The Easter Glenn Hunt might be over, but the need for new Glenns will never run out thanks to celebrities dying all the time.  But I guess that’s life, right? PEOPLE DIE AND IT SUCKS. Especially these national treasures:

This is how I inadvertently discovered that like 75% of the department had never heard of Devo. Them: “I don’t know who this is.”

Me: “He was in Devo. That’s why I wrote Devo on his shirt.”

Them: “What is a Devo?”

BUT WE ALL KNOW KATY PERRY. FML.

This broad from Green Acres. Barb was REALLY UPSET about this one. So upset that I feared she was going to start coming into work wearing overalls of remembrance.

This was one of the saddest ones I had to make. :(

Last of the singing von Trapp siblings. I went with a generalized Sound of Music Glenn to represent the whole goddamn clan.

I have said the Gwar frontman’s name a million times but really struggled to spell it.

UGH. :(:(:( TERRIBLE.

You may have noticed that there is no Fred Phelps Glenn, and that is because that guy doesn’t deserve to be memorialized, not even as a Glenn. And I haven’t gotten around to Mickey Rooney because I can’t figure out how to make that one recognizable. SOS.

If you’ve been reading me (and by “me” I mean “my blog” and not the secret etchings I scratch behind my knees) for awhile now, you probably have picked up on the fact that I loathe my neighborhood. Technically, I live in the city of Pittsburgh, but it’s one of the more, god I can’t believe I’m about to use such a nice word on this place, SUBURBAN parts of Pittsburgh. But only in that the houses aren’t as sardine’d together as other areas, though. You still need to lock your front door. (Fun fact: I never locked my door until Henry moved in with me because I was so accustomed to growing up on a private line in an affluent area because burglaries NEVER HAPPEN out there, right guys?)

Being born and raised in the REAL suburbs, this is like extreme city-living for me. I moved to Brookline in 1999 when I was 19. I loved it because it was only about 15 minutes away from my home ‘burbs (read: close enough to go home to do laundry) and so conveniently located to all of the artsy urban areas that I felt like I had waited my entire life to be nearer to.

But then I had Chooch and suddenly I started thinking about grown-up things, like OMG THE CITY SCHOOL DISTRICT IS TERRIBLE. So Henry and I were determined to move out of the city before Chooch was school-age.

But then something crazy happened instead: I decided that I actually wanted to stay in my neighborhood. (Just…not in the same house. OMG I hate this house.) There’s a performing arts school downtown that we’ve been hoping to get Chooch into. City residents get free tuition and it was recently ranked #14 in the state. Chooch seems super gung-ho about it too, so hopefully he gets in. (He can audition in 5th grade to get into the middle school program.)

I was looking at their writing program awhile back and started crying.

Their mascot is a unicorn, for fuck’s sake. That school sounds like PARADISE.

So instead of fixating on all the shitty parts of this town, I have been trying to be more upbeat and appreciative (?) about this Yinzerville. Plus, I’ve grown so accustomed to being able to walk to so many places (CVS is only a few blocks away! I am never in need of nail polish anymore!).

(OK that’s a lie. I’m always in need of nail polish!)

For instance, if I want ice cream, THERE ARE TWO PLACES I CAN WALK TO GET ICE CREAM:

The first place is Scoops, which has the best hard ice cream and like 87 flavors, including the best birthday cake ice cream I’ve ever had (as seen in the picture above, crowning a scoop of banana cream pie). Also, they have red velvet ice cream. RED VELVET ICE CREAM. Sometimes I like to get that made into a milk shake and sometimes I cry when I’m done sucking it down. I used to hate them though because they took over a place called Boulevard Ice Cream or something equally generic, but that place was like an institution run by an affable old man who loved to chat and now it’s just a bunch of teenagers. (Although one of the guy-scoopers told me he liked my finger tattoos, so there’s that.)

(Speaking of tattoos, some broad who was the runner-up of that Dave Navarro tattoo show has a tattoo shop on the Boulevard.)

And now, in case I’m in the mood for soft serve, there’s Carnival Treats! It’s only like half a block further down from Scoops, but I’m scared that it won’t stay in business. So if you’re in Brookline ever, please go patronize Carnival Treats. You can buy a funnel cake without suffering exorbitant amusement park admissions!

Chooch and I were just there Sunday night and I have to say, their soft serve is delightful, but the sprinkles are too squishy, if that makes sense. However, the cake cones might be the best I’ve ever had! Like cinnamon is baked into them, OMG.

But maybe you don’t want ice cream or fried Oreos. Maybe you want olives and baklava. Thank god I got over my unfounded fear of Pitaland, because that place is a fucking babylon for fresh dates, holy shit. I love going there for a pound of them and also mysterious candy that Henry automatically insists I will hate. (And…sometimes I do.) Pitaland recently renovated and have a cafe now which is exciting.

If you don’t want to get yelled at for incorrectly pronouncing the National Breakfast Dish of Lebanon (I’m sorry, but “foul” looks like “foul” to me, not “fool.”), there are other more Yinzer-friendly places on the Boulevard, like Zippy’s (it’s a bar that LOVES THE STEELERS but they serve food too), some place called No Name Cafe or something that I honestly see like every day so you’d think I’d remember the name that they don’t have, a “coming soon” joint called Bama’s, and a cute little Greek spot called It’s Greek To Me. Henry and I used to go there a lot when we first started dating, but now we rarely go at all so I’m wondering if we experienced some sort of trauma there that is subconsciously keeping us at bay.

Or if you’re just in the mood for pink donuts with sprinkles (HENRY’S FAVORITE) or packzis (don’t ask), we have two bakeries on the Boulevard as well, OMG! DONUTS AND COOKIES, FUCK YES. Wash that shit down with coffee from Cannon Coffee down the street, you guys! God, I love that place. I wanted to stop there on the walk home from the park on Sunday but Henry had the biggest stick of all time penetrating his asshole, so instead of just going in without him, I decided instead to use this as an excuse to blame him for ruining my entire day.

And that’s exactly what I did, too. And that’s also why he cried like a bitch when Chooch and I went to get the aforementioned ice cream that night and Chooch also had a taco from the beloved Las Palmas taco cart because that’s what happens when daddies are being assholes. (They miss out on tacos, just in case you weren’t sure.)

(I was going to call Las Palmas “Brookline’s Best Kept Secret” but the hipsters already know about it, so….)

Some of the neighbors have nice flowers in their yards, if you’re the type that likes to pick them. In addition to free flora, there’s also a veritable bouquet of entertaining townies, too. Some days I wish I could just stay home and watch them walk past my house all day. (See also: Purple Pants; Tourette’s; Cheerleader Girl.)

If you smoke e-cigs, Brookline’s even got a vape shop classin’ up the Boulevard, so come on out.

And then when I have to take the TROLLEY TO WORK, UGH, my walk is only about 10 minutes long and it’s through a cute little neighboring town which has a froyo joint, a hot dog place that also serves veggie dogs (praise the vegan overlord), some diner that was inseminated with Guy Fieri’s hair gel & featured on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives (does not live up to its hype, IMHO), and an awesome old theater that plays fantastic B-movies, indie flicks & classics.

So sometimes I have to remind myself that, while there might be an occasional discarded hypodermic needle in my yard and I fucking hate the guido douchebag* up the street, sometimes it is necessary to stop and think about all of the things I sincerely enjoy about my dumb town, and fondly imagine turning into one of the scary old people who stand in the middle of the sidewalk, conversing in angry Polish.

You should all come visit me and I will take you on a tour of nothing interesting and then we can take the trolley somewhere more exciting, OMG!

*(Seriously though, if you want to be flashy with your Corvette, Hummer, stone lion statues guarding your steps and FRONT YARD FOUNTAIN ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THAT SHIT, move the fuck out of Brookline, maybe to Long Island? Just a suggestion. Henry said the guy is a city LIEUTENANT which is so fucking rich to me because that motherfucker was pretty much the WORST offender this past winter with literally never shoveling and salting his sidewalk, way to lead by example, asshole! (I have a real thing against authority, you guys.) I HATE HIM AND HIS CONSTANT LAWN-SPRINKLING and lavish, grown-up frat parties and Chinese lanterns hanging in his perfect trees. We saw him roll up the other day in his Corvette and when some broad got out of the passenger side, Chooch said, “God, how did that guy ever get a WIFE?” BY BEING A GUIDO DOUCHEBAG, SON. Try to keep up.)

I just stressed myself out so bad.

Since Chooch’s birthday party is two weeks after his actual birthday, I thought it would be nice to take him out for a (small) family birthday dinner over the weekend. I kept trying to think of fun places we could do this, but he picked Olive Garden for some unknown reason. He’s never been there, but he’s seen commercials and doesn’t quite understand that just because he’s obsessed with Italy, that doesn’t mean he’s going to suddenly like Italian food. Because he doesn’t. One of my favorite Italian restaurants is a family-owned joint in McKeesport called Tillie’s, but every time we take Chooch there he bitches about the “stench.”

That “stench” is homemade tomato sauce. God!

Anyway, while I’m not much of a fan of Olive Garden (or any chain restaurant, really), it was his choice, so that is where we went. Henry’s mom hasn’t been feeling well, and Blake and Robbie couldn’t make it (that is, assuming that Henry even ASKED them, which was his only goddamn job), so it was just us three, plus Janna and Corey. The perfect number, really.

Saint Henry

Originally, we were going to meet at 4, because we wanted to beat the dinner rush, but also because I wanted to be home in time for the hockey game and the world revolves around me, Chooch’s birthday or not. (In fact, I bought myself a limited release Jonny Craig record on Chooch’s birthday, because I deserve presents too.)

Around 3pm on Saturday, Henry started getting antsy and decided that he wanted to go sooner rather than later, and he was acting akin to some Southern elder afraid of missing the blue plate special. I couldn’t take his weird pacing any longer so I texted Janna and Corey to tell them we were bumping up the time. Corey wound up getting there right after us, but Janna, even though she said she was leaving, didn’t get there until after 4.

I know that the odds of dining with a roomful of octogenarians is par for the course when you go to a restaurant in between lunch and dinner, but it was like hospice in there. I’m not even trying to be a dickhead about it, either. One elderly woman was wheeled in on a hospital bed to a table right behind Corey and he was so uncomfortable knowing that she was behind his chair. Another frail, elderly woman at a table next to us looked like was dying. And then just other deathly quiet Olds were scattered around our section making for a totally morose and funereal ambiance. It was like a nursing home field trip.

Corey kept saying, “OMG I just want Janna to get here!” so she would sit next to him and shield him from the decay & inevitable pleurisy-powered coughs happening all around us.

Meanwhile, Chooch told the (totally adorable) waiter that he would be having “1% low-fat chocolate milk” to drink.

Then Janna arrived and Chooch told her she’s a disappointment.

I think the last time I was at an Olive Garden was the summer of 2004 when Henry and I were staying outside of Cleveland, Ohio for the Cure’s Curiosa Festival, and I was throwing one of my patented “If you don’t feed me ASAP, I will make Lorena Bobbitt look like an angel of mercy” tantrums. Of course I couldn’t decide what I wanted to eat and we didn’t know what else was around (no Smartphones, yo), so Henry practically dragged me by my hair to the Olive Garden next to our (probably shitty) hotel. I had a vague recollection of really enjoying the portobello ravioli and was happy to see they were still on the menu.

Friends, try to remember back to when you were a kid, how fucking sensational Chuck E. Cheese pizza tasted to you. How you never minded having to stop playing in the ball pit when your food was ready because that pizza was the motherfucking BOMB. And then try to remember the first time you had that pizza as an adult. How it was like Sad Trombone playing between mouthfuls of mediocrity.

And that is what it was like for me at Olive Garden on Saturday. I mean, I’m no gourmand, but this nothing like what my 21-year-old jejune palate once deemed as “better than sex.” But, it got the job done.

We also ordered some sort of lasagna appetizer thing, and also chicken strips and fried mozarella per the birthday boy’s request. Chooch had a nice time concocting his own menu items by shoving fried mozarella into hollowed-out breadsticks.

Chooch was adamant on ordering alfredo (which he kept pronouncing phonetically as “fred-o”) sauce with his pasta, so Henry sighed and told the totally adorable waiter (who we found out later graduated a year after Corey from the same high school we all attended) to please bring it on the side. Chooch was like, “Wait, I’m not done” and also ordered a meatball and Italian sausage, and chose mashed potatoes as his side.

I have never seen that child eat mashed potatoes. Ever. Not even on fucking THANKSGIVING.

Our food came and Chooch proceeded to eat everything with his hands, even though ten minutes beforehand, he had been preaching about how Olive Garden is a “fancy” restaurant. I kept telling Chooch to stop eating like a vagrant when I noticed that among the pile of noodle refuse under the table and around Chooch’s feet was one that had landed perfectly in a pretzel shape. I should have taken a dumb picture.

“It’s nice to see that Corey can cut his own food now,” Henry said, in a rare moment of audience participation. He’s usually mute when Corey and Janna are around, and I think it’s because he knows he can’t match the wits of us young’uns. Maybe one day, us whippersnappers will be interested in talking about gas prices, nondescript t-shirts and hemorrhoids, and then we can enjoy a real, multi-lateral round table discussion, but hopefully somewhere cooler than Olive Garden.

Back to Henry’s comment: Ten years ago, me, Henry, Janna, Corey and Chooch’s godfather Brian went to the Harmony Inn for a murder mystery dinner that my friends were performing in, and Henry had to cut Corey’s pork chops. I think that was the moment Henry finally accepted his fate as Everyone’s Caregiver.

My favorite Henry/Corey memory though is also from 2004. It was one of the weekends Henry’s kids were staying with us, and Corey—who is the same age as Robbie—decided to sleep over. For some reason, Corey REALLY WANTED SPRINKLES. No, we weren’t eating ice cream or anything. He just wanted a fucking bottle of sprinkles to drink. It was already kind of late, and we made Henry drive around looking for an open store that might sell sprinkles.

Yes, Corey eventually got his sprinkles, and then made himself sick on them. GOD, HENRY! WAY TO ENABLE MY BROTHER!

Henry was peeing when I took this picture, so just imagine him off to the side, pushing his glasses up and frowning at the check.

We managed to wrap things up (literally: Chooch put nary a dent in his plate and we had a ton to take home for Henry to devour later) before any of the old people expired atop their bottomless salad bowls, although there was some issue with the lady in the hospital bed that required someone to pull out a roll of duct tape.

Chooch said he had a good time, and that’s all that matters. He kept us (and the super adorable waiter) entertained, that’s for sure.

EDIT: I have just been informed by Corey & Henry that in addition to the hospice party, a little person was also there OMG.

Here is a rare bullet point post on a Sunday because Chooch is playing video games and Henry is cooking and I’m bored.

• There was a Penguins game on last night and I was so nervous that I kept trying to find dumb ways to distract myself, which is how I found a Hungry, Hungry Hippo hair fascinator on Etsy. I was going to buy it, but then the Penguins won and I forgot about it. Maybe during tomorrow night’s game…
• Last week, Chooch was bitching about me being mean, so I yelled YOU ARE THE REASON I’M MEAN! To which he responded YOU ARE THE REASON I TWERK! I just can’t with that kid anymore! He’s too quick. Also, he has been saying “literally” in almost every sentence, and I know I too am an offender (one of the worst) of using this word incorrectly (and I DGAF), but Chooch has just been so excessive about it. So I am going to make him a blog called Chooch, Literally. Janna kept trying to be the Literally vs. Figuratively Cop at dinner last night and we were all like STFU Janna.
  • At least we know that if Chooch grows up to be a stripper, it’s my fault and not Henry’s.
  • And he’ll be stripping to this song:
  • And he will probably LITERALLY have more money than Janna.
• I have vacillated between OMGLOVINGHENRY to wanting to bury his rotting body in a Pittsburgh pot hole so many times this weekend that I feel like I have whiplash. And a personality disorder.

• Emarosa released their first single with their new singer Bradley Walden last week and it gave me goose bumps and then made me cry in my office-thing at work. LOOK AT HOW BEAUTIFUL HE IS! ^^^^^^ And his voice is the perfect complement to the rest of the band. It feels so good to be an Emarosa fan right now. This single was a sweet reward for not giving up on them these last few years and I have kind wanted to run around the office making everyone listen to it, but I refrained and stuck to just listening to it on repeat by myself.
  • Not a shocker, but Jonny Craig is being a royal poor sport about this because I guess Emarosa was never supposed to move on without him, even though he’s been doing his own thing for the last two years and has a new band of his own now. But still, I LOVE SCENE DRAMA!
• I had a couple of very stressful trolley experiences last week, so when I got to work, I immediately went to the CNN website to get me a little perspective, because somehow there are things happening in the world that, while hard to believe, might actually be worse than the trolley fare machine not working.
  • One of those stressful experiences was sitting across from this guy and his Mads Mikkelson-as-Hannibal mouth. I couldn’t look away! Mostly because I was afraid he’d turn my fat ass into a 10-person banquet:

• So, the Penguins are currently embroiled in a heated 1st round playoff match-up with the Columbus Blue Jackets and the one player I hate the most, Brandon Dubinsky, is from ALASKA. Of COURSE he’s from that disgusting hell-on-earth! So every time he’s on the ice, I get to unleash some of my pent-up Alaska disgust and it feels good but also like my heart is going to implode. It’s weird to have my stressful passion for hockey and dedicated hatred for glaciers collide.
• OMG I’m having so much fun planning Chooch’s LOLCat birthday party! And my long-distance friend Bill just confirmed that he, Jessi and Tammy will be coming out from Michigan for the entire weekend and I am giddy with excitement! I haven’t seen them in two years!

• OMG this employment opportunity was in the weekly school email last week and I was so tempted to apply, except that my shift at the Law Firm starts at 1:30. But can imagine how mediocre and complacent I would be as a playground monitor?! Ugh, what a failed opportunity. Also, I’m pretty sure I would pass all of those clearances.

• It’s 2014 and I still have no idea what goes on in Autocorrect’s head. Also, be a better housewife, Henry.
• Today, Chooch asked, “If you guys aren’t married, how was I born? Wait—was I adopted?” Have fun with that talk, Henry.
• I’m pretty sure my Internet presence has ensured that I will never get a boyfriend ever again.
• HENRY JUST WALKED PAST ME AND HIT ME FOR NO REASON I HATE HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

• On Chooch’s birthday, I got THIRTY DONUTS in the Mystery Box on Tapped Out! I was stoked but this was like the greatest affront to Chooch of all time. I thought he was going to try and murder me in my sleep.
• We went to Toys R Us last night and I ditched Henry and Chooch for the Tween aisle, because that’s where my jam’s at, and I found this disgustingly awesome grilled cheese & tomato soup lip balm pack! It was so sickening that I had to buy it, and I’m here now to tell you that it is just as gross and vile as your imagination probably immediately told you it would be as soon as you read the words “grilled cheese & tomato soup lip balm.” Actually, the grilled cheese one wasn’t TOO bad, and if we’re being honest here, it was kind of exciting to have the stench of my favorite meal wafting around below my nose. But today, I was on the way home from lunch with Wendy, Evonne, and Evonne’s friend Barbara, when I decided to be bold and put the grilled cheese one on my top lip and the tomato soup one on my bottom lip and then basically spent the next 20 minutes trying not to throw up in the backseat of Evonne’s car. I mean, sure it tasted like tomato soup….that has just been regurgitated. Just in case you’re a mental asshole: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. Let me be your example of what things should never be rubbed on the lips.
• 
• And then Chooch wanted this stupid robot dog and cried, “BUT IT’S SO COOL! YOU TELL IT WHAT TO DO AND IT DOES IT!” So I said, “That’s what Daddy is for.” BOOM, SON.
• Yesterday, I was out and about in the neighboring town of Dormont trying to rack up pedometer steps, when I stumbled across this interesting specimen strumming a guitar outside of someone’s window. He needs some more practice, I think:

• Today Henry cried actual tears because he had bleach on his hands and then touched his eyes. Instead of caring, I yelled at him for interrupting me. He is really so rude.
• Eight hours later and I’m still smelling that vile tomato soup lip balm, what have I done?
• If some of my words are missing letters, it’s less likely that I’m a spelling derelict and more so that Chooch has ruined yet another keyboard.

I’m sitting here watching the Pens/BlowJobs game with one eye open and am having terrible stomach aches because playoff hockey = ulcers so here is a photo of Marcy because I needed something to distract me and I’ve already taken care of my Springfield on Simpsons Tapped Out.

#inhaleexhaleinhaleexhale

#fleurydontleavethecrease

#dubinskycanchokeonaglacier

It is mandatory for bloggers to commemorate birthdays of their offspring every year and pretend that the entire world has halted. You didn’t know? It’s written somewhere, I don’t know. I’m not a real blogger, so you’ll have to ask one of these ones.

But back to Chooch! Eight years ago today, I was having this 10lb 2oz sack of chunk extracted from a SCARY INCISION THAT STILL HURTS SOMETIMES, OK? It seems like an eternity ago, but I can still remember how excited/anxious/horrified I was like it was yesterday, and the nurse asking me if I had a Living Will, OMG just what I want to think about right before I go in for a stomach filleting. And I think here is where I’m supposed to insert some flowery prose about how hard parenting is, but so worth it. It’s true though. Once I quit wondering when things would get easier and accepted the fact that this parenting job will NEVER get easier, I think I became kind of better at it. (I still fuck up A LOT, though, don’t get it twisted.) Chooch himself has made me so much better in so many ways!

I was the first one out of all of my friends to get pregnant, and I heard a lot of predictions like, “You’re not going to be fun anymore.” And that makes me laugh because I have more fun now than I ever did back then, so thanks Chooch! (I am also not friends anymore with the people who said shit like that to me, because fuck them.)

Here’s Henry sleeping in the hospital room that day, which is probably one of the last times Chooch and I have let him take a nap.

LOLworthy:

1. Bandanna

2. Faygo sweatshirt

3. Mr. Mom jeans and shoes

4. Awkward holding of his own hand

And here’s the birthday boy himself, on our walk to school this morning! You guys, he was in the best mood and a total fucking joy to be around for once. I LOVE BIRTHDAY CHOOCH, OMG.

Anyway, I guess we’re going to dinner tomorrow at Olive Garden of all places, because this is what he has requested we do. He’s never been to Olive Garden before and he hates pasta, so…..

This Easter was nice. I mean that: it was really nice! Like having dinner with a pretty-faced man who loves cats and has good manners: you’re probably not going to bang him later, but you will definitely be sure to tell your friends he was nice even though you’re sure he was definitely wearing stockings under his pants. And that’s how Easter was. It didn’t culminate into a rager or other assorted cross-dressing debauchery, but it was nice.

We had zero plans and obligations and that was, wait for it, NICE. However, I had to direct Chooch to his hidden Easter basket before he lost his mind because of a combination of Henry hiding it too well and Chooch being born with his mother’s half-assed searching skills. (Seriously, if what I am looking for isn’t in the first drawer I open, then I call it quits and make Henry look.)

Sometimes as parents, we have to make sacrifices. This Easter that sacrifice was paying actual money for a Maroon5 CD because Chooch inexplicably likes them suddenly. I guess it could be worse. (Katy Perry.) But, like I mentioned last week, who am I to deny someone of their love of a band? God knows I get ridiculed enough for the music I like. However, at least he can go from listening to dumb Adam Levine to Bring Me the Horizon like it’s no big deal, just like I can swap out Phil Collins for Dillinger Escape Plan. Settle down, Erin Rachelle Kelly.

Also got him Taco Cat headphones. He actually really needed a new pair of headphones though, and Henry and I really needed to not have to hear the stupid Minecraft videos he watches, so this was no superfluous purchase. We are trying to not go overboard with Easter like every other American family we know, and believe me, we have been super guilty of that in the past. But Chooch’s birthday is less than a week away from Easter, so enjoy that candy, son.

How did Easter become Christmas Lite, anyway? When I was a kid (I know, “here we go”), I was actually quite spoiled, yet for Easter, my parents never did anything more than a basket full of jellybeans, chocolate and one small item (for me, it was usually a My Little Pony). And I’m sure my dad thought even that was too much. Times are so different now! And Henry and I have been totally guilty of stuffing ridiculous amounts of non-candy things into Chooch’s basket every year, to the point where some things had to just rest on the floor next to the basket. Sickening. I’m such a fat commercial American conformist pig. THERE I SAID IT.

And the funny thing is, I don’t even think Chooch realized that he got way less this Easter. And if he did, he didn’t care. At least I know my kid isn’t as spoiled as I was? (Haha, I love that I used past tense.)

It was really a very nice day, all blue-skies and sunny, so I demanded that we go to the fitness trail in South Park, even after I declared I was going to rest on Easter since that would probably be what Jesus Glenn would tell me to do. Fuck the Law Firm Fitness Challenge! Eat some chocolate! But…no. I couldn’t rest on my Easter bonnetted laurels (wtf?) which means Henry and Chooch couldn’t either.

I love the fitness trail! It’s right across from the tree my biological dad crashed into back in 1983, resulting in his coma and eventual death! True story!

I also love the fitness trail because it is fucking hilarious watching Chooch trying to do fitness.

We begged Henry to demonstrate some basic training moves he learned in THE SERVICE but he was like, “No because you’re going to record it; I wasn’t born yesterday.” Sorry guys. I tried.

A nice tree on nice Easter!

What is this pose, OMG.

Then we walked to the playground which always brings back fond memories of my own childhood except that basically nothing is the same about it. God forbid a playground should have monkey bars or a staggeringly steep metal slide. GOD FORBID.

(Actually, as a mom who gets Jello-legs every time her son is so much as a foot off the ground—-thank god they took those death traps out.)

Made Henry pose for some nice Easter selfies! Happy Nice Easter from us!

There were two teenage boys there and Henry hated them but they seemed fine to me except neither was wearing a band t-shirt so I couldn’t judge them based on their music preference and that made me sad for a minute. So sad being sad on such a nice day, even for a minute.

Then we made Henry buy us snow cones from a sketchy snow cone vendor in the playground parking lot. Chooch ordered chocolate which sounds absolutely disgusting to me. One of the guys was like, “This smells like root beer” when he pulled out the syrup but the other guy was like, “No, it’s chocolate. It says so.” So the first guy shrugged and made the snow cone, which Chooch immediately described as “not chocolate” as soon as he spooned some into his hole of vulgarity. So then the guys were like, “This is probably definitely not chocolate then” and let Chooch order a different flavor.

Meanwhile, I had ordered passion fruit even though I had forgotten what passion fruit tasted like but the guys were staring at me, waiting for me to decide and I felt so pressured. As soon as I tasted it, I regretted not ordering Georgia peach, fuck this Easter. Worst Easter ever.

Here is a picture of Henry two minutes later when I decided I didn’t want to eat anymore of my passion fruit snowcone and Chooch decided that he didn’t want to carry his scooter anymore. This is why we don’t ever leave the house without Henry, you guys. Well, that and also because he knows the way to everywhere. And he doesn’t consistently leave his wallet at home like I do. And he cuts our food for us. And we love to make fun of him!

Walked past these assholes playing cricket and it was so stupid. The orange team won, which was a given because the green team looked like a fucking sack of grandpa shit out there. Then Henry saw a large plastic container discarded over a hill and we were sure that there’s a dead body in it.

After I referred to a little girl in her frilly Easter dress as a “little bitch” and Henry sped up his pace, we left and went to eat at Golden Wok, because it was the closest Chinese restaurant that was opened and who the fuck is Henry going to cook an Easter ham for? We’re loners, Dottie.

Some old bitch came in to pick up her food and said to the Chinese waitress, “Hey you know that plane that crashed? The Malaysian one?” Honestly, this was the first thing she thought to say right after “I’m here to pick up my food,” like you just know she was dying to talk about it the whole drive to the restaurant. The waitress just giggled nervously and said she hadn’t heard, which I interpreted as, “Yes, but I don’t want to engage you” so the old bitch went on to say, “One of the passengers lived on my street!” which got no response. I was waiting for her to ask the waitress if she knew her, because that just seemed to be which racist freeway this out of control 18-wheeler was barreling down, but luckily the waitress walked away.

Anyway, I know tofu looks disgusting, like some kind of muscus-y, alien afterbirth, but holy shit this was some of the best tofu I have ever eaten. I couldn’t wait to tell the waitress, the same way that old bitch couldn’t wait to tell her about the Chinese crash victim, and in the same way the waitress didn’t care about that, she didn’t care about my tofu praise.

“Oh OK,” she said with a rushed, disinterested laugh. “Thank you.” Because who ever raves about tofu.

Then we went home and watched The Ten Commandments like I mentioned last week, but we didn’t have to watch it on a box TV from 1998 because our TV was done being repaired and we picked it up last Saturday, yay we’re kept up with the Joneses again! (That makes no sense!)

It had been a long while since I had seen this movie, and goddamn I forgot how long it is. I mean, get the fuck on with it already. The Ten Commandments are basically just a cameo so why not just name it Things Moses Did? And I mean, yeah, he was hot AS FUCK, but I’ll be damned if I’m fighting other broads to wash his feet, I mean let’s get real. Ugh and he probably stunk so bad. I can’t even. But it was still fun to overzealously gasp and shake Henry in mock disbelief.

Easter 2014 was just about ready to go down in the books in the “No Tears” column, until Chooch overheard me tell my cat Marcy that she’s the only good one in the whole entire house and he actually started to fucking cry*, are you kidding? So then I laughed, which only made it worse. But I can only control myself for so long on a holiday.

*(In full disclosure, he was in the middle of writing a book report that I forced him to do,plus it was pretty late, and he can be a real oversensitive jerk after hours. JUST SAYIN’, CHOOCH.)

Me: Basically, every muscle in my legs hurt…wait, are shins muscles?
Henry, sighing: No, those are bones.
Me: OK, well those hurt too.

The results for Week One are in and my team is ranked #9 in the whole firm (and our firm is fucking ginormous and international, you guys) with a total of 321,448 points. My individual total for the week was 157,181 so….you’re welcome Team Adverse to Sitting. It also helps that I don’t have A MEANDERING CAREY on my team this time!

I’m really in a groove though! I’ve been doing cardio every morning and every night after work, with a shit-ton of walking in between. At first it was really excruciating, but now I’m like GIVE ME MORE. Until I wake up in the morning and have to roll myself out of bed because my body is so wrecked. My body was so sore on Monday that the stop-motion way I had to walk Chooch to school that morning made me look Claymation. Maybe Gumby will ask me to prom.

I am trying so hard to not be a competitive douchebag knee-breaker in the style of Tonya Harding, but….you’re going down, No More Pat.

Fifteen years ago today, the world lost one hell of a guy. This one’s for you, Aaron. I know how much you LOVED this song!

(Fun fact: he did not love this song. But I did and I would play the shit out of my cassette single every time we hung out because that’s the kind of endearing friend I am.

)

A person could go mad thinking about all the whys and hows and wondering what kind of guy he would have grown into. An awesome one, obviously.

So, I tried to be a normal grown-up and maybe wait until later this week to post this since I already posted once today, but I CAN’T WAIT YOU GUYS BECAUSE OMG JONNY CRAIG’S NEW BAND SLAVES FINALLY RELEASED A SINGLE AFTER TEASING US RELENTLESSLY!

I actually kept refreshing their Facebook page last night before I went to bed until they finally announced that the song was available on iTunes so of course I screamed real loud like a typical 34-year-old MOM does when her favorite fantasy boyfriend releases new music and I kept trying to get Henry to listen to it on my phone but he actually rolled away from me and tried to put his pillow over his head.

My love affair with Jonny is so confusing, even to myself. I want to hate him! But…then I hear his dumb voice and I get all googly eyed and it’s 2008 again. I have to admit though, I wasn’t 100% in love with his solo stuff. I liked it, but in my heart, I believe that Jonny belongs in front of a band. And hopefully, Slaves will be the one that sticks. Maybe this is the fresh start that Jonny needs, you guys. MAYBE HE IS DONE BEING A D-BAG!

Anyway, Hands Like Houses announced their first US headlining tour, which starts next month, and Slaves is one of the supporting bands.

I am DYING TO SEE THEM but the closest they’re coming is 4 hours away, which is not that far, but Henry is making me jump through all sorts of hoops before he will agree to take me. If it were in Pittsburgh, I’d go alone. But I dislike driving more than 2 hours away by myself.

Years of back-n-forth to Cincinnati was enough. Besides, laughing at Henry’s frowns and extreme discomfort at seeing Jonny on a stage is part of the process.

2014 has ejaculated unto us a ridiculous amount of amazing music and tours so far, and the year isn’t even half over. I bow down to you, 2014. (And you too, Henry, if you take me to Allentown, goddammit.

)

We are pretty apathetic when it comes to traditions in our house. I remember really loving the whole egg dyeing experience as a kid, and then getting stoked for it out of nowhere a few years ago to the point where I had an egg dyeing party (and, because I looked at the wrong calendar, I accidentally had it like 4 weeks before actual Easter, oh well), but mostly I’m just totally ambivalent about it. Chooch hadn’t even mentioned it, so I assumed we were going egg-free this year, but then at the last minute Henry was like, “Are we dyeing eggs?” and then Chooch and I were suddenly Egg Dyeing’s Biggest Fans.

“This is dumb.”

Chooch immediately cracked every egg he dropped into the dye cup-things. Did I mention that HENRY bought the dye kits without us? Immediately made the process 87% less fun. WHO DOES THAT?!

Goddammit, so did I.

Erin + Jonny = Easter pukes for Henry.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

I love that Henry stands around acting like some superior King Pinterest douchebag, judging our slipshod handiwork with smug smirks and disgusted lip curls, but then never EVER steps in to “show us how it’s done.” God, why don’t you just open an Etsy shop of judgments, Henry?

You deserve this, Henry.

Chooch and I lost interest in < 10 minutes. Henry tried to get us excited by adding vegetable oil to some of the colors so we could try our hands at marbling, but…bitch, please. That’s not enough to stroke our attention erect.

Henry said this is the last year for egg dyeing. #toomanyweeners

Then the Penguins lost game 2 of the playoffs and my night was over. (And, in turn, so was Henry’s.)

Read more: http://www.post-gazette.com/local/region/2014/04/20/Brookline-man-arrested-after-fight-with-girlfriend-police/stories/201404200224#ixzz2zYWREwCv

I was all set to write about Easter weekend, how Henry hates dyeing eggs and the amazing tofu I had (srsly, that’s a sentence that was just purposely typed), but then I realized what today’s date is. Just the other day, I was texting with Andrea and it dawned on me that the 10 year anniversary of they day I walked out of the most dysfunctional and damaging job I’ve ever had was coming up.

No wonder it has been popping up in my mind so much lately.

Well, that day is today. It’s funny how a simple date can give me such stomach aches. But it has also given me a lot to think about. If you were my friend during the 4 years I worked at this place, you know all about how it was the most depressed I’ve ever been in my life, and you know about how the experience took my big lionesque personality and suppressed it into that of a timid lamb.

I don’t really talk about those days very much and I definitely don’t write about the worst of it because I was told not to. But I will tell you that the day I stood up to the owner of the company and walked out was the most empowered I have ever felt as a woman, and it was also one of the most reckless decisions I made.

It took me YEARS to be able to mentally and emotionally start working again, because, well, four years of emotional abuse, inappropriate touching, verbal bullying, and the aftermath of walking away from it resulted in some trauma. I would go to interviews and have to breathe in paper bags in my car because I would be so scared and panicked. I developed a stutter. I became shy and socially crippled. I let this happen and I fucking can’t stand it. But, I am a lot better now. I’m also a lot different now.

This place had it all: death, suicide, theft, affairs, racism, sexism, harrasment, drugs. It was like working in an office full of sleazy uncles. Let’s just say that the climax was an argument between me and my boss about someone who ended up dying tragically three days later.

Perhaps after ten years, I should be “over it,” and perhaps I need to go back to therapy, but it was something that defined me. Whether I like it or not. That place redirected the course of my life, and while I love where I am now, it was a long and rocky road full of unemployment, shut-off and eviction notices, panic attacks and extreme self-doubt.

 I hate that I let it happen. I hate that I thought it was “normal” to be treated like that. I hate that Human Resources didn’t exist there. So much of what is “wrong” with me today can be directly attributed to the years 2000-2004. (Everything else can be blamed on my family, haha.)

So today, I feel sick to my stomach and flooded with memories while nasty words ricochet in my mind. I am equal parts sad, angry, bitter, infuriated, guilty and FUCKED OVER. It’s your basic Sybil City over here. But, all of this reminds me that my current job is a fucking wet dream compared to that nightmare. So that is one silver lining.

The biggest silver lining is Henry (gross, but I had to be honest!). Everything happens for a reason, right? I’m not sure I would have met him anywhere else if we hadn’t both endured that hell together.

We’ll go back to having fun on here tomorrow, I promise.

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ROBERT SMITH!!!

I was able to knock out a few more Biblical/Easter Glenns before my eggs were cast aside for more commercial ones. Kind of like a plastic egg version of vinyl vs. mp3: only the cool kids liked my eggs.

BUT I’M NOT MAD BRO.

Here we have: David Glenn & Goliath Glenn, Vatican Glenn, Swiss Guard Glenn, Friar Glenn.

Fire & Brimstone Glenn, Tenebrae Glenn, Hatching Spring Glenn, Glenn Falls For the 2nd Time.

Jeannie finally opened her egg while Nate played dramatic Game of Thrones music, even though for some reason I felt something from the Wicker Man would be better but I can’t explain why. Nate’s epic music suited the situation just fine though.

Anyway, Jeannie got Saint Lucy in her egg and was like “I don’t know who this is” which reinforces my claim that this was a FUN, LIGHT-HEARTED & EDUCATIONAL way to fuck off work.

Happy fucking Easter.

Hey just a heads up that it’s Good Friday and I feel like your basic upended hornet’s nest today so these are gon’ be some bruised fucking bullets. Also, the Law Firm Fitness Challenge has left me pretty depleted of, well, everything.

• Might as well just start with that then, huh? The Law Firm Fitness Challenge has me so exhausted. Since other activities can be counted in addition to walking, I’m only walking 15,000 steps this time around and then averaging around 70-90 minutes of cardio a day (most of that taking place in the morning, with shorter sets of cardio after work). The other night, Henry flipped out and said, “OMG YOU’RE NOT TRAINING FOR A TRIATHLON! SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” He only gets mad because he wants to watch TV, not me writhing in pain. (You’d think he’d love that though.) Anyway, the good thing about this is that since I’m in a competitive mindset, I’m not slacking off like I would generally do. My normal routine is only 30 minutes of cardio 5-6 days a week. But now I’m purposely seeking out hard things that make me cry. Yesterday, I thought I hurt myself but I’m OK. Although now I think I have water-on-the-knee. Whatever that is.
  • If I counted “boxing with Henry while he tries to sleep/watch TV/cook dinner” and “throwing explosive tantrums every time Henry ignores my daily phone calls” as the vigorous cardio I know it to be, I would blow my Law Firm Fitness Challenge competitors out of the water.
  • You might be surprised to know this about me, since I’m a perpetual Captain Chubs, but I’m actually pretty athletic & enjoy fitness-y things. I played tennis competitively when I was a kid/in high school. I chose tennis because I’m not a team player.

• I changed Marcy’s name  to Hugs & Kisses last weekend. Janna came over and laughed really hard when I told her, and that upset Marcy.
• I hate everything today so badly, OMG. Every single voice around me is like a serrated blade to my ear drums, help. I have a fake office-thing so shutting the door doesn’t help.
• A secretary I dislike just called right now but my office-neighbor Patrick answered it so I will be erasing his name from The List.  (For now.)
• We were at Target over the weekend and Henry was like, “YOU CAN GET TWO CDS AND THAT’S IT” (actually, he didn’t tell us we could get any, so….). Chooch got Bastille and he also wanted to get Maroon5 but I just couldn’t let him put that in the cart.  Mostly because it’s music that I just can’t get behind, but also because I wanted to get the new Used CD. Anyway, I felt like an asshole about it afterward because I don’t want to be That Guy who makes someone feel like shit for liking dumb music, and when I was his age, I was listening to a TON of mainstream music like Phil Collins and Hall & Oats (and yes, even the Cure was kind of mainstream, for awhile there anyway) and I turned out fine. So I guess he’ll get Maroon5 in his dumb Easter basket this weekend.
• The new season of MTV’s The Challenge started last week and THANK GOD CT IS ON IT AGAIN. OMG he’s the hottest. Anyway, Henry tries to be all, “*grumble* I hate the fucking Challenge *grumble*” but then he gets all cozy on the couch with his stupid jug of iced tea and says things like, “OMG WHAT HAPPENED TO LAUREL!? OH YAY CT! STFU FRANK.” (See below for a picture of Henry watching the Challenge with his jug of iced tea.)

• Hey remember when I was putting lots of time & effort into spreading Glennish Easter cheer around the office but then a mainstream Easter egg hunt usurped my renegade shenanigans and of course no one cared about my paltry eggs anymore because mine only have Glenns in them and not precious “golden bunnies,” which are redeemable for stupid gift cards.  If I see one, I’m smashing it.
  • I mean, perfect timing for the Judases to come out of the woodwork, though, amiright?
  • I AM ONLY HALF-JOKING ABOUT THIS. I spent a good bit of the last two days pouting in my office, because that is what bi-polar 34-year-old “professionals” do, along with filling 28 pages in their diary about HOW NO ONE UNDERSTANDS and considering quitting their job to become a freelance “daily specials” sign scrawler, but probably winding up working at a gas station instead.
  • See also: I’m not a team player.
• There’s some Minecraft-related online course that teaches kids Java so that they can build their own “mods,” whatever the fuck those are, so Henry bit the bullet and enrolled Chooch, figuring that it’s never too early to start learning about programming in this day and age. Anyway, he is fucking zooming through this shit! He’s teaching himself how to make a unicorn demon (???) and I guess there was some issue last night where Minecraft wasn’t working so Henry was like, “You’re going to have to email the admins; that’s what they’re there for” so Chooch did that, but this morning he hadn’t heard back from them and somehow figured it out on his own. I know this because he used my phone to text Henry, “I got Minecraft to work and I fixed the errors all I had to do was erase ‘es’ to fix the addRecipe so Minecraft is fixed by me.” I don’t know what any of that means. But maybe soon he can redo my blog since Henry has been making empty promises for the last 7 years. Fuck you, Henry.
• In the span of a week, our TV broke, our computer monitor broke, and now our car is breaking. Henry has gained a lot more wrinkles this week. We’ve been using one of our old box TVs while the real TV is getting repaired and I feel like a pioneer person. Yet I’ve been surprisingly blasé about any of these things. Oh, that’s probably because I’m dead inside.
• AUGGGGHHH OMG STFU EVERYONE.

• I got this brochure thing in the mail yesterday and it was addressed to “Mrs Erin Kelly Robbins.” What a fucking joke. JUST LIKE THIS WHOLE ENTIRE STUPID WEEK.
• Mean Amber2 gave me a package of dried persimmons because she hated them since she’s mean, but at least for once I benefitted from her meanness!
• I decided to revisit Open Hand the other day and forgot how attached I was to their album “You and Me.” I used to listen to it on the drive to visit Christina in Cinicinnati, so….basically another album that makes my heart feel like a raw, salted wound. But, if I let things like that stop me from loving certain bands, then I’d be fucked. Especially if Henry and I ever break up, OMG. So then I texted Terri to see if she likes them too and she does, and it’s these little things that make me feel grateful and less alone. I hope I never stop being able to connect with people over music, even though it’s rarer and rarer these days. HAPPY EASTER.
  • Hey since we’re talking about music over our coffees right now, you and me, I thought it would be a cute idea for Chooch to give out mixed CDs as birthday party favors, but then I remembered that we can add the CD burner to the list of broken things in the house.
  • The amount of times Christina has popped up in my memory lately makes me think that perhaps she’s died, but my general complacency prevents me from looking into that any further.
• I’m strangely excited to watch The Ten Commandments on our TV from 1998 this weekend.
• I’m also strangely excited about Easter in general, in spite of the egg fiasco, but I’m not sure why because we don’t have any plans other than “go to a Chinese restaurant.” (Last year’s Pizza Party for Jesus Christ was super fun but between hosting that Stella & Dot party and planning Chooch’s LOLCat birthday party, I’m just too tired to host another thing.) It’s supposed to be nice out so maybe we can go sit in a field or something.
• Birchbox is usually so hit or miss, but the one for April was pretty spectacular. TheBalm’s How ‘Bout Them Apples? lip cream is my new fucking jam and you should all go get some. (SEE BELOW for how it looks on my pudding face.)

• OK. I just came back from a pee-break, wherein I zoned out in the stall to the point where I started to fall asleep. You guys, it hasn’t even been a full week of the LFFC (Law Firm Fitness Challenge, come on now); how am I going to make it to the end of May? Good god.
• Today it occurred to me that I can never use the excuse “Henry had surgery and needs me to stay home and help him” to call off work, because who would ever believe that I was going to help Henry do ANYTHING?
• I like to eat popcorn and then rub Henry’s glasses. It’s how I flirt, OK?! And oh, it makes him so mad.

I’m going to end this with a compilation of Instavids from last weekend because let’s have a little bit of joy around here, why don’t we.

Remember how I bribed Chooch with ice cream in exchange for Easter portraits? Well duh—that’s because I wanted ice cream, too. Yeah, yeah, yeah: I know that you can still eat ice cream during the winter (and trust me, I do!) but I am super partial to soft serve ice cream with sprinkles and well, they just taste better in warm weather. So even though this was supposed to be Chooch’s treat, I kept trying to give him gentle shoves toward soft serve places, but he was deadset on going to Scoops on the Boulevard, which is only HARD ICE CREAM. (And it’s really good too but I just wanted a soft splooge of vanilla majesty in a fucking cone, OK?

But then Henry pointed out that there is a new place down the street from Scoops called Carnival Treats and they supposedly have soft serve. Plus, this meant we could walk rather than drive, since it’s right down the street. And that’s a win/win because I’m really into walking. An enthusiast, even.

Carnival Treats is still new and does not have its shit together yet.

It used to be a pretzel place that Henry jacked off over for about a month, but I never liked the pretzels. I’m picky about my pretzels. (I was just talking yesterday about some sort of food I’m picky about and Chooch was like, “Ugh, you’re just like a teenager. Teenagers are picky about EVERYTHING.” Oh OK, because 8-year-olds aren’t?)

I want to redo their sign in the worst way. It was making my eyes itch while I was waiting for my ice cream. You’d never know it based on the grammatical shit stains on my blog, but I am actually pretty good at spotting other people’s errors. And I’m REALLY GOOD AT MAKING SIGNS. That was my favorite part of working at that shitty meat place from 2000-2004 (which I’m technically not ever supposed to write about as part of an agreement from when I won a settlement against them after I quit and it pains me to think about all of the salacious tales I can never tell on this blog). But yes, in addition to managing the office, I was responsible for hand-writing the deli case stickers. My beautiful lettering, wasted on “PORK BUTTS” and “ALL BEEF WIENERS.

” But I still churned them out with a gentle flourish because I take pride in anything I make by hand.

Even meat price tags.

But I digress.

The damn vanilla side of the soft serve machine wasn’t working because why would it be? So I had to get CHOCOLATE instead and I’m just not a fan of chocolate soft serve unless it’s a Frosty from Wendy’s.  But I ate it anyway because I was determined to enjoy my first ice cream cone of the spring, even though I complained about the sprinkles, too.

I’m picky about sprinkles.

These were too big and chewy.

Henry didn’t get anything because he was being a cry baby for some reason.

The next day was even more beautiful, so we took Chooch to Round Hill Farm to see the animals. Apparently, it was the location of the Great Allegheny Easter Egg Hunt which was scheduled to start an hour after we got there, so we rushed Chooch through in an effort to get the hell out of there before it started because I am way too much of a bitch to be a part of something so competitive involving children.

Chooch really wanted medicinal herbs.

THEN WE GOT MORE ICE CREAM. This time we went down the road to Yough Twist in Elizabeth because that place is the shit.  There was an old couple that arrived on their lame bicycles right before us and basically ordered a three course meal but luckily one of the other girls there who looked like she could have been a member of Danity Kane opened up another window for us to order because I guess she realized that her co-worker was going to be stuck helping the elder bicyclists for quite awhile. Ugh, I hated them so bad, I can’t even get into it right now.

I was a dummy and ordered a pretzel cone, which was totally disgusting. Why did I do that!? Why am always trying to gild the lilies?

!

Thank god that girl had the foresight to give me a plastic cone protector thingie because my ice cream was melting at lightning speed. I actually had a bigger mess on my hands than Chooch, which is really saying something because he’s the grossest food-eater ever.

Also, I don’t care how annoying it is, I have a compulsion to photograph every single ice cream cone. It’s just what I do. Sorry if you have an eye allergy to ice cream pictures.

Henry, finishing both of our ice cream cones after he had already eaten his own.  He should look so much happier than that, right!? (Look at that dumb lock of hair sticking out of his hat, hahaha.)

Overall, not the greatest weekend of ice cream cones, but there’s, like, however many more weekends there are from now until next dumb winter.