Before I regale you with the story of our (not so) debaucherous trip to the Westmoreland County Fair last Wednesday, I feel that it’s prudent to backpedal and preface that yarn with another tale that is absolutely wrought with horror and gore.

It all happened in the wee hours of Sunday, August 23rd, 2009. My man-steed and I had gone a record of three hours without bickering and decided to call it a night while we were ahead. Ascending the stairs in tandem, Henry did the most unthinkable, unspeakable act of betrayal: HE BROKE MY TOE. I screamed louder than Paul Sheldon.

Let me try and  recreate the “accident” for you: As I was lifting my fragile, tender right foot off the step, Henry’s big fat ogre foot came thundering down from the red-skied heavens and plowed into the step with timing so perfect he managed to clip my delicate, wonderous pinky toe. Unable to stop the momentum, my foot continued its flight to the next step, which turned my pinky into the Stretch Armstrong for podophiliacs.

I’m not sure if your Bible ever told you this, but toes for some reason are not molded from Silly Putty and are not meant to be pulled taut like taffy.

Probably you think my first reaction was to decorate the atmosphere with the gyrating notes of my blood-curling scream and bulge my eyes out a la Loony Tunes. That was secondary. What happened first was that my body petrified into solid shock (I think a crumb or two of my person even fell off) and I locked eyes with Henry for what seemed like three entire Degrassi episodes as I witnessed the worst sound ever (on par with Jessica Simpson’s country effort).

Try to remember that time you were in Milwaukee, visiting your friend Jeffrey Dahmer, that dapper cannibalistic prince. If your memory is nimble, you’ll surely remember sitting on his plaid La-Z-Boy watching the Wheel of Fortune, while he was busy in the kitchen doing prep work for the dinner party you were co-hosting later that night. And how could you forget when you heard the snap, crackle pop of what you assumed at the time was Jeffie cracking crab legs but later learned it was actually the soundtrack orchestrated only from the cleaving  of cartilage and breaking of bones that can and will occur when yanking off human toes with a nutcracker? Is it all coming back to you now? Are you fingering the zipper-like scar left on your asscheek, a treasured curio on your flesh from when Jeffrey tried to make an after dinner Andes Candy out of a sheath of your epidermis?  Well, stop that and go back to thinking of the sound of that dead body being mutilated on the cutting board.

Because that’s the sound my toe made.

I remained paralyzed on the steps for a half hour, wincing and cowering like an abused mutt each time Henry attempted to hook his arms under my pits and drag me up to bed (he taffied my toe, remember). And then I proceeded to act like a cripple for a fortnight (I’m lying; I don’t even know what a fortnight is. I’m dumbzzzz), refusing to leave the house and hopping to and fro on my left leg.

And now you are fully informed and brought to date.  Fairwell  now.

It was 4pm on Wednesday and we were getting ready to depart for the fair. Nothing aside from an air cast had even so much as grazed my right foot since The Accident, and I was still limping, but nothing was going to stop me from stuffing my feet into regular street shoes. And of course I chose my sparkly silver Converse with the narrow toe, not “sneakers” like Janna suggested right before returning her attention to her collection of vintage After School Specials.

That actually said “nipples.” Seriously, deep fried nipples are way better than you’d think, if you can get past the fact that the one you’re eating could be the leftover areola of a murdered stripper. Same texture as cheese curds.

After completing my mono-ped voyage down the steps, I collapsed into a sniveling heap at the bottom. “I can’t go!” I wailed. “It hurts too much to wallllllk!!!”

And then this scintillating exchange occurred:

Henry: “Wear the air cast.”

Me, with arm slung across forehead: “NO THAT’S SO DUMB!”

Henry: “Well, at least you’ll be able to walk.”

Me: “I would rather be in pain.”

Henry: “You worry too much about how you’re going to look! No one is going to care if you’re wearing a boot on your foot. When I’m out and I see someone in a cast or something, I don’t think it’s funny or anything like that.”

Me,considering this and then upchucking a laugh that stirred Satan from his afternoon Poker tourny with Hitler, Judas and Sarah Palin (she has a visitor’s pass):  “Oh. Well, I do.”

Henry, throwing his hands up in defeat: “WELL THEN YOU DESERVE IT.”

In the end, I wore my Converse and spent the evening hobbling around the fairgrounds in excruciating pain and perpetually chanting “Ow, ow” because god forbid some beer tee-sporting hick with a prison tattoo might think I had a club foot.

Now I’m tired of typing so ciao for now.

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

• 14:30 Prank calls never get old. Especially when there’s an unsuspecting party conducting it for me. #
• 18:24 It only took half a listen of his solo album to convince me that @jonnycraig4l is a musical genius. Not that I had any doubt. #
• 19:28 Upon telling Henry that I’m very hated in Ohio, he responded with, “In Pennsylvania, too.” Touche, my faithful steed. #
• 20:36 Hello, Things. You feel right again! #
• 22:06 Preordered the @craigeryowens solo album & actually giggled after. Now I’m gonna shine my Mary Janes & go down to the soda shop for a malt. #
• 22:58 No Henry, it’s cool. I live for taking out the garbage with a broken toe. #
• ***
• 11:38 My drawing skillz0rz are rustier than the crucifix in my basement & I get nervous when asked to use them. #
• 15:59 Oh, I am NOT wearing this gimpy cast thing to the fair. I’d rather grimace thru it. #
• 16:02 NO YOU CANT MAKE ME WEAR IT. #
• 17:24 Making truckers blow their horns never gets old. (And this time I’m really not referencing a sex act, I promise.) #
• 18:40 At the fair, limping amid a fleet of elderly. Still can barely keep pace. #brokentoepalooza #
• 19:37 http://twitpic.com/fdx6v – Henry: “Look those ones laid eggs.” Me: “Aw! Oh.” #
• 19:47 http://twitpic.com/fdyq2 – Henry: “Look those ones laid eggs.” Me: “Aw! Oh.” #
• 21:07 I feel like we spend 75% of the time standing around, judging people. #
• 21:37 twitpic.com/feeku – The fucking fair. #
• 21:55 Was just invited to come see Janna’s toaster oven. #
• 22:24 Hay look @ the dumb! someone has skinny jeans in his future:  Henry had Chooch listening to .. bit.ly/vVT76 #
• ***
• 09:32 REALLY wish my son would cease sharing certain thoughts. For example: I can’t wear my underroos; my weener’s too big. #
• 11:23 The Fresh Beat Band just “hiphopped and popped.” KILL ME. I can’t wait to send the ginger member hate mail. ON MY WORST STATIONARY. #
• 12:10 @saucalisha. I dunno. Maybe for the same reason we don’t call pierogies “potato-stuffed ravioli things”? #
• 12:37 Chooch told me he watched me kill zombies by stabbing their eyes into their brains. Here I thought I outgrew sleepwalking in cemeteries. #
• 13:03 Was asked “why do me & Blake have different moms?” Tried to explain via diagram, & he’s distracted by the imperfections in facial features. #
• 19:37 Henry won’t park in a handicapped spot just because I have a “limp.” It’s a SERIOUS INJURY. #
• 20:18 Told Henry to fuck off; he heard “far out.” I’ll induct that into my glossary as soon as I go sneaker shopping w/ Kristy McNichol. #
• 21:19 Giraffe did something stupid back in ’87. bit.ly/1fjfui #
• 23:08 Me: “Chooch is going thru the ‘taking care of mommy’ phase.” Henry: “That’ll end once he finds out who u really are.” Another 1 for the log. #
• ***
• 14:25 Just cut my thumb on an Exacto knife, which I suppose is why Henry made up that “No knives for Erin” rule to begin with. #
• 21:16 The name of Chooch’s band is Popcorn! In There. I predict Kill Rockstars will sign them and they’ll open for Xiu Xiu. #

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Henry appreciation post! (Sort of!)

Look at those nimble fingers. I wonder if his mommy knows she birthed one crafty motherfucker. And I mean crafty less in the “slipping rufies” sense, and more so in the “dude can go to town with some rubber cement and a sewing kit” sense.

He’d fit right in at a stich n’ bitch party. He’d probably even bring the best baked goods.  He also can do some car stuff, electrical work, and once he made us a screen for the door and I was like, “How did you do that?” and he was all, “I have screencutting tools,” like I’m some ignorant bitch for not asking him if he could make a screen before having sex with him for the first time.

Yes, he can do lots of things, but the challenge is GETTING HIM TO ACTUALLY DO IT.

I”m pretty sure he imagines my face when he gets all agile with his Exacto.

Now that I can’t justify going to a pretty salon and having sweet-smelling hair products massaged into my scalp, Henry has become my hair stylist and he actually does a pretty efficient job, considering my hair is two colors and he has to work with a comb puckered between his lips. (And the gloves that come with the box of dye, which are so clearly made for women.)

He doesn’t do all the work on my pendants though! Here is what I do:

1. Pick out the prints that I want him to use.
2. Order the pendants
3. Whine every day the pendants don’t arrive
4. Once they come in, etermine which ones go in which frames (we have gold, silver, and copper and not every print looks right)
5. Hound him every fifteen minutes when he comes home to fucking start making them already
6. Sometimes I cut the prints out for him
7. Hover
8. Yell at him when 1 out of a batch of 10 doesn’t come out to my standards

But I’ve been making new pendants on my own now! They’re a much bigger size than the framed ones, so I’m able to use a lot of the prints that I couldn’t originally. I can do everything myself with these ones! Well, except for the part where I need a responsible adult to bake them in an oven.

“The Goldbricker.”

I can’t remember the last time my dining room table was a dining room table. Between functioning as a serial killer card sweatshop, a dumping ground for paintings because there is little vacancy left on my walls, and now a jewelry factory, we never eat at the table. When (if) we ever leave this shit hole, I’m not signing for anything that doesn’t have an extra room we can designate as Crafter’s Hell, because I know for certain that I’m tired of painting at the kitchen sink. And that way, maybe if things get too crazy, I can shut the door real tight and go on an acrylic coating huffing spree. (I actually just sprayed some of that shit and am feeling pretty green in the face right now. And it sounds like sheet metal is shuttering next to my ears.)

 Henry had Chooch listening to A Skylit Drive at Hot Topic on Saturday, and lately he’s taken a liking to singing the Chiodos lyrics which are tattooed on my arm, complete with screaming into an imaginary microphone he fashions with his fist.  (And then at the end he dramatically says, “Oh, Chiodos.”)  He comes over to the computer and requests Bayside, Pierce the Veil, Isles and Glaciers, and The Used (which he refers to solely as Bert, because he’s on a first name basis with the singers of all of his favorite bands) and usually only needs to hear a few seconds of a song’s opening to determine who he’s listening to.

When he hears something new, he considers it for a minute and then says, “I’m gonna see them at Warped Tour.” I think this might be the most excited I’ve been since becoming a mother! Aside from Chooch (obviously), music is the most important thing in my life and to be able to share that with him is a fucking dream.

He had me repaint his nails yesterday (much to Henry’s delight), and when I was done, he fanned his fingers out and admired them, then blew on them slightly and murmured, “Just like Bert.”

I’m certain that Chooch will be fronting a post-hardcore band by the time he’s nine. Or at the very least, a metalcore outfit.

His current favorite video:

I love my kid.

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

• 00:25 Hay look @ the dumb! Chooch: Taking on the Neighborhood: Chooch is going through that pha.. bit.ly/Y5q2K #
• 10:29 Chooch is more believable acting like a monster than a human. #
• 18:01 twitpic.com/emx6b – Sandwich in one hand, junk in the other. Typical man. #
• 20:51 Swear Alisha just said “nipple-sized” hail. It was nickel. Same difference. #
• 11:47 MY JONNY CRAIG CD CAME TODAY OMG. You can’t see me but I honestly set my phone down to fan myself. #
• 14:07 You know what would be awesome? If Henry gave a shit about anything that goes on in my life. But that’s probably asking too much. #
• 14:36 Some people should really stop thinking that they won. #
• 18:09 Two Thrice tickets: officially procured. November is way too far away. #
• 19:57 If there’s one thing I hate more than the time I had to get a rogue condom removed, it’s sitting in the car while Henry shops car parts. #
• 20:26 I just smelled a haunted house. Or was that the musty bouquet of an old person (Henry)? #
• 21:47 Dear Diary, 2day I listened 2 Jonny Craig in the car & my sunglasses caught my tears. Had sushi 4 dinner & I miss writing. xoxo, this girl. #
• 22:49 You have a Queen. Why would you settle for a fucking maid? #
• 12:34 Via Henry: Chooch told an austistic girl in the library that she was talking crazy. Good job, Chooch. #
• 15:28 Alisha: “are you SURE your mom’s never told you about a time you fell down a multitude of steps & landed on your head?” #
• 15:36 Don’t tell me you wouldn’t laugh if you witnessed a small boy almost dumping his grandma out of a wheelchair. I had to duck in an aisle. #
• 15:57 Babies are so stupid. #
• 15:59 Apparently my prolific referencing of Degrassi is annoying to some people ALISHA PRIDDY. #
• 16:09 In the grocery store, some small boy said I look like Sam from iCarly & I swear I blinked the letters W T F. #
• 17: 01 Hanging a shower curtain with purple & black striped fingerless gloved hands ended up not being as glamorous as I had hoped. #
• 17:13 twitpic.com/ewcfs – My new gloves0rz. That is not my cat. #
• 17:51 Alisha’s making me lift heavy shelves in Target to work off the $1 pair of fingerless gloves she’s buying me. I’m not sure if that’s fair? #
• 18:21 twitpic.com/ewopr – Alisha’s massaging her inner carpenter with the aid of a pink tool set. #
• 19:12 Henry’s here 2 flex his testosterone & save the shelf Alisha put together backward. Asked if she got her toolkit fr om the lesbo catalogue. #
• 21:51 Hay look @ the dumb! Shopping Saturday!!: I know I gush about her a lot, but that’s b.. bit.ly/HQNhq #
• 22:35 P to the orn. #
• 00:42 Henry broke my pinky (originally spelled ponku) toe. He better heighten his senses because retribution is a bitch. #
• 01:29 Now when Henry says NO 2 something I wantsobad, I remind him that he basically amputated my pinkie toe. Monday the iron maiden gets dusted. #
• 01:53 Gee, I can’t wait 2 go 2 the cemetery tomorrow for a walk-OH WAIT THAT’S RIGHT. I have a broken toe & SOMEONE thinks I don’t need crutches. #
• 01:54 Did you KNOW that I have a broken toe? #shehasabrokentoe #
• 01:58 Perhaps if Henry had gone out & scored some morphine like I asked, I’d be able to sleep right now instead of having unilateral conversations #
• 10:16 Mistake #1: telling Chooch about my toe. Mistake #2: not reacting quickly enough as he went to inspect it. #
• 12:53 what’s a bitch gotta do to score some shrinky dinks these days. second thought, don’t answer that. #
• 12:55 “Yellow Balloon” – The Lolliwinks, or anything in Capt Kangaroo’s catalogue. #bestsexsong #
• 13:00 On the real though, Dillinger Escape Plan’s “Phone Home.” #bestsexsong #  
• 14:00 w/ Halloween so close, u should enter this skull-tastic giveaway from GrimVision! bit.ly/4BgnGX #
• 14:27 Henry and Chooch just left and seriously if they don’t back with a gift for me, I’m looking for a new family. Could it be YOURS? #
• 14:33 @awoodhick I’m hopping around picking up after you. There’s something wrong with this picture. #
• 16:12 My mom was able to make a smooth segue from my broken toe to Obama bashing. Christ, she’s talented. #
• 16:21 Janna said sneakers. #
• 16:29 I wonder why I can’t stop listening to the Used? What a stumper. #
• 18:14 I like how everyone’swalking around, flaunting their ambulatory prowess in my face. #
• 18:28 With all the typos I’ve shit all over the Internet today, you’d think I was typing with my broken toe. Maybe it’s these restrictive gloves. #
• 18:30 @katyhardy couldn’t agree more about Thrice. i just bought my tickets on friday for the pittsburgh show! #
• 21:52 Hay look @ the dumb! Sometimes Things Happen At Target.: Most of Saturday was spent with Ali.. bit.ly/hH6oq #
• 12:04 Chooch just said, “Janna loves to pee in my potty” which is so true, except she cheats on his potty with every potty she passes. #

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This comment belonged to Aik who chose the Bunch o’ Balloons pendant. Thanks to everyone for playing!

Most of Saturday was spent with Alisha while she did some big girl shopping. You know, boring shit like housewares and groceries. Mostly I just got in the way, although she did force me to help her stow a heavy shelf in the bottom of the cart at Target. It was funny (to me) because I was basically just touching it with my fingertips while she did all the grunt work.

While standing across from an acreage of paper towel choices, we witnessed quite possibly the funniest thing since miscegenation: A mom-type squeezed past us with her cart, followed by her (I’m guessing) 4- or 5-year-old son who was erratically pushing his cart, if a cart is really his wheelchair-bound grandma. That sight in itself was mildly amusing, because the kid kept skidding the wheels into the sides of the aisle. But then suddenly the mother bellows, I mean full-on unleashes the wrath of nine generations of pissed-off mothers, “Michael! That is NOT FUNNY!” because apparently Michael decided to turn granny’s wheelchair into a New for 2009 ride at the county fair, complete with sparking wheels and popping bolts, and nearly toppled her. And Michael, while his mother is coating his face with a sheen of scolding-saliva, is doing this unrepressed high-pitched giggle, like he knew what he did was wrong but it was just so goddamn funny.

I couldn’t control it. I was dying so hard on the inside that I had to back into the nearest aisle, lean over a shelf and laugh into my folded arms. Then I happened to catch Alisha’s eye, and she looked like she was going to pee herself as well. I REALLY want there to be a reenactment of that for the next Hover Round commercial. “Don’t let THIS happen to YOU.” It could be the next best thing since “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”

Somewhere between the bath aisle and toiletries, Alisha was on the prowl for measuring cups. As we’re standing there, a couple encroached on our personal space. The woman part of the couple saw something on the other side of Alisha and let out some high-pitched exclamation that only those fluent in kitchenware can understand as she reached across us to get a closer look. Catching herself, she looked over at us and apologized for being rude, which saved her from becoming an entry in Alisha’s Death To You notebook.

Her husband immediately joined in and joked, “Just hit her! That’s what I do!” Now, I was already giddy from Michael and the wheelchair shenanigans, so this whole situation was seriously fanning the giddy wildfire taking over my body. Alisha still looked a little uncomfortable by the fact that this intensely social couple was pulling us into their conversation. We learned the woman’s name was Melanie and that she’s never peeled an avocado but would consider doing so if she had the clever avocado tool she saw hanging on the wall.

It was about two minutes of high energy hysteria before they left Alisha to pick out measuring cups in peace. (She found orange ones. Orange is her favorite color and she says it in two syllables.)

I called out, “Bye!” making Alisha squint her eyes shut like she does so often when we’re together. (She doesn’t like that I encourage strangers to be social beings around us.) They turned around and loudly wished a good day upon us.

Now, I’m not ALWAYS down with situations like that, where strangers randomly try to strike up a conversation while I’m shopping, but there was something about them that I really liked, almost like they were inviting us to their inside joke party. It was bonding at its most purest. They were leaving right as we were checking out, and Mel and me (yeah, we got it like that) pointed at each other and laughed. As I watched their Steelers jerseys disappear out the doors, I felt my heart sag.

“I’m going to miss them,” I confided to Alisha. “Like, I keep picturing us having a barbeque with them. I might even let them talk about the Steelers.” THAT IS HOW MUCH I LIKED THOSE PEOPLE.

Of course I brought them up a ton of times throughout the day, and at one point I said, “I think I’m going to think about them forever.” Alisha’s  reply, which tested positive for sarcasm, was, “No, not you. You NEVER obsess over ANYTHING.”

Within minutes of leaving Target, I received a text from my friend Justin, whom I haven’t seen in years. He was my first “OMG I’m going to kill myself if we break up” boyfriend back in high school, but we’ve always kept in touch. The text said, “Hey were you just at Target? I thought it was you but wasn’t sure.” Now at this point, Alisha and I were walking through the Toys R Us parking lot.

I read the text out loud to her and yelled appalling, “He wasn’t SURE if it was ME? What the fuck, he’s been in MY VAGINA, for Christ’s sake, and he wasn’t SURE it was me????”

I guess Alisha wasn’t expecting that because she sort of looked a little blanched and her eyes turned into a spinning marquee of #!#@#$%$#@%$, kind of  like a  WTF-version of a slot machine. She kept murmuring, “Why? Why? Why did you have to say that?” while rocking methodically in the passenger seat.

“Well, you know me. It’s what I’m good at.”

“Putting people in your vagina???” she cried.

“No! Making people uncomfortable.” But the more I thought about it, both I guess.

I know I gush about her a lot, but that’s because Mrs. Evils is fucking fantastic. She’s the big sister I’d have aspired to be exactly like when I was a kid.

If we lived near each other, she’d never get rid of me.

I’d be all, “Andrea Andrea Andrea, make my hair pretty! Make my eyes bloody! Make me a grilled cheese! Help me dispose this body!” So I feel that I’d be doing a big disservice if I kept her pretty-creepy hair accoutrements to myself.

I’m a doofus when it comes to taking my own picture.

Like, it’s amazing that I don’t end up pretzeling my arms together. Because of that, I wasn’t able to get a very good head on shot of the flower’s focal point, but just know that it’s a SPIDER OMG.

She has one that has a gun on it.  I want it so bad.

LoudTwitter is back so this is the last time my tweets will be jacked up, yay.    

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Chooch is going through that phase that I always heard about but never paid attention to: the Telling People How You Really Feel About Them phase. For instance, he knows I dislike my one neighbor (for all you LiveJournal friends, that’s HNC’s wife/girlfriend/thing). She’s like the Ears and Eyes of the block, a gossip perpetuator, a rat. She’s always trying to trap me into her web by pulling me in close and whispering speculations in my ear about all the new neighbors, and then she expects me to rally behind her in her imaginary crusade. And on top of that, ever since Chooch had his step-falling accident in June, I felt like she was looking at me with suspicious eyes, silently accusing me. I also noticed that she had begun to speak differently to Chooch, almost like she was pitying him, which made me feel like a bad mom. So I said one day that I hated her.

And then two nights ago, she was outside and Chooch ran up to her and said, “My mommy hates you!”

Henry was outside when it happened and he said she didn’t say anything but that he’s 99.9% positive she heard him. Now, I don’t really care if she knows I don’t like her, but at the same time, I don’t need Chooch acting as some drama-spawning mouthpiece for me either. So that night, I sat with him on the couch and said, “Chooch, I don’t really hate her, OK? I was just joking.” He looked at me like I was crazy, like he couldn’t fucking believe I was sitting there promoting the art of flip-flopping so blatantly in his face.

“Yes you do!” he shouted. “You TOLD me you hate her! You told me THREE TIMES YESTERDAY!”

(In Chooch’s world, there are only two days: yesterday and Thursday. And everything is always said three times. Not twice, not five times. Three times.)

He also has no qualms expressing his own hatred to people. There’s a loud mouthed woman who’s friends with the infamous Robin from three doors down. Nearly every day, she visits Robin and then as she’s leaving, she always stops on the sidewalk right in front of my house, turns around, and continues conversing with a porch-planted Robin. And I’m always like, “Really? Does the whole town need to hear that you’re walking to CVS to buy a carton of Newports?” I don’t understand why she has to finish all of her conversations in front of my house. And she has one of those deep, distinctive, raspy smoker’s voices too, which makes it even lovelier. Sometimes, I like to peek out the window to see which Looney Toon character is on her shirt that particular day.

Anyhow, this broad drives Chooch NUTS. He’ll be sitting on the floor playing with his cars and then next thing you know our living room is polluted with this grating sonance. He’ll pause in the middle of a Hotwheels collision, make a disgusted noise with his throat and with a great dramatic flourish will whine, “Oh, it’s THAT lady again. God, I hate her.”

She happened to be walking past our house Friday evening just in time for Chooch to express his hatred in person. It was awesome.

I just hope he doesn’t tell the priest across the street the thing I said involving a crucifix and his asshole.

[I have more neighbor news which I will share later, preferrably when I unearth more facts.]

EDIT:

I was just outside and The Broad was leaving Robin’s house. Not ten seconds after I took this picture, she turned back and shouted (and I do mean hollared), “Did you take the keys out of my purse?!?” When she got no answer, she tossed her arms up exasperatedly and continued her drunken cat walk  in white foam mules. I am SO GLAD that happened otherwise I’d have felt like a liar in light of this post.

Broad with the pasty, spider-veined & suspiciously bruised legs, please don’t ever stop your hollering, because it never fails to make me lose it every time.

I want to go back to filling this blog thing with content. Or whatever the fuck it was that I used to fill this space with. Trust me. But through a fucked-up twist of fate, the job that I thought I was being reoffered has been taken away from me because apparently I have an alter ego that smokes pot. So I have been slamming ass trying to get shit done so that I can perhaps make enough loot to tide me over until my next opportunity to hopefully pass a drug test.

So I have been biding my time with custom work. My favorite of late is a family portrait I painted as a surprise for one of my repeat customers. Her husband contacted me on the sly, sent me a few photos and gave me a list of their interests and I went from there. It was stressful, yes – custom orders always give me heart palpitations but the end result is what keeps me coming back for more.  This one ended up going real smoothly once I got started.

I got the seal of approval from the husband, so I’ve started breathing properly again since Sunday.

In other Etsy endeavors, I had started a shop a year ago with the intent to move my holiday cards there. Mainly I wanted to keep them separate from my art so as not to scare away the “normal” people who are there for the art, but even then I guess my companion stories are enough to black list me from “regular” Etsy shoppers. But really, I wanted them to be on their own so that my main shop didn’t get too variety store-esque.

In between multiple viewings of “Degrassi Goes Hollywood” (OMFG JAY HOGARTTTT!) & freaking out in a near-empty theater after midnight with one Janna Hazelbitch Hustwit to the spastic images of “Demons Among Us,” I sat in front of the computer in 90+ degree heat, redesigning my old serial killer cards. I am finally starting to feel content with them, especially the Lizzie Borden one which always fell flat with me.

I got to go for a really great power walk in my favorite cemetery on Sunday. There is something sadistic living inside me, possibly the devil, that makes me crave exercising underneath a sweltering sun and face-melting humidity. I LOVE IT. And it gave me a chance to really give the new not-yet-released Used album a good, honest listen and I fucking swear it is so near perfection that I would like to purchase it five times when it comes out at the end of August. It’s one of those albums where nearly every song makes me blush because I feel that deeply connected to it, as though Bert has written about something that I might have some experience in. It’s just one of those very relatable albums. You should go get it when it comes out. I think it’s the best material they’ve produced to date.

Listening to it, out there in that cemetery, it made me ache, yet feel really calm within myself for the first time in months. Like when you let out a deep sigh and realize that you were practically holding your breath for what seems like an entire lifetime?

And now I just feel really content.

dontcha wanna, wanna win one.

The last giveaway I had was the bathroom plaque contest I did way back in March or April, so I feel as though the time is nigh to rectify the fact that my blog is re-virginating itself to giveaways.

Since my pendants are brand new, I figured this would be a good way to maybe stir the buzz-pot and generate some excitement, because I (and mostly Henry) worked hard on them. And wearing art is pretty hot. I think Perez Hilton just dropped a blog joint about that. I even heard one of those Gossip Girl broads is starting a collection.

Hurry before one of those prissy celebutantes uses one of their six-inch Louboutin heels to grind this trend into the Red Bull-littered sidewalk outside of the Chateau Marmont  faster than the Uggs faux-pas of 2003. Oh wait, they’re still wearing those things. Scarves in summer? Oh. Sorry, Kate Hudson.

Rules:

1.  Check out the pendants in my shop to see if you even really want to win one. Keep in mind that we are continuously making more and there are plenty of different designs about to be served up. I’m just waiting for Henry to ding that bell.

2. If you still are dreaming of being A Very Big Winner, leave a comment saying something along the lines of “Hi I would like to enter, and I think you have pretty eyeballs.” Or you could omit that last part if schmoozing makes you diarrhea-prone.  And please be sure to leave a valid email address where you can be reached.

3. Spread the word! If you retweet this on Twitter, post it on Facebook, link back to it from your blog, come back and let me know in another comment. Now, my math is pretty rusty, but I DO BELIEVE that gives you a BETTER chance of The Big Win.

4. The winning comment will be chosen using the generator on Random.org next Sunday, August 23rd at 9pm est. Winner chooses which pendant they want. (A few more examples can be found here.)

I like feeling like Santa Claus. The end.

• and now he’s watching ABBA videos on VH1 Classic.less than 5 seconds ago from web
• Me, as Henry pulls & yanks my hair like a caveman: “Lucia doesn’t dye my hair this roughly.” Henry: “That’s because she doesn’t know you.”less than a minute ago from web     
• Missing Stockings pendant might be my fave: http://bit.ly/pj1gp via @addthis12 minutes ago from web     
• Henry’s dyeing my hair. I swear that man was a chick in a past life. (Good thing I like girls too.)14 minutes ago from web    
• wants to be cuddling with circa survive right now. preferrably in a cemetery.about 3 hours ago from web     
• http://twitpic.com/dr1c1 – Sissy La Laabout 4 hours ago from TwitPic     
• Still waiting for the day I can report that I carried my coffee through one room without spilling it .about 8 hours ago from web
• Hay look @ the dumb! The Pendants Have Landed: The Conversation: $12 + shipping. Size:(appr.. http://bit.ly/LkwBYabout 18 hours ago from twitterfeed    

**** 

• 8 years I’ve been with this guy & never knew he dislikes peaches. There is so much I could have been doing with this information.about 21 hours ago from TwitterBerry     
• Out of frustration, I said “Come on!” & the ever-so-wise Chooch mumbled, “THAT’S not going to get you ANYWHERE.”3:37 PM Aug 12th from TwitterBerry     
• Two more days until the Degrassi movie. I should have a party. That’s a more deserving event than my birthday.11:11 AM Aug 12th from TwitterBerry     
• Revamping my Xmas cards for 2009: http://bit.ly/yhTs0 via @addthis9:35 AM Aug 12th from web     

**** 

• I don’t know why Chooch wants me to fingerpaint with him because all I’m capable of is adding blood everywhere.11:09 AM Aug 11th from web     
• It’s a Twilight Sad sort of day. Incidentally, it makes for an excellent fingerpainting soundtrack.11:08 AM Aug 11th from web     
• The Conversation pendant, as modeled by a 1970s nudie mug. http://bit.ly/ASBgw via @addthis10:55 AM Aug 11th from web     
• Wants to have a party & doesn’t need a reason, though something involving catapults & Elmo dolls keeps coming to mind.9:36 AM Aug 11th from TwitterBerry     
• What, you don’t sign off your tweets with the letter Y?1:03 AM Aug 11th from TwitterBerry     
• I hate giving up on a book. Almost as much as I hate giving up on meth. Y1:02 AM Aug 11th from TwitterBerry     

**** 

• Henry just bought metal files, & when the cashier asked what he was using it for, he said, “It’s for…..jewelry,” then his dick shrunk.6:03 PM Aug 10th from TwitterBerry     
• this bastard bot done made my muthafuckin’ day. RT: @swear_bot I’m gonna fuck you until you pass out, @vagynafondue.1:28 PM Aug 10th from web     
• Chooch found a spider in the corner; is inviting it to do a puzzle w/ him. Brought back my own memories of teaching a Mantis to count coins.1:00 PM Aug 10th from TwitterBerry     
• I hate the ginger chick in the Fresh Beat Band. I want to rip off her smirk and use it to gag her decidedly not-fresh rap skillz.10:36 AM Aug 10th from TwitterBerry     
• Just told Chooch about the tooth fairy & he very emphatically said he can’t like her. Now he’s trying to covertly jiggle his teeth.9:48 AM Aug 10th from TwitterBerry     
• Maybe when I’m a grownup, I’ll be able to sleep without the light on.12:47 AM Aug 10th from TwitterBerry   

****   

• In the car, wanting to see who could scream the loudest but no one will play along.5:46 PM Aug 9th from TwitterBerry     
• The Cure’s “Push” was on at TCBY & Chooch got all happy. This was right after I switched cones w/ Henry because I always pick sucky flavors.5:30 PM Aug 9th from TwitterBerry    
• Good goddamn, Xiu Xiu in the car on Sunday = my version of church.2:16 PM Aug 9th from TwitterBerry     
• Something might not be right if I’m crying at the end of Arachnophobia.11:35 AM Aug 9th from UberTwitter     
• Why yes, I WOULD like to sleep with the lights on tonight, thank you.2:51 AM Aug 9th from TwitterBerry    
• First 30 seconds into the playground, Chooch’s fall count is 3.2:36 AM Aug 9th from txt     
• Henry said he doesn’t get weird vibes from our house. Then why won’t the pussy sleep in the attic like I dared him.1:35 AM Aug 9th from TwitterBerry  

****    

• At Tom’s Diner, having birthday french toast with Brenna. She eats pierogies with Italian dressing.6:19 PM Aug 8th from TwitterBerry     
• SHIT. Etsy shops like THIS ONE make me wish Chooch was a girl, though a little dress-up never hurt anyone (???) : http://tinyurl.com/n6tqre2:59 PM Aug 8th from web
• Since spell check always wants to change “xoxox” to “socks,” I’m just going to intentionally sign off emails that way from now on.11:04 AM Aug 8th from web     
• This lightweight had entirely too much to drink. Street-walkin’ time! Watch out all you garbage cans & desirable hobos.12:37 AM Aug 8th from TwitterBerry     

**** 

• Sometimes solace can be found in unlikely places.11:53 PM Aug 7th from TwitterBerry    
• Hay look @ the dumb! Blood Box: I was bored on Sunday so I did what any other bored person w.. http://bit.ly/fd3tO11:01 PM Aug 7th from twitterfeed     
• Hi, TwitterBerry. Are you working yet?7:42 PM Aug 7th from TwitterBerry    
• I have paint all over my house, and no one to blame but myself. Fuck.2:53 PM Aug 7th from web    
• RT @SWStitchery Who doesn’t love a discount?? 15% off with code “TWT15” at http://swstitchery.etsy.com (excludes custom, exp 9/23/09)12:47 PM Aug 7th from web     
• Not being able to tweet from my phone makes me feel crippled.9:06 AM Aug 7th from web    
• Last time we were @ Henry’s office, Chooch put a bunch of pens etc in the safe. Today 1 of the salesmen got in trouble for it. I laugh lots.8:59 AM Aug 7th from web    

****  

• Shit — John Hughes? :(4:43 PM Aug 6th from web     
• Janna shouldn’t be talkin’ ’bout how divine her banana bread is ‘less she’s ready to bake mama a loaf.4:17 PM Aug 6th from web     
• Thank god Janna is here to make us pierogies for lunch. (Maybe I should check the status of her bleeding first, though.)2:24 PM Aug 6th from web     
• Janna cut her thumb on a swing and is now HIVing this joint up.2:02 PM Aug 6th from web     
• Dear Janna: you chew your gum like a JV cheerleader filing her nails in study hall. Sincerely, Gum Chewing Patrol.12:39 PM Aug 6th from web     
• I hope to never hear “blog” said so many times on the news again; after awhile it just sounds like blaaaawg & it makes me feel aggressive.12:56 AM Aug 6th from TwitterBerry  

****    

• My kid’s apologies are thoroughly unconvincing but he at least sounds cute pleading his case, that little asshole.7:08 PM Aug 5th from TwitterBerry
• @awoodhick hay asshole. I’m hungry.6:04 PM Aug 5th from TwitterBerry     
• I’ve never given a shit about one goddamn thing Oprah has to say. It’s a lonely club to belong to, but I don’t care. Never got her appeal.4:05 PM Aug 5th from TwitterBerry    
• Chooch just split his lip & when he saw the blood around his mouth, he got excited instead of crying because “it’s just like vampires!”2:47 PM Aug 5th from TwitterBerry  
• It’s never not a good time to watch “Fright Night.” Except for maybe during a vein ligation procedure.10:36 AM Aug 5th from TwitterBerry

The Conversation: $12 + shipping.

Size:(approx) 23 x 16.5 x 2mm (whatever the fuck that means)
Material: Zinc Alloy Metal (Lead Free & Nickel Free)
Chains unavailable at this time.

If there is one thing I have learned over the past few weeks, it’s that I am not a jeweler. Henry apparently is, though, thank god. I picked out the paintings I wanted to use, I ordered the supplies, and then I did a whole lot fo hovering while Henry did all the resin-working. Even before he started mixing that shit, I already knew that I didn’t have enough patience to do it  myself. We went through several bad batches, but after a little tweaking (and a whole of tantrums on my end), Henry finally got it just right and now he’s a smooth resin operator. I’m pretty sure I heard him talking in his sleep about all the things he wants to coat with resin, and Lady Gaga’s penis was one.

Sigmund: $12 + shipping

Size:(approx) 23 x 16.5 x 2mm (whatever the fuck that means)
Material: Zinc Alloy Metal (Lead Free & Nickel Free)
Chains unavailable at this time.

But don’t go thinking I didn’t play a part in this project, because I attached those little jump rings on the tops of the pendants ALL BY MYSELF. With NO TOOLS.

The above pendants are listed on Etsy already, and the ones below are currently made and ready to go as well. If there’s one you’d like to have, either pictured below or something you’ve seen in my shop, let me know and we’ll work something out!

My blog might be lacking in content and entertainment value for a little longer because I’m putting all my focus on these pendants, a few custom pieces, and revamping my serial killer Christmas cards (I’m really, really excited about this!).

For the longest time, I didn’t have my high school listed on Facebook because I just flat out did not want to be found. The only reason I used Facebook at all was to keep in touch with recent friends, not reunite with old ones. But eventually, people started finding me and friend requests began to stockpile. I’d stare at them, hover the cursor over “Accept,” then veer it over to “Decline.” Then back again. Over and over until I would eventually just log out altogether.

It’s like a phobia, not wanting all those people to know who I am now and what I’ve been doing and have done and am planning to do.

Because of the way I bowed out back then, I had harbored some uneasy feelings about my high school years and instead of remembering the good points, I’ve mostly just dwelled on the confused decisions I’d made.

But then I saw this one girl on there, and I thought, “Aw, she and I were close at one time.” We had a story-writing club in middle school. It was pretty lame, but thinking about it made something tug at me. And so I friended her, and she seemed genuinely happy to reconnect with me. From there, people started finding me. And while I only declined one request so far (for very good reasons and I have no idea why this broad would even WANT to feign affectations toward me), it has gotten easier each time, and I’ve been reminded that I’m not as horrible as my insecurities, issues and failed friendships have fooled me into believing. It’s helped me see that maybe I didn’t finish high school, maybe I didn’t finish college, maybe I don’t have a job right now (OK, this seems much worse now that I’m typing it out), but there are still things that I am doing with my life and have some cool shit that I’ve already accomplished, so maybe I’m not too much of a failure.

Coming to terms with this is a really big deal for me!

(As I’m typing this, Chooch is standing next to me, persistently chanting, “Are you done?

Are you done?” because he wants to play puzzles on jigzone.

com and let me just tell you, I rue the day I showed him that site.)

So in honor of high school memories, I’m sharing these scanned excerpts from my (9th?) 10th grade yearbook that I found in my old LiveJournal photo folder. They make me LOL.

So, judging by these, we learn that in high school I was: loud, annoying, mean and sometimes broke out into disco dance numbers. Sadly, it appears that I haven’t changed much, except in lieu of disco, my only dance moves on the current are raising the roof and sometimes a very lazy shimmy.

I want to know what you guys were like in high school. Tell me, tell me now!