We were going to go to the Arts Festival today, Henry, Chooch and me. Our neighbor Toya was outside as we were beginning our walk to the trolley stop (one of the only nice things about where I live is that we can conveniently take the trolley downtown rather than drive and pay $5876876 plus a vial of baby albino blood for parking). Chooch loves Toya. LOVES HER. So much that he knows the precise sound of her car (as opposed to the 3+ other vehicles pulling in and out of our shared driveway on the daily) and he’ll stick his fat head out the window and yell, “HI TOYA! OVER HERE TOYA! HI TOYA!”

She thinks it’s precious because she doesn’t live with him.

Naturally, Chooch had to divert his path and run to tell her our itinerary. “And we’re taking the TROLLEY!” he panted excitedly. She was nice enough to let us borrow her bus pass so one of us could ride free.

We got to the trolley stop and proceeded to wait for a good twenty minutes because Henry didn’t listen to me when I told him what time it would arrive. I had already had a really dramatic morning (that’s tomorrow’s tale, woo boy!) and every little thing was pissing me the fuck off.

Including waiting for the trolley.

So I was like, “Fuck it, I’m out” and we all walked back home. Just totally was NOT feeling it and couldn’t imagine half-heartin’ it through the Arts Festival, which is something I generally look forward to. But on this day? I was exhausted in all aspects.

Chooch has been playing with some little kid over in Toya’s yard for the last hour now. I don’t know if he’s her nephew or what, but he’s a cute kid. About a minute after they first got acquainted, Chooch came stomping over to me and said, “That kid keeps calling me Riwee! Tell him to stop!”

“Well,” I asked, “what did you tell him your name is?”

“Riwee!” he said emphatically.

(At least he’s not telling people his name is Chooch, because he knows it’s just a nickname, so a big FUCK YOU to all the people who tell me, “You really ought to stop calling him that.” Oh my god, my kid knows his real name!? Shocking.)

They were breaking a bamboo stick into dangerous, spiny pieces the last I checked. This is all besides the point.

Suddenly, I heard Toya howling. Absolute gut-jiggling guffaw reverberating down the block, like two cracked-out Santas had just belly-bumped each other after watching porn.

This could not be good.

She had apparently asked Chooch if he had fun at the Arts Festival.

And that little squealer said, “We didn’t go because mommy said the trolley is a piece of fucking shit.”

That was my cue to quietly slip back into the house and leave Henry out there to find a cork for this particular oil spill.

At least Toya eschewed her Perfect Mommy lecturing for hysterical laughter, so this was significantly less traumatic than the time he told our neighbor Ruth, “My mommy hates you, Ruth!”

Still, I’ll never fucking learn.

Ever since I met my sister Amy last January, I’ve really been having fun getting to know her better. She’s really easy-going and what I like the best about  her is that I can text her and say, “Hey, wanna get together this Saturday?” and she’s like, “Yeah, cool!” There’s no chasing! No run-arounds! No flaking! When I was at the lowest point of my depression after the dissolution of my friendship with Christina, I sent Amy a Facebook message, asking if we could get together and talk. And she was there for me. I remember thinking, “Holy shit, so THIS is what families are supposed to be like!”

She has two children: Tyler’s 15 and I very briefly met him after the Wheeling Nailers game we went to in April, and Brooke is 5. I thought it would be fun to get her and Chooch together, since Amy hadn’t met Chooch yet either. So we planned on spending the afternoon at Washington Park yesterday. Our respective boyfriends came along as well, and both of them made us late. Typical.

We met at Subway first to get some food to take to the park. Chooch immediately began to play keep-away from Brooke. “That girl keeps trying to sit with me!” he kept whining to me, playing into his role as a boy with shining perfection.

So it was my first time meeting this little girl and I could do was shyly say “Hello” and then run away to join Amy and Dick who were in line ordering their subs, leaving Brooke under Henry’s supervision.

I’m cripplingly awkward around children.

We got our food to go and found a little playground with a picnic table, where the kids never sat. They took off as soon as we got there, but never actually talked to each other. Chooch spent most of the time trying to devise creative ways to kill himself on the monkey bars.

After we ate (I’m always the last one to finish), we found an empty school parking lot for Chooch and Brooke to ride their bikes. They still didn’t interact much, and Henry kept trying to teach Brooke how to ride without training wheels. Henry always wanted a daughter. Too bad he got saddled with three boys.

Chooch picked a flower all on his own accord and presented it to Brooke. It was definitely an aw-worthy moment, but I still thought to myself, “I hope he remembers that he’s related to her.”

There was a playground over the hill and it served as a miraculous ice breaker for the two of them. Henry, Amy, Dick and I stood off to the side and did grown-uppy things, like complain about the heat and talk about rental property.

Chooch was like, “WHY DO I HAVE TO KEEP STANDING NEXT TO HER?!” like he felt compelled to constantly remind us that he’s a DUDE and standing next to a girl might get him stabbed the next time he’s knocking a few cold ones back at the biker bar.

I kept trying to chase them to take pictures. That turned out about as well as you’d imagine.

She is like, the cutest girl ever and makes me miss being a kid.

It was such a nice day.

Chooch kept finding ways to bring Brooke into the conversation, even hours later. Like when he was drinking fruit punch. “Does BROOKE like fruit punch?” he asked haughtily.

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “Maybe.”

“Probably,” Chooch said, with feigned disgust. And then he did the stereotypical “girls are so dumb” eye-roll.

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

• 17:21 Earlier, I was blasting Circle Takes the Square while sitting at a red light, but turned it down as an old lady walked past. GOOD SAMARITAN. #
• 17:24 HAY PITTSBURGHERS! Stop wishing for the rain to go away. My witch collection hasn’t fully melted yet. Fuck. #
• 18:56 #itsnotcheatingif you kill your boyfriend/girlfriend first. (Totally a “duh” Tweet, but maybe some of you didn’t know.) #
• 19:16 Henry just taught me the difference between a sawhorse and a barricade. Just an example of the scintillating car convos we share. #
• 20:10 Aaaaaaand this is why we don’t take the animal child out to eat. #
• 20:19 Chooch is pissed off. I know this because he just screamed I’M PISSED OFF from the backseat. #
• 20:23 I’d like to see K$sha bash in that hag Katy Perry’s face. #
• 21:39 I just ordered a pair of eyeglasses and am honestly about to puke because of it. #
• 23:48 When do I get to have a party thrown for ME? Fuck. #
• ***
• 00:34 I think Henry missed the memo that told the world Erin hates to be babytalked. #
• 00:55 I can always count on Silent Library. #
• 08:46 I’m putting some hawt Xiu Xiu tracks on Henry’s Birthday Party play list. He’s going to be so appreciative. #
• 10:13 Everyone seems to be in a GREAT mood today! #
• 11:18 I think my stomach wants to get checked for an ulcer in a decidedly DIY fashion. Henry, grab the steak knife; we’re going in. #
• 11:54 I’m trying so very hard to let Henry do the things he wants to do today, including watch what he wants to watch on TV OMG IT’S KILLING ME. #
• 12:26 Henry found out about the 3 Xiu Xiu songs I slipped on his playlist & he made a disapproving face. Way to shit on your bday gift, Hank. #
• 12:30 OMG Henry shares a birthday w ith @Altpress. I’m fucking jelis. #
• 13:15 I have a strong desire to watch that old 90s series “Sisters.” #
• 15:02 MIDLIFE CRISIS: HENRY STYLE. twitpic.com/1ukbs5 #
• 19:27 My phone was dead for almost the entirety of Henry’s party. Good thing there was literally nothing to tweet about. #
• 21:34 Henry just showed me the new blog layout he’s been making for me and I could almost kiss him, that’s how much better it is than the current. #
• 21:34 …and it only took TWO YEARS of my bitching to finally get him to do it. #
• 21:39 Holy save, Niemi! Go cry about it, Richards! #StanleyCup #
• 22:12 Henry won’t look at my red eye. That’s just rude. #
• 23:10 Oh shit. I just asked Henry why he likes his life & he said, “Because you’re in it.” I couldn’t think of anything assholey to say!!! #
• *** Read more

Today I was going to post this video that Corey took of ourselves on some death trap at the county fair two summers ago, but figured two county fair posts in a row was enough for right now, so instead I guess I’ll tell you about Henry’s 45th birthday party.

We had a party for Henry at my mom’s house. A cook-out thing. A few people came. It was OK.

I won’t get into the fact that this is the third party I’ve had for him in the nine years we’ve been together, as opposed to the ZERO he’s had for me. Yeah. My thirtieth birthday? Doesn’t exist in the history books.

But who am I to cry over SPILLED MILK?

It was supposed to rain all day, as it had the entire day before. But MIRACULOUSLY, the rain drops ceased and the sun shone for the entire day. Only the best for fucking Henry Robbins and his big shot birthday.

Henry’s mom was there, and his sister came with four of her kids. Blake was there because there was free food, but Henry’s other son Robbie had to work. Corey and I had a mild disagreement back in April and he apparently has been making much more of it than it actually is, so he stayed in his room all day. He said he was sick, but  my mom said he was sulking. Some people were out-of-town that weekend, and others were just like, “Wait – who’s Henry?” So they didn’t come, obviously.

And then Alisha and Stacey were there too, thank god, because there was some family tension going on and it was nice to have friends with me. And I know Henry was glad that Alisha was there, because while we, and I do mean just Henry, were setting up for the cook-out, I was about .00002 seconds away from a full-blown temper tantrum because it had been a shitty weekend and there was an issue with disrespect against Henry and myself, which I won’t get into here but I will say that after nine years you’d think some people would fucking let shit go by now and grab on to some semblance of a life. And I projected all of that aggression onto the table and the fact that I didn’t like where Henry was putting it. So I sat myself with my arms crossed, wanting to go home, but then Alisha came over and talked to me in soft tones and then we went for a walk and I was OK. And that is how a person takes care of Erin R. Kelly.

Henry tries to act like, “Oh, Stacey is so annoying!” but look at his face! Behind that smirk, he’s like, “Oh hell yeah, some blond broad is totally hanging off me, what’s up NOW, Air Force roommates?” Stacey wanted to jump out of a cake but Henry said he’d rather her just be the pinata if she had to go and be anything at all.

I suggested getting some oranges so they could recreate the game we played at my baby shower, where you have to hold an orange between your chin and chest and transport it to your partner’s chin/chest cavity without using hands. Stacey and Henry were partners and he still accuses her of somehow chipping his tooth. So that suggestion wasn’t very well-received by Henry. Besides, he’s 45 now and everyone knows 45-year-olds don’t run, have fun, or have the space under their chins to hold an orange. At least those named Henry Robbins.

I didn’t see Chooch sit down for the entire three hours we were there. His faux hawk fell on one side and was held there firmly by the salt of his sweat; I couldn’t stop seeing Drop Dead Fred every time he ran past. And then Alisha was like, “That is my favorite piece of cinema!” and I always do double takes when she talks about culture and shit since she grew up wearing floral dresses and riding mules in Arkansas.

The first time I met Stacey was at a ChiChis back in 2004. This was right after the whole Weiss Meats debacle happened, so I was out of a job. She paid for my margarita! I’ll always remember that, because it was like a real life date. The second time we hung out, she came to my house. I don’t know why I made such a big deal out of it, but I had Henry put together a cheese plate.

Kind of like, “I have no friends, Henry, don’t let this one get away!!” But actually, I did kind of have friends back then. I know, can you imagine?! So anyway, here comes Stacey, walking through the door, kicking off her shoes, and curling up on the couch, like we were old college roomies. And then she immediately began antagonizing Henry, who got all ruffled, and I was like, “Oh shit, this girl KNOWS.” And then I let her to drag me to the Regatta, where I was coerced into wearing a Froggy sticker on my tit AND carry around a Froggy balloon all Goddamn day, so you KNOW I must have thought Stacey was worth it. (But more importantly, that was also the day I learned about Furries.)

Oh. Anyway. That picture just reminded me of that, that’s all.

First, Henry was riding a scooter with Chooch chasing after him, wanting it back. Then, he tried to be all cutesy and board the tricycle and I was like, “What the fuck kind of retardedly stunted mid-life crisis are you HAVING? My God, go get a fucking Mustang or gamble away your child like a normal man.”  (I’d have said Porsche instead, but come on. Henry’s lucky he could afford a Pinto.)

ARGH! Manos: Cake Hand of Fate! Val was thoughtful enough to get Henry a birthday cake. Good call! Because I totally would have dropped the ball on that. And then his sister Kelly was like, “Wait, aren’t we singing?” Meanwhile, the cake had already been cut and 75% of us were inhaling it.

A feeble attempt to make it look like we had more guests.

So there you go. You could have had an AWESOME VIDEO of ME on a RIDE, but instead you get shit about Henry.

(I have no idea who I’m referring to every time I say “you.” You, I guess.)

OH SHIT, I found (and I do mean pointedly, not accidentally, in that I took time out of my busy and important day to seek out these particular photos) all these old pictures from some rickety mall parking lot carnival Henry and I took his kids to back in 2003. In 2003! I was only 23! Oh, youth. Somehow though, I feel I’m more immature now than I was then. A real grown child.

This is what I wrote in my LiveJournal (don’t you wish I was still as verbose as I was in 2003? I mean, holy shit, an entire paragraph! And now I’m all succinct and shit.):

Yesterday, Henry and I took his kids to the little carnival in the mall parking lot. Actually, it was a pretty big carnival.

It had all the best rides in the death trap vein. I was excited to have a riding partner for once (since Henry and my friends are motion-sickness losers). Blake and I got ride all day passes and set off on our mission to ride every ride at least ten times. Not quite. I was fine until probably the sixth ride that we went on. What did it was that we were literally the only two people there that were riding anything, so we walked off one ride and right onto the next. We didn’t give our tummies a chance to rest. At all. So here I am, having hot flashes and feeling like the collar of my shirt is too tight around my neck. But I perservered. I didn’t want Blake to think I was lame. Apparently, Blake was playing the same game. He was sick as well, but kept on keepin’ on. After we went on the Ring of Fire, we looked at each other knowingly and sat at a table. Once we were composed, or so we thought, we asked Henry if we could leave. I had to do breathing exercises the entire way home in the car, to ensure that I wouldn’t vomit all over myself.

Unfortunately, Blake must not have learned this strategy, because he threw up out the window, and it hit the car behind us. Robbie and Henry were laughing, which I didn’t think was very cool. Although, if my breakfast wasn’t touching my tonsils (which I don’t have anymore, but that sounded so cool), I probably would have been laughing, too.

Yeah, we rode all day, alright. For a whole whopping forty five minutes.

OH NO, it’s THE CLAW! This might be my favorite carnival ride of ALL TIME. It tries to distract you with all the airbrushed Jem and the Holograms rejects, but then it starts and it’s all SHIT JUST GOT REAL, MOTHERFUCKERS. I made Henry ride this with me the last time we went to the Big Butler County Fair, which I think was in 2002. He’s proudly worn his Carnival Ride Abstinence ring ever since.

Livin’ it up on The Claw. After our first go-around, I was convinced I wanted to have Michael Jackson’s baby so I could move into Neverland and have him plant one of these bastards right behind the roller rink he’d have previously built in preparation of my arrival to the ranch.

This was Blake and me after riding The Claw for the fifth time. I was over it. Completely over it.

(I kind of wish I could dive into this photo and punch myself in the vag for ever thinking I was fat back then.)

Also, it was like 50 degrees in May.

Look! It’s Robbie’s head. This was one of the few times he wasn’t braving the fun house, which he continuously did the entire time,  since it was the only thing he could handle. I think he even started timing himself, pretending he was training for a real life World of Warcraft bootcamp.

This ride really starts to feel like quadruplet-induced morning sickness after the third go-around. You can see how happy I am.

YEAH THE MOTHERFUCKING RING OF FIRE! I don’t think this is what Johnny Cash had in mind, unless the song is about virtual evisceration by the hand of centrifugal force (if that’s wrong, then just insert proper physics term here) while cycling upside down inside a caged roller coaster. I didn’t even wait for Blake as he was stumbling around, gathering his bowels off the ground like a fucking garden hose.

OH YEAH, IT’S ALL FUN AND GAMES ON THE ZIPPER, BITCHES. I’m pretty sure I was thinking to myself, “I’m so glad I haven’t yet given Blake a reason to go home and tell his mother I vomited on his face.” Also – look at my fucking Leno chin. Jesus Christ.

You can tell Blake was trying so hard to not puke. This was one of our mutually agreed upon “time outs.

” But I don’t think we ever declared it “time in” after that.

It’s almost time for all the county fairs to start a’happenin’!! I can barely contain my excitement!

Since I have a job this summer (as opposed to last summer when I did not have a job), I’m determined to go to every single fair.

Not in the country. Just in Western Pennsylvania. Unless someone out there wants to sponsor me to go on a cross-country county fair run. Because I’d do it, if you really wanted me to.

The only problem is that none of my fair companions like spinny rides and spinny rides are my favorite rides.

I’m also excited for Kennywood (our local amusement park)! So excited that I’ve been reading old posts I’ve written about Kennywood and, even before the park season started, I’d suggest to Henry, “Oh my god, let’s drive past Kennywood!” and he’d be like, “Why? That’s so gay.” And then I’d have to remind him about the Hilary Duff PSA on MTV and remind him that what he really meant to say was, “That’s so Henry.”

Two weeks ago, I made him drive past on a Saturday night. You know, just so Chooch and I can see the lights. The problem with Kennywood is that there’s only a small stretch of road that passes it so it’s all, “OMG THERE’S THE SWINGSH—-THERE’S THE PIRATE SH—-THERE’S THE BUMPER—” and then it’s gone.

But it’s totally worth it and gets me so pumped, even though I act like an orphan excited to see real life parents for 30 seconds before they’re whisked away.

The other night I had a dream that there was some contest somewhere (probably in the back of some Bulgarian porn rag) to win a trip to the county fair with me and NO ONE ENTERED. I guess you could say I had a big sad when I woke up.

A very big sad.

An epic sad, even.

It’s out of my system now. Just like yesterday’s lunch. OM NOM NOM.

OK! I’m done. LOLspeak does not suit me. I’ll stick to superfluous swearing.

What summer staples do you most look forward to? Tell me now!

All you wonderful people who have been insisting for YEARS that I check Zenni Optical for glasses will be very proud of me. I finally bought a pair. But not without a plethora of panic attacks and mid-grade anxiety. Ask Henry. He had to live through it.

These were the largest ones I could find without upgrading to SKI GOGGLES. And I am still not sure these will even be large enough.

I had to lie about my pupillary distance (which Henry had to measure for me because it wasn’t on my prescription) just to be able to order these, because my actual measurement is too small. I don’t even know what the fuck a pupillary distance MEANS, it’s been so goddamn long since I’ve had eye glasses.

Goddammit, the more I look at these, the more I start to doubt their girth. It would be helpful if Zenni Optical had photos of people wearing all the glasses. (Maybe all at once, too.)

And of course, my left eye is all fucked up now! It doesn’t hurt, but there’s a red mark on it, like I must have poked myself perhaps? In any case, I was too afraid to slap a contact on that eyeball yesterday, so I went to work half-blind. That wasn’t a disaster or anything. Halfway through my shift, it was pretty much like being without both eyes, because my right eye got so tired of doing the work of two. It’s not like I’m working with LEGAL DOCUMENTS OR ANYTHING.

At one point, one of my co-workers asked me why I was acting weird, or maybe it was scared she said. It was probably because I was trying to figure out who was standing three feet away from me.

I had a real “startled rabbit” charade going on last night. Well, that or a tweaked-out raver.

I’m going to ask the Olson twins to start an eyeglass line. It’s the only way.

Today is Henry’s FORTY-FIFTH birthday! GOOD FUCKING LORD. We’re attempting to have a cook-out for him later today at my mom’s (or, if the rain refuses to cease, a cook-IN. OMG the sun came out as I typed that!

) but other than that, I didn’t get him SHIT for his birthday. I would have made him something awesome, but since he made me GET A JOB, I don’t have time for that romantic homemade bullshit anymore.

So, in his honor, I’m posting the pictures from the calendar I made out of pure unadulterated love back in 2007. I don’t have a copy of the calendar in front of me, but there were awesome Henry-tastic holidays strewn throughout, like “Give Your Boss a Reach-Around Day.” Maybe one of the three people who own a copy can help me out here!

(We all endearingly called him Hoover back in the LiveJournal days, because he sucks the fun out of everything. So now you know.)

12 Months of Hoover

(I don’t know what I was thinking with this font choice.)

(Henry smiled a lot more back then, it seems.)

(My personal fave.)

(May is a good time for a romantic picnic with Hot Naybor Chris!)

(June is Gay Pride Month!)

(Henry is a good griller! You should hire him for all your COOKOUTS.)

(So, this was his old boss Ted who may or may not have found out that I created a faux love story between him and Henry in my fake Henry LiveJournal.)

(No wait! Maybe this one is my favorite because Henry looks so bitchin’.)

(Henry’s wearing his fruity Playstation headset in the witch picture. He went through a long phase where those were ALWAYS on his head. Fucking Socom.)

(OMG all of Henry’s favorite people!)

I taught myself Photoshop just so I could make this calendar for him. It was even a prize at my baby shower! (Kara won it for giving me the best present ever – a baby-sized Cure t-shirt!

)

Happy birthday, Henry. We’ll all watch porn in your honor.

19 comments

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

• 16:42 I don’t know why I bother with “blogging communities.” I never fucking fit in. And believe me, I don’t wanna. #notamommyblogger #
• 19:13 Either Xtina Aguilera hasn’t heard of Lady Gaga or her career has flatlined to the point where she has to piggyback someone else’s schtick. #
• 19:15 Twilight has made me hate Muse. #
• 19:51 Has spent the last 30min laughing at the assholes trying to cut the grass at the church across the street. #
• 19:54 My fave part is when they try to go around the tree. twitpic.com/1sa5ug #
• 20:12 I just had a spontaneous dance-conniption in the car to Andy Gibb & Chooch yelled at me to stop, WTF? #
• 21:02 If pistachio is an option, I always take it. #
• 21:08 Munhall has got to be the catch-all for the loud-mouthed Jersey Girl wannabes of Western PA. Goddamn, STFU you porky twats. #
• 21:09 I just burped up soft-serve and I’m still classier than these permed bitches. #
• 22:34 Now how long will the #Hawks keep this lead? This game is nutz0rz. #StanleyCup #
• 22:44 I’m still having a hard time coping with the fact that I’m watching the motherdouching FLYERS in the #StanleyCup final. #
• 23:24 I’ve not seen a single minute of any Shrek movie. I intend to keep it that way, child or no child. #
• ***
• 00:56 Hey @awoodhick? Laaaaaaaast maILLLLLlll. #
• 01:27 I wish more people used “lamby” to describe me. Maybe if I start wearing my powdered wig again. #
• 01:28 RT @drosennhl Amazing stat of the night: 11 goals and 20 assists, and not one of the 31 points goes to a first line player. #stanleycup #
• 10:29 Absolutely live for dripping my salty sweat sauce over tombstones. Best start to a day. #
• 13:30 Alisha just said an 8 yo girl was hot. She’s caught some of Henry’s pedophilia I suppose. Don’t judge. #
• 14:00 There is so much I don’t know about apples. I should have stayed in college. #
• 14:06 Alisha buys things like STEAK at the grocery store. I guess she’s too good to get it from the morgue like the rest of us. #
• 18:19 I gots two bitches who cook for me. Today it’s Alisha; Henry took the day off. #
• 18:39 Last mail is the new miscegenation. post.ly/hwx2 #
• 20:49 Oh shit I came home to find Henry consorting with Hot Naybor Chris at his COOKOUT. #
• 20:51 And now our other neighbor Mark is here and he and Henry are BOTH WEARING BANDANNAS. twitpic.com/1smc14 #
• 20:58 Hot Naybor Chris is blitzed. Henry should take advantage. #
• ***
• 10:06 I know this is something surprising, but I don’t interact well with kids. #
• 10:28 Oh shit the parade has begun w/ majorettes having a sound system malfunction. I laffed & Alisha said she’s surprised I haven’t been hanged:( #
• 10:46 They could at least give us some flame throwers. Or put ME in the fucking parade. twitpic.com/1srn67 #
• 13:00 What the hell kind of name is Finbarr. #
• 15:27 Wkly artists: Sleeping With Sirens (14), Circa Survive (3) & The Number Twelve Looks Like You (2) bit.ly/cShGmp #
• 15:34 I think I finally found xtra large grandpa glasses, but I’m afraid they won’t be as large as I need to stop myself from falling down steps. #
• 15:37 If I could have dinner w/ any dead celeb, it’d be Brett Somers so I can ask her where the fuck she went to super size her eyeglasses. #
• 15:52 Ideally, I’d like to just get a welder’s mask in my prescription. Or Lasik. But probably the mask. #
• 17:24 I felt like shit all day, yet still jogged in the cemetery for an hour, thru literal air puddles of humidity. Guess my IQ. #
• 17:47 Wading thru humidity is like rolling over to go to sleep only to forget abt the pool of cum on yr pillow – grimey yet slightly erotic. #
• 17:48 Re: humidity is erotic: Maybe just for those of us who also like peeing on ppl. #
• 18:27 Always nice hearing Henry snicker as I struggle to make a pb&honey sandwich. Apparently I can’t even spread pb like u normal ppl. Scrutiny! #
• 21:13 So many reasons to root for the #Blackhawks. Carcillo alone is one. #StanleyCup #
• ***
• 11:08 Just watched in horror as my kid purposely fell backward off the porch. It’s only going to get worse, & then comes the MTV series. #
• 22:53 I’m still not over the savage murder of Jonny, my jump rope. Not that anyone has had the decency to ask!! #
• 22:56 @leota I put a few m&m’s in my mouth, letting them melt, &pressing them against the roof of my mouth w/ my tongue. I <3 the crackling sound! #
• ***
• 14:04 I DON’T WANNA!!!!!!!! #
• 15:10 Welp. I think it’d be best if I don’t chime into THIS convo: theblogfrog.com/1362952/forum/31105/what-did-they-say-wednesday.html #
• 15:13 Just now! I learned that it’s not the MOP that’s a piece of shit. It’s ME that’s a piece of shit. #
• 15:38 Tell @awoodhick to take me to Allentown, PA as a late bday present. I have important business to tend to. #
• 21:15 Just had a grilled cheese made on a hot dog bun. It was made w/ real cheese, not Cheez-Whiz, so it’s only halfway to a white trash entree. #
• 21:25 It’s ridiculous how sickening the Flyers are. I just can’t take them seriously, Stanley Cup Finals or not. #
• 22:34 NIEMI!! Jesus Christ, Blackhawks. Please. Put this game away!! #StanleyCup #
• ***
• 09:42 It upsets me that Formspring doesn’t keep an archive of old q&a’s. Because mine were so THOUGHFUL, you know. #
• 12:42 Hay look @ the dumb! In my “serious research” for The Christina Chronicles, I’ve made it to the journal containing… bit.ly/bX9JPT #
• 13:06 NO I WILL NOT ACCEPT THAT BLANCHE IS DEAD. SHE WAS MY MOTHERFUCKING IDOL, OK. #
• 13:09 Today I’ll wear a silk pantsuit and fuck a lot of old dudes in Blanche’s honor. #
• 14:12 Role reversal: Me: I don’t wanna go to workkkkkkk. Chooch, sighing in frustration: But you HAVE to. #
• 16:24 I feel hateful when I hear these lawyers talk about how “indigent” they are. #
• 17:30 OMG LAST MAIL!!!!!!! #
• 18:42 I’m wearing my favorite shoes today OK?! twitpic.com/1tnh3q #
• 21:57 The CW syndicating Moonlight is such a fucking tease. SUCH A FUCKING TEASE. #
• ***
• 11:25 This whole “finding goggle-sized eyeglasses” mission is pissing me off. I found a large plastic green pair but they don’t look large enough. #
• 11:29 OH THIS IS TERRIBLE. They might not cover my neuroses. www.zennioptical.com/product.php?productid=1929&cat=&page=1 #
• 12:40 Father of the Year didn’t buy any food. Please send help for Chooch and me. Send troops if you have to; cans of porridge. #
• 15:30 Henry suggested shopping at the clown store for eyeglasses. I pretended to be hurt, but that’s not a bad idea, really. #
• ***
• 00:14 On the night of May 30, 2005, I cried in the car & kept imagining jamming a shard of glass into my neck, AWESOME!! True story from my DIARY. #
• 10:07 Me: “do u want me to put something on for you?” Chooch: “NO I LIKE THIS SHOW!” (It’s Snipers on the History Channel. Fantastic.) #
• 10:55 This is the largest I’ve ever grown Sea Monkeys and I’m a little scared of them. And grossed out, too. #
• 11:38 I stood up and almost fell, & in the process wound up doing an accidental contemporary dance move. Mia Michaels would have LOVED it. #SYTYCD #
• 13:50 Every time I hear that shitty Katy Perry song, I get so angry that she was once at Warped Tour. I wanna make her drink her Proactive. Hag. #
• 14:28 MY SEA MONKEYS ARE MATING!? Oh my god, it’s repulsive. But I don’t want it to stop. #

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Typical Friday night. Sitting on the couch, reading excerpts from an old journal to Henry. Really awesome tidbits about how suicidal I was (I ended one entry with: “Don’t be surprised when I check myself out someday” and another was about how I kept imagining jamming a shard of glass in my neck. LOLWTF.) & how bad I hated Henry. Things I can’t put in here or else my intricately woven façade will be tattered!

“What month is this from?” Henry asked in horror after listening to me read a particularly sordid entry filled with hate, mania and Girl, Interrupted nuances.

“July of 2005,” I answered, wiping away tears that sprung from laughing so hard.

“Um, and we conceived a child a month later?” he exclaimed. “I wish you would have read this to me first.”

Yes Chooch, you were conceived from strong uncertainty, hate sex, and my desire to slaughter your father while he slept. But don’t worry, I was in therapy while I was growing you!

You know how people always say, “Oh well, we learn from our mistakes?” Yeah. Well. Remember that the next time you want to say that to me.

In the beginning of 2005, Christina was as usual experiencing all sorts of psychotic foibles with Sylvia. On top of that, she was stressed out at her movie theater job. Yes, at her movie theater job. Not realizing it was Valentine’s Day, she called me that night and sobbed to me about it.

That’s how great her relationship was! It was Valentine’s Day and she didn’t even know it.

By the time we got off the phone, she was convinced that she should quit her job and break up with Sylvia. I didn’t necessarily tell her to do either of these things, but I did express my concern that Sylvia made her want to punch holes in walls. At the time, I thought I was being a supportive friend. I still think that’s what I was being. And all it got me was having it thrown back in my face years later.

Anyway, Christina was still “on the fence” about her sexuality. She had developed a supposed crush on one of her theater co-workers, Mr. Fithen. I think his first name was Steve. Considering I never believed that this crush was anything more than a scapegoat for her sexual identity, I never really bothered to concern myself with the pertinence.

She and I hadn’t spent any face time together since the fall of 2004, when she stopped at my house briefly while her best friend Steve attended a Gay Prom at Pitt with some boyfriend he had procured off the Internet.  It had gone well, our hang-out session, and there hadn’t been any weirdness (at least, none that I could detect, but I am super unaware about these things) since all the love-drama happened that past spring.

So when I saw that The Used was playing on the Taste of Chaos tour that March, I decided it could be a fun thing for us to do together. Especially since she wasn’t being bogged down by Sylvia’s crazy ass anymore.

But guess who bought us the tickets?

Sylvia, that fucking dumb ass.

I don’t know. I think that if Henry were to break up with me and then, less than a month later, ask some other broad to a concert? I’m pretty fucking positive I would NOT BE ENCOURAGING THAT BY PURCHASING THEIR TICKETS.

I would instead be planting a bomb in her purse and prepping the jar of formaldehyde for the future residence of Henry’s scrotum.

Christina kept saying that this Mr. Fithen character was going to come with us, but I was just like, “Oh OK.” Because, really? Can we drop the charade yet? I think she felt that I would be more comfortable around her if she had her sights set on some dude. But it wasn’t like that. In spite of everything that had transpired in the early stages of our friendship, I never thought she was going to rape me dyke-style with a studded strap-on or something. I trusted her, and I thought she knew that, so the Mr. Fithen thing was a little annoying.

The show was in Dayton. Henry was OK with me going and staying over night.

He had made peace with the “OMG I’m a lez” episode from the previous year, and even had come to a point where he began to consider her a friend (let’s just say there were some phone calls shared between the two of them, with me as the subject).

Christina met me at the Columbus Greyhound station so that I wouldn’t have to drive the entire way to her house in Cincinnati alone. Again, she always wanted me to be as comfortable as possible. That was just the kind of friend she was. The kind of friend she used to be.

We stopped at a rest area along the way and I was fixing my makeup in the bathroom mirror.

“Oh, getting pretty for Mr. Fithen?” Christina chided. I laughed, but realized that I was freshening my makeup for her, for some stupid reason. (Just typing that made me blush, I’m so goddamn lame.)

Not surprisingly, Mr. Fithen was a no-show, so it was just Christina and me attending Taste of Chaos later that night. It was our first show together, so it was sort of a big deal since music was the thread that entwined us. (Wow. I must really be getting old if I seriously typed a sentence that corny.)

When “Blue and Yellow” was played, she held up her arm to show me the goosebumps. That was the moment I knew, without a doubt, she was my best friend. Because I had goosebumps too, and now I wasn’t the only one. I didn’t think hearing that song live, with her next to me, would have struck me the way that it did. But it was a powerful feeling, like a kick to the face, and it woke me up.

It really woke me up. After the shitty 2004 I had, and the recent mediation I had endured that winter with my ex-employer and the EEOC, I was finally feeling alive inside.

She had lent me some shiny maroon pullover shirt thing to wear, I can’t remember why now. Probably because I was acting like I was going to the goddamn Prom and didn’t like what I had brought with me to wear.  I do that a lot.

I wound up leaving Ohio with it still on.

Driving home, I listened to The Used while getting occasional wafts of her perfume that was still on the pullover; it really started to fuck with my emotions. When I got home that Sunday afternoon, Henry turned into a territorial Caveman and grunted, “Why are you wearing her shirt?” And it became a Big Deal, because I wouldn’t take her shirt off and I wouldn’t stop listening to the Used and I wouldn’t stop doing that creepy laugh I do when I have a secret or am confused or am just generally up to no good.

About a month prior to this, I had met Alisha for the first time. We became fast friends and she knew most of what had transpired between Christina and me the year before. So a few days after returning from Ohio, I sat in Alisha’s kitchen, nervously drinking coffee and pouring my heart to her about my feelings for Christina.

“You need to have boundaries,” she explained, and proceeded to tell me all the reasons it would be a horrible idea for me to tell Christina that I was feeling things for her again.

She was right, of course. But it was too late because I had already told Christina I had a crush on her. Oopsies.

In my “serious research” for The Christina Chronicles, I’ve made it to the journal containing a good portion of 2005. Jesus Christ, I was a mess! Even messier than I am now, which is really saying something and I admit that I took a moment out of my day to feel utterly sorry for 2005 Erin.

It’s interesting to look back on the state of my relationship with Henry and wonder how the hell we’ve made it to the point where we have a four-year-old son when it was apparently such a big deal if we got along that I would preface journal entries with all-capped ovations of WE DIDN’T FIGHT TODAY!!!!

Anyway, the point of this is that I wrote one night in February, Henry was thoroughly engrossed in a game of Ghost Recon (I AM SO GLAD HE DOESN’T PLAY THOSE STUPID GAMES ANYMORE!), when my cat Don approached him and cried.

Without taking his eyes from the TV, Henry replied, “Oh yeah?

And did that happen yesterday or today?”

Then he realized I was in the room and tried to deny it, because Henry big man! Henry no speak to animals!

Interestingly, I was always flat-out ignored if I had the audacity to speak to the Gaming Master.

Can I get a “Fuck the police”?

Sunday night, I had the audacity to speak disparagingly about the annual Memorial Day Parade in front of four of my neighbors at the chintzy cookout.

“WHAT THAT PARADE IS GREAT” Ruth exclaimed while Mark hung his head, thoroughly shamed by my remark.

“Girl, if you want something bigger, you’re in the WRONG CITY,” Toya scoffed.

Hot Naybor Chris was too busy examining his can of Straub while Henry glowered at me. We had just become semi socially acceptable to the neighbors and here I come ruining it.

Lame as the parade is, I never miss it. However, if I had to do anything greater than step out of my front door to see it, this would probably have been the 10th straight year of missing it. Some people actually GET IN THEIR CARS and drive over here with parade chairs and camcorders! What fucking schmitts!

Henry actually GOT IN THE CAR to go pick up Alisha and Bonzi so they could dine on a breakfast of mediocrity with the rest of us here on Pioneer.

Before the parade started, a man and his son came to my house and handed me a ziplock bag full of candy and literature for SUMMER BIBLE CAMP. Alisha was real rude to them (she doesn’t even have to open her mouth to be rude! She has a gift), so the man ended up just directing his spiel at me. He said he was from the church down the street (honestly – do you guys see the irony in me living across the street from not one but THREE churches?), and if we wanted to walk our asses down there later, we could get our hands on one of the FREE HOTDOGS they were handing out. I don’t eat meat, but I considered walking down there just to see what kind of religious shenanigans I could find myself in. But that would have required donning my bathing suit to swim through the humidity.

There were no big surprises this year in the parade, aside from the addition of even more army people which promptly gave Henry a patriotic erection. They were driving desert vehicle things and the one dude was wearing Ray-Bans and smoking a cigar, he was so hardcore. The same crappy Lutheran church puttered past in their maroon van with puppets hanging and waving out the window; I waved back with the same high-energy, faux-enthusiasm as I do every Memorial Day. There were the same high school marching bands, only this year I learned that Alisha has like, all this respect for them. She even taught me some stuff about “character shoes”, which I always thought were just called “beige footwear for dorks.”

Excitingly, and not surprisingly, there was a troupe of young girl dancer hoes who had major audio malfunctions, so we never got to see them flail around in various styles of the uncoordinated, but I still got to make fun of them. I laughed uproariously and Alisha was like, “That’s mean,” while Henry simultaneously said, “That’s fake.”

Coolest part of the parade and he wasn’t even in it! I bet he listens to Mudvayne.

When a car idled past bearing the US Airforce insignia, I pretended to be all excited for Henry. This is my favorite part of Memorial Day – getting to put on a show of complete and utter disrespect for my country-servin’ boyfran’.

Some of the parade participants will chuck handfuls of candy at the kids sitting along the street.

We kept trying to coax Chooch to sit with Hot Naybor Chris’s grandson Josh, but Chooch was being a complete jerk about it. Finally, he took the extra chair and dragged it a ways down from Josh. He’s only 4 and already he understands social hierarchy. If there were four-year-old cheerleaders nearby, he’d probably have dragged his chair next to them.

Chooch would catch something stupid, like a Tootsie Roll, and spend ten minutes opening it while Josh plucked every last piece of candy off the sidewalk and grass. I don’t know why Alisha, Henry and I were so adamant about Chooch collecting more candy than the rest of the kids, because after he ate two pieces from his collection, he morphed into His Royal Hyperactivity and I wanted to chuck him back at the candy-chuckers.

But he snagged one of those butterscotch rounds that me and the elderly love so much, so I was pacified.

Turns out one of my local Twitter friends was watching the parade a block up from me! She replied to one of my tweets and said that if I wanted to be in the parade next year, SHE COULD ARRANGE THAT.

ME! IN A PARADE!

Since this is Brookline, not Brooklyn, I’d probably have to behave myself, but I’d be willing to compromise my true inner asshole to BE IN A PARADE, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

I hope she wasn’t kidding. I was thinking I could lay across the hood of the Shriner’s big rig.

I never thought I’d say this, but I sure hope I’m still living here next year.