My big contribution for Thanksgiving was making punch(es). I took this extremely seriously because alcohol is such an important component to holidays, especially for people who are prone to stress-cries. Plus, Henry FINALLY finished that desk/cabinet thingie I found in the garage over the summer (apparently painting chevron stripes takes time) and I definitely wanted to build everything else around that. Because that’s how my mind works. Also, because I’m obsessed with it.

(Note that it’s missing the hardware. Henry had temporarily lost all of it. Now that he’s found it, though, I have decided that I want new knobs and handles. So I guess this project isn’t quite finished yet.)

I wish you could see how sparkly this thing is in person!! The blinds look like that because I literally have the pom-poms clothespinned to them. I even got tangled up in it at one point: the perils of decorating while home alone, I guess.

It was a painstaking process, but I finally narrowed it down to two punches days before Thanksgiving. Finding the perfect seasonal spiked beverage is serious business, you guys. I went with a pumpkin spice punch, which was primarily apple cider, two bottles of pinot grigio, bourbon and pumpkin spice, all of which I capably dumped into a bowl all by myself. But then Henry had to slice the apples and oranges for me. I can only do so much.

Next up was a delicious (and potent) cranberry sangria. This is where I learned that fresh cranberries are disgusting.

So this was basically just cranberry juice, brandy and a bottle of red. I forget what I used now. Also: cranberries (I measured a whole cup on my own!!), persimmons (how could I not choose a sangria that calls for PERSIMMONS??), and an orange which I managed to cut without help.

I helped myself to a glass of this before anyone arrived on Thanksgiving and my edge was nice and soft by the time dinner started. Thank you, Beverage Buffet.

Not pictured: wine from NARCISI WINERY, holla! And Henry’s dumb beer.

After telling us a story about some Spanish winemaker who passed out and drowned in a vat of his own wine, Roberto led us back into the gift shop and upstairs into a small, empty dining room for the anticipated wine-tasting portion of the tour. I was relieved to see that tables were set up based on our respective parties, so we wouldn’t have to bump elbows with unsavory strangers. Roberto led Corey and me to a table next to the Bangs Party, but there was enough space in between us to keep us happy.

Roberto disappeared to fetch the wine, leaving enough silence for us to focus on the music.

“Is this the symphony version of ‘Titanium’?” Corey asked in bewilderment. I agreed and this opened the door for us to savagely criticize the Narcisi sound system. “Oh my god, that Michael Bublé soundtrack during the tour made me want to shoot myself,” Corey laughed, and I started cracking up too at the thought of us both internally fixating on the same thing during the tour.

(Ironically, Corey and I both watch X Factor and OF ALL PEOPLE, Michael Bublé performed live last week.)

On the heels of “Titanium (Old Folks Home remix)”, that over-played Philip Phillips song queued up and I thought Corey was seriously going to skyrocket out of the Narcisi Winery. “I hate this song so bad!” he groaned through clenched teeth. “It seriously ruined the Olympics for me last summer!” Now I know what song to play if I ever need to smoke Corey out of my house!

Roberto returned with five bottles of wine right before everyone started to riot. I noticed he had a bucket of some sort on the table with him and I wondered if he was going to walk around and have us all take turns spitting out our wine like mouthwash, but thank god “Spit” wasn’t part of the 4 S’s of wine tasting that Roberto was about to teach us. Actually, I can’t remember what they are now. I forgot pretty much right after he taught us on the first glass, because after that we had to do it ourselves and I pretty much just went right for (S)chug.

It was something like this:

SEE THE BEAUTIFUL COLOR!!

SWIRL WITHOUT SPILLING!

SNIFF THAT SHIT!

SAVOR THE FUCK OUT OF IT!

I was pretty bad at swirling.

Having only eaten a yogurt for breakfast, and being a light-weight to begin with, I started to feel PRETTY GOOD (read: pretty stupid) right after the second tasting. And sadly, these weren’t even anywhere close to full glasses. I am THAT intolerant of alcohol these days. So naturally, Corey and I sat there trying not to choke on mouthfuls of Stella and Granato while stifling giddy laughter because EVERYTHING WAS FUNNY at that point. And then Roberto would come over to give us more wine and we would sweetly say, “Thank you!” in our fake sibling voices, only to start cracking up again as soon as he moved to the Bangs Party.

Corey said that one of the members of the Bangs Party tried to share a moment of laughter with me but I totally missed it. Apparently, she leaned over toward me and made some sort of flapping arm-motion to emphasize her laughter.

Corey took this of me when I was unaware and I’m glad because it is a good reflection of my undying devotion to every single syllable that Roberto uttered (even though I promptly forgot it all).

Roberto has a WIFE :(

I snagged this one from Corey’s Instagram–he got a great shot of Roberto’s expert pouring prowess. Ugh, Roberto’s wife is so lucky. I bet he pours so good for her.

(?)

Anyway, Corey and I enjoyed all five wines, and we were both pleasantly surprised at the Stella especially, because neither of us are particularly fond of dry reds. But for me, that could be because I mostly drink hobo wine, and not the good stuff.

(J/K. I physically can’t drink cheap wine because it makes me super sick. I went to a gay bar one time and made the mistake of drinking two glasses of their “house white” and had the nastiest hangover of my life. Oh, and a word of advice: don’t go to a bar in Brookline and order wine. Ever.)

And just like that, the last glass was imbibed and Roberto said goodbye. Those all too familiar pangs of “There Goes My Inexplicable Crush” sadness enveloped me as I watched him descend the staircase. OH ROBERTO, WILL WE EVER MEET AGAIN?

I got over it quickly though when I realized that it was time for our lunch reservation! AND THAT MEANT: TUSCAN SUNDAE!! We left the Bangs Party to roost at their table and went back downstairs to be seated in the main dining room, which was a big, open space with high ceilings and Italian tapestries hanging from the walls. We were seated next to a birthday party, but it wasn’t too rowdy considering all of the kids had their noses buried in their parents’ phones.

And that’s when Corey was able to check his sources before confirming to me that he did, in fact, know one of the younger members of the Bangs Party because he’s FRIENDS WITH HER ON INSTAGRAM. How incredibly awkward. I hoped that she didn’t find me through his Instagram, because literally the first picture I posted that day had a caption of “WE HATE EVERYONE ON THIS TOUR WITH US.”

As you can see, I’m really awesome at learning my lesson.

And then of course the Bangs Party was seated at a table behind us, but poor Corey was facing all of them. But thanks to Instagram, we learned that it was Sarah Conner’s birthday, haha. Happy birthday to you and your dumb bangs.

We waited for our food while sipping glasses of Niagara and ravaging a basket of bread and murdering it with delicious dipping oil like we hadn’t eaten in days. I went with a grilled salmon salad since I knew I was going to be eating A TUSCAN SUNDAE. Corey got some kind of Narcisi pasta stuff. The food was really great and our waitress was wonderful but she tried to give us our check without asking if we wanted to order A TUSCAN SUNDAE. Usually when this happens at restaurants, I take this as a sign from the Fat Gods to mean that I don’t need dessert and I should leave while I can still get up from the table without the assistance of Strongmen.

But no. Not today. I NEEDED that sundae. I really can’t explain why, but I just did. I snagged her before she had a chance to retreat and said, “Actually, we wanted to order the TUSCAN SUNDAE.” She apologized and came back with the dessert menu which I pretended to look at before saying again that we wanted THE TUSCAN SUNDAE. Corey had already agreed to share it with me so I didn’t feel too gluttonous. (Don’t worry, I ate grass and twigs for dinner that day.)

When our waitress returned with Corey’s to-go container, she also set down a plate with two spoons and a fucking steak knife, so we were really intrigued at that point. WTF was a Tuscan sundae, anyway?!

Meanwhile, Corey’s to-go container wouldn’t close properly due to a disfigurement so he had to ask for another one, but then that was also malformed so he had to operate on it with a butter knife. It was probably the most stressful moment of the day, second to DO WE HAVE TO SPIT?!

And then our waitress, whom I’m fairly certain called me babe at one point and she was definitely younger than me so that left me with confusing feelings, placed the most magnificent piece of edible architecture down before us and I was like, “OK now please leave so I can fuck this shit up.” LOOK AT IT! Homemade scoops of ice cream resting peacefully in a boat of sweet dough, like Moses sailing down the stream, crisscrossed with streaks of chocolate and caramel sauce and crowned with a splooge of airy whipped cream. OMFG I need to come back for seconds and fifths, TUSCAN SUNDAE. I definitely need to bring a sharing partner with me though because not even Corey and I together could polish off that beast.

Even Corey was like, “Good call on the TUSCAN SUNDAE, sister. You are the best at everything! Thank god you exist!”

After lunch, we made our way back to the front of the winery, hoping to see the Broad, but she wasn’t at her station. So we went to the gift shop and bought some souvenir wines. The man next to me walked away with an entire case and I fucking hated him.

We were prepared to leave after that, but then we saw that Broad was back behind the wine-tasting counter! I actually was pretty bloated at that pointed, maybe even burping bubbles, but there was no way we could leave the winery without SOME modicum of interaction with the beacon that led us there in the first place.

So we set down our bags and approached the counter tentatively, where Broad disinterestedly told us that we could have three complimentary tastings. Corey and I stood there, pouring over the list in a very “doo-do-doo” manner, until I finally asked Broad what her favorites were. She sighed and pointed to the list: “The Cab Sauv and Stella.”

We totally weren’t charming her at all. Every time she’d finish pouring us a glass, she’d shuffle back against the wall and stand there like a bored statue in age-inappropriate boots. I was almost scared to make her refill my glass two more times!

I can’t even remember what we tried now, except for a sangria that I was pissed I didn’t taste before buying the wine because I totally would have bought that too. Which I guess is the whole point of tasting wine BEFORE purchasing, but you know how I love to do things backward.

We finished our last tasting and thanked Broad profusely, swearing we would be back, which prompted her to reiterate the winery’s hours in a very business-like tone.

Overall, it was a really great experience and the wine was fantastic. But if I ever go back, I’m printing out a list of wine questions to ask Roberto that will require answers so lengthy, he will say, “Come see me after the tour and we will discuss this further” and then you know, what happens in the winery’s private room stays on this blog forever for the entire Internet to read at their leisure. (And it will hopefully be NSFW.)

This just happened.

That is all.

It figures. I’m having a super good hair day & my supervisor texted to tell me to just work from home today because the roads are supposed to get icy. So since I had some time to kill before I start working at 1:30, I decided to walk to the Wines & Spirits in Brookline to get the stuff I need for the two Thanksgiving punches I’m making. (That’s my big contribution! I’m taking it REAAAAALLLLY seriously, too. Finally picked my two punches last night and I’m so stoked! I guarantee Henry will have to take over at some point though. The one recipe I found required BOILING THINGS and SIMPLE SYRUP, wtf. That sounded way too involved for me so I had to keep looking.)

Anyway, it seemed like a great idea at the time, so I stuffed one of Henry’s stupid hats on my pretty hair and set off down the road to good old Brookline Boulevard. I even said hello to some old man who was shoveling in front of a barber shop.

Got to the liquor store and rounded up my ingredients without having to call Henry because the liquor store is pretty much the one store where I’m able to get shit done on my own, but then when the cashier asked me if I wanted my three wines and one Brandy double-bagged, and I said yes because I’m walking, I realized, “OH FUCK, I’M WALKING.”

Back on my street, some man stopped me and asked how much snow we were supposed to get, I guess because that perma-dumb look on my face just SCREAMS, “Ask me questions, for I am an almanac!”

“I don’t know, like 100?” I said with a shrug.

“Wow, that’s a lot,” Michael said. And I know his name is Michael not because I’m also a census registrar, but because just then some guy drove by and rolled down the window to literally bellow, “MICHAEL!!!!!” like he was trying to save him from being fucking murdered, and then Michael waved his rolled-up umbrella in response and I took that as my cue to resume walking.

So I continued to lug this heavy bag of breakables back home while being pelted by perpetual snowfall and suddenly, I’m not having such a hot hair day anymore.

As Thanksgiving gets closer, I’ve been feeling a little less depressed and MAYBE even slightly excited. We spent most of the week getting some things together for our version of Thanksgiving (Hanksgiving) and keeping busy has been extremely helpful. We’ve only ever hosted one holiday dinner at our house (with the exception of the Xmas Eve soiree we did last year) and that was all the way back in 2008! I can’t believe we waited so long to try it again. I couldn’t remember if it was a success or not, so I went searching through my blog archives the other night and after reading it, I still can’t tell if it was a success. But Henry apparently burnt himself, so I’ll take that as a win.

It’s not Throwback Thursday or anything, but we can just pretend that Memory Monday is a thing so that I can repost this 2008 Thanksgiving tale. The format of the original post is all wonky and I can’t fix it. So sorry. Mayeb after you read it, you can leave a comment and tell me what your favorite Thanksgiving side dish is, because we haven’t finalized our menu yet and that’s just what Henry needs is MORE OPTIONS.

******

The night before Thanksgiving, Henry stayed up until 2:00am, rifling through his grandma’s recipes like a normal man rifles through porn. I don’t know what he was looking for, considering that I procured an entire feast worth of gourmet recipes from this little thing I just heard about recently called the Internet.Of course Henry found something wrong with every selection: Too-expensive-ingredients (“That will cost more than the turkey!”). Lack of industrial kitchen. Not enough education completed to comprehend recipe wording.

In the end, he settled on:

Smashed rutabaga with gingered pears

Turnips gratin (hello new edible husband)

Scalloped corn

Meatless stuffing

Mustard mashed potatoes (“OMG Tyler from the Food Network made them!”)

Sweet potato pie

Oh, and that over-hyped turkey bullshit that everyone is always buzzing about.

My contribution to the day was taking Chooch to my dad’s house so that Henry could cook in the highest, most divine level of tranquility. Now, you should know that I only see my dad on holidays. Shame on me, sure, I know. But it’s awkward because our relationship was once more strained than the ab muscles of a man attempting to suck his own dick. Technically my step-dad, he legally adopted me when I was in the fourth grade. We engaged in non-stop battles of wits and psychological warfare for the entire duration of my teenaged years. Then he and my mom divorced and ironically, we now get along famously; and in an incredible twist, he was the only family member who talked to me while I was pregnant.

Corey, who was staying there while home from college, failed to tell him that Chooch and I were coming over, so my dad was genuinely shocked when he saw us on his doorstep. It was probably 75% of an act, but he seemed happy to see us and proceeded to dole out peanuts, JuJu Bees and cans of pop. He even gave me some Bagelfuls to take home, complete with single-serving packets of cream cheese. A trip to his house is always like a mini-grocery trip.

While he cooked, I made sure Chooch didn’t fall down the basement steps, eat paint chips, or break any of my dad’s classic car memorabilia, while Corey acted disinterested in our presence and my other brother Ryan napped on the couch. I got roped into sitting down for dinner with them, wherein my dad immediately picked a fight with Ryan, who evidently didn’t load his plate with enough food. “I told you not to eat all day!” my dad steamed, to which Ryan grunted, “Jesus Christ, Dad, I only ate some cashews!” My dad countered with a surly, “I saw the cheese you opened up in the fridge!” at which point Ryan hunkered down lower over his plate which seemed plenty decorated to me.

In an effort to break the ice, I chirped, “These mashed potatoes are really good, daddy!” He muttered that they were too runny, but really, anything tastes delicious when the butter ratio is 50/50.

Corey and Ryan didn’t speak at all throughout the painful meal, and I’m sure they were just thrilled at how kind our dad was being to me. He even noticed my hair and enthused about its aesthetic merits for just a note longer than natural.

 I love my dad, but I was glad that I had a legitimate reason to shirk my way out the front door. Tension, it just doesn’t sit well with me.

Dinner at my house was supposed to be at 7, so that those who had other dinners to attend (Janna, Corey and Blake) would be newly starved by the time they came over for seconds. However, Henry’s tardy ass didn’t serve shit up until EIGHT O’CLOCK and everyone was bored, angry, hungry. Look at those mugs on Janna and Corey. You’d think they were watching a slide presentation of Henry’s mom dusting her ceramic kitten collection, that’s how glazed with ennui they are.

Sensing that a revolt was on the rise, Henry served up deviled eggs for us to stuff our mouths with while he frantically finished cooking.

For some reason, Henry was really impressed with himself. He kept boasting that the eggs were deviled with STONE GROUND MUSTARD. I’m not even sure what that means. They tasted regular to me, like he could have squirted in a quick fart of French’s for all I know. Something weird clearly went on in my house while Chooch and I were at my dad’s, because no one gets THAT excited over deviled eggs.

Finally, the moment for feasting was upon us, and we all loaded our fancy paper plates with mounds of seasonal slop. Blake pretty much questioned everything aside from the turkey, which was easily recognizable (good job, Henry). I explained to him that I wanted to eschew the expected and serve new twists on tradition. “You mean, you wanted my dad to make things that even YOU can eat,” Blake corrected. And oh how we laughed. (As I silently wished for Blake to choke on a turkey bone.) (Just kidding, Blake.) (No really.)

As I tore into my plate, I realized Corey didn’t have a fork. “It’s OK,” he promised. “I don’t mind waiting. I’ll just have a roll.” He paused, considering that statement, before holding up his broken hand and adding with the slight hint of chagrin, “Though, even THAT is a challenge.” He should have been giving less lip and more thanks for the fact that he has a hand AT ALL.

It would sppear that Henry is in the middle of saying an intense delivery of grace, but really he’s just acclimating to his newfound seated position after standing in the kitchen all day long.

Later, he momentarily lost his appetite when he mistook the really expensive paper napkins to say “Joyous Fetus” instead of the much less interesting “Joyous Fetes.” We all laughed, but I don’t think Henry understood what was going on because he probably doesn’t even know what “fetes” means.

We’re so classy that we used our best plastic serving bowls. Not even TUPPERWEAR. Just generic, microwave-ravaged plastic. And there’s the gravy that burnt Henry’s hand and thank God it did because I really enjoyed hearing him cry about it all night long. I thought his mom was going to rush him to the Veteran’s hospital. I could almost see Henry’s mind churning: “Remember what they taught you in the SERVICE, big guy. You will pull through this! YOU WERE IN THE AIR FORCE, GODDAMMIT.”

And then Henry’s mom called Janna a myriad of other J-names (Janet, Janice, Joanne) but never Janna, and swore she hated sweet potato pie before admitting that she had never had it. Now she’s had it and likes it, though I maintain that Henry’s version (apparently it was EMERIL’S RECIPE, what a fucking carving knife to my heart) tasted unlike any sweet potato pie I’ve ever had. Ever. Like, no semblance at all.

Overall, I thought it was pretty good for our first time hosting a holiday in my ridiculously small dining room. I know I had fun, and Blake and Henry’s mom seemed content. Janna basically looked like she had just finished watching a double feature of “Benji” and “Old Yeller,” and Corey just looked bored as usual. The shit Henry made was good, and even the gravy was vegetarian. I learned later that my mother translated Corey’s spot at my table into meaning that –oh my god — he’s on MY SIDE. And this is exactly why I was happy to do my own thing this Thanksgiving.

Last night, I yelled, “I can’t wait to have Christmas here too!” but Henry remained curiously silent.

Even though I keep a paper journal for this stuff, I still like to have a list here on my blog for easy access in case I forget just how much I absolutely hated a certain haunt or which one had the hot Michael Myers. You know how it is. I realize this is way late, but you know…I do what I can, OK?!

• Freddy’s Haunts in Aliquippa: I’ve had a lot of fun at this one in the past, but my last several trips out there have basically ended with one loud Sad Tuba. This past go-around, my friend Jess and I got stuck going through with a horrible group of middle school-aged girls (there were at least 15 of them and they were total fuckerbrats). We went on a Saturday night and it was absolutely dead, no pun intended. Even the chainsaw guy was apathetic and no one bothered to scare me and Jess at all because the few volunteers who actually showed up that night were too busy fucking with the teenagers. It was a total let-down and I’m officially writing Freddy’s off for the rest of forever. That’s $12 I can spend somewhere else. When I was telling Henry about how annoying those teenaged girls were, I realized, mid-sentence, that “Holy shit, I just walked through a haunted house with 15 mini-Erins.”
• Haunted Hills Hayride in N. Versailles: This one is so fucking hit-or-miss. I went last year and it was ridiculously fun. This year, we went on a night where it had been raining, so the trail was closed and only some of the hayride “exhibits” were in play. Laura, Janna, Chooch and I went back a week later to cash in our trail raincheck and it was just downright lousy. Just like the hayride, there were a bunch of stations along the trail that we just walked right on past because no one was there. And then some Yinzer bitch in the group with us started a fight over FLIP FLOPS with our equally-as-Yinzerish guide and it was just a real white trash display of awkwardness. So awful, and then Laura was all, “THIS IS THE WORST EVER THANKS FOR BRINGING US HERE, ERIN.” No, thank YOU, Haunted Hills Hayride, for making me look like an asshole in front of my friends!
• Hundred Acres Manor: Granted, this is one of the haunts that every Pittsburgh publication collectively jizzes on themselves over, but it’s mostly worth it. They do load up on a lot of the cop-out animatronics that I hate so much, and there is also a lot of dead space, but it is mostly super entertaining and LONG. You get your money’s worth for sure in this one. The first part (it’s split up into several themes) has always been my favorite. The actors in that section are incredibly made-up and take their characters to the extreme, and the décor is like fucking eye candy for weirdos like me. (They have a doll room, you guys. And I want to live in it.) This one gets super crowded so I always always always go on a Sunday, and I have even gone on Wednesday nights after work in the past. This one could easily suck if you end up going through on a busy night with a group of 20.
• Castle Blood: Still one of the most intelligent and entertaining haunted houses ever. It’s like a show and a haunted house for the price of one! We always have so much fun here, and I credit it as the haunt that immersed Chooch into the whole Halloween scene. I love that some place I’ve been going to since I was 16 has become a family tradition.
• Terror Town: Total waste of that prime for-real-haunted real estate. This joint was so fantastic in its inaugural year (2011) but then they quit caring about the theatrics I guess and resorted to lots of dead space and a few mediocre volunteers. Maybe I just went on an off-night….two years in a row. And then one of their “actors” posted a shitty, classless comment on a mutual friend’s Facebook status about how “volunteering”  and that pretty much drove the nail into the coffin for me. I wipe my hands of thee, Terror Town. At least now I’ll have more room in my schedule now for an out-of-town haunted house.
• Rich’s Fright Farm: OMG OMG OMG I hadn’t been here since I was in high school and it was on a seriously awkward date so I have blocked this place out of my mind since 1996. But since I had some weeknights off in October, Janna and I decided to check this one out on a Wednesday night. I know for a fact that Rich’s get PACKED on the weekends, so we really made a wise choice because the line was super short and we were on the hayride within 30 minutes or so, after Janna spent 10 of those minutes attempting to take a group photo of the two couples in front of us.  (Not like, from behind a bush or anything. They asked her to take their picture.) Long story short, this was the most expensive haunt I went to this year but it was entirely worth it. I screamed so loud a few times that I HURT MY BACK. I think that means I’m officially old. It took about an hour to do the hayride (which was on a wagon-thingie that didn’t have any sides so our legs were dangling and I was so scared that Janna was going to roll me over a cliff for all of the horrible blog posts I’ve written about her), and then all of the walk-thrus, which included maybe the most frustrating maze ever where I lost my fake-boyfriend du jour. Oh and we got to go down a huge tunnel slide which deposited us right smack in a courtyard of dead Victorian women waltzing with each other. This was definitely in my top 5 of the season and now I’m really excited to go back next year, only I won’t wear boots that are meant to be slippers.
• Scaremare: Shit you guys, this one hit really close to my heart because it was so fucking OLD SCHOOL. Chooch, Henry and I went through with a group of 4 people and they were extremely pleasant as far as strangers in a haunted house go. Some of the actors were kind of (hilariously) off their game, but to me that’s all part of the experience! I love laughing in a haunted house. And we were ALL in a very WTF state from the get-go. There were even several moments where I found myself wondering for real if I was going to get hurt, and there was one part where we all had to crawl through a padded pitch-dark tunnel. It had a loose “Depression-era gangster” theme and was even housed in an old bank building, so I really enjoyed that aspect of it too, plus the fact that our 1920’s-dressed guide was totally cute. The very last part was a pitch-black maze that everyone was supposed to walk through alone (Henry literally cut in front of everyone while we hemmed and hawed and proceeded to disappear through the doorway, thanks for the support Henry). The guide let Chooch and me go together, probably because he didn’t want to be responsible for psychologically damaging a 7-year-old. We were the last in line, so it gave me a chance to totally schmooze him by telling him how much I enjoyed Scaremare. I HOPE HE DREAMT OF ME THAT NIGHT. Anyway, after Chooch and I emerged from the darkness, we walked into a small room with blinding white light and an angel, and that’s when it dawned on me that this was a fucking religious haunted house. Everyone else from our group was in there too, and the angel told us to choose either the lightness or darkness, and literally every single one of us went out the “darkness” door. She seemed really disappointed. I liked this one so much that I actually kind of wanted to go back, but there were still too many others that I needed to visit.
• Sewickley United Methodist Haunted Basement: Chooch’s review pretty much covered it all, but I still wanted to give them a shout-out. It’s so much fun! Total pandemonium and there was definitely a man dressed as a dead Vanna White in one of the rooms, and a babydoll hanging from a tree. I also got Silly String’d in the mouth, since my mouth is ALWAYS OPEN! Even Henry showed some sign of life by LAUGHING. We tried to get Janna to go with us but she was all, “Blah blah blah I just got a new kitten and can’t leave him alone!” Lame Janna’s lame.
• Cheeseman’s Fright Farm: I thought this one was just so/so. I’ve had a lot of fun there in the past, but the actually walk-through seemed kind of rushed and lackluster. Chooch and Laura really liked it though. The scariest part for me was when I was the ONLY ONE who walked through the stupid birth canal thing and I slipped when I was halfway through and almost fell and would have happened then!!? WHO KNOWS?! I had a mild panic attack because I hate those things so much but they’re even worse when no one else is in there with you helping to push through. I wouldn’t mind axing this one from my list.
• Ghost Lake: OMG this night was so much fun. So it was me, Chooch, Henry and Janna; luckily we got our tickets through a local BOGO site because they were $25, which was actually worth it considering it took us about 3 hours of my non-stop screaming to get through all of the attractions. Our local amusement park, Kennywood, converts to a haunted attraction every fall, but I would gladly eschew that one and drive two hours to the half-defunct Conneaut Lake Park. There were 13 different haunted attractions!! And they were mostly all set-up in abandoned houses around the premises, and the actors were allowed to touch us! IT WAS SO EROTIC. I thought the park employees did a bang-up job keeping the lines moving at a good pace and the whole thing was pretty organized. You had to go through each attraction in order, so there wasn’t too much mass confusion going on. Again, Chooch’s review was pretty spot-on, but I just wanted to add that my favorite part was trying to close Janna inside one of those stupid inflatable birthing tunnel things that I hate so much. (Is there even an official term for those bullshit props?) And when she tripped when we were walking to the next attraction and I mocked her, as usual, and then proceeded to twist my ankle. One of the attractions had FOAM IN IT YOU GUYS! So that was novel. The only one I thought was lame was the Vampire’s Lair, which one of my friends pointed out was spelled “Liar” on the ticket and I didn’t even notice at the time so that’s a good sign that we were having lots of fun. We skipped out on the 13th attraction, whcih was actually just a ride on Conneaut’s rickety-as-fuck wooden coaster. Good thing too because apparently several people sustained facial injuries on it that night. Anyway, I can’t wait to go back again next year oh my goddddddd. Even stone-faced Henry was like, “That was fun.”
• Grimm Manor: You know how we’re members of the Dark Ride and Funhouse Enthusiasts Club? (THAT NEVER GETS OLD!!) Well, our fearless DAFE prez, Rick Davis, has a home haunt in Vienna, Ohio. It’s only an hour or so away, so we decided to pair that one up with Ghoul Mansion in Sharon, PA. Rick turned his entire front yard into a cemetery, complete with movable figures straight out of dark rides! It was so vintage-y and wonderful that we lingered alongside the fence for a few minutes just admiring it all. The haunt itself was free, short and sweet. Very entertaining, though! It impresses me so much when people literally turn their home into a haunt. (I mean, look at Castle Blood!)
• Ghoul Mansion: Chooch and I already wrote about this here and here. This was only my second time visiting GM, but it was in my Top 5 for the season, seriously. They’re such assholes, but in the best possible scare-actor way.
• Demon House: I don’t know why I thought this would be a fine haunted house to take Chooch to. It’s fucking scary! Especially the upstairs of the house—I kept looking over at Chooch, expecting him to be in tears, but he held it together way better than I did. I just kept nervously laughing because I didn’t want him to start mimicking my own fear. There was one part where some asshole guy told us we had to play hide and seek and then yelled for us to run and if I had grown up with an alcoholic dad, that PROBABLY would have given me terrible flashbacks of repressed memories. Anyway, we ran straight into a hallway that had all those old, heavy clothes hanging in it—I couldn’t breathe in there and all these bloody people were screaming at us to run and I wanted to cry especially because JANNA was in front and she was literally moseying along like we weren’t potentially about to get slaughtered. Thanks, Janna. The last part of the house was a day-glo Alice in Wonderland theme and I really loved it but it wasn’t scary. Then we hung out for a little bit afterward and watched some of “Ghostbusters” on the movie screen outside while Chooch and Janna drank their hot beverages like elderly people and Chooch almost left behind his stupid stuffed dog, which miraculously made it through the entire haunted house under Chooch’s jacket, and then the dumbass sets it down on a picnic table afterward and walks away. Then I missed a turn on the way home and we ended up on some un-lit backroad with a truck tailgating us and Chooch almost started to cry. The end.
• Cavern of the Dead: Henry and I were going to go to the Trundle Manor halloween party on this night, but I was feeling grumpy and VERY anti-social, also totally lazy in regards to putting together a costume. So instead we decided to go to dinner and a haunted house, but since it was November 2, our options were limited. Then I saw that Cavern of the Dead in Wampum, PA was still open and I thought Henry was going to be all, “THAT IS TOO FAR AWAY AND ALSO TOO EXPENSIVE. YOU AREN’T WORTH THAT.” But instead he was like, “Whatever you want to do” which I’ve learned over the years is his canned response when he’s losing all will to live. Since it was kind of far away though, I decided that we should just go to Sheetz and get sandwiches to go, so Henry started driving down all of these scary, dark roads and god forbid I had the nerve to ask him a question and this is how that panned out: Me: “WHERE ARE WE?!”
  Henry: “DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT. JUST SIT IN THE CAR & SHUT UP.” Thank god he actually was just taking me to Sheetz though and then he pouted because he apparently wanted to go to a real restaurant but didn’t say anything so he ended up not eating dinner that night, boo hoo. Anyway, Cavern of the Dead was amazing. I even accidentally found something online that said if I liked their Facebook page, I could get a FREE ticket for that night, so it only cost us $20 instead of food for the week! And there was only one other couple there, so we waited in approximately zero lines. Cavern of the Dead is literally in a mine, and it was really wet and muddy in there from all the rain we’d been getting, thank god I was wearing my WHITE TOMS. Anyway, I feel like this one wouldn’t have been scary at all if it had been a busy night, but since we were alone, I screamed like a bitch through the whole thing. Then a zombie made me hug him. We got to ride on some kind of mine bus thing that took us even further into the mine AND THEN SHUT THE LIGHTS OFF OMG even Henry was whimpering. Blah blah blah, there was a really frustrating hallway of doors that were all dead ends and some girl kept singing, “No, over here! You’re going the wrong way!” and Henry was all, “I hope she wasn’t 13 because I bumped into her boobs a lot of times.” Then Henry asked me to marry him on the way home and I said sure.

And that sums up the 2013 Haunted House Experience. Ciao for now.

GHOUL MANSION:

when we were in line a bloody nurse tried to lick us not daddy though. When we were inside we had to go down in the basement we got separated from henrys beard we had to stand in the dark which we didn’t have to it was all erin’s idea. erin was too scared to move and leave daddy alone I thought she hated daddy!

this dude came and scared us and we said “where is henry?!” and the dude said “I ate him” and we were like “no seriously” he was like “HENNNRRRY!!!!!” Then when we went around the corner after henry finally came back a clown had one of those little horn things and it was like BEEEEEP.

then we had to go up steps and a kid was down there and was like “Can I eat you” and then we finally got up the steps. and then like four rooms later we were walking down this hall then the same kid that was under the steps saying can I eat you and I was like “aw crap” in my mind. and he was like “remember me? I was under the steps! I wanted to eat you! can I eat you alive? can I eat you alive” and then finally we got through that hall and had to go through another hall and that kid was still following us. henry was in front of us and I was like “i’m gonna push you” I said that to the kid, so I pushed him and still I couldn’t get past him.

“I gave a high five to a clown it was awesome I really liked the haunted house”.(:

DEMON HOUSE

Erin got off work at nine picked up JANNA “GOD FORBID” Erin got lost because Henry gave us bad directions mommy scared me bad. Mommy lied to me and said that demon house wasn’t scary. when we finally got there, well we didn’t get to the haunted house yet, we had to drive on a bus because mommy crashed into a tree, just kidding. there was no one there so we didn’t have to stand in line. I brought Murder Victim with me, a stuffed dog.

when we got to the demon house for real we sat by a fire and a dude called our number so we had to go up and he talked to us about something and made janna knock on the door. it wasn’t scary though. it was just a cave. like a fake cave made out of fake stone. it was like a mine. Murder Victim was scared.

Once we got out of the cave we had to walk through a forest and then this clown said “follow me!” Then we heard vrrrrooooooooom three chainsaw guys came out of the forest we pushed Janna into one. Me and mommy went the wrong way one chainsaw guy said “that way.” Then we got to the real haunted house.

I hate writing.

My favorite part inside the house was going upstairs and playing hide and seek when these two people wanted to play hide and seek and they said “if you find ME, you’ll be dead!! If you find HER you’ll be safe!” So we found her. In the second room this guy said IS THIS YOUR MOMMY I was like “yeah who the eff would she be??” He was like “well she’s a terrible mom for bringing you here!!!”

Oh yeah at the end of the haunted house Dr Who was there! He was like ready for time travel? Scream YAY TIME TRAVEL! Louder! YAY TIME TRAVEL! I can’t hear you, louder! So we had to go through this maze thing that wasn’t really a maze he was like GO THAT WAY!

I like Dr Who.

At the end, Janna god forbid wanted APPLE CIDER but I wanted hot chocolate.

What a good day for hot chocolate.

I got to have a glow stick and we sat and watched Ghostbusters first then when that was over we say by the fire. It was really warm. I put Murder Victim on Janna’s lap and Erin was like “where’s Murder Victim?” I was like on Janna’s lap you dumbass! But before that I lost him for real but I got him back.

I liked Demon house I was not scared. Erin and Janna were.

My brother Corey and I have had plans for several weeks now to  take a tour of Nemacolin Castle on Sunday. I was really excited because it seems like the kind of place perfect for giggling in corners while old people on the tour finger doilies and say things like, “Oh my!” when given historical facts. Also, we were going to have lunch at a place where we could also buy a firearm and have our computer fixed.

However, when I went to Nemacolin’s website yesterday to verify that I knew where the hell we were going, I was met with large red letters that stated:

Nemacolin Castle is Currently Closed While It Retools For Christmas Candle Light Tours!

Whomp whomp.

I texted Corey, who was equally as devastated, but we refused to give up. We tossed around ideas of touring a mine and some park in West Virginia that has rusted farm equipment strewn about. “What about a winery?” Corey suggested and I was definitely on board with that. There is one that’s actually in the same area as Nemacolin, but Corey called and they aren’t doing tours because some asshole had to go and leave town.

Then I found one closer to Pittsburgh and nothing about it really seemed all that revolutionary or postcard-worthy, until I found it. The Picture.

And then this happened:

So then it was determined for sure that the Narcisi Winery was going to have to show these two motherfuckers around its facility. Because now we were OBSESSED. It HAD to be this winery! No other!

I called this morning, because I learned on the website that 48 hours advance notice was needed for a tour. When I was greeted by an elderly woman, I knew, JUST KNEW, it had to be Broad.

“Tour?” she repeated me in a very WTF tone. “Oh, I don’t know anything about that.”

I insisted that I saw it on the website, and at that point I could hear her shuffling papers around.

“Oh, I don’t know what the hell happened,” she disgruntedly sighed, and then began asking me normal reservation-ish questions, such as “how many people?” and “will you be having lunch also?” so I began to feel hopeful. “OK, Roberto will call you back and either confirm or, I don’t know, tell you otherwise, I guess,” she said, and suddenly my Boob of Hope started to sag a little. In the meantime, Corey and I were having a texting flurry.

“This sounds very promising that Broad will be there,” he said, “and possibly a guy named Roberto.” So then we suddenly also became obessed with Roberto.

Dorothy called me back herself and I knew it was going to be Bad News Bears when her tone had suddenly changed from Harried Wine Pourer to Sympathetic Grandma. Turns out no one was going to be there on Sunday to give a tour, but there was one tomorrow at the same time. I told her I’d have to call back after discussing with Corey.

And when I did, a very bored-sounding guy answered and was like, “That’s great. You’ll have to talk to Roberto.” AND THEN I GOT TO TALK TO ROBERTO!

Mean Amber2 told me that she’s been to this winery numerous times and, in her typical “You’re a dummy!” tone, she said, “I DON’T THINK THAT THEY GIVE TOURS THERE, ERIN.” She loves making me sad. But too bad Sandy and I had just had a conversation about this and SANDY said that her mom recently went there on a bus with old people and that she had a wonderful time and the winery provided lots of fun activities for them.

So now obviously Corey and I are hoping that we get to play wine BINGO.

“I hope there actually is a tour,” Corey texted me after I told him about Mean Amber2’s tour-ignorance.

“There better be,” I replied. “Roberto made me pre-pay.”

Anyway, Mean Amber2 knew exactly who I was talking about when I asked her “BUT WHAT ABOUT THE OLD LADY.” Mean Amber2 insists that we should see Broad as soon as we walk in, because she’s the wine pourer.

“She’s always there,” Mean Amber2 said. “If you don’t see her—”

“—she’s DEAD!” I interjected.

“Um, yeah. Or, she’s just NOT THERE,” Mean Amber2 said meanly.

She didn’t know Roberto, though.

Later, she even emailed me a picture of her from the website and asked “Is this the woman?” No, that’s the BROAD, Amber. God.

So. yeah. The whole point of this is that my brother and I will be going to a winery next Sunday, but unlike normal people who visit wineries for the wine-tasting and wine-learning, we are going for a broad, Roberto and a fucking Tuscan sundae.

And potentially BINGO.

Last night after work, Henry, Chooch and I met our favorite Castle Blood friends (Ricky, Dawn, Chris, Kari and Katelyn) at Cambod-Ican Kitchen on the Southside for some late night dinner. The last time I saw them, we were going through Castle Blood so we couldn’t very well stop the tour and talk about the weather with them. Dinner was definitely in order!

I was so fucking hungry by the final hour I was here at work that I was full-on chewing on my hair. (My friend Kara lectures me about this all of the time, but I can’t help it!) I don’t generally go out after work since my shift is so ridiculously inconvenient (I need to work on changing that, and if the Fates are reading this, I DO NOT MEAN THAT I WOULD LIKE TO BE FIRED), but if we waited until the weekend, I would not have gotten to see my friend Dawn before she returns to Canada. And that’s just bullshit. Thankfully, almost immediately after we sat down, Cambod-Ican Dan slide two plates of Moon Sauce-bathed wontons down on the table and I was like “FUCK YES!” and then “HOW DO I EAT THESE?!” because I’m really weird about picking up food with my hands. (Don’t worry, I figured it out.) They were so delicious that even CHOOCH ate them and he is so goddamn picky when it comes to eating things that haven’t been shat from a vending machine or boxed by General Mills.

We had to beg Chooch on the way there not to be an asshole.

He reaches that point at night where he basically goes insane and you never which way it’s going to go: careening down It’sNotFunnyAnymore Avenue or wanting to drown myself in the Here’sDamien Canal. Luckily, he wasn’t being too bad, but he did get pretty hyper by the end of the night because his GIRLFRIEND Katelyn was there. He even breakdanced at one point, which is proper restaurant etiquette in Pittsburgh, not bad parenting.

Chooch and Katelyn mostly competed with each other over who knows more math and on one hand I was like, “Wow, this is awesome to hear kids giving a shit about math!” but on the other hand, I was like, “But I don’t give a shit about math, so STFU.”

Also, I was a little bit on edge because my Simpsons: Tapped Out app WOULD NOT FUCKING WORK for me almost all day! I was waiting for goddamn Spinster City Apartments to finish building, too. It was a big day for my fucking Springfield, so thank you EA Games for fucking my life with a pine cone.

Henry made everyone laugh and it was so annoying.

Chooch was trying to hide behind a chair (thank god we were the only diners there) from Katelyn and everyone was like, “She is totally going to see you, asshole” and then Henry was like, “He gets his poor hiding skills from his mother.” I got super defensive about this because I AM GOOD AT HIDING, so I reminded Henry of the time Chooch and I hid from him in a wheat field and he had no idea where we were.

“Yeah, and I didn’t care, either.”

Chris actually choked on his water and Henry was SO SMUG. He’s going to be riding THIS horse for weeks. Maybe even longer.

But then all of the grown-ups had to figure out the bill so it got really serious.

Chris said his favorite part was when Chooch stunned Dan by not only ordering tofu, but actually knowing what tofu is and liking it. THAT’S MY BOY. We also bullied him into eating a dragon pepper. That didn’t go over as well.

Here is Henry’s review:

Normally, I don’t like beef at Asian restaurants, but this beef was good.

PLEASE start a food blog.

In other news, I can’t wait for Dawn to move here. She likes crafting so I’ll be able to say, “Here Dawn, turn this Band-Aid into a pillow” and then she also loves to bake so I can also say, “And when you’re done with my Band-Aid Pillow, bake me some snickerdoodles in Jonny Craig’s likeness.” And she will do those things.

Just like that!!

It was after 11 when we left. We’re all such great parents, keeping our young children out that late on the Southside of all places. The Catholic school moms reading this will probably have a lot to say!

Anyway, what a great night. It’s always so good seeing my haunter friends because who else really gives a shit about how I rate all of the haunted houses I went to this year?

SHAMELESS PROMOTION: I’m really looking forward to the Castle Blood Christmas show on December 14th and 15th. If you live in the Pittsburgh area, you should totally go. You could even go with ME, OMG!!!

(They didn’t even pay for my dinner, and I STILL pimped them out! I guess I’m still riding on my Food Bank high.)

Hey, guess what I did yesterday? A GOOD DEED, that’s what. The Law Firm has teamed up with the United Way and offered employees an opportunity to volunteer at several places around the city. I picked the Food Bank, not really for any great reason other than it was one of the few that offered an afternoon shift.

Here’s a fun little side note: The day that I went up to the Scary 28th Floor to sign-up for volunteering, I was strong-armed into also filling out a raffle ticket after I purposely tried to leave without entering. But then how weird would I look if I openly communicated the fact that I didn’t give a shit about the stupid raffle? I already look weird enough without doing anything, so I sighed and filled out a stupid red raffle ticket.

And of course, I was one of the winners. I was notified by email to please go up to the 11th floor to claim my $10 gift card for the in-house cafe on the 19th floor. I’ve worked here over 3.5 years now and still have not ever gone to the stupid On 19 cafe thingie, so I didn’t want the gift card. Besides, since my shift is so stupid, they’re already closed by the time I’m ready for a feeding.

So I ignored the email.

And then I ignored the next email.

And I swear to god I had intentions of replying to the third email, which by then had nothing in the actual body and just a terse “Please get your gift card” in the subject line, but I forgot. I was just going to say that I wouldn’t be able to use it and that they could just give it to someone else, but you know how it is when you’re about to do something and then you get a push notification letting you know that Apu is done feeding the octuplets and then you get sucked into your Springfield for the next 20 minutes. (Thanks again, Brandy, for getting me hooked on Simpsons: Tapped Out!)

Last Wednesday, I came to work and there was an envelope on my keyboard with the stupid gift card inside. I laughed and ran out to tell my work friends Lauren and Chris about how my passive aggressive method of living had FINALLY worked in my favor! Man, I really felt like I beat the system, you know? Until I opened up my Outlook and saw that I had received a group email from the same lady letting us know that we had to go up to her desk the next day to claim a t-shirt for our volunteering day.

MOTHER.

FUCKER.

After all that, I STILL had to go to the stupid 11th floor. Lauren was kind enough to go with me, since she needed to get her t-shirt too (we were scheduled to volunteer at the Food Bank on the same day). Little did I know that the Gift Card Lady was going to be crossing names off a list, so when I grabbed a t-shirt and tried to leave, she was all, “Wait! And you are…?”

I mumbled my name and she kind of paused, eyes flickering in recognition, and then proceeded to scratch my name off the list.

“Do you think she knows I’m the same person who rejected the gift card?” I asked Lauren.

“Well, she doesn’t forget anything,” she replied honestly. And I mean, that was just one day ago at that point.

I just don’t know, you guys. Sometimes I feel like I’m really making headway into this whole “Adulthood” thing, but then there I go taking eighteen giant steps back. Oh well.

****

Volunteering Day came and I had to come to work a little early, but I didn’t mind too much. I was really happy that Lauren was going and she promised she would be my buddy for the day, even though Amber2 wanted her to ignore me and potentially get me lost and/or killed because Amber2 is mean!

I think there were nine of us from my department, plus a bunch of other people that I don’t know. Maybe 30 of us in all? Enough that we all fit into one of those stupid little shuttle buses with absolutely zero seats to spare. Lauren and I got stuck sitting in the dork-reserved front seat, which was totally lame until we realized there were a box of flares at our feet.

“Not now, Erin,” Lauren said. “On the way back, I promise.”

The Food Bank is in Duquesne, and because of fucked up Pittsburgh traffic, it took us 45 minutes to get there and the driver, who was kind of a dick, totally passed up the entrance and seemed annoyed when literally the whole bus was like, “YOU WENT THE WRONG WAY AND NOW YOU MUST TURN AROUND.”

Once we met the volunteering coordinator and got a brief run-down of the facility, we were split into three groups to begin our two hours of labor. My group consisted of Lauren (thank god), Jeannie, Other Erin, A-ron and Rachel, and then three other girls from different floors.

We were handed over to Steve, the foreman (I guess that’s what he is?) who would be supervising us for the afternoon.  Basically, we had to sort through boxes of food and re-box them based on if they were cans, glass or plastic. Each box had to be around 40 pounds, and we had to obviously check expiration dates and the conditions of the product. (I say obviously but we all know I definitely would not have been checking that shit if I hadn’t been told.) Like, if the tops of cans were “compromised” to the point where a can opener wouldn’t be able to go around it, we had to chuck it. I mean, if I was basing this on my own can-opening skills, I’d have had to pitch every single can I pulled from the box.

And we had to also check for dents. Some dents were OK, but some were not. Steve’s explanations were pretrty vague. I wanted to see a Powerpoint, to be honest, but instead we just constantly asked him, “STEVE!! STEVE!! WHAT ABOUT THIS ONE!?” the whole time, so maybe next time, Steve will consider drawing up some slides of various dentings.

He probably went home feeling like I do after a day of Chooch chanting, “MOMMY. MOMMY. MOMMY.”

“I can’t tell if this is seriously that hard or if we’re just really overthinking things,” I said out loud.

But by the second hour, we were basically canned good-sorting pros. And I was really thankful that I chose to do something so Erin-friendly. Some of the people in my department volunteered at a place where they had to make SANDWICHES. You guys, I can barely make my own sandwich. I really don’t think I would have been able to do that.

I’m also glad that the Food Bank didn’t require us to ladle anything because I don’t know how to use a ladle. If we go to a salad bar and I want soup, Henry has to ladle it for me because my wrist is really weak or I just don’t want to do it, I can’t remember now.

I had to toss a huge container of Nutella because the seal was slightly broken. If I had brought my purse, that bitch would have gone home with me, for real. Spoonfuls of maybe-contaminated Nutella for everyone!

One of my favorite pasttimes is forcing myself to have crushes on people, and Steve was definitely my target yesterday. It made those 2 hours zip on by. It’s basically just a lateral move though, considering he works in a warehouse and drives a pallet jack. Just like Henry.

(Speaking of pallet jacks, when we first walked into the warehouse, some guy zoomed by on a pallet jack and I cried out, “Haha, that’s the thing that ran over Henry’s foot!” but no one in my group knew how hilarious that story was to me when it happened a few years ago, so it was kind of awkward when absolutely no one responded. I suck at knowing my audience.)

Everyone was running around taking pictures of each other for our department’s website, but all I gave a shit about was getting Steve’s picture. I wasn’t leaving without it. I made Lauren get in the picture with him so maybe he would think I was less weird. I don’t know why I cared about looking weird to him though after he shared with us a story about how he drank bad Pepsi when he was a kid and got explosive diarrhea.

He was so entertaining! And he told us that we were way better than the other group who had volunteered from The Law Firm and I really like winning, so that made me feel fantastic. He said they couldn’t figure out how to stack the empty boxes. What assholes.

The three ladies who aren’t from my department are clearly my new best friends after two hours of squinting at cans of tuna together—that’s how friendship works, right?

On the shuttle ride back to work, we found out that our co-worker Rachel insisted that all of her boxes weigh in at EXACTLY 40 pounds, which actually isn’t that surprising if you know her, but damn was I glad that she wasn’t at my end of the table, where the motto was, “Eh, that’s close enough.”

Meanwhile, the three ladies who sorted canned shit with me, Jeannie and Lauren went back to their own People on the shuttle, like we hadn’t just shared a special afternoon together even though I had to remind the one lady of my name at least 5 times,  and now I just feel dirty.

****

“How was it?” Mean Amber2 asked when we returned to the office.

“It was fun!” I said. “And I even got a new boyfriend.”

“Oh, I didn’t catch that one!” giggled a Different Barb Than The One I Always Blog About.

“Either did he,” I said, and then she laughed. Because you know, that’s what people here do when they talk to me, OK?

Colorful clutter. Cluttered color?

I promised Henry that I wouldn’t have us on the go at all on Sunday in an effort to get the house clean. But that didn’t mean that CHOOCH and I couldn’t be on the go. As much as we hate doing things without Henry, sometimes leaving Henry alone in the house is the only way he can get anything done. And I wanted the house cleaned, you guys.

Plus, did I mention that Henry bought me flowers for no reason!? I should be scared, I know. But at the same time, he knows I haven’t been feeling like myself lately and I know that’s why he came home with flower-things, and not actually because he’s pounding some trannie housewife behind a Wal-Mart. I’m not a big flower person, but once in awhile it’s kind of nice. <3

Late morning, Chooch tagged along with me to the cemetery. I try to go most weekends because it’s the only place where I really enjoy jogging. OK, maybe “enjoy” is too strong of a word. “Tolerate.” It’s the only place where I can “tolerate” jogging. Sometimes I use that Couch to 5K app, and of course my trainer is the zombie. Chooch happened to see this the night before and became obsessed with going with me the next day.

He was sorely disappointed when we got there and a zombie wasn’t actually chasing us. I kept telling him not to get too excited! It’s not that great. So of course, he was all, “OMGGGG HOW MUCH LONGER!?” and this was just after the brisk walk warm-up. He kind of half-jogged (sort of) for a little while and then got pee on himself when he went behind a tree (wouldn’t be the same if Chooch didn’t piss somewhere in the cemetery) so of course he was all, “OMG I GOT PEE ON MY PANTS SO NOW CAN WE GO!?”

Fuck no, lazy-ass! Finally I told him to just go stand by the car and wait until I was done because I knew the next whine out of his mouth was going to be the dreaded “carry me!!”

Then we came home and Henry made us lunch because we’re not THAT independent. But then afterward we went to Target by ourselves! It was pretty amazing. We never go to Target without Henry. I bought new boots to treat myself for blossoming into such a fine young adult, but I only tried on the right boot and of course when I came home, I found out that the left one was all fucked up and didn’t fit right. So now Henry, who was so happy he didn’t have to go to Target with us, has to return them. Haha.

We let Henry take a break for a few minutes. And then he did some touch-ups on the Liberace desk which hopefully will be finished someday so we can stow away some of the clutter.

After dinner, we walked to Eat n Park for dessert. Henry drowned us out by methodically coloring the kids menu. There was a really annoying and loud old lady behind him and Chooch who literally yelled about how she hates yellow and orange-colored Jello. And then about how she doesn’t care if the boys drink at her house BECAUSE AT LEAST SHE CAN CONTROL THEM. She sent her granddaughter (I presume) to fetch her non-retchedly colored Jello from the salad bar and as she walked away, she commented on the girl’s maturing ass. “It must be because her jeans are so tight. Look how cute her butt cheeks are, sticking out like that!” she cooed to her two even older dinner companions. Oh my god, it was incredibly uncomfortable.

Eddie likes to hurt people.

Then we came home and watched The Walking Dead while Henry worked on more paper mache. (I helped during commercials, so cut the poor Henry crap!)

It was such a nice weekend. Fuck, do I love the weekends.

(P.S. The house does not look clean at all.)

Henry was trying to take a nap on the couch when Chooch found a flashlight. You should know that Henry is a member of that secret society of men who are really overprotective and weird about their flashlights, so the fact that he even left it out in plain sight for Chooch to find is a huge deal. So Henry is sleeping, and Chooch turns off all of the lights and starts shining the flashlight in Henry’s slumber-sagged face, which was funny enough but then I pointed out that the bristles of Henry’s beard were putting on a riveting shadow play upon the wall and then Chooch and I totally fucking lost it.

I mean, I was screaming, that’s how hard I was laughing. So Henry of course woke up, mumbled about us being fucking idiots and god knows what else, and then suggested we leave.

“Go walk and get shoes or ice cream or something,” he muttered. Luckily, he let us put on our shoes first. But you guys, Chooch and me on the loose in Brookline—AT NIGHT?

Wandering shadows!!

Because a girl on a diet will choose ice cream over shoes in a heartbeat, we decided to walk to Scoops on Brookline Boulevard. (I wanted to have a red velvet milkshake for dinner, and since I “ran” almost three miles this morning in the cemetery, I think that’s acceptable). On the way, we passed the American Legion while Bingo was going on, and since Henry wasn’t there to stop us, we screamed BINGO!!!!!! and then ran. Henry NEVER lets us do that. A minute later, Chooch wasn’t paying attention and walked into a street sign.

He’s OK, though. It was right outside of the fire station, so one of them probably could have helped if we needed it. And if not, the Las Palmas Mexicans were right across the street serving up tacos so probably they could have helped, too. Basically, one of any adults in the area that’s not Erin R. Kelly would have been dependable, I’m sure.

We got our ice cream without incident. Chooch ordered mint chocolate chip and told the ice cream ladler that one scoop was fine, but to me he muttered that he actually wanted two scoops but DADDY never lets him.

“That’s because he’s unreasonable. Get two scoops,” I said with a shrug. So he did and we walked away enjoying our ice cream and newfound independence.

But then we stopped at CVS on the way back because Henry told us to get newspaper for the paper mache project we’re doing this weekend. That seemed like not too hard of a task until I couldn’t find the newspaper! We walked up and down every aisle! And no newspaper!

Chooch was all, “No seriously, I know where it is” and that fucker took me to the TOY AISLE. They didn’t even have TOY newspapers!

So I had to call dumb Henry and he was all, “I don’t know! It should be by the door!”

IT WASN’T.

“Then check on the counter!” he yelled.

IT WASN’T THERE EITHER. Except that it actually was so then I hung up on him and bought the stupid paper. I was all stressed out over this but then I realized that “Just the Two Of Us” (the real Grover Washington, Jr. one, not the shitty Will Smith rip-off) was playing overhead and wow, how relevant to the situation. WE CAN MAKE IT IF WE TRY, CHOOCH. JUST THE TWO OF US, BUILDING THEM CASTLES IN BROOKLINE.

I walked and Chooch parkoured the whole way home and Henry was all, “WHERE IS THE ICE CREAM” when we walked in the house, like we were supposed to save that asshole any after he made us leave? Fuck that.

One of the Caribou Coffee joints was recently turned into a Peet’s Coffee. This wasn’t anything that neither concerned nor enticed me, but I had the misfortune of finding out one day when I went to get coffee at Caribou and instead arrived at a gutted storefront.

“It’s going to be a Peet’s Coffee,” the cashier at the nearby TCBY told me when I went inside and started asking her semi-hostile questions about where in the fuck Caribou went. “It’s supposed to be really good.”

I didn’t give a fuck. I needed an iced latte super fucking bad that day and had to stay in the area so I wound up drinking WENDY’S COFFEE OH THE HORROR.

(“Wendy’s” as in the fast food chain, not my friend Wendy, although I’ve never had that Wendy’s coffee so maybe it sucks, too.)

Then a month passed and I forgot about it because there are tons of other coffee options near my house so what do I care about this Peet’s/Caribou drama. Until one day KAITLIN texted me and was all, “FYI there’s a new coffee place called Peet’s and they have MAPLE LATTES.”

You guys. Maple lattes. Motherfucking maple lattes you guys! The first time I had maple coffee was last June when we were visiting our friend Alyson in New Hampshire and it was fucking splendid. Just so goddamn wonderful! (If you hate coffee or maple or both then skip the rest of this post I guess? I know Henry probably will.) And then in Salem, MA I had an iced maple latte and strongly considered becoming a Masshole just so I could drink that shit everyday because it was like autumn’s elixir, I can’t even describe it. It’s like when you imprint with a werewolf and your mom wants to know what that’s like, and how do you explain it? It’s fucking fantastic, like some real life Adam & Eve bullshit. Totally a personal thing so people should just mind their own goddamn business.

What happens between a girl and her iced maple latte is not my story to tell.

The grand opening for Peet’s was last Monday, but they were actually already open. So I decided mid-morning last Sunday that I needed to go and get myself mapled before I exploded.

First I checked Peet’s website just to make sure this elusive beast really was available. It was, and it said “NEW!!” beneath it, so I took that as a Good Sign. And then the store itself was dripping in Maple Latte advertisements. But when I ordered it, I was told that they were DONE FOR THE SEASON. Is this a joke? Does the Alamo paper their walls with pictures of a basement? NO. (They don’t, right? I’ve never actually been to the Alamo.) Anyway, instead of blowing my top, I went with my second choice: pumpkin spice. BUT I WAS TOLD THEY WERE ALL OUT OF PUMPKIN SPICE.

Sorry guys, I lied to you. I didn’t actually go to Peet’s at all. I sent Henry on my behalf.  I just wanted to see what it would feel like to write about actually doing something for myself.

I’ll tell you what I DID do though, I bitched about it on the Peet’s Facebook page and some Peet’s rep named DON apologized to me. He feels confident that I will enjoy their new holiday flavors, but that’s assuming I (Henry) will ever go back!

And then on Halloween morning, my brother Corey and I went to Waffles, INCaffeinated for some spooky breakfast haps. It was the first time eating there for both of us and we were really excited to go apeshit on some morning desserts. I spent all this time stressing over the menu until Corey pointed out the smaller menu of waffle add-ons, so then my head seriously was about to pop-off because I don’t handle multiple options very well.
It also had the Waffle of the Month at the bottom.

October’s waffle was the Waffle-copia. It was a sweet potato waffle (SWEET POTATO WAFFLE) with a fresh apple and fig compote (FIGS!!!!!! FUCKING FIGS!!!!!!!) and then I briefly also saw something about pumpkin, too but I didn’t need to read anymore. This was what I was going to smash  my face into that morning, pie eating contest-style. Ask my brother how stoked I was. Seriously, ask him!!

Does this look like the Waffle-copia? No? BECAUSE IT’S NOT. It’s the Mega Berry, which is what I had to disgustedly order after ELI THE WORST WAITER began to write down my order, only to pause and laugh, “Oh wait, we’re all out of the monthly special.”

I waited for him to walk away before assassinating his character in ways that could probably land me with a lawsuit, but I WAS MAD. Corey was like, “Who gives a fuck, they had my Funky Monkey, and that’s all I care about.” But I couldn’t stop mouthing off about Eli every time he walked away from our table after refilling our coffee. We’d both say thanks but then I would tack on a “FOR NOTHING!!!” after he retreated. I have impeccable aim when it comes to shooting the messenger.

Yeah, my Mega Berry waffle was good, blah blah blah. And, as Corey kept marveling over, the prices were pretty good too. BUT THE FIGS! THE FIIIIIGS!!!!!

ELI THE LIFE RUINER kept coming over to ask us how our waffles were and I just kept mumbling, “It’s good” but then when he’d retreat, I’d growl “No thanks to you.”

Before we left, some Waffle Man approached our table to ask us about our experience. He had a slight accent, so I think he might have been the proprietor (I like to read about restaurants before I go, and I remembered that the Man Responsible for the Waffles had some weird name, so that must have been him because I’m a really good profiler). Corey and I both said it was great (and it really was, EXCEPT FOR ELI THE WORST WAITER EVER). I’m not a big complainer–no really, I’m not!–so I started to think of ways I could word my Waffle-Copia complaint without sounding like some entitled Yelp reviewer.

“So….was today the last day for the waffle of the month?” I carefully prefaced my cloaked complaint.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I was actually just drawing up some ideas for next month’s special,” he said, flashing his Waffle Blueprint Notebook at me. And then: “Oh my god, your face, it looks so sad!” he exclaimed with genuine concern.

Apparently, my face had fallen into an automatic Dog-Eyed Pout without me even realizing, THAT IS HOW SAD I WAS. “It’s OK,” I lied. “I just REALLY WANTED THE WAFFLE-COPIA.”

And so the Waffle Foreigner explained to me that due to certain logistics (like having to order 50-pound bags of figs), they try to run out the waffle of the month during the last week so that they’re not stuck with a bunch of product that can’t be used for the next month. And I pretended to be understanding of that, and assured him that the Mega Berry was a fine replacement (I mean, it was good, but it was no Waffle-Copia).

He mentioned my sad face again and even said it was the saddest face ever, but look — I can’t get my facial muscles to lie for me, OK? ELI RUINED MY LIFE!!!!! So, to make him feel better, I blurted out, “And the prices here are really good!” like I’m suddenly a senior citizen out for breakfast with the Pittsburgh chapter of the Regis Philbin Fan Club.

“We try to stay competitive,” Waffle Man responded to my awkward sentence.

On that note, Corey and I decided it was time to leave. ELI THE WORST WAITER IN THE WORLD was standing near the door.

“Have a great day, guys!” he cheerfully called out.

“You too!” Corey and I replied, but then as the door shut behind me, I added, “ASSHOLE.”

So, I guess the point to this story is that I don’t get over disappointment very easily. And if you’re a waiter, I WILL PROJECT MY DISAPPOINTMENT ONTO YOU. Fuck you, Eli.

[ED.NOTE: Waffles INC really was great and though it pains me to admit it, Eli was a good waiter. But if they don’t bring the Waffle-Copia back next October, they can all rot. APPLES! FIGS! SWEET POTATO! PUMPKIN! You might as well just call it the Erin’s Orgasm. I’m not so sure Peet’s will get a second chance, though. That asshole Don could have at least offered me a coupon!]

Oh Henry, you shouldn’t have.

I swear, the older I get, the faster these months fly by. It is infuriating! We didn’t even go to a goddamn pumpkin patch this year (and here is where I remind myself that I actually hate pumpkin patches, but whatever)! But I did go to a fucking bushel of haunted houses, so it all evens out I guess.

(Bushel can definitely be a measurement for haunted houses.)

Anyway, here’s a bushel of photos from my phone that I would like to post here for posterity, plus some meaningless words. And I can do that if I want! Bushel bushel bushel!!

Chooch’s eyeball shadow.

• I usually talk to Henry on my cell phone while I’m walking to the trolley every day. We barely see each other during the week because of our opposing work schedules, so I basically call him 87 times a day until I get to work. He’s lucky that I abhor personal calls at work or else he’d never get a reprieve. Anyway, that’s not the point. So I was walking past the bank while I was yammering away about probably really important things (i.e. more shit I want Henry to do for me). There was an older woman in a motorized wheelchair, zooming toward me as I passed the bank, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that she stopped in front of the bank door. I turned around to see what she was doing and she was just sort of chilling in her wheelchair, facing the bank. I went back and asked her if she needed help with the door, and she said, “Oh yes, please! I didn’t want to ask you because you seemed like you were in a hurry.” The bank door opens into a foyer with another door at the end, so I had to walk inside with her in order to open the next door. I could hear Henry asking me what the fuck I was doing, because he knows how much I HATE TALKING TO STRANGERS so he probably thought I had run into an ex-boyfriend and advanced straight to the nearest alley to start an affair. As I opened the final door, the lady thanked me sweetly and mentioned again that she was sorry I had to stop for her when I was in such a hurry, and I assured her that I actually wasn’t in a hurry, and was about to joke that I just naturally walk like I’m an undercover CIA agent who’s headhunting a Nepalian jewel thief in Belfast, but then I didn’t want to talk about ambulation to someone who can’t walk because god, what an asshole I’d be. Anyway, the point to my story is that it really made me sad to think that this lady was too afraid to ask me, the only other pedestrian around at that time, for help because she didn’t want to bother me. I know I’m always “Blah blah, I hate people, go get fucked” but honestly, I could never be in “too much of a hurry” to help someone open a door, or cross the street, or chase down the hooker who stole their car keys. And fuck anyone who is. I may be a lot of lowly things, but “rude” is not one of them. Wheelchair or not, I always hold the damn door for someone. (Just not Henry or Janna. I like to force it shut on them. It’s a hobby.) Anyway, my own boyfriend of 12 years, having witnessed this via cell phone, was so astounded by me doing a good deed that his first instinct was to laugh at me.

• One day last week, Chooch stopped in front of this house and asked me to take his picture. “I wish this was one of the school picture backgrounds,” he said all wistfully. “Because this house is SO BEAUTIFUL.” I mean, it really is beautiful when your basis for comparison is the shanty we currently live in. But then I realized that this is the house that has the cinder block wall that Chooch loves to “parkour” on. So that explains that.

• Haunted House Journal excerpt from 10 years ago. I’m such a loser but I am secretly so proud of these journals. I’m also completely spazzing out because I am so behind with my haunted house chronicling. Let’s be honest here: if you’re a blogger, you know how much easier it is to type that shit out. Writing by pen is almost so archaic to me now that my hand cramps within two minutes and my hand writing looks like it matches my mental age. Totally awful, but I refuse to be defeated. Keeping a log of my October jam is way too important to let a little pen-in-hand lethargy win the war.

I know it looks like he’s smiling but he was actually VERY MAD AT THE WORLD.

• I’m having a really hard time focusing on things lately. I can barely even sit through a TV show. (Trust me, that’s not necessarily a bad thing; I’d love to go back to the days when I literally NEVER WATCHED TV. I was so much better off. Now Henry is reading this and getting a hard-on at the prospect of canceling cable, haha.) This probably also explains why I can’t keep up with haunted house journaling. I probably have ADHD or something but I refuse to be medicated so what does it even matter. Also, yesterday and today I think I had some sort of mild panic attack before work. It started to happen again earlier this afternoon when everyone was gathered around the cake corridor. We were celebrating our boss’s recent nuptials and I had to peace out right after the toast and retreat to my office-thing, where I rested my head on my keyboard until everyone started to make their way back to my quadrant. Either my anxiety is coming back full force or I’m way more averse to marriage/other people’s happiness than ever, thanks Henry. I’m telling you this because you’re my doctor, right?

• I love it when this guy rides the trolley because although he has Beats by Dre headphones, he inexplicably uses a real life CASSETTE WALKMAN, you guys! I can’t even explain the sweet, sexual nostalgia that’s dumped upon my head like a bucket of gland juice perspired during the filming of a Jodeci music video. And when he would eject the tape, flip it over, and then smash down the “Play” button with the fingertip force? SWOON, MOTHERFUCKER, SWOON. It made me want to eBay a yellow Aiwa Walkman, just like the kind I had in high school. Bitch, you best believe I still have the mixtapes for it. I’m not sure what the man was listening to at the time I stole his soul with my iPhone lens, but I can promise you that he was rocking the FUCK out to Queen a few weeks ago. It was goddamn adorable.
• Speaking of cassettes, my buddy Alex asked me to make a Halloween mixtape for his Mixtape Monday blog thingie that he does. He posted it yesterday and I’m really excited about it because bone-chilling music rules. You should go check it out, OK?!!? I will now end this jumbled post with a video for one of my mixtape songs because I know you are going to be all like, “I will click that link, just not right now” and then tomorrow you’ll kind of think about it while shaving your mom’s back but then you’ll be “in too much of a hurry” just like one of those jerks who can’t even stop and open a fucking door for a crippled person!! And then by the next day, YOU’LL HAVE COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN THAT YOU PROMISED ME YOU WOULD CHECK IT OUT and why do I suddenly feel like this post is exorsizing all of my bottled-up feelings!?

Isn’t this how you dress for a 5K?

I joined The Law Firm’s team again this year for the annual Heart Walk 5K, which raises awareness and money for the American Heart Association. I don’t know anyone personally who has been affected by heart disease, but it scares me and I enjoy walking so I have signed up for the last two years. It’s not like I ever have anything better to do that early on a Saturday morning so why not?

I did not bring Henry, though. We’re lucky he even rolled to a stop long enough to allow us to safely exit the car before he sped off to a land where he didn’t have to be someone’s BITCH for a whole two and a half hours. This left Chooch and I standing alone on a street corner, no weapons, no (moral) compass, NO MONEY. It was really scary, but Chooch was like, “We can do this” so we held hands and walked to Heinz Field where we immediately became lost and couldn’t find anyone from our team and strangers kept talking to us.

This year, Sandy signed up and brought Elena, which was good because Chooch was JUST complaining the other day about how he isn’t hugged enough by little girls, so problem solved. And thank god he spotted them so then our group of Lost People expanded to four. We kind of just stood around, looking confused, until Monica and Chris rolled up, casually biting into apples like it’s the sole purpose we were given teeth. God, how arrogant. Maybe I’m just bitter because I can’t nosh on apples like your everyday Farmer Jenkins. My apples need to be sliced by an apple-corer and sometimes need to be even more cut after that. So I disgustedly watched them snack on their produce like regular pioneers (god, why don’t you just wear a bonnet, too!!!) while cursing my mom for not teaching me how to eat a fucking apple. I AM TOO OLD TO LEARN NOW.

But anyway—SAFETY IN NUMBERS! I already felt better, and even embarked on a mission to pee all by myself! And I didn’t get lost! I asked Chooch if he wanted to go with me or stay with everyone else, and he chose to stay with everyone else because he’s not new to this game–he knew he’d be safer with them than me.

He likes to pretend like she drives him nuts, but we all know Chooch is a big softie underneath that Bring Me the Horizon t-shirt.

While waiting to have our Law Firm Group Picture taken, the most awkward interaction Chooch and I have ever had with a mascot (or furry, for that matter) happened when Steely McBeam (“Fuck the Steelers!” is what I wanted to shout to get him to piss off) completely infiltrated our personal space and REPEATEDLY TOUCHED US. He kept trying to grab Chooch’s lollipop out of his mouth and then he was unwrapping and rewrapping my scarf and even fluffed my hair at one point. I was stunned, paralyzed, speechless. I mean, if you’re going to violate me, at least give me a plate of apple slices afterward.

He finally walked away with his head down and Monica commented on the awkwardness of the scene so I’m glad it wasn’t just me being a social reject again.

The best part about this photo is that Chooch didn’t even ask to have his picture taken, but some lady was all, “HEY KID, GET IN THIS PICTURE WITH ME & STEELY MCBEAM. IT’LL BE AWESOME, A YINZER MEMORY TO LAST A LIFETIME.” Even CHOOCH is like, “This mascot is fucking stupid.”

Then another of our co-workers, Elaina, arrived with her mom and dog, and Chooch lost interest in everyone and everything else after that because OMG DOG! MOMMY WON’T LET ME HAVE A DOG.

Right before the walk started, Sandy gave Chooch a banana who then remembered he only likes bananas on Tuesdays with a full moon, so he gave it to me and I happily ate a piece of fruit that can’t defeat me.

And then we walked the 5K which took FOREVER because it’s basically just a stroll and I’m not really good at walking that slow, plus I had to keep stopping to fetch my child who would wander off to throw sticks and empty cans of Skoal into the river. And then he picked up a piece of Caution tape and gave it to Elena, who immediately attempted to tie it around her waist like a gritty haute couture sash. She’s very fashion-forward. Probably somewhere around the one mile mark, Chooch started complaining about phantom stomach pains and began finding all the different ways we could cheat and not have to walk as far. Nice try, too bad you’re saddled with a mom who loves to walk (yet has an ironic collection of wheelchairs).

Chooch is going through this adorable phase where he wants everyone to know that his father is an alcoholic because sometimes he might drink THREE BEERS on a Saturday night AT HOME. So naturally, whenever I would be asked whey Henry wasn’t at the Heart Walk, Chooch would butt in and casually say, “He’s drunk.” Of course, this is hilarious to me and not-at-all-hilarious to Henry who is so afraid that someone is going to think it’s true and then he’s going to get taken away to the slammer in the back of a 1920’s police car. Mostly I think “alarmed” reactions were only garnered was because Henry had the balls to leave Chooch and me alone on the North Shore.

(That night, we were at Ghost Lake in Conneaut and Chooch was reading the rules that were posted outside one of the attractions. “No pushing. No smoking. No ALCOHOL, DADDY!” It was fantastic.)

“Mommy, look!” Chooch yelled, flipping me the bird with his gloved hand. I started to Be A Parent, but he quickly cut me off and said, “No, it’s OK! My finger’s not actually in there!” He held up his hand again with all of his fingers folded down and the black-knit middle finger-pocket was indeed empty, albeit standing erect. So then I had to explain in hushed tones that this still was inappropriate because we were in public and it would only be OK if it were directed toward his alcoholic father.

Monica and Chris told Chooch that he should come visit them and see their cat, but I’m not stupid. I know they just want to rub their 2013 County Fair’s Most Elegant Apple Eaters blue ribbons in my face. Jerks.

And then the walk was over and everyone left except for me and Chooch, who had to stay for unlimited minutes and wait for Henry’s Gitney Service to come back for us. Chooch busied himself by playing on every single bouncy-attraction and asking strangers where they got their balloons. Then he went up to some nutrition tent and spun a wheel which landed on “Breads and Grains” so he had to tell the lady something in that food group in order to win a prize.

“Um……” Chooch started, seconds ticking away loudly into the ether. A small group was forming. Answer the fucking question. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT, PEOPLE WILL THINK I ONLY FEED YOU TOOTSIE ROLLS , CAT FUR AND CHEETOS CRUMBS! JUST SAY A BAGEL, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE! “Um, bread?” Chooch shrugged. The lady begrudgingly handed him a UPMC pencil and a large stick of sidewalk chalk even though she was clearly disappointed in his answer.

Well, technically “bread” is in that food group, so stop frowning at my failure to teach my child about nutrition! And this was still better than last year when he completely shit the bed and said, “I don’t know, what is food?” for his final answer.

Finally, we managed to cross the street without dying and Henry swooped in with his Dad-chariot and we immediately started crying to him about how hungry we were.

So, hooray for raising money and awareness for heart disease! However, the real success story here is that we walked a 5K without Henry holding our hands and no one stepped in hobo shit or fell into the river!