In the past, when Henry has forwarded me Craigslist ads it’s been for such wholesome things like “BREASTFEEDING XXX VIDEOS! GET PAID FOR MEN TO JACK OFF TO UR SQUIRTING BREAST MILK!!!” and a myriad of other paid intimate encounters. Just let your imagination do the rest. So last Friday, when I saw that he had passed along another Craigslist ad, I was like, “Oh boy, what do we have now? Does he want me to pee in someone’s mouth for this month’s rent?” But it was a data entry job. Working from home.

Now, my red flag went up. It’s not often I’ve found a legit work-at-home gig, aside from medical transcriptioning. But I shrugged and replied. The only thing worse than being an artist is being a fake artist in a shitty economy which means I kind of need SOMETHING to happen financially.

An hour or so later, someone called me back. He sounded flustered, unprepared. He kept saying, “Hold on” while someone in what I hoped was an office and not a secret Chinatown warehouse with boarded windows and kidnapped women, could be hear speaking to him in muffled tones.

Five minutes and very little information later, I had found myself scheduled for a 1:00pm training session the next day.

The fact that this so-called company even has an office was enough to calm my paranoia.

The fact that it was in a respectable area made me feel even better. Almost confident. Almost.

The guy I spoke with, Ken, came down to let and another girl in. He immediately apologized for the way he was on the phone, explaining that his boss had come into his office, tossed a bunch of replies on his desk and said, “Here, start calling these people.” That made me relax a bit too, the fact that he was aware of how unpolished he sounded on the phone.

He led us to a conference room where there was already an older woman and a guy waiting. As I pulled out a chair next to the woman, I kind of caught a vibe. One of those “Sit anywhere here, preferably find an entire separate room to sit in” vibe. And as soon as I shrugged out of my jacket, she turned to me and proceeded to tell me that her first apartment post-college was right down the street from there.

And the dam was broken.

She. Never. Stopped.

Her name is Gwendolyn but she goes by Wendy. Her fiance was waiting for her in the van. He was working on Word documents while he waited. He’s from Holland and they’re waiting for his social security card to come so they can get married. This is very exciting to her. She used to work for the GOV’T and sometimes she would have to talk to FBI.

She’s 41!

She has 5 kids!

Her first son was baptized at Sacred Heart!

You know what she is? She’s a Tina-type. Anytime someone would say anything, she always found a way to piggy back the conversation. I could tell Ken was getting irritated, and we had a long wait ahead of us. Why can’t people just come on time? If you’re trying to get a job, COME ON TIME. Don’t make the rest of  us responsible people waste time out of our SATURDAY because you failed to utilize the entire day’s notice you had to find a way to be on time. FOR A JOB.

And I’m glad Redd Foxx decided to rise from the grave in order to attend this training session, where he would repeatedly call the computer “the machine” and ask to have every minute direction repeated.

It’s data entry. 10-key. Work that is so simple, they didn’t even require us to submit our resumes. Within 45 minutes, we were trained, not only in the job we’d be doing from home, but in the auto-biography of Wendy.

At one point, she leaned over me while I was trying to covertly text from my lap and yelled, “OH THAT’S A NICE PHONE! WHAT IS IT, VERIZON?” Um, no? It’s an iPhone? And did you know she’s looking for a new phone? That hers can’t even use Bluetooth?

I wanted to leave. I was so ready to get the fuck out of there and enjoy the rest of my day but NO. Wendy wouldn’t stop. I had to wait behind her while she turned in her payroll info to the office manager, and it wouldn’t be my turn until she was done talking about EVERY SINGLE JOB SHE’S EVER HELD and how she’s done 10-key so often that she’ll be able to do this while watching TV and she already knows exactly what hours she’ll be working and STFU IT’S MY TURN.

After I managed to sully every form with crossed-out words, scribbles, and signatures on the wrong lines (I’m semi-retarded at filling out forms, which I guess is why my only options in life are burger-flipper and data entry clerk; I’m not even sure I could handle working on a farm), I retreated back to the conference room to collect my jacket and purse. And oh yay, Wendy was still there, talking to Ken about how even if job ads say “no phone calls,” she’ll Google the company and put in a call straight to HR. I laughed nervously along with Ken and tried to skirt out the door, but he held up a hand and said, “Wait, I’ll walk you guys out.”

FUCK. Fuck fuck fuck.

So there I am, in an elevator with Ken and Wendy, sucking anxiously on my bottom lip, trying not to explode, when Ken asked what our plans for the night.

“I’m watching the hockey game,” I somehow managed to get out before Wendy had a chance to capture the conversation and rape it anally.

“Who are they playing?” Ken asked. And we began to talk about hockey but it was cut short by Wendy’s Tourettes-like eruption of, “I’M MAKING BRUSCHETTA TONIGHT I’M A REALLY GOOD COOK I LOVE TO COOK BECAUSE I KNOW EVERYTHING THERE IS TO KNOW ABOUT THE HISTORY OF COOKING AND I INVENTED FOOD NETWORK.”

This was blurted out while Ken was still talking to me. Not during a pause or a lull. Over top of a conversation.

I cannot tolerate that. I just can’t. Being interrupted is one of the most appalling things a person can do in presence besides shitting on my coffee table or slitting Henry’s throat (although……). It’s so rude. When people do that, I always wonder how they were able to get so far in life without learning about how rude that is. There was a girl I was friends with briefly last year who was the queen of hijacking conversations, until it got to the point where I just stopped trying to talk to her. And this is how Wendy is.

And I started imagining what it would be like to have to work with her every day but then remembered, “Oh yeah, I get to do this shit FROM HOME.” If I had to physically work with that lady, that might have been a deal breaker. I might have had to cut off a leg and apply for disability. Or cut off Henry’s leg and have him apply for disability.

Still, I came home and nursed a stress headache, then drank lots of wine.

So yes, I’m half-employed right now. And if I’m lucky, a week’s salary might get me some bread and milk from the corner store!

1. For some frustrating reason, I can’t get the screen shot thing to work, so you’ll just have to trust that the random integer generator chose #58 as the winner of the bathroom plaque.

So congratulations to you, Jacque!

2. I am half-employed now. More on that later.

3. Warning – these are offensive to some people, I’m learning.

Axes and hoes,

Erin

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

• 09:36 Having my ass handed to me on Words With Friends, but totally OK with it since it’s by Nic Newsham. #
• 14:11 Fuck you, Chutes and Ladders. #
• 14:55 Henry’s taking down the tree. I’m pretending to be sad but really I’m just happy to have an unobstructed view of the TV again. #
• 18:29 How come I’m the one who’s sick, but Henry is the one who gets to do all the resting. Something is very wrong here. I want a divorce. #
• 18:35 RT @BreakingNews France proposes law banning ‘psychological violence,’ which would make insulting one’s spouse a crime – BBC / I’d be fucked #
• ***
• 11:48 Sometimes I wonder when my unborn baby is going to start haunting me. I could use some grey hairs. #
• 14:53 Chomping at the bit. yfrog.com/3lw0evj #
• 17:46 Dear @awoodhick, your son and I are wasting away to nothing down here. Please feed our faces on the ASAP. #
• 19:14 Let’s go Pens. Please? Let’s go. #
• 19:19 I was not ready for that pizza. Hopefully I’ll have dropped a dress size or two by the time this mysterious illness says goodbye. #
• 21:06 Sometimes I expect to look over and see Chooch making devil eyes while feasting upon a dead bird. #
• 21:37 OK, Luca Caputi totally just made me cry. That was a thing of beauty. GO PENS!!! #nhl #pens #
• 21:58 God damn, that was a good hockey game. Thank you, Penguins! #
• 22:43 Holy shit, the USA hockey team just won the World Juniors, only the second American team to do it. #
• ***
• 15:57 Chooch has to be lured in from the snowscape with cookies. #
• 16:37 Do you remember me, outdoors? It’s been 7 days. But I’m back, bitch. #
• 23:58 I like when Henry gets scared I’m going to leave him & suddenly starts cuddling with me. Makes me laugh. #
• ***
• 17:02 Me: Chooch, put a shirt on. Him: I can’t! Because I’m a nudist! #
• 19:34 Sure, kid, you can wear that outside to play in the snow. yfrog.com/1euhtj #
• 19:41 Intensity is Penguins vs Flyers. #NHL #
• 21:05 Penguins, I love you guys but that was totally a goal. Good “save,” Johnson. Wink wink. #
• 21:49 Hockey heartattack. #pens #NHL #
• ***
• 08:50 Thanks to the local people who are buying my stuff at Wildcard! These consignment payments are so unexpected and pleasing. #
• 17:09 Henry just admitted outloud that he relates to Jersey Shore’s Ronnie. Maybe he’ll FINALLY start wearing shirts with sequined decals. #
• 19:25 Post-workout finds me peeling Christmas tinsel off my sweaty body. It’s really as glamorous as it sounds, 100% Lady Gaga-approved. #
• 19:42 I hope to at some point get to see @thefelixculpa in 2010. “No.5 With a Bullet” was/is a mix cd staple. #
• 21:40 I forgot bassoons existed. Maybe it’s a sign I should learn to play one. #
• ***
• 10:39 It’s ridiculous the things that make me nervous. Like: not having a slip cover on the couch because Chooch spilled hot chocolate on it. #
• 10:40 Henry leaving the Saran wrap out. #thingsthatmakemenervous #
• 10:40 Driving past water towers. #thingsthatmakemenervous #
• 14:57 Chooch drew this at the laudromat. No comment. yfrog.com/1ekglhj #
• 16:34 Frozen rivers. #thingsthatmakemenervous&disgusted #
• 19:30 I love wine and goals by Billy Guerin that are not made by distinct kicking motions. #pens #NHL #
• 20:12 I’ve eaten so little lately that one glass of wine has me tottering. Suddenly Henry is a predator. #
• 20:44 This hockey game is bananas! Chooch’s dad Gonchar got a goal upon review and all of Toronto is booing but I’m cheering. #
• 21:15 The #penguins not blowing this lead would be like the dropped benzo tab in my Saturday nite wine glass. That is to say: illegally awesome. #
• 21:17 I guess Crosby heard me unabashedly screaming “be a hero!” #NHL #pens #
• 21:48 Penguins, you made mama’s night!! I’m so energenic right now it’s ridic. I might go looking for a fight…down at the bingo hall. #NHL #pens #
• ***
• 12:08 Skating party today! I’m so excited it’s stupid! #
• 13:43 Yeah boyzz. yfrog.com/3go8mgj #
• 14:03 Omg couple skate! I wonder if Henry will skate with me??????? #
• 14:08 I had hoped henry would have proposed to me during couple skate. Wishful thinking!!!! #
• 14:24 Stacey raised the roof and promptly fell on her back. #
• 14:39 Go Choochie go! yfrog.com/aujk8qj #
• 15:06 Skating to Gaga is infinite happiness. I am so overheated but give me more!!!! #
• 15:11 Some ppl are in a skating coma yfrog.com/33sfhj #
• 17:18 This has been such a rad day. & now my bro is coming over to watch horror movies b4 departing for the land of The Cure & Strongbow. #
• 20:27 Janna had a hard time reading Fearnet synopses so Corey told her to sound it out. Maybe it’s the wine but I can’t stop laughing. #
• 20:29 Corey and I stopped listening after the second one so Chooch chose The Devils Chair for us. #
• ***
• 01:02 I love it when Janna tells stories. Her hand motions! They’re special. #
• 02:18 I’m going to miss my brother. :( #
• 13:58 Kiss them for me, I don’t want to be diseased. #
• 17:33 I have a dire need to go sledriding on the asap. #
• 19:42 Blake gifted Chooch with the mini version of his slippers. Chooch thinks he’s the shit now. yfrog.com/auqtqxj #
• 20:53 If I ever get amnesia, I want the first info told to me to be: “You don’t like cream soda.” Yes, even before my name. #
• 21:20 Henry’s trying to teach me about cold air returns. I stopped listening so long ago. #
• 21:25 If the #Pens had the same power play skillz as they did during the playoffs, this game should be 6-3 right now. #
• 22:02 EATON!!! He was due for a goal. Go Pens! #
• ***
• 14:45 I might be a little afraid of the house today. #
• 23:03 Watching Chooch interact w/ a 19mo boy was one of the funniest things I’ve seen in awhile. Especially when a toy was chucked at his head. #
• 23:04 Remember when I hated Cheezits? God, I was so naive. #
• ***
• 10:09 Morning highlight: Spying Dip (of famed aquatic frog duo Chip and Dip) chew his food pellet. #
• 10:34 There is a strong possibility that sledriding is in my future. And a good probability of a head contusion. #
• 12:12 There have been times when I’ve honestly been unable to decipher Blue’s Clues. Once, it was a fire boat & I was like “Those exist??” #
• 15:15 Still mildly obsessed. yfrog.com/3nks1zj #
• 15:16 Yes Chooch, let’s sledride down that cliff. What an ingenius idea. #
• 16:07 Hoooooo lawd I forgot how exhilerating sledriding is. Chooch complained the entire time. #
• 17:26 There’s a direct correlation btwn the condition of my complexion & how well the #Pens are performing. In other words, plz win tonite boys. #
• 17:44 whaaaat // R.I.P. Jay Reatard: bit.ly/5XGTor via @addthis #
• 19:12 Supposedly my grandma has been asking for me, because she wants me to break her out of the hospital. Oh, NOW she wants the black sheep. #
• 21:22 Fingers crossed for you, my #Pens. Try not to let Iginla get ya. #NHL #
• 21:44 Oh god I’m already watching through my fingers. #pens #flames #
• 22:03 Slump or not, Sidney Crosby is on fi-yah. If only the #Pens stats reflected that. #NHL #
• 23:04 That’s a god I’ll pray to // RT @everythingpitt @mike8120: @Brian_Metzer Bring Mike Lange back to TV for the lov e of the Hockey Gods!!!!!! #
• 23:16 It’s not hello; it’s jello. #
• ***
• 00:04 Great game, #pens! But maybe we can bring back Malkin’s parents? #NHL #
• 09:52 NO MORE PLAYDOH. I can’t even. #
• 11:35 It’s not ramen; it’s brain noodles. Don’t be ridiculous. #
• 16:39 I’m elbow-deep in a mix CD for Alisha and it feels nice and cleansing. Making mixes is one of my favorite things to do. #
• 18:48 Sitting in Taco Bell while Alisha writes a verbal thesis on drapes. #
• 19:57 I was going to say that I might be the worst wii player ever but then remembered that Alisha is playing too. #
• 21:01 Me: I hate this game because I can’t cheat. Alisha: I LOVE this game because you can’t cheat. #
• 21:40 I love Canada. #
• 23:12 Fleury!! Way to not take that shit! I love it when goalies get scrappy. #pens #
• 23:51 PENGUINS! I’m so worked up, there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep after the game ends. I love these late games. #Pens #
• ***
• 10:24 I am an entire floor and two rooms away from the radio in my bedroom, but there’s no mistaking the distinctive intro to Whitetown. Holla. #
• 11:44 Succeeded in offending someone, as usual, on Facebook. You’d think after 10+ years some ppl wouldn’t bat an eyelash at my antics anymore. #
• 12:37 I want to give Callie from The Real World a big fat hug. #
• 14:10 The only way I can please everyone is by hiding who I really am and that’s just lame. Not doing that, no apologies. Fake people are dumb. #
• 14:24 Dear Twitter god, plz pray that the job training I’m going to tomorrow isn’t too good to be true. #

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.

For as much of an ice queen I am, I really can’t stand winter. I enjoy admiring a fresh snowfall for about two seconds before I’m yearning for spring time. I enjoy the way the snow-salt cocktail starches the shit out of my jean bottoms for the two minutes I spend trying to make them stand on their own before I’m yearning for dry sidewalks and green grass.

I enjoy watching people sled ride on TV before I realize that I don’t enjoy watching people sled ride on TV.

Lately, Chooch has been expressing interest in sledding.  I had been hoping to keep him ignorant of such a concept but apparently people have been whispering. Was it you, Janna? WAS IT? Where else could he have learned of such awful winter torture devices?

So, being the hands-off mother that I am, I said, “Oh that’s all your father. He’ll take you sledding. Go ask him.”

But when Henry came home with a dinky red plastic sled one day, I couldn’t help but think, “Aw, now I want to go too.”

Now, I haven’t been sledding since I was a kid. Like, a single-digit kid. My brother Ryan and I would across the street from our house, where there was a steep and narrow stretch of property, surrounded on both sides by scraggly jaggerbushes and trees. We’d have to be careful because there was a rusty gas line which jutted out at the bottom, just dying to put a kid into a coma. I vaguely remember feeling like a fat bright purple mummy in my snowsuit, shivering from the snow that somehow always manages to sneak its way under ten layers of flame-retardant winter-wear, yet sweating from the exertion of lugging a sled back up a 65 degree hill. (I made that up. I had to stay after school only ALL THE TIME for geometry help. Angles can get fucked.)

At first I thought there must have been snow on the lens but then I realized that’s actually how worn Henry’s crotch is from all the lapdances he blows the rent money on.

On Wednesday, we went out to Sunny Slopes in South Park. It’s kind of like the official sledding hill in that area, and while I grew up close enough, I’ve never sled there. Standing at the precipice with my flimsy sled and staring straight into the bowl of the hill was daunting. To say my brow didn’t sprout sweat-beads at that precise moment would be a blatant lie. So there I am, chanting, “OMG I’m so scared, OMG I can’t do this” while my very impressionable son is gripping my hand, osmosing my every fear and looking up at me with wide, fearful eyes. And there’s Henry going, “Don’t you dare scare him!” I’m really good at that, though I don’t mean to be. I can’t wait to take him to his first haunted house.

Finally, I just sucked it up and gave us a big push. For 3/4 of the way down, I had gone from whispering my death chant to SCREAMING my death chant and Chooch, poor Chooch, had his eyes covered and was steady yelling, “Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!” But once I realized we probably weren’t going to pull a Nascar suicide flip, I calmed down and said, “Oh, hey look. We’re not going to die after all.” And Chooch was like, “Oh thank God.”

It’s a good thing that I’m in good shape for a fat girl, because the walk back up the hill was less debilitating as I imagined. Chooch, however, my nimble, spry child with boundless energy reserves, was a BITCH the whole way back up. “Ugh, my muscles hurt. My leg hurts. I can’t walk anymore. Carry me. Ugh ugh ugh this sucks.”

Chooch carried the same snowball with him the entire time. And even on a sled, Henry can’t stop sexting with his boss.

I was kind enough to let the old man have a turn or two. While I was standing at the top of the hill watching them, a mom-type kept inching closer to me.

She looked like the mom from Goonies and the familiarity put me at ease. But I kept waiting for her Mexican maid to pop up behind her.

So we’re standing there, at an awkwardly close proximity, snapping pictures of our respective sled-bound families down the hill, and I couldn’t stand the awkward silence any longer so I turned and spoke to her. “It’s scarier than I remembered,” I admitted, pointing down the hill. “I haven’t been sledding since I was a kid.”

“Is it really?” she asked, with scared eyes. “My kids keep wanting me to go down with them, but I said no way, they can keep going with their father!”

“Well, once I got halfway down, it wasn’t so bad anymore and then it actually kind of felt….fun,” I continued. “You should try it!”

She laughed. “Maybe I will!” And then our families were making their way back up to us so we parted ways.

Later, I was going back down with Chooch and about halfway down, I looked to my right and saw that she was coming down from a different direction with one of her kids. I yelled, “Yeah!” and she gave me a thumbs up and laughed. I was like, “I did that, Chooch! I got her to go down!” And it brought back memories of high school, when I would encourage other girls to go down, only then it was their boyfriends laughing and giving me the thumbs up.

I actually could have stayed there all afternoon, but Henry was bitching about only having one glove (seriously, it’s a wonder more people don’t mistake him for a hobo) and Chooch was all, “I’M DONE.” I’m thinking of getting into sledding professionally.

Holla if you want to come with.

After spending the better part of this new year wilting under the spell of some unknown illness, I was so very ready to get out of the house and strap some old school skates over my Valentine hearted knee highs. Most of last Saturday found me spontaneously erupting with excited outbursts  like, “OMG skating tomorrow!” and “One more day, I can hardly wait!” and “This time tomorrow I might be finding a new lover!” What? Not like I’m actively looking or anything.

And then came Sunday, the official skating day. We had to wait for Janna and Blake to get here and of course I was acting a fool, pacing, swearing, running my hands through my hair. When they arrived, I could see Janna was in the mood to sit a spell, but I quickly ushered everyone back out the door and we were on our way to Neville Roller Drome, where Stacey was meeting us.

This was the first time any of us have been to this rink and it was AWESOME. Totally old school and un-fancified, just like I prefer. And even better – the Asshole Population was low. The rink was much bigger than the other place we used to go, at least based on my warped memory.

“OMG you guys, they’re playing my Justin Bieber joint!”

Stacey had read up on my retro posts and was not surprised when Janna kept flitting off to exchange her roller blades for another size or slip into the ladies room to do some blow. Stacey would laugh knowingly and then return to her desperate agenda of out-skating me.

There is just something so therapeutic about rolling across a warped wooden rink that even stale Top 40 songs sound Really Fucking Good. I didn’t think about any of that real world bullshit. Fuck bills, fuck the economy, fuck Jay Leno – for those three hours I was back in 5th grade with a blond side ponytail, white high-topped skates with pink wheels and rainbow laces, a Kids R Us sweatshirt decorated with puffy bears, flirting with boys at our school skating parties at Spinning Wheels. (And by flirting I mean skating past a boy and asking my friends, “DID HE LOOK AT ME? DID HE SEE ME?”) I used to live for those skating parties. “Heart and Soul” by T’Pau would come on and it’d be so intense. SO INTENSE.

We were prepared for Chooch to hate it, but the moment his plastic-wheeled feet hit the rink, he was like, “HELL YEAH BITCHES.” Henry looked pained because he was the designated training wheel, therefore unable to skate fast and free like his inner child-of-the-70s was begging.

Henry pushed Chooch down, derby-style, on purpose at one point, in hopes that it would dash Chooch’s skating dreams. But Chooch just laughed and got right back up again. Because he’s my son, and people that surf out of my uterus don’t give up. (Or in Chooch’s case, sliced-and-pulled out of my uterus.) After awhile, he was flat-out rejecting the steady hand of adults and even threw in some advanced jumps. That’s my kid – go big or go home.

When the octogenarian inside the music booth announced in his George Burns-voice that it was time for Couple Skate, I knew it was on. I shoved Chooch at Janna and barked, “Here, go take him to play a game or some shit” and then I dragged a reluctant Henry onto the rink, forced his hand into my sweaty paw, and pulled him around to the tune of some unknown country-cross over ballad. Even Stacey didn’t know what song it was, so it MUST have been as bad as it sounded. Henry looked pained, his thick brow all catawumpus and furrowed, stands of gray glistening under the disco ball-reflected lights. Then I started thinking about us being skating assassins and I couldn’t stop cracking up. I tried to invite Henry in on the joke but he declined.

The second couple skate was to the sexed-up tunes of some unidentifiable R&B track; as I circled the rink again with Henry (who looked violated), all I could think was that it sounded like a black Phil Collins. Thanks to the racy sax interludes, I felt like there was a chance I could be pregnant by the time the song ended and we left the rink. Stacey had worked up the nerve to invite Blake to skate with her for this couple go-around. They didn’t hold hands, but they sure looked happy….

….unlike here, where they were clearly in a skating coma. This was after Stacey attempted to raise the roof and promptly ass-kissed the floor. Definitely one of the highlights! I told her to just blame Henry, who was right behind her when it happened and I noticed this suspicious pattern of kids winding up sprawling on the rink with arms knotted and legs pretzel’d in Henry’s wake.

I won’t even try to deny the fact that I like that Ke$ha song, “Tic Toc.” And paired with roller skates and racing rainbow track lights, that song is THE ANTHEM. By the time it ended, I was like, “More! Again! One more time!”

After about an hour or so of straight skating, I yelled over to Janna and Stacey, “Hey, let’s go get a drink after this song!” But when it ended, the old man-DJ announced it was time for reverse skate and I was all, “Oh hell no, mama’s not missing this shiz” so Janna and Stacey, having already stumbled off the rink, hung out along the benches waiting for me. As that song was ending, I began to pass Janna and she yelled, “Are you coming?” but “Bad Romance” had JUST COME ON so I shouted back, “No, I love this song!”

Janna threw her arms up exasperatedly and retreated to the snack bar without me.

Let me just say that the ultimate Lady Gaga experience can be had on a roller rink. Possibly it would be better if someone had slapped an acid tab on my tongue, and I had all the Queen’s diamonds magnetizing toward my unitarded-torso, but who am I to ask for so much. Skating to Gaga for some reason triggered sweet memories of post-dinner basement skates  while Sanford & Son and One Day at a Time played on the small TV in the background. Those were the days.

Sadly, “Bad Romance” had run its course, so I very nimbly exited the rink with the grace of the holiest angel. Or Jennifer Aniston; she seems like she’d be graceful on skates. By the time I made it to the snack bar, Janna, Blake and Stacey were all sitting around a table, properly beverageinated. Realizing I didn’t have any cash on me and that Henry was still on the rink with Chooch, I pleaded for Janna to spot me. Hooo boy was she pissed. There went the arms! There went the eye-roll! There went the disgusted phlegm gurgle! Apparently, Blake had also asked her for money and she was starting to feel like a parental unit or something. What? I felt it wasn’t enough that the entire rink already assumed she was my son’s mom, why not try to finagle an allowance out of her too?

In the end, I got my Mountain Dew because it is written in the Bible that Janna cannot deny me.

Oh boy, soon it was time for Limbo! We kept trying to get Blake to go out there but he was all, “No, no, hell no.” Finally, we convinced him that it was the best idea anyone had ever had, even better than  putting peanut butter and jelly in the same jar, even better than making porn downloadable, even better than giving this asshole her own Internet property. So off Blake skated, to the back of a line in which he was the tallest by at least a foot.

When it was his turn, he split his pants.

Like, really split his pants.

Like, split his pants to the point where it was too obscene for me to even take a picture of it unless I wanted to have at least a dozen unsavory labels slapped on my record.

He handled it better than I would have. Had it been me, Henry would have had to rush home and clear the house of all prescription bottles, nooses, and razor blades.

Shockingly, witnessing Blake’s folly inspired Chooch to give it a go, and he tugged Janna onto the rink with him. I didn’t even realize what was going on until I saw them skating to the back of the line together. On his first skating foray, my kid did the Limbo and cleared the pole without falling on his ass. I was so proud! The guys holding the poles were like, “Dude you made it! You get to go again!” but Chooch was all, “Nah, cuz. It’s cool. I just wanted to do it that once.”

Then came the wobbly-voiced DJ again, reminding us that is was “Gentleman’s Couple Skate. This is now Gentleman’s Couple Skate.” I looked at Stacey and shouted, “Dude, that’s so progressive!” but then he came back on over the loud speakers to correct himself. It was actually Gentleman’s Choice. Since Henry doesn’t have a say in anything, I forced him to trade Chooch’s hand for mine. Stacey wanted Chooch to choose her, but he got real nervous and said, “I can’t! My hand’s all sweaty!” That means he really likes her. He’s shy around his crushes. He ended up skating with Janna, while Stacey kept Blake and his exposed crotch company on the bench.

Wow, that sounded so innocent.

Once the song was over, I was dismayed to find that Stacey and Blake had already exchanged their skates for their shoes, and even more dismayed to see that the session was nearly over. I was overheated as shit, but I wanted more! More more more! Everyone assured me that the world wasn’t ending and that we could come back soon. But soon for me would have been ten minutes later.

I miss it there so much already. And I didn’t even have any pizza! I was so busy skating that I didn’t stop once to eat lunch. That’s how awesome it was there.

Later that night, I said to Henry, “Remember when we couple-skated and you didn’t ask me to marry you?”

“I also didn’t ask you to skate,” he pointed out.

Corey came over Sunday night, as did Janna, and we stayed up talking until 2am.

It was really nice and somewhat cathartic since we did a lot of family ranting, and it made me realize that we have more in common than I thought.

Today, he leaves for a semester in London.

Have fun, Corey! Drink lots of Strongbow, listen to the Cure and most importantly – SEND ME SHIT!

4 comments

Whenever things go remotely well for me (and I’m talking winning a free ticket on a scratch off), I panic and wonder what sort of hellstorm is skulking around behind the shanties, waiting to shower me with hot coal, STDs and Jessica Simpson medleys. So my instinct is to do something nice for other people.

And this is where it could benefit YOU. I’m giving away one of my 4″x4″  bathroom plaques ($15 value) to one lucky reader. They’re available in a variety of styles and the choice is all yours. Here are some of the glowing reviews that have been dumping in (oh, see what I did there? DUMPING?):

Jen Shitcan from Missouri has been heard saying, “Shiiit, I was so sick of my bitch ass husband bringing his broads home from the bar and asking me where the can was so they can empty their Diva Cup.  Now they just look for the sign and I don’t gotta be bustin’ caps no more.”

Isaac Outhouse from the wilderness sent a telegram saying, “Sign good. Rust proof.”

Peter Pisser from a place with a large blind population sent a box of chocolates with a note saying, “Works good. Except my one blind friend still needs help finding the commode. Make one in braille, you should.”

Melissa Purell informed in green ink, “My son has a penchant for smearing fecal matter everywhere but the hand wipes I keep on the sink specifically for these occasions. Luckily, the unsavory smudges wipe right off my bathroom marker. The stench, not so much.”

And Alyson from Waltham, MA was so thrilled to have her friends stop crapping in her potted plants that she left this flowery feedback: Thanks so much!! I absolutely love it!! My house plants thank you from the bottom of their rooty hearts. It’s the perfect size, too!

Possibly only one of those are real.

All you have to do is comment here on this entry and make sure you leave a valid email address. The winner will be chosen at random using random.org.

The winner gets one custom plaque, in the style of their choosing (boy/girl or little monster guy) and any background color.

The choices for the title are:

• poo parlor
• craporium
• crapper
• the loo
• the john
• holy shitter
• chamber pot
• privy
• commode
• toilette
• the can
• your own endearing custom title

Commenting is open right now and ends Sunday  1/17  at noon EST.

(For people reading this via a feed, this includes LiveJournal and Facebook,  CLICK HERE TO ENTER.)

Back in the day, I used to read a bunch of indie music magazines that came with CD samplers. Admittedly, most of it was filled with throwaway tracks (except for the awesome European synthpop rags I would get lucky enough to find), but I remember there was this one sampler that had the most inspirational song I had heard in years, and I thought, “Wow, this would have been a good song to have heard in high school,” which is practically a pay-per-view kick-you-while-you’re-down emotional bloodbath in a large brick building. At least, parts of it were for me, anyway.

Somewhere along the way, the sampler was misplaced, but that song has always stuck with me. Periodically I’ll scour the Internet, searching for it.

I finally found it the other night and was surprised at how well, lyrically, it has held up. And it still makes me feel good. Like no one can fuck with me, and if they do? Ohwellzorz, I’ll just get right back up.

  I really think this song should be out there bumping elbows with My Chemical Romance’s “I’m Not Okay (I Promise)” and it is, in my bullheaded opinion, worlds better than Saosin’s “You’re Not Alone.”

I thought it would be fun to share a song every Sunday, so here it is. Listen if you want!

[mp3_embed blog_plyrs=”2″]

This song should be passed out to every kid upon entering ninth grade. And even though I’m 30 fucking years old, I still cheer when I hear it, and feel like having a fucking pep rally.

In his general high octave whine, Chooch is demanding a refill in his cup.

Henry asks what was in it.

“Hot chocolate,” Chooch answers, right before deciding that I should get it for him instead.

“Because she got it last time, and you will not know how,” he explains to Henry, in a tone alarmingly cross and indignant for such a small child.

“There’s not much your mother knows how to do,” Henry mumbles, pulling the milk from the fridge.

“So it can’t be that hard.”

It feels good, laughing that hard.

——————-
There is so much snow here in Pittsburgh and it’s making my house feel like the duplex version of the fucking Overlook, but instead of a kid riding around on a tricycle chanting REDRUM, I’ve got a Chooch riding around on a tricycle chanting obscenities and, with just a roll of his eyes, evoking more chills than those creepy dead twin girls.

This is the perfect weekend to watch horror movies. What are some of your faves?

The following is an account of only the second time I ever hung out with Alisha, and also the reason why she might not be attending our skating fiesta this weekend.

Wanted: A Skating Costume

Originally posted February 2005

The typical skating troika of Janna, Henry and myself was thrown askew  as we added a new member to our elite skating club: Alisha.  She had no idea what she had subscribed for.

Let me just say that she made Janna look like a bona fide Olympian out there. The new catchphrase of the night became, “Are you going to cry?” which replaced the traditional, “Where did Janna go?” It took her about a half hour to make it around one lap, but to her credit most of that time was tied up in untangling herself from the amassment of limbs and wheels after she crashed into a roller blader. I was proud of her, though; she accepted the blader’s helping hand to get her back on her feet, brushed off her jeans, and went right back to hugging the wall. She’s got moxie, that girl.

There were some new faces there in addition to MulletTail, Spandex Dancer, the YaYa Sisterhood (a quad of doughy middle-aged women who eke around the rink leisurely, clipping coupons and trading masturbating tips), and Knee Pad Girl. Most notably was the desperately aggressive lesbian who honed in on Alisha instantly. Apparently, her attention was making Alisha uncomfortable. I can’t imagine why – I thought she was quite attractive; the way her cotton potato sack shirt billowed atop her lumpy body in the most flattering hue of olive, her crew cut bristling in the breeze while her pacifier bounced up and down against her floppy bosom. She was probably one of the hottest folk there and Alisha was totally snubbing her. I found that very rude.

We had an off-rink conference where, judging by the minutes I kept, Alisha vehemently insisted that the boxy broad was not her type, so I promised that if it would make her feel better, I would steer the lesbian toward Janna’s direction, whose type is “Breathing, and even then sometimes not.” I asked Alisha later what her type exactly is, and she goes, “Blond, amazingly hilarious, nice rack. You know…you” and I was like, “Yeah I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.”

I think the real issue was that Alisha was pissed she wasn’t the token lesbian of the night.

Henry was glad for the girl drama because it gave him quiet time on the rink to reflect upon his days in the service getting screwed (in the very non-sexual sense) by prostitutes.

“Look at me now, whores,” I imagine he was saying in his head while power fisting the air. I also turned my head just in time to see him attempt some weird swirly thing with his feet.

Suspiciously, Janna didn’t have to exchange her skates once, not with Alisha there. Instead, I believe she was trying to mentor Alisha, Then it occurred to me that Janna was using false compassion toward Alisha as a new excuse to take copious breaks. Every time I looked around, I saw Janna cozying up to her along the wall. But then she’d get cocky and push off the wall like she was about to speed skate, because for once she was better than someone and felt compelled to visibly display her skills. It was a shame when, by the end of the night, Alisha had matched those skills. Janna was crestfallen.

Frugal Henry was just happy because we didn’t have to pay for our pizza, which by the way was comped and already placed in the oven in anticipation of our arrival by the fine Vallerena proprietors. That’s a good feeling, right there. It was probably free because we brought them a newbie. Or Henry’s peddling free BJs again.

During Limbo, Alisha was relieved to see that the awesome and talented Spandex Dancer had fallen.

“See look! He falls, too!” She looked too smug and I just couldn’t have that, so I explained to her that it was different when someone of his wheeled endowment falls as it’s generally because they’re attempting to do something wildly skillful, not complete half a lap around the rink. I mentally applauded myself as I watched her face begin to sag back into a frown.

Something happened to me last night, though, that brought skating to the next level: I skated through an invisible blanket of odor. That’s right, I broke through the curtain of someone’s goddamn fart.

It was entertaining imagining whose anus generated the noxious fumes, if it maybe temporarily got caught in a psychedelic spandex web before wafting into a flatulant wall. I’d love to blame it on one of those in my company, but their location at the time rendered it physically impossible. Though, Janna’s raunchy ass could probably produce a stench that lingers.

Alisha whined incessantly about breaking two nails, but those are the sort of sacrifices one needs to make for the love of the skate. Now she’ll have memories that will last a lifetime.

ETA:
Upon reading Alisha’s journal, I am sorry to admit that I have misinformed everyone. She broke three nails, not two. My condolences, Alisha.

What Roller Skating Means to Me

Or: Where it is determined that skating has become a thinly veiled guise for Henry to take me where that delicious snack bar pizza is made.

Originally posted January 2005

Tuesday Night Adult Skate can be broken down into segments:

Pre-Skating Car Ride

It is here where one can witness lots of arm flailing and yelling about famine. The hunger pangs also make me an unstable song changer; if I feel little interest in the current song, I will shout, “God, I hate that song!” (even if I don’t, for I am at my appetite’s will) and slam my fingers against the skip button.

Sometimes, in my peripheral, I can see Henry shudder a little. Janna is usually silent during the voyage to the rink, unless she is granted my permission to speak. This doesn’t usually happen. Then someone will “innocently” ask why I didn’t eat before we left, at which point you will find me hawkering the essense of Satan into their face.

Preliminary Skating Laps

I skate around the rink once before deeming my skates too loose. Exiting the rink, I stand near the lockers, looking lost and confused until Henry notices me and skates over to assist.

Henry unties each skate and tightens the laces real good because he is a big strong man with a bandanna. Satisfied with the results, I glide back onto the rink and cruise around a few times, while Janna is still sitting on a bench, lethargically putting on her roller blades. She drags this part out so she’ll have less rink-time.

Henry skates past me and I can see the pain in his face as he fights the urge to pirouette. Then my knees start to buckle under the weight of my voracious hunger and I have to lean against the wall. I consider collapsing into a heap of malnourishment for good measure but not enough people are paying attention. Henry watches my faux-famine unfold and decides it’s time to order the pizza before I embarrass him.

Waiting for the Pizza

The next thirty minutes are spent skating lackluster laps around the rink through blinding flashes of light brought on by starvation. Janna, after three roller blade exchanges and one wheel change, has finally entered the rink (the catchphrase of the night is always, “Where’d Janna go?”). I begin showing off in case she forgets that I’m so much better than her. Then I realize that Henry has been off the hook for a good ten minutes, so I fall into place next to him and chant, “When will the pizza be done? When will the pizza be done? I’m hungry!” until he picks up the pace and leaves me in his prima donna dust. He’s getting good at shaking me. Catching up to him, I incessantly probe, “Is it done yet? Is it done yet?” until he quite brusquely shoulders past me. I contemplate screaming, “That man hit me!” until I realize that the only other people on the rink at that moment is a man who wears spandex to afford more comfort while performing spins and kicks in the middle of the rink, and a girl wearing knee pads. I might be on my own here.

Pizza Is Ready

I ravenously devour two pieces of pizza before Henry and Janna even have a chance to sit down with their drinks. Despite Henry urging me to slow down, I cram another piece into my rabid mouth in between colossal gulps of cherry Icee. Fearing Henry might be eying the last slice of pizza, I slam the palm of my hand into the greasy cheese, claiming my territory. I would have pissed on it if it came down to it. Oh, like you’ve never done that.

After-Pizza Skating

Janna claims that she “sprained her ankle” and opts to sit on the bench so she can watch the skating prowess of us real athletes. Really, she’s moping because this guy who she thinks is so hot has called it a night. He skates just like her, too – like he’s trying to outrun a too-touchy uncle while wearing plastic Fisher Price skates. Enough about Janna. I’m able to perform a few fluid laps amidst the “Oooh”s and “Ahhh”s of my fans, but then the night quickly unravels and I find myself stumbling around the rink with my hand on my stomach, groaning and admonishing myself for eating too fast.

I burp a lot, too.

Car Ride Home

Even in the throes of major gastro-intestinal discomfort, I cannot be quieted. I spend the hour in the car reflecting upon the evening’s affairs and making fun of anyone I may have overlooked while at the rink. Henry is quiet because he is thinking about the man with the mullet that magically flows into a tailbone-grazing pony tail; he admires him from afar. Janna is replaying over and over the scene where her crush (I call him Snape because of his hair) breezed past her while singing along to Ludacris. And by breezed, I mean clobbering around the rink while clinging to the wall.

So when I say that we went skating, now you’ll know.

One of my resolutions is to plan more shit that will get me out of the house.

I was thinking about when I last felt really content, like I wasn’t wasting time, and the first thing I thought of was the winter of 2005 when Henry, Janna and I used to go roller skating. (That sounds like we played derby or something hardcore, but the reality is that we only went about four times.) So I decided I don’t care if I have to rollerskate while strapped to a gurney, I’m doing it this weekend. Time to get back to my roots, yo.

To commemorate this greasy-wheeled occasion, I decided to dig out my old roller skating entries from 2005, because they make me happy. And my belly hurts because God forbid I tried to eat a substantial dinner, so I could use a little happy-happy.

—————————————–

January 2005

Lately, I’ve felt the need for speed. I lay awake in bed for countless hours, tossing and turning while remembering fun times had in the roller rinks of my youth and longing for that smooth surface to enrapture my wheels once more.

Luckily, my friend Google pointed out that there really is still a smattering of good old fashioned roller rinks in the area. I chose one that was an hour away because it was the only one that hosted an adult skate. After Henry sat me down and said, “You are aware that adult skate doesn’t mean there will be strippers, right?” and I nodded slowly in recognition, he promised that we could go. I had an entire week to wait out, though, and boy was it excruciating.

However, the wait gave me something that I hadn’t experienced since I was kid waiting for my sea monkeys to grow: Anticipation. For a week, I’d fling back the comforter of my bed each morning, declaring the number of days left before I was free to skate. I found myself absent-mindedly sketching skates during class. I was comparing everything to skating:

“You know what’s just like paying the electric bill before they shut us off? Roller skating.”
“Oh, you know what would be really good with this sandwich? Roller skating.”
“You know what’s just like that war in Iraq? Roller skating.”

I wasn’t annoying to be around at all. At all.

And finally, yesterday was the day. Janna decided to join us, and every few minutes, I excitedly inquired about their degree of excitement. My inquisitions were met with despondent mumbles of, “Sure” and “I guess.” I began to question myself why I keep such lackluster company.

No matter, because I had enough exuberance to pass around. I shook in my seat the entire length of the trip, getting myself so riled up that I had to pee. Then I would bellow animalistic, guttural battle cries through clenched teeth while pumping my fist in the air.

I was really excited.

Once we eventually arrived at the Valarena Roller Rink, my hands were clammy and it felt like someone was fisting my heart. While I took deep and calming breaths to keep from choking on squeals, Henry decided to forgo his blades and rented an old school pair of quads. As did Janna, who would prove to be our own little Goldilocks as she exchanged her rentals three times before settling on a pair of inlines.

Since I am a very responsible and capable person (I’m excellent to travel with, never mind the time I left half of my wardrobe in a hotel closet in Australia), I spent the day making sure I had everything required for my skating bonanza. I came prepared with new hot pink laces, an appetite for that delicious snack bar pizza that I kept going back to ogle on their website, moxie and what little stamina I could muster from my out of shape self.

What I hadn’t prepared for, however, was Henry morphing into Disco Delight as his wheels hit the creamy surface of the rink. He was showcasing flamboyant little twirls and twists with his hands clasped behind his back; his long brown curls billowed behind him in the wake of his self-made wind. And then there was the surreal arm choreography: he’d stretch his arms out in front of his body, spread his fingers and violently shake his hands like he was skating to ragtime. I’m hoping I don’t need shock therapy to erase those images from my mind.

Every so often, I’d catch him running his hands up and down his body and plucking his imaginary rainbow suspenders. I like to believe that in his tiny delusional mind, he envisioned that he was wearing his best polyester play suit and holding not my hand, but Kristy McNichol’s. It was like he had skated right out of an episode of After School Special, circa 1977.

I was really beginning to get pissed because he was showing me up. This doesn’t sit lightly with someone of my egocentric caliber. I finally lost my temper and shoved him, and he immediately pointed out the numerous signs and placards warning that horseplay is cause for removal and banishment.

So once the rink started bumpin’ to my Def Leppard jam, I had no choice but to bench him. We exchanged words as he implored me to reconsider, stating, “But I can’t help that I’m better than you. I’ve been skating since before you were born! Well, I have!” Oh, the pleasure that coursed through my veins each time I’d skate past him; the puppy dog eyes pleading to be allowed back on the rink. My body, even while suffering from extreme fatigue as this was probably my fifth trip around, managed to shake riotously with greedy laughter.

And then our pizza was pulled from the oven. I took a long enough break to savagely gnash my teeth into my share before barreling back onto the rink in time for S Club 7. The videos for some of the songs were projected onto the back wall. Let me tell you, nothing is more liberating than skating through flashing disco lights worthy of giving any good epileptic nightmarish seizures while Marilyn Manson’s face is slathered across the wall, rockin’ the rink with his rendition of “Tainted Love.” It truly was adult night.

Where was Janna throughout the evening of wheeled debauchery? When she wasn’t hugging the wall, her ass was glued to her post in the game room as she guarded our beverage. She seemed ok with that, and our drinks made it through the evening unmaimed.

Sadly but inevitably, 9:30 rolled around and it was time to leave our new haven. I felt an unbreakable bond with the eight other skaters, like I should have stood in front of them while beating my breast bone.

I discovered as I was replacing my skates with societally regulated non-wheeled shoes, that I had broken one of my Goodwill relics. But this is good news because now Henry gets to buy me a brand new pair with blinking wheels.

Oh, and that pizza? It was delicious, as I knew it would be.

Henry, emulating Brian Boitano’s victory lap around the rink,
while cradling an armful of make believe flowers.

Look, I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I haven’t been outside since last Wednesday. Is everything still the same out there? Have the zombie legions come skulking through the turf yet? I wouldn’t know. Cars could finally be flying and I’d have no idea because some mysterious virus has rendered me a shut-in.

I thought I was feeling better on Friday, so I exercised. Then I got sick again. Then on Saturday, I thought I was feeling better. So I exercised. Then I got sick again. I felt better that night so I watched “Paranormal Activity.” The realization that I wasted 90 minutes watching two of the bitchiest people ever to get a movie deal made me get sick all over again. Every time I get off the couch, my muscles get all trembly and my hands turn to ice-mitts and I basically roam around with a sad look on my face until Henry catches me afoot and yells, “YOU’RE SICK, WHY DON’T YOU REST, STUPID?”

Since Wednesday, I have eaten little other than cheese sandwich halves, frozen yogurt, and have had an undeniably craving for Orange Julius. And even those decidedly non-menacing foodstuffs leave me floating inside a nausea balloon. I’m not pregnant, so don’t even joke about that. Seriously, just don’t. Nothing pisses me off more than when someone insinuates that I don’t know I have a fetus incubating inside me, like I’m some fucking failure of a woman who can’t tell the signs.  And if I were pregnant? Well, move over Mary. There’s a new angel-fucked bitch in town.

It feels like The Mono, to be frank.

All I know is that I want to be playing outside the house someday soon. Maybe in February? If society will still have me by then. Please, don’t forget about me, society.

Also, this shit looks like a good time-passer. Ask me a question so I can have something to do while stewing in my pity.

It started with me saying something to Chooch along the lines of, “Go ask daddy.”

“Don’t call him that,” urged Chooch, holding up a hand in warning. “Call him Henry.”

(Chooch pronounces this “Hanwy”.)

“Ok,” I played along. “And what will you call him?”

“Douchebag,” he replied nonchalantly, not once looking up from his toys to get a reaction.

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

• 15:00 Oh it’s not cold out! You don’t need a coat! Go out with wet hair! #
• 15:11 Omg I’m in a library. #
• 16:46 Apparently I’m a cheater for throwing down “sartorii” on Words w/ Friends b/c why should a bumpkin like me know that one. Fuck you, Henry. #
• 14:22 We are all assholes, dumbasses, and jackasses when Chooch is sick, and he hates us all. #
• 16:00 I love Sundays where things get accomplished. That doesn’t happen often which is why I have a longstanding Sunday hatred. #
• 19:49 I’m glad Chooch is done throwing up but will be even gladder when he 86s the surly “I’m sick” attitude. Ppl like that are SO ANNOYING. What? #
• 21:06 Dear Lord, (look at me, all praying & shit) Plz make Chooch better. He’s running out of things ar ound the house to hate. Amen or whatev. #
• 21:11 Before finally retiring to bed (9 is early, he must be sick), Chooch the Invalid told our cat, “I hate you, Marcy. Go cry, bitch!” #
• 21:24 I’m glad my ESPN alert just told me the Pens scored 15 seconds before it happened on my TV. I hate being surprised. #
• 21:25 I guess it would also help if I was watching this live. #
• ***
• 13:33 I’ve been on that annoying Getting Sick precipice for the last few days. I wish it’d just happen already so I can stop zombie’ing around. #
• 18:08 The fact that Henry and I are arguing over who rollerskates better leads me to believe a SKATE-OFF is in order. #
• 18:41 Hay look @ the dumb! Library: Take Two: After writing about my failed library mission the other day, I realized tha… bit.ly/8iJfST #
• 19:43 Henry grew balls suddenly; dared defy me while I was holding a hammer. He’s lucky he didn’t LOSE the new sprouts. #
• 23:54 Just spent the last 10 minutes hysterically laughing, molesting Henry’s suspicions. “You don’t laugh like that unless you did something!” #
• ***
• 09:33 I really want to start a horror movie club. No one ever wants to watch any with me. I’m crying! #
• 18:43 Hay look @ the dumb! Christmas 2009: all that stands out to me is the hair comment: Most of my twenties were spent … bit.ly/77Ps96 #
• 19:16 Seeing Pens score against Sabres would be much more satisfying if I didn’t like their Ryan Miller so much. Hazards of watching other teams. #
• 19:46 I cant wait to get my hands on the new Felix Culpa cd. Henry keeps saying something about if I “be a good girl.” He’s such a creepy uncle. #
• 20:03 If only the Pens could put that much heat on Brodeur. #NHL #
• 23:32 10 Words You Need to Stop Misspelling theoatmeal.com/comics/misspelling from @oatmeal #
• ***
• 00:04 What? Words With Friends doesn’t recognize “goatse” as an acceptable word? To whom do I address my letter! #
• 09:28 Chooch, playing with his Batcave, just asked me, “Do you like this cool setup?” right before Batman said “0wellzorz” to Joker. #
• 13:16 Henry is so livid over yet another shitty experience at Dozen Cupcakes that the spelling in his texts are even scarier than usual. #
• 14:33 I could never be happy being someone’s second best, knowing they’ll always be thinking of that other person. Makes me appreciate shit. #
• 15:42 At the cemetery for our rescheduled traditional Xmas picnic. #
• 18:44 Hay look @ the dumb! TOYS: I’m impressed. Chooch has had his jack in the box for nearly a week and is still playi… bit.ly/5p2bKe #
• 21:22 Oh wow, the Penguins finally get a power play after 58 minutes of play. How generous of the officials. #
• 22:17 Why haven’t the new Real World roommates started fighting yet? Where are the homophobes? Why don’t I have an umb rella in my house? #
• 22:25 I’m glad to see none of these people have superfluous vowels in their names. *Cough* Cancun’s Aaiiiiiyah & Emileeeeee *cough* #
• ***
• 00:59 Sour Patch Kids make wonderful post-purging palate cleansers. #
• 02:23 Oftentimes the cold tile of a bathroom floor is just as comforting as a mother’s embrace. #
• 09:22 I’m on my deathbed & my cruel, callous 3yo just said, “Oh stop crying, crybaby.” :( #
• 13:09 Alisha called to say that the Used tickets have been purchased. I’m so happy I could puke except that there’s nothing left in me. #
• 14:08 #10yearsago I was 20 & inviting people in off the street. #
• 15:27 I really just need to knock myself out. #
• 22:33 The only thing I’ve felt safe eating all day was frozen yogurt. Now I want Doritos so Henry ran to get some. Good boyfriend, that Henry. #
• 23:49 Henry and I are ringing in the new year with achey joints and the cast of The Jersey Shore. I’m not sad about that. #
• ***
• 00:02 Oh hahaha Henry is so mad that we missed the ball drop because as usual I had paused the tv at some point. Happy delayed New Year! #
• 13:02 Winter Classic! Go Bruins! #
• 13:39 I wish James Taylor always sang the National Anthem. #winterclassic #NHL #
• 16:15 Oh please Hartnell, bite a Bruin on national TV. #nhlwinterclassic #
• 16:15 BRUINS! #
• 16:20 Chooch: Ooh, those orange team are so pissed. I’m gonna play hockey & knock down the orange team cuz you hate them so much. #
• 18:08 I love watching Alisha’s face as she watches “Jersey Shore.” #
• 18:48 Hay look @ the dumb! 2KX in the Hiz!: This was me, New Years Eve 1999. I was all set to get all lampshade-wearin’… bit.ly/6Mw4H2 #
• 19:27 Even Snooki from “Jersey Shore” has a real job and I don’t. Great. At least I’ve never been punched by a dude. (“Yet” says Henry.) #
• 21:42 Alisha gifted me with the motherlode of Xmas bounty. I need to join a gym before even considering sampling. #
• 21:57 Mixtape 4×4 ceramic coaster by somnambulant on Etsy bit.ly/7Z8Bx7 #
• ***
• 13:17 To say that my stomach didn’t do flips during the preview for Degrassi’s Love Game would be an outright lie, and I am no liar. #
• 15:37 Penguins just scored their first goal in over 150 minutes of play. Thank god because I almost forgot what it felt like to cheer. #NHL #
• 15:54 Mayhaps this is something other than a stomach bug because I almost maybe passed out. #
• 17:37 Checking out www.postcrossing.com. I’m doing this and Henry can’t stop me. Hopefully I will meet my future husband through the post. #
• 20:24 I haven’t felt this bad since I was pregnant. Don’t even! Shhh! Shut your lips! #
• 21:44 Although, I HAVE been craving Doritos & Orange Julius….. #
• 22:50 It’s only been on for 2 minutes and I’m already so fucking over these Paranormal Activity idiots. #
• 13:55 I managed to eat half of a cheese sandwich and now I’m pretty sure I might throw up. Perhaps it’s doctor time. #

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