Orally fixated on balloons. But really, who isn’t. AMIRIGHT.

I hate that everything Chooch has is so much cooler than my own stuff.

I was using a Rugrats comforter when I met Henry. In fact, I had a Rugrats shower curtain too. Then he moved in and adultified everything, that no-fun-havin’ Zetterburg. At least Chooch gets to have a fun room.

“I can still sleep in your room though, right Mommy?”

Bruno was used to being the fifth wheel when he went out with Nathan and Nancy and Victor and Vivienne.

It bothered him a lot of the time, knowing that when they left, he’d be the only one going home to an empty bed.

But he knew that Victor was philandering around town with his accountant (who carries with her a checkered past in the adult film industry). And he knew Nancy was harboring a very big paternity discrepancy. (Bruno supposed Nathan didn’t deserve the truth if he was too stupid to see that two black-haired Italian parents don’t typically equal a ginger son.)

And he knew that while Victor and Nathan needed to field irate phone calls throughout the day, regarding urine-spotted toilet seats and stray dirty socks strewn across the couch, he was free to piss all over the bathroom floor and drape skid-marked underwear from the curtain rods if he felt so inclined.

So at the end of the day, as Bruno fluffed the pillow of his twin bed, he asked himself, “What’s all the fuss about love, anyway?

“

Earth-shattering updates throughout the day, brought to you by Tart-Tits. Please try to continue breathing while taking it all in.

• 16:21 #3wordsaftersex Is that blood? #
• 16:31 This weekend calls for a horror movie marathon. #
• 17:01 #3wordsaftersex wait, you’re dead? #
• 17:02 #3wordsaftersex where’s my penis? #
• 17:05 Thanks for storing cleaner in a Mountain Dew bottle, Henry. #
• 17:11 #3wordsaftersex I’m really 12. #
• 17:12 #3wordsaftersex I’m a priest. #
• 17:13 #3wordsaftersex peg leg ftw #
• 20:29 #3wordsaftersex enjoy my AIDS. (Srsly, I’m done now.) #  
• 21:29 @skyspun I walk unflinchingly through Taboo Town. #
• 22:15 Chooch enjoys sarcasm, watching people pee, white cheddar Cheezits, & brushing Janna’s hair so it looks “just like daddy’s”. #
  

  ---

• 01:48 And why should this Spring be any different. #
• 08:58 It’s going to be weird not seeing @saucalisha this weekend. I hope Henry remembers how to ridicule me on his own. #
• 11:34 You know that you will always lose this trembling, adored, tousled bird mad girl. /gothy-pout moment. #
• 20:46 Someday I might be able to listen to “Everlong” without wanting to rip out my heart. But probably not. Oh memories. #
• 23:51 Oooh lordy child, tomorra’s gon’ be a gud day. #

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Oh dear Lord, I found this old post from Mother’s Day 2007 when I was looking for something and I haven’t publicly made a mockery of Henry in so long, like an entire month maybe, so excuse me while I indulge in a re-post.

It had quickly become my dying wish, this one thing that I wanted last week. The desire for this favor was so great, like I could die from the sheer want of it all. The extremity of it had far surpassed my dream of starting a jump rope league, and was at least on par with the Robert Smith / Lydia Lunch personal journal conquest of 2001, where my insanity had reached such high summits that I was ready to sell my car to finance the purchase.  If I had to put it in terms that the rational populace might understand,  I might liken the obsession to dreams of aquiring a new house or the incessant need to check yourself for venereal diseases.

This obsession overtook each of my senses: a palpable vinegar pool of yearning swirling on my tongue; the sneering visage of an undulating Satan dangling my dire longing before my eyes; a needling Siren song of excruciating taunt engulfing my ears. And Henry was the only one who could make it go away.

When I initially presented him with my proposition on a Monday, Henry seemed perplexed, probably from his deep-seeded inherent fantasies surging forth. To camouflage his interest, he instead scoffed and rather quickly became sucked back into Food Network. Broaching the sensitive topic on Tuesday resulted in an equivocal “We’ll see,” which I’m truly talented at converting to the far affirmative side of the Erin Gets Her Way spectrum.

By that Wednesday, he was putty in my hands. It could have been over and done with in a mere two minutes, the butterfly finally in my net, but I had to push my luck as usual.

“Why don’t we take this outside for a second?”

When he reluctantly agreed, I pushed further.

“Across the street and by that tree.”

And the foot came down.

We didn’t talk for nearly an hour.

Using Mothers Day as leverage, I finally got what I wanted.

Hey, if you got the legs to rock it….

Notice the stark contrast between the ones where he was pushed out of his comfort zone and this next one, where he was clearly in his Pretty Girlie Sue Sue element and patiently waiting his turn to strike a pose on the catwalk, as Robert smiles down some moxie on him from the background.

Earth-shattering updates throughout the day, brought to you by Tart-Tits. Please try to continue breathing while taking it all in.

• 12:29 Wish Henry would stop using double negatives in front of Chooch. Sure I taught him how to swear, but at least he’s grammatically correct. #
• 16:35 It’s nice when Henry calls my friends behind my back to beg them to keep me out of the house. #
• 20:19 God forbid I say that I have high standards in girls and have Henry & Alisha not laugh. #
  

  ---

• 11:26 Of all the delightful recipes given to me on LiveJournal, I think I accidentally picked the one that requires the most effort on my part. #
• 13:57 Henry is trying to sabotage my cookout contribution because he doesn’t want everyone to know how AWESOME I CAN BE!!!! #
• 14:35 Experiment in Terror by Al Caiola is the perfect apple peeling music. #
• 15:25 I can’t believe people willingly slice apples for a living. Six apples later & I think 2 of my knuckles have collapsed. #
• 16:04 Janna made a salad & my two least favorite vegetables are in the name so I already know I hate it. I’ll refer to it as Ovechkin Salad. #
• 16:29 Alisha had a crush on Atreyu from Neverending Story because she thought he was a girl. #
• 18:37 Estrogen. Have you ever drowned in it. #
• 19:00 #thingieball circle edition. #
• 20:54 Best Uno game ever in my backyard, bitch holes. #
• 21:09 Best Memorial weekend cookout I ever done have. #
• 21:32 My neighbors probably think we’re having a cock fight down here, but its motherfucking Uno. #
  

  ---

• 09:59 Hangover or not, I wouldn’t for the world miss the shitty Memorial parade that shits past my house. Perfect for asshole hecklers like me. #
• 10:03 OH BOY a plane flew real low & now Henry’s being an expert because it is in fact a plane of his ppl. And by ppl I mean the MILITARY. #
• 10:22 I’m not joining in on all this police applause. #
• 10:33 TJMaxx is basically synonymous w/ Memorial Day so of course they’d have a car in the parade, complete w/ a girl flicking out a cig butt #
• 10:38 twitpic.com/5x8jp – I’d get so many chicks if this was my ride. #
• 10:43 So far the highlight has been all the boy & girl scouts trying to sidestep the smashed rabbit carcass in front of my house. #
• 10:58 I’m like “That was a gay parade” at the same time Henry’s mom gushed, “that was a nice parade!” #
• 12:18 Want to ask this dude how much his Jesus picture is but he won’t stop having sexy flea market talk w/ some old broad. God, fuck already. #
• 12:26 You never expect to take a fart to the face when looking at jewelry. Well, at least not twice. #
• 17:41 I sustained legitimate #thingieball-related muscle soreness. A souvenir of Lesbian Takeover Nite that I will gladly cherish. #
• 17:58 Wish I could tweet the tone Henry uses when I ask stupid questions. #
• 19:00 No Kate Gosselin, you’re not green. You’re fucking orange. #
• 19:38 @alysonc3 for some ungodly reason, I used to sort of like her, but now I’m all “Go Jon, get yo’self laid!” #
• 20:37 They just don’t make Skip-Its like they used to. Which is I guess why they’re not called Skip-Its anymore. #
• 21:40 The new season brings us a de-oranged Kate. Still has that douche-drapery hanging over her right eye though. #
  

  ---

• 09:49 Oh I have policies alright. I’m just not sure what they are yet. Aside from You Clog It You Clean It. #
• 09:50 And: You Kill It You Bury It. But Not In My Backyard. #
• 11:22 Obviously the theme of 2009 has been Learn Who Your Real Friends Are. Instead of sulking, I’ve weeded out the bad ones & made new ones. #
• 12:34 Henry inherited his story-telling skills from his mom. I usually stop attempting to follow along after the first oft-nonsensical sentence. #
• 12:35 And then I want to ask him if he’d like to talk about the stroke I never knew he had. #
• 14:37 Henry, you sly little matchmaker you. #
• 20:04 Aside from Cam Ward, I just don’t hate any of these Hurricanes & that makes me sad. #
• 20:41 Come on Crosby, give us something fancy! #letsgopens #
• 20:51 And I just learned I didn’t have to peel the apples that went into my salad on Sunday. MOTHERFUCK. #
• 21:58 SWEEEEEEEEP! #
• 22:00 I’m officially crying!! #letsgopens #
• 22:11 @alysonc3 I NEED THAT! I was like “they should have a machine for this” & Alisha goes “uh, they do & its called a corer.” #
• 22:37 My cocky three-year-old just sneered & said, “I’m not scared of you.” WTFsies. #
• 00:10 So maybe listening to Frank Turner while drinking wine isn’t the best idea I’ve had lately, it still feels fucking good to just FEEL. #

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Look, I know I messed up. Believe me. The jagger bush you stuffed inside my pillow case did not go unnoticed. Nor did the chicken bone in my fiber water.

Apparently a simple apology is just that — too simple.

Flowers? They got pitched in the trash.

So look, I plucked this star for you on my way home from work, snatched it right the hell out of the sky, and that was really freakin’ hard to do.

(Actually, please don’t ask me how I did it because I’m pretty sure I broke at least two dozen laws.

)

Now will you please forgive me for deleting last week’s “Lost” before you watched it?

At first glance, you might mistake Thingie Ball for a generic paddle and ball set sold at Target for $9.64.

BUT DON’T GET IT TWISTED.

Thingie Ball, once placed in my hands, is actually a game of skill, violence and foreplay. Alisha and I came up with tentative rules, combining the exciting serve and catch action with all the flavor and full-contact of flag football and all the punkish fashion of roller derby (i.e. another excuse to pull out the tutu, which is still the sweetest tutu in the world) without the skates. Unfortunately, every time I tried explaining my new and evolutional conceptual sport of the millennium, my giddy smiles were met with confused and unsure frowns.

We learned on Sunday that Thingie Ball is a Really Good Icebreaker, as Henry  invited his work friend Jess and her girlfriend Christina to  join me, Alisha, Janna, Brenna and Liz at our cookout.  Jess in turned brought along her friend Jennifer. It wasn’t planned to be a Girls Only Cookout, but that’s exactly what it turned into, much to Henry’s delight.

Awkward Sitting.

At first, we all sat around somewhat awkwardly, waiting for Henry to finish grilling. We made idle conversation, which mostly consisted of me bragging about the totally tedious caramel apple salad I made upon my friend Angie’s suggestion (she failed to mention that prep time was no less than HALF A DAY and I had to PEEL & SLICE SIX APPLES OMG). I chose this particular recipe from those given to me by a collection of LiveJournal friends because it didn’t call for any cooking; no water-boiling, over-heatin’, no measurin’. I was able to do all the prep work and mixing at the dining room table which put me out of Henry’s way. AND it was the only recipe that called for six Snickers bars. So yes, aside from all the peeling & chopping, it had win practically jizzed all over it in caramel.

I also had Henry make some potato salad crap and peach pie twisters, both of the recipes I found in Better Homes and Gardens. Everyone raved about the peach pie shit, and I didn’t want to say anything out loud for fear of embarrassing Henry in front of his work buddy, but there was like, no sugar in that shit. Also, he was supposed to tie rustic-looking fabric scraps around the lips of the dixie cups they were served in, and then a cute little wooden spoon was to be tucked inside the fabric. He did no such thing.

He always quits one step away from reaching true Martha Stewart status.

Henry was also supposed to make these awesome-sounding garden sliders, and he even bought all the ingredient-shit for them, but claims he “forgot” to prepare them.

Oh well, at least we had Alisha’s gimp fruit kabobs to fall back on. I mean, the BEST KABOBS ever. They even had Rolos on them. ROLOS! And they were sharp enough to stake any vampire that might have tried to crash our half-assed driveway picnic. Aside from my son, I mean.

Please don’t anyone stake my son.

Chirping Crickets.

Once the subject of praising Henry’s grilling prowess grew old, we kind of sat there looking at each other, sizing each other up, wondering what to talk about. Christina suggested we get a deck of cards but then Alisha was all, “Well, there’s always Thingie Ball.” I was waiting for everyone to be like, “That looks dumb” when I came back outside with some paddles and a ball. But once we started, all inhibitions were lost to the wind.

And that is how I ended up in a church parking lot Sunday evening, drunk and standing in a deformed circle with six other drunk girls, swatting a ribbon-tailed ball back and forth, sweating Woodchuck and trying not to wind up with protruding bones. Alisha kept mocking my Captain status because she’s jealous of my agility and nimbleness, the suave way I soar through the air, performing perfect scissorkicks and landing with the ball firmly stuck to my paddle.  Meanwhile, Alisha just clomps around and sometimes accidentally catches the ball.

By the end of the action, we were all BONDED FOR LIFE. This is just one of the many things Thingie Ball does with it’s magical velcro, along with lint removal, drink tray, and serving as a sexual submission aid.

When we get our team shirts made, my name (underneath the blinking CAPTAIN marquee pin I’m having made) will probably just be my good old standby of Vagynafondue. I dubbed Alisha “Arkansuck” because she’s from Arkansas and she sucks, you see. She wasn’t pleased but I guess she’ll have to learn to love it because that is her name now. Janna will be something equally appropriate, but I need to sleep on that one.

We capped off the night by wasting a good two hours of our lives playing Uno underneath the dim light of our backyard spotlight, and this is where I learned that Christina cheats, Alisha is an asshole baby-smacker, Draw Fours make Jennifer yell like she’s on Springer, and Jess might just have the worst Uno luck I’ve ever seen. At one point, I laughed and said, “My neighbors probably think we’re having a fucking cock fight back here when all we’re doing is playing motherfucking UNO.”

Fuck, it was a good day.

[Thingie Ball photos are from last weekend. Blake wasn’t able to attend the cookout which was probably a good thing lest he drown in estrogen.]

Earth-shattering updates throughout the day, brought to you by Tart-Tits. Please try to continue breathing while taking it all in.

• 13:15 Maybe it’s just me being paranoid, but it seems like Henry is intentionally hitting #thingieball into the street. #
• 15:11 Evidently, the concept of Evite is very confusing to some people. #
• 19:26 Chooch is looking a little too enthralled while watching motorcycle hill climbs on TV. Not in your future, sonny boy. #
• 20:18 Longest first period ever. #letsgopens #
• 22:33 Alisha wants butt tits, pass it on. #
  

  ---

• 00:52 I think I smiled all day long. #
• 10:18 The torrent of swear words my kid just spewed, paired with the weird lurching of his body, could be considered performance art. #
• 12:28 You know that feeling you get when you dump your first body in a ditch by the power plant? That’s the feeling I have right now. #
• 12:31 It feels like mint chocolate chip icecream, melting in my belly. I mean, no. I have no idea…LOOK! BUTT TITS. #
• 12:42 Thanks for the #followfriday lovin’, you guys! #
• 12:48 @citizen_lazlo Well..no. That’s how I feel after pond diving for pennies with the bindle stiffs. #
• 14:22 A shop that’s opening this summer in one of our artsy areas is interested in selling my art, wtf!? #
• 15:33 If I was President, I would coldcock Ticketmaster into submission, because that is where my priorities lie. Fuck health care etc! #
• 16:03 I’ve always liked this song b/c it sounds like the inside of my brain: xiu xiu “boy soprano” ♫ twt.fm/125907 #twtfm #
• 16:04 Welcome to Evgenistan, indeed motherfuckers. #
• 19:51 This time next week, Chiodos will have my undivided attention. Well, unless @saucalisha whips out a butt tit. #
• 21:51 The Red Wings fucking scare me. #

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Maybe I might be attempting to compile some of my crappy stories into a book, tentatively titled “My Dumb Book of Stupid Stories (Count the Typos!)”. In order to do that, I have to recreate some of the random photos I’ve used courtesy of Google images, because I’m not trying to shit all over copyright laws.

What this means is that I will probably take a few more half-assed pictures and then get bored/exhausted/frustrated with the whole process, give up, and then find another data entry job.

HOWEVER. Janna, Alisha and Henry promised to help me and they are reliable people who will probably beat me with bamboo switches if I quit.

Right now, the project is still in the novelty stage. I needed a picture of a girl in a denim jacket and after holding a bunch of things over Alisha’s head, she agreed to pose. It’s for a story I wrote called “That Fucking Denim Jacket.

“

Blake was with us, and he’s a whore for the camera, so we got some more gas mask action in.

I could probably fill an entire book with just pictures of Blake, I have enough of them. Blake, you camera ho!

Chooch was all, “Me too, plz.” Taking pictures of Chooch requires deft back-peddling skills and a good sense of balance.

He totally couldn’t see.

Earth-shattering updates throughout the day, brought to you by Tart-Tits. Please try to continue breathing while taking it all in.

• 12:54 Fuck, Chooch is being such an Ovechkin right now. #
• 14:04 I was featured here & she supports the Penguins, too! bit.ly/17Kgs8 #
• 14:13 @RhondaKibuk I can’t wait – a whole new team to heckle! I HATE THAT THEY HAVE CHEERLEADERS. Fucking Whoricanes. #
• 18:17 If sexting was around when I was in school, I probably would have engaged. That is, when I wasn’t too busy having real sex. #
• 18:41 Jealousy makes people look fucking retarded & I can’t lie – I love it. #
• 19:56 SATAN!!!!!! #
• 23:46 Fuck I need a county fair. Rusty-bolted rides and gnarly carnies, take me away. #
  

  ---

• 11:03 Found it strange when, out of the blue, Chooch asked to give me a kiss. But when he spit in my face, it wasn’t so strange anymore. #
• 11:09 Hey SportsCenter, why not stroke Cam Ward’s cock a little harder. Hope you intend to swallow. #
• 12:26 Henry was just staring out the window at our new neighbor. With his hand down his pants. Also, I’m pretty sure she’s a midget. #
• 19:51 I’m giddy thinking of all the potential trouble awaiting me this summer. #
• 22:13 Considering calling Henry “Gayb” from now. Short for gaybo. Because he is one. A gaybo. Fucking Gayb. #
• 22:30 Watching Red Wings/Blackhawks game, totally spied some Bumpit-fied broad in the crowd. 1st time seeing it outside of the commercial, guys! #
  

  ---

• 02:18 29 years old and I still can’t sleep with my back to the bedroom door. #
• 20:55 Janna is struggling at iSpy; it is sad yet hilarious simultaneously. #
• 20:57 Perhaps I’m being too ambitious with the TV show starring Henry’s eyebrows. The realistic first step is giving them a LiveJournal. #
  

  ---

• 00:10 My dream job is to write uncensored reviews of amusement parks and carnivals. #
• 08:37 Can’t wait to get drunk & play #thingieball this weekend. Sounds like a tutu occasion, if you ask me. #
• 08:38 Perhaps I should also bring a helmet. #
• 08:49 @saucalisha yes because I don’t trust you! Also, I’m thinking a sword…. #
• 12:18 Wondering what it’s like to have a TREEHOUSE since SOMEONE won’t build me one. (GAYB!!!) #

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Born in 1895, Mother Bonnie was always one for puddin’. Tapioca puddin’, banana puddin’, figgy puddin’ — it made no difference to Mother Bonnie. She just really liked that thickly smooth texture, like a dessert dish full of curdled mucous, topped with a sheath of viscous skin. As a child, she’d slurp it up real good, then gargle with it to get rid of the tobacco aftertaste she was born with.

Now, Mother Bonnie grewed up to be a legend in her neighborhood. Having thirteen chitlins herself, Mother Bonnie knew a thang or two about getting the little snot-nosed ones to eat all the important foods, like beets and sweetbread. She’d grind ’em up real good in her sausage machine and stir the ensuing mush into a base of vanilla bean puddin’, letting it set into a coagulated mound of sweet nutrition.

All the mamas in the neighborhood came to Mother Bonnie’s farmhouse for help getting their own children to eat their vegetables and other pickled delicacies. They’d trade heirloom pearls, romance novels, masturbatory apparati fashioned from corn husks. One desperate mama used to let Mother Bonnie suckle from her wrist.

During the Depression, our Mother Bonnie had to get creative, as all the livestock done began shrivelin’ up like pruned carcasses.

She began digging up fresh graves for puddin’ mix-ins. As more and more holes began to turn up the cemetery, Mother Bonnie’s children grew plumper, their cheeks outflushed all their schoolmates by at least fifteen shades. It didn’t take long for other townspeople to notice the correlation, and soon no one ventured near Mother Bonnie’s farmhouse, lest they wind up puddified.

Not that Mother Bonnie minded being outcast.

It gave her more quality time in her puddin’ studio. And even after all of her children grewed up and moved away, Mother Bonnie continued to churn away at the puddin’. Even in failing health, body half-necrotic  and gangrened from untreated infections, Mother Bonnie swore by packing her sores with puddin’.

Her motto was: If it ain’t able to be fixed with puddin’, then fuck it up the ass and go back to bed.

No one in her family uses it.

Mother Bonnie was straight in the middle of ladling bowls of bloody puddin’ to a table set for no one when she finally succumbed to the order of things and gave up her gelatinous ghost. It was Flag Day. She was 99 years old.

Her puddin’ is served in school cafeterias nationwide.

It was all Alisha’s fault. She tricked us into driving out to Sharon, PA by boasting of this really fucking awesome chocolate kingdom at Daffin’s and some Coney Island restaurant that had like, the best food ever, though she wasn’t sure if there were non-meat options for me but who cares about Erin anyway. I agreed because I thought maybe it would be fun to leave her there, in Sharon.

And so, with Henry driving and Blake sitting comfortably in the passenger seat, Alisha and I squeezed in the back of our modest Ford Focus with Master Chooch, who was thrilled for the human contact. I had him on one side, pulling my hair, and Alisha on the other, jamming her elbow between my ribs. I spent a good portion of the billion-hour road trip wailing, “HEENNNRRRY! They’re hurting me!”

After pulling over in the parking lot of some run down factory where I took pictures of Alisha and Blake lounging on a run-down tetanus-laden car, we arrived at Daffin’s Chocolate. The “kingdom” was really just a wimpy display of a decrepit castle tower with a giant turtle thrown in the center to provide a weak distraction of the fact that it was less kingdom, more trailer park. And it stunk real bad in there too, and not just because Henry’s old and losing control of his faculties.

Chooch ran around the shop like a fucking crack addict, causing old women to gape in horror (some of them still had stroke-face after getting a glimpse of the very-pierced Blake, and that always makes me laugh), so I had to pull him out before I ended up owing Daffin’s my life savings. (But not before grabbing a handful of complimentary postcards; if you want one, holla.)

Alisha’s much-hyped Coney Island was closed (I thought Henry was going to kill her) but LUCKILY I saved the day when I spotted a diner. Henry and Alisha tried to ruin everything by suggesting, with no basis, that it was closed. Well guess what motherfuckers it was open and it was awesome.

So awesome, in fact, that it has two names.

A quaint brick and moss courtyard next to the diner. There was a river at the other end and I kept envisioning Chooch falling into it and promptly had Mommy Heart-Flips.

Thank god we were the only people there because Chooch was acting like a poster child for Ritalin. Blake eventually had to take him outside and then I remembered the river and had Mommy Heart-Flips again. I will not feel calm until I get that kid hooked up to a leash.

Chooch likes to spoon jelly into his loud mouth. It could be worse. It could be shit.

This retro pattern made me feel dizzy, and then I started thinking about my kidneys.  And then boomerangs. And then clown porn. What?

Blake ordered every breakfast item on the menu and proceeded to stare longingly at the syrup carafe. For a long time. And Alisha spent the whole time looking like she was trying not to puke and maybe it’s just me, but I’m starting to develop a sickening paranoia about that. Do I really make her that nauseated? Probably it’s from all the LAUGHTER I provoke in her.

The women’s room was labeled “Dolls” which I thought was very charming. But then I became worried! Where would ALISHA pee??

Henry ordered wings and ate them like it was his last meal before succumbing to H1N1. The sauce-smear across his moustacioed lips was very attractive, like he had just went down on a barbequed street walker.

And then we left and spent another fifty billion hours driving aimlessly through Amish turf, where I started to write a script for a brand new television drama starring Henry’s eyebrows*, and became arrested by strong desires to relinquish the hold all these material things have upon me and join Team Amish, where I can don a bonnet, write with a quill and ink,  and have sex through a hole in a sheet. And sell my bathroom plaques to tourists from the Big City.

[*A few minutes later, we passed some weird building consisting of two side-by-side domes and Henry goes, “It’s a breast-stop, get it? A breast-stop” because it looked like boobs sort of (but not really) and it was really lame and no one laughed, but then I said, “That will be the first joke your eyebrows tell in their new show” and Alisha was trying so hard not to laugh that her face was all red and Blake was doing that high-pitched snort thing which means he thought it was REALLY FUNNY so fuck you, Henry.]

Edit: Srsly, I have 14 of these lame-o postcards and maybe you’re into collecting lame-o post cards, then you should tell me and I’ll send you one.

Earth-shattering updates throughout the day, brought to you by Tart-Tits. Please try to continue breathing while taking it all in.

• 14:44 Oh, the predicaments my son puts me in. #
• 21:12 Trying to make my hair look bumpified without the aid of a Bumpit. If I could just…get…this…dildo to stay. #
  

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• 10:51 Chooch can’t call me Angel Mommy. #
• 18:12 twitpic.com/58t8u – Making Janna’s tea. Better her than me. #
• 19:41 Janna: “Chooch, you’re a hassle.” Chooch: “No. YOU a asshole.” #
  

  ---

• 14:15 Get the campfire started: Henry’s telling SERVICE stories. #
• 17:50 Henry, about Chooch’s trying demeanor: “It’s like having [Erin] reincarnated as a three-year-old.” #
• 18:03 Chooch wants to take his shirt off at King’s and eat asshole cake. #
• 18:08 Thingie Ball sign ups are happening tomorrow for those interested in being a part of a lucrative new team sport. #
• 18:34 Henry’s giving relationship advice. My gears are turning. He needs a column. #
• 21:47 Appalled that Alisha doesn’t like my soultrain car dancing moves. #
  

  ---

• 11:41 Fingers should not be confused with shoehorns. #
• 12:47 Chooch: provider of comedic day trip commentary. #
• 13:06 twitpic.com/5daku – Father-Son Elbow Bonding. #
• 13:45 Henry just threatened to turn around and “clock” me. #
• 14:50 Blake & Chooch just professed their mutual hatred, then Chooch mumbled “You sonofabitch.” #
• 15:23 Alisha took us to the saddest chocolate kingdom in Sharon, PA. I wept for it. #
• 18:10 About to enroll in Amish classes. #
• 18:12 I say I’m down to earth & everyone laughs. #
• 18:20 Trying to write a script for a tv show starring Henry’s eyebrows. #
• 18:43 twitpic.com/5e4zk – Been staring at this shit for the past two hrs, self-killing about to begin. #
• 18:46 I’d rather be playing Thingie Ball. #
• 19:43 Everytime new neighbor comes home, Thingie Ball’s been happenin’ in the front yard. He’s prob thinking “white ppl & their stupid games.” #
• 21:58 Made Alisha a sandwich and she ate it. That was stupid. #
  

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• 11:47 My DiPoe friends have been featured on American Indie ” the ensuing interview is a fab read! tinyurl.com/prl7g8 #
• 11:48 ” is the new & #
• 12:19 Omg if Henry makes ONE MORE annoyed face at the mention of Thingie Ball, I’m leaving him. And I’m taking Thingie Ball with me. #

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Guest List

• Alisha
• Bill & Jessi FROM MICHIGAN
• Corey, my brother
• Janna & her mommy, her mom-mom-mommy
• Blake and his girlfriend Deanna
• Brenna
• Kara and her baking baby
• Dyanna
• Carol, my surrogate mommy
• Henry’s mom
• Henry’s sister and her caravan of five children, also her boyfriend
• Scott, Judi and Sam Robbins (Henry and I used to work with Scott)
• My aunt Charmaine & paternal grandma Lois 

Chooch’s birthday was April 25th, but I wanted to move his party up to May, figuring it would make for better weather. Too bad it was like 55 degrees and so windy that if Alisha had brought her broom, she’d have blown straight back to Oz.

Bill, Jessi, Alisha and Brenna came early to the pavilion on Sunday to help me decorate. I was still sick, perhaps even sicker than the day before, and Alisha had given me more debilitating poison from her purse. Because I was feeling under the weather, I couldn’t really be bothered with switching lenses and changing settings, so most of my photos came out looking like I used a ten cent disposable. 0wellz0rz.

I was thankful to have extra hands there to help me with all the HARD WORK, such as staple-gunning table cloths (I’m such a whore for staple guns now, the power surge is nearly orgasmic) and slinging streamers through rafters.

Jessi at one point stepped back and commented that it looked like homeless people had decorated. Then she wanted Henry to start a hobo fire in one of the metal trashcans. IT WASN’T THAT COLD! But I probably had a FEVER so never mind. Alisha had some body-warming potion in her purse but Jessi declined, which is good because that’s how Alisha date-rapes people.

Have I mentioned lately how overjoyed I am to be friends with Alisha again??

Lost Boys cake, obviously. Henry waited until we were standing above it before the party to say, “We should have Photoshopped Chooch’s face on it.” Yes, that would have been awesome. Thanks for thinking of that before I sent the order in. The cake was almost was a no-show, seeing as how Henry forgot to pick it up the day before and Bethel Bakery is closed on Sundays. Luckily, they made a concession for him and had someone meet him there the next morning so he could pick it up. That fucker, he got lucky. However, he conveniently forgot the veggie burgers at home, as usual. I’m screwed every time we have a cook out. EVERY TIME. I yelled at Henry that Jessi probably would have liked to have a veggie burger as well, and he was all, “Oh. Do they even have those in Michigan?” He made veggie kabobs though, but the one I had was terrible. Jessi said hers were good. Probably because Henry was all, “Here Jessi, have the one that wasn’t dropped on the ground. I’m saving that for Erin.”

Chooch and his eyeball pinata. He looks so sad, and I almost feel sorry for him, but then I remember how abusive he was to his older cousin Zac.

Blake was the only person who even attempted to kill the pinata. After Henry bought it, he realized we didn’t have a bat so he searched the house for an adequate substitution, and that is how I learned Henry has a night stick. Oh please, let’s use that for the pinata! Because our party isn’t trailer park-esque enough!  I asked him why the hell he has a night stick, anyway, and he got real shifty and said, “I don’t know, OK?? I’ve had it since high school.” Which translates into: My ex-wife had a thing for cop-domination, OK??

We ended up using some broken Vegas-themed pool cue instead. Classy.

What? Kara’s eating for two.

I swear these are real people that I know, and not homeless people! It wasn’t really a hobo party.

Oh the innocence!! This was taken right after she gifted me with a Now or Later bracelet which MELTED on my wrist and left me with a sticky candy poop smear.

Janna was so excited to be eating Kiefer Sutherland’s face that she practically tackled me as I walked by because she needed a souvenir photo. 

I’d also like to add that this was the first time in HISTORY that the important ordering of the birthday cake responsibility was laid upon my shoulders. I’m really surprised I was trusted enough. Now, my family has been patronizing Bethel Bakery for all their cake needs since before I can even remember. But they always get the same standard cake: half & half batter with the French buttercream frosting. And it’s delicious, it really is. But twenty-nine years I’ve been eating this same combination. Finally, the decision was in my hands and I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel like I was playing God at that moment, clicking the various cake components of MY CHOICE on the website.

In the end, I settled on almond batter, stuck with the French buttercream because they’re famous for it and it really is the best cake icing I’ve ever had, but in lieu of that same buttercream as a filling, I went with red raspberry. I walked around the party as everyone ate their cake and made it known that I had built that cake and that I should be praised for it, just as Noah was for his ark. It seemed to be a hit, so I was able to sneer in Henry’s face.

“What? I never said a single thing about it!” he cried in defense. Oh sure, as if he wasn’t lying awake at night, hoping I didn’t wind up ordering a foot-flavored cake.

Present opening. Boring. However, he somehow managed to walk away with three new Cars puzzles that he doesn’t already have, which is a small miracle. My favorite part was when he got to Corey’s unwrapped presents, casually laying inside a Toys R Us bag, and cried out, “I already have this!”  as he withdrew a small Domo plushie. I hurriedly corrected, “No, you have the HALLOWEEN one, so this is different!” It doesn’t really matter anyway, because I would like to have my own Domo and I think I’ll just take that one. Thanks Corey! 

 It was a really nice day and I’m glad that some of my friends were able to come out and celebrate Little Trucker’s third birthday. He even was pretty good about not swearing.

[So, this was supposed to be a post of just photos, but of course I had to fuck it up with words.]

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

• 16:43 Caught Chooch dropping some sort of crumb into my coffee, & it’s awesome to wonder how often he does that without my noticing. Yummy. #
• 16:50 I chose the exact moment my shirt was completely soaked from the rain & clinging to my tits to meet my new (male) neighbor. Classy. #
• 19:04 twitpic.com/5078r – I was told by Chooch to take this picture and “twitter” it. #
• 20:55 Attempting to distract myself with a crossword puzzle. #
  

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• 09:51 My cat still hasn’t come home. Time to start inundating the ‘hood with pleas. (OMG plz be alive, Nicotina.) #
• 11:45 Bait shop owners are liars. #
• 14:11 Leaving beverages unattended in the presence of Chooch render them undrinkable. Fuck. #
• 14:54 Welsh rabbit might be something I’d be willing to maybe try to attempt to make someday perhaps who knows maybe. #
• 17:42 A cat search party consisting of a 29 year old retard and a 3 year old with old man hearing is not very condusive. Saw a bunny, though. #
  

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• 10:04 Chooch, if you know the name of the song, why do you ask? Oh yeah – to act self-righteous when I don’t know it. #
• 10:47 God gave me hair so that one day my son could wipe his snot with it. #
• 12:11 This is the happiest I’ve been in years, not for any particular reason either. #
• 12:39 Brb, buying an albino. #
• 13:30 STOP PUTTING STUFF IN MY COFFEE. #
• 14:23 @saucalisha this may be the best idea you’ve ever had. Well, aside from friending me on LJ. #
  

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• 19:08 Mama’s pouring herself a nice big glass of wine for this. #
• 19:20 @daboogmang it’s going to be Fleury’s game! (I hope.) #
• 20:14 OMFG #letsgopens #
• 21:21 Best night ever: Penguins are a skating slaughterhouse AND my cat Nicotina came home. #
• 21:29 twitpic.com/54nrt – The reason she ran away in the first place. #
• 21:44 Now I’m almost glad the Penguins lost game 6. That game was brilliant. #
• 22:06 @daboogmang I got to see one woman drown her sorrows in a hot dog and that made me LOL. #
  

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• 10:41 Today, Chooch has been demanding to have a bottle of blood to drink. I hope red raspberry Crystal Light will suffice. #
• 10:42 Or I could just wait until Henry comes home and have him bleed out into a chalice. Son, fetch me my dagger. #
• 13:17 Does anyone know if Blogathon is happening this summer? I feel inspired to torture my psyche. #

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