Alternately titled: Come Back Thursday (If You Want To See Keith)

Any day that includes lunch at Zenith is bound to be a great day. And this was Laura’s first time, so that made it even better. It’s fun watching someone take in Zenith for the first day; there is so much to look at (in addition to fill your stomach with)!

We met Kara there yesterday at 11, after I perfomed the mother of all parallel park jobs and Laura was all, “OMG all of those years reading your blog never could have prepared me for the sheer amount of adoration I have for you right now. You should be on a DMV billboard, you are that amazing. Look at how I’m trembling from all of your glory right now!”

Typically when Kara and I meet for lunch, we both have our sons in tow. But yesterday, Chooch was in school and Harland was at home with his dad, so we were able to have a conversation that didn’t consist of “OMG sit the fuck down!” and “Chew, chew, chew!” (although someone should have considered saying that to me, the way I masticated my tofishy sandwich like I had a gun to the head and a Choke Pear to my asshole). Kara was worried we wouldn’t remember how to interact or have anything to talk about, but obviously we prevailed.

(Thank you, Revolutionary War porn)

So happy to scope the tea list! Laura is secretly 70 and British. But seriously, Zenith has phenomenal tea. I usually get some kind that has sarsaparilla in it, but I couldn’t remember its name and then thank god Kara pointed out that there was an Earl Grey Lavender, because true friends remember which of their friends like to toss some lavender in their mouths every now and again. So that is what I ordered and it was full of floral, just how I take it.

My teapot came with a warning. Our waitress, who I believe was the owner and not happy about having customers as soon as the door was unlocked, set everyone’s tea pot down before them and to me she said, “Be careful, with yours. The lid doesn’t want to stay on.”

Kara said she thought to herself, “Of all the people at the table to give the dangerous tea pot to.” It was one of the many moments I have throughout any typical day where I whisper wistfully to myself, “I wish Henry was here to do this for me.” But I prevailed! I spilled a little on the table right away, but everything hit the cup after that point. Every day, I conquer new (tiny) battles. That’s what growing up is all about, or so I hear.

Tofishy in black and white.

Even though I’m not a real vegetarian anymore (sushi won the war, so I guess I’m a pescetarian now), I still enjoy vegetarian food. I still don’t eat meat or chicken though, although the one thing that tempts me more than anything is bacon. And I live in a world where everything has bacon in it, even donuts and milkshakes – DO YOU KNOW HOW DEVASTATING THIS IS. There is a big event being planned around bacon, so that’s all I’ll say on this subject for now. Anyway, Zenith has some wonderful vegetarian and vegan fare, and it’s so delicious that even my meat-eating friends enjoy it. I thought Kara and her stroganoff were going to conceive at one point.

Laura ordered a burrito that was the size of an American forearm* and it almost gave me order remorse. But my tofishy sandwich was amazing enough that I was OK with admiring Laura’s motherwhomping burrito from afar. The vegan tartar sauce was so tangy-good that it had me substituting my tongue for my napkin.

*(As opposed to a Caribbean forearm.)

Usually I get a salad with my lunch, but something was telling me not to. To save room for cake? Because I’m allergic? I brought it up as we all sipped on our teas, and Kara was all, “What is wrong with you? I can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t like a good Zenith salad.” So I looked up my old Zenith blog posts and found the answer:

“It was like the vegetation version of clown cars. As soon as he set the bowls down in front of us, leaves of lettuce the size of elephant ears began unfolding and springing forth. It was the most difficult, not to mention aggressive, salad my fork tines have ever speared.”

It had nothing to do with taste, apparently, but the level of difficulty surrounding it. It’s hard enough for me to eat a basic grilled cheese without a Gallagher-approved safety tarp, let alone a salad that belongs in Little Shop of Horrors.

You would think this was around the point I brought up my dire yearning for Revolutionary War porn, but it was not. (Although Kara has a friend in the adult film industry who said he could probably make my dreams come true OH MY MUSKET-FUCKING GOD! But um, that’s a story for another post.)

The unfortunate part of the meal was that our favorite waiter Keith was not there that day. Even though our waitress intimidated us and flashed some weird gypsy death rays at a couple who had the nerve to poke their heads into the kitchen in the universal sign for “We have been sitting out for here for an unacceptable amount of time and would now like you to bring us our menus and meet every last one of our yuppie needs,” I still mustered up the resolve to ask her if Keith still worked there. She seemed moderately taken aback and said that Keith now only works on Thursdays.

“Come back on a Thursday if you want to see Keith,” she proceeded to tell me almost every time she walked past the table, which wasn’t very often, because she hated the other couple out in the dining room. So I hated them too, only because I wanted to order cake and didn’t want her to get mad about it.

Since I asked about Keith, I made Kara inquire about our cake options. I didn’t want to press my luck with the lady. Kara and I both ordered a slice of lemon vanilla bundt cake and it was the word “moist” in a wedge, on my plate, slathered with icing sweet enough to make a death row inmate smile. I was so full from my sandwich, but I kept shoveling it in. This is what I’m trained at. Right before I die, I hope to have the opportunity to impart my wisdom on Chooch: NEVER LEAVE A DESSERT UNFINISHED.

A few minutes after I took this picture of Laura, I looked at it and asked, “Wow, why do you look so full of duress in this picture?” and then I remembered it was right at the moment she was lamenting the time she left a takeout box containing a t-bone on the roof of her car a year ago. Then the lady brought us our checks and said, “Come back on Thursday if you want to see Keith.”

It’s tradition to flounce around the antique-side of Zenith once we’ve rolled ourselves away from the table. Laura immediately found a sword and started waving it around. She’s such a loose cannon! And then Kara found on a small table the most hottest picture of Jesus these eyes have ever seen. I grabbed it from her and imprinted with it immediately. Our waitress happened to be passing by and said, “Isn’t that creepy? My daughter had it hanging on the wall, but I put it down there because it was freaking me out.”

I asked her how much she wanted for it, and she said, “$10…but only because it’s kind of old!” she tacked on as if she thought I was going to exclaim, “$10! Astronomical! Why, you’re out of your mind!” and then she took it from me and tucked it back behind something else on the table and walked back to the kitchen.

“You’re coming home with Mama,” I whispered, snatching it back off the table and holding protectively against my Virgin Mother bosom.

This picture is so visually pleasing to me. It reminded me of the time in 2005 when I needed a new notebook for college and I found myself unable to choose between two notebooks of this same shade of purple and a lime green. CVS was about to close and I had Henry hulking around behind me, hissing, “JUST PICK ONE!” It turned out they were buy one get one free so I got to have both! [Yes, things were so tight back then that Henry only gave me financial clearance to purchase one (1) notebook for school. Now that I work at The Law Firm, I sometimes walk down that aisle and think cockily, “I could buy like, FIVE of you if I really wanted.”]

I finally flagged down the lady again and told her that I intended to purchase Hot Jesus and she was like, “OK, can I go to the bathroom first?” Like I was leaving without it! When she came back to get my credit card, she brought up Keith again and I called after her, “He was the best waiter I ever had!” This gave her pause at the cash register.

“Well….maybe under certain circumstances,” she said, which led me to believe that perhaps their relationship was rocky. I would have been satisfied leaving with that information only, but she just kept telling me things about him (not bad things though; they apparently have a mom-son type of relationship so she was candid) and by the time I left, I knew everything short of his social security number and how he takes his eggs in the morning.

And I also really like that lady now. I feel like we bonded over Hot Jesus, Keith and Hating Yuppies.

“Come back on Thursday if you want to see Keith!” the lady called out one last time as we exited the door.

Oh Christ, have you ever seen a hotter Jesus?

Henry, Chooch and I just walked into Eat n Park when a group of middle school-aged kids turned around and one of them, a cheerleader in a letterman jacket, exclaimed, “Hey look, it’s God!

” A titter of recognition spread through the group.

Surely she’s not insinuating that Henry is god-like, I thought, and then I realized that they were all looking at Chooch, who was desperately trying to blend into my back by that point.

And that is how we found out that back on All Saints Day*, when the priest was asking all the children what Saint they were dressed as (this is what Catholic schools do in lieu of Halloween, or so I’m learning) and my plainsclothed son said, “God,” that this did not happen just in front of his kindergarten classmates, but the WHOLE SCHOOL.

Chooch is legendary; on the Internet and off, apparently.

Henry bought a new (to me) apple-brand home last night called Kiku.

IT’S EXOTIC YOU GUYS. And I’ll tell you what else it is: It’s the goddamn Sumo wrestler of apples. Motherfucker was so wide, it got itself stuck a quarter of the way down in the apple corer at work. I had to seek out the nearest Man for help. That happened to be Nate, and it (probably) required him to imagine he was pushing a cranial-sized corer down onto the face of some Batman villain. (Nate likes Batman.)

(I don’t know what I’m talking about.)

It even peeled itself on one side.

Misplaced your bowling ball? The Kiku’s your guy.

My verdict is that while it’s semi-sweet, I did not get any flashes of exotic lands while eating it. The slices were so thick that it was extremely difficult for me to maintain my delicate flower facade while trying to force my teeth all the way through. Carey came over to talk to me while my molars and jaw were exhausting themselves trying to break down the chunk of Kiku meat in my mouth and felt like a horse on display. Someone needs to teach me how to eat an apple like a lady, short of turning it into juice, and not a farmer dishing out slop.

I feel like people in other departments can hear the snap of the skin every time my teeth sink down. I am so hyper-aware of my cacophonous apple snacking.

It officially took me an hour to finish it, and the whole time I could hear Pee Wee Herman’s voice in my head chanting, “It’s like an apple that someone keeps on chewing, a-h-hand chewing, a-ha-hand chewing, a-ha-hand chewing, A-HA-HAND CHEWING.”

However, once all the work was done, the Kiku was pleasant with slightly sweet undertones and although it was on the crisper side, I would probably eat it again.

Or just use it as a gag for that bitch I’ve got stowed in the trunk.

EDIT: Henry asked me how it was and I said, “It was neither exotic nor sweet, although if I closed my mouth and breathed out through my nose, it filled my mouth with a slight undercurrent of sweetness.”

“What are you, tasting wine?” Henry scoffed.

Fantastic song, sick video, brilliant artist. I love me some Captain Midnight.

Haven’t heard of him? Check out the Q&A I did with him last year.

Nothing takes the edge off the impending Hallmark Holiday like some fast-moving zombie action. Get stoked on it!

Henry said to me, “You’re asking a lot, you know.”

“It’s the least you can do since you won’t marry me.”

And on that note, here is what was supposed to be the final installment of the Harangue Henry questions. I am attempting to type this for him while he is busy assembling zombie Valentine cards.

***
Ally poses several Tough Thinkers for our Henry: Who does Henry want his mustache to be when it grows up? (e.g. Tom Selleck, Hulk Hogan, etc.)

[Oh the look I just got from him! Shoooooot.]

“I don’t know! Me! [Unintelligible mumbles.]”

Who was Henry’s favorite Teletubby?

“I don’t have one. I didn’t watch Teletubbies. I was freaking thirty years old when it came out!”

[Ed.Note. In other words: The Gay One.]

Sandra Lee, Giada, or Rachael Ray? Who is Henry’s favorite food network personality?

Henry, with extreme confidence: “Giada.”

[Ed.Note. Then why won’t you make any of her recipes, you douche-kabob?]

Does he agree that Alton’s recipes always work and that Ina’s never do?

Getting tangled up in double-sided tape, Henry half-assedly answers: “I would say yes but I’ve never done any of Ina’s at all.

”

Has he ever tried any of David Lebovitz’s recipes (if not, he should!)?

Henry, who likes to make up his own recipes for orphan gruel, mutters: “No.”

What would Henry do if he had an entire day, completely to himself?

“Sleep,” Henry said in a way that made me scared to press for more. “That’d never happen,” he mumbled. “You guys don’t even let me sleep when I’m sick.”

What is Henry’s favorite milk shake flavor?

With a face contorted in perplexion: “Probably chocolate.”

[The actual answer is: Whatever Erin or Chooch order that he has to finish.]

Which Golden Girl can Henry most readily identify with? I HAVE TOO MANY QUESTIONS, I CAN’T PRIORITIZE THEM!!!!!

“Which one has a girlfriend that’s a pain in the ass?”

***
That concludes this round. It only took a WEEK to get these answers, and then I made the mistake of asking him the last 2 directly after he got off the phone with Comcast, who have failed to fix our Internet for a week now. HENRY IS MAD YOU GUYS.

I couldn’t stop making this face on Sunday. I think the very idea of the Superbowl was electrocuting my facial muscles.

I STILL HAVE NO INTERNET! I have shit to do, Comcast, you fucks.

I’ve been meaning to make a Lizzie Valentine for so long now and I finally got a chance to do so the other day. I’m very pleased with it!

Inside:

Go get yo’self one, fool! And check out my other new cards while you’re there.

And for kicks, here is a picture of my ass from when I stayed at the Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast in 2003.

I would like to go back in time and curbstomp my 23-year-old self for saying shit like, “OMG MY ASS LOOKS LIKE THE SIDE OF A BARN.” Fuck you, 2003 Erin.

There was no point* to this, other than I just came across it on Flickr. Now I’m going to lament over my current ass’s girth. Carry on.

*(Lies. I just wanted to lure people over here.)

Just last week, Chooch whined to me, “I liked it better when people came with us to skate. You never ask anyone to come with us anymore!” But I do ask! All the time! As it turns out, most grown ups just don’t give a shit about roller skating. However, Laura was off last Sunday and promised that she would go, even though she fell when she attemped to skate at my birthday party last summer.

LAURA IS A TRUE FRIEND.

We arrived at the rink a little bit before 1:30 and it’s a good thing we disobeyed Henry by jumping out of the car and standing in line, because that line exploded really fast. It was so crowded last Sunday! Almost like roller skating was popular again.

In addition to multiple birthday parties, I think it was Urban Recreation Day because the hooligans were there by the busload. And of course, none of them could skate so the rink was a minefield of inner city limbs. It calmed down a bit after awhile though; I’m not sure if the kids gave up and left or if their lo-jacks were sounding off.

Laura fell before she even made it onto the rink and I am so disappointed that I missed it. Henry got to see it though and I hope that he laughed at her, but knowing Henry, he probably dove into Real American Hero mode and offered to help her up.

Henry and I are so different.

Chooch and I do this awesome thing where we ditch Henry at the skate counter and then he has to carry an entire bushel of quads back to us. (And I always sit as far away as possible, allowing for the utmost chances of jutted feet for him to trip over as he weaves and winds his way down to me. It’s my duty, and I do it well.)

My friend Shawn recently moved back to the area last year and I managed to con him and his two little girls, Cosi and Anais, to come out for some afternoon skate action. In addition to spending quality time with his kid, the fact that he knew he would be subject to relentless guilt-tripping and puppy dog-eyeing from me might have factored in as well. Cosi thought I worked there because I’m so fantastic.

Chooch’s reaction when he saw the GIRLS.

I had to bribe him with ice cream to get him to pose for this picture.

There was a new rink ref there that day. His name is Joe and I believe he’s one of the Jammers, a group of local skaters who skate better than you. Oh shit, my crush inflated like J-Woww’s jugs as soon as I saw his smooth moves. Plus, there was nothing annoying, creepy or offensive about him! I know this because Roller Creep was there again so I got a pretty telling side-by-side comparison.

I call this portion of the story: Erin’s Big Fall

It was rough waters out there that day. Roller DJ and I have differing opinions on this subject, but I think that sharing a rink with children is pretty much the worst thing ever to have to do with skates on. This might have a lot to do with the fact that I generally do not approve of the presence of children anywhere, though. Roller DJ thinks it’s So Important for everyone to skate together with no segregation because it’s the amazing people like me who inspire children to want to get better (or learn at all). Brother, I don’t ever see a fucking child looking up to an adult in awe; I see asshole children creating moving slaloms for me, impetuously changing direction and purposely throwing themselves down on the floor to be “funny.”

But I braved that sea of pinwheeling kinder-limbs with my normal bravado, and even when Chooch and I were couple-skating* and Chooch fell, causing me and another couple to collide into the wall, my feet didn’t leave the ground.

*(He couple skate-blocked Henry and would only let me skate with him;even when it was Lady’s Choice, he picked for me! Oh well, at least I finally got to couple skate to “Broken Wings”! With my 5-year-old! How romantic!)

It wasn’t until later in the session that it happened. We were packed in like sardines on that fucking rink and I found myself trapped in the most congested area of all. I’m moderately good at the whole bob and weave aspect of roller skating, but sometimes I choke. At this particular moment, I needed the fucking Heimlich. A small child in front of me started to go down. I saw it as if it were playing out in slow-motion but there was nothing I could do; I was blocked on both sides and my reflexes atrophied. Before I knew it, I was skating right into a tangled child. And of course this would happen on the one day my friends actually came out to watch me be a dream on wheels.

This was it, the moment I had been dreading since I started roller skating again as an adult: I was going to break my hip, splinter my pride, split my pants: one if not ALL of these things were going to happen in 3…2…

I landed on one knee and one hand and in one quick motion, I sprung myself back up. JUST LIKE THEY DO IN HOCKEY YOU GUYS. Oh, the grace that was displayed! It would have made an angel flush with envy.

I even asked the kid if it was alright.

Then I skated it off like it never happened, all the while scanning the rink for Henry.

“DID YOU SEE ME FALL?” I cried out after finally spotting him later.

“What? No. It must have happened when I was in the bathroom.”

“Did you see me fall?” I asked Laura, who shook her head side-to-side. Shawn missed it too.

“NO ONE SAW MY AMAZINGLY GRACEFUL RECOVERY?

” I wailed. It would fucking figure!

Amazing recovery aside, it still sucks to wipe out as an adult. My No Fall Streak is done-zo. I wish now that I could remember what song was playing, but I totally can’t. I’m sure one day when I’m listening to the radio and find myself awash with sudden shame, I will know that that was the song soundtracking my Big Fall.

Hokey Pokey Party Foul

Roller DJ plays the Hokey Pokey every week; you can laugh all you want, but that shit is fucking fun. I was excited that Shawn and Laura were there that day, so we could all laugh and put our backsides in together like it’s 1974 and Henry’s outlook on life is current. However, Laura shook her head in fright and the rest of them were nowhere in sight, so I skated out alone and joined the oblong people-circle.

Surely Henry and Chooch will join me, I thought.

The circle stretched into an even more oblong-shape as more people came out to turn themselves around.

But still no Henry and Chooch.

Roller DJ started the song.

Still no motherfucking Henry and Chooch.

There is something exceptionally pathetic and slightly embarrassing about being a grown-up and doing the Hokey Pokey alone. Sure, there was a rinkful of families out there with me, but I had no child of my own to exchange sidelong glances and giggles with. I mean, I tried it once, looked to my left and made eye contact with a little girl who did not return my smile, unless turning her eyes into saucers of STRANGER DANGER  is how she expresses happy camaraderie with her Hokey Pokey neighbor; I turned to my right only to see some mom videotaping her son who was right next to me, so let’s hear it for Erin doing the Hokey Pokey on some asshole’s family video tape.

Even still, I put my whole self in with some motherfucking gusto.

Henry’s New Name

Henry is off the rink more than he’s on it. He’s always wandering off, holding the owner, Jim, chat-hostage or talking to Paul, the rink ref. I can’t imagine what he talks to them about, installing Faygo machines? The Andy Griffith Show? Kristy McNichol coming out as a lesbian? Who the fuck knows! But it’s kind of creepy and who knew a roller rink would turn Henry into a social butterfly.

(You know who he never talks to though? Roller DJ. Probably because I already claimed him.)

“Jim’s wife just asked me if I ever smile,” Henry laughed, catching up to me on the rink. (Which is where you will almost always find me, considering that is what I pay to do.)

“Who the fuck is Jim?” I asked, annoyed that I had to slow my stride to have my brain freeze-dried by Henry.

“Uh, the owner,” he reminded me with indignance.

“Ok…?” I said, waiting to be disappointed by yet another No-Climax episode with Henry.

“Anyway, she said Robin told her she could make me smile,” he laughed, clearly flattered that someone would make a flirtatious remark about his non-descript self. I felt my face flare up with The Flames of Jealousy.

“Who’s Ro—” I started, but Henry, knowing that I never pay attention to this shit, was ready for it.

“One of the rink refs,” he sighed. Once I placed her, all my jealousy went back to funneling intself toward Jennifer Aniston’s hair and whichever skank Jonny Craig is presently using as a penis-cosy.

“Jim’s wife said she’s going to call me Smiley now,” Henry went on, smiling and shaking his head. God, go tell your mommy about it.

I will say though, that it is pretty cool to go there every week and have all these guys saying hello and looking all happy to see us. It’s starting to feel like a second home, like we might actually BELONG somewhere!

Post-skating sundae.

[Ed.Note: I apologize if my posts have been even more grammar-erratic than usual lately. We haven’t had Internet at the house for a week now, thanks to Verizon fucking with the telephone pole.

Comcast was supposed to come today but they did NOT and you better believe I want my bill adjusted. Anyway, I have been posting from my phone and sometimes from work, although I have actually had real work to do! I’ve been trying to finish this particular post since last Wednesday. Life is hard, you guys.]

Yesterday afternoon, we went to a George Romero Birthday Party at my friend Kristy’s house. She is pretty much the zombie aficionado and even turned her basement into a Zombie Lounge. It’s impressive and Chooch’s eyeballs were spinning like your basic penny slots, there was so much for him to take in.

The next time Andrea visits, I need to get her and Kristy together so they can drool and shamble around aimlessly in mutual zombie adoration. And I’ll just stand there and take pictures.

We watched some zombie movies, Chooch and the guys played Rock Band (Chooch’s attention span lasted way longer than I imagined it would for that), and there was even some piñata action. (Kristy made it herself! Now I know where to go for Chooch’s next party.)

(Actually, I think I’ll just pay her to flat out plan the whole thing.)

When it was time to watch another movie, I misheard Kristy and thought she said she was putting on Evil Dead. She asked me if I saw it and I was all, “Pshhh, yeah, of course.” However, it was actually some New Zealand movie called Brain Dead which I actually have not seen, so I then sat there on the couch, alone with my internal dialogue, feeling like a big fat liar, like one of those assholes who says “Um, yeah!

” no matter what because they want to look like some douchebag cinema elitist.

I swear I’m not that person.

(I’m only like that with music.

)

Twirling with entrails.

Kristy has a collection of nuns in the Zombie Lounge bathroom, yet another indication that we were meant to be friends.

That was a pretty awesome way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Happy birthday, George Romero! Your #1 fan threw you a super sweet party!

There is an older broad here with a huge stick up her ass and a dildo-looking boyfriend on roller blades who is showing off for her and her two cunt-face little girls.

Chooch is skating like a zombie.

There is a thing that I can’t tell if it’s a pre-teen boy or a middle-aged woman. Either way: total Uggz City.

Another young person looks just like the boy from Dark Crystal, only with a vagina.

Henry agrees for once.

Henry wonders why the rink owner’s wife has dubbed him “Smiley.

” (SPOILER ALERT for the next skating post which I have put off writing all week because I’m a fraud of a blogger.)

In actual skating news, Chooch is getting so good, you guys! I’m still way better though. Don’t worry.

Henry went to Chooch’s school today to eat lunch with his class; it was some kind of lame “special people” luncheon or some bullshit. I opted out of this one because isn’t enough I had to sit through a goddamn symphony with parents and now they want me to eat with them, too?

Fuck off.

Henry was talking about the various “special people” that Chooch’s other classmates brought with them.

“And [Blah Blah] brought her mom, some guy I wished I had taken a picture of because he looked like a predator, and another guy that looked like he just came out of a garage.”

“That’s probably what they all say about you,” I mumbled.

“I don’t care. I really don’t.”

On his way back to the house from the lunch, he paused in the parking lot to talk to our neighbor Toya. I know this happened because even with the door and windows closed, I could hear him doing that strangulated dick-in-throat creepster laugh of his.

Hya hya hya HYUK!

“Toya was saying something about how you can pretty much find out shit about anyone just by googling their name* and all I could think was ‘Oh god, please no.'” And then, “If any of [our neighbors] find your blog, I’m going to act like I never knew about it.”

*(Breaking News.)

When I got to work on Monday, Sue called me into her office and told me that Barb was in the hospital. My stomach dropped, my heart sank, and my eyes spontaneously welled. Sue told me not to panic and that it was a good thing she was being treated.

But that didn’t really do much to quell my crackling nerves. In the last almost-2 years, Barb has firmly planted herself on my short list of favorite people. She has been more of a mom to me than my own biological mom EVER has and I appreciate her so much, it’s immeasurable. I tell her everything and she is one of the few people who can make me feel like everything is going to be OK. Now she’s in the hospital and I feel so helpless because I just want to be able to reciprocate that for her, but I’m such an emotional spaz that I’m sure I would only wind up stressing her out in the end. (Seriously, I’m terrible at these things!)

We’ve been texting all week, but I haven’t heard from her since she had surgery last night. (Sue assures me it was a routine procedure, and Barb’s dad told her she made it through just fine, so there’s that at least!)

I was talking to Henry about it last night and I started to get all choked up. “See, I do care about people sometimes!” I pointed out.

“Yeah, surprisingly,” he said, and he really did look surprised, too.

With Barb gone all week (and at least another month as well), the office feels so dead. She has such a huge, fun presence that the atmosphere has honestly changed in her absence. And in the short time she’s been in my life, she already knows me so well, because Barb’s the type of person who takes the time to get to know someone.

Just the other week, Carey offered Barb a box of baked goods, to which Barb responded with, “For future reference, always offer stuff to Erin first.” SEE? BECAUSE SHE KNOWS ME.

She’s the type of person to go back to a flea market and buy a creepy-ass doll for someone for Christmas, after learning about how much that person desperately wanted the doll but their BOYFRIEND said NO.

She’s the type of person you want around if if your water breaks in a public restroom.

She’s the type of person who brings a kid a present to their mom’s birthday party, just so they won’t feel left out when their mom is opening her presents.

She’s the type of person who will embrace a person’s inner-weirdness and pore over a book of death scenes with them, because she is a weirdo too.

She is the person that everyone whines and cries to at work, because they know that not only will she listen, but she will care. (Or at least pretend to.)

She’s just Barb, and she’s pretty much the most awesome person I know.

But it’s Barb’s turn to come first. Let’s all give her a shout out today. She’s the most generous and caring person I know, and now it’s time for her to get all that back. Maybe you don’t know Barb in real life, but you have probably read about her on here, and if she happens to read this after she gets out of the hospital, I’m sure it will lift her spirits, so leave her a get well comment. She deserves it!

Get well soon, Barb. We all miss the hell out of you!!

*According to the government and utility companies, anyway.

This was Henry’s dinner spread last night.

“Don’t take a picture of my food!” he pleaded in embarrassment.

My dinner was tuna on crackers (auto correct changed that to Tina, which would have made for a much more interesting blog post) and corn. Here in our Brookline shanty, we eat only marginally better than college students.

Sometimes, Henry will throw all kinds of stuff in a pot, call it soup, and expect me to eat it every day for a week. It’s a wonder how I’m still this fat when I’m essentially eating standard soup kitchen fare.

Holy shit, the Love Unlimited Orchestra’s “Love’s Theme” just came on. BRB have to disco.

For this round, I have pasted the questions and left it up to Henry to plunk out his answers on his own time. Mixing it up a little, you know? (Read: Too tired to transcribe.)

***

Barb asked: If you could be an inanimate object, what would it be and why?

I would be a knife and plunge myself into the eye of the author of this blog for making me answer questions.

Vanessa asked one of my favorite questions: What is one ( as i’m sure there are several) of your favorite Erin & Henry moments? Why?

There are so many moments good and bad(mostly her fault). There are a few that stand out, like our first long trip together was when I discovered Erin was not like other people her age, she was a little less mature. On the way back home from Wisconsin it seems the 11year old in her came out and she rode and pouted in the back seat for a good while, all because she didn’t get her way( that hasn’t change to this day). Now why does that stand out as a moment, it has helped me adjust the way I deal with the lovely Erin. And She wonders why sometimes I act like her dad.

[Ed.note: OMG way to gloss over the pertinents.]

And also: How do you feel about Whole Foods or similar grocery stores?

Actually I have no feelings at all about them, if I’m going near one of them and the parking lot is not jam packed with cars then maybe I’ll pull in.

[Ed.note: That’s the same way he feels about my kooka.]

Brandy asked a question that I know Henry is going to give a one-word answer to, so I am here to remind him of a certain story he once told me about his time in Panama. ANSWER THE QUESTION HONESTLY, HENRY: My question for henry is, did he ever kill anyone in the service?

No, I have never killed anyone, again Erin does not listen when told a story. She’s usually tunes me out once I start talking.

[ed note. THE PET DUCK. YOU KILLED SOMEONE’S PET DUCK ON A RIVER AND YOU TOLD ME SO!!!!]

Shallie, who fooled me by NOT asking a bandanna-centric question, asks: Which drink in the Land of Faygo do you deliver the most? Do you have any crazy customers or funny stories about them?

The most popular flavor would be orange, and as for stories I don’t drive anymore so all my stories are old but I have been witness to a drive by shooting within a 100 yards and in a store when the owner and his employee beat the hell out of someone for stealing a bandana. Then having to wait till they mopped up the blood.

Jessica took the question out of everyone’s mouths in what I can only assume was a stern yet angry voice: When the hell are you going to propose?

I’ve known for a long time how and when and one day so will everyone else.

A/k/a: Elephant, Jesus, Golilla, Donagal, Puppy Time, and Pierre.

On the other side of the blog: There are 5 unanswered questions for Henry rotting in a draft. That’s the last time I ever pre-pay him for ANYTHING.