In an effort to rejuvenate a love for handwritten letters, the Snail Mail My Email project was launched. It’s run solely by volunteers who handwrite and mail letters that are submitted by people through the website. There’s also the option to request a custom doodle.

Because I don’t have enough shit to do, I signed up to be a volunteer. I wasn’t holding my breath, because the FAQs made it sound like they had enough people, but then over the weekend, I received an email telling me I was chosen, followed immediately by 20 emails with the letters that I need to write and mail.

By MONDAY.

Of course, I made this my priority.

The first one I did had a doodle request of an epic battle between a unicorn and a cat in a cave in a deep pocket of a purse. So I made a purse out of a manila folder. It opens up to reveal the epic battle (I modeled the cat after Marcy, who cam sit through an epic battle looking bored as hell, yet still win) and the message they wanted is written on the back of a gum wrapper.

Because all purses have a gum wrapper in it.

WTF happened in Napa?!

(A-ron liked this one so much, he asked me to make a copy before I mail it.  Who wouldn’t love a letter with the word “twats” in it!?)

3 down. 17 more to go!

Late this morning, I was walking to meet my friend Evonne for coffee at the Sugar Cafe. I called Henry because it had been an entire fifteen minutes since I bothered him at work; while I was on  the phone with him, an old man on a bench asked me for the time.

This meant I had to take the phone away from ear and re-light the screen.

Not very problematic, exhausting or too terribly inconvenient, but it was enough to spark a new goal for myself.

“I really need to get a watch,” I whined to Henry, immediately after giving the old man the time. (If I were old, time would be the last thing I wanted to know.) “I haven’t had one in years!”

Side bar: The last watch I had was a Fossil, a Valentine’s Day gift from Henry. Sweet, right? I thought so too until a few months later when I learned he purchased it with my own Journeys gift card.

After listening to me rant about how it was high time I reward myself with a fancy watch, Henry said, “Fancy?

Like what, an upscale kids watch?”

God, that man knows me so well.

****

It’s been almost a year since I last saw Evonne, but time doesn’t ever put a damper on things for us. We got our breakfast and immediately started talking about alien sightings, Quaker cemeteries and being stalked.

She’s like my goddamn life coach.

 She even brought me last year’s Christmas present!

And it was a watch.

A motherfucking WATCH.

Evonne is magic.

Quick pictorial recap:

Of all the color choices, Chooch picked “Jonny Craig ginger.” That’s my boy! Of course it’s on crooked. That’s my boy.

Some of my work friends. Work has been going better. I haven’t cried there in awhile! (Knock on wood.)

Speaking of work, I was entered in some raffle, unbeknownst to me, for participating in the Firm’s walking challenge and the Heart Walk 5k. I was really excited, even though the $100 gift card was for a grocery store that would basically go straight to Henry’s wallet. Right when I was googling to see if I could use it to buy a gift card for another store so that I could buy clothes instead of cereal, the dude who won the grand prize emailed the lady who organized the event to see if he could swap his PREMIUM CARNEGIE MUSEUM MEMBERSHIP with one of the winners of the gift card.

I’ve never replied to an email so fast.

So now I have that instead. A $250 value! Henry, Chooch and I are always going places so this made more sense to me. We will use the shit out of that membership.

I feel like it was a nice little fist pump from the Big Guy for not killing myself last week.

They’ve done a lot of construction at the Palace of Gold since I was last there.

****
At some point, I have to finish the Moundsville posts. And I scheduled a tour of the Bayernhof Music Museum for this Sunday with my brother Corey and friend Kristy!

Pretty stoked to be returning to that house of horrors.

When all else fails, look at pictures of Jonny Craig.

Oh wait, that only works for me.

Chooch’s artwork for my new office-thing. “Hulk & Zombies vs The Law Firm.”

He does commissions.

This weekend kicked my ass, in the best way possible. I’m not sure if it was a seriously stellar weekend, or if it just feels that way after having such a phenomenally shitty work week. Kind of like fucking a 5 after dating a 2.

You know?

I don’t think I’m capable of making much sense. Maybe after I feel my fat stomach with Mexican food at Verde in an hour, then we can talk.

I look like this now.

Two of my favorite things combined into one: Fisher Price Little People and wheelchairs! I was watching this eBay item like a hawk last weekend (it had 12 bids by the end!

) before royally fucking the high bidder at the last minute.

I now how to bide my time, suckers.

Look what my homeboy Henry brought home for me the other day! My very own prayer bench! Now I finally have a place to set the housekeys and junk mail. So pleased with this.

Marcy is not pleased with this. She smells too much God on it, I think.

Please excuse me while I micro-blog here super quick.

Flea Market Finds!

Against Henry’s wishes, I bought these lamps for the future clown room. Chooch marched right up to the lady selling them and asked how much she wanted. Chooch is the best mouthpiece! Apparently, he was grocery-shopping with his grandma Judy and Henry a few weeks ago, and as Judy tells the story, Chooch walked with authority over to some broad and asked, “Excuse me, do you shop here often?” After she said yes, Chooch asked, “Then do you know where to find the Tofurkey??”

There’s a little vegan girl in his class, but I’m sure that had NOTHING to do with his hunt for faux-deli slices.

We let Chooch buy this pillow at the flea market because hello, he’s the Cat King. The lady selling them had stepped away from her booth, but we waited dilligently for her to return because I was NOT letting my feline-obsessed child go home without a cat cushion for his cranium.

Allen’s Haunted Hayride

There was some knock down-drag out at the grocery store between Henry and Chooch Saturday morning, leaving Henry to call me and shout, “THIS KID IS NOT GOING ANYWHERE TONIGHT!”

We were supposed to take him on his first haunted hayride, so I was completely bummed out about this.

“Why do I have to be punished for something Chooch did?” I cried. But Henry held firm.

“He’s NOT going,” he reiterated.

In then end, Chooch and I left Henry at home baking pies and went to the hayride anyway. My brother Corey and his girlfriend Danielle joined us, and Corey had this big Halloween gift bag for Chooch.

“It’s from our mom,” he muttered, while Chooch ravaged the contents.

This made my heart hurt so bad. I’ve mentioned it on here before, but October is the one month I miss my estranged mom. I miss going to haunted houses with her (and having her pay), hosting bonfires at her house (and having her provide all the food and liquor), watching horror movies at her house, and ALL OF THE DECORATIONS. God, she used to do it up proper-style.

But…this is not the mom she is anymore. And pining for something that is long since gone is futile and a huge waste of time. Meanwhile, Chooch didn’t even question it, he just dug right on into the bag. And there was lots of really good shit in there, too.

I wonder if she even knows what he looks like now.

Replacement Big Green Glasses!

My friends Tammy and Rick, ever so thoughtful, gifted me with new glasses at the Pie Party on Sunday, knowing how forlorn I was when my other pair broke. I love them! I can pretty much see better out of those than my contacts.

Motherfucker in a White Van

This morning on my walk home from taking Chooch to school, I had the right of way to cross the street. Some dickhead in a white work van had just rolled up to the stop sign moments prior to me stepping off the curb, and gestured impatiently for me to cross. Here are some things I found wrong with this picture:

• I had the right of way.
• There was nowhere for him to go anyway, considering the street he was trying to turn on to was at a traffic standstill.
• I had the right of way.
• I had the right of way. (I looked it up, even! “When traffic-control signals are not in place or are not in operation, the driver of a vehicle shall yield the right-of-way to a pedestrian crossing the roadway within any marked crosswalk or within any unmarked crosswalk at an intersection.”)
• I don’t permit motherfuckers to gesture impatiently at me.
• I HAD THE RIGHT OF WAY. PEDESTRIANS RULE.

This jackass picked the wrong motherfucking day to get all impatient on me. As previously noted on this blog, I was having a Bad Morning. In fact, Henry was presently getting an ear-beating from me when this all took place, and he’s one lucky motherfucker because I instantly redirected all of my hatred upon this new unmarked van-driving douchebag.

(At the time of the street-crossing, I had been shouting at Henry about how I was going to take a hatchet to our piece of shit couch, chop it into 18 pieces, throw it to the curb and then buy BEAN BAG CHAIRS TO SIT ON, MOTHERFUCKER. God, I hate that couch!!!)

First, I looked this dumbshit in the eyeballs and yelled, “YEAH, I KNOW I CAN CROSS, YOU ASSHOLE!” I continued to glare at him the entire way across the street, and then for two more blocks, I screamed into the phone about this pathetic Yinzer fuckstick who was probably all bent out of shape because his precious STILLERS blow this year. Taking it out on some precious street-crosser is not going to change that fact, you cocksucker!

I was just getting done screaming, “I hope I see him again tomorrow and every day after! I’M GOING TO RUIN HIM!” when I happened to look to my left and noticed some broad sitting on her front porch, quietly drinking her coffee, and staring at me expectantly.

And I still kept bitching even after I grew tired of bitching to Henry and hung up on him.

Man, that dumbfuck walked right the fuck onto my war path…the van driver and Henry.

Near-Fatal Work Injury!

Yesterday, I inflicted upon myself the motherlode of all paper cuts.

Barb was supposed to be looking for a Bandaid in her drawer when suddenly I heard her exclaim, “Ooh! A Heath bar!”

That’s OK, Barb. I’m just BLEEDING OUT, THAT’S ALL.

Today, once all the BLOOD AND SWELLING went away, I was able to see that there were actually EIGHT (8) cuts, not 4.5 like I originally counted at the time of slicing.

This is what my hand looked like by the time I found a Bandaid.

Current Favorite Glenns!

Did a bunch more today, including a Glenn or Glenda one as suggested by my friend Chris, which so far has only been appreciated by ONE PERSON (Amber² who is obviously super smart and has excellent taste in cinema).

Perhaps tomorrow I will drink some energy drinks and write about the pie party. I at least have all of the photos ready! Ah, memories of when I was a real, dedicated blogger.

A few years ago, when I actually tried to be a part of the Blogosphere, I participated in a Blog Bash that some blogger broad was hosting. Basically, everyone posted shit about themselves, answered questions, and then went around reading everyone else’s shit.

I thought it would be fun to re-post mine and maybe, if anyone out there gives a shit, they can make their own post on their blog. JUST A THOUGHT.

*********

• My birthday is July 30, 1979. That means I’m a Leo, which means I roar a lot. Which means I have an awesome singing voice.
• My boyfriend Henry and I have been together since 2001. We did a REALLY SICK THING which produced a boy named Riley, but everyone calls him Chooch. You can too. He’s 4 now. 4 is the age where kids get the  manual on how to be dicks, in case you didn’t know. And if you have a 4-year-old and are disagreeing with this, then I hate you. Can we trade?
  • ACTUALLY, at the time of this posting, he’s six and has since earned a black belt in dickness.
    buy filitra online buy filitra generic

• I live in Pittsburgh! I hate it here!
• I hate water towers, power plants/abandoned factories, the ocean, outer space, glaciers, Alaska, Miley Cyrus and Katy Perry, the Steelers, liars.
• I like hockey!
• My past time is stalking people and playing with animal masks. (Yes, in tandem.)
• I like the Cure and most any music that features incessant screaming.
• Annoying people with reckless abandon is sort of my thang.
• I can turn any situation into a study of awkwardness.
• I am a girl!

5.) Let’s hear the story behind your blog title!

My grandma and I have a very illustrious history, full of afternoons  light-hearted flour fights during impromptu snickerdoodle bake-offs and reading Dickens together beneath a parasol.

That’s a lie. I don’t know why I typed that just now.

The truth is that I was always the black sheep, that a lot of my actions or ideas shamed my grandma. Even as a small child, when I would fuck up, she would sigh exasperatedly (sometimes even disgustedly while running a red pen across my name on her Will) and say, “Oh honestly, Erin.”

And not a day goes by where I don’t have some extent of an “Oh honestly” moment.

Now you know.

Tomorrow is the third annual pie party! It’s funny that something I started as a joke has become an annual event. But come on – tables full of pie in the park?! How could that possibly be a bad idea. Anyway, while Henry runs around to every single grocery store like a bumbling Food Network Star hopeful, I have been preparing by reminiscing about the other pie parties. Here’s a repost of last year’s!

**************

Why do I keep having parties? All they do is stress me the fuck out. And you know, this time, I was trying to be more lackadaisical about it but all that did was make me wake up Saturday morning to a constricted chest and a build-up of pre-party heart palpitations. And it wasn’t like there was a ton to do — Henry just had to make two pies while I roamed around the house, looking at my imaginary Swatch watch and calling him a motherfucker.

“I don’t know why you get so stressed out when I’m the one who has to do everything,” Henry called out from the kitchen, elbow-deep in butterscotch, while I zoned out to Chiodos and buffed my fingernails. Finally, he finished his pistachio pie and deemed the butterscotch pie as “getting there,” so we packed it all up and split for the pavilion; upon arrival, Henry had already written a list of a hundred things he forgot, which meant Chooch and I got to hang out alone in the pavilion while he “ran real quick” to the store.

I. False Hope

While I was chastising my son for being 5 and incapable of using a swingset on his own, a car pulled up the dirt part alongside the pavilion. Chooch and I ran a Special Olympics practice lap toward it just as a man was emerging from the driver’s side. It wasn’t anyone I recognized, but I am never one to turn away a pie aficionado.

“Do you mind if I take some pictures of my wife?” he asked. That’s when I noticed that in place  of a checkered bib fastened around his neck and a pie fork in each hand, he came equipped with his camera, his very pregnant wife, and a young kid.

Oh.

Hopes crushed, I gave them the green light and Chooch and I moped back to the playground with our heads down. Maybe that was just me. It was already past the start of the party and no one had arrived, so what did I care if some weirdos were taking lovey-dovey family portraits over by the porta john.

Then another car pulled down and around the pavilion, so Chooch and I jumped up and cheered just in time for the two strangers in the car to leer at us as they drove back up the road.

“What the fuck?!” I yelled to the party gods, who were clearly angry with me for some reason. Not sending thank you cards fast enough after my birthday party? God, fuck off.

Finally, Henry came back at the same time my brother Corey and his girlfriend Danielle arrived, so they were here for the next fake out, when a pick up truck pulled into the lot across the street but then it turned out to be some assholes bringing their dog to the park for a walk. It was nearly 2 at this point and I started to cry a little.

II. The Horse

The incredibly affectionate family/pie party crashers had taken a break in their photo session long enough to plop down for a picnic in the grass. We were sitting at a table under the pavilion, openly mocking them, when Corey noticed a horse coming out of the woods. Atop the horse sat a poised older woman in some kind of fucking safari hat and chambray shirt. Corey could not stop talking about how poised she was, like she was expecting to be photographed or draped with a champion’s sash.  Everyone (but me) took turns telling her how beautiful her horse was as she clomped off toward the playground.

Chooch decided that he HAD TO GO TO THE SWINGSET at this moment and he would have to RUN AS FAST AND AS LOUDLY as he possibly could because it might not be there much longer. Off he ran like a madman, ignoring Henry’s warnings of “Don’t run near the horse——aw, shit.”

Too late.

The horse got spooked and started to buck. The bitch on his back was suddenly less than poised as she tried to get him to calm down. We all just sat there and stared, and then I had to turn away because I was laughing so hard. We’re all so incredibly irresponsible when it comes to that kid.

At least she wasn’t thrown off the horse, I guess.

III. This Is My Brother, Corey; He’s Color Blind

Since there still wasn’t a party happening, Corey, Danielle and Chooch sat down and colored some Star Wars pictures. Thank god for crayons and coloring books.

“You know I’m color-blind, right?” Corey asked me.

“What? No!” I replied.

“Yeah, I found out when I was like, 7 and got my first pair of glasses. The doctor was basically like, ‘You’re color-blind as fuck.’ I can’t believe you’ve known me for 21 years and didn’t know this!” Corey said, mock-offended.

Meanwhile, Chooch was chastising Corey for coloring Luke Skywalker totally wrong and I was like, “Dude doesn’t know his colors, Chooch. He can’t help it.” I tried to give Corey a sympathetic smile but I couldn’t stop laughing long enough.

Anyway, the point of Corey’s story is that his color-retardedness is affecting his ability to excel in one of his classes, so his adviser intervened and told the professor about Corey’s “condition,” at which point he was sent to the disability office and had to sit among suicidal students and a guy with one leg.

This was so ridiculously funny to me that I could not stop laughing and talking about it. All day long, whenever someone new would arrive (and yes, people did eventually arrive), I would introduce Corey as “my brother; he’s color-blind.” Show me your weakness and I will mock you relentlessly.

 IV. The Butterscotch Blunder

People were finally beginning to arrive and Henry let me set out the pistachio pie (which was like spooning a cloud from Heaven into your mouth; I bet angels get breast implants made from this sweet fluff) but said that the butterscotch pie still wasn’t ready.

“Don’t touch it!” he barked preemptively when I made to open the weird helium-balloon looking cooler stowing the runny pie. “I just checked it and it still hasn’t jelled.” He tugged on his coller a little and then took another swig of his iced tea jug.

This pretty much went on all day, this dance around the reverse pie-incubator, until finally it was 6:30 and everyone had left with nary a slice of butterscotch pie (which is one of my all-time favorite pies and I haven’t had it in years because my mom doesn’t care enough about me to bake me one, but she’ll still bake them FOR HER EX-HUSBAND WTF). I was devastated. Yes, I had shoveled multiple varities of fruit- and cream-filled desserts between my oscillating lips, but there was a void that couldn’t be filled by any berry or Nutella. I needed that fucking butterscotch.

(Two pies came close though: Kaitlin made a black forest pie and then told Henry to suck it; and Laura’s fiance Mike baked one of the best apple pies with a crust soaked in some sort of sex nectar, I don’t even know but I think I may have broken a few laws with it in my mouth.)

V. The Park

Everyone is always bitching about how hard it is to find park pavilions, no matter what park we’re at, so fuck that: the next pie party will be at a strip club. Maybe then people will actually show up.

And then there won’t be any stink bugs to freak people out. Just crabs.

VI. Where’s the Avocado Pie?

Henry didn’t make the avocado pie this year and of course everyone was like, “Did Henry make the avocado pie?” No, Henry didn’t make the avocado pie because he was too busy fucking up the butterscotch pie.

VII. Pictures of People Eating Pie

Pie Eaters:

• Me me me me
• Henry and Chooch
• Laura
• Corey and Danielle
• Robbie and Karen
• Ron
• John, Jennifer, Abby and Gavin
• Nancy and her baby, Joey
• Jamie and her baby, Crosby
• Barb
• Kaitlin
• Sandy and Elena
• Sean and Kylie
• Joy and John
• Kristen and her dog, Joey
• Blake and Shannon
• Henry’s mom Judy
• Henry’s sister Kelly
• Zac
• Janna

 Henry bought some sort of pie shower caps, except I thought he said they were for vaginas. I was so confused, but figured it was something he saw his ex using one time, so I didn’t question it.

I don’t think these kids stopped moving long enough to eat even a bite of pie.

WHAT WERE THEY TALKING ABOUT? It seems so intense.

Since it was an open house-type of party, people came and went all day. Henry kept trying to make everyone take pie home with them, because the pie:person ratio was totally ridiculous this year. There were some pies that hadn’t even been cut into by the end of the day. Was everyone on a diet this year?

We even considered handing off some pie to the picnicking pregnant family down by the porta john.

Joy’s fiance John asked me what started the whole pie party thing. When I told him that it was basically because I wanted pie and wondered how I could trick people into bringing me some, I think he believed me but I’m not sure. It’s kind of cool how much people enjoy pillaging a spread of pies in a park pavilion on a beautiful autumn day, though.

Probably frowning at Kaitlin’s black forest pie.

Laura actually likes having her photo taken, so she doesn’t care when I sneak up on her.

Overall, it was a great day, great weather, great pies, and great people. But by 6:00, I was writhing around and yelling WHY DID YOU LET ME EAT SO MUCH PIE!? because everything is Henry’s fault.

The next morning, Henry finally admitted that he fucked up the butterscotch pie, which had never jelled, not even after a full 24 hours. There goes your spot on the Food Network, Henry, you fuck-up.

I heard through the grapevine that Glenn liked last year’s Murder Desk better than this year’s Carnival Desk because he got to be the killer. (I’m going to pretend that he wasn’t being sarcastic.)

So I decided to incorporate his murderous streak into this year’s theme, too.

I’ve been calling this Candy’s Corner.

Remains of Candy mingle amongst circus peanuts.

I figured I could use Glenn to tie in Candy’s Corner with all the department sideshow freaks, so I made a newspaper article. (The picture of Candy is random — I didn’t want anyone here to be all, “OMG WHY DO I HAVE TO BE THE VICTIM!?”)

(But really, aren’t we all?)

The “unknown metal object” will be officially revealed next week when I have Candy’s stomach contents on my desk.

I tried to throw in a few shout-outs here and there, like Barb’s newfound predilection for tacking on “holla!” to the end of random proclamations and Amber1’s publicly shared affection for her wiener dog.

And Brad’s midget-ness.

Another new addition: creepy old jack in the box!

Candy’s wig and bow.

Sean and Glenn checking out the latest Glenns on the wall.

The real Glenn got Little Orphan Glenn in today’s clown head digging. George got Jesus Glenn, and to quote Lee: “George gets ALL of the good Glenns!

“

I’m so happy that the Glenn Dispenser (as dubbed by A-Ron) is a hit! (Above is a close-up of the clown head’s mouth, where all the fun is.) It makes me laugh to hear my work friends asking each other, “Which Glenn did you get??” And when Lee found out George got the coveted Juggalo Glenn, he whined, “George always gets the good Glenns!

”

I added a bunch more Glenns to the mix today, including Rainbow Brite Glenn, Swoop-era Bieber Glenn, Furry Glenn, and “Carrie” Glenn.

Today, Glenn’s prize capsule contained a fortune.

“Wow. How deep,” he mumbled after reading it, but really I think he was disappointed that he didn’t get a Himself.

We have really been scoring at the thrift stores lately. Last week, Henry found an elephant table and sent me a picture of it. I was in a meeting at the time though, and by the time I got back to him to say, “Fuck yeah, I want that!” he had already left.

So I made him go back. You can’t pass up a goddamn elephant table, Jesus Christ.

The original table featured an elephant-colored elephant, which is fine for some, but I knew that if that table was ever going to belong in my house, it would have to be pink. So we pinked the fuck out of it and now have the best accent table of all time, which will be perfect in the clown room of my imaginary house.

In other news, paper mâché sucks. But I said I was going to do this, so now I must see it through.

Scored a new member for the Wheelchair Gang today at Goodwill!

I can’t believe someone would give away such an evil specimen.

I’m so pleased with him! I’ve named him Mauricio. He’s fit in seamlessly with Malachai and Fetal Alcohol Syndrome Baby.

Can’t wait for them to come alive and gut the neighborhood with melon ballers!

Scored these “baby’s” as well.

In other OHE happenings, I’ve been off work for the last two days and it has been lovely. I spent yesterday catching up with my oldest friend Christy (she’s the one you’d want to go to for confirmation on all the Adolescent Erin tales, and also the one who tried to warn me about getting involved with Psycho Mike, god bless her), and then Seri and I spent 87 hours in the car just to get psychologically tortured at Ghoul Mansion in Sharon, PA. More on that later (and also my annual Castle Blood review)!

Today was spent scouring various stores for components of my Halloween desk decor – I’m really excited about it this year and can’t wait to start putting it together on Monday! Henry is helping me make a large paper mâché clown head today so hopefully that ends successfully and with little blood shed.

I’ve also been spending my time off catching up on season 2 of The Killing which has quickly become my new obsession and possibly in the Top 5 of my favorite TV shows, so naturally it was canceled.

On top of all that, I’m pretty sure I’m getting sick. Yay!

Hi, hello! The first week of the new Law Firm Walking Challenge has been going swimmingly (walkingly?). The first day, I lapped my way to an easy 20,000 steps by walking to Seri’s house, which is only 1.88 miles away, but to be fair to my awesomeness, I didn’t get there by walking a straight shot – I zig-zagged up and down several side streets, whaddup.

Anyway, I allowed myself to stay temporarily idle long enough for Seri to say nice things to me, stick a bottle of water in my mouth and ply me with a cookie. I had 6800 steps when I arrived at her house, but after walking one block into my departure, I still only had 6800.

STOMACH: SINKING.

But then I realized I had the pedometer showing the aerobic steps, which don’t move until you’ve been walking at a quick pace for a certain period of time.

I had 12,000 steps by noon!

I wasn’t even angry when Teammate Barb called off work! Or when Amber¹ didn’t seem as gung-ho as last time. I even chose to ignore the fact that Carey had less steps than Stephen Hawking and opted to focus instead on the fact that she was even wearing her pedometer at all.

By the time I left work at 8:30, I had 20,000 steps!

This time, I’m doing things differently. I’m staying calm. I’m not going to berate my team members (for now). But apparently, I’m still verbally Bobbiting Henry as ruthlessly as I was last time.

“Oh boy,” he said with mock surprise as he drove me to work on Tuesday (I’d walk if I could). “It’s only day 2 and you’re already being a bitch. Can’t wait until day 5.”

Two hours later, he was driving back downtown to deliver me my TOMS after I discovered that the shoes I wore to work were too painful to aggressively walk in.

God, what a sucker. I mean, thank you Henry! You’re my hero!

Chooch being in school this time around has given me ample opportunity to rack up tons of steps before work. However, Wednesday I had to contend with him being home from school plus RAIN. So I made him mall-walk with me and all the elderlies.

He was thrilled. But we actually had a pretty good time. I was even going to be a decent mom and buy him something for going along with my walking madness.

We walked into Claire’s because he saw Frankenweenie swag as we walked by.

“What brings you here today?” the store manager asked us, and I launched into this manic explanation of the Law Firm Walking Challenge, flashing my pedometer at her as Chooch groaned and the manager appeared sorry that she asked. I guess she was expecting me to exclaim, “Just wanted to buy some sweet ass Hello Kitty pasties.”

Chooch ended up finding a wallet he liked. (“IT’S SO SOFTTTTTTT!” he kept cooing. Meet the lighter side of Chooch, fan of furry panda change purses.)

Speaking of wallets, this was the part of the day when I realized I left mine at home. The Claire’s manager looked super pissed that she listened to my walking challenge story and didn’t even get a sale out of it.

Before we left, Chooch, around a mouthful of giggles, “dared” me to go into Victoria’s Secret. Then he saw a spotted stuffed dog in the middle of the store and said, “Um…I’m just gonna run in there real fast and look at that….stuffed dog.” And that is exactly what he did, rubbernecking around to ogle all the over-sized pictures of models on the wall while he was half-assedly petting the stuffed dog.

Just now, Henry saw Purple Pants walk past the house and said, “She’s probably at about 70,000 steps by now.”  Ugh! I have to go walk some more! I want to walk to Lisa’s husband’s graduation party today but I don’t think I’d make it there on time.

 Today’s “I’m Too Busy Walking to Blog” vintage post is about how I was robbed of $20 but made a new friend.

************* 

“How To Die In the Event of a Rape”