The blogosphere makes me feel obligated to play this game every year.

So…here it is.

2012 was OK! No, it was better than OK, but it was also the year that my cat Don had to get put to sleep and some lunatic called CPS on us. But it was actually a pretty good year with a lot of positive changes at home and at work, and it was also the year I reunited with my best friend (my most-viewed post of the year, even) and learned that just because a girl spells out her swear words does not mean she’s an angel. Faaar from it!

I’d say that I learned I need to be less trusting, but let’s face it: I am who I am.

Sometimes I let in the wrong people, but those are my lessons to learn. And I’m more than OK with that because I will never let another person knock me down.

So anyway, here are my 12 best moments of 2012 off the top of my head.

1. The Law Firm Walking Challenge: Or, When Erin R Kelly Turned Into a Monster

Part 1 // Part 2

2. I Baked a Cake!

3. I Survived a Trolley Ride

4. I Rollerskated with Deaf People!

5. I Stole an Orange Ball

Part 1 / Part 2

6. Henry Wore Makeup (Wasn’t the first time, and won’t be the last)

7. I Was Almost Raped By An Elderly Man (No, Not Henry)

8. Henry, Kitten Crusader

9. Henry Went to Warped Tour

10. Andrea Got Dressed Up

11. Ross’s Blackberry

Part 1 / Part 2

12. Chooch’s Secret Friend

Honorable Mention: Eating With the Hare Krishnas

Happy New Year, Internet! Please keep reading this in 2013, thanks and good night!

Henry’s sister Kelly usually hosts Christmas Eve at her house, but we wanted to give her a break this year so we had everyone come to our crib for once. You guys know that I am embroiled in a hate-hate relationship with my house, but Henry really gave it a good cleaning and then I lit a bunch of candles.

Because candles make everything better.

Chooch picked out some Christmas M&Ms at Target and I poured them into a red bowl. Then I filled two other bowls with Chex Mix and some sort of spicy chips that no one but Chooch and I liked. I thought I did a fine job and made sure to point this out once everyone arrived.

Earlier that weekend, Chooch and I walked to the Mexican market to buy candy. I put some of that in a Mason jar. Something for everyone, you know?

There was a time when I was really super into having parties and had a spread so good, most people just wanted to stand around the food table all night.

I don’t know exactly what happened, but thank god for Henry, else our Christmas Eve crew would have gone terribly hungry. I had no idea he was making half the shit he made. Like ham. Did I even know Henry could make ham? Why would I know that? When’s the last time a vegetarian*  asked someone to cook them a motherfucking ham?

*(I eat fish now though, so I’m a poser.)

Henry also made mashed potatoes; some weird Lebanese dish with lamb and green beans, prompting an argument over whether or not I like green beans; peanut butter blossoms; shrimp-y deviled eggs; and an array of finger sandwiches which was actually my idea, I just didn’t feel like executing it.

I was really upset that I made room on one of the platters for Henry’s cocktail weiners and then he never put them out. The more wine I chugged, the more weiner-compassionate I became. “The weiners still haven’t been put out!” I would cry and Henry’s sister would laugh, because I get it — weiners are funny, but this was SERIOUS! There was this gaping void between the pepperoni and carrots that needed to be filled. IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

“I’ll get to it!” Henry kept saying, while ruining my pretty red serving platter by carving his fucking ham upon its face. Whatever.

So much cheese — I PUT THESE ON THE PLATTER! I also put out the goat cheese and I would have also put out the brie but I wasn’t sure how to open the package so Henry had to do that later. The cheese in the middle was some sort of whisky aged cheddar? Mike, Laura and Henry made fun of me because I couldn’t taste the whiskey, and then Henry asked, “Do you even know what whisky tastes like?”

I thought about it for a second and then realized that the fact that I had to even think about it probably meant that no, I don’t. If you gave me a flight of scotch, whiskey, brandy and bourbon and told me I could have STD-free sex with Jonny Craig if I correctly distinguished all four, I’d be scooting my radioactive kooka across the floor for some relief right about now.

That is to say: I would fail that taste-testing sesh.

At least I wasn’t eating the wax like Henry’s mom was!

In lieu of ingesting it, Mike made architectural masterpieces out of his cheese refuse.

Stephanie called my finger sandwiches “delightful.” Technically, I only made approximately four of them (but to my defense, they were the prettiest ones) before hysterically whining about how difficult it was while flailing about, leaving the rest for Henry to prepare.

It’s OK. He’s used to this.

Camera lens had no less than 7 fingerprints on it, but I was too drunk to notice. Besides, maybe I was going for that dreamy holiday haze. YOU DON’T KNOW.

Oh, and would you look at what is on Henry’s mom’s plate? Why, that would be an Erin Kelly Original Cookie. And by original, I mean that it originally came out of a plastic tub of fundraising cookie dough. I made these when Henry ran to the store earlier that day, thinking he would be so delighted when he came home to see that he had one less thing to do.

But no.

He was apprehensive.

And then when he saw the first batch, and how they had all adhered to each other to form one slimy pile of botulism, he said, “No. You can’t put these out. People will get SICK, ERIN.” My next batch was monitored closely and once Henry deemed them properly incubated, I was allowed to put those ones out on the table.

And then Henry had the audacity to almost forget to bring out the other thing that I sort of helped to make!

Weird shrimp egg things! He showed me how to pipe that shit into the eggs using a plastic bag. It was exciting, and when I grew tired after injecting the first three, he made me keep going.

Ugh, it was awful! I hate making food things!

Blake and Sam, sitting in the one corner of the room that wasn’t cleaned.

After texting back and forth with my friend Jessa about Newtown tragedy, she filled me in on the Sandy Hook Snowflake project, where people all over the world are making snowflakes to help turn the new elementary school into a winter wonderland. I thought, “What better time to undertake a project than when I have a houseful of minions guests to help me. I found this tutorial on some lady’s blog on how to make really fancy snowflakes out of junk mail, so I made Laura demonstrate. I’m not a good teacher. And besides, Laura had JUST looked at the instructions on my phone! They were fresh in her memory!

Even Mad Henry made one.

Snowflake Sweat Shop.

Mike made German Chocolate brownies, OMG.

Cousins.

Stephanie, Kian and Samantha. They appreciated the Jonny Craig-touches on my Christmas tree. So there, Henry. (We are in the same demographic though.)

We managed to not kill each other! Let’s have all of the parties at our house, Henry!

News flash, Chooch: Christmas ain’t all about you, OK? Mommy & Daddy got some shit, too!

In addition to a freak show bracelet & a collection of vintage photos of handicapped people, my favorite pretend-sister, Andrea, hooked me up with a Wheelchair Jimmy t-shirt!

It’s no engagement ring, but a dental disaster around my neck is enough to keep me quiet for a day or two. Thanks for paying attention to my Etsy wish list, HANK.

I was actually going to buy it for myself and then honest to god shrieked when I saw it had been sold. Henry said he had considered contacting the seller and telling her that if I sent her a convo (which I was considering) to tell me that she was never ever ever ever getting back together making another one.

I honestly had no idea that Henry bought it. Do you know how many times a day I send him things from Etsy and say, “I want this”? Christina even said she was has an entire email folder full of my wants.

My friend Tammy made this Robot Blood nail polish & I fucking love it!

I have to thank my friend Laura for posting this purse on my timeline. Henry took note and bought it for me.

I bought Henry a Krochet Kids hat, which I then decorated with a handful of Dance Gavin Dance pins that I purchased from eBay specifically for this occasion. You can tell by his delirious expression that he was stoked beyond belief.

I also gave him a DIY cheese-making kit. The gift card said “Merry Xmas. Now make me some goddamn cheese.”

I put a lot of thought into my gifts for Henry.

Please forgive me, but I still have a ton of Christmas bullshit to fling all up on these pages like Pollacked ape shit. However, I’m sick (again—December can blow me) so this isn’t happening as fast as I need it too.

Today’s cop-out post is a picture of the Darkride & Funhouse Enthusiast Christmas card that Henry, Chooch and I are on. I wasn’t expecting it so it was a fun surprise when it came in the mail.

I got made fun of at work for joining this group, but I just really like being a part of things, OK?!

Next: Christmas Eve pictures, Chooch-designed Christmas cards, PRESENTS!!!

I wanted to visit Speck and Don at the pet cemetery on Christmas before stopping by my dad’s house, so we decided to find a cemetery in between to have our traditional Christmas picnic.

We wound up at some small, creepy church on a hillside (back when my mom actually gave a shit about Christmas and put up lights, you could see our house at night from this hill, so you would think that the location would kind of harbor some sense of nostalgia or childhood warmth but NO. This place held nothing of the sort, it felt wrong, it felt cold, and Chooch and I fought like cats and dogs because god forbid I had the audacity to offer him some cheese from our picnic spread and then try to take his little bratty picture.

“My Mommy is the worst!”

I finally surrendered and we drove all the way back home and went to our favorite cemetery. It was actually Henry’s idea. Oh, I know. Henry had an idea!?

Once we arrived at Uniondale, we were all at peace. That cemetery just rules so much. Chooch was in a better mood, he cooperated with the camera, and Henry stayed the fuck out of our way.

I really hope he’s in a band someday.

There’s a noticeable difference between these pictures and the ones from the initial cemetery.

Cemeteries are seriously our favorite places. (Probably not Henry’s, but it’s not like he gets to have any of his own favorite things anymore.)

This picture is relevant because Chooch got his very first concert ticket inside his Christmas stocking!

This might be a disaster, but oh well. It’s Pierce the Veil! Chooch always says that Vic Fuentes is his favorite singer, so hopefully he will love this.

(Yes, the scratch offs are his too. He loves scratch offs and cats: my son is an old lady.)

Chooch made us this card in school and it’s the best thing ever. Henry and I try to take him to as many cool places as we can and it’s nice to know that it’s not gone unnoticed. I just want him to be able to look back on his childhood and feel happy about it.

I love that kid so much.

The “I Told You Not To Buy Him Mouse Trap for Xmas Because This Is The Worst Game Ever and You Two Assholes Totally Aren’t Going to Play By the Rules, Now Get That Camera Out of My Grill So I Can Finish Reading the Directions Because I Don’t Remember Way Back to 1970” frown.

BONUS MARCY FROWN: The “Wait, This Fucking Game Doesn’t Come With a Real Mouse?” frown.

(Side note: I’ve never played this game by the rules before. Exciting!)

(Side-side note: I put my first piece on backwards and Henry the Professional Mouse Trap Engineer is berating me haha.)

Blake actually had to try really hard to frown, but it comes naturally for Henry. Especially after a long day of preparing food for a Xmas Eve party with me and Chooch underfoot.

I would like to pay someone to teach me how to wrap presents. (Not to toot my own horn, but I do honestly think that I’ve vastly improved. I mean, at least I graduated to real wrapping paper.)

The other day, Chooch was like, “Mommy, you do such a great job wrapping presents.” I thought Henry was going to choke to death.

Marcy was all, “Go ahead, you can pretend I wrapped that. But everyone knows even I would do a better job.”

Henry was going to wrap all of Chooch’s presents at his office this weekend but I threw a gigantic fit because I want to help too.

“Oh please! We both know you’re not going to do shit to help!” Henry yelled. But guess who decided to wrap them at home tonight after all? HAHAHA another victory!

Pretty much the highlight of the week for me!

And it’s always awesome when Chooch is making wild accusations in line about Santa being a serial killer. I’m sure the other parents were amused.

The new Hipstamatic tin type pack totally accentuates Chooch’s natural creepiness. I endorse it.

In spite of the world totally going to shit, I still wanted to have some recognition of Christmas in our house. Henry finally got off his ass and bought a Christmas tree last Saturday. Seriously, like he’s been SO BUSY that he couldn’t do it any sooner.

(He’s going to string me up by my neck with lights when he reads this.)

I lounged on the couch, waiting for him to finish encircling the tree with an infinite strand of colored lights, only to tell him that I didn’t want multi-colored lights. Oh my god, did he throw a tantrum! It was exciting! All I kept thinking was, “WHAT WOULD BO BRADY THINK!?” If Hope disapproved of the light selection, Bo would have sailed the Fancy Face right on over to the nearest Salem Target, bought new lights and probably even that single-serving ice cream that I Hope has been coveting, shot Stefano DiMera in the face and then returned home to Hope only to discover that she had been kidnapped by a possessed Marlena, but at least after Bo rescues her she will have a beautiful tree all trimmed to her specifications which she will be able to fully appreciate once she recovers from the amnesia.

Henry and I had a huge fight about the garland too, and then when I realized that Chooch and I were trying to put the same strand on the tree (he was pulling my end off as he went along), I dramatically opened my hands and let the garland fall to the floor.

“Fuck. This.” And then I went and pouted.

In person, this tree is so obnoxious. There’s no rhyme or reason to our ornament placement, no theme, no organization. It literally looks like we sat on the couch and lobbed bulbs at the boughs. Pardon me if my tree doesn’t look dipped in Pinterest.

This is just how I like it. It’s an eyesore and obscene, just like us!

Which is why I named this year’s tree the Obscenitree. I bitched about it for a few minutes, but like every tree before it, I have grown to love my Obscenitree.

Didn’t want the wheelchair to feel left out.

Or Pink Elephant Table!

Chooch made a Disgruntled Henry the Elf.

We found our original tree topper that I made! Had to replace the McDonald’s straw with a new straw, though.

I bought Chooch a set of these cat ornaments because believe what you heard: he is the youngest cat lady alive.

We had Chooch’s picture with Santa at Kennywood made into an ornament. I think we are going to attempt to have another one taken this weekend, with his big brothers Blake and Robbie. I’ll be surprised if we can wrangle those two together at the same time, though.

Rubberbanded the rest of my creepy baby dolls to various branches. Because it’s not an Erin R. Kelly tree without something dumb on it.

Yes, that’s the Gossip Girl series finale in the background, which I cried through profusely even though I had come to completely despise every last character on that show, but what else is new considering I pretty much have cried this entire week away. Just this morning, I was walking around Brookline and literally choked on my tears when I wished some young guy a Merry Christmas. I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE. But I think I can honestly say that I haven’t felt this amount of overwhelming sadness since 9/11.

But…life must go on. And we all need something to hold on to. For me, I guess that’s Christmas.

Something calming after last night’s rant. Most people would guess that Jonny Craig is my favorite singer, but not even close. It’s this guy right here, always.

<3

Last week, Henry realized that, in addition to our own, we were given another customer’s bag on our way out of Target.

“You have to return it immediately!” I yelled, in a total panic, over what? A bagful of Christmas tree ornaments and Balance bars. I think there was some sort of masculine-fragranced deodorant in the mix, also.

“Why?” Henry asked in a much calmer tone. “Whoever’s bag this was is definitely long gone by now.

”

But it was the principle, I kept saying. The principle. Dogma. It was frankly just the right thing to do.

Otherwise it ends up being some sort of consequential theft. We may not have purposely or knowingly walked out of the store with it, but keeping it would be an admission of guilt. I didn’t want to add to my peccadillo totem pole. Besides, hanging stolen goods on my Christmas tree? Talk about ornamental onus.

Henry and I were doing some shopping this morning and I finally remembered to bring with us the Bag That Was Not Ours. When we told the Target employee at the customer service desk why we were returning it, she was noticeably surprised. Sure, it wasn’t a handbag of gold rubles to help rebuild a town after a natural disaster, or a wheelbarrow of sustenance for a poverty-stricken village. But it was still something that rubbed a little verdigris off my conscience.

“Oh! Ok. Well, thanks!” she said happily, if not uncertainly, and I understood her reaction.

Because how often do people really do the right thing? Because how often do we turn on the news or get a Breaking News alert on Twitter about someone doing something charitable, instead of just another Kardashian societal faux pas or some motherfucking teenagers shooting someone in the face over a cigarette? I can’t tell you how many times I say hello to fellow pedestrians in my own town, only to get the stinkeye in return. Altruism is about as antiquated as your grandma’s Poodle skirt, Katy Perry’s wigs and the word “perambulator.”

As much as I front like I’m some asshole misanthrope giving the finger to humanity—and that’s only because I’m just exhausted from being let down by humans—I will always end up doing the right thing. Plus, I’ve softened a lot over the years. Henry and Chooch might have had a hand in that. (They both definitely had a hand in the softening of my midsection, anyway.) It scares me to know that there are A LOT of people out there who choose to do the wrong thing again and again. And we all suffer.

The dewy, feel-good flush of my cheeks was short-lived when, an hour later, a radio DJ went from talking about the Sandy Hook tragedy straight to Tom Cruise buying that spoiled brat Suri a pony for Christmas.

I mean, can you even comprehend the fact that some guy massacred twenty innocent children whose only agenda that day was to brush their teeth, learn some new spelling words and sing some fucking Christmas carols? No, because WHO CAN? Yesterday, I found the words “I hate my job” ALMOST rolling off my tongue, but I bit it. Oh my god, I bit my tongue so hard. Because oh noes, some American middle class white girl has a job that is maybe the tiniest bit annoying on a really bad day, and then gets to go home and hug her six-year-old son who was able to go to school that day without being sprayed with bullets. Because this is the world we live in, where that ultimate horror can and does happen.

And you know what else I couldn’t be bothered by? Instagram’s new terms of service. And you know who else shouldn’t give a shit about that? YOU. Go help an old lady across the street. Fill a homeless persons hands with a cup of hot coffee. Give someone a hug. Do ANYTHING but worry yourself about something so trivial, it literally has no impact on this life.

God, fuck Tom Cruise. Fuck us all. What a nightmare.

A little blast from the past. Henry likes his weeners like he likes his broads: short n’ fat.