Archive for July, 2009
#3 TWLOHA
Every time I do Blogathon, I try to pick a small charity that might get overlooked and overshadowed by the bigger ones. But never has one been so close to my heart as To Write Love On Her Arms.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had bouts of depression, mania, suicide dreams. the urge to hurt myself or break things. It got really bad when I was in high school and I knew something wasn’t right, that living like that couldn’t have been normal, and the school’s social worker knew that something wasn’t right, but it was something that my family just didn’t want to hear. Still, my mom abided by the school’s wishes and got me into therapy, though she held true to her theory that this was all “because of a boy.”
But it wasn’t because of a boy and it was the first time things started making sense to me. Depression, bi-polar, any mental illness, wasn’t something that was being talked about that much and it wasn’t like I could call up a friend and be like, “Hay girlfriend, how ’bout that chemical imbalance, oh hahaha.” I did a lot of suffering in silence pre-therapy. If I tried to talk to my family about it, I was laughed at. Accused of trying to get attention. Well, um, yeah. I kind of was. Attention to the fact that I needed help.
But then my mom pulled me from it. And I went back to being unmedicated and it didn’t take long at all for the heaviness to come back over my heart and the noise to refill my head. For years and years and years, when people would ask me, “Why did you drop out of school?” I would say I didn’t know. But I do know. It was that. It was something I couldn’t control and it was my own way of running from it. And my family still laughs at me when I try to talk about how I feel. Still.
These days, kids talk about it. And if their family is as close-minded as mine, they have other people to go to. It’s not taboo anymore. And with organizations like To Write Love on Her Arms, kids are starting to realize that there is help, and hope, available to them. And TWLOHA is very tightly affiliated with music and Warped Tour and you see bands wearing the shirts and I think that makes it even better because it gives it less of a clinical help-line feel and more of a haven for kids to know that it’s OK, that they WILL BE OK.
I wish To Write Love on Her Arms was around when I was in high school.
#2 Where I Learn (and abuse) A New Word
It was a Friday night. I had just gotten my squirt gun death sentence handed to me by Henry. The TV was on but no one was really watching it, until Alisha – probably becoming annoyed with me – decided to ask, “What the fuck movie is this, anyway?” because it was one of them old-fashioned flicks ya’ll might run across on the telly-vision every now and then.
Henry hit the info button and the synopsis said something about politics, romance and miscegenation in the South. He was all, “Doo-dee-doo, what does that word mean, you guys?” and I realized that I had never seen that word before.
And I like words. I’m what you might call one of those word-likers. (And barring all the typos you see here on the daily, I swear to god I’m a good speller too! I’m just blog-sloppy!) And Alisha, who is typically quite snooty when it comes to anything where she can brag about how intelligent she is, admitted defeat as well. So I looked it up on dictionary.com using my phone.
Now, there is nothing funny about the definition of this word. It just basically means “interracial relationship” and to laugh at that would be racist and bigoted. I’m not either of those things, but I laughed anyway. And continued to laugh for a very long time. In fact, when I first saw the definition, I laughed like I was on “Silent Library” – a hearty, husky, deep-throated, “Haaaaaaaah!!” so that Alisha and Henry were leaning forward, asking, “Well, what does it mean??” When I told them, they recited a very anti-climatic, “Oh.”
“How do you say it?” Alisha asked. I was going to walk over to the computer to pull up dictionary.com on there, so I could listen to the pronunciation. But something made me try it on my phone first. I didn’t expect it to work, because my Blackberry is such a fickle cocksucker sometimes, but it pulled up my media player and moments later, a male computer voice was saying, “miscegenation” over and over.
I COULD NOT STOP LAUGHING. The only other person laughing was Chooch, because he is my son and he just gets it. HE GETS IT. I was laughing so hard, I had to squeeze my thighs together so I wouldn’t leak. I was laughing so hard, I could feel my face growing red and suffocation marching in over the idiocy horizon.
“I wonder if I can save this and make it a ring tone?
” I wheezed.
AND THEN I FOUND OUT THAT I COULD! AND SO I DID! And then I made Alisha call me 47 times so I could squat in a puddle of hysteria and swipe away at the funny-tears. And then Chooch got upset and said, “I DON’T want to hear it anymore!” Jesus Christ Chooch, I had only been playing it for an hour!
Every chance I got, I’d use it. But I can only say it in a deep whisper, stuttering the “m” so it’s more like m-m-m-iscegenation. And then I start laughing riotously while Henry scowls at me in disgust. CHOOCH SAYS IT TOO! Watch So You Think You Can Dance for a good example of miscegenetic dancing!
A week later, I was reading a book she had lent me and I came across this:
And yay, I finished this before 9:30 so now I can pee!
10 comments#1 So It Begins
Last night, I had a dream that I had a beer bottle tattooed on my left forearm and a beer can on the right. Besides being the yokeliest thing I can imagine to have permanently etched into my skin – besides perhaps the Appalachian mountains with a laundry line garland, crowned with a bottle of moonshine – I can’t stand beer. So imagine my relief when I woke up to “Baby, You Wouldn’t Last a Minute on the Creek” (my alarm, because I’m sixteen), stretched out my arms and saw that they were free of beer paraphernalia.
And then imagine my panic when I realized that, oh hello, today is Blogathon.
It’s not too late to pledge! This is where I will reiterate the deets:
$10 allows you to give me a word, any word, and I have to use it in a post.
$15 and you can have me take a photo of Henry doing stuff. (He’ll probably flat out refuse anything pornographic, just a heads up on that, ya’ll.)
$20 gives you all of the previously mentioned (wow, what a deal) and a 5×7 original painting on canvas board by my own hand.
$25 and you can dump an mp3 CD in this treasure trove of incentives
$30 and I will sing and record a song of your choice, which I will post on my journal, providing you a soundtrack for when you throw my painting in the trash
The charity I’m blogging for is To Write Love On Her Arms. I’ll be writing more about them as Blogathon drones on, endlessly, slicing my will to live into tragic paper dolls.
So far, what you can expect, thanks to my awesome sponsors (seriously, you guys make my tiny little coal heart spark a little), are pictures of Henry:
- with a fried egg on his head
- cooking couscous
- doing a somersault in his underoos (still trying to convince him of all the awesomeness packed into this one)
- hanging upside down, doing something nice for me
- doing some bad ass air guitar
- MySpace-esque picture with ME
- eating cotton candy or some kind of candy
- Henry kissing me
- Henry doing aerobics
- Henry doing hopscotch, bitches
- being served beer by Alisha
Words my sponsors have chosen for me to use:
- sammamish
- blumpkin
- dreamscape
- crematory
- scintillating
- Antidisestablishmentarianism
- skeet skeet
- schadenfreude
- perennial
- esoteric
- malady
- guano
Songs I have to sing:
- “I Just Want To Be Your Everything” – Andy Gibb
- “Ladies Night” – Kool and the Gang
- “Informer” – Snow (which should be interesting because I can’t find a karaoke version online anywhere)
- “Fuck the Police” – NWA
- “I Was Made For Loving You” – KISS
- “Wannabe” – Spice Girls
Some of you have donated amounts that meet certain incentives but haven’t given me your sponsor wish list, but you know, I’m here all day. And all night. And all morning. So get back to me!
Also, if you’re one of my awesome LiveJournal buds, please for today only don’t comment on the LJ feed. Comment here on my actual blog! I love replying to anyone who takes the time to leave a comment, but since I’m not sent notifications for comments left on the LJ feed, it’s too time-consuming for me to check all 49 posts over there today since I’ll be hustling with the writing. And I want to know what you gots to say, boo. Like, really. I do.
OK, I’ll be at my grandma’s, breaking all the good china over my head. Peace out, girl scout.
Set Your Goals – This Will Be the Death of Us
I didn’t like their first album because they were too New Found Glory-ish (little known fact: two of least favorite bands are New Found Glory and Blink182, let the horrific outcries commence), but their new album which just came out last Tuesday is very pleasing to me. Actually, any band that features guest vocals by Vinnie Caruana is immediately made right in my world. Like, Vinnie and Jessica Simpson could duet and….no, never mind. I lied.
Anyway, I am wanting to go see them next week. I’m not sure if I’ll be working then or not, because I only just took my drug test the other day and I have to wait for that and the OMG-background check to come back. (They basically made me reapply all over again, which is annoying to everyone involved but it’s the law of FedEx.) I swear I won’t do what I did last time I was hired there, and immediately ask for a day off during my FIRST WEEK because I had tickets to Chiodos. (And I mean, it’s CHIODOS and I had bought those fuckers the day they went on sale.) If I end up working that night, I have no qualms about going to the show alone, straight from work. Even though I’ll look like a socially-crippled creeper lurking in the shadows.
Oh wait, that’s just when I visit nursery schools.
2 commentstweets, trying to conserve actual substance for saturday. as if i ever have any substance.
Start at the bottom and read up, please. Don’t forget your complimentary dinner mints on the way out, I spent a whole minute lacing them with arsenic.
- Oh my god, Henry is ALWAYS on Facebook now. He even threw bacon at me. Yeah, he’s THAT into it.
- The posts would go something like this: Henry told me to get out again so I shoved a cheese grater into his sternum.
- Found a recipe for plum berry whole wheat tarts. I think Henry should make them during Blogathon & I will write about it.
- Hey, maybe my arm WANTED a piss-bath today.
- 25 empty seats & this broad sits across from me. Naturally I said hello all brightly. @saucalisha would be so angry if she were here.
- http://twitpic.com/b4r2i – I’m in the market for a grandpa. Think I found a keeper.
- I have to pee very bad. Good thing I’m going for a drug test.
- I can’t express how much it tickles me that Henry is on Facebook, posting notes.
- Henry always says “I love you, bye.” I usually just hang up. Aw.
- Hay look @ the dumb! : Hey. You. Blogathon is on Saturday & you know how you can help m.. http://bit.ly/CxzLv
- Swear I just saw the Virgin Mary taking out her garbage but I it was an old man in a blue raincoat. Either way, felt like genuflecting.
- In other words: delish.
- Cheez-Its snack mix tastes like I puked up tomato soup & then re-drank it from the mouth of a scurvy-afflicted deckhand from 1874.
- If I was a cop, I’d dump the holster & shove my pistol in a hair-hive that 8 Bumpits will help to achieve. Sky’s the limit w/ Bumpits.
- Listening to Kara talk about the perils of pregnancy during lunch @ the Doublewide did not make me miss baby-growing.
- Henry just got in the car & stunk it up with the aroma of beef product. His excuse is that he’s a male.
- Tubesocks. #whatyourmomwearswhilebangingthedogcatcher
- Potpourri. #thingsinakillershouse
- In other news, I asked ChaCha what town a certain zipcode belonged to & it gave me a 3day Pgh weather forecast. Snow tmrw, supposedly.
- There’s a huge spot of squashed roadkill up the street from me and I haven’t seen my camel since Thursday. Game over for THAT pet, I guess.
- Alisha: “Why do u raise the roof so often? The roof is already raised. Leave it the fuck alone.” Because it’s the only move I got.
- Alisha just chastised me for an hour for spelling MRSA wrong. SORRY FOR WANTING TO STICK AN “E” IN THERE IT’S MY FAVE LETTER.
- http://twitpic.com/ay297 – Wish I was wagonin’ it with those fools.
- “The rabbit,” when asked what I was laughing for. Alisha: “STILL? That was like 30 minutes ago.” And then I still had to explain why.
- http://twitpic.com/ay13h – Giddy @ Sonic. Alisha: “Look a bunny!” Me: “Aw. Bang bang, bitch.”
- The selection of dirty toenail-stuffed sandals in this joint is staggering.
- Finally, someone cool’s coming into IHOP to distract me from looking at the old man’s hand next to me, which looks like a chunk of cured ham
- OMFG JON SECADA SINGING AT THE UNIONTOWN IHOP. It’s 7th grade all over again.
- http://twitpic.com/axq3b – Made it, & now I feel like everyone’s staring at us because we radiate The City.
- Stopped at a gas station for directions. Had to get directions on how to leave the gas station too. This is a lot of hassle for a pancake.
- Sunday roadtrip for pancakes, talking about stalking, & listening to urban jamzzzz.
- Yes huh, daddy long legs are cute so STFU Alisha.
- I swore Alisha just crossed herself but she was in fact fixing her sleeve.
- Alisha’s a stupid bitch who doesn’t want to see any of the quality flicks I want to see.
- http://twitpic.com/awjhz – Virgin Mary wins it every time.
- The flea market makes me want to smoke Pall Malls.
- http://twitpic.com/aweqh – Oh hell yes, my walls will be smiling today.
- Brought Alisha to Rossi’s Pop-Up Market for her first time and she is a’quake with trepidation.
- In 1998 I killed a farmer & hosted a dinner party on his disemboweled torso. Was great until someone poked an eye out on his rib.
- Some days I wake up and wish my name was Wanda. Today isn’t one of those days.
- Or leave off the “u,” as I proceeded to do later.
- when sending correspondance to someone named “Doug,” it is wise not to accidentally add an “h” at the end.
- Hay look @ the dumb! Kara, don’t look at this.: Hi. Today is my friend Kara’s b.. http://bit.ly/WSCoq
- At Denny’s with Blake, Chooch, @awoodhick and @cantcme99 for foodstuffs not created by Hoobastank.
- I just found out Henry has been on Facebook for FOUR MTHS & never added me. Betrayal what now?
- Blake just caused an older couple walking past my house to pause and frown.
- Blogathon is one week away & I’m doin’ it for @twloha, ya’ll. Read more here if u want to sponsor me! http://ohhonestlyerin.com.
- You know I have a bad headache when I leave before cake. BEFORE CAKE.
- Thanks to Chooch & his addiction to iSpy, I won a prize at Kara’s baby shower.
- Afterthought: Should have brought a jacket to the cemetery.
- If I don’t go to a show soon, my will to live is going to atrophy. Someone play in my living room. Quickly.
- Henry won’t help me wrap a baby shower gift, says I need to learn to be a better girl. Sorry in advance, @ohidontthinkso!
- Evidently the reason Chooch has been slinging the word “gorgeous” lately is because he thought it was a bad word.
Hey. You. Blogathon is on Saturday & you know how you can help me? Give me a prompt! Or ask me something that you’ve always wanted to know & I will devote an entire post to its answer. (Keep in mind I’m a high school drop out so don’t askin’ me no hard ones, yodel-dee-dee.)
Do it here or email me at butgavincantdance [at] gmail [dot] com.
Also, if you’ve pledged $10 or more, don’t forget to tell me what word you want me to use /photo you want of Henry / song you want me to sing.
Thanks.
Missing you more than Milli Vanilli,
Erin fucking Appledale
7 commentsGilbert’s Last Goodbye
There was something about the way the sunset ensconced Gilbert’s head in a fiery halo that made Maryannsuellen think of the stained glass in her church, and how she was always afraid that the colored panes would come crashing down around her; the crudely created depiction of The Crucifixion vivisecting her, unfurling her skin into flesh ribbons which the paramedics would likely chuck out the back of the ambulance for sport as they barrelled past Feck Farm, leaving the local pigs to feed on skin suey.
Maryannsuellen gave a little chest pop to ping the paranoia pressure away and hugged Gilbert a little tighter, a bit more desperate than she tended to embrace someone. Just in case.
Gilbert scraped her from himself and laughed nervously. “Maryannsuellen, please.” With one last uncomfortable chuckle, Gilbert saw himself out of Maryannsuellen’s brownstone and began his walk home.
A Newport hanging from his bottom lip, and a cowlick in his bangs, Gilbert rummaged in his slacks for his lighter. Realizing he must have left it on Maryannsuellen’s night stand after their post-coital smoke (which he mostly partook in to combat the awful glaze of funk she left on his tongue), Gilbert made an impromptu stop at Calvin’s Corner Club for Cheap Crap. He didn’t typically patronize this particular store of convenience, as it was located at a crossroads known for amateur ninja violence. He saw it on the news nearly every night. But he really wanted a cigarette, and also to possibly see what kind of naughty rags they had behind the counter.
So Gilbert really shouldn’t have been surprised when, getting no further than the threshhold of the store, his carotid artery was stabbed by a Kohga ninja throwing star.
The next morning, Maryannsuellen read about Gilbert’s murder in the paper. She was still sobbing in her grits hours later when her cat began rubbing against her ankles, a hint that he would like to be eating his lunch now, please.
Snapping out of it, Maryannsuellen’s gaze lifted from her now-congealed grits to the scratched Zippo laying on the crest of piled porno rags from Calvin’s and the bills for her oxygen tank.
She picked it up, twirled it around between her thumb and forefinger and ran a ragged fingernail along the etchings left by too many meetings with the asphalt. “At least I’ll always have this small part of him,” Maryannsuellen said fondly of the stranger she brought home the previous afternoon from the furry convention. And the impatient beckoning of her 3 o’clock john distracted her from any more thoughts about Gilbert.
Kara, don’t look at this.
Hi. Today is my friend Kara’s baby shower and I made this for her. I hope she doesn’t think it’s lame. If she does, I’m telling her Janna made it.
2 commentsTweets, from the hump of my camel
Tweets: Brought to you by Erin’s slick copy and pasting skillz, imaginary pets, and SILENT LIBRARY.
- Was getting lectured by Henry about how I only care about myself. Interrupted him to demand pancakes.
- Oh no wait – there was a rape reference slung in there. I lose.
- I just wrote something without referencing cocks, murder, bait shops or rape. I had to rub my eyes and look in the mirror.
- And now my favorite SYTYCD girl is gone. I think my camel is upset too. At least, I suspect that’s what the steaming pile of shit was for.
- It’s nice I found out Blogathon 2009 is happening, with 8 days to pick a charity and beg for sponsors. Awesome.
- Taught Chooch that whispering involves actual words being spoken not just lip movement. 1st thing he whispers to me? i hate u. ur a jackass.
- My son is nude & posing inappropriately.
- http://twitpic.com/akatm – @ my fave place, freaking out to my fave album from summer 05. Guesses?
- RT: http://www.epitaphblog.com/… – win a free Epitaph Gnarly wristband (via @EpitaphRecs)
- Just fed my camel the cleft chin of an altar boy.
- Sometimes screamo is the only way to blast the static noise from my head. That’s better than a prefrontal lobotomy so I’m not complaining.
- Wonder if my camel will get me 2 Buffalo in time for Chiodos’s 2:55 set. Or at least the nearest rest stop where I can have a trucker orgy.
- Today, I finally buy that camel I’ve had my eye on. He will be my taxi to the Casbah where I’ll get molested by a throng of Moroccans.
- In some states, 45-year-old Mexican men (or, girls that look like one) get carded for R-rated movies.
- IM GOING BACK TO FEDEX PRAISE THE FUCKING LORD!!!!
- Oh good, my blog’s un-broked. I can take down the noose.
- Tried to run off to Scranton today, but Henry went into dad-mode & stopped me.
- Currently having Evil Dead 2 babysit my child.
- And “Easy Lover” comes on while I’m full of falafel – WHAT A GOOD DAY.
- http://twitpic.com/adj5l – Alisha & I are both wearing green I hope ppl don’t think she’s my GIRLFRIEND. Gross.
- Goddammit I think he’s gay.
- http://twitpic.com/adc5z – Alisha’s foyer, want to sit in it for always. Bring me my tea cozy, bitch.
- Yes, keep looking @ me with those ICE BLUE EYES MR LANDLORD
- Hot for Alisha’s landlord.
- Alisha’s new street has crippled people and MERSA.
- At Alisha’s new, closer-to-me apartment, waiting for her to sign the lease, and planning a new photoshoot in her CREEPY foyer.
- I can’t begin to explain the great effect cemeteries have on my mental state. It’s like being swaddled in God’s distressed foreskin.
- I would like to go back to a time when Miley Cyrus’s annoying face/voice/persona wasn’t a hot commodity.
- Thank you, Chooch’s ass, for bringing up instructions on how to remove a speed dial contact. No more purse-dialing ex-bff!
- Conversations would be more interesting if they all started with “Last time, on Matlock..”
- Oh shit, I just cried during 7th Heaven. I think I’ve been Christianized. Fuck, and there goes my stigmata.
- Blue + yellow = puke.
BLOGATHON 2009
Motherfuck, you guys! I kept checking the Blogathon website to see if it was going to happen this year and there was no info. Nothing. So I gave up. Then an hour ago I was inspired to check once more and oh HELLO it’s happening alright, happening NEXT SATURDAY.
I really want to do it again. I did it in 2006 and 2007 and while it was supremely nerve-wracking and just – WOW -, it was also mildly entertaining and rewarding. So I have one week to get sponsors. Because of the time restraint, I won’t be able to really come up with new creative incentives, so I’ve combined the ones I’ve done in the past.
$10 allows you to give me a word, any word, and I have to use it in a post.
$15 and you can have me take a photo of Henry doing stuff. (He’ll probably flat out refuse anything pornographic, just a heads up on that, ya’ll.)
$20 gives you all of the previously mentioned (wow, what a deal) and a 5×7 original painting on canvas board by my own hand.
$25 and you can dump an mp3 CD in this treasure trove of incentives
$30 and I will sing and record a song of your choice, which I will post on my journal, providing you a soundtrack for when you throw my painting in the trash
The charity I’ve chosen is my beloved To Write Love On Her Arms. Full proceeds to go to them. I get nothing but sleep deprivation, a slightly snapped psyche, and the satisfaction of doin’ right, you guys.
Now, it goes like this. You sponsor me. Any amount you want. $5. A hundred $5s. If you can’t go the monetary route, you can support me by leaving encouraging/needling/smarmy comments on my blog.
Show up at my house with frozen yogurt, cocaine and dynamite.
Draw a picture of me ruling over the entire Internet with the body of a pregnant mermaid.
And then, on Saturday July 25th, starting at goddamn 9am, I will start blogging. For twenty four grueling hours in an un-air conditioned house. One post, every THIRTY MINUTES. For those of you who failed math, that is a LOT of goddamn writing, and you better bet your bloody corn cob that those posts will be riddled with typos because look at the REGULAR ones I write. Shit.
To sponsor me, bless your heart, click on the banner below. Nothing is due until Blogathon is over, provided I follow through and get it done without screw ups. And even then, they give you a grace period to fulfill your pledge.
Pass it on, pass it on good and hard. If you see this more than once, my apologies, but some heavy-duty cross-posting is in order since I only have ONE WEEK.
Thank you for your time in this srs matter.
***Past Blogathons to prove that this is NO JOKE***:
(P.S. For those of you that subscribe to my blog, I’ll find a way to turn off notifications for that day so your inbox doesn’t get raped with Oh Honestly Erin emails.)
(P.P.S Henry said he’s leaving town.)
22 commentsA LETTER
Dear precious Blackberry,
I was really kind of embarrassed Saturday night when I realized that I was purse-dialing my most recent ex-boss as I left Target. I quickly punched you in an effort to end the call and hoped that he wouldn’t call back.
Well, he did call back, it just took him five days, but the call came bearing good news.
Blackberry, I have my job back.
I had to re-apply for it, and employment probably won’t start until a week or two (barring any abnormalities in the re-hiring process/my infamous black cloud coming back to hover) but holy shit, it will be nice to have a steady income again. Especially since our second income just ended last week. And it’s still a part-time position so I can still piss around with that art shit.
I have no idea if I remember how to do a single fucking there. Oh well!
Blackberry, I’m attributing my good fortune to you, because I believe that my boss forgot that I existed until you decided to prank call him at 9:30 on a Saturday night, making him realize that hey, maybe there was once again enough work down there for a need to bring me back in. Thank you, Blackberry, and my inability to put you in lock-down mode despite everyone’s urging.
Loving you lots like tater tots,
Employed Erin
tweets brought to you in reverse order by Phil Pfister and the word “miscegenation”
- Good goddamn, I haven’t had a single second to sit down and just fucking chill all day long. Give mama a fucking cigar.
- Why golly, son, we have different last names because YOUR FATHER WONT MARRY ME.
- Hay look @ the dumb! Coming Soonish: Wearable Art: Oh hey it’s art you can wear, and .. http://bit.ly/cbQ4m
- In my head, these things are hilarious. I don’t think Henry & Alisha agree.
- Nearly peed myself as I popped out the front door to say “m-m-miscegenation” to a porch-sitting Henry as an example walked by our house.
- Then I couldn’t stop picturing him running Baywatch-style across the sand en route to catch squid for dinner. My little Henryhoff.
- Thought I heard Henry say he’s making squid for dinner & he goes “yeah, I just ran down to the ocean.” I laughed for an entire minute.
- Listened to the dulcet tones of my phone repeating “gonorrhea” for 15 minutes. I’m in tears from lol’ing, Alisha is rubbing her temples.
- I have a long list of interests & hobbies, such as miscegenetic flagellation. Hopefully match.com can use that to find me a mate.
- My fried green tomatoes have some pink to them, like they’re a product of a miscegenetic relationship.
- Me? Weird quirks? Alisha thinks she knows me so well. I have no such quirks.
- Alisha’s rant du jour: why adding bacon or sausage increases a meal by $2.20. It’s like hanging out with a senior citizen.
- I will never understand Vampire Wars. But at least I have a cool name.
- So glad Silent Library taught my kid how to snap my bra.
- Didn’t realize how short I cut my bangs until the humidity made them go all Bettie Page on me. I guess that explains the current urge for whip-play …
- My favorite part of summer is the dirty looks I get as I sit @ red lights with screamo on high. Oh also – my neighbor Robin’s tubetops.
- I think Alisha and I need to start an amateur boxing league, and all the bouts will be me against her.
- Just sat through a ten minute vitriolic rant about Shoes Under from Alisha. Am a little frightened. It ended with “…& it boils my blood.”
- @cantcme99 haha, u dummy-turkey
- http://twitpic.com/a28k9 – “A book to record the colorful things your kids say” bahahahaha.
- http://twitpic.com/a25vy – Where my obsession with Phil Pfister was born.
- I bet Phil Pfister is down with #miscegenation.
- Phil Pfister, you should be ashamed of yourself. Just go home already.
- Apparently I’ve been saying “light & refreshing” all day.
- Sometimes, when I really want to push Henry out of his comfort zone, I send him to Starbucks.
- @saucalisha oh thx a lot, I directed that
- Watching Chooch eat a bowl of shredded cheese, I said “What a weirdo.” He said back to me “Look at yourself.” WTF!?
- What? Hackneyed bangs are in again.
- Today I will be attempting to work with resin. If you have a storm cellar, get ye ass down in there.
- Hay look @ the dumb! humor me, humor you: My friend Ally posted this on Facebook. I did it t.. http://bit.ly/6VAGT
- Always feel slightly hungover, w/ a desire to punch a mime, after a night of extreme giddiness. Glad my friends have a high Erin tolerance.
- Hay look @ the dumb! a post of random happenings: Tonight is Henry’s last night at his.. http://bit.ly/13ysen
- Alisha won’t comment on my Facebook status because she’s “having a conversation [about miscegenation] with someone else.”
- Someday, Chooch is going to hear “miscegenation” as an adult & wonder why he feels so scared.
- Set it as my ring tone, made Alisha call me & proceeded to traumatize my son by laughing so hard.
- I want this to be my ringtone.
- Have my phone pronouncing “miscegenation” in a loop. I’m the only one who thinks its funny. Chooch said he doesn’t want to hear it anymore.
- Oh, so my mom’s home from the hospital, but no one felt obliged to tell me. Fantastic, guys!
- Just got my ass kicked by a squirt gun-wielding douchebag known as Henry.
- Alisha thinks it’s creepy when grown ppl whisper. Then she sang us the ABCs.
- Yeah, I don’t know why I’ve been worried about a school district for this kid. He’s so not going anywhere.
WARPED TOUR 2009 EDITION OMG
I waited all year for Warped Tour. It’s the closest thing to Christmas I have in my life and I savor every fucking second of it. It’s music music music all day long. And I do love that there music. This year, we were going to attempt to take Chooch, but ticket prices were raised and since we’re going back to one income, we decided to pawn him off on Janna. I think he ended up having a day just as full as ours, anyway. (Thank you, Janna!)
We stood in line for a good half hour because I made sure we got there as soon as the lot opened, which was an hour before the actual gates open, because I’m tightly wound and panicked for a week about the possibility of missing a band I really like because they don’t announce set times until that morning, and and and omg someone get me a valium. There was an abandoned mother standing next to Henry and every time I looked over at her, she’d catch my eye and every time it looked like she wanted to strike up a conversation, but instead she’d just smile. Henry was getting uncomfortable because she kept standing so close to him. I thought it was cute, in a “When Oldies Collide” sort of way.
The good thing about standing in line, besides scene kid-watching, is accumulating free shit and demos from members of small local bands. One of those bands was Remember Thy Name, who were handing out flyers which had their set time and stage info on it and urging everyone to check them out. Since the flyer touched my hand and I said “OK I will” out loud to the dude, I felt obliged to make good on my word. And then I went back to bouncing up and down and squealing “I’m so excited!” in Henry’s ear until they finally opened the door to my own version of Heaven and we all pushed our way in only to stand around looking dumb and confused like lost puppies. You know, the usual.
Henry and I aren’t mean enough to make Blake and Deanna hang with old people all day, so we said goodbye to them and then continued roaming around and looking lost and confused.
Luckily, we got inside with enough time to find the appropriate stage and check out Remember Thy Name. One of my favorite moments of the day was when we approached the side of the stage just in time to be met with a barrage of guttural bellows and machine gun drumming, causing Henry to mutter, “Oh yay, I love them already.” I actually did end up loving them, a lot. Thank you for soliciting me in the parking lot, Remember Thy Name.
It had only been about thirty minutes since we began mingling with Western Pennsylvania’s finest collection of kids, and Henry already looked like a billboard for Advil. Perhaps he was sad that he didn’t bring enough money for concert gear. Last year, I know he had his eyes on some booty shorts.
We got to catch a little bit of Underoath’s set on the mainstage (another band that makes Henry grit his teeth) before shouldering our way to the Hurley stage for Bayside. I figured Henry would probably appreciate their set because they’re not screamo and the crowd was decidedly older and less scene. Yet, every time I asked him if he liked them, he’d mumble, “They were OK.” What he was thinking was probably, “They’re no Kansas.” But whatever, they wound up being one of my favorite sets of the day. And it was nice getting to be up close and not having to worry about having my neck broken. Although, throughout the day, I kept seeing some girl with a neckbrace and found myself in an oddly uncomfortable state of covetry.
So, if you’ve read this blog a few times you probably won’t be shocked to find out that I was primarily there for one band. As in, the price of the ticket was worth a thirty-minute set by them alone and I could’ve left straight after and have been happy. Chiodos, main stage, 1:55.
I dragged Henry up to the front of the stage just as Flogging Molly was finishing up. Chiodos are worth the risk of having my brittle, over-aged bones cracked and acquiring attractive barrier bruises along my ribcage. I’m still not too fond of having bitches dropped on my head, so my peripheral vision has to be on-call for this shit.
We could see Chiodos behind the stage, getting ready, and I had a fifteen-year-old girl moment when Bradley returned my wave with spirit fingers. I fucking love Bradley. And then I had a twenty-nine-year-old adult moment when some skanky bitch behind me repeatedly screamed JOEY! into my ear and I don’t know who I hated more: the skank and her skank-shout, or Joey for not hearing her skanky beckoning from all the way in the center of the massive throng of kids that had accumulated in preparation for Chiodos. Fucking answer her, Joey!
They opened with Undertaker’s Thirst for Revenge is Unquenchable and I was stoked when Nick Martin (Underminded) came out to scream. He’s on the album-version of that song and in the video, and he was on Craig’s solo tour last spring, but I have never seen him live on stage with Chiodos. I squealed. Several times. Even tugged Henry’s arm. It’s kind of like that feeling when you think you’re only going to be having sex with one person that night, but then surprise! Menage a trois. What a fucking treat.
Nick Martin can scream in my face all day and I would still beg for more.
And at one point, Jag from A Skylit Drive filled a small guest spot on vocals. It’s exciting to me when people play musical-bands at Warped Tour, because when else could you see, say, Jeffree Star sharing a stage with Breathe Carolina? Not that that’s a good thing.
I liked watching the expressions of security when Craig decided, during “A Letter From Janelle,” that he wanted to get as many people crowd-surfing as possible. Like they really needed to be told. I love watching this, kids simultaneously popping up into the sky everywhere, like some bizarre birthing art-installation. It never gets old for me. Until some motherfucker’s shoe knocks me unconscious. Then I probably won’t enjoy watching too much after that.
Yes, I pay money to be immersed in this.
Nick came out again and was all crouched down at the edge of the stage, completely in an angry-scream zone, and BSouth (The Receiving End of Sirens – RIP to a great band) kept nudging him with his foot until Nick ended up on the shoulders of one of the security guys, never missing a beat. I think it was my favorite moment of the day, aside from Henry’s anguish, which was less of a moment and more of, you know, THE ENTIRE DAY AS A WHOLE. But he likes Chiodos, I know it.
They ended the much-too-short 30 minute set with “There’s No Penguins In Alaska,” which I hope reminded them that their hockey team were bested by the Penguins. Oh, burn.
They didn’t play any new songs, so that was a bit of a bummer. Craig has been taunting everyone on Twitter with tiny updates about the new album they’re writing and I was hoping he’d toss us rabid fans a bone. But they did my favorites: “Baby, You Wouldn’t Last a Minute on the Creek” and “The Word ‘Best Friend’ Becomes Redefined” (still not fantastical tattoo-tingling during it, though).
We took a break in the shade so I could eat my contraband protein bar lunch. Henry looks like his labret is pierced in this photo but I think it’s just lint. Old men have lint.
I did some Versa Emerge-stalking for Alisha, since she couldn’t be there to (not) do it herself.
I kept touching the camera lens all day long, as this photo denotes. This was right after Deanna informed Henry that two people holding hands does not mean they’re going out. Or as Henry still says: “Going together.”
One of the bands that surprised me the most was A Skylit Drive. I missed most of their set because they played the same time as Versa Emerge and I was trying to split the sets so I could see both. But I made it to their stage in time to hear enough to fall in love. They ended with “Eva the Carrier” and I fucking almost started crying. The singer sounds like how I imagine a mer-man to sing: high-pitched and ethereal, like wetting your finger and running it around the lip of a crystal goblet. The stage they were playing on was the one under the ampitheater and the acoustics of it sent his voice traveling all the way up to where we sat, making chills drip down my spine.
I’ve been listening to that song 15x a day ever since.
Henry was not impressed. Like, at all. And somehow, he later managed to sleep through Dance Gavin Dance’s and Black Tide’s entire sets. I twitpic’d a photo of him sleeping, and my friend Matt had the good call of replying with “Hahaha, what’s up Father Time.” INDEED.
Warped Tour abominations:
1. Millionaires. A trio of half-naked skanks hopping around on stage, and lip-synching rapping. They had about as much rhythm as me and all I could make out was “Fuck” being slung incessantly because probably they are too vapid to come up with anything else. You know, GOOD RAPS like I used to write under the Glocks On Our Dicks alias.
2. Jeffree Star.
I know people bitch about how Warped Tour has taken the punk ethos and raped it silly, but I’ve always admired Kevin Lyman’s ballsiness in adding screamo, metalcore, and dance punk into the mix. I think that there’s a really great mixture of music in the lineup and if there’s not at least one band you can be down with, then probably these things just aren’t for you in the first place. However, I have a big problem with shit like Jeffree Star and Millionaires because it’s hokey and if what Gabe Sapora says about Millionaries is true (that if you don’t like the, you just don’t get the joke) then that’s a little insulting to those of us who give shit about music. And as for Jeffree Star, he doesn’t care about his music, he’s just in it for shock value from what I can see, and that’s not very punk rock.
But maybe I’m just old and jaded.
I wonder if their pubes are that natty. If so, it must be a real BITCH for the STDs to get through, like a dolphin in netting.
One of the last bands of the day was Dear and the Headlights, a band I’ve loved long time, but have never seen live. I can’t tell you how excited I was. Too bad they weren’t very fun. I mean, they sounded great, but seemed very aloof on stage and kind of ambivalent to the prospect of playing at Warped Tour. And then the singer asked what everyone wanted to hear and some girl near me yelled “Daysleeper” and I was like, “Oh yes, God yes, play Daysleeper” because that’s my favorite, and so he proceeded to ask, “Um, why that one? It didn’t even make any of our albums.” And there was something slightly condescending about how he said it, so that made me lose a little love. Although, I too was a little cranky by that point so maybe I won’t hold it against them. They ended up never playing “Daysleeper” though, those cocksuckers.
I ate Gobstoppers on the way home.
12 commentsComing Soonish: Wearable Art
Oh hey it’s art you can wear, and it’s on the cheap. (Possibly on the creep, too.) Tiny versions of a selection of my paintings are in the process of being lovingly mounted to these cute picture frame pendants, and when I say “lovingly,” you know that Henry must be helping me. Because if I was doing this on my own, I’d probably have hammered them in there with a dead man’s femur by now because Jesus Christ is this shit tedious.
Hopefully they will be finished sometime before Henry dies. And hopefully everyone will like them, or at least lie and say they do.
In other news, I am obsessed with the word miscegenation and have even turned dictionary.com’s audio pronunciation of it into my ring tone and Alisha wants to rip her ears off because I played it in a perpetual loop Friday night and apparently I have a habit of overplaying things, and now my son walks around chanting “miscegenation” at whim. It all stemmed when Henry clicked the info button on the remote to see what some old movie was about, and the synopsis said something about politics, romance, and miscegenation and somehow all three of us had gone our entire lives without ever hearing that word (and for Henry, that is one long ass time) so I was forced to look it up on my phone. And this is how I found out that my phone actually plays the pronunciations and ya’ll don’t even KNOW how tickled my fancy was at that fucking moment in time. Since then, I have had my phone announce the words “flagellation,” “gynecologist,” and “gonorrhea” ad nauseum and have subsequently had my phone confiscated more than once.
I am twelve. OK, nine.
Also, I was obsessed with Strongman competitor Phil Pfister yesterday because hello, awesome name that doubles as nom de gay porn, and because his faces looks like if Huey Lewis and Eddie Money were Mr. Potato Heads and had all their features mixed up.
And by “was obsessed” I mean that I thought he was awesome until he turned out to be FailBot: Strong Edition. He couldn’t even pull a fire engine past the finish line in under 48 seconds, what a fucking weak loser.
Get fisted, Phil Pfister.
4 commentshumor me, humor you
So I decided after yesterday’s downer of an entry, I’d post this here because it’s nice and light, and then every one reading (YES, YOU!) can fill it out themselves and then we can have a big fat “getting to know each other” party and I’ll bring the porn. Come on, it’s a crappy Saturday and I’m bored.
1. My ex… is a Facebook friend so obviously we have no beef. Two of them are actually. Is that weird? Probably is for Henry, oh ho ho ho.
2. Maybe I should… stop being such an asshole to my friends, but then they’d probably be bored around me.
3. I love… my trucker-mouthed son, Henry (on pay day), and grilled cheese.
4. People would say that I am… weird, obnoxious, looks like a turtle.
5. I don’t understand… recipes.
6. When I wake up in the morning… I torment my child until he wakes up too. Then I make coffee and spill it all over myself. EVERY MORNING without fail. Which is why I only lasted one night as a waitress.
7. I trust…. Henry, but that took years and years. Also, I trust in my ability to take a good thing and decimate it.
8. Life is… an internal war.
9. My past taught me… what kind of mother I DON’T want to be and that 80s synthpop is the best.
10. I get annoyed when… people interrupt me because don’t they know that I am weaving a gilded yarn right before their eyes? DON’T THEY KNOW WHO I AM?? Also, when Henry leaves his dirty socks all up on my floors.
11. Parties are… best when I invite in people off the street and watch all of my friends mumble uncomfortably and prepare to dial 911. Also, they are best when someone gets naked. I’ll have a party and you should be that person. Yes, you.
12. I wish… my cat Marcy really was immortal. We’re besties, she just denies it. But I know behind that sinister glare and murderous hissing, there is love.
13. Dogs… make me sad that I live in a stupid duplex with practically no yard.
14. Cats…. were never an animal I cared about, but I’ve accumulated four since I moved out into my own place at 18. I love them, but I do not love that they pee on things that are not meant to be peed on. Unless it’s something of Henry’s, then it’s all “be my guest.”
15. Tomorrow is…. another day to wean my son from swearing.
16. I have a low tolerance for… watching people being cut open, though I’ve always felt that if I were the one navigating the slicing apparatus, I’d be all good.
17. If I had a million dollars… I’d dump Henry so fast. Purchase a few dozen nannies for the child. Ingratiate myself with the D-list and get my ass on TMZ every other hour, bitches. Also, I’d finally get to buy all the merch I want at Warped Tour, instead of puffing out my bottom lip and coveting all the cool scene attire from afar. I’d buy some Kanye glasses too, and they’d be made of George Washington’s bones and embedded with some fine ass rubies.
18. I’m totally terrified of… being murdered. Rivers. Driving past factories and things with big electrical towers and look I’m so terrified just thinking about what to type that I’m not even making sense. Power plants. Being lost. Plane crashes. The ocean. Outer space (SICKENING!!!!).
19. When I look at the night sky I think… that there are probably a lot of dummies getting murdered right now.
20. If I could be anyone, I would be… someone who is dead.
