Lately, the only time I have had to blog is on my breaks at work. So sometimes, like my last post about the Magic Mob, I spend all week writing tiny chunks of it until I finally get it all out. I rarely go back and re-read my posts right after I post them (usually it’s a year later; it’s this weird thing about me) so I can only imagine how disjointed and jarbled things must come across. Even more of a typographical shitstorm than usual!

And it has been KILLING me. I love to blog. I have been doing it since 2001 and no matter how often I whine about barely getting comments or feeling like no one is reading this garbage, the bottom line really is that I do this for myself. It is a virtual timeline of my life, and of Henry’s and Chooch’s and all of my friends, too. (Poor guys.) Sometimes I think about how great it will be for Chooch, as an adult, to have this written collection of his childhood to show his wife (or husband! we don’t discriminate at OH,E) and his children.

In my hand-written journals, it is so easy for me to write “We went to Kennywood and it was fun” and then spend the next eight pages obsessing over and dissecting my weight/appearance and my disgusting infatuation with Jonny Craig or how much I hate/love Christina. Because that is what my paper journals are for: to purge my inner Angela Chase. But my blog is the dumping ground for the minutia — what rides did we go on? what made Chooch throw a fit? what did Henry do to ruin the day?

These are the things I want to be able to go back on and remember when I’m 70 years old and unable to ride things at amusement parks & am now sitting in my wheelchair collection because I physically need to, not because they’re cool.

Or when I’m looking for evidence in a fight with Henry.

And sometimes I just post some Hipstamatic pictures or a YouTube video of my current favorite song, and maybe that might not be as “high-quality” as some of the other more well-thought out pieces on here (ha-ha, as if!), but it is MY life, and anything that fills this blog is something that must matter to me. But lately, I am only blogging at work (and my own time, not company time!) and on my phone. I’ve blogged from the car (as a passenger!) and in the trolley. Today is the first time in months that I have actually sat down at the computer at home to knock something out. Because I am so sick of sitting in front of computers!

There have been a million times when I have declared, “I’M DONE! I’M NEVER BLOGGING AGAIN!” because it gets to me sometimes, you know? Like after I go somewhere (eg. The Bayernhof) and there is so much information ricocheting in my head that I know it’s going to take up more than just one post, and I keep putting it off, because the very idea of sitting down to tap it out makes me feel so exhausted. And I feel so much pressure, not because I suspect that anyone out there is sitting on the edge of their seat, waiting for Oh Honestly, Erin to blog about music boxes, but because I feel like if I don’t get it out of my head, I WILL FUCKING PERISH.

I even once deleted my LiveJournal because I couldn’t take it anymore. I think I actually had some kind of nervous breakdown and it was pretty scary. When I made the leap from LiveJournal to my own domain in 2007, my old LJ friends were pissed. I got a lot of criticism because I started writing short stories and referring to Henry by his real name, and not the stupid LJ nickname I had given him. I started writing things with more honesty and not like a fucking cartoon script. I started to let people see the real me, the real Henry, and what life was really like and I lost a lot of readers for that. But if there is one piece of advice I can give new bloggers out there, it’s to write what YOU want. Don’t compromise yourself. And don’t quit just because you haven’t amassed some huge Internet following — it just means you probably aren’t a sell-out.

And even if no one was reading this, which at times feels like the truth, I would still keep posting nearly everyday, because honestly it is something that I not only feel like I HAVE to do, it’s what I WANT to do. And to not have as much time to give it my all anymore is driving me fucking crazy.

Two years ago, Henry and I tried futilely to find a magician for Chooch’s 5th birthday rager.

Granted, we waited until the last minute, in typical Appledale/Robbins fashion.  We moved on to clowns, but struck out in that party entertainment park, too. (We did find one, but someone wrote a review saying she stole from the party guests.)

“I can’t believe you don’t know any magicians!” Henry scoffed, because everything is my fault, always.

(Maybe not, but at least I had two friends there who knew how to make balloon animals! )

A few months later, through our mutual friend Erica, I met and became friends with Rick, a real life mentalist!

In an effort to not only give a small mom and pop magic shop a boost, but also provide a meeting ground for those in the know, Rick organized a Magic Mob to descend upon the Cuckoo’s Nest Magic Shop on the Southside. Kind of like Record Store Day, but with less Cure albums and more torso-splitting swords.

NEWSFLASH: The magicians were not all wearing black capes, as I had imagined. I just can’t stop stereotyping!

Rick asked me to take photographs to accompany the article he wrote for a national magic magazine, and then mistakenly added, “Well, why don’t you check with Henry and see if he’s got any plans on Sunday—-”

I started cracking up. Like Henry actually has his own life, with his own agenda!

“—oh that’s right,” Rick continued. “I keep forgetting we’re in very different relationships.”

So that is how Henry, Chooch and I found ourselves commingling with approximately 58 magicians and rubber chickens for two hours on a Sunday. And, after hearing about what was going down, Janna wanted to come too so she tagged along with us. I mean really, when does “We’re hanging out at a magic shop” NOT sound like a fun idea?

I hadn’t been to the Cuckoo’s Nest probably since I was in high school and it was in a different location further down the street. (So, we’re talking about 17 years here, OK? I only act young.) I remember walking in with my magic-virgin friends, buying a bunch of cheap novelty tricks with my mom’s credit card and meeting my first real life “punk,” complete with mohawk and safety-pin in nose. (I think I have a picture of him somewhere.) For a suburban teenager, this was life-changing. Nearly two decades later, the shop still had that same laid back “anything could happen here” feel. Like Amazing Larry could walk in at any moment!

The face of a child who wants it all.

In addition to congregating in solidarity, Rick encouraged everyone to spend some money. (There’s a fine line between magic mob and loitering, after all.) As a thank you for my photographical services, he gifted Chooch with some cash.

Chooch, after spending most of his afternoon coveting an entire rack of puppets, settled on a rabbit puppet so that Fox will have a friend. He promptly, and obviously, named the new puppet “Rabbit.”

“He spent all day with his sweaty hand shoved inside that rabbit,” Henry muttered. “We were buying it whether he wanted it or not.”

I think the owner, Tom, was especially grateful that he didn’t need to dunk the puppet into a vat of Clorox and Febreeze at the end of the day.

Puppet Perusing = serious business.

Chooch’s frenemy Katelyn was there with her parents, Chris and Kari, and collected quite a haul. She was piling up all of her merchandise on a counter near her mom, and when she walked away, Chooch grabbed one of the items.

“I’m hiding this from her,” he whispered deviously to Kari and me.

“Are you sure you’re prepared to face her wrath?” Kari laughed.

When Katelyn came back, she started rooting through all her stuff but didn’t immediately notice that something was missing. Chooch, slinking back into a corner, was nearly bursting with impatience.

“I THINK SOMETHING IS MISSING!” he blurted out on a bed of giggles.

Katelyn rolled her eyes and snatched the magic trick from behind Chooch’s back. Totally anti-climatic.

God, Chooch and I have the exact same flirting strategies.

 Cha-ching!

Several times throughout the afternoon, the line to check out snaked all the way to the back of the store. On a normal day, that probably would have sent me into an anxious frenzy. But because I didn’t have to actually stand in the line (just harrass people with my camera), I was totally OK.

I did, however, feel like I was in the way a lot. Probably because I was. But that is not uncommon.

For most of our sojourn at the Cuckoo’s Nest, it was nearly physically impossible to move because so many magicians filled the narrow store.  It was an interesting social experiment for me. Average Day Erin would have walked into that shop, said “Holy shit” and then walked right back out. But on this day, I dealt with the incessant human friction because I was on a mission to collect photographical evidence. And again, Average Day Erin would have snapped some covert pictures and then ran. It was an interesting sensation to blatantly point my camera at a roomful of strangers, openly being a creep.

And true to my hypocritical nature, I dodged all of the other cameras to the best of my ability. (I noticed that Janna ended up in almost every since photo that the Cuckoo’s Nest posted on their Facebook page, which made me LOL. Maybe some up-and-coming magician will hire her as their assistant. THAT is a magic show I’d love to go to.)

The shop windows eventually succumbed to all of the magical breath and became coated with fog.

“When’s the last time a roomful of magicians were able to make a window fog?” one of the magic mobbers joked and I laughed because that’s what you do when someone makes a joke and you get it.

The Cuckoo’s Nest had a couple of demonstrators on hand and this guy Vince was my favorite, even though he forced me to volunteer for a card trick. I hate volunteering because I always feel like I’m being primed and primped as a laughingstock. Chooch and some other little girl kept trying in vain to volunteer but Vince was all, “No, you’re both too small. I need someone who can reach the counter” and then used magic-eyes on me to bend my will.

God, I’m such a magic slut!

I think this was his way of retaliating since I had my camera up in his grill all afternoon.

Vince’s trick was really awesome. But my favorite was when he lit a small piece of paper on fire IN THE AIR and then it DISAPPEARED. I liked it so much that I shouted, “Do it again!”

AND HE DID.

I’m a magician’s best audience member because in addition to being pretty gullible and naive,  I don’t pay very good attention so they really only need to exercise a semi-sleight of hand….

…like another magician, Paul Gertner, did during his card demonstration. He purposely slowed down his card-dealing so the crowd could catch him as he cheated, but I still didn’t get it.

It’s amazing I can even leave the house wearing a matching pair of shoes, really.

Paul turned a dollar bill into a $50. I almost died.

Who needs pick-up lines or roofies when you’ve got that trick?! It works on even the thickest of blonds! (I know this because I am blond and thick.)

Paul Gertner amazes.

Sales!

I made Janna pose with these stage balls and she immediately dropped one.

“Now you have to buy that,” chided Tom the Owner. She looked all panicked about that and I began to openly mock her, which is what my fake college degree is in.

“Way to go Janna!” I cried. “And you were worried about the kids,” I joked to Tom.

Meanwhile, Janna had fished 35 cents out of her pocket in case Tom was serious.

It felt really good to be a part of something like this. Supporting your local brick and mortar shops is so important. I for one am guilty of bitching when a store I like closes, even though I know that I played a small part in their economic failure because I’m so quick to buy from Amazon or some stupid behemoth chain. (Target, I can’t quit you.) I am going to at least try to buy everyone’s birthday presents from real life stores from now on.

Andrea, you might be getting a Whoopie Cushion this year. Don’t worry — I’ll least draw Lil Wayne’s face on it.

Don’t drop his balls.

In addition to the rabbit puppet, Chooch also bought two small novelty tricks, but left the store with an entire birthday inventory in his head. I have a feeling we’ll be revisiting the Cuckoo’s Nest very soon. Get your tricks ready, Vince.

 [If you are local, please visit the Cuckoo’s Nest! It is rife with items to aid your next office prank or amateur ventriloquist hoe-down. FYI, you can shop online, too! For more (and better-written) information, here is what the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette had to say.]

Henry’s mom was discharged from one hospital and then admitted into another a week later. We went to see her on Saturday and she seemed mostly OK, if not extremely irritated to be back in a hospital. (She was discharged last night, most likley prematurely, so please cross your fingers or say a religious spell!

)

Anyway, before we left on Saturday, I made Chooch go into the hospital chapel with me (and not just because I wanted holy souvenirs, really!).

“What, someone left their DIARY here?!” Chooch cried. I explained to him that it was like God’s guest book and he left a little note about his grandma.

I love that he didn’t capitalize “god.”

My friend Maya (of Jonny Craig-doll fame) makes Grumpy Cats keychain plushies (also full-sized ones!) so I had to buy one for Chooch. I’ll probably get him a full-sized version for his birthday.

He’s the youngest cat lady I’ve ever met.

This is what Marcy and I do during the day: she tries to sleep and I constantly fluff and fuss over her and then she psychically devours my soul. I told Henry that the worst part of my day is always when I have to say goodbye to her and he was like “That’s great, Erin.

” Which is the same reaction he had today when I told him I could never work more than I already do for extra money and that I just want to make enough and not go above and beyond. What? At least I’m honest.

Anyway, I think Marcy and I are a lot alike in that regard.

P.S. I wrote this on the TROLLEY, thanks a lot Henry!!!

Henry, Chooch and I are members of DAFE – a club for Darkride and Funhouse Enthusiasts (a/k/a “awesome people”). Our friends the Handas are also members and they just told me about an upcoming event in April at Knoebels Amusement Park, which is on the other side of the state but is something that I feel is worth driving for.

I frantically filled Henry in. Henry is pretty quick to poopoo any plan or idea of mine that requires him to not only drive a great distance, but also spend money on a hotel room, at which time I am sure to  turn into full-blown Princess & the Pea mode. (I still don’t know how we moved past the Great Accommodation Fuckarows of 2002 in Buffalo, 2004 in San Bernadino, 2006 in Virginia, or 2008 in Columbus.)

Henry immediately acted noncommittal.

“But it’s two days after Chooch’s birthday!” I cried. “That would be like the coolest birthday present!”

“Yeah, but are you sure this is something for HIM and not YOU?” Henry questioned.

“Why can’t it just be for both of us?” I continued in my outraged cry-voice. “I gave birth to him so we should be celebrating me, as well!”

Henry stopped what he was doing (washing the dishes, because he’s my Hazel, whaddup), sighed and said, “But don’t we celebrate you everyday?”

“I already told Chooch we’re going,” I said smugly, so if Henry says no, then he’s the Asshole Father who stole fun away from his child(ren).

Henry and I went to Church Brew Works on Saturday night for my friend Sean’s birthday. Places like this are kind of wasted on me because I’m not a big beer drinker. I’m really not any kind of beer drinker at all, although I was on a brief kick last fall where I was determined to try every pumpkin beer ever brewed until I finally found one I liked. (I didn’t. Not really, anyway. Although Blue Moon and that Summer Shandy bullshit is Erin-friendly.)

My frenemy Lee’s girlfriend Sam recommended something called Celestial Pale because it is apparently weak and appropriate for people like me who don’t understand beer. Lee and Henry started placing bets on how long it would take before Henry was finishing it for me, which made me determined to chug it.

I did not chug it though. I tried for one good chug but then almost drowned on the beer and my own weak palate.

Sandy arrived and confidently ordered a pinot grigio.

“What!? I can get wine here!?” I cried.

“Yeah,” she said, looking at me like she only just then realized I’m dumb.

I guess I thought that was like going to a steak house and asking for the vegetarian options. (Which I have done and did not actually bask in the frowns that were rained upon me. Not like you’d think, anyway.) Or like asking to see the basement of Alamo. I was not in the mood to get laughed at.

Then Henry noticed that there was something there called Wheat Wine so I made him ask the guy for a sample because for some reason, I wasn’t really into ordering for myself that night and had Henry being  my mouth piece.

I feel like this was probably a normal night, then.

Anyway, hot damn is wheat wine good! The bartender told us what it was, but I didn’t understand because he used big, masculine words like “barley” and “hops.” All I know is that it didn’t taste like wine, nor did it taste like beer, and it was apaprently expensive (I knew that based on the fancy glass in which it was served; Henry knew based on the bar tab). This is why we don’t go out often — god forbid I should ever settle on some $3 draft when I can get beverages that must have molten gold in them somewhere based on the cost.

I promptly slid my beer down to Henry and he started mumbling about how he hates warm beer. You know what he hates more than warm beer, though? Things that he’s paying for going to waste. Drink up, bitch.

Nate and his wife April arrived after 9, and by this point, we started to worry that we weren’t going to get a table. One happened to open up right near the bar, so Sam, Sandy and me all yelled for Lee to claim it. On his way over, he was beat out by the lamest group of older people. The one dude had a manicured Bob Ross hair helmet, or what I like to call Bossa Nova* Hair, and I think he may have been wearing an ascot.

*(A club in downtown Pittsburgh where single people over the age of 45 go to die. They also serve really good cheese plates.)

“And of all the people to lose the table to!” Sandy scolded him. But then those people ended up leaving for a different table, so Lee redeemed himself.

“I’m not getting beat by a bunch of yuppies,” Lee said.

“They were not yuppies,” Sandy sighed.

I don’t know what they were, but they were definitely not as awesome as us.

Kristen and her boyfriend Paul arrived just as we snagged a table, so we were all getting settled when we realized that no one made room for Glenn, who was there with his wife Amanda and one of their friends. HAHAHAHA No Glenns Allowed!

They got a table right next to us though, so I was able to summon Glenn over at one point and have my dreams come true:

Work Henry and Henry, disapproving of me in tandem! (You might not recognize Glenn in his true form, and not in a miniature, costumed collectible variety.) Then Glenn offered his condolences to Henry and I’m not sure BUT I THINK that was a slight affront to me.

 Henry and Sean, who probably doesn’t even remember us being there, he was so wasted! Actually, two of those Wheat Wines got me pretty close to his level. Not only do I rarely drink anymore, but I’ve been on Weight Watchers since the beginning of January, so I was doubly feeling it and almost lost a war with the steps in the bathroom. No one prepared me for the steps!  

It was just the kind of night that Henry and I really needed. I love my work buddies! And the Penguins won!

****

The next day, we went to the Cuckoo’s Nest Magic Shop for an event that my friend Rick put together, but I will save the long version for tomorrow.

I got to see a lot of good people this weekend. I’m pretty happy right now!

I snatched The Devil & God Are Raging Inside Me off the shelf last weekend when I was looking for something to listen to in the car. I forgot how fantastic this entire album is — no, that’s not true. I just forgot about how much I loved it. As soon as it started playing, it was like 2006/2007 smacked me square in the face with a frying pan, but it kind of felt good.

I listen to music like this and am reminded how lucky we are to not have to rely on the shit that the radio spoonfeeds us.