Got to watch my brother Corey graduate from Pitt Johnstown this afternoon; not gonna lie: I got all choked up and cried several times.

“Slow learners,” said my corny dad.

My mom didn’t go, which is no surprise. I think the excuse she gave (2+ mths ago) was that she didn’t have anything to wear. Oh, OK.

Listening to all the outbursts and catcalls from parents in the stands as their kids took the stage to get diploma’d was yet another reminder of how different things have been for Corey and me: our lives have been woefully remiss of familial cheering.

How do you consciously miss the opportunity to encourage and support someone you love? I mean, I know I’m a “questionable parent” who supposedly wears “goth clothing” and takes pictures of her son in cemeteries, but I can’t imagine being such a shitty parent that I purposely miss Chooch’s graduation. Even if all I had was a potato sack to wear.

Corey and his girlfriend Danielle have identical laughs; it’s uncanny.

The one low point was when someone in front of me farted during commencements and there was literally nowhere to run.

I hope Corey knows how proud I am of him!

Sometimes I pause the wrist-slitting dirges that I love to play on repeat and give more uplifting songs a chance. The Used has always been of those bands that makes me feel punched in the gut, because they’ve sound-tracked so much that’s happened in my life (including the entire first book of the Christina Chronicles), that they have this strong emotional and psychic pull on me. It has always, my whole life, been easier for me to say, “Here, it’s like this” and then play someone a song by the Cure, etc., than to use words to explain how I feel.

I listen to “Box Full of Sharp Objects” and I’m 23, aborting my first baby. I listen to “Blue and Yellow” and I’m 24, wondering why the faint scent of someone’s lingering perfume in my car is making me so wistful, and then years later nearly breaking my neck to turn it off anytime it randomly played because my heart just wasn’t strong enough. I listen to “I Caught Fire” and I’m 25 again, giddily dyeing Easter eggs and succumbing to spring fever, and then turning up the volume for “Sound Effects and Overdramatics” while Henry’s blood pressure raises in tandem. Let’s not forget being 29, listening to “Liar, Liar” and straight up raging over the realization that I no longer knew my best friend anymore. And then I listen to “Best of Me” and I’m 30, angry and bitter, not understanding how someone could so easily shut the door on me.

Each album is a different chapter of the saga and I eventually had to stop listening altogether. It started to become masochistic.

But they just released a new album and morbid curiosity got the best of me. I posted this song today because “Together Burning Bright” doesn’t make me ache, it actually does make me feel like everything is going to be alright, like everything has come full circle. After these last few months (years, really), that’s exactly the kind of message I need. And perhaps you need something like that this morning too.

(I’ve been very much in my head lately; sorry if I’m not making sense.)

The Used is going to be at Warped Tour this summer. It will be the first time seeing them since I got in a fight with some drunk guy at their 2010 show at the House of the Blues in Cleveland. It will also only be the second time seeing them with Henry – the first was in 2003, I think. Back when Bert still puked on stage and Henry wanted to shoot himself.

I should be writing. But I was up kind of late watching hockey; listening to music and drinking coffee is the only thing I’m motivated to do right now. Although I did finally finish editing the photos from Chooch’s birthday party, so maybe I’ll write about that sometime tonight! “Hooray!” said no one!

Chooch constructed a model of Jonny Craig out of Legos and then what appears to be a stage with an audience.

“I put Daddy under here so he’s stuck and now he has to listen to Jonny Craig forever.”

Fuck, did I derive so much glee from that.

I love the cap of ginger atop Jonny’s broad Lego dome.

In other news, Craig Owens is back with Chiodos, wtf.

Even though he is my nemesis now, I’m still beyond stoked and was all overheated at work after I found out.

My friends at Alternative Press even had the smarts to check in with me to make sure I was still breathing after the news was twitter-bombed.

In other-other news, Chooch is getting his tonsils out on July 2nd. :(

I haven’t finished editing the photos from Chooch’s birthday party yet (a lot of the shots have Chooch’s school friends in them and I don’t want to get bitched out again for posting them on my heretic blog) so here are the ones from my phone (nice & blurry to cover my ass).

Barb learned her lesson.

****
Living Treasures Birthday Field Trip

Chooch kept calling the camels “cannibals” and I didn’t correct him.

It was a nice day, nothing much to complain about. The grounds were surprisingly dick-free and we even got to see some animal mating going down, including a particularly horny peacock who was totally embarrassing himself; finally, I have a benchmark when imagining Henry trying to get laid during his SERVICE years.

However, we went to Perkins afterward, where Chooch had a total meltdown over the restaurant’s lack of wifi and kept talking in angry tones about death and how no one would care if he died, themes that he’s way too young to be touching upon, and of course the two ladies seated in the booth next to ours had just come from Bible study and were giving each other concerned raised-eyebrows. Totally awesome. Can’t wait to see what he’s like as a teenager.

Today Chooch is six! He seemed kind of upset about it though and said, “Can you cut off one of my toes so I can be 5 again?

”

Whatever that means.

His class went to the symphony for the THIRD time this year today so he asked if he could politely bow out. I figured since it’s his birthday, he shouldn’t have to suffer, so we’re going to Living Treasures animal park instead. I took the day off work and everything – finally earning some mom points!

God, he totally just bitched at me from the backseat to turn down my music because he’s trying to listen to Eisley and My Chemical Romance on “his phone.

”

I can’t believe he’s six? I can’t believe he’s ONLY six, really.

This only lasted for 2 minutes, but I can’t remember the last time I was able to meet my “Laughing at Henry’s Expense” quota in JUST TWO MINUTES.

Bill, Jessi and Tammy drove in from Detroit last Saturday afternoon; it was the first time we’ve seen each other since our Tennessee vacation last summer, so we were all beyond stoked! I thought it would be fun to take them to the Toonseum downtown, and to sweeten Jessi’s pot, we took the trolley. Jessi loves trolleys and I’ve been promising her a ride on ours for years now. (And no, that’s not an euphemism for me and Henry’s Siamese penis.)

Way to bang two town whore with one condom, I guess.

Laura came too because she has never done either of these things yet in her first year living in Pittsburgh. (The trolley and Toonseum, not town whores, although I don’t really know what she does on her own free time.)

The ride there was relatively anticlimactic, but at least it was dry, which is more than I can say for the shitty weather we were having that day. And of course, NONE OF MY UMBRELLAS WORKED, not even the one I got from The Law Firm, which rivals the wingspan of a pterodactyl.(A few weeks ago, I clotheslined myself with it while walking down the street when it wouldn’t fit between a wall and a telephone pole. Thank god there was an endless line of cars stuck at a red light when it happened; how wasteful if it had happened for no one  to see.)

Awhile back, I was trying to coin the phrase “Erin’s Umbrella,” as in:

He couldn’t get his dick up — what an Erin’s Umbrella moment.

Seriously, all of my umbrellas are like limp dicks and I can’t stand it. Why is the average umbrella lifespan approximately 3 months once it’s in my possession?!

On this day, I was using an umbrella missing a handle, making it awkward to hold. Also, the actual umbrella part isn’t mounted onto the stick very securely, so it wobbles around precariously like a bobblehead, and also is prone to being blown inside out every 30 seconds.

I had to keep screaming for Laura to help me, but the way I was acting, you’d have thought it was the train of my wedding dress I needed her to fix.

The Toonseum is a nice little place to check out of you’re looking for something on the cheap side to do downtown, and have at least a mild interest in cartoons, which is where I fall. However, Bill owns a comic and gaming shop, so it was a no-brainer to take them there. Even with my limited knowledge of the genre, it was still really interesting and visually stimulating, plus the amount of time necessary to spend there was perfect for an almost 6-year-old. He didn’t even have a chance to fidget or break anything, but he did sniff out the bathroom immediately, so I can’t make any promises for what he did or didn’t do in that part of the gallery.

As if one window-creeping Henry wasn’t enough.

Afterward, we walked to Market Square for a late lunch at Moe’s. I was tempted to lead the way since Carey just taught me how to walk there a few weeks ago, but since our starting point wasn’t in the back of The Law Firm’s building, I was extremely disoriented. Plus, it was cold and raining, so I felt it would be best to follow the ex-SERVICE member.

<3

This guy was on the trolley with us on the way back and I was not-so-silently hoping he would vomit on his boots. Henry thought he was probably high on heroin and then suggested he was probably friends with Jonny Craig.

Later that night, we all hung out at my house, watching Chooch and Bill play Wii Sports. Chooch kept getting pissed off because Bill wasn’t letting him win, so he would storm off and cry on the steps.

“God, he’s just like his mother,” Henry grumbled.

“No he’s not,” I said thoughtfully. “I would have broken something by now.”

Later, we put on the Music Choice 80s Hits channel and were serenaded by an angry shot of Phil Collins singing “Sussudio.” [THIS IS FORESHADOWING.]

Monster cupcakes decorated by me, Christina and Christina’s sister Cynthia.

Chooch’s 6th birthday party was last night and it was a lot of fun*. However, the mom in me has been all nostalgic today; it seems like just last year we were trhowing him a 1st birthday blowout at my mom’s house, but then I think of how much things have changed since then, how I don’t even talk to my mom anymore, or my aunt Sharon, and how I’m always trying to overcompensate for this loss of family by trying to lure as many people as possible to my kid’s parties.

(*Unless you’re breaking bones, and then it might be a pretty shitty time.)

Not only was my mom at his 1st birthday, but it was at her house and she even helped me plan it. I spent my break at work today looking at pictures from that day and feeling bittersweet, but mostly happy because that was such a good day.

And I had a tutu.

And Christina was there. She has missed his last 4 parties because of our utter inability to iron shit out between us. Even though she wasn’t at his party last night, just knowing she’s back was enough for both me and Chooch. (Plus, she bought him shit when she was visiting last weekend, so that’s definitely good enough for Chooch. He is very easily won over with tangible tokens of love, just like his mother.)

My friend Bill baked Chooch’s personal  cake and then Kara decorated it in the likeness of the party invitations I made, while I breathed down her back and made idle threats.

….M.C.A.?

Chooch has always been kind of a big deal. I love that kid.

Big shout out to everyone else out there who loves him too. Thank you for making him feel special.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna be SIX!”

Boys Table.

Chooch’s roller skating party is tonight! Bill, Jessi and Tammy came in for the weekend from Michigan, so we’ve been having fun times with them, which I will write about tomorrow.

We had breakfast this morning at Eat n Park. There weren’t enough tables so we had to split up between a table and booth. Henry tried to move the table closer but got scolded by the manager for violating the fire code. It was pretty irritating, but the bright side was that it put Henry further away from me.

Too bad today’s Pens game has been on the forefront of my mind the whole time, making me all skittish and nauseated. Why did I eat so much before such a big game? :(

At work the other day, I said out loud, “I wish I had a Jonny Craig doll.” This of course was met with tons of groans and low-grade mumbling.

But then I started googling, because YOU NEVER KNOW.

Well, there aren’t any Jonny Craig dolls out there, at least none that Google is aware of. But I did find a picture of Jonny with a doll, which I thought was just adorable. My friend Gina the Enabler suggested that I photoshop my face on the doll.

But damn, what I wouldn’t give for a plush Jonny Craig.

Any dollmakers out there? Just don’t put a needle in his arm; I don’t want to get pricked in my sleep.

Hey, remember a couple weeks ago when I thought I was going to get stabbed on the trolley, so I got off one stop early and then Henry got all mad because he had to walk me to work via his cell phone? Well, I took the trolley to work today (trade off for Henry taking Chooch to school TWO DAYS IN A ROW, BEST BOYFRIEND EVER) and inadvertantly sat right across from that guy again! Jesus fuck. This time it wasn’t so bad: I was only entertained with a series of exaggerated yawns and some motorboating. I felt safe enough this time around to get his picture, right before we arrived at our stop. I know it’s not up to my usual stalking-par, but I took this through a plexi glass divider.

Then some tall, handsome man was all, “Ladies first” in a very seductive tone, and I was like, “Thank god people still recognize me as a lady.

”

Actually, all kinds of people were nice to me on the way to work today, which is weird considering I’m usually a trash receptacle for unwarranted sneers and snarls.

Today, the Law Firm is showing their Pens support, so I wore my Sid Vicious shirt that Andrea got me when she was visiting last December. Game 5 starts in less than two hours.

I have an eye twitch.

Between Stanley Cup Playoffs and Chooch’s looming birthday party (this Sunday!), my whole body is one big eye twitch.

Somehow, the subject of coulrophobia tends to come up frequently at work. Maybe because I have photos of John Wayne Gacy and a paper mache flower-grasping clown on my desk. (Although, I just realized the Gacy photo was never returned to me after I interoffice-mailed it to my co-worker Brad who was dumb enough to tell me he’s scared of clowns.) I practically grew up in my grandparents house, and the stereo room was replete with the merrymakers in all forms: stuffed, Murano glass, paintings, music boxes. So I’m pretty desensitized to the clown chapter in the encyclopedia of horror.

I don’t know how my grandma started collecting clowns, but that room was definitely larger than life. I never understood how people could be so scared and creeped out by something that I grew up surrounded by.

I used to dust those things for my grandma, for Christ’s sake! I listened to Frank Zappa for the first time in that room when I was a little kid (“Valley Girl”). I sat on that couch looking through photo albums taken from the clown room closet.

I have nothing but good memories from that room.

Chooch is clearly unfazed by clowns, too:

And the fact that so many people abhor clowns just makes me like them even more.

My grandma passed away last summer and, if you’ve been reading this blog for awhile, you won’t be surprised to know that my crazy aunt Sharon is doing everything to tie up the estate. I’m sure she’s sold most of the bric-a-brac on eBay by now, but damn – if I could take any of those clowns, especially the paintings, I would be so happy. With both of my grandparents gone now, I really can’t bear to see that collection broken up; I just want to keep it going forever, but I know Sharon and my mom won’t make that easy.

I bought these original clown pictures from my co-worker Cheryl and I’m just so thrilled with them, I could die. Some guy made them for her mom in the 60s; she knew him from the campground they use to go to and he liked to sit around, drawing clowns apparently. And thank god he did!

They were waiting for me at work yesterday and 90% of my co-workers were totally skeeved out by them, so that made me love them even more. I couldn’t stop smiling! I love that one of them has a bird nest on his head!

“They’re so majestic,” I whispered, and everyone around me laughed BUT I WAS BEING SERIOUS. They were way more amazing than I could have imagined. Totally worth it.

Then Glenn meandered over, and in a total Henry-esque moment, he picked one up and to get a better look at the frame.

“These are nice frames,” he said, admiring the it closer now. “The wood is really good,” he added, tapping on it. “I think it could be wormy oak.” I started laughing so hard, totally couldn’t help it. He looked annoyed, made some last minute disparaging remarks, and retreated.

When I put the pictures in the car last night, Henry also went right for the frames. “Those are really nice frames,” he said, and I began having deja vu. “Maybe wormy chestnut….or oak.”

Jesus Christ.

Considering I will probably never see the inside of my grandparent’s house again, I might as well start my own collection. And this is a beautiful start!

Maybe if I put as much effort into my style as I do with Chooch’s, I wouldn’t look like a bag lady at work everyday.

I’ve had this vision for Easter portraits in my head for quite awhile now, but getting Henry to go along with it was not that easy, even for me. Well, that’s not true – it was pretty easy. But he still waited until an hour before we left the house to pull some 13th hour divo stunt and tried to text his son Blake to be a fill-in. I completely lost my shit, started crying, screamed JUST FORGET IT! and stormed off to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

As if I wasn’t already stressed enough about the Penguins playoff implosion.

Approximately five minutes later, Henry came upstairs. I forget what exactly he said to me, but it wasn’t a distinct “I am not going to do this” so that gave me hope and I went back downstairs to harp on him some more. I even promised to take the trolley to work all week!

“Look,” Christina whispered to me while Henry was in the kitchen mouthing off about how he hates when I tell him what he’s going to do. “You know he’s going to do it. He just has to put on this little show to keep some of his masculinity.” But then Chooch started crying too because all he knew was that at some point that day, he was going to get to put makeup on, and now suddenly HENRY was going to take that away from him.

“You want me to drive to some abandoned private property, put on makeup and have my picture taken,” Henry barked. “That’s like a trifecta of things I hate.”

“He just learned that word,” I said snidely to Christina.

“You owe me,” he said before he left, and Christina told me later that the part I didn’t hear was him saying, “And I’m not talking about sex, either.” OMG THEN WHAT?!

Did I mention that Henry was also sick all weekend? He had a fever the day before, even.

But because he is the BEST BOYFRIEND EVER, he tucked his tail between his legs and drove us out to Elizabeth, PA (even stopping on his own accord to get an extra pair of bunny ears) where he then stood obediently in front of me while I smeared costume makeup all over his face.

“I’m not laughing,” he snarled as I was doing my signature “laughing til I pee”-squat. But I’m certain I saw the corners of his mouth fighting to curl up.

On Saturday, Christina and I went to Goodwill to grab a dress shirt for Henry. I knew I wanted it to be a certain color, and wasn’t sure yet if I was going to incorporate fake blood, so I didn’t want to run the risk of ruining one of Henry’s TWO WHOLE DRESS SHIRTS.

For once, Goodwill didn’t fail me and I was really pleased with the shirt we found (Henry was of a different opinion), and then on a whim I said, “Let’s see if anything looks good in the boys section.” And holy shit, not only did we find a blazer, but we also found these plaid skinny jeans that happened to be in Chooch’s size. The unfortunate part is that not only are they for girls (who really cares about that though), they’re from that asshole Gwen Stefani’s kids clothing line, and I REALLY CAN’T STAND HER. But at least they were only like, $3.

(They also came with a detachable skirt, which we quickly unbuttoned before Chooch had a chance to notice. Good thing too, because he ended up loving these pants and wanted to wear them all weekend.)

(His tie was also a last minute find, and also for girls; the bottom is encrusted with rhinestones, another thing he didn’t seem to notice.)

I love that he looks like he’s going to a Sex Pistols show.

Fetus came along for the ride. I love him so.

I was angry that there was so much foliage around, so I put Christina to work (she is my slave, after all); she wound up taking all kinds of cuts and scratches back to Ohio with her. She even tried (and failed) to construct a bridge for us to cross over the muddy path that separated us from the small building I wanted to use.

Henry isn’t posing, he’s actually watching for cops because he was so paranoid we were going to get in trouble for trespassing, oh noes.

I can only imagine what goes on his head when I make him do the un-fun parts of the photo shoots. Having Christina there allowed me to get an extra 5 shots out of him, though. Usually he peaces out much sooner.

Did I mention it was over 80 degrees on Sunday? It was.

Afterward, we went to lunch at Blue Flame. I posted one of the bunny pictures of Henry that I had taken with my phone to Instagram and when I showed Henry, he quietly said, “Send that to me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s a picture of me and I have a right to have it!” he said all defensively, because god forbid he should EVER admit that MAYBE he thinks something I did was KIND OF COOL.

Anyway, Henry kind of rules for doing this. And so far, I have not taken the trolley to work this week.

One of my dreams is to have an entire red wall full of baby doll heads. Henry promised me I can do this if we ever buy our own house, even said he would make one of those recessed wall thingies for Malachi, but I’m thinking I want Malachi to be near the front door so that he can greet all of the guests that will come over in my imagination.

“That sounds so….inviting,” one of my co-workers dead-panned when I elaborated on my interior design.

Christina works at an auction house and scored an entire box of dolls for her niece. Supposedly, it was a box full of “normal” dolls, like Cabbage Patch Kids, etc. However, she apparently didn’t know what was underneath all of that….

Until her sister found it, freaked out, and said, “Get this out of my house!” and then suggested that Christina give it to me, which is beyond flattering that some creepy, genetically-altered doll made her think of me.

Look you guys! Henry’s alcoholic crackhead hooker mistress finally had the baby!

We’re thinking that maybe the was meant to be a model for fetal alcohol syndrome?

It even has an uncircumsized weener and umbilical cord, WTF!? Plus it’s wearing a dress and bonnet, so I’m thinking that’s pretty progressive.

I love it to pieces, of course.

This happened accidentally, I swear.

The baby was a part of our Easter portraits yesterday (more on that tomorrow) and came to work with me today.

“I have to show you something!” I said to Bridget when she came over to my desk today.

“If it’s that weird baby doll —” she began to protest just as I whipped it out of my purse. She saw the pictures of it I posted on Facebook over the weekend so she was already repulsed by it, but I don’t think anything could have prepared her for what its presence is like in real life. Then she lectured me for the second time since December about handling dirty, unsterilized dolls.

A lot of people at work had pretty strong reactions to my new babe, and things like “Why is that here?” and “That’s really disturbing” were said a lot. Obviously, my co-workers don’t like dolls. That’s OK – MORE FOR ME.

This bastard needs a name and I’m taking suggestions.

(Seriously, if you have any spare doll heads lying around, please send them to me so I can nail them to a future wall.)

There have been some strong reactions to my reconciliation with Christina, even from Chooch. Yesterday afternoon, he declared that he hated both of us and when we asked him why, his eyes welled up and he shouted, “Because you two can never stay friends! I just want you to get along!” He brought it up again later when we went to King’s for dinner (minus an ailing Henry, who we prank-called from Christina’s hotel room; he answered with his professional “Yellll-o” greeting because I guess he thought it was going to be work-related).

For the record, we had a great weekend, but I guess Chooch remembers more from the past than we thought.

We promised that we were trying hard to make it stick this time, and then threw in some ice cream for good measure.

I feel like even just going out for ice cream, 87 inside jokes are born.

“Get something chocolate-y in case I don’t like my strawberry shortcake sundae,” I ordered Christina, and she did as I said. Just like the olden days. I will never take for granted getting ice cream with my best friend ever again.

Even Sick Henry oozed out of bed for the opportunity to deep throat a twist cone.