Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 16:22 Henry to Chooch: You pee in the potty and we’ll buy you anything u want. As long as its under 6 dollars. #
• 20:12 Henry pissed off Chooch at the laundromat, so Chooch bellowed ASSHOLE. It had a nice ring as it reverberated off the linoleum and metal. #
• 22:08 Even the way Bush SITS makes me want to curbstomp him. #
• 22:11 twitpic.com/714z –  “No Chooch, you’ll get AIDS!” #
• 22:12 twitpic.com/713w – Well-trained. #
• 22:27 I’m cheering for my Romanian peeps for every Olympic event. Romania-what-what. #
• 22:44 twitpic.com/7201 – Chooch wuz heer #
• 11:30 Tried convincing Henry that it makes me hot when he cleans. He saw thru to my ploy. Rats. Lol, “rats”. #

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We’re at Subway currently and as the theme to St. Elmos Fire eases the Veggie Patty down my gullet with its soulful pop orchestration, I’m reminded of the time Janna and my friend Lisa slept over in high school and I was so angry because they fell asleep during St. Elmo’s Fire, even after I specifically told them that movie was the celluloid manifestation of everything I stood for (wtf am I talking about) and it was the sole basis for the sleepover. Then Janna dreamt that night that I couldn’t find my Victoria’s Secret catalogue and talked about it for years.

I wish MySpace was around in 1997 so I could have unfriended them.

In any case, two of the sandwich artists here right now are my new crushes. Except the one might only be 16 so n/m.

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Urgent. Will die without reading.  

• 08:12 Perhaps Chooch has instilled me with maternal maneuverings after all. #
• 09:46 Dana smokes her crack pipes in the ghetto. #
• 11:39 Henry and I just had a fight about MTVs John Norris, which ended with Henry saying “I beat up depressed ppl daily” #
• 14:08 I wonder if I could get a homeless person to drink my blood. #
• 17:59 I thought Henry called me mommy but really he said “blow me”. Whew. #
• 10:07 @fondabruises I heard Ellen’s going to be at my kickball tourny so you should come too! #
• 10:57 It’s about to be all scene parties, horror movie marathons, and greasy pizza up in this hizzy. #
• 11:43 I don’t hate the Jonas Bros. #

• 16:11 Turns out I don’t miss my job nearly as much as I thought I would. Or at all. #
• 16:25 Every time we go to a gas station, henry acts like he’s never put gas in a car. Ever. In his life. Then he calls everyone else morons. #
• 17:16 Some bitch cut in front of us. I offered to kill her but Henry said he’ll let Karma take care of it. Fuck Karma, that unreliable twat. #
• 09:36 Having urge to weedwhack today. And not just nutsacks, but actual vegetation. #
• 10:41 I have a feeling life is about to get more crunk up in here. #
• 10:59 I hate that bitch who sings Clumsy in the KidzBop 14 commercial. She makes me feel enraged. In other commercial news, I want Bendaroos. #

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Henry found this small vinyl album chockful of delightful photos from his thirtieth birthday party that happened eighteen million years ago. I wonder if he still has that Coors t-shirt, and if the threads of which are still cocooned with the stench of Avon perfume and dirty stripper ass. His ex-wife probably squeezed it out into a bottle for her own enjoyment.

What really makes me smile is that directly following this debacherous photo set filled with silicone and porn star ‘staches, there are photos of his children taking a bath.

Oh Henry, you sly dog.

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It wasn’t that bad when Chooch did this last week, because it was washable marker. But today it was paint. Same color, though. Your apparent penchant for blue is not unnoticed, Chooch. Please find other, cleaner ways to boast it.

I remember when I was pregnant with him, how everyone would harangue me about how I was in for it, how I had better pray that he didn’t have my temperament.

My (lack of) patience. My weirdness. But I clung to the chance that he would be a mini-Henry: laid back, mellow, patient, rational, and calm.

He got Henry’s expressive eyebrows. Everything else is all me.

He’s been throwing these utterly horrific fits of bi-polar proportions. Say he bumps his head. He’ll start crying a little. Henry will pick him up and rub his head. This sets something off within Chooch’s brain –you can practically hear synapses snapping and crackling. His face will turn beet red and he’ll emit this shrill siren like he’s summoning Satan himself. Then he’ll laugh. Appearing confused that he’s laughing, he’ll start crying again, followed by an encore of the shrieking and a Damien-esque maneuver to rip off Henry’s face.

I just have to stand back and watch, all agog. I know what he’s feeling, having all those emotions puddle together and you’re so confused because they all try to come out at once and they’re elbowing and clawing to get in the front of the line.

“You know, it’s like those earth-shattering histrionics that I used to do,” I explained to my mom on the phone. She was silent, probably trying to measure her response accordingly, so I sighed and mumbled, “You know, all the stuff that I still haven’t grown out of.”

Hopefully, Chooch will figure out how to control that shit and then he can teach me.

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A new Chinese restaurant just opened up down the street from the Bluebots. It was right next to the bazooka delaershop and across the street from the veterinary hospital, which everyone knew was really the mafia’s drug front.

The Bluebots, after a long day of worm harvesting, decided to try out the new noodle joint, moisten their joints with a few squirts of soy sauce.

While they waited to be seated, Alfred Bluebot spied one of the cooks blowing his nose into his balled-up hand and then promptly fisting a clump of lo-mein.

"We can’t eat here after all," Alfred declared.

"Is it because that waitress in the corner just shat into the squished eel delight?" Maddie Bluebot asked her husband, having spied a very different horror across the restaurant.

"No," Alfred said slowly.

"Is it because there’s a feral cat giving birth under the buffet?" their son Stanford guessed, squatting down to watch the cat suck on afterbirth.

"No," Alfred answered, chuckling incredulously at his family’s failed guesses. "It’s because I left my chopsticks at home."

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8×8 canvas board, blah blah.

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Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 16:58 Jesus christ my kid has no fear. I anticipate lots of heart-clutching in my future. #
• 21:19 Absolutely dying for a good game of kickball. #
• 00:27 Apparently I should give up on trying to be friends with ppl my age and aim for the teens. #
• 07:12 Blues Clues is too advanced for me at 7am. #
• 07:14 Or ANY time, really. #
• 07:57 TURN AROUND DONT DROWN. #
• 12:06 I’m going to start saying “holy moly” a whole lot more. #
• 13:15 If I was an european authority, I’d look the other way. #
• 15:48 You know I’m lonely as fuck when I’m BEGGING henry to speed up the Blake-moving-in process. Shit I just want some company. #
• 17:21 I put on some hardcore in the car and Chooch cheered. Henry said “he has the same anger as you, what do u expect?” #
• 23:48 I really need to join a club. Preferrably one that offers porn and screamo shows. And spaghetti dinners. #
• 23:59 I feel like an orphan. A goddamn 29-year-old fucking orphan. YOU KNOW THAT? AN ORPHAN. #

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The town of Speckleville desperately needed a new Bingo hall. Mrs. Crescent recently died from a combination of exposure to asbestos and one too many under-table rat bites. The roof had blown off during the monsoon of 1987 and the layer of marshmallow fluff used as a makeshift cover attracted hordes of roaches and orphans. The orphans would sneak inside the purses of unsuspecting Bingoers and suck dry all their Sweet n Low packets.

It was raining the day that Otis, Saffron and Richard planned to kidnap the mayor’s daughter. The trio painted themselves daffodil yellow to better blend in with the mayor’s stone manse, which he kept perpetually slathered with butter to ward off slugs.

When they arrived at the mansion, butter was roaring past them in rivers, washed away by the rain. This left Otis, Saffron, and Richard to stick out like sore thumbs, painted yellow against the original indigo of the stones. Saffron fell and broke her knee and Richard lost his dead father’s lucky cuff link in the butter rivulets, but they still succeeded in capturing the mayor’s daughter.

The next day, after the mayor’s domicile had been freshly re-buttered, he received a telegram.

GIVE US A BINGO HALL W/ A ROOF AND FREE OF ROACHES, OR UR DAUGHTER BITES IT.

The mayor’s face blanched, then flushed to a rich crimson. He let out a riotous belly laugh.

"If they wanted me to care, they’d have taken my goldfish! That wicked child they kidnapped is only my STEP-daughter!"

And so the residents of Speckleville continued to share their bingo hall with the rats, roaches and orphans. It wasn’t so bad once they realized the orphans could be sold to neighboring villages for fresh corn and Karo syrup.

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Original 8×8 painting on canvas board. Tomorrow is the last day of the fundraiser. Thanks to everyone who has shown their support this far!

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This is my first day of non-work. I had planned on living it up — maybe drinking some Moonshine down by the river and playing some Dominos with the homeless. Instead, Henry got me sick so I spent most of the day sleeping, whining, sweating, shivering.

It’s OK. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of opportunities to play with the homeless once I’m homeless myself.

I have no idea what to do with myself. I’ve applied for some jobs, and Henry is trying to find ways to cash in on my brain. I foresee plenty of financial land mind dodging in the future.

But at least when I cough, it tastes like powdered Slim-Fast.

In other news, we went to visit Henry’s mom Saturday night.

After she succeeded in being accidentally racist in front of the Bosnian residents outside of the complex, we went into her apartment where she bestowed me with two boxes brimming with old photos of Henry. As much as it pains me to say it, he was actually a cute kid. WHAT HAPPENED. Then I came across a photo from his wedding and while it seemed to be very awkward for Henry, I couldn’t stop laughing. God, his ex-wife is trashier than a dumpster in Newark.

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Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 13:30 Henry called me a whiner-baby WHATEVER THAT MEANS. #
• 20:46 was going to write about Warped Tour tonight but it appears that I’m job-searching instead. Oh Life, you card. #
• 21:36 I just resigned from my job. Tomorrow is my last day. My boss almost cried and then I almost cried. Ow. #
  

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• 19:31 UM. Tina just said goodbye to me because she’s leaving early and I FEEL SAD. Like, a legitimate twinge of sadness traveled my body. WTF. #
• 21:10 evidently I don’t smoke Swisher Sweets correctly. Feeling ill is the 1st sign. Smiling while smoke seeps through my teeth is the 2nd sign.
  buy amoxil online buy amoxil generic

  #

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• 15:40 It’s a good thing my pre-ordered Anthony Green CD arrived today, because I’m feeling crushed by post-job-quitting blues. Ouch. #
• 20:33 Just called a cop a fucker. Henry frowned. #
• 12:01 My kid is so abusive. I shouldn’t flinch every time he nears me. #

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This year, Henry had the pleasure of taking his two favorite kids to Warped Tour: his son Blake, and, well…me. I kept ducking while we were stuck in concert traffic because I didn’t want the surrounding carfuls of scene kids to laugh and say, “Oh god, that girl is going with her dad, how gay.” When we entered the parking lot, we drove past the drop-off area and Henry said, “God, those parents are so lucky that they don’t have to go in.” Then he tried to murder me with a look of disgust and resentment.

It was nearly noon by the time we managed to park the car. Blake didn’t have a ticket yet so he and I stood around idly outside the entrance to Post Gazette Pavilion while Henry went and bought his ticket. We were approached by the singer and guitarist of Uh-Oh Explosion, who were toting around a box of their CDs. Making small talk, the singer asked if Blake and I were “together.” Instinctively, we both took a step apart and emphatically answered “NO.” Trying to figure it out, he squinted his eyes and guessed, “Brother and sister?” We shook our heads. I saw Henry lingering a few yards away, knowing better than to walk over and lame-up the convo. I pointed to Henry and said, “OK, see that guy? That’s his dad, and my boyfriend.”

This kid (he was only 17) thought this was so fucking fantastico for some reason. “That’s so awesome! Like, talk about closeness. And you guys all came to Warped together!” He paused for a second, before sending my stomach to the meat grinder. “So do you guys have threesomes too?”

RECORD SCRATCH.

I was ready to whistle for the cement mixer to come and seal up my sex organs for real. So disturbing and awkward. I still bought their CD though, because what I heard sounded good and proceeds went to the animals. And what’s a little quasi-incest discourse in the name of stray cats, am I right.

Once we got inside, I was like a kid on Christmas. My eyes had a veritable scene kid feast as we weaved our way to the main stage, where Sky Eats Airplane was playing. Blake and I have the same taste in music — the more scream-y the better. Henry, however, shits himself when he hears hateful bellows, so he took this as an opportunity to go and find a set schedule and then conveniently lose us. Sky Eats Airplane was a good way to start the day.

In between bands, I got to ogle more scene kids. I was wondering why I was so fascinated with them when it dawned on me: If that scene was around when I was a teen, I’d totally have been the first on board. I used to make fun of them,  but now I want to like, write a book about them or something. I’ll start with Blake.

Averting the Hare Krishnas, we went to the Highway 1 Stage to catch From First To Last. Henry was all, “I’m perfectly fine standing all the way back here” and sent Blake and I into the crowd to get pummeled without adult supervision. Anyway, FFTL’s singer Sonny left two years ago and it was a little strange watching them perform without him. Their new material is a little too easy-to-digest and mainstream for my liking, but they ended the set with “Ride the Wings of Pestilence” which always makes me want to sacrifice a shack of Mexican prostitutes. And drink some of Henry’s blood.

Not interested in any bands playing right after FFTL, we walked around and looked at t-shirts and other merch for awhile. Henry, who had bragged on  the way there that he NEVER gets sunburned, started complaining about his nose getting burnt. He kept trying to sneak away and pose under trees in his signature old man-stance. Blake and I would pause and hunker down over the schedule, trying to determine which bands were must-sees and which ones we could skip without losing sleep that night. I kept trying to include Henry, but he would grumble, “I don’t know, does that band actually SING? Then NO, I don’t want to see them.” Perhaps Henry should have just went to that twanged-out Jamboree with Tina instead. Fuck.

 

• The Bronx: I almost got trampled trying to push my way to the stage to see them, only to leave after ten minutes to run to another stage far away to see Alesana. They were really good and made me want to continually punch Henry in the balls. I always forget how much aggression I have until I go to shows like this. I just found out that they’re going on a tour of LA Mexican restaurants as a mariachi band and oh, who I wouldn’t kill to see that.
• Alesana: They were playing on the main stage, and Henry was like, “Thank god, now I can sit my weary bones down!” So Blake and I begrudgingly sat down too. I realize that I enjoy bands less when I’m sitting, because I become too distracted with people-watching. Because of this, I don’t remember if I liked Alesana live or not. All I remember is that Blake picked up an Underoath CD release poster from the ground and gave it to me, making me  think he wanted me to keep it, so I ended up lugging it around all day in my backpack only to wind up throwing it away the next day.
• Human Abstract: Another main stage band, but at least this time Henry allowed himself to be dragged down to the floor by the stage. I had never heard their music before, only seen the ads in Alternative Press for their new CD, so I really wasn’t sure if I was going to like them. Even aside from the immediate crush I developed on the keyboard player, I ended up liking them a lot. They were nice and heavy, but had an interesting melodic side as well. Blake thought they were just alright and stayed sitting down next to his old man for their entire set. This was also around the time that I considered slamming my camera to the pavement because it was taking such shitty pictures, but after Henry inspected it for three seconds, he deduced it was because I had a giant finger print on the lens. I didn’t hate my camera after that.

After the Human Abstract, it was nearly time for Pierce the Veil. They were the main reason I was there and all day it felt like butterflies were fornicating in my belly. It was either Pierce the Veil anticipation or the residual side effects of being asked if my vagina is friendly with both generations of Robbins. Henry once again stood in the sidelines, but I weaved my way as close to the stage as I could get. Which was fairly close since they were still sound-checking.

To show his unwavering adoration, Vic vowed to wear his Jaws shirt every day for the duration of Shark Week. He kept going on and on about sharks and I know this is going to make me look bad but I’m going to be honest: all I could think about was Tina’s vagina, gnashing against flailing legs. Thank God they started playing right after thhat because fuck — my mind disgusts me sometimes. And holy shit, their set was fucking fantastic. It was so good, that I didn’t even mind the heat or having two bitches dropped on me (thank God for Blake, else they’d have hit the pavement). They basically just play a blend of alternative rock, with some screamo-lite thrown in for scene cred, but what makes them stand apart for me is their lyrics. They’re smart, morbid, sad, and just overall clever. At the end of one of their songs, they segued right into a thirty second cover of “Bleeding Love” which was a million times better than the original we’re guaranteed to hear every time we walk into a grocery store. They also threw in a cover “Beat It” which was energenic and really fun to watch, and they ended the set with “Party Like a Rock Star” gone metal.

I did NOT want that set to end. Even Blake admitted that he was surprised how good they were live, and Henry was like, “Yes, fine, I liked what I heard all the back there in Parent Alley.” It was one of those moments where you want to call everyone you know and give them a hyper review in a shrill voice, but you know no one will give a shit. So then you’re just depressed.

We had a lot of time to kill after Pierce the Veil, so I bought a five dollar soft pretzel while wishing for once I ate meat so I could get a corn dog for $3.50 — the cheapest foodstuff there. Henry got nachos which looked like slop. Henry’s demeanor seemed to uncurdle a bit while he was coating his ‘stache with cheese sauce. He even smiled a few times and I think he laughed once.

While we were chilling out at the picnic table, Blake proposed that he move in with us. Maybe it was just the contact high of being with someone who actually gave a shit about music, but I declared that this was the best idea I had ever heard in all of my life, even better than my idea to direct porn, so now he might be moving in with us. It would make my scene kid research easier, for sure.

Blake was so sad that we missed Katy Perry while we were foraging for discounted sustenance. He even pulled his hat down low to hide the tears. But maybe it was because he saw kids he knew and was embarrassed of Henry.

• Evergreen Terrace: I liked them alright but there was nothing mind-blowing that made me want to scour Ebay for rare memorabilia. However, during one of their songs, they chanted “I want you dead” and maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I thought that would be such a romantic sentiment to have engraved on wedding bands.
• Classic Crime: Another band that sounds good in stereo, but didn’t hold my attention live. Instead, I stared at this really surly girl who was like an overweight scene Sami Brady from Days of Our LIves. She was climbing over rows of seats and even though she was struggling to swing her trunk-legs over, she didn’t let it deter her from scaling the next row, until eventually she lost her momentum and wound up clotheslining her crotch. It brought me joy, lots of joy.
• 3OH!3: I wouldn’t have sought this band out normally, but we wanted to see the band that was coming on right after them, so we hung out for their set. I thought I was going to hate them at first, because that wave of white boy rap-rock-electronica kind of annoys me. But they ended up being so fucking fun and there was a really hot blond chick dancing on the side of the stage, so they kept my attention for sure. During their last song, it basically turned into a chaotic dance party on stage, and even Blake’s girlfriend Katy Perry was up there dancing with her man Travis from Gym Class Heroes (who I walked past earlier and wanted to say, “Your gf is a gaybo” but I wasn’t feeling assholey enough. Plus, I like Travis.). Anyway, I’m going to have 3Oh!3 play at my Sweet Thirtieth Birthday Orgy Masquerade. It’s gonna be tight.
• Bring Me the Horizon: Blake ran into some of his friends right as they came on, so we were officially ditched. Henry and I hung around for a few songs, but Henry looked like he wanted to call out for his mommy, so I spared him. I really liked BMTH though — they made me want to fillet a cop.
• The Devil Wears Prada: Sans Blake, things were pretty gay. I wanted to get closer to the stage but Henry was all OH HELL NAH so I was like, “Fuck this then” and went to buy a shirt instead. Henry, you pussy.

The day was coming to an end by this point, and Blake had re-joined us in time for Dr. Manhattan. I was torn, because they were playing at the same time as Norma Jean, side-by-side. And I love Norma Jean. Norma Jean blocked out Eleanore’s nerve-prickling coupon-cutting many a night for me. But I chose Dr. Manhattan, along with fifteen other people. It was sad! But you know a band is good when there are OTHER bands in the crowd watching them. And they were good — they were quirky and fun and energenic and they made me laugh out loud a few times. Unfortunately, Norma Jean was one stage over, luring people into their crowd. They had gigantic black beach balls and I won’t lie — I’m a sucker for a beach ball. At one point, I yelled to Henry, “Hey, do you want to go over and watch Norma Jean for the rest of their set?” but right then, two people left Dr. Manhattan’s crowd and the singer — in the middle of a song — stopped and yelled, “Hey! Where are you guys going??” It was so sad/cute/scary that I looked at Henry and said, “Never mind!”

At the end of their show, some of the bands in the crowd started chanting, “One more song!” but they weren’t allowed because of time constraints. So the singer started chanting back, “One more crowd!”, the retardedness of which made me laugh. I was also dehydrated, though. Overall, I was glad I stayed loyal to Dr. Manhattan, because their set was rewarding.

And that was it. We walked back to the car and already I started to feel the body-dragging effects of post-show depression. Then I thought about how all day long I had been talking about all the bands I wanted to see, but by the end of the night, all I wanted to see was Chooch.

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My favorite security guard Earon (I just learned how to spell his name tonight so I guess he’s not THAT much of a favorite) just came over to say goodbye to me and I AM SO SAD.

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So here I am, my last night at work, and I’m feeling alright. Everything has been pretty anti-climactic. When Eleanore left at 6, our big farewell-for-ever consisted of her tossing a "be a good girl" over her shoulder as she trudged away. Not even a hug. Really, Eleanore? We’ve sat together for a YEAR AND A HALF and not even a hug?

No really, I didn’t want one.

Joe left me with two peach Swisher Sweets, which made me happy. Thanks Joe! And Jenn, who used to work at night but has been on dayshift for the past year, left me a note in my mailbox and that made me smile. Thanks Jenn!

Tina decided she was leaving at 7:30 instead of toughing it out until midnight. This may be my last night here forever, but this is also the last night of evening shift (which is the main reason I resigned); you’d think we’d have had a party or something, the three of us. Maybe have a kegger in the parking lot, who the fuck knows. But apparently not.

As she walked past me, she paused and wished me luck and said that she wants me to send her occasional photos of Chooch. I said of course I would, and then as I heard the door shut behind her, something WEIRD happened. I mean, some crazy ass fucking shit — legitimate sadness happened. I even whispered, "Aw, Tina" quietly to my monitor. Then promptly slapped my hand over my mouth. It kind of felt like I had just been touched by an uncle AND LIKED IT.

I ran into Kim’s cube and blurted out, "I THINK I’M GOING TO MISS HER!" Kim laughed the word, "What?!" Then she got a good look at my sniveling face and exclaimed, "Oh my god, what’s wrong with you? You look like you’re going to cry!"

AND I FEEL LIKE IT, TOO. Tina, of all people. Tina and her gooey scabs. Tina and her codpiece. Tina and her man-stance. TINA I’LL MISS YOU.

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The Gorpensteins had been traveling the world for the past three years, collecting feathers for dreamcatchers, and curing orphans of Athlete’s foot along the way. After three years, they had exhausted their funds and grew weary of living off meals of cattails and pond water.

So the Gorpensteins – there were three of them – packed up their Pinto with their feather collection and drove back to their hometown of Noodleton.

No one recognized them as they drove down the cobblestone road leading to their abandoned house. Maybe it was because the Gorpensteins had been gone for three years; maybe because the Gorpensteins now all wore tankinis made of mud and clay in lieu of cotton shirts and jeans. Maybe because half the town had gone blind from the great turpentine factory explosion of ’06.

The earthy family eventually traversed the entire length of Palm Drive, spilling the Pinto out onto their old property.

One by one, the Gorpensteins exited their rusted green Pinto with the broken tail light and shielded their eyes from the afternoon sun.

"Well," started Papa Gorpenstein, as the family stood in a huddle, gazing up at the lopsided structure that was once their home but was now a bait shop. "This changes everything."

Original painting on an 8×8 canvas board, suitable for framing.

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