Apr 092008
 

When I was growing up, my mom would tell me stories about Green Man’s Tunnel. According to her, the Green Man lived in an abandoned train tunnel in a suburban town south of Pittsburgh called South Park. He was green because he had the horrible misfortune of getting struck by lightning. Electrocuted by a toaster while bathing.  Stuck his dick in Gumby’s light socket. He was green, OK?

I would argue with people for years, spitting in their faces that it wasn’t an urban legend, that the Green Man was real, that my mom went to school with the Green Man, that her best friend went to the prom with the Green Man, that I SAW HIM WITH MY OWN EYES.

(I never really saw him.)

Then there were the people who believed in the legend (hello, it’s TRUTH, not legend) but insisted that the tunnel was located in other wooded areas, next to a creek in another town, on a pot-holed rural lane in a different county. My friend Keri insisted it was in a town called Dravosburg. "Remember when me, you, and Dan went to Green Man’s Tunnel to set off firecrackers?" she’d start. I would shrug. "Yeah you do. Dan got hit in the face with one of them, remember? He had that big welt on his cheek?" I would stubbornly say, "Well Keri, I remember the time we went to a tunnel in Dravosburg, but not Green Man’s Tunnel. THAT tunnel is in South Park." For years, I wouldn’t acknowedge the memory of that day until she quit calling it Green Man’s Tunnel.

My mom would drive us out there, my brother Ryan and me, repeating the story in case we forgot how tragic and green the Green Man really was. "He was so nice, really good looking too, until he got turned green." Before we’d reach the part of the road where his rusted, graffiti’d, abandoned train tunnel could be seen, we’d have to first drive through a long underpass; a creek flowed along one side. Some people’s version of the story claim that when you’re in this tunnel at night, your headlights go out. Your car just shuts off, completely dies. The Green Man comes and steals your electricity and then I don’t know what. Fucks you with it? Shoots down planes with it?

Sometimes, in the tunnel, my mom would slow to a halt, the headlights would go out. My brother Ryan would cry, but I knew that the lights were out because my mom turned them off to scare us. My chest would tighten, palms would moisten, even though I knew that part of the story wasn’t real, that the Green Man was sad and just wanted some friends. Just wanted some friends to bring him some Hustler and maybe a forty of Miller Lite.

I couldn’t provide him those things, the booze and the porn, but I was determined to give him companionship, friendship, a membership to the Erin Rulz 4 Lyfe club. So one night I prepared a small sandwich bag of assorted candies. Tootsie rolls and Lifesavers and some mini Snickers, and in that bag, among all the candy, I tucked in a note that I wrote on a piece of blue paper. My mom drove me out to his tunnel. I had intended on taking the bag right up to his tunnel, right up to entrance, where I would then knock on the steel door and he would take me in and we’d sit down and drink some cans of Coke and talk about how tough it is, not fitting in, and then I’d give him half of a best friend pendant and we’d keep in touch and twenty years later he’d be my son’s Godfather.

Instead, I completely flipped my shit when I got close to the ominous tunnel, saw the "condemned" sign on the gate, heard fluttering noises in the patch of woods above the unused tracks, and I chugged my ass back down to the road where my mom idled in the car. Tossed the baggie of treats into the small gravel lot across the street and ended up back in the passenger seat, eyes closed and fighting to catch my breath.

"I thought you weren’t scared of him," my mom said as the tunnel became smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. And then she did what she did best when I was in distress: laugh at me.

I always wondered if he got the care package, my carefully prepared snack pack of love and frienship. I wondered if he ate the candy before a woodland creature scampered over from the other side of the creek and devoured it. I wondered if the Tootsie Rolls got stuck in his teeth and if he used his tongue to pry it from his molars and I wondered, was his tongue green too?

Today, while I was getting my hair done, my stylist Lucia was talking about her boyfriend’s sister.

"She lives out by Green Man’s Tunnel." She paused, waiting for a sign of recognition. I didn’t say anything, but my body stiffened, hoping she’d give the right answer.

When she added, "Out in South Park," I lit up.

"OK, I know exactly where that is," I smiled.

Just another reason I love Lucia — she knows the right story.

Feb 272008
 

Henry made me the perfect dinner. I’d like to think he’s attempting to make up for not delivering my forgotten sandwich to me last night, but I think it’s likely just a fluke that what he whipped up turned out so wonderful. It’s basically crumbled tofu decorated with roasted red peppers and mushrooms, followed by a finishing flourish of unknown spices and a bath of Heaven’s nectar. Oh, and cheese! How can a meal be called complete without a hearty coating of cheese? It looks like slop, but it tastes amazing. I’m a sucker for tofu. And cheese. And cheesy tofu.

I choked on a mushroom, but went right back to eating without crying about it. That’s how good it is.

Henry’s going to make someone a good wife one day.

EDIT: Never mind. My molars just clamped down on something sandy, possibly metal shavings, like miniscule fragments of glass cracking under the weight of my jaw. I hate incidental crunch in my food. Mood-killer.

Jan 182008
 

1. We ordered hoagies at work and I forgot to put in my implicit request for any and all onions to be removed from mine so now I’m sitting here pulling them out of my mouth and I keep imagining that they’re earthworms. One will slip past me occasionally and the crunch it makes between my molars makes me want to bleed out. How is something capable of being crunchy and slimy all at once? Aren’t those two things diametrically opposed? I’m in Hell is what’s going on here. Fucking onions, they can ruin any meal. I’m doubly swoll about this because the last time we ordered from this place was the night Chooch had his accident and I had to leave work and head straight to Children’s Hospital. I forgot the second half of it was in my purse, and by the end of the night it was all balled up and squished, but I still ate it the next day for lunch. At least it didn’t HAVE ONIONS ON IT. Seriously, whoever decided that onions were OK to eat? Fuck an onion. Additionally, my sandwich was wrapped in a sheet of industrial paper large enough to cover a picnic table, making my re-wrapping attempt awkward and frustrating at best.

2. Wednesday was the first work fight I had since Tina moved to day shift. Collin told me to "die, I don’t care;" and I can’t lie to the Internets: it stung. (By the way, this was completely unprovoked.) I proceeded to not talk to him for the rest of the shift, until toward the end when he and Bob were talking about Rocky Horror Picture Show. You probably couldn’t tell, but I’m one of those people that has to chime in on topics close to the heart. Plus, I like to remind people that I know a lot about a lot (OK, everything). Collin said something crusted with PMS, I believe it was: "Oh, you’re talking now?" I mean, I tried real hard to achieve his suggestion that I "die," but was unsuccessful. Then we had to have a powwow about how to keep interoffice relationships harmonious. I hope he took something away from that (and not just the joy of finding out he made me cry) because I’m serious about asking for a seat change! He was nice yesterday and he’s kind of being OK so far tonight, although I think he implied earlier that I’m dumb. I don’t know what’s up with this week, but there appears to be an epidemic of men developing bleeding vaginas, because Henry was being douche-tastic, too. I felt like dropping some Pamprin in their drinks. Jesus Christ.

3. An order for five animal masks has been placed. Photo shoot on the horizon, reserve your spot soon, holla at yo’ mamas.

4. "X French Tee Shirts" won’t stop looping through my head, and every time Craig Wedren sings the word ‘down,’ I feel suicidal. I should have ordered me a shotgun, too.