If you read my blog enough, it probably becomes pretty clear that cemeteries are a prominent part of my life.

I’ve:

• learned to drive in one
• fell in love with Henry in one
  • and then almost drown in a bottle of water
• been stalked in one
• puked in one
• attempted to hide from Henry in something like eight
  • once while wearing a fluorescent orange shirt
• fell in love with photography in at least a dozen
• had epiphanies in plenty
• tried to get a job in two
• cried at least once in every one

Most importantly, cemeteries are where I feel most at home. I’ve learned a lot about myself during cemetery walks and it’s where I used to tell stories to a very in utero Chooch.

When Christina and I were still friends, we didn’t see each other as much as we’d have liked since there were 300 miles between us, but when we did find ourselves together we almost inevitably wound up in a cemetery. It was on those occasions where I always felt the most alive and literally like a kid again, and those were some of the best moments of my life.

I had been waiting since over a year ago for the Isles and Glaciers EP to come out, and  I finally snatched a leak copy a few weeks ago (don’t narc on me – I bought an actual copy when it was released, jesus) . There’s a song on it called “Cemetery Weather” and even though it serves up my heart en brochette on a plate of heart ache and tear-salted lettuce, I torture myself by listening to it over and over. I took a one-day break last Thursday because it was starting to feel like, to quote the great Omarion, there was an ice box where my heart used to be.

I am literally pissing late 1990’s emo music over here, folks.

So, here. Have fun with that.

[mp3_embed playlst="https://www.ohhonestlyerin.com/wp-content/plugins/mp3-player-plugin-for-wordpress/mp3/CemeteryWeather.mp3"]

Can we speed up the process, please.

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

• 15:02 Thank you Sidney Crosby for making this sad girl smile today. #pens #
• 15:30 Congrats on your first goal as a Penguin, Ponikarovsky! Welcome to Pittsburgh! #pens #
• 17:20 Chooch burped in front of the waitress. Henry goes “What do u say?” & Chooch said, “I burped.” #
• 18:56 In Target: Chooch wanted a toy & was trying to convince Henry he was being good. “I didn’t even say ASSHOLE” he shouted in front of 167 ppl. #
• 19:00 Now Chooch is wearing a St Pattys hat & telling random Target shoppers, “I’m coming to get you, Barbara.” So glad he commands an audience. #
• 20:56 Designing logos for a friend’s new concession company and totally drinking on the job. #
• 00:24 Hey SNL, thanks for playing the Benny Hill theme! It reminded me that there is funnier shit out there to be watching so I turned you off. #
• 00:42 Sunday fantasy: Henry moving furniture and appliances while I sprawl out on the couch with a Bloody Mary. #
• 00:44 Just kidding. I can’t drink a Bloody Mary without thinking of broads menstruating on my face. And also that I hate to mato juice. #
• 10:03 Xiu Xiu today. Lots of Xiu Xiu in my head. #
• 11:34 Chooch can’t like that Barbara says “You’re being mean” instead of “You’re ignorant” in the Night of the Living Dead remake. #
• 13:15 I’m at my grandma’s house while Henry shovels and goddamn if it doesn’t smell like 10th grade sneak-outs over here. #
• 14:05 Henry is dancing to Adam Lambert. You heard it here first. #
• 15:19 WATCHING THE PENGUIN GAME WITH ALISHA. I’M FULL OF GIDDY. #
• 15:26 Alisha’s wearing her sunglasses in my house, as if I don’t know it’s because she’s shielding her tears. #
• 15:53 I don’t think saying “He’s hot for an amputee” should inspire the reaction it did from Henry. He’s prejudiced against one-leggers I guess. #
• 18:03 Henry and Alisha are up front having adult conversation. Chooch & I are in the backseat quoting zombie movies. #
• 18:06 Speaking fondly of Zombieland yfrog.com/0sxwfj #
• 18:27 If you saw Henry struggle thru a maze in a coloring book, you would know why I hesitate to ask him for directions. #
• 18:31 Sidney Crosby will finally get to live out his dream: being my wine receptacle. yfrog.com/jm44ktj #
• 20:29 Successfully survived another dip; bring on the mania. #
• 22:07 Someone should point out to the Dancing W/the Stars creators that they might wannna get actual stars on the show or consider a na me change. #
• 22:25 Kristen Stewart is so goddamn awkward, she makes me look like I wrote the book on social couth. #Oscars #
• 11:14 Straddling the fence w/ Cupcake Pebbles but the fence is getting frisky so my opinion just might be swayed. (Shoulda worn the crotchless.) #
• 12:52 I need a blog mechanic. Preferrably one that’s commando under his coveralls & keeps a grilled cheese in his pocket. #
• 13:00 The last time I checked, an area code should not evoke tears. Perhaps my research is outdated. #
• 14:05 Here is a blog post thing. “the big shovel”: bit.ly/9kivGF #
• 16:39 Icecream shop down the street has changed its name to Scoops. How original. Were it mine, I’d call it Yr Mama’s Breasts. But that’s just me. #
• 20:17 I wish this job would last forever. My boss is very mothering. I like me some mothering. #
• 22:09 I miss @buenomexicana. #
• 10:06 I wish Henry was home right now. #
• 12:00 Henry came home to do stuff for us. He’s so well-trained. Now, if only Chooch and I can get him to use a litter box. #
• 13:59 Just walked past a man on the phone asking, “Did you hear about Ben?” OMG NO BEN WHO. Surely not Ben Roethlisberger! #
• 15:07 On the way home from getting my hair cut, two men in a truck hit on me and my neighbor thought I was a teenager. I can like that. #
• 21:09 My boss announced that she forgot to put on deodorant today. It was awkward. I would be lost in a non-awkward world I think. #
• 21:11 The snow outside looks like that fake shit they lay down under child molester mall Santas. I like it. #
• 21:14 The soup at the office cafeteria today was Chicken Pot Pie (And I Dont Care). I thought it was Jimmy’s cracked corn we didn’t care about? #
• 09:15 WTF NOOOOOO RT @BreakingNews Actor Corey Haim has died, North Hollywood police say – KNBC #
• 09:17 I’m seriously crying about Corey Haim. I was going to fix him! We were going to have TRU LUV. #
• 09:21 I guess I’ll just tell Chooch that the Lost Boys finally got Sam. #
• 09:57 I look for signs on license plates. #
• 10:09 I glean profound wisdom from My Life As Liz. Thank you MTV for reminding me that things don’t have to be perfect; it just means it’s real. #
• 11:30 Chooch & I pulled ourselves out of the house & subsequently complained of sun-brightness for the duration of our walk. WE ARE NEVER HAPPY. #
• 14:34 Seriously, I can’t take it any longer. Is Matt Cooke suspended or not? Decide! #NHL #
• 14:49 Well shit. Watch out, Crosby & Malkin. RT @TSNBobMcKenzie Matt Cooke is not being suspended by the NHL for his hit on Marc Savard. #
• 15:04 2 pop culture observations: #1 I actually don’t mind Adam Lambert until he starts shrieking like his dick is clamped in a bear trap. #
• 15:05 #2 Still can’t get behind Robert Pattinson as a sex symbol. #
• 15:31 I’m about to get all Nancy Reagan on this Nicolas Sparks books-turned-movies onslaught, OK? Just say no, Hollywood! #
• 16:04 Henry’s solution to my problems: “I can break up with you; maybe that’ll take your mind off the other stuff.” SOUNDS LIKE A PLAN. #
• 17:24 This is A+, fullfilled my laff-a-day quota RT @Pensblog: Cooke Not Suspended, Crosby Gear Found bit.ly/aWUyMJ #pens #letsgopens #
• 18:03 I’m pretty sure this cleaning girl wants to be my Cinderella. #
• 11:58 I listen to sports radio all night at work because my subconscious finds ways to associate every so ng with things I shouldn’t think about. #
• 12:19 Oreos and coffee – the only things I can keep down. I see stars every time I stand. Magical. #
• 12:49 Lack of hockey makes me feel anemic. The NHL Network is like a sugar cookie & paper cup of OJ. Thank god the Penguins play tonight. #
• 13:33 Chooch dropped a bowl on the floor and the noise nearly catapulted me through the roof. My nerves need to get laid. Or maybe I need therapy. #
• 13:45 My son is very intuitive for his age. I whined for him to help me stop feeling sad. He goes, “What can I do? I don’t have her number!” #
• 14:04 My friend Lisa is moving back to Pittsburgh in August! She’s my Zoloft. #
• 14:19 According to Chooch, if I just play Batman, I’ll feel better. So that’s what I’m doing. Who’s the parent in this equation, anyway. #
• 16:14 At Blinkys, hoping my appetite will meet me here. Haven’t been here since right after i got knocked up with The Chooch. #
• 18:26 I dont thank @awoodhick nearly enough. #
• 20:24 Worst part abt having to listen to the #pens game @ work is that I can’t chug wine. Or scream. Or swear. Or cheer. It’s ALL the worst part. #
• 21:42 First row, first girl = Chooch with pigtails, amirite? yfrog.com/0f4vcvj #
• 23:05 Waiting for @cocoadeelamo and @daboogmang // yfrog.com/j36lrj #
• 23:20 There’s a blood smear on my front door that I just can’t bring myself to wipe off. #
• 01:29 Just in: @daboogmang’s idol is Ben Roethlisberger and he wants to make girls fall and hit their heads. #
• 10:28 Bill got to stop traffic to help a car hauler and now Jessi hates koalas. #
• 11:30 Chooch: “Bill, wanna play Batman with me?” Bill: “For about 5 minutes, then Billy’s gotta go smoke weed.” #
• 12:16 I HATE IT WHEN BILL AND JESSI LEAVE. fuck you, Michigan. #
• 15:16 Blind date: Giacomo 1999 // www.ohhonestlyerin.com/?p=4452 #
• 16:12 The fact that I only could down half of a Vanilla Pastry Studio cupcake says a lot. Henry ate the half that had my tears on it. Salty. #
• 16:44 Best shoes, hollaaaaa. yfrog.com/4vjbtj #
• 18:42 I wish I could be as positive as Henry. Then things wouldn’t seem so finite. #
• 19:06 Your signals, they are mulatto. #
• 21:18 How many more lucky breaks can the fucking Devils possibly get. Fuck New Jersey. #
• 22:28 Talk me out of buying cigarettes. #
• 22:46 I’m the villain, no matter how you spin it. Just need a moustache to wiggle. #
• 01:20 If my cat Don was a hockey player, he’d be Evgeni Malkin. #NHL #
• 01:36 Bill & Jessi got me this awesome coloring book but forgot the Christ-ly crayons! Heathens! yfrog.com/58r2itj #
• 01:56 A Life Lesson! Henry: Be the better person. Me: That never gets me anywhere. Henry: Because you’re never the better person! #
• 10:29 Found our old “relationship” journal lol. yfrog.com/efxmbj #

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.

After exchanging several friendly messages through the personals, Giacomo suggested we meet. I wasn’t opposed to this: I had just broken up with my boyfriend Jeff (for the first time) and Giacomo was in a band.

“If it would make you feel more comfortable, why don’t you have a get together or something so your friends can be there,” Giacomo suggested, unaware that he was dealing with a girl who picked up hitch hikers as a weeknight hobby and made friends by inviting people in off the street. But who am I to turn down the opportunity to throw a party?

Like all my parties back then, I spent more time focusing on food pairings when I should have been considering the opposing personality types that made up my guest list. But like an asshole,  I invited Jeff, the guy I had JUST broken up with; Justin, the boy who broke my heart in my high school; Brian, the priest-in-training; Lisa,  the Christian who didn’t believe in Catholic ideologies; Cinn, the antagonizing Athiest; and a smattering of neutral personalities to make up the audience for when things eventually became heated.

Things went well at first. Giacomo arrived and I felt an immediate ease around him. There were no romantic sparks, but I felt that at the very least we could possibly be friends. Plus, he carried a toothbrush with him, and you know what they say about men with good oral hygiene.

But then Cinn arrived. And the thing with Cinn is that she doesn’t just demand attention, she COMMANDS it. So here she comes, breezing through the door with her shocking red spikes and faux-goth persona, interrupting conversation with her callous commentary. I think Janna was the only person she liked and everyone else immediately fell under her scrutiny. My ex-boyfriend Jeff was extremely intimidated by her, and he sunk down against me on the couch.

Cinn took a seat next to Lisa, who had yet to meet her. It was like spying on an angel and a devil, sitting together in a waiting room. I began to worry.

The subject of tattoos came up, and I had recently gotten the start of a large sun on my mid-to-lower back. When Giacomo asked to see it, I rose from the couch and began drawing my shirt up slightly. I was wearing a pink ankle-length skirt, fitted around the top. From across the room, Cinn heckled, “Suck it in, Erin!

”

I was humiliated.

Devastated.

Crushed.

The sad part is that I wasn’t even fat then; but when you’re a fat kid – even if that moment of your childhood is a fleeting window – you carry that chip with you. And that chip is double-fried in saturated fat, salted, and layered with ten strips of bacon. My face still gets flushed when I think of that moment. It will probably never stop hurting and the lucidity will likely never dull. The memory of it will forever outshine some of the best moments in my life thus far.

It shut me up. It shut the entire room up. Cinn was left to laugh alone in her chair while everyone else tugged at their collars awkwardly. Jeff reached over and squeezed my hand.  Eventually conversation resumed.

My ego was still smartin’ but I had a new guest to entertain. I tried to focus on immersing him into the dysfunctional circus that was my social circle, when I began picking up on a conversation from across the room that seemed to be steadily increasing in volume and tension.

A religious debate. Of course! What good is a party without people screaming over top of mini quiches and shrimp cocktail about Confession. Somehow, Cinn and Lisa had joined forces and were attacking Brian about the right and wrong ways to seek God’s forgiveness and I’m sitting there thinking, “Cinn doesn’t even BELIEVE in God, why is she doing this?” Cinn and Brian had never gotten along. From the very beginning of my friendship with Cinn, when she fooled me into believing she had a brain tumor (oh, is THAT a story for a rainy day!), Brian was 100% against it. “I just think it’s weird that you met her in some creepy gothic chatroom and that she has an expiration date on her life that’s fast approaching,” he explained one day, which of course made me want to meet her all the more. Brian’s instincts have pretty much been spot-on about everyone who has touched my life in one way or another, but taking his advice would be too easy, and I prefer long, drawn-out, painful bouts of drama.

So no, Brian and Cinn were never able to sit in the same room, breathing the same air, without firing verbal cannons at one another.

Cinn had backed Brian up against a wall with her religious crusade, insistent on tripping him up so she could accuse him of being a bad seminarian, a heathen, I don’t fucking know. But it was working, and he was getting visibly upset that she wouldn’t leave him alone, and every one in the room was silent and bristling uncomfortably.

I stood up and left. Left my own apartment, while my own party was going on. I bolted out the door, flung myself in the front seat of my good old Eagle Talon, and bawled against the steering wheel. Sure I was 19 years old, but you better believe I’d take the same route if it happened again tonight.

Cinn came out to do what she does best: cleaning up the mess she made in a way that made me forget she made the mess in the first place and instead was a really great friend who just took care of me. Except I wouldn’t unlock the door. I asked her to please leave, which sounds much less polite when it comes out as a hysterical shriek and served on a platter of obscenities and death threats.

Jeff came out next. For him, I unlocked the door. We sat together in the dark, listening to synthpop, until my breathing lost the I’ve-just-been-crying stutter and I felt calm enough to go back inside and face the music.

I felt guilty about leaving Giacomo in there with all the flared tempers and awkward silences, but was pleased to see that he was doing card tricks for everyone. With Cinn gone, everyone was able to relax, enjoy the food, and get to know Giacomo, who ended up being a really cool guy. Before he left, he said, “Let’s do this again soon, just maybe without that red-haired chick.”

I agreed, and I genuinely meant it, but the trauma of that night got the best of me and I never did meet up with Giacomo again.

Nor did I ever wear that pink skirt again.

My own brother, a goddamn shit-sucking vampire. Oh, you wait till mom finds out, buddy.

I don’t normally get too invested in celebrities, but when I woke up this morning to Henry’s text saying that Corey Haim had died, I did NOT want to get out of bed. I’m laying there, crying, and Chooch (who is used to me crying over a leaf falling from a tree at this point) asked me what was wrong.

I didn’t know what to say, other than, “The Lost Boys finally killed Sam, Chooch.” And he was like, “Oh that sucks. Get me breakfast now.”

Like probably a billion other people, Corey Haim was the embodiment of my childhood. He was the first celebrity I crushed on who wasn’t gay! (Seriously: Freddie Mercury and Boy George, wtf.) And he was the only reason I ever made my mom buy me all those bubblegum magazines like Tiger Beat and Bop or whatever the fuck other fruity names those rags had.

I remember I was either in 5th or 6th grade when my mom let me order a giant poster of him that was advertised in the back of one of those ‘zines. Joey McIntyre? No thanks. I only had eyes for Corey Haim. When it arrived, my step-dad wrestled it from me, knowing that what lie within that poster cylinder was fuel for many dinner-time mockings to come. He embarrassed me so bad that I ended up stowing the poster behind the couch, dashing my dreams of falling asleep every night beneath Corey Haim’s crooked smile.

Motherfucker.

(It was worse than the time my step-dad bought me a heart-shaped Jason Priestley pillow as a gag gift and would try and smash it in my face. I’d get so furious, and finally one time I yelled, “HE’S NOT EVEN THE ONE I LIKE!

I LIKE LUKE PERRY!” causing a chorus of giddy “Ooooooh”s and kissy-sounds to erupt from my family. What assholes. I then re-gifted the pillow to our German Shepherd.)

When Corey Haim and Corey Feldman recently did that reality show together, it broke my heart to see him so downtrodden. I became obsessed with going to LA and saving him. But really, I don’t think anyone could have saved him.

It always happens to the ones who burn the brightest.

What are your favorite Corey Haim memories/movies/photos/etc?

I still have a job! And it’s going well. Jim and his collection of Cosby sweaters only lasted two nights. So now it’s just me; the supervisor, Ev; Monica with the cool hair; and four older broads. Mostly, it’s just very quiet there, aside from Ev’s frequent monologues she has with herself.

Ev might be my new favorite supervisor. I’m not sure she realizes I’m as old as I am, because she seems to baby me, calls me missy and says things like, “You know, those things that all you kids listen to.” An iPod, Ev? Because I have mommy issues, I have succumbed to my new role with little to no arm-bending.

The cleaning crew at this place are seemingly normal people who don’t wear Krueger-like acrylics and drive kidnapper wagons. The girl who cleans my area is young with long red hair and I think she might be flirting with me sometimes but I’m dumb when it comes to girls.

The other night, I was listening to the Penguin game while trying not to cheer out loud or punch my desk when the Rangers scored. It was a trying time for me because I have a big mouth. But I was pretty successful, though I hurt my wrist during one of my fist pumps.

The game went into OT, and as I did a celebratory lurch in my seat when Malkin scored and won the game, Monica with the cool hair shouted YES! Everyone turned and looked at her, and she sheepishly said, “Sorry, I was listening to the Pens/Rangers game.”

“Oh my god, me too!” I gushed, hoping she would invite me to a sleepover and do my hair up in corn rows. She just smiled and went back to work, probably whispering, “Oh-em-gee, yay, stupid white girl.”

We are SO going to be besties.

And the job itself continues to be low-stress and mindless, which is mostly a good thing until I start getting lost in my head and thinking about shit that’s better left alone, and then I’m practically rolling me and my ball of angst into the house every night, at which point I become Henry’s responsibility.

*****

In Chooch news, he was downloading zombie games on my iPhone and one of them plays sound bytes from Night of the Living Dead. He’s been walking around saying, “I’m coming to get you Barbara” in his strangled zombie voice and then in a high-pitched tone he goes, “Stop it, you’re ignorant!

” We’re in the middle of Target and he’s reciting this. He’s been watching clips from the movie on my phone, and then the 1990 remake was on over the weekend, so I DVRd it and he watches it 1683 times a day, though he gets irritated that the new Barbara says “You’re being mean” instead of “ignorant.”

*****

I hate Pizza Hut. I guess hate is a strong word, but I’m notoriously picky about my pizza.

However, they’re offering Penguins collector cups so of course that’s where I wanted to eat after the Pens/Bruins game on Sunday. Alisha came with us which meant I got to sit in a cramped booth with her and her purse, which is so prominent it might as well be capitalized.

I think our waiter was an escapee from a halfway house and I’m sure he drives a Pinto. We asked him questions about the cups and his answer to everything was, “I don’t know” and “I’m not sure.” Kind of like when people ask me questions about the city I live, which I know next to nothing about because I don’t care and I’m also a partial shut-in. We ended up spending ALL THIS MONEY in order to get all four cups, only to be told later that they only had two of the players, so what combination of that would we like.

Fucking foiled as usual. Now we’ll have to go back there AGAIN to get the other two and I just don’t think I can answer any more confusing questions like, “What kind of crust do you want?” and the be expected to ingest it, too.  Fuck you, Pizza Hut.

While Henry was inside paying, Alisha, Chooch and I decided to go out to the car. I was dealt the arduous task of securing Chooch into his car seat (I CANNOT WAIT TO BE DONE WITH THIS CAR SAFETY RIGMAROLE). There I am, in a dark parking lot, ass jutting out of the backseat when I feel a sharp jab between my ribs and the voice of a convicted child molester snarling, “Give me all your money.”

I blew back Chooch’s face with the loudest shriek I could muster, only to find it was Henry being an asshole.

“I can’t believe Chooch didn’t cry when I screamed in his face,” I marveled.

“That’s because you were using your horror movie scream and not your hockey scream,” Alisha rationalized. And that’s probably true.

My grandma was finally released from the nursing home yesterday. There’re both pros and cons to that, I guess, as nursing homes can be negligent and have proved that several times during her stay. However, being back home with my aunt Sharon isn’t really such a hot idea either, as she will likely fall right back into a routine of little movement and no outside interaction.

In any case, Sharon sought Henry’s shoveling skills so that the paramedics would be able to get my grandma safely into the house. Chooch and I went with him, because I had wanted to get some new pictures of Chooch anyway. It was sort of a bad idea. And I don’t even mean the fact that Chooch was being completely uncooperative and dickish with me. It was just sad being at that house. I grew up there, and to be outside of it, with the sunlight highlighting all the mossy overgrowth, broken lanterns, rusted railings and caved in gates? It was a bit much for me.  Especially when I followed Chooch into the backyard and saw how decrepit and forlorn the back patio looks, the pool nothing more than a gaping leaf-filled hole in the ground and the accompanying  shanny overtaken by weeds and God only knows what kind of wildlife.  That used to be the summer hot spot, right there, but since my Pappap died it has quite literally been consumed by nature. It breaks my heart to know that my kid will never get to have pool parties there like I did.

Maybe they should rent out their backyard to be used as a horror movie set. Because I honestly had the shivers being back there. And the back of the property is hugged by an expanse of woods, so God only knows how many bodies are buried there.  I used to walk out there daily when I was in high school and there were times when the hair on my arms would stand erect in ninety degree weather and my heels would instinctively fling me into a pirouette and send me running back home.

Chooch ate chicken nuggets while Henry teetered on the edge of Heart Attack Mountain in an attempt to break through blocks of ice on the front porch. Apparently, after the big fucking snowstorm that left Pittsburgh looking like Antarctica gave birth in its background, my aunt was trying to solve the problem by throwing salt on three feet of snow, which only resulted in layers of it melting and then freezing into sheets of ice. Which in turn became Henry’s problem. He should be used to cleaning up after me and my family by now, though. Like the time I tried to vacuum liquid from the bottom of the fridge and didn’t realize that it was pouring out of the hose and onto the kitchen floor behind me. Immediately became Henry’s problem.

While Henry was shoveling, Sharon called me from inside the house to inform me that Henry is an angel and that I better never let him go. This schmooze fest went on for a few minutes while I’m struggling to not blurt out, “He better never let ME go! I’m the awesome one in this arrangement!” but secretly I knew she was right. Goddammit. At one point she said he was god sent and I was like, “OK, I have to go.”

There’s a large shed that’s also in the back of the house. Chooch was like, “What the hell is this, a farm?” and I almost blurted out, “No, this is where I hid my boyfriend Mike when he ran away from home.” It was unlocked, but I was hesitant to open the door.

It just feels like everything is going to break if I touch it and I guess I would just rather remember it the way it used to be. And not some rotting cavity filled with broken down mowers, lawnchairs  and ATVs. And probably dead animals. Actually, after my Pappap died, a “family friend” broke into that shed and stole most of his stuff, anyway (and later fell from a ladder, broke his neck, and died). So it’s likely filled with nothing but stale air and shitty fucking karma.

He later bitched the whole way home because for some reason HIS PANTS WERE ALL WET, WAH.

I used to roller skate up and down this lane. There were speed bumps on it back then though, which my Pappap was responsible for. The story was that there was a family who lived at the end of the lane and their teenaged son used to get a little overzealous behind the wheel. Apparently he almost ran over my aunt Susie when she was a kid, so in went the speed bumps. Every one hated them, especially once my friends started driving, because no one ever thought to SLOW DOWN for the SPEED BUMPS and perhaps save the undercarriage of their cars, and I don’t know, a LIFE?

After my Pappap died, some of the neighbors got together and had the speed bumps taken out. Even though I had already moved off that street and into my own apartment by then, it really upset me. Like a piece of him had literally been ground into dust. Ew, I couldn’t stand it. I hate the fuckers who live on that street.

I shudder to think what will become of my grandparent’s house once my grandma is gone. Being there yesterday was kind of terrible.

9 comments

the jim yoshii pile up – reckless driving

Fuck that Mariah Carey shit. This is honestly the best song ever about obsessive love. I used to listen to it a lot the summer I got knocked up. I was really into Momus back then too and Henry hated him. He hates this song too. Probably because it makes him feel uncomfortable.

In fact, I usually picture Henry singing it when I listen to it. BECAUSE HE IS SO GODDAMN OBSESSED WITH ME.

Now if only the Jim Yoshii Pile Up would get back together so they can play a house show in my mom’s basement and I’ll pass out cocktail wieners and have the band sign my cast. (In my fantasy of this, this house show takes place a week and three days after I fall from a sorority house window and through the splintery roof of a gazebo while fleeing from the Salem Slasher.)

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

• 19:17 An infomercial for Time Life Pop Memories of the 1960s is on & suddenly I’m sitting on a stool in my grandparents’ kitchen. HEARTACHE. #
• 19:20 This whole week has been a melon baller to the heart. #
• 21:46 I DVRd the Time Life pop memories infomercial so that I could re-enjoy it later with Henry, which is what is happening right now. #
• 21:51 Henry loves when I drink wine and tell him stories about my childhood while laughing and spitting all over him. I wish he was Henry Mancini. #
• 21:56 Henry’s working on making me a swing made of flowers to sit on in the house, he just doesn’t know it yet. OH I YEAR N FOR THE 60s. #
• 22:22 My cat Don just told me, “Grandma, sometimes I feel so bad for you, I sit here while you’re sleeping & cry” & I said, “Aw thanks, kid.” #
• 00:23 Congrats to Finland’s hockey team, grabbing Olympic bronze. I like saying Teemu’s Selanne’s name as if I’m wearing a headgear, spit flying. #
• 02:32 If I ever feel fooled into wanting another child, I hope I come back and read this tweet. #
• 09:53 I don’t like many female singers, but Adele makes me cry. #
• 14:08 I am a goddamn mess. I actually just laughed at myself, which I suppose is better than slitting my throat with a frying pan. #
• 14:34 I’m really sick of seeing skis. Men’s hockey gold medal game, any day now. #Olympics #
• 14:48 I asked Chooch if he wants to have an Easter egg hunt. His response was, “Easter hates you.” He’s so mean, where does he get it??! #
• 15:21 WHAT’S UP GOLD MEDAL HOCKEY???? #olympics #
• 16:30 I think I dislocated my elbow. Just another hockey-viewing injury. #teamusa finally on the board! My loyalties are so confused right now! #
• 16:48 I hope this #Olympic gold medal game helps turn my football-fed country on to hockey. #
• 17:35 THIS is how a gold medal game should be. Parise’s goal with 24 seconds left actually brought tears to my eyes. So exciting! I love hockey. #
• 17:55 That’s the only way Canada should have won – Crosby scoring the gold medal winning goal! #teamcanada #
• 17:57 I feel so conflicted!! I’m so happy for Crosby, but fucking USA had all the heart. #
• 18:10 #teamusa is making me cry. I want to give them all a hug and remind them how fantastic they are. I’m looking at you, too, Ryan Miller. #
• 18:13 All the Sidney Crosby haters are puking now, probably not as much as Alex Ovechkin though. #
• 18:16 Sidney Crosby got a Stanley Cup and an Olympic gold medal in the span of a year. What did Ovechkin get? Uglier. #
• 18:19 A sentiment worth echoing // RT @penschat Don’t care how this game ended, Ryan Miller is a national hero. #TeamUSA #
• 21:12 “Lets Have a Party”? Srsly, Olympic closing ceremonies? Sounds like it belongs on one of those Olson twins straight-to-VHS movies of the 90s #
• 21:13 Though I suppose it was mildly more palatable than hearing “whoa-oa Vancouver” chanted semi-monotonously for 15 minutes. #Olympics #
• 22:21 If the cast of Degrassi doesn’t make an appearance in these closing ceremonies, I’m gon’ be pissed. #
• 22:26 The always enjoyable giant inflatable beaver. #
• 22:42 Remember those #Olympics? I miss them. Even curling. (Maybe.) #
• 23:15 Get on that, Hank!RT @lifeinflux I want you & Henry to get married so you can be on The Marriage Ref! You’d set national tv ratings on fire! #
• 10:47 I get to try this employment thing again tomorrow apparently. #
• 14:36 March! It’s you, you’re here! Let’s resume our annual love affair. #
• 14:42 Wearing my Sidney Crosby Defender cape today. It’s purple and fringed with stripper tassels. Don’t cross us. #pens #teamcanada #teamusa #
• 18:16 There’s nothing quite like eating a vegetarian sloppy joe with paint all over my hands. #
• 19:02 RT @TSNBobMcKenzie Two thirds of all Canadians, around 22 million, were watching on TV when Sidney Crosby scored GWG in OT. Two thirds!! #
• 21:27 Chooch was good at Target so his reward is Zombieland. Naturally. #
• 23:35 Trying to condense a 6 year history between 2 girls into 1 email is easier than you’d think! I’m lying! WHAT’S UP PITTSBURGH?! #
• 00:29 If someone looked in my window & saw me crying, they’d think I was watching Steel Magnolias, not some Team USA spot on the NHL Network. #
• 11:16 If ever I’m looking for a 100% guarantee of frustration, I only need to ask Henry for directions. #
• 11:17 No one can make scenes of the Apocalypse manifest before my eyes better than Henry. A 60-sec phone call & I’m looking for things to break. #
• 11:39 I doubt the plumbing in my house is strong enough for all the psychic sewage I need to dump. I know: I’ll just take it to @saucalisha’s. #
• 12:06 I think if I were ever to have my stress taken away, I’d go into apoplectic shock. #
• 13:31 I hated the early, Anna-centric episodes of The OC. Someone put that in my obit. #
• 15:04 If I could cut myself in half to please everyone, well….I still wouldn’t. #
• 15:07 THATS IT! I eat too much paint. RT @vagynafondue There’s nothing quite like eating a vegetarian sloppy joe with paint all over my hands. #
• 16:01 The first episode that I ever saw of Silent Library is on right now, bringing with it instant happiness. #
• 16:04 I mean come on, who wouldn’t eat a sweaty man’s spaghetti shoelaces for $300? Other than rich ppl and anti-glutenites? #
• 16:08 Lady Gaga must feel proud that she has enough hits to warrant an entire episode of ABDC in her honor. She can probs retire now. #
• 16:56 I think Henry just helped one of my ex boyfriends pull out into traffic. #
• 21:13 I am not supposed to be texting from my new job but I wanted desperately to break that law. Down with the Man. #
• 08:46 Trying to finalize the plan to leave Henry for Trey Songz. #
• 10:09 CHOOCH JUST SAID “I WANT DADDY TO MARRY YOU” & I AM DYING. HAHAH. #
• 10:32 You want pancakes for breakfast, you say? Ramen noodles it is! #
• 10:58 Fuck LiveJournal. Yes, that’s right, I left the Internet version of a Mormon compound & lived to talk about it. #
• 12:57 My phone is never as active as it is right before the #NHL trade deadline. Wow, is my life rich or what. #
• 12:59 I think I’ll post nothing but tweets and my shitty fiction in my blog for an entire month!! The Fresh Beat Band says “Yeah yeah yeah.” #
• 15:05 Imprinting is real. #
• 15:47 Finding a good secretary is HARD. Henry’s not doing a good job. Apparently he has another “job,” whatever THATS all about. #
• 19:45 Um. I kind of love this new job. #
• 20:39 My boss enjoys her peanut butter toast with sunflower seeds on top. OMG ME TOO. #
• 08:51 Why can’t Justin Bieber just play t-ball like normal kids his age. #
• 12:28 I bow down before Chooch’s computer proficiency. I’m pretty sure when I was 3, I was eating paste and smearing poop on walls. #
• 13:06 My kid is always pushing me out of my comfort zone. Like when he makes me use the oven to cook frozen fries. I’m so harried right now. #
• 13:18 How do you like your grilled cheese? #
• 13:31 Chooch and I are convinced that @mrsevils is Santa Claus. Another box of murder arrived on our front porch! #
• 13:34 Another fantastic ornament for my dome, made by @mrsevils (mrsevils.etsy.com)! yfrog.com/b5ke0wj #
• 00:56 At the end of the day, my only role in life is that of cat mattress. I’m cool with that. #
• 07:41 I can’t concentrate with all these nuts in my face. #
• 10:32 Christ, if this is how I feel NOW, what would I do if HENRY ever left me? The Internet might break. #
• 10:33 Even Mopey Time has commercials: holy shit, Cupcake Pebbles???? #
• 11:29 RT @NHL Burke: “I think people who watched the Olympics would be hard-pressed not to fall in love with our game.” bit.ly/awEBLp #
• 15:08 Cupcake Couples CUSTOM LISTING by somnambulant on Etsy bit.ly/bygw93 #
• 16:44 Like I needed more evidence that Ben Fuckerberger is a raping asshole. God, I hate that piece of shit. #
• 21:07 I hope Henry has the wahambulance waiting for me when I get home. Oh hahaha. #
• 23:29 God bless flax seed, am I right. #
• 23:44 As if it wasn’t bad enuf Ty from Real World DC pushed Andrew off a ledg e, he got himself an internship w/ the Capitals. That motherfucker. #
• 12:16 I wish the Dannon Danimals slogan was “Get your breast out.” #
• 13:17 Hockey to Chooch is like an unwanted sibling and he acts like a spoiled brat everytime it’s on. #

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.

• coconut pie milkshakes & quicksand
• wearing your shirt to Taste of Chaos
• bang bang
• polka dot ties at the finger reception
• blue marbles & wings of pestilence
• bent forks at Hydes
• gaudy amulets & hocked plasma
• blue & yellow
• happy oinkin’ new year

Oh, this is terrible.

Hey! Guess who got another job for which she is over-qualified? Oh, that would be THIS GIRL right here!

I had sincerely expected the employment agency to stamp a big red UNRELIABLE on my file after the Henry-induced debacle at the last place, but my “agent” called me Monday morning with a new assignment for part-time evening work. The location is much more convenient and the shift is 5:30pm-10:30pm, so it’s compatible with Henry’s golden job.

I started last night. The company’s office is located in a nice building with a pretty lobby, manned by a good-natured security guard who got way too close to my face while taking my picture for my ID badge . Then he escorted me into the office where I’ll be working and dropped me off with Ev, a lithe older woman with a salt and pepper bob and nervous energy. The office itself was dirty beige with empty Postal Service bins strewn across the floor. It was about 5 steps down from my evening job two years ago at MSA.

Ev gave me a quick tour of the facilities. In the lunch room, which is a full cafeteria during the day, she was showing me the coffee machine when some squat, unruly bearded man in an ecru work shirt piped up and said in a semi-retarded cadence, “And if you use the last of it, make a new pot!” Aye, aye, Ecru.

I’m not sure yet if he works at the same place as me. Time will tell, and hopefully stories will follow.

Back inside the office, Ev began training me. I’m basically going through client files they have in their system, looking for the ones who are declining modifications to their mortgages. Or something like that. It’s a series of steps, but after watching Ev do it twice and doing it twice myself, she set me loose. Unfortunately for Jim, the older Cosby-sweatered man who also started last night, he did not have a similarly charmed fate and instead spent most of the shift being taken through the process in baby steps. It made me feel sad. It must suck for (some) older people who have probably spent most of their life in some field not requiring computer knowledge, to suddenly be dumped in front of a computer. I kept hearing Ev trying to get him to remember CTL-V and CTL-C before finally giving up and slapping a Post-It note on his monitor to remind him.

The woman whose desk I’m using was just getting ready to leave when I got there, so I had to stand awkwardly to the side while she shut down all of her windows. She seemed nice enough, and her smile was sure pretty when she said to me sternly, “Just don’t leave anything on my desk that has your name and account number on it, got that?”

“Oh. I’ll….try not to do that,” I answered slowly, hoping that I wouldn’t have any of those common urges to tear out pages of my check book and staple them around her cube in the form of my SS#. That didn’t really go over too well at my last job, either.

I made myself comfortable at her desk. It was nice having an actual desk and not a small conference room to be tucked away inside, like at the last job. While waiting for Ev to get the file with my workload ready, I had a chance to take in my co-workers. Three older soccer-mom’ish type ladies and a black woman probably around my age who I already know I want to be friends with because she has cool hair. There were still some day-shift stragglers in the office, but they all seemed relatively easy-going too. It’s not a very big office.

The best part was that there was a distinct scent of fruit snacks wafting around me. It was like being swaddled by Fruit Roll-Ups, and it made me feel at once comforted and hungry. I guess kind of like how you’d feel at a bacon-flavored orgy.

The worst part? They have a strict no cell phone policy. I had to sign off on that shit. I even said no texting in the BATHROOM. At first I was like, “OK, five hours. That’s not so bad.” By the end of hour one, I was chomping on my hair for lack of anything better to do. My knees were knocking against the desk. My fingers were icy and experiencing phantom text-flutterings. By hour two, I covertly pulled my phone out of my purse and quickly dumped in on my lap. I scooted into the desk real far so no one would see it. Granted, my boobs were resting awkwardly on the desk at that point, but it was a faux pas I was willing to endure so long as I could keep up with  my ESPN NHL Scorecenter texts. What? There were a LOT of games on last night.

By hour three, I decided to flirt with danger and send a TWEET.

I didn’t think it would be so hard. But my god, I felt like I had gone five hours without heroin by the time I stumbled out of there at 10:30.

The woman whose desk I’m sharing is an interesting broad. On the cubicle wall directly behind her monitor, it’s a miniature Lourve of angel pictures. Looking to the left, she had  more angels lest anyone forgets that she likes them. By the time I looked to my right, they were practically screaming “I’VE WANTED TO FUCK THE SHIT OUT OF AN ANGEL SINCE I WAS A YOUNG GIRL MAKING MY FIRST HOLY COMMUNION!”

In case I get bored with the angels, she has tons of GOOD WORD from our Lord to read (she even has a study Bible under the desk which I may or may not have accidentally stepped on) and a verifiable fleet of butterflies suctioned to the pane of glass that allows me to peek into the cube on the other side of me.

But my favorite cube accoutrement was the ravishing photo of whom I presume to be her husband. Picture it please: sandy Flobee’d hair, traveling from his crown to his cheeks. He’s not an overweight man, but has some jiggle, as evidenced by the way his pasty white bare thighs sag a bit as his legs are SPLAYED open as he lounges on a couch. SPLAYED OPEN with a DOG BETWEEN THEM. I couldn’t get a good look, but I believe he might be wearing boxer briefs, and if I squinted hard enough I could just barely detect, against the blinding whiteness of his legs,  some ultra-white socks yanked up to his knees.

I am so grateful I get to look at this every night.

Last night, I was telling Henry about it and I said, “I have GOT to try and take a pic—-”

“You’re going to get fired,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

I was updating Henry’s fake LiveJournal today and starting read some of the old stuff, for the LOLs. I came across this one and I don’t know why, but it made me laugh so hard and shit goddamn did that feel good. Maybe you might need a little pick-me-up today, too, so I am sharing. (Remember, “Hoover” calls me “Ruby.”)

Wed, Apr. 2nd, 2008, 01:03 pm
OMG i gots email!!

guyz some broad sent me a messige to my LIVejournal inbox!! HOw did she no the address i wonder?!?!

newayz this is what its sayin:

sharon.4001@yahoo.com
from sharongreatsharon.4001@yahoo.com
Hello Dear new friend
my name is sharon i saw your profile at www.livejournal.com and i found pleasure to write you as my my friend so that we can
communicate to
each othere,please mail me through my email address
(sharon.4001@yahoo.com)so that i will send you my pic for you to
know
who i am for the love and pleasure i have develpoed in your lovely
profile i awaits your lovely reply as soon as you get this mail.
sharon
please please please contact this email directly
sharon.4001@yahoo.com

i think what she is tryin to say is this?

“Hoover i seen ur picture on lj and frist i was like omg john black! but then i seen the real pictures and even though u is not srsly stud-like with catapiller eye brows like JOHN BLACK, i can see that u prolly have a decent working steve johnson* inside ur pantz. ruBY sounds like a fat dyke u should dump her better yet stab her to death and throw her in a dumpster outside Planned Parenthood and then POOP on her to, and then u and me can make babies and sell them for BOOZE.

i have big tits.
LOVE, SHAROON

i am gonna wait for ruBY to go to work and then i will be writing a nice reply. i will give her my phone number, and my social security # to, prolly.

*STEVE JOHNSON HE IS MY 2ND FAVE GUY ON DAYS OF OUR LIFES ONLY BECAUSE BO IS LIKE DYING RIGHT NOW AND LOOKS UGLY (i is three weeks behind so if he is dead now or somehow got a new pnacreas, plz do not tell me!!!!)

Underroo shopping is serious business. Chooch ultimately went with the glow in the dark Iron Man variety. He officially has graduated from the toddler section and is now perusing racks of Shawn White flannels and hoodies in the BOY SECTION. Oh my god, it seems like just last month he was still wearing onesies under his shirts and puking breast milk in my face.

His fourth birthday is April 25th and I imagine his party will be sometime around then.

Chooch and I already sat down and started working on a Toys R Us wish list, which was frustrating, I mean – fun. So very fun. I keep trying to tell him he wants all this awesome Penguins memorabilia but he just looks at me and mumbles, “I hate you.”

Chooch has been very set in his decision of a zombie theme so I guess I better start begging my Etsy Dark Side friends for ideas and help. Lots of help. I already sense another homemade birthday invitation odyssey. Speaking of zombies, he’s watching “Zombieland” right now and just cheered, “Yeah, fuck that clown!

”

In other non-swearing child news, Immigration Insiders is following me on Twitter. What do they know??

“…and I’ll be 65 and retired,” Henry was saying.

I laughed. “You? Retired? You’ll never get to retire. We’ll be living in a goddamned porta potty by then.”

“Oh please. Like you’ll even still be with me then. You’ll be 40 and flirting with younger guys. Whore.”

It’s funny because it’s true.

And then Chooch was talking about the ice cream shop he supposedly opened “down by Giant Eagle,” and Henry goes, “What do you say to your customers? ‘I hate you, what do you want?'”

Chooch paused in consideration and then said, “Yeah. Douchebag.”