In honor of the Penguins playing their big game seven tonight, I’m posting an old-ish painting I named after Brooks Orpik. OMG, go Pens! (I don’t think it’s healthy for me to watch tonight. Someone needs to cut my electricity and take away my Blackberry.)

 Everyone told him that one day his heart would stop aching. That the mere idea of his ex-wife rolling around on the seat of a John Deere with that sleazy farmer the next town over would eventually stop plaguing his mind. That the toothache-y throbbing inside the walls of his heart would dull before he knew it, that time would be his Novacaine.

But after two years, ten months and twenty-eight days of sobbing in his pillow and soiling his sheets, Orpik had enough. He decided once and for all to go to the source – cut the pain at the source. His papa told him this was a bad idea, that how would he be able to feel anything again? Orpik didn’t care if he never felt love, happiness or joy again. He didn’t care if the sweetest woman in all of the land wrote him love letters and brought him a case of Milwaukee’s Best; no, he didn’t care that he would only feel a dull void in his chest.

And so he took a melon baller and started digging.

He dug and dug and dug, not bothering to stop to answer the door when his peals of excruciating pain summoned the neighbors like some sadistic dirge from the Pied Piper’s flute.

He dug and dug and dug some more, flinging bits of flesh and blood-soaked muscle against the bathroom tile, vaguely appreciating its semblance to globs of pizza cheese as the chards slid into an oozy heap on the floor.

Finally, he reached his ribcage. Cracking them open with Superman-caliber moxie, he gently palmed his heart. He let it linger in his cupped hands, taking note of the rhythmic bassline it played for his body.

Orpik ran through the good times he and his heart had: the way his heart fluttered during that first kiss after Sunday school; the way his aorta pumped excitedly when he downed a bucket of beer-battered wings down at the diner; the way the big pulpy mass swelled when he watched his gerbil give birth.

And just like that, Orpik wrenched the melon baller and, with a symphony of cracking bones and crunching cartilage, ripped the heart straight out of his chest.

This Sunday, Orpik is auctioning off his heart. He hopes to raise at least $8 and use it to buy several Big Gulps to enjoy while watching Bowling TV.

Bill and Jessi (my MICHIGAN friends) came to visit over the weekend for Chooch’s birthday party (more on that later when I’m not coughing up my ghost). Perhaps they think I’m making fun of their state, but the real reason I introduce them as “my Michigan friends” is so everyone will be like, “Wow, Erin is so wonderful that people will drive from MICHIGAN to hang out with her” even though the secret is that most people come for Chooch. Probably my friends walk away thinking, “I don’t even like to cross the Liberty Bridge to hang out with that cunt, but these assholes will drive five hours?”

So I happened to be sick all weekend (and I still am, but at least now I have that phlegmy cough that I love so much) but luckily Alisha came over on Saturday to act as a liaison of sorts. We took the aliens, I mean Michiganers, to Mt. Washington, where they could take in the breathtaking view of our city. And this is where I learned that Alisha moonlights as a Pittsburgh tour guide, because she was whipping her arm all over the place, pointing out buildings and rivers and I think I heard a few dates roll off her tongue too and I was kind of like, “Wow, I lived here my whole life and I did not know that.” And Alisha is from Arkansas!

Still, I was thankful to not have to speak too much, because I was sick. Like, take-me-to-the-nearest-infirmary sick. And to make it worse, Alisha had given me some bogus drug combo and I lost feeling in my finger tips and then I almost fell into the river at one point, too.

I think I even blacked out and I’m pretty sure Alisha picked my pockets when my consciousness was AWOL.

Bill and Jessi got to ride the incline, which is probably the biggest treat to offer Pittsburgh visitors. Yes, our city is THAT awesome — people can sit in a house that goes up and down a hill. Space Needle what now?

(I am  not the biggest fan of our city, I don’t know if anyone noticed.

)

Anyway, on the incline’s return trip, some douche with Wolverine mutton chops sat with us and I thought Jessi was going to slice him because Bill has to have the best ‘chops. “There can only be one!” she kept saying. For what it’s worth, Bill’s are so much better anyway.

I think 45% of the day was spent talking about nasal douches.

Then we ate at Mad Mex with Henry and Chooch and I’m pretty sure our waiter thought that Chooch was Bill’s son and I was growing sicker by the second with the aid of Alisha’s traveling medicine cabinet and all I could think of was the girl on Prom Nightmares who used to be a raver but got out of the scene only to decide to take that one last hit of Ecstacy at her prom and she died, she fucking died, and none of her friends listened to any of her complaints until she past out and then you know what happened? She started to turn BLUE, motherfuckers. BLUE. And then she was in a coma and DIED.

And when I shared this cautionary tale with my dinner companions, they all kind of looked at me stupidly and then said, “Yeah, you’ll be fine.” MY HEART WAS FLUTTERING!!! I am so lucky I made it home that night, for fucking realsies.

Good thing too, because the Penguins won their game that night and I was able to scrounge up just enough energy to cheer.

(On the real, I love these guys. They watched hockey with me and Jessi hates it and didn’t even complain and even said that if she were ever to hit her head real hard and suddenly like hockey, she would be a Penguins fan.

That, my friends? That is love.)

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

• 17:46 Some people really bring out my malicious side & I don’t feel as bad abt that as I should. Unless I end up in jail. Then I might feel bad. #
• 18:32 I swear to god I wasn’t the one who made a death threat against Alex Ovechkin. Besides, mine would have been way more awesome. #
• 19:15 Chooch, the curator of my home gallery, is trying to sell paintings to Janna. He doesn’t yet know that she’s a tightwad. #
• 12:04 My aunt just asked me if I know how to use a microwave. A fair inquiry. #
• 20:23 How am I supposed to watch hockey with a shredded throat. #
• 21:10 That’s right, Sergei Gonchar. Fuck my throat. #
• 21:38 That game was worth every excruciating scream. #
  

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• 13:01 Was just given a drug cocktail by @saucalisha & now I’m afraid that an OD is imminent. Henry tried to explain that a person should be OK. #
• 13:01 I felt relieved until he followed it with, “but who knows with you.” #
• 13:07 Was just accused of having a stripper stance. #
• 14:33 I am in the back of a van, spectating a sensual hand-washing in the front. #
• 14:53 Glad I brought Alisha with me because she’s giving Bill & Jessi a nice earful of Pittsburgh, whereas I’d be like “this is pgh, the end.” #
• 15:04 Wish @bed_in_revolt would stop taking weird pictures of me! #
• 15:37 Jesus Christ, Alisha knows A LOT about Pittsburgh. #
• 16:56 Pre-hockey party at Mad Mex! Except I’m the only one excited. #
• 18:22 Henry has a night stick!? #
• 21:52 Motherfucking PENGUINS!!!!!! I accidentally kicked Chooch’s bike in my celebration and I don’t care!!! #
• 22:46 twitpic.com/4w8jw – Bed-In on Bill. #
• 23:24 So far, I have not succumbed to all the drugs Alisha gave me, though there was a close call during dinner at Mad Mex. #
  

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• 10:40 twitpic.com/4x3jd – Haahahahaaha #
• 10:49 Alisha to Chooch: “you’re a bad liar.” Chooch: “CHRISTINA is a liar!” My son’s got my back. #
• 13:33 Staple guns make me feel powerful. #
• 13:48 twitpic.com/4xgkf – Eyeball pinata for the what now #
• 14:07 Chooch’s party is hobo-themed, apparently. #
• 16:49 It’s hard to tweet when your phone is in a garbage can. #
• 20:15 I hope that one day I can have a birthday party as fun as Chooch’s. Only, I’d like strippers at mine. And a hookah. And hockey. #
• 20:34 Thanks to @bed_in_revolt, I’m a ho for screamin’ dill pickle Pringles. I might even dole out bj’s for a super stack. MIGHT. #
• 20:58 @roughdiction if I already have the dill pickle chips, there’d be no need for superfluous bj’s. #
• 22:36 New neighbors who moved in next door think that 10:30pm on a Sunday is an appropriate time to hammer & drill. I’m gonna love these people. #
  

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• 10:41 Was reminding Chooch how many people came to see him yesterday at his party & he goes “Yeah, & Alisha!” I KNEW she wasn’t a real person. #
• 11:43 I’m pretty certain Chooch caused one of my cats to run away. #

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Leroy’s girlfriend doled out only one duty to him on the day of her brother’s birthday party: bring the balloons and don’t get jacked up on the way.

That’s kind of hard to do when he has to cross one treacherous river, weave through a gypsy camp, and accidentally find himself an innocent bystander in the middle of a gang war.

He might have lost a pinky toe and he’s pretty sure one of the gypsies picked his pocket, but by golly every last one of those balloons made it unscathed. Except the green one, Leroy’s pretty sure the green one got spat on by a Crip.

The Used, with Space Pimps and Maison at Club Zoo

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

• The first opening band, Maison, was already playing by the time Alisha and I got dropped off by Henry, who was kind enough to leave his second job early to enable me to get to go in the first place. I made him drop us off around the corner, and then he repeatedly beeped the horn just as two scene girls walked by. Thanks, Dad. That was fantastic. Maison mainly did covers and for someone who acted unenthused by them, Alisha sure was pushy about finding a spot where she could see them.
• I totally had a crush on some flannel guy.

• The second opening band, Spacepimps, are apparently Pittsburgh’s darlings, but I wasn’t impressed. They were homogenous, early 2000’s-sounding pop punk, but for some reason, they kept the crowd rapt. I think that’s a good testament for this city and how ridiculously behind it is with music trends.
  • But then they briefly trash-talked the Washington Capitals so I was like, “OMG I love them, Alisha!”
    • And then they won over Alisha with their charming cover of “Wannabe” by Spice Girls.
• The crowd was a decent goulash of ages, very few scene kids and a lot of older fans. Alisha and I were glad for that. Alisha was especially glad for the tiny girl swimming in an oversized ICP baseball jersey who kept walking past us. “I feel like she should be in bed,” Alisha said, because of the nightgown-esque length of her shirt. “In bed in 1998,” I added and Alisha laughed really hard because I’m so funny and she can barely stand it most of the time. Then some half-nude sweaty guy rubbed his glandular juice all over Alisha’s bare arm as he brushed past her (and by “brushed past,” I mean that if they were naked there’s a good chance she might be pregnant right now).

• There were only three people in the entire crowd I hated. They perched needlessly on top of the small gate protecting the sound area, making it impossible for the rest of us to see. Then the sound guy yelled at them brusquely and I loved him for that. Besides, we didn’t want to have to fight our way any closer than where we were, because we are old and have brittle bones. I mean, I hate my nose and all, but I’m not sure how far I’m willing to go to change it. And my luck, having it broken would make me look like Mask.

• Alisha, i.e Starving Ethiopian at the Used Show, was covertly popping Cheezits in her mouth at one point. I swear to god, her eyes were darting around all furtively, like she was going to be asked by some stranger to share. Alisha, they’re crackers, not ‘shrooms.
• The Used came out around 9 and completely blew the place up with “Take It Away.” It was so good to see a band that I have loved for a long time, without being too emotionally wrapped up in them. I was able to just have fun and not cry for once. Plus, it was awesome when they did “Liar, Liar” in light of recent ex-best friend events. (We were still talking when I had found out The Used were coming, and she threw one of her signature psychopathic fits of jealousy because oh my God, how could I consider going to the show with anyone but HER. This is just one of the things I dealt with from her for the past six years.)

Set List:

Take It Away

Bird and the Worm

Liar Liar

Hospital

Blood on My Hands

I Caught Fire <3333!

Taste of Ink

All That I’ve Got

Buried Myself Alive

Paralyzed

Handsome Awkward

Box Full of Sharp Objects*

• Speaking of setlists! After the show, the sound guy gave Alisha his copy of the setlist for no reason other than he knew she would give it to me. He probably overheard me boasting of the chest tattoo that I’m considering, which will say, “I’m the breast best” and no doubt he became enamored of me then.

What a great show. A short show, but great nonetheless. It’s a good time every time I’ve seen them. I love the Used.

*My absolute fave! Although, funny story: Around the time their first album came out, I had that song on a mixed CD in the car. This one afternoon, Henry and I went out for a drive when suddenly I became overwrought with nausea. Turned out that I was pregnant (not with Chooch) and instead of becoming averse to certain foods, I became physically opposed to every song on that mixed CD and even after I wasn’t pregnant anymore, it took me a long time to be able to listen to anything other than soft rock because of the bass. TMI? Maybe. But you should know that about me by now.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 14:00 Love is giving the last vegetarian sausage to your kid. Or is that fear? Yeah, nevermind. #
• 16:51 Spontaneous grinning is like a crack hit, only free. & it won’t fuck up yr teeth. Well, unless someone punches you during the grinning. #
• 17:24 Sorry Chooch, mommy doesn’t know how to make a “bitchy asshole” for dinner. Mommy can’t even make grilled cheese for dinner. #
• 18:22 for some reason, Henry doesn’t want to build me a clubhouse in the backyard. Now how will I ever have my waffle club meetings? #
• 18:47 Dad, I mean Henry, is dropping @saucalisha and me off at the Used show. Hopefully a block away. And by “a” I mean “6.” #
• 19:02 Thx Henry, beep a few more times. #
• 20:05 I think I am going to start writing prayers. #
• 20:07 Opening band is covering Spice Girls & Alisha keeps trying to hold my hand what? #
• 20:32 Alisha is secretly eating Cheezits because she’s afraid she’ll have to share with those around us, like it’s a fucking joint. #
• 21:23 Bert you can puke on me anyday! #
• 22:10 It was cathartic to hear the Used sing Liar, Liar. Little known fact: that song was written about Christina Nichole Harrison. #
• 22:14 Now we’re waiting for Daddy to pick us up. I’m guarding my setlist like it’s Jesus’s foreskin. #
  

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• 01:17 Evidently, the Penguins & Red Wings are drinking from the same WTF stream. #
• 09:55 Henry: “It’s always nice when Chooch is laying next to me & says ‘I’m gonna cut you, Daddy.'” #
• 11:34 My Class of ’97 painting is in an Etsy treasury, hooray! bit.ly/DX51H #
• 14:47 Watching Prom Nightmares. Chooch will not be attending his. #
• 15:45 twitpic.com/4ocnd – Chooch meets Nutella. (Of course I told him it was poop at first.) #
• 15:48 twitpic.com/4ocw5 – There is something deranged going on with him. #
• 15:56 I think my brain is swollen. Which is funny, because that’s how my dad died. #
• 18:20 @dyannnnna Pittsburgh: the other Seattle. #
• 20:20 I have hope for you yet, Penguins! #
• 21:24 MALKINNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <3333333333 #
• 21:29 Suck a dick, Obitchkin!! #
• 22:42 Well, now that that’s over, I can resume a normal heartrate. You know, as normal as possible considering I’m the mom of a crazyass. #
  

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• 12:37 Ordering a birthday cake when half of the invitees haven’t RSVP’d is awesome. #
• 13:58 I wish I could do backflips. That’s how I would leave the tea party I’m having right now with the Care Bears & Strawberry Shortcake. #
• 13:58 And then and then and then…. #

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It started out simply. Two old friends, meeting up in the city for some Milwaukee’s Best and beer nuts.

Paul talked ad nauseum about his new bride, Pricilla. Talked about how she picked up his dirty socks with a broad smile on her face and even wore a skimpy apron while cooking his meatloaf. If he brought her roses and Vodka, she would even make love to his anus.

Samuel, having been single for the last eight years, sulked a bit. He hated hearing about his friends’ good fortune with the ladies, while he was left to sleep alone, with nothing more than his pit bull to spoon. Though it was a step up from the iguana he tried to recruit as a temporary bedmate.

Paul didn’t like to see his friend look so sullen. He thought Samuel had some great qualities that many women would be attracted to. For example, the fact that he was the quietest farter Paul had ever met. (Though, were silent-but-deadlies any better?) And that he didn’t live with his mother. (Mostly that’s attributed to the fact that she’s dead.) And that he had a large weapons collection, with which to keep any woman feeling safe and protected. (Paul still wasn’t entirely sure why Samuel needed a bazooka just for fox hunting, though.)

But still, Paul couldn’t see any reason for Samuel to continue his dry spell any longer and became determined to find him a girlfriend. Or at the very least, a mute with a clean vagina upon which Samuel could practice, maybe get his groove back. So when they left the bar in favor for some totally non-gay window shopping, Paul broached the subject.

“Say, Samuel, what types of broads do you like?” Paul asked as they ducked into an Army Navy store, where Samuel darted straight to a counter displaying knives.

“Well, like I always say: I like my women like I like my ice cubes,” Samuel murmured absently, running a calloused thumb over the blade of a Bowie.

Paul laughed. “Frosty exterior with a piece of fruit in the center?” he asked, curling his fingers into exaggerated air quotes when he said “center,” and recalling that Samuel was really into freezing tiny pieces of nectarines in his ice cubes, which added pizazz to his signature summer Sangria.

“No,” Samuel replied, with a slight scoff. “Frozen in a tray,” he answered, sliding his credit card over to the cashier. “By the dozen.”

The other day, I found this picture of my friend Lisa and me. It’s from 1996, and we were at Denny’s before going to our friend Evan’s art show. I’m not sure why Lisa looks so tired. Maybe she was just feeling psychologically worn knowing that she had like, 5 more hours  to spend with me that day. (I was kind of hyper & annoying back then. I’m totally not like that anymore.)

Lisa was just in town over the weekend, and with her she brought her shiny brand new fiance, Matt. Because Lisa currently lives in Colorado and no one here in Pittsburgh had met Matt, there was a meet and greet at her grandma’s house Saturday afternoon. I wanted to make a good impression on Matt, so I sent Henry to Vanilla Pastry Studio that morning to pick up a quad of Congratulations, You (and everyone else) Got Engaged Before Me cupcakes.

We arrived to find Lisa in the kitchen, where a nice buffet of party food called to me like the fucking Green siren of weight gain. I kept eyeballing it around Lisa’s shoulder, and oh shit was that mango salsa? (It was.)

Lisa introduced me to her future husband by saying, “This is Erin, we’ve been friends ever since I threatened to beat her up in eighth grade.” (True story. It happened at the Halloween dance, because I was being a punk bitch.) And then I presented Lisa with the cupcakes. I was going to say something to the effect of likenening them to God’s wedding cake, because she’s a radical Christian; however, her dad was looming too close for comfort and I’ve always felt he didn’t approve of me (probably because my entire aura flashes HEATHEN in neon) so instead I was like, “Yo, here are the best cupcakes ever.”

And as she lifted the top, I stood there smugly, chest puffed out a little, waiting for her to enthuse about how beautiful they looked, almost too beautiful to eat, and if she could, she would choose one to wear atop her wedding veil.

But instead, she let out her signature goblet-shattering guffaw. (She seriously has the loudest, most startling laugh of anyone I have ever met and I pray someday it’s recorded and used in a cartoon.) And (after recoiling from the sonic blast) I’m all, “What the fuck is so funny about cup—-…..Oh.” Apparently, they had decided to have group sex in one of the corners of the box, presumably to an updated version of an old Spice Girls song,  “4 Become 1.” (That was for you, Alisha.)

And of course, the revelers had paused their conversations long enough to witness this catastrophe. (It was a catastrophe to me, OK?) I heard someone murmur, “Aw, oh no.”

Not really knowing what else to say, and feeling the burn of strange eyeball beams upon my person, I let out a monotone, “Oh, oopsies” which apparently sounded entirely more sarcastic than I intended, because Lisa laughed even harder and said, “Oh, nice reaction!”

Apparently, she thought I had known about it, possibly even done it intentionally. Then she made me say “Oh, oopsies” again and stand there awkwardly displaying the box of car-crashed cupcakes while she took a picture and EVERYONE WATCHED.

I know, I have been writing on the Internet since 2001, but I do NOT LIKE BEING FOCUSED ON IN REAL LIFE. I’m a walking study in contradiction.

Eventually, everyone ripped their eyes off my mangled mess and went back to conversing. I think half of the guest list was engaged. Lots of ring-flashing was going on, which made me glare at Henry with such intensity, I hope he could feel the bamboo sticks with which I was mentally q-tipping his dickhole.

“What?” he said defensively. “I’ll propose! When I find the right girl.” A typical Oh, Henry moment.

Later that night, Lisa called me to thank me for coming. Then she goes, “So Matt and I were reviewing the best moments of the day, and you and the cupcakes win hands down.” More raucous laughter. “What was it that you said again?”

Jesus Christ, Lisa.

To Henry, I was saying, “Why would she think I did that intentionally??” and he goes, “Uh, because she knows you very well and that’s totally something you would do.”

“Well, yeah. But not with her family there!”

Somehow, I’m sure I’ve made worse entrances, at least.

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

• 14:33 About to go dig up some bodies in the cemetery with @saucalisha. I wonder when I should tell her. #
• 15:48 twitpic.com/4hymw – Picking out tombstones, typical Sunday. #
• 16:55 twitpic.com/4i4m8 – Why do I do these things to myself. #
• 18:40 GO ANAHEIM! Poor dejected Red Wings. Wah. #
• 19:01 Me: “Get out of my studio!” Henry: “Uh, no. Get out of my KITCHEN. I’m trying to cook.” What’s more important?? Wait. Don’t answer that. #
• 19:30 Fuck, food tastes so much better when its cooked by Henry. Or mostly anyone other than me, really. #
• 19:35 I’m eating pierogies that are fully cooked, professionally seasoned, and aren’t capped with melted plastic! #
• 21:52 Shit, you make one phone call on a three-year-old’s foot & you’re charged out the ass for roaming. #
  

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• 10:14 Keep hearing songs that remind me of my favorite summer. Clearly its a sign from God to become a drunk whore again. #
• 10:56 @saucalisha I think first I’ll just stop wearing a bra. You know, ease myself back into the lifestyle. #
• 12:23 twitpic.com/4jrt9 – Holla to ur drunken mama. What? #
• 14:10 I’m so glad Donald Trump introduced me to Annie Duke because I needed a new face to visualize while kick-boxing. #
• 20:25 It really is the Crosby Ovechkin Show, jesus shit. #
• 21:42 Well, at least Crosby matched Rot-mouth’s, I mean Ovechkin’s hat trick. #
• 22:19 Its good to look up & see that my son is watching some bloody adult-oriented cartoon on YouTube. I really am fantastic at this mom shit. #
  

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• 11:57 Say, what’s that organ located on the right side of the body? No reason, other than I think its been punctured by my cage-fighter son. #
• 12:20 I just got a request to make an Abraham Lincoln monster and this prospect tickles me to no end. #

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When the alumni of Picklepepper High School’s class of ’97 reunited last fall on Principal Cattleslaughter’s barge, it was pretty much to be as expected.

Marsha Middlefinger, whose papa took the award in 1995 for Most Botched Breast Augmentations by an unlicensed surgeon, stood in the corner fortuitously spritzing silicone at the handflute player of the Inner Circle cover band.

Not shocking in the least.

Over by the punch bowl, Preston Prissy (who had been in every musical and was a regular attendee to all of the varsity wrestling matches) was wearing plaid and giving a tugjob to Chad McMasculine, who was the star quarterback and current owner of a frigid size 2 trophy wife.

No one did a double take.

Brandon Ivanavich, who had all female friends, cried over Days of Our Lives, and loved experimenting with new shades of eyeliner, was now Brandy Ihaveaclit.

Patty Prayer, who led after-school Bible studies and protested at the abortion clinic, brought her eighteen children to the reunion because her husband had left her for someone who used birth control and Patty felt babysitters were Satan’s adoption agents.

All of which was predicted by the yearbook committee.

And then Sharona Shameless sauntered onto the barge, leading behind her a bloated-breasted Mexican milkmaid on a rope. Sharona cupped a lactating boob and suckled heartily.

Someone dropped their highball glass of Zima on the rusted floor of the barge, and the room was sent into an uproar. Finally, the alumni had managed to find themselves in shocked awe.

Sharona had always been lactose-intolerant.

Learning About Plants & Kara

Originally posted August 21, 2007

There I was on a dreary Sunday, sitting around in just Henry’s underwear and watching instructional knitting videos, when Kara arrived to hang out. I started to get up from my filth to fetch her a particularly swiss-cheesy pair of underroos, when she stopped me. It seemed that in lieu of festering in Henry’s waste and eating freezer-burnt bonbons while watching 70s horror porn, Kara was in favor of actually leaving the house and going to that place where people go — I think it’s called the outside. Outdoors? Public? Slaughterho—no wait, I’m thinking of something else.

She seemed desperate to wile away her afternoon at Phipps Conservatory, where a riveting Chihuly glass exhibit was underway. Not wanting to get in between her and culture, I agreed. It gave me a reason to use my rainbow backpack that I bought specifically for Warped Tour but then left it hanging on the knob of the bathroom door.

Did I mention the adorable unicorn appliqué on the backpack? I hoped people would think I was a lesbian. A lesbian with an enviable collection of black light-sensitive felt unicorn posters in a day-glo array.

Flowers and non-flower plants don’t really get my fancy very tickled, but I was pleasantly pleased to discover some new species that I had never heard of.

1. Creepy Laughing Male:

Balding on the crown of his head and clad in an army jacket, this species will creep up behind you and molest your ear drum with his scandalous laughter, which feels like a big wet tongue and makes your shoulders raise to your earlobes in hopes of acting like a condom, before whipping out his camera and turning his molestational instincts onto the helpless plants. He is accompanied by his presumed paramour in a striped shirt and he will later make you recoil when he appears to be snapping perverse shots of a random baby in a carriage. Later you will learn that the baby is really his and his companion is his father, not paramour. But watching him slouch in his seat in the cafe still doesn’t make you feel like planting his seeds in your garden.

More angles of Creepy Laughing Man:

2. Witch Disguised as Pedestrian:

Slipping into a pink sweater does little to camouflage this white haired witch’s natural aura, especially when she is incapable of denying her vast knowledge of every spice and herb growing in the outside garden. Your first reaction will be to assume she’s planning on making a brew that will eradicate the entire elf population of Western Pennsylvania, and you’re ashamed when you find out that really she’s just planning on whipping up an aromatic stew for her dinner guests that evening. Way to be prejudiced. You’re probably also the kind of person who would slide over a chalice of bat juice to a witch without actually taking their beverage order, when maybe they’d have preferred a nice White Russian in a frosted high ball.

But yeah, you’re right. She does have some magical locks.

3.Thai Food Aficionado:

Can be found predominantly in the tropical gardens of Phipps’ Thailand Section, monopolizing the employee inside a kiosk displaying samples of Thai spices. He will pressure her until her eyes water in fear, demanding to know every last datum of curry until she eventually fakes the need to blow her nose continually, causing him to shrug and leave. If you have the misfortune of finding yourself ogling a lotus while he is within earshot, do not speak poorly of it, for his female companion (wife or mother, relation is unknown) will sneer at you and lambaste you about the sweet, sweet balm the lotus secretes, causing Thai Food Aficionado to radiate death waves from his robotic eyes as he brusquely chimes in that lotus root is best served as a tempura. Interaction with Thai Food Aficionado learns you that it’s about as savory as spending an afternoon under a willow reading Chaucer with some stink weed.

Here, Thai Food Aficionado is deciding if the pond fish would taste delicious with a nice curry. Later, you hear him spinning yarns of pad Thai and lemon grass.

To my delight, I also learned some new things about my friend Kara:

I had to double check my ticket to see if I was in Kara’s Haunted House.

Kara was also kind of cranky and surly. She admitted it was probably because she was hungry and in a very strange and disorienting moment, I realized that it was almost like hanging out with myself. If that’s the case, then damn, I’m annoying. Wait, don’t people tell me that all the time?

In typical Erin fashion, I ignored the fact that there was a finger print on the lens. It gives the pictures character. Charm? No? Ok.

Thingies.

Life would be worth living if these were what eyeballs looked like. Or nipples.

When penii party.

Would suck to fall on.

Kara’s fortress will protect her from all the scary flowers and sinister butterflies, but I fear she’s on her own with that foreboding sky.

Afterward, I fed Kara’s face in the cafe, where Creepy Laughing Man had been joined by his wife and kid and that dude we thought was his lover but really was his father. It was kind of comforting, even though I kept hearing him laughing and it was really like having my ear fingered, which kind of made me blush and wish I had a rosary to nuzzle.

Right before we left, Thai Food Aficionado stamped in with his mother-figure and proceeded to ask the girl behind the counter what every dessert tasted like. Kara and I tried to hold back squeals when they chose the table next to us. His companion, having fallen in love with her cake, made the life-or-death decision to go back and get another hunk, which she paid for in exact change. She then cut it right down the middle, employing an enviable steady-handed precision. I took it upon myself to imagine the dialogue exchanged was akin to her telling him that he just hadn’t lived until he prayed with the Tibetan monks, but instead it was really, you know, tasting some crappy cafeteria dessert. Thai Food Aficionado, well on his way to becoming Stale Dessert Connoisseur, speared his half with a fork and raised the entire chunk to his mouth. He gnawed off a large portion, swallowed, and then engulfed the rest.

I hope there was at least some coconut milk in it.

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

• 18:56 Me to Alisha, after she left the room while I was spraying Febreeze: “You don’t like Febreeze!?” Alisha: “Not on me, no.” #
• 23:32 And the Canucks just shit their pants. #
  

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• 00:27 Check out: “10 Questions: Blogger and Etsy Artist Erin Kelly” (twitthis.com/2errf2) #
• 10:20 Just had a flashback to when my cat’s LiveJournal was accepted into a pretentious journal review community. Shit, those were the days. #
• 11:02 @skyspun pathetic right? at my obsessive height, I think I had 8 fake LJs going at once. One was an amputated leg. #
• 11:58 If you need me, I’ll be out back, dunking my head in a rusted vat of kerosene. #
• 14:15 TouchnBrush is one of those unnecessary products I just have to have. Especially since it enables one to apply toothpaste with ONE HAND. #
• 14:16 Which makes it prudent for me since I have that amputation scheduled for the fall. #
• 17:36 Trying to find a gypsy caravan to join on Craigslist. I know I have a lot to offer. At the very least, I could be their sex pet. #
• 18:17 @daboogmang that’s the dream! Plus, I really want to wear long sequined skirts and carry a tambourine. And u know, pick-pocket fools. #
• 18:45 Training Chooch to be a pick-pocketer. Gonna wait til the church across the street lets out tmrw for a trial run. #
  

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• 09:43 Lately, everything reminds me of 1998. It’s like being in purgatory. #
• 11:33 I want to make a wall stencil that says “enter as neighbors, leave as a dead body in a garbage bag.” #
• 11:34 And now I’m laughing so hard & Henry is scowling. #
• 12:55 Pre-hockey dry heaves are awesome & remind me how totally NOT PATHETIC I am. Later, I’ll queue up some Sally Struthers hunger ads & cry. #
• 16:22 Spent 60min in a room amid flashing engagement rings. It was not awesome. Henry said he’ll buy a ring when he finds a girl to give it to. #
• 16:32 Getting a box of smashed cupcakes as an engagement congratulation gift: just one of the perks of being my friend. #
• 18:28 There are times when I wish I wasn’t too ADD to learn pipe bomb assemblage. This is one of those times. #
• 20:03 I caught Henry engaging in a bro-shake with our neighbor. Can’t wait til I catch them shaking weeners. #
• 21:18 Officially off mom-duty. What should I do first: speedball, cock fight, Jello-wrestle an Albino. #
• 22:56 It’s always nice when Henry reads something I wrote & says “you’re disturbed” & when I ask “what part?” he goes “the whole thing.” A+ #
• 23:32 Where has all the cowporn gone. #
• 14:00 May’s Dark Artist Spotlight is on moi, go check it out! http://somethingdreadful.blogspot.com/2009/05/blog-post.html #

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Hey!

Guys!

Stop!

There is a brand new website called American Indie, and it just launched last night. It’s an impressive and gorgeous joint effort filled with pop culture, music, art and features on people so rad that it’s imperative you  get to know them, and oh my god guess what for some strange reason they decided to throw me in there too and I am ever so grateful!

So please, take a few minutes to check it out and give them some comment-love too, because I know they worked so hard on it.

10 Questions about this girl.

But wait! Be forewarned — there is a rather giant photo of my dumb mug on it. Don’t go turning into stone or worse, contracting H1N1. Also, laugh heartily at the fact that I answered their “favorite city” question with a country, in true Erin form. (Aw, they fixed it! I need to hire them to walk with me through life.)