Coral Armour of the Tiny Tragedies was one of the first members of Etsy’s Dark Side that I came across. I remember this distinctly because it was last fall and I desperately wanted something from her shop but Henry said NO because he’s MEAN and clearly was home sick the day all the boys learned about how gift-giving saves relationships and earns occasional weeknight blow jobs. Anyway, I fell in love with Coral’s macabre art pieces, which mash together fake blood, pretty dolls, and sometimes even a dash of glitter, and somehow these things meet in the middle for a happy medium tea party. She even includes hand-written stories for each piece, and come on – if that doesn’t inspire you to stuff some green in the cleavage of her shop, then we can’t be friends.

Recently, she opened a sister shop on Etsy for her more whimsical, fairy tale-esque line of jewelry and snow globes called The Tiny Tiara, which has been getting noticed all over Etsy. And trust me, when something gets touted on Etsy that doesn’t involve owls, crocheted fruit cozies and fake moustaches, it is a BIG DEAL.   Her rings are huge and eye-catching, and that is exactly what I look for in digit accoutrements. I own one of the tombstone rings, but I am not satisfied with having just one. I need more! For all you people who try and cop out by saying, “I didn’t get you a Christmas present because I never know what to get you, but here, have a McDonald’s coffee card,” NOW YOU KNOW WHERE TO SHOP FOR ME.

Coral was gracious enough to sludge through some questions I tossed her way and I would like to thank her for putting up with it.

1. Here is the obligatory “How did your shop come to be: Evolution or Big Bang Theory?” question.

Evolution for sure! The early Tragedies were crude in their execution not only because I’m a self taught artist/crafter, but because they were created spur of the moment. They were very, very existential. At that time, I made them for myself, so there were no stories. It was all about symbolism, so they were very Jungian. For instance, one was a doll inside a box, surrounded by smaller boxes. One was a doll inside a box filled with mirrors, and the outer panel said ‘Don’t look inside’. They were kind of like art therapy for me. But I found that people prefer to not use their brains, and after looking at one of my creations for two seconds, their first response was either ‘Cool’ or ‘Cute’. Which drove me INSANE. Coming up with the name was Big Bang Theory because I had a show at a gallery and the owner asked what he should put on the flyer, and it was something I hadn’t considered at that point. So I thought about it for a few minutes and it just struck me! It was then I decided to write the stories out so that it would be obvious to people what was going on in the little scenes.

2. “The List” from your Tiny Tragedies shop tickles me in a way that makes me rethink my sanity. I want one so bad, with Henry’s name written about ten times, and maybe a little Miley Cyrus thrown in there somewhere. Give us your own personal shit list. Air that dirty laundry!

I can’t really give you a true life shit list because my dirty laundry is really pretty dirty. Let’s just say that in my dating past there are more tragedies than successes. In the general sense of who is on my shit list now, almost every single co-worker at my job as a part time waitress. And people who take their kids out in cold weather with no socks or jackets on. Oh and girls who are still obsessed with the color pink. And women who ‘Bedazzle’ their own clothes.

3. And you know those women keep a drawer full of puffy paint, too! Your Etsy profile states that you’re inspired by b-horror movies. What movie would you most want to reenact with your Tiny Tragedy characters?

I’m not sure I could just pick one, because when I say that I’m inspired by B-Horror films, I really mean that genre of movies were watched non-stop on the weekends by my dad when I was young. So somewhere in my subconscious is a vast landscape of badly acted death scenes and laughable monsters with even more laughable special effects make-up! I do have a special place in my heart for Vincent Price. Not only because of his films, but because his wife’s name was Coral. If I had to choose one though, I might choose The Blob because that film made quite an impression on me and my over active imagination. I lost lots of sleep after seeing that movie because I was sure the Blob was going to swallow me as soon as I fell asleep. I always really liked the gorey death scenes though. Those never scared me.

4. Finally succumbing to my heavy desires of stabbing my boyfriend Henry, I flee to Arkansas and you take me in for a weekend. What can I expect to learn about you and Arkansas after spending two days together?

First I would open a bottle of Chardonnay to toast your victory for angry women everywhere! Then I’d probably be paranoid that you would stab me next. After I got over my paranoia, you would see that I am pretty honest about myself. I don’t pretend to know everything, I have no interest in appearing ‘cool’, I don’t push my opinions on anyone, and I am relatively quick witted. I’m laid back, but also have a fair amount of nervous energy. I will be the first to point out my short comings and tell you straight off the bat that I have mild OCD, and will ask you not to be offended if I make some strange requests while you’re staying with me. I gather that I have a good sense of humor. I don’t like to think that I ‘make fun’ of people, it’s really more that I point out the more bizarre aspects of accepted social behavior. Then as punishment for your crime, I would subject you to an evening with my grandparents with whom I lived  for the first 8 months after re-locating here from California. Speaking of California, you will also note that I am terribly homesick and often say out loud without warning ‘I can’t believe I live in fucking Arkansas’. I’m a good listener. Watching people fall down still really makes me laugh. I spend a lot of time researching bizarre things on the internet like what living through the black plague was like, how shoes were made 100 years ago, and listening to sea shanties. I watch a lot of the History Channel. And I spend a LOT of time looking for supplies on Etsy that inspire me and give me ideas. Gotta keep my brain busy!

5. You have a second shop on Etsy filled with fairy tale-inspired rings and snow globes, which are incredibly unique but the polar opposite of the dioramas you create for Tiny Tragedies. Do you find that you need to have a certain mindset for each, and do you feel that you favor one shop over the other?

Part of that polar opposite thing is my Gemini tendencies! I definitely need to have a certain mindset for each shop. The Tragedies take much, much longer to make from concept to finished item than anything in The Tiny Tiara. A Tiny Tragedy usually takes 8 to 12 hours to make so it requires determination and focus! I can’t just slowly make one, once I’m on a roll, I have to finish it. I hate to admit it, but at the moment I feel more inspired by The Tiny Tiara. I think it’s partly because the items for that shop take a fraction of the time it takes to make a Tragedy. And I’m very much about instant gratification! I do feel guilty about it though. I love my dolls, and I would hate to ever have to say ‘I used to make dolls called The Tiny Tragedies’.

6. Favorite bands, give it to me.

My taste in music is pretty much stuck in the 90’s still. David Bowie, The Smiths, Radiohead, Bjork, My Bloody Valentine, Fleetwood Mac, Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley, Echo and The Bunnymen and Depeche Mode. I find that depressing music really does lift my spirits.

7. I have this thing where I need to know what everyone was like in high school, so you should tell me that now.

I dropped out of high school at the beginning of my Junior year so I wasn’t really there for long. I had a spiral perm! I was on the Dance Team, I was an aspiring singer. I spent the majority of my high school time commuting between my hometown and LA. I really only went to school to socialize. I had a pretty even mix of friends from every little microcosm of groups. Outside of school, I wrote a lot of poetry and painted occasionally. I was pretty outgoing and took every opportunity to make a joke. I was nominated as one of the most photogenic girls in my class. How embarrassing! I didn’t have a boyfriend because I was terrified of boys. I felt pretty lost most of the time. Oh and let me not forget to mention that I was an obsessive fan of the New Kids On The Block!

(This is actually Woodland Deer, I’m an idiot.)

8. Marilyn Manson is looking for a unique gift to give to his girlfriend (I should Wiki him to see if he even has a girlfriend right now, but who cares really). Originally, he wanted to make her a mudpie using Transylvanian soil made moist with gypsy urine. But because of time constraints (and a Romanian urinary retention pandemic) he turns to Etsy, which for the sake of this question is now a large auditorium filled with artisans, and gives each shop owner an opportunity to use five, and only five, words to describe their shop, at which point whoever piques his interest the most gets his Absynthe-soaked money. It’s your turn next, and you only get ONE CHANCE SO DON’T BLOW IT. What do you tell him?

Melancholy, black comedy, macabre, surreal, subconscious. I don’t know, does that work? Did I win??

9. You win! In fact, his ladyfriend just scored 8,000 points by accidentally-on-purpose poking out a hobo’s eyeball with your tombstone ring! Then she mopped up the blood with a blouse, which she’ll wear to dinner tomorrow night because that’s her style. Now, describe your personal style.

I love heavy, long, faux fur winter coats, big rings and big jewelry, lots of black, and anything that a wayward fairy tale princess might wear. I love avant garde clothing, a symmetrical cuts and such.

10. What can we expect next from the brilliant Coral Armour?

I have some ideas but I’m not finished putting the pieces together in my head yet. I want to go in a different direction with the dolls. Much closer to the way they were when I first started making them. It’s all still brewing in my brain, and hopefully sometime soon I will have time to devote to making them a reality. I kind of want to make a few different versions of The Peppermint Princess doll that I made last Christmas. That seems to be where I’m going at the minute. Still going to experiment with the new shop and try to keep the creativity flowing. Sorry that’s a really boring answer!

********

Somehow, I have a hard time believing Coral could EVER be boring.

Now you know the pertinents about the brains behind two very unique Etsy shops. If you’re anything like me, you’re wishing you could go hang out with her rightnowthisverysecond. But if you’re as geographically unfortunate as me, stalking her online will have to suffice.

• Twitter
• Thetinytragedies.com
• MySpace

Want more Freaky Features? The previous two can be found here.

**I may have let my personal feelings for the tombstone  ring get in the way when typing out its name, so don’t think Coral is some sort of egomaniac. I’m just really super obsessed with this damn ring and feel that every one should have one. So go!  Hurry! They sell as fast as she makes them!

The sun was beating down on them that day like a space-hung magnifying glass search-lighting for human ants. On dehydration’s horizon, a collective of construction workers toiled at a work site, beleaguered with dry mouths and Sahara-strong hallucinations of sparkling oasis.

Manfred was the first to experience a slack in his perseverance. “If we don’t take a break, we’re all going to melt,” he assured the crew. “Or worse,” he mumbled, stealing a glance at Anthony’s sun-beaten face and quaking knees.

“He’s right, you know,” Lenny wheezed, stabbing his shovel into the cracked soil, which a summer-long drought had turned into an uncanny semblance of over-baked chocolate chip cookies, sheet-form. “And we’re running out of water, to boot.”

The others needn’t be told more than once, and a symphony of metal clunking ground resounded through the site; brows were mopped in tandem; chests heaved in exhausting unison.

“The b-boss’s not going to be pleased when h-he sees we’re not w-working,” Anthony panicked, anxiety bringing forth the stutter of a five-year-old’s first day of school.

“I wouldn’t worry about that old prick,” Carlos laughed.  “Found his body slunched over back behind the scaffolding; been dead at least six hours.

” And with that, he doled out what little aqua remained in the boss’s confiscated Hello Kitty SIGG water bottle.

*********************

A few weeks ago at the flea market, Alisha alerted me to two of these wonderfully gaudy frames, knowing that I would squeal while simulataneously holding my hand palm-up, the universal sign for “Gimme money, Daddy.” Or, in my case, “Remember when I had sex with you? Pay up, Henry.” And he did, too, but not without some grumbling and heavy sighing.

Inside the frames were identical uggified prints of a floral arrangement oil painting. It screamed “1970s, holla!!” and while I love kitsch, I had my own ideas for those frames.

Both were painted over that night.

“Caesura” was the first one I did, and it sold last Monday to this awesome repeat customer of mine who has an uncanny ability of sending me an email full of compliments every time I’m feeling down on my art. So while I was sad to have to send off “Caesura,” I was glad it was going to a nice home. Bye bye, “Caesura.”

Caesura. Caesura. I just like typing it and hearing my brain-voice whisper it seductively. Caesura.

This is a reminder why I love hockey, posted mainly for my own sake.

Sorry to inundate this blog with photos, but I haven’t felt like writing lately OKAY SUE ME. My habits are very cyclical. I go through writing spurts (which are stressful and sometimes I need to take a break from that bullshit when it ceases to bring me joy <–haha, wtf is wrong with me), art phases (I’ve been elbow-deep in custom paintings, so nothing new has been happening with that), and finally, when I get spare time and want to do something that brings me peace, I take pictures. I’m lucky to have a kid who not only doesn’t mind and is even starting to strike poses (bizarre ones at that), but even SUGGESTS WE GO TO THE CEMETERY. Oh heart, swell away.

So as soon as Henry came home from work yesterday, we ushered him right back out the door and straight to Allegheny Cemetery, where I got snap happy with Chooch in between him giving a gaggle of geese the taste of cardiac arrest and then peeing next to a crypt. Of course, I took a picture of that too (FROM THE BACK, CHILL OUT PEDOPHILE POLICE) and on the way home, I joked that I couldn’t wait for him to get a girlfriend (or hey, boyfriend, whatever makes him happy and less likely to spear me with a harpoon while I sleep). Chooch’s response, in a mockingly sing-song tone, was, “When I get a girlfriend I’m gonna PEE ON HER.” Have fun with that, ladies.

• First October in Brookline
• Big-headed Internet boyfriend from Vancouver
• Ceramic pumpkin full of black and orange cello-wrapped peanut butter chews
• Just two cats
• Black Bible shrine; purple hand chair
• Week-long telemarketing jobs
• Middle of the night jaunts to A-Plus; procuring calling cards
• (World Famous) Grasshoppers. served in antique blue stemware

Hi. I’ve posted this on LiveJournal before, but never here on Oh Honestly, Erin.

**********

There are some standard cultural traditions that I avoid like the plague. For example, having ‘Happy Birthday’ serenaded to me.

It makes me want to unzip my skin and climb inside my body cavity. I never know what to do with myself while locked in this thirty second predicament. Where do I focus my eyes? Do I mouth the words along with everyone? Do I laugh, smile, cry, fellate a candle? Where do I put my hands!? I cannot explain this phobia, but my mom is clearly to blame for the one regarding dressing up for Halloween.

It wasn’t always a disaster. In fact, I used to enjoy it.

Exhibit A: Erin as a bunny in Kindergarten:

Notice how carefree I was. I’m undeniably thrilled that it’s Halloween and I get to dress up and be pretty. But this was back when Halloween was pure and simple—before my mom caught wind of the costume contest at my elementary school. Children from each grade can win a prize for the most creative costume? Who knew?

By the time second grade rolled around, my mom had morphed into Pageant Mother:  Halloween Edition. Choosing my own costume was no longer in the cards. While all my friends were running amok in Kmart, fingering racks of synthetic Snow White capes and vinyl witch masks and probably inhaling 567,872,536 incubating germs left behind by the hundreds of people before them who breathed inside the masks, my role was to sit idly on my ass while my mom tapped into her creative genius for the perfect costume, year after year. I wanted to contract viruses, too, goddammit. But my mom would remind me that there was real life fame and fortune on the line, and since I was only eight, I still had faith in her.

My first homemade costume wasn’t all that sufferable. I have a vague recollection of wanting to help and having my fingers slapped. (Oh my god, I totally do this to my kid now. I have become my mother.)

Though I was shy, I secretly gloated behind my crayon tophat as everyone shrieked about the coolness of my costume. Other kids paraded around the elementary’s parking lot wearing their generic Made in Taiwan costumes, but I was the real deal, yo.

That year gave me my first taste of Halloween costume greatness. I was the winner from my grade, hands down. I remember clutching my prize (a real life silver dollar!

) to my heart and beaming knowingly at my mom—we were on our way to big things, I could feel it in my immobile torso. If we had been given the opportunity to recite an acceptance speech, I would have dedicated my winnings to her.

The excitement of the costume contest came to a crashing halt that evening. It was nearly time for Trick or Treating, and I realized that I didn’t have a real costume. You know, real as in ‘practical.’ Real as in ‘I will be traversing great lengths for the sake of candy and this fucking mummifying cardboard box is slightly invasive, can I get a leotard and some mother bitchin’ fairy wings?’  My mom, when I brought this to her attention, scoffed at me and said, “Yes, you do have a real costume!” Next thing I know, my arms are in the air and she’s shoving the Crayola box over my body. This is not the sort of costume that a child wants to wear while on a hunt for candy; my range of motion was limited. My step-dad rose to the occasion and pleaded with my mom that it was going to be a serious buzz kill for me. But don’t get it twisted, this isn’t the heart-warming moment of the story where the girl realizes that her step-dad loves her and decides to call him “daddy” for the first time. His concern was thinly veiled selfishness; he was attempting to save himself from the inevitable whining in which I was about to unleash like tiny verbal firecrackers. I remember hearing my mom respond with, “Yeah, but I want the neighbors to see.”

My shuffling got me down half of a block before I had to head back home, thanks due to cardboard chafing. That was the lightest load of candy any child over the age of five has ever obtained in history, with the exception of those getting hit by a car, kidnapped or only having a palm  to put it in. And it was all my mom’s fault.

By the time third grade rolled around, the Crayola catastrophe was a far off memory. Figuring the ambitions of my mother was a one time deal, I asked her to take me to the mall so I could pick out my next costume. My request was greeted by a look of horror, and she said, “I’ve already started working on your costume.” Oh. We’re doing this again, are we? Goodie.

One would think I would have a say in my own ghouly accoutrement, but all of my ideas and helpful suggestions of butterfly wings and fake blood were shot down. I was, after all, only a kid. And it was only my costume. This one would prove to be the single most over the top costume of my elementary school’s history. (I did extensive research. And by that, I mean I assumed.)

Notice how I’m gazing longingly off in the distance. I think I was devising a plan to steal He-Man’s sword and slash my way out of the sandwich board costume.

The traditional parade was a bitch, as this latest costume proved to be a proverbial thorn in my side. I had to take tiny baby steps, because walking with too much zest caused the cardboard to bounce off of my knees, running the risk of dislodging some of the game pieces. It was during this panoply that I discovered what it’s like to be chased down by the paparazzi. Not that I knew what paparazzi was back then. I had cameras being shoved in my face by a bevy of soccer moms and lunch ladies.

I won again, this time grudgingly. Another silver dollar. That novelty was being stretched thin. My strongest memory of that day was being divided: on one hand, I was elated and lapped up every last drop of attention that was tossed my way because I was no longer an only child and had to resort to destructive behavior to get even a glance in my general direction back at home; but on the other hand, I was embarrassed and wanted to go home and cry in bed.

I returned to my classroom after enduring another photo-op with the principal, and I couldn’t help but sense resentment from some of my peers. A handful of them had even retired their standard super hero costume fare for the likes of Coke cans, a skyscraper, and french fries. They were all clustered together on one side of room, sulking over their failed efforts. But then there was the other half of my classmates who were happier of my win than I was, and wouldn’t cease pawing at my costume. Here, have it. It’s all yours.

By the time I got home, I had put the horrors of Monopoly behind me. This time, my mom relented and I had a backup costume for Trick or Treating. I had to make up for the last year’s debacle, and the painful memory of it made possible my desire to cover extra territory. It was at this young age when I grasped the concept of heaping large amounts of chocolate and caramel into my system to temporarily numb depression.

Apparently I was doing too much indulging, because I became fat. Fortunately, by the next year, I was too busy worrying about weighing more than 85% of my class than stressing over my stupid grandfather clock costume. Suspiciously, there’s no picture of that year’s effort, and I think the fact that I was trumped by my classmate Mike’s grape guise may have something to do with it. To this day, my mom insists that it was about (PTA) politics.  I was relieved to have the heat taken off me. Mike’s costume was killer, yet oh-so simple. A purple sweat suit with purple balloons pinned to it. Genius. My mom still goes off about how he didn’t deserve it. “What did that take? Like, five minutes to pull off? I had worked on that fucking clock for a week!” The grandfather clock really was a crappy costume, though, and I didn’t know the meaning of constricting until that year’s sheath of cardboard was shoved over the shaft of my newly plump body. Divine would have had an easier time sausaging into her evening gowns.

Oh, how I longed for a drug store costume. Imagining how comfortable a plastic Rainbow Brite smock would be was the only thing that held my sanity in place during the ritual romp around the parking lot.

My mom, still feeling the blow of defeat from the previous year, pulled a “phoenix rising” and came back with this one:

It would turn out to be her swan song, and she was rewarded handsomely when I reclaimed my title. I won a real dollar bill that time, which I believe went right into my mom’s purse.

Of course, people who didn’t know me then always express genuine concern with the fact that I’m so into October and all of its creepy overtones yet so blase about dressing up.  Well, NOW THEY KNOW.

This is just for my blog-hoes, you know who you are. (But if you’re anything like me, right now you’re stressing, “Wait – is that me? Do I count as a blog-ho?” If you’re reading this right now, then yes. Yes, you do. Even you, Janna.) If you decide you want a pendant anytime this month, you can have a $2 blog-ho discount. Just put “BLOG HO” in the message to seller upon checkout, and I’ll refund the $2 immediately through Paypal. Blog ho.

There’s a varied selection of pendants listed over at Somnambulant, and here’s a quick look at some of the newer ones as well:

So yeah. Happy October, my blog ho…..mies.

I wish Chooch wore a different flannel every day. I love boys in flannel! Henry doesn’t wear flannel. But if he did, it would probably be stupid and baggy, not fitted and scene.

Henry sucks.

 I’ve been out and about the past few days. Thursday, Christina and I went to Cleveland to see Brand New and Manchester Orchestra. Let’s just say it was not the best of times. We came back to Pittsburgh on Friday and I sacrificed an entire hockey period to go to  Hundred Acres Manor, one of several over-priced haunted houses in the area.

At least we didn’t get herded through with one of the many groups of obnoxious teenagers standing in line with us, and there were a few good scares, but there was a fucking chainsaw guy in the maze near the end and let me tell you, I hate chainsaw guys. In fact, one time last summer, we were driving around in a country-ish area and somewhere in the woods I heard the rev of a motor and screamed so loud. Henry goes, “That was a dirt bike, you asshole, not Leatherface” because he knows me well enough to understand why I freaked.

So this piece of shit chainsaw guy is pacing around near the maze’s exit and like frightened rabbits, we keep backtracking because neither we, nor the two girls with us, want to meet this fucker face-on. But finally, I’m like, “This is fucking ridiculous. Doesn’t he know the fucking Penguins are playing?

” So I used Christina as a SWAT shield and we barrelled through. Never did run into him, but the fumes from his ‘saw made my stomach hurt and I considered suing. Or at least writing a letter. Because you know, I love writing a good letter.

Keeping with the theme of scary things, Henry and I went to my friend Lisa’s wedding yesterday. Weddings make me feel so nervous. I think it’s the whole church aspect. But I didn’t implode, dissolve into a mound of sinful ashes, or contract a loud case of hiccups. What I did do, however, was lose my shit when Lisa and her dad appeared at the beginning of the aisle, when I saw that she was crying. I did NOT want to cry. I kept saying I was going to. But that was all it took and then I was panicking because I didn’t bring tissues and what if my nose started to run or worse, BLEED, because I’ve never had a bloody nose in my entire life but that would be my luck to celebrate my first nose bleed while God is looking down on Lisa and Matt but then I started thinking that if I ever get married (will have to dump Henry first for that to ever happen), how fucking awesomely gory would it be to get a bloody nose while all a’mermaid in a white dress? I’m sure the list of volunteers to punch me in the face on my wedding day would be staggering.

And it made me laugh a little, because the first encounter I ever had with Lisa was at the 8th grade Halloween dance, when she was threatening to give me a bloody nose because I was bullying one of her friends. I remember not feeling too threatened, but I’ve always gotten weak-kneed thinking about my nose bleeding so I was like, “Great, thanks for ruining this already lame dance with that thought, Lisa.” Somehow, she and I became friends and seventeen years later, I’m sitting in a church pew, listening to a minister Freudian-slip about husbands sacrificing their wives instead of lives, and freaking out that my nose is going to spontanteously hose Lisa into a bridal Carrie when I meet her in the receiving line.

Also, I’m expecting my period so I guess I’ve just had blood on the brain lately. Well, that and all the amateur blood transfusions I got lined up for this week.

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

• 15:21 Today it feels like there is an arthritic river coursing through my body. Pleasant, really. #
• 17:03 My next house seriously needs to come with murder holes. #
• 18:57 “Now I don’t know what store to go to since someone threw out the circulars.” Henry, being a dramamama. #
• 20:38 Found an old journal. January 2004 I wrote: “I really love [Henry]. I should try to be nicer to him though.” Laughed so hard, hurt my ribs. #
• 20:57 In 2004, I ended lots of sentences in my journal simply with the word “Die.” #
• 22:09 I’m sick. I need some sort of joint elixir. NHLTV is replaying the Stanley Cup Finals so at least being couch-bound isn’t too terrible. #
• ***
• 12:15 Remember when I found out my mom’s an anarchist. #
• 13:49 Dear @awoodhick, stop watching Tool Academy and bake my pie. #
• 14:23 Had every intention of baking a pie today. Decided I’d rather watch Children of the Corn 5 with my kid instead. Wish it was the original. #
• 14:25 Chooch keeps waiting for the vampires to come. I can’t seem to convince him that not all horror movies revolve around vampires. #
• 14:33 twitpic.com/j8gf6 – Eating a HoHo while waiting for vampires. #
• 15:33 Gee, I can’t imagine WHY The CW’s The Beautiful Life got canceled. It had such great…writing. So much…depth. #
• 18:12 Thanks for telling me the grapes in this pie aren’t seedless, you asshole. #
• 21:15 Today’s Alisha’s birthday. I took her to a haunted house. She hates haunted houses. I’m a good friend. #
• 21:51 I’m at a bar with grownups. #
• 22:31 No one likes our bartender but me. Her name is Brandy. She seems desperate. And cuddly. OH SHIT THE HEAT IS ON. #
• 22:32 No srsly, “The Heat Is On” is currently being blared courtesy of DJ Becky. #
• 22:44 Grownups in a bar do not want to hear MILEY OVERPRODUCED CYRUS. #
• 23:00 DJ Becky’s playing the censored version of Cold’s Just Got Wicked (my request). Last time I checked there weren’t any school children here. #
• 23:10 Our bartender just told us Halloween jokes she memorized from the Weekly Reader she saved from elementary school. #
• ***
• 00:31 You know those plastic cups they used as stilts on Romper Room? I promise my neighbor was just cruising up & down his steps on them. #
• 00:59 Henry: “Does your toe still hurt?” Me: “Only when I’m acting stupid.” Henry: “I’ll let that one slide.” #
• 10:27 Last night left me with a bad taste in my mouth. #
• 17:04 I’d shank a nun for a cupcake right about now. #
• ***
• 01:56 Had on some behind-the-scenes “To Catch A Predator” pervathon in the background; tonight’s dreams will now be narrated by Chris Hanson. #
• 12:35 I need a grandma dress, a rocking chair, blood and a leg brace. #
• 13:13 I’m going to go to a club and do all the dances I learned from Yo Gabba Gabba. I’m gonna get so much play. #
• 19:31 Jesus, @awoodhick is in a murky state tonight. He needs a blow job from Rainbow Brite. #
• 22:11 Hay look @ the dumb! Mose, session 1: Two things about me: I like taking photos of people .. bit.ly/HVGU6 #
• ***
• 16:35 I sincerely need to surround myself with more positive people. #
• 17:28 Chooch has some malevolent fantasies for a three-year-old. #
• ***
• 09:50 My (ex)bff Christina & I have been talking things out since August. Tonite I’ll see her 4 the 1st time since March. Hope I don’t punch her! #
• 13:31 When all else fails, watch The Lost Boys. #
• 16:18 I wish Henry spoke to me as sweetly as he does the Comcast broad. #
• 17:41 My ESPN NHL text alerts come thru to my phone .001 seconds faster than Henry’s phone. I WIN YET AGAIN. #
• 20:20 Haven’t seen Christina since March. First thing I do? Make her watch the Penguins win the Stanley Cup, natch. Next: haunted house! #
• 23:24 Would like to sock Shauvon from the RW/RR Challenge in the boob but fear the repercussions of it bouncing back & suffocating me. #
• ***
• 01:46 I’m so glad my neighbor who hates me came home just in time to see me positioning spotlights on my bloody-mouthed friend in a granny dress. #
• 11:04 The Popzilla version of Miley Cyrus is much better looking than the gaping-mawed original. #
• 12:11 Chooch just purposely sneezed on Christina, laughed uproariously, and called her a dumbass. 3years old & he knows her role. #
• 15:01 I’m not a religious person by any means, but Christina’s driving makes me want to cross myself and straddle a crucifix while watching EWTN. #
• 15:36 Awesome. We got to the hotel at the same time as a bus tour. YAY CROWDS. #
• 15:37 Maybe if Christina hadn’t PASSED IT UP THE FIRST TIME. #
• 16:27 Where do people put their trash in Cleveland??? #
• 16:58 Christina eats chicken nuggets out of a jockstrap and drives a purple and yellow shoe. #
• 19:20 I miss @awoodhick. #
• 19:44 This show would be so much more fun (read: warm) if someone started a bonfire up in this bitch.
• 19:50 OMFG Manchester Orchestra. #
• 21:48 If Fisher Price made an epileptic seal into a Weeble, you’d know what Christina looks like at a show. #
• 22:02 Hay look @ the dumb! Granny&#8217;s Got a Secret: Last August, I began speaking to my ex-bf.. bit.ly/1Z9Z5N #
• 22:49 Fucking Hyatt is too yuppsville to have vending machines. If we’d have stuck w/ Red Roof, we’d be enjoying some Mtn Dew & M&Ms right now. #
• ***
• 10:08 The Hyatt is getting a letter from me. I haven’t had to whip a hotel chain with words since the Great Radisson Debacle of 2003. #
• 10:26 Ohio calls their DMV the “BMV.” That’s where I am right now. In line with a bunch of snot-instrumentalists. It’s as awesome as it sounds. #
• 10:31 They just called an Erin Kelly and my heart stopped because I was like I DIDNT DO IT. Apparently, the male version of me is here. #
• 19:19 Seriously enraged to learn that Christina knows someone whose last name is Rainbow. Disgusting. #
• 20:10 Sorry for punching you in the mouth when the Penguins just scored, @awoodhick, but you should know not to stand so close to me. #
• 22:56 Salt & vinegar chips just made me subconsciously raise the roof. @saucalisha would have been thrilled. #
• 23:34 Drinking spiced apple wine while Henry re-dyes the pink in my hair. I think Christina is still around here somewhere. Being gay. #
• 23:36 At some point tonite I’m going to start a flame war w/ Christina’s old bible college friends on Facebook. I’m looking at you, Mrs. Rainbow. #
• 23:39 Henry, holding up raspberry-smeared gloved hands: “What if I was a gynecologist and my hands came out looking like this.” #
• 23:55 Christina just admitted that she prays for me sometimes. I am drowning in a jug of LOLs. #
• ***
• 00:35 I wish a new episode of #offdagrill was on now. #
• 12:32 Going to a wedding w/ pink hair & blood on my ankle. I was going for edgy; 2nd thought says I probably look more post-sex in a CBGB loo. #
• 14:41 Henry wants to get married in a storm to keep the theme of our last 8 years together. #
• 15:30 Oh yeah. All weekend, I’m offering 10% off at somnambulant.etsy.com. Just say “weekend deals ” in message to seller upon checkout! #
• 20:45 Would like to thank @buenomexicana for buying my child a remote control truck equipt w/ the sonant pandemonium of a construction site. #
• 20:58 I don’t think I could make a living doing something that wo uld oft require me to say, “BRB guys, need stitches” like it aint no thang. #
• 22:12 I wish hockey shootouts could be used as deciding factors in everyday situations. Like traffic infractions. #
• 11:09 Lady Gaga on last night’s SNL did nothing to lessen my admiration. She acts out what it’s like to be in my head, & for that she’s my homie. #

Automatically shipped by LoudTwitter. Now you can rest easy, knowing my (sometimes incriminating) inner-most thoughts, actions and tampon-change. Please do not call the FBI.

Mark your calendars! This coming weekend (2nd-4th October), Etsy’s Dark Side Street Team is participating in Etsy’s Halloween Weekend Deals, and offering fantastic discounts off everything in store- up to 25% off!!

To take advantage of these great deals, browse the shops linked below for details of the discounts available in each participating store, then use the discount code “WEEKEND DEALS” in the message to seller box during checkout. Further information is available in each store. Welcome to Etsy’s Dark Side, and happy shopping!

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Last August, I began speaking to my ex-bff Christina again. The months we didn’t speak provided an opportunity for me to properly cool down and get over the issue that started this whole dramafest.

But the best part about it is that she is SO APOLOGETIC and willing to do whatever it takes to earn my full forgiveness.

I mean, I guess that was always the way our friendship worked, but who’s keeping track.

We haven’t seen each other since last March, but she’s here now and in a few hours we’ll be leaving for Cleveland to see Brand New as a way-belated birthday present since she wasn’t around for the actual, incredibly anti-climatic birthday in July.

But first, in an effort to punish her a little further, I had her stuff herself into an old lady dress, pour fake blood on her face, and stand barefoot in my front yard in 40 degree temperatures at midnight.

My favorite part was when my neighbor who hates me came home from work to see me squatting in the front yard with spot lights, fake blood, and an obvious-lesbian made grotesquely (and begrudgingly) effeminate with the help of a .

99 thrift store dress.