Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 16:31 There’s a postal worker who needs fired. I’m making it my crusade. Henry said good luck; once I have my pins made I won’t NEED luck. #
• 16:34 Walking down the street, I flashed on a vision of getting shot in a driveby. Yes, that’s my bright future talkung again! #
• 17:16 I know, Random Dildo in Brookline, its appalling that I would pick up a piece of trash & toss it in the garbage can. Who DOES that, right??? #
• 17:16 But fear not: tonight I will take a dump in your driveway to balance it all out. #
• 19:37 I am on the verge of regurgitating the oddly curious dinner henry made me. #
• 20:32 Its amazing I’ve gotten this far in life, and no Darwin Award. #
• 21:13 Chooch has befriended a scene kid at Dennys. #
• 10:12 Typical morning convo: Hey Chooch, remember last night when we went to ______ and u were being a clumpy skidmark? #
• 11:05 I dusted off Lastfm after FOUR YRS of non-use (srsly, the last time I used it, it was still called Audio Scrobbler). Add me: vagynafondue! #
• 11:51 please put me out of my misery. #
• 12:14 in addition to learning social skills, it appears i need to also learn how to walk. #
• 12:53 I’m a member of that dying breed of ppl who refuse to talk on cell phones in stores. But I will text a fucker anywhere. #
• 14:40 Hello, Gary Gilmore Christmas card. Where have YOU been? tinyurl.com/5ddelh #
• 22:15 I love the look on a man’s face when he realizes I know some shit about music. #
• 10:43 all i want to do today is sit in my pjs and make mix cds. maybe send out my butler for some champagne and truffles. #

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————————————————————-

Newest addition to serial killer card line: Gary Gilmore

Inside says: “…to have my fucking eyes back.”

Cards are $5 and are also available in 5 and 10 card sets at discounted prices, mainly because I’m a pricing fool.

Fuck a snowman, send some slasher greetings.

Christina and I went to Buffalo, NY last weekend to see two of my favorite bands, Pierce the Veil and Emarosa. It was fun, sad, awful, good, lucky, traumatic, frustrating and confusing all at once, and I would love to write about it, but the up-and-down theme has continued on through the rest of the week, leaving me exhausted and angry. When I’m released from this fucking cosmic headlock (seriously, my life is a fucking folly), I will get that trip written up something proper.

(To sum up the sentiments of this week: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?)

Until then, I’m wasting time on Lastfm. My profile had been collecting dust for years, but it’s all shiny now and if you’re on there, you should add me and we can sit around, staring at each other’s user pics and not saying anything.

(P.S. It’s serial killer Xmas card time!)

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 09:30 I’ve concluded that chooch mainlines sugar and speed in his crib at night. #
• 11:25 Since my weekend getaway ended up leaving me more upset than relaxed, I guess Ill have to go away again. Alone, this time. #
• 16:40 Henry: “o, that smell in ur gas mask? Ur not going to get rid of it.” Me: “y?” Henry: “uh- its the rubber” #
• 16:41 Thank u, gas mask. You’ve provided new ways for Henry to segue into his beloved “when I was in the SERVICE” topic. #
• 16:48 I’d say its a good day when the most difficult impasse was choosing between domino dancing and shadow dancing. #
• 17:16 u can cook more than 1 thing in an oven at once??? This is nearly as exciting as when I found out I have a, how u say? Broiler. #
• 09:17 I don’t even want to listen to Daughtry sing “Home,” so why would I want to listen to Alvin and the Chipmunks warble it? #
• 10:09 I got my first request for a custom serial killer card. OH PRESSURE. #

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I’m excited to be getting out of the house, having some of that alcoholic substance I hear so much about, getting out of the house, being away from the hypnotic soundtrack of Noggin cartoons, and getting out of the house.

Hopefully after these dudes meet me, they will still want to work with me and will walk away thinking that I am sort of alright in the cool department and possibly not just some hack (although that will be the hardest myth to dispell!). If anything, I hope they at least walk away thinking, “That girl was lame, but had nice mams.

”

EDIT: Meeting postponed. Going to get pie instead.

On the way home from Buffalo last Sunday, I was in such a rush to get home to my kid (who, coincidentally, was the one I was in such a hurry to get AWAY from when I planned this short vaca; oh, nerves) that I forbade Christina to even THINK about stopping for lunch. I ended up lunching on string cheese and mixed nuts from the passenger seat and I’m not sure Christina ate anything at all, out of fear. It’s like she’s Amish, and I’m God.

Needless to say, I was rearin’ to go come dinner time. Since she wasn’t leaving for home until Monday morning, I decided it would be fun, nay — A CIRCUS-HAVIN’ GOOD TIME –to round up Henry and Chooch and hit up Mad Mex. Blake ended up coming over so we hit up Janna and made an impromptu dinner party of it.

I don’t think I have ever had a bad time at Mad Mex. If I’m not getting ridiculously blitzed off of margaritas and chucking lemons at Janna’s eye, then I’m busy having not-so-subtle crushes on the waitstaff. Only once did I have to send my food back, and not even that ruined my good time.

But I can hands down say that Sunday night was the best time I have ever had at Mad Mex. Maybe even ANY restaurant. I succeeded in getting half-past buzzed on a pumpkin margarita, had ample opportunities to make fun of Janna, failed at setting a good example for Blake and Chooch, and sailed a couple of winning smiles over to our waitress Nicole who was too busy crushing on Chooch to notice.

We brought back a mini bottle of ketchup for Chooch from Buffalo. It came with the eggs Christina ordered for breakfast and my immediate thought was, “Aw, it should be on Blue’s Clues!” Fucking motherhood, man. The old Erin’s initial inclination would have probably been, “Aw, this should be on condiment porn for midgets!” But I digress.

So Chooch of course loved the mini Ketchup and took it under his semi-abusive wing. He insisted on bringing it to Mad Mex with us, and we, Henry and I, as his fearful parents, know better than to defy our master. The ketchup was resting on the table in front of him when our waitress Nicole came over to take our orders. Noticing it, she said, “Oh. I can get you a bigger bottle if you want…?” We explained that it was essentially his pet, that he brought it from home. “Oh, I got it. BYOK.” Maybe I was just high off of human contact but I nearly pumped my fist with enthusiasm for her response. BYOK. My future funeral parlour’s name.

Honestly though, Nicole spent more time conversing with Chooch than the rest of us. She even brought him a veggie platter with ranch and ate one of his carrots. Chooch looked at me, like, “Can you believe she just ate one of my fucking carrots? This broad’s got bigger balls than Dad.” It was awesome.

At some point, I looked around and maybe it was the liquor and guac talking, but goddamn if I didn’t get all teary eyed and think to myself, “Aside from Chooch, I don’t have blood-ties with a single person at this table, but they’re more family to me than my actual family.” (Barring my brother Corey! He’s the only one I still talk to.)

And Chooch was a little fucking angel. It was unbelievable. I don’t think he swore once, and he only tossed a few items at the very beginning, but that ceased once he met Nicole and she massaged his aching need for the spotlight. She liked him so much that she picked him up as we were leaving and gave him a big hug. Hello, please come babysit for me, Nicole. PLEASE COME BABYSIT.

Overhearing Blake whining over not getting enough ice cream (setting a good example for his brother), she brought him another serving. THAT IS GOOD WAITRESSING. Nicole is the waitress of the year. And she was wearing leg warmers. You can’t go wrong with leg warmers. Unless you’re Christina, then I’m sure you could find numerous ways to go wrong with leg warmers.

I demand a monthly Mad Mex dinner party. (KARA???)

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 21:11 Chooch just called Satan an asshole. I feel very scared for him. (Satan, I mean.) #
• 10:10 Gas mask, I’d have swam through a sea of trucker cum for you. #
• 15:13 I might be the only person in the world who gets uglier when she smiles. Except maybe Linda Blair in The Exorcist #
• 16:18 My super human power is gaining 35 lbs at the exact moment my photo is taken. I would never be able to hook a dude online. OK, maybe SOME. #
• 16:23 Uh, this gas mask STINKS. What happened to the fresh pine cone scent the seller on ebay promised?
  buy lexapro online lexapro online no prescription

  Wait, that was for the anal beads, nm. #

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Two weeks ago, I was doing some really serious thinking. It went something like this:

“What should I waste my money on that I don’t really need at all, but might use someday, but probably won’t ever have a need for in my life? Other than a 1980s prom dress?”

And of course the answer was a very obvious “gas mask.”

So I logged on to ebay and had the extraordinary luck of being the highest (and only) bidder on a glorious gas mask that was made in Canada. (The description mentioned this at least seven times, so I figured this must be very important. Plus, my friend Francesco is Canadian and he’s cool, so that made me feel secure in my choice of all the various gas masks trying to tempt me with their apocalyptic swagger).

After I paid for it, I received a receipt saying that, hooray, it had been shipped to my mother’s house. My current ebay account is listed under her stupid address because my old account is on the black list since I owe $7 in fees and have tried to pay it but I guess my money isn’t good enough for them and they expect me to send along a vial of my blood and some teeth too. Usually, I remember to change the shipping address upon winning all the shiny pieces of junk I choose to add to my garbage dump. I texted my mom: a gas mask will be arriving at ur house sometime next week. dont be alarmed  – its mine.

She called me last Monday and said that it had arrived, and that she would bring it over the next day. Because I’ve known my mother for twenty-nine years now, I  knew that meant, “I will bring it over when nothing good is happening on BlogTV. So maybe sometime next week. Or you should probably just come get it yourself. Unless you have something at your house that I might be interested in, then I’ll come over. No, something other than Chooch.”

And then something happened: we had our billionth fight, via text, about the fucking election. I half-expected a clown to arrive at my front door, with a cookie bouquet and balloons in primary colors, to commemorate the ocassion. But instead, I only walked away with the knowledge that my mother is a racist and has no respect for me as a person. The latter I already knew, so I was a little let down by my souvenirs.

My reply to her all-capital text of GET EDUCATED AND STOP BEING IGNORANT U VOTED 4 A TERRORIST, was a succinct, “Plz leave my package on ur front porch.”

Last night, Janna swung by my mother’s house and her way home from going out to dinner with us (she lives a few minutes from my mom’s house).  She texted me immediately and said it wasn’t there. Naturally, I fumed up the house with my anger. Exactly the reaction she was anticipating, I’m sure. She lives to boil my blood. I flailed around the couch, spewing out swear words soaked in spit, and babbled about revenge and justice.

Considering my options, I asked my brother to please tell her to put it on the porch. Then, for added motivation, I tried to get Henry to call her from his phone, but he tried to lie and say he doesn’t have her number, when I know he does, because he didn’t want to get involved. But when he found out Christina had been nominated to call, he suddenly found my mom’s number in his phone. (I deleted her after the horrible things she said to me last week, and I never knew her current number by heart anyway.Nothing makes me feel warmer than a good old fashioned contact deletion.)

So Christina reluctantly called and left this wishy-washy voice mail saying that we were on our way to get it and she’s sorry to bother her, but could my mother please put the box on her porch? I was so disgusted at how polite and suck-uppy Christina was in her message, but she sputtered, “I don’t want to get involved! I’m certainly not going to make any demands!”

Christina suggested I wait until today, calm down some. But I was peeling out of the driveway at 10:30. The fifteen minute drive was accented with the smooth sounds of soft rock and me punching the steering wheel and yelling FUCK without warning.

When we pulled up the drive, it went like this: Christina gets out and paces the length of the porch several times, using the glow from her cell phone as a gas mask beacon. I quickly see where this is going and throw my car in park. I barge right in through the side door, stomp through the laundry room, push her yapping dogs out of the way, and find her stewing in front of the computer, MySpace reflecting off her face.

“Who is it?” she called out nicely. Then she saw it was me and curtly continued, “Oh. What do you want?”

“I want my package,” I huffed cooly.

“Oh, it’s in the garage. The door’s open, you can get it from the outside,” she answered in clipped tones.

FUCK YOU. I’m so fucking tired of her lame ass psychological games. In the garage? Really? You couldn’t have just put it on the front porch, you psycho head case?  I slammed the door on my way out, walked over to the garage, pulled out the box from the small opening she left for me, and chipped a motherfucking nail in the process.

Christina met me back at the car and said, “Oh thank God, you got it. I was knocking on the front door and ringing the doorbell but she wouldn’t answer. I was afraid she was going to call the cops on me.”

And that would be textbook Val, to do so. I mean, she once called the police on her OWN DAUGHTER.

And gas mask? That is the story of how you and I came to be together. I admit, you aren’t really a national treasure, or even an object that I kind of, slightly, a little bit covet. However, gas mask, you had inadvertently become a pawn in my mother’s sickly stubborn world and the longer she held you hostage, the longer she kept me tied to her crappy life.

But gas mask, now you are safe in my home. You belong to me, and may we have many picnics together underneath a sky filled with ash.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 13:52 If there was any doubt Chooch was my son, he’s dipping his grilled cheese in jelly. #
• 10:56 Today my mom told me I’m uneducated and ignorant. I told her I’d rather just spend Thanksgiving at Dennys than eat at a racist’s house. #
• 11:00 Its impossible to fake a relationship with someone you’ve pretty much hated your whole life. #
• 14:28 Its awesome that the only word my kid can spell is tit. #
• 17:30 Walked in on my boss asking someone if they’d fuck a female Bigfoot. I would…as long as she wasn’t too mangey. #
• 17:33 Now he’s asking a dock worker “if Bigfoot raped u, would u shoot it” & the dock worker is getting upset, refusing to answer. #
• 00:07 One way to un-suck a day: watch the RW/RR Reunion on MTV and take comfort in OTHER PPL’S drama. Then get drunk and break glass. #
• 00:11 I live with an absolute fucking pig. #

• 10:13 A day for the history books: someone just ate something I made and said “MMGOOD”. Granted, that person is 2 and also eats cat fur. #
• 10:14 And then he sneezed a mouthful of oatmeal in my face. I think in some parts, that’s considered a good rating. #
• 16:50 There is no way I’d ever try to trainjump. #
• 20:44 Important fact I learned at work: college students shouldn’t be allowed to vote bc they are brainwashed by the liberal profs. #
• 01:00 You know when the convo starts w/ “either sean or rush said it…”its gonna be good. . #

• 09:46 During my frenzy to get ready to leave for buffalo, some asshole crashed his H3 outside my house, knocking out the electricity. NOZZLE. #
• 10:13 And I just called a cop a retard and now I have to drive past him again. #
• 13:36 I owe a toll booth worker $1.25. I hope he doesn’t send someone to crowbar my knees. #
• 13:39 Henry always treats me like his teenage daughter, then this morning he said “You’re not a kid”. Henry I’m confused. #
• 14:39 twitpic.com/kp2q – Sitting in Max’s Grill, writing truths about Christina in my vacation journal. #
• 15:40 Christina’s showing me a condom she brought in case I get lucky after tonite’s show. I laughed then asked “srsly–why do u have that?” #
• 15:52 I just pushed open someones hotel room and they came after me. Its a good thing my legs are used to helping me flee the scene. #
• 17:14 Most definitely certain I am the only fully developed woman at this show. Oh. And christina. (Debatable.) #
• 17:30 There’s nothing worse than the crackled shouting of a boy who hasn’t fully reached puberty. Ok, anal rape — MAYBE. #
• 18:06 twitpic.com/kqok – My crew, obv. #
• 18:21 Some bmx guy thinks I’m his fan and I can’t stop laughing at him. #
• 18:27 There’s another girl in her twenties, standing near me, usurping my demographic. Dumb bitch. #
• 19:14 twitpic.com/kr6d – At the Lithe Leg Convention, Buffalo, NY #
• 19:50 I want to be Made! Into a paraplegic. #
• 22:20 Remember when Christina broke up a catfight at the Pierce the Veil show? #
• 22:22 Checked in with Henry. He asked me to not kill myself because Buffalo’s too far to drive for my body. # 
  

  ---

• 09:40 Ppl don’t give FoxNews enough credit. This morning alone they reminded me of Toonces the Cat & had a hiLARious thought bubble segment. #
• 09:41 Later they’re going to be reading people’s “twitters”. #
• 10:08 Christina: sometimes I want to kick you. Not sometimes, a lot of times actually. #
• 11:34 Could have sworn christina just wished she was Hoffa, but it seems she was actually wishing she was on FoxNews. #

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I don’t know what Henry did to this, but what mother DOESN’T want to have nightmares of their kid?

Anyhow, I’m on my way home from Buffalo. Christina and I were there for a show last night so expect some scene kid overload in the next few days. Fucking hooray, yeah?

Hey Henry – put some pants on. I’m almost home.

Burning a hole in my wallet were some free zoo passes, given to me by my co-worker Lindsay at my last job. Henry came home from work early yesterday morning and we decided to take advantage of the seventy degree sun, even though it had only been a few months since I last spat ire at strangers at the zoo. And really. is it ever too soon to go on another hate-mongering rampage, am I right? I swear, every time I go to the zoo, the majority of the people there looked like they were born from a white wine-influenced one night stand between the LL Bean catalogue and Ann Taylor Loft outlet store. I bet their Cabela-bought backpacks are stcoked with Evian and organic cheese sandwiches. I bet their kids don’t swear.

Immediately, I disliked this one broad with two kids (one of which plays hockey; I know this because we parked next to her hockey league-decal’d $50,000 Mom Van). She hogged the view of a young playing tiger from the rest of us peasants while she took shot after shot with her obscenely gigantic lens through a finger-print streaked glass window, like she was some fucking safari journalist. Then just as she was about to leave, some douche in a STEELER jersey (nauseating) took her place with his equally ridiculous camera and I just stood, mouth agape, and said to Henry, “Seriously? This is the Pittsburgh Zoo, not the fucking Outback. They’re taking pictures through GLASS. Snot-smeared GLASS. Go take your John Holmes lens to the goddamn STEELER game where it belongs, Hometown Hero.”

All I wanted to do was see a fucking tiger gnaw on his rubber chew toy. OK?? 

Chooch seemed more aware of what he was spectating this time and spent less time trying to climb under fences and pick up rocks. He ooh’d and ahhh’d at the lions and tigers and at one point was so overwhelmed and amazed at what he was witnessing, that he let out a wonder-tinged “oh shit” in hushed tones.

Luckily, none of the LL Beaners were around.

In the Elepehant House, Henry attempted to play the role of Educator by saying things like, “Look at the big ears on those elephants, son! And wow, what big eyes!” which was only negated moments later when I laughed, “Holy shit, Chooch, look at their BIG POOP!” Of course, that’s what Chooch chose to repeat. “Big poop?! EW!” he screamed, wrinkling his nose. “BIG POOP, MOMMY, LOOK, BIG POOP!”

“OK, let’s move on,” Henry mumbled.

Chooch highly enjoyed the monkey house this time around. laying on his stomach at each exhibit to get a better view.

While it’s awesome that Chooch is shaping up to be so independent, it takes twice as long to walk when a two-and-a-half year old insists on pushing his own stroller. And god forbid you should tell him which way to go. We ended up side-by-side with a couple whose young daughter was trying to push her sister’s stroller, as well. Her mother pointed to Chooch and said, “See how he’s pushing the stroller all over the place and running into people? That’s what you’re doing too.” Fortunately for her, her daugher quickly dropped the reins when she saw how out-of-control she must have looked. Thanks for using my reckless son as your example, Fellow Mother. Asshole.

Chooch took this picture himself, when the camera was resting on the dirty, flu-dispensing table. His pink-painted nails are so shiny.

I have to eat every hour or else I’ll die. Unfortunately, the only food place there that served something without meat products was closed, so my only option was french fries in a Dixie Cup. Supposedly they had salads, but they must have been tossed with that new lettuce from Argentina.

You know, the invisible kind. Because I didn’t see it. So while Henry and Chooch chowed down on chicken tenders and a cheeseburger, I sulked at the sticky blue table and ranted loudly for all to hear about how absurd it is, in the year 2008, for a ZOO, a fucking piece of shit ZOO, to not have any herbivore-friendly sustenance. FRENCH FRIES ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH. I swear to God, the place that supposedly vends pizza has not been open once in the last six times I have gone to the zoo.

I AM WRITING A LETTER.

“I’ll buy you some Dip’n Dots,” Henry offered, trying to talk me down from the roof I was about to mount with my rifle. Fuck a Dip’n Dot, Mustache. I want LUNCH.

Henry gets nervous when I’m angry, and even more anxious when I’m hungry on top of that, so he ate without chewing and we quickly left for Denny’s, where I enjoyed a veggie burger and cottage cheese.

I might go back to the zoo in five years. MAYBE.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 17:24 I just taught Chooch how to do somersaults. That should keep him busy long enough for an accident to happen. #
• 08:40 Shit. Debbie Gibson was such a good dancer. #
• 08:52 A Cure video came on VH1 Classic & my tantruming child instantly smiled, yelled ROBERT & sat down to watch. Like a shot of Lithium. #
• 11:11 My non-voting mother has taken to texting my brother threats to sway his decision. She also told him she’s going to kill me. #
• 14:00 I almost had an anxiety attack voting. My lips still feel numb. I was so afraid I was going to fuck up. I need some bourbon. #
• 14:01 And my stupid polling locale didn’t have any of those commemorative I Voted stickers. They should really give out gifts. Like Puddin’ Pops. #
• 14:02 On the brightside, I only had to stand in line, inhaling old people fragrance, for three minutes. Good ol’ Brookline. #
• 14:21 My brother broke his hand & our loving mother said “that’s what you get for voting for Obama” and proceeded to laugh at him. #
• 14:37 Chooch, holding up a single Runt: “What’s this?” Henry: “its what mommy is, but with an ‘r'”. #
• 22:49 Less talkie, more workie. #
• 23:18 What is that I’m feeling? Hope? I had forgotten what that felt like that. SILLY. #
• 05:25 Respect – that’s also something I haven’t felt in a long time. #

• 11:14 Celebrating post-election by fighting at the zoo w/ my conservative mate. If there hadn’t already been a show called Good Times……. #
• 12:22 Its sad that in the year 2008, the zoo wouldn’t have some food choices for their vegetarian friends. #

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I hope you all vote today! If I can vote with a pernicious toddler in my company, anyone can. Pretend you’re ordering a custom peep-show if that’s what it takes to get you to leave the house and touch a screen.

JUST GO VOTE. (And ignore the people who try to belittle you and take away the integrity & validity of your decision. Like my mother, who inundates me with crude anti-Obama texts and spams strangers via MySpace bulletins and isn’t even registered to vote. And my co-workers, who openly opine that anyone who disagrees with their opinion is a retard.)

Mildred loved her son. He was born on her favorite day – Devil’s Night. He had sexy onyx eyes like the man at the bar she slept with the night of conception. He reeked of a piquant bouquet of stagnant water and antiseptic soap, with some hidden notes of anchovy.

Mildred named him Angelo. They ate grilled cheese & peanut butter sandwiches together in front of the TV. They raked each other over hot coals. They made up curse words to mutter behind their shared missalette during Sunday sermon.

When Angelo was just seven years old, Mildred received a very curious telegram. In this telegram, she was alerted of an opportunity to come into a very handsome sum of money. If only she would just relinquish custody of Angelo into the hands of the barren Duchess. Mildren considered this for a very long fifteen seconds.

Two weeks later, the Duchess’s security team arrived at Mildred’s door to claim Angelo. With a small satchel in his hand, Angelo looked up his mother with those two smoldering eyes of ink and growled, “You will pay for this, Mother.”

Mildred wrapped an arm around his side, quite loosely, before pushing him into the cage that was held open by two robust stuffed suits.

In the end, it wasn’t so much the money, but the promise of a lifetime of free stinky feta that swayed Mildred.
————————————————-
5.5″x5.5″ thick canvas, ready to hang.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 17:14 My mom bragged that she converted three ppl to mccain’s side thanks to bulletins on MySpace. Did I mention my mom’s not registered? #
• 02:17 I wish I had an assistant. Well, one that doesn’t bitch at me, and one that doesn’t live 4 hrs away. Otherwise, I’d have two. #
• 08:03 I am also hiring for the position of personal sundae artist. #

• 13:42 why do all the good people live so far away. #
• 14:34 there should be halloween porn where trick or treaters have to reach into zombie vag to get candy. #
• 14:51 I placed an Alchemy request on Etsy for a Lost Boys-themed quilt for Chooch and the bids have been pouring in. #
• 14:51 This is either going to wind up amazingly awesome or a hokey disaster. #
• 15:06 twitpic.com/j5uu – Chills courtesy of my death row penpal #
• 19:05 HI I’M TRICK OR TREATING AFTER ALL. #
• 19:11 I might’ve changed out of my heels first. #
• 19:23 Someone on this street is utilizing a chainsaw. #
• 19:37 Someone gave Chooch a Ziplock bag of pennies. Tasty. #

• 22:20 Whenever I consider dumping Henry, I always remember his adequacy in the soup-making dept and suddenly, I’m hugging up on him. #
• 22:50 I just confided in Henry my mission to avoid crossing bridges and he alerted me that I’m “living in the wrong city for that.” NO SHIT. #
• 10:42 Little gets me as amped as hearing “Easy Lover.” #
• 10:52 Trying to get henry to buy me a big rusted chain at flea market. He said no the first 2x and is now ignoring me. #
• 11:14 I guess selling scary religious pictures isn’t in vogue anymore. How will my bathroom shrine ever be complete. #
• 11:19 I’m inspired by all the ass cracks I’ve seen here. Liberating. #
• 11:34 Henry is about to come to blows over snackbooth line-cutting. But a man can call me a cunt and he waves it off. #
• 11:46 twitpic.com/jla6 – An entire wristful of holy shit for only a dollar. #

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At work Friday night, I had finally begun to come to terms with  missing trick-or-treating. “My son will probably call people assholes or something, so I guess I’m glad I won’t have to dive in any bushes,” I said to my boss Dave, sitting with him in Dispatch. He laughed and said, “Yeah, but that actually sounds like it would be funny.”

“I know, right?!” I enthusiastically agreed.

Around 6:00pm, Sharon – the biller scheduled to work with me – arrived with a bright pink treat bag. “What’s this? To dull the pain of having to work on Halloween?” I asked sarcastically. But then I did a quick visual sweep and saw that there was some good shit in there so I thanked her genuinely.

As we billed several trailers, Sharon casually asked me some questions about Chooch, like what he was dressing up as. And then she asked how long it took me  to get home from work.

“I don’t know, fifteen minutes,” I answered. And then, as if the skies above had parted, Sharon said, “You know, I got this covered. You should go and be with your son. My kids are too old for trick-or-treating, anyway, so I’m not missing anything.”

Scrambling to get all of my stuff together, I officially dubbed her my favorite co-worker. I barely paused long enough to tell my boss that Sharon had dismissed me so I could take my son out, and he said, “Whoa, girl, you look like you’re going to CRY!” My eyes really had welled up with tears of happiness, I won’t lie. I’m not always a cold-hearted asshole.

I made it home by seven and didn’t even change out of my heels. I ran the two blocks to where Henry said he and Chooch were and I was so happy to be there that the analness in me didn’t even kick into gear when I saw that half of Chooch’s green Frankenstein face paint had been rubbed off. Apparently, he started crying immediately after application and Henry was too frazzled to give a shit. If I had been there earlier, I would have made it look much better, maybe slapped a slab of decomposing flesh to his cheek, but (BUT!) I was just grateful to be there at all.

Chooch and I had practiced the art of proper Halloween candy transaction all day, but by the time he realized what was going on, he dropped all pretenses and just asked, “CANDY?” when doors would open. My favorite moment was when he forcefully closed a door on an elderly couple after getting candy dropped in his bag.

This year proved to be more successful than last year, when he would pause every three steps to lay down in the middle of the street. He very quickly caught on to the process and didn’t try to walk into people’s houses and stay a spell like last year. In fact, he was in such a rush to make it to the next house that if it wasn’t for one of us holding his hand, he’d have Slinkied down a fair share of steps.

In addition to the loaded pillow case that Henry wound up lugging, Chooch also managed to acquire a bag of pennies (yummy, although in Chooch’s case it probably IS yummy) and a dollar from some lady who made a point to say several times that she wasn’t giving out candy.

I had fun making loud comments as we would retreat from houses, such as, “Wow, he was hot AND voting for Obama” and Henry was getting bristled I think. Then I talked about my new work-crush a lot too and Henry was like “Go get him then.”

We were out for about an hour and probably only passed fifteen other trick-or-treaters the entire time. On average, it seemed that only one in five houses was keeping dentists in business. I bitched about that for awhile until I realized that we didn’t put out any candy either. OOPS. I hesitate to be generous anymore in this neighborhood though. One Halloween, some bitch in a motorized wheelchair stole my entire bowl of candy.

Afterward, we stuffed Frankenchooch in the car and took him to see my grandma, who’s been in a nursing home for the past two weeks. It’s supposed to be temporary while she gets physical therapy, but I’m ever suspicious.

My aunt Sharon was there too, and had a bag of cookies and a car for Chooch (he probably would have been happier if every house gave him a car, to be honest). By this point, Chooch had sampled enough of his collection in the car to get a nice sugar buzz going. Add to that the large sugar granules he licked off the cookies at the nursing home, and we had one frenzied toddler. We only stayed there for twenty minutes or so, because my aunt gets so nervous that he’s going to break shit. I was glad to leave. That place was NOT agog with Halloween revelry.

Back at home, Chooch’s sugar level had increased significantly and he was now the owner of wild eyes and shrill outbursts. We let him crash his tricycle into the wall several times before he crashed himself  in his crib. The rest of the weekend has been full of demonic bellowing for CANDY! CANDY! Mostly by me.