Don’t worry, I only let him wear theses for >10 seconds, for fear of his eyeballs fleeing their sockets in fear.

I really botched the Great Glasses Getting project of 2010. They don’t work at all. I mean, yes – they enhance my vision. But not without major side effects. Such as:

• Unless I’m sitting stalk-still, it appears that I’m peering out of a fish bowl. Everything is curved. I can’t remember if convex or concave is the word I’m looking for, and to be honest, I’m too busy thinking of when I’m going to get to the cemetery today to worry too much about dictionary.com’ing that shit.
• Saturday morning, I had the brilliant idea of writing in my blog while glassed. Thought it would be good practice, train my eyes to be more like those of goldfish. It was worse than trying to type without any visual aid at all! Every time I attempted to glance down at the keyboard, I’d recoil in horror because the fingers tapping along the keys looked like they belonged to tiny (not yet dead)  Jon Benet Ramsey hands. EVERYTHING IS MINIATURIZED IF I LOOK DOWN, WHAT THE FUCK.
• Sunday morning was the food test. If I could EAT with the green monstrosity perched on my nose bridge, I could be convinced to keep trying these frustrating exercises. A simple bowl of cereal – Honey Bunches of Oats, if you need to know for your case study – was all I was trying to conquer. Thanks to my inability to look down, my chin, cleavage, and the person I keep chained under the computer desk all thanked me for the lovely breakfast.

So the search continues. I might suck it up and ask a professional for help. I mean an eye doctor, not a psychiatrist, though I’ve got one of them on speed dial too.

In the meantime, I’m popping the lenses out and keeping the frames as a hot accessory. (When I said that to one of the guys at work, he pantomimed putting them on as pants. I was a little insulted. They’re not that big!) Now Alisha will definitely be wanting me to accompany her to the gay bar all night, every night.

So today I submitted a photo to some Visit PA Facebook contest. Naturally, there are only two days left to vote, I literally missed out on the entire month; I figured it was worth a shot so I quickly chose a photo of something that could, I guess, be considered touristy and quickly entered.

Because hello, the top 6 vote-getters win one of six Pennsylvania getaways and you know who would like to get away? This girl I know who is ready to slaughter every living being in her house before diving off a bridge.

OH THAT’S RIGHT, ME.

Yes, I would like to win this contest, but my chances are relatively nil. Still, it’s worth a shot! And I’m hoping that someone reading this might want to take a minute and vote for dumb photo. I’d like to think I don’t ask for much from my reader(s), so please! Come on, I’m the girl who gives my shit away! (And by shit, I am of course talking about paintings, etc. Not my actual feces. Yet.) If ever I’ve made you smile or maybe even laugh here and there, please vote for me (and maybe even tell your friends to vote too?) unless me making you smile or laugh requires me to make good on that promise and jump off a bridge. Then, you know, don’t vote for me. Bastard.

The “getaway” could be a Dumpster in Scranton fitted with a piece of burlap and a sack of oranges for a pillow, or a serial killer’s surgically-equipped basement in Allentown, and I’d still consider sexual favors in exchange for votes. That’s how badly I’d like to run away.

My entry is HERE.

The photo is from my Westmoreland County Fair post from last August, and it always makes me smile. Maybe it makes you smile too! I heard that means you should vote.

P1010028, originally uploaded by appledale.

My friend Mose came over Saturday night to drink wine and be a porch-sitter with me. Somehow the Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast came up in conversation and I felt inspired to go back and look at the pictures from when Henry took me there for my birthday. I think it was in 2003. So now we know that 2003 was the last good birthday I had.

Anyway, he and I were the only guests that night in July, aside from this really goofy guy named Mike who was house-sitting for the summer. I remember being beyond scared to the point of barely sleeping, and then cracking my thigh on the underside of the super-low dining room table the next morning over a breakfast of jonny cakes. Scared and bruised, that is my summation.

This is a picture of me and my big arms, sitting on Lizzie’s parent’s bed, writing a very un-ironic postcard to my death row pen pal, Greg. “Hey Greg, I’m in a house of murder. IS THIS WHAT YOUR HOUSE FEELS LIKE!?”

I would like to go back there someday.

Hey, what do we do around here for Mother’s Day? Nothing. What do we do for Father’s Day? Oh, spend the day at an amusement park, no biggie.

But I don’t mind too much because it’s more for me than Henry anyway. He’s all, “I’m just happy I get to spend the day with the people I love” and, after barfing in a boot, I’m like, “Who, skanky teens in bikini tops and booty shorts? Middle-aged broads spilling out of their tank tops, boasting Tasmanian Devil tattoos and stretch marks?” Because these are the types of people with whom Kennywood is predominantly filled.

It turned out to be a miserable day. It was super hot, which I didn’t really mind, but I was worried about how much money we spent to go in the first place, never mind how much we’d be spending on food and beverages once inside. Blake wasn’t feeling well so I didn’t want to drag him on too many ridiculous rides, and Chooch was just being a wishy-washy cry baby bitch.

I wanted to start out easy by going on the super lame Garfield-themed boat ride that’s right near the entrance. I thought it would be a good first ride for Chooch, as it’s proved to be in years past. But I was vetoed because what do I know anyway, I’m a high school AND college drop out. Henry decided it was best to start him out big, so we took him on his first non-baby roller coaster, the Jack Rabbit. It’s a pretty non-threatening wooded coaster, but it does have a double-dip, and that’s what I was worried about for him. I kept imagining him being sprung from his seat and thirty years from now becoming an urban legend because no one actually remembers if some four-year-old actually did plummet to his death on the Jack Rabbit back in those crazy 2010’s or if it was just a story a clave of moms made up to deter their children from ever wanting to ride a roller coaster,  ever again.

I don’t really think Chooch knew what he was in for when Blake guided him straight to the front seat. Henry and I sat directly behind them, and I watched as Chooch scrunched up against Blake’s side for the entire duration. He didn’t cry, but I could tell, just by his body language, that he probably thought my threats of him going to Hell were finally coming into fruition. He seemed fine when we got off the ride, but when I asked him if he liked it, he very sincerely and sing-songily replied, “No, not really!”

It ruined him for the rest of the day, I know it did. We would get to the front of the line for the basest of family rides, like the types rides that pregnant women could ride and feel confident that they won’t get off leaving a trail of miscarriage in their wake, only for Chooch to say, “Um, no, I’m not riding this. Let’s go, kbye.” There were times when I wanted to push him, but people were looking. So we were good parents and left the lines with him every time, while threatening him in terse tones through taut lips.

I think I told him like 67865 times that he was ruining my day, and then Henry would have to remind me that mothers shouldn’t say things like this to their children and I was like, “Bitch, don’t you know I’m not a mother when I’m at Kennywood? I’m a fucking KID who wants to RIDE some mother fucking RIDES.”

We did, however get him on the Raging Rapids, which thoroughly pissed him off.

Slightly amused after a light sprinkle

Complained a lot about his new shoes getting wet

Not actually crying, but REALLY FUCKING BENT OUT OF SHAPE

Chooch was relatively mild-mouthed for most of the ride, until getting assaulted by the waterfall, to which he exclaimed in a very angry tone, “Oh, FUCK THAT.” He sounded so dire that I didn’t even have the heart to yell at him for taking his swearing side show on the road.

At one point, I tried on a suit of graciousness (it didn’t fit me very well, but at least I tried) and suggested that Henry and Blake ride the Phantom’s Revenge together because the line looked short. And you know, it was fucking Father’s Day after all. I figured Chooch and I could go on Noah’s Ark during that time. Noah’s Ark is just this large walk-through ride that thankfully doesn’t have the religious overtones you’d think it would. It’s like, every child’s favorite ride though, because it’s dark, fun, has moving floors and fake animals to look at.

Chooch has been through it three times in the past, but apparently he doesn’t remember because once we got in line, he deemed that it was going to be “too dark in there, let’s go.” I was like, “Asshole, this ride was fucking built for children! It is NOT SCARY! You watch motherfucking Friday the 13th and don’t bat an eye lash, but you’re afraid to walk through some lame ass boat with a bunch of fake ass fucking props in it?” Oh my lord, I was so disappointed in him.

So we spent a half an hour sitting on a ledge, waiting for Henry and Blake. By the time they got off the coaster, I was in full-blown sulk mode.

“I’m ready to dip up out of here,” I said disgustedly to Henry.

“What, why?” he asked.

“BECAUSE CHOOCH WON’T RIDE ANYTHING AND THIS WAS A WASTE OF MONEY AND MY WHOLE DAY IS RUINED!” I wailed. And the camera battery died after 30 minutes! And half the rides were closed! And I didn’t have a friend to take with me! And I felt fat!

But then Blake, worlds more mature at just seventeen than I am at thirty, suggested that Henry and I go ride something like a real life couple and he’d take Chooch to get pizza.  So Henry and I rode the Music Express, which was fun because I got to add extra curricular punches and pinches on top of the standard pre-packaged pulverizing that comes included with spinny rides. And after that, I dragged him on the Cosmic Chaos, which is still relatively new and he’s never actually seen in action. Until he was stuck smack in the middle of line when the next round started. As Henry watched it do its thang, he gravely murmured, “Oh, Erin…” I think that was my favorite part of the day. Either that or when Blake and I were on the Aero 360 and I asked him if he knew the scene kid who was sitting next to me. “What, I’m supposed to know him because he’s a scene kid?” Blake asked, upset with my assumption, like it was racial profiling or something.

After that, we tried to get Chooch to ride more things but he was being a big baby, and not even a cute one, but the kind you want to punch and then leave on someone’s porch in a laundry basket, so I threw my own fit and stalked off toward the entrance, where I sat on a bench alone. Literally, I sat there with my lip all pursed and quivering, arms crossed, and a thousand murderous scenarios screeching through my broken mind like a rusty train on chalkboard tracks.  This was around the time I tweeted, “I wish I could stuff Today in a cadaver and fuck it in the ass with a blow torch.” Then I decided, I’ll show them, I’m going to leave! So I texted Blake and said, “I’m leaving!” to which he replied, “But you have all the money!” and then Henry left Blake and Chooch in Kiddieland to come calm me down.

Which he did by buying me food because, being the Erin specialist that nine bi-polar years have made him, he recognized in the situation all the signs of Erin Famine. And I was cool after that! We went back to KiddieLand and Blake was like, “You kids go on and have fun. I’ll stay here with Chooch.” Really, this was because Blake wasn’t feeling well and standing among parents watching small children oscillate slowly on hideous animal faced-carriages was more appealing to him than getting whiplash.

So Henry and I got to be a Real Life Couple and ride things together! I can’t remember this ever really happening too often at Kennywood. I know that he and I have never been there alone together, so this was sort of like a DATE. It was weird! And he was really giddy and kept trying to kiss me and I had to remind him that I hadn’t suddenly abandoned my hatred of PDA. He even grabbed my boobs right as our photo was taken on the Log Jammer and I was like, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Did Blake give you E?”

Then I had to stand around impatiently while he played that money-guzzling game Pong Pond, where you get like, seven chances to bounce a ping pong ball and hope that it lands in a plastic lily pad. I’ve yet to see him win at this game.

“This is the only game I’m good at!” he whined after I begged him to stop spending money on it. “I’ve won it, like three times!”

“Seriously? You’ve won three times in the thirty years you’ve been coming here?”

He thought about this. “Yes. So I’m about due for a win.” I had to pull him away. Unless he was going to wrap a stuffed animal around my goddamn finger and propose, I wasn’t about to stand there and cheerlead for him while he blew through all of MY MONEY.

Then the night turned sour. Blake wanted to leave because he wasn’t feeling well at all, which was understandable, but Chooch had to play fucking mind games with me the whole way back to the entrance. “I want to ride this.” We’d get in line. “No, I don’t think so.”

I was so over it! Walking past Garfield’s Nightmare, the extremely docile family boat ride Chooch pussied out on twice that day, he begged us to take him on it.

“Hell no,” I said. “I’m done playing these games with you. All you’re going to do is get in line and change your mind, so stop wasting my time.” And he threw a full blown fit, right there in front of all the other children who were like, “Yay! We’re at Kennywood! We appreciate this opportunity so much, Mommy and Daddy! We are going to ride every single ride to make sure we get our money’s worth, and you will be so proud of us! And before we go to bed tonight, we will be sure to read from our Bible!”

This was the point where I quickened my pace, and left Blake and Henry behind me to pull Chooch along, kicking and screaming. He cried and screamed the whole way home while I stared out the window and tried to remember what it was like to be single.

Happy Father’s Day, Henry! I’m leaving!

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

• 16:14 Here to report that we’re the only crackers at this graduation party. #
• 16:51 Some early 90s r&b up in this joint. I’m half-crocked off jello shots & Seagrams. OH SHIT THIS IS HOW WE DO IT! #
• 17:06 Toya’s boyfriend just said, “It was the jello shot that took you there.” #
• 17:24 BO MB POTATO SALAD YA’LL. #
• 19:12 Just spent the last hour in the rain, some of which was watching Henry pretend to be Bobby Flay in hopes of impressing Neighbor Mark. #
• 19:40 I was about a mile away and still heard Toya say it was time for cake. BEEN WAITING ALL DAY. #
• 20:21 I’m glad Chooch has given me 26 reminders of his age today, all in varying degrees of tantrums. Boy, can’t you see I’m trying to party? #
• 21:23 Crabby Ruth went back in the house so I’ve rejoined the party and some broad is mixing me a white Russian. Holla. #
• 21:25 Her name is Peaches, the one liquoring me up. #
• ***
• 10:16 OMG PTV #
• 12 :03 90 degrees and Chooch is wearing a knit cap to Kennywood. #
• 12:15 Henry is ruining Father’s Day for me!! #
• 12:28 Chooch had a dream we were at a haunted house & Blake kicked the crawling guy’s ass. Chooch adds music to his stories now, btw. #
• 14:11 Chooch’s reaction to getting drenched on the Raging Rapids: Oh, FUCK THIS. #
• 14:44 Today is another shining reminder that I wasn’t meant to be a mother. #
• 15:53 I wish I could find a way to cram this entire day into a cadaver and fuck its asshole with a blowtorch. #
• 16:03 $87 to walk around in circles while my kid decides he’s too scared to ride every single ride here -far from priceless. #
• 17:02 I’m not keeping my hands inside. You can’t tell me. twitpic.com/1yjuf7 #
• 18:27 Free to OK home. twitpic.com/1yki1o #
• 18:55 Kennywood was completely ruined for me today. I hate four year olds. #
• 19:43 My Top 3 Weekly #lastfm artists: Keyshia Cole (2), Pierce the Veil (2) and We Are the In Crowd (1) #lastfm bit.ly/cShGmp #
• 22:31 The new Pierce the Veil makes me involuntarily say “ouch.” Sickening how heart-breakingly good it is. #
• 23:16 I just don’t care who knows what anymore, is what it is. #
• 23:41 Now go bring me my brandy! (The kind in a glass, not the one chained up in my closet.) #
• ***
• 09:16 Everything’s Cuter When It’s Miniature: …except maybe bank accounts and Andre the Giant. One of my past customers … bit.ly/9ffGSF #
• 09:38 Nursing post-Kennywood wounds. Chooch’s are of the flesh; mine are on my psyche. #
• 09:47 My suggestion of Wimbeldon was quickly vetoed once Chooch realized there were no zombies on the court. #
• 09:52 Nothing like some Diary of the Dead after our morning bagel. Chooch wishes Jason was in this movie so he could kill these asshole zombies. #
• 11:53 Henry finally realized that the more often I get to go on cemetery runs, the less bitchy phone calls he gets. Concessions have been made. #
• 12:45 Mini Blake. twitpic.com/1yrqtu #
• 17:41 A bottle of champagne is literally being passed around the office. This place fucking rules. #
• 18:07 Oh thank god – I was worried I wasn’t going to get to see the cascading breasts of someone’s grandma today. But I did, don’t worry. I did. #
• 22:42 Space, what’s that. #
• ***
• 10:57 Peep Show at The Law Firm: Everything was quiet and calm yesterday at The Law Firm, until G came waltzing over to … bit.ly/bQPpH1 #
• 12:47 When Vic sings “I just wanted one dance with you,” it feels like my heart is coming out of my mouth. FUCK. #
• 13:59 Chooch is stand ing stockstill in the front yard, clad in his Jason hockey mask, staring at passers-by. #
• 15:32 The girl at the McDonald’s window will sleep well tonight knowing that my 4-year-old thinks she’s a bitch. #
• 16:32 HOLD UP! I just graciously accepted a compliment about my writing with no trace of self-deprecation. This may not have ever happened before. #
• 18:11 I have really inexplicable taste in women. Men too, when you consider Henry. Oh ho ho. #
• 19:50 God, they keep wanting me to learn new things here at The Law Firm. What do I look like, their employee? #
• 19:58 It was fun at first, but having new responsibilities dumped on me is getting old. Now when will I find the time to make fun of mommy blogs?! #
• ***
• 01:12 Henry just sat thru 2 episodes of Pretty Little Liars. Dunno what’s more pathetic – that, or the fact that I’m the one who DVRd it. #
• 09:16 OMG it’s Sammie! LOLOLOLOL. #
• 09:51 RT @snoopdogg: Sidney Crosby #87 from Pittsburgh Penguins & Captain of Team Canada what ya know about gold medals twitpic.com/1z5fda #
• 11:15 @satanmetalady she’s friends w/ Christina &her sister; my b log stats show her LJ’s been a referring link to my blog the last few days lol. #
• 11:39 @GraveDirt They use hidemyass.com – it isn’t working very well for them. And I’d know they were reading no matter what, anyway! #
• 11:44 Two of my friends tweeted about waiting for the UPS man, 8 seconds apart. Just wanted to get in on that, is all. #
• 11:50 Whoever told my son it’s OK to dump perfectly good beverages down the drain b/c we’re rich & can just buy more? Say hi to my pipe bomb. #
• 12:18 Thank you, Chooch, for letting me watch some sports today. I forgot what non-animated television program ming looked like. #
• 12:30 Peep Show at the Law Firm:: www.ohhonestlyerin.com/archives/5142 #
• 13:16 If we let Chooch have sugar and caffeine, I doubt I’d be able to send this tweet right now, live from the sanitarium. #
• 13:32 Brought Chooch out to play with some kids & as usual ended up getting “involved.” I’m not the town play mate, OK?? #
• 17:00 Word on the street is that my son is mocking a special needs kid on the playground right now. And I am thankfully miles away from it. #
• 17:02 Henry keeps texting me playground updates & I’m in tears at my desk, praying no one walks by. “Oh nothing, my kid’s just mocking a retard.” #
• 17:04 My crush just winked at me. #
• 18:38 July 7 = Warped Tour = Pierce the Veil: Time out. I have some stuff to write about, like neighborly happenings and… bit.ly/96ntvn #
• 18:52 Oh please, these broads don’t even know the MEANING of burnt popcorn. #
• 20:18 No one but Ryan Miller deserved the Vezina. you earned it, dude! #nhl #
• 21:08 Henrik Sedin wins the fucking Hart. Areyoukidding. Pathetic. Only brightside is that it wasn’t Ovechkin. #NHL #
• 23:05 Seriously, how do you people wear glasses? I’m trying my new ones out & in the span of 3 minutes tripped down the steps &almost passed out. #
• 23:06 If I sit real still……. #
• 23:09 That’s it. I’m smashing the lenses out of these & just wearing the frames as an accessory. Fuck vision. #
• 23:17 Attempted to look down and almost puked. I think I need frames that are more rectangular. Or I could just gouge out my eyes. #
• 23:44 Switched Twitter apps so hopefully the sporadic repeat-tweets will cease. I still haven’t found an app that I love. #
• ***
• 12:44 I think this might be the 9 year anniversary of @awoodhick’s and my supposed one night stand. OH LOOK AT US NOW, WOULDYA. #
• 14:17 The Christina Chronicles: When Boyfriends & Girlfriends Collide: The thing that made Henry angry about my inaugura… bit.ly/bqqUpA #
• 13:41 Blake just saved a soccer ball from the jaws of speeding vehicles; hero of the block. #
• 15:19 Don’t rain on my parade. You can piss in my Wheaties though. I don’t eat Wheaties. #
• 15:50 Henry just asked, “Is it time for the furry convention already? Because that’s the second girl Ive seen with a tail.” #
• 16:29 I’m a little worried by the way one of the analysts just told me we’re gonna have a nice Friday night. #
• 17:41 Capped off a snark remark to a co-worker by nearly falling on my ass. He keeps talking about Karma but I’m thinking Vodka. #
• 17:45 Seriously? Spellcheck changed “smart” to “snark” in my last tweet and you all know how much I hate that word. Maybe it IS karma. #
• 20:32 Blake, on walking around downtown with a tail: “I would NOT. That is something i would NOT do.” #
• 20:34 I got to leave work early! The sun’s still out! I don’t know what to do with myself! (Aside from shielding my eyes.) #
• 23:43 On my way home from margaritas with @bonecrusher82, I lost my voice & the hearing in my right ear came back. One of the two is a miracle. #
• ***
• 00:10 @bonecrusher82 haha or the guy wiping the same part of the wall over and over! #
• 10:38 I left Chooch home w/ Blake while I went for a cemetery run & not only are they both still alive, there’s no blood & the house still stands. #
• 12:00 Get ready for the best day of 2010, Henry my love! brizzly.com/pic/2VA5 #
• 13:41 Seriously considering asking for an earlier shift so I’ll have less time to go through the mom-motions. THIS DOES NOT SUIT ME. #
• 14:34 Was trying to determine the biggest part of my body when Henry answered for me: my mouth:( #
• 14:40 Henry switched his bandanna from Blood to Crip. They’re gonna have to disguise his voice on the next episode of Gangland. #
• 17:41 Makes me feel excited! RT @NHL The stage @ #NHLDraft ready to go at Staples Center in LA-lots of talking going on. twitpic.com/1zx2nx #
• 18:07 Well I was wrong about the resurgence in audibility of my right ear. It’s either doctor time or time to accept partial deafness. #
• 22:53 I wish I was capable of giving a shit about tapdance, but it just feels like I’m trying to pass a burning Christmas tree. #
• ***
• 00:20 Two fucked eyes, one fucked ear. I’m doing fantastic. Absobitchin’ fantastic. #
• 10:30 Hey boyyyyyyy. I predict today is gonna be a good day. Despite the fact I couldn’t make oatmeal because my housewife didn’t buy milk. #
• 10:43 I wonder if Henry would notice if he came home to one less son. #
• 11:46 Trying to type while w earing my glasses, but when I look down, my hands look like they could have belonged to Jon Benet Ramsay. #
• 12:14 Goddamn Kennywood: Hey, what do we do around here for Mother’s Day? Nothing. What do we do for Father’s Day? Oh, s… bit.ly/b2g6ke #
• 12:51 While cleaning the garage, Henry found his wedding video! Who wants to come watch it?? Maybe do some speedballs in Big Ds honor? #
• 13:27 On hold with my eye doctor, got to hear the tail end of Firefall’s “You Are the Woman,” flute flourish & all. Definitely a good day! #

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.

The thing that made Henry angry about my inaugural lesbian dalliance wasn’t the fact that Christina and I, you know, DIDSTUFF (I’m still awkward as an eighth grader when it comes to this girlie shit, but if it was a dude I was writing about, I’d have no qualms telling you all about that), but that she and I literally slept together. I suppose if she was some Mexican whore that I discarded by the train tracks upon conquering, he would have felt better about it. But no, she and I had slept together in her bed and Papa Henry was a little jerked off by that. Oh, and also he maybe had a slight issue with the fact that she went and got a tattoo to commemorate our weird friendship.

So it was a little awkward and tense when she came here to Pittsburgh a few weeks later.

She arrived early on a Friday morning in April. It was still dark when I picked her up from the Greyhound station after dropping Henry off at work. He had spent the entire car ride expressing his malcontent for the upcoming weekend, but I ignored him because I’m selfish and spending time with Christina made me happy.

Later that afternoon, Henry called, bitching that I never came to pick him up from work. “I’ve been trying to call you all fucking day,” he said angrily. “But the phone has been busy!” This was back when we still had a landline, and the phone was definitely hung up all day. In fact, the later it became in the day, the more worried I became. I kept checking the phone, wondering why Henry hadn’t called yet.

Of course, in Henry’s mind, this meant that I had purposely left the phone off the hook so Christina and I could have sex all over the house, probably with 17 wigged strangers and a horse.

He didn’t believe me, probably still doesn’t, but she and I honest to god watched music videos on On Demand all day, and I even read aloud from my vacation journals while we drank coffee outside on my sidewalk. Seriously, we didn’t need to be running around with studded strap-ons to be entertained by each other. It wasn’t about that for us, though I’m sure Henry imagined it was all “Cue porn soundtrack!” every time we were alone. But no, there was definitely innocence there between us. We were just two little girls, giggling a lot, being stupid.

We always kept it platonic when she’d visit. I’d have felt weird DOINGSTUFF with her in my house, and didn’t want Henry to have to feel weird about it too. I mean, somewhere inside of me, there actually is a little tiny atom-sized pocket of respect for the man.

I can’t imagine how annoying it must have been for Henry though. She and I had a language that consisted solely of strangulated giggles, sighs, and choking motions from laughter gone wild. Everything was an inside joke, a knowing glance, a secret smirk.

In fact, he and I just spoke about this and he said, “Of course I wasn’t happy that weekend; I don’t trust you.” I suggested he should just leave that as a comment on this entry, but he mumbled, “No. I don’t want any involvement in this. I’ve already had enough of it.” That’s real talk, straight from Henry’s mouth.

***

Henry had to work that Saturday, and we arranged for me to pick him up when I was done with my English Comp class at Pitt that afternoon. Christina decided she didn’t want to wait at my house, so she hung around on campus while I was sitting through tedious discussions of Tim O’Brien’s “The Things They Carried.” I had explicitly told her what time to meet back outside my classroom, but when class got out, she was nowhere to be found. I roamed around the Cathedral of Learning for nearly an hour looking for her, before giving up and sitting on a bench outside of my classroom. It turned out the idiot forgot to set her watch ahead and thought she had way more time than she actually did.

So once again, I was obscenely late picking up Henry from work and the wheels of adultery were surely spinning wildly in his head. No Henry, we weren’t having sex with mop handles in the campus supply closet, I promise.

This was probably the Universe’s way of saying, “Hey, kid. The jig is up. You can’t handle this new lifestyle, so please hand over your dual citizenship to Sexkatchewan and have yourself a nice heterosexual day.”

In spite of the tension and lack of trust on Henry’s end, it was still one of the most gut-bustingly hilarious weekends I had with her, or anyone. Everything was always funny when she was around. Everything. I miss laughing until I’m nearly puking. I miss finding meaning in a blue marble and sharing a root beer float. I miss being a part of something that must have appeared so strange and unusual to anyone attempting to figure us out; it must have been like looking through fun house mirrors.

It’s important for me to remember these brief moments in time, because I don’t want to be full of hatred for her, and sometimes as I’m writing these stories, I feel that I’m letting my anger take over, that I’m starting to be biased based on the recent falling out. There were so many beautiful memories from back then, when she was still Christina and I was still Erin and we were strong enough to not let the words and actions of other people come between us. So to keep true to the story, I’m going to end this with something I wrote after she left that weekend, and if you can, imagine me telling it to you in a voice high-pitched and sped-up with giddy delirium, because that’s pretty much the tone I always used back then when she and I were together. It’s the tone I use when I’m so happy I could die.

***

Last week, when I asked Henry if he was excited that Christina was coming to hang out, he unfalteringly shook his head and said, “No, you guys act so middle school and weird when you’re together.” I was appalled and determined to show him that Christina and I were adults who acted in a very mature manner when in each others company.

Typically, when an out of state friend comes to visit, people like to show them around the city. Have a good time, see a show, be touristy, throw down a few dead prezzes for a hooker. Not me, though.

The weekend with Christina was spent watching quality TV, such as Charles and Camilla’s wedding, music videos on On Demand (the same ones repeatedly, much to Henry’s delight), the Eternal Word Television Network, and golf. I love golf now. And not just as a joke like before. I even joined Phil Mickelson’s fan club and within five minutes of getting my member confirmation email, I was already defending his name on his message board. Some idiot had the audacity to go in there and say that he heard Phil had sired an illegitimate child with a prostitute. Can you imagine? This was unacceptable, so I knew I had to take action. My reply was “STFU.” That’s right. Christina said she was uncertain if golf fans knew what that meant, but I’m confident that they’ll figure it out.

Unfortunately, when you pair us up, Henry’s correct in that we regress into two middle school girls and our giggling drives him right into the arms of Migraine. We all went out to eat Saturday night and he actually had the brass to grab my arm and admonish me for being immature and obnoxious. I know, I know – me, obnoxious? Henry’s got the wrong girl, obviously. Then he told me to stop fake laughing. Excuse me, but fake laughing? I engaged in no such thing. I was really just that out of control.

Sunday, we took a breather from watching bad television programming because it was getting completely ridiculous. I should have deduced this Saturday morning when I almost herniated a disk because some man reporting from Windsor Castle was wearing a tie with tiny blue dots on it. That’s not funny and I had no right to laugh. Except I did and then Christina fed off it and we couldn’t stop laughing and slapping each other and I nearly swallowed my tongue.

So, it was obvious on Sunday that we needed to get out of the house, plus Christina and I wanted to take our show on the road. Henry piled us into the car and we went to the Homewood Cemetery. I love going on Sundays because there’s always a bunch of Chinese people there and they like, have bonfires and stuff (although Henry maintains that they’re just burning incense).

We arrived and I was already bolting out of the car before it even came to a complete stop. Almost immediately, I unearthed a huge tree branch and started parading around with it. Christina decided that we should pretend like we were honoring the Pope, but that we needed a flag at the end to make it complete. We begged Henry to give us his bandanna but he held his ground. He was trying to be all firm and hard core, until we walked past a man with his little daughter near the pond. The man nodded at Henry, who demurely returned his sentiments with a feminine “Hi.” I think he blushed, too. So the next three minutes was spent carrying on about Henry’s new boyfriend, until I found a pile of leaves to trample over.

I left Henry and Christina for awhile because there was a path leading up a hill that was just begging for my feet to touch it. It felt empowering being so high above them on a parallel road. Henry was OK with me straying until I threw a huge rock down the hill at them and let loose my warrior cry. Henry snapped his head up to look at me and hissed, “Be quiet!” while pointing at the Chinese people who were honoring the dead.

Hanging back a bit, I let the two of them round a bend before I made my way stealthily back down the hill, stopping halfway to crouch behind a bush. Every so often, they would stop walking and look up the hill, scratching their heads when they couldn’t find me.

Christina told me later that she had mused out loud, “I bet she’s going to try and hide from us” and Henry, without so much as a glance over his shoulder, quickly informed her that, “She’s right over there.” How does he do it?

I knew I had been spotted so I ran the rest of the way down the hill and fell into place with them. I asked Henry how he knew I was hiding.

“How are you going to try to hide in a cemetery while you’re wearing a bright orange shirt?”

Lots of gravestone heckling ensued and we kept catching Henry trying to pick up his pace. He succeeded in losing us for awhile when we became sidetracked by the cemetery office. I was running around trying to find an unlocked door, despite Henry impatiently reminding me that it’s Sunday and there’s no one there. I had to find out for myself so I started to ring the doorbell while playing with cigarette butts in the big flower planter. I could hear Henry in the distance spouting off about how I shouldn’t touch cigarette butts because they’re dirty.

No one answered so Christina came with me around the back to search for another way in where we became sidetracked by big rusty gardening tools. I was enamored with one that looked like a sickle and she was appropriately fiddling with a hoe or something. We were going to have a sword fight until I noticed that civilians were watching us from the street. We threw down the tools and ran, which was when we realized that Henry had gained a great distance on us.

We knew that he was embittered with our childish antics, so we each procured a bunch of wilted Easter flowers that had been plucked and thrown carelessly from a grave. We presented him with the flowers and he swatted our offerings away! Ingrate.

On the way back to the car, we passed a tombstone that boasted Christina’s last name. I exclaimed in horror, “Oh my god, you’re dead!”

“So are you!” she countered, as she pointed to one further over that said, “McWhiney.” Oh, ok. I see. Henry thought this was incredibly hilarious until Christina pointed out one across the road and said, “Look, you’re here, too Henry! ‘Meanor’!”

Then we came home and watched the final round of the Masters and I gave myself a sore throat from cheering with too much zeal.

And when we returned from taking Christina to the bus station, the house was filled with silence. It was sad, but I bet my neighbors are thankful.

I tried to watch our favorite From First To Last video this morning, but it just wasn’t the same. I didn’t have anyone to punch and squeal with during our favorite parts. I miss her.

Time out. I have some stuff to write about, like neighborly happenings and Kennywood,  but right now I’m too busy listening to the new Pierce the Veil album non-stop (and even when it’s not on, it’s on in my head) to think properly. I have waited so fucking long for this. It’s the perfect soundtrack for the dark carnival in my head.

“Fast Times at Claremont High” is my favorite track on the CD (so far, at least). When Vic sings, “I only wanted one dance with you,” I honestly feel like my heart is trying to escape through my mouth. I needed this album right now, so badly. It’s a shame most people can’t get past his voice in order to hear the brilliantly heart-wrenching lyrics he writes. There’s really nothing else that compares to it in the scene today.

Sunday was a shitty day. Nothing major happened, like death or amputation or Miley Cyrus subjection, but it was just one of those hassle-filled days where nothing goes right and you feel lonely and miserable and wonder all day long why you even bothered getting out of bed.

But then that night, after Chooch went to sleep and Blake went out with friends, Henry and I sat on the couch and listened to the Selfish Machines together in its entirety and it was kind of fucking perfect.

…except maybe bank accounts and Andre the Giant.

One of my past customers asked me  to make her a Cupcake Couple portrait that could be used as a cake topper for her upcoming wedding.

In tandem, I was flattered and horrified. That’s a lot of pressure, making something that’s going to be used in a wedding. I mean, it’s a WEDDING. Most people don’t go into those thinking, “Well, it’s OK if it’s not perfect, because I’ll probably get a do-over some day.” That thought process comes later.

My customer and I went back and forth during the process, because I wanted to make sure I got it 100% perfect. I didn’t have a picture of the hair to work with, since the wedding day hasn’t happened yet, so I had to go on description only. And I’ve decided men’s hair is my least favorite thing to paint.

Why can’t you all just be bald? Or have long girlie locks?

But I finally got it right and she said they’re both pleased with it, so here’s hoping it makes it on the cake and doesn’t get chucked at the final hour for some better Etsy representation of their coupledom.

CDs pictured are Chiodos’ Bone Palace Ballet and Circa Survive’s Blue Sky Noise and are NOT INCLUDED.

A green and black striped Henley and jeans with a hole in the knee was what I wore right before I lost my girl virginity.

It was about a week after I leaked my secret to Christina, and we were sitting nervously together on her bed; she was more in the middle, I was perched on the edge. The Used was playing in the background. I let her giggle anxiously for a few minutes before I, always the predator, went in for the kill. It wasn’t as scary as I thought. Sort of soft. A stark contrast when compared to Henry’s bristly mug.

We had discussed this very scenario ad nauseum over the span of about 35,000 phone calls and emails, all of which ended with me emphatically stating that we were only going to kiss, nothing else.

But after about five minutes, my inner hussy emerged and was all, “Yeah go ahead, just do whatever.” All of my preconceptions, hang-ups (and standards, apparently) had blown out the window with one big gust from Christina’s duck lips. You know, maybe it’s crazy, but I kind of liked it. She treated me like I was some perfect being and I have never actually been able to see tangible love (or burning obsession, it’s all semantics) in someone’s eyes before, like I could in hers. It was addicting, knowing I had this crazy effect on someone.

The rest of the weekend was filled with delirious giddiness, stolen kisses, goosebumped arms, and nonsensical inside jokes. It was one of the best weekends of my life, because with Christina, I was thirteen again. I could say anything I wanted to say around her, do anything I wanted, be anyone I wanted – like, for instance, myself. She had somehow tore down every one of my walls when I wasn’t looking, and to this day Henry is the only other person who has done that.

So I found myself valuing her even more; that I was able to quite literally strip down and still find myself comfortable with her?

It was a really big deal to me.

We could spend hours just listening to music, no need for words. And when certain parts would come on, we would look at each other knowingly.

**

When I was in seventh grade, my friend Liz invited me to take acting classes with her. One of the exercises we had to do was pair up with someone and attempt to mime their motions with closed eyes. I guess the point was that you were supposed to open yourself up and feel that slight electric connection that apparently is meant to happen when two people are just about to touch.

I couldn’t feel it.

“Stop thinking about it too much,” the instructor said. “Just let yourself go.”

Liz and I were bombing the exercise so I had to cheat and peek to see where her hand was so I could follow it with my own. I was so upset that night, that I wasn’t able to connect with my partner like everyone else could. I felt there was something wrong with me. Was I that emotionally shut off that I couldn’t even sense that another human being, and not even a stranger but a friend, was standing inches away from me?

Ten years later, I finally was able to let myself go and feel that connection.  I could close my eyes and feel Christina. Sometimes I felt that I could feel her even with 300 miles between us.

**

Christina took me to a cemetery that weekend, this huge sprawling graveyard in Cincinnati where we got lost almost immediately after parking. We must have spent hours there, harassing ducks, kicking tombstones, me spitting “I hate you!“s, which is Erin code for “I might kinda love you, maybe.

” We held hands the whole time. Everything was funny. Everything was special. Everything was big and important and significant. It felt simultaneously innocent and wrong.

I remember an older couple passing us, and for a split second I wanted to let go of her hand. But then they smiled at us and it kind of made me appreciate the day even more.

Somewhere in the middle of the cemetery, we came across this small, gnarled, leafless tree. To anyone else, it would have been just that – a tree. But to us, all hyped up on lust-induced adrenaline, sleep-deprived giddiness, and the sense of sharing some big secret love-thing, it became a very big deal.

With feigned gravity, we declared that this tree needed a closer inspection. We ducked beneath the boughs, which took on the shape of a busted umbrella above our heads; we were just about to make it our new Clubhouse for Gaybos when Christina noticed that there was a dead snake half-buried under a carpet of dead leaves and pine cones. And then – oh, look! –  there was a dead bird, too, so we ran out from under the tree, screaming and waving our hands in mock-horror. This should not have been that big of a deal. But for years, that tree came up in conversation. She wrote poems about it; I had it make tiny cameo appearances in some of my stories through the years. Once, we even tried to find it again, before realizing that there were at least fifty other trees in that cemetery with the same bare, arthritic branches.

When it was time for me to leave that Sunday afternoon, we said goodbye in her kitchen and she cried. I couldn’t get her to stop, and I couldn’t stay any longer, so I just left her there, crying against her kitchen counter.

Yes, everything was great that weekend. Like a fucking Twinkie filled with stuff that movies are made of.  If anyone would have suggested to me then that in five years, my friendship with Christina would be splayed, broken-hearted and decomposing beneath the Death Tree, I would have punched them in the face.

I wish I could have put it all in a snow globe, because I know I will never get that back again.

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

• 15:29 Now I get to go throw up in the boneyard. #
• 15:40 So, Chooch acted like a complete dude around his cousin Brooke. #
• 16:27 Sitting in traffic with Mama by Genesis playing loudly makes me lose my shit. #
• 17:11 I think it’s safe to say I’m a cemetery bulimic. #
• 19:44 If I want replies, I post to Facebook; if I want my thoughts to waft away thru the ether on the wings of crickets, I post to Twitter. #
• 19:59 My heart sunk as Henry said “William Caplan died” but really it was “Why do u have a cap on yr head?” I don’t even know a William Caplan #
• 20:00 And I don’t know why I have a cap on my head, other than Chooch put it there 10 minutes ago. Now I wish I had a William Caplan in my life. #
• 20:01 ….and maybe even on my head. #
• 22:38 The people who live behind us (in a house, not our assholes) are roasting marshmallows which I can smell. And I think that’s just rude. #
• 23:10 Im left with no choice but to retaliate with toasted crack from my stove. Who’s jealous now, you s’mores snarfing dildos. #
• 23:39 I swear I just heard a phantom ESPN Sportscenter hockey text. :( #
• ***
• 09:36 My child discovered Henry bought a bunch of ramen noodles & he’s acting like it’s Christmas. I CANT BELIEVE WE HAVE MY FAVORITE NOODLES! #
• 10:00 I just really want to see my grandma today. It was looking optimistic, but has quickly fucked itself repeatedly with a hot curling iron. #
• 11:01 In about 5 minutes, I will either be walking into my grandma’s house peacefully, or kicking in the door. Wish me luck. #
• 11:05 Either way, I’ll be leaving in tears. #
• 12:59 30 minutes with my grandma is better than 8 months of nothing, I guess. The situation is exhausting. #
• 13:48 I’m half-hearted about everything today. Arts Festival included, yet somehow I find myself being dragged there. #
• 14:22 That’s the first time in 14 years I had to talk my way out of going to the Arts Festival. Today has been a brilliant day. So full of LOVE. #
• 14:27 If June 13, 2010 had a fanpage on Facebook, I’d “like” it just so I could unlike it .0002 seconds later. You’re a prick, Today! #
• 14:37 What, you don’t have birthday patties? You have birthday PARTIES? Gee willickers, what the fuck are those? #
• 15:08 This has been such a killer month for new releases. I’ve had a boner for the last three weeks NO LIE I’M A GUY. #
• 15:39 Watching Chooch walk down the street with Henry to Pgh Popcorn made me tear up. Time for my testosterone shot. #
• 16:36 My Top 3 Weekly #lastfm artists: Mad at Gravity (2), Call the Cops (2) and Mike Posner & The Brain Trust (2) #lastfm bit.ly/cSh Gmp #
• 17:22 There is always something wrong with me. My right ear has felt like it has a seashell over it for the last 4 days. Awesome for my balance. #
• 17:54 Will someone please tell @awoodhick I think I have a fever? He doesn’t seem to CARE ENOUGH to respond to my cries for an infirmary trip. #
• 19:15 If I was ever kidnapped, I’d tell Twitter first. Henry would probably already know, considering he’d have been the one to arrange it. #
• 19:20 I’m losing my VOICE NOW. I’d steal @saucalisha’s but hers makes woodland creatures weep:( #
• 19:31 I love hearing lawyers talk about their vaca plans. OH HELLO, MISTER NOT REALLY. #
• 21:28 My hand hurts from holding the bowl of soup Henry made me! This is the worst night ever-herererrrrrrrrrrrrrr. #
• ***
• 12:18 Been a weird family week: Blake is “living” w/ us now, half-bro contacted me out of the blue, bio-dad’s mom & aunt are visiting today. #
• 12:19 Not to mention meeting my niece for the first time, plus the Grandma drama. I feel disoriented. This warrants a vaca, I think. #
• 15:25 It appears I might have another older brother. My dad’s been dead for 27 years yet the surprises keep a’coming. #
• 15:32 Chooch starts all his stories with “Yeah because…” #
• 19:32 Why was I crying just then? Just daydreaming about hockey. :( #
• 21:21 My new roommate Blake brought home mouthwash. #
• 21:43 Roommate Coloring Hour. twitpic.com/1x4xr5 #
• ***
• 09:19 VIDEO OF ME & MY FANTASTIC VOICE, OMG WATCH OR DIE: After yesterday’s heavy entry, I wanted to lighten the mood a … bit.ly/bhbUOp #
• 09:31 Vic Fuentes is brilliant. Worth the wait. #
• 10:06 I feel sorry for any song that tries to follow Underminded’s “Who Needs a Bodybag.” #
• 11:00 Just kicked it at the cem. My sweat stinks of chicken soup. #
• 12:04 When someone says “I’ll take care of it,” I never believe them, thanks to nine years of Henry not taking care of it. #
• 12:45 I’m having fun with #formspringme. (Oh, am I?) Create an account and follow me at formspring.me/ohhonestlyerin (Yes, do that.) #
• 14:16 I came outside and 3 kids instantly glommed onto me. I give good awkward & kids clearly love that. I am in kindercare hell. #
• 14:47 I’m now the property of a 6-year-old girl. When it was time for me to come inside, she screamed, “BUT I WANT TO PLAY WITH THE BIG GIRL!” Hm. #
• ***
• 09:16 If all goes as planned, I should be seeing my older brother today for the first time in 11 years. #
• 09:32 Chooch & Brooke: The Big Meet-Up bit.ly/deYTFI #
• 11:40 Oh my god Chooch and my big brother could get in real trouble together. #
• 11:46 My Grandma Lois keeps thinking my brother is Chooch’s dad and we’re like NO! GROSS! #
• 14:54 I have a big brother, too!: I haven’t talked to my older brother Shawn (same dad) in about three years and haven’t… bit.ly/bBP32p #
• 15:12 RT @TSNBobMcKenzie Halak to the St. Louis Blues. Done deal. #
• 18:19 I want a black forest cake for my birthday. And some dynamite. #
• 19:44 Today is real special, you know? #
• ***
• 00:24 Pretend everytime I entered a room, my arrival was announced through song by that broad in Thuggish Ruggish Bone. #
• 09:33 When a Neighbor’s Inability to Drive Becomes EVERYONE’S Problem: A few months ago, Hot Naybor Chris’s wife became … bit.ly/awh1cq #
• 11:39 Honestly thought I was about to be Susie Salmon’d just a bit ago in the cemetery. Maybe all my soupy sweat was the deterrent. #
• 12:05 Chooch gets glass in his hand when he’s on Henry’s watch. Also, I don’t think anyone should use “exquisite” when talking about donuts. #
• 13:36 I need more goth friends. #
• 14:31 Me: This person says I have a “cute blog.” Henry, smirking: That means they didn’t read it. #
• 14:34 Cross-eyed now from trying to take pictures of myself wearing my asshole-y new glasses while simultaneously wearing contacts. #
• 14:55 It’s like looking for the perfect penis.: Well. My glasses are here. Yaaayyyy…. I hate them. They’re not big enoug… bit.ly/bJJ2F6 #
• 19:06 Honestly thought I was about to be Susie Salmon’d just a bit ago in the cemetery. Maybe all my soupy sweat was the deterrent. #
• 19:39 There’s an attorney here named Giovannelli. I’m taking that as a sign to listen to some Gino Vannelli tonight. NOT THAT I NEED A REASON. #
• 21:17 I must have missed the memo that said Henry gets to treat me like shit in return for me allowing his son to live with us. #
• 23:07 Suggested we consummate our love by playing an 11pm game of #thingieball. Henry unsurprisingly de clined. #
• ***
• 08:43 #deardad remember when i was 3 & you crashed your truck & died because you were a drug addicted alkie? Fond memory! #
• 11:20 Perhaps I should start letting someone know exactly what cemetery I’m going to in case I do actually pass out or get kilt one of these days. #
• 13:25 The Christina Chronicles: The Death Tree: A green and black striped Henley and jeans with a hole in the knee was w… bit.ly/dyIYNn #
• 13:26 That was super hard to write. Super super hard. #
• 14:29 Hi Twitter. I just had a long heart-to-heart with my mysterious neighbor and I feel so much better now. #

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.

Well. My glasses are here. Yaaayyyy….

I hate them. They’re not big enough! Their width is pleasing to me, and I can almost touch the bottom of the frames with my lips if I scrunch up my face enough…

but they don’t extend as high into the heavens as I had hoped. I would have liked them to at least cover my eye brows, the way my sunglasses do.

I don’t know what I’m going to do.

Grin and bear it? We all know I’m not that type of lady. Probably, I’ll just have to walk around with magnifying glasses from now on.

Cry for me. CRY FOR ME NOW. (I know, this was a little too much Erin for one entry. I’ll go back to only posting one photo of myself a year!

)

A few months ago, Hot Naybor Chris’s wife became fed up with her inability to back down into the driveway without driving into the grass, side-swiping pedestrians, and having to occasionally move her turkey neck a fraction of an inch to look around cars parked along the curb. So she did what anyone else would do – threw a fit and had Hot Naybor Chris call the city for them to send workers to paint yellow lines on the curb around the entrance to the driveway, ensuring no one would have the nerve to park too close, thereby impairing her chances of properly swinging her HUGE! GIGANTIC! Hyundai from the road to the driveway.

I remember coming home that day and seeing some City workers in front of the house, painting yellow lines. Here, I thought it was for something important, marking a water line or something, not a fucking house call.

One day, Henry had the audacity to park on the street, a little too close to the yellow line, rendering it IMPOSSIBLE for Ruth to leave! Hot Naybor Chris donned his suit of armor and jogged over to ask Henry to please back up. “M’lady is trying to pull out of the driveway, and your carriage is not allowing her ample room,” he explained, while his fat-bottomed queen huffed past in her gilded sedan. Henry grumbled about this for awhile. “If she seriously can’t pull out of the driveway because of where my car was parked, then she shouldn’t be driving at all,” he said.

Last night after I came home from work, a cop was outside of the house. Henry, who springs a hard-on every time a man in uniform is within a two-mile radius, ran to the door to inspect. He heard the dispatch say “maroon SUV” and knew they must have been here for our mysterious next door neighbors, the matriarch of which Ruth has engaged in several imbroglios.

Then the cop knocked on our door and Henry was so excited to point next door when the cop asked who owned the SUV. I’m surprised his arms didn’t pretzel in all his excitement to point perfectly to the left. Yay, Henry helped a COP! Rejoice!

A few minutes later, our neighbor left her house and moved her SUV.

She was parked over top of the yellow line. That bitch! She must be racist against people who think they drive big rigs.

Now, Ruth had just come home prior to the cop arriving. I’m sure it was an enormous struggle for her to pull into the standard-sized lip of the driveway. All the millions of other people who do this successfully every day must be MAGIC, Ruth. It’s not you, it’s THEM.

Anyway, oh my god, who called the cops? DO THE MATH.

I can guarantee that Ruth has been waiting for the moment she could call the cops on our neighbor for parking over the yellow line. Waiting with steepled fingers! I wonder what it’s like to have nothing better to do than to sit around causing a ruckus over someone who’s a good half foot away from blocking your driveway.

The most awesome part is that I get to live smack in the middle of these two feuding broads, one of whom keeps some questionable company that I know I sure wouldn’t want to fuck with. They’ve already had one huge blowout in my front yard (everything always happens in my front yard) awhile ago. It sounded like two feral cats mewling at each other.

Perhaps Ruth should just forgo driveway parking and utilize the lot across the street.

I haven’t talked to my older brother Shawn (same dad) in about three years and haven’t seen him since like, 1999 (partly because he wasn’t living in the state for a large portion of those years). That’s also the same year we met for the first time, after our moms were afraid we’d meet in a bar. So when he called me out of the blue Sunday night, I was pleasantly surprised. Shawn always makes me laugh because he skips over all the pleasantries and just launches right into whatever’s plaguing him at the moment, and I just sit back and giggle.

When he said he’d come see me and Chooch sometime this week, I was like, “Yeah OK sure,” figuring that I’d probably have to wait for Heidi Montag to exhaust all options of body augmentation before anything like that would happen.

But then yesterday, he texted me and suggested we all go see our Grandma Lois today. (This is my paternal grandma who lives in an assisted living apartment complex, not the one who’s Sharon’s prisoner.)

Chooch and I met Shawn at McDonald’s. It was their first time meeting each other, and already Chooch was trying to steal his orange juice. Some elderly McDonald’s employee walked by and tried to touch Chooch’s shoulder, which made him shrink back in horror. People are always trying to touch my kid! Then we drove up the street to Lois’s building and spent a good fifteen minutes that Shawn was not our dad, and that Chooch was not his son.

It was a little awkward. Hello, siblings here!

Once inside Lois’s apartment, it was all over. Chooch began jumping all over Shawn, impaling him with a banana clip, kicking him, stomping on his feet, farting on him. He never stopped, never sat down, never shut his big mouth. I’m pretty sure he was convinced Shawn was just a really tall kid.

Shawn’s paranoia and apprehension is palpable in this photo.

I forgot the flash for my camera, so the photos turned out blurry. That just means we have to hang out again and take more.

Chooch is extremely awkward around old people, much like I am around other children.

It was really cool to see Shawn again and Chooch is completely smitten. Too bad Shawn quickly declared early on into the meeting that he won’t ever be babysitting for me. I don’t blame him.

Meeting my niece Brooke for the first time on Saturday, the whole Sharon debacle on Sunday, Blake moving in with us (really, we’re just like his private hostel), and then seeing Shawn again after all these years (I also saw Lois and her sister Charmaine on Tuesday when they popped over for a quick visit) – it’s been such a crazy week as far as family goes! But I’ve really been enjoying hanging out with my sister Amy, and I hope that Shawn and I will get to hang out more regularly too. Ever since Chooch came around, I’ve wished I had more of a family for him, and now it’s kind of turning out that way.  I grew up thinking I literally only had two little brothers, Ryan and Corey, and then all of a sudden found myself with two big sisters and a big brother (and speculation of a second).

It’s been pretty cool.

All this sentimentality makes me feel gross. Excuse me while I go make fun of someone in a wheelchair.

After yesterday’s heavy entry, I wanted to lighten the mood a little, so here’s that stupid video I kept threatening to post of Corey, Janna, Blake and me on some ridiculous ride at the Westmoreland County Fair called High Roller.This is from two summers ago. I know that because last summer, Blake brought Deanna with him and was too cool (and busy playing Bingo with the elderly) to ride anything with us lowlifes!

I just want to add that I am always the first to get annoyed at people who find themselves in front of  a camera, seemingly for the first time ever, and immediately flip the bird or do something else equally as stupid and trite. It’s almost embarrassing to look at. So what do I do? Act like this is the first time I’ve been in front of a camera! “Oh, you’re recording right now? Let me stick out my tongue and make a stupid sound for you, because everyone will think, ‘Wow, that was really cool and funny – why have I not ever thought to pull a face like that?'”

I have to live with myself. Be glad you don’t.

Also, I clearly just learnededed how to do annotations on YouTube videos; oh I am so advanced!