THE SET-UP

A few weeks ago, back when CHRIS STILL WORKED HERE, the firm announced its upcoming Global Day of Service. CHRIS decided that Lauren and I should join her in signing up for some organization that has to do with trees.

“It’ll be great!” she said. “We can hug trees!” she said. And Lauren and I blindly followed*. And then you know what happened? CHRIS LEFT BEFORE GLOBAL DAY OF SERVICE EVEN HAPPENED!

*(To be fair, the fact that there were free Leona’s Ice Cream Sandwiches available at the sign-up event may have been what actually swayed us.)

Last week, Lauren and the rest of the people in our group received an email saying that we would be mulching in the business district of Bloomfield (a Pittsburgh neighborhood right outside of downtown). That seemed OK to me. I imagined us sprinkling mulch upon tiny saplings, blowing a kiss at it, and then moving on to the next one.

On my way to work yesterday, I was on the phone with Henry and he asked what it was exactly that I was going to be doing that day.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, even though he wasn’t there to see it. “MULCHING, whatever MULCHING is.”

“Oh my god,” Henry laughed. “Please tell me where you’re going to be so I can come watch.”

I didn’t understand at the time what this meant.

Later that morning, I found out that another co-worker volunteered on Monday for the same organization and was so sore, she had to work from home. I laughed about it, because please. I couldn’t imagine any charitable organization expecting law firm slugs to do any heavy-lifting. I mean, when Lauren and I volunteered at the Food Bank last year, we basically just looked at cans of food for three hours and talked about how great Nutella is.

(Seriously, how great is Nutella?)

Clearly this co-worker was exaggerating. I mean, obviously. And she apparently was pulling vines out of a hillside and not mulching, like we would be doing. You know, drizzling down pocketfuls of mulch onto trees like sprinkles on an ice cream cone. Because that’s what I was going to be doing all day, twirling all around beneath the beaming sun, singing Emarosa songs in my head.

But then I started to panic.

“Why am I starting to think this is actually some sort of chain gang?” I cried to Mean Amber, who wants me to write an entire blog post explaining how she’s not actually mean at all, and do you see how bossy she is?!

Lauren was likewise freaking out and we collectively rued the day that we signed our souls away for a fucking ice cream sandwich.

(Albeit, a damn fine ice cream sandwich. Mine was blueberry ice cream inside a snickerdoodle! It was delightful, snickerish, and doodley.)

AND THEN I found out at 11:45 that we were leaving at 12:05 and not 1:00 like I thought (because instead of reading emails, I like to play a game called Guess & Assume), so I didn’t have time to eat lunch! I figured I would be OK, though. I’d just eat when we got back at 4, that’s all. I forget to eat a lot of days so it wouldn’t be anything new.

THE BUS RIDE

Lauren and I were the first ones on the shuttle bus and I was starting to feel giddy, like we were going on a field trip and oh, what sorts of adventures were we about to have? It doesn’t take much to excite me.

The bus loaded up fairly quickly. It was mostly all people from other departments. There were only 4 of us reppin’ the 10th floor, and one of the 4 was missing: Patrick. Finally, I spotted him strolling casually toward the bus, eating a peach like a goddamn farmer.

I lost it, just totally interrupted Lauren with my chuckle-vomit. Patrick was the last one to get on the bus, and he ever so calmly strode to an empty seat adjacent from me, and went right back to eating his peach.

“What?” he asked, catching me laughing.

“Nothing,” I wheezed. “Just the way you’re eating that peach!”

“What’s wrong with how I’m eating my peach?” he asked seriously.

“I mean, nothing. It’s just funny because you’re so casual about it,” I tried to explain, wiping away crumbs of cachinnation from my mouth.

“How should I eat my peach?” he pressed, and I was like OMG JUST FORGET IT.

Patrick and the Peach.

Meanwhile, the shuttle driver was forcing people to get out their phones and put his number in it, because he wasn’t going to be sitting around waiting for our philanthropic asses, OK? Lauren and I just sat there and made no effort to take down his number, but Patrick was ALL OVER IT.

The driver, whose name was either Dale or Gale or Nail, told us that the group of volunteers he picked up for the morning session was too large and they had to get a bigger truck.

So then I started picturing a dump truck hauling all of the law firm volunteers to the site on a bed of mulch. Meanwhile, Patrick was trying to get us to buy his house. He actually lives in the same neighborhood as me, so we spoke briefly of Purple Pants because he knows her too.

Then Dale/Nail/Gale pulled over because he thought he got a flat tire and someone in the front said, “That was just that lady you ran over,” and I started cracking up because riding on buses reminds me of going on vacation tours and I get super slaphappy.

THE LOTION

Our valiant driver booted us out onto some corner of Bloomfield. At our feet was a mountain of bagged mulch, wheelbarrows, enticing tools, and four people in fluorescent yellow t-shirts.

“There’s a guy in a ponytail,” Lauren said offhandedly. “He’s probably going to be cool.”

And also, a woman.

“Oh my god, who’s THAT GUY?” I sighed dreamily as my eyes fell upon the most beautiful blue collar of them all. “I claim him!” His name tag said Jake.

The leader of Trees gave us a brief rundown of the organization while we all passed around sunblock. I showcased my competency right off the bat by inadvertently squirting too much into my hands. I proceeded to smear all of this into my skin, looking like I was getting ready to go to a costume party as Powder.

“Oh my god,” Lauren laughed, spooning some lotion off my arm with her fingers. Some stranger from another department followed suit and I felt so violated. Then, in a moment of HOW AM I GOING TO RID MYSELF OF THIS LOTION, I slapped some onto Patrick’s arm. Lucas, rounding out our 10th floor quadrant representation, gave me the universal “I’m good!” motion as I turned my splooge-hands toward him.

I had nowhere else to rub my hands so I just shoved them into my orange work gloves, sunblock-splooge and all.

WHEN IT WASN’T SO BAD

Jake took the reins from whatever the non-hot guy’s name was and gave us a short demonstration of what we were going to do which, newsflash, seemed more like aggressive weeding and less like “mulching.” Jake said since there were 20 of us, he was going to put us into groups of 5. I yelped audibly enough for Jake to hear and pressed myself closer into my 10th floor group. Jake laughed. “OK, some of you have friends here, so you can make your own groups if you want.”

We needed one extra person so a girl named Amy was brave and came over to join us.

“And I guess I’ll just stick with your group,” Jake said, to which Lauren and I exchanged looks of “FUCK YES.” Also, we got to wear neon yellow vests, and I was obnoxiously happy about that. I LOVE NEON.

MULCHING

Aside from feeling self-conscious because passers-by were ogling us, mulching started out OK. In fact, I couldn’t believe how easy it was! We worked our way down one side of the street, picking out trash from tree beds, pulling out the small assortment of weeds poking through the old mulch, and then putting down a new layer of mulch. Sometimes we didn’t have to put down new mulch at all! I was having a lot of fun using my mulching weapon too, which I had silently named Walden. (After Bradley Scott Walden, duh. Google that shit.) I quickly discovered that hacking away murderously at unsightly weeds was almost as satisfying as hacking away at the faces of fake Mexicans from Ohio*. Therapeutic. Cathartic. EXHILARATING. If I wasn’t wearing my murder gloves, I would have texted Henry and told him that I was quitting my job to become a landscaper.

*(Petty jabs at ex-BFF never get old for me; carry on.)

While working on one tree bed in particular, we observed that the number of cigarette butts had increased exponentially and then someone pointed out that we were in front of a bar. A nice, light hearted moment before things went downhill.

Then this guy ^^^ stood around and observed, like what we were doing was any of his business! GOD.

This was before Lauren savagely whacked Amy in the head with the wooden handle of a rake.

After we had worked our way through our designated area, Jake exclaimed, “Wow! You guys are working so fast. Let’s move across the street and help that group over there.” So we were feeling really heroic at that point. I was, anyway. Like a landscaping bad ass. Where’s my fucking cape?

During this time, I made the rookie mistake of wrongly identifying a rose hip bush as a plant full of under-developed persimmons, but don’t worry: Patrick made sure I knew I was an idiot for thinking that. Then Lauren pricked herself on one of the rose hip thorns like this is some goddamn fairy tale and then we had to hear about it for the rest of all time!

This was after some random lady stopped and asked what we had done to get ourselves put on a chain gang, ugh. WE’RE NOT A CHAIN GANG! WE’RE VOLUNTEERS!

It didn’t take long to finish primping the trees on the next block, so Jake decided that we were going to walk back to home base, load up our wheelbarrows with some mulch, and then continue on down the street to meet up with another group. This sounded great, like maybe we were nearing the end of our service. Then I made the mistake of looking at my phone and seeing that it was only 2:00pm. We still had two more hours?! How could that be possible.

Somehow, I got strapped with one of the wheelbarrows and it was just a disaster, so Lauren traded her armful of rakes with me and I was glad that she hadn’t fallen into an eternal sleep after getting pricked by the rose thorn because then who would have helped me? Patrick would have just dragged me along into some brutal military cadence while barking about how I’m a pansy ass bitch motherfucker and I better get my pissy shit together and MARCH.

Once we made it back to the Mt. Everest of mulch bags, Jake realized that the other group was too far away for us to transport the mulch via wheelbarrows, so he demanded that we pick up the bags and load them onto the back of his truck and then he would just drive everything down. Physically, I was fine up until this point. I mean, it was hot out so I was sweating a little bit, but it wasn’t like, “OMG I’M GOING TO DIE.” Until I started lifting bags of mulch. Now, I have moderate back problems and I have known this ever since I had to quit playing tennis because of it when I was 16. So I should have been like, “Hey guy, I’m going to excuse myself from this portion of the day’s activities.”

But no. I’m stubborn and lifted like 8 of them in succession because why? For what? Was there a prize? A medal? NO. JUST 48 HOURS OF CRIPPLING BACK PAIN. The day went from leisurely weeding to recreating the goddamn work site scene in The Ten Commandments.

The pain was so immediate that once I lifted the first bag, I knew there was no way I was getting it up into the bed of that damn truck, so I had to pass them off to Lucas.

Thank you, Lucas.

THE LUCAS INTERLUDE

In the 4.5 years that I’ve been at The Law Firm, I have had very minimal interaction with Lucas, so I was excited to be tree tenders together. I learned a lot about him, too. Such as: he has a tree in his front yard.

And…he has a tree in his front yard.

MULCHING GETS REAL

One of the other Trees people gave us very sketchy directions which had us crossing over a major intersection and getting trapped on a cement island for an indefinite amount of time. Thankfully, Patrick was there to lead us to safety.

“Don’t cross yet. Wait for the walk sign.”

Once we made it to the other side of the street, it was pretty clear that we were no longer in the quaint business district of Bloomfield anymore, but more so The Shady Garage borough. We somehow accumulated a lady from one of the other groups, and also three rough men in street clothes who were apparently being paid to do what we were naively doing for free and made some comment to Patrick and Lucas about how lucky they were to get to have women on their team and I was like “We’re going to get abducted and sold as sex mules. In our fucking neon vests. That’s the only way this day could get any worse.”

It was a concrete jungle down on this end: the tree beds were triple the size of the ones we had grown accustomed to and the weeds grew tall and dense and had super thick stems and deep roots. I hadn’t recovered from lifting mulch bags, so when I knelt down, I started slapping the ground with my mulching weapon in a petulant manner. My energy was gone, my back crunched every time I moved, and I HADN’T EATEN LUNCH AND WAS FEELING FAINT.

But I kept going on because I didn’t want to be That Person.

I know, since when, right?

Jake pulled up in his stupid truck and spouted off some obligatory praises, like, “Yeah. You guys are doing great. Woo. Dig those weeds. Spread that mulch. Go team, go.” You guys. I watched Patrick drop his mulching weapon and begin to shut down at one point.

Patrick has been IN AFGHANISTAN, you guys. Patrick has been IN THE WAR.

PATRICK HAS SHRAPNEL ON HIS DESK AND EVEN HE WAS LIKE FUCK THIS SHIT.

“Remember when we had to pick up all those cigarette butts?” I quietly asked Lauren. “Those were the days.”

I don’t even want to think about how many dogs and drunks have pissed on the trees we were tending to.

After about an hour of hacking down the set of Little Shop of Horrors, Jake came back and said we could cross the street and join the other three groups on that side, which is when we discovered that not only were their tree beds way more suburban, they weren’t even weeding the whole thing! Just narrow strips along the tree trunk! It was APPALLING and we were vocal about our irritation, too.

Oh, and those bastards also had the cooler full of water with them the whole time, too. So, three hours into it, I finally got to have a fucking drink. THANKS FOR THE HOSPITALITY, TREES.

“Hey Lauren, remember last year when we volunteered at the Food Bank and they were practically begging us to eat their snacks and drink their coffee?”

I think Lauren’s response to this was a handful of tears.

Fake smiles.

Lucas is thinking about cutting down that tree in his front yard.

Finally, it was almost 4:00 and I have never been so happy to see Dale/Nail/Gale, and the Law Firm, and my non-laborious desk work.

I wish I could go back in time and punch myself in the throat at the exact moment I felt excited when Jake picked my group.

********

Later that night, when I complained for the 548678th time about how exhausted I was, Chooch rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah we know. Because you had to ‘do mulch’ all day. We get it.”

Hands Like Houses redid a bunch of their songs for an upcoming album and I was super happy to find out that they included my favorite song of theirs! I’m all heart-eyes for days over this version.

<3

Dear Blog,

Today I did some volunteer work with some other co-workers and while I would love to write about that right now, I’m laying on the couch instead, half-dead, because manual labor does not agree with me.

So instead, I will share some of my latest paintings with you.
My friend Elizabeth asked me to paint her something for her bathroom. At first, I was going to do some pink flamingos because she said she was going to hang a Polyester poster signed by John Waters in the bathroom, but then at the last minute I got a different idea and went with that, hoping she wouldn’t hate it.

She said it was terrifying and still wanted to! Thank god! And then Kara wanted one for her friend, so I got to paint John Waters’s mug all over again and it made me laugh evilly because I used to be “friends” with this super annoying boy who worshipped John Waters and man, do I hate that boy now but I bet he would LOVE this painting, hahahaha.

And then last week Katrina suggested that I paint the Golden Girls and I jumped on that one because I adore the G.Girls so much and staring at their faces all last weekend brought back fond memories of sleeping over my grandparents’ house on Saturday nights and watching the Golden Girls, Empty Nest, and Hunter.

I literally cry for the 80s sometimes, you guys. It was so much better then.

I also did a portrait of my friend Angie, but she wants to be surprised, so I won’t post that one yet!

Don’t forget to check out my Somnambulant Art shop for other weird crap!

All day at work, I kept obsessively checking the tracking info for my Emarosa preorder bundle.

“Out for delivery.”

All day long.

Longest fucking delivery route of all time.

Henry picked me up from work at 5:30 and on the way home, I noticed that the status had FINALLY been changed to “delivered.”

I did an uncoordinated air-pump thing.

“Have you been home at all today? WAS IT THERE?!” I screamed at the side of Henry’s bristled cheek as he steered the car around potholes.

“I was home for a little bit but it wasn’t there,” Henry replied in the calm voice reserved for cloud-watching with kittens and lacking the URGENCY required when one is discussing the status of an Emarosa album delivery.

My heart began its nervous jig inside my chest. A parade of lost packages drove through my memory like a fucking funeral procession, my Emarosa bundle in the hearse.

I checked my email again.

“It says it was delivered at 2:06!” I cried, my wildly gesticulating heart inviting my cheeks to join the panic party by pumping warm blood into them.

“Well, it wasn’t there when I was home,” Henry mumbled.

He pulled into the driveway and I craned my neck to see the porch.

Empty.

He parked the car in the driveway and Chooch took his good old time getting out of the backseat so I ran around the front of the car, practically knocking Henry back into the drivers seat, and raced up the driveway. I yanked the screen door open to see if my package was laying in between the doors BUT IT WASN’T.

Henry had caught up with me by then and as he was unlocking the door, I was on the cusp of tears.

“PLEASE TELL ME YOU WERE JOKING AND IT’S IN THE HOUSE!” I screamed at him.

“It’s not here!” Henry insisted as I pushed my way into the house and ran around wildly.

He’s right, I thought as I looked at the package-less coffee table. It didn’t come. SOMEONE STOLE IT!!

I was eight, thirteen, nineteen, twenty-three, thirty-two all over again and not getting what I wanted for Christmas. I was just about to shriek, “THIS IS THE WORST DAY EVER AND I WISH I WAS DEAD!!!!!” when I noticed the MerchNow package resting surreptitiously on a dining room stool.

I snatched it and caught Henry laughing at me. And I started to cry.

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?!” I screamed, and my whole body WAS SHAKING because that is how much this shit matters to us kids, ok?

And then I proceeded to rip the package open, smash the Versus beanie on my dumb head, hug the CD, kiss the vinyl, put on my Emarosa shirt, and string up the fox ring on the included chain.

Today is a good day.

One of the best parts about my new position is that I get to be around people again, and suddenly my co-workers remember that I exist because they can actually see me now! And we have real-life interaction! It’s wonderful. I used to sit in an office in a infrequently-visited hallway, and that really killed my social life, you guys. My work days were long and sad.

THE GREAT, STINKY SHAWL MYSTERY

Like most offices, it is fucking colder than Sarah Palin’s heart up in that piece. I have, and this is no exaggeration, two sweater-y cardigan things, two shawls*, and a blanket in my work space. On Thursday, I retrieved my black shawl (my favorite one because it has pompoms on it and I like to swing them around) from my closet-thing and as I pulled it down over my head, I happened to catch a whiff of a perfume that is not anything remotely close to what I wear. I took in another hearty drag through my nose and jumped out of my seat.

“Glenn. There’s a problem. My shawl reeks of perfume….but it’s NOT MINE.”

Glenn looked genuinely concerned.

“Someone has been wearing my shawl!” I cried. “I bet it’s GAYLE. She misses me so much now that I’m not on late shift, that I bet she comes over here after 5:30 and wears my shawl just to have a piece of me to keep close to her!”

And then Glenn LAUGHED. Real laughter! And in case I was confused by the sound I was hearing, he verified his laughter by monotoning, “That’s funny.”

So then I went outside on my break and called Henry to tell him about my legit concern and he said I was being outrageous, as though being outrageous, truly truly truly outrageous, is a bad thing.

*(I was already made fun of on Facebook for wearing a shawl, but I bought both of these in the juniors department at Kohl’s and they’re super adorable and probably not even actually shawls but I don’t know what else to call them.)

THINGS GLENN HAS SAID THIS WEEK

This week has been pretty hilarious. I guess because Glenn’s due to become a dad for the third time today, he was feeling pretty punchy and his zingers were on point. My favorite was when I said I was going upstairs to get my volunteering t-shirt off some broad, but then she wasn’t there so I stood around and “loafed” (my dad’s favorite word) with Patty for awhile in the copy center. I came back down to my desk after about 15 minutes and when Glenn noticed I was empty-handed, I explained that it took me so long to come back because, “People upstairs in the copy center were talking to me, OK Glenn? I’m a hot commodity up there.”

“What, like a freak show attraction?”

OH GOOD ONE GLENN.

(No really. Good one.)

Then I tried to get him to be stoked for the new Emarosa album by engaging in a Release Date Countdown with me. He refused. Later in the day, I just spun around in my seat and cried “OMG GLENN I JUST GOT SHIPPING NOTIFICATION FOR MY EMAROSA PRE-ORDER!” And Glenn dryly said, “Wow. What a day.”

Later, Gayle came over to show Mean Amber and me the clothes* she bought for her granddaughter and I was like, “GLENN, LOOK AT HOW ADORABLE” because I felt this conversation was relevant to him since his world is about to be full of tiny clothes. So then Gayle and Mean Amber were going on about how they hope he has a girl and he was like, “That’s fine, as long as it doesn’t turn out like Erin Kelly.” DANG GLENN.

I hope he remembers to buy Emarosa’s new album next Tuesday!

*(One of the outfits had an owl on it so I poured out some more of my 40 under my desk for Chris.)

THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED BECAUSE CHRIS LEFT THE LAW FIRM:

1. Joan Rivers died.
2. The lights went out yesterday. (Briefly, but still!)
3. Wendy’s leg almost fell off but then Patrick told her it was just a bruise so then it wasn’t going to fall off anymore.
4. My collection of tears has grown and my email inbox has dwindled.
5. The toilets were flushing with reddish-brown water. (According to Barb’s email to the maintenance, anyway.)
6. Boss discovered that I’m a fake artist because of the owl painting I made for CHRIS and had me make her a chalkboard sign because she evidently sells meat-stuffs at the farmers market.

(Making that sign was actually pretty fun but I still whined about it because if I didn’t, people would think there was a problem. “I don’t work with chalk!” I even scoffed at one point and then had to google “pictures of roast” because I haven’t eaten that shit since 1996 so what the hell do I know.)

WE GOT NOSTALGIC

Sandy brought up Waterbreak ’11 the other day on Facebook and then we all had a moment of “Aw, those were the days.”

I mentioned my love for the Game Show Network several times on this blog recently, but another thing I really loved about the invention of digital cable was all of the music channels! I’m not talking about MTV, et al, but the ones that are like radio stations for TV. You can listen to music while reading random facts about the music you’re listening to.

I mean, that’s how it works nowadays. But back then? It was literally a black screen. It didn’t even tell you the name of the song and the artist you were listening to! Shenanigans. (a/k/a Salem’s best bar.)

One day, this song came on the alternative channel and I was like, “EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND HEAR, I MEAN REALLY HEAR, THIS SONG.” And for once I wasn’t talking to my imaginary friends, because back then, I actually a ton of real life people who were always hanging around my loft. I had no idea who it was singing this haunting song; it didn’t sound like anything that was being played on the radio, which was odd because there was no real underground thing happening on these channels back then. It was seriously all bullshit you would hear on regular radio stations. But this song 100% was not being played on Pittsburgh’s alternative radio station.

I lunged over and hit “record” on my VCR, because this was pre-DVR days, my friends. I literally recorded a blank TV screen onto a VHS tape, just so I could later record that onto a cassette tape too. I was real tech-savvy in 1998.

Now that I had it recorded, I decided to call the local alternative station and do this: “If I play a song for you, can you tell me who sings it?” This worked once for me, when I first became transfixed and heart-eyed by Huffamoose’s hit single “Wait.” The DJ knew immediately who it was, flaunting his credentials and probably blowing on his finger tips as soon as he hung up the phone.

So I tried this tactic and the DJ was like, “I have no idea. Sorry.”

I waited for the next DJ’s shift and made the same call. Still no dice.

And I kept doing this for days until I exhausted all of my options. I was really big into videotaping every mundane thing I did back then, and I can tell you for a fact that I have legit video of my friends making these calls for me, too. One night, we just went around the room, taking turns calling the same DJ who fucking FLIPPED OUT finally and screamed, “I TOLD YOU I DON’T FUCKING KNOW WHO SINGS THIS STUPID SONG!”

You might say that this was the title track to Erin’s Summer of 1998.

I would play it over and over again in my car. I didn’t even care that the beginning was cut off. My friend Heather, who was basically living with me at the time, would subconsciously hum this song while half asleep on my couch. Some of my guy friends would threaten to pull the mix tape apart if I didn’t stop listening to it.

WE WERE ALL HAUNTED BY THIS FUCKING SONG. Friendships were ruined. Sanity was snapped. Local radio DJs were angered. That’s why I slept with so many guys that summer, Henry. It was the song making me do it. Really.

That fall, I met and began dating Jeff; even then I was still listening to The Song in the car, not as obsessively, but it was on several mix tapes. So this fucking song at some point had wormed its way into Jeff’s ears and set up camp in his brain, just as it had every sorry mother fucker that came to my apartment that summer. Flash forward to that spring, and we’re hanging out in my apartment (a different one at this point), and Jeff casually says, “Hey, that band you like was on [some late night show] last night.”

“Which band?” I asked, because hello. There are many.

“Guster,” he answered, and then looked confused when I said I didn’t know any band named Guster.

“Oh my god, are you fucking kidding me? You listen to that damn airport song all the fucking time!” he cried. And then it hit me. The airport song. The song I obsessed over that ended with the line “You’ll be selling books at the airport.”

Jeff unknowingly cracked the fucking code. And yet I still I fucking dumped him. Sorry, Jeff.

I went out and bought their CD immediately. But…I never actually became a Guster fan. I only just liked that one song. The fucking Airport Song. (That’s actually the name of it, too!”

So today, I am going to share this goddamn song with you, because it practically ruined my life and you should know that.

I recently posted this video on Heather’s Facebook wall and she was like, “Thanks. I hate you.”

Over the weekend, I decided that I wanted to do a Twin Peaks-inspired series of portraits because I love that damn show so much. So I put Season 1 on Netflix and started with the Log Lady, because why not.

By Tuesday night, Agent Dale Cooper, Dead Laura Palmer and Dr. Jacoby had joined her…and then quickly left her. They were all sold yesterday!

(The Log Lady is still available, if anyone is interested!)

Last night, while Henry yelled at Pretty Little Liars (that show gets him so riled up!), I started on The Man From Another Place. It still needs a lot of touching up, which I’ll get to tonight, but here he is anyway:

There’s several more I want to add, but what kind of series would you want to see next? TELL ME. I’ve been thinking about vending at a local horror convention next winter and I need to build up my inventory, and quick! I’ll be selling my serial killer cards there, but I’d like to have some of my art on hand, as well.

(Hopefully I can also build up my social skills.)

When Chris told me she was resigning a few weeks ago, I silently vowed to write her off FOREVER. I might have some slight abandonment issues. Among others.

But then Lauren was like “WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING FOR HER!

” And I was like “FINE!!!” So I painted her an owl even though she BETRAYED me.

Chris loves owls. I should have painted her something she HATES so she could experience the same sour pangs in her gut as me.

ULTRA SIGH.

Today was her last day so Lauren, Nate and I went with her to Sal’s for her last dumb lunch downtown. My grilled cheese tasted AWFUL.

Like BETRAYAL and ORPHANAGE MOTHBALLS.

And POUND PUPPIES.

UGH.

Afterward, our merry band of processors plus some others presented her with the painting, which everyone had signed, and then we had CHAMPAGNE, so suddenly Chris’s Last Day wasn’t so bad after all. But every time I drink champagne at work, I get all weird and wound up, and this time I ended up spilling all of my secret Help Desk crushes and stalking tactics to Glenn and Mean Amber, who were just like, “What the hell?”

Oh sure, I appear to be smiling in that photo, but on the inside, I was the embodiment of Sally Struthers’ whimpering voice. IT FELT LIKE CHRIS’S FUNERAL, OK.

Also, I taped a “Cry Me a River” Glenn to the back of the painting, because come on.

I couldn’t send her off without one last Glenn.

Later, A-ron came over and did a stupid dance to cheer me up. It kind of worked. Just a little.

GOODBYE CHRIS. I’m glad you left for something better, but I hope you don’t find a parallel universe Erin over there who also likes weird fruit, Warped Tour, and I can’t think of anything else I like right now because I’m too sad.

• Today I was thinking about how I haven’t been able to read a book, or even a MAGAZINE, in months because my head feels so fuzzy. And then that made me do a search on flotation therapy, which I have been casually considering trying for a few years now because…help. I feel like Spencer Chamberlain from Underoath did this before writing an album? But maybe I’m just thinking that because he has chamber in his last name.
• We went to a potluck last Saturday at our friends Tim and Patty’s house. Henry made a lemon chess pie (god, yes) and also a mac n cheese that had expensive cheese, porcini mushrooms, and pumpkin ale in it. I wanted him to substitute the porcini mushrooms with wood ear mushrooms, as an homage to Patty’s birthday dinner last winter at Hokkaido. God, that was a fun dinner! And the potluck on Saturday was fun too! We all gorged ourselves like it was goddamn Thanksgiving, and lived to regret nothing. (Except maybe bringing Chooch, who acted like a brat.)
• Here’s a really original bullet point: where the hell did this summer go? Just once I would like to see winter breeze past us in the same speedy fashion. Fuck you, winter.
• Henry and I engaged in one of my favorite activities late Sunday night: watching horror porn and talking about old stuff. He told me about this one time when his ex-wife spit in his face and now I’m obsessed with it and have made him repeat the story at least 6 times since then. Sunday night was really nice. I want more. HEAR THAT, HENRY?
• I had some quiet time on Saturday and I spent it re-watching Twin Peaks and painting some of the characters. I’m really excited about this series of paintings! Twin Peaks was so great. I’ll post more about that later.
• Today, I made the last payment on our Riot Fest tickets! Ahhhhh! One more week! Every time I think about it, I get so emotional that I start to cry and Henry is just like, “Please kill me.”
• Henry and I have been heavily embroiled in a “To Pie Party or Not to Pie Party” debate. I think we’re, sadly, leaning toward “not to pie party.” Last year’s piestivies took so much out of me.
  • I have a theme though, in case I change my mind at the last minute.
• The day I learned that the game I played in elementary school gym class was actually called “Bombardment” and not “Bob Barker,” my whole world changed. It was almost as mind-blowing when I learned to read and realized that it was “grilled cheese” and not “girl cheese.” How stupid I felt about yelling at all those boys eating sandwiches I thought were for GIRLS ONLY. :(
  • The “Bombardment” awakening was honestly only a few years ago. I’m not embarrassed to tell you guys that.
• The other night, I told Chooch that I was pregnant and he got so excited. HAHA. I love doing that to him. But then he was like, “I knew you weren’t really pregnant because you’re way too skinny.” YOU GUYS. No one has ever, in my entire life, used the words “way too skinny” to describe me. CHOOCH, I FUCKING LOVE YOU. Even if I did have another baby, you would still be my favorite!

• Yesterday was one of those days when I didn’t know what the fuck I wanted. I thought that I wanted ice cream. But then we got to the ice cream place, I decided I didn’t see anything there that I wanted and Henry was like, “$#!&^@#$!” so Chooch got a hot dog and then, without saying a word, Henry drove to another ice cream place, where Chooch ordered a sundae and I decided that there still wasn’t anything that I wanted and that I felt so RUSHED to decide. Henry looked around exaggeratedly and said, “Who’s rushing there? There isn’t anybody else here!!” So we sat down at a table and watched Chooch eat his sundae and then I decided that maybe I wanted something but I wasn’t sure what, so I sent Henry back to the window to ask the ice cream lady a million questions on my behalf before finally settling on a strawberry shortcake which was pretty good but kind of not what I wanted at all! AND THEN I GOT SICK. Probably I just shouldn’t have ordered anything, if we’re being real with each other, because I was in a very Sybil-esque mood and nothing was going to make me happy.
  • While eating a sundae I didn’t want, I was watching people at the ice cream place. “I love how that lady is juggling a baby, an ice cream cone AND trying to get money out of her purse at the same time, yet her dad is over there barking at her to get more napkins. Get it yourself, motherfucker. Am I right?”Henry frowned and sadly said, “Yeah except…that’s what you guys do to me.”

• I got to see my old high school friend Stacey last week! She commissioned a painting from me for her baby’s nursery so when I brought it to her house, I got to see 3 of her 4 kids and it was wildly entertaining! (No sarcasm, seriously.) It made me kind of regret stopping at just one but now as I sit here typing this, my “One” is upstairs having a meltdown so those regrets are gone.
• Emarosa released a stream of their entire album yesterday and obviously I am smitten. I wish I knew how to say in English what they mean to me, instead of just hugging myself and making heart-eyes at everything. Because…that doesn’t translate well over the Internet. It’s interesting how some bands just hit that emotional sweet spot, and Emarosa is definitely one of those bands for me. We gots history, y’all. And it’s ironic to me that this has been the Summer of Emarosa, when I needed them the most. They sound-tracked yet another chapter to our story. You know, the one where the maids always win and the Queen loses her head. Sigh. I can tell this album is going to be my security blanket. I better buy two copies…
  • Poor Henry has been taking the brunt of this. I would be imploding if it wasn’t for him. <3
  • Except that he made my C-section incision hurt last night and then yelled at me when I said it hurt because supposedly since it’s been 8 years, it shouldn’t hurt anymore or something?! Ugh, fuck you, Henry. He was like, “Thank god it wasn’t a vaginal birth. We never would have had sex again.” He’s not wrong.
  • He just walked past me and shook his head because I’m listening to Emarosa again and making sad faces. SAD ERIN IS SAD OK.
• We were playing this game on xbox, Fibbage, on Sunday, where you make up lies to questions and then everyone has to guess which is the truth. One of the questions was something like “Who were people lobbying to get taxed because they are so annoying?” and Henry’s lie was “Erin Kelly.” :(
  • The actual answer was “hipsters.”
• Henry drove me to work today (yay!) and I freaked out because I thought I saw Knight from the Real World. Turns out it was not Knight from the Real World.
• And to cap off the day, I just came home from a coffee date/therapy session/laughathon with my friend Lisa and I gotta tell you, I feel a lot better about life right now. Everyone needs a friend like Lisa. We talked about the one time we went to the arts festival when we were 18 or 19 with two kids from her youth group and I gave them a cigarette when Lisa wasn’t looking and then pretended I didn’t know how young they were. “Yeah, and you were also flirting with one them the whole time,” Lisa sighed. TYPICAL ERIN, AMIRITE.

• OK. Thanks to the pumpkin spice horchata latte I guzzled at 8:30pm, I’m going to spend the next 3 hours painting more Twin Peaks characters. So far I have Log Lady, Agent Dale Cooper, Dead Laura Palmer and Doctor Jacoby! BUBBBYE.

My dear friend Kaitlin got married last Saturday! Henry and I couldn’t make it to the ceremony, but we wound up being the first ones at the Lemont for the reception, so we had to sit at the bar, where someone walked past and brought with them some pleasant aroma that brought back the strongest sensation of my Pappap’s presence that I’ve experienced in quite some time, so I sat there trying not to drop tears into my $9 amaretto sour.

Henry in a suit: I approve. And he didn’t even put up a fuss about wearing one! He must be growing up, or just losing the will to fight.

Eventually, the banquet room was ready. Wendy and Shawn had just arrived so we walked down with them and Henry and Shawn basically imprinted immediately. Especially after Wendy told me to show Shawn pictures of the Get Stoked sign Henry made me. Their first man-date will probably be to Home Depot.

Then Barb arrived and shocked us by saying that she managed to NOT CRY at the ceremony! She wandered off for a bit because she wanted to find some of the people from the Penguins organization (Danny, the groom, works for the Penguins!). A few minutes later, Barb came rushing back over to us with her arm hooked around a man and cried, “LOOK WHO I FOUND! JOE MACHI! FROM LAST COMING STANDING! ON NBC!!!!” Then she practically chucked her phone at me and made me take her picture with him. It all happened so fast, you guys.

After the Joe Machi experience, Barb was like, “Sure. I’ll pose for a picture with you, Erin Kelly. But you’re no Joe Machi.”

This cake was just for ceremonial cutting purposes. We all had crème brulee instead, and it was fantastic!

You might remember that Kaitlin used to work at The Law Firm and won all of our hearts with her otherworldly baking prowess. Well, she is such an overachiever that she baked 80% of her own wedding cookies, which were booby-trapped with sheaths of tulle during the cocktail hour. We took turns pacing back and forth with our tongues wagging.

The signature KrollWedding2014 drinks were a cocktail of vodka, lemonade, mint and basil. And they were delicious. And free-flowing. I was pretty blitzed before the cocktail hour was over, and Henry was not happy about this. Haha!

Mary arrived soon after Barb, completing the Law Firm table.

The happy new couple, Shawn and Henry, taking in the view together.

I love these broads. <3

I hate that I don’t know what they were laughing at!!!

Table 24 was the best table.

This was when Wendy was trying to clean crème brûlée from my skirt with a centerpiece flower, sometime after I drunkenly exclaimed that if I ever get married, I’d want Wendy to be in it and then she drunkenly exclaimed in return that she would be honored and OMG how sweet and then I think we hugged.

That’s JOE MACHI standing behind Henry, you guys! JOE MACHI!!!!!!! Side note: Mary held a butter knife up to Henry’s neck several times during the night, further ingratiating herself into my life.

Photobooth fun! Before I went in with Henry, I grabbed the “Soon to be Mrs” sign and said, “Oh here, hold this up. It’ll cause an outcry, I guarantee it.” And it did, haha. People thought we were announcing our engagement but I was like, “Sigh, no. We were just being dicks.”

Ugh you guys. Kaitlin was the most beautiful bride! I cried as soon as she and Danny walked in and Henry was like, “Jesus Christ, here we go.” This might be my favorite picture of the night. Henry kept trying to duck because we were all trying to take pictures of Kaitlin, so she came right over and hugged him, haha!

Then Wendy and I made the mistake of relying on Henry and Shawn to take group pictures of us, and we wound up with a collection of photos that are just asking to be made into derp memes.

This is what happens when you give a man the simple task of taking a picture for you: Barb gets cut out of both pictures and one looks like it was developed by a drunk person at Foto Hut in 1978.

I’m sure I’m forgetting a lot. I was pretty drunk, but we all had the best time and Henry and I didn’t fight at all! I was too busy staring at him with heart-eyes all night because underneath my layer of assholeness, I’m just a stupid girl who loves love and you guys, it was such a nice night. I was honored to be there. Congratulations, Kaitlin and Danny!