Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 13:00 If you ask Chooch what my name is, he confidentally and triumphantly answers, “Princess!” #
• 14:15 Sitting on the floor, playing trains and eating chick peas = The Life. #
• 18:13 Hello I’m trying to paint and Henry decided he needs to COOK in my studio. #
• 18:38 Chooch said he wants to eat his arm for dinner so I had Henry put some salt on it. #
• 19:48 Henry got a pair of lounge pants that make him look wrapped in a sofa from 1972. #
• 00:23 20 minutes into The Sweetest Thing, and Henry asks hey, why are we still watching this. Yeah, really. #

• 15:32 I think I just got the sagest advice inadvertently from Sharon Osborne. #
• 17:11 If we ever had a reality show, it’d have to be on HBO or something, otherwise you’d never hear Chooch talking over all the beeps. #
• 20:11 I have visions of homeschooling in my future. #
• 21:39 My loud-mouthed antics just caught the attention of a security guard. #

• 13:01 Throwing parties is the only way to get Henry to clean up around here. #
• 17:39 A news van is down by the bait shop and I’m convinced they found a body in the river. #
• 11:35 Game Night must have been pretty alright if I was too distracted to tweet. #
• 12:21 I’ve begun chewing on my hair again. Could be my body’s way of saying it’s mousse deficient. OK body, I hear u. Chocolate mousse for dinner. #
• 13:24 I don’t understand why Dora has football head and everyone else on the show is normal. #
• 17:44 I am trying not to flirt with Henry via assault and battery. I think I’m progressing, as I only punched him once last night. #
• 23:55 Purposely over-sizing photos on my blog until Henry cracks and gives me a new layout. #
• 09:40 I need an axe with blood on it. #

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Last Saturday, the weather was sunny and 70, so my brother Corey met up at Jefferson Memorial to take some pictures. We saw a wedding ceremony which we desperately wanted to crash, and we also broke up a couple’s romantic interlude near the pond we chose as our location.

The pond is my favorite area of this cemetery, but it also happens to be near the scene of one of my most traumatic childhood memories. I was eight or so, and was with my mother and younger brother Ryan. I don’t know if we were visiting some dead relative or just poking around, but I remember we were all out of the car and it was getting close to dusk. Because my mom enjoyed inflicting psychological trauma on her children even back then, she decided to lock me out of the car. Here is where I will state that my mom to this day insists (through streaming tears of laughter and delight) that this even never occurred and that I dreamt it all up, that I always had an overactive imagination. But that’s only because she doesn’t want me to get to the climax of the story, which is where she would only let me back into the saftey of her Blazer if I read her three names off the mausoleum wall.

This is fact; it happened.

Conversely, my mother likes to make up her own memories, like the one where I pushed my brother Ryan down the attic steps. She still swears that this happened, and I know that I was an evil witch of a child, but I never pushed that kid down the attic steps, I’m sorry. Not even after he drove his twenty-wheeled remote control car in my mid-back lengthed hair which subsequently resulted in my mother doing one hell of a number on my pretty blond locks with shearers. Not even after he caused me to suffer through years of inadequacy issues and brutal, bloody competition. (I was the better tennis player, but  my family never came to any of my matches so they wouldn’t know.)

Fuck, I hate my family. (Not you, Corey. You’re safe from my voodoo doll army.)

Wow, thank you Random Picture Sunday. I feel much better now.

McGoogle loves Nutter even in the mornings when she has gray encrustations in the corners of her eyes. He loves her even when she emanates a “straight-from-the-docks” aroma on those not so fresh days. He even still loves her after she had to get her stomach pumped of an entire football team’s love yogurt.

And Nutter, she loves McGoogle too. Maybe not his breath after a night of Snakebites and cigars with the union guys. Maybe not the way he can make the duvet rise and billow with the sheer force of his flatulence. And maybe Nutter doesn’t so much love the way his visage can morph from rugged lumberjack into that of a convicted molestor with the simple act of shaving*. But McGoogle, damn if he doesn’t make the best crepes with fresh strawberries and cream on her birthday, and God love him for not beating her with a belt when she wrecks the car swerving to miss a caterpillar.

That’s love, for real.

—————–

* This part was inspired by Henry, who makes me feel sad and also worried for small children every time he shaves. Some men should not be bare-faced! Happy new year to me, I guess.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 12:45 Got to spend a few hours with Lisa before sending her back to Colorado. Colorado is so lucky.#
• 12:49 Going to tell my Etsy customers that I have my paintings packaged at a handicapped house so my poor wrap jobs will seem more endearing. #
• 14:11 iCould watch iCarly all day long. #
• 18:01 I can’t imagine what life would be like if I had to cook dinner every night. Likely a lot of ER visits. Thank god for Henry. #
• 18:31 I’m mostly certain my son just said “you’re at the jackass awards.” And earlier he was chanting “psychopath” quietly to himself. #
• 23:13 McGoogle Schlepper ejaculated in my Schweppes. #

• 00:59 I feel like someone is in the house but my bitch boyfriend won’t go look!!! I’m calling 911. Or not, according to Henry. #
• 13:50 Janna and I have a movie date tonight and that ho better bring me flowers! #
• 19:02 Its been so long since I’ve been to a theater that Janna just asked, “did you KNOW that they play commercials now?” #
• 23:07 Judging by tonight’s experience, I think it might take another three years for me to see a movie at a theater. #

• 11:20 The very thought of the Where’s the Band? Tour makes me salivate. #
• 11:27 With the exception of Tickle Me Elmo, I’ve never hated a toy as badly as I do this airport playset. It disgusts me. #
• 11:30 Its so poorly made that a simple glance in its general direction will cause pieces to fall off. Like it has leprosy or some shit. HATE. #
• 15:23 Friendship is a crock of shit. #
• 16:44 Of course no one here has tylenol. I work with all men. #
• 18:15 I might start puking now, which would be a new New Years Eve record for me. #
• 23:41 OMFGJONASBROSWOO! #
• 10:05 You better bring me a pony, 2009, or I’ll dynamite you. #
• 10:32 Henry shaved off his beard so now I’m looking for a new boyfriend. Preferrably one who doesn’t look like he has molestation priors. #
• 11:47 I guess I just don’t understand how a 28 year old “adult” still needs to get permission from mommy to go to parties. #

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I remember that it was very breezy that day in the park. Her skirt kept blowing up, flapping around her waist like the mouths of those old women who sit on their front porches and whisper falsities about me.

They said I killed her that day. That I gave her the old garrote, maiming that willowy ivory-skinned neck of hers. They said I did it, that afterward I wrapped her in a sack and dropped her off the bridge into the pond below.

They said all of these things, these flappy-mawed old bats did. They said it to each other. They said it to the postman. They said it to the detective, the one in the Florsheim loafers whom I kept catching sniffing around the building. I wanted to tell him how stupid those little shoe tassles are, but my better judgment held down my tongue real tight.

But I didn’t kill the bitch. I had an airtight alibi - that gypsy caravan watched me from their bonfire as I picked dandelions by the edge of the forest. They watched me and then tried to pick pocket me. Even after they came up empty, they still shared a bowl of lima beans with me. Good people, those gypsies. They told that detective this too, as they robbed his stupid tassled loafers right off his feet.

I didn’t kill the bitch. I had an airtight alibi, like I said. I didn’t kill the bitch; I paid the wino on 54th Street to do it for me.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 15:44 تقوفتسنقبقثقثثقننتاالعهخحخععةمكجحمنا و #
• 15:45 Henry elbowed me in the face. Please bruise. #
• 19:31 Apparently I don’t know the difference between dragons and dinosaurs. #

• 12:37 My g-ma is back home & Crazy Aunt is back to her old agenda of keeping everyone away from the house. Apparently everyone is just me, tho. #
• 12:52 I’m the featured item today! tinyurl.com/7ywznf #
• 13:04 I want Kanye West and Dillinger Escape Plan to collaborate. The hotness would abound. #
• 13:33 can someone please trust in me the secret to drinking beer and liking it? #
• 17:13 Henry just asked “why haven’t you started drinking yet, Alkie?” I’m a little insulted. #
• 22:48 twitpic.com/x7yn - Marcy and her crew. #
• 00:36 I hope one day Henry will exhume my grave and rebuild my putrefied flesh, and then marry me at last. #
• 00:38 Another hope for the future is that Henry will stop sounding like he’s chomping on a mouthful of gravel when all he’s eating is popcorn. #
• 01:11 I think that Wonder Hangers could change my life. #
• 01:21 I consider myself a professor of whoreology. #
• 01:24 I want everything I see on tv after midnight. Twin Draft Guard? I’ve got my eyes on you. #
• 01:29 Henry talking abt my paintings: u should give the option of offering stories w/o mature content. wait, can u even write stuff like that? #

• 11:27 Henry is watching something about Walt Disney and crying. #
• 12:42 I’d love to coldcock my crazy aunt right about now. #
• 14:17 I may be a Forrest Gump in the kitchen, but I make damn good mac n cheese. If Food Network has a mac n cheese challenge, then you’ll see. #
• 14:18 Mac n cheese might be my gateway to throwing down with Bobby Flay. Great, now I’m in porn mode. #
• 14:52 twitpic.com/xdq5 - I hope MY game night is that fun! I will wear pigtails to make it so. #

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While Choocch ravaged the pile of gifts (I didn’t get one single thing and still, but my bottom lip did not protrude), all the cats hid safely in the basement. Except for Nicotina (see also: Speck, Breakfast Nook) who was right up in it, playing with wrapping paper scraps and twist ties.

Because we’re stupid parents, nearly everything we bought required assembly. I attemped to master the instructions that came with an airport playset, but quickly found that drool was pooling in the corner of my mouth and my hands were beginning to curl inward. Henry took over and had it erected in a matter of minutes, but he left the sheet of stickers intact for my enjoyment.

And here is where Christmas quickly spiraled into a clusterfuck on par with being fucked by barbed wired dildos: I think I might have a mild form of OCD, I don’t know, but I found that the tiniest slight in sticker application was bringing my blood to a rolling boil. Henry kept saying completely insensitive things like, “What are you retarded? You can’t put a fucking sticker on properly?” and, as I was twisting my arm around Chooch’s fat head, trying to slap a sticker on the airport tower, “Here’s a thought: Why not wait until Chooch is done playing before putting the stickers on?” I couldn’t stop. In fact, I was about to get out a fucking level to ensure precision. Then, to Chooch, he says, “Ignore her Chooch. She doesn’t understand that you just want to play. She’s a GIRL.”

And then this exchange happened: “Shut the fuck up! I’m more of a boy than you’ll ever be! Get back in the fucking kitchen you bitch!” And he did. Henry went right the fuck back in that kitchen and continued coddling the eggs he was was hardboiling for our picnic. He’s such a bitch I’m surprised he didn’t try to breast feed them, too.

And here is where I regressed to the emotionally undeveloped age of five: I noticed that while I was undergoing the diligent, steady-handed task of toy embellishing, Chooch was in the process of peeling off every sticker I had painstakingly smoothed on. And I lost it. Absolutely flipped my shit and shrieked, “OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT JUST FORGET IT TODAY IS FUCKING RUUUUUIIIIINNNNEDDD!!!!” No exaggeration. I said that. In high-pitched, calling-all-dogs mode. And then I stormed off to my bedroom, where I slammed the door behind me and layed in bed, staring at the ceiling for fifteen minutes until the electrical currents stopped zapping my nerves.

And then the rest of the day was great! Really fucking good. No fighting, no tears.

I got Chooch an Edgar Allen Poe doll. Judging my his confusion expression in this photo, you can tell he just loves it. “Great, Mommy’s projecting her interests on me again. I wish I could just get a shittin’ Elmo like normal kids my age.”

Then it was off to the Uniondale Cemetery (going to the cem on Christmas is kind of our accidental tradition, I guess), where we had a very fast and frigid picnic consisting of egg salad sandwiches, pretzels, cheese cubes, and frozen strawberries (per Chooch’s request). Yes, it was a feast for kings, to be sure. For the record, the shopping list I gave Henry the day before demanded things like “a delicious array of rich cheeses” and “hearty artisan bread for which to sandwich the delicious array of rich cheeses,” among other fine products you might find in a palace’s pantry. All Henry got was eggs to hardboil, bland wheat rolls that were so dry they sucked the mayo from the egg salad, and two packages of Helluva Good.But I didn’t complain. I guess I’m complaining now, but the point is that I didn’t complain THEN. As in, on CHRISTMAS. I kept my maw packed with picnic fixin’s and distracted myself with the camera.

The coldness kept us from enjoying a lingering tour of the cemetery, and Henry and I were desperate to leave after twenty minutes. Chooch had other plans and took off, slaloming through tombstones and whacking trees with sticks while chomping on a pretzel; probably I’m sure this is some nefarious sequence used to raise Samhain. Chasing him down, I panted, “Come on, we have to go home! The zombies are coming!” and he replied, “Aw, cute. Zombies!” None of my lies work on this kid.

Later, we stopped over my dad’s, where Henry presented him with a case of Faygo rootbeer in bottles. Apparently, this was a good gift because my dad got that nostalgic glaze over his eyes and began regaling us of the good old days when soda was a luxury and if your parents gave you a glass bottle of Cola, you damn well drank it to the last drop. Henry I’m sure remembers those days too.

Now, my dad and Henry haven’t spent much time together, and my brother told me that when Henry and I first got together my dad didn’t approve because of the age difference. But that case of old fashioned root beer just may have brought them together, as evidenced by the jolly way my dad was patting Henry on the back, offering him kielbasi and referring to him as “buddy.”

My other, less-mentioned brother Ryan was there too, but only emerged from the basement long enough to hit up the bathroom. “Did Ryan say hello to you?” my dad asked. And I said, “If a head-nod counts as a hello, then yes. Yes, he said hello to me.”

My dad’s house is always so warm and cozy. I should spend more time there. But instead, I only opt for the requisite holiday face-showing. I’m a horrible daughter. (Somewhere, my mom is cackling and rejoicing, “She admits it!”)

Back at home, we spent the rest of the night eating nut rolls and chocolate, and watching Chooch play with his Thomas train tracks. And I got drunk.

So maybe my family (Mom’s side) is a bunch of pathological nut jobs and so maybe we didn’t have a Christmas tree  and so maybe we didn’t even set out cookies for the fat man on Christmas Eve, but by golly I wasn’t going to let my Christmas go down the shitter. All that really mattered anyway was the Chooch was happy, and I’d be willing to bet that, based on the deliriously goofy smile that was plastered on his grubby face all day, he was pretty fucking delighted. And oh, look who likes Poe after all!

The 51st comment was left by Michelle. Congratulations! Your monster will be delicately wrapped in a paper blanket and sent out asap.

Thanks for playing, everyone!

I hope everyone had a lovely holiday/day off. Ours was mellow (meaning I only threw one tantrum) and overall ended up being a nice day. More later; I have a Thomas playset to project my OCD on for now.

Urgent. Will die without reading.

• 15:38 all i want for xmas is for armsbendback to reunite. get on that, fat man. #
• 18:37 a big heart is filling the April 5 block of my calendar.. #
• 21:53 It is weird seeing Henry in his natural habitat. #
• 23:51 Elmer Klump took a dump in his grandmother’s wig. #

• 11:23 Had a spaz attack trying to follow “sticker placement” instructions for a toy airport playset only to have Chooch peel them all off. #
• 11:52 The Thomas Carnival Adventure set comes with stickers adhered. I’m sending a thank you card. Maybe even a fruit cake. #
• 12:52 twitpic.com/wefe - FUCK YOU. Get terrorized, you piece of shit. #
• 14:35 Got Chooch an Edgar Allen Poe doll. His response was “Um. Oookay,” after which he dropped it in favor of, u know, age appropriate toys. #
• 17:08 Chooch is on this odd church-going kick. Whose kid is this? #
• 19:59 Well, if Henry really did marinate my tofu in urine, I’m only alarmed because I liked it. #
• 20:03 The trick to not overeating on holidays is to not have family who invite you over for dinner. #

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