I’m impressed. Chooch has had his jack in the box for nearly a week and is still playing with it. Then he gets mad when our cat Speck (see also: Nicotina, Breakfast Nook) ignores the anticipating arrival of the sock monkey. Meanwhile, I’m clutching my heart and trying to shake off the numbness in my left arm.

Remember Mr. Men? It’s good to see something from my childhood making a comeback. I noticed awhile back that Target had some Mr. Men t-shirts in the kids department so I snagged a Mr. Grumpy for Chooch. And Bill and Jessi bought him a Mr. Noisy book when they first came to visit us last year. Mr. Grumpy, Mr. Noisy – both very apropos. I remember having a bunch of Mr. Men activity books that kept me mostly quiet in the backseat of the car when I was a wee lass.

So when Chooch came across these little miniatures in Target’s toy aisle and expressed interest, I was excited. Because now we can collect them together! The pack rat in me loves a good collection. I’m currently collecting these limited edition Penguins medallions. There’s a new one available each day, and they make it sound like you HAVE TO GET IT THAT DAY or you’re fucked for life. Of course, I know this isn’t true, but I’ve bestowed this very gallant responsibility onto my mother, who has been having panic attacks because I’m so high strung about it. She brought a new load over last week and I realized that five out of six were the same player. “These are all Dupuis,” I said, as I slid them back across the table. Have you ever actually seen the color drain from someone’s face before? I have. It’s fun to watch. My mom then drove around in a snow storm trying to exchange them for the ones I still needed. Collecting shit is awesome.

Chip and Dip! OMG it’s Chip and Dip! Chooch thinks they’re his but they’re really mine and I will love them and squeeze them and hug them and kiss them. They make me really want to adopt another Pac Man frog though. (RIP Hubert and Gustav.) When I was a senior in high school, I would sometimes take Hubert to school with me in his little pink-topped terrarium. I used to carry this large black and grey plaid pouch with me, and it was easily concealed. Everyone used to call that pouch my Barney Bag. I had so many toys crammed in there, travel games, Floam, candy frogs apparently. Study halls were awesome that year. Fuck, that was a great bag.

I also had a White Dumpy tree frog named Louie. I remember bringing him to school once and having him climb up the wall during homeroom. Then the teacher, Mrs. Hanlon, came in the room, glanced at the frog, and with hilarious nonchalance said, “Erin, put your frog away.”

The only thing I didn’t like about having frogs as pets was the whole cricket-as-food thing. Stumbling across a cricket outside in the summer, it’s like, “Oh, look. A cricket. Cool.” But buying them in air-filled bags at the pet store and storing them in a coffee can, it’s like, “OMFG these things are nasty motherfuckers.” And during the night, I’d be laying in bed and hear them scratching the sides of the canister as they formed a disgusting insect pyramid, trying to reach the top.

I am so repulsed right now.

Thank God Chip and Dip only eat pellets.

Most of my twenties were spent dreading Christmas, mostly because I was always leery and cautious about how heavy the shit was that  my family would be flinging at me that year. But since having a baby four years ago, it’s starting to become something I look forward to again. (Although it also means no one buys me anything because it’s all Chooch Chooch Chooch.)

In fact, I looked forward to it so much this year that I woke Chooch up Christmas morning because I was tired of waiting. And it’s amazing I even woke up on my own, pre-9am after the night of wine and shared tales of a certain ex-hag from hell (oh, what’s up House of Night shout out) over at Henry’s sister’s house. It was nice, because along with dreading Christmas, most of my twenties were spent listening to The Cure and crying into the No One Loves Me pillow on Christmas Eve.

He got your standard boy shit: Transformers and accessories for the Batcave he got last Christmas, etc etc. But I also tucked in some books under the tree.

He was genuinely excited. Reading is something I’ve always loved, and even when I was off pretending to be so fucking cool and awesome, I would never deny my love of books. You know how some people do that? As if admitting to not only know how to read but to also enjoy it might them mark them as a loser. I really hope Chooch doesn’t grow up to be one of those kids. I’ve always said that I don’t trust a person who doesn’t like to read a book. Even HENRY reads books! HENRY. Come on. Henry.

I bought “Donut Chef” based on the illustrations, because I do love a good illustration. But the story is also really cute, too. Childrens books are so fun.

***

The tradition that Henry and I started back when I was pregnant in 2005 was to have a Christmas picnic at the cemetery. Once Chooch was born, we added to that tradition by taking an obligatory Christmas portrait of Chooch celebrating Christmas in the cemetery. Unfortunately, the weather was terrible this year. Most of the morning it was sleeting, and after that the rain continued all day. So we agreed to postpone the graveyard picnic for another, drier, day.

Before dinner at my mom’s, Henry, Chooch and I met my brother Corey at the nursing home where my grandma temporarily resides. After the traumatic Thanksgiving experience at the hospital, I almost backed out, but my aunt Sharon insisted that she was doing well, was coherent, and also expecting us. She was sitting in her room, wheelchair-bound, looking tired and unhappy, but mustered a smile when she saw Chooch. We stayed for about 45 minutes, giving her presents (Corey got her a Snuggie was so proud of this), and filling her in on our lives. (Or in my case, choosing wise words which wouldn’t elicit tongue-clucking and disappointed “oh honestly”s.)

As we went to leave, I approached her to envelope her in one of my signature awkward embraces. But she stopped me by asking, in a snide tone I might add and I know I wasn’t imagining it, “When did you decide to do that to your hair?”

I could feel the memory of 30-years-worth of put-downs and criticisms spreading like poker-hot cancer through my cheeks. “It’s been like this since September,” I mumbled, trying to keep smiling while all at once fingering a tendril and second-guessing myself as a brunette. “Why, do you hate it?”

“Yes,” she said, and though she was smiling, it didn’t reach her eyes and her reply was curt. Always with the motherfucking judging.

On the way to my mom’s, I tried not to cry in the car. “Does it look like shit?” I asked Henry. And then: “My hair’s not even naturally blonde anyway, why does she care?” All Henry could really do was repeat over and over, “Don’t let it get to you! You know how she is.”

“Yeah, full of hate and disapproval for me,” I wailed.

***

Walking into my mom’s house, I found her in the kitchen flipping out over one kitchen disaster or another, so I left Henry with her to survey the situation while Chooch opened more gifts.

He finally got his fucking jack in the box, he did. And I was happy that it was a Sock Monkey one, and not some ugly/creepy clown leftover from the 60s. (OK, that’s a lie. I was hoping for the scariest one possible to use in a photoshoot.)

My favorite gift I got, I mean Chooch got at my mom’s house was one of those plastic biospheres that have TWO LIVE FROGS in it. OMG do I love a fucking frog. I named them Chip and Dip. Actually, it was supposed to be Dip and Shit, but Chooch heard “Chip” instead and I thought that was actually better. I love them! I mean, Chooch loves them! They provide countless hours of entertainment for me, I mean Chooch! Ask Henry and the cats! Every five minutes I’m telling them, “OMG look at Chip and Dip!” The cats ignore me and Henry mutters, “They’re frogs, and they’re not doing anything.”

Dinner consisted of just myself, Henry, my mom, Corey and my other brother Ryan. Chooch never sat down once. He was too busy scaring the shit out of himself with that stupid jack in the box. And there wasn’t really much conversation, because I alerted Corey to the fact that he could use his iPod Touch to play Words With Friends, so he and I started a vernacularmundo battle right there at the dinner table. Everyone else cried into their plates of holiday slop, jealous that they couldn’t be apart of a revolution.

My mom’s pork chops might be the reason I turned vegetarian when I was 16, but I have always loved her holiday side dishes. She added some new corn shit to the Christmas ouevre this year and it was fucking amazing; all kinds of creamy and with a top hat of crispy carbs. No one but me ate Henry’s root vegetable mashed potato thing, because their palates have evidently evolved past pioneer years. I love root vegetables. I want to make art with them. And also, make out with them.

Corey, having his mind blown at all of the 7875-point SAT words I throw down.

***

After dinner, we followed Corey to our dad’s house, who only moved a few streets away after the divorce. I’ve mentioned this before, but he was technically my step-dad, and then legally adopted me when I was in 4th grade. We had a really awful relationship when I was younger, the kind that makes Springer salivate, but since I moved out at 18 things have improved greatly. My only regret is that I don’t see him as often as I should and I always hope he doesn’t think we’re stopping over on holidays just to satiate some innate, greed-filled Christmas propensity.

Luckily, Henry works for a beverage company and was able to procure a case of Faygo’s old fashioned root beer IN GLASS BOTTLES. My dad, being a product of the 50s, is really big on beverages. He has a bunch of old-fashioned pop machines and will sit there and entertain (used loosely, of course) a room with tales of when pop came in glass bottles and JUST TASTED BETTER. He was a happy man that night, accepting such a hefty loot, rich with nostalgia and…glass. He and Henry sat on the couch together and talked about pop for what seemed like eternity while Corey and I snickered openly.

Then came the bombshell.

“Did you guys have any dessert at your mother’s?” my dad inquired. “I have some pie here. Cherry, butterscotch…”

“Whoa, you have butterscotch pie?” I interrupted. The incredulity was overflowing. There was only one person from whom he’d get butterscotch pie.

“Yeah, your mother baked it for me—” he began, and I stopped listening. That is my FAVORITE PIE AND MY MOTHER NEVER MAKES IT FOR ME. And now she’s making it for the guy she divorced?

“What the fuck,” I muttered to Henry and Corey, while my dad was in the kitchen slicing it up. “What do I have to do to get her to bake me a butterscotch pie? Divorce her?” No one laughed but me, because I think all my jokes are the lol’iest. In fact, I was still laughing the next day.

With Henry’s supervision, I learned that the library was open until 4pm on Saturday, so we set off. Chooch too, because I needed backup. What if the librarian asked me a question and I didn’t know the answer??

Henry’s good at answering for me anyway. That’s what he does, since he’s an alpha male and I’m a beaten down shadow of the woman I once was, living in fear of the hand.

The first thing I discovered about the library: they must get their gas for free because it felt like I was in Satan’s study. That combined with trying to remember how to crack the Dewey code, my deodorant was put into overdrive. I started to have hot flashes. A library, something that has been around since BEFORE CHRIST, had me stumped. It was kind of like hitting a technology wall in reverse. Take away the Internet and smartphones and all the shit that makes our grandparents’ brains smoke, and you will see me flounder. (Although I should note that after writing about my failed library mission the other day, I realized that I was looking at the website for the library in Brookline, MA, not my little neighborhood in Pittsburgh.

So apparently the Internet makes my brain smoke too, OK?)

In school, I always had someone else find books for me. During the short time I went to Pitt, I had to go the university’s library once for a paper I was writing. I made Janna go with me. That place was at least twenty-thousand floors high and absolutely reaked of education. I had hoped to see couples breeding behind the stacks, because my only previous experience with a college library was what I saw on “Felicity.” Eighteen paper cuts and a pocketful of Janna’s change later, I ended up not even using any of the research I fruitlessly xeroxed. And if I recall, the librarians there were fucking cunts. But there were lots of lounges with vending machines. I will always remember a place for its vending machines.

Thank God Henry was there because it took him all of thirty seconds to locate the book that I had reserved. (That in itself was a really big deal. I did it online and thought it was the most amazing thing. Kind of like last week when Henry’s mom not only discovered Lady Gaga, but did so on an iPod. That’s a huge feat for the above-60 set, a lot to take in at once! I feel like me and Henry’s mom, we kind of swapped places, because I bet she can navigate a fucking library professionally since that’s all kids in her generation had for entertainment, aside from cock fighting, sock hops and having gratuitous sex without the worry of AIDs and venereal disease.)

(….On second thought, maybe she wasn’t spending that much time in libraries.)

Then I had to get my library card. The librarian slid over an application and once she turned away with my drivers license, I had no idea what she told me to fill out. I think I filled out the “office personnel only” section and possibly misspelled my middle name (which I often do because I didn’t even learn the true spelling of it until I was 18, and that is a story so true it could be added to the BIBLE).

I took my library card with hands a’shakin’, snatched my book from the librarian’s hands and fled. It was scary, you guys. But I look at it as another fear overcome, much like when I mustered up the bravery to cross the threshold of Pita Land, a small Mediterranean market down the street from the library, after being horrified of it for years and years. So much that I would actually shield my eyes from it every time I drove past it.

And then last night, when I settled down to read my new conquest, I realized it’s the wrong fucking book.

THE WRONG FUCKING BOOK.

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

• 15:20 I love noticing hours after the fact the creative ways my phone auto-corrects my tweets. #
• 20:27 Why do I have a feeling #SYTYCD is going to make me angry tonight? As long as no part of that douchey married couple wins. #
• ***
• 01:01 I’d like to go back to when I was 20 & punch myself in the face. #
• 04:40 Hay look @ the dumb! For a Good Choke, Call That Guy: a LiveJournal Repost: (Originally posted March 20, 2007) Ther… bit.ly/5f9dhA #
• 11:19 I’m voting to host a film festival of old high school class projects. It’s amazing how vehement the vetoes are. #
• 13:03 Just wondering when they’re going to show all the “hot broads” on “Jersey Shore.” At this rate, Henry can toss on a wig & get screentime. #
• 13:25 My workouts never feel successful unless they’re followed by vomiting. #
• 14:08 Mop head, pantsless & watching his shows. yfrog.com/33twhgj #
• 15:27 With his mop of curls, Chooch looks like a walking flashback scene of Brian Crackhouse in “my so-called life.” #
• 16:55 The Used and Cold are playing a day apart from each other in February. Time to start hoarding my monies. #
• 18:04 While explaining my family tree to someone, it occurred to me that it sounds like I grew up in a gypsy caravan. #
• 19:27 Fleury made a save that literally gave me hea rt palpitations. #pens #NHL #cryersimeanflyers #
• 20:17 Keep screaming “Crosby sucks”, you twatty Philly fucks. #pens #
• 21:37 It’s impossible to watch this hockey game sitting down. #
• 21:47 That was a sweet shootout. I mean, how are the Flyers expected to win when there’s no one to punch? #pens #flyers #NHL #
• 21:53 My Christmas tree continues to grow uglier. Much like my soul. #
• ***
• 02:49 I need to stop staying up so late. Henry just tucked me in. It was cute until he tried to smother me. #
• 14:05 My little brat child keeps calling me Mrs Attitude. He’s been given way too much power in this household. #
• 14:55 I just tried to picture myself camping & my mind actually broke. #
• 19:01 If you live in Pgh, check out Wildcard on Butler St in Lawrenceville. Fun stuff there! (& I’m not just saying that b/c they shill my wares.) #
• 19:06 I read/screamed the list out loud to Henry RT @AltPress Want the first batch of Warped Tour 2010 bands? We got ’em! bit.ly/7Wt6B1 #
• 19:17 Henry is trying to learn cross stitching while Robert Smith looks on from above yfrog.com/33x6rbj #
• 21:10 It tickles me that all our Xmas cards come addressed to My Name/Henry’s Name & Chooch. My name is always first, yeah bitches! I mean, cool. #
• 22:31 Google just ruined my night, as well as my entire weekend, maybe even my life. Ignorance is bliss! #
• 22:46 Maybe that’s why my evil cat Marcy has gone from my arch nemesis to ankle-rubber. She knows I’m dying. #
• ***
• 02:33 I guess it’s time to curl up with my cancer & go to sleep. #
• 17:09 Gotta love a holiday movie that starts out with the parents of 3 kids dying in a wreck. Merry Christmas. #
• 17:13 I’ve managed to stress myself out so extremely that it feels like I’m having a stroke everytime I breathe. The solution to that? MORE WINE. #  
• 18:19 Feeling a sudden urge to belong to a church. I can’t think of anything this means e xcept that the end must be drawing near. #
• 19:06 Can’t think of a better way to spend a snow-laden Sat. than by watching hockey & drinking wine while bundled in my fave hoodie. #letsgopens #
• 19:09 Henry: oh, they’re playing Lalime. Me: Uh yeah, where have YOU been. Henry: in the kitchen making your dinner, asshole. #
• 20:40 Would have been fun to watch Ryan Miller play tonight but I can’t say I mind having to look at his face on the bench. #pens #sabres #nhl #
• 21:43 I love shootout wins! #pens #NHL #
• ***
• 00:02 I need to have a backup boyfriend to keep me company during the 20 hours a day Henry spends asleep. #
• 12:30 10 days of every Degrassi ever made omg. #
• 15:14 Hay look @ the dumb! Random Picture Sunday: Not sure if you heard anything about it, but we got some snow. bit.ly/5JVJdl #
• 16:45 Waiting for everyone to arrive so we can desecrate some ornaments. I mean, decorate. #
• 17:01 Old school Hoover! Henry broke out the bandanna to do some hardcore cookie-bakin’. yfrog.com/37w6ftj #
• 18:59 Art class. yfrog.com/4fhw4j #
• 21:26 Henry’s too busy baking to pay attention to me. This might be a good opportunity to fake suicide. Or pregnancy. #
• 21:32 Last night Henry accused me of having no responsibilities. I decided to make a list to prove him wrong. So far I only got “washing dishes.” #
• 23:12 Maybe it’s just me, but once meat is thrown into the mix it’s no longer a grilled cheese. #
• ***
• 15:44 Henry Spunkmeyer is still baking. I think I’m most attracted to him when he’s in the kitchen. It’s that whole femmasculine thing. #
• 17:21 Henry, boxing cookies for the big exchange. I’m so proud of him! I wonder if he’ll write about it in his diary. yfrog.com/1eohtcj #
• 17:57 Henry said he doesn’t think my blog is funny b/c he’s too intelligent. I don’t think it is either but that has nothing to do w/ smarts. #
• 18:07 Henry’s not onboard with me learning martial arts to relieve aggression. “Yeah that’s what you need – to be angry and deadly,” he lectured. #
• 19:05 That was awesome. Not only was Henry the only guy there but the cookie exchange took place at a nail salon. It was rich. #
• 20:28 The Devils continue to cripple us. #pens #
• 21:00 I just learned from my son that if I had another child, he/she wouldn’t like me. He WOULD know. #
• 21:23 They just showed a grandpa/grandson pair at the #pens game. It made me happy-sad. #
• 21:58 Bravo, Martin Brodeur. #NHL #
• 22:01 RT @nhlinformant #Flyers better get their game together by the #winterclassic or else the entire country will see their a bunch of frauds. #
• ***
• 10:18 I never tire of Bittersweet Symphony. #
• 12:47 I never close my eyes in the shower. #
• 12:52 Cho och wants every novelty cooking item he sees on TV, then says “And we’ll get daddy to use it.” I love that he knows the parental roles. #
• 20:44 It always come back to combat knife. #
• 20:49 Santa should bring us all the ability to edit tweets. Sparkly red bow optional. #
• 21:10 I just ate the first delicious nut roll cookie thing in years, courtesy of @rhondakibuk. Holy shit. #
• ***
• 01:27 Since Henry’s ignoring me I guess I’ll just reminisce alone about the time I wanted to join that Lyme Disease support group. #
• 11:03 I love how the envelopes of Christmas cards remind me that I’m living in sin. #
• 11:08 Chooch is experiencing for the 1st time the psychedelic brain-rape that is The Price Is Right & asked “why’re they acting like retards?” #
• 16:27 But why CAN’T Christmas be all about me?? #
• 16:46 Is there a support group for people who can’t deal with Christmas shopping? #
• 17:52 If I miss the hockey game because of Santa’s popularity, I’m beheading a reindeer. #
• 17:56 My last tweet made my eyes well up. I’m changing that to a plastic reindeer. Or Henry. #
• 18:07 Scene: Toys R Us, boatload of bitchy moms crashing their bitchy carts into my ankles, I find out my grandma was taken back to the hospital. #
• 18:33 Chooch told Santa he wants a Jack in the box. Santa had a f lashback to his own wishlist back in 1940. #
• 19:36 I’d like to see one of the Pens send Mike Fisher home to Carrie Underwood nice and bloody. #NHL #
• 20:46 #pens are up 6-1 after two periods. It’s like they’re unleashing all the pent-up goals from Monday night’s blowout loss & it’s FANTASTIC. #
• 21:16 Hat trick for Malkin! This more than makes up for the 6-2 loss t o the Sens earlier this season. Too bad this wasn’t against the Flyers. #  
• ***
• 01:24 Sometimes I just lay here and look for pictures on my ceiling. Last night I swear I saw Miley Cyrus’s weener. #
• 11:08 Chooch goes, “I told Janna to get you a Hannah Montana toy for Xmas.” My son’s a dickhead. #
• 14:40 This is how people from Arkansas (Alisha!) pay for paintings. There is MacGyver-approved tape involved. yfrog.com/6m3ndfj #
• 16:46 The son is currently painting a picture of “the wine store.” A good indication that perhaps he’s there too often. #
• 17:23 When someone perpetually plays a video game &am p; you find yourself singing sentences to the tune of its theme, you know it’s Wine Time. #
• 18:36 Hay look @ the dumb! A Christmas Eve Tale: Libraries and Lynchings: Hello, here are two points of interest to prefa… bit.ly/8BDIjo #
• 18:36 I have chest pains so bad when I laugh. I hate when God meddles with my inappropriate humor. #
• 20:26 Henry’s mom just tried to give us a web address: www.com. That will get us far. #
• 20:49 Wine in a box at Henry’s sister’s house. Unabashedly drunk. Obtaining lots of fodder for his fake diary. #
• 20:5 6 Henrys sister is talking about how their mom used to beat the shit out of her and we’re laughing to death. #
• 22:52 That was unequivocally the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever had. #
• 23:56 Got an early present from Santa, best ever if you know me! yfrog.com/3lfucvj #
• 23:59 Dear @awoodhick, I love my presents but why the shit are we watching the country channel? #
• ***
• 00:38 Merry Christmas to my Twitter friends! (I’m not cool enough to pull off “tweeps.”) #
• 01:52 Henry & I are head-to-head in a game of Words With Friends. I’m trying to go easy on him for Christmas. No, I’m really not. #
• 09:39 This is exactly why I hate buying him Playdoh. A minute later & every color is mixed. My OCD hurts! yfrog.com/1yfn0yj #
• 09:49 Upon asking Chooch what his fave present was, he held up a pack of Gushers from his stocking. He was serious. How did he get so unspoiled. #
• 10:57 It pleases me greatly that Chooch is excited about getting books for Christmas. I hope that doesn’t change. #
• 13:26 I love when hummus is so fresh it can be drunk from a cup. Not that I’d ever….
• 14:04 I feel like I’ve been bounced around today more than a porn star on Ron Jeremy-as-Santa’s lap. #
• 17:35 I’m at the nursing home visiting my grandma and it’s going much better than on Thanksgiving. Thank you, Santa. #
• 17:50 My grandma has a knack for reminding me that every decision I’ve made in life has been the wrong one, right down to my hair color. #
• 20:54 Now I’m at my dad’s & found out my mom made him my fave dessert – butterscotch pie. Maybe if I divorce her, she’ll bake it for me too. #

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.

Hello, here are two points of interest to preface the meat of this post:

1. In all my thirty years, I have had very limited experience with libraries. Sure, I loved library days in elementary school when Miss Dittoro would read us some book while we all sat on the carpet. And in high school, someone coaxed me to sign up to be a student librarian so I could spend my study halls bullshitting with friends in lieu of inhaling stale “food” fumes in the cafeteria, where most study halls were held. (Little did I know that when we had some lame school award ceremony, my name would get called among all the student librarians, wherein I had to walk down the auditorium aisle, take the stage and stand there while everyone in the crowd pretended to applaud but were really mocking all of us book dorks.)
2. Last weekend, a local lady on Twitter alerted me to the fact that not only is there some Facebook fanpage for people who grew up in my town, someone had written on the wall ABOUT MY BLOG. They listed the exact address and urged everyone to peruse a certain category where they could find photos I’ve taken and stories I’ve written about “characters they all know and love.” Hello, panic attack. My blog experienced a stat-spike the likes of which it hadn’t seen the Great LiveJournal-Oh Honestly Erin flame war of 2008. Sunday night I went to the gas station down the street from me to buy the paper (which I’ve never done before and you can ask Alisha, I was so confused) and literally hesitated on the threshold because I was afraid someone would know I was Oh Honestly, Erin and subsequently lynch me.

There, you have been properly educated and can now advance to the rest of this post.

Henry is a card-carrying member of the Carnegie Library. There’s one on Brookline Blvd, right by the laundromat he and Chooch go to, so while the washing machines are sterilyzing our wardrobe of cat urine, he and Chooch will get all cozy in the library. Sometimes they even check books out.

Now, I usually will just buy books, or trade with friends. But, embarrassingly, I have been reading the House of Night series and haven’t been able to justify buying the next book in line since Christmas is so close and I have that child-thing that I should be spending my money on. It’s been killing me, not knowing what’s going to happen to that whore Zoey and her lame friends who think they are twins and say things like, “That boy is so fiiiiiiiine” and I’m like, “STFU who do you think you are, SWV?” So Henry, having all the answers as usual, goes, “Why don’t you check the library’s website?”

This is how I learned that I can sign up for a membership online AND THEY WILL RESERVE BOOKS FOR ME WTF. Yes, it’s practically 2010 and I’m just learning about LIBRARIES while everyone and their pastor is walking into people, squinting at their Kindles.

Yesterday, I got an email saying that my book is in and they put it on some super special shelf for me. I wanted Henry to get it for me, but then remembered that my membership is only temporary and I have to get the actual card when I go in.

“Can’t I just give you my ID and you can tell them that I’m retarded and can’t make it in?” I pleaded, because libraries are SCARY.

“Even retards go to the library,” Henry spat, insinuating that I’m a cause much greater lost.

I checked the website and it said they were open on Christmas Eve until 3pm. I didn’t want to wait any longer for this book to be in my (teenaged) hands, so I made Henry and Chooch get bundled and we set off up the street. Because god forbid I should go to the scary library alone, even after Henry practically drew me an Army-regulation map of what to do once I walked through the automatic doors. I have to bring my flock with me. Safety in numbers and all that.

A block away, I started to get anxious. “Oh my god, I’m so scared,” I repeated several times, mostly to myself but just loud enough for Henry to hear and take great pity on me. You should have seen me, clutching the email printout of my library membership to my chest and doing the I-Have-To-Pee jig.

 Jesus probably had more composure walking with the goddamn cross.

“What you SHOULD be scared of is being recognized on this street,” Henry challenged. I let that sink in for a second, and then quickly smoothed my hair closer to my face as a shield.

I risked my life walking down that street only to find that the library was closed. Those motherfuckers.

I’ll probably just go back to scamming Doubleday.

Being the classy parents we are, Henry and I nearly forgot to get Chooch’s picture with Santa. And standing in line with all the other asshole, last-minute parents, I seriously contemplated just photoshopping one and calling it a year. Instead, I snatched the keys off Henry and me and my chest pains sat in the car. My weak, grinchy heart just can’t take holiday crowds. Oh, I have boatloads of holiday cheer, my friends. When I’m alone in my living room with a glass of spiced wine, admiring my gaudy Christmas tree.

 Much like being paged by Olive Garden, Henry alerted me when they were nearly next in line and I went back in to pretend like I’m a good mommy, and my ass immediately re-clenched when I had to shrug past a horde of line-standers.

I tried to coax Chooch into telling Santa he wanted a haircut, but instead (after he lied about being a good boy), when Santa asked what he wanted he mumbled, “Jack in the box.” He’s been on this bizarre, slightly worrisome jack in the box kick because it’s the J identifier in his ABC book. I imagine Santa was like, “Son, that was on my wishlist back in 1942.” Every time he tells me he wants one, I want to take him by the shoulders and give him a good shake, and then shout, “You’re supposed to want gratuitously violent toys that double as weapons when your father pisses me off. I mean, you. When daddy pisses you off.”

Do you know Target sells jack in the boxes for nearly twenty dollars? TWENTY DOLLARS for a piece of shit tin box with a deformed plastic clown whose only purpose of existence is to pop out and scare the fuck out of impressionable youths? Why do you think I’m thirty years old and jumping at the drop of a feather? BECAUSE I HAD A JACK IN THE BOX AS A CHILD.

And another reason I can’t get him a jack in the box is because I may have read somewhere once that there is a pornographic slice of cinema with a scene featuring a very well-endowed jack in the box.

Growing up, I watched Days of Our Lives with my mom.

My favorite was every Christmas when the Bradys and Hortons would gather together and don the Christmas tree with personalized bulbs. They’d always make a big to-do about hanging the ones for deceased or absent family members, like Shane Donovan who was always off somewhere solving crimes with the ISA (but really he was filming episodes of The Nanny and probably trying to stave off suicidal thoughts brought about by Fran Drescher’s nasally cackle).

Now that I finally have a tree, I sent out a text to my crew, if you will, informing them that at some point they would be expected to show up at my house to scrawl their dumb names on the bright bulbs I bought on sale at Target.

I finally lassoed them all together last night, minus Blake, for some artin’.

Corey chose green, so that was the color Chooch wanted too.

I’m way too OCD for this shit, so Janna graciously took on the mommy role and aided Chooch with his ornament. It actually didn’t suck and Chooch didn’t waste all the glitter like I anticipated. That was all Alisha.

I made mine simple, since everything else about me is so flashy and royal. I’m trying out this new thing called Modesty. It kind of makes me agitated and my pee smell.

We all had to give Janna extra special praise for not only not breaking the bulb, but spelling her name right too!

Afterward,  there was some heavy Degrassi-watchin’, followed by a riveting round table about “Jersey Shore” with a little NHL Network thrown in for some added flava. You know, the usual.

Not sure if you heard anything about it, but we got some snow.

I wanted to have one last game night of the year, especially since my brother will be studying abroad next semester and he loves a good game night. But at the rate December was going, the only night I could schedule it was for a Sunday, which is apparently a bad night for people with jobs. (I wouldn’t know. Every night is Friday night for me.) And my brother ended up not being able to come anyway.

But Blake, Deanna, Alisha, Janna, Mose, Stacey and Brenna didn’t let little old Sunday get in their way of snack food, wine punch, and my horrible selection of games.

We started out with no one’s favorite – Catchphrase. Alisha immediately opted out, remembering that this is the ONE GAME that brings out my competitive side. (That’s an understatement.) I got saddled with a team of people who  were skip-happy and didn’t know the word “pediatrician.” The team that had all the boys on it basically pulverized my pathetic team and furthered my hatred of Henry.

My Liberatree is so fabulous, it won’t let the camera focus on anything else. And everyone got to (inadvertently) take home tinsel as a parting gift.

Kara’s too good to come to Game Night (maybe it might have something to do with the fact that, I don’t know, she lives in Maryland and just had a baby) and Catchphrase really flounders without her policing every person’s fuck ups. I tried to step up and bark at people for not following rules but no one listened to me.

And at one point I sort of removed myself from my body and realized I was being a psycho-competitive asshole. But that didn’t stop me from screaming at my own team mates for not doing it right.

It was supposed to be that whomever got this cup was permitted to leave early (after punching Alisha in the face, of course). Unfortunately, Henry got it and even though he begged, I remained firmly planted in my decision that he was ineligible.

Alisha was all hunkered down in her arm chair, laughing  as my gasket threatened to blow. Winning Catchphrase is pretty much all I have in life, OK? We can only play so many rounds before I get all anxious and one side of my face starts to sag like a stroke victim’s.  I’ve hit people in more heated rounds before. No wait, that was Scattergories. Which we also played!

Somehow there were too many people for everyone to get a Scattergories scoreboard (I know, how often does “too many people” and “at one of Erin’s parties” ever go together?) so we had to pair up. Alisha immediately clung to me and whispered, “What? I want to win.” See? She knows! Now, Stacey HATES playing Scattergories with me. Something about how she thinks I cheat? I can’t remember. But I firmly believe this is the reason why she hasn’t been to a game night since November 2006. (Yes, I keep track.)

Henry and Mose were a team, which apparently Henry thought was awkward. “Because we’re two guys,” Henry explained. Oh, of course, that makes sense now—wait. I thought we were playing Scattergories, not TouchEachOthersPrivaterories. And even THEN Henry might need a better argument than “because we’re two guys.”

Maybe that’s why they played the game so straight. OH HO.

And of course Alisha and I pwned the whole room with our unbeatably ingenious answers. Janna sat this game out and totally had our backs, righteously defending our answer of “gas stove” for furniture. HELLO IT’S CALLED ANTIQUE.  I know so many people who have one and use it as a fashionable footstool, so suck a dick Henry. And when Henry and Stacey accused Alisha and me of making up the name Giacomo for “boys name – letter G” (maybe if they READ MY BLOG they would know that I wrote a story in 2008 called Giacomo’s Secret, not that I’m angry about that or anything) and that “at best, it starts with a J!” This is because Henry is not as worldly and traveled as I. Had he ever been to Italy, perhaps he’d have had the opportunity to ride on the back of one Giacomo’s Vespa.

“That’s a real name,” Janna said, waving her imaginary flag. “Erin knew a Giacomo once. He liked to brush his teeth.”

“What? I did?” I asked, thinking she was making this up to help. I searched her face for a wink, but found nothing other thana look that said “Why are you staring at me like that, psycho-perv?”

“Yeah, don’t you remember? He brought his toothbrush over to your apartment.”

So now I’m thinking silently, “Oh my god, did I fuck some guy named Giacomo and he knew he was going to spend the night so he brought his toothbrush? That’s awfully brazen. I’d remember one-nighting it with someone named Giacomo though, wouldn’t I? I wonder if it was good. Probably not. It rarely was.” But the more clues Janna fed me, it finally clicked that he was some blind date I had and in order to meet him, I had a get together at my apartment and yes, he brought his tooth brush, and also a pack of cards which he later used to wow no one.  I should write about that dude sometime. I vaguely remember the night ending with me locking myself in my car and crying. You know, the usual.

Now remember, Mose has never been to my house before and has never met any of my friends. So the poor guy had to sit through all of this and probably wonders about my credibility as a human being now. For his sake, I did go easy on the rest of them, and funneled my brilliance into smaller doses than typical. I know how some people feel threatened by my awesomeness. (Henry and Stacey.)

Whenever our answers would be questioned, we’d use Arkansas as our scapegoat, since that’s where Alisha is from and ain’t no one gon’ mess with Alisha. Like when we said Galaxies for a professional sports team and immediately followed it with “THEY’RE FROM ARKANSAS.” Too bad when Henry asked, “What sport?” I nervously yelled, “Basketball! Women’s basketball! WNBA!” while Alisha said, “They’re a baseball team” at the same time. I vaguely remember someone opening their fat mouth to question, “I thought there was no WNBA anymore?” Well guess what, tonight there is, and you’re not my friend anymore.

FUCK.

It didn’t matter because Alisha and I KILLED at this game. No one stood a chance. And as usual, we got cold shoulders at the end of it, something I’m all too familiar with since I always prevail. “Now you know how it feels at the top,” I whispered somberly to Alisha. “Lonely.”

I’m not going to front, I used to play Scattergories alone as a kid.

After Henry took a generous one hour to read the directions, because no one remembered from last year, Last Word was the next and last game to be played. I sat this one out because the worth of my brain is far too valuable to be overexerted on such silly child games. It’s insured by a very powerful Slavic corporation.

Somehow during this game, the topic of anime came up, and Mose mentioned that he has a friend who love Inuyasha.

I could sense Janna shooting me desperate glances and willing my mind to notice that she was psychically zipping her lips. Too late. I pointed at her so hard that I almost propelled myself out of my chair.

“JANNA LOVES THAT SHOW AND HAS THE HOTS FOR THAT BOY CARTOON THING!”

And her face got all red and she sputtered something about that being a long time ago and we all had a good laugh at Janna’s expense. Thanks for baking that lovely banana bread, by the way, Janna.

And then we all talked about porn and Henry was like, “Hello, may I remind everyone that my son is sitting right here” and I was like, “Yeah I know, and I think he’s the one that broached the topic.” Awkward for Henry, LOLs all around for the rest of us.

Poor Chooch. He wanted to play so bad. But instead, he hauled out Candyland and played quietly on the floor. It reminded me so much of myself as a kid. And also now. Being this awesome can be so alienating, Chooch. You’ll get used to it. If you’re lucky.

I think I’m done with game nights. The next one will be just a regular party. Or something really awesome, like a quilting bee.

In the car on the way to drop my stuff off at Wildcard, I go to Alisha, “Wanna hear something cute about Chooch?

“

Because Chooch is her second favorite subject behind the art of masticating cherry pie after it’s been ridden bareback by a gang of STD-laden missionaries for the Church of Satan, she said “Sure” with rich vehemence.

“Well, we were watching the NHL Network—” I began, excited to weave my web.

“Why’s it always gotta start with that?

” she spat, fronting like she doesn’t enjoy a good slapshot.

Then I dropped off my stuff and drove through a gritty, rapist alcove of a parking garage downtown Pittsburgh, just for kicks.

I was going to stop making stuff. I even considered deleting my Etsy shop.

There was just so much behind-the-scenes bullshit going on the past few months and I found myself stripped of any desire to create. Not only was I not making any new pieces, but I completely neglected to promote the stuff I did have, aside from an occasional Facebook posting. I even pulled out of that gallery show I was supposed to have last month because I just didn’t have what I needed to get anything together.  It wasn’t that I was feeling sorry for myself, but I found myself falling out of love with the whole process. I guess maybe because it started to feel like a job. God forbid!

But apparently, the local shop that was going to host my show has actually been selling some of my pieces.

I don’t know what I expected, that I was going to give this shopowner some of my stuff and she was going to stash it under a floorboard; or worse, she’d put them out on display and people would be so taken aback by the dilettantishness of it all that they’d be inspired to hawker all over the stuff that I have the nerve to call “art.”

That was enough of a boost, I guess, because I’ve been putting together a collection of loot to take down to the shop today and hopefully some of it will be purchased in time to be stowed under Christmas trees. Mama has two big concerts she’d like to attend in February.

If you live in or around Pittsburgh, come see my swag at Wildcard in Lawrenceville. Even if you think my stuff sucks, there is a ton of awesome art, clothing, cards, etc. there that is worthy of your monies.

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

• 16:53 I can’t wait until my son hits puberity & doesn’t have a voice that can attract stray dogs & Fran Drescher fanatics to my doorstep. #
• 17:18 Chooch just called me on Henrys phone from my bedroom to say he’s sorry for being a loud mouth. Oh how lazy technology makes us. #
• 21:25 Fairly certain someone next door just shoved Camryn Manheim down the steps. #
• 22:42 I was 12 the first time I saw Rocky Horror. Someday Chooch can say he was 3. (He’s enthralled.) #
• ***
• 00:30 I was in my old childhood bedroom yesterday for the first time in about 10 years. The glow in the dark stars were still on the ceiling. #
• 02:03 Hay look @ the dumb! freezing tweets: Earth-shattering updates throughout the day, brought to you by Tart-Tits. Ple… bit.ly/4Es28t #
• 13:53 I love it when I’m right and Alisha’s wrong. Even if it’s just about pancakes. #
• 14:35 Hateful! I will never ask another waitress a question about pancakes. yfrog.com/3l9kij #
• 15:12 Hay look @ the dumb! fine. an appreciation post.: Wednesday night,  Chooch was over Janna’s house, making her fa… bit.ly/7fNF4c #
• 17:34 “Oh shocking, you’re watching the NHL Network” said Alisha before grabbing the remote and looking for something girly. #
• 19:29 Oh Twitter. There is so much you need to know about the bar I’m at right now. I am for once at a loss. #
• 19:47 I’m not sure if you know this but it’s really hard to focus on a hockey game when Xmas carols are penetrating your ear at high decibals. #
• 19:52 Alisha on the “quaint” local establishment we’ve found ourselves in: I like it b/c I don’t have to be pretty to be here. #
• 20:07 There’s a middle aged broad here rocking out to Lady Gaga. It’s Brookline’s version of an art installation. #
• 21:27 Oh shit a nd they got a live band up in this bitch yfrog.com/4aavkqj #
• 22:03 I just alerted the bar to the fact that the Pens won in OT. #
• ***
• 09:15 The bartender really wasn’t kidding when she stressed that the wine was cheap. #
• 09:21 I think I’m going to teach a class in 2010. Not sure what or where, but I’m sure Craigslist will help me gather students. It’ll be fine. #
• 11:03 I’d like to strap some skates on Chooch and give him a nice starting shove out in this ice storm. #
• 11:51 downloaded Chorus on iPhone to discover apps with friends. Get Chorus bit.ly/5KpPVd. Connect with Erin Kelly bit.ly/7sEY5H. #
• 12:35 I wonder what it’s like to have a boyf riend who isn’t sleeping all the time. I guess at least this way, it gives us less time to fight. #
• 13:09 My vote of staying together but taking on a younger, more awake lover? Vetoed by Henry. No honest infidelity under the Xmas tree THIS year. #
• 15:05 I’m so happy Henry is the housewife in my house because grocery shopping is for the fucking pigeons. #
• 15:13 SOS. SOS. SOS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Motherfucking SOS. #
• 15:48 I always find myself in the handicap stall. #
• 17:28 This is what youre missing if youre not coming to game night. I know right?! yfrog.com/1dfdij #
• 19:02 Getting ready to go to Wildcard where they will hopefully be adopted by fine people yfrog.com/35lowij #
• 20:45 Alisha just got a tas te for being hated by choosing me as her scattergories partner. #
• 21:06 It’s lonely at the top. Now Alisha knows. #
• 21:31 I really need to pick easier games to play at game night to alleviate the confusion in the room. #
• 23:02 My 3 year old just told me to go to hellz0rz. #
• ***
• 10:39 Just got my first neutral feedback on Etsy. For including “extra marketing crap” in the package. Those bastardly business cards! #etsy #
• 13:24 I don’t have the heart to pitch these fuckers. How long before marshmallows perish? yfrog.com/4f9uuj #
• 14:42 Our little Henry signed up for @RhondaKibuk’s cookie exchange. I see someone’s making bourbon balls. I will be dreaming of those all week. #
• 18:31 Trying hard to get back in the habit of proofreading my blog b4 posting so it won’t seem like English is my 2nd language. Not going well. #
• 20:37 When you get a Facebook message that says “I’m pretty sure I’m your half sister, if you ever want to meet,” it’s good to have wine on hand. #
• 20:46 I smell a plea for bone marrow. #
• 23:14 Holla, noncomposcards is shop of the week! blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendId=354476454&blogId=522299546 #
• ***
• 13:07 I’ve decided that the operative word of my life is “awkward,” & I’ve reached its epitome. #
• 13:09 Considering I just scraped aside the entire middle, it must have been in my dreams I liked strawberry rhubarb pie. #
• 13:53 I love Brains Zombie Necklace by sacredflesh on Etsy bit.ly/4Gz4dl #
• 15:14 Had a talk w/ Chooch about bullyism, how he better not be one in school. He agreed then goes, “I’ll just be a bully to daddy.” Good talk! #
• 15:44 I’ll call my cat Marcy until my throat bleeds & she won’t even glance at me. Henry does a quick snap & she comes prancing over. Disgusting. #
• 18:04 There are some people on Alishas street I’d like to get to know. In a “thru-the-window” kind of way. #
• 18:45 Hay look @ the dumb! The Oh Honestly Army: Because Henry was being a little angel by cleaning for game night (more … bit.ly/7koMnm #
• 19:11 Turn ed them around so they can see the Penguins game yfrog.com/4aadhmj #
• 19:13 Henry, angrily: How many pictures do you have to take of them? It’s not like they change. #
• 19:23 #pens vs #flyers game has only been indie 5 minutes and already there have been 5 fights. HOCKEY RULES. #NHL #
• 19:25 Someone has a sign that says “Hartnell, keep your fang out of Letang” and I’m sad I didn’t think of it. #NHL #
• 21:13 Haha, no goal Carcillo! Hopefully your sleazy Mexican moustache will take a break from molesting children to catch yr tears. #pens #flyers #
• 21:37 Go home, Flyers! #
• 21:40 Happy holidays, indeed yfrog.com/3g62602734j #
• ***
• 00:26 Don’t worry @saucalisha: I’m totally DVRing Snooki and The Situation on Conan for you. It’s Guidotastic. #jerseyshoreholla #
• 10:36 Redid my Son of Sam holiday card. This is the last week to buy cards! bit.ly/71rj1C #
• 13:56 RT @NHL Fans beware of the vicious outbreak of Kronwalling: ow.ly/MHrn #nhl (dislike red wings but this is funny) #
• 14:00 I’ve come to tell you that shredded colby jack tastes like shit in coffee. You never woulda guessed that. This is why I’m a professional. #
• 15:20 I love noticing hours after the fact the creative ways my phone auto-corrects my tweets. #
• 20:27 Why do I have a feeling #SYTYCD is going to make me angry tonight? As long as no part of that douchey married couple wins. #
• ***
• 01:01 I’d like to go back to when I was 20 & punch myself in the face. #
• 04:40 Hay look @ the dumb! For a Good Choke, Call That Guy: a LiveJournal Repost: (Originally posted March 20, 2007) Ther… bit.ly/5f9dhA #
• 11:19 I’m voting to host a film festival of old high school class projects. It’s amazing how vehement the vetoes are. #
• 11:57 RT @MrsBsConfession Visit silvermoonwitch.blogspot.com and enter to win 1 of 5 copies of Magus of Stonewylde from @Kit_Berry #
• 13:03 Just wondering when they’re going to show all the “hot broads” on “Jersey Shore.” At this rate, Henry can toss on a wig & get screentime. #
• 13:25 My workouts never feel successful unless they’re followed by vomiting. #
• 14:08 Mop head, pantsless & watching his shows. yfrog.com/33twhgj #

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.

(Originally posted March 20, 2007)

There I was, at a neighborhood Chinese restaurant enjoying my meal when suddenly, a man behind me started coughing with extreme force. The sheer volume and abruptness of it startled my hands into gripping the table’s edge. Once my sense of panic subsided, I started to laugh but managed to quickly stifle it. I went back to spearing tofu with my fork.

And then he coughed again, like the very essence of life was being expelled through his lungs. He coughed and coughed and coughed, hearty and resounding staccatos of sonic warfare. Feeling thankful that my back was mostly toward him, I turned even further away so that I was seemingly laughing at the wall. I’m sure it wasn’t obvious at all.

My whole body was quaking from trying to suppress the laughter, and I begged Henry to talk to me so I could pretend like I was laughing at him. He turned away and focused all of his attention on Chooch, leaving me alone, red-faced and choking on chortles.

They finally left a few minutes later and I let it all out.

“Oh my god, did you hear him?! It was so hysterical! Weren’t you afraid you were going to laugh since you were directly in the line of his coughing?” I asked Henry in between breathy laughs.

“Um, no, because he was choking. It wasn’t funny.” Then he did that thing where he closes his eyes and gives his Bo Brady-coiffed head a swift shake, and then chases it with a frustrated and exhausted exhale.

I couldn’t stop imagining what he must have looked like in the throes of his choking fit. Were his hands clasped around his neck? Was his tongue sticking out like it does to choking victims in cartoons? If I was his wife, I’d have booted him in the balls as a nice cherry on top.

“Did they see me laughing? Was his wife laughing at him, too?”

“No, because he was choking.” Henrywas choking too — on disgust.

This made it even more hilarious and I couldn’t stop laughing at all. Then I was jealous because  Chooch got to stare at him through the whole thing because he’s a baby and babies get away with spying all the time.

I kept thinking about it the next day when I was driving and I had streams of mascara painting skinny banners of “Choking Is Funny!” down my cheeks.

Why do I have a feeling that I’m inevitably going to meet my demise by choking to death? I hope it’s at least on something exciting.

Like a dick. (And not Henry’s. Someone who will gain me notoriety. “She died from choking on Carrot Top’s penis!

” will be splayed all over the tabloids. And then I can only wish it will become a witty slogan for kids signing yearbooks. “Have a good summer! Don’t choke on Carrot Top’s dick and die like that one broad did!”)

——————————————

Ed.Note: OK, that was almost three years ago and not only can I close my eyes and relive this exact moment, but the thought of that guy choking still makes me laugh so hard it hurts. Please tell me someone reading this knows what that’s like.

The Penguins are playing the Flyers right now so I had to turn the marshmonsters around to watch. Alisha started preaching about how its unnatural to obsess over marshmallows and how if I lived in Arkansas and tried pulling that shit, I’d get gang-raped by a baseball team called the Galaxies. Then Henry said something stupid and shit-coated, like, “Did you just take another picture of them?

They haven’t CHANGED” and I was like, “But people on Twitter might be curious as to what’s going on with them right now.

”

Then I went upstairs to pee and while peeing I started thinking things through, this whole marshmallow thing I mean, and I started thinking about how I never played with dolls when I was a kid, and maybe this is some latent need to play and dress inanimate objects that just bloomed late inside of me.

Or maybe I just really like to make food into play things, because this is not the first time I’ve lost myself in the world of make believe edible friends.

And it probably won’t be the last, either.

This hockey game is fucking fantastico, by the by.

Because Henry was being a little angel by cleaning for game night (more on game night horrors later), I decided to do the grocery shopping. But really it was so I could use the shopping list tab in my Awesome Note app, which is so far my favorite app, aside from Words With Friends, which is apparently good for meeting future husbands on top of learning new two-letter words.

What you should know about me, and probably could have guessed, is that I am no grocery shopper. Basically, I’m a fat red “F” upon an essay on the topic of housewives. I mean, there was a time a year ago when I wanted Henry to make sugar cookies and he was all, “If you want cookies then get your jigglin’ ass to the store and buy the ingredients.” Even after writing it down, Janna and Blake still had to come with me to make sure I didn’t fuck it up. For Christ’s sake, this is what my fridge used to look like pre-Henry:

(Lol @ Zima. That was probably for Janna.)

So yesterday I made Alisha go with me. I didn’t need a lot of stuff. In fact, I had given myself a budget, which I never actually put a number to, but just kept chanting ‘budget budget budget” in my mind as I roamed sadly through aisles of shit you can make food with. Alisha is pretty no-nonsense when it comes to shopping, so I sort of felt safe. I was even really impressed when I called Henry to see if he wanted me to get stuff for spinach dip and Alisha already knew how to make it!

And even where to get the ingredients! (Although I still felt it necessary to send Henry a photo of the packet of Knorr’s vegetable powder shit to make sure it was right.)

I was going to get salsa, but the kind I like is nearly $5 and I was like, “Oh, not from my checking account.” I’ll save that for Henry’s next trip. In another aisle, I found myself wondering how I got to the point where $3 for a bag of candy inspired me to clutch my heart. Jesus christ, I can’t tell  you how much I hate to spend money when it’s my own and not my mommy’s.

Every single person in that store I hated. Every last one of them. Were you at Giant Eagle in Brentwood, PA yesterday? Hated you. Handicapped? Still hated you. A baby? You were ugly and I hated you. I was sick of the squeaking wheels on my cart; sick of the ugly babies; sick of the women who camped out in the aisles with their carts, chatting to other uppity soccer moms they know from their swinger parties; sick of the $14.99 price tag on the Penguins coffee mug I was eyeing up (Alisha considered getting it for me for Christmas, saw the price, and then picked up a shot glass and said, “Uh, can you just drink your coffee out of this?

” and I thought, “Well, it’s better than the arsenic-laced thimble Henry pours my coffee in.” TIMES, THEY ARE TOUGH!).

Alisha even asked me if I was crying at one point.

But then I saw it. It was in the aisle with all the baking bullshit. We were there so Alisha could get marshmallows for rice krispie treats. It’s all because of Alisha that I found a bag of gigantic regular and strawberry marshmallows, made in some unknown, off-brand factory, probably in Arkansas, and ready for me to buy them for only .

99.

“What the fuck are you going to do with those?” Alisha asked hesitantly as I tossed them in the cart.

“Make something awesome,” I said. I mean, duh.

Then we had to go down a bunch of other aisles before checking out. “I love grocery shopping,” Alisha said, which you know warranted a look of incredulity from me. “It’s fun because you can find cool stuff.”

“That’s what European travel is for!” I sighed, moments before Alisha chose the WORST POSSIBLE LINE TO STAND IN and I started getting hot flashes and our cashier was some slow-as-shit young kid who I think might have been exisiting solely on canned cheese. I texted Henry and thanked him for not making me grocery shop on the regular. Can you imagine?? No wonder people say I don’t look my age yet – it’s because I’m not forced to supermarket sweep.

But it was all worth it, newly cultivated gray hairs and all, because I got to come home to a clean (semi-clean) house and make these beautiful marshmallow monsters that were supposed to serve as game night referrees but instead just sat on the coffee table, frosting-hair congealing into poison and candied eyeballs slowly sliding down their sugared faces. To tell the truth, I am quite smitten with them and plan on preserving them so that their friendly facades can be enjoyed by all for years to come. Amen.

Henry and Alisha kept giving me annoyed looks as I tediously labored over them in a very Dr. Frankenstein fashion. I like to pretend they’re my army. With their help, I’ll be mayor of this town. Or at the very least, the person who gets to ring the bell in the clock tower. After Henry builds me a clock tower.)

Because I’m obsessed, I tweeted another photo of them  today. Henry was sitting next to me and when the tweet came through to his phone (yes, he gets  my tweets to his phone; that’s TRU LUV), he glanced at it quickly then put his phone down.

“You didn’t look at the picture,” I whined, insulted.

“Um, I know what it is. It’s those stupid marshmallows. And they’re right there on the table.” OK it’s true, they were right in front of him. But my photo was from a different angle. No excuses.

The one on my right is my favorite. He’s my little edible scene kid! (Although, I wouldn’t actually eat these. Chooch helped with some and well, he touches his butt as often as a dog LICKS his butt. Also, I saw him lick a toothpick-arm before spearing it into the side of a monster.)

I might make more, turn them into ornaments and sell them on ETSY. LOOK OUT WORLD (and Regretsy).