Seriously. Pull some Matrix moves and avoid this post.

• Cat update: they’re either sleeping or destroying my personal effects. So in other words, they’re doing GREAT!
• Monday night’s bedtime story involved me dramatically explaining to Henry the extent of my fatness. “The shape of my body is like if a barrel burst open and sludge started spilling out.” Henry, still taken aback at my comparisons after all these years, said, “…..no. You’re not a barrel of sludge…?” And you know what that “…..” signifies? HESITATION. Because in the span of those dot-dot-dots, Henry was visualizing my naked body side-by-side with a busted barrel of sludgey blubber and he had to THINK about whether or not the dancing twin girls emoji could be applied. “I don’t think that’s what I was doing,” he mumbled, knowing he was a dead man no matter what he said at that point. Unable to let it go, I went on. “I’m like one of those cans of Pillsbury biscuits, after it cracks open and dough floods out. Don’t touch my stomach. That’s where most of the spillage is,” I warned as I swatted his hand away. “Oh my god,” he Bob’s Burgered.

• February’s Unbirthday Gift from GAYLE made up for the fact that she’s trying to steal my desk. Obviously the crown stickers are on point but those band-aids, though! I am ALWAYS in need of band-aids. In fact, I was wearing one on my middle finger the day Gayle gave me this stuff because I injured myself in the kitchen before leaving the house that morning. And I used my last Candyland bandaid so basically it was to the point where if I cut myself at work, I’d just have to bleed out I guess. Not anymore! My only beef is that the Dr. Care bandaids have hockey players on the front of the box but THERE ARE NO HOCKEY BANDAIDS INSIDE. False advertisement! I’m going to give all the football ones to Todd because I rather WOULD just bleed out than wrap my wound in any sort of FOOTBALL print. Ugh. Ew. No.

• We had lunch with BARB on Saturday, and I didn’t really notice it until after but Chooch actually LET US TALK. I think it was probably because he was insanely hungry (he ordered breakfast and made sure the waitress knew that it was because HIS PARENTS HADN’T FED HIM BREAKFAST THAT DAY) and really focused on feeding his face, completing the kids activities on the place mat, and fashioning this giant straw with which to siphon my water after he ran out of his own beverage.
  • However, I can tell that Chooch really likes Barb because he’s such a little dick to her. Barb kept asking the waitress to bring her check separately, and then Henry would say, “Nope, just bring one” and this went on and on until Barb finally quit caring and thanked Henry for lunch. “I don’t know what you’re thanking him for,” Chooch deadpanned. “You’re paying for everyone.”
    • And then she gave him tickets to the Pens game because his sarcastic behavior is endearing to some.

• This Facebook post & comment from Chooch cracks me up. Now I want Henry to make a Service Playlist on Spotify. I know for sure CHEAP TRICK will be on it because he saw them in a BAR in TEXAS while IN THE SERVICE. #JudistPriest
  • Speaking of Henry and music, I asked him to name five bands I like that he likes too and he actually started doing it, but then said it would be easier to name the bands I like that he hates, and without hesitation he said La Dispute. So sad. But on a happier note, this just means that he must actually LIKE most of the bands I like?!

• Above, you will see the only succulent stash that those asshole cats haven’t sniffed out yet. KNOCKONWOOD. This morning, I realized some of my succulents are MISSING from the windowsill. THEN I noticed FRAGMENTS of the POTS on the floor, hidden behind the beverage buffet. SOMEONE is covering for the CATS.
  • And it’s not Henry. I called him on my way to the trolley and screamed my face off at him and he was like, “what the fuck are you talking about??”
    • Those cats are so fucking cute but SO ARE MY SUCCULENTS.

• This morning at work we were talking about The Walking Dead. Amber2 was like, “They’re all going to die anyway. They should just give up” and Glenn snapped, “You have to have hope!” Who knew he felt so strongly about the zombie apocalypse? Anyway, I considered Amber’s statement and couldn’t help but agree with her. “Yeah, what would I really have to live for?” I asked myself out loud. “There wouldn’t be any concerts to go to.” Glenn piped up, “And no Henry to serve you.” Excitedly, I asked, “OMG do you guys think I would really outlive Henry in the zombie apocalypse?” That was met with a collective and resounding NO.
  • For the record, I don’t disagree.

• Thanks to everyone who has been reading Chooch’s story that he started writing as a punishment for duping us into purchasing designer jelly beans but is now so thoroughly immersed in the process of story crafting that he’s on the SIXTH “chapter”! He sits down all on his own and starts typing away, pausing occasionally to ask for spelling help or for synonym suggestions. (“I don’t want to use ‘said’ like every time!” he said, and I clutched my heart as it nearly exploded with pride. Sigh. Hopefully his love for writing doesn’t turn into a dead-end like mine did.)
  • Speaking of, I allowed myself to be That Person who commits to something and then quits. I had to bow out of the annual Pittsburgh blog swap thing because I’m just not feeling it and I don’t want to contribute some half-assed piece of uninspired garbage which is essentially what this dump of a blog has turned into and I’m really sorry for that. My attention span is not great these days/months/years.
• In happier news, my knuckles have been providing some SATISFYING cracks all day today. Those and deep sighs are the secrets to my success, whatever you consider my “success” to be.

• Out of the blue last night, I asked Henry if he remembered the moment he told his mom that I was pregnant (with Chooch; I’m not presently incubating anything other than a loaf of strong self-loathing), and then I took it upon myself to guess how he said it. “‘Great. My fat gf is having a baby, mom’,” I mimicked him in my best “choking on a dick” tone that I reserve for all of my Henry Impressions. And he said, “Yeah that’s exactly how I said it. ‘Mom, my Pillsbury Doughgirl is pregnant.” And then I cried myself to sleep.
• Henry “went to the store” to “buy screws” last week and was gone for over an hour. Totally cheating on me. Insert “long screw” jokes here.
  • I didn’t even ask to see said “screws” when he finally “came home.” I AM SO DEAD INSIDE.
    • But then I look at THIS and I’m alive again:

Ciao forever? Or ciao for now. *DEEP SIGH/KNUCKLECRACK*

Ladies and gentlemen, my dandy kid.   

They turned around, they didn’t know who it was. Penelope grinned. The lady looked at Penelope, then disappeared. She must of been a magician if he could just disappear.

“Um she didn’t say anything besides , No you won’t, but okay,” Garnet mumbled.

“UGH” Scarlet said while she collapsed.

“We need to help her!” Garnet panicked.

“Over there, looks like a hospital,” Pearl stated.

But little did they know it was haunted.

“Huh?” Garnet overheard.

Nothing. I really got to mute myself from them. *beep* okay good. Little did they know it was haunted. 6 people had died there. The doctor was horrible, and accidentally gave himself food poisoning. He died in the hospital working on a patient. He’s known as the “Wrath of the Veins”. They walked in and looked around. Floors creaked, doors opened, and the scariest of all… the floor collapsed.

“Aiiii! The floor! We’re dead!” Amethyst cried.

But luckily for them they landed in a big pool of water, (because this is a story and nobody dies yet) that had been getting deeper and deeper through the past few years.

”Looks like we’re in the laboratory. Where Dr. Em Manual worked. Guess he’s Spanish,” Amethyst deduced.

“Over here,” someone whispered.

It was another stranger they found, like every chapter in this story. They find someone, the end.

“Who are you, lady?” Garnet muttered.

“I’m Yuki. The most depressed girl in my school I got expelled from,” Yuki sighed.

“Oh well, if it makes you feel better, I got expelled, too,” Garnet bragged.

She knew she never got expelled before, she just wanted to make Yuki feel better.

“Shut Up!” Yuki cried.

“What’s wrong with her?” Garnet whispered to Amethyst.

Amethyst shrugged.

“I just wanted to make a friend but you guys just make me feel worse!” Yuki wailed.

Yuki ran away in sadness. She banged her head off the wall, and cried. Garnet and Amethyst walked over.

“Stop,” Pearl suggested.

“I got this, you guys make her feel bad,”

“Okay, geez,” Amethyst and Garnet sassed.

Pearl walked over to Yuki, and patted her on the back.

“It’s okay, ignore them. They’re idiots,” Pearl cheered her up.

“Idiot, like me!” Yuki cried.

“Oh great, I made her feel worse.

There is just no way to cheer her up.

Everything makes her feel bad,” Pearl thought to herself.

She walked back over to Garnet and Amethyst.

“Is Scarlet alright?” she wondered.

“Well…” Garnet started.

Everything about Sunday screamed, “IT’S SPRINGTIME, EVERYBODY! SPRING CAME EARLY! DUST OFF THOSE BOOTY SHORTS!” (Or maybe that was just Henry screaming that.) The sky looked like it was colored by the purest blue Crayola crayon and the sun was straight out of a cartoon. It was warm enough to open the sunroof on my car, even.

And now, at the time of this writing, it’s 30-something degrees out with a layer of snow on the ground. Weather is so weird.

Henry had shit to do around the house, and nothing assures that the shit will get done more than me leaving him alone. You know I really wanted him to work on the kitchen (we’re* just doing minor cosmetic shit to it, like painting) when I tell Chooch that yes, we will go geocaching.

*(Lol, “we’re.” All I’ve done so far is pick out the paint!)

Honestly, I can’t find enough hateful words to properly illustrate how much I hate geocaching. But my damn kid loves it, so I thought maybe it could be a nice Mommy-Son day.

Nope.

Even when it’s at one of my favorite cemeteries?

Still nope.

I just hate it. The clues were for the birds. I slipped down a hill. I yelled a lot of things that probably left a lasting blemish on Chooch’s childhood.

After about 30 minutes of digging around the same tint area, I threw my arms up in the air and cried, “FUCK IT, I’M DONE.” And Chooch was like, “You have like no patience, OMG” and I said, “Let’s go for a walk around the cemetery” and he said, “Ow, but my legs are so tired. Walking is terrible” and I said, “Then we’ll get ice cream after” and he said “Fine.”

I should be a playwright.

One of my biggest downfalls is that I don’t spend enough time with Chooch, just the two of us. It’s mostly because I like that when Henry is with us, I won’t have to worry about anything. Or, you know, parent. So I’m trying to change that. I mean, we’ve been fine at the hockey games and we’ve managed to survive two concerts together without Henry’s supervision, so what’s a little Sunday stroll, right?

Except that I wasn’t paying attention when we left the cemetery and I ended up missing a turn or something and I knew where I was, but couldn’t think fast enough about how to get back on track. My mind always works against  me when it comes to directions. I have been to Homewood Cemetery a million zillion  times and even know at least 4 different ways to get there, but something broke down in my head when we left last Sunday, probably because Chooch was talking. Anyway, we ended up near Oh Yeah!, so it felt like kismet. We were originally just going to get ice cream in Brookline, but now a wrong turn put us right in the vicinity of one of our favorite ice cream places!

I was so fucking proud of myself!

Look what I did!!

Except it’s not there anymore. There Facebook page is rife with drama. There was some kind of scandal? I don’t know. But that place never served me a bad cone, and I had some pretty weird add-in combinations there.

So then we were lost again and I kept trying to make a left turn against traffic and that was stressing me out, while Chooch was looking up other ice cream places on Yelp and I snapped, “WE’LL JUST EAT ICE CREAM AT HOME BECAUSE FUCK THIS SHIT!” And he was all, in his best grown-up voice, “Would you just calm the hell down?” And I was like, “Son, that’s good advice. I will try to calm down.” And so he directed me to the Scoops that it’s in Bloomfield, the sister shop to the one down the street from us where we were originally going to go, and I was miraculously able to get a parking spot on the street and everything seemed to be going my way, until we got inside the super tiny shop and there was a group of 5 assholes standing there, taking up valuable real estate while eating their ice cream, and they stared at us while we looked at our choices. Meanwhile, some old broad in front of us ordered a large freeze, and did you know those things take like 10 MINUTES TO MAKE?! So we just stood there, while these assholes licked their cones and bore holes into us with their judgmental eyes, the old lady waited for her freeze, and a group of 4 young hooligans came in and tried to cut in front of us.

It was a really stressful experience. I  think Chooch felt pressured too, because when it was his turn to order, he couldn’t blurt it out fast enough. I paid for our cones and whisked Chooch out of the shop, where we ate our ice cream under the peace and wide-open space of the great outdoors. I couldn’t believe those assholes were standing in there like that. They weren’t waiting for anyone! They were just quietly eating their ice cream and stealing precious oxygen from the rest of us who hadn’t ordered yet. Way too many people for that tiny shop.

Ugh.

People.

I can’t believe I wasted so much time writing about this. I guess I was more mad than I thought, since it’s 6 days later and I’m actually rage-biting my lower lip right now.

I think I might need to take up kick-boxing again.

Chooch was adamant on having “Let’s Go Pens” sprinkles on his Moosetracks.

I yelled, “NO ICE CREAM IN MY CAR” so we casually strolled around Bloomfield until our cones were sufficiently masticated. We walked past many of the tree beds that my Law Firm crew helped mulch last year and I was sad, yet not surprised, to see that our hard work had since unraveled, and all the spots were covered with weeds and cigarette butts once again.

Aside from the geocaching, the getting lost, and the idiots breathing my air inside of Scoops, I had a nice afternoon with Chooch. He must have had a nice time too, because a little while after we came home, I found him in his room folding his clothes! NO ONE TOLD HIM TO DO THAT! In fact, no one has ever taught him to do that, either. He said he learned by watching the employees at Target and Kohls. Maybe I should try that since my version of “folding clothes” is “rolling them up and punching them into the drawer.”

And this is the end of my Sunday afternoon recap. Look for the stage version coming soon to a Walmart loading dock near you.

It’s not that Anne and her mother had a bad relationship. Mother cooked warm and hearty meals for Anne. Mother braided Anne’s hair just right for school photos. Mother took Anne to the zoo in the third grade and to the gyno in the tenth, after she found out Anne was promiscuous.

But there was something Mother would never talk about, and it drove Anne wild with curiosity.

June 5th, 1956

Diary, today I overheard Mother talking to that beastly Constance Huffington from down the street. Mrs. Huffington asked Mother when she is going to settle down again with a nice man. Mother got all choked up and said she’s not ready, not since the accident.

What accident, I wonder. Did she poop in her pants?

It wasn’t that Anne and her mother didn’t talk. Mother told Anne about the sales she read about in the weekly circular. Anne told Mother about gawky Penny Pisshawker and how she got chewing gum all caught up in her head gear. Mother told Anne to clean her room.

But Mother would always change the subject when Anne asked about the accident.

April 18th, 1960

Diary, Mother and I were at the department store yesterday and I was looking at the swimming suits. Mother started crying when I asked if she was going to buy one too. She said she hasn’t worn one since the accident! The accident! What accident??

But oh Diary, the swimsuit I bought is pink and blue and has the most darling bow which lies plumb against my tailbone and camouflages my sway-back.

It wasn’t that Anne’s childhood was defined by not having a father around. Mother would call up her brother for situations that required a man’s finesse. Like teaching Anne how to throw a baseball. Like putting together the dollhouse Anne got for her birthday. Like blacking the eyes of the boy who groped Anne on the bus.

But Mother would never talk about Anne’s father, and Anne didn’t remember ever knowing him.

January 31st, 1995

Diary, Freddie proposed to me tonight! Oh, it was beautiful. We were watching Romeo+Juliet and I nearly choked on the ring because that slick son of a bitch had hidden it in a jar of macadamia nuts! I said to him, “Baby, why would you do that? You know I chug these fuckers like it’s a frosted mug of lactation and I’m a nursing baby.” Then we had sex and spilled a box of wine all over Mother’s white shag. After she was done screaming at me about that, I waited for her to take a Valium before asking about Father. We had a huge argument and she was crying and pulling at her hair. I said that it’s only natural for a father to walk a daughter down the aisle and she was sputtering all sorts of nonsense.

But I swear I heard her say she hasn’t heard from him since the accident. WHAT FUCKING ACCIDENT.

It wasn’t that Anne was glad to see her Mother marinating in her own piss at the nursing home. Anne didn’t like that her Mother’s once-tanned skin had turned into a translucent sheath, scaly tracing paper revealing the blue and purple tubes snaking through her body. Anne didn’t like that her Mother had to push a button for a nurse to come help her take a dump. Anne didn’t like the fact that when it came down to it, she was the one that would have to pull Mother’s plug.

But maybe, if she was to be honest for a second, learning the truth about the accident would make that easier.

“Mother, please,” Anne pleaded, her fingers intertwined with her Mother’s near-skinless phalanges. “Tell me about the accident. I’m a grown woman now and you can trust me.”

Mother expelled a wad of mashed potatoes from her throat with one forceful cough. The unswallowed morsels splatted against the lampshade and hung there like maggots on shit. “You,” she wheezed, hacking up a tawny membrane of gooey phlegm for dessert. “You were the accident.”

[originally written 4-4-09. Happy Flashback Friday.]

After catching Frameworks open for United Nations during the summer of 2014, my heart was hooked like the lip of trout. They’ve got that emo revival sound that resonates with me, so I’d been keeping a watchful eye on this Florida bunch.  Finally, they announced a headlining tour with Donovan Wolfington, and I was on board. I didn’t even bother asking anyone to go with me. I’m over that hassle.

In exchange for not having to go, Henry gave me a free Lyft to the Smiling Moose on Sunday, and also an allowance to cover my ticket and cider. Clearly, Papa Tightwad was in a good mood, knowing he could go home and binge-watch How It’s Made in his underroos.

Before the show started, I chilled in the bar in the back of the room, drinking some outer space-priced pumpkin cider and being entertained by a pair of older Bosnian gentlemen who were apparently there to support one of the local bands but I couldn’t tell if they were being serious or not because my facetious meter has been damaged through years of hard use. In any case, I chugged my ritzy cider so that I could go closer to the stage. (All Ages show, yo.)

The first band was Curse Words. I felt drawn to them immediately. That sad boy emo gets me every last time, and I already can’t wait to see them again/stalk them all around the ‘Burgh. Our neighbors moved out so maybe I can get them to come over and play a house show, OMG.

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After their set, an influx of old people rushed the stage. Mom-types started skipping around, hugging teenage girls and thanking them for coming out, and it became clear that the entourage of the second band had arrived. It was adorable and fucking annoying simultaneously, but I’ll tell you what: I was buffeted by the comforting scent of freshly laundered sheets, hand sanitizer, and Werthers Originals, thanks to the grandparents closing in on me. This was a nice change from the usual stench of B.O. and farts that usually permeates the upstairs of the Smiling Moose.

The band of the hour was another local band called the Incandescence. I want to jump on board and tell you that I was blown away, but…I didn’t get it. Musically, they were all over the place and I understand that genres are binding, but in their case, it felt like they didn’t have an identity. Aside from having a super-charismatic drummer who reminded me so much of my old friend James Hosfield with long hair, I was pretty bored and disconnected. Plus, I was surrounded by all of these preppy girls who were clearly classmates of these guys (I couldn’t tell if the band was high school- or college-aged) who were totally clueless on how to act at a show and kept complaining that it was too loud.

STILL, I was happy to support them.

And then the whole place cleared out afterward.

#loner

Anyone who hates opening bands would be super pissed at a Smiling Moose show because it’s the openers that pack the place. It’s always a family affair at every show I’ve gone to there, little Billy’s band got their first real gig and the whole fucking family tree has to storm the venue. It’s actually super awesome to witness. I can’t imagine my family ever coming together to support me in something like that, so it gives me hope when I see Aunt Betty and Grandpa Walt cringing and beaming with pride at the same time. And this is why, even if the band isn’t my thing, I will still scream and clap alongside the people who are required to scream and clap.

Also, for the first half of these shows, they take the heat off me with their white hair and wrinkles and I don’t have to be That Lady Standing Alone who is either Someone’s Mom or Lost.

(In all honesty, the only time I ever got any weird looks was when I was the Young Girl Alone at the Boz Scaggs show.)

By the time Donovan Wolfington’s set started, there were only about 15 of us left. Like you couldn’t hang out for another hour, guys, really?

D.Wolf was super entertaining. I’ve never seen them live before but I was really looking forward to it. I will give most any band on Topshelf my full, undivided attention and these guys did not disappoint. They were pretty hilarious, which always makes me love bands even more.

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Finally, it was time for Frameworks. I wish I could properly explain what it is about this style of music, and this band in particular, that makes me weak in the knees. I tried to articulate it at work the other day, the whole screaming thing. Because I know, it’s a curious concept for a lot of people who think that it’s just screaming for the sake of screaming. Sure, there are definitely bands out there like that. But those aren’t the ones I like. I tried to get my work friends to believe that there are different types of screaming, but that was received by a collective “come the fuck on” look from all of them.

But it’s true! For instance, people assume that I must like death metal, because of the screaming.  But I don’t! I’m not a fan of that type of screaming, and it also has a lot to do with the music behind the screams.

“The kind of screaming I like is the emotional kind,” I said, attempting to delve into a lesson in emotional hardcore/Emo Revival, but if anyone had been taking me seriously before that point, I had definitely lost them with the “emotional” thing. And then somehow I heard myself casually admitting that I pretty much cry at the drop of a hat. “I started crying before the opening credits of Fuller House even started,” I laughed. “Like, Henry was still looking for it on Netflix and I started crying.”

“Oh my god,” Glenn muttered. “WHY?!”

I’M JUST REALLY FRAGILE AND SENTIMENTAL OK!??

But whatever. I laughed along with everyone because it was a pretty funny conversation for a Tuesday morning, but this really is something I take seriously. If I’m not at a show, I’m listening to music, and if I’m not listening to music, I’m reading about it. And somewhere in between, I’m watching music videos on YouTube. It really is practically my entire life, oh well. This music has been slowly suturing my heart for the last several years and I will keep going to these shows as long as they exist because it’s so much cheaper than therapy and anti-depressants.

There is just something so cathartic, standing feet away from the stage, while someone is shouting his words in your face.

I had been looking forward to this show ever since it was announced and it honestly didn’t disappoint. It was perfectly abrasive, beautifully raw, and the only way it could have been more intimate would have been if we were all sitting cross-legged on my bed.

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In between songs, one of the guitarists thanked everyone for staying after all of the “Church dwellers” left, which was an accurate assessment. Selfishly, I love these shows with sparse crowds because it’s so much more comfortable and relaxed, but it really sucks for the bands. Pittsburgh is so fucking backwards with some things. Get with it, Pittsburgh.

After the show, I mustered up the courage to talk to Luke, the singer. I felt so bad that my town didn’t show up for them (their other shows in bigger cities seemed to do well, big surprise) and I really wanted him to know that I appreciated them. During their set, Luke had mentioned that this was only their second time playing here, so I used that as my conversation starter.

“I was at that United Nations show two years ago, and you guys totally stole my heart,” I freakishly gushed. He put his hand over his heart and said that meant a lot, and then he formally introduced himself with a handshake. This is the part in every conversation with bands where I have no idea which route to take, so I always pull the ripcord and take the emergency exit while shouting, “OK THANKS HAVE A GOOD NIGHT YOU WERE GREAT BYE.”

Sigh. This part never gets easier for me.

Whenever I start to get pulled down into negativity’s undertow, I just have to look back on these moments and remember that I am living my life. No one is stopping me from enjoying the things I love. And I don’t mind being alone anymore, and my life is full of beautiful music and experiences because of that. Things are so much better now.

I think I shook for two whole days after this show. It was some kind of spiritual to-do, you guys.

They all stared in aw, as Penelope smiled and hopped around. “Wait we shouldn’t be happy, we should be mad at Penelope,” Amethyst remembered.

“Well actually Penelope was trying to help us,” Garnet implied.

“Uh huh. Sure,” Amethyst snapped.

They all stared down at Penelope, they then picked her up and walked away. They walked back to the trail to keep their adventure going. “So we’re about 10 minutes away from your house right, Amethyst?” Pearl asked.

“Well actually 10 minutes and 26 seconds.” Amethyst mimicked Garnet.

“Hey! Well actually we’re 10 minutes 23 seconds away now, so ha!” Garnet came-back.

“How bout’ you shut up!” Amethyst screamed.

“How bout’… NO!” Garnet squawked.

“Girls. Girls. Calm do-”

Garnet jumped Amethyst before Pearl could finish her sentence. Garnet started to punch Amethyst right in the cheek bone. It took about-

“7 minutes and 26 seconds before we finished fighting,” Garnet interrupted.

Shut up Garnet, I’m speaking as you can see. So as I was saying it took about-

“7 minutes and 37 seconds before we finished fighting,” Amethyst also interrupted.

Okay now shut up both of you.  It took about 7 HOURS, 2 minutes, and 45 seconds before they finished fighting. When they finished beating up each other, they kept walking, Penelope disappointed, Amethyst wounded, Garnet angry, Pearl proud. They walked past the Fairy Clubhouse. It was theirs but since half of them are angry at each other, they would burn it down.

“Okay, should we burn this down?” Pearl insisted.

“Well, why not.” Amethyst grinned.

Pearl had the lighter and looked at Scarlet.

“Hey Scarlet want to burn it down?” Pearl asked.

Scarlet shrugged and went up to grab the lighter. She lit it up, then started to cry. She walked away from the club house and threw the lighter and hit Garnet in the head. Garnet was asleep, then she woke up.

“Scarlet you’ve been awfully quite today what happened?” Pearl whispered to Scarlet.

“Well… I… am… SICK!” Scarlet cried.

“Oh-oh, sick by what?” Amethyst peeped.

… a moment of silence broke through, as the girls walked and stared at Scarlet. They had wide puppy eyes, like a 5 yr old would have on his face when he wants something.

“Well, I have leukemia. I will live,” Scarlet sighed.

“No you won’t! We need to get you a doctor!” Pearl cried.

“I’ll be fine, just.. calm down,” Scarlet insisted.

“No you won’t,” a familiar voice came in.

To Be Continued…

I’ve been stalling on this post because for once, words escape me.  

My friend Octavia is a creative genius. She works in various mediums and so much of her oeurve makes me think of Barb’s “functional fixedness” disorder, in which she cannot fathom that an object meant for one certain use can be used for something else.

I’d like to put her in a room with Octavia and watch her mind short-circuit, because Octavia excels at turning found objects into substantive works of art.

Octavia has a very thorough blog post explaining the thought process behind this project. Thank god she wrote that because I can barely muster more than *HEART EYES* and #blessed every time I sit down here to try and gather my thoughts. She really hit this one out of the park, for a sentimental sap like me. Because not only is this something I can fill with my own mementos, but she’s already included a veritable treasure trove of artifacts from one ISABEL STRICKLAND, some broad from Texas who has got to be dead by now.

A dresser of hers was acquired through an auction for Octavia, and the drawers were still full of Isabel’s stuff! What a jackpot!

A nod to my Vintage Snack Attack party!

I can’t wait to stuff this with photos and random road trip keepsakes like tourist trap ticket stubs and those dumb/awesome souvenir pennies. The idea of intermingling my own personal items into someone else’s narrative is really exciting to me, and also daunting. I know I’m going to over-think things, like “Is this the right placement?” or “Does this need more blood spatter?”

Speaking of blood spatter…Octavia thought of everything! This brought back fond memories of the fake journal I made for my serial killer-themed Halloween desk at work in 2011. (See also: when my co-workers learned a lot about me.)

Everything is assembled so purposefully for just the right subtle touch of creepiness. Imagining the work and mental brawn that went into the construction of this faux-heirloom makes me exhausted!

In the early years of my relationship with Henry, I went to some crafting event this broad Moira’s house in Greensburg. She was also very crafty, but not nearly as good as Octavia.

Anyway, one of the options for her craft night was to bring an old book to turn into a journal. Christmas was coming and I thought it would be a good opportunity to make something adorable and touching for Henry. So I grabbed an old book about Rasputin (because ROMANCE) and then sat around with a bunch of bitches who brought their patience and licenses to operate glue guns, none of which I had with me. Anyway, this journaling sesh had none of the intricacy as Octavia’s — we didn’t gut our books, but added shit to the pages already there, glued stacks of pages together in order to carve out little recessions in which to hide things, etc etc.

This whole process had a name. I want to say it was called book breaking or something? I don’t know, but it was a real thing where you took old books and repurposed them into some other kind of book and who the fuck knows. All I know is that I worked super hard on it and it added a metric ton (that’s a lot, right?) of stress into my life, only for Henry and I to have a huge fight which culminated in me tearing the book up in front of him before he even got to see it. I had all kinds of bullshit in there too, even A POEM.

A poem that I WROTE!

I mean, it was a stupid, tongue-in-cheek poem, but still. My temper knows no bounds.

All of this is to say that I have a very tiny inkling of the effort that had to have gone into this beautiful journal and I’m just speechless. Even Henry sat there and slowly thumbed his way through every page, pausing to read the CPS reports and making various grunts of approval for Octavia’s hard work. You guys, the clasp Octavia put on it is made from the strap of her FIRST ACCORDION.

I’m not worthy.

Amethyst didn’t need the stupid bandage anymore. She got the gem, which will help her survive with the fire ant bite.

*Wheeze Wheeze* the lady was having trouble breathing.

Thoughts were flying through Amethyst’s mind: Should she save her, and not be able to escape? Or should she leave her, and escape with Penelope? She had no clue.

“Oh! I got an Idea!” she thought. Before she could say what she was going to do the old lady had died of poison. She had really needed to work on choosing quicker. Well 2 people died. RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER! Good thing there are no cops around Wonderslate or else she would have been questioned about these murder incidents. “My god, Penelope did you see that?” Amethyst asked.

Penelope nodded.

They heard a voice.

“Well lets just… GO!” They ran from it. They did not need to witness another murder.

“Oh there you! Amethyst how you been?” One of Amethyst’s friends called out.

“Scarlet? Pearl? Garnet? Is it really you guys?!” Amethyst peeped.

“Well unless you’re dreamin’, of course we’re real!” Pearl punched Amethyst lightly on the shoulder. She’s known them since their Senior Year in High School.

“How you been?” Amethyst squawked.

“Well if getting a paycheck in the mail worth 100 faircoins (Their money currency) is what you call good, then no,” Pearl sighed.

“Yeah our life’s been rough, too.” Scarlet and Garnet jinxed.

“Jinx you owe me a fairda!” (their sodas) Garnet expressed. They stared at each other, then laughed!

They had a moment of silence for about 30 seconds.

“Well wanna help me take Penelope back to my place?” Amethyst broke the silence.

“Sure… Sure, Why not?” They coincidentally said together.

They all carried Penelope back to Amethyst’s place. They walked through a pitch black forest, which hadn’t been there before when Amethyst had walked down to get Penelope.

Then she realized. “We are going the complete wrong way. Turn around now!” Amethyst wailed.

They turned around looking straight into a pair of eyes.

“Well… Guess you finally found me. One of the murderers for the several murders that had happened in Wonderslate. So what are you going to do? Tell your mommies?!” he teased. “Ha Ha Ha Ha! Better think fast before I murder one of you. If you haven’t realized, you’re holding a murderer right now!”

They looked down at Penelope. Penelope stared deep into their eyes, expecting to paralyze one of them.

Amethyst grinned. Soon they all grinned, except the man, because they didn’t believe the man that one of the murderers is Penelope.

“Ha! Really?! Penelope, she’s just a little bunny. Well… maybe a little fluffy,” Amethyst grinned.

The man frowned, then laughed. “Well maybe you’re right. Penelope paralyze them!” the man hollered.

Soon a little bit after he fell to the ground paralyzed. Not expecting it, they hugged Penelope, then backed away.

“He’s right. She is a killer,” Pearl gasped. To Be Continued…

“What is it?” Amethyst asked.

“Well it’s hard to explain, just take it,” the man stated

“MY WAND!” she screamed “Where did you get this?” she added.

“I found it laying on the ground when you were walking,” the man said suspiciously.

“What are you hiding from me?” She wondered.

“Well I have some of your…” he stopped.

He got an arrow shot into his back. He couldn’t feel a limb. He felt drowsy. The trees started to arch into the gate to the city of Wonderslate.

“Oh my god are you okay…” before she could finish he had fallen to the ground lying there with a blank stare. He had felt the pain of death at such a young age. The murderer must be found we will narrow it down to 3 suspects- The grandma, Hugo, and Penelope… WAIT PENELOPE, who gave me this script?

“What the crap just happened?” Amethyst thought to herself. She walked over to the trees to see who done it. She turned, she saw something what could it be. She was too scared to go over to it. She pulled out her Magnified Leaf to get a closer look.

It’s a scarecrow with a.. Hugo face mask.

“Oh my god, HUGO I’m so sorry I was always rude to you.” She said loudly.

“Huh?! Who’s there? I’ll get you rotten kids!” A voice called must be grandma.

Suddenly a pain shot up Amethyst’s arm. She looked down there was a dozen fire ants biting on her arm. “Aiiiii! Get off of me!” She screamed.

“Now you’re really gonna pay! Where are ya?!” Grandma screamed.

Amethyst passed out and fell to the ground. She woke up next to Penelope. “Uh where am I?” Amethyst asked.

“You’re in my lab! You will pay for messing up my test.

” Grandma mumbled.

“Well okay.?” Amethyst stuttered. Only if she hadn’t passed out she wouldn’t be in this mess. She hit herself in the head. She looked down where  all of the fire ants had been nibbling on her arm, it was all bandaged up. Her grandma had done something nice? “Thanks grandma,” she mentioned.

“Grandma? GRANDMA? I don’t have grandchildren.” she snapped.

“Uh, then who’s that outside in the cage?” Amethyst stuttered.

“Oh them, well the one is my younger sister.

Another is my younger brother. There’s also my husband.” The lady responded.

Amethyst was freaked out she had been kidnapped by this lady she had not known. She wish she could run away. But she was tied to the bench. Penelope sat there eating a carrot. Amethyst gave Penelope the orange jelly beans in the carrot bag. The next thing she realized the whole bag is gone.

“Here take this, it’s a gem. It’ll help you heal,” the lady provided in her best salesman voice. She couldn’t believe her eyes, the gem was bright purple with dragon designs on it, she had been looking for this gem her whole entire life. To Be Continued…

Last Saturday, I planned a little get-together for the remaining members of my family that actually like each other. My only intent was for us to be together on the 20th anniversary of my Pappap’s death, rather than mope around alone, internalizing our sadness. And that’s just the thing—I didn’t WANT to be sat on that day. That’s not what my Pappap would have wanted. My hope was that we could go out to dinner, share stories, and laugh.

My brother Ryan was out of town last weekend, but Corey, our aunt Susie, and her husband Larry were all available. And Henry too. So we met up at Pan Asia for a three hour nostalgia feast. It was everything I hoped the evening would be: tons of laughter and good old-fashioned family bonding. It’s a fucking shame that my mom and aunt Sharon couldn’t be chill enough to join us.

Eventually, the subject of my birth dad Paul came up. His name was pretty much verboten throughout  my whole childhood, with my mom only letting tiny informational morsels slip out here and there. I knew these few things for certain: he was a multi-substance abuser, a woman-beater, he died from an accident caused from driving drunk, and I was better off without him in my life. Basically, Paul was a very touchy subject, and you better believe he was my secret weapon during my volatile teenage years when I was looking to get that TKO in screaming matches with my mom and step-dad. I was the motherfucking champion of the last word.

Thanks, dad.

(I actually started writing about my dad two years ago and never finished because it was exhausting and made me feel a certain sadness that I didn’t understand.)

Anyway, Susie and I were piggy-backing off each other, filling Corey in about my dad’s death. When we got to the part about the actual car wreck, Corey said, “Oh, so he was drunk-driving then?” At the same time I was saying yes, Susie was saying no. I stopped talking and let her finish.

“That’s the funny thing, the tests came back saying there was no alcohol in his system at all,” Susie said, unknowingly dealing me a Mortal Kombat round house to the gut right there at our corner table in Pan Asia.

“Oh….so drugs?” Corey asked.

“No, he was sober. We were all shocked.” And then to me, Susie asked, “You didn’t know that?”

Um, no. Because for my whole life it was beaten into my head that my dad was drunk-driving and deserved to die.

So every time someone would find out that my “real” dad was dead and offer their obligatory apology, I would just shrug it off and say, “Eh, he was drunk-driving, so…”

I know it’s 33 years later, but I can’t help but have that “This changes everything” feeling. But what’s changed, really? I’m not sure. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s still dead, and it doesn’t change the fact that I still don’t know him—but it’s not even about that.

It’s about my relationship with my mom and how it proves once again that she has never respected me enough to be honest, like I was never anything more than just a dumb kid to toy with. One more Val grenade to add to the memoirs I’ve been writing in my head since grade school. I don’t think she would ever understand the damage she’s done to me.

I guess I thought I was OK until last Sunday when I totally lost my mind over it. This is part of my history too, not just my mom’s, and who even knows how many other times she’s changed my narrative on me. At the risk of sounding like a petulant bitch, this just isn’t fair. I wish I could sit down with her and have a normal, honest conversation that’s not bloated with delusion and maniacal laughter.

Aside from that, it was a really great evening! And it could have been worse, you know. Susie could have said, “Paul? Paul‘s not your dad!”  Hey, nothing would really surprise me at this point!

Secrets, secrets hurt someone.

At Kohls today, Chooch snuck a carrot-wrapped package of Jelly Bellys onto the counter and before we knew it, we had paid $6 for it. Henry is a tightwad so he was super pissed about this and decided that Chooch’s punishment was going to be to EAT THE WHOLE THING. Whoa, slow your roll there, Hitler. Of course, Chooch shrugged that off as a win, so then I declared his other punishment was that he had to write a story about jellybeans on my blog, because it’s like SUCH A DRAG for him to blog. However, this whole thing has backfired on me because he’s really getting into this story. “I think I might need a bigger word count,” he just said.

” So without further ado, here’s part one of his jellybean inspired story.

ONCE UPON A TIME, a fairy by the name of Amethyst created a brand new jelly bean for her pet rabbit, Penelope. It was a regular orange jelly bean. BUT… it was wrapped in a plastic bag in the shape of a carrot so it looked just like a carrot for her bunny to eat.

Feeling proud, she walked to Penelope’s bunny house. It was empty.

“Penelope’s gone…? How?!” Amethyst thought to herself.

She ran over to her neighbor Hugo the Hunchback.

He was from Notre Dame. *knock knock*

Amethyst knew she didn’t have to knock, she could just fly straight through. But she was polite. Hugo answered. “Huh who are you?” he asked.

“I’m your neighbor.” Amethyst said.

“Oh yeah!” he remembered.

“Idiot.” Amethyst whispered to herself. “Well I’m here because my bunny Penelope is missing. I was wondering if you’ve seen her.”

“Well i didn’t see her, sadly. But i have some rat stew if you’re hungry.” He politely stated.

“I’m fine.” Amethyst puked out.

“Well nice seeing you!” He waved.

“He seems innocent.” She said as she walked away on her quest to find Penelope. “Well maybe someone who is really jealous of Penelope and her beautiful fluffy tail took her to a cabin.” She kept walking. After 6 minutes her carrot shaped jellybean bag had a hole in it and the jellybeans fell out one by one. She also saw a hut. She peeked inside, there was a strange figure standing there with Penelope…PENELOPE!? She took a closer look at the figure. *Creak* “Huh who’s there!” the figure said. She saw the face it looked wrinkled and she had one tooth. It looked like… GRANDMA? “Why would she do this to me?” Amethyst whispered to herself.

“Over here.” someone whispered.

“Mom?” Amethyst asked.

“Your grandma is being crazy. She hates all of us. Let us out before she sees you.”

“Um… Okay sure, Mom.” Amethyst said. “Who are these people?” Amethyst asked.

“Well this is your dad, Joel and your old gramps, Joey. They are so weird.” mom said.

“Oh… Well.. I sure never met them.” Amethyst stated as she walked away to get the key from her grandma. With a half full bag of orange jellybeans she forgot what she was going to do with it so she gave it to her mum. But when she turned around she saw a figure run into the berry bushes.

“Hello?” Amethyst called.

*ring ring* “Oh, Crap!” a voice called out.

“Who is that?” she yelled.

“Um, yeah hi.” the man said. “I’m… a photographer, I’ve been stalking you since 1862.” the man said.

“Well that’s not creepy at all.” she said sarcastically.

“Well I have a gift for you.” He grinned.

To Be Continued…

It’s almost March, which means we have almost successfully made it through another depressing winter! And there are lots of things that are happening in March, such as both Bled Fest and Warped Tour announcing their full lineups (Bled Fest has been announcing bands here and there, and there are at least 8 bands that have me feeling like an excited 18-year-old pop punk boy), Citizen, Carly Rae Jepsen, and Emarosa shows, and Easter which I started to really like a few years ago after spending most of my life not giving a fuck about it at all.

So while I’m mostly in love with the idea of March in general (totally underrated month if you ask me), there are also some other things latching on to my heart AND HERE THEY ARE.

THINGS I LOVE:

• Chooch’s new hair. Chooch finally got a hair cut and I am so relieved. I have this thing where I associate certain hair length with shitty attitudes, and I SWEAR TO GOD, once Chooch’s hair reaches a certain shag, he turns into SUCH A DICK. The same goes for ponytails: anytime my aunt Sharon would tie her up into a p-tail on vacation, I knew I was in for it. Anyway, I convinced Henry to take Chooch to an actual barber for once, and not some rough broad with nicotine-stained fingers at Cost Cutters or wherever the fuck he goes. Chooch is also super pleased with the result, and I want to say that’s all that matters, but come on now. It’s all about pleasing me.  Now he wants to dye his hair opal (like a pale, muted pastel rainbow) but I’m not attempting that at home so we have to find a professional I guess.
• ARTIFEX PEREO BEING ANNOUNCED FOR BLED FEST. I was so excited when this happened last night that I couldn’t breathe and Henry was like, “WHAT. WHAT. Oh.”
• The grilled cheese I had for lunch at Poros. The bread alone was #litAF. I didn’t take a picture because it was a goodbye lunch for one of our peeps who is jumping ship and I already felt weird enough being there without throwing Instagram food selfies into the mix. So just believe me on this one.
• Usually though, I have Cream of Wheat for lunch everyday. I know, it’s kind of blah-sounding, but I really like hot cereal and I always add things to it, like various berries or bananas, chia seeds, walnuts…you know, basic crap. But I recently started adding SPRINKLES to it as well, and wow—total game changer. I do have a picture of this one:

• That #wonderful is used at work now when anyone refers to me. I DON’T CARE IF IT’S FACETIOUS. I love it.
• Having multiple personalities: Today, Catherine was telling people that I’m mean. “Look at her! She acts all sweet and whatever, but she’s really mean!” Which was Todd’s cue to chime in with, “Oh I know, she’s a bully.”And then they were closing in on me, dissecting all of the things on my desk. “I mean, look! She’s basically surrounded by death. If anything ever happens here, we can just be like, ‘Just look at her desk. The signs are all there.'” And I was so proud of this.
• Just Jillian, the Jillian Michaels reality show. I unabashedly LOVE Jillian Michaels and this show, as much as I try not get sucked into reality TV, makes me love her even more. If I ever met her, I would cry for sure. I made Henry watch two episodes last night and I kept catching him laughing; hahaha Henry, busted.

• When Pittsburgh looks all spring-like and sunny! It’s almost here. Spring is almost here. We can make it.
• Balance & Composure. I’ve liked them for a long time, but recently something shifted and now I’m just like, more please. I can’t wait to see them again. I am going to share with you today “Tiny Raindrop” because it makes me feel some things. (Barb, you can listen to this. There is no screaming. It’s not heavy at all. WOULD I LIE TO YOU!?)

• These fucking adorable cats!!!
• Having a dealer again. Let me explain! God! Back in the late 90s, I used to go to Eide’s nearly every weekend. Eide’s a record/comic book store and it used to be so great back then. This one guy who worked there got to know me because I would always go straight for the Cs to see what new Cure b-sides and rarities they had gotten in. Lots of bootlegged European shows. So he would start waving me over when he saw me, like Mario to Pee Wee in the magic shop, excited to show me the new shit he ordered. Now it’s not so great as far as new music goes (thanks for ruining the magic of record stores, Internet) but sometimes I find myself walking there on my lunch break when I’m feeling like lamenting over the loss of their beautiful industrial and synthpop section. (I bought allllll of my synthpop CDs there and from A Different Drum, which doesn’t exist anymore.) Anyway, every so often I’ll find a new must-have record, like the Touche Amore one I picked up last week. While the guy was ringing me up, he said, “We sell a lot of this one” to which I replied, “Oh I bet, they’re a great band.” And then, as an after thought, I asked, “You guys don’t ever get any La Dispute in, do you?” He said no, but that he could order it for me, and I was like “JUST LIKE THE OLD DAYS!?!??!” So today I got to walk over and collect it, and there is just something way more fun and satisfying about going into a record store to pick up a record rather than clicking on “buy now” on some website. So then I came back to work with it and Todd and Glenn decided to listen to La Dispute and let’s just say the band did not accrue new fans from The Law Firm today. Todd was perplexed and Glenn was just straight up unimpressed. Sorry La Dispute, I tried.
• Law Firm Memories: Today was Jennifer’s last day, so I made her Goodbye Glenn because I couldn’t let her leave without some type of memento. This inspired me, Amber2, and Todd to look at all of the Easter Glenns and reminisce which was fun until AMBER2 opened old wounds by bringing up when my low-key, grassroots Easter egg hunt was eclipsed by the Big Time Departmental “There Might Be Money In Your Egg!!!” Easter Egg Hunt and then no one gave a fuck about mine anymore so I threw a tantrum and shut myself away in my fake-office in my verboten hallway and cried about it. “I still have a picture of the Golden Bunny I got!” Amber2 mused dreamily, and I was like “UGH WHATEVER!!” But then Todd agreed that my version of the Easter egg hunt is the one that provided lasting memories, so that is why this bullet gets to reside in  the “love” section of this blog post.

And now on to the part that everyone cares about because schadenfreude:

THINGS I HATE:

• When nice people leave The Law Firm. (See above.) :(
• Meghan Trainor. Still. I honestly hate everything about her: her voice, her face, the way she moves when she “sings.” She is a pimple begging to be popped. After hearing about the Lionel Richie tribute at the Grammy’s, I YouTubed it and my ears are still sobbing. She didn’t belong up there on that stage with those other performers! Even that country guy was passable as a singer! BUT NOT HER. I was seething about this and it was until I started making physical threats to her that Henry butted in and told me I was being unreasonable and that he didn’t “understand” why I “think” she is so “terrible.” So then I started making physical threats to him while rage-texting Wendy because she is the only one who share my pain when it comes to that dumb bitch Meghan Trainor.
• Getting to pick winners for some fitness incentive thing (after TODD was solicited before me but I whined until Michele was like, “Ok…or Erin can help with the drawing…” and then Todd had a new opportunity to call me a bully) and I wound up picking MY NEMESIS Lou. UGH.

• Vanilla yogurt. I eat greek yogurt every day at work as a mid-morning snack. Every single day. It’s just another one of those INTERESTING things about me, OK? But a few days ago, the only option available in our fridge was vanilla. Two greek vanillas and one regular vanilla. Ew. But when choice did I have? So I grabbed a Chobani and then proceeded to gag and make puking sounds two hours later when I attempted to eat it at work. So awful! Like sour paste! I couldn’t even make it a quarter of the way through that fermented slop. I’m not the type of person who can quietly dislike something, so I threw a basic fit about it at work before hurling it into the trash. The general consensus around here was that Henry is a fucking prick for buying vanilla yogurt. I texted him and was like WHY and all he said was that supposedly our SON requested vanilla but then changed his mind (sure he did, once he realized that not even Little Orphan Annie would eat that shit), so now we had enough of that sickening vanilla glue for a whole preschool art class to smear on construction paper. The next morning, I reached into the fridge to pluck out my daily yogurt and STILL ALL VANILLA!? I was fuming mad by the time I rolled into work that my salutation to everyone was, “I’M ON YOGURT STRIKE.” Glenn was like, “If I was Henry, you know what I would say? Go to the damn store yourself!” And then Todd piped up and was like, “Yeah, you know!? I’d even show you how to GET THERE.” UGH!!! Anyway, my strike only had to last one day because Henry dutifully went to the store and bought quality flavors so today I was able to enjoy a nice tub of key lime. Henry taunted me last night by eating one of the remaining vanilla puke pots in front of me while I made dry-heaving motions.  “You don’t like mainstream music, you don’t like mainstream yogurt — where does it end with you?” Glenn mumbled today.
• One-sidedness. Isn’t it an awesome feeling when someone who you used to be BFFs with calls you out of the blue and they’re sobbing uncontrollably and you still have no idea why you even answered because they’re such a piece of shit, but you saw their number and felt worried and you’re a human being who doesn’t want someone to be hurting so you answered, but then a few weeks later when you needed someone to talk to because you were feeling super low and helpless, you call that same person, thinking that they will return the favor by lending an ear but instead they decline your call and haven’t said a word to you since and then you realize it’s just because they’re trying to repeat the cycle of abuse? FUCKING AWESOME. I’m sorry that happened to you and I hope that person fucking burns in hell.
• Wardrobe malfunctions. Today was Jeans Day at work. I only have one pair that is work-appropriate, i.e. without designer slits and rips. This pair though is pretty old and worn, so when I sat down at my desk immediately upon arriving at work this morning and heard a rippppp, I can’t say I was too surprised. The rip was small, horizontal, and in the middle of my inner left thigh. I discreetly shimmied to the bathroom to assess the sitch, and it wasn’t noticeable, because I don’t walk with my legs turned out. (If you do, that’s totally OK.) So I went about my day like it was no big thing, and planned to go jeans shopping this weekend. Then on my lunch break, I was right outside of Eide’s when I crouched down to tie my shoe, and this time it was more like RIPPPPPPPPP. Immediately, I felt the frosty tongue of February licking my BARE THIGH. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. I ran inside Eide’s. My shoe was still untied, so I tried to gracefully achieve bunny-eared status in the stairwell, only to heard a series of truncated, staccato rip rip rips.  Sweating at this point, I made sure my coat covered my partial nudity and continued up to the record section of Eide’s where the beauty and pleasure of holding my La Dispute record in my hands was marred and sullied by the fact that I was one quick squat away from returning to work in cut-offs. Outside of Eide’s, I texted Henry my latest trauma and he completely did not find this to be an emergency situation at all. So I knew I was going to have to solve this problem on my own. Because I was still in ear-ringing, brain-clogged, panic mode, it appeared that my only two options were to either bypass work and go straight home and never leave the house again, or jump into the river. I cried a little bit. I felt anger toward Henry because this was his fault somehow for not noticing that my jeans were in peril the last time he washed them. He could have added some type of reinforcement to them or built me a new pair altogether. But then the fogs of frustration and fluster slowly drifted away and I saw a light at the end of the tunnel, and that light belonged to BURLINGTON. I still enough time left on my break and one slight change in direction would put it on my path back to work! And then my FUCKING shoe untied again. I thought to myself, “Two more blocks. Fuck the shoelace. Just keep walking. Two more blocks.” Just then, a man TAPPED ME ON THE SHOULDER and said, “Miss, your shoe is untied. Be careful.” WHO EVEN DOES THAT IN 2016?!?!? People aren’t supposed to care about each other! JUST LEAVE ME AND MY FUCKING SHOELACES OUT OF YOUR LIFE, OK?! So I cried, “I KNOW THANKS OK!!!!!” and then I ran across the street. Like, RAN and never looked back. Waiting to cross another street, I tried to lift my foot up high enough to at least be able to tuck the laces in because I was afraid that if I didn’t acknowledge this man’s shoelace policing, I might trip over it and fall into an oncoming bus. THESE ARE THE THINGS YOU HEAR ABOUT ON THE NEWS!!! Finally, I made it to Burlington and grabbed the first pair of jeans I saw in my size, tried them on while sweating and hiccuping on anxiety, and then bought those motherfuckers for $16 because Burlington. When the cashier asked if I wanted to donate $1 to whatever charity, I said yes before she could even finish because saying no to charity after all of that was bound to have me struck down by lightning. Plus, I felt thankful that I was fortunate enough to be able to go to a store and buy new jeans without thinking twice—PERSPECTIVE. Went back to work and threw on the new jeans in the restroom. I texted Henry to let him know that further crisis was averted and I was sitting at my desk, legs swathed in a pair of snug jeans that I think might actually be jeggings. “There’s rhinestones on the back pockets,” I told him (found out later that they’re actually studs, this is how you know I was in such a hurry that I really didn’t even look at what I was buying). “They’re totally urban. I think the butt might actually be padded.” And he asked, “Are they Applebottoms?” Fuck you, Henry.
• Henry. Because after he picked me up from work, we sat for a few seconds in silence before he started cracking up. “Fuck you, I had a really traumatic day!” I cried. “No, traumatic would have been if your jeans and LEG ripped all the way off,” he laughed. And then he made me show him my other jeans, to which he knowingly said, “Yeah, that’s exactly how I thought they were going to look. That rip is NOT that big.” I started screaming about how it was so big, and he put on that chastising tone to say, “Erin. ERIN. Erin! You probably have people thinking your whole vagina was hanging out. That rip is not that big.” Fuck you, Henry! It’s like at least 7 inch-things long!!!

  
Pee Wee’s Big Adventure is one of my favorite movies of all time, and one of probably only three that I ever quote from. (The amount of times I’ve referenced the Alamo on this blog alone is really pathetic.) I had so much fun painting this and kind of don’t want to part with it. 

One of my most vivid childhood memories is sitting in the family room of my house in South Park, watching this on HBO with my bff Christy who lived down the street, and asking her what “scenery” meant because Mickey tells Pee Wee to just enjoy the scenery. She explained it perfectly well but my kindergarten brain couldn’t comprehend it. It seemed like such a complicated concept.

Scenery. 

I was a dumb kid. 

Anyway, I just really love painting birds on wires, so this just felt very natural to me. Methodical and cathartic, especially while the Penguins were getting slaughtered last night by the Bruins. :(

I have some more custom paintings on tap (I keep saying I’m going to take a break and then a request comes in and I can’t say no!) but then I’m going to start one called The Pittsburgh Zoo, a painting of various famous Pittsburghers with animal bodies (like the Buscemi and John Water ones).  

Probably Mr. Rogers, Mario Lemieux, Sophie Maslof, Andy Warhol, and God only knows who else. 

NO STEELERS THOUGH.

In other news, I’m drinking blueberry cobbler coffee and it feels like warm arms enveloping my broken soul. 

This has been a quick update posted from my phone. 

My friend Alisha recently brought up the time she and I sang some Spice Girls song during Blogathon one year, because someone (my friend Alyson, I believe) donated extra to have this happen. 

Blogathon was this incredibly annoying but super fun and rewarding event where people stayed up blogging for 24 hours, in an effort to raise money for the charity of their choice. Participants had to post twice an hour and even though I always said “NEVER AGAIN!” after hitting publish for the 48th time in 24 hours, I’d always sign up again the next year. 

But then whoever was charge of the organization gave it up and no one took over, so no more Blogathon. 

Anyway, Alisha posting that Spice Girls video made me super nostalgic and this picture immediately came to mind: 

  This was from one of the Blogathons (2009 maybe?) where people donated a certain amount in order to command Henry to do things, such as pose with a fried egg on his head, and suck on a lollipop while wearing his hair in pigtails. This one was just him being served beer by Alisha in a tutu which was excruciating for her because ALISHA BOWS TO NO MAN.  

My favorite part of Blogathon is that my friends were always on call to cheer me on: Alisha, Kara, Evonne, Blake, Corey—we had some good fucking times churning out words and poor, REALLY POOR, karaoke. 

Now I’m depressed. 

Alisha, next time you’re back in Pittsburgh, we’re pulling an all-nighter for absolutely no reason.