I was preparing for another boring Friday night on the homefront when Haley messaged me and told us to come hang out with her and Blake at the bowling alley right down the street and I was like “Yo, don’t gotta ask me twice!” Get me outta this house, you know?

But then Henry was sleeping (it was only 8!!) because he’s Henry and that’s what Henry does.

Sleep.

It took Chooch and me a good 25 minutes to get him out of bed because he’s the absolute worst. I think he’s narcoleptic and I hate him. But seriously, Papa H should be happy that his grown-ass son willingly wants to be seen in public with his dopey dad.

And that’s how we ended up having a really fun Friday night instead of staying home where I would probably just watch Kpop videos all night and maybe have a glass of wine and Chooch would probably play some dumb computer game and then we would both take turns yelling disparaging things at a slumbering Henry.

Blake and Haley’s friends Arthur and Claudia were there too and it was so much fun! I love being out in a group. SAFTEY IN NUMBERS.

Here are some pictures!

Henry was pissed because he got three strikes in a row toward the end and no one fell to his feet in adulation.

“Sorry, I don’t praise people for cheating,” I shrugged, and he started mumbling how he wasn’t cheating and Blake was just like, “Yeah OK dad.”

Nice try, Henry.

Haley and Chooch are the best frenemies. Haley told me that at my Christmas party, they were playing Likewise with Robbie & Nikki. The whole point of that game is that everyone has a dry-erase sign that they have to write their answers on, and you’re supposed to try and get the same answer as everyone else. At one point, the prompt was “female tool.” Obviously, everyone had the same answer of “vibrator,” but when Chooch held up his sign, it said “motorized weener.”

“I couldn’t think of what it was called!” Chooch cried. Oh my god, I’m so glad I wasn’t in the room for that! Ugh, my son, ladies and gentlemen.

Blake brought a whole purse full of patience last night.

We left around 10:45 because the bowling alley doesn’t allow kids there past 11 (not even smart-mouthed ones like Chooch). Henry, Chooch and I walked over to Tom’s Diner before  going home, and that’s when Chooch casually recounted all of the weeners he’s accidentally seen at Warped Tour, the fuck?!

So many weener convos. I guess I’m OK with that though.

For actual New Years Eve, it’s just the three of us, chilling at home. Which is exactly how I like it. Henry will probably fall asleep 837248972348 times before midnight though. What an asshole.

Here’s my NYE gift to you: my current favorite Kpop song!

Tonight, Austin Carlile officially announced his decision to leave Of Mice & Men because of his health. While I’m glad his priority is his physical well-being, I am for sure going to miss the way his screams made me feel at so many Warped Tours. 

I took these pictures of him in 2011. Hopefully someday he will be able to return to music, but he will always have a place in my heart regardless. 

Austin has spent so many years healing his fans. Now it’s time for him to focus on healing himself. <3

Picture it:

The year was 1999.

A hot July evening.

I was 19.

It had been about 6 months since I quit my job at stupid EchoStar, and my old co-worker Roniece wanted to catch up. The problem was that Roniece was over 21 and she didn’t want to go to Eat n Park for a motherfucking milkshake, you know? Her plan was to go to a strip club. Some male strip club in Braddock, one of the less savory neighborhoods of Pittsburgh.

This sounded like A Great Idea to me. I mean, this was back when I used to spray paint my feet gold, so most ideas sounded like great ideas to me.

My friend Keri wanted to join us, and now it was really starting to feel like a legit party. So on this hot summer evening in 1999, Keri and I drove to Roniece’s house in McKeesport, where Keri got stung by a bee and that’s how I found out that my friend of approx. 10 years was allergic to bees. Roniece’s grandma performed some old housewives’ miracle and Keri was healed, but that’s a story for another time because I only want to talk about myself right now.

THIS STORY IS ABOUT ME.

Before we left Roniece’s, she pulled out a fat blunt and this back when I was dumb and did stupid things like pop pills full of Ephedrine and starve myself for days because So Fat, Such Chunk. So Keri was all, “JUST SO NO” but I was all, “GIMME DAT” and thus started the night out on a high note.

OH….!

Now we were ready. Roniece wanted to go to a bar beforehand and I pulled my pockets inside out, like “Hello, no fake ID.” But Roniece just laughed and promised me that Keri and I wouldn’t get carded where she was taking us….

…which was the diviest bar that ever dove on some pot-hole ridden side street in Duquesne. We had to park in an alley, and go in through a suspiciously plain door on the side of a building that had no name, no windows.

“Just be cool. Don’t draw attention to us and ya’ll will be fine,” Roniece prepped our underage asses before entering The Bar.

Motown wafted out as soon as we pulled back the door; the bar inside was small and non-descript, not even the tiniest hint of saloon aesthetic. It was all over-flowing ashtrays and varying shades of brown. The patrons were older, urban, and all-around unenthused at the prospect of sharing their sacred space with a bunch of youngins. Keri and I got a few quick side-eyes as we sat down at the bar, but everyone quickly went back to staring into their beers while we giddily shared a pitcher of Long Island iced teas with Roniece.

Thank god I can’t remember how cool we must have thought we were, sitting at some sticky bar, drinking amateur cocktails in the company of legit sad sacks hiding from their wives.

I started digging around in my purse.

“What are you doing?” Keri asked suspiciously. Homegirl had been my friend since elementary school and was well-versed in my shady ways. My every movement was a cause for concern in her eyes.

“Just looking for some change so I can request a song on the jukebox,” I answered happily, because Long Island iced teas.

Armed with quarters, I went over to the jukebox and assessed the situation. Clinked in a quarter, punched in the numbers, went back to the bar.

“What did you play,” Roniece asked, right as the SEXY SAX INTRO of “Careless Whisper” cut through the thick swirls of cigarette smoke and regret.

You know that scene in Adventures in Babysitting where the suburban kids infiltrate a blues club? And everyone immediately stops talking because disgusted glares work better in a quiet room? That’s what happened on this night, in this bar, in this dilapidated part of town.

Every last bloodshot eyeball was focused on me, the giddy white bitch who skipped-to-her-lou into their bar and polluted their nicotine-curtained air with George Michael’s oozing sex appeal.

Keri covered her face.

“What? It’s Careless Whisper,” I said.

“Yeah, I know what it is!” Keri snapped and went back to shielding her face from the scowls attacking us from every angle. 

Roniece threw her head back and let out a huge laugh. “Girl! I told you to be cool!”

And I’m like, “But this is fucking George Michael, man!” Literally I had no idea what I did wrong, because anytime I hear that song, it always felt so right.

SO VERY RIGHT.

We left after a second pitcher of Long Island iced tea, and before I had a chance to request any other tracks from the Carlton Banks Greatest Hits mixtape.

This next part has nothing to do with George Michael, but it does have to do with the moment I died.

We arrived at whatever that goddamn strip club was called in Braddock, but it wasn’t open yet. I remember standing inside the vestibule while Roniece spoke with someone inside, and suddenly I wasn’t feeling right. I stepped back outside to get some air, and the next thing I knew, I was going down, but Ke$ha wasn’t around yet to yell timber.

This next part happened while I was dead.

(Because I swear to you, I was dead. I had done DIED on that sidewalk outside of Sleazy Braddock Stripperie.)

It was Christmas and I was little again! My Pappap was there. We were on the big porch, which is where most of the Christmases were celebrated throughout my childhood. I remember being overcome by extreme happiness and warmth (and most importantly – toys). I was engulfed in one of my greatest childhood memories!

SO THIS WAS HEAVEN.

And then I heard my aunt Sharon calling my name.

Erin Erin Erin.

Over and over.

And then I saw A BRIGHT WHITE LIGHT.

It doesn’t get any more textbook than that.

I was dead.

But the sound of my aunt’s voice brought me back.

Granted, it was Keri and Roniece who were screaming my name into my face, and the bright white light was the streetlight above me. BUT STILL.

Friend has near-death experience on street in a dangerous part town: that’s a pretty big party foul. Keri grabbed my car keys and dropped Roniece off at home. Then we stopped at a gas station in McKeesport where she bought a loaf of bread through a bullet-proof window, the bread was to soak up the poison in my stomach. And then she took me home where three more of our friends came over and babysat me in shifts.

And this is one of the reasons why Keri’s mom absolutely hated me. I was “too much drama” apparently. Like, who? Me!? No, not me.

A few days later, Roniece called to check in on me, and she admitted that maybe, perhaps, possibly there was a slight chance that the blunt she gave me was laced. That in addition to my so chic eating disorder, diet pill addiction and Long Island iced tea dinner was probably enough to stop my fucking heart. But what do I know!? I turned into a walking billboard for Just Say No after that.

Every time we go to Kennywood, I love to point out the little turn-around on the side of a road in West Mifflin where Keri had to swerve the car so I could puke up all my regrets on the way home.

***

“And so that’s what I think of whenever I hear George Michael,” I said in conclusion to this very personal tale at work on the Tuesday after George Michael’s death.

“What, your poor judgment?” Glenn mumbled.

WHATEVER GLENN, I LOVE THIS STORY.

Spotify was nice enough to compile my most played songs of the year. Most of this is like “Oh hello, Mr.Shocking. Welcome to the House of Predictability.”

Anyway, maybe this here’s something you can listen to while cleaning the litter box or burying that body in the woods. Hopefully you’ve got good service. 

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Oh wow, more merry merry holiday recaps, thank god. 

I can’t even believe I’m about to say this about my own kid, but wow is he so unlike me sometimes! There was only one thing he wanted for Christmas, and had been telling us since at least the beginning of summer. I remember thinking, “A Nintendo 3DS? Wow, aren’t those like, yesterday’s news?” I’m too busy immersed in my own interests and obsessions to keep up with the world of gaming, but evidently, every single Nintendo gaming system was in high demand this season, even the 3DS XL.

Of course, we didn’t know this until three days before Xmas (THREE DAYS BEFORE – we’re getting less and less last minute each year, you guys!) when some asshole at GameStop laughed at us like we just asked to see the motherfucking basement of the goddamn Alamo.

So I decided, on Christmas Eve, that I was going to gently break the news to Chooch so that he wouldn’t be super disappointed on actual Christmas. And by gently, I mean that I s-l-o-w-l-y ripped off that Pokemon Band-Aid while saying things like, “OK promise you won’t get mad” and “Please don’t hate me, but….” until finally I think he figured out where my hemming and hawing was leading (even though I tried to throw the “you’re adopted” curveball at him) and you know what? HE DID NOT THROW A FIT.

How is that my kid?

HOW HAS HE BEEN WATCHING ME THROW TEMPER TANTRUMS FOR THE LAST 10 YEARS AND NOT ONCE FELT THE NEED TO EMULATE ME?

Because if that was 10-year-old Erin and my mom was all, “Sorry, but the Brony phenomenon started 20 years early and there’s not one My Little Pony to be had, I checked EVERY LAST KAY-BEE” I would have slammed ten thousand doors and broken every glass object that dared to stand in front of my testosterone surge.

But Chooch was all, “It’s OK, I understand” and proceeded to be completely happy with the other non-coveted items we bought him.

Like, wow.

Whose kid is he!?

Oh right, Henry is a parent, also.

Christmas morning was really good, you guys. It was peaceful. We didn’t fight (not until later at the cemetery but we always fight at the cemetery because using my broken camera makes me lose my temper), just hung out and listened to all of my favorite bands while Chooch had about 19 different toys in action all at once.

Henry is like, so thoughtful.

We could have probably just got him a handful of Pokemon cards and he would have been content.

And scratch offs. The kid loves himself some lottery.

Butt-crack scratch offs.

Papa Bae* got me another beautiful piece of The Cure art to add to the collection! THANKS BAE.

*(Never gets old. To you, it probably does. And definitely to Henry.)

Obligatory Christmas family photo, in between me yelling at them and them rolling their eyes.

Henry brought a ziplock bag of black olives, which made me scream in horror.

“Um, I thought you love black olives?” he sighed.

“I do! But not in this context!” I screamed.

“In this context? You mean, in a plastic bag?”

YES THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN, ASSHOLE.

Speaking of black olives! We had our team Christmas lunch last week at Villa Reale. I sat next to Amber1 and THANK GOD I DID, because she ordered a side salad and then proceeded to pick out all of the olives.

I cried, “If you don’t want your olives, I’ll take them!” and so she made a little pile of olives for me, which I later smashed into my slice of cheese pizza. Black olives is basically the only pizza topping I care about.

Glenn and Todd were sitting across from me and seemed disgusted by my olive actions, but I didn’t care. My pizza tasted so much more familiar after that.

Actually, here is a picture of that time it took three people to pull apart a piece of garlic bread, with my olives waiting patiently for their hot, greasy bed to splay across like Miss(es) December(s).

Ugh, erotic olives get me every time!

But yeah…olives from a plastic bag? That’s not hot.

Came home after our “picnic” and spent the rest of the day relaxing, watching Netflix things, not giving a shit about the Steelers, and spying on the neighbors. 

Oh, and lots of KpopX workouts!

Well, that was my Xmas 2016. It was kind of perfect, not gon’ lie.  Most days, I feel like your basic Schleprock, but on this particular Christmas, I felt pretty lucky. DON’T TELL HENRY I SAID THAT, EW.

I’m spending my free time today scrambling to catch up with all of the RIP Glenns that have been piling up. What a shitty year for celebrity deaths. It doesn’t help that I have the real Glenn sitting behind me, saying things like, “What about Zsa Zsa Gabor Glenn? Did you do a John Glenn Glenn yet?” And I’m like, “UGH I KNOW OK, THEY’RE ON MY EVER-GROWING LIST.”

“—-what about Arnold Palmer Glenn?”

UGH I ALREADY DID THAT ONE. God, take a gander at the RIP Wall every now and again, would you?!

And then Gayle was all, “ARE YOU GOING TO DO A PRINCESS LEIA GLENN?!” and I almost yelled, “I QUIT.” But instead, I mumbled, “Yeah I started one and then I SCREWED IT UP.”

(I have a separate post to do for George Michael. Le sigh.)

So here, please enjoy some pictures of my cats, Penelope Ann Killer (a/k/a Peen Lop) and Drew Nightmare Walden (a/k/a Potato) while I draw my hands off. </3

Her markings remind me a little bit of Speck (RIP).

(UGH, SO MANY RIPs.)

She is seriously an idiot.

The best cat. -Riley

^^^EW! I left the draft of this open on the computer at home and it looks like I’VE BEEN HACKED.

P.S. I just went to CVS on my lunch break to buy colored pencils because I need ONE BROWN for shading and it was $7!! That seems like so much! (Can you tell I rarely shop for things other than records and concert tickets?!)

I wonder if I can get reimbursed…

Lol j/k. 

For the first time in 6 years, we went to my mom’s house for Christmas. Technically, it was Christmas Eve-Eve, but it still had just the right amount of holiday feels. This has been a tremendously difficult year for my family, and while I wanted to go out of the town for the weekend and pretend like Christmas wasn’t happening, I knew I couldn’t do that to my mom. She lost her sister, her childhood home, and three of her pets in less than a year. What a fucking year.

And you know what? It ended up being fine. Better than fine — it was really nice and relaxed, and the food was great (I definitely didn’t inherit any of my mom’s cooking skills), and the decor was beautiful. Henry’s contribution was some kind of egg and polenta casserole thing that he found in one of his housewife magazines, which he misplaced and started tearing the house apart like a wildman while yelling at me and his mom. I was about to get all defensive up in here but then I remembered that I constantly throw his stuff away, so…

But then he found it on the table or who knows where, so crisis averted.

“Are there mushrooms in this?” Corey asked around a forkful of the polenta slop.

“YEAH WHY ARE YOU ALLERGIC?!” I cried in alarm.

“No, I just don’t really like mushrooms,” Corey laughed nervously, but then he said he was surprised that he liked the slop after all! Maybe there’s hope that Henry can trick our kid into eating vegetables by the time he’s 26.

My mom’s aesthetic couldn’t be any different than mine*, but I really love it.

*(Said beneath a picture featuring clown figurines.)

We used to have this big, beautiful wooden Noah’s Ark in that bay window, with lot of wooden animal pairs to go with it, but then over the years our dog Rama ran off with roughly 75% of them, so I guess my mom finally got rid of it. It was weird not seeing it there. I started to explain it to Henry, who cut me off and said, “Yeah I know, I’ve seen it before.

”

“YOU DIDN’T SEE IT WHEN IT WAS GOOD, THOUGH!” I yelled, because that’s how I communicate with Henry. At high volumes with a hatchet behind my back.

The faces of people watching a kid try to make a constipated reindeer poop candy.

This picture cracks (originally typed CRAPS — you guys, I’m starting to seriously worry about my brain. I USED TO BE A SPELLING AND GRAMMAR SNOB AND NOW LOOK AT ME) me up. If you’ve ever been around us, you’ve probably definitely seen Henry in this exact pose: A Sleep-Deprived, Down-Trodden Man’s Anguish^TM.

Big shot Henry made another coconut (originally typed “cocunt” – someone order me an MRI, I’m scared) cream pie, this time with HOMEMADE WHIPPED CREAM laced with RUM. Thanks, Kitchen Wench.

Chooch got my mom a candle and a copy of his school picture, which he signed “My Beautiful Face” on the back. It was eerily reminiscent of the time I blew up and framed a close-up of my face for my grandma for Christmas one year and she was just like, “Oh.”

After dinner, Henry could stand it no longer and crashed on a chair in the living room. Meanwhile, my mom got Chooch so many Pokémon cards and that really kept him quiet so good thinking, Val! Also, she found two tubes of Pogs and at first my brother Ryan thought they were mine, but after .0002 seconds of rifling though them, I deduced that they were actually his because they were way too basic to be mine. I mean, one was a yin yang for fuck’s sake!

Mad props to my mom for wanting to end the year on a nice, peaceful note when it’d be just as easy to lay in bed and cry about it. Which is usually how I spend holidays. #sadgirl4L

Oh boy, guess what time it is?! Annual Christmas portraits of Chooch in the cemetery! And as usual, it was the only time we fought all day because I get so irritated with using my actual camera anymore.

I use this excuse every single time, but my camera is like a dying dog that needs puts out of its misery. But buying a new one is just not something I care about right now (priorities: concerts and traveling for concerts) so I keep dragging the old, broken bitch out of the house when the time comes, which really is only about twice a year these days because I’m lazy and apathetic as fuck. But at least this time I remembered to charge the battery the night before!

As usual, there was tons of fighting in the beginning. The camera was all out of whack and I started launching death threats at Henry because everything is his fault. But then he fiddled with the setting and everything was OK but I still hated him so he hung back and let us do our thing.

We eventually walked across the street to the other side of the cemetery and Henry completely left us alone, and suddenly Chooch and I were best friends and I hadn’t yelled, “JUST FORGET IT!

” and marched off in a huff in at least 10 minutes! A record!

Anyway, here are pictures of my kid, age 10, on Christmas 2016 after eating a lazy picnic of egg salad sandwiches and Chips Ahoy that Henry half-assedly tossed into a tiny cooler. These picnics are dying the same slow death as my camera!

It looks like Chooch is so congenial here! But what was actually happening was he was saying, “FUCK MY LIFE” with a mirthless laugh.

And here he is laughing at my camera-caused anguish.

This was probably when I was yelling, “EVERYTHING I DO FOR YOU AND YOU CAN’T SMILE FOR ONE FUCKING PICTURE!?”

Things got OK from this point on. I wasn’t feeding off of Henry’s presence anymore and my blood pressure was starting to level out.

I don’t know why, but somehow the theme became “Sad Mouseketeer” – I just rolled with it because Chooch was actually being pleasant to work with and sometimes you just have to let the model take the lead.

The “please adopt me” face.

This is the look he’s usually giving me at any given moment of the day.

When we got in the car to leave, Chooch said to Henry, “Daddy, everything was fine once you left.” SEE?! Henry is the catalyst.

And then the rest of the day was fine because I didn’t have a camera in my hand. Henry said it probably just needs serviced and I was like YOU NEED SERVICED UGH.

Chooch was really stoked to get this book from Octavia, and as he excitedly flipped through the pages, he said he couldn’t wait to read it. 

“It’s pretty scary I guess, because Octavia asked me if it was OK to get it for you,” I said.

“Oh like you give an eff if anyone in this house has nightmares,” Chooch scoffed, a montage of Doll and Man in the Attic likely flip-booking through his mind. Welcome to Erin’s Brookline Shanty of Horrors! “Unless you’re the one having the nightmare, then we all have to care.”

Henry started choking on whatever dumb breakfast thing he’s savagely eating, because I guess he agrees with this. WHATEVER. 

(But I mean, I do have really amazing nightmares.)

Merry Christmas Eve! Henry is wrapping presents while we watch The Fall (thanks for the recommendation, Chris!

) and I try to talk myself out of the notion that he could be a serial killer. HE GOES “TO THE STORE” WAY TOO OFTEN.

Anyway, this is our first Christmas with Drew and Penelope. They’re being dicks, but they sure look cute doing it.

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Chooch hasn’t believed in Santa in years, so I get all of my fun these days by labeling his presents in ridiculous ways. Like, this year, one is from “that lady’s ass in the Kanye West video.

” And obvisiously, there’s one from Boots too.

I’m typing this with one contact in because (surprise, surprise) my one eye is like, screaming at me so many Santa will bring me new eyeballs. Or at the very least, a resurrected pair of my beloved big green glasses.

kbye.

Last weekend was one of those weekends where absolutely nothing was planned and nothing spectacular happened, but it was still so satisfying in a low-key, housebound way. IF THAT MAKES ANY SENSE. I feel like for no reason whatsoever, Chooch and I were extremely batshit bonkers, more than usual, even though he was sick….so OK maybe it was mostly me being a giddy noisemaker.

One thing’s for sure though: I took a lot of pictures. WANNA SEE THEM, HERE THEY GO.

Penelope, imitating Robert Smith.

There’s this American Kpop dancer that I LOVE (jellybeannose) and I was making Henry watch her YouTube channel. We watched a lot of her “random facts about me” videos and then on Saturday we watched her FOUR PART VLOG from when she went to KOREA in 2013 for a Kpop competition!! But then BOOTS AND PHYLLIS kept interrupting that with their explosive fighting (an update on them is forthcoming). 

Chooch had an ear infection and spent most of his weekend making rainbow loom bracelets (lame). When I took this picture, he we freestyling a song about how he was dying of an ear ache and all his mom cared about was getting drunk on a Saturday night. Hey, I wasn’t sick so I could do what I wanted. 

Earlier that day, he insisted on watching the Polar Express and I only half-watched but hated it. The animation made me uncomfortable! (He rolled his eyes at me for that.) Also, he was mad because I asked him when someone was going to die. 

Me: WHY ARE THEY SO CREEPY?

Chooch: Well, they’re elves, so….

You know what else makes me uncomfortable? The Merci chocolate commercial where they sing that ZZ Top “Thank You” song. 

More rainbow looming, under the watchful eye of Mr. Tom Selleck 

On Sunday, Chooch had piano lessons and we both gave Cheryl a present – I gave her a mixtape painting and he gave her — SURPRISE — a rainbow loom bracelet. And then we competed to see whose present she liked best but she wouldn’t tell us. 

“Yeah, well, she can’t WEAR yours,” Chooch said. 

“I mean, I could probably wear it around my neck….but that would be weird,” Cheryl said. 

She is honestly the best and I hope she never quits teaching him piano. But if she does, I hope we can become friends IRL (as opposed to just inside my head). 

Came home and had a HUGE fight (ok not really) with Henry, a/k/a Worst Boyfriend Ever, because he said he wouldn’t rise from the dead to avenge my death if we were both murdered. NO WE WEREN’T WATCHING THE CROW, WHAT. 

Henry took this picture of Chooch & me, conspiring against him and I love it because this image captures our devious relationship so perfectly. WE ARE MENACES. 

Meanwhile, Henry baked some bomb coconut cream pie. Our little Martha Stewart, rewarding our shitty behavior with dessert. 

We show our affection by fluffing Henry’s beard and he hates it. 

To cap off the weekend, I made henry drive us around so I could judge people’s Christmas lights. I AM VERY PARTICULAR ABOUT LIGHT DISPLAYS. 

“Did you just call that house a monstrosity?” Chooch asked from the backseat. DAMN RIGHT I DID. Don’t mix big bulbs with small bulbs and I won’t criticize your gross judgment, sloppy homeowner. 

I get real heated about this. 

I know, you probably have me pegged as the type who gets a thrill out of those houses buried under eight tons of bulbs with every square inch of their yard occupied by blow-up Santas and plastic snowmen and you know what? GUILTY! But I also really love houses that do nothing more than line their frame with those old-school big bulbs, the kinds that were prominent in the 70s and 80s I guess. 

And I love the minimalists, with candles in the windows, bows on the doors, and a subtle spotlight illuminating the house. 

It’s easy to judge when your house has zero decoration on the outside, haha. 

We listened to Joyce Manor the whole time and that was just so divine. 

Not an outrageous weekend full of social engagements and milestones, but it still felt pretty perfect. <3

Christmas card inspiration didn’t strike me until Monday so I wasn’t able to get many of these in the mail (LOL, in a world where many = 1). 

Of course Henry has to be wearing a Faygo shirt, but then Chooch insisted on having me wear a Citizen shirt since that’s the last band I went to see a few weeks ago. That’s FINE, I love Citizen, but I probably would’ve chosen The Cure of Dance Gavin Dance if he had consulted me. 

Anyway, happy holidays, etc! We’re nowhere near ready as usual. 

I was supposed to be helping Henry shop tonight but if you know me even at all you know that I hate shopping, especially Christmas shopping (twist ties and Skittles and something else from my junk drawer for everyone!) so then Henry and I had a fight because I WAS SO OVER STORES AND CASHIERS AND NO ONE HAVING WHAT WE NEEDED BECAUSE HENRY INSISTS ON WAITING UNTIL THE LAST MINUTE.

(Although, three days before Xmas is like super good for us.)

So now I’m home alone (Chooch is at Judy’s) while Henry went back out to deal with this shit. Fuck presents.

Since I’m in a sour mood, I decided to engage is a real tough mental exercise by listing THREE GOOD THINGS from today.

1. Obviously #1 was when I was forced Chooch to get his picture taken with Santa after work. This was before the shopping, back when Henry and I were still on the same side, and I hadn’t yet missed my 7PM mandatory coffee fill-up. We went to Meder’s, which is where we usually go for Santa picture-happenings, if we even go at all. Because, lazy parents. It wasn’t crowded at all, but we still had to stand in a short line for about 10 minutes, which gave Chooch a chance to reflect upon his poor decisions. “I don’t know why I agreed to this. And this sweater is too small. And how the hell is that reindeer supposed to carry an entire sleigh?” he grumbled, pointed to a stuffed reindeer in a North Pole vignette. And then Santa waved to him while we were in line! SANTA REMEMBERED HIM. Soon it was his turn and, after hissing, “I’m way too old for this” to me, he got nice and cozy with Santa and gleefully said, “NINTENDO 3DS* AND LEGOS” when Santa asked him what he wanted. I told him to go against the grain and ask for world peace, but don’t listen to me, I’m just a basic social justice warrior, a/k/a liberal whiner. “That was so creepy,” he said afterward in the car. “Santa had his legs spread open too far and it made me nervous.”

*(LOL, good luck. Fuck you, Nintendo.)

2. I am OBSESSED with this Joyce Manor song and have been pining for them ever since I saw them last month, please come back to me Joyce Manor (this whole album is on my list Best of 2016 list, it’s so goddamn great). Henry particularly loves it when I put this on in the car and perform fancy hand-dances in his face while he’s driving. “THIS IS MORE DANGEROUS THAN TEXTING WHILE DRIVING, ERIN” he yells and that’s probably true but I JUST CAN’T STOP MYSELF:

3. This is really tough to come up with three. Today didn’t SUCK, but it wasn’t wonderfully exceptional, either. Um, I bought a ticket to see Pianos Become the Teeth next month?! Amer2 brought in cookies that she made with her dad and they were good?! And I got to spend all day trying to convince people that I made them because she set them out near my desk? But no one believed me? OH HERE’S A THING: I renamed Glenn “The Office Voldemort” and he actually seemed kind of upset about it, like after all of these years, and all these photoshops, I finally went too far. Lori seemed on board though.

Oh well, I think I failed this exercise. Henry Claus should be home soon and I bet he’s PISSED, lol. OH WELLz0rz! I’ll just turn up the Joyce Manor.

Sometimes (read: all of the time), all Henry wants to do is just relax. And that’s what he was trying to do on Sunday, when he stretched out on the chair and was just about to start scrolling through the nothingness of Pinterest on his phone, when my “HENRY IS TAKING A BREAK—ABORT, ABORT” alarm started sounding off in my head. This is always my cue to go into HIGH DEPENDANCY mode. Usually this entails:

• jumping on him
• screaming HENRY for no reason
• suddenly needing him to go to the store for tampons
• if he has the audacity to take Relaxing Time upstairs to the bedroom, I will sit downstairs and call him on the phone repeatedly
• needing him to open a random jar of something
• abruptly wrenching out of a nap to tell him something about MTV’s The Challenge or that MADDY LIM FROM KPOPX REPLIED TO ME ON INSTAGRAM (<———–this just happened at 12:30am and you better believe I shook the shit out of Henry and instead of just telling him, I made him LOOK AT MY PHONE and he was so scared that someone had died)
  • I wonder if he remembers this happening. I should call him at work to tell him again

But on this occasion, there were some random Christmas decorations strewn about nearby the chair, including a red garland that Lori brought to my holiday party last week which I knew at some point would come in handy, so it became clear that Henry’s sole purpose of laying on the chair was to be decorated.

Chooch made that Henry elf ornament around 5 years ago.

Henry would have a better chance being left alone if he parked inside a convention of timeshare salespeople, begging winos, and sex addicts whose type is Mountain Men. Maybe he should he just get a secret apartment. Or go to his mom’s.

When I woke up last Wednesday, I was in A Mood. Going to work felt like a drag. Our department’s Christmas party was that day and I just wasn’t feeling any sort of way about the holidays. I mean, I hadn’t reached Critical Grinch status, but I was getting close. JUST ONE OF THOSE DAYS, except swap out “days” with “years.”

You guys, I even opted out of Secret Santa. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE SECRET SANTA?! :(

I got to work and at first it was all, “Ugh work. Ugh Glenn. Ugh stupid desk—–with A BOX ON IT HEY WHAT’S IN THIS BOX?!”

Oh, I’ll tell you what was in the box: a shoofly pie…from Lancaster!

Ahhhh, Virginia is so sweet! I went to her office to thank her and she said, “I thought I remembered hearing you say you like shoofly pie.” I went back to my desk and told Glenn, who was like, “Who DIDN’T hear you say that? You talked about it for about a year.” Ugh, whatever. But OK, that’s true.

Also on my desk was a sugar cookie-scented wax thingie from Gayle. She gave me a cinnamon one several years back and it still smells so wonderful! So I was happy to get another one. I can’t brag too much about this one though because she gave one to everyone. YAWN.

A few minutes later, Sandy walked by with a huge bag of British chocolate and let me pick me one, and then right after that, Lori gave me a cookie.

“WHY DO PEOPLE LIKE YOU” Glenn grunted in disgust, which is always my cue to turn around, tilt my head, place a hand under my chin, and then smile sweetly.

“It’s because of this,” I said, Vanna White’ing my face with my free hand, at which point Todd groaned and maybe possibly threw up a little.

A few hours later, I overheard Gayle over in her dark cave, talking to a visiting JP about the smelly wax things.

“This one is my favorite, it’s lemon lavender. Here, smell it,” she said to JP, at which point I nearly flipped over my chair in my effort to get my nostrils closer to the lavender.

“I want to smell it too!” I cried, inserting myself into their scented wax smell-o-thon.

Gayle let me have a deep whiff. I made a really sad face and said, “I like that one better than the one you gave me.”

“Well, this one is mine, so….” Gayle started to say before remembering who she was talking to. “I might have an extra one at home….oh for God’s sake, here. Just take this one.” And as I giddily ran back to my desk with my new wax thing, I heard her sigh to JP, “I just can’t stand to see her pout like that.”

“Bully,” Todd said as I dangled my winnings over Glenn’s desk.

Meanwhile, a Chinese auction and raffle was going on. Every year, people donate unused goods, which are then put together into various themed gift baskets for people to bid on, and all the proceeds go to whichever charity/good cause our department had collectively chosen for that year. Then there are other items which are raffled off. As usual, I didn’t have cash on me, and at first I didn’t care, until Wendy made me go and look at all the stuff that was up for grabs.

And that’s when I saw it.

SUCCULENT NOTE CARDS. They were part of a “local art” collection and I desperately wished I had a dollar, or four quarters or whatever, so I could buy a dumb raffle ticket.

But I didn’t, so I went back to my desk and worked, which I’m sure seems shocking to a lot of people, the image of me working.

Later in the afternoon, before the drawing was set to happen, I heard Gayle buying more tickets from the admin person.

“Gayle, give me one of your tickets,” I said, nay—demanded.

Not only did Gayle give me a ticket, she gave me TWO TICKETS. Yeah she did.

So I put one ticket in the bag for the art stuff, and then, after hesitating, I put the second ticket in the bag for the kitchen-y stuff, because I thought maybe if I won that,  I could give it to Henry and he would be so struck by my thoughtfulness, that he would rewind time and marry me 11 years ago.

The Chinese auction closed at 3. I didn’t care about who won any of that stuff though (however, Gayle won a GIGANTIC Chicago canvas and it’s still sitting on her desk and I crack up every time I walk by it), because I didn’t bid on anything and I truly do only care about myself I guess.

After all that hullabaloo (shout out to Battle of the Network Stars), it was finally time for the raffle drawings. I was still at my desk, working, when I heard the admin girl—Shannon—say my name. That was my cue to speedwalk over to where all the raffle shit was and ask, “DID YOU SAY MY NAME DID I WIN SOMETHING WHAT DID I WIN PLEASE DON’T LET IT BE THE KITCHEN SHIT” and it was the art stuff! I got the succulent notecard set! I also got a cute Cheshire Cat card and tea towel, and a little pot which I gave to Todd because he has zero decorations / personal effects on his desk.

Shannon sent out an email letting everyone know who won what, since not everyone was prize-hungry like me and low-key loitering around a corner trying to hear if their name was called. Almost immediately, I got an email from Wendy that said, very succinctly, “OMG YOU ARE THE WORST!!!!

” Because Wendy knew that I made Gayle give me two of her tickets.

I think that might have been my most winningest moment of the day though, knowing how appalled this made Wendy. I LOVE WINNING! God, Wednesday was a great day.

Another great day was Thursday, when I walked into work and saw that my desk was covered in Xmas décor, lights, and even a tiny tree. There was a note that said, “Maybe this will put you in the Christmas spirit.” Just the day before, I was in the kitchen with her, being a brat about Christmas apathy. “I DIDN’T EVEN MAKE CHRISTMAS CARDS THIS YEAR, CHERYL!” I shouted, really driving it home.

I added my own flair to the garland. It just needed a little bit of Erin, you know?

Well, kudos to you, Cheryl — it worked! The decorations are the complete opposite of everything I represent, and that makes me crack up every day when I sit down at my desk now. And I even felt inspired to get off my ass and make Xmas cards this year after all! I mean, I only just made them last night so probably everyone will get them after Christmas, but AT LEAST I DID IT,

Sometimes work is a weird type of therapy for me. And I guess if you were really hard-pressed for a moral, you could say that BULLYING IS FOR WINNERS. Or, I work with a bunch of enablers.