasn’t already awkward enough for me to have swallow my pride and ask for change. One old man was a total asshole to me and said in a super rude and condescending tone, “I don’t understand what you’re asking me.” So I explained to him one more time, while holding up my trolley fare card thing, that my balance was ZERO and that I didn’t have my WALLET on me and he just shook his head and laughed without mirth, like this generation gap is just so confusing to him and I’m probably actually asking him for the last $2.50 I need to finally be able to buy that crack rock on my Amazon wish list. Kids these days, blah blah blah. WELL I’M SORRY IF I DON’T HAVE A FUCKING CUP TO SHAKE IN YOUR FACE, YOU GERIATRIC ASSHOLE. I hope your family puts you in a fucking home for Christmas. Anyway, SUPPOSEDLY no one around had any change, so I shuffled away from the trolley platform (one guy wished me luck at least), and then literally froze on the sidewalk. Because that’s how I handle things: I panic and shut down. Instead of calmly thinking of a plan B, I go straight to Plan STAND HERE AND THEN DIE. The worst part was that I had this big bag full of all the Secret Santa stuff that I was so excited for, and now I wasn’t even sure if I was going to be able to get to work! I was ready to call my boss Joy and tell her that I couldn’t pay for the trolley and therefor would be roaming around Dormont until Henry was done with work. But then I remembered that I know other people! So I called Janna and she was thankfully home and able to come pick me up and take me to work, THANK YOU JANNA OMG. But still, I totally lost it and openly wept as I walked back to my house to wait for her outside of the front door I was unable to unlock. I promise you that a lot of people witnessed this, so that was terrific. Then I got to go to work and act like I hadn’t just come in off the street after weeping like a crazy lady.
• Earlier, Chris and I had our hands held by Santa. Our work friend Lauren was asking us about it and at the same time Chris said it was creepy, I was saying that it was tender. Because tender is a word that I don’t get to say very often, and I will now always equate it with the comforting caress of Santa’s softly-gloved hands.
• I hope Jeff Gutt is OK. #ThingsIWouldHaveSaidIfILiveBloggedTheXFactorFinale
• Carlito’s Eulogy. #ThingsIWouldHaveSaidIfILiveBloggedTheXFactorFinale
• STFU Mario Lopez. #ThingsIWouldHaveSaidIfILiveBloggedTheXFactorFinale
• Thank god I DVRd this so I can fast forward through Lea Michele. And Pitbull. And One Direction. And the last half of this weird Leona Lewis Christmas song. #ThingsIWouldHaveSaidIfILiveBloggedTheXFactorFinale
• Why not just rename the show The Honda X Factor? #ThingsIWouldHaveSaidIfILiveBloggedTheXFactorFinale #AggressiveProductPlacement
• Had a talk yesterday with Sue and it looks like I might get to work on a fun little project where I actually get to be creative instead of telling people they’re not pushing the right button, which seems like all I do here anymore. So, fingers crossed on that.
• Last night when I was leaving work, some man approached me and asked me if I could spare fifty cents so he could get on the bus. I knew I didn’t have any change on me, but I told him to wait there and then I ran to where Henry was parked and started digging through the console until I had a fistful of nickels and dimes. “What are you doing!?” Henry asked me in that annoying squeal he gets when I’m doing something he doesn’t like. So I told him that man needed change and then Henry was even more annoyed and I stopped dead and hissed, “I KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE, OK!?” God, fuck you, Henry. Like he would know anything about what people like us go through everyday!
• Found my wallet in my huge fucking hobo purse later on Wednesday evening, so you know…turns out that whole panhandling incident didn’t need to happen. Um, but at least it gave Janna a chance to show for the millionth time what a great friend she is?
• If there’s one thing this whole Duck Dynasty fiasco has taught me, it’s that I’m friends with A LOT of radical homophobes on Facebook. I’ve been on a “hide from timeline” frenzy.
• In approximately 30 minutes, I’m done with work until next Thursday so I guess I better start getting into Christmas mode. We still haven’t really done any shopping! And we’re having a Christmas Eve party! I AM SO UNMOTIVATED SUDDENLY.

When Debbie S. suggested a few weeks ago that we organize a department Secret Santa, my vote was of the FUCK YES variety. I love surprising people almost as much as I love pranking them! And then I proceeded to do nothing while she did 100% of the planning and organizing. Debbie set a budget of $10 for the gift exchange, plus 5 days of $1 gift-giving during the week leading up to the big reveal/office holiday party. We somehow managed to get a good 15 or so people to sign up and I was excited because some of the people were co-workers that I don’t get to interact with very much, so I would have been happy no matter who I picked because I think it would have been fun to get someone random and then ALWAYS HAVE THAT CREEPY SANTA BOND with them.

Kind of like Stockholm Syndrome?
No?

The day of the name-drawing, I was walking past Sue’s office right after I picked my co-worker Sherry to be the receiver of my Santa-ly sneaking.

“Did you know those two bullied Glenn into signing up at the last minute?” Sue laughed as she gestured toward Debbie and Barb’s desks. “That man deserves combat pay!”

My immediate reaction was, “OMG I hope he didn’t get me!” and Sue started cracking up even harder.

By the time I made it back to my office, I already had an email from one very generous co-worker (OMG it was totally Bridget) which said, “I got your #1 frenemy” and then proposed A TRADE.

So that’s how Glenn wound up with me as his Secret Santa. (And that’s coincidentally also how Sherry wound up getting much better gifts than she would have.) His list of $10 gift options included: a Wines and Spirits gift card, a Starbucks gift card, or “any food item.” OH REALLY GLENN. At first I was like, “Asian Market, holla.” But then I got a better idea. Because this is Christmas after all, and I didn’t want to be a total asshole and waste Henry’s money on a bunch of bullshit that he’ll end up throwing away, because—ew. But, more on that later.

Do you know how hard it was for me to keep my mouth shut and just be cool about this? Really fucking hard. And I think I did OK, but there were a select handful of people here who knew (Barb immediately forgot though, so that’s good), and I quickly learned that if I just avoided eye contact with Glenn at all costs, I wouldn’t start cracking up and totally out myself as his big-bellied present-dropper.

And I was really subtle about it too! The first day I left him a candy bar that had beef jerky in it. The fact that it was being sold at Target and not out of the back of Jim Bob’s John Deere made it seem like this was an OK thing to give someone, and even Henry agreed that it was a manly candy bar and I was like, “How the hell would you know?”

His next gift was a One Direction journal, which I thought was useful because he goes to meetings sometimes and who doesn’t like to write their name 13,987 times on scratch paper, placemats, war monuments and bathroom stalls? That can’t be just me. Then I bought him some stuff from Big Fun when I was in Clevland last week, like a tiny book of office wisdom, a mini Vanilla Ice cassette case full of gum, and an Office Brown Noser that grows in water. All good things, yet no bombs or things with his face on it, so why would he think it was me?

Meanwhile, I was getting candy and nail polish every day, which was AWESOME. (On my list of things I wanted, I put: nail polish, cheap jewelry and exotic fruit.) I was convinced that my Secret Santa was either a boy or me, because I got chocolate-covered pretzel rods wrapped in a CVS bag and everything else was delivered in plain white envelopes. And boys, like me, don’t generally get into the whole “wrapping” thing. Especially the ones here, I wouldn’t imagine.

I don’t know what happened to my Day 4 photo, but Day 5 was a set of cotton candy scented nail polish wrapped with a Little Tykes advertisement, which made me laugh. My Secret Santa made coming to work way more enjoyable!

So for the final gift exchange, I did one better than a Wine and Spirits gift card and instead bought $10 worth of mini liquor bottles.

And then I designed Glenn-centric labels because you know I have to put his face on everything. (When my friend Elizabeth found out I was Glenn’s Secret Santa, she replied to me on Twitter: Did you put his face on all his presents?)

I’m not going to tell you the duress that Processor Punch caused me. Maybe another day, but I promise you I was a fraction of a centimeter away from shattering my phalanges and knuckles on a plaster wall.

And Other Glenny Flavors.

Glenn is a processor here at the Law Firm, which means he does stuff that I don’t care to understand. All I know about processors is that they import batches and sometimes refer to something called a synonym list. I wanted to incorporate those things on the Processor Punch label so that the processors could laugh while no one else would care. LET THEM HAVE THEIR MOMENT, YOU KNOW? Yes, even Mean Amber.

So that’s where “This batch was imported!

” and “On the synonym list for delicious” came from. I was pretty proud of it because it shows that I have learned something in the almost-four years I’ve been here.

40% Orphan Tears, you guys. Because Glenn is a sonofabitch.

But the real present was a box of oversized cupcakes modeled after the infamous Glenn Would Rather Be Riding The Wacky Worm incident of 2011. Glenn actually still has this hanging up on his desk because it was clearly the best thing to ever happen to him. I turned him into a Law Firm celebrity, basically! OK, not really.

Henry made the cupcakes and brought them to me the night before so that I wouldn’t have to carry them on the trolley the next day, because he’s such a fucking peach.

(As it turns out, I didn’t take the trolley that day after all, but that’s another story to tell at the same time I tell the other story I said I was going to tell.)

So I got to work yesterday, with all of my things, totally giddy because I couldn’t wait to give Glenn his stuff, when Mean Amber was actually being Nice Amber long enough to point out that the gift exchange was scheduled for 2:30 that day AND GLENN LEAVES AT 2:30. I had been having A Day so this was enough to put me over the edge and I almost cried real tears when I told Barb, whose best solution was to send an email to the department reminding everyone that Glenn and Sherry both leave at 2:30 (so I would have been screwed either way!) and their Secret Santas should think about giving them their shit sooner rather than later. I didn’t like this solution, because I wanted all of the Secret Santa players to be there when Glenn was being humiliated. :(

My boss Joy saw how upset I was, and agreed that everyone should be there, but instead of just emailing the group doing the Secret Santa thing, she replied to Barb’s departmental email, essentially telling the WHOLE DEPARTMENT to meet her at Glenn’s desk now. God love her. Thankfully, not the entire department showed up (most of them don’t like being told what to do) but a lot of non-Secret Santa people did mosey on over and you could tell they were thoroughly confused as to why they were being commanded to stop doing work and watch Glenn open presents of his face.

Anyway, he was totally thrilled, if not a little stunned as to why a small crowd of oglers had surrounded his desk. He even proudly took down his Wacky Worm picture and held it up next to the cupcakes so everyone could see. And then Nate said I win at Secret Santa, so I wasn’t as stressed out after that. Thank you, Nate, for always saying the right things!

“Where did you get that beef jerky candy bar?” Glenn asked.

“Why, did it make you sick?” I tentatively asked.

“No, it was actually pretty good,” he admitted. Dammit.

You guys, I am just so bored here sometimes (all of the times) that when I get an opportunity to have a little bit of fun, I fucking run with it. I would have still had fun with any other name I could have drawn, but getting to be Glenn’s Secret Santa totally made my holiday season, so thanks for looking out for me, Bridget!

I wanted to also make him a Starbucks-esque mix CD of Lilith Fair Christmas songs, but my fucking CD burner quit working.

(I also got Glenn a rubber band gun, what was I thinking??)

Then at 2:30, everyone’s Secret Santas were finally revealed! Only one person guessed correctly. And mine wasn’t a boy after all! It was Rachel, which explains why all of her tags were printed out because I used to work on this monster of a spreadsheet for her so I’d recognize her handwriting in a heartbeat. Especially if it was written in red ink. Anyway, my final gift was a bunch of bracelets that I love and I’m wearing three of them right now as I type this.

Me, Cheryl and Rachel.

But the moral of the story is that for a week, everyone got to be excited about something and it was so awesome seeing people giddily sneak around, trying to put stuff on their person’s desk while they were away. I suggested that we do this as often as we can, like have Clandestine Cupids, Lurking Leprechauns, Mystery Martin Luther Kings Jrs….? Yay? Nay?

Found these old diary pages from when I was 8.

I only filled three pages of that diary, probably because my two year old brother, Ryan, had beaten me so badly that I was unable to hold a pen.

I’m totally not that dramatic anymore. Thank god, right? RIGHT?

Today’s earlier post was way more bitter than I originally intended (I feel much better now though!), so here is a festive photo of Chooch wearing a slightly-too-large sweatshirt Henry bought him at the Never Shout Never show last week.

I don’t think he’s fully recovered yet, by the way. Saturday night, Janna was hanging out with us and he was telling her about how Christofer Drew took the wolf hat from him and wore it. Flipping the hat in his hands, Chooch murmured to Janna, “And now Christofer Drew’s ghost is in my hat.” It was fucking adorable. Sometimes he says sweet shit like that and I’m like, “Who are you?”

Last night, after Henry and I sent Chooch to bed, we could hear him in his room singing songs from the “Indigo” album, a cappella. Again, it was fucking adorable.

But then this morning he was a total asshole and a complete jerk to be around, so all is balanced again.

Saturday afternoon was gross and snowy, but Henry PROMISED us all week that we could go to the Kickback Cafe, so I held him to it. (Which is a nice way of saying I nagged him all fucking morning until he threw his hands up in defeat and we all paraded to the car.)

Kickback Café is a place where you can eat a sandwich, drink a latte and PLAY MOTHERFUCKING PINBALL. Props to my brother Corey for the pro tip about this place! I guess it hasn’t been there very long, but it’s in Lawrenceville and I am waaaaay out of the loop when it comes to knowing about the cool shit popping up in this flourishing section of Pittsburgh. Back in MY day, it was the Southside that had all the cool shit, but now most everything that was awesome about that town has been turned into some generic meat-head bar so fuck the Southside amirite. (Except for Zenith!!)

I had a grilled cheese, because what else is new. Chooch also had a grilled cheese and who cares what Henry had. Something with copious slabs of meat on it, I’m sure.

I hated this pinball machine. First, I couldn’t get it to start because I’m too dumb to read the instructions, so Angry Henry had to help me, and then every last one of my stupid balls went right down the drain thing. I suck.

You know who else is phenomenally bad at pinball? MY SON:

Henry didn’t smile once. God Henry, what will make you happy?! Besides sleeping, Ted Nugent and doing crafts?! What else does he even like, I don’t even know! Maybe we need to send the guy to a strip club. Henry, do you like strippers? Oh wait—yes. Yes, you do.

I don’t ever look at prices, but according to Henry, this was an expensive “casual lunch at a pinball café.” He was none too pleased about it, but Chooch and I were happy! And that’s all that matters, remember Henry?

The tables downstairs are made to look like pinball bumpers! HOW GODDAMN ADORABLE IS THAT.

I just remembered that I hate pinball. But it was still fun! And the guy and girl working there were super nice and not mean at all like you would think people with TATTOOS AND PIERCINGS would be, OMGGG.

(^^^a joke.)

So to conclude, if you like any combination of sandwiches, hot beverages and pinball, then you would like this place. If you hate those things or Lawrenceville has a PFA against you, then you probably shouldn’t go there. Maybe find a slot machine sushi place instead.

I never in a million years would have thought that one day I would be taking my seven-year-old son to a show at the motherfucking Grog Shop. Yet, there we were, 7:30 on a Wednesday night, with our kid at the Grog Shop.

I guess it must seem weird, or maybe even like shitty parenting, to some people. But you have to understand, he doesn’t have a mild affection for this band’s music. He has devoured every last song by Never Shout Never that he has gotten his hands on ever since this obsession started. He knows song names, what album they’re on, every last word in the lyrics. So I didn’t really have a problem with the occassional double-take we’d get from other fans at the venue. Are we letting him do shots of Jack at the bar? No. So STFU.

However, he still is only 7, after all, and his attention span reflects that quite clearly. So for the two openers (Front Porch Step and Nick Santino—both were wonderful, btw), Chooch was super ornery and whiny until Henry scouted an area by the merch tables where Chooch could sit. There was kind of like this long black wooden booth up against the window, and Chooch laid on his stomach back there and read his Simpsons book until Never Shout Never came on. It was kind of nice, because I was able to enjoy the first two singers in peace.

Around 8:30, manic outburts of “CHRIS, I LOVE YOU!!!” reverberated around the Grog Shop and Chooch snapped to attention. (He gets so annoyed at those girls though, and kept yelling, “NO YOU DON’T!!!”) They played until around 10:00, I guess, this intimate acoustic set full of quick banter and I realized that I really do like these guys. Thanks, Chooch! They’re entertaining as fuck.

Our friend Jason was at the show as well, and in lieu of a polite “hello,” Chooch opted to march up to him and demand, “I WANT TO MEET CHRISTOFER DREW!” He knows that Jason is the editor of a certain Cleveland-based music magazine, so for a second there, I was left wondering when I became the mom of Veruca Salt. Chooch is usually pretty good about not being a spoiled brat. USUALLY.

“Yeah, well I want to meet Christina Hendricks, but that’s not going to happen,” Jason countered. I was so embarrassed. I don’t like asking people for favors, ever, because it makes me feel like a user. So I gave Chooch a good rap on the head for that one.

So Chooch went back to standing on his seat (it was the only way he could see the stage) and trying to guess what each song was going to be based on the background stories Christofer would preface them with. He was so smug when he guessed “Piggy Bank” and I guessed “Sell Out” but he was right. So for the next 15,000 days, it’s going to be, “Remember when you guessed ‘Sell Out’ and were WRONG?!” Ugh.

At the time, I thought the highlight of the night for me was going to be when Chooch sang along loudly to Lost At Sea. I love listening to Chooch sing, and I wish I had recorded him that night, but I was too in the moment.

We cheered when they played “On the Brightside” and “California,” and Chooch got big ideas when Christofer hung upside down from the rafters. (And I instinctively slapped my hand over my chest and panicked, because I’m a mom now and that is what moms do.)

And then Chooch kept screaming, “PLAY ‘TRAMPOLINE‘!!!!” and everyone in front of us would turn around to see who was screaming but Chooch would promptly duck and I’d be the only asshole left standing, so after the fourth time, these kids were probably thinking, “Dang, that old lady REALLY wants to hear ‘Trampoline’!”

(They never did play it. And this old lady really did want them to!)

“If I ever meet them, I’m going to ask them how to buy Sunflower!” Chooch spat, because he is very angry that their last album was released as a digital download. He likes to buys CDs and have the full, tangible experience of pulling out the liner notes and poring over the lyrics. In other words, he is certainly my kid.

Anyway, after the show, we milled about and chatted with Jason for a little while, and the guy behind the Front Porch Step moniker gave Chooch a free poster, which was totally sweet. I really wanted his album but asshole Henry didn’t have any cash left on him, SO HE SAYS.

Meanwhile, Jason excused himself, saying he would be right back. Because I’m super naive, I didn’t think much of it. Chooch wasn’t in any  hurry to leave anyway, because once the crowd cleared out, the floor of the Grog Shop opened up into an open-spaced paradise, so he ran around doing round-offs and other scary parkour-y things, and we became Those Parents who bring their kid into a bar and let him do gymnastics. (In my defense, no one seemed to fucking care!)

So then Jason came back and asked me how old Chooch was. Still, my naivete prevailed. Until Henry was like, “He’s trying to get Chooch back there to meet the band, dummy.” So then I got all sweaty-palmed and panicky.

“Well, we’re going to have to try and get past all these girls,” Jason sighed, nodding toward the throng of salivating Christofer Drew groupies congregating in the tiny hallway outside of the backstage room door. This also happens to be the way to get to the restrooms, which Chooch had already visited once that night, so he was like, “Why are we following Jason to the bathroom?” I told him to just keep walking, and his mouth was going non-stop as usual. Seven-year-olds, right? They never fucking shut up!

So all these girls are like “WTF!?” when the guy guarding the door steps to the side to let us through, and Chooch is still clueless. Jason knocks on the door, and Chooch is still rambling away as we all walk into this small room. I stepped out of the way to give Chooch an unobstructed view, and that was when he realized that he was about 3 feet away from Christofer Drew. He looked like he was going to melt into the floor.

We all moved aside so that Chooch could step into the middle of the room and everyone stood up to greet him and shake his hand. Aside from Christofer, there are just two other guys in the band, Taylor and Hayden, and they were all so kind and sweet to us. But when Christofer was standing in front of Chooch, shaking his hand and asking him questions, Chooch absolutely clammed up. I think he literally lost the ability to speak, you guys, and I have never, not once, seen my kid that speechless. Not in 7 years. And then he started doing this thing with his hands, placing them on his face and pulling them in opposite directions, like he was actually trying to rip his skin open and step out of it.

There was a moment when he quickly turned his head away from Christofer and closed his eyes shut real tight and his face became flushed. I could tell he was fighting tears, and my heart broke in a million shards. This kid was in some fucking state of agony, and suddenly I began to recount all the times I got to meet bands that meant so much to me and lost my voice while standing in their presence. It’s beautiful torture. And somehow, my son is experiencing this at a very young age. I don’t know if I should be happy about this or pity him.

So with Chooch being speechless, I had to do the talking but I was nervous as fuck too! I could hear my voice shaking but I powered on for Chooch, and told them all how much of an inspiration they’ve been to him, how I have never seen him with such a vested interest in music before them. I mean, he likes other bands, sure. He likes Pierce the Veil and Chiodos, the Summer Set and We Came As Romans, but not anything that even comes close to matching this. Their music makes him thoughtful. We talk to each other about the lyrics and what they mean. They’ve opened up this emotional outlet in him that most kids probably don’t discover until they’re teenagers, I’m sure.

But he’s seven, and he doesn’t know how to tell them that. So he stood there in stunned silence. And then he held his wolf hat out to Christofer who took it from him and said, “This is a good style” before swapping out his own hat with it, and then placing his mini-top hat on Chooch’s head.

I’m pretty sure Chooch might have pissed himself. Just a little. Christofer pulled two guitar picks out of his pocket and gave them to Chooch, and definitely he pissed himself then.

Then Taylor said he likes his shoes Christofer said his Never Shout Never shirt was trippy, and Chooch was so overwhelmed by this that he had squeezed himself into a corner in between my back and the door. Taylor set out a folding chair for him in case he changed his mind and wanted to come out of hiding. And then he offered him a bottle of water, which Chooch was surprisingly able to activate enough of his motor skills to take from him.

“I’ve literally never seen him so quiet,” I told everyone.

“Oh, I know!” Jason remarked. “He was talking non-stop out there!”

Chooch kept whispering to me, “Mommy, I’m so shy. I’M.SO.SHY.” But he’s not shy. He was starstruck. I think the closest I ever came to that feeling as a kid was when I wrote a letter to Melissa Brennan, who played Jenn Horton on Days of Our Lives (I have been referencing this damn show so much lately, what the fuck) and she sent me back an autographed headshot with a hand-written letter thanking me for my support. I thought she was the fucking Queen of England after that. But I can tell you for a fact that my awe back in 1988 was nothing in comparison to what Chooch was feeling in that precise moment on 12/11/13.

I wonder what would have happened if I had told him beforehand that he was going to get to meet them. Henry thinks Chooch wouldn’t have been able to go through with it.  I kind of think it was fun to go the sneak-attack approach.

We got to hang out with them for about 20 minutes and I can’t stress enough how incredibly generous they were to make time to meet with Chooch. Between them and Jason, they gave Chooch such a great gift and I will never be able to thank them enough. Jason didn’t have to go out on a limb like this for us, and those guys certainly didn’t have to say yes. This may have been the best moment for me as a parent, to date, and I just want to start sending everyone fruit baskets or something. What the fuck is wrong with me!?

This is what matters. This is the shit I want to give my kid. Not Xbox and whatever the “in” toy is this year. I want to give him memories and experiences, things that he’ll look back on as an adult, things that will shape who he becomes. I promise you that nothing he could unwrap on Christmas morning could take his words away like that.

***

After promising them all that we would be careful driving back to Pittsburgh, they all shook our hands again (mine was SO HOT OMG, I’m sorry Never Shout Never) and we had to re-brave the horde of girls outside the door.

We parted ways with Jason outside the Grog Shop after thanking him profusely for literally making our kid’s dream come true. After we walked about a block away, Chooch totally lost it and started SOBBING.

Kid, I know the feeling.

In the car, I jokingly said to Henry, “We should have told Christofer about how Chooch screams that he wishes he was his dad every time he gets mad at you.”

“Yeah,” Henry laughed. “That wouldn’t have been awkward.”

It turned out to be A Really Good Thing that Henry was able to go to Cleveland with us after all, otherwise you’d have to address our Christmas card to:

Erin & Chooch

A Snowdrift

Cleveland, OH

Whatever Zip Code

In other words, it started snowing almost as soon as we crossed the Ohio state line, but what else is new when we go to Ohio between the months of November and April? And then of course we hit rush hour, so by the time we made it Cleveland Heights, we didn’t have as much time as I had hoped before the Never Shout Never show started.

Henry had to deal with aquiring quarters for the parking garage meter and told us to just go on without him. Literally, all Chooch and I had to do was cross the street and walk straight into Big Fun. It seemed like for sure something we could without Henry’s supervision, and there was even a handy crosswalk right there too.

But for some reason, right as we stepped onto the curb after a victorious street-crossing session, Chooch was figeting with his coat and said, “Help me.” He didn’t cry it out, he wasn’t waving a white flag, he just simply said the words, “help me.” At that precise moment, a middle-aged woman was walking by and before I had a chance to ask Chooch what he needed help with, the woman stopped dead in her tracks and in a voice rife with concern, she asked Chooch if he was OK.

He just looked at her without saying anything, because, ew, stranger. So I answered for him and said he was fine.

“ARE YOU SURE?” she persisted, searching his face for some sign of an amber alert.

We both nervously mumbled “yes” and started to walk past her.

“Are you going in there?” she asked, gesturing toward the awesome Cleveland toy store, Big Fun.

I nodded and she said, “Here, let me get that” and cut us off so that she could open the door for us, which I guess was nice, but I was really paranoid at this point. And then she followed us inside far enough to make sure we safe, I guess, before retreating.

I still have no idea what Chooch needed help with, and he was too distracted by Simpsons memorabilia at that point to tell me. Then it occurred to me that Chooch and I probably look like lost, shivering foreigners when we’re out in the cold on our own, so props to that lady for her concern, I guess.

After buying some Secret Santa goods at Big Fun, we walked down the street to Tommy’s for dinner. I can’t believe how many times I’ve been on that street in Cleveland, killing time before shows at the Grog Shop, and have never once bothered to step inside this seemingly unassuming restaurant. But then one day awhile back, Henry was all, “Hey did you know that there’s a vegetarian place right by the Grog Shop?” They serve meat-things there too, but the vegetarian selections are staggering. There aren’t many places where I can eat a grilled tempeh sandwich while Chooch and Henry nosh on cow.

A few minutes after I ordered a sandwich named after my Catholic School Mom-Nemesis’s daughter and vowed to savor every last bite, I casually looked over  to me left and saw the Concerned Passerby, sitting alone at a table against a wall, totally staring me down. I quickly whipped my head back around and tried to avoid ever looking that direction again for the rest of my life, but of course my eyes kept accidentally roaming, because that’s what they do, accidentally make creepy eye contact with strangers. And without fail, my roaming eyes were rewarded with reciprocal stares every fucking time, why was she staring at me-he-he-he!?!?!?!??!

But then my Catholic School Mom Nemesis’s Daughter was placed before me and my eyes were too busy staring at that loaded motherfucker each time it was rhythmically raised up to my gnashing maw, so I forgot about Concerned Passerby for awhile.

“This is definitely in the top 5 sandwiches I’ve ever eaten,” I moaned to Henry.

“What are the other 4?” he asked.

“Nothing you made,” I retorted.

And then Concerned Passerby slammed her hand down on the table and cried out urgently, “YOU DROPPED SOMETHING!” My heart began to race, thinking I was being set up for a mugging, but her heads-up was directed toward the family at the table next to us. I watched the dad jump up in panic and retrieve something from the floor, but it must have been something not very great because he didn’t seem very concerned at all when he plunked the mystery object back down on the table. I’m going to go out on a limb here and wager that it was a crayon.

But then it made sense. She was just an aggressive good samaritan who thought she was doing good things, not raising blood pressures. And she was also clearly a little mentally-challenged, so that explains why she was so drawn to me and Chooch.

I won’t lie though, I did check my coat pockets after that to make sure her outburst wasn’t a diversion to pickpocket the Icebreaker Sours in my pocket. They were still there.

My compact is missing though.

Currently on our way to Cleveland for the Never Shout Never show AND HENRY IS WITH US! Yay! He had me thinking for like a month that Chooch & I were on our own for this.

K bye!

The weather in Pittsburgh took a turn for the worse late Friday afternoon and it was starting to look like we weren’t going to be able to make the Goblin show. The fact that I was dismissed from work around 4:00 because it was starting to SLEET was a pretty good indication that the roads might not be OK. (I could even hear the ice pelting my office window.)

I took the trolley home and it didn’t seem too bad. But Henry the Weatherman was all, “LET’S JUST WAIT AND SEE OK IT’S SUPPOSED TO GET WORSE.” That is definitely not what I was trying to hear, you guys.

Finally around 5:30 I started to cry so he huffily stuffed his blue collar feet into his boots and left to pick up his mom so that she could babysit for us. It took them a really long time to come back so I admittedly felt pangs of guilt, like maybe the roads really were super terrible and they had skidded off into a ditch and were being devoured by wolves. Because that happens a LOT in Pittsburgh. But they made it back and I was all, “HOORAY LET’S GO NOW OK BYE CHOOCH!”

And we experienced approximately zero problems getting to Homestead, so take that, Pittsburgh metereologists.

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to snow really hard tonight, so it will probably be a mess by the time we leave,” Henry warned wisely. God, he always has to be so negative.

We had about 45 minutes to kill before the doors officially opened, and since we had never been to this particular venue for a show before, we basically roamed around with question marks over our heads. When we’re lost, we’re obviously lost. But then a staff member informed us that we could go to “the bar,” which was basically a cold, cafeteria-esque room with a bunch of bottles of Barefoot wine and some guy slinging slices of pizza out of a box.

As usual, I wasn’t paying attention and failed to notice that there was a wine list taped to the counter in front of my face, and thought my only choice of wine was merlot, which is not my favorite wine at all, but that’s OK. I was too excited to be a bitch about it. (For once.)

Henry bought a slice of pizza and a plate of weird, frozen mini cheesecake thingies for me. Definitely the most interesting food I’ve ever eaten at a concert. But then, I don’t usually eat at concerts so there’s that.

We had fun sitting there and guessing who was going to go home and murder someone after the show. But mostly everyone there was pretty chill. And old! For once, Henry was at a show for his own demographic! I think I was the youngest person there. One of the youngest, anyway, which was a nice change.

We made our way back to the music hall entrance around 7:30 and lingered around the merch table where I chanted, “Can I please get a poster? Can I please get a poster? Buy me something. Buy me something,” until Henry walked away and hid in the mens room. Of course I’m going to gravitate toward a $30 poster and not a $5 patch.

Henry was mad that his genuine smile in this picture got so much attention on Facebook, so he tried to force-frown for this one. Look at him, wearing a non-Faygo t-shirt!

The Carnegie Music Hall is super beautiful! When I ordered our tickets last October, I chose two seats in the balcony because I fucking love balconies.

And then I proceeded to spend two months panicking that the seats were going to suck.

They did not, in fact, suck. Well, view-wise, anyway. My friend Sandy had warned me earlier that day at work that the seats are really uncomfortable and that we should bring something to sit on. Of course, I ignored her sage advice and almost immediately upon sitting, I found myself wishing that my ass actually had MORE padding.

I texted Sandy immediately to verify that her assessment of the seats was painfully accurate. “We saw Kevin Smith there last year and I thought I was going to be paralyzed,” she swore. Luckily, the opening band—Zombi—took the stage precisely at 8 so we were slightly distracted from our tailbones’ misery…for a few minutes, anyway.

Henry and I saw Zombi back in 2004 when they opened for Q and Not U at the World (better known to most Pittsburghers as Rosebud). They’re actually from Pittsburgh, so it was really cool to see that they snagged the opening spot for the second  leg of Goblin’s North American tour.

Zombi is just two guys, one on synthesizers and bass,  and one on drums. I don’t remember very much from when I saw them nine years ago,  but I was definitely on board Friday night. Their music is very atmospheric and spacey, with just enough eeriness to leave you feeling unsettled. It made me think of the music I tried to play on my shitty Casio keyboard when I was in elementary and REALLY INTO recording myself telling horror stories that I made up on the fly. (They were as great as you probably imagine them to be, with lots of abrupt cries of anguish when I would fuck up for the millionth time and have to rewind and re-record.) They also did the score for the horror movie Murder, Set, Pieces, so that automatically makes them cool in my book. Not that my book matters for much, but you know.

I appreciated that the stage lights changed color every time a new song started. That was probably extremely helpful for those not able to keep up.

Henry was honestly asleep in his awful wooden seat before the first song was over.

Zombi finished their set before 9:00PM and I was overjoyed to stand up. Henry and I had the last two seats in our row, so we mostly lingered in the small space next to our row for the entire duration of intermission. That’s not true; Henry went to buy contraband M&Ms at one point and smuggled them back in. I thought for sure he was going to come back with the fucking poster I wanted but he was clearly staying true to his cheap ass ways.

My lumbar was on fire from that seat. I literally put my back against the wall and slid all the way down into a crouch, like I was attempting to birth a child in the wild, and not caring about what it must have looked like to all of the middle-aged geeks in their various Dario Argento t-shirts. I’m certain that Elizabeth Bathory had furniture akin to those seats in her torture chamber. Totally barbaric.

Goblin came on right around 9:00 though and I mostly sat lurched forward the entire time in excitement, which simultaneously kept me nice and stretched, so that was nice!

Sometimes I get bored really easily when bands don’t sing, and I was honestly afraid that this would be the case that night. I didn’t know what to expect, and I’m kind of glad I went into this without ever YouTube’ing their live performances. From the moment they took the stage, it was motherfucking electric. They killed it on every song and it was pretty difficult to lose interest when there were so many talented musicians on that stage to ogle.  And they brought this creepy (in a good way) interpretive dancer with them who totally made my skin crawl every time she came out. She really added that extra punch of Scary to the songs she performed on.

Goblin performing the “Suspiria” theme!! The dancer came out in full-blown Susie Banyon-mode and I almost peed my dumb pants. Goblin more than likely never would have been on my radar had it not been for my love of “Suspiria.” When Janna and I were walking to Gina and Elissa’s Christmas party on Saturday, I asked Janna if she remembered how obsessively I looked for a copy of that movie in high school (this was back when you had to get out the phone book and start calling around to video rental stores, you guys. Oh, the horror!) and how I made her and Lisa come over to watch it when I finally found a Blockbuster that carried it, and as if that wasn’t adequate, I also had one of them take my picture standing next to the TV after pausing it on the title screen. And Janna was like, “Um, yes. And fuck you for making me walk to a Christmas party in 18 degree weather when I’m a Jew with poor circulation.”

When I like something, I REALLY LIKE IT.

I really can’t describe how special this night was for me. All of it was great, I was 100% enrapt for each song and I loved that they incorporated film snippets on a screen at the back of the stage, but when Massimo Morante (who. from where I sat, looked exactly like Henry’s mom in a black wig) was handed a bouzouki*, I just knew it was time for “Suspiria” AND I WAS RIGHT, GODDAMMIT.

*(I originally thought this was a mandolin, but figured maybe for once in my life I could actually fact-check a thing before writing it.)

It was the most incredible feeling, to sit there and literally be enveloped in the notes of that song that has stuck with me for so many years. Goosebump City, is what I’m trying to say here.

The dancer came back during the “Zombi” theme and danced as a, wait for it, zombie. Duh. She was scaring me!

God, aging Italian prog rock musicians are just so fucking adorable! Especially when they can just barely speak English. It was a really special evening and I am so glad that the snow didn’t stop us from hearing this music that manages to be beautiful yet so spine-tingling all at once. And did I mention that our very own Henry Robbins APPLAUDED after every single song? Because he did. I couldn’t believe it. I thought he only applauded for Judas Priest!

The whole night was really incredible and we walked out of there knowing without a doubt that we had just witnessed something special. If you have never heard of Goblin before, I seriously urge you to turn off all of your lights and YouTube them. And then go buy their albums!

Here, let me help you with that:

Oh, and guess who got that poster?

I can’t wait to find  a majestic frame for it!

****

The next morning, I made Henry’s mom listen to Goblin.

“This isn’t bad!” she exclaimed with what sounded like shock in her voice. “I could honestly listen to this!”

It was probably the most bonding moment I’ve ever had with her, until she started talking about her neighbor’s band.

“He plays that real hard rock stuff,” she spat. “You know, like that Rod Stewart stuff.” And then I ruined our bonding moment by laughing.

Cemeteries, Chooch stewing in a wheelchair, me & an uncharacteristically (god that word seems way longer than I remember) smiley Henry, Marcy with an American Horror Story backdrop, my big fat ring, Henry craning his neck to see what’s going on with Vampire Diaries even though he pretends to think it’s stupid. (And it is stupid anymore.)

Aside from that, I’m just eating pizza, listening to 80s music (Chooch learned that you NEVER EVER TALK DURING TOTO’S AFRICA, GOD!!), and waiting for Janna to come over so we can go over Gina and Elissa’s and stare at their Christmas tree. I’m making Janna walk there so we can both drink, but it’s like 18 degrees out so I’m sure she just can’t fucking wait. I actually wasn’t going to tell her we are going to walk there but then Henry had to butt in and say, “YOU BETTER TELL HER SO SHE CAN WEAR BOOTS SINCE THERE IS SNOW EVERYWHERE.” Christ, he’s such a Father.

Being friends with me isn’t a cake walk, you guy.

I don’t fucking know what a cake walk is.

Have a good weekend! OR ELSE.

Let’s pretend for a moment that Henry goes by “Hank” so that I can call this year’s autumnal feast “Hanksgiving” without anyone asking me why.

There was only one reason I wanted to host Hanksgiving this year, and no, it wasn’t because I wanted to drive Henry to a stress-induced heart attack. I just wanted to put together a nice, memorable evening for Chooch, Corey, Janna, Laura and Mike because let’s face it: holidays just aren’t what they used to be. Especially if you don’t have any or much family in town. But that’s no reason to surrender to seasonal misery!

I have such a love/hate relationship with Thanksgiving. I loved it as a kid because hello: time off from school! Food! Parades! But what I didn’t like was suffering through whatever family feud was playing out at the moment, someone was always giving someone the silent treatment, my grandma was always taking passive aggressive jabs at me. And then some years we would go to my dad’s parents’ house and that was always uncomfortable. I wasn’t really close with any of them, and my dad was always losing his patience with his mom. It was just awkward.

But they did have that electric organ I loved to play…and Grandma Kelly’s homemade buckeyes….OK, maybe those Thanksgivings weren’t too bad.

And then as an adult, after my parents divorced, my mom would kind of try to put together nice Thanksgivings for us, but there was always that underlying bitterness and creepy facade of normalcy. Like you just expected the walls to crumble in. I would typically end up leaving in tears and then going home to drink Maniscevitz “wine” alone. That’s not what I want for Chooch! I want him to grow up with good feelings associated with holidays.

And even though I told everyone it would be a casual affair, I still wanted to make it pretty. We even used real plates as opposed to the paper fare we slopped food upon the last time we hosted Hanksgiving (back when we were still calling it THANKSgiving like the rest of you weirdos).

Corey was even surprised when he found out I used real flowers on the table, and not fake ones, haha.

REAL.

Chooch was clearly stoked! He gets really hyper and excited when he knows people are coming over, and he unfortunately got too crazy and ended up pissing off Laura immediately after she arrived. I’m still not sure what happened, but hey, what’s a holiday without tears? Made it seem that much more “down home.”

He just wants to entertain, you guys. That’s all.

We ran out of chairs so I conveniently used my wheelchair to sit at the head of the table. “Are you sitting in a wheelchair?!” Corey asked in disgust as he sat down to eat. “I hate you. In the best possible way.” My dream, in case you’re new here, is to buy a house and then have Henry build a dining room table out of pallets or old disgusting doors and then have all old wheelchairs as the seats.

REAL FLOWERS, OMG. This is what I did while Henry slaved away over various food-things in the kitchen: made things look nice to distract from the rest of our shitty shanty. Although, to be honest, we’ve been slowly sprucing things up as best as we can muster in a place we don’t own. And it’s been nearly a week and the house is still clean! At least the rooms that we can’t hide behind closed doors, anyway. My bedroom still looks like a dorm room.

I sliced that cheese!! And placed the deviled eggs accordingly! I was really excited for Hanksgiving, obviously. I used to love hosting parties when I was younger and the house was nicer and I WAS SINGLE. But you know, things change.

Henry made this cheese! I bought him a DIY cheese kit because I buy him things that I will benefit from. That cheese was some good shit, too. Even though Laura looked horrified when I told her it was homemade. :( Whatever, it made me feel like a legit hostess.

Speaking of Laura and homemade and cheese, Mike brought some sort of amazing creamed corn side dish that was loaded, and I mean LOADED, with cheese. I wanted to swim in it while “accidentally” forgetting to close my mouth.

 This is normal at our house.

Here is Janna, probably scolding me for something. Speaking of Janna, she brought these sweet potatoes that were absolutely drunk off bourbon. Holy shit, were they good.

I wish I had some right now.

Mike’s first tofurky! He was already sliding some onto his plate before he found out what it was. You can see how excited he was! EAT IT! EAT IT!

Corey gives hanks for tofurky. Can I also just say that this is only the third time in my life I have been BLESSED enough to have tofurky on (T)hanksgiving?? Henry usually “forgets” to buy it, and one year he bought it but then “forgot” to cook it. One of the only Thanksgivings I had it was at my mom’s house. Henry made it at home and we brought it with us and I was ridiculed mercilessly by my aunts to the point that I almost didn’t eat it. It was traumatizing! My mom kept making puking noises everytime I cut into it.

Even from a non-vegetarian standpoint, I genuinely like tofurky! That shit they stuff it with is the bomb.

I think that might have been the first time I called something the bomb. Better than “all that and a bag of chips,” I guess.

Not pictured: persimmon pudding. Oh for Christ’s sake, who has four desserts for eight people? So ridiculous. Shout out to Sandy for the cake hook-up!

Chooch ate approximately nothing. Sadly, his older brothers were unable to make it, because they could have shown him how to eat a Hanksgiving dinner.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I would consider the first official Hanksgiving a success. THANK YOU, HENRY. Maybe next year he will finally let me invite some vagabonds. Perhaps by then we’ll have more wheelchairs.

Pee Wee’s ass wants to wish you all a Happy Hanksgiving.