Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 12:48 feels proud that someone found by blog by searching “shits on a glass table”. That’s pretty tame, considering some of the past searches. #
• 13:51 Oh Jillian Michaels, you make mama’s arms burn so good. The 88 degree April sun takes care of the rest. #
• 17:03 Me: “What’s Chooch doing?” Henry: “Tying balloons to people & floating them away.” Oh, OK. #
• 19:05 Henry bought a super-padded toilet seat, feels like pissing @ great-grandma’s house. Hopefully he’ll crochet a seat cover for it. #
• 19:30 Me: “Do u want me to make u a Facebook?” Henry, panic-stricken: “NO THANK U. I prefer u don’t help me w/ ANYTHING like that.” No trust. #
• 20:47 I have a major chip on my shoulder. I’m sure that’s not noticeable AT ALL, though. #

• ---

• 05:35 Hi guess who can’t sleep. Would be a good time to polish the silver. If I had silver. #
• 09:45 Trying to explain baseball to Chooch but all he cares about is that my stick figures don’t have eyeballs. #
• 13:53 And now I’m receiving broken items in the mail from my ex-bff. How fucking symbolic. #
• 14:09 VH1, stop giving “New York” TV shows, Jesus Christ. I feel ashamed that I even know who she is. #
• 15:24 Two tickets for Chiodos in Columbus, BOUGHTEDEDED. #

• ---

• 11:16 Chooch wrestled out of my hug and shouted, “I just want to dance!” OK, Tony Manero. #
• 14:55 Chooch’s latest Internet Adventure: attempting to purchase Barry Manilow tickets. Perhaps it’s my Mother’s Day gift. #
• 21:35 I really don’t like Alex Ovechkin. Plus, his teeth remind me of The One Who Fucked Me Over. #
• 23:48 I asked Henry to cut me an apple & he began lecturing, ending with: “Most ppl adapt to their surroundings, but you would just die.” Aw. #

• ---

• 11:29 Trying to convince Chooch to make cakes for a living. #
• 16:54 I need a pen name. #
• 17:06 I’ll tell you what’s a flagrant foul – the universe elbowing my life in the face. #
• 17:09 “Un-Brodeurian” has officially been added to my “wtf are you talking about” lexicon, because I’m convinced I’m not obnoxious enough. #
• 18:19 I need a few “descriptive sentences” about myself. Help. #  
• 19:01 Sound the alarm, I am about to make pierogies for the first time ever. #
• 19:04 AHHHH THERE ARE BEADS OF HOT OIL SPRINGING FORTH. SOS. #
• 19:07 Fuck. The outside is burnt, middle frozen solid. Hoping the microwave will save the day. Or, Chooch’s dinner, I should say. #
• 19:10 It’s a good thing I landed a man who can overlook a little culinary incompetence. Because I sincerely fucked these pierogies up the ass. #
• 19:16 twitpic.com/48ojc – CHOOCHIE DON’T EAT ITTTTTT!!!! #
• 19:24 There was a melted spatula tendril adhered to one of the pierogies. In some lands, that’s considered nutritious. #

• ---

• 12:22 The only thing missing from my life is a mothball-scented afghan in the colors of the Seventies. #
• 12:32 @cantcme99 lol yeah I was already told it was a “rookie mistake”. #

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Billy Nedermeijer arrived at his friend Patty Dogwood’s house with a bottle of Lambrusco and a cube of cheddar. Inside, he found the house atwitter with idle chitchat and soft music humming from a hidden stereo.

There was a large, oblong crate in the middle of the room, atop which Dixie cups and crumbled napkins had been absently discarded.

Billy’s friend Pietro arrived behind him, a small box wrapped in joyful floral tucked under his sweat-stained pit.

“What is this, a birthday party?” Billy asked with a sarcastic laugh.

“Yeah, that’s what my invitation said,” Pietro responded, his caterpillar brow flexing.

Billy glanced around the room and found his sister Yvette with a basket of matzoh. He wove his way over to her, and her answer to his kosher inquiry was, “This is a seder, is it not?”

Confused and slightly panicked, Billy withdrew his invitation from his blazer pocket. It clearly said “Come get wined and cheesed” in yellow comic sans.

Swiveling, he noted that Amber Flushbum was holding a battered Trivial Pursuit and Kevin Kickscrotum, clad in fluorescent mesh, was corkscrewing two pink glowsticks in the air.

Just then, Patty made her grand entrance, her lazy eye obstructed by the thick black veil which draped from her crown.

“Friends, thank you all for coming to my little soiree.” And with a dramatic flourish, she wrenched open the lid of the crate, causing an avalanche of red plastic cups and cookie-crumbed napkins to cascade to the floor.

Inside was the rotting corpse of her mother, her mouth frozen in a twisted snarl.

Little gasps burst throughout the room like breathy firecrackers. Beverages were dropped to the carpet in shock. The person in the kangaroo suit passed out by the foyer, but not before the unfortunate situation caused them to drop a deuce in their panties.

Pandemonium rippled through the house. “I thought this was a baby shower!!

“—game night!”
“—key bowl party!”
“—porno exchange!”
“—furry club!”

Patty laughed sadly, and began to choke. She raised a red Dixie cup filled to the brim with Billy’s Lambrusco and took a hearty swig to wash down the piece of matzoh that had become snagged in her esophagus.

“No my friends, I sent out those invitations because I couldn’t find any that said, ‘Come Celebrate the Murder of My Rapist Mother’.

“

The three of us were laying in bed last night when I asked Chooch to tell us a story.

“Ok um….I’mma put Daddy in the microwave, cut him with knife, eat him with a fork,” Chooch story-told with no hesitation. Naturally, he and I erupted into delirious giggles, hiccups eventually plaguing Chooch.

Henry didn’t laugh. Instead, he exasperatedly wiped his hand over his exhausted face and sighed, “This.

This is why I’m not taking any part in finding him a school.

That’s all on you.”

And of course, that only made Chooch and me laugh harder, until Henry ultimately left the bedroom and went downstairs.

Earth-shattering updates throughout the day. Please try to continue breathing while taking it all in.

• 18:53 I called a wrong number & now the guy is attempting to court me via text. #
• 19:01 i gotta admitt something I called ur number to see who was calling me, and ur voice is very cute lol (that’s only b/c he can’t SEE me!) #
  

  ---

• 10:32 Chooch, to Polly Pocket: Go in kitchen, make me hotdogs! #
• 11:56 This may be hard to fathom, but Facebook is not the only means of communication. #
• 15:49 What’s so funny about Pele?!?!?! #
• 16:00 Canadians are crizazy! I want one for a pet. #
• 19:05 Just once, I’d love to watch a hockey game in peace. #
  

  ---

• 00:34 Just started a Twibe. Visit twibes.com/assholeparade to join. Let’s go slay some hobos and stick Combos in nun anuses. #
• 00:35 Please go to twibes.com and vote for @vagynafondue! (At this point, I’m just clicking shit.) #
• 09:34 I’ve been working on 3 custom orders this week, and it kind of feels like I have a job. In a good, purposeful way. #  
• 12:18 I am happy to announce that Chooch didn’t swear the whole time @saucalisha was here with her grandparents. #
• 13:09 I am srsly, honestly going to flip my shit shortly. Stress is breaking my back. #
• 13:47 Chooch, hearing Henry’s alarm go off upstairs, screamed “wake ur ass up!” & I flinched at the drill sergeantness of it. #
• 18:00 The video for “Put a Ring On It” is on, & Chooch just said, after a moment’s consideration, “I’ll put it on her.” o_O #
• 21:03 Janna can’t like Chooch right now. #
  

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• 10:31 The “Chooch Can’t Like That” of the day: root beer. #
• 10:33 Which is too bad, because that’s all I got him for his birthday. (Kidding! I got him a shot gun, too.) #
• 15:12 Chooch is outside yelling “You bloodsucker” to passing cars. #
• 15:52 @ohidontthinkso I’m putting a hit out on them, those fuckers. Esp that ginger Hartnell. #
• 16:26 @ohidontthinkso FUCKING NUTS!!!! #
• 17:05 Just wondering when someone, anyone, in my family is going to acknowledge Chooch’s birthday. But I mean, they DID miss Xmas, afterall. #
• 17:13 My Gonchar!!!! <3!!!!! #
• 17:26 My hockey hysteria caused a man to stop on the sidewalk in front of my house & Henry asked me to plz calm down. Never. #
• 17:33 This game is a real hair-chewer. #
• 17:44 HAPPY BDAY CHOOCH, FROM SIDNEY CROSBY! #
• 20:20 My neighbor’s talking to us about gaping wounds & I just burped up puke. #

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“What kind of cake did you get, Riley?” our neighbor Ruth asked last night, as we hung out in the front yard. “Chocolate or yellow?”

“Raspberry ambrosia,” I answered for him.

Ruth made the universal “Oh Jesus Christ” face, presumably since the cake was only for a three year old. But when it comes to baked goods, nothing’s too gourmet for my kid. 

Then I gave her a piece and that shut her right up.

My favorite (CAKE) bakery churns out these majestic masterpieces of raspberry orgasms and caps it off with a proper powdered sugar ejacualtion and every bite is a money shot, I fucking promise. I have been obsessed with this cake for years. In fact, one year, I threw a birthday party for Henry (I know, wrap your head around THAT one — me doing something selfless for that man), and when I went to pick up his cake at Bethel Bakery (let me also add that I declined their offer of an iced inscription; it  said nary a  Happy Birthday), I bought myself a raspberry ambrosia cake. Yes, it was Henry’s birthday, but I was still the Queen. I will never forget gathering around the dining room table and explaining, “The plain cake is Henry’s, but that magnificent bitch right there is mine” and of course, none of my friends were fazed by this, but Henry’s sister and the one friend of his I bothered to invite looked a little appalled.

That night is still referred to as “The party where Erin bought herself the ‘good cake’.

“

So yeah, never mind, I guess the whole birthday-party-for-Henry thing wasn’t as selfless of a manuever as I imagined it was back then.

I sent Henry off on his own to retrieve the cake, and after the Easter pie debacle, I’m awfully relieved he didn’t come home with another contestant of the What Were They Thinking OMG Hideous Pie competition.

We also got a half dozen cupcakes from my favorite CUPCAKE bakery, Vanilla Pastry Studio.

As soon as the candles on the cake were snuffed out by his dirty trucker breath, he bypassed the cake and tore into a lemon cucpake. I guess he knew that cake was really for mommy.

 Thank you for being born, Choochie, if only to give Mommy another acceptable day to stuff her face with 16,879 sugar-crystaled calories.

Three years ago, on this very day, I was gutted like a fish so that my master could be born. My life has been under seige ever since, but mostly (MOSTLY) that’s an OK thing.  I just view all the bruises as accessories, and the chest pains are getting easier to ignore.

Happy birthday, Chooch! Here’s to many more years of a perpetually dirt-bearded face!

(Except not.) I  hope you can like today.

Ernie was here. Louis heard him tapping lightly on the screen door. He had come to help Louis move out the house he shared with his fiance, the house he had called a home for the past six years.

Everything changed after the accident.

Louis and Veronica were madly in love. They were the sort of couple people either adored, envied or puked in your mouth at the mere sight of them. You could always find those two with a hand in each others back pocket, lovingly feeding each other tufts of bright blue cotton candy at the state fair, and even occasionally indulging in gold snifters brimming with each other’s thick red blood.

Everything changed after the accident.

It was a horrific scene that day on the freeway; it looked like a real life demolition derby had swept through, leaving a trail of smoking, twisted steel carnage in its wake. Louis was lucky to walk away from it. And when Veronica came to visit him in the hospital, he expected she would be just as thankful as he was. Except that, when she got a look at his teeth, all askance as a result of his face slamming into the dashboard, she backed away in horror.

Everything changed after the accident.

And now Louis was moving out of the love nest, seeing no reason to continue living in a house that whispered bittersweet memories of his love with every corner he turned. No, Veronica didn’t want to be with him anymore, stating that his mouth, all catawumpus and zigzagged from the trauma, was too much for her to bear. “You snag my lips when you kiss me now,” she cried, racing out of the house with nothing more than an overnight bag.

Six months, and she never came back.

“Louis, what box do you want me to pack your pornos in?” Ernie wondered. But Louis, with no explanation, slipped by him  with a somnambulant gait and walked out the front door.

Louis’ body was found a month later by the railroad tracks. Most of his flesh had been picked away at by hungry crows.

—————————–

Help me to not be so sad. Wah.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 13:31 Ordering at Panera makes me nervous. #
• 15:52 It’s only the 1st period. It’s only the 1st period. It’s only the 1st period. #
• 15:55 I blame Janna & Alisha. It’s all their fault. They’re hexing the Pens. I’ll sacrifice them tonight. #
• 16:22 I wish the Internet could have heard Janna’s lame hockey applause. In mocking her, I hurt my tattoo. OK GOD, I HEAR YA. #
• 16:58 According to Pierre Maguire, the Penguins “think” they’re still in it. I would love to meet that dickhead in an alley someday. #
• 18:41 So tired of lies. #
• 19:20 Chooch is singing “Annie” songs in a crackly demon child / Ju-on voice & I really wish he would stop. #
• 19:42 Me: “I can blow out. And in.” Alisha: “that’s how u got ur reputation.” WAS TALKING ABT WHISTLING, THX. #
  

  ---

• 00:07 I need to either: stop writing with Chooch around, get an editor, stop writing altogether. #
• 00:10 Also, I might want to stop telling people that Henry is two years older than he really is. (Yes, I just learned his actual age 1 min ago) #
• 09:11 Wish the radio would stop playing soundbytes of the Flyers goals. #
• 10:17 Was just called a cocky bitch. By a three-year-old. #
• 13:14 If Henry gets Salary Shield, it won’t matter if he dies! #
• 18:22 Chooch put on Public Access. “Eye In the Sky” by Alan Parsons Project & “B/C I Luv U” by Stevie B played back2back. Will kill self now. #
• 18:23 Just for that, I hope that “Eye in the Sky” haunts Chooch for his entire life, like it has for me. That fucking song. #
• 18:42 @daboogmang oh, I am SO going to dip my balls in it. #
• 19:10 twitpic.com/3olhs – I guess seeing the pictures on the pieces makes it too easy or something. #
• 19:19 Um, if a hockey player is laying facedown, kicking the ice with his skates, do you think maybe he’s hurt? Just wondering. #
• 20:25 Chooch got hurt at the grocery store. He does not wish to pursue a lawsuit at this time. #
  

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• 09:55 Today is a dark synthpop day. #
• 11:51 I cut myself, but the wound is not big enough for Chooch’s liking. #
• 14:30 Tired of sloshing through all the bullshit to find the good in people. #
• 15:45 There’s no way I’d ever be able to get married without the Hollywood Bump-It by my side. Or, on top of my dome, as it were. #
• 18:46 I’m looking into an extended stay in an isolation tank. #
• 19:06 This might come as a surprise to some, but I am a really good heckler. #
• 20:51 Chooch dreams of pretzels, eyeballs and eating Robert Smith’s boob. Wonder what the dream book says about that. #
• 21:23 If I was a Penguin, I’d totally blow Fleury after the game. #
• 21:46 It’s always sunny in Philadelphia. Except for when the douche-drinking Flyers lose to the Penguins! #
  

  ---

• 08:57 Opening the fridge, Chooch goes “Did daddy buy me yogurt?” Made a mad noise when he saw none. Get used to the let-down, pal. I have. #
• 09:15 I’ve seen replay of the Hurricanes 0 second goal 126x already and it still hasn’t gotten old. I still hate the ‘Canes, though. #
• 10:46 Going all Freddy Krueger on someone’s bullshit-stenched written last words feels very cathartic. #
• 10:58 My smart son threw out one of his toys because it was given to him by “some bitch who made mommy cry.” I love him, he knows what’s up. #

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You know how I’m never like, “Hey everyone, pimp me out?” Because I feel extremely weird and uncomfortable about doing stuff like that? And because, well, it’s just me? Yeah, I’m going to break my rule real quick because I got a batch of magnets made for my Somnambulant gig, and I was JUST WONDERING if maybe some of you guys who read this thang would maybe like to have a few mailed to you, with some of my business cards, to maybe possibly pass out to your friends, priest, bartender, deathrow penpal? Kind of like a street team OMG?

I have enough to ration out to the first five or so people who comment here on this post, but I always have a ton of business cards so if anyone still wants to help after that, I am quite capable of hookin’ a bitch up.

I’m working on Appledale sweatbands next. (Seriously.)

Earth-shattering updates throughout the day. Please try to continue breathing while taking it all in.

• 19:18 My child must really, really, really want to be an orphan. #
• 10:41 I feel like a dead limb has been cut off. And it feels fantastic. #
• 12:40 If being a mother only meant slicing apples, I’d have been fired long ago. #
• 12:52 I’m gonna dump Henry for a jobless gamer, get pregnant, eat out 53x a week, mooch off parents, & brag about it on Twitter/Facebook. #
• 12:54 @saucalisha fried ANYTHING would be welcome right now! Well, perhaps not poop. And a lot of other things. Scratch “anything.” #
• 13:48 ?!?##*@@?!!!@@@?!?@#**## #
• 17:18 Listening to The Cure en route to the cemetery. How cliche. #
• 19:57 I will never fit in with playground moms. Oh wait, didn’t want to anyway. #
• 23:46 WTF @IAmDiddy?! Aundrea was the best. ONE BIG TEAR, IT DONE FELL. #
  

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• 12:49 I can hear my kid clicking away on the computer, but I just don’t care. #
• 13:50 I’m not embarrassed at all when I accidentally post a blog entry before its finished, complete w/ a typo’d title. I keep getting better! #
• 15:03 Writing things in the third-person makes me feel like a pretentious prat. Oh wai—- #
• 15:17 I could go for a good Botch show right about now. #
• 16:16 You know how when you’ve had too much coffee, you want to fight? I think I’m about to take on a brick wall. #
• 16:48 “Pineapple apple side” instead of “pineapple upside down”? I swear I’m not a stroke victim, but apparently I’ve suffered some head trauma. #
• 18:19 Spent the last 2 minutes replying hysterically to a mysterious salutation, until Chooch pointed out it was a toy that said “hello.” #
• 18:25 Wtf no one should be this jumpy in broad daylight. Wind blew open the storm door & I jumped, screamed, made my kid cry. #
• 18:45 Janna’s coming over to watch the Pens game. I’m psychically commanding her to bring muffins. I hope she responds well to my wish-waves. #
• 19:33 If I was a Penguin, I’d have a hard time resisting yanking Hartnell by his ginger ‘fro. I’m redoing my Douche Canoe card w/ him in it. #
• 20:05 Just showed Mike Tomlin @ the Pens game & I yelled “there’s ur boy Janna, BOW DOWN” & she’s like “where’s this coming from?”/Steelers hate. #
• 20:36 FUCK YES JANNA LOOKED AWAY & THEY SCORED!!!!!! #
• 21:57 Fuck this game! #
• 22:25 YESSSS! Now I can pee!!!! #
  

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• 09:40 I am semi-surprised that the Military channel exists, not surprised that Henry is watching it. #
• 09:51 Furthermore, why haven’t I changed the Military Channel yet. #
• 13:16 Black Cat Tattoo, you complete me. #
• 14:43 Chooch got to go in the Eat n Park kitchen & pick out a fresh cookie!? THAT NEVER HAPPENED TO ME. #
• 16:03 Alisha actually lends Henry a hand. I just sit here, absorbed in my own self-amazingness. #
• 18:19 Chooch ruined my sidewalk art!!! And by art I mean my name in chalk!!! Asshole!!! #

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Yesterday, after months and months of waiting, I finally got my tattoo. It’s not my first, but it’s the only one that means anything to me, and because of that I was having silent panic attacks on the way to Black Cat Tattoos. (But also, I like to exaggerate my whininess with little to no cause, just for kicks. I know, so many of you are shocked by that revelation.) These are lyrics from a Chiodos song, and it’s sort of my unofficial motto. And also, in light of recent best friend backstabbing, it’s even more significant because the name of the song is “The Word ‘Best Friend’ Become Redefined” which it most certainly has been for me this year. I hope it will serve as a reminder that my friendship with Christina wasn’t what I thought it was, so that I will not be stupid enough to give her yet another second chance. (Seriously, I think she was up to EIGHT second chances in five short years.)

Minus the lettering, this was drawn by my friend Merry, who knows of the impact the lyrics have on me. I had sent her a sketch of what I had in mind, and after sketching a few options for me, this was the one I fell in love with. I love that she kept a femininity to it while still bringing  in some Burton elements (which is what I wanted), because I think it’s a good off-set to the semi-dark words. I didn’t want to go overboard by dude-ing it up with harsh skulls and flames.

I should have just stuck with it from the get-go, but I’m always open to what other people come up with; so when I was there a few weeks ago making the appointment and handing over the sketch, I agreed to let Jason come up with another option for me. I liked what he came up with, but felt that it was a little too masculine for my girly forearm, and after the third or fourth change I made, I finally said, quietly, “Can we use the original?” Luckily, he was super patient and said numerous times, “You won’t hurt my feelings! Just make sure it’s exactly what you want.” Not every artist is like that, so it was appreciated and made me not want to run away.

Jason added the lettering and in like, 0.5 seconds I knew it was exactly what I wanted.

Alisha met me there and made mean faces at me and tried to act like she wasn’t from Arkansas. Even though she instigates me, I was glad to have her there. And I mean, who doesn’t like sitting there, watching someone get tattooed? I think there’s something written about that in the Temptation chapter of the Bible.

The whole session was fun, and Jason talked to us the whole time (another thing that not all tattooists do and that is SO AWKWARD when you have to sit there in silence and your every attempt at conversation is met with grunts, if anything at all).  It only took about an hour, and while he was working on me, Dyanna was on the other side of the room getting tattooed by Jason’s girlfriend Cara, whom I know from back in the days of LiveJournal, so it was cool to see her. (LJ, holla.) She got the word “Blink” on her wrist, and considered messing the lettering beforehand to make it prettier, but I was all, “Don’t worry, you can come back later and get a unicorn next to it” and I know she totally will too.

I love Jason’s work. He wasn’t even a quarter of the way done with it, and I was already making big plans to dump Henry and just make out with my forearm for the rest of my life. Then I was like, “Can you add some purple shading? You know, to make it pop” and immediately felt like a gaybo.

I have always left tattoo shops thinking, “Where should I go next?” This was the first time I was like, “Hey dude, I’ll be back.” Thank you for putting up with me, Jason!

I was really looking forward to dyeing eggs on Saturday night. Alisha came over and even though she’ll deny this, she was super stoked to get all up in the Paas.

Unfortunately, my party was crashed and I was quickly reminded of how teenage girls take the douche crown. One of them even had the audacity to ask if Chooch can understand words. I don’t know, can YOU?

But that is a rant for another day.

Chooch seemed to enjoy himself at least, and that made me happy (even though I did a lot of internal cringing as I watched his sleeve get stained with dye).

Also, the Penguins won and that was a very good consolation as well.

Easter morning started out decent enough. Chooch tore through his basket, which was filled with really annoying toys, like a potato gun, squirt guns, and one of those Let’s Go Fishin’! games which make incessant plastic gear-grinding music and he doesn’t even play it right which makes me nervous because god forbid he should lose any of the fish, then the game will be RUINED. I HATE missing pieces. HATE!!

He also got one of those pooping pig keychains, and also a Dracula keychain, so I guess now he’ll have to get some keys. Perhaps when I finally get my wish of building him his own house 50 miles away* from mine, he’ll have a need for the keychains. (* A joke! Really, I’m thinking of five states away. Though, as he’s upstairs right now throwing tantrums, Alaska is looking very sexy.)

Shortly after basket-ravaging, my aunt called and stressed me all out (re: my mother) and my heart was palpitating so hard that if there were any vampires in the vicinity, they’d have been salivating on my doorstep. Apparently my mother is telling people that I’m not speaking to her because sometime back in October, I wanted to go to a haunted house but she wouldn’t babysit for me. Yes, that’s it exactly,  mother. Because I’m fifteen years old and that is where my priorities lie.

And then after that, my ex-best friend and I had a fight too and I was like, “Happy fucking Easter, where’s my shotgun?!” She is so lucky she lives five hours away and I don’t care enough about her to waste my time by driving there and kicking her in her gap-toothed lying mouth. I hate a fucking liar.

(Clearly I don’t respond well to being fucked over.)

Happily though, Dyanna and Alisha came over that night for a casual We Have No Family In Pittsburgh Easter Dinner. Henry made spaghetti and some digusting soil-crusted meat-product that snaked malignantly across the plate and taunted me with its fleshy petulance.

I could have done without that, meating-up my lovely dinner party. I was also disturbed that Henry bought Cool Whip for the pie, and not ice cream. Who puts Cool Whip on apple pie? NOT ME. A la mode does not mean WITH COOL WHIP, it means SUFFOCATED UNDER A SOPPING WET BALL OF FUCKING DELICIOUS ICE CREAM. And don’t even get me started on the pineapple upside down pie. With pecans. It’s meant to be CAKE. NOT PIE. It was very upsetting to a pineapple upside down CAKE afficionado (i.e. myself) to not get to have that satisfying sensation of the fork splooging down into the moist and springy mound of CAKE. You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t front. The way the pineapple syrup bullshit coagulates into a sticky glaze? Has ever there been a dessert so demanding to be fucked by your mouth?

Fuck you, Aunt Martha, whoever the piss you are, making a mockery of the entire institution of pie.

Most of the night, Chooch rode sinisterly back and forth through the house on his tricycle, like that midget thing from “Saw,” blurting out lovely sentiments like, “Shut up, I hate you, bitch.” Then he went to bed and I made Alisha and Dyanna watch the Eternal Word Television Network with me, because it’s my favorite thing to do when I have company. Seeing Alisha squirm and hide under her hoodie during a riveting show that consisting of nothing else but a bunch of nuns reciting the rosary in unison completely made up for the stress I endured earlier in the day. And then Dyanna got the hiccups and I couldn’t stop laughing and eventually I had to bury my head in a pillow.

It was a really good evening.

I never did get over the pie perturbance, though.

Earth-shattering updates throughout the day. Please try to continue breathing while taking it all in.

• 11:08 Had a dream that Paris Hilton was my bff, but it didn’t change me. Henry goes, “How would it change u? You already think ur a princess.” #
• 11:21 Being the passenger of an Everfresh juice van is not as full of splendor as one might think. #
• 11:22 Almost went thru the windshield. Was going to wish 4 Paris Hilton 2 rescue me but I could very well suffer similar results w/ her, too. #
• 18:19 I have to write a short bio for myself, but after three days all I have is: I suck. #
• 20:26 I’m cooking (baking?) something right now that is going to be so good, ppl will pay for the recipe. And by ppl, I mean emetophiliacs. #
• 20:43 Dear @awoodhick, I believe I owe you a new cookie sheet. Regretfully, @vagynafondue (P.S. & I buy those where?) #
• 23:58 I sold my painting The Birthday Party and I’m sad to see it go. Happy! But still sad. #

• ---

• 07:43 Great. Now I’m afraid of accidentally swallowing a tree bud. #
• 10:36 @saucalisha only until 7pm, and then the Pens game starts! #
• 11:08 My son just thanked me for being cute? Someone took his anti-asshole pill this morning. #
• 13:24 Today I’m compiling a list of all the different ways to say “i hate my life.”
• 15:36 At least there’s a hockey game on tonight. /escape. #
• 18:00 A possible Sunny Day Real Estate reunion?! That could create potential cloud-parting. #
  

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A few weeks ago, I sent out an urgent Tweet begging for advice on how to turn ordinary bread into delicious cookies. The general consensus was, “Honey,just  toast it and sprinkle it with sugar & cinnamon.” This was no good, no good at all. “Nice try,” I thought, “but that’s just TOAST and probably the fanciest thing my mother ever made me for breakfast. So no.”

I was thinking about it again earlier tonight, and,  feeling particularly ambitious, I exclaimed, “Hey, Chooch let me enter the kitchen and bake you up some cookies, child.” And he was like, “Hold on, I’m inviting viruses onto the computer.”

Let me break this down for you in Pretentious Food Blog-style, because I want to make sure everyone gets to experience this culinary delight.

1. FIRST, get out some slices of bread and tear it a new asshole. I used some sort of Roman wheat bread bullshit.
2. Pretend like you’re making boobs out of Play-Doh and roll your bread pieces up real good. You can leave the crust on; I did. For some.
3. Next, think of things that taste real good and sweet to you. (Preferably things that are not a part of someone’s anatomy, because I’m not so sure that would bake well and I don’t know any cannibals IRL to call up for advice. Unless Jeffrey Dahmer had a cookbook?)
4. Once you got some sugar plums dancing in your mind, rummage through the cabinets and see if you have that shit. In my case, I pulled out the SUGAR, CINNAMON and HONEY, what what. Do not overthink it with measuring apparati! JUST DUMP THAT CRAP IN A DIABETIC HEAP.
5. Roll your yeasty ballsacks into it. And now, roll the bread, too. Knead the fuck out of it like it’s the new sexual black dress of 2009. If you have to, think of the last porno you watched. Just get it done.

After you scrape the excess with your fingers and do some deep-throating, the bowl might look like this:

Oh shit, and at some point you should do that pre-heating thing. I wasn’t sure what to set the oven to, so I just cranked it all the way up. Like fast food, bakery edition. I’m unsure what # to make that step, but I have faith that you will persevere. Or have your purse severed.

6. Splat the accessorized balls onto a COOKIE SHEET. I didn’t do anything to the COOKIE SHEET because I wasn’t sure if I should use butter, oil, or parchment paper, so we went bareback for this one.

It might look like this when you’re done with that:

7. While you’re doing this culinary miming, let your child graffiti a dining room chair with Jesus band-aids. It keeps him from accidentally Plath-ing himself  or adding things to your Etsy shopping cart, like a Santa’s Workshop wall-hanging.

8. Open the oven after two minutes to see how glorious and glistening your bonne bouche looks.(And yes, I called it that. Out loud. Coupled with kissing noises.)

9.  Panic because the cookie sheet is missing from the oven; figure it must have been the basement-dwelling vagrant who thieved it when you were wrenching the knife from your child; realize you never put the cookie sheet in to begin with.

10. Put the cookie sheet in the oven.

11. Take it back out three minutes later because you have no patience.

12. If  your teeth involuntarily twinge and ache just from the proximity, and it looks like the vagina of Jabba the Hut’s wife, they are baked.

13. Try to dislodge the confections from the cookie sheet; note that McGyver might want to add hot-ass honey into his superglue repertoire.

14. Do not be surprised when all of your hard work and ingenuity is summed up honestly by a three-year-old:

“This is not a cookie. This is toast. I can’t like that, dorkbitch.”

Apparently, Jesus I’m not. Though probably it would be better if I used different bread next time. And marshmallows. Why didn’t I add marshmallows.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 12:41 I imagine that being employed should be a prerequisite of house-hunting, but that’s just me.
• 15:53 “Castle”‘s a pretty good show. Wonder when it will be canceled. 
• 18:05 Words I never thought I’d say: “Get out of here while I’m cooking.” & I was talking about food, not meth!
• 18:30 Raising my son on a Peruvian accent might work if I didn’t wind up talking like I’m from the Ozarks by the end of the sentence.
• 21:21 LOLz0rz @ Cam Ward.
• 21:27 Chooch, pointing to the church across the street: “Don’t say ‘asshole’ there. Don’t say ‘bitch,’either. Or ‘jackhole’.”
• 21:57 The worst part about selling stuff on Etsy is entrusting my art with the fucking post office.
  

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• 01:14 Everything @awoodhick tells me, I already know.
• 10:45 “she can make the salt taste like sugar on her hands” kills me every time.
• 14:31 I’m not ashamed of how excited I am to dye eggs tomorrow night.
• 16:47 Texted Henry to alert him that something is dripping in the basement. I hope he doesn’t think I’m coming on to him.
• 17:34 Me: “what do u want for dinner?” Chooch: “I want to eat ppl.” That can be arranged, my sweet son.
• 18:56 I just had a fleeting image of drowning inside a stewed tomato-stuffed skull.
  

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• 01:03 RIP Switchblade. You made a flavorful beverage for my cats, though I’m still not sure they were aware of your existence.
• 13:15 Alisha never wants this magnificent Rod Stewart jam to end.
• 16:21 Today I’m buying a lightbulb. For the first time. Ever.
• 20:06 I just learned how to close a pizza box. I’m 29.
• 20:13 Apparently scene party at my house.
• 20:36 My egg-dyeing party was crashed. I’M PISSED.
• 21:38 I love u, Evgeni Malkin
  

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• 10:20 Happy Easter, twitholes.
• 10:23 Chooch is not grasping the concept of “hidden basket” & expects us to find it for him. Just like when I lose something.
• 11:12 I cut my thumb. Who knew stuffing a canister of Jesus band-aids in Chooch’s basket would be a good idea.
• 12:38 Already cried & I’m not even around my family yet. Happy fucking Easter!
• 14:10 My family’s always pushed me to write a book. I don’t think they really want that, because I promise it will be a tell-all. About them.
• 15:23 There are things I wish I could blow up with my mind. Well, one thing. In Ohio.
• 16:01 Henry bought cookies that look like Lance Armstrong’s genitalia.
• 16:25 http://twitpic.com/38a81 – Jesus saves.
• 19:48 According to Chooch, one has to be gay to like parmesan.
• 19:55 http://twitpic.com/38mm1 – A very alternative Easter dinner.
• 20:15 Pineapple upside down pie (PIE?!) provokes strong feelings of hate, confusion & disgust from deep within. I cannot explain at this time.
• 20:28 Dyanna & Henry just partook in an intimate pie-sharing moment. It was beautiful. And Alisha is dumbz0rz.
• 21:14 GK Chesterton, the Apostle of Common Sense, may very well be my new hero. Tonight I may pray to him.
• 21:18 When I’m entertaining, I like putting on the Eternal Word Television Network for my friends to get religiously learnt.
• 21:47 http://twitpic.com/38ug2 – Alisha, doing the Rosary.
• 21:59 Dyanna has hiccups & Alisha is slowly unraveling at Rosary with Mother Angelica. Amazing Easter festivities.
• 22:00 WHAT Dyanna turned EWTN off, that assholewhore piece of pineapple upside down pie! WHAT!!??

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