Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 09:56 I got yo back, P.Mick. #
• 10:28 About to start writing up tardy slips.#
• 11:25 Janna hates people who eat bean sprouts. Ignorance at large.#
• 11:28 My brother graduated high school on Tuesday. He just said, "remember that one time you didn’t?" Laffs.#
• 11:42 Some elderly douche gave the three asshole kids behind us lollipops and didn’t give Chooch one. Adrenaline is gushing. #
• 18:14 SlangThatGetsUnderMySkin edition: I pray someone says "betch" in my presence so I can cordially invite them to suck on my fist. #
• 18:37 Henry called me a slut, but I suppose that’s better than "BETCH." #
• 10:34 Chooch is terrorizing a bug. En route to Serial Killerville. #

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Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 15:26 Chooch talks like a Canadian. #
• 17:53 I wish my ring could squirt poison. #
• 18:50 Tina just asked me why I’m sitting on my knees. I AM SO SCRUTINIZED UP IN THIS JOINT. #
• 20:51 Totally threw off Tina by telling her I have a girlfriend. It was awesome. #
• 21:18 When ppl try to avoid junk food I suggest picturing candy bars stuffed into the bloated carcass of a dead hooker, throw in some shit & worms #

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Today, Chooch and I went to lunch with Janna and my brother Corey. We walked several blocks to Tom’s Diner, which was fine until the way back when Chooch was too tired to walk so I had to carry him in 179 degree weather and he stunk of sweat and curdled milk. Anyway, at Tom’s, he made a fist and held it out to everyone who walked past, and said, "Punch. Punch." Most people ignored him, but a fat old man wearing a big mother-whompin’ ring made a fist on his way out of the diner and shouted, "Gimme some knuckle, kid" and Chooch had this expression of "Fucking finally!" 

Chooch and I both had grilled cheese and fries, but he was more interested in stealing potato chips and pickles from Janna’s plate.

A woman came in with approximately 18 children (fine, four) and as soon as they sat down behind us, a really old should-be-fucking-dead-by-now man hobbled over with a hunched back and passed out saftey suckers to each one. "I just really love kids," he exclaimed to their mom, and then he went back to his table.

Now, this lewd display of favortism went down behind my back, so I sat there and funneled my disgusted sighs and angry scowls at Janna and Corey. "So what, Chooch doesn’t qualify? Why didn’t that elderly douche balloon give my son a fucking poison treat?" I swear to God it made me so angry that I could feel my adrenaline rushing, blood crashing like cymbals in my ears, and I wanted to approach him in the worst way. Me, approaching an octogenarian over a sucker. And then what? Cause a scene over candy that would wind up dirt-encrusted and dropped on the floor after three licks? I have a really ridiculously skewed sense of entitlement.

I took this at Round Hill Park back in April, with my Holga. It makes me think of murder. The photo, not my Holga. Although now I’m thinking of taking pictures of murder with my Holga. There’s a nice thought-train to help me travel through the night.

One of these days, I’m not going to be able to come back out of my thoughts, and that will be a frightening day.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 16:24 Two nights in a row sans Eleanore. God is smiling down. #
• 18:04 Tina just had me close my eyes and open my mouth. Because I’m a retard, I did it. She hand-fed me a gummy jolly rancher. it was awkward. #
• 18:06 That jolly rancher did NOT complement the vegetarian sausage I had just chewed. #
• 18:24 Sigur Ros is probably not the wisest music choice for my mood right now. Someone once said "Torture" is my middle name. Oh wellsies. #

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One of them there interview memes was going around on LiveJournal, so I got my friend Lauren to interrogate me. Because I really like talking about myself. Could do it all the livelong day.

1. Is there any one thing that you feel fostered your macabre-ness?

I think it’s inherent. My mom was majorly into Halloween when I was growing up and my family watched A LOT of horror movies. It’s still my favorite genre, so I guess that’s probably the main external influence that holds hands with my macabre gene.

Nightmares have plagued me for as long as I can remember, as well, so I probably subconsciously draw from that a lot.

2. Which serial killer would you love to kick back a few beers with and why?

If this a dead or alive question, then Dahmer. I bet he’d have some killer recipes that I might need someday (see #5).

No. Wait. I’m changing my answer. Ted Bundy. Beers lead to sex and Jesus Christ, Bundy is hot.

3. Are you planning to have more children?

NO.

4. If you had to choose only one CD (that wasn’t a mixed compilation) that you could listen to for an entire year, what would it be?

13 Ways to Bleed on Stage by Cold. That album reminds me of the beginning of my relationship with Henry. We road-tripped a lot that summer to see Cold, my favorite band at the time (and still in my Top 5 even though they’re now defunct). He knew how much they meant to me and I’ve always thought it was awesome of him to go out of his way to make sure I could see them as much as possible. So, if I had to be reminded of the same memories for an entire year, I’d want it to be those ones, and that album.

Plus, we were still getting to know each other and he hadn’t begun hating me yet. Oh haha. Good times.

5. Would you ever eat meat on a regular basis again? I mean, you’re not living with your Mom, so her pork chops aren’t part of the equation.

Not if the meat came from an animal. Though, I can see myself in a fit of rage, hacking off Henry’s weener and then engaging in some passion-eating. And if anything is a gateway into cannibilism, it’s got to be a nice boiled cock. In fact, I’m dining on a thick vegetarian sausage right now and pretending it’s a juicy wang. So yes, I could chow on a person. Possibly even on a regular basis.

Friday, June 6, 2008

Morning

Today I was looking for Chooch’s juice cup and thought perhaps he left it on the window sill. When I pulled back the curtains, something small and grayish in color hit the floor with a plop. I screamed and jumped back. A few seconds later, I saw it jump underneath the TV stand. I called Henry immediately and reported to him that we had in the house what I assumed was a toad. “It’s definitely something that makes a plopping sound when it hits the ground, so whatever that is, that’s what’s in the house.” Happy birthday, Henry!

Chooch stood by the TV for awhile, lining up some of his cars on the shelf. Looking at his bare legs and feet, I figured it was probably not the best idea for him to standing so close to our house guest (whom I lost sight of). What if it wasn’t a toad at all? I entertained the idea of a brand new species hulking around back there in the corner, perhaps something with tentacles, venom, and red pubic hair. I pulled Chooch away from the TV and made him play somewhere safer, like near the basement steps, and continued flirting with that thought.

I kept my feet tucked underneath me on the couch for the rest of the morning.

Afternoon

Henry came home from work and pulled the TV back. “It’s a mouse, you retard.” Then he left to get sticky traps, because I was adamant about not killing it.

Evening

People at work have informed me that those sticky traps kill mice. “Sometimes a mouse will chew its own foot off to escape from those traps,” my boss said. I texted Henry: ABORT, ABORT. Henry says mouse removal is officially my responsibility.

“Tell me you’re not this worked up over a MOUSE,” Eleanore said disgustedly. I ate a good almond cookie.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Morning

Diary, it is 1:00 in the morning and the mouse is perched above the screen on the front window! He’s really cute; I’m talking to him and feeding him shredded cheese. I don’t know what his name is yet so I’m just calling him “Hey little buddy.”  It reminds me of when I was in elementary school and I taught a Praying Mantis how to count change. Henry said he’s a field mouse. “Like Secret of NIMH?” I asked. “Yeah, like Secret of NIMH,” he said, sounding a bit impatient. We’ve been watching it intently for fifteen minutes now. It just scratched himself and then stepped on the cheese I sprinkled. Every time Henry gets too close, the mouse tenses up and makes like he’s going to run — I’d get tense too if I saw a big bearded douchebag approaching me  — but when I approach, he is calm and we make casual eye contact.

I’m thinking of the cozy house I’m going to build for him, with a little chimney and fresh daisies in a tiny vase, but then Henry just tried to catch him with an empty iced tea canister, causing the mouse to attempt suicide by leaping to the floor. Look Diary, that mouse is cute and cuddly, sure, FROM AFAR. But I guarantee if that thing starts scampering around my feet, it’s going to get booted into the wall. Losing sight of it, I tug on Henry’s shirt and hug him from behind and I bet he wishes I was wearing a strap-on. Henry is mad now because he “could have had it” but he couldn’t bend down with me grabbing at him like that. He was all, “GO STAND OVER THERE,” and if he had it his way, “there” would be at the bottom of the ocean with a few cinder blocks and a chain.

The mouse ran back behind the TV.

Evening

Hey, I haven’t seen that mouse in awhile. I can only hope it’s off making hundreds of babies somewhere in my house.

Sunday, June 8, 2008

Evening

A few minutes ago, I was treating my brain to some quality reality TV programming, as you do, when I heard a strangulated growl coming from the dining room. I looked up and saw Nicotina (aka Speck, Breakfast Nook, Pickles) with my little buddy IN HER MOUTH. At this point, I don’t know the mouse’s status (breathing, not breathing), but my rescue mode is activated and I start screaming bloody murder for Nicotina to release the damn mouse. Henry and Chooch are upstairs and probably think the house is on fire or there’s a hatchet lodged in my head with the way I’m flipping out. I yelled up to Henry what was going down and heard him mumble, “Jesus Christ.”

Cornering Nicotina on the back porch, I grabbed her just before Marcy came stalking through the kitchen to get a piece of the action. Marcy does NOT need to be involved in this. She scares me. Nicotina looked highly confused, her eyes said, “Is this not what I’m supposed to do?” I held my breath and snatched her, mouse and all, and keeping her at arm’s length, I ran with her to the front door. Before I had a chance to pull the door open, she spat the mouse out onto the couch and he scurried behind the pillows.

Henry and Chooch are downstairs at this point, and Chooch started crying; probably because he didn’t understand why Mommy was raving  with bugged-out eyes like a woman scorned. I ordered Henry to help and he reluctantly grabbed a diaper and held it open like a catcher’s mitt, muttering under his breath about how he should have just killed the fucker on Friday. I put aside my desire to donkey kick him and focus on making it through the night with no casualties. The mouse ran off the couch and fell into one of Chooch’s toy bins. “PICK IT UP AND TAKE IT OUTSIDE! WE STILL HAVE A CHANCE!” I screamed. Henry threw the bin on the front porch and said, “YOU go out there and YOU dump it out.”

So I did. And the mouse ran to freedom. Nicotina wouldn’t look at me for the rest of the night.

I was so amped up after that, that I couldn’t sit down. Fuck, Diary, I wish you could have seen it; it’s the most amazing feeling to save a life. I highly recommend it. I kept wanting to talk about it with Henry, but he was thoroughly unimpressed. “Normal people would have killed it, but not you. You have to turn it into a Thing.” He won’t admit that I deserve to be knighted. I called Christina and she said the whole time I was telling her about it, she kept envisioning me as Dog the Bounty Hunter.

I think I want to do this for a living, this saving mice thing. I want to be on Animal Planet.

Monday, June 9, 2008

Evening

I’ve been telling everyone about my rescue success, about how valiant I am. Kim and Collin said something about me needing therapy, but I know they’re really just trying to downplay their awe. I showed Kim the picture of Frederick (that’s the mouse) and she admitted he was really fucking cute.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008 TODAY

Morning

Chooch just pointed to the floor in the living room and innocently asked, “Whassat?” A dead mouse, that’s what. Shit, isn’t this chapter closed yet? I’m trying not to panic, trying not to wonder if it’s Frederick. Maybe he came back for more shredded cheese. All I know is that he wasn’t there five minutes ago when I walked across the room to the couch. I asked Chooch who put it there and he said Speck. That bitch.

I called Henry and yelled SOMETHING TERRIBLE JUST HAPPENED. He told me to throw it outside, then hurried up and made sure I knew not to touch it with bare hands. So I wrapped it gingerly in a paper towel and placed it on the front porch.

Afternoon

THE MOUSE IS GONE. A FUCKING BIRD TOOK IT. I called Henry and, in quick-speak, relay to him the latest development. “….and so I had it on the porch so that you could bury it when you come home—” Henry interrupted me with genuine laughter. “–and now it’s GONE.” Henry gave me a talk about nature.

Evening

Bob told me there are probably a hundred more mice in my house.

I don’t want to do this for a living anymore.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 20:34 It’s painful for me to watch Chooch not color inside the lines. I have rigid coloring book standards. Srsly, I’m all clenched up right now. #
• 22:02 You are reading a Tweet from a real life mouse rescuer. #
  

  ---

• 16:26 Chooch started saying "asshole" today and I know I should discourage it but it sounds so funny. Plus, he directs it at Henry. #
• 19:04 TINA JUST HIT ME! #
• 20:41 Henry shrinks the shirts that I like long, and stretches out the ones I want fitted. I’m honestly floating in a billowing blue shirt-sack. #
• 21:17 I seriously need a good game of wiffle ball, complete with grass stains and scrapes. I’m not joking, been thinking about it all night. #

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Saturday morning, Chooch locked himself in our bedroom. Henry pretty much had an "Oh fuck" attitude, because from the times I’ve locked myself in there intentionally he knew that breaking in would be difficult. We stood in the hallway coaxing Chooch to turn the knob, but he was too busy sliding a selection of my belongings under the door. That’s great Chooch, but my nail polish isn’t going to help open up the door. Playing up the drama, Chooch would casually say, "Help me, I stuck", as if he felt compelled to play along. Finally, Henry had the knob pulled out of the door far enough to pop the lock, and we found Chooch sitting in the middle of a pile of laundry, looking suspicious.

Today my child said "asshole" for the first time, and then smiled proudly. I know that I should have immediately nipped that in the bud, but it sounded so cute so I encouraged him to say it again.

I’ll just make Henry put a stop to it. Go ahead, Henry. Put a stop to it.

I’m such an immature mother. At least I don’t leave him in the car with the windows up. Or hand him sticks of dynamite. But I guess that’s only because I’ve never had any sticks of dynamite in my possession.

In addition to swearing and locking us out of rooms, Chooch is currently into freeze pops, eating all the garbanzo beans from my salads, sweating, and doing sign language on our cat Nicotina (when he’s not putting her into head locks and chasing her into corners), and eyeballs.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 15:24 My hair doesn’t stand a chance in this kind of moist air. #
• 16:56 Eleanore + humidity x Tina’s laugh – patience = Erin’s exploding head. #
• 22:40 You know what I haven’t done in way too long? Beat the shit out of a pinata. I’m buying one this weekend and stuffing it with benzos. #
• 23:29 I just don’t get enough Gino Vannelli in my life, is what it is. #

• 11:34 Today Chooch locked himself in our bedroom and stood by the door saying "Help me I stuck." That didn’t make me panic or anything.#
• 18:55 Taking Henry out to eat for his birthday. Probably won’t happen again for another 7 yrs. #
• 19:33 We’re at Sharp Edge and Henry is busily texting his work boyfriend Dave, so I’m texting my mistress Twitter. #
• 19:35 Correction: my new mistress is the plate of fried pickle chips seducing me. #
• 20:20 I just told Henry what to order for his birthday dessert. The boss is on duty no matter whose birthday it is. #
• 20:36 Henry just said DONT START because I had Waitress Crush eyes. #
• 21:46 I thought one of the waitresses said Redrum, but Henry informed me she said "no problem". Could have been so cool. #

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Two weeks ago, I couldn’t find the right shoe to this pair and I was almost reduced to tears. I paced around, hands in my hair, saying, "Where the fuck could it be?" over and over. Then Henry found it in the basement (thanks, Chooch) and became my automatic hero for like, an entire ten minutes.

I’ll never tire of Converse.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 16:49 Bob keeps saying it would be so gr8 if Chooch grew up to be a cowboy-the antithesis of all I like. I’m afraid he’s sealing his fate. #
• 16:53 Big Bob knows A LOT about bulls. #
• 20:33 Oh hark! Ex-con Cleaning Guy just mumbled a succession of pleasant-sounding words at my face. I knew I’d win him over. With low-cut shirts. #
• 23:20 Dear words: plz help me convey how I feel about Who Let the Dogs Out playing over at Tina’s desk. — Erin. #
• 23:24 Dear Erin: You are looking for me. Love, Pained. #

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Giacomo wasn’t listening when Roberto asked him for new guitar strings, and therefore had to be asked two more times as they sat in a tiny trailer and prepared to play at the town’s annual succotash festival.

Giacomo tossed medium gauge  strings over to Roberto before hanging his head over his own guitar, lost in heavy contemplation.

Roberto ignored Giacomo’s angst; he was used to Giacomo fixating and dwelling on trivial things, like lost baseball cards and pets, his parents getting divorced, and the time when they were hunting rabbits and he witnessed a man clad in a fine Italian suit gutting a hobo like a freshly-caught trout and stuffing his cavity with cocaine and gold bars. Giacomo dwelled on that for weeks, replaying the image over and over again in his head, stuttering about it with raspy breaths. 

And you could hear him packing it in there. PATPATPAT. Like my grandma stuffing a turkey.

Roberto really wanted to tell him to get a fucking grip and move on, like he had. Sure, it was a disturbing image, but Roberto was able to forget it thirty minutes later, when he was skinning a fresh rabbit.

"Roberto, I have to talk to you about something," Giacomo whispered, fidgeting with the diamond in his ear.  "I have a secret." Roberto pointedly ignored him, choosing to give the set list a final once-over before they were set to take the stage.

Giacomo rose and tugged on Roberto’s sleeve. "It’s really important, Roberto." But Roberto shrugged him off, figuring it was something innocuous. He knew Giacomo well.

Their manager, Harv, barged into the trailer just then, waving them forward with a red, sweaty face and an urgent hand. "You’re on in two minutes. Make sure your fly’s zipped this time, Benny, how ’bout it." Benny’s face blanched as he shot his hand down to check, blocking his crotch with his accordian.

Roberto and the band filed onto the stage with little Giacomo trailing behind. Kicking a beer can out of the way, Roberto adjusted the mic stand as Giacomo tugged on his shirt once more.

"Please Roberto, it’s important, I did something terrible."

Shrugging him off again, Roberto snapped. "What, you little creep? What did you do, piss in my egg cream again?"

Just then, the curtain rose. As the band commenced with a flat rendition of Pat Boone’s "Love Letters in the Sand", Giacomo leaned in close to Roberto and shouted, "I stole your sister’s virginity" and then promptly vomited, coating the front row with churned succotash.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 12:51 I wish Blues Clues was around when I was a baby. Then maybe I wouldn’t be so dumbz0rz. #
• 17:27 Hardest part of parenting? Taking toys out of the packaging, obviously. #
• 20:29 Watching a hockey game with a 2 year old is about as frustrating as it sounds. #
• 05:17 Henry used to watch hockey back before they wore them thangs called helmets. #
• 08:53 I have a sick desire to see if Kinoki foot pads can cleanse and energize my body. Maybe Ill get Henry some for his bday and then steal them. #

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I’m sitting at work, feeling all depressed for no good reason, and then Henry sends me this picture.

Sometimes having a Chooch is better than that bottle of vodka and crack pipe I often wish I had hidden in my desk. Thanks, Chooch.