“And her boob was THISBIG.”

Pet doom & gloom aside, I still have to write about Memorial Day, which didn’t feel like Memorial Day because it was only in the 50s and there was no cooking out. There was, however, the shitty parade that limps past our house every Memorial Day, so that was the only real tell-tale sign that there were soldier-things to be recognizing and appreciating.

So we did that, but not without making fun of the terrible small-child dance troupes doing crippled cartwheels in front of our yard. I really don’t know why they bother.

The Shriners are the only good part of the parade because they drive stupid miniature trucks and tricycle-like things. I’m down with that. Even though I have no idea what the fuck the Shriners do aside from wear* dumb hats.

*(Totally spelled that as “where.” Proof that I’ve been spending too much time with Henry.)

Then we got to see some of the Catholic School Cunt-Moms oozing down the road cuntastically with their stupid Girl Scout daughters. God, I hate those bitches. See? That was me talking to God. I don’t have to send my kid to a stupid Catholic school to share a God with those Bible sluts. In fact, I think I might start believing in God just so they DO have to share him with an asshole like me.

Chooch saw a bunch of girls he knows from school and also ate a bunch of candy that was chucked at him by people who have no real purpose being in a parade, so he was already pretty hyper. But then this happened:

So, Courtney is in 8th grade at Chooch’s school and she apparently helps out is his classroom. His teacher was telling me about how Courtney and the other helper are always so excited to come in and see what Chooch is wearing that day, and they like the same bands he does so now he is SUPERINTERESTEDOMG in going to Warped Tour. The other girl even made Chooch’s teacher tell Henry to have Chooch wear his Pierce the Veil shirt on Twin Day so that he could be her twin.

It’s pretty ridiculous, but it gets even more ridiculous.

Last week, Henry was picking Chooch up from school and overheard him telling Courtney to call him. She of course laughed and said no, but Henry was like, “WTF, why are you telling her to call you!?” and that is how he found out that Chooch gave her Henry’s cell phone number. I think it would have been even better if she actually called Henry. As my friend Rob said, “It’s all fun and games until Henry goes to jail.”

Anyway, Courtney was in the parade for whatever reason. It’s apparently not very hard to earn a spot in a parade as pathetic as this one. So when she was walking past, she happened to casually glance over at our house and did a double take when she saw Henry. (She wouldn’t recognize me because I very rarely am able to get Chooch from school because of work.) Once she saw Henry, she started craning her head all around until she spotted Chooch. She pointed at him and yelled his name, causing him to turn beet red and fall to the ground.

Ah, young love. Chooch likes ’em old, just like I do I guess.

Later, we went to Sheetz and got food for a Memorial Day picnic in some park where Henry started preaching about how you can drink your own pee if you really needed to so that became our new Mocking Henry subject matter.

We don’t even let the man swing in peace.

This was right after he pointed out some nature thing, which made Chooch and me double over in laughter.  Henry tried to make some sort of threat about how sorry we’ll be when he doesn’t warn us that Big Foot is running out of the forest toward us.

Then Chooch and I raced Henry to the bathroom but he cheated and I was REALLY MAD about it. What a douchebag!

On the way home, I made Henry stop at a roadside produce stand that we had just bought fruit from the day before, because I really wanted a Gerber daisy. And you better believe that bitch bought me one, too. But then Chooch started whining about wanting one too because god forbid I have something that he doesn’t, so Henry bought him one too, which he immediately dumped over in the backseat of the car and I laughed, which he did not appreciate.

So yeah, it was a good Memorial Day Weekend, even though I had Marcy’s upcoming vet appointment on my mind.

*********

The next night, Chooch was doing his homework, which included this:

This totally set Henry off.

“Too bad you didn’t pay attention to me when we went for a walk yesterday. Now what are you going to write? ‘I went for a walk and made fun of my dad’?”

No, he made shit up. Because he’s my kid.

First of all, I want to thank everyone for their concern and support the other night when I found out about Marcy.

I wasn’t really able to elaborate at the time because I kept crying. But I woke up yesterday with a small glimmer of hope, because she is, after all, still alive and here with us.

The vet said that aside from the tumor, she is otherwise healthy. Her weight is good and she hasn’t stopped eating at all. She’s still feisty, she still terrorizes her daughter Willie, and she still absolutely hates me.

It’s just that now we know she has breast cancer.

The reality of the situation is that Marcy is 15. Even though she doesn’t act like it, she is, for all intents and purposes, an old broad. The vet discouraged us from considering surgery because the stress of it could actually worsen her condition.

But the silver lining is that he didn’t mention euthanasia at this time. Henry said it wasn’t even an option given.

He did, however, refer us to a cancer clinic, so we’re waiting to get an appointment with them. I don’t really know what I’m doing. I know that I don’t want to put her through anything invasive, but if there is anything at all, acupuncture, special diet (we already switched to some gluten-free food, thanks to Andrea’s recommendation), anything holistic to give her a little more time…well, then I guess I will have to fill out that application I was given last weekend at Sephora, because god knows I’m going to need the extra income.

I’ve had her since I was 18. I was a telemarketer at Olan Mills, having a cigarette in the break room when the proof consultant mentioned that her neighbor’s cat had kittens and there was only one left that desperately needed a home. I wasn’t a cat person. Growing up, we always had dogs. BIG dogs. German Sherpherds, sheepdogs, Siberian Huskeys. What the fuck did I know about raising a kitten?

But still, my arm shot up and I said, “I’ll take her.”

She was brought in for me the next day, this tiny, fluffy ball of fur with bright blue eyes, purring and meowing furiously. My boss wanted me to name her Shaniqua. But this was 1998 and I was obsessed with the band Marcy Playground. So she became Marcy. I brought her home to my apartment and she has ruled the roost ever since.

Even if you’ve only been reading my blog for a month or so, you’ve probably deduced that the theme here is that Henry is a pushover, my kid is spitfire, and I AM OBSESSED WITH MY CATS. I honestly live everyday like it could be Marcy’s last, especially after losing Speck and Don last year. When I leave for work everyday, I come running back in to give her one more hug and kiss. And you know, Marcy in all of her surly glory is like, “Bitch, GO!!” When I went to Australia in 2000, that was my first time leaving the cats. I had accumulated all 4 by then: Nicotina (Speck) was given to me two months after I got Marcy (and Janna took Speck’s brother, and I made her name him Harvey after Harvey Danger. Alternative music in 1998 ruled, OK?) and then Don and Willie came from Marcy’s first litter 2 years later. I was such a nervous wreck about leaving them that I went out and bought them nearly $100 worth of treats and toys. (I also used to call them from work and leave messages for them on my answering machine. It’s a wonder I have always had a boyfriend when it’s so apparent to all of them that I love my cats more.)

But Marcy, out of all four, has become somewhat of a reluctant mascot over the years. My friends either love her or hate her (depending on how many wounds she’s inflicted upon them); sometimes when people I know on the Internet meet me in real life, they seem more excited to meet Marcy; she even had her own LiveJournal for awhile there and once won “Dark Hottie of the Month” on a goth website. I just can’t imagine life without her, after having spent nearly half of mine with her at this point. Pets are the ultimate heartbreakers.

I wasn’t at the vet that day we got the news. I was at work. And when Henry told me over the phone (and he was, of course, so calm and matter-of-fact about it), I was a mess. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to stay at work. I was worthless. She’s my Shark Attack, my Smidge, my Pretty Rainbow Sparkles.

When I came home that night, I pushed Chooch and Henry out of the way and ran upstairs to see Marcy. She was in my room, glowering as usual.

I sat at the top of the steps with her, dousing her fur with my big sloppy tears, when “Sex and Candy” came on the radio in my room. I’m not making this up. I even called Henry upstairs because I thought I was going nuts. Fucking Marcy Playground, of all times to come on the radio.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go smother my cat some more. Because she is still alive and I don’t want to waste anymore time.

Marcy has breast cancer. I think I’m going to die.

I wanted to visit Speck and Don’s graves on Sunday, but first we had to stop and buy some flowers. The grocery store we went to is right across the street from a mini golf course, so I told Henry to stop there afterward.

And we all know when I tell Henry to do something, he does it.

The best part was that we didn’t tell Chooch we were going to play mini golf, so he was all surprised and doubly-excited when he realized that we were OMG going to do something fun without him having to beg for a fortnight.

Begrudgingly writing in all of my fantastic scores.

Reflections in Scorekeeping.

It’s a wonder I excel at mini golf considering Chooch and I are usually doing pee-squats the whole time from laughing so hard.

Ugh, grossest photo bomb EVER, Henry!!

Henry tried to teach Chooch how to hit a golfball at the driving range, but Chooch kept shrugging him off and doing it his own way. This made Henry throw his arms up.

“You can’t teach him anything! He knows everything!” Henry cried.

“Well, that’s what happens when you’re birthed by a genius,” I said and then I blew on my fingertips in real life.

(I won at mini golf, FYI.)

The next stop was Fallen Timber Pet Cemetery. Visiting Speck and Don, though it still makes me cry, brings me a little bit of peace each time. The gesture of picking out flowers and placing them across their graves heals my heart a little more with every visit and I’m really so glad that we decided to bury them there. I know that Marcy’s days are waning, and I live every day like it’s going to be her last. (In fact, she is going to the vet today and I have been trying every thing in my power to keep myself distracted so I don’t douse the department with the saddest tears to ever fall.)

Chooch picked out Speck’s flowers. They were glittery! I think she would have loved them.

Ouch. :(

Thank god I have a weirdo kid who makes ridiculous faces to cheer me up and says shit like this:

Chooch randomly started talking about the stuffed penguin he “won” at Kennywood.

“You didn’t win it,” I corrected. “You made Janna buy it for you.”

Chooch shrugged. “Same thing.”

On the way home, Henry decided that he wanted to have taco night, so we invited Janna over because tacos taste better when shared. Isn’t that Mexico’s motto? Too bad Henry didn’t even have beans or rice in his taco cafeteria.

“I mean, there’s Chooch’s leftover fried rice,” Henry joked. Motherfucker, don’t joke with me. I’ll eat that shit on my taco.

Fried Rice Taco, DGAF.

It actually wasn’t all that bad, sour cream and all. But I did get a pretty bad stomachache later. I think Henry may have tried to warn me about that but why listen?

Chooch, mocking Henry eating a taco. This made me lose my mind in laughter, which exacerbated Chooch’s dickishness, culminating in him kicking a ball in the house. It landed right in the middle of Lunch Lady Henry’s Taco Buffet, causing Henry’s head to explode. He sent Chooch to his room which is a farce because hello, it’s Henry sending Chooch to his room — ain’t no one shaking in their boots over Henry. When I was still writhing around on the couch in hysterical laughter after this, Henry got all tough guy and tried to send me to my room, too.

So I laughed harder.

Meanwhile, Janna was sitting there with an exasperated expression on her face. She’s just trying to eat a fucking taco, you know?

Being a dickhead.

Then we watched some hockey and I was thinking to myself, “Fuck, Self. This was a really entertaining weekend” and I started to get all sad until I remembered that there was STILL ONE MORE DAY. Thank you, Henry, for being a SERVICE person.

Life is actually pretty great when you quit driving yourself crazy with the whole “WHAT AM I GONNA DO WITH MY LIFE?!!?” panic sessions and just realize, “Wait, why isn’t ‘living it’ a good enough answer?” I don’t know when exactly that clicked, but once I let go of money and “career” obsessions, I suddenly had a lot more room for having fun and enjoying each day that I have with these two weirdos I live with*. I only wish every weekend had three days!

*(Don’t worry, I still cry and whine a lot; I’m not a complete Pollyanna. Something will probably piss me off real soon and then I’ll go back to channeling Hell’s typewriter with my fingertips.

)

I pretty much eat fruit, Special K cereal and diet potato chips all week, so Saturdays are much-needed Weight Watchers splurge days. I try to make sure I still stuff in some activity in between carb-heavy Pamela’s breakfasts with Jeannie and afternoon ice cream cones. So I dragged Henry and Chooch out to walk infinite miles in the cemetery. Otherwise, I think my body would go into shock.

Chooch rode his scooter the whole time, and I am totally That Mom who screams, “OH MY GOD, CHOOCH SLOW DOWN! OH HENRY STOP HIM! HE’S GOING TO GET HIT BY A CAR!”

“He could be in a skate park and you would still think a car is going to hop the fence and hit him,” Henry sighed.

I can’t help it. I get Jello-legs just thinking about it. I wish Henry never bought him this scooter!!

Meanwhile, Henry got all butt-hurt when his desire to point out a chipmunk to us was received by giddy laughter and evil mocking. “OMG look Mommy! It’s a BIRD!” Chooch cried and we both doubled over in uncontrollable braying.

Henry stuffed his hands in his pockets and snapped, “I’M NOT SAYING ANYTHING ANYMORE. YOU TWO ASSHOLES CAN GO THRU LIFE KNOWING NOTHING.” Of course that made our giddiness straight jump the tracks and I can’t speak for Chooch, but the pee-drops were ready to fall.

Every time we go to Homewood Cemetery, Henry cranks up his “You Two Are Going to Fall Into the Pond” parental spiel. I know that the reality of this happening is very strong, but it still makes me so angry. How often do we just suddenly tumble into bodies of water, Henry!?

Chooch illustrates how someone might fall into a pond for real.

I could look at frogs all the livelong fucking day. I LOVE FROGS. Unfortunately, this leaves the door open for Henry to recite some of the National Geographic factoids he has crammed in his annoying egg head. God, go find a Boy Scout troop to lead into the woods or something. Seriously!

OH MY FUCKING GOD IT’S A GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING BIRD FLYING IN THE CEMETERY! And Henry was still being all butthurt over the chipmunk so he bit his tongue but you could tell he was ready to shit his pants, that’s how badly he wanted to point out what kind of bird it was.

Oh shit, afterward, we went to get ice cream at Oh Yeah. I was all, “I’m going to get fig and pistachio because I am boring and that is all I ever get at Oh Yeah” but then I saw “lavender” on the add-on list and almost wrenched Henry’s dick off in my embellished excitement.

Thank god there were enough people ahead of me to give me ample time to coax my head into exploding because, Jesus Christ — WHAT WOULD GO BEST WITH LAVENDER?!

Chooch was not nearly as excited about the lavender as I was.

Who the fuck frowns in an ice cream shop??

Chooch wound up ordering chocolate ice cream with Kit Kats as his mix-in, while I wrung my hands in sweaty anticipation. Of course the guy who owns the place switched out with the other Professional Ice Cream Scooper just in time to heckle my flavor combo.

(I’m pretty sure he’s the owner and he is very intimidating in his cowboy hat and steely, flavor-judging eyes.)

“Oh, good choice!” he enthused, unknowingly giving me the green light to adopt the official I Just Impressed an Ice Cream Shop Owner!!! look of smugness for approximately the next 5 minutes. (OK, hour at least.)

Meanwhile, Chooch dropped his ice cream cone before I even got mine, so when it was Henry’s turn to order, he sighed gravely and re-ordered Chooch’s ice cream. (And I’d like to take this time to point out that Chooch apparently tried to eat his ice cream off the floor and Henry had to scold him. Well, dude — when his father eats FUNNEL CAKE OFF THE PAVEMENT, what do you expect?)

So, looks like really only 2 of us were YAY SO STOKED!! for ice cream after that.

(Don’t cry too much for Henry, he got to finish Chooch’s cone.)

Fuck, that was a good ice cream cone.

We finished off the day of poor food choices by going out for Chinese. (My dinner was mostly steamed vegetables and fish, and I only ate 1/4 of it anyway, so I didn’t feel too gluttonous.)

“I hope my fortune says ‘You will receive 7000 cats’,” Chooch sighed dreamily.

It didn’t, thank god.

Douchebag in Blue

So it seems again I have been asked to recap an event that Erin deems blog worthy. Me, I feel it’s just another day in the life. Chooch decided he wanted a funnel cake ,while Erin and him rode the scrambler I was instructed to get. It seemed easy enough since there was no line, just run up order it and sit down and wait. Ordered it,sat down waited, noticed the tall gentleman in blue at the order window above. He placed his order after me while I was taken the picture ( as instructed to by Erin) waiting for my funnel cake to fry up. I said gentleman in blue, which now is going to turn into tall douchebag in blue as he turned from the order window and went directly to the pickup window and proceeded to grab my just finished funnelcake. My mother who was sitting behind me ,just got the words ” he’s gonna take your funnel……” out of her mouth when he grabbed it turned and almost ran past me before I had a chance to get a word out of my mouth. He was actually walking very briskly almost like he knew what he had done. No big deal, by this time his had come up and was ready for pickup. All I had to do was wait for Chooch to get done, so I set ti down on the bench next to my mother not thinking that it might fall off , it was quite windy that day.

Well of course right before Erin and Chooch returned the wind had proceeded to pick it up and throw it on the ground, and blow the plate clean across the park. Didn’t want it to go to waste, I mean it fell behind the bench and just hit the ground for a sec so no harm in eating it and Chooch would have eaten it. So by the time they got the I had devoured almost all of it except for the powdered sugar that was still on the ground. Well of course I had to explain what happened and after all the

” eww how could you eat that off the ground”

and the tears from Chooch , I went and replaced the first funnelcake. Got this one wrapped to go so there would be no accidents. We were now leaving and as always the wacky worm is always rode on the way out.

As always I had to use the bathroom and walked right past the wacky worm. When I returned I noticed Erin frantically waving her arms at me. Like I’m supposed to know what that means, it also comes with the

” you asshole can’t you tell what I want”

looks. I noticed too late the douchbag was on the wacky worm directly in front of her.

[EDIT NOTE: I did not edit this for Henry. It’s time for him to spread his wings and fly. Also, the title of this is mine.

Some other things: now I know the TRUE story. Henry made it sound like he was loafing by the pick up window when Tall Douchebag in the Blue Jacket swooped in and snatched it right from under Henry’s nose. I feel less bad now!

Henry was taking a picture of the funnel cake place because I asked him to since Dutch things appeal to me. My phone was dead or I’d have done it myself.

Also, I was gesticulating wildly on the Wacky Worm because I wanted Henry to take a picture of the Douchebag (again, my phone was dead). But since Henry and I fail at Charades, the ball was dropped. Actually, I think he knew exactly what I wanted and just didn’t care. This sounds more accurate.]

Some random pictures I made over the week on my phone. See? I’m not ALWAYS playing Candy Crush.

God.

(This is definitely not a blog post about food trucks.)

The Union Project is an old church transformed into a community space full of yoga, dance and ceramics classes, and it can also be rented out for weddings, parties and Goth Blacklight Bingo nights. (Seriously, if anyone is interested in organizing this with me, get in touch.) It’s your basic Feel Good city establishment.

We have love for this place because it’s where Chooch’s recent ceramics classes were held. (And um, also where his old child psychologist’s office is. What? He snipped our cat’s ear with scissors when he was three and I needed to know he wasn’t going to be the next Ed Gein, OK?)

Anyway, the story is something like: once their floor was sloped and now it is flat, so the awesome people behind the Union Project threw a big party last Friday evening to commemorate this momentous occasion. And the ceramics cooperative decided to have a little exhibition in tandem with the party, so Chooch submitted one of his pieces: a ceramic monster pinch-pot bank.

He named it Dawn, you guys. Dawn! I almost died when I saw that! I’m so happy that my son is following in my footsteps of taking the smallest detail of Henry’s life and running it into the ground with endless punch lines.

The heart swells.

I took a half day under the pretense of “You guys, what kind of mom would I be if I missed my kid’s first art show?” But really, it was for the FOOD TRUCKS. I even worked out extra long that morning to prepare for the astronomical calorie count I was planning to rack up.

I was THIS excited for food trucks, too, Chooch.

While we waited for the food trucks to set up, we killed some time playing cornhole, which is how I learned I am exceptionally bad at cornhole.

Still waiting for the food trucks to get their shit together.

My friend Elizabeth showed up with her little girl Rachel and, like me, she was there for the food trucks, not Chooch’s ceramic talent. It’s amazing how excited people get just from the prospect of buying food from a mobile truck. Pgh Taco Truck was there, but I was most looking forward to Fukuda because I wanted some exotic street food. Turns out Fukuda did not opt to include anything vegetarian-friendly on their truncated traveling menu, instead parking their pork belly-palooza curbside. (I didn’t bother to ask if they could modify it either because I dislike speaking to strangers.)

Fukuda you, Fukuda.

My back-up plan would have been to get a vegetarian hot dog from Franktuary, but those motherfukudas were no shows.

So I ended up with a guacamole taco. I mean, a curried potato taco soused under a niagara of guacamole. It was only OK and so I pouted internally for the rest of the night. I did have a really satisfying apple rosemary popsicle though from some hippie urban farmer people. (Aren’t they all hippie urban farmer people in that part of town though? I think so. Nice people, though!

If you ask Chooch though, he had the best taco ever thrown together. I was just happy he was eating something that didn’t come out of a gas station. That kid couldn’t name one component of the food pyramid even if there was $100 on the line.

I blame Henry.

Later, after losing 87 quarts of sweat from running around in circles and pretending to be Ju-On, Chooch took approximately three bites of a peanut butter banana Nutella crepe that took Henry THIRTY MINUTES to order and procure because he is so fucking passive aggressive and let some assholes take his crepe. This was the second time in one week that he was the victim of a food-swiping! But you would have known that if he had lived up to his end of the bargain and blogged about his funnel cake fukuda-up at DelGrosso’s.

The crepe was OK (the savory ones looked like they were better), but the real props need to go out to the crepe booth’s name: Creped Crusaders.

Chooch mocked Rachel at one point and I made him apologize. I’m not sure if he followed through though, because he was intercepted by a couple with a dog on his way over to deliver his apology. And he is almost as obsessed with dogs as he is with cats, so he pretty much hung out with these strangers and their dog for what was left of the evening.

I’m not sure what ever happened with the art exhibit. Prizes were promised to be awarded, but anytime we went inside to check out what was going on, no one was around. It was too nice of an evening and every one wanted to be outside. This probably had nothing to do with the food trucks.

Nothing at all.

We bailed during the last hour because I wanted to go home and watch the hockey game like any good mom would. Sidney Crosby had a hat trick that night! Probably thinking of food trucks.

I love the original version of Zedd’s “Clarity” so much that I get choked up anytime I hear it (which is often because it’s been my default ringtone for months and I get A LOT of collection calls), but the acoustic version is even better. I even didn’t hate the Glee version, and everyone knows my least favorite part of Glee is the singing.

The next time you see me twirling around in a field, just know that it’s probably because I’m listening to this song in my head.

***

Speaking of twirling, Henry and I watched the whole first season of Showtime’s The Real L Word over the last few nights (OK, maybe I also watched 2-3 episodes on my own every day before work, too). I didn’t even know it existed until I was scrolling through the On Demand TV show listings, because I missed the last Real World: Portland episode (don’t hate) but it wasn’t available yet. Then I saw The Real L Word right next to it and since I would probably definitely be a lesbian if I wasn’t with Henry, I started watching it ASAP.

I think the most excitement Henry gleaned from the entire season was when there was an electrical malfunction during LA Fashion Week. Totally gave him an electrician boner.

Also, I know that Sara (pronounced Saw-da, wtf?) is supposed to be this super hot bitch, but I look at her and see a clean-shaven Dave Navarro. Sorry, Sara. You aren’t for me. (I want to Google photos of her to put on here but I’m at work and I just have a bad feeling about that considering she spends a lot of screen time getting fucked by a strap on.

So do your own Internet sleuthing and then get back to me on that.)

EDIT!!

Lesbian Dave Navarro. Please tell me you see it.

I started Season 2 today and blew up Henry’s phone with my frantic texts. Almost all new girls, wtf!? I’m already in love with at least 4 of them, but fuck you, Showtime.

Today, I came to work and asked Glenn if he watches this show, too. Of course, I said it like Beavis and Glenn was just like, “God, you think you’re so funny.”

***
It’s a hockey night in Pittsburgh so we were permitted to wear jeans and Pens attire to work today. This is the shirt I’m wearing because it’s fucking awesome:

I might have another post later on tonight. I’m slowly getting caught up! However, Chooch and I have been working on something super secret and it’s been taking up a lot of my free time (aka time not spent watching a lesbian reality show). I’m doing my best!

The one thing that kind of sucks about DelGrosso’s (if you’re a motion sickness-susceptible grown-up, which I am finding that I apparently am) is that every single ride—with the exception of the Crazy Mouse, Wacky Worm and the lame-o train—is set up to spin-cycle the shit out of your stomach contents. In fact, the first time we went to DelGrosso’s two years ago, I got so sick after riding three spinny rides in a row that I had to lay down on a bench while everyone else went about their day. It was a pretty ugly blow to my ego.
So my new strategy is to ride one or two rides, eat food, stand around, mock people, and then give myself up to the g-force gods and pray for vertigo asylum.

Chooch does not like this strategy, but luckily, Chooch is now at the age/height where he can ride some of this shit himself. So while I rode the Super Spiral with him once, I was all, “Be my guest” when he decided he was going to ride it three more times in a row later that day.

Even the Pirate Ship makes me sick these days. What is wrong with me!? Dramamine doesn’t help — I tried that at Waldameer last summer and it literally ruined my day.

Chooch was adamant about riding Tilt-a-Whirl car #9, so we ran all the way around looking for it, but it apparently it only goes up to 7.  So then of course we were the only assholes not in a car, totally holding up the ride and I was so pissed at him because everyone was giving us the stink eye. THANKS A LOT CHOOCH.

Meanwhile, check out the kid in Car #3 up there, totally asleep.

I would ride the Tilt-a-Whirl 8 times in a row if I didn’t think my esophagus would make it rain with my potato salad luncheon.

 Judy and I were watching this broad in line for the Paratrooper. She was holding a really small child and Judy scoffed, “I know she’s not taking that baby on that ride. There’s no way.”

But she did and Judy was PISSED OFF you guys. “Oh, this is ridiculous!” she kept yelling. “What a horrible mother!”

To be fair, the sign only restricts “hand-held infants” from riding. Which is still pretty fucked up if you ask me, because even when I ride it with my 7-year-old lump of child-flesh, I’m thinking he’s going to fall out the whole time.

Not this mom! She was taking carefree photos of the kid in flight like it was no big thing while Judy had mom-steam blowing out of her ears.

She also hated some grandma who was miserable and yanking her small granddaughter around by the arm. I think she was actually the mom of the negligent Paratrooper rider. We kept seeing the grandma everywhere we turned for the rest of the day and Judy would loudly announce, “Watch, see if she yanks the kid’s arm again. OH LOOK SHE JUST DID IT! UNBELIEVABLE!” Now I kind of want Judy to have her own Child Protective Services TV show.

Later, I had my own uncharacteristic Maternal Moment in line for the Crazy Mouse.

A small group of young boys of Middle Eastern descent stood in front of Chooch and me. The way the Crazy Mouse is set up, four people can sit in each car, two on each side. However, if a kid is under a certain height, they HAVE to have an adult sitting with them. All but one of the kids in front of us passed the height requirement and they were literally going to leave this little boy (presumably their brother) behind. I did a quick once-over of the benches near the ride and there were definitely no adults that matched this little boy.

He looked like he was about to cry and his group looked like they were probably going to ditch him without a single fuck given.

I sighed and engaged Chooch in a quick side-bar. He shrugged and nodded.

“You can ride with us if you want,” I offered and his stupid little kid face lit up. I had the girl with the yard stick measure Chooch and he was tall enough to sit alone in the seat across from us, so it was decided.

Someone really needs to teach that kid about Stranger Danger.

Anyway, it was the most awkward ride ever, like the time Alisha and I were at the Big Butler Fair and some random child boarded the same unit as us on the Tornado and then smiled at us through the duration of the ride.  There were empty seats all over the place! But I guess I would want to ride with me, too.

This kid kept talking to us and I was like, “Fuck, goddammit. Can’t you just let me enjoy the stupid ride without reminding me that I just wasted 2 minutes of my day being nice to a human?”

[UGH. What is happening to me? The very next day I was walking to the trolley when I saw some old man trying to shut his car door by hooking his cane onto the inside door handle. I helped him shut it because I’m a sucker for an old man (I loved my Pappap, you guys), and now I’m positive Satan is going to send a Mac truck straight into my fucking goody two shoed grill.]

Then his little dickhead brothers RAN AWAY before our Crazy Mouse car pulled back up  to the boarding area and this little boy was so frantic to get the fuck off the ride and find them. Fuckers!

Meanwhile, Henry and Judy had been watching us curiously. I thought for sure I was going to walk right into a conversation about how awesome and Samaritan-like I am, but instead all this succeeded in doing was open the floor for Another Judy Racial Rant.

It’s not what you’d think though. She wasn’t casting 9/11-heavy aspersions or lambasting their religion. No. She was just PISSED because some Muslims live in her building and burn incense and it stinks.

Don’t fuck with Judy’s sinuses, you guys.

I usually have to ride every ride in a park at least once, and I realized that we had been to DelGrosso’s three times and I had not ever gone on the XScream (Chooch kept calling it the “Xtreme” in his post because he refused to believe me when I told him the correct name). Chooch was like, “Hell no, I don’t want to go on that” but I wheedled on his masculinity until he finally conceded. And then as soon as we were strapped in, I turned to him and said, “I don’t know why I made you ride this with me. I hate these kinds of rides” and then we started to ascend so it was too late. Game over.

I swore the entire way up. Why do these rides look not-so-high when you’re on the ground but when you’re on it, it just keeps going up and up and up and what the fuck just get it over with! And then it dropped and in that split second, where your attempted scream is nothing more than a strangulated charade of horrific anguish, I suddenly remembered why I had only ridden Kennywood’s Pitfall in all of the years of its existence. (It’s gone now—good riddance.) And then I also remembered the urban legend of the girl who got scalped on one of those rides when her hair got caught in something on the way down. (Though this apparently did happen on a different ride, thanks Snopes. Now I never want to go to an amusement park again.)

My arms and legs shook for the next 30 minutes. Henry thought this was hilarious, as were the faces that Chooch and I apparently made on the drop down.

 This is how they always look at me. :(

 And then I decided that I wanted to have a Mother’s Day ice cream cone, so I told Henry, “I want to have a Mother’s Day ice cream cone” at which point he stopped the world and bought a Mother’s Day ice cream cone to melt with me.

 MY MOM WOULD NEVER EAT AN ICE CREAM WITH ME ON MOTHER’S DAY.

 Near the end of the day, Chooch and I were in line for the Scrambler when he vocalized his desire to sit in car #1.

“WE’RE getting #1,” sneered the little mother fucker in front of us. Really? Seriously? You were honestly standing here in line thinking that? Fucking douche bag.

Ugh, and he was such a little jock-looking cuntpunter, too. Rage quickly filled up my skin vessle and I began hissing disparaging remarks about him to Chooch. I was STILL bitching about that asshole when we were fastening the seat belt of car #4. “That’s why you should never say stuff like that in line, because there’s always going to be some dickhead who decides he needs to Hoover someone’s joy.”

“OK, just drop it!” Chooch snapped, clearly having moved on from the situation. Probably right after it happened, too. Meanwhile, two days later and I was still spitting slurs and talking about trading him to the gypsies for beads and a jar of pickles. I hate that Chooch is always trying to make me be a better person.

Sorry for being a MOM, Chooch. Jesus!

While this was happening, Henry was royally fucking up the simple task of ordering a funnel cake. I am going to pay him monies (blow jobs, obviously) to get him to write about that himself, though.

 And then Henry won Chooch two stuffed animals which I think is pretty fucked up considering it was Mother’s Day, not Kids Who Have Mothers Day.

Mother’s Day used to suck for me (mostly because nothing is ever good enough and I will find a reason to be an entitled asshole) until last year when I learned that DelGrosso’s Amusement Park in Tipton, PA has FREE ADMISSION for mothers on Mother’s Day and you don’t even have to provide DNA samples.

Granted, it’s a two-hour drive and a ride-all-day pass is only like $12 normally, but it’s the principle of the fact that I am being rewarded for those nine suicidal months where a fetal Chooch abused me internally and ballooned my stomach out to the point where people thought I was having twins.

Of all the horrors of pregnancy, THAT is the one thing that sticks with me. Vanity wins.

Plus, I was hoping that maybe the Douchebag Doppelganger would be back. You never know – maybe it’s Mother’s Day tradition for his potato sack wife. (“You have problems,” Lee said when I giddily mentioned this possibility to him at work.)

Henry invited his mom Judy to join us, which initially I thought was super sweet until I realized his motive was to hope her presence tamed me. I always try to curb my obnoxious streak when she’s around because I’m afraid she will yell at me. She has never yelled at me before, but there’s always a first time for everything and I don’t know if she keeps a wooden spoon in her purse or not.

I mean, even CHOOCH checks himself around her.

After two hours of me progressively turning up the radio over Judy talking about people I don’t know while admiring the countryside and pondering how people could live out there (“Do they have electricity?” she wondered as we passed a house that had a DirectTV satellite, a swimming pool, at least 4 quads and an SUV in the driveway. “They’re not AMISH,” I answered.), we finally made it to DelGrosso’s.

And it was COLD. Only around 50 degrees, I think.

Since I’m a mom, I didn’t have to get the ride-all-day wristband. But Chooch did, and now he’s winning our weird wristband competition. We keep our fair/amusement park/special event wristbands on until they fall off on their own, which drives Henry absolutely nuts. I wore my Jonny Craig concert wristband for over a month before it finally disintegrated on my arm. My co-worker Pam noticed it one day and thought I had been in the hospital. When I explained it to her, she shook her head and said, “I’d make you take a nap and then cut that off in your sleep!”

We both still have our Knoebels wristbands on (they’re plastic, so these bitches ain’t budging, much to Henry’s chagrin — he takes his wristbands off before we even get to the car), but now Chooch has a DelGrosso’s wristband on his other wrist and I hate it.

Anyway, wristband woes aside, it was a great day to ride shit! It wasn’t crowded at all, not that I have ever seen DelGrosso’s especially packed, so Chooch and I of course ran right onto the Wacky Worm. We asked Judy if she wanted to ride it too since it’s so mild, and she just laughed and said, “Yeah, no.”

Which is weird, because minutes later, Chooch and I were standing in line for the Crazy Mouse (the only ride there that ever really has a line because it’s the motherfucking Crazy Mouse), when Judy sidled on up behind us. I thought she just wanted to chat since Henry had wandered off on his first of 870 bathroom pilgrimages.

“I’m going to ride this,” she said all nonchalantly, causing Chooch and I to laugh. Good one, Judy! “No really, I was watching it from over there and it doesn’t look so bad,” she continued.

Meanwhile, Henry had returned from counting his hemorrhoids and was all, “What is the meaning of this?” At least, that’s what I assume his facial expression meant, but it could have been gas.

“She’s riding this with us,” I said in a “duh” tone with a shrug. So a 70+ year old lady is going to ride the Crazy Mouse, there’s nothing to see here. Go sit down, Henry.

The kids running the ride were stoked that Judy was riding and took extra care with getting her strapped in, which is good because I was like, “I don’t know. Maybe put your seatbelt on?” I’m not the best when it comes to being helpful. And absolutely no one is surprised.

“This is what you do for your grandkids,” Judy said as our car ascended the inaugural hill. Quick, someone tell my mom that!

Immediately after, Judy went on the merry-go-round with Chooch.

A little while later, after we had eaten (Chooch’s least favorite part because god forbid he has to sit down at a table, and I can relate to that but I have officially reached that age where eating is imperative to help temper some of the impending motion sickness that I am inevitably going to face), Judy said, “I want to ride those airplanes.”

We couldn’t imagine what she was talking about. I thought maybe she had seen some ride in Kiddie Land that she wanted to try, but then as we continued to walk, she pointed and said, “There! The airplanes!”

It wasn’t “airplanes,” it was the fucking Yo-Yo.

Let me tell you something about the Yo-Yo: these aren’t your ordinary amusement park swings. These sons of bitches are SCARY. County fairs usually have the Yo-Yo in their arsenal of death traps. I always feel incredibly unsafe and especially white-knuckled on the Yo-Yo.

But Judy wanted to ride it so I obediently followed suit.

There is this one point during the ride where it waits to pick up a good, semi-whiplash speed before this sickening “whoosh” is sounded and all of the bucket seats TILT BACK to the point where I always feel like I’m going to slide out backward. And I don’t know if it was because it was so windy that day, but we were all literally banging and crashing into each other.

I prayed for the most painless death possible. Please god, fling me into that tree and not one of the 785912 metal spikes around the Yo Yo’s perimeter that are suddenly so apparent to me that I know I AM GOING TO PERISH.

But Judy loved it! Look at her go! I hope I’m as cool as she is when/if I’m a grandma (and I better be a grandma someday because I already have tomes upon mental tomes of incriminating Chooch tales to share with his future spawn).

“I rode the Yo Yo better than you!” is what I imagine Chooch is saying in this photo because he makes everything a competition. He must get that from Henry.

I thought about asking Judy some questions about her day at DelGrosso’s, but if she’s anything like her son, I’m sure it would have been a bunch of monosyllabic answers. I’ll have to get some wine in her.

I did this instead of paying attention to Henry last night.

I want to promise that I’m not going to be super annoying with this new app, but……

In other weekend news, I met up with my friend Kristy for lunch yesterday at the Smiling Moose. We sat at the bar with what turned out to be the oldest/lamest bachelor party ever and Kristy helped me choose beers that I wouldn’t entirely hate. And by beers I mean beer. I got some kind of watermelon ale that didn’t taste like watermelon at ALL but was actually not so bad and I drank it all before it got warm. Well, almost.

Kristy is a legit beer drinker. I feel confident that I’ll never graduate past “Sissy Beer Sipper,” but it’s nice to know that if I’m ever feeling like maybe I want to go out and try some kind of fancy wheat beer, Kristy will make sure I don’t wind up with some frosty glass of 12% swill.

I also had a cider and a mixed drink, and then went to Kohl’s where I “lost my balance” and almost put my head through the fitting room mirror. Thanks for being such a great influence, Kristy!

(The most important part of this post is that OMG I was sitting in the same spot that Jonny Craig sat at when he was at the Smiling Moose in March #%[^[**]]!!!!!!)

Today, we went to the flea market, which Chooch is apparently going to post about at some point this week. (I got a new phone, so he’s been using my old one and took a picture of nearly every cat stuffed animal and cat t-shirt he saw at the flea market today.)

Miserable in his Dance Gavin Dance shirt.

Terrorizing the water reservoir at Highland Park, which I am DISGUSTED by but that’s a post for another day, maybe. Ugh, water things.

Struck gold at the Asian market yesterday so expect a fruit review sometime. And I still have to write about DelGrosso’s from last weekend, Chooch’s pottery piece being in an exhibition thing on Friday, and the fucking vegetarian dinner I went to over a month ago which I started as a draft but just don’t give enough shits about it to finish it.

I know it probably doesn’t seem like it on your end because I’m all POST POST POST, but I’ve been having some terrible blog apathy lately.

I think that’s also known as suffering from hockey tunnel vision. Can’t a bitch just watch the Stanley Cup playoffs in peace, though?

SHE IS JUST SO FLUFFY I CAN’T STAND IT! I demonstrated the other day for Henry how long it takes me to leave work each day because I keep coming back into the house to hug Marcy one more time.

Speaking of, here is a video of her playing with a pencil:

This photo still makes me so happy! Sometimes when I’m having a shitty day at work, I hold it close to my face and start laughing.

Aaron was looking at it the other day and just as he started to make fun of it, I said sadly, “That’s my cousin.” He walked away before I had a chance to get into the gory details about how he passed away from complications with his sex-change operation.

I CUT THESE ALL BY MYSELF!! It’s the only fruit I had all week because Henry has really been dropping the fruit ball lately. I tried to buy an apple at a convenience store on my way to the trolley yesterday but the cashier looked at me like I was asking for escargot. Apparently, no, they don’t sell fresh fruit there.

This was Mother’s Day present to myself – new TOMS!

In other news, I’m still laughing at the “Glenn is a lesbian” rumor. It’s either that or continue crying over the Office finale.

Today was shaping up to be a pretty ordinary Thursday. I was in a so-so mood when I strolled over to Barb’s desk around 2:30 today for a visit. Nate and Debbie S. were there too, and what we were talking about wasn’t very note-worthy, just some mild banter.

And then Glenn walked by.

“We should start a rumor that Glenn is a lesbian,” Barb said. I don’t recall any overt hysterics from Nate or Debbie over this suggestion, but I fucking DIED. I was laughing so hard I had to walk away. Then I realized I had walked into a dead-end, so I turned around and had to find the nearest chair to sit in to keep from showering my co-workers with gleeful urination.

“THAT IS THE BEST IDEA EVER!!” I squealed once I was able to speak again. I can totally picture him in a flannel and skinny jeans at a Tegan and Sara show, can’t you?!

So, I was walking back to my office-thing and saw Glenn sitting all lesbianly at his desk and I lost my shit all over again. Amber2 looked concerned because when I get this giddy, it oftentimes appears that I am under some sort of duress, the kind of red-hued scrunched-up face one might put on immediately after learning of the death of a loved one or Corey Haim. Unfortunately, this is also my Ugly Laugh face.

I tried to explain to her what was going on, but this only resulted in my having to SQUAT DOWN and bury my face in my arms. Every time I opened my mouth to talk, I could only manage to vomit out incomprehensible, muffled sounds.

“I’ll just email you!” I wheezed. Even better is that there is a new processor who just started last week and she sits right in front of Amber2, which is unfortunately pretty close to me, so she gets to overhear all sorts of weird things that may or may not have something to do with weird things and me.

This uncontrollable laughing alone carried on for over an hour without reprieve (for me or those in direct vicinity of me). And then I started telling more and more people (most of whom were like, “That is not really that funny”) so eventually, Glenn was all, “Ha-ha, what is going on?”

This only made the remainder of my sanity expire in a mushroom-cloud explosion of tears and laughter and I had to literally run away from him.

Finally, I emailed him and said, “Barb just wanted to know if you like the Indigo Girls” which confused him even more.

I can’t even look at him now without hearing “Come To My Window” in my head. I tried to get my friend Natalie, whose office is right next to Glenn’s desk, to walk by him while singing the chorus but she was just like, “I hate you.”

I printed this out and taped it to his desk.

This is the best rumor ever! Does anyone have an “L Word” DVD I can put on his desk?

Yesterday, I was rooting around through a bagful of old photos when I found this old gem of me, my brother Ryan and our mom at Kennywood in probably 1986 or so.

I don’t know what happened to the lady in that photo, but I haven’t seen her in a long time.

I guess because it was so soon after Mother’s Day, but it really hit me hard. How did I go from having some semblance of a relationship with my mom to literally nothing at all? I mean, we have no contact. None. I even asked my brother Corey if she ever asks him about me or Chooch and he said no.

She literally doesn’t even ask.

I don’t really know what I’m getting at here. I’m not exactly pining for her, if we’re going to be frank about it. I know that I’m better off without her, and Chooch is DEFINITELY better off without her. (This is the lady whose response to my question of, “Why don’t you ever tell me that you love me?” was “Because you didn’t tell me first!”) But that doesn’t eradicate the confusion I feel about the whole situation and how shitty it feels when you realize that you are literally worthless and disposable to the very woman who brought you into this world. I guess I just want to know why. What changed? What happened to her? I mostly do OK with living my life and not dwelling on this, but holidays—and the accidental nostalgia binge—always trigger my neurotic obsessing and rehashing.

And while I was having a wonderful Mother’s Day with my kid and Henry and his mom, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a day my own mom was having — did she sit around and pity herself because she got one less card celebrating her as a “mom”? Does she understand that other women throughout the years have taken it upon themselves to step up and fill that void in my life?

Does she even notice that I’m not around?

And what if this is a glimpse into my future? What if this is the kind of mom Chooch is going to grow up to have? What if I can’t stop it?! During dinner on Mother’s Day, Chooch randomly broke down into tears and wailed (and I mean WAILED), “You didn’t even like the Christmas present I got you!!” which is complete bullshit, and maybe this was spurned by the fact that he was so fucking tired, but you know what? I realized that I couldn’t even remember what he got me for Christmas. Am I just as horrible as my own mom? Because I sure as fuck felt like it at that particular moment.

Maybe I’m not some little kid who needs a mom, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be kind of nice to have one.  I guess my point is, if you have a mom who gives you the time of day, give her a fucking hug every now and again. And an extra one for me, too.

(You think this was whiny? You should have heard me crying about my pinched nerve at work all day!)