Man. Today I was going to start writing about my amusement park weekend, but how can I possibly write about anything  joyous when today was my office buddy Angie’s last day at the Law Firm? WHO WILL I TALK TO NOW ABOUT JONNY CRAIG AND PIERCE THE VEIL!? (Answer: Everyone else here at the Law Firm, plus Henry and the Internet, but still — you know what I mean.)

I didn’t really get to know Angie until recently, when I switched positions in the department, but she had quickly become one of my favorite people here and now she is gone and I feel dead inside. She was the best person to be office-mates with (unlike my other office-mate—Jeannie—who tells me I’m dumb and openly mocks me—yes, that’s right: sweet little innocent me! I do nothing to provoke this!). Angie didn’t whistle “Desperado” or cut coupons at her desk or have babies in the bathroom. She basically mentored me, plus she knew ALL of the good gossip. Now where will I get my scoop?! (I was starting to type “Certainly not Lee” and then he walked in here, haha.)

And then Friday was Chris’s last day. I tried to avoid him because I didn’t want to say goodbye, but then he hugged me before he left and I went back to my office and cried like the little sentimental bitch that I am. I remember when I started here April of 2010, Chris was on vacation and Barb was so anxious for him to get back so I could meet him. He totally lived up to Barb’s praises!

Friday was also Pam’s last day, and then of course Sean’s was last week and also Brad left in April and Kristen left in February. I am quite literally saying “WAH!” right now. Change is not something I handle well.

Sorry to all of my friends who left us before all those guys (Carey, Jamie, Nina, Tyler…), but I ran out of “children” to Photoshop over!

It’s just not the same here anymore.  But at least I can still make fun of Glenn.

*[This works as alliteration because the k in Knoebel’s is not silent. BAM.]

“STOP IT!”
“PLEASE DON’T GET A TICKET!”
“I DON’T WANT TO DANCE!”
“I FEEL LIKE I’M TEACHING A KID HOW TO DRIVE!”
“TURN IT DOWN!”
“NO I DON’T WANT TO SEE HOW U DRIVE WHEN YOU’RE ALONE!”
“SETTLE DOWN!”
-Things Henry said while I drove us home from dropping off the rental car.

It’s not often that I get to drive the Great Professional Driver anywhere, so I really lived it up. Unfortunately, he doesn’t believe that dancing belongs in moving vehicles.

Granted, my dancing is more like a walk through a mental institution, but still.

 I guess I’ll just have my Pierce the Veil dance party at home with Marcy, then.

—————

We listened to EVERY SINGLE PIERCE THE VEIL album on the 4 hour drive to Knoebel’s and Henry actually didn’t complain (that changed once I did a clandestine disc-change and he realized we were then listening to Dance Gavin Dance) until I started comparing him to Vic Fuentes.

“I wish you were more like Vic,” I sighed. “I bet he’s such a great boyfriend.”

“He’d never be around!” Henry pointed out.

“Yeah, but he would be writing pretty songs about me so it wouldn’t matter,” I reasoned.

But then Henry and I looked at each other and laughed because we both know that if I was Vic’s girlfriend, his darkly romantic songs would take a quick turn to “IFUCKINGHATETHATBITCH” death metal territory.

At Knoebel’s, there is a pavilion that has a roof shaped like a giant cake. One side of it says “Congratulations!”

“Ugh, that makes me think of [“Currents Convulsive*”],” I said dramatically to Henry, kicking at the gravel. “I wish I was listening to it RIGHTNOW.

” And then I devoted a few moments to acting like a moody teenager and even said, “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” to Henry, further perpetuating my stereotype. (“Scene kid” in case you forgot.)

*[In real life, I actually just said “That one PTV song” because Henry is too old to know song titles.]

This song has officially gone from making me cry over 2008 to making me reminding how much fun this past weekend was. Another finger removed from its death grip on the past.

What Henry does when he rides the Haunted Mansion alone.

This was me & Chooch right before the park closed (to the common folk, that is; us card-carrying DAFE peeps got to stay for about 90 minutes longer and take unlimited rides on the two dark rides there which normally cost extra). I had a bad stomachache when we first got to the park that morning, so it’s a miracle that I didn’t end up puking on any rides. Thank you, theme park gods.

After a pit stop in Hershey (where we saw a girl who was at the Pierce the Veil show in Lancaster — Henry was actually the one who recognized her because looking at teenaged girls is what he does best), we are now on our way home. I have “bad hotel sleep attitude.” I’m also pouting because Henry wouldn’t buy me a bumper car.

(I would have sat in it every day & watched MTV.)

Felt good to be riding things again, though. More later this week!

I gave Chooch some of his presents before school, one of which was a Creeper shirt (some character from that Minecraft game he games, I guess).

“Do you know why they’re called Creepers?” he asked me as we walked to school.

“….because they creep?” I wagered.

“Dammit,” he whispered, dismayed that I was right.

His teacher calls him Swaggy because he has so much swag.

She’s pretty cool for a 1st grade teacher, obvi.

Henry’s mom and Janna came over in the evening and we had cake when I came home from work, which was awesome but hello—THERE WAS A HOCKEY GAME ON. Chooch tried to change it at one point and I swiped the remote back.

“I don’t care if it’s your birthday! You don’t ever turn off the hockey game!” I yelled.

Henry’s mom looked scared, but come on guys. It’s me. And it’s hockey.

Just, no.

Henry bought Chooch a shit-ton of scratch offs. “Grandma-in-training,” Andrea texted me after seeing this picture of his loot. “He just needs some Pall Malls and a Bingo dauber!”

Which is funny because one of his lottery tickets was some Bingo thing which Janna scrutinzed for 20 minutes to see if he won anything, and then Henry double-checked for another 20 minutes. Janna was apparently way off.

And then Chooch turned intoa cranky son of a bitch because it was late and he all of my drama genes.

Tomorrow, we’re taking Chooch and my incision to Knoebel’s, where we will be meeting up with the Darkride and Funhouse Enthusiasts Group and having cake in celebration of the Haunted Mansion’s 40th birthday.(Some of my co-workers have been giving me weird looks when I tell them about this which I have been translating into: JELIS.) AND THEN RIDING RIDES ALL THE LIVELONG DAY.

I’m so excited! So is Chooch! Henry is not!

 (Yes, I got my way!)

———–

I just wanted to thank everyone who reached out yesterday and wished Chooch a happy birthday. I was kind of bummed at one point when I realized that my mother has missed all but THREE of his birthdays (I mean, if she didn’t care that he was born, she sure as shit isn’t going to care that he turned 7) but we’re lucky to have  Henry’s family, my extended family and also a ton of really kind friends who stepped up and reminded me that he is loved. I’m not going to let one rotten apple spoil the day.

 So, thank you all very much!

Today is Chooch’s (and my phantom C-section incision pain’s) 7th birthday and I can hardly believe it. SEVEN! I hope that things continue to go up, because six was a not-so-bad age (as opposed to every single year that came before it). His little bitch ass temper tantrums have all but died out (probably because he’s moved on to more sophisticated ways to make us miserable) and his interests have certainly broadened. Six was the age he could finally start riding some of the bigger rides at amusement parks (obviously a very big deal for me and me alone), he went to his first wedding and his first concert (Pierce the Veil, whaddup!) and also started to really get The Walking Dead — before he was only interested in the zombie parts, but now we have these long, meaningful conversations about the characters and what we think will happen, and it’s really awesome because it’s something we do without Henry so then we get to say things like, “Ha-ha, Henry doesn’t know what we’re talking about because he sucks and doesn’t watch The Walking Dead. He probably wouldn’t understand it anyway.” And then Henry frowns.

Six was the year of “Call Me Maybe” dance parties and crossbows. Of starting a new school with normal people where he flourishes and is able to be himself with no judgment from all the prudent Catholic moms. Of making secret friends and going to haunted houses.

Six was a sweet age and I’m really looking forward to see what entertainment seven will bring!

And now here is a gratuitous photo montage of Chooch as a 6-year-old for you to enjoy while I go lay in bed and cry because if he is seven then that means I am OLD OMG CRISIS.

(This was technically a week before his 6th birthday, sue me.)

Zombie party!

Photobombing Andrea’s photoshoot.

At Conneaut.

Annoyed with me.

Oh Jesus Christ, our first attempt at a photoshoot without Henry there to supervise. Disastrous.

Pissed off at me at Lakemont Park.

First day of 1st grade!

Another disastrous photoshoot.

Everyone and their creepy dentist says that Chooch LOOKS JUST LIKE HENRY OMG and that’s fine, I’ve come to terms with that because Chooch has brought home 100%s on every single spelling test he’s had this year and he sure as shit doesn’t get THAT from Henry. That’s a tradeoff I’ll take, thanks.

One of the biggest things I’ve learned since becoming a parent is to just let the kid be himself. I’m sure there are people frowning down on me for letting him watch horror movies and speak freely (to this day he still NEVER swears in school and in public, or around his grandma, but we let him get away with it at home because after all, they’re just words & it’s not like it’s a Tarentino screenplay up in here), but I think it’s important to not have a super tight grasp on him. He is his own person and I’m proud of that. He might be a little smart ass, but he has a big heart. For example, when Henry took him to get cookies to take to school for his birthday, he got chocolate chip but then made sure to get butterfly ones for the girls. HE IS SUCH A LADIES MAN.

Happy birthday, Chooch! Here’s to another year full of photoshoots that increase your resentment for me! And also hopefully your first WARPED TOUR HOLY FUCK GET STOKED!

On Sunday, the three of us went to my favorite playground in Ambridge. I like it because it has things that you can spin on and an electronic game thingie, but also because the actual park is pretty run down and creepy. After playing for awhile, I made them go for a walk with me to one of the pavilions deep inside the park. Seriously, you just expect to hear Jason Voorhees fire up the ol’ chainsaw at any moment, it’s those kinds of woods.

Anyway, Chooch and I were still riding high on the fumes of Saturday night’s waitress incident, so we were giddy. No, that’s an understatement. We were some horrible wreckage of a classroom full of giddy tweens  molted with the obnoxious bray of Fran Drescher and Henry was quite literally swatting us away from him like gnats. Chooch was whaling pine cones at him and kicking him in the ass and I was laughing uncontrollably while periodically body-slamming him.

Yet Henry mostly just kept walking at a peaceful pace, hands in his pockets, admiring the foliage. Occasionally, he would ask us to stop and try to give Chooch threatening glares in an effort to regrip his handle on the situation, which would only make us laugh harder. Chooch threw a particularly large piece of bark at him and we decided to run, like Henry would ever chase us.

The trail back to the car splits into two: the upper trail is in better condition than the lower trail which meets back up with the other trail about half a mile or so down the way.  Chooch and I decided to take the lower trail, like Henry wasn’t going to notice — I was pretty much swathed head to toe in fluorescent pink scene girl threads. “Just keep running!” Chooch panted, and so we ran the entire way (which is a lot of running if you’re like me, a non-runner) and then climbed a hill where we hid in a wheat field, which Henry later told me isn’t wheat. (THEN WHAT IS IT!?)

Yes! We just spent 20 minutes shitting all over Henry’s authority! Now let’s make him think he lost us, too!

It was taking FOREVER for Henry to finally walk by, at which point I started wondering if he knew of a shorter way to get back to the car and if so, did he leave us there to teach us a lesson, because that would be JUST LIKE HIM.

“I bet he’s too busy looking at the grass and all that shit,” I whispered to Chooch, rolling my eyes. “‘Oh, look a berry!'” I said in my best Henry voice, which is actually just my Bullwinkle impression. Chooch started cracking up and I shushed him because look, dickhead, you just made me run half a mile and climb a fucking hill to hide from this bastard, so we are gon’ be quiet AND HIDE.

But then some hawk-like bird soared overhead and I said, “Oh shit, you just KNOW Henry is like, ‘OMG look at that bird!’ and wishing he had bird-watching glasses,” which made Chooch lose his shit all over again.

“I think I peed my pants again!” he cried in laughter.

“Ew, ‘again’?!” I asked in disgust.

“Yeah, I peed when we were throwing things at Daddy, too.”

OMG we are so much alike.

But he eventually emerged from the woods and we both came barrelling down the hill toward him. Chooch ended up falling off a small drop at the bottom and landed right on his stomach, but he sprung right back up and continued to scream and hassle Henry. THATS MY BOY. I asked Henry why it took him so long to walk back and he admitted that once he realized he couldn’t hear us “giggling like assholes,” he figured he better walk back along the lower trail to make sure we hadn’t fallen into a hole.

Honestly, that’s what he did!

I guess that must mean HENRY CARES ABOUT US.

Man, wildlife really  hated us that day.

I’ve mentioned numerous times ’round these parts that Chooch’s favorite horror movie is “Ju-On,” but it is impossible to get him to understand that the dead lady in the movie is not actually named “Ju-On.” So we will be walking through the cemetery or just down the street to school and he will say things like, “What if Ju-On is hiding behind that bush!?” and today it was, “What if I found out  you’re not really my mom, but that JU-ON is?!” (Granted this was in retaliation to me trying to convince him that tomorrow isn’t actually his birthday because he’s a robot & robots don’t have birthdays, they have manufacture dates. Don’t worry, I stopped once he started to cry.)

Anyway, I thought it would be fantastic to have the magical seamstress extraordinaire, Maya, make him a Ju-On doll for his birthday. I wasn’t sure if this was possible, but holy shit did Maya make it possible!

Chooch is going to shit his pants. Thank you so much, Maya!!

Friends: If you were at a restaurant with Chooch and me, and you realized our waitress was someone with whom you went to high school, would you tell us?

I DIDN’T THINK SO.

(It’s funny when I ask people this in person, their eyes get all big and they say, “Um, NO. God, no.”)

But Henry did just the opposite last Saturday night when we went to Eat n Park after the Pierce the Veil show. Now to be fair, I was hyper because I had just come from a concert and had a few glasses of wine earlier; Chooch was hyper because it was almost 11pm and he was delirious from an evening at his grandma’s cable-free apartment.

“I used to go to high school with her,” Henry said in a hushed tone. “We rode the bus together.” He was referring to our waitress Dawn, who definitely seemed like someone Henry would have “loafed” with (that’s what my dad always says, and I imagine Henry’s generation probably used the same term): super skinny, stringy dishwater blond hair, sunken cheeks, probably a meth addict. She had a really rough voice and called us all “hon,” and stood sideways, looking over her shoulder at us while taking our order. Also, and this is kind of hard to explain, but she had the swagger of a drag king, the way she moved her hips while talking. IT WAS BIZARRE.

So, you know, totally in Henry’s wheelhouse.

I snorted as soon as he told me. I LOVE IT WHEN HENRY BRINGS UP HIS PRE-ERIN LIFE! He gets so pissed when I laugh about his past and he recently yelled, “You act like I didn’t exist before you met me!” But come, did he really exist? Am I not basically his sole purpose for living? He basically won’t tell me anything at all anymore, so it’s surprising that he let this particular little nugget of blackmail slip out.

Then he went up to the salad bar* and I reiterated this to Chooch.

*(“Ew, he went to the salad bar at 11 o’clock at night?!” my co-worker A-ron exclaimed when I was telling him this story last night. Yes, Henry is disgusting and eats old, congealed food from the Eat n Park salad bar after hours. Henry does disgusting things.)

“Chooch, did you hear that? DADDY WENT TO HIGH SCHOOL WITH OUR WAITRESS!!”

“With DAWN!?” Chooch, for whatever reason, had immediately taken to mocking her from the get-go, saying things like, “OK, Dawn” and “Dawn doesn’t know anything!” every time she would walk away from us. He had zero respect for this lady. (Pro Tip: Don’t ever wear a name tag around Chooch.)

“You totally have to tell her!” I encouraged him, and we both started laughing so hard that Chooch literally almost threw up at the table. People were turning around and gawking at us. An entire table of elderly black women in particular gave us very disapproving Church lady scowls.  Henry returned to two children completely turned inside out with giddiness and looked utterly apprehensive.

“What?” he asked. “WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

“Nothing!” I squealed, tears streaming down my face from all of the laughs.

“I’m telling Dawn that you went to school with her!” Chooch blurted out, cracking up all over again.

“I don’t care!” Henry spat defiantly, digging into his nasty Saturday night salad to mask the nervous twitch his moustache had acquired.

But you know he totally cared. He REALLY did not want this conversation to happen. Too bad Chooch was chomping at the bit to unleash this cannon of intel. Dawn came back with our check (I mean, at least this happened toward the end of dinner, right Henry?) and Chooch nearly gave up the ghost in his attempt to scream out, “YOU USED TO RIDE THE KIDDIE BUS WITH HIM!!!” while lunging across the table and pointing furiously at Henry.

Dawn seemed confused. Nay — Dawn seemed perplexed. She laughed nervously and asked, “What?”

Chooch was laughing so hard, the same deep-throated giggles that I too employ, that I had to explain to her what was going on.

She gave Henry a scrutinizing once-over and then said, “I’m so sorry hon, but I don’t remember….”

HAHAHA SHE DIDN’T EVEN REMEMBER HIM, BEST FUCKING NIGHT EVER!

So then Henry had to explain to her who he was and I’m pretty sure she was just pretending to recognize him at that point to get us out of her section.

“I mean, it was 30 years ago,” Henry rationalized for Dawn’s inability to remember the forgettable doof in the bitchin’ Adidas shirt and tinted glasses, which only made it better for me — THIRTY YEARS, HAHAHA!

“Have a nice night, DAWN,” Chooch seethed in faux-annoyance as we were getting ready to leave (Henry had already left us at the table, that’s how embarrassed we were apparently making him) and I had to SQUAT DOWN to keep from peeing.

“You two are fucking idiots,” Henry sighed tersely, shrugging away from us when we caught up with him at the register while he waited to pay.

And then this happened before we even left the parking lot:

My favorite part is when Chooch calls Dawn an asshole and it sounds like Henry is about to get all TOUGH PAPA on him, but then all he says is “Shut the door” for the third time. He was REALLY all about having the door shut.

(Side note: I rarely post videos of myself because when I get giddy—and I am often giddy—I wind up sounding like Bobcat Goldthwait and ain’t nobody got time for that.)

Shit, Chooch and I rode the Dawn horse all day Sunday (“Remember DAWN!?” we would ask Henry and then collapse in happy laughter); I came to work yesterday and told the story to anyone who would listen to me (some people walked away). Glenn asked me if Henry drinks a lot and I have NO IDEA what kind of question that is.

So, I think it’s safe to say that we will probably never go back to that Eat n Park.

I have owed Barb a painting for quite some time now. The problem with me and painting is that most of the time, I just really don’t want to do it.

But then I get these creative (that word is used loosely)  spurts, and this current one is mostly thanks to that Castle Blood craft show I did a few weeks ago. Granted, most of those paintings were older ones that I had stowed away, but I did make several new ones and it felt kind of good. So I figured, shit, I better just do Barb’s painting now before my painting muscles atrophy once more.

I wanted Barb’s painting to be personal, so I included a photo of Bill Paxton, for whom she has pretty intense feelings. And I painted this while watching all of the Boston Bombing stuff on CNN, so there is your cultural significance. I guess you could say my paintings pretty much have it all, you guys. (Jokes.)

Anyway, I have a few blank canvases left so I figure I will slather them up with God only knows what and then probably go back into hibernation for a bit. So if you want something, now is your chance to ask!

And there are still several older ones left over.

I was pretty annoyed about Saturday night’s Pierce the Veil concert for several reasons:

• it was at an outside concert venue and somewhere around 35 degrees that night (fahrenheit!)
• there was a PIRATES game happening at the same time so every single bar we tried to go to was full of drunk sports fans — my least favorite type of drunks. (And no, I don’t even hate the Pirates.)
• they were co-headlining with All Time Low, so there were HORDES of scene kids wrapped entirely around the building, waiting to get in. PTV can sell-out their own shows, but All Time Low has a massive following, so this really made it more of a mob scene than usual and Henry was all, “OH HELL NO I AIN’T STANDING IN THAT.”

I was so angry that I had a momentary rage-out on the sidewalk across from Stage AE where I declared, “WE SHOULD JUST SELL THESE TICKETS BECAUSE I AM SO PISSED OFF RIGHT NOW!” and then I proceeded to lament the days where I could go watch PTV play at a fucking skate park with 100 other kids and no one fucked with me and I didn’t have to stand in a line. Henry’s eyes lit up — that motherfucker would have had no problem scalping those tickets and then I’d have had to scalp HIM.  So I quickly changed my tune and protectively patted the tickets in my purse.

We roamed around for about 45 minutes before finally snagging seats at the cigar bar inside Pittsburgh Sports Bar (what an inventive name).  It ended up being super awesome though because some other (slightly) elder PTV fans were in there killing time, too (I think I called them my brethren and Henry made fun of me), and our bartender was awesome and let me gush about how much I love PTV.

Yes, I realize she was just doing her job, but hello — it was nice to gush about it without getting a patronizing smirk in response!

I know you’re thinking that the main point of this post is the actual concert but you are wrong.

It was around 7PM and the line into the venue had dwindled down to a bare minimum so we paid our tab and went outside. We reached the crosswalk at the same time as two scene girls also en route to the show, but traffic was NOT halting for us. I stood closer to the two girls because that is usually what I do when in a crowd so people don’t immediately think I’m there with my father.  The three of us kept gingerly toeing the street and then fearfully jumping back on the curb when it became clear that the cars were not going to brake for us even though we had the right of way.

Finally, Henry threw his hands up in  the air  and, with a  “Fuck this” he stepped RIGHT INTO ONCOMING TRAFFIC and made those motherfuckers stop for him. Literally, moving vehicles came screeching to a halt just because some asshole in a blue flannel had the audacity to step out in front of them like motherfucking Moses.

“HOL-Y SHIT!” one of the scene girls cried as we scrambled to catch up to him before the cars started moving again. “THAT MAN IS HARDCORE!”

“LOOK AT THAT GUY! ZERO FUCKS GIVEN!” the other girl yelled in awe.

“THAT MAN DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK! HE JUST WALKED RIGHT IN FRONT OF THOSE CARS!”

You guys. This was Henry they were talking about. MY Henry. I fucking lost it and almost peed my pants right in the middle of the crosswalk.

I mean, it still wasn’t enough for me to publicly hold his hand, but it was pretty fucking hilarious to hear these young girls gush about his supposed bravery. He was so close to becoming an Internet meme.

That was definitely the greatest one minute of Henry’s life. Or would have been, if he had any idea this was going on behind him.

————

And here are some photos from the show, yay!

You Me At Six is from England and SO FUCKING HOT. That is all. I pointed out that the singer reminded me of some guy I know in real life that I have a crush on and Henry said, “Yeah but [blah blah] doesn’t have a British accent.”

“He doesn’t need to!” I snapped. God, you’d think Henry would have figured out my crush-criteria by now.

Henry actually loves PTV shows.

No one got on my nerves. Well, there was this one instance where some mom in front of me kept yammering on about how she was the best mom ever for bringing her teenage daughter, and I was like, “OMFG WE GET IT, GO GET ANOTHER DOLPHIN TATTOO” and then finally her daughter looked at her and said, “SHHHHH. VIC’S SINGING!” Yeah, fuck you, Mom! God, it was during an acoustic song, even.

What a fucking dummy.

It was winter-temps and I did not wear socks with my TOMS, but I had legwarmers on at least. (Did not help.)

Yawning during Mayday Parade, who covered that horrid Gotye song but actually made it sound good, and then VIC CAME OUT AND SANG THE KIMBRA PART so I was super happy — I would listen to THAT version, anyday. Thank you.

When the Pierce the Veil banner dropped, I squealed along with all of the other kids. Henry did too but his was a little bit sarcastic, I guess.

Um, I won’t go into detail because it’s the same as always and you don’t want to read the pages of my teenager diary anyway, but: Pierce the Veil came out, they played, I cried. Thank god for night’s like these.

Today I am sharing two of my favorite Pierce the Veil songs because they are wonderful and maybe you will like them too. (Also because we just saw them for the fourth time in less than a year on Saturday and they just never fail to make my heart swell. You can ask Henry. I always turn around and yell in his ear, “THEY MAKE MY HEART SWELL!” So he is an expert on this.)

I get so lost in this song every time. Vic has said that he wrote this song for his parents, who are always financially struggling no matter how hard his dad works. It just makes me think of Henry, of how hard he has worked to keep our family OK and to make sure we have a roof over our heads. We’ve been through so much together over the last 12 years and I might rag on him constantly on the Internet, but the truth is, he has sacrificed so much for me and I would pretty much follow him anywhere because I am permanently his.

If I had to pick one favorite PTV song, it’s this one. Everything about it is so multi-dimensional – the lyrics, the music, the emotions it brings up in me. I heard them play this live for the first time last November and I swear I held my breath through the whole thing and then gushed to Henry for days on end, “I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY PLAED BESITOS. WE GOT TO HEAR THEM PLAY BESITOS!” It’s hard to explain why it makes me feel the way it does, because the lyrics are so cryptic and kind of obtuse, but I will just say that it makes me think of someone for whom I have vacillating feelings of fondness and hatred. The line “You know I’ve never held a gun in my life, but now I carry one around in case I see you tonight” makes me fucking rage out internally every time I hear it.

And then by the end of the song, I feel a little bit of inner peace. It’s a very confusing 4 minutes.

——-
I spent so much of my life turning to music to help me thru bad times and even though I am an adult now with a great support system, music still helps me heal. Maybe we don’t like the same music, but if you can relate to that, isn’t that really all that matters? Music saves.

This weekend has been full of hyper-maniacal laughter, Pierce the Veil, terrorizing nature and just flat out fun. I wish that I would have spent less of my 20s rejecting happiness & fighting everyone around me (especially Henry) because I feel like I wasted so much time. Now, weekends mean so much more to me and I wake up Friday mornings with that excited stomach tickle because hello, just one more day of work to get through before I’m let loose to be childish and do whatever the fuck I want; even when we have nothing planned, I go back to work on Monday regretting nothing.

There’s really no point to this post other than to say life is only as shitty as you want it to be, so find something to get stoked on. I wish I could go back 10 years and tell myself that, because I sure as hell wasn’t listening to anyone else. I worked so hard to get to where I am now, and I don’t just mean professionally, that I guess I’m at the point in my life where I just want to enjoy it with the people I choose to be in my life. No more regretting cutting ties with undeserving drama-mongers or wishing my family was “normal.” This is my life and I like it.

Maybe it’s just spring fever making me delirious but I sure feel pretty fucking good.

Today was Sean’s last day at The Law Firm and I am distraught. I didn’t even hug him because I knew I would lose it, so we just high-fived.

The whole week has been sad, like one long depressing build-up to the inevitable. Monday night was our last late shift together. :( And the next day, he passed on the “torch” to Lee. (Who barely deserves it!)

Smug Lee.

After Sean told me he was leaving, I was talking to Chooch about it the next morning. Chooch had kind of a weird nemesis-type relationship with Sean in that he enjoyed randomly punching him in the stomach anytime he would see him.

“Why is he leaving?” Chooch asked.

“I don’t know. Because he hates it there.”

“Maybe he hates you,” Chooch sneered. Jesus, kid! Don’t I have enough of a complex? Just last night he told me that Henry doesn’t love me because I’m “not right for him.” OMG, I quit!

WAHHHHHH!

When I got to work today, I asked Sean if Glenn had cried yet, since they’ve sat next to each other for all these years.

“Not until you got here,” Glenn answered for Sean.

But then also today is Debbie’s 50th birthday! So it’s like, “Boo-hoo, goodbye Sean! HOORAY FOR DEBBIE AND CUPCAKES!

” I am so fucking confused right now. (Plus, earlier I thought my buddy from the mail room was barking at me so now he’s going around telling people I have a barking fetish. And you know what, maybe I DO, now that I think about it.)

Cupcakes! I stayed strong (so far) and have not had one, not even after Nate offered to split one with me.

Birthday girl! I gave her one of my pendants and even wrote something NICE inside a card, and she was going on about how sweet I am, so I told her to pass that shit on because most people here think I’m evil.

Grampa Glenn.

——–

Last night, I was walking through my old quadrant, which we’ve been calling Forbidden City since the Firm moved in some other department over there and now we’re prohibited from cutting through (but I still do since I work late shift and Those People are gone by then). When I passed my original desk, I honest to god started to cry because I CAN’T HANDLE CHANGE and things have been REALLY changing so fast lately. I think since December, five of my buddies here have left, and two more are following in Sean’s footsteps this month alone. I just can’t handle it.

And I had a really bittersweet dream about my two dead cats, Speck and Don, the other night so I have been in hardcore nostalgia-mode all week.

Plus the Boston bombings, WTF kind of a fucking week is this!?!?

I am going to fucking rage this weekend, that’s all I know.

Saturday evening, I left my house with an iCarly messenger bag—-containing two bottles of wine—-slung across my torso, and proceeded to walk to my friends Gina and Elissa’s house. They live in the same awesome Pittsburgh neighborhood as me, only about a mile away, and walking there was how I justified the fact that I was going to be drinking copious amounts of wine and eating snacks while on Weight Watchers.

I AM ALWAYS THINKING AHEAD.

A few blocks up from my house is this creepy old white house surrounded by a wrought iron fence and a front yard perpetually-laded with trash bags. I still can’t figure out if the middle-aged couple who live in this house are spouses or siblings.  Either way, they have a distinct Grey Gardens-vibe going on. The first time Andrea was here visiting from California, she was on my porch smoking when the sister-lady approached her about a Barbershop Quartet that was playing at some church.

Because Andrea looks like the type who hangs out at churches being sung to by moustachioed assholes in hats.

This is a photo of their house I took in 2008 with one of my plastic cameras.

Here is a picture of sister-lady from over the summer, after she SCREAMED into my open window, “DO YOU HAVE ANY PLASTIC BAGS I CAN BORROW!?!?” which gave me a fucking heart attack because any time someone SCREAMS into my open window like that, it’s either the SWAT team looking for my neighbors or Henry looking for his lost masculinity between my legs.

Anyway, I distinctly remember this moment because Chooch and I were ironically (and LOUDLY) watching “Annie” in order to annoy Henry, and I had to pause that shit to get this weirdo a plastic bag, which I later learnt was for dog shit.

My first encounter with her was the day before Thanksgiving, 2006. Chooch was still a baby and I was carrying around the church parking lot across the street, because it was a nice day. She approached me and started telling me about all of these FREE THANKSGIVING DINNERS at the church (and not even THAT church, but a different one in Brookline) and how they also offered PROGRAMS AND ASSISTANCE for MOMS LIKE ME. I think she thought I was a teen mom or homeless or both.

This is all relevant to my story because I noticed last week that the Sibling Spouses were discarding an old television set. The small square kind from the 80s, I would say. Right away I knew I needed it, for a photo shoot maybe, or to turn into a helmet or a cock-clamp for Henry. But mostly because it’s from inside THAT HOUSE.

 However, the first time I saw it, I was walking Chooch to school and there were unlimited people walking on the sidewalk on my way back and I didn’t want to be seen garbage-picking. I have standards, sort of. (As if I’ve never been seen doing anything worse or weirder than that around town.)

As I was lugging my iCarly messenger bag down the streets of Brookline, like some common traveling wino, I noticed that TV was still there. I called Henry.

“That TV is still there. Pick it up on your way home.”

Simple instructions.

I arrived at Gina and Elissa’s looking like a runaway, where I was served cheese that Gina DID NOT make herself, so that was pretty underwhelming. I guess she doesn’t entertain much. They made sure my wine glass never ran empty and fed me all of the things I do not eat anymore, like carbs and sugar. And then we talked about things that the Internet does not need to know. (Sike. We talked about Brookline and porn.)

It was a really nice night, and much-needed! (Even though the cheese was store-bought.) But that is not to say I didn’t think about that TV several times and wondered occassionally if Henry had fulfilled his duty.

I guess I didn’t realize how much I actually drank until I somehow safely walked down their front steps and embarked on my journey back to Pioneer Avenue, which isn’t necessarily BAD on a Saturday night, but…you know. It was a Saturday night in the city and there were hoodlums out and about. So I called Henry and slurred, “Hi. Talk to me while I walk home in case I get kidnapped and fed crack.”

And then, “Oh hey, did you pick up that TV?”

“No.”

“FUCK YOU!” I spat out on waves of alcoholic hiccups.   And then I HUNG UP.

This is acceptable late night Brookline behavior, so it’s OK.

This was around the time I was realizing that holy shit I might be a little drunk and then I became paranoid and swore that every single person who was walking toward me was going to take advantage of my public intoxication and ravage me atop a bed of urban pine cones and empty Skoal cans.

So I did a lot of zig-zagging, crossing and re-crossing Pioneer Avenue, from one sidewalk back to the other, over and over, every time I saw a shadow looming ahead.

One time it ended up being an older woman letting her dog out to pee but WOMEN CAN RAPE WOMEN TOO.

I can’t believe Gina and Elissa made me WALK to their house, and then back home again, with all of these sexual obstacles out there! Pioneer Avenue is practically a rape land mine!

They could have at least let me ride their cow home, but OH WAIT they don’t make their own cheese!

Anyway, thank god that fucking TV was still lounging in the Sibling-Spouses’ front yard. 

And that is how passers-by got to watch some drunk bitch shamble down Pioneer Avenue on a Saturday night with an iCarly messenger bag twisted around her body and an old school TV in her arms. Because that looked way better than if I had done it sober and in broad daylight.

Fuck you, Henry.