Clairton’s welcome sign boasts that it’s the City of Prayer. "It can’t be that bad," Christina reasoned. "It’s the City of Prayer, after all." Having grown up one town over from Clairton, I laughed knowingly and corrected her. "Yeah, because it needs prayers."

Pretty much Clairton’s motto.

The kind of place Henry used to take broads before he met me.

Almost every speciality shop is closed up now, but there were still several small groups of people milling about. Not a single one of them passed by without eyeballing us with beady suspicion. I’m sure we stuck out like a sore thumb: two pasty girls shuffling around nervously, one with a giant camera slung around her neck; the other with bleached hair, a bright orange polo, and a visage of general retardedness.

Christina marveled at how it seemed everyone knew each other.  Sometimes I wish I lived in a place like that, but then I remember that means I’d have to talk to people.

I had to beg this guy for a picture. His eyes were yellow and red all at once. I lied and said it was for a school project, and he seemed a potentially volatile mix of skeptical and paranoid. He finally threw his arms up and said, "Aw hell, take your damn picture." I thanked him profusely and prayed that he wouldn’t change his mind afterward and jump me for the evidence.

I half-expected a pitbull named 8ball to spring against the fence with effervescent lips and a murderous snarl.

The one thing I noticed about Clairton is that, despite the degree of dilapidation and abandonment, there wasn’t too much litter. I wish I could say the same for my lame town. My yard especially is like a trash vortex. Every week, after the garbage is picked up, all the stray trash blows right to my front yard.

This guy was a very laid-back subject. He was kind of like, "Look, once you got the n-word spray painted on your house, very little phases you."

God saw you, indeed.

Pre-hospitalization dork alert.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 17:26 Would rather be home, playing with my new lens. #
• 18:38 when henry makes baked tofu for dinner, i get this uncontrollable urge to marry him. then he leaves his socks on the floor & i’m over it. #
• 08:35 My bagel bitch is here. #
• 09:30 My own brother, a goddamn shit-sucking vampire. #
• 09:47 My neighbors moved out while Gremlins was on so I associated it with the Gizmo theme. It confused me into feeling sad. #
• 12:30 Henry’s trying to sell me at the neighbor’s yard sale. He’s making a sign that says "cheap ho." #

• 15:46 I wonder if Robocop knows that Christina has his lighter. #
• 17:09 Henry was on a city-wide search for jicama today, but refused to go to the Mexican market by our house because he’s scared of the Spanish mob #
• 17:10 Usually I’m so diligent about counting characters. #
• 18:30 Risked getting jumped for the sake of pitchure-takin’, ya’ll. #
• 19:17 Can muscle be donated? I have too much of that shit and I’d like to help some assholes get calf implants. #
• 20:49 We just got invited to a scene kid party. I wanted to go but Christina had just puked so she said no. #
• 23:52 Fucking nurses & dr’s keep coming in to talk to Christina while I’m TRYING TO WATCH THE REAL WORLD, FUCKERS. #
• 23:55 Christina utilized her time in the bathroom to not just give a urine specimen, but fix her hair as well. #
• 00:46 Christina’s hooked up to plugs and clamps but I had no shame in asking her for money for snacks. I have this friendship thing down. #

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POST TWEET EDIT: Christina is fine. She apparently had bronchitis and didn’t know it or some such shit.

Bueno Mexicana in the house.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 17:53 I can’t wait until I’m 50 so I can call every one babe without them thinking I want to suck them off under the pier. #
• 20:03 I wonder if the dead people know that I do sit-ups on their roofs. #
• 22:52 Tina wants to get me a cock cake for my bday. I heard it as COP cake & shouted EW, making me look like a prude. Or a 9year old. #

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On his back, he says, "That cloud looks like a mother cat and her kitten."

She blocks the sun with her flattened hand. "It looks like she’s suffocating it."

"Your hands, they’re falling all over me," she complains, tensing her body and shifting away from him.

He withdraws. "Have some more cherries," he offers, shaking the small basket.

"My stomach is turning."

He tosses the cherries over his head.

"You’re too close to me."

He slides further to his left, the kept-down grass springing slowly back to life between them, and mutters, "And oh, here comes the attitude."

"But I’m not even mad at you."

"Can I complicate your breathing?" he begs, studying her cherry-stained lips, her pale exposed neck.

"S’mother time," she mumbles, disappearing into the trees.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 09:35 My family pulled through and paid off a loan I took out for them. Shock and gratitude make me feel giddy.#
• 10:02 Great. Chooch just learned about blood and stabbing. Surprisingly, not from anything I did! #
• 16:07 what would possess someone to trim their nails at work. you can’t wait till you’re home to do your grooming? disgusting.#
• 17:45 I’m not taking my time anymore #
• 19:32 I’m going to answer every question with "wasabi." At least for the next three minutes. #
• 19:37 @buenomexicana horse semen. #
• 20:51 I want to be sexually harassed in a foreign language. #

---

• 07:54 Wish I had a Neil Diamond in my pocket. #
• 09:34 Krush Groove only got one star? But Sheila E was so GOOD in it? #
• 14:27 Maybe if we turned every meal into Freezepops, Chooch would actually eat. Beef stew freezepop, coming right up. #
• 16:12 I sold my favorite painting today. So sad. Wouldn’t be so bad if I could visit it. Maybe get monthly updates, Christmas cards. #
• 18:54 Sometimes coating a Slip n Slide with mashed potatoes and going hogwild sounds like a fine idea. Next game night’s featured attraction. #
• 19:45 I work with school children. #
• 12:06 A beautiful day for shutting down. #

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I went through a short (five year) spell where I compulsively answered and posted personal ads for the sheer thrill of probable disaster. In the winter of 1999, a delightful man named Pete responded to one of my ads. After exchanging several cordial emails, I decided there was a fair chance he wasn’t keen on brandishing machetes, so I offered up my phone number.

He called me one night when my boyfriend Jeff was over. Jeff — yes, my boyfriend — was no stranger to my need to spread my wings of infidelity, so he busied himself with an episode of "Felicity" (the one where Brian Crackhouse raped the pink Power Ranger) while I carried on a merry conversation with Pete about all the various cereals we liked and how it was so hard to choose just one variety each morning.

Pete and I made plans to meet up one fine evening, and to be safe, I invited Janna over too. Because if he were to arrive wielding a chainsaw, at least I’d have a decoy. Minutes before Pete’s arrival, Janna called. "My mom won’t let me have the car because of the snow. I’m so sorry!" she whined, probably inwardly relieved that now she could stay home and watch PBS.

I tried to call Pete to cancel, but he had already left. I wondered about the possibility of him leaving the piano wire at home, on the kitchen counter, miles away from my vulnerable neck.

But he likes cereal so much, I pep-talked myself. It’s hard to imagine a serial killer enjoying a bowl of Apple Jacks, I assured myself, because that’s clearly grade A logic to apply.

When I opened the door for Pete, I was taken aback by his unexpected redneck visage. But once we got the handshaking out of the way, he settled down in a chair and conversation flowed freely. I was slightly irritated by his constant abbreviation for cigarette. "Let me light another ciggie," he’d announce, feeling the need to include me in his smoking schedule.

Then he pulled out a joint. I knew not to smoke it with him, because even when I’m with someone I’m supremely close to, my paranoia gets way out of control and of course every person in the tri-state area is vying to rape me. I want to sear my skin with a hot iron, leap from speeding vehicles, watch Olsen Twins videos.

So I did the rational thing in Erin’s World and joined him.

On TV, the news reports gave constant updates on the severe weather condition unraveling outside. I kept urging him to leave, and he would respond with obvious insinuations that he wanted to spend the night, which my marijuana-clouded mind translated as, "Imma treat ya like a pig, stuff an apple in yer mouth, and fuck ya silly from the bee-hind, you slutty broad. Who’s the cereal king now, ho?"

Oblivious to the pandemonium tap-dancing through my nervous system, he’d jiggle a cigarette between his fingers and say, "Just one more ciggie!" I sat on the couch, hunkered down among the pillows, arms protectively covering my boobs, legs bouncing with the verve and RPM of a bridge-dwelling paranoiac. I had cotton mouth and I wanted to go to bed. Maybe eat a PB&J.

He finally left after I completely closed off and started answering his questions with irate outbursts. I never heard from him again, which is a shame because we could have maybe made beautiful cereal together.

Does anyone reading this live in Lexington, KY? And if so, do you like me enough to do me a favor that

a) does not involve you spending your own money;

b) does not involve prostitution rings;

c) will not get you killed;

d) will be duly rewarded;

e) does not entail you giving me lodging and breakfast in bed;

f) will make me the happiest girl in the world?

Edit: never mind, dreams dashed.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 08:07 Currently on our seventh viewing of Gremlins. Could be worse, could be Hannah Montana.
• 10:05 Supposedly Chiodos and Emarosa are playing a show together. I hope its not some sick practical joke because I might die.
• 10:28 Chooch will only watch Joe-era Blues Clues. If its an episode with steve, his nose crinkles. Purists everywhere are now fainting.
• 12:53 There’s nothing like the soddy stench of a cemetery fresh after a rain. Musky decay. Should market that.
• 13:33  I’m likely to get licked to death by deer.
• 16:56 wondering if Tina’s husband ever goes down on her, and if so, if he runs his tongue along a cheese grater afterward.
• 18:59 Jonny Craig 4 lyfe
• 21:09  tina said i dont have enuf info on her to write a book, and i srsly almost pissed out my nose
• 23:15 I hate when I feel this tart-y.

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I’m looking for awesome salads. I’ve been eating salads for lunch every single dingdong day since like, mother fucking piece of shit April, and I’m burnt out. BURNT THE FUCK OUT. I’m tired of alfalfa sprouts and garbanzo beans. The flax seed stays, though.

I need options. Something exotic, erotic and mind-bending. Something without meat products.

Tell me how you make your salads. Give me secret family recipes. Anything that involves vodka and porn is a plus.

Otherwise, I’ll fall back on cheese sandwiches and get all bloated.

Things I do not like in my salads:

• beets
• radishes
• onions (sometimes those purple fuckers are ok)
• tomatoes (unless they’re cut up all tiny)
• carrots, unless they’re as shredded as the jeans on the collective ass of 1980s heavy metal
• dressings that do not include oil and vinegar
• broccoli
• urine

I really like ingredients that are not only hard for Henry to procure, but also hard on his wallet. And then I’ll write up some reviews maybe and possibly become a salad expert and get to do some whoring on Food Network.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 03:23 Since I’m an American Funds shareholder, I get to vote in the Election of Directors. A dangerous power, or a powerful danger?  #
• 03:43  Henry dreamt the other nite that he shot Craig Owens in the head. He was afraid to tell me the next day. I kind of wanted to slice him. #
• 04:04  Starting to burn out on salads. Need new twists. Maybe acid tabs in lieu of croutons. #
• 05:33 Henry QOTD: "I’m trying to figure out why you hate cops, considering you nearly killed one and almost all the others have let you off." #
• 06:33  The only moves I have are Raise the Roof and Epileptic Seizure. #
• 06:40  We go to restaurants and let Chooch play with knives. Watch for our upcoming column in Parents magazine.#
• 07:00 Just walked past our old grasscutter Joe, sitting on his porch eating crackers and cheese. Don’t choke. No, choke. #
• 10:03 I thought it when I was 10, and now I know its true: Corey Haim is my soul mate. #
• 10:40 Wine from Christmas stemware and OnDemand music videos is how I wish I could wind down EVERY night. #
• 10:49  Nevermind. Clown porn works, too. #
  

  ---

• 12:31 I need a speedrope. And speed and a rope.  #
• 01:25  I just may be the only person under 60 to own the soundtrack to The Mirror Has Two Faces. #
• 04:12 Photographing ghettos is about as safe as it sounds.  #
• 07:29 One of many things that scare the shit out of me: skyscraper mechanical floors. #
• 01:15 Lately I’m wildly into the 70s. Mainly just the porn part of it.#
• 01:20 If I found out horse semen was good for my hair, I’d be down the barn getting carpal tunnel from all the hand jobs. #

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We went for a rainy walk yesterday in the ‘hood where Henry works. It’s one of those areas that’s half-abandoned and dilapidated but you just know the leftover residents have lived there their entire lives. A few people watched me suspiciously, not taking kindly to someone snooping around their hometown rubble; but there was a tall beanpole of a hooker strutting around down one of the back roads with an oversized umbrella, and she flashed her widely-gapped teeth at us when she passed and called Chooch  a handsome man. Chooch was like, “Whassat?” when she passed, and I was like, “Someone Daddy pays when he wants to have filthy sex, Chooch.”

I saw some broad idling on the curb in her Blazer two separate times, each time with a different thug-type talking to her through the passenger window. I wondered aloud what was going on and Henry said, “We’re not in Pleasant Hills anymore, remember that.

”

The block parties probably got too swingin’.

Every town needs a good cobbler.

Next time Christina and I are on the hunt for a sleazy dive…

I’m not sure if this is a barn or a house, but I bet the KGBs hiding in there. And possibly the Lost Boys.

If I lived there, I’d use a periscope as my window to the world.

Was there ever a door so seductively blue.

This bench has a weight limit.

Shortcut to meth lab.

Chooch finally poses now. Hopefully, gone are the days of back-of-the-head action shots.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 13:37 Henry is not going to give me one last kiss when I’m in my coffin. That’s cold. #
• 20:17 Just dared Henry to make me blue. #
• 20:26 Hopefully I’m not the only scene kid at fireworks. #
• 21:09 These fucking fireworks better be good like sex. I’m sitting on a goddamn trash bag for them. #
• 21:18 Its all fun and games until the firetruck comes for Chooch. #
• 21:34 Hello fuck these are some trailer park fireworks. #
• 21:36 In between bursts it got quiet enuf to hear some guy yell DAMMIT. Lamest fireworks. #
• 21:37 Corey took a picture of one and it looked like a picture of heartworms at the Vet’s office. #
• 21:42 Its like the fireworks have polio. #
• 21:44 Or Erectile Dysfunction. #
• 21:47 I could have sex with Flava Flav and see bigger fireworks than these. #
• 21:52 @buenomexicana holy fuck they blow so hard! #
• 21:57 It was worth it after all: Janna fell in mud. #
• 22:00 Watching Janna swipe her muddied hand in grass was so much awesomer than finale. #

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Post Fireworks Notes:

Watching the handicapped old broad in front of us chug her Slurpee in her wheelchair was far more captivating than struggling to see the gimp bursts of light from behind billowing pilons of smoke.  I was also jealous that she had a nice dry seat while the only thing separating my ass from the soggy grass was a flimsy trash bag and at one point even voiced aloud my desire to be crippled.

I think Janna was actually enjoying herself. I noticed that she had a big smile on her face, like an orphaned leper getting to meet Ronald McDonald for the first time. And then when I yelled, “This sucks!” she agreed but I could tell that it was breaking her heart to hear people sling insults at her beloved fireworks. Shit, we set off better displays in my mom’s backyard, for Christ’s sake.

Chooch lost interest in the fireworks around the same time I did — after about eight seconds. He proceeded to sprinkle clumps of wet grass on Corey’s back while I played with my Blackberry.

One of the highlights was when it appeared a dud was set off, but then the crowd started cheering uproariously. “Did one of the firemen get hurt?” I asked Corey hopefully. There was a second where we actually thought we might get to see some action, until Corey realized that what we thought was grisly firework backfire actually resulted in some hokey American flag ground display.

People actually cheer for that shit?

We got up to leave, assuming that the display above us was the finale because even though it was still gimp like the other ones preceding it, it was marginally louder. Our departure ended up being a few minutes premature, but Janna falling in the mud was so much more entertaining than the finale. And we didn’t even get to see the actual fall, just the sullied aftermath. Corey begged her to re-fall so he could video tape but unlike us, she didn’t think that was the best idea EVAR.

Happy belated Fourth of July.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 15:42 ITS JUST RAIN! DRIVE, YOU FUCKSTICKS. Where’s the shotgun when I need it. #
• 16:51 when it’s raining, the only styling I should do to my hair is covering it with a bag. #
• 17:09 Kim just bought me a vegetable roll bc I have no cash. My translation: she’s going to miss being my boss. #
• 19:03 Wish I had thought to steal Ian Curtis’s gravestone. #
• 22:30 My boss burnt her popcorn and now i’m reaping the rewards. #
• 12:43 Henry said I’ve become a little more tolerable. Whatever that means. #

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Henry says that Chooch looks like the spitting image of me in this picture, which I can’t really deny as I can generally be found mid-whine as well.

Lately, Chooch has been into treating us with quite the histrionic performances. He’ll launch himself into full-body agita, make a sad little ‘o’ with his angry lips, and channel all the drama greats to achieve the most believable cry of desperation. After a minute or two or being ignored, he’ll rub his eyes, and in a cheerful baby-voice, he’ll declare, "I cryin’!"

And then he’ll laugh.

That’s the best case scenario. Worst case is that he turns into a tornado and starts kicking furniture and swiping things off the coffee table like a human wrecking ball. Then Henry will ask, in mock wonderment, "Wow, I wonder where he learned that?" and then shoot a paralyzing glare at my head.

The other day, Chooch and I were in my bedroom. He was at the foot of my bed when he started exclaiming "Kids!"  He was pointing into his bedroom. "Kids, kids, kids!"

I didn’t know what he could have been looking at that had kids on it, so I said, "No, Chooch. No kids."

Frustrated, he got up and ran into his room, where he pointed at the center of the floor and declared, "KIDS. Hahaha, kids!" At this point, I’m standing in the doorway of his room, heartrate accelerated, praying that some ghost child isn’t going to bite my ankle and shove a crucifix in my crotch.

Chooch was still standing there, pointing, looking all excited to have found invisible children in his room. I was afraid that if I entered the room, the door would slam and lock behind me and blood would start pouring from the walls like a waterfall from Hell, so I tugged him on the arm and said, "Hey, let’s go downstairs now, hooray."

I had just watched The Orphanage two days prior to this. Bad timing, Chooch.