Party Chick, officially.

Since we took Chooch to Knoebels on the other side of the state for his birthday, we toned down the actual party this time around and just had it at Games n’At, a retro alternative to Chuck E. Cheese with tons of Pittsburgh-flavor. It was a big hit with the kids, and awesome for Henry and me because literally all we had to do was drop off party hats, plates, etc the day before and they had everything set up for us. NO DECORATING! And each kid got to choose from a list of snack bar options, so NO PROVIDING OUR OWN FOOD!

Holy shit, it was a parental dream come true. With everything we’ve been doing lately, planning a party just wasn’t something that either of us had the energy for. And Chooch still had fun,which is all that matters.

“You’re only picking Ugli Doll stuff because you like it,” Henry accused me the day before at Party City. Well…I didn’t see any Minecraft stuff there! And Chooch likes Ugli Dolls too, God!

I secretly had Kaitlin make Chooch a “creeper” cake. It is my reluctant understanding that creepers are some sort of Minecraft villain and Chooch really likes them. When I met Kaitlin in an empty strip mall parking lot 9AM that morning, like some creepy—but delicious—drug deal, I was floored when she removed the top of the cake box to reveal this edible work of pixelated art. I mean, if it had been left up to me, I’d have just slathered green frosting on a rectangle and then finger-painted the face with black stuff.

Maybe the black stuff would be non-toxic. Maybe not.

But when you’re the presiding Queen of Zia’s Desserts, you go above and beyond and make that fondant pixels because THAT is what a true Minecraft player wants to eat.  When Chooch saw it, he gasped, “Kaitlin knows what creepers are!?!?”

When we first got to the arcade, I plopped my ass down on a couch across from some dad and watched the Penguins game for as long as I could until guests started to arrive. Fuck! I’m sorry, I know I’m the birthday boy’s mom, but theses are some important times in the NHL, OK? Step off

So then I tried to be actively involved for awhile. I even spoke with a parent! And heckled Janna mercilessly!

We all wanted something magical to be inside that armoire. But it was just a folded-up table. No Narnia.

But then something glorious happened: While I was in the party room talking to one of the parents (I did OK at that, you guys!), one of the arcade workers who looked uncannily like the dude from Ridiculousness approached me with a concerned expression and asked, “Do you want me to put the game on this TV here?” and then pointed to a TV in the corner that I hadn’t even noticed.

UM FUCK YES.

But then he couldn’t get it to turn on and kept leaving and returning with tools and various wires until finally he figured out that it wasn’t plugged in.

“Oh you have to pay for this,” Janna said, pulling her finger out of the Kiss-O-Meter and walking away.

You know who is really smart? Laura. She brought a present for me because she KNOWS. I was so excited and wanted to wear it right away but for some stupid reason, no one brought a switchblade to the Kid’s Birthday Party, so I couldn’t unleash it from the backing.

Ridiculousness serving up the food.

Chooch was so goddamn sweaty. No one else was. Just Chooch. God only knows.

Of course the kids were relatively uninterested in eating and decided to have an impromptu dance party instead. That might be because I said, “Hey you guys should have a dance party” and the Chooch’s cousin Zac started doing some frantic Gangnam Style seizure thing on the floor, which was a cattle call for the rest of the kids to get up and LOSE THEIR SHIT.

But hey. It’s not my house. Spaz it up, small people.

Blurry or not, you get the idea.

After the raucous cacophony of birthday serenading, Chooch started opening his presents. He was halfway through when he turned around and stopped mid-sentence.

“Where the heck did everyone go?” he cried when he realized he had been performing his gift-unwrapping in front of a roomful of adults.

“Dude, the kids went back out to the arcade a looooong time ago,” I said. Everyone cracked up but he just shrugged and went back to collecting his loot.

Meanwhile, I had made friends with the mom of one of the girls. But one thing to know about me is that I shit the bed when it comes to introductions. (Unless you’re in a band. Then I miraculously will remember your name right away.) So my memory proceeded to fuck her name into oblivion and I spent the rest of the party paralyzed every time someone came over that I wanted to introduce her to because I didn’t want to say, “Hey Laura, this is Astaria’s mom” because fuck if someone refers to ME as “Chooch’s mom.”

(Actually, this happens a lot and I’m OK with it. I think it happened 3x at Crafts from the Crypt in March. “Oh, you’re Chooch’s mom!” Castle Blood denizens would exclaim. Because everyone knows Chooch.)

So at one point, we were all sitting around a large table watching Game 3 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, which had  gone into over time, and I was struggling to replay the scene when we introduced ourselves, but all I could hear was pinball machines and this one Pierce the Veil song that has been in my head for 5 years. So, I covertly texted Janna and ordered her to ask the mom what her name is.

Janna did my dirty work, and I saved the text so I will never forget, you guys.

I win at friend-making.

Chooch’s girlfriend of the week made him a card that stressed in no uncertain terms how awesome and cool he is.

Laura, arcade seductress.

I would probably look like that too if I had to work kids parties every weekend.

This is not true. You’re only a winner if you win. I hope all the kids there knew that.

Blake showed up right before the party ended and asked Henry for an envelope. Henry didn’t have an envelope, so I suggested that he just MAKE one, because isn’t that the kind of bullshit nonsense they learn to do in THE SERVICE?

(Or at the very least by watching “She’s Crafty.”)

I took pictures with my real camera but we have a new computer and the version of Photoshop I’m used to doesn’t work on it anymore and I’m too bull-headed to let Henry show me how to use something new so all of my pictures are just festering in a folder, unedited.

I know there comes a time when the big extravaganzas need to come to an end, and Chooch still had a blast even though this party was waaaaay scaled down, but I can’t help but feel the itch to have one more big party next year. Maybe in the park again, and CREEPY CARNIVAL-THEMED. I could use my papier mache clown head again! Chooch seems down with this idea.

Which is good, because I already started planning it.

On Sunday, we went to Round Hill Farm for my work friend Missy’s one-year-old son’s birthday party. I put a Jason Voorhees shirt on Chooch because that’s appropriate.

Missy had little treat boxes shaped like barns for all of the kids. Chooch was STOKED ON THIS. She even let him pick which stuffed animal he wanted, which of course was a vein-bulging decision. He ultimately chose a cow, and then immediately seemed to doubt himself. However, that cow never left his side all day. Except for when Henry was holding it.

Which was actually often, so nevermind.

(Side note: If Barb had thrown this party, she would have had a little barn gift for me, too. JUST SAYIN’, MISSY!)

Farm Frowns.

Sandy’s daughter Elena mimicked Chooch’s every word. He inadvertently taught her to say “derp” and “EAT IT!!!” while tossing bread into the pond. He kept sighing in faux-disgust, but c’mon, Chooch — you finally had the audience you always wanted! You could tell he was relishing this on the inside.

“If she goes home and wants to watch zombie movies, it’s not my fault,” I said to Sandy.

I also loved the contrast between his Jason Voorhees shirt and her pretty pink party dress.

Missy promised Elena a balloon and was trying to pass one off to her without any of the other children seeing because she wasn’t ready to start doling out party decor yet. But of course Chooch, who was probably one of the oldest kids there, saw and was all, “I WANT A BALLOON TOO OMG.” So while Missy was untying a balloon from the cake and present table inside the visitor’s center, Elena let go of her balloon and since Henry, Sandy and I are all under 12 feet tall, it now belonged to the ceiling.

When Chooch came running back to us with his balloon, I nudged him to give it to Elena. “Be the hero!” is what my elbow yelled into his shoulderblade. He did so begrudgingly, but I know my kid and if he didn’t REALLY WANT to give her his balloon, he wouldn’t have.

And then, before we could stop him, he ran back into the party room to hound Missy for another balloon.

\

While everyone was gathered inside the party room, singing Happy Birthday to little James, I momentarily lost sight of Chooch and Elena. Then I saw the only two balloons undulating above the small crowd, like bouncing beacons.

“This is probably why Missy didn’t want any of the kids to have balloons yet,” Sandy observed as their balloons drifted into people’s faces and other children craned their necks to covet the accessory that their hands did not have. The whole scene just made me laugh.

What you can’t see in Missy’s blurry hand is the GIGANTIC CAKE KNIFE she was swinging around like a princess wand, slicing up the air and god forbid any poor gnat that happened to be in the vicinity. My friend Sandy and I kind of just hugged the wall and allowed this to happen because it was entertaining and we were far enough away that we probably wouldn’t have gotten carved up like someone’s Thanksgiving turkey.

You would think that going to a one-year-old’s birthday party at a petting farm wouldn’t have much morbidity going on—and it didn’t, not until my kid took it there, anyway. But while Chooch was hanging off a tree, teaching Elena god only knows what, his balloon popped on one of the branches.

So he decided to have a funeral and bury it.

(This picture is courtesy of Sandy.)

Elena of course chose a stick of a dangerous size and joined in the labor. Some party guests walked by and did a double take. Chooch explained with a shrug, “This is how people used to dig holes in the past.”

RIP Red Balloon.

I promise, this was fake. At least I think so.

After the party, we drove down the street to the pet cemetery where Speck and Don are resting. After visiting with them, we wound up going inside and reserving two plots above theirs for Marcy and Willie, so that one day they can all be together again and not scattered in far apart plots all across the pet cemetery.

You know, cat lady problems.

So, a balloon funeral and pet cemetery plots. But we had birthday cake along the way so it all balances out.

Two years ago, Henry and I tried futilely to find a magician for Chooch’s 5th birthday rager.

Granted, we waited until the last minute, in typical Appledale/Robbins fashion.  We moved on to clowns, but struck out in that party entertainment park, too. (We did find one, but someone wrote a review saying she stole from the party guests.)

“I can’t believe you don’t know any magicians!” Henry scoffed, because everything is my fault, always.

(Maybe not, but at least I had two friends there who knew how to make balloon animals! )

A few months later, through our mutual friend Erica, I met and became friends with Rick, a real life mentalist!

In an effort to not only give a small mom and pop magic shop a boost, but also provide a meeting ground for those in the know, Rick organized a Magic Mob to descend upon the Cuckoo’s Nest Magic Shop on the Southside. Kind of like Record Store Day, but with less Cure albums and more torso-splitting swords.

NEWSFLASH: The magicians were not all wearing black capes, as I had imagined. I just can’t stop stereotyping!

Rick asked me to take photographs to accompany the article he wrote for a national magic magazine, and then mistakenly added, “Well, why don’t you check with Henry and see if he’s got any plans on Sunday—-”

I started cracking up. Like Henry actually has his own life, with his own agenda!

“—oh that’s right,” Rick continued. “I keep forgetting we’re in very different relationships.”

So that is how Henry, Chooch and I found ourselves commingling with approximately 58 magicians and rubber chickens for two hours on a Sunday. And, after hearing about what was going down, Janna wanted to come too so she tagged along with us. I mean really, when does “We’re hanging out at a magic shop” NOT sound like a fun idea?

I hadn’t been to the Cuckoo’s Nest probably since I was in high school and it was in a different location further down the street. (So, we’re talking about 17 years here, OK? I only act young.) I remember walking in with my magic-virgin friends, buying a bunch of cheap novelty tricks with my mom’s credit card and meeting my first real life “punk,” complete with mohawk and safety-pin in nose. (I think I have a picture of him somewhere.) For a suburban teenager, this was life-changing. Nearly two decades later, the shop still had that same laid back “anything could happen here” feel. Like Amazing Larry could walk in at any moment!

The face of a child who wants it all.

In addition to congregating in solidarity, Rick encouraged everyone to spend some money. (There’s a fine line between magic mob and loitering, after all.) As a thank you for my photographical services, he gifted Chooch with some cash.

Chooch, after spending most of his afternoon coveting an entire rack of puppets, settled on a rabbit puppet so that Fox will have a friend. He promptly, and obviously, named the new puppet “Rabbit.”

“He spent all day with his sweaty hand shoved inside that rabbit,” Henry muttered. “We were buying it whether he wanted it or not.”

I think the owner, Tom, was especially grateful that he didn’t need to dunk the puppet into a vat of Clorox and Febreeze at the end of the day.

Puppet Perusing = serious business.

Chooch’s frenemy Katelyn was there with her parents, Chris and Kari, and collected quite a haul. She was piling up all of her merchandise on a counter near her mom, and when she walked away, Chooch grabbed one of the items.

“I’m hiding this from her,” he whispered deviously to Kari and me.

“Are you sure you’re prepared to face her wrath?” Kari laughed.

When Katelyn came back, she started rooting through all her stuff but didn’t immediately notice that something was missing. Chooch, slinking back into a corner, was nearly bursting with impatience.

“I THINK SOMETHING IS MISSING!” he blurted out on a bed of giggles.

Katelyn rolled her eyes and snatched the magic trick from behind Chooch’s back. Totally anti-climatic.

God, Chooch and I have the exact same flirting strategies.

 Cha-ching!

Several times throughout the afternoon, the line to check out snaked all the way to the back of the store. On a normal day, that probably would have sent me into an anxious frenzy. But because I didn’t have to actually stand in the line (just harrass people with my camera), I was totally OK.

I did, however, feel like I was in the way a lot. Probably because I was. But that is not uncommon.

For most of our sojourn at the Cuckoo’s Nest, it was nearly physically impossible to move because so many magicians filled the narrow store.  It was an interesting social experiment for me. Average Day Erin would have walked into that shop, said “Holy shit” and then walked right back out. But on this day, I dealt with the incessant human friction because I was on a mission to collect photographical evidence. And again, Average Day Erin would have snapped some covert pictures and then ran. It was an interesting sensation to blatantly point my camera at a roomful of strangers, openly being a creep.

And true to my hypocritical nature, I dodged all of the other cameras to the best of my ability. (I noticed that Janna ended up in almost every since photo that the Cuckoo’s Nest posted on their Facebook page, which made me LOL. Maybe some up-and-coming magician will hire her as their assistant. THAT is a magic show I’d love to go to.)

The shop windows eventually succumbed to all of the magical breath and became coated with fog.

“When’s the last time a roomful of magicians were able to make a window fog?” one of the magic mobbers joked and I laughed because that’s what you do when someone makes a joke and you get it.

The Cuckoo’s Nest had a couple of demonstrators on hand and this guy Vince was my favorite, even though he forced me to volunteer for a card trick. I hate volunteering because I always feel like I’m being primed and primped as a laughingstock. Chooch and some other little girl kept trying in vain to volunteer but Vince was all, “No, you’re both too small. I need someone who can reach the counter” and then used magic-eyes on me to bend my will.

God, I’m such a magic slut!

I think this was his way of retaliating since I had my camera up in his grill all afternoon.

Vince’s trick was really awesome. But my favorite was when he lit a small piece of paper on fire IN THE AIR and then it DISAPPEARED. I liked it so much that I shouted, “Do it again!”

AND HE DID.

I’m a magician’s best audience member because in addition to being pretty gullible and naive,  I don’t pay very good attention so they really only need to exercise a semi-sleight of hand….

…like another magician, Paul Gertner, did during his card demonstration. He purposely slowed down his card-dealing so the crowd could catch him as he cheated, but I still didn’t get it.

It’s amazing I can even leave the house wearing a matching pair of shoes, really.

Paul turned a dollar bill into a $50. I almost died.

Who needs pick-up lines or roofies when you’ve got that trick?! It works on even the thickest of blonds! (I know this because I am blond and thick.)

Paul Gertner amazes.

Sales!

I made Janna pose with these stage balls and she immediately dropped one.

“Now you have to buy that,” chided Tom the Owner. She looked all panicked about that and I began to openly mock her, which is what my fake college degree is in.

“Way to go Janna!” I cried. “And you were worried about the kids,” I joked to Tom.

Meanwhile, Janna had fished 35 cents out of her pocket in case Tom was serious.

It felt really good to be a part of something like this. Supporting your local brick and mortar shops is so important. I for one am guilty of bitching when a store I like closes, even though I know that I played a small part in their economic failure because I’m so quick to buy from Amazon or some stupid behemoth chain. (Target, I can’t quit you.) I am going to at least try to buy everyone’s birthday presents from real life stores from now on.

Andrea, you might be getting a Whoopie Cushion this year. Don’t worry — I’ll least draw Lil Wayne’s face on it.

Don’t drop his balls.

In addition to the rabbit puppet, Chooch also bought two small novelty tricks, but left the store with an entire birthday inventory in his head. I have a feeling we’ll be revisiting the Cuckoo’s Nest very soon. Get your tricks ready, Vince.

 [If you are local, please visit the Cuckoo’s Nest! It is rife with items to aid your next office prank or amateur ventriloquist hoe-down. FYI, you can shop online, too! For more (and better-written) information, here is what the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette had to say.]

Henry and I went to Church Brew Works on Saturday night for my friend Sean’s birthday. Places like this are kind of wasted on me because I’m not a big beer drinker. I’m really not any kind of beer drinker at all, although I was on a brief kick last fall where I was determined to try every pumpkin beer ever brewed until I finally found one I liked. (I didn’t. Not really, anyway. Although Blue Moon and that Summer Shandy bullshit is Erin-friendly.)

My frenemy Lee’s girlfriend Sam recommended something called Celestial Pale because it is apparently weak and appropriate for people like me who don’t understand beer. Lee and Henry started placing bets on how long it would take before Henry was finishing it for me, which made me determined to chug it.

I did not chug it though. I tried for one good chug but then almost drowned on the beer and my own weak palate.

Sandy arrived and confidently ordered a pinot grigio.

“What!? I can get wine here!?” I cried.

“Yeah,” she said, looking at me like she only just then realized I’m dumb.

I guess I thought that was like going to a steak house and asking for the vegetarian options. (Which I have done and did not actually bask in the frowns that were rained upon me. Not like you’d think, anyway.) Or like asking to see the basement of Alamo. I was not in the mood to get laughed at.

Then Henry noticed that there was something there called Wheat Wine so I made him ask the guy for a sample because for some reason, I wasn’t really into ordering for myself that night and had Henry being  my mouth piece.

I feel like this was probably a normal night, then.

Anyway, hot damn is wheat wine good! The bartender told us what it was, but I didn’t understand because he used big, masculine words like “barley” and “hops.” All I know is that it didn’t taste like wine, nor did it taste like beer, and it was apaprently expensive (I knew that based on the fancy glass in which it was served; Henry knew based on the bar tab). This is why we don’t go out often — god forbid I should ever settle on some $3 draft when I can get beverages that must have molten gold in them somewhere based on the cost.

I promptly slid my beer down to Henry and he started mumbling about how he hates warm beer. You know what he hates more than warm beer, though? Things that he’s paying for going to waste. Drink up, bitch.

Nate and his wife April arrived after 9, and by this point, we started to worry that we weren’t going to get a table. One happened to open up right near the bar, so Sam, Sandy and me all yelled for Lee to claim it. On his way over, he was beat out by the lamest group of older people. The one dude had a manicured Bob Ross hair helmet, or what I like to call Bossa Nova* Hair, and I think he may have been wearing an ascot.

*(A club in downtown Pittsburgh where single people over the age of 45 go to die. They also serve really good cheese plates.)

“And of all the people to lose the table to!” Sandy scolded him. But then those people ended up leaving for a different table, so Lee redeemed himself.

“I’m not getting beat by a bunch of yuppies,” Lee said.

“They were not yuppies,” Sandy sighed.

I don’t know what they were, but they were definitely not as awesome as us.

Kristen and her boyfriend Paul arrived just as we snagged a table, so we were all getting settled when we realized that no one made room for Glenn, who was there with his wife Amanda and one of their friends. HAHAHAHA No Glenns Allowed!

They got a table right next to us though, so I was able to summon Glenn over at one point and have my dreams come true:

Work Henry and Henry, disapproving of me in tandem! (You might not recognize Glenn in his true form, and not in a miniature, costumed collectible variety.) Then Glenn offered his condolences to Henry and I’m not sure BUT I THINK that was a slight affront to me.

 Henry and Sean, who probably doesn’t even remember us being there, he was so wasted! Actually, two of those Wheat Wines got me pretty close to his level. Not only do I rarely drink anymore, but I’ve been on Weight Watchers since the beginning of January, so I was doubly feeling it and almost lost a war with the steps in the bathroom. No one prepared me for the steps!  

It was just the kind of night that Henry and I really needed. I love my work buddies! And the Penguins won!

****

The next day, we went to the Cuckoo’s Nest Magic Shop for an event that my friend Rick put together, but I will save the long version for tomorrow.

I got to see a lot of good people this weekend. I’m pretty happy right now!

Two years ago, my friend Gayle reunited with Jeff, a man she dated thirty years ago. On Saturday, they got married!

Henry, Chooch and I were all invited, but Henry made us late (see also: Erin read the invitation wrong). By the time we arrived to the church in New Castle, Gayle must have JUST walked down the aisle, because it was quieter than a mime’s funeral up in that piece. So quiet that when the door slammed behind us, people in the back of the church turned and looked. Then Chooch started talking and it was like PING PING PING off the walls.

I clamped my hand over his mouth and pushed him down the hallway, away from the church door, and begged him to sit quietly with me on a bench. No way was I going to attempt to squeeze into a pew with the ceremony in progress, so we listened to it from the hallway, while Chooch spoke (in what he thinks is a whisper but is still totally loud and disruptive) about having to pee but really it was his ploy to get a good look around the church for the playroom that I stupidly told him was going to be available for the kids at the wedding.

Thankfully, the ceremony was seemingly performed by the Micro Machines guy and was over a few minutes after we arrived. Super bummed that we didn’t get to see any of it, but the advantage of being on the other side of the doors meant that we got to be the first people to hug and congratulate them! Chooch kept trying to ask her about that damn playroom, like that’s really what she’s thinking about 2 minutes after becoming Jeff’s wife.

Chooch was interrupted by the rest of the bridal party filing out, with all of the guests pouring out behind them, and we somehow got stuck standing alongside the bridal party, pinned against the wall by the receiving line. Some people seemed unsure if they were supposed to shake our hands too. It was incredibly awkward.

Henry was originally wearing his Freddy Krueger-striped henley but I made him change. He hates dressing nice. He would have worn his Everfresh pullover if he knew I wouldn’t castrate him with my former rich girl couth. But on the plus side, he didn’t frown once all night!

Speaking of appearances, I was super self-conscious about how I looked. (When am I not?) Henry kept saying, “Seriously? No one is going to pay any attention to us with Chooch there.” And he was correct. That little fucker has a permanent spot light on him. The coolest girl at the wedding (her name is Kayla and we’re both friends with the Trundle Manor crew, so Gayle formally introduced us – she has a giant ice cream sundae tattoo on her arm and I totally have a girl-crush on her now) told Chooch he had the best outfit and his cheeks immediately flushed.

We weren’t in the reception room for 10 minutes before Chooch found a rolled-up rug to purposely trip over. I know I shouldn’t be, but I still get mortified when he does shit like this. It’s embarrassing! And the front of his pants were filthy afterward. My greatest fear was that he was going to face-plant into the wedding cake. I saw the way he was eying it up.

And thankfully, the chocolate fountain was far enough back on the table that he couldn’t reach his tongue into it.

We sat with my co-worker Pam and her 18-year-old nephew Dominic who kept Chooch entertained. Mostly by egging him on and encouraging his antics.

And it’s always wonderful when we’re in a church and he’s introducing himself to people as “Devil.” I don’t think Pam was very amused by that, but Dominic started choking.

Chooch kept pacing around, waiting for Gayle. “Where is she!?” he kept asking huffily. And when the bridal party finally entered the room, Chooch acted like he was going to rush at Gayle, so I had to grab him by his blazer.

“Jesus, Chooch — let her sit down!” Henry sighed.

We were the table furthest away from the food, so Pam started grumbling about how we were going to be the last table called. Henry and I agreed, but Chooch, always contrary, said, “Yeah, well, I bet we’re first!”

And we were first. We had to hear about that one all night, and part of the next day too. (“Remember when the whole table was WRONG but I was RIGHT?”)

On the way back to our table, dinner plate in hand, Chooch walked right up to Gayle at the bridal table, interrupted her conversation with another guest, and in a frustrated tone, he asked, “WHERE is the play room!?” She laughed and explained that they still had to clear their stuff out of it, and he walked away completely unsatisfied with this answer.

After we had eaten, we were joined by my another girl from the Law Firm, Patty, and her fiance Tim (they had a friend with them too but I am half-retarded and forgot his name). They’re big horror buffs so I told Chooch this, hoping it would distract him from his play room quest. They asked him what his favorite horror movie is and he said Ju-On without hesitation. I ook their surprised reaction as a seal of approval — my kid doesn’t fuck around when it comes to horror. I don’t know where he gets that.

Gayle came over to visit with us and finally took him to the goddamn play room, in which he spent a whopping five minutes before returning to our table.

“It’s just a room,” he sighed. “With a few toys.”

“Well, what the hell did you think it was going to be?! A water park?” I asked. At least I was able to enjoy my cake after that without having to hear about the mysterious play room.

Anyway, what a fun night! It was great to see Gayle so happy and positively a’glow, and I’m honored that we got to share her big day with her and even made it out of there without Chooch doing anything devastating. I get that he’s amusing to most people, but he makes me so goddamn nervous and I’m hyper-aware of his every movement.

(He did come close to crashing into the Irish-music-playing sound system at one point.)

Chooch’s wedding card. I don’t know what kind of idea the groom is having, but it might have something to do with the bride’s boobs, maybe?

I can think of a lot of ways to blow off steam after a stressful week, but “going to a party” seemed to be the safest, most legal, option.

Thank god for Trundle Manor. Rachel and Anton are smart as shit, planning their Halloween party in November and prolonging the Best Season Ever by a few weeks. This year’s theme was “insane asylum” so I decided to go as Fatal Attraction Glenn Close. Of course, I didn’t decide this until a week prior to the party, but Henry went to one thrift store and immediately found me a flouncy white skirt for $3. I would NEVER have that kind of luck.

And it’s an awesome skirt too, basically like a wedding dress underskirt/petticoat-type frock-thingie. I put it on three hours before leaving for the party on Saturday because it’s probably the closest thing to a wedding dress I’ll ever get to wear, and it felt good OK? All swishy and connubial.

I made my hair all Alex Forest-esque with a triple barrel iron. None of the pictures I took properly conveyed the true crimped Afroness of my mane. Short of getting a perm, it was the best I could muster.

Precious Henry, who didn’t go with me because he “doesn’t do parties,” made an old pot into a functional costume accessory by drilling holes in the sides and stringing rope through it so I could wear it as a purse instead of carrying it around all night.

(Henry wouldn’t have even had to dress up if he had gone! He could’ve just been the Co-Ed Killer Ed Kemper.)

If you have no idea what the fuck I’m talking about, in the movie “Fatal Attraction,” Glenn Close has an affair with Michael Douglas and then boils his daughter’s pet bunny when she’s rejected. She also plays the wrist-slitting card to garner sympathy. But (SPOILER ALERT) his wife shoots in the end.

She doesn’t ever sit in a wheelchair in the movie, but I wish she did so I could have taken one of mine. Oh well.

Saturday was Wendy’s bowling night, so she couldn’t make it there until after 12:30. Luckily, my Castle Blood brood was there so I didn’t have to be That Awkward Girl siccing people for conversation. (Not that I would have had a problem — the friends of Trundle Manor are awesome people.) But still — I don’t like showing up to a party alone, so I made Henry text Ricky and ask him twenty questions about their anticipated arrival to the Manor.

Ricky was standing right near the driveway when I got there, so I didn’t have to walk more than five feet on my own (GOD FORBID). I apologized to him for being such a spaz about things; he put his arm around me and said, “But what else is new?”

Touche.

He deposited me with Dawn, at which point I started drinking, and the night was on a steady high after that.

Chris and Kari were also there, among other familiar Castle Blood faces (including the steam punk professor guy that I have a crush on), plus my friend Patty Cake from work. I recognized a lot of people from last year too, which was nice. Not that it mattered, because once I started imbibing absinthe, everyone’s faces started looking like Dali paintings.

Dawn & Ricky, being there.

The drink slinger’s face is glowing green from the absinthe fountain.

For being the second weekend in November, the weather was mild. Last year it was a week earlier and I remember we were all fighting to rub our hands above hobo fires. I survived without a coat, even. But that could be because all the booze I had consumed had formed an invisible anorak around my Alex Forest couture.

My Castle Blood homies split around 11. Even if Wendy hadn’t been coming later, I wasn’t ready to leave yet. The bands were just about to start playing! I found my friend Angie, whom I met one year ago at the last Trundle Manor Halloween event, and she was stuck with stumbling ass for the rest of the night.

Everything else is kind of a blur. I have a vague recollection of carrying around a mysterious sleeve of Oreos in my bunny boiler pot purse (I think Dawn had something to do with that?) and offering them to random people.

Those fucking Oreos had somehow become my delicious security blanket.

I remember talking at length to a pirate riding a blow-up ostrich and feeling regret when I realized I hadn’t offered him an Oreo.

And I remember dancing to the Bloody Seamen’s shanties and giving zero fucks about work and anything else, and meeting Gina the Trundle carny, who was very upset that I had a bloody bunny in my pot.

My phone didn’t capture it, but that big glow was actually a bunch of x-rays.

I had a crush on at least 87 revelers that night. Hey, that’s what happens when Henry sends me out into the world alone. WITHOUT A RING.

B-movies projected on the side of the house.

It was nearly 1:00am by the time Wendy arrived as Aileen Wuornos. The crowd was starting to disperse, but there were still a ton of crazy asses there (and I mean that in the best way). My favorite was this totally fucked up gay kid who I can only figure was dressed as Lady Gaga from the Love Game video. He came over and told us that he had walked an hour to get there, a bunch of stuff I couldn’t understand because he was slurring so heavily, and that he has a collection of rabbit things in his house and losing his pet rabbit Sprocket was the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He slurred out Sprocket’s name so many times, I don’t think I’ll forget him.

When I cried about my two dead cats to a drag queen named Curiosity, I knew it was probably time to call it a night.

I am forever thankful that I randomly took a tour of Trundle Manor two years ago and that Rachel and Anton continue to open up their home to me and so many other amazing individuals. Their parties are sick, totally unique and unforgettable. It’s a pretty amazing scene to be a part of.

Came home, poured one out for Sprocket, and then tried to not vomit on Henry as I rolled over him to get into bed. Best Halloween closure I’ve ever gotten!

No one ever did take any of my Oreos. More for me!

Friday night, Seri and I were standing in line for a shuttle that would take us to a nearby haunted house. We were the first people in line, when suddenly a carful of assholes oozed across the parking lot, and I just knew the mom unit of the pack was going to try and plant her mom-jeaned saddle bags right in front of me.

You know who doesn’t play the line jumping game? One Erin Rachelle Kelly.

I made a point of taking an exaggerated step forward, just in case it wasn’t already clear that I was practically fucking the sign that said “Line for shuttle forms here.”

It worked. She took her white trash manners to the back of the line with all the other losers.

About a minute later, the shuttle arrived and I all but charged at it when I saw in my periphery that the assholes behind me were seriously going to attempt to go around me, usurping my head of the line title.

THEN WHAT IS THE POINT OF STANDING IN LINE.

However, I didn’t account for the fact that the shuttle was bringing people back to the lot as well, so when the doors opened, I almost got stampeded.

Look, I’m ALWAYS in a hurry, always acting like I’m trying to escape a burning building. And I REALLY REALLY REALLY like being first in line.

(For recreational things, that is. Not the dentist or the guillotine.) So I was pee-jigging it up, waiting for the shuttle to unload. I’m not sure what Seri was doing since I had my eyes on the prize (read: the front seat of the shuttle), but if I had to guess, she was probably wishing for a copy of 50 Shades of Gray to bury her face in, because that would be much less embarrassing than being associated with the Type A line stander.

Meanwhile, some asshole KIDS were encroaching my jurisdiction.

They were now standing to my side instead of behind me. I knew that as soon as the last motherfucker stepped off the shuttle, these brats were going to make a run for it.

NOT IF I RAN FASTER.

Last person exited the shuttle and I stuck out my arm like I was going to clothesline these dick kids; while bounding up the shuttle steps, I had direct shoulder-to-shoulder contact with one of them. One of the adults they were with snagged them by the backs of their hoodies, otherwise they might have trampled Seri, who I may have accidentally left behind in my haste.

When Seri fell into the front seat next to me, she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not letting KIDS cut in front of me!” I cried.

“Gosh, Erin. You’d be a great example for my preschool class,” she laughed. And then, “Would you rather substitute for a preschool class, or high school?”

I didn’t even hesitate.

“Oh, high school. Totally. They’re practically my peers. I could talk to them about Jonny Craig.”

Oh, Jonny.

When we arrived at Demon House, I all but pushed Seri out of the seat so we could get off the shuttle first.

III. The Pies

As an added twist for 2012, and because I thought I suddenly had free time, I had this great idea to have a contest and have crap awarded to what I deemed as the BEST PIE, and possibly other categories like “Most Creative,” “I Thought This Would Taste Like Shit, But It Was Delicious” and “Most Likely To Please Jonny Craig” (see also: “Best Use of Ginger &/or hypodermic needles). But then guess what? October happened and before I knew it, I forgot to enroll in a metal-working class so I had no awards to present. Not only that, but I barely had a chance to try many of the pies and leaving the awarding up to the people wasn’t a good idea either, considering some of the pies were already devoured by the time the bulk of the pie eaters got there. John and Jennifer bring a chocolate cream every year, and every year I blink and it’s gone. I honestly thought it perished in a table-tipping accident, because I couldn’t comprehend the fact that it was polished off THAT QUICKLY.

There was basically every kind of fruit pie you could dream of. Various pumpkin pies (Amber¹ made a lovely pumpkin spice variety!), cream pies, bakery pies (everyone raved over Brad’s red raspberry from the Pie Place), a cheese and tomato pie that Pete and Seri made in honor of some FANTASTIC girl who loves grilled cheese with tomato, and even two cakes that were purchased in error but happily eaten.

Kaitlin pretty much blew anyone’s chances of winning my imaginary award out of the park when she arrived with her Crack Pie. The entire pie table was a diabetic’s deathbed, but Kaitlin’s pie alone was molten Kevorkian in a tin pan. HOLY FUCKING SHIT that was a bomb pie, and you know it must be true when I use the word “bomb” because I normally wouldn’t say something so dated unless my mind was under the influence of Kaitlin’s magical baking prowess.

GOOD PIE MAKES ME SAY EMBARRASSING THINGS, OK? This is a legit psychological condition. Look it up. That’s what the Internet is for.

The crack pie was just this:  an oozing puddle of silken sugar in an oatmeal-crusted vessel of weight gain, preparing to launch straight to the nearest pair of thighs. But why stop there?! Let’s add a perfectly uniform coating of powdered sugar on the top of all the other sugar. It was a fucking sugar totem pole!

That sounds BOMB right?!

It was my favorite pie of the day. Obviously.

(Shameless Friend Promotion: if you live in the Western PA area, you can order Kaitlin’s amazing desserts! And even if you don’t live around here, you should like her Facebook page anyway because she’s amazing and needs to make this her full-time job.)

Barb trying to absorb some of Kaitlin’s baking brilliance.

And God forbid I should let Henry choose his own pies to bake. Instead, I decided to make up my own pies. The one was in honor of the season premiere of the Walking Dead. It was a pistachio cream (which he made last year) with the addition of cherry coulis in the middle and poured over the top for a disgustingly beautiful blood effect. It was appropriately named Zombie Pie and it was a flop, because as usual it was unseasonably warm, and anything above 60 degrees is apparently the equivalent to Hell’s oven for a cream pie.

Who knew?

So within minutes of arrival, it was reduced to a pie tin full of coagulated slop.

I thought it tasted good, and that’s all that matters anyway, right? Right!?

ZOMBIE PIE YOU GUYS. Zombie Pie.

:(

The other pie I concocted in my head was a Crunchberry Pie. In 2008, we had a cereal-themed game night (back when I used to entertain, big cry-baby sigh) which required all of my guests to bring some sort of cereal-infused snack. I made up a Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch cookie, which Henry kept saying would never work, but I made that son-of-bitch try and try again until we had the perfect batch of ridiculously amazing peanut butter cookies topped with a Cap’n Crunch crumble. Holy shit those were some good fucking cookies.

Reminded of those cookies, I was adamant that he formulate a recipe for Cap’n Crunch crust. And for the filling, I was dead set on the use of lingonberries, even though I don’t know what that is. Then I saw somewhere that they’re similar to cranberries, so lucky for Henry, I canceled his flight to Scandinavia and allowed him to go with raspberries instead.  Prices of ingredients is not something that I think about when making this shit up. And when Henry tries to fight me on it, I’m like, “Can’t you just go pick some raspberries somewhere then?” which opens the door for a Boring Henry Lecture™about fruit seasons. Why stop with an out-of-season fruit?! Let’s increase the cost by adding Chambord to it!

He topped it with homemade whipped cream (he’s such a snob about whipped cream and I’m like, “Seriously dude, you really need to start going to the strip club or something, STAT”), and it was the sleeper hit of the Third Coming of Crust. If Kaitlin’s Crack Pie was Jesus on the Cross, then the Crunchberry was definitely one of those other suckers crucified with him, preferably the one who had the bigger speaking part.

(The Penitent Thief. I looked it up.)

(What? I’m just keeping with the theme, you guys!)

Probably mouthing off about his goddamn whipped cream. Look, he doesn’t have much else going for him.

The unofficial vote had it tied with Kaitlin’s Crack Pie, so Henry feels like he’s finally arrived on the scene. Too bad I invented the pie, motherfucker. I spent the next several days correcting everyone at work who mistakenly referred to it as “Henry’s raspberry pie.”

It’s OK. People are allowed to make mistakes. No one knows I’m writing a cookbook, so I’ll let it slide for now.

IV. The Pains

There were so many kids there! As Henry pointed out later, “I’ve never seen a group of kids so unable to get along.” It was actually just the boys – the few girls that were there were like little dreams.

If I heard Chooch scream, “MOMMY!” one more time, or ANY kid scream, “MOMMY!” one more time, I was about to fill my arms with pies and take it into the woods to eat alone. How hard is it to STFU and go down a fucking slide? Jesus Christ! Chooch was so freaking whiny, I couldn’t stand it. Can’t you see the grown-ups are trying to drink wine and eat some pie, son?!

My tactic was ignoring it and pretending nothing Lord of the Flies-ish was happening over yonder. Thank god other parents were more willing to except their roles in life and stepped in to supervise. I remember going over to the water pump at one point to fill up a bottle so the wind would stop knocking it over. Seri’s kids were over there, making a muddy mess of the ground, and I said in a very disinterested tone, “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” and then walked away before they could answer.

What? Kara was nearby, so I knew she had shit handled.

 No child bled at all that day, and to me, that spells success.

[Ed.Note: The children were actually fine. But…you know me and children.]

V. AAA

One of the pie patrons whose presence I was most excited about was my co-worker Catherine. She’s only been with the Firm for less than a year, but she has quickly become one of my favorite people there because she’s so goddamn amusing. One time I was on the phone and she stood in front of my desk and then slowly traced her finger along the front braid I had in my hair in that day.

Catherine can get away with that kind of quirky personal bubble penetration.

She’s not on Facebook, so I gave her a verbal invitation, thinking  for sure she wouldn’t show up. But she did! I mentioned to her at one point that I didn’t think she would come, which she thought was funny.

She was one of the last to leave, and that’s when she realized that she locked her keys in the car. This was around 6:00, which was the scheduled ending time of the party, but Seri and I were planning to walk down to a nearby haunted house which didn’t open until 7 (it was an open invitation to the pie party guests, but no one else wanted to be a part of the cool club, I guess), so lucky for Catherine we were still going to be there for awhile. Plus Henry’s family was still there too, so it was only slightly scary when the sun went down and we were left sitting under a darkened pavilion.

Catherine kept saying we didn’t have to wait with her, and I kept insisting it was fine until 7:00 came and went, and the melodious tones of the chainsaws and screaming victims wafted across a field and into my face. Then my patience started to waffle and I  almost suggested that we could just leave Pete and Henry there to wait for AAA, but my couth got the best of me and I sat there quietly, waiting it out.

“You thought I was going to come, and now I might never leave!” Catherine laughed.

Eventually, I shut down socially. Not because of my company, but because I was so one-track-minded about this stupid haunted house that it was literally all I could fixate on. That last half hour, if I really was forced to describe it, was like a series of clock-tickings, amplified heart-beatings, deafening blood-pumping through veins, because (who knew haunted house anticipation was the same as vampire transitioning?) while I quietly willed the tow truck driver to fucking find us already so I could go and get my scare on.

Henry had to give the tow truck guy directions, but he still passed up the entrance to the pavilion, so our Hero, Professional Driver Henry, boarded his trusty Ford Focus and kicked up gravel as he sped away from the pavilion in an effort to lead the tow truck back to the Catherine’s car, so now Henry has another fan, THANK GOD!

Ugh. Henry, Henry, Henry! 

The tow truck guy wasn’t even out of the truck yet and I was already rushing through my goodbyes, thanking Catherine for coming, giving my child the obligatory “Ha-ha, Mommy’s going to a haunted house without you” hug, only to have to stand there doing the pee jig while it took Seri a million minutes to say goodbye to everyone before finally joining me for our walk to the haunted house.

And that’s how I closed down this year’s pie party: by nearly projectile-puking pie guts on the chainsaw guys at Hundred Acres Manor.

After last year’s poor turn out, I swore I wasn’t going to have another pie party. But by August, people were beginning to ask when I was having the next pie party, and I felt bullied into it, you guys. BULLIED!

Not really. But I did feel really happy that some of my friends were demanding that the tradition live on. So I looked at the stupid Steelers schedule like a good little girl and picked a Sunday that those assholes weren’t hoarding. The Steelers take over everything, you know? God forbid I should have to share a day with them.

Then I asked my friends on Facebook if any of them would be interested in a third annual pie feast, and the response was not only positive, but even kind of fervent! Who knew that the pie party would ever have become such a big thing?

Even though I still wasn’t feeling it, I sent out the official Facebook invitation right away, two months in advance, and was delighted that people began RSVPing right away. That was enough to make me finally get excited. But I think it was mostly because I like naming things, and I was kind of proud of “Third Coming of Crust.”

I vowed that this year’s piesta was going to be better than the rest. I was going to decorate! I was going to give awards! I was finally going to make that goddamn mulled wine that has been talked about since Pie Party: Origins!

But then I got caught up in decorating for Halloween, going to haunted houses, and the Walking Challenge. (Which I have all but abandoned, along with pretty much everyone else in our department, it seems. There’s no competition this time! No one talks about it! Everyone is so ambivalent about it.) Before I knew it, it was the week of the party and Henry was in a state of total panic about baking pies and collecting all of the pie-eating accoutrements, like plates, napkins, beverage—he stresses about beverage every year and I’m like, “Hello, you work in a Faygo factory?”

All of this is me trying to say I woke up the morning of the pie party woefully unprepared as usual.

I. The Set-Up

So, Henry does this thing EVER YEAR where we all go to the pavilion an hour before Go Time and then he LEAVES. One year it was to “get more tablecloths.” Last year, it was to ‘pick up his mom.” This year it was to “go home and get the pies.”

It took three pie parties to figure out but I’m pretty sure this is all code for “go to a strip club and regain some of the masculinity I lose every year by co-hosting a pie party.”

I wonder if Porky + Pearl are still together, or if Jason Voorhees has shish kebabbed them on his machete by now.

My brother was supposed to come early to help me decorate, but he had a headache and didn’t even come to the party (probably his way of skirting all the “this is my colorblind brother!” introductions). This left me and a 6-year-old alone to assemble and hang paper lanterns.

Wait, that doesn’t sound so harmful, right?

Let me rephrase.

This left an Erin Kelly and a 6-year-old alone with a STAPLE GUN.

I finally said FUCK THIS NOISE and abandoned the decorating for the swing set, at which point the annual false starts began, and by that I mean the motorcade of people who cruise down to the pie party pavilion for things other than showing up at a party they were invited to, such as: parking to walk their dog, using the Porta Potty, turning around, doing recon for their own pie party. Each time, I fell for it and went running toward the car, ready to accost a guest.

“It’s amazing how everything happens after I leave,” Henry said when Chooch and I were telling him about this later. At first I thought he didn’t believe us and I went to reach for the melon baller, but he was being serious.

It’s true though. One of these days, Henry is going to ditch us at a pavilion and we’re going to get abducted.

Actually, I hope that does happen. I pity the fool that attempts to steal Chooch.

Finally, Pete and Seri arrived and I glommed on to Pete immediately. Before he could feel too flattered, I explained that I was only coveting his tallness, and put him to work hanging the lanterns. He seemed OK with that.

In the end, I had some crappy lanterns hanging from rafters, tea light-filled mason jars and fake flowers in old bottles on all of the tables. The bottles were part of my old collection, the majority of which I’ve pitched in the last year in an effort to declutter. My favorite was the bottle of tequila that still had the worm in it (I dumped it out before anyone got there).

I mean, I tied ribbons to each bottle—that’s effort, right?

II. Pie Eaters!

By 2:00, my pie peeps started rolling in steadily.

Guest List!

• Trish & PJ
• John, Jennifer and their kids
• Henry’s sister Kelly and Zac
• Henry’s oldest son, Robbie
• Gina and Elissa
• 

You can tell I gave them so much time to prepare for this

• Henry’s mom Judy
• Henry’s niece Sam and her friends Heidi and a girl whose name I didn’t catch but she had colorful hair
• Kara and Harland

• Henry’s niece Stephanie and her boyfriend Kian
• Kian’s mom
• Rick and Tammy

• Pete, Seri and their kids
• Jamie and Crosby
• Brad and Casey
• Barb
• Wendy

• Kaitlin
• Bridget
• Catherine
• Regina
• Lisa and Matt

• Amber¹ and her twin sister Ashley
• Amber², her husband Steve, and her mom
• Rocky
• Laura
• Missy and Jemma

The pie party is great for not only gormandizing the fuck out of a seemingly endless buffet of pies, but for reuniting with old friends! My friend Rocky showed up unexpectedly – I haven’t seen him since HIGH SCHOOL. Every pie party brings another old friend back and it is probably my favorite part – maybe second only to criticizing Henry’s pie contributions. The first pie party was also the first time I saw my old friends John, Shannon and Ron since high school as well, and last year it was Nancy’s turn to be the blast from the past.

The lesson here is that pie brings people together, y’all. Learn it.

Another surprise appearance was Rick and Tammy, who had told me they weren’t going to be able to make it. I talk about them a lot (in the good ways, not the Henry ways), so I was excited for my friends to meet them, specifically Barb so she could finally stop picturing Simon Baker every time I would talk about my friend Rick the mentalist. Keeping with the theme of this year’s pie orgy, they brought a stack of pie pans stuffed full of mini bags of chips and pretzels (or what we pie aficionados refer to as palate cleansers) and called it the Anti-Crust because they are BRILLIANT. They, along with their salty bestowal, were big hits!

Most of the people were from my work, so I joked that it was Law Firm sponsored. I love that my work friends actually like to hang out outside of work! Every other job I’ve had, it was like pulling teeth trying to get my co-workers to hang out. Of course, that could always be because they just didn’t like me.

Now that I think about it, that’s probably definitely why.

Coming up: The Pies, The Kids, Surprise AAA Appearance, and possibly a short Henry interview if I can seduce any words out of him.

After a mimosa-friendly brunch at Sonoma Grill, Carey and I went to see “Annie” yesterday at the Benedum. I’m not a big musical fan at all, but I do like “Annie.” In fact, that is the only musical I have ever seen in a theater.

When I was thirteen, I was maniacally entranced by “Annie.” I would watch the movie nearly every night, sing along with the soundtrack, and I even tried to make a reproduction of it, starring various kids in my home room. One of those kids was our beloved Keri. She was not as keen on “Annie” as I was, so she snatched my cast list from me and ripped it to shreds. Bitch.

That year, my mom bought three tickets for the production of “Annie” at the Fulton Theatre. I invited my best friend, Christy. She was my pseudo-sister since age four.

The night rolled along quite smoothly until toward the end of the last act. Christy leaned over and mentioned that she was starting to feel sick. Since I’m known for displaying total compassion for my friends, I laughed in her face.

The play ended and we began to descend the steps along with a million other people who wanted to leave just as fast as us. Christy was in front of me and I was pushing her, because I am was really annoying like that. She turned around and pleaded, “Please stop. I’m going to throw up!” Throwing my head back in laughter, I gave her one final push.

Oh, if you could have seen the faces of the surrounding crowd as Christy projectile vomited in the middle of the Fulton Theatre.

And as a young girl walked by with her mink coated mother, pointing and exclaiming, “Ew, mommy- look!” Christy began an encore round of regurgitation.

Nothing vomitus happened at yesterday’s showing, aside from a mild argument over seats which resulted in the lady in the wrong “accidentally” knocking over the other lady’s small ginger child. Although Sally Struthers got a little over the top with her inebriated Miss Hannigan, and that didn’t mesh well with the mimosas in my belly. But overall, the production was fantastic and I was so happy Carey invited me.

Before the show started, I was sitting in a chair across from the rest rooms when a moderately mentally-challenged man approached me and took the neighboring seat. “Great,” I mumbled internally, mid-text, as he struggled to make small talk with me. Most days, I wake up hating people, and while I wasn’t feeling particularly in love with humanity that day, something about this guy (Brian) really charmed me.

(He had come all the way from New Brighton with his mom to see “Annie.”)

(New Brighton is by Beaver Falls.)

Carey returned from the bathroom in enough time to witness the tail end of this forced study in small talk, and of course made a joke about me having a new boyfriend. I joked about it too, how “people like him” are magnetized to me, but when he found me again during the intermission, I felt, for lack of a signature-OH,E sleazy way to put it — touched. I guess I’ve just been so disconnected lately, so unwilling to pull down my walls, and so inside my head, and here comes this guy out of nowhere who, in a few short minutes and with so few words, makes me feel compassion.

I cried through most of the second half of the show, but I don’t think it was entirely because Annie finally found a family.

I took an unprecedented time out from my walking routine (see also: directionless marching) to have an actual sit-down dinner at Mad Mex with my new friend (and new-to-Pittsburgh) Seri.

Don’t worry — I parked really far away.

I know what you’re thinking: “How does this broad sucker people into being her friend?!” That’s something I ask my diary every night, so your thoughts are not alone.

Sometimes, meeting someone for the first time can be a nightmare, a complete blueprint for awkward exchanges, embarrassing stuttering, and painful silences.

This is something in which I have accumulated much experience. So I thought for sure I’d be clandestinely checking my phone under the table, silently calculating all the steps that were passing me by while I was being held prisoner over burritos and salsa, and willing myself to choke on a tortilla chip so I could go to the hospital. (There was legitimately a coffee date I had with someone in 2005 where I got all wistful at the sight of an ambulance speeding past.)

But it wasn’t like that at all. Instead, we had so much in common that conversation flowed as freely as our black cherry margaritas and I quickly learned that this girl is basically the taller version of me. Our background similarities are astounding, and her husband Pete and Henry should probably just go ahead and start a support group for men with tightly-wound, temperamental lady-child partners.

Um, and she pronounced “Chooch” correctly without me ever saying it in front of her.

I mean….

And the fact that she even came bearing a gift was just gilding the lily at that point. (Not that I mind gilded lilies!) Her husband Pete did an impeccable wrapping job (Henry is the household present-wrapper too!), and somehow, someway, the paper matched my nail polish exactly. The signs, they were everywhere and neon.

“It’s so you won’t smash your sandwiches on the trolley anymore,” Seri said, and I was so touched. I need people to take care of me and my sandwiches! It was such a sweet gesture, and maybe it was because my emotions were tequila-tinged at that point, but I for real got a little choked up. For real.

And even though I had to drunkenly shamble around the streets of Brookline* afterward to get my 20,000 steps, it was worth it!

*(At one point, I slurred out loud, “Why is it so quiet out here?” and then 3…2…1, “And there it is!” Domestic dispute in the middle of the road. Now that’s the Brookline I know.)

I’m meeting Seri at the nearby high school track this morning, so we’ll see how well she endures an hour of me talking about Jonny Craig. THAT is the true Erin Rachelle Kelly Friendship Litmus Test.

Sometime back in April, Nina came over to my desk at work and excitedly told me that her friends were planning a zombie surprise party for their 16-year-old daughter and would I come and do the makeup? Of course, being the anxiety-ridden fool that I am, the thought of putting makeup on strangers seemed terrifying, but I said yes without hesitation because I’m all about doing things that make me uncomfortable. If anything, these situations usually turn out to be memorable in one way or another.

I had to be at their house at 5 yesterday, so of course I waited until 2:30 to go to the party store and stock up on white and green cream and spray blood (though I should note that Andrea’s My Pretty Zombie kit, which I have used at least 6 times since last October, was ample enough to get 15+ people made up; I couldn’t believe it).

I got to bring Henry and Chooch with me, thank god for security blankets, although having them there did me no good while I was doing makeup, because Chooch had already made 4 friends and had disappeared, and Henry instantly had a beer in his hand and was talking to the birthday girl’s dad, Dave, probably about boring Professional Driver things and being in the SERVICE, because those are Henry’s hot topics.

I was a nervous wreck, frantically scrubbing makeup into the pores of strangers—it was your regular zombie assembly line—and that’s pretty awkward, just being introduced to someone and then being all up in their face. Luckily, every single person there was incredibly down-to-earth and didn’t make me feel dumb or like I was hired help. Every five minutes, Dave’s wife Diane made sure I had alcohol in my glass.

These were my kind of people.

I even got to zombify some of the grandparents too, it was incredible. One lady let me spritz her bouffant with blood and then Dave’s dad cut a huge hole in his shirt and had me trace his liver surgery scar with Fresh Scab. All his idea. It was at that point that I had become hyper-aware of the fact that I was in the company of Awesome People.

When Dallas arrived, everyone swarmed her car. She was pretty stunned and I was honored to get to be there to watch!

Zombie Nina. She kept telling me at work that I would be fine and I should have known that if these were her friends, it was going to be laid-back. She did, however, give me copious warnings about Dave’s unfiltered sexual comments, which were incredibly entertaining and definitely made me loosen up (well, that and the unlimited, free-flowing sangria I was swallowing all night). I think Henry really looks up to him.

I was so self-conscious about my makeup job, though. I kept sidling up to Henry and whispering, “I fucked it up, didn’t I? It doesn’t look too good, does it?” I was just trying to get everyone done as quickly as possible and I sure hope they didn’t hate it.

Probably one of the 87 times Dave was warning Nina that he’s going to bang her before she moves. (Side note: Nina is moving out of state in the near future. Dislike.) Yes, that’s her husband sitting next to him. God, that guy was great!

I had my real camera in my iCarly messenger bag the whole time, but I forgot. And then when I remembered, I was too drunk to care. They had a guy taking professional photos all night though (when he wasn’t draping his rats on old ladies’ necks).

Chooch, after 6 hours of sweating.

Morgan and the birthday girl, who I ended up spending the last hour of the party talking to about horror movies and dinosaurs and OMG we have so much in common. I can’t believe I forgot to ask her if she likes Jonny Craig, though. Anyway, that girl is so sweet and I’m really happy that I got to help out a little to make her 16th birthday a memorable one.

Nina was so worried that I wasn’t having a good time, and I was like, “Dude, it’s dark out now and I’m still here, sitting in the backyard with all these strangers. I guess I must be having a good time!” I mean, my phone even died early on, so I had no concept of what time it was, and completely didn’t care. I thought it would be a totally awkward experience, like I was just the hired help, and why is she still here? But everyone was so good about making us feel at home there. And Chooch only pouted in their garage four times!

What a great night. Even though Nina openly mocked me numerous times for having a Caboodle!

My out-of-town friends are always saying that they’re jealous that Pittsburgh has so many zombie-centric events during the year (we are the Zombie Capital of the World, you know; fuck that Atlanta nonsense). So when I get invited to these things on Facebook, I try to go to as many as I can to support the cause. (The zombie cause and also the jealous friends cause.)

Henry was on the fence when I told him about the Eat Your Heart Out Heart Valentine charity event that was happening at the Oakmont Tavern last Saturday night. Henry doesn’t mind going to the family-friendly things because really, it’s Chooch who’s into zombies the most and he really enjoys getting made up. So then we’re just his plain-faced handlers. But this time it was at a BAR with GROWNUPS and Henry is a big dumb SQUARE who doesn’t like going out past 8pm and knocking a few back. But then I convinced Laura and Mike to go too and Henry felt a little better knowing that he and Mike could stand around being humans together while Laura and I got fake blood and decay all over our shot glasses.

Still, I waited all day for him to use the snowy weather as an excuse, but he didn’t! We actually went out to a real life bar and ran the risk of getting stabbed or, oh my god, having a good time!

Henry, after I pointed out he unwittingly dressed as Freddy Krueger, whose name I consistently spell wrong.

Laura went as a military zombie, complete with camis and dog tag. She was really wound up about her makeup, like, “Where should I put the blood!?” and I was all, “Anywhere you want! Who cares! Have you seen my makeup?” Seriously, I’m OK when I’m doing Chooch’s makeup, but once I do my own, I just look like a battered woman. The best part is when all my makeup starts to slide down my face after about an hour because my skin is so oily. (Clearly, I need to order some become products!)

I was going to make Henry go into the bar first because we arrived right around the time the party was starting and I was adamant about not being the first zombie to arrive. But as soon as we got to the door, a girl in full-on prosthetics arrived and went in before us, so we rode her coattails.

They had all the zombies relegated to the upstairs bar, which was extremely small, but cozy. Like a crypt. So it made sense. The first thing we did though was purchase raffle tickets, the proceeds of which went toward saving the Evans City Chapel, which as some might know is part of Night of the Living Dead history.

Here are some pictures of Chooch and Andrea chilling in front of the chapel last September:

Anyway, as Henry was buying raffle tickets, it dawned on me that I knew the lady ripping tickets off the roll for him.

“I know you,” I said, in a  faux-accusatory tone.

She looked slightly apprehensive, and I’m sure it had nothing to do with me coming off as a sleazy used car salesman.

“We went on a ghost hunt together last year,” I said. “Broughton Elementary School?” I’m not sure if she really did remember me (although I was convinced she didn’t like me because my stomach kept growling during the EVP session we did together and she didn’t look pleased) but she still stood up and gave me a big hug. She briefly told me about some haunts she’s been on since then, and then I focused on arbitrarily picking buckets in which to stick my raffle tickets.

I then had to explain to Henry 27 times how I knew her.

“I CHEATED ON YOU WITH HER, OK!?” God, Henry. Step off.

Anyway, the raffle drawing wasn’t until midnight, so Mr. I Don’t Want To Be Here sealed his fate with that one.

(Staying out past midnight, CAN YOU IMAGINE.)

Shaun of the Dead and the back of a bride.

Ended up seeing Ghost Hunter Chris’s husband Joel inside the bar; I didn’t get a chance to say hello to him, but I did learn that he’s the one who took the photographs that are on the Fix the Chapel website. I always see people I know at these things and it makes me realize just how small and awesome that scene is.

Elfen Zombie? I don’t know. Laura kept going on about how attractive she was, though.

Here you will observe Pete the bartender concocting our Bloody Brains, which I wanted more of but Henry frowned his answer at me. I drank way more than I intended to and I’m pretty sure I was annoying Mike and Henry and everyone else around us who were not as drunk as me.

Pete found out about Whitney Houston’s death after we did and was very concerned about it. I think I was going to console him, but I got distracted by ordering another drink.

I almost died (again?) when I turned around and saw a zombie Robert Smith behind me! I told him he was my favorite, like he was legitimately Robert Smith, and I didn’t even feel stupid for it because I was drunk.

Now I feel stupid for it.

No, I don’t.

Henry’s eating World Famous Wings, what does he care!?

Henry Quote of the Night: “I really hope the blood on the bathroom sink was fake.”

You know what I love about the zombie scene? The people are so fucking decent. Seriously, we never run into assholes at these events. And we’re not even really a part of the scene! It’s like everything else, I’m hovering in the periphery.

I remember last year when I was getting ready to meet my now-friend Kristy at a zombie self-defense course, I was texting Andrea about being nervous.

“Yeah but she likes zombies, and that’s a good indication that she’s going to be fine. People who are into zombies somehow end up being the normal ones,” Andrea advised.

And she was right. Kristy is awesome.

And everyone there that night was awesome and sweet to me when I tapped on their backs like a 6-year-old wanting Richard Simmons’s autograph. (What? That’s whose autograph I would have wanted when I was 6.)

I hate beer, but I kept tasting every one that Henry ordered, which was really irritating him. Apparently, I might kind of like Blue Moon a little bit. Or I was just that drunk.

I commented that I hadn’t seen the proprietor of Monroeville Zombies all night. His name is Kevin and although we have never spoken in person,  he’s the one who invites me to all these events. (Most of the ones we go to are even organized by him as well, but this one was not.) And that at one point, Henry was all, “OMG Robert Smith is Kevin!” So there — I have officially spoken to Kevin of Monroeville Zombie fame.

Henry and Mike were totally infatuated with this guy. God, start a fan club already, amirite.

I promised Laura I would get a picture of the bullethole guy for her and I REMAINED TRUE TO MY WORD BECAUSE I AM A FRIEND-PERSON.

I was in line for the bathroom (I had to go so fucking bad) when someone announced that it was time for the raffle. Henry held up my coat and phone and waved me over to him. I did the universal jig for “Unless you want to smell my urine-soaked panties the whole way home in the car, you best let me keep my spot in line.” But he was all urgently gesticulating for me to follow them downstairs like I’m his goddamn mail order bride or some shit. I was so pissed. Almost literally.

So I get to the bottom of the steps and it’s so congested down there with zombies shambling around in a raffle number-stupor that I physically can’t go anywhere else. I shoved my coat into Henry’s arms and stomped back upstairs where the bride was about to enter the restroom but must have noticed that I was at this point bent over with my fist in my crotch, so she very graciously let me go ahead of her.

See? Zombie fanatics are decent people!

Snooki should have this made into booty shorts at the Shore Store next summer.

We did not win anything for the raffle. Some girl who went into the mens room and peed on top of the collection of pee that Henry kept telling us about all night won something though, and she was very excited about it. Winning, not peeing in the mens room, although maybe that too.

Saved this guy for last because he was my favorite. This picture doesn’t do it justice but he had a cockroach sticking out of one side and fingernails stuck in the other side of his face. He said it took him over two hours.

You know how long it took me? 5 minutes. Always making an effort, I am!

Jesus, it was such a good night. Laura and I were pretty wasted and I don’t think we ever stopped laughing (except maybe when we heard that Whitney Houston had died but then I remembered that I didn’t really care). I want to do more to help so I’m making some new Historical Zombie note cards, the proceeds of which will go the chapel. I’m a sucker for preserving shit. Just not literally shit. I already have an MLK Jr and Abe Lincoln done – just need to make the time to do three more and then I will debut them on here for hopefully someone to care about it.

Yesterday afternoon, we went to a George Romero Birthday Party at my friend Kristy’s house. She is pretty much the zombie aficionado and even turned her basement into a Zombie Lounge. It’s impressive and Chooch’s eyeballs were spinning like your basic penny slots, there was so much for him to take in.

The next time Andrea visits, I need to get her and Kristy together so they can drool and shamble around aimlessly in mutual zombie adoration. And I’ll just stand there and take pictures.

We watched some zombie movies, Chooch and the guys played Rock Band (Chooch’s attention span lasted way longer than I imagined it would for that), and there was even some piñata action. (Kristy made it herself! Now I know where to go for Chooch’s next party.)

(Actually, I think I’ll just pay her to flat out plan the whole thing.)

When it was time to watch another movie, I misheard Kristy and thought she said she was putting on Evil Dead. She asked me if I saw it and I was all, “Pshhh, yeah, of course.” However, it was actually some New Zealand movie called Brain Dead which I actually have not seen, so I then sat there on the couch, alone with my internal dialogue, feeling like a big fat liar, like one of those assholes who says “Um, yeah!

” no matter what because they want to look like some douchebag cinema elitist.

I swear I’m not that person.

(I’m only like that with music.

)

Twirling with entrails.

Kristy has a collection of nuns in the Zombie Lounge bathroom, yet another indication that we were meant to be friends.

That was a pretty awesome way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Happy birthday, George Romero! Your #1 fan threw you a super sweet party!

Saturday night was the first time ever that Henry and I hung out with Tommy and Jessy sans Chooch. It was a fucking miracle, really. But we left him at home with Henry’s mom, who likely regaled him with tales of alleyway hookers and god only knows what else, while we went off to try and remember what it’s like to hang out with other adults while drinking alcohol.

Or, in Henry’s case: he needed to try to (quickly) remember how to babysit me while we hang out with other adults (one of whom is just as immature as me) while drinking alcohol. In all fairness, I do not remember most of what happened that night, but I do know that Henry had me so concerned about it that I texted both Jessy and Tommy to preemptively apologize just in case it ever comes up in the future.

(They both said I was fine, so fuck you, Henry.)

I love that the meat was placed right next to me.

We hadn’t been there for more than 5 minutes before I had a gigantic glass of wine on my hand, courtesy of Tommy, so by the time Jessy pulled out Quelf and started reading the directions, I was already in a giggly trance. I do, however, remember Tommy saying that all the directions said were “Draw a card. Make fun of Erin.”

Henry had to wear a bib and then snort like a pig instead of laughing. Since Henry rarely laughs unless he’s watching Blue Collar Comedy (a lie, but you’d think it would be true, right?), there really wasn’t too much barnyard bacchanalia happening; but when he did snort, it was fucking outstanding. Since I had already gurgled a good full bottle of wine by the time Henry drew this card, I did not react with the appropriate level of hilarity. Instead, I turned into a giddy 8-year-old on a swingset with a limp-wristed hold of her motor skills and inadvertently kicked Tommy in the shins about 17 times in a row.

Sorry, Tommy.

This was pretty much how I looked too every time I had to read a card. Tommy served me a bottomless glass of wine. I don’t know how I didn’t puke everywhere or completely black out, but there are big chunks of the night that Henry was telling me about which I swear I wasn’t a part of. Like, I don’t remember Jessy purposely making her face up like Mimi until the next day when she posted a picture on Facebook.

Ballerina Tommy.

Pretending he can read.

I think Tommy’s expression mirrored my own at that point.

Henry had to wear lipstick as one of his punishments, like that’s even a stretch for him. He was pretty much like, “Oh thank God this is all I have to do for once.”

My favorite thing that Jessy had to do was stand in a corner and repeatedly say “Thank you sir, may I have another?” repeatedly, over top of the cacophony the rest of us were creating during our own turns.

Quelf is fucking ridiculous.

Tommy was drumming with tampons, but I can’t remember why.

Of course most of my challenges required me to sing and dance. It’s a good thing I suck at both, otehrwise it probably wouldn’t have been very funny for those jerks.

I just kept glugging away. Thanks, Tommy.

I don’t even need liquored up to act a fool, so I can only imagine how obnoxious I was being.

Oh wait, I don’t have to imagine, since I have Henry to remind me over and over again.

I wasn’t sure if I was just randomly wearing this bowl as a helmet or if I was told to. I guess Quelf told me to so I did it. The bridge of my nose hurt the next day which made me remember the bowl slipping down my face a number of times.

I was about to pass out on their couch after somehow ending up outside, which was about the time Henry gripped me by the elbow and asked, “You ready?” but what he meant by that was, “I’m taking your drunk ass home before your set their house on fire, asshole.”

The next day, Henry made some comment on Facebook about how “it’s always a fun night when you have two drunk people and you’re sober.” Except he spelled it “your.”

Can’t wait to do this shit again, you guys!