Henry turns 50 in three days! How exciting(ly horrifying). In honor of his big numerical accomplishment, I am going to reshare some of the times Henry got to be A HERO. Maybe I can pump his mom and sister for some untold tales, as well! First up, please enjoy the time when Henry got to call 911 twice on his birthday last year!

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

Right away, we knew it was a car accident.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logical.

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

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

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

*(This is Pittsburghese for nosy motherfuckers.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

(And I still don’t.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, but his weener told a different story.

After the dinky Memorial Day parade last Monday, Janna came over and we all took a joyful trip out to Living Treasures in Donegal. Janna strode through my front door with the remnants of her lunch, which included A DRINK.

“WHAT’S IN THAT?” I demanded to know.

“Iced tea,” she answered in that indignant tone she’s been getting with me all of a sudden.

“WELL, YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT IN MY CAR,” I said calmly, I have no idea what would give you any idea that I screamed it.

So then a few minutes later, we were all ready to go after Henry yelled at us repeatedly because that’s all he does these days is yell yell yell. As I was putting on my seat   belt, I noticed that Janna was in the backseat with that damn drink!!

THAT BITCH!

“JANNA WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THAT DRINK!?” I asked without the slightest hint of hysterics.

“It’s nearly empty!” she whined, and then she SHOOK IT and droplet of ICED TEA EJACULATED ONTO THE BACKS OF MY CAR SEATS!

And here we all thought CHOOCH would be the first to spill!

We brought Spoon with us for #spoonselfies. Henry was #thrilled. My #LenoChin is out in full force. #hashtag

So, Living Treasures is better than a petting farm but not as great as a zoo. And it always seems like a WOW SO GREAT idea to go until I remember how far of a drive it is (like 90 minutes or something equally as absurd which is basically anything more than 20 minutes). They have goats and sheep and ducks but also VARIOUS MONKEYS and LIONS and OTHER THINGS. Other things like BEARS! So it’s pretty cool, but I always get so sad seeing those guys behind glass.

I’m one of those bleeding heart PETA motherfuckers.

We had some “just pay half” coupon that was good for four people so Janna was our charity case for the day. I wanted to make her pay us back, but Henry was like, “Erin.”

Once Janna passed the Robitussin pat-down, we were allowed to enter the zoo-thing.

Henry bought Chooch a big bag of feed, and 99% of it wound up on the ground each time he would attempt to feed a thing. Their snouts would get within three feet and Chooch would scream, drop the feed, and pull away his hand. Henry was like YOU’RE NOT DOING IT RIGHT!

But I kind of had to get behind Chooch on this one because I am TERRIFIED of feeding animals at petting zoos ever since that time a camel deep-throated my hand back in 2007.

YOU DON’T FOOL ME.

There’s a reason Chooch has been calling camels “cannibals” since he was a baby, you guys. That’s not just a cute mispronunciation!

Here’s Chooch, still in a good mood.

Here’s Chooch approximately 5 minutes later, decidedly NOT in a good mood anymore. That kid switches as fast as I do and it’s kind of remarkable. (Or annoying. That too.)

Chooch and Janna had an argument about the peacock and now I can’t remember what it was but HE SURE TOLD HER. He gets so sassy when he’s overheated and tired.

OK I just asked Chooch, whose memory is much more plump and nubile than mine, and he said it was because we were petting a kangaroo, and he commented that it was so soft. Then Janna petted it and said it was soft, so Chooch flipped out and yelled, “I KNOW, JANNA. I ALREADY SAID THAT.” So then Janna cried, “I was just AGREEING with you, CHOOCH!” We are like a traveling troupe of hostile situations.

I have no idea where he gets this.

(The peacock keeps coming to mind because I think I had an argument with Chooch over the peacock. We all had our turn with Chooch’s temper that day.)

Another one of these little fuckers bit my side while I was taking this picture.

OMG IT’S DOGE! MOMMY TAKE MY PICTURE WITH DOGE! WHAT DOES DOGE EAT?!

Babies.

There was a white buffalo there and as we all started to walk away after the requisite 19 seconds of visually admiring the [insert living treasure], I noticed that Henry was hanging back.

“Wow, Henry is really into the buffalo,” I thought to myself. Then I noticed that he was TAKING A PICTURE OF IT and seriously, how often does Henry care enough about turning a moment into a keepsake? Like, rarely ever. But then I put two and two together because I’m great at basic mathematics and I realized that it was a Ted Nugent reference and he was posting it on Instagram for Alyson because she loves to pump him for info regarding The One Time he went to see Ted Nugent in THE NINTEEN EIGHTIES and allegedly knocked over some broad in a wheelchair like a hungry llama bum-rushing the Living Treasures zookeeper.

The only way to exit Living Treasures is through the gift shop. Well played< LivTreas. Janna had to go to the bathroom of course and asked us where it was so I pointed at some random, clearly off-limits staircase and she was like, “OK thanks” and started to walk up them but then Chooch and I started laughing so she figured out that it was A TRAP. Then Henry played the Nice Guy card and showed her where the bathroom really was while Chooch threw a myriad of fits because we wouldn’t buy him all the stupid educational shit that he wanted. God! Go learn with your own money!

I think the girls behind the counter thought we were shoplifting because the three of us just kind of roamed around aimlessly while waiting for Janna and I don’t know how to “look casual.” I always accidentally look like I’m suffering through meth ticks, and I repetitively pull my phone out of my purse and then put it back, pull it out, put it back, TRY TO LOOK CASUAL, whistle, ACCIDENTAL EYE CONTACT WITH CASHIER, kick imaginary rocks, FURTIVE GLANCES ALL OVER THE FUCKING PLACE. I’m a shop owner’s nightmare.

“LET’S WAIT FOR HER OUTSIDE,” I thought I said in a normal voice but it sounded like it came out of a tin can, so who knows.

Much sad. Very pout.

Finally, Janna emerged from the gift shop, freshly ‘Tussed and carrying a cold bottle of water. Chooch flipped out because why was she able to buy water but we wouldn’t buy him water? IT’S  BECAUSE WE ARE TRYING TO KILL HIM SLOWLY! Henry calmly explained that it was because we were going to stop and get lunch and then as we walked across the parking lot, Chooch very seriously asked if we were almost home.

BOY, YOU DRUNK BOY. YOU DRUNK. BOY.

DRUNK.

Luckily for Chooch, we only drove a few miles down the road before stopping at Tall Cedars which I knew immediately was The One. I know it’s kind of out-of-character, since I was born choking on a silver spoon, but I love me some trashy roadside food-slingers. And this was just that. Bar on one side, “dining room” on the other, parking lot full of pick-up trucks.

“I am going to eat the FUCK out of a grilled cheese,” I said, fists pumped.

No one got the daily special (I know you’re shocked that I didn’t eat that shit up) but I couldn’t wait to ask about the deserts! Surprisingly, “potato/potatoes” is spelled correctly.

Chooch was still in a sour mood when we got there, especially because he wanted to sit by me but Henry and Janna were like, “Ew we don’t want to sit together” so Henry made Chooch move and he was like WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LET ME BE MY OWN PERSON.

Yeah Henry. Stop making it all about you!

Oh my god, it took our food so long to get there and I think it’s because HENRY stopped our waitress as she was running herself ragged to and fro the kitchen so that he could add on an order of wings, and I’m not lying when I say that it really changed the tone. She went from calling us all hon and basically doting on us to thinking we were entitle CITY FOLK so thanks a lot Henry. Acting like he deserves wings because it’s Memorial Day or something.

Chooch’s Holy Burger.

Actually not pouting, just making faces.

Chooch’s hair was all greasy from the profuse sweating he had been doing all day, so it was super pliable. Every time he would rub his hands through it (which he does often since he is so stressed), he came out the other end looking like a different 1980s New Wave singer every time. It was fantastically entertaining. And we needed all the entertaining we could get since it was taking SO LONG for our basic grilled cheese and burgers to be served.

Janna was fighting with her roommate and that seemed to cheer up Chooch because he loves conflict.

And then I got blueberry pie, Janna got lemon meringue (because that’s what Chooch told her to get), and Chooch got red velvet cake. Henry got NOTHING because he had already treated himself for the month with his AUXILIARY WING ORDER. Hope it was worth it, Memorial Day Hank.

Then it was time to pay and Henry told Janna to just give him $4 for her part of the check, which he was going to use for the tip, but then she only gave him THREE DOLLARS because the ‘Tussin is rotting her brain, you guys.

On the way home, we drove past this junk yard which I remembered from the very first time Henry and I went to Living Treasures in 2004 (a/k/a That Time I Made People Match Up Poop With The Animal It Came From* on LiveJournal) and he voluntarily told me that he has a fear of FALLING FROM THE SKY ON TO METAL.

I WILL NEVER FORGET THAT, EVER. Now he barely ever offers up self-fact nuggets and I can’t imagine why.

Somewhere along the way, the cherry cider episode happened, too.

And that was our Memorial Day. It was OK. Better than being at work, I guess.

*(I was even more obnoxious back then, if you can believe it. The winner of that contest (my pal Kevin!) got a t-shirt with my face on it, you guys. I’m an asshole.)

Here is another weekend’s worth of Henry Bombs! I wish I had managed to get a “your tattoo cost HOW much?!” shot but I told him via text after I had already paid for it, haha. Sorry, Henry, next time I’ll just get my cell mate to do it for cheaper. 

The “Henry With A Mouthful of Pretzels, Yelling At Chooch For God Knows What” shot.   

The “Henry Treated Himself to a Snickerdoodle & I’m Going to Steal It” shot.  

The “10 Minutes Early Picking Up Chooch From Piano TIME FOR A QUICK NAP” selfie.    

The “Hand It Over, Henry Warbucks” shot.   

The “Nap #2 With a Bowl & His Phone” shot.   

The “Henry Oversees the Jewelry Party” guest shot by Monica!   The “Henry Listens To Wendy’s Sales Pitch” shot. 

The “Just One of the Girls” shot (Wendy moved at the last minute).    

The “Blocking Henry From Getting Stoked” shot. 

The “Henry Returns A Thing At Lowe’s” shot. 

The “THERE HAS TO BE A SPECIAL MIX FOR SUCCULENTS BUT WHERE IS IT I WILL NOT ASK” shot. 

The “Henry Waits For Someone Else To Ask For Succulent Dirt & Then Follows Them To It” shot.    

The “Concerned That His Green Tea Froyo Tastes Carbonated” shot. (He later asked the Froyo purveyors if it was supposed to taste like that and they admitted that they have never tried the green tea but that it is supposed to be slightly tart which hello, I am no stranger to the Froyo  industry but I know the difference between purposely tart and SPOILED so hopefully we survive the impending digestive backlash and then own our own Sincerely Yogurt franchise.)

(Asian Froyo joints are better.)

  
The “Henry Is Potting My Plants Because Ew Dirt” shot. 

BONUS: #thingsinhenrysbeard

And that was Henry’s weekend. Actually these are all from Sunday. 

The local Memorial Day parade goes right past my house every year. It’s not anything major with cool floats and lip-synching pseudo pop stars, but it still brings us out of the house every year. Henry enjoys it because THE SERVICE, Chooch likes it for the candy, and I relish it for the pure mockery factor. Actually, I kind of regret not live-blogging it, but in all honesty, nothing fantastic really happened, so here are the highlights, if that’s what you want to call them:

• Chooch got to see his current girlfriend Cassie do a handspring-type thing when she strolled past with her dance troupe.
• I refused to wave back to any of the cops who crept past in their bullymobiles and Henry was SO MAD at me for that, but I DON’T KNOW WHICH ONES ARE THE GOOD ONES, OK?
  • I waved to the firemen though. They can stay.
• One of the dads from Chooch’s old school was canvassing the area, passing out Jesus literature probably. He stopped and handed his leaflet to the neighbors, but when he got to the end of our sidewalk, there was a brief flicker of recognition, and he kept walking. “Nope. Nope nope nope.”
  • I actually had to talk to him a few days later at Chooch’s spring concert because ironically, his kids go to Chooch’s current school now too (OMG PUBLIC SCHOOL) and Chooch and his kid are kind of friends I guess, I don’t know. I was really proud of myself for being civil to him and brought it up later to Henry. Like, “Didn’t you see me being nice to that guy? Will you buy me something?” Because every nice thing I do should be rewarded.
• THE SHRINERS! I always think of one of my old work friends from the dreaded meat factory, because years and years ago he was downtown for one of the parades and his daughter, who was sitting on the curb, had her LEG RAN OVER BY ONE OF THE SHRINERS!
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  I brought that up on Monday, as they did wheelies* in front of our house and Henry pointed out that she probably got pretty well taken care of since the Shriners have their own hospital, so then I started imagining them carting her off in the back of a minikin ambulance to a backyard playhouse version of a hospital.

  • *I screamed YESSSS!!! in a manly roar for one of the wheelies and Henry gave me that “I hate when you do that” look.

• My favorite part, other than “the end,” was when a group of kids came past with some church and Henry was like, “Look, it’s the Troubled Youth of Brookline” and one of them was like a half-scene kid so I was like, “THESE ARE MY PEOPLE.” They looked sullen and angsty and one of them straight whaled a handful of candy straight into the faces of the adults sitting on the sidewalk, and that actually made Henry laugh and HENRY DOESN’T LAUGH AT PARADES THAT HONOR THIS COUNTRY, FOLKS. So it was a big deal.

• My work friend Elaina was in the parade! She was walking with her niece’s dance school, and I think that’s actually the same group that Chooch’s g-friend was with. So that was the first time in the history of my parade-spectating that I gave someone a genuine wave in lieu of my typical sarcastic hand swipes!
• We missed the parade last year because we were in Allentown for that stupid Jonny Craig/Slaves show. If we weren’t there, DID IT STILL HAPPEN!?
• This was the first year since moving to Brookline in 1999 that there were no cats in my house tripping over themselves on their way to cower in the basement. They HATED the parade. My first Memorial Day in this place, I had no fucking idea what was going on other than HOLY SHIT THE WORLD IS ENDING TAKE COVER!
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• FUN FACT: I missed the parade in 2012 because I had to WORK, and Henry texted me to say that some dumb bitch from one of the high school bands threw her empty water bottle in our yard and you best believe I went straight to that high school’s website and emailed the band director and the principal because Brookline is filthy enough without some neighboring town band dork tossing her trash in it!
• All of the neighbor kids were being pouty brats, Chooch included. People are literally chucking candy at you, what is there not to like about that!?
  • Speaking of the neighbors, they all had chairs set up on the sidewalk, but Henry and I were like, “That’s OK. We’re good back here on the porch.”
• You might recognize that telephone pole in the pictures from when that DRUNK GUY PASSED OUT AND WE HAD TO CALL 9/11! WE SAVED A LIFE, YOU GUYS.
  • Second FUN FACT of this post: This is actually a new telephone pole because two years ago, some broad crashed into when we were at Kennywood and Hot Naybor Chris texted Henry to tell him  not to panic, but our yard was covered in Caution tape.
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    It took them (“them”) nearly a full year to finally replace the jerry-rigged temporary pole with a new one. We were afraid to walk past the temporary one!

Then we went to Living Treasures with Janna! I will be back later with that totally exciting write-up.

You guys. I am stunned. My Marcy tribute tattoo is so fucking majestic, just like Marcy was, and I am in tears. SHE WOULD BE SO FUCKING PISSED IF SHE SAW THIS! Ha!

Erin Hosfield at Kyklops just made my dreams come true. I am so glad I chose her to do this because she gets it. She is a phenomenal artist!

Here is the picture she took, in much better lighting:

I knew for some time that when Marcy passed, I would get a tribute tattoo, and it was definitely the best decision. I waited less than a week after her death before getting the ball rolling, and even that part of the process helped me get through the first few rough weeks. Now that I have it, I can honestly say that it provides a solace I have been searching for since March 31st, and I’m left with a sense of peace. She meant the world to me and I’m not being dramatic when I say that losing her was right up there with my death of my Pappap in 1996—they were two major players in my world. 

 I am so happy that I can carry Marcy around with me for the rest of my life. SHE IS JUDGING ALL OF YOU SO HARD!

I didn’t want to wait until #mcm (MAN CRUSH MONDAY) to post this, so let’s pretend like today is #fgf (FAVORITE GUY FRIDAY).

When I first started dating Henry, I was 21 and he was 35. A LOT of people were like, “Ha-ha, say goodbye to your life. Have fun listening to country music and drinking IC Light.” Because that’s what all 35-year-old men do? And I guess I was a little worried at first, because I loved road-tripping for concerts back then. My friend Wonka and I would drive all over to see our favorite band at the time, Cold. In the first few months we were together, Cold was playing in Hershey, PA and Wonka wanted to go. I was worried that Henry would be like, “YOU ARE NOT DRIVING THAT FAR AWAY WITH ANOTHER MAN.” But Henry understood even then how much these things meant to me, and he was OK with me going.

(I mean, I totally would have still went anyway because that’s the kind of selfish, arrogant, solipsistic fucking bitch that I am!)

But then Wonka started dating the future mother of his children, and our roadtrips came to an end. I had no idea that Henry would ever want to do these things with me, because I was so used to having completely separate lives from every boyfriend I ever had. But by that May, there we were, driving to Wisconsin to see Cold. And there have been many, many more concert-spurned road trips since then, whether he liked it or not!

Wednesday night, I was watching music videos on YouTube, because that’s just what I do, when Henry said, “Look.” He was holding up his phone to show me that this year’s Riot Fest line up was finally announced. I ran over and snatched his phone from him and immediately started freaking out because FAITH NO MORE. I had a feeling that they were going to be there so my eyes were blind to everything else on the list but that for the first ten minutes. And then the more I looked at the lineup, the more I freaked out. THE NOSTALGIA FACTOR IS OFF THE FUCKING CHARTS.

I started freaking the fuck out and chanting PLEASE CAN WE GO PLEASE CAN WE GO PLEASE CAN WE GO CAN WE CAN WE CANWECANWECANWE over and over but I was pretty sure the answer was going to be no because we kind of broke the bank when we went last year. But you know, I’m immature, head-in-the-clouds Erin and I don’t think about things like RENT and GROCERIES and BILLS. I was just about reaching Veruca Salt levels of brattiness when Henry got up from the couch in a huff and said, “Don’t start!” So I sat there, staring at the lineup and crying because these are things I cry about, when I got a text from Henry, who was in the kitchen. IT WAS A SCREENSHOT OF THE TICKET CONFIRMATION OMG CAN I KEEP THIS MAN FOREVER?! I guess he knew for awhile that going again was inevitable, so he was prepared.

And it’s a good thing, because I’ve had the days requested off from work since January.

I know I bitch about him being a killjoy a lot, but even though he really doesn’t like these things at all, he still does them because he is an A+ kind of guy. And I am super lucky to be with someone who maybe doesn’t  share the same passion for music as I do, but he understands that it is a necessity for me, like food and water. I crave this stuff! I can’t tell you how many times I have gone back and looked at pictures from last year’s Riot Fest because it puts me in a good mood. That weekend was so close to perfection, and I can’t wait to do it all over again with my frowning sidekick! #blessed

(Snoop Dogg is performing Doggystyle in its entirety. My 1994-self is FUCKING FANNING HERSELF with her Snoop lyric-doodled science folder.)

I am going to be so nice to him for the next several days months. Take all the naps you want, Big Guy!

***

I can’t wait for another 3-days’ worth of frowns! 

So yeah, naysayers: 14 years later and I’m having fun listening to whatever music I want while Henry drinks craft beer.  

What’s a week without a blog post full of bulleted bullshit? Bulletproof, I guess. OH!

Behold, a list of things that don’t matter, but will they still be there if you don’t read them? DEEP THOUGHTS.

• This is a story about cherry cider, which will be relevant to those people who like cider and/or have eyeballs that like to look at letters no matter what words they fashion. On Memorial Day,Janna, Henry, Chooch and I went to Living Treasures in Donegal (THAT WILL BE ITS OWN POST, FEAR NOT FANS OF AMATEUR ANIMAL PICS). Once we hit a certain point, we began seeing handmade signs along the road boasting your typical indie fruit stand wares, like LOPES! and PEACHES! but then we saw one that said HOMEMADE CHERRY CIDER!Janna and I, in tandem, enthusiastically read the sign out loud in case Henry missed it, so that now he would know without us actually coming out and saying these exact words that we wanted to stop and get us some jugs of this sweet elixir. “On the way back,” he mumbled. And he actually remembered!
  • The fruit stand broad was not very personable. Perhaps because it was a beautiful day and she was stuck sitting alone on the side of some shitty road, staring at baskets of peaches that her dad probably made her pick the day before instead of going to the alley behind the soda shop to have sex with Billy. Henry and Janna quickly handed over their respective $7 and we rejoined Chooch, whom we left in the running car because he’s 9 now so who cares. “You took a picture of her, didn’t you?” Henry asked me when we pulled out onto the road. “What? No. Why?” I stuttered. “Because you should have seen the nasty look she gave you.” Technically, I took a picture of her…peaches. That made me hope that the cider was awful so that I could go on the dumb roadside fruit stand Facebook page and leave a scathing review.
  • But it was delightful.Goddammit!
    • Although Chooch’s review was a  shrug coupled with, “Eh. It’s kind of strong.”

• My group at work had a “global” meeting the other night with our Australian counterparts (we have a sister department in the Melbourne officein case you care), so our manager thought it would be fun for everyone to go around and say a fun fact about themselves, since we don’t really know much about the Australian team. When it was my turn, I totally panicked and blurted out, “I like clowns.” Which, OK, that’s a fact. But not a really fun one. And then immediately afterward I had major fun fact regret and why didn’t I tell them about the time I went to their dumb country to see The Cure? Why am I so stupid?! I had a fun fact that was actually relevant to them and I BLEW IT.
  • I thought for sure Glenn’s fun fact was going to be about bee keeping, but no. It was just that he has two old kids and one baby and then everyone APPLAUDED. WHY?! He doesn’t deserve applause. He deserves to be gonged. (You know, LIKE THE GONG SHOW.)
• Henry took me to work today. When we were walking to the front door, I noticed a pencil on the floor so I kicked it under the coffee table. “Why wouldn’t you just pick it up?” he asked. “Why should I?” the 13-year-old in me spit out. “Why should I,” he repeated, and shook his head.
  • The pencil is still under the table. AND THAT’S WHERE IT WILL STAY.
    • Until Chooch picks it up. It’s HIS pencil.

• ^^^^Kurt Travis, you guys. Heart eyes for days.
• Chooch had his spring concert last night at school (he’s in the chorus) and it was OK. I mean, of course it was great seeing my kid on stage, go kid,rah rah, but other than that, it was pretty boring. Henry’s mom came with us and she seemed to really enjoy it because she didn’t get the memo about it being uncool to enjoy these things. This is all neither here nor there. I’m only mentioning it because afterward, we were strolling around the school looking at student art and eating cookies (that’s all I cared about), when some tinybroad shouldered past us and gave Chooch A Look that I know quite well because it’s the same look I give people to this day when I want them to think that I hate them but I secretlylovethemsomuch/amstalkingthem. Anyway, it turns out it was some girl inChooch’s class that he used to love but now he’s paying attention to a different girl and can’t understand why first girl “hates” him. Oh Chooch. SO MUCH TO LEARN.
  • Henry still has to deal with this, but he’s on the scorned woman side of things.
  • Hot Naybor Chris was there! I took a picture of the back of his head and posted it on Facebook (Henry won’t let me post it anywhere else because Henry is the one with A Brain), and my friends Matt and Alyson were very excited about this, because they were the only two people who used to read my fake Henry diary on LiveJournal (mehoover) back in the day. Alyson hashtagged it #ABMHNC as a sarcastic nod to how A Beautiful Mess tacks ABM onto the front of like 78 different hashtags, like #ABMlifeisbeautiful #ABMcolorfulanalbeads and on and on. #HNC will be one of the few things I’ll miss if we ever move. He is awesome.
  • Speaking of #HNC, I told you guys a few mths ago that he has been gifting Henry with loaves of bread. Today, Henry’s mom was here and he gave her bread too! According to Henry, it was OLIVE LOAF. I started DRYHEAVING and Henry said in its defense, “hey, it’s hipster artisan bread! It’s baked with Wigle Whiskey.” <–suuuuuper trendy local whiskey company. 
• I use the various desks/cubes I’ve had in the last 5 years at The Law Firm to help me remember certain timelines. For instance: my Ernie’s Esquire obsession happened back when I sat where Icurrently sit for the first time, because I can picture myself talking to Barb about it and seeing her head from that vantage point, which is how I know it was 2012.
  • The whole point of this is to tell you that I am re-obsessed with Ernie’s Esquire for no reason and I googled it last night when I couldn’t sleep and saw that Ernie himselfwas interviewed in 2013 but I didn’t know that since I hadn’t researched since 2012. Anyway, you guys will never believe this: there was an auction there LAST WEEKEND. All of these old chairs and artwork from the 70s that I could have bid on and then lost, and I would have known if I had only re-obsessed over this a week earlier, UGH.
    • Ernie’s Esquire was A SUPPER CLUB that I had never heard of until, obviously, 2012, but all of the locations are closed now and Henry said that it was one of those “special occasion” places, but that it was pretty sordid behind-the-scenes and the picture I have painted in my head makes it look like the Playboy Mansion circa 1968. There are barely any pictures of this place online so I started asking old people questions about it and all people will say is, “Yeah…I ate there once or twice” but then NOTHING MORE. No details! It’s like Ernie’s is a set from a bad sci-fi flick where everyone has their memories (and palates) zapped clean upon leaving.  I find this very disturbing and I want more information so if you have any, spill.
• I started compiling a list of all the trouble my blog has gotten me into over the years and then I had to stop because…wow. It’s usually because I post a picture of an innocent stranger and then make wild accusations that they go to the alley behind the soda shop to have sex with Billy.
• When I was walking around on my break yesterday, I stumbled upon a flock of Hope Mennonites standing on a corner and singing church songs. YOU GUYS. I sincerely love these sorts of things (I mean, you obviously know all about my Amish obsession). There is just something exciting about side-stepping homeless people and junkies and then walking straight into Heaven’s gate, you know? I love the juxtaposition of “pure” religious sects (no, fingers—not “sext”; nice try) with the filthy urban Pittsburgh landscape. I didn’t want to blatantly Instavid them, so I went the creepy covert route and pretended to casually stroll by but I probably looked like T-Rex what with the way I was holding my phone into my body and stomping past suspiciously. In addition to the gaggle of singing Mennonites, pairs of them were strewn about the city, handing out Jesus literature and FREE CDs. All of these people were like NO! as they walked past, but when it was my turn I was like YES I WANT THAT STUFF. As soon as Henry picked me up from work, I slid the CD in and it played for about 5 minutes until I realized the entire thing was just some male voice narrating a fake Bible story about DIRK whoever the fuck DIRK is. Just kidding – #Dirk4L (Barb, that means DIRK 4 LYFE, or DIRK FOR LIFE.)

• I was recounting my Mennonite run-in to Henry and told him that one of the women was holding a BAG FROM CVS! “Well, they’re allowed to BUY things, Erin!” he cried all defensively so now I’m wondering if he dated a Mennonite run-away when he was living in BUNKER HILL during his SERVICE YEARS.

• You know at least 8 of those chaste, bonneted girls I saw yesterday have a future going to the alley behind the soda shop to have sex with Billy.
•  Glenn was talking about how hermit crabs are worthless so I told him that I once had two hermit crabs, Dijon and Tabasco. “I was going through an intense condiment phase,” I explained, and Glenn was like, “Wow. I can honestly say that’s something I’ve never heard before….and probably never will again.”
• Yesterday’s top search on my blog: “vanilla ice creammidgets on trampolines with aklondike bar shove it up your dickhole.” I think Henry has something like that on VHS from his SERVICE days…
  • That search was probably performed by one of those little Hope Mennonite boys, sneaking off to a filthy INTERNET CAFE.

Ummmm….I think that’s all for now. I feel so relieved to have gotten all of this off my stupid chest.

Another weekend is in the books, so here is the latest collection of Henry Bombs, followed by the beginnings of a brand new Henry Torture Experiment, yay! Who doesn’t like torturing Henry!?

The “Why Am I Driving You to Work When There’s a Perfectly Good Transit System Within Walking Distance From Our House and Now I’m Going To Get All Stressed Out By the Jaywalkers Downtown” shot.

The “Running Out Of the House For Ice Cream & Leaving Henry Behind To Turn Everything Off In the House & IT LOOKS LIKE HE MISSED A LIGHT” shot.

The “Shit, Henry Busted Us & Thinks He’s Cool By Flipping Off the Camera” shot.

The “My Ice Cream Is Better Than Henry’s” shot.

The “Checking Yelp For Somewhere ‘Weird & Wood-Paneled’ To Eat” shot, per my snippy instructions.

The “We Just Drove 90 Minutes To Eat 10 Minutes From Our House Because Henry Can’t Read My Mind” shot, alternately titled the “Another Chapter In Chooch’s Memoirs” shot.

The “Wearing White Socks and Black Shoes To the Petting Zoo” shot.

The “Feeding A Thing Without Getting Backtalk Is Weird” shot.

The “Quietly Calculating All the $$$ Spent This Weekend” shot.

The “It’s Memorial Day & I’ll Get An Order Of Wings With My Burger If I Want To” shot.

The “Driving Thru the Countryside and Daydreaming About Running Away and Hiding Out On a Farm” shot.

***

YOU GUYS! Here I am to introduce two new Henry series: #ThingsInHenrysBeard and #WhileHenrySleeps

I didn’t want him to feel left out after Chooch and I had our fun with face sprinkles, so I waited for him to go to bed Saturday night before gently dropping pinches of sprinkles onto his wiry beard. This picture actually features my second attempt, because after I initially got his beard suitably sprinkled, he subconsciously swatted at his face, brushing most of them out of his beard and onto his chest. I was trying so hard not to laugh that I had to keep leaving the bedroom and thank god I was so close to the bedroom because I came super close to pissing my pants.

I finally completed my mission, snapped a photo, and then went to sleep. The next morning, he woke up to go to the bathroom. Sadly, all of the sprinkles had fallen off in his sleep, but when he came back into bed, he pulled up the comforter and a shower of sprinkles flew into the air. He somehow didn’t notice this and proceeded to lay down on a bed of candy decor. Then he rolled over and his bare back was speckled with them, so I started cracking up.

“What?” he mumbled. And I just laughed harder and harder until I was choking. Finally, I showed him the picture and you guys, he actually TRIED NOT TO SMILE. You just never which way things are going to go with him!

He fell asleep on the couch yesterday because I guess he just had too much Memorial Day fun. I used this as an opportunity to paint his nails. He was less forgiving about this, though.

kbye.

I had a horrible day while we were going to Sarris Candy’s.

We were having a normal day until mommy was hungry and wanted to go somewhere so she asked Chris and Monica. Monica said Serena’s so she started this horrible day. First of all daddy and mommy were fighting about that he didn’t want to go to Serena’s even though he did and mommy said that I don’t even like Mexican food even though I said it was alright. This is what its like being in the backseat while they fight: It is dreadful, unhappy, ugly, not funny, annoying, stupid, and not surprising.

So we went back and forth from home to Canonsburg and then Serena’s (It was closed) then back to Sarris and I fell asleep so I don’t know what else happened. When I woke up we were at Mad Mex (By our house. We drove 90mins to somewhere to eat that’s 10mins away.

). I had a Kiddo Burrito. It was huge!

I didn’t eat it all but I had half. It was freezing in there so I complained that it was freezing. Then at the end I wanted a Sopapilla but I got a Brownie Sundae basically because it was a brownie with ice cream and chocolate fudge. Thanks a lot MONICA! Oh and after that on the way home mommy said she needed to exercise. I said “No you don’t, Mommy.” She thought I was being nice because she wasn’t fat. But the reason why I said that was because she was DRUNK!

ERIN’S VERSION: This all happened because Henry is insensitive to my needs and made some asinine rule where 90% of non-chain restaurants are closed on Sundays. (Even Yelp was like, “Yeah, good luck with that.”) And then he gets snippy with me when I can’t find addresses fast enough and then accuses me of lying about a diner we passed but IT WAS A DINER AND IT WAS OPEN. He was all, “EVEN IF IT EXISTED, YOU WOULD FIND SOMETHING WRONG WITH IT SO I AM NOT TURNING AROUND.” And then CHOOCH is on some fucked up frat boy feeding schedule where he only wants to eat ramen and bowls of cereal at 10PM so he was in the backseat wailing about why did we even HAVE to go to dinner because he wasn’t hungry and just wanted to go shopping for Skylanders and we’re horrible parents for attempting to put basic nourishment over frivolous video game accessories. So don’t think he didn’t contribute to the verbal slayings!

Also, he named this blog post on his own and I think it’s JUST A BIT HYPERBOLIC, but what do I know about that.

The funniest part of this whole thing is that I wasn’t even really hungry. I WAS JUST IN A BAD MOOD LIKE ALL DAY.

IDIOT HENRY’S VERSION: No comment. [He’s still pissed that we ended up not going to Sarris, because “they have the best rum raisin.” Well, I’m sorry but we were all in a sour mood by then and I’m not walking into a magical candy factory under our black, vitriolic cloak like some gang of madcap cartoon villains!]

Chooch and I were on our own last Saturday morning. Henry had Judy Obligations, so we took MY* car to the cemetery so Chooch could ride his bike and I could fake-jog**.

*(Don’t worry; I’ll eventually tire of this.)

**(I can run for 2 miles and then I automatically stop without even trying to see if I have anything left in me, because running is boring to me.)

Right away, I was annoyed. There was another car there, parked near where I always park (I’m the ONLY person at this particular cemetery 99% of the time because it’s not as “cool” as some of the other ones in Pittsburgh, I guess. But I’ve been a regular here for 15 years and even though I sometimes go to the more popular ones, Uniondale will always have my heart. <3 So when I saw this car, my immediate reaction was GFTO! But then I saw they were Elders, so it was very possible that they were actually there visiting a grave; I gave them a pass.

Then we thought a ghost was there because we saw what we thought was an apparition, but it turned out it was just the landscaper kicking up dirt. After we parked, the first order of business was getting the bike out of the trunk. I kept pressing the trunk button on my key fob and nothing was happening. I got back in the car and started searching for a trunk release button in there, but all I saw was the hood release and other things that I didn’t want to touch.

Basically, I spent 30 seconds on this Rubik’s Cruze before using my Phone a Henry option.

He was at the doctors with his mom and I could tell he was trying to act like he wasn’t annoyed that I was yelling at him on the other end, because I go from, “Huh…I can’t get the trunk open” to “I’M GOING TO COME TO WHERE YOU ARE AND WASH THIS CAR WITH YOUR ARTERIAL SPRAY IF YOU DON’T FUCKING HELP ME GET THIS TRUNK OPEN NOW MOTHERFUCKER.” Meanwhile, Chooch was just standing there calmly, saying things like, “We can do this, Mommy. We can figure this out.” When all Henry was saying, “There’s a button on the key fob. Then I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know why. Push the button. Are you pushing the button? It works on my* key fob.”

*(Yeah, he thinks he’s so great because he got his own set of keys for MY car.)

I hung up on him of course and decided to instead Google, “How do I open the trunk on a 2014 Chevy Cruze?” because the manual SAID NOTHING. Yes, I looked in the manual! GOD. And while this was going on, I happened to turn around just in time to see some young hipster couple strolling around with armfuls of vegetation that they were casually pulling off trees, presumably to garnish their artisanal cocktails later that afternoon. UGH THIS MADE ME EVEN MORE MAD GET OUT OF MY CEMETERY NO WAIT HELP ME OPEN MY TRUNK FIRST.

While I was trying to read all of these idiotic posts on some forum, Chooch said, “Found it” and just like that, the trunk popped open. I guess there’s a release on the outside of the car, but it only works if the car is already locked. (I checked, so don’t even think about breaking into my trunk!) Turns out I need to take my dumb key fob back to the dealership and have it reset, and what I mean by that is that I’m swapping mine out with Henry’s and then he can deal with it.

And we had no accidents or other mishaps that resulted in blood loss! These are my favorite kinds of Henry-less outings.

I am so thankful no one was around to record Chooch & me struggling to put his bike back in the trunk (or as I call it: “The Nail Biting Conclusion To Figuring Out How To Open the Trunk”). We are barely-functioning cripples without Henry. Chooch was like, “We got this, don’t give up!” and, after having a minor rage blackout which left me with visions of pulling a tombstone out of the ground and bashing myself in the head with it, I was like, “Well, I guess this is your bike’s new home, Chooch. Say good bye to it. Or….we can all just stay here forever. BECAUSE WHY BOTHER.” I was just about to curl up into the Fetal Position of Defeat when Chooch moved the handle bars a certain way and we were able to shove that two-wheeled bitch into the trunk like we were regular wiseguys and the bike was a fucking snitch.

Chooch is a HERO!

I think it got my heart rate up more than the run. I HATE FIGURING THINGS OUT.

A few days later, Chooch and I were on our own AGAIN, this time it was just a simple walk down the street to CVS where I needed to get nail polish remover and I could hear Henry calling out the front door, “JUST nail polish remover!” and then I proceeded to spend $20 because it’s CVS. Anyway, Chooch’s favorite thing to do at CVS is read every single greeting card they have (he has always been super into greeting cards, so any future broad that dates him is going to get a card for every occasion). The card aisle is near the magazines, so as we were walking down it, he stopped and screamed, “JEFFREY DAHMER!” and then ripped this murder publication off the rack and started naming all of the criminals he recognized on the cover, which was most, so I felt simultaneously proud and worried.

“Oh, and Ted Bundy. Obviously,” he was saying just as some old woman nervously walked past us.

He might be fairly desensitized to this shit since he’s grown up picnic’ing in cemeteries, watching horror movies, and listening to his parents talk about the latest serial killer greeting card they made, but it’s counterbalanced with such an extreme love for animals and one sane parent (and Minecraft?) that I don’t think I need to worry.

However, if it goes the other way, at least he’s experienced with trunks.

It’s Saturday, so why not slap sprinkles to your face with corn syrup?

Henry attempted to take pictures of us with the actual camera but he sucks so iPhone selfies it is! (Except for the first one. I took that of us with  the real camera.)

I hate when he does that.

We don’t always get along, but when we are, it’s usually because we’re doing something stupid. 

I figured it’s been nearly 5 years, so might as well update the ol’ Trixstache photo.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go wash my face for the third time because goddamn ew.

P.S. It’s over an hour later and of course Chooch still has candied brows, because why not. But then House Warden Henry was like, “IT WILL END UP RIPPING OUT YOUR EYEBROWS!” Apparently, that was actually what Chooch was hoping for. “Then I’ll be the creepiest kid in my class!” he cried happily. Yeah, I think he’s already got that superlative in the bag, bald browbone or not.

Kurt Travis posted this SERIOUS INQUIRY on Instagram last night and I begged Henry all night to help me find a place since my house is a rental and way too small so I was like *LIGHTBULB* THE FAYGO WAREHOUSE! And as I was about to comment on the picture, Henry was like DON’T YOU DARE!

So then I was like “can I at least offer our house up if he needs a place to stay?” And Henry said no before I even finished asking but I’m going to do it anyway. 

This morning I was thinking about it some more and DONT PANIC IVE GOT A PLAN. I’m on my way to work right now and I’m going to ask Glenn for his home address and then give it to Kurt. 

I’ll check back in and let you know how it goes, Internet Diary. CROSS YOUR FINGERS FOR ME!! 

EDIT: I am at work now and asked Glenn, “SRS QUESTION.” And then I started having a laughaleptic seizure. 

Glenn said, “You can’t ask that and then LAUGH.”

“What’s your home address?” I asked after I composed myself. 

While Todd laughed in the background, Glenn smartly answered, “I don’t have one. I’m homeless.”

But then I explained what was going on and he asked, “Can he push a lawnmower?”

I THINK THAT’S A YES. 

Except he still hasn’t given me his address.

EDIT 2: 

Glenn just asked me if Kurt Travis is a COUNTRY SINGER. I yelled, “NO! He was the second singer of Dance Gavin Dance and NOW HE IS IN A LOT LIKE BIRDS.” 

“The one that kept getting kicked out?” Todd innocently asked. 

“THAT WAS JONNY CRAIG!” I cried in disgust. 

My lord, try to keep up.

Then Glenn googled me and asked if “Brain Lord” was one of Kurt’s songs and I said yes but I don’t think he actually listened to it. 

I can’t believe it’s been 7 years since I took these pictures of Blake and my friend Sarah! Dusting them off in the name of Throwback Thursday. (See also: When you feel like blogging but…words. Ugh.)

The first three photos make me want to start using my Holga and Diana again.

The Goldbricker.

Blake and Sarah, I think we need to update these! Kind of like some idiot Buzzfeed “Where R They Now?!” type bullshit.

Sultry Stances.

WELL THAT WAS FUN. Now I’m going to attempt to go to bed even though I drank 87 gallons of coffee today and just watched a particularly upsetting episode of The Following (I’M A WEEK BEHIND OK) and when I was crying, Henry snapped, “WHAT DOES IT MATTER WHO DIES, IT WAS CANCELED ANYWAY.”

YOU’RE CANCELED, HENRY.

Some things were did recently. Did you did things too? Maybe someday we can did things together.

• It pains me to do this but I havetostart off by saying something….ni—-*gag*—-ce…about Henry. One day last week, I posted a blue corn waffle recipe to his Facebook timeline and in that sweet,adorableCAPSLOCK way of mine told him that this is what I would be having for breakfast on Sunday. The finishing touch of the waffle was a dollop of lavender cream and fresh blueberries. I am a raging slut for lavender-infused foodstuffs so this waffle was The One. Anyway, Henry didn’t even have any jerky comebacks about my request (like addressing the fact that I never actually said he had to make it, just that “I will be having this”)! So yes, Henry diligently went through the motions of looking at and comprehending a recipe and then stirring things, etc. Just typing that out made me feel so bored. Thank god eating the fuck out of that waffle was NOT boring. There were TWO differences in Henry’s version: he allegedly “couldn’t find” blue corn meal so he used regular-colored corn meal, and he did not garnish my plate with a beautiful flower like the picture called for in the cooking website I sent him. Boo hiss, Henry.
  • Oh! And what tied this whole splendid breakfast adventure together was a drizzle of pure maple syrup that my old boss gave Amber and me after she heard we won the waffle makers! Her friends live on a maple farm or something and make real maple syrup. When she brought it over to us, Glenn kept asking her all of these questions like, “But WHAT KIND of maple tree?” and Todd and I were like, “STFU Glenn, SRSLY.” Turns out, Glenn is really into “trees.” He didn’t even try to deny it. “Remember when Cheryl gave me those clown paintings and you got really excited about the FRAMES?!” I scream-laughed at him. He got this creepy far away look in his eyes, remembering those frames, and said, “Yeah…”

• Chooch got a rash over the weekend, which he originally thought was poison ivy. It was on the back of his shoulder so he asked me to take a picture so he could see it. He started flipping out because it was all red and kind of glistening, since Henry had just rubbed SALVE on it. I was like, “Look at it, all shiny and glistening like a Christmas ham” and he was like “THAT’S DISGUSTING STOP” so then when he asked me what was going to happen to him, I naturally told him that he was going to have to go to the hospital so that they could remove it from his body with a surgical tool similar to a cheese slicer, and by this point he was CRYING which was when I tried to take the above picture but he swiped at itandall of these words was just to tell you, “This is why this picture is blurry.”
  • It was not poison ivy. Neighbor Kid Marky threw a handful of grass at Chooch and Chooch is remarkably allergic to cut grass.
  • This is seriously up there in my Top 5 Favorite Perks of Parenting: fucking with my kid.
• It is a rare treat to find Henry’s phone attended, like a mermaid idling upon the couch cushion. This happened not once but TWICE in less than a week. The first time, ChoochwentontoHenry’sInstagram and made him follow theentireKardashian clanandthen I was like, “Oooh!Oooh! And Miley Cyrus!” andthen we were going to post a picture ofabutt on his behalf, but we couldn’t figure out to save photos on Henry’s lame non-iPhone and by that time, he figured out was going on and snatched it right off us. “DON’T BE ASSHOLES!” he growled and we just laughed. But then Monday night, it happened again! This time, I figured out how to save the butt picture and we hurriedly openedupInstagram and posted it with the caption “I love butts” but then dumbass Chooch couldn’t control himself andstartedlaugh-puking, which tipped off Henry and he stormed out of the kitchen and tried to grab it just I hit “post,” so then he grabbed MY phone and we hadaflat out wrestling match over each others’ phones while Chooch was gagging on his vomit by then. “YOU WAIT!” Henry tried to say in a threatening mob boss tone, which only made us laugh harder. Then he got his phone back and deleted the butt sprinkles. :(
  • BUT NOT BEFORE I SCREENSHOT IT! Bam, motherfucker. Nothing dies on the Internet!

• There was a knock at the door Sunday afternoon. I figured it was just Marky because he comes over in 10 minute intervals the entire weekend, but when I turned around, I could see the silhouette of a tall person through the frosted glass of the front door. “IT’S AN ADULT!” I screamed, scrambling up the steps. I don’t know you guys, but I blame the Squalor Years, where utility workers were constantly banging on our door to shut off our service. Even though those days are way in the past, I still get all jumpy when I hear knocking! I made it to the bedroom, sliding across the floor on my hip like a Bad News Bear, when Henry called up, “It’s not adult. It’s just Blake.” So then it went from SUNDAY DISRUPTION to SUNDAY SURPRISE. A visit from Blake is always welcome! He was going to the Story So Far show later that night and wanted to borrow a shirt from Henry because his was dirty. (The life of a 22-year-old, sigh.) But then I was like, “Who would ever want to borrow a shirt from HENRY?” I mean, unless you’re going as Plain for Halloween. In the end, he chose a black Faygo shirt even though he was slightly worried about getting bullied. (He was joking but that would have been a legit concern for myself.)

• Then Marky came over for real and everyone donned animal masks because it was Sunday and why not.
• I went to see “Heaven Adores You” at the Hollywood Theater Monday after work. It’s a documentary about Elliott Smith, who has been one of my favorite singers since I was a teenager. When he died in 2003, I cried actual tears; it was like losing a friend. So,Iwaspreparedto be sitting & crying alone in a darkened theater that night, and as expected, I started crying as soon as it started. If you are/were a fan of his, I recommend this film. It was a gift to see these old interviews and clips of performances by him, as well as hearing friends and band mates tell their version of who Elliott Smith was. It brought back memories of being 18 and living in my first apartment, watching the Oscars with Psycho Mike on my tiny TV that sat on a wooden crate, just because I wanted to see Elliott perform “Miss Misery.” My friend/sort of roommate Heather bought me two of his albums that year for my birthday, and it’s one of those seemingly random things I’ll always associate with him even though Heather and I haven’t hung out since…1999 I think? Acknowledging the music I like is a sure way to my heart.
  • I live only a few blocks away from the theater, but it was storming so hard  that Henry dropped me off. It was actually perfect weather for that film.
• • I had to wait until the very last credit rolled up the screen before finally attempting to leave the theater because I couldn’t get my body to stop shuddering from all the crying I did. I am a fucking mess anymore.
  • It had stopped raining by the time I left the theater so I was able to walk home, probably looking like I had just had some awful domestic dispute.
  • I so badly wish he was still alive. </3
    • If you don’t know who he is, spoiler alert: he died on 10/21/03 of two stab wounds to the heart. The coroner never officially ruled it a suicide, and a lot of people think someone did it to him, but I guess no one will ever know. This film wasn’t about his death though, but his life. And I appreciated that his death wasn’t sensationalized.
  • Now I really want to watch Good Will Hunting forthe734097023748b2453th time.
    • This song forever.

• Oh man, Henry had a Professional Truck Driving Boner yesterday when we came across this car-transporting truck that fatally* attempted to make a right turn when TRUCKS WERE NOT ALLOWED TO DO SO, and he ended up fucking up his truck and blocking an intersection. “OH HE CAN’T DO THAT. ANY DECENT TRUCK DRIVER KNOWS YOU CAN’T MAKE A TURN LIKE THAT. OH, HE FUCKED HIS TRUCK UP BAD!!!” And he had this smug look on his face like this is something that they teach on the first day of Truckers Academy, right after How to Wear a Trucker Cap Without Looking Like Kevin Federline 101.

• I write bulletpoint posts because it fills the void that was left when texting replaced actual telephone conversations. Imagine, while you read this, that WE ARE ON THE PHONE TOGETHER, painting our toenails with our hair wrapped in a towel, gotta go the milk man’s here!

• Speaking of painting nails, Chooch has been into painting his nails again, which he usedto be into when he was three. Here is a picture of him holding a grilled cheese at Eat n Park with chipped fingernail-polished hands. Nothing even remotely exciting happened here other than Chooch slamming his head off the door when we walked in and the manager frantically asking us if we were missing an order of pancakes, which we were not. A waitress was cleaning the table behind us and informed us that there were mystery pancakes in the kitchen and no one could figure out where they belonged. Then we got our check and Henry noticed that there was an order of blueberry pancakes on there, so the waitress must have accidentally hit the wrong button and WOW is this *a boring story! DON’T WORRY WE WEREN’T CHARGED FOR IT.
  • See? Chooch at the fair in 2009, with delicate, ebon nails:

• Therapy:

Wow, this might be in the running for most boring bullet point post ever.

Me: “Isn’t it weird how I’ve only had a moderate interest in Kurt Travis since 2004, and now all of a sudden I’m like OMG?”
Henry: “No. Because you’re Erin.”

********

When you’re feeling some type of way….

I was listening to the Kurt Travis-era Dance Gavin Dance albums last week and it was like something just clicked in my head, and I was hearing all of these songs I’ve heard 800x with brand new ears. I guess a lot of it has to do with the fact that, even though I liked Kurt before he joined DGD, I was pretty salty that he was replacing Jonny Craig.

(However, I have been really into Kurt’s current band A Lot Like Birds from the get-go, so who knows what goes on in my head.)

I’m sharing “Happiness” today because–ouch. It’s like when we put on the fake plastic smiles while our insides are being fisted by sadness and despair. Sometimes, it’s not palpable problems that have us feeling down, but it’s more of the abstract adversity in our heads. I think we can all relate to that.

Lately, I’ve been the equivalent of a Victorian broad passed out on a fainting sofa with her arm slung dramatically across her forehead, and for no real, discernible reason other than unresolved feelings coming to a frothing head, I guess. This is when music sounds the best to me. Not gonna lie: sometimes I crave these feelings because it makes me feel alive.

And also because it drives Henry crazy. I’ll play the same 2 second part of a song over and over and scream, “DID YOU HEAR IT THIS TIME?! WHERE HIS VOICE CHANGES A LITTLE BIT?! DOESN’T IT MAKE YOU WANT TO DIEEEEEE????” and he just looks at me like I’m nuts.

I’ve made him listen to “Happiness” approx. 87 times over the last week and he is like, “Nope. It still doesn’t make me sad.” So then of course that makes me probe him about his crying threshold. He said he would “probably” cry if I died, but not if I was just injured. And then he started listing random injuries as examples and it was making my wrists do that thing where they get extremely sensitive so I was begging him to stop talking and he was like “YOU STARTED IT.” And that’s the last conversation we had last night before falling asleep.

My favorite parts of this song are when Kurt says “over and over” because it makes my heart drop a little, and the line “waking up for what” because haven’t we all wondered that from time to time? I wish I could crawl inside this song and curl myself up against its soft entrails. DRAMATIC SIGH.

*******
Over the weekend, Henry happened to glance at phone and he noticed that my lock screen image is still Jonny Craig. “SERIOUSLY YOU HAVEN’T CHANGED THAT PICTURE YET?!” he asked incredulously, tinged with disgust.

I’m sorry! I know I said I quit Jonny Craig a year ago, and I swear to god I do hate that guy and I haven’t bought the Slaves album or his last solo album and I didn’t go see him the last 3 or 4 times he was in Pittsburgh, but it’s like a 12-step program, OK? I’ll admit that I only just unfollowed him on Instagram about 4 months ago.

Baby steps.

So I finally swapped my lock screen picture for one of Kurt Travis and Henry is like, “THIS IS NOT PROGRESS” but I’m doing the best I can, OK? At least Kurt is nice! (I met him in 2013!)

Also, LOL: