At one of my old jobs, I worked 4pm to midnight and listened to music there constantly. Sometimes, because of the nature of my job, I would get into a zone and even though the music was always playing, I wasn’t necessarily hearing it. But I will never forget this one night in 2008 when this particular Further Seems Forever song came on, and even though I had heard it a million times, I REALLY HEARD it that night and started crying immediately. (I cry a lot, I guess.)

I heard it for the first time in years last week at work and honestly felt like I had been bitch-slapped by feelings. I love it but I hate it!

I know it’s blasphemous to speak/type such words, but this was my favorite Further Seems Forever line-up. Yes, I liked Jason Gleason better than Chris Carrabba, OMG. Anyway, this is a really pretty song, with no screaming or Jonny Craig, so perhaps you might like it. LISTEN TO IT, WON’T YOU?

MY BLOG IS BROKEN.

Or maybe just sprained. It’s been acting weird since yesterday and my nervous tic is blogging so I have been chewing on my fingers!

Ugh. I’m not even sure this will post.

I mean, it’s not like I have a ton that I need to say/type but…

compulsion. #blamehenry

Actually, I do have a ton I need to say/type because this is my Internet Diary, wah. I feel like if I had to, I could give up all social media (Facebook would be the easiest) but I think I would have a stroke after the first week of no blog.

Here is a picture of Chooch:

We still haven’t eaten dinner together since I switched to daylight because I keep forgetting we have no family values.

Tomorrow maybe my blog will work long enough for me to write about my brother’s birthday <3.

• Today is my first day in my new position at work! Henry said his mom called him this morning to make sure that I didn’t have a stroke on the trolley, since Morning Commute trolley is waaaay scarier/more crowded than the Leisurely Afternoon trolley which I have grown accustomed to over the last few years. But I did it! I made it! I was really nervous about it all weekend but now I know it’s fine, I’m fine, we’re all fine, so I’m officially in relaxed mode. LOOK AT ME, NOT BEING AS MUCH OF A SPAZ AS USUAL!
• Last weekend, we were out and about when Chooch realized he didn’t know where we were. “Yes you do,” Henry said. “We’re by that park where Mommy threw a fit.” Chooch made an exasperated sigh and said, “There are LOTS of places where Mommy has thrown a fit.” That kid.
• Henry made me a lovely fruit salad full of persimmon, kumquats, apples, blackberries, red bananas and some miniature pineapple thing. Remember when I didn’t like fruit?! God, I was so dumb back then.
• I got to sit with Amber1 this morning for some training! Glenn was supposed to be my main buddy but he’s conveniently on vacation this week. HOW NICE.
  • Speaking of Glenn, I tried to decorate my new desk with all of my best things so that he will have lots to look at. When I first moved over there last Thursday, I started hanging up all of my favorite pictures and magnets, but first I would hold them up to show Glenn. “Don’t care,” he kept mumbling, but he clearly was paying attention because when I showed him this picture, it sparked a conversation about Warped Tour and how his kids are going this year and I was like, “OMG ME TOO!” and he was like, “Don’t care.” Full circle.

• Saturday was pretty weird/upsetting. Remember how my cat Willie died last January? Well, because the humane society closed their shelter in Elizabeth, our pet cemetery plots were kind of in limbo. We were luckily able to get a shelter volunteer to meet us there to take Willie, but since it was a terrible winter, they were unable to bury her until the spring. Someone finally got in touch with us last week and scheduled a burial for Saturday. I forgot that I had asked for an open casket and it was so disturbing to go into the bereavement room and see Willie laying there with sunken eyes and ugh, just ugh. I don’t know what I’m going to do when Marcy joins the rest of them. She’s been acting pretty lethargic these last few weeks and I just keep trying to pretend that she’s OK but she’s clearly dying and I just can’t stand it.
  • After Chooch made a series of disturbing comments in front of the grave digger about how he wants to be buried alive, Henry took us to Yough Twist for ice cream. I had carrot cake ice cream, which could have easily been terribly disgusting, but no. It was fabulous. (I’ve been hanging around with Chooch too much so everything is fabulous to me now.)
• This is what I looked like on Friday, before leaving for my last day in my old tech support position:

• I don’t think my old team at work cares very much that they lost me, LOL. The feeling is mutual.
• I’m kind of disappointed that today was my first day working the day shift and Henry didn’t want to do anything after work! I was like, “LET’S GO TO THE ARTS FESTIVAL!” and he just glared at me. Maybe tomorrow.
• BRB going to cut an apple.
• Oh shit, I recently flashbacked to this time I volunteered as a gas mask-tester for the Bureau of Mines. This was maybe in 2002? I had to wear a gas mask and stand in a chamber while they pumped some kind of banana fumes into it. It’s a wonder that never made it into any of my bios or resumé.
  • I also vaguely remember the guy running the experiment asked me out afterward because I probably showed up wearing something slutty since that was back when I was always showing up wearing something slutty.
  • How do you think I snagged Henry?
• WARPED TOUR IS A LITTLE OVER A MONTH AWAY!!!! So many bands, ahhhh!
• I wonder how many people my mom is Catfishing at this very moment.
• Had a brief but pleasant correspondence with an old friend over the last few days. Something terrible happened to her recently, which explains why suddenly so many things were reminding me of her all at once. It freaks me out when shit like that happens, like when all these things kept resurfacing that reminded me of Psycho Mike and then I found out days later that he was in town because his mom died. HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN. Alyson says it’s radar love, but I always seem to have it with the people I shouldn’t love.
• I kicked Chooch softly just to be a dick and then he kicked me back REALLY HARD so I wailed, “WHY DID YOU KICK ME SO HARD I DIDN’T KICK YOU THAT HARD!” and then Henry was like, “HOW ABOUT NO ONE KICK EACH OTHER AT ALL!?” Then we had a huge fight because he wanted to play Xbox and I wanted to watch hockey, and here I am writing in my blog so I guess we all know who won that round. Me being home in the evenings is already going swimmingly.
• Last Thursday night at work, one of the ladies from another department on our floor was leaving and asked me if I wanted a jelly donut because the next day was National Donut Day and their department was celebrating early in order to beat the rush (OK). I did not want a jelly donut because I don’t like jelly donuts but I was so happy that someone was talking to me after basically enduring a whole week at work where no one in my group was talking to me and also because I’m too much of a foodslut to just say no, so I took one and then I ate it and got sick because I don’t like jelly donuts.
  • Then I went home and exercised because I hated myself. #foodshaming4L
  • It totalllllly wasn’t worth it. Jelly donuts are gross. What a fucking waste.

OK, I’m going to paint something now. GOOD EVENING.

It was a relatively low-key Saturday night here at the Oh Honestly Household. Chooch had already gone up to bed (which means he went upstairs to watch YouTube videos on his phone for another 2 hours) and Henry and I were watching the Stanley Cup finals (GO KINGS!). Around 11:00PM, there was a hideous crash/boom/squeal right outside of our house.

Right away, we knew it was a car accident.

The street we live on is a pretty busy one and a lot of the houses here don’t have driveways (luckily, ours does). When I moved here back in 1999, one of the first things my then-neighbor said to me was, “Never park your car in front of the house.” Shit, was she ever right. I learned that this was especially sound advice to observe on weekends. There are a ton of drunks that drive on this street. I have seen so many accidents from my living room window, it’s insane. Recently, someone hit a parked car down the street from us so hard that they pushed it all the way into our front yard. I always tell my friends to park across the street in the church parking lot, because you just never know. I mean, we had the mirror ripped off of our car two days after we bought it because we stupidly left the car parked on the street for “just a second.”

Anyway, back to Saturday night. We heard that sickening crunch of car-against-car and Henry flew out the front door, forgetting that he was in his underwear, to see what had happened. Then other neighbors (i.e. The Hot Naybor Chris Family) began to emerge from their houses as well, so Henry ran back inside to put on his pants, but don’t worry, he was back out in time to take total control of the situation.

We quickly deduced that a car had been speeding down the street and plowed into a parked Lexus (sucks to be that car owner) next door and then tried to keep driving even though the entire wheel and tire of his car had broken. So he made it an additional two houses up the street before putting on his flashers and getting out of the car. He was drunkenly staggering around his car, running his hands through his hair, in total panic-mode.

Meanwhile, Tourette’s happened to be moseying along the sidewalk, coming back from wherever it is that people like him go to (poker night with Purple Pants in a pizza parlor basement?), and he totally paused to become a spectator! I was so excited, you have no idea!!! But oddly, of all the times where it would be appropriate for him to shake his fist and cry, “You motherfucker!” he blurted out no such obscenities and instead stood calmly at the end of our sidewalk, contributing to the community powwow.

Just then, the Perp began drunkenly pacing up and down the sidewalk and at one point, it looked like he was going to run before turning around, crouching on the sidewalk for a moment, and then getting back into his car.

“He’s going to run,” I observed, but one of the neighbor girls said, “He ain’t going nowhere with his wheel broken off!”

“No,” I argued. “He’s going to literally run. I can tell.”

So then Henry got to be a HERO and call the POLICE, who are basically his favorite people in the whole entire world second to those Air Force fellas and broads. And just as Henry was hanging up with the 911 dispatch person, the perp got out of his car and started to walk/run up the sidewalk, away from all of us. So Henry got to CALL THE POLICE AGAIN!

“Yeah, I just called,” he said, quickly reiterating the pertinent details. “Well, it’s a hit and run now,” Henry said excitedly, flashing his imaginary war medallions. “YES, HE’S ON FOOT AND FLEEING THE SCENE!” So then one of the neighbor girls decided she was going to follow him, barefoot, in spite of her mom’s protests. That was stupidly exciting, too.

It was at this point that I realized Henry and Tourette’s were hanging out with a bunch of pajama-clad, braless broads. I quickly crossed my arms over my chest.

“Where are the cops!?” Tourette’s cried. “I know for a fact that there are four of them down the street at the gas station parking lot right now, drinking coffee!” And then he made a series of unhappy grunts. Finally, a cop rolled up with the lights on and Henry practically shoved everyone out of the way to lean into the window and scream, “HE WENT THATTA WAY!” and then he completely gave an inaccurate description of the Perp. So the cop sped off in the direction of Henry’s finger and we all cheered because it was exciting, OK?

Soon, we were joined by my deceased cat Don’s grandma (her cat Teddy knocked Marcy up back in 2000 and that’s where Don and Willie came from) from four houses down. We compared horror stories of all the accidents we’ve collectively witnessed on this street, and then she decided to walk up to the Perp’s abandoned car and start rooting through it.

Logical.

“You drink and you drive and you drive and you drink and you drink and you drive,” Tourette’s began rambling to no one in particular.

I took this opportunity to fetch Chooch, who of course was still wide awake and watching lame videos in his room.

“I thought that noise was just Daddy breaking something in the kitchen as usual,” Chooch mumbled, hastily stepping into a pair of jeans so that he could join the growing throng of Nebby Debbies* outside in the lawn.

*(This is Pittsburghese for nosy motherfuckers.)

“Who owns that car?” our neighbor Ruth asked.

“It’s the guy visiting the blond lady who lives in that house down there,” Henry said with his chest sticking out. “He’s from Virginia.”

“How do you know?” I asked him, furrowing my eyebrows.

“I don’t know,” he stuttered. “I saw the guy pull up when I was cutting the grass. He’s Asian. And he has Virginia plates.”

“Cutting the grass,” you guys. I’M SO SURE. And not from the binoculars in the attic window.

“It could be a rental,” Neighbor Daughter said, recently returned from her citizen’s arrest mission. But Henry argued that it wasn’t a rental and told her all of the reasons he knows this, the number one reason being we’re basically Budget Rental’s best customers because our car is a piece of a shit. This was like the best night ever for Henry because he got to brag about knowing things that no one would typically give a shit about.

(And I still don’t.)

Just then, the cops came back and they had the Perp! I cheered with an overdose of faux-enthusiasm.

“He wasn’t going nowhere,” the main cop laughed. Even his laughter had a Yinzer-accent. “He’s piss ass drunk!”

Henry told the cop that he knocked on the car owner’s front door several times to no avail and then explained again that the car belongs to her visiting friend and we’re all like, “OK we get it, just put it in next month’s Brookline ‘zine, why don’t you.” Fuck, Henry. Maybe you should just move to Wisteria Lane.

“Maybe they’re busy,” the cop said with a sleazy wink and then laughed so hard, donut crumbs shot out of his mouth. And then he took Henry’s official statement! Talk about the best belated birthday gift of all time: Henry got to be a motherfucking witness to a hit and run. HOT DAMN.

Oh, you want to know what I was doing this whole time? Just the usual: getting in the way and giddily laughing alone the whole time. I even jumped and clapped a few times because sometimes living on this street rules. LOOK AT US ALL COMING TOGETHER IN THE NAME OF JUSTICE!

And then the tow truck arrived! OH WHAT A NIGHT! Henry loves talking to men of these sorts of vocations! While the cop went back to his vehicle to write up the report—-or Instagram his Styrofoam coffee cup, who knows—Henry and the tow truck driver got to stand around and make idle conversation about the damage done to the Lexus. I kept hearing Henry “hyuk hyuk hyuk’ing” so they must have been getting along pretty well. I just asked Henry what else they were talking about and he claims the tow truck driver was telling Henry about how busy of a night he had the night before. OK HENRY, SURE, WE BELIEVE YOU. You weren’t talking about car crash porn AT ALL.

The cop thanked us all and I over-zealously said you’re welcome! because standing around outside doing nothing other than not wearing a bra deserves appreciation, but no one could hear me over Henry’s bristling moustache and rippling ego; it was clear that no more excitement was going to evolve from this particular episode, so everyone started to wander off back to their homes and Tourette’s lumbered off into the horizon with whatever mysterious bag he had been clutching the whole time.

“Yinz have a good night!” the tow truck driver called out to us. I have never been called “yinz” so much in one night. God love Pittsburgh.

“True or false,” I demanded later when we were getting ready for bed. “This is the most excitement you’ve had since THE SERVICE.”

“It wasn’t that exciting,” Henry sighed.

Oh, but his weener told a different story.

This morning, we were on the way to Chooch’s piano lesson when he started cracking up from the backseat. I figured he was watching some lame YouTube video, which he is wont to do, but then, in the voice of a hick derelict, he blurted out, “These dead broads ain’t gon’ bury themselves!”

And that’s when I realized he was reading my blog.

OK, not technically my blog, but a photo book that I made a few years ago about one of our visits to the Westmoreland County Fair. A box full of some of the shit I brought home from work was in the backseat with Chooch, and he had pulled that book out of it and started reading it unbeknownst to me.

So this book is essentially my blog post from that fair, compiled with photos and additional commentary into a Shutterfly book. This was back when I was all gung-ho about turning all of my county fair posts into photo books (I made two and then gave up; I can’t sit still for that long). And now Chooch was reading it and honest to god laughing so hard, he was crying.

On one hand, I was like, “YES! THIS RULES! MY SON THINKS I’M FUNNY!” But on the other hand, I was like, “Oh fuck, did I put any fucked up things in that book?” OK, let me rephrase that: “WHAT KIND of fucked up things did I put in that book?” I mean, eventually, he is probably going to start reading my blog. It’s really weird and awkward to think about it, because I have quite literally accounted for his entire life thus far, right here on this blog and my old LiveJournal. I can only imagine how surreal that’s going to be for him, especially when he realizes that MOMMY HAD A LIFE BEFORE HIM.

But let’s face it: I’m kind of an asshole on here. I swear a lot. I use sex metaphors whenever possible. I write disparaging (THOUGH LOVING!

) sentiments about Henry. Maybe these are things that a kid shouldn’t read until adulthood?

Just putting my parenting cap on here for a sec.

However, it’s not like he currently has some glorified image of his mother. He knows mama ain’t no Donna Reed. We have real time banter with each other that’s not unlike the things I might write on here, it’s very uncensored and laid back here in our peasant shack,  so I don’t think he would be too shocked by very much. Obviously, this isn’t to say I’m going to coo, “Here, 8-year-old, let’s read aloud from Mommy’s disgusting blog before bedtime.” He’s got a few more years left before that becomes a reality.

But until that day, it’s nice to know he’s not only a fan, but he knows what “cacophony” means! Henry probably doesn’t.

This was his “I’m scared to know what you got me” face last night.

So today is Henry’s birthday and he’s FORTY-NINE, WHAT. I’m surprised he hasn’t already been playing the age card to get out of things like Warped Tour and amusement parks, but I will say that one of my gifts to him is that I’m going to see Circa Survive alone next month.

I figure that’s something he would want, a “Sit This One Out” coupon.

I mean, I’m not always heartless. Or a dick, which is why I put on my Sweetheart cap the other day and painted him something sentimental (ugh):

He didn’t cry, but he did do that weird mouth-twist thing that he does when he’s being overwhelmed by emotional sensations and is afraid of sacrificing whatever speck of masculinity he has left by expressing how his heart FEELS SO FULL OF LOVE RIGHT NOW. So instead, he hugged me and jokingly said, “I mean, it’s no blow job, but….”

We started dating when mixtapes were being phased out by mixed CDs, and he actually used to make me some of those before we lived together. They were filled with synthpop that he would download for me in an effort to show me how computer savvy he was. See? Even Henry once used music to win my heart.

Before we were dating and were just platonic co-workers, he made me a Cure screensaver, totally out of the blue, and that’s when I knew I had him by the weener.

I guess he liked it OK because he took it to work to put on his desk. (Or so he says.)

Happy birthday, Henry! I don’t care if you’re 70—you’re still going to Warped Tour.

So once again I’m being forced to “guest post” (I’m not correcting any spelling errors either). It all began months ago, I think, I tend to block out Erin anytime the word concert or johny Craig come up in a conversation. This time it was 5 hours away, which means an overnight trip, which makes it even more agonizing, having to drive 5 hours then stand in a venue I don’t want to be at seeing a band that I have no interest in. It took until almost a week before the concert for me to agree to go, even after I was promised anything if I would go, actually hoping it would sell out and I would win. No chance.

Let me make the rest of this short and sweet, Venue sucked, no beer ,no water, no anything.

What venue does that, the one in Allentown does. So that made the night off to a great start, the one chance I have to go to a concert and drink , foiled by the venue this time and not Erin. So on to the bands

Cedar Green: Not bad for a local band, set was short.

Alive Like Me: Don’t care to see them again, add them to the list.

Miss Fortune: Liked them , would see them again which means they will never be anywhere I have to go and see other bands I don’t want to see.

Slaves: Did they even play? The band was ok they just need a new singer.

Hands Like Houses: Apparently I have seen them many times before and don’t remember any of them. That doesn’t mean I didn’t like them, just don’t remember them. I can say I do like their music, there Erin now that’s 2 bands I like.

After the show we had blue cheese and pear pizza and it was weird but good.

That’s it for this episode of henry gets forced to do something he hates again for promises of things that will never be.

( I hope she has fun correcting all the grammar mistakes and spelling errors, I know how she hates that.)

For a brief moment on Friday, I freaked out and wondered if I made a mistake by accepting the new position at work because OMG change. I hate change. Henry can attest that change turns me into a crazy person. However, I do actually adapt to it pretty fast, so I know I will be fine.

And that is how I got to the point where I haven’t been able to stop smiling at work all week. I have been pretty unhappy here for awhile now and I’m excited to be moving over to a new group and learning new things instead of being under-utilized and left to rot in a fake office.

Also you guys? Guess where I’m moving? RIGHT IN FRONT OF GLENN, HAHAHAHA. Today he told me that he thinks this is a joke, like a social experiment or something and I’m like, “No, buddy. This is real life. WE’RE GOING TO HAVE SO MUCH FUN!” I want to wear a picture of my face on the back of my head so he has to look at it all day.

And on that note, here are some other things making me happy this week:

The new Emarosa single is finally available on iTunes and it is so goddamn good! Even Marcy is like, “Go download it now, motherfuckers.” Rise Records is still being all tight-lipped about the album release date, those assholes. I’m dying over here! Meanwhile, the Slaves album leaked, LOL. I don’t feel bad for them at all. /scene girl rant.

The weekend also made me happy! Chooch had a good piano lesson (I like his piano teacher so much, she’s the cutest) and then we did the roller rink party which was fantastic as well. Later that evening, I got to hang out at my friend Alex‘s house for the first official meeting with some local bloggers regarding a ‘zine we’re about to start churning out. I’m excited that I get to work with this awesome crew while stapling together paper and pretending it’s 1994. I sense some good times ahead. Even though “we have no idea what we’re doing.”

Thank you, Alex and Kelly, for providing us with cheese and pizza, and Katrina and Heidi for bringing the most amazing homemade chocolate brownie cupcakes and (not homemade) mango beer, respectively!

Chooch, in serious cupcake-eating mode the next morning. I think he is a fan of Katrina.

We spent Sunday morning at my cousin Danielle’s house while Henry donned his car mechanic hat, and then afterward we went to Frank & Shirley’s, which is awesome if you have a desire to eat somewhere that doesn’t take credit cards*. I always get a grilled cheese and it is good, because it’s Frank & Shirley’s, home to the cigarette machine that was my savior when I was an underaged smoker.

*(Barb, the resident Frank & Shirley’s expert, was quick to point out that F&S’s has been accepting credit cards for MONTHS now. SORRY BARB! God.)

Forced PDA.

I was obsessed with that old lady in the background. You can’t see it, but she was wearing a headband that matched her dress and I practically burped, “I WANT TO BE JUST LIKE HER WHEN I’M AN OLD LADY!” But let’s be real, I’ll probably be wearing rags and pushing a shopping cart full of cats. :(

Later that night, Blake and his girlfriend Shannon came over for an impromptu piano lesson and several non-riveting rounds of Pokemon. I knew Chooch have been moderately interested in Pokemon off and on over the years, but he is suddently like OMG PLZ SOMEONE PLAY THESE CARDS WITH ME! And I’m sorry, but no. Just no. I’m not falling into that trap. So his big brother obliged after Chooch facetimed and texted him all weekend.

At one point, Chooch decided that they needed some Pokemon music on in the background and that, along with an allergy-headache, was pretty much the only downside of the whole weekend.

Happy things. The end.

Henry, per your request, is about half done writing his blog post about the show we went to in Allentown. Actually, he thought he was done with it last night but I read it and said, “You left everything out. Like, everything! You didn’t even write mean things about Jonny Craig!” So hopefully he’ll be a good boy and finish that bitch tonight.

In the meantime, here is a quick Somnambulant Art update. Wendy told me that I need to do a better job reminding people that my paintings exist even if it means feeling like a sleazy haberdasher. So…let’s spotlight the recent paintings that have been placed in new homes, shalllll we?

Three favorites were snatched up this past week and I’m super stoked about it but I know some of my friends are sad because they had their eyes on these ones. You snooze, you lose, guys! Duh.

Tentacular is going to a nice home in Florida. Bon voyage, friend!

And both of my Snacks paintings have safely arrived in Chicago.

I realized I had a few spare canvases laying around, so I whipped up some newbies over the weekend. I have this thing where I need to add new pieces in my shop as soon as a painting is sold. Made this mixtape one on Sunday and my friend Jess bought it right away because she’s awesome, but don’t worry—I can make them by order! I already did a second one by request, so if you want one, bring it on. You know how much I love making mixtapes! (I also turned this one into a greeting card.)

Anyway, go check out the other stuff over at Somnambulant. You might see something you like. YOU NEVER KNOW. Maybe I’ll do an art giveaway sometime this summer if you guys are interested.

(Did I do good, Wendy?)

Do you know how many birthday parties I’ve taken Chooch to since he started school?

Zero.

I turn into a social cripple when it comes to being a Mom, so I always make Henry take Chooch to his classmates’ parties.

Except this last one. I was able to speak casually to this particular kid’s mom at Chooch’s cat party a few weeks ago, so when I saw that her son was having his party at Romp-n-Roll, I was like, “Eff yes I’ll escort my son to this shindig.” Clearly, I wanted to roller skate in a bad way. Plus, I didn’t feel awash with those typical overwhelming tidal waves of anxiety which  usually happens when Chooch brings home a birthday party invitation.

I think I am somehow accidentally fixing myself but I’m not sure how I’m doing it…?

I was pretty stoked because I’ve only been to the Romp-n-Roll to spectate roller derby bouts, and never to actually skate. Since I am donezo with the Neville Roller Drome (not a fan of the new owners/homophobia/religious agendas), I’ve been wanting to try this place on for size.

We pretty much lost Chooch as soon as we got through the door because one of his girlfriends from school was behind us. I don’t think he spoke to me once after that until we were in the car going home. I SEE HOW IT IS.

It’s more expensive than the other rinks we’ve skated at, but it turned out to be well worth it. Aside from a slight skate issue which had Henry holding his breath because god forbid I should lose my shit at the roller rink for the billionth time of my life. What will the parents think, oh no!? Instead, I took my skates back to the counter and VERY POLITELY asked if I could have a different, taller pair. And the nice man exchanged them for me without the need to get anyone else involved! Henry was totally stunned when he saw me a few minutes later, wearing different skates that he didn’t even have to lace for me! (Don’t get too excited; he put the first pair of skates on for me.)

Even after that though, as soon as the wheels hit the rink’s surface, the wheels started pulling the skates inward and I was basically skating like how whimsical twee bloggers pose (ie. PIGEON-TOED), but instead of being a bitchbaby, I just made a conscious effort to force my feet apart, and it was fine. Henry was having the same problem with his skates too so at least I know I wasn’t just Being Erin about it.

The first thing I noticed, aside from the on-the-ball skate rental guys and the Trapper Keeper-like carpet, was that they were playing a good mix of music. In addition to the classic rock, oldies, and Top 40 on rotation, they actually played Fall Out Boy’s “This Ain’t an Arms Race” and Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf,” YES PLZ.

“They play good music here!” I yelled in Henry’s face after I caught up to the veritable Opie Griffith-on-skates. Aaaaand just like that, cue Nickelback.

But whatever, I can forgive them.

Meanwhile, Chooch had laced up and took to the floor to show off for his little girlfriends. I noticed that there was girl in particular he wouldn’t leave alone. She was hugging the wall, and he was skating at a slow pace next to her. Anytime she would fall, he would quickly circle back and wait for her to stand up. For some reason, I thought she was a relative of the birthday boy because I’ve never seen her before.

“That’s Hailey!” Henry laughed when I pointed her out. Have I told you about Hailey? Well, she is pretty much the only thing that Chooch ever talks about anymore. She was the new kid this year, and when he went to her birthday party last fall, Henry said Chooch was determined to win her a prize from the Claw Machine at Dave and Buster’s, to the point where he had used up all of his tokens and Henry eventually took over so he could hurry up and win a fucking thing before Chooch wound up spending $18 on a stuffed animal.

I wasn’t there (parent phobia, remember? Stop forgetting everything I tell you! It’s offensive and hurtful) but Henry said Chooch made a huge deal out of presenting it to her.

They used to sit together too but the teacher had to separate them because they were too busy being googly, I guess.

Two weeks ago, I got to see her for a split second when I took Chooch to school, but I didn’t get a good look at her. That night though, he said to me, “Well, Mommy…now you know.” I asked him what it was I was supposed to know, and he quickly spat out, “How beautiful Hailey is!” and his face was beet red. I didn’t make fun of him, because I’d like for him to continue to tell me these things, but holy shit did Henry and I giggle about it later.

So yes, this is the story of how I finally got to see my kid’s crush in action. Totally fucking adorable and I would post a picture here but I have retained that lesson I learned awhile back and will instead just store that photo away somewhere un-Internet-ish.

Fuck yeah, pizza!! Roller rink pizza is not exactly the best, but after you’ve been skating around in a dark oval for an hour, you start to think that nothing in the world could taste better. I ate that slice so fast, I don’t even think I tasted it. Then I was mad because I ordered pink lemonade (also a great album, holla if you’ve heard it) only because I didn’t know they had MELLO YELLO.

Fuck.

Then I made Henry help me learn how to pose for pictures, and by that I mean how to smile naturally without looking like Jay Leno, a dead hooker or a stroke victim. Oh sure, I can take a decent selfie. That’s why selfies are the greatest invention of our time. Almost everyone can look attractive when they’re manipulating their own angles and using filters. Unfortunately, we can’t use selfies on drivers licenses and who the hell has a wedding album full of nothing but selfies? Not that I’m naive enough to think I’m getting married anytime soon, but it would be nice to not panic every time a lens is thrust in my face on my (mythical) big day.

We got one picture (above) that I thought was kind of decent, but Henry was rolling his eyes and mumbling about how he didn’t want to take anymore pictures of me because he can only look at my magnificent face for so long before being blinded by beauty.

J/K you guys. “Magnificent” is too large of a word for him.

Anyway, I was aiming for “innocent sweetheart with a provocative secret” in that pose.

FEED ME MORE SOFT PRETZEL.

Other things to note about the rink:

• I hated no one. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? I don’t think this has ever happened before?
• I interacted with parents and didn’t turn to stone! It was actually not too bad and now they all know what a fucking dream on wheels I am.
• I got to make my own sundae!!! Thanks, Birthday Boy and Family!
• This rink has scooter races!!!!!! Asshole Henry wouldn’t team up with me because I’m too heavy to push and I couldn’t find my idiot son so I didn’t get to race, which is a shame because I would have won.
  
• The DJ is pretty great and sounds like he actually is on the radio from 1965.
• The only low point was when they played that ridiculous “Frozen” song and I purposely skated off the rink and sulked with my arms crossed because that song is extremely unskateable.
• There was this one older broad there who was singularly bringing some Xanadu action up in there and I was obsessed with her. “I want to be like her when I grow up!” I wailed to Henry. And then there was an awkward moment when I was skating behind her and then she spun around and started skating backward, so it was like we were accidentally couple-skating. I got over it though because people thinking I was with that lady wouldn’t have been the worst thing to have happened, if you know what I’m saying.

TRA LA LA, MUTHAFUCKAS.

Seriously, I will be going back to this place with a quickness.