Jul 242014

Remember when I was so excited to start my new daylight shift at work because it meant that I would get to spend more time with Chooch? WELL THAT HASN’T HAPPENED. I forgot that in summer, kids go AWOL. Every fucking evening, he’s running around with the neighbor kid and then when he finally comes in for the night, like a fucking outside cat who just wants somewhere dry to sleep, he is a total bitch-boy. I know it’s because that damn neighbor kid is rubbing off on him. AND I DON’T LIKE IT.

Anyway, when I was sitting by the river like a homeless person during my lunchbreak today, I got all wistful and nostalgic and started re-watching some of my Instavids starring Chooch, and then I made a compilation and cried over it because I’m a loser who was abandoned by her kid.

I’m sighing so hard right now. So please enjoy these video clips of my son who forgot that he has a mom. :(

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Jul 232014

I’ve written the words a million times on here, but Alternative Press is my favorite magazine in the entire world and I attribute SO MUCH of the breadth of my music tastes to it. They saved me from a stagnant wasteland of 90s R&B (which I still have room in my heart for, but thank god I branched out, you know?).

I even became friends with one of my music critic idols and was fortunate enough to get to visit the AP office twice. It was just as magnificent for me the second time! And through AP, I became friends with Terri and Christian, who are visiting me next week and we’re going to talk and talk and talk about music until Henry is like CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT TED NUGENT NOW, OMG.

Anyway. Monday night, Alt Press hosted their very first ever music awards show at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. I wanted to go in the worst way, but couldn’t make it out. Luckily, it was televised. But we don’t get the channel airing it! I was just about to admit defeat when, FIVE MINUTES before it started, I happened to find some random Panic! At the Disco fan site on Twitter who tweeted a link to a livestream they had set up. Literally, it was a webcam propped up across from their TV, and I laid in my bedroom on my stomach watching the entire four hours on my fucking iPhone, because that is how much it meant to me. This is what it looked like:


But it didn’t matter to me, because I was just so stoked that MY SCENE was getting red carpet treatment for once. MY BANDS were nominated for awards. THE FANS got to vote. And it was legit! Like a beautiful marriage between Alt Press and Warped Tour (Kevin Lyman was one of the producers, even) and then Ice T came out and taught all the kids that if they talk shit, they get shot. It was glorious.

There were so many moments when I cheered and wept openly (Pierce the Veil won Best Live Band, you guys) and the only low-lights for me was the fact that Falling In Reverse* and Attila got to show their disgusting pig-faces on TV at all.

*(Ronnie Radke makes Jonny Craig look like a wholesome potato farmer.)

But the best moment for me, and the entire reason for this post, was when Billy Corgan accepted the Vanguard Award with this speech:

“I know you’ve been out here a long time because you’ve been out here a long time and you want to hear the bands play, as you should. The kids rule, the kids always rule, the kids win, and they should. The kids should always kick motherfuckers like me out of the way, and I mean that. I’m no legend, your favorite song is legend, your favorite band is legend, your favorite concert is legend. That’s what makes it work, you make it work. Every generation deserves its dream, its bands, its artists, its voices, and I’m glad to see you have those bands here tonight, that’s awesome. Let me say one last thing, if you don’t mind, if you’ll indulge me. And by the way let me thank Miss Joan Jett for being here. Incredible artist, incredible career, and yes it’s a career, it’s called a career, it’s okay. It’s okay to make money, it’s okay to sell things, it’s okay to sell t-shirts, nobody gets hurts. Let me say this last thing to you. There’s two paths you take when you first put on that guitar or sing that song: do I want to please this audience, or do I want to push this audience’s buttons?”

“In alternative music, which Alternative Press has been putting across for how many years now, you have to be able to push those buttons. You understand what pushing those buttons means, but most of the world doesn’t, they just see angry people screaming about God knows what. So over 25 years ago I made the decision that I was going to push your buttons, or the people that came before you, or the people that came before you. I like to think that I’m receiving this in humility because I’m willing to push your buttons, because I’m willing to tell you to go fuck yourself. I didn’t start a band to be anybody’s bitch, I started a band to kick your fucking head in. What I love about the bands that are coming up here tonight, is that they’re trying to kick your head in, and they should. You deserve it, you deserve your bands, you deserve your bands to push you, to make you question everything about you, because if they don’t do it, nobody else will, and you do understand that. So God bless you, thank you very much.”

(Thanks to the fine people at Alternative Nation for the transcript!)

Billy fucking Corgan, you guys. Such truth. I know a lot of you can relate to this, and that is why we’re friends.

I am so ridiculously proud of Alternative Press and my friend Jason and every last person involved in putting together such an epic production for a scene that is so often shat upon. I really, really hope this was the first of many more AP Awards. Because if there’s one next year, I’m fucking going.

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Jul 222014


I’m really thankful that my cousin Danielle and I reconnected because now Chooch has a cousin around his age and I just think that’s so important, and not something that I had growing up because my family is so goddamn mental and loooooved to sever ties with entire branches. Chooch has been getting to know Danielle’s son Ean better lately which makes me happy because while he regularly sees Henry’s family, there’s clearly not much left of mine.

Ean slept over on Saturday and they were still getting along when they woke up on Sunday. I mean, assuming they even slept at all!


And then on Sunday, one of our little neighbor kids wanted to come in and I have a pretty strong NO NEIGHBOR SPAWN IN THE HOUSE POLICY because it brings back traumatic memories of when I first moved there when I was 20 and literally ALL OF THE NEIGHBOR KIDS gravitated to me and the next thing I knew, I had 5 kids hanging off the railings of my front porch every single motherfucking day. And then it occurred to me that I had become some unofficial Brooklline babysitter and it was just no good.

All of those kids were fucking DDDDDDICK HEADS.

But this neighbor kid isn’t bad. He was kind of in awe of my house which was hilarious because if you’re most adults, you’re sneering at my juvenile decor. But if you’re a kid (or a cool adult), you’re like IS THAT A PEE WEE HERMAN DOLL?!?! And then running around my house with a pig mask on.

These are all things that happened.


Later, we took Chooch and Ean to a pretty sad mini golf course, where Chooch only cried once so I guess he’s growing up, you guys.


Henry relived his SERVICE days with an ugly camouflage ball. Get a life, Henry.


Intense staring.
HYENA FTW!!! (That’s me, obv. And I WON.)

Anyway, aside from feeling hungover all weekend without having had a single sip of alcohol, it was a good one. That was the most time I’ve spent with Ean, so YAY FAMILY STUFF!

This was basically Marcy’s face all weekend, especially when the extremely high-pitch voiced neighbor kid was over:


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Jul 212014

I’ve had a list of new designs that I wanted to make for non compos cards, but it just sat in my head, collecting dust. I have to be in the MOOD, you know? Well, apparently waking up sick on Saturday was just the creative ass-kicking I needed…who knew nausea could be so inspirational. Some of you have been asking for anniversary cards: YOUR WISH HAS BEEN GRANTED.

1. Amy Archer-Gilligan


Amy Archer-Gilligan was a caretaker and murderer of the elderly, but she also bestowed her services on her first two husbands. Let your babe know that you made it another year of marriage without spiking the supper. Nothing like keeping them on their toes, and possibly getting to eat out more often.

This card is beautifully printed on high-quality card stock and not the back of a sewage bill. It comes with an envelope. To put the CARD in. Anything else is on you. I DON’T NEED TO KNOW YOUR AGENDA.

2. Aileen Wuornos


Sometimes you know on the very first day that they’re the one. Or you have every intention of it being a one-night stand but they JUST WON’T GO AWAY and the next thing you know it’s 13 years later and you have an 8-year-old son.

But if you wanted to know secrets about me, you’d just read my blog.

Anyway. The card! What a romantic “glad we’re still married” paper gift! And it comes with a really special envelope that’s actually just a regular envelope but come on, envelopes need some love too.

And you know, if you and your spouse have that delightful love/hate rapport going on, I can always change this to “I wish I had pulled the trigger on our first date.”

3. John Wayne Gacy


And then you can be all, “Haha, Just kidding!” OR ARE YOU. Nothing like using scare tactics to keep the passion alive, so what are you waiting for? Give this card to your partner-in-wedded-bliss on your next anniversary.

This card is majestically printed on high quality cardstock. It comes with an envelope. Maybe you could rub some dirt on it, you know, like “Oops, sorry honey. I didn’t have a chance to wash my hands after digging…..in the garden.” I don’t know. Just trying to give you some suggestions. God.

4. Jeffrey Dahmer


It’s too bad Dahmer never had time to write a cookbook.

I mean…hey, here’s a great way to tell your spouse they’re still tasty after all these years! And that the thought of digging into their brain with a grapefruit spoon may have crossed your mind once or twice.

This card is printed on NASA-quality card stock, if that’s such a thing. And because I’m a sweetheart, you get an envelope for FREE. They charge extra for that shit in Romania, you know.

5. Dennis Rader/BTK


Let your partner know that even though marriage might be torture at times, you sure are stoked to have made it through another year.

This card is printed on high quality paper and comes with an envelope. Don’t worry, it won’t be too thick to slide under the basement door.

6. Assorted Serial Killer Note Cards


I was getting frustrated because I kept promising my friends* snail mail, but then I never had note cards on hand and who wants to get a letter written on crappy notebook paper? So I designed this set of blank notecards for my own personal use, and now I’m making them available to my fellow true crime aficionados! This is a set of eight (8) note cards. They’re blank inside so you can write anything you want, with whatever you want (pigs blood, crayons, mustard—go wild!). Look at those colors! These are practically the Laugh In of note cards. 

Included, one of each: Albert Fish, Ted Bundy, Carl Panzram, Dennis Rader/BTK, Jeffrey Dahmer, Son of Sam/David Berkowitz, Ed Gein, Lizzie Borden. 

These cards are your standard A-something. Whatever 4×6 is considered. A4? I should probably google that, or research more knowledgeable card shops on Etsy; one day I’ll get my shit together. These come with envelopes too. 8 (eight) of them. I was originally going to only include 7 to be a dick, but then something on my shoulder told me that wouldn’t be good for business. 

PLEASE NOTE: These are eight individual cards, not one sheet. I only combined them onto one sheet for purposes of showing each design on Etsy. 

*Who am I kidding. I don’t have any friends. Just death row pen pals. :(


So that’s it! I’m hoping to make a few more this week, but you know how real jobs get in the way. SIGH.

If you order anything this week, please use coupoRn code “marilynchambers” to get 20% off, just for reading this damn blog!

DISCLAIMER: As always, I’m here to remind you that I do not endorse serial killers, murder, etc. I don’t think they’re “cool” and I don’t “worship” them. I’m just extremely interested in true crime, pop culture and designing tongue-in-cheek greeting cards. 



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Jul 202014


You know how sometimes things just feel wrong from the moment you wake up? That’s how I felt Tuesday morning when I sprung (seriously) out of bed and did my IT’S WARPED TOUR, MOTHERFUCKAS feet-stomp on my bedroom floor. I felt so excited but also kind of disjointed, like something just wasn’t right. And on paper, it had all of the components of being the perfect day, because for the first time in years, the temperature was only going to be 79 degrees! Usually it’s almost 100 and we have sweat rolling down our backs before we even get through the gates.

My plan was to be out of the house by 8am so we could stop somewhere and have a real breakfast along the way, something better than the McDonald’s shit Henry usually plies me with on Warped Tour morn. I wanted pancakes or something, I don’t know. Something that would get me through the day.

But Henry ruined my plans as usual by being woefully unprepared so it was 9 by the time we pulled away from the house. Chooch was so tired that he brought a pillow from the couch and slept on it the whole way to First Niagra Pavilion, which is about 40 minutes outside of Pittsburgh, I guess. We hit all kinds of construction and had dumb Subway for breakfast which I didn’t want and then Henry got me HOT COFFEE from Starbucks instead of ICED COFFEE and the day was ALREADY RUINED, I COULD JUST TELL.


But we finally parked, and gates still hadn’t opened yet so I was starting to calm down. Then Henry and Chooch had to go to guest services so Henry could get his complimentary Parent Ticket, so I stayed back and saved their spot in line. But then they never came back! They got in a different line! And Henry was texting me about how they walked past a camera crew that was potentially filming the next season of Warped Roadies and then he sent me a picture of Warped founder KEVIN LYMAN who happened to be standing near them and I was like “WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO MURDER MY FEELINGS!?”

But standing in that line alone for 40 minutes was about to prepare me for the rest of the day….so, thanks?


The best part, though, was that my line moved faster and I got inside way before they did. If you’ve never been to Warped Tour, the one thing you need to know is that the very first thing you’re going to want to do is run to the Inflatable, which has the day’s schedule on display. You can also buy a paper schedule for $2, which we always do, but the Inflatable will tell me much faster which bands are playing like RIGHTNOW which is important because shit starts as soon as those gates open. The one band I was looking for, The Marmozets, wasn’t listed on either the Inflatable or the paper schedule and I was like WHAT. #WarpedTourProblems.


I met up with Chooch and Henry in time to take Chooch’s picture with the Chunk! No, Captain Chunk! panda. (Pretty good band, too, if you’re into French pop punk and Goonies references.)

(Which I am, so…)

(And true to form, this was the second time in a row that I missed their goddamn set because of scheduling conflicts. #WARPEDTOURPROBLEMS.)


One of the smartest things bands do before the gates open is send someone around all of the lines with a sign that has what stage they’re playing on and when. That’s how I knew without even needing to consult with the Inflatable that To the Wind was playing at 11:15. I excitedly texted my friend Terri to tell her, because she likes them too and I told her I would report back.


I mean, if my WRONG COFFEE hadn’t already woken me up, I could have for sure counted on To the Wind’s set to have me thoroughly caffeinated. Nothing better some gritty hardcore for breakfast.

This was around the time that we started to realize Chooch wasn’t just tired, but possibly ill. He started out standing during To the Wind’s set, but then ended up sitting down Indian-style, right next to a bunch of guys who were hardcore dancing so I had to be Chooch’s human barricade. I thought he was just being a lazy jerk at first, but then as we were walking to another stage, he was like, “My head, throat and stomach hurt really bad” and I’m no nurse, but I was able to piece those clues together and hypothesize that perhaps my son was sick.


Weird, hunched-over gait. Not asking for every single shirt he saw in Merch Alley. Only taking a few timid licks of an ice cream cone and refusing pizza, chicken strips and a cheeseburger. Yep, my kid was sick.



I at least got him to take one selfie with me, but this was during the first hour and he hadn’t yet reached the pinnacle of his plague. Henry was actually going to just take him home and then come back that night to get me, but then we saw that the Summer Set was doing a meet and greet later than afternoon and asked Chooch if he wanted to do it. That sprung him to life a little bit, so we bought a Summer Set shirt and got a skip the line ticket. Then Henry took Chooch to the hillside and let him sleep under the shade of the trees while I ran off and did my own shit.

This was Henry’s view while he sat next to Sleeping Chooch:


I really wish Henry would take some fashion risks like that. But NO: non-descript t-shirts until the motherfucking day he dies.


Obligatory Warped Tour photo of me being blissed-out and Henry hating his life.


I miss this scene already.


A lot of the bands I follow on Instagram were like SERIOUSLY, CHECK OUT K. FLAY AT WARPED TOUR! so I did and she was alright. Kind of like if God changed his mind and made it possible for two men to conceive a child together and Mike Posner and Bizzie Bone decided to give it a whirl and next thing you know, we’re welcoming K. Flay into the world. She had a very laid-back California hip hop vibe going on and it was mildly entertaining, but not enough that I was like, “HOLY SHIT I MUST BUY HER SHIT RIGHT NOW.” Still, it’s always cool to see a girl killing it on any stage at Warped Tour.

Speaking of, some low-tier music journalist wrote a piece about how Kevin Lyman hates women because he doesn’t have enough female bands at Warped Tour and usually I’m all for girl power, but I had to strongly disagree with her in this case. I don’t go to shows based on the gender of bands. I go based on if they sound good or not. Kevin Lyman should definitely NOT pick female bands just for the sake of meeting some imaginary, unspoken quota. Um, remember when he had Katy Perry there in 2008? God, that was just terrible.

The bottom-line is that this is just a male-dominated scene. Not on purpose. I just think that there aren’t a ton of girls who get into playing music and decide that they want to be in a hardcore or metalcore band, and that’s the genre that makes up most of Warped Tour. I think Kevin does a good job seeking out girl bands that he feels sound good and fit the criteria. It’s not his fault that there aren’t a ton to choose from.

In all the years I’ve been going to Warped Tour, the lack of girl bands has never crossed my mind.

THAT BEING SAID, I was really looking forward to seeing the Marmozets, which my pal Jason described to me as “Hayley Williams fronting Dillinger Escape Plan.” I’ve had hearts in my eyes ever since. Anyway, Jason told me yesterday that the Marmozets missed two weeks of Warped Tour because of goddamn Visa issues, so it wasn’t that they were playing on some invisible stage that I couldn’t find; they just weren’t there at all. Super sigh. Another day, Marmozets. #WarpedTourProblems

At one point, I came back from my rounds (which included having one of the YOUNG boys at the Clean Water refill station flirt with me, yessss) to find Henry and Chooch in this state:


That’s how we knew Chooch was definitely sick-sick: he kept saying he couldn’t feel the heat of the sun even though it was beating down on him. He had goosebumps, even. But every time he saw me, he would murmur, “Where’s my Summer Set shirt!?” and I would say, “In my bag” and then he would go back to sleep. He really did get a lot of rest there. I didn’t drag him around and make him do shit.


Soon, it was almost 2pm and I was faced with a terribly difficult decision: SAVES THE DAY OR BEARTOOTH?!?! UGHHH! In the end, I went with Beartooth only because I’ve seen Saves the Day before (god, I love them so much though, and it would have been nice to hear some stuff from their most recent album, UGH #WarpedTourProblems). Turns out though choosing Beartooth was life-changing. No, I’m not being melodramatic. Their set honestly breathed life into me.


Typically, I will stand off to the side because I’m “old,” scared of getting hurt, and Henry is usually with me and we all know Henry ain’t going in no motherfucking pit y’all. But this time I was alone. So I pushed my way further into the crowd, forgetting for the moment that I absolutely hate touching other people, and next thing I knew, I was getting pushed further and further into the pit and it was just what I fucking needed. Not that I generally feel like an old person, but something clicked during Beartooth and I felt like myself. Like the person I used to be a really long time ago before shitty Real Life changed me. I didn’t care what I looked like or who was looking at me or if I looked like a mom or if I was going to get hurt or if I was going to hurt someone. I just went in there and raged and even fought the urge to apologize when I jumped on someone’s foot and then I got to shove someone in a hammerhead shark costume and it was like a fucking awakening, like my own personal version of Cocoon and Caleb Shomo was my Steve Guttenberg. When he screamed, “You guys paid to come to Warped Tour, and it’s up to you to make the most of it, so get the fuck up!” I screamed myself hoarse, because FUCK YES I WANT THIS TO STILL BE THE BEST DAY EVER! Yes, there were some roadblocks, poor Chooch was sick, there weren’t any of my favorite bands there, but goddammit: IT WAS STILL WARPED TOUR. And that was all I needed to have my day saved.

It also didn’t hurt when Davey from Vanna come out to guest-scream. God, he’s fucking hot. Basically, I walked away from that stage wanting 57 different Beartooth tattoos and a membership to their fan club. Do bands still have fan clubs, or am I REALLY being a 35-year-old right now?

Soon after, it was time for me to collect Henry and Chooch so we could get in line for the Summer Set meet and greet, which was a huge cluster and Henry was having a hard time holding himself back from assaulting the throng of fangirls who kept encroaching on us.


I missed Every Time I Die while waiting in this never-ending line with Chooch, so next time he tries to say I’m a horrible mom, I’ll be sure to throw this back in his face. I DID THIS FOR YOU, SON. #WarpedTourProblems


Chooch was able to muster enough energy to stand up and smile with the Summer Set. He adores them so much and knows all the words to their songs. They’re not really my cup of tea, but at the same time, I don’t mind when he puts them on. It could be way worse, you guys. They really pushed people through as fast as possible: you’d get to the front, give some dude your phone, pose, then split. It was like a factory line, but trust me: I’ve seen how long these lines get and they have to do what they can to keep things in control, so it wasn’t like it was overtly rude or anything. However, when it was Chooch’s turn, he went to walk away after the picture was taken, but they called him back over and each one gave him a high-five. I thought that was super sweet, so it made me like them a lot more and I didn’t groan or act put-out when we had to watch their set later. (It was actually pretty fun.)


But first I had to go see my favorites in Of Mice & Men! They were a last minute addition to the Warped roster and I was really happy because they’re always so good.



Here’s an accidental video I took of some dude’s underwear, which I found on my phone the day after and couldn’t stop laughing, so I showed Chooch and he was like “I MISSED OF MICE & MEN?! UGH!” :(

They have played my favorite song by them—”Second & Sebring”—every single time I’ve seen them, but not this time. I was like, “WHAT ARE YOU KIDDING THAT’S IT YOU’RE DONE!?” when they played their last song and said goodbye. *WarpedTourProblems

Chooch was able to hang on long enough to watch The Summer Set, but the poor kid had to sit down in the parking lot through the whole thing.



The struggle is real. #WarpedTourProblems

Here are two different angles of Henry hating his life:





Even though he was feeling like shit, his little lips still moved along to all of the words, and at the beginning of each song, he would look up at me and tell me what song it was. He was especially rejuvenated when they played “Fuck You Over” because OMG a song that enables him to swear freely. We left after their set, around 6:00, which sucked but he wasn’t getting any better. I was torn between Mom and Teenager: I wanted to leave so my kid could get better rest, but the spoiled teenaged brat side of me was like, “I’M NOT DONE HERE!” In all honesty, there was really only one more band that I really wanted to see, so it wasn’t that big of a sacrifice.

The next day, Chooch (feeling much better) was looking at the schedule and lamenting over all the bands we missed. “We missed Crown the Empire!” he cried. If he wasn’t my precious kid, I would have been like, “YEAH AND IT’S YOUR FAULT!” like when Christina’s sister made us leave early in 2007 and I wasn’t done yet and I still complain it 7 years later, clearly. But instead I just felt super bad for him because he really honestly wanted to see some of the bands there. Of all days to get sick.

“I felt so much better during Summer Set,” Chooch said with melancholy. “My throat stopped hurting and everything. But then when they were done, my throat started to hurt again and I wanted to leave.”

And then he asked, “What was that first band we saw?”

“To the Wind,” I replied. “You hated them, didn’t you?”

“No!” Chooch yelled incredulously. “I was really enjoying them! I just had to sit down because my legs were hurting. BECAUSE I WAS SICK.” We’re going to be hearing about that for quite some time, I think. But then we started talking about how one of the guys in To the Wind has a prosthetic leg, so that distracted him from filing his emancipation paperwork.

Chooch wore his Summer Set shirt for the next two days until I finally made him change because have you seen how heavily my kid sweats? Also, I love that he’s not deterred by a shirt with flowers on it.


I still have post-Warped Tour sadness, even though it didn’t go off without a hitch, it was still my Christmas in July and I made sure it was a beautiful day. Like Beartooth preached: Warped Tour is all in what you make of it. I could have sat around and pouted, but I didn’t. I waited all year for that day and fucking hell, I was going to make the most of it. Besides, I know that next year will be better. So let the countdown begin!

(This was probably the best Warped Tour Henry has ever been to because he literally got to sit the whole time and not have his dumb beard bristled by banshee-like bands.)

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Jul 182014

Summer is great because we do so much shit, but then I get all stressed out because doing more shit means having more shit to blog about. And don’t get me wrong: I LOVE BLOGGING. (OK, maybe love/hate is more like it.) But I also like when things are calmer and more slow-paced at home so that I can do stupid things on here. Like post videos of songs that I want you all to like. AND BULLET POINTS! So I’m going to put my Warped Tour post on hold and just go hog-wild on some nonsensical bulleted bullshit.

  • My new job-thing is going well! All of the processors have been very helpful (even Mean Amber, but I think she might save the eye-rolling for when I’m not looking). Glenn and I haven’t killed each other yet, surprisingly. One day he was choking and I asked him if I could NOT get him some water, so that was fun. I have to ask him legit work questions every day now though so I have to make sure I’m not too mean else he gives me the wrong information.
  • Hey speaking of Warped Tour: I have the post-show sadness, you guys, in a big way. My body still aches a little bit and my throat still feels scratchy, and I know it sounds sick but I’m hanging on to those ailments because they’re souvenirs, practically.
  • I was on a Bone Thugs-n-Harmony kick a few weeks ago after we went to Cleveland (because, duh), and it reminded me of how mad I was back in the day when Bone released a different, more easily digested version of The Crossroads and then MTV was playing the video all of the time and it made all of these dumb white people like Bone, and I think that might have been my taste of music elitism. Ugh, I can still picture all of the suburban crackers in my high school acting so cool because they had the Crossroads cassingle.
    • Like I wasn’t a suburban cracker.
  • Can I just take a moment to say that all of a sudden, Henry has turned into the best boyfriend ever and is taking me to Riot Fest in Chicago this September? I cried real tears. And not the saline ones that Duncan Sheik tastes. Also, thank god for layaway ticket plans. WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT LINEUP. It’s like a marriage between Warped Tour and all of the bands I would actually give a shit to see at Coachella. (I went to Coachella once in 2004 and once was enough.) CHI_Admat_Texture_Update-1024x811
    • “all of a sudden, Henry has turned into the best boyfriend ever” <—LOL. Proposal or not, I know I have it good.
  • I can safely say that all of this hullabaloo with Malaysian Airlines has pretty much shelved any future plans to travel anywhere outside of the country. I am so scared of what’s happening in the world. :(
  • The cold press coffee stuff that Henry made worked out and I was able to enjoy a fine glass of iced coffee this morning, you guys! I know those of you read yesterday’s post were really concerned. “Will she get a good cup of iced coffee or won’t she!? THE SUSPENSE!”
  • I still have to work one late shift a week in my new position and tonight is my first one working late shift with Glenn, haha! I keep calling it Glenn’s Big Night but I don’t think he feels the same. I just made him talk about Warped Tour a few minutes ago and I learned that his kids like Of Mice and Men so I got really excited and shot my fist into the air…?
  • Did I tell you guys about the man who was standing across the street from our house a few weeks ago? Our car was parked in the lot across from our house so we were crossing over to take Henry’s mom home, when this older man, carrying several bags from Payless Shoes and looking generally disheveled, started aggressively pointing at our house and saying that his mom’s cousin used to live there. So Henry’s mom stopped and engaged him while Henry was hissing, “MOM. NO. LET’S GO.” But Judy was all, “Wait, I might know his mom’s cousin” because she literally thinks she knows everyone. We finally got her to walk away just as another guy was walking down the sidewalk. So Payless grabbed him and started telling him the whole story about his mom’s cousin. Just then, our neighbor’s kid Josh came out of his house and was shouting across the street at Chooch, which angered Payless, so Payless screamed, “SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” So Josh’s mom came flying out of the house and yelled, “DID YOU JUST TELL MY KID TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!?” and he was like, “YEAH I TOLD YOUR KID TO SHUT THE FUCK!” I wanted to stay and watch it play out, but the neighbors told us later that the cops came and apparently he had “escaped” from the halfway house thing he lives in so they fined him and told the caretaker that if it happens again, the caretaker will get fined. If you ask me, that kid deserved to be told to STFU. But…you know me and kids.
  • I’m about to turn 35 in two weeks, but I’m OK with it because I have more of a life now than I did ten years ago, so bring it. Besides, my pals Terri and Christian are coming to visit from Philly! And they’re vegetarians too so I get to take them to all of the places that Henry never wants to eat at! And we can talk about bands foreverrrrrrrrr. I’m also excited for them to meet Chooch and Marcy for the first time!
  • Henry texted me last week and it said “I’m downtown, I’m down for you” and I was like, “WTF, Danity Kane?” But it turns out he was using voice-to-text which was making him come off like an R&B singer.
  • Chooch is secretly in love with Minnie Driver because he likes that show “About a Boy” so now when he sees a woman with black curly hair, he’ll casually say, “She looks like Minnie Driver. WELL, SHE DOES.”


P.S. After work, I was checking out the videos on OnDemand to see if anything was added and goddamn “The Crossroads” is on there. So of course I had to be a basic white bitch and watch.

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Jul 172014

One of the things I picked up from my Pappap was a love for coffee. Or, if we’re being honest, an addiction to it. I spent so much time going to restaurants with him and watching him drink cup after cup of what looked like steaming tar, that I eventually forced myself to like it at a young age just so I could be more like him. And it’s a good thing too, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to spend 75% of my high school years sitting in a booth at Denny’s, nursing a bottomless cup until 3am. But I never turned into a coffee snob. Sure, not all coffee tastes great to me, but I’ll probably still drink it. Out of a boot if I have to. BECAUSE I NEED IT. From a gas station? I don’t give a fuck. Made in a Red Roof Inn hotel room? Bring it. Sitting in a cup for so long it needs microwaved for the 5th time? Waste not, want not, or whatever the fuck.

I just have a standard Keurig at home. It gets the job done. I don’t really prefer one brand of K-cups over another (although it gets tricky with some of the flavored coffee; not a fan of mocha), but whenever I get coffee at Starbucks or any other coffee house, it’s almost always iced coffee. And since my stomach wasn’t feeling too proper yesterday morning, I kept trying to get Henry to go out and get me iced coffee because he had the day off (post-Warped Tour recuperation), which basically means he was home to do my bidding. Henry was being incredibly resistent and kept saying things like, “You can just make iced coffee at home!” to which I would scream, “NO I CAN’T BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW HOW.”

I ended up drinking a cup of regular coffee because suddenly Henry has a backbone and I didn’t puke like I thought I was going to. BUT STILL.

Last night, Henry was doing stuff in the kitchen and I was like, “What is he doing? I didn’t tell him to do anything, so he must be doing something that’s not for me.” I mean, how dare he, right? Turns out, he had bought a bag of regular, non-K-cup coffee and was doing that cold press thingie so that I could have iced coffee at home! I wonder if he learned that from A Beautiful Mess.

He was trying to explain to me what to do, but I lost interest pretty quickly. Informational words. Gross.

This morning, I was really excited to have iced coffee before work! I went into the kitchen and spotted a pitcher-thing full of murky coffee-esque substance, so I dumped some into a glass. I vaguely recalled Henry saying to just use a little bit and then fill the rest of the glass with milk, but the stuff came out like quick-moving sludge and filled the glass nearly 3/4 of the way. Something about it seemed off, but I smelled it and it was definitely coffee and not like, I don’t know, mulch.

I topped it off with some almond milk and sweetner and did my best to stir it around the ice cubes, but it was real thick and the clumps just wouldn’t go away. I ended up having to drink it with a straw, but even then so many coffee grounds were getting through that I was actually chewing on them like goddamn java-flavored bubblegum.

Um, this just didn’t seem right to me, so I texted Henry to tell him that he’s a fuck up and I hate him.

“I told you last night that it was steeping and it won’t be ready until I strain it,” he replied.

“Oh. I missed that part,” I said. Maybe if he would make his know-it-all soliloquys more interesting, I would pay attention!

By then, I didn’t have time to make a cup of regular, non-gritty coffee, so I just kept drinking my fucked up iced coffee. I had to floss the grounds out of my teeth before I left for work, which actually probably took as long as brewing a real cup of coffee would have. HINDSIGHT.

There was no real point to this, other than my stomach hurts now and the jitters are eating me from the inside out. I KIND OF WANT TO DRINK/EAT SOME MORE.

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Jul 162014


The directors of our department chartered a Just Ducky boat for our group last week, so a bunch of us signed up to go on a boat tour of Pittsburgh after work. We were allowed to bring our kids, so I stupidly said that I would be bringing Chooch, and then remembered that he was going to be on a boat with a bunch of my co-workers and that could potentially not be that great.

To double my doubts, Henry completely set him off before bringing him downtown to meet me, by opening Chooch’s report card and pretending it said he had to repeat second grade (literally every person I told this to believed it, so now I’m wondering how dumb they think my child really is). Obviously this was a joke, because Chooch once again got straight As (sorry, but I don’t count that B he gets in handwriting every time because HANDWRITING IS NOT A SUBJECT). But Chooch fell for it and started crying really hard, apparently.

So by the time Henry brought him downtown to meet me, Chooch was totally acting bipolar and saying stupid shit like “Me five days old” to my freaking BOSS after I was like, “HERE IS A LIST OF PEOPLE TO JUST NOT TALK TO, OK? JUST DON’T TALK TO THEM AT ALL.” Because sometimes I’d rather certain people think I have a mute son than a jerk.

And then BARB had to go and ask him about his report card, which made him start SOBBING and then people were like, “LET’S GET A GROUP PHOTO OF ALL OF THE CHILDREN!” right smack in the middle of Chooch crying and I was like, “PLEASE JUST STOP CRYING AND GO GET YOUR FUCKING PICTURE TAKEN DON’T EMBARRASS ME OMG.”

In hindsight, he was honestly just acting like a tired, cranky kid and everyone was like, “Don’t be stupid, he was fine” but I guess I’m just used to Chooch the Adult, which is what I get from him at home. So anytime he acts like a typical brat-kid, I get weirded out and feel like an awful parent.

Finally, the stupid boat came and picked us up and Chooch managed to not say anything offensive during the whole trip, probably because he was too busy pouting.

Henry didn’t go on the tour because I didn’t ask him if he wanted to, HA.



One of the directors of our department was sitting in front of us and she kept playfully trying to take Chooch’s picture, which apparently is now a thing that he hates and of course it’s all my fault, so he started crying again but luckily she didn’t notice.



So this is one of those tours that starts out on land and then plows right into the river and it’s actually pretty scary. One of the boat people told Chooch to keep his foot over a hole on the floor to keep the water from coming in and because we’re both idiots, we believed it. Finally, I was like, “Wait, I don’t think you have to keep your foot there, really.”


Here’s when I pleaded with him to act like Normal Folk with me and allow me to take a picture of ourselves having “supposed” fun on a boat.



We learned stuff but mostly it was just an hour’s worth of really dumb jokes. Like, “LOOK THERE’S A PITTSBURGH CROCODILE!” which really annoyed Chooch.

“It’s just a STICK,” he muttered in disgust.



There are over 400 bridges in Pittsburgh, apparently. That sounds familiar, like someone might have tried to teach me that before but like all information about this city, my body rejected it. Or if we were told something that I actually HAD remembered, I would scoff and say that I had already learned that on the haunted walk I did in May with Wendy, Evonne and Jeannie.

As soon as the boat tour came to an end, Chooch’s mouth started up again and I was bursting blood vessels in my head brain in an effort to psychically beat him.  And then on the trolley ride home, Chooch made sure EVERYONE knew about what a horrible prank Henry played on him with the report card and WHAT KIND OF FATHER SAYS THAT TO HIS SON?!

I wanted to die.



Meanwhile, Henry was excited to tell me that while he was sitting on a wall waiting for us (exactly what I figured he would be doing, by the way), he saw three people that we saw at the Circa Survive show earlier that week, and that while he was eating dinner at Five Guys in Market Square, some girl came in and she was wearing an Emarosa shirt. COOL STORY, HENRY-BRO.

Anyway, Chooch ate a burger once we got home and then immediately crashed. Hunger and exhaustion: what a lethal mix.

I think the moral of this story is to not let my kid tag along to any upcoming work functions.




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Jul 152014


When I told people I went to a professional woman’s football game last Saturday night, the popular response was, “What the hell. You hate football!”

Truth! I really do hate football, and the only thing I hate worse than football is PITTSBURGH football. Boys or girls, I hate them all the same. No discrimination here. But when my friend Kristy asked me if I wanted to go and explained that she was only going because her friend Katie plays for the opposing team, the New York Sharks, and also that we were going to drink at the Smiling Moose beforehand, I was like, “Fuck yeah, I’ll go.” I get a lot of joy rooting for opposing teams! I’m like a sports hipster, I guess.

Besides, if I was going to go to a Pittsburgh Passion game with anyone, it would be Kristy. I don’t know why, but I stand behind this statement.


Kristy even made this awesome sign to show support for her friend Katie! It was kind of adorable. I want to join some kind of team now or run for Congress so that Kristy will make a poster for me.

When we got inside Cupples Stadium, Kristy decided she didn’t want to sit in the middle of Passion fans, because Pittsburgh sports fans are a special brand of crazy. Like, bath salts crazy. Before we even made it to the stands, we stumbled upon a small group of Sharks fans with some assertive Passion broad who was trying to accommodate their seating needs. And by seating needs, I mean that they were asking to sit as far away from psycho Yinzer sports fans as possible. So we tagged along and entered the field with them, and that’s when I realized that one of the Sharks ladies was actually a part of the organization, so I started to feel really special, because that’s the type of person I am: the type that gloats when mascots or someone on a professional women’s football team payroll spends one extra nanosecond on me than the rest of the kids. It’s because I’m attention starved, OK? I will take flirtatious sentiments from anyone: in a fur-suit, NY Sharks shirt or prison jumpsuit, I don’t give a fuck.

Anyway, the Passion broad explained to us that she was unable to unlock the gate so that we could sit on the bleachers across the field from the Pittsburgh side, some lame excuse about how the Passion organization only paid for half of the stadium to be cleaned so they couldn’t have us getting our filth all over the other side of stands, too. However, what she was able to do instead was bring over extra benches ON THE SIDELINE so that we could still sit far away. There was some grumbling from the other Sharks fans about how they weren’t going to be able to see real well, but I was like, “Fuck yes.” Because if I’m going to have to watch some dumb football game, you better believe I want it to be on the field.

While we were getting situated on our special benches, one of the Sharks ladies felt compelled to beg us to behave. Don’t distract the players, don’t get up and walk off the field during play and basically just don’t breathe. Then she came back with her camera and yelled, “OK SHARKS FANS!” and everyone put their hands up on top of their heads like shark fins, and I had to whip my head around to look at everyone else’s so that I didn’t fuck it up because I’m a hand-gesture dunce.

“I wonder what the Passion sign is?” Kristy wondered out loud, making a diamond over her crotch with her hands. “Do they just like, masturbate?” And I died for the first of 87 times that night.


Seriously, this was our view: a recreational lesbian’s field day. I cultivated no less than 8 crushes in the first five minutes of sitting down. It’s actually kind of surprising that Christina doesn’t play professional women’s football.

“Fair warning, my twin daughters play for the Sharks, so I might get kind of loud,” an older man who bore a mild resemblance to Laura Palmer’s Dad (but enough so that I would run with it for the rest of the night) said cordially as he sat down next to me. “Wow, Pittsburgh’s sure got a big fan base. Look at that!” he enthused, pointing across the field to the home bleachers. I thought he was being sarcastic, because there didn’t seem to be that many people there, but then I remembered that this was WOMEN’S football and we all know that no one cares about women’s sports.



Passion’s Impressive Fan Base.

Did you know that they have to pay for this shit themselves? It’s true! Kristy told me. And they all have to have regular day jobs too, unlike those fat NFL rapist douchebags. So I was able to overlook my hatred of football by convincing myself that I was actually there to support girls doing shit. Because I’m a girl.


I took this picture when we returned after halftime to illustrate how sparse the Sharks section was.

Laura Palmer’s Dad was a pretty laid back guy and I didn’t mind that he was trying to lure conversation from my clamped mouth because was mildly charming. But then 10 seconds into the game, he fucking EXPLODED with rage and bulging forehead veins.


And on and on and on. Kristy slowly looked over at me and we totally lost it. At this point, he was standing on top of the back of the bench, leaning against the fence behind him for balance, and every time he yelled, it sounded like angry jets were being launched from his throat and into my ears. And then another dad on the bench next to us joined in, the two of them volleying disparaging reviews of the ref’s competence back and forth between them in their thick New York accents. Laura Palmer’s Dad kept marching over to the Sharks bench and reaming out his daughter’s, Paige and Jenna, but it seemed like poor, fuck-up Paige was taking the brunt of it. She would just stand there with her head down, shoulders rolled forward, probably wondering when she was going to have time to finish digging her dad’s grave in the woods.

Please, please, please watch this dumb video.

Laura Palmer’s Dad was screaming so hoarsely, that I feared he was going to have a stroke. I was honestly afraid to turn around to see what he looked like while verbally battering the entire Sharks team and officials. I half-expected to catch him deep-throating an entire horse out of unchained anger.


I kept getting misted with Haterade every time he screamed too, so now I can say Laura Palmer’s Dad showered me.

Meanwhile, my brother Corey was texting me because he saw my video on Instagram, so then it became even funnier to me, knowing that it was this funny to Corey. You know who definitely didn’t think it was “that funny”? HENRY. I kept texting him with a play-by-play to NO RESPONSE. He was just jealous because he wasn’t there and he probably knew it was only a matter of time before I fell in love with Laura Palmer’s Dad. I mean, he was totally my type. I bet he has sexually harassed an impressive amount of secretaries in his day.

Or Henry was just sleeping.


Laura Palmer’s Dad in a rare moment where his lips were demonstrating what some people might recognize as “a closed mouth.”


What? You guys don’t take shoulder selfies?

The other angry dad is standing next to the guy stroking his chin, who was actually with Laura Palmer’s Dad but not nearly as loud. Occasionally he would bellow “SHARKS!” but I felt like it was more because he didn’t want Laura Palmer’s Dad to be disappointed in him, too.


Here’s one of the twins getting berated.


And the other.

He reallllly wanted them to “contain it,” whatever the fuck that means. And see, that was a big problem, not understanding the game and terminology. I would have to wait for my Sharks peeps to cheer or clap to know how to proceed, but sometimes I was confused because the Passion fans would also be clapping and I thought we hated each other? Anyway, when one of the Sharks got the ball-thing and started booking it down the field with no one close enough to stop her, I knew to stand up and do jump-y things and yell. And I also knew that when things weren’t going our way, to blame the refs. That’s universal. And if I hadn’t known that, Laura Palmer’s Dad would have taught me real fast.

The Passion scored enough times for the speakers to bleed out Motley Crue’s “Girls, Girls, Girls,” “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” and “Single Ladies.” You know, just in case we forgot we were at a girls football game.

Too bad we were losing pretty good (I guess?) by halftime. I was pissed when we came back from not getting stabbed during our halftime drinks at Jack’s because KRISTY lied to me and we were LATE getting back to a sporting event I don’t even care about, except for when I do, so we had to stand off the field and wait for the quarter thing to end before going back to our dumb bench. THANKS, KRISTY. I was so concerned that we were going to be ostracized from our elite Sharks section. But as soon as the clock turned to 0:00, I speed-walked across the field back to our bend.

“Hurry! I don’t want to get in trouble!” I kept hissing at Kristy. And approximately 3 minutes after I said that, Laura Palmer’s Dad and Other Official-Hating Dad came together to throw a joint temper tantrum so histrionic that the ref literally turned toward us and screamed, “NO! YOU SUCK!” blew his whistle, made a violent motion with his arms, and stomped off the field.

The fucking ref stopped the game and stormed off, you guys. IT WAS FUCKING FANTASTIC!

But….then the Sharks lady (I learned after the game that she is the CEO or CFO or COO or some acronym equally as important) marched over and said sternly, “I told you that you had to knock it off. Ref wants you gone. ALL OF YOU.”

Laura Palmer’s Dad said, “No! You guys stay. I’ll take the hit on this one.” MY MOTHERFUCKING HERO. Oh god, please let me be Laura Palmer’s Dad wife. Oh, who am I kidding. Laura Palmer’s Dad’s penis coozy is good enough for me. He can scream at me to contain the D all night. Yell at me like I’m one of your disappointing twins!

“Ref wants you ALL gone!” Important Sharks Lady repeated. So we all got up and dejectedly walked off the field, Kristy with her rolled-up Sharks poster, basically the entire Cupples Stadium watching.



This is what Womens’ Football Game Ejection looks like.

And just in case one of us was planning on resisting the ref’s request, two cops were sent out to make sure we left peacefully. It was the most ridiculous thing ever and I was so afraid I was going to pee from laughing so hard.

“Womp womp,” Kristy said with mock sadness into her rolled-up poster, and that just made me laugh even harder.


Once we were off the field, we all kind of stood in a cluster, laughing nervously by the concession stand. I was glad to see that Laura Palmer’s Dad was also laughing about it and not snapping metal rods over his legs in fury like I had anticipated.

“Sorry guys,” he said, with a shrug and then he flashed that good old Laura Palmer’s Dad smile at us and I melted. UGH HOW CAN I BE MAD AT THAT.

By then, one of the Passion broads had learned about what happened, so she decided to intervene. I guess because it was the ref who kicked us out and not the actual Passion team, she let us back on the field. They tried once again to get the gate unlocked for us, but then realized no one had the key. So the compromise was to move one of the benches further away from the field and have one of the cops babysit us.

“I feel like a red-headed stepchild,” Laura Palmer’s Dad laughed as he helped drag the bench away from the rest of the benches. Kristy and I opted to sit on his bench rather than return to our original spots, because I wanted him to see that we were IN THIS BITCH TOGETHER.

I just like being a part of things, OK?

Anyway, the game resumed after the ref rubbed the hurt out of his butt, and it didn’t take long for the two dads to get all fired up once again.

“OH NOW HE THROWS A FLAG!” the other dad bellowed, his voice cracking under the weight of the sarcasm.


This was right after the ref called an illegal formation, whatever the fuck that is, and that set off Laura Palmer’s Dad and his Partner-in-Scream-Hemorrhaging all over again, to the point where I thought for sure they were going to cause us to make the 11 o’clock news. FUCK YOU AND YOUR ILLEGAL FORMATION, REF!


Our babysitter.


This lady refused to leave when we got kicked out. I guess that’s her daughter. She popped her shoulder out.


And then, after it was all said and done, Laura Palmer’s Dad STOOD ON THE FIELD, yelling for his daughters’ attention. He was relentless.


During the final minutes of the game, “Girl On Fire” warbled out of the cheap sound speakers, and we just lost it. I wish they had put as much effort into their concession stand offerings as they did with the girl-centric stadium anthems.

Anyway, the dumb Passion beat the Sharks and I’m 99.999999999999999% sure it was fixed. We hung around after everyone left, watching the Passion do some sloppy Electric Slide thing to a really terrible pop song while the Sharks sat in a slumped huddle and cried. For a girl who hates football, I felt surprisingly really sad. Once the Sharks started to mill around on the field, Kristy and I went over to say goodbye to Katie, who hugged me twice which I thought was really nice of her but I think she was really just using my torso as a Shamwow for her sweat.

“What was going on over there?” she asked us, and we got to giddily tell the story of Laura Palmer’s Dad, a story that I look forward to retelling over and over and over again for the rest of my life.



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Jul 142014

I have a story to tell you guys about a football game I went to with my friend Kristy over the weekend, but every time I start writing about it at work, I crack up alone at my desk. Which would have been in the past, but where I sit now is A SUPER QUIET ZONE. So, that story will have to wait until I get home. Until then, here are some photos that have been collecting dust in my phone.



I made this “Fuck Yeah, Breakfast!” painting as a housewarming gift for my friendos, Bill and Jessi. I hope it gets along with their other breakfast art!


Henry bailed on me one day while Chooch was outside playing with the neighbor kids and within 2 minutes he was injured. I called Henry approximately 87 times and then texted him with the 911 but can we please focus on the fact that it took him THIRTY MINUTES to respond to me?!

Henry came home and examined Chooch’s wound and asked me, “Did you even look at this? It’s not a splinter. It’s just a scrape.” Sorry bro, my eyeballs don’t do wound exams.


This is what Marcy does anytime someone wants to play games. Once, many moons ago, that little brat waited until I had finished a 1000+ piece puzzle and then casually jumped on the table and pushed it off onto the floor.




Finishing Chooch’s and his own, as usual.


Henry was nervous when we went to Dell’s for ice cream one night because some guy was there that he knows from work, GOD FORBID, what if Mouth One or Mouth Two embarrasses him.


Celebrated my friends Chris and Monica’s engagement a few weeks ago with vegetarian meatballs at Emporio: A Meatball Joint. That was one good goddamn meatball sandwich, you guys. My brother Corey used to call them “meat ballps” when he was a baby.


I appreciate it when ice cream shops provide spill troughs. Page’s Dairy, you’re A+. Except when you have long lines. Then we will drive past you and go to Dell’s.


We had to wake up Chooch to give him his ice cream and he was such a jerk about it. Dude, we’re waking you up to GIVE YOU ICE CREAM. Shut your face.



Chooch is still going strong with his piano lessons, which just warms my heart. He mentioned a few weeks ago that he wants to take voice lessons too and it just so happens that Bradley Walden, the new (and BETTER THAN JONNY CRAIG) singer for Emarosa, offers voice lessons via Skype, but Chooch got all weird when I suggested it and then later said, “I’m too shy!”

He’s like me when it comes to band guys.



It took 10+ years, but Marcy and her grandma kind of have a relationship now. Judy got to pet her for the first time ever last week and was so excited about it!

OK. Those are my pictures. Now I have to go back to work.


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Jul 132014

On July 12th, 2005, I was in the car with Henry on the way home from Cleveland, crying because I had just met Anthony Green of Circa Survive. I didn’t know how to tell him how much his band meant to me, and how it had helped to calm down the madness in my head, so instead I mumbled, “You guys were great tonight, will you sign my CD.” So goddamn lame.

I still remember that I was wearing my brother Ryan’s old blue soccer t-shirt that had the name of my Pappap’s drywall company on it. It’s weird what we remember during moments of emotional agony. Oh, haha.

I met a guy at that night at the Grog Shop who told me that Anthony actually gave him his phone number after the guy told him he was suicidal. “I called him one night and he talked me through it,” he told me. “He saved my life.” And if it weren’t for that guy taking me over to meet Anthony after the show that night, I probably would be telling you the story about how I’ve loved Circa Survive since 2005 but have never met Anthony Green.

2005 was a shit year for me: mentally, emotionally, and financially. That May, I experienced what I still to this day believe was a nervous breakdown. Things were just bad. I had nagging thoughts of driving my car off the road. I would go so psycho on Henry that I wouldn’t be surprised if he considered calling in a priest at some point. I actually called a church at one point to seek help, because I didn’t have health insurance and had no idea where else to turn. Janna even had to come and babysit one day after I bit myself, so be thankful if we weren’t friends in 2005, I guess.

But one of the shining points for me, as always, was music. Circa Survive’s debut album, Juturna, came out that June. I had been eagerly awaiting it, after having already been a fan of Saosin, the band that Anthony left to start Circa Survive.

Something about Anthony’s unconventional voice over top the most beautiful music that I had heard in quite some time just really did it for me. It sounded different from everything else that I was listening to back then. It was obsession, and I drove Henry crazy with it, making mix CDs of every single bootleg demo, live recording, B-side I could find of Saosin, Circa Survive, and Anthony’s solo work. It was the Year of Anthony Green and Henry wanted to slit his throat.

That music calmed me down. It helped me think straight. I would take it to the cemetery with me and cry, but they were good tears. And, after three months of not writing due to my nervous breakdown thing, I decided to start writing again.

Juturna reminds me of the beginning of my pregnancy. (Because, yes, let’s cap off one of the most tumultuous, bipolar summers of my life by having a planned pregnancy. Good old inpulsives.) Being so excited to have this child and play “Great Golden Baby” for him. That was my favorite Circa song for a really long time. There are still times when, out of the blue, I hear the line “This changes everything” in my head. If I’ve ever made you a mix CD anytime after 2005, there is a really good chance that there is at least one Circa Survive song on it. I wanted everyone to know them and to love them.

I know, I seem so melodramatic when it comes to this stuff, but this is Truth. This is honestly how I experience music. And I cry every time I write these blog posts, haha!

When Henry and I went to see The Sound of Animals Fighting last March in Philly, that was the first time I had seen Anthony since 2008. I still liked Circa Survive, and I kept up with all their subsequent releases, but if I’m being honest, none of their other albums ever fisted my heart the way Juturna had. But when I saw they were coming to Pittsburgh in July, something inside me said, “You need to go see them again.” So I bought a ticket without hesitating. This show was announced back when I still had my old evening shift at work, and normally I would always ask to work half-day or just take the whole day off before even buying the ticket, but this time, I was like, “I don’t care, I’ll deal with that part later.” Because this was important to me. I’ve been trying to find ways to let go of my 20s, because that was a really bad decade for me, for the most part. And I thought, maybe seeing them again after all this time will help me heal.

It just felt like more than just going to a show. It was something I needed.

Originally, I was going to go alone, but then Henry ended up going with me too because I panicked and didn’t want to be alone. I knew that I was going to cry and I didn’t want to be That Person standing alone and sobbing. So Henry went too and held my hand through most of it. And thank god for that because I felt like my heart was exploding from the moment Circa walked on stage all the way up to when we were in the car leaving.

The opening band was Ume, by the way, and if you love female-fronted bands that are actually fantastic, I suggest that you check them out. It was like the 90s all over again, in a good way. And then while we were waiting for Circa, I noticed a guy standing in front of me, and because I’m obsessed with the Dupree family (please see: Eisley), I thought to myself, “That looks like the back of Garron Dupree’s head.” And then I looked to the left and thought, “Huh. That looks like Reed Murray. And that looks like Fred Maraschino.” And it turned out it WAS all of them, because they’re all currently in the band Say Anything, who was actually in town the night before, playing at the same venue. So I had a total fangirl moment and thank god Henry was there because he actually knows all of these names by default so I was able to squeal about it and have him understand what was going on.

Interestingly, Say Anything was supposed to be the headliner when I saw Circa Survive for the first time in 2005, but they dropped off the tour after their singer Max Bemis had a mental breakdown. (I can relate.) So it was kind of like this surreal full circle moment for me, knowing that Say Anything was there at Mr. Small’s that night, watching. It’s so awesome when bands support each other.

Then Henry pointed out that Anthony Green had walked right past me during Ume’s set but as usual, I had no idea. This happened like 57 times in Philly too. It’s hilarious to me that Henry, Mr. I Don’t Give a Shit About These Bands, is always the first one to spot band members.


I don’t really know what words can do justice to the show itself, other than saying it was like a religious experience for me. Anthony Green is one of the great voices of my generation, and it always feels like an honor to be in his presence. And unlike Jonny Craig, he is a NICE GUY. Here’s a singer who kicked an addition, married a great girl and made two beautiful sons. He’s an inspiration, and an example that some singers can be charismatic without also having God complexes.

(Ahem, Craig Owens.)

All Anthony has to do is whisper “Come” into the mic while making a beckoning motion with his hands, and the room literally lurches toward the stage like a horde of Palestinians throwing themselves at Jesus’s feet.

I used to try to hold back tears at concerts, but then I finally realized that it feels so much better to just let it go. So…my face was pretty wet that night.

^^^This song. Me = gutted. The “Don’t stop talking to me, I haven’t been listening” part used to be what I used for my mom’s ringtone. You know, back when I had her number in my phone. When they played that part last week, my legs turned to Jello.


They played for about 2 hours and totally satisfied my Juturna cravings. It was the perfect set list, the perfect night, and the perfect way to say goodbye to the ghosts of 2005.

I love this fucking band so much.

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Jul 112014


Saturday night’s Artifex Pereo show was at Mahall’s, a vintage-y bowling alley in Lakewood, OH. Henry and I have never been to this particular venue before, so we utilized our typical “walk in and stop abruptly, looking confused and lost” method of entering a building. So goddamn awkward. Merch was set up right by the door, so we at least felt confident that we were in the right place. Then we figured out where Will Call was set up, used the bathroom, and then proceeded to pick up right where we left off: standing in the way and looking like yokels.



I was so stoked on the bathroom that I had to take a picture for my friend Alyson, who LOVES LOOS. In fact, when were checking out places to have my baby shower back in 2006, I sent her a picture of the bathroom at the place we chose, because I knew she would down with it. And she was!

After lurking like creeps, we made our way into the room where the show was going to happen. It was small, with limited seating, and all of the bands’ gear was strewn about along the back walls. No matter where we stood, I felt totally in the way, but then Henry put a can of cider in my hand and I quickly quit caring.


Henry with his second mason jar beverage of the day. Look at his dumb mouth. Hyuk, hyuk.


There were two local bands that opened: A Work of Fiction and Slow To Speak. I liked them both, but I totally fell in love with Slow To Speak and found myself openly weeping several times. They moved me. And I promise you it wasn’t the cider talking. (Or weeping.) They played honest, beautiful music that I kept getting lost in. For real, one second I was standing in the back of Mahall’s, the next, I was floating somewhere far away from Henry and his stupid mason jar. I love when a band doesn’t need gimmicks and can rely solely on their gorgeous song-writing. Simple, uncluttered and raw. I implore you to check them out. Don’t be a bitch:

And hey, if you liked that—PASS IT ON! Like them on Facebook! Go see them if they come to your town! These guys deserve the recognition.

Henry didn’t mind them (that’s considered a “good” review in the Henry Music Magazine) and the only opinion he really contributed was that their drummer resembled our friend Lisa’s husband Matt. At least I know he was vaguely paying attention.

The next band was Icarus the Owl. I was stoked that they were on this tour because they’re my kind of band: that perfect combination of frenetic, poppy and melodic pandemonium. There are times when the singer reminds of me of another band that I used to FUCKING LOVE: Armsbendback (RIP, great band). And, like Armsbendback (shout out to Twin Peaks!), it was their name that originally made me want to check them out awhile back. Icarus the Owl is a great interest-sparking band name.

I’m surprised I didn’t beat myself black and blue with all the hard thigh-slapping they were subconsciously making me do.

Meanwhile, the room was filling up with more and more people in Envoi shirts, and that’s when it occurred to me that, in spite of the band order on the tour poster, Envoi was going to headline that night’s show since it was a homecoming for them. And judging by the amount of older people in attendance, it was pretty clear that there were a lot of family members, which I thought was kind of adorable, and of course this made me start daydreaming of Chooch being in a band someday. Sigh. My luck, it’ll be a Kenny Chesney cover band.

You have no idea how bad I want him to be in a band. But, you know, a good one.

It was finally time for Artifex Pereo and Henry made fun of me for not knowing that basically the whole band was standing next to me throughout the night (one of them was right behind me, and I only found out after I checked Instagram real quick between sets and saw that the Artifex Pereo account posted a picture of the stage from the back of the room and the back of my dumb head was RIGHT THERE). I’m sorry, but I don’t always know what bands look like! I’m not that type of groupie, I mean, person.

I made Henry move up closer to the stage right before they started and one thing you should know about Henry is that he HATES being close to stages, but he silently obliged because he knows to pick his battles wisely. (I would have just moved up without him, but you know how I like to be his puppeteer.)

And then they started. You guys, I was stunned. I don’t know why I was surprised, because their album is aural perfection to me, but seeing them up there on that stage and hearing the beautiful music they were making together, it honestly took my breath away. I’m going to just go ahead and say that from my perspective, they were utterly flawless. Every syllable that fluttered out of Lucas’s throat was pitch perfect and grabbed me by the proverbial balls. I could not take my eyes off that stage. I didn’t take any pictures or video because I absolutely felt frozen in place.

When they played “Hands of Penance?” Don’t even get me started. I think it was the first time that tranquil crowd showed any signs of life all night. It was like everyone was ignited and recognizing that they were witnessing a Really Great Band before them. Lucas’s vocal gymnastics is like a perfectly blended compound butter melting atop a rich, instrumental Wagyu steak. (I watch a lot of Master Chef, Ok?) Their sound translates flawlessly from album to stage.

It felt like the shortest goddamn set ever, and I wanted a pitch fork to raise up to the ceiling while chanting “BRING ME MORE MUSIC, SON!”

I need to see them again, immediately. Please, please, please: GO SEE THIS BAND. And do it soon, while they’re still playing intimate venues, because I’m pretty sure they’re going to explode.

Usually Henry says noncommittal things like “They weren’t bad” or “Eh” when I ask him if he liked a show, but after Artifex Pereo, he said, “They were good. I liked them.”

They earned the Henry Seal of Approval! Usually it takes a band 8 years for that accomplishment. (See: The Used, Dance Gavin Dance, Chiodos, Circa Survive.)

I’ve already posted Artifex Pereo songs on this blog before so now it’s time for everyone to just go out and buy their album.

My family and I used to go to Wildwood, NJ every summer and there was this one dark ride-type attraction that had a recording of a ringmaster yelling enticing things to get people to come over, and then he would command, “Run, don’t walk!” My dad would mock that recording endlessly, and then for weeks after vacation he would bust out with a theatrical “Run! Don’t walk!” for every last mundane thing. Like, dinner time: “Run! Don’t walk!” And that’s what I want you guys to do to buy this album: “RUN! DON’T WALK!” But considering you’re probably going to buy it online and are already in front of a computer, then pretend your fingers are your legs. Run those fingers across the keyboard to iTunes, Amazon, Tooth & Nail, wherever you buy your music.

The headliner of the tour was The Orphan, The Poet, whom we have seen a year ago when they opened for Dance Gavin Dance and I drunkenly shadow-danced with the singer on the way to the bathroom and then obviously imprinted with him. Anyway, I like their music but for some reason they don’t hold my attention. Henry doesn’t like them at all, but please see the part where I imprinted with the singer.

And as I mentioned earlier, Envoi got to close out the night with their set, which I guess is because they’re from Cleveland and a pretty big deal there. Since it was already 11pm and we had a two hour drive ahead of us, Henry and I decided to leave before they started and I was pretty bummed about it because even though I’ve seen them before, they have a new singer now (a girl, and she’s actually good!) and are essentially an entirely different band from when I saw them open for Craig Owens in 2011 (also in Cleveland). I have a feeling we’re going to be hearing a lot more from Envoi though, so I’m sure I’ll get to see them again soon.

I bought an Artifex Pereo shirt and wristband on the way out and even while Henry was swearing loudly because he took the wrong road out of Cleveland (happens EVERY time), I was in such a happy place. It might sound dumb, but I felt really incredibly lucky to have had the chance to see such a memorable show in that perfect little room. I hope it never stops feeling like that.

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Jul 102014


Throwback to last Friday when my son wasn’t acting like a 2-year-old crack baby who had just been uncaged in front of a bunch of my co-workers and making me want to melt into a puddle of humility. Apologies to you, my work friends. Sigh.

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We let him experiment with some colored hair gel to see if he wants to dye his hair for real. Henry was all, “I’m not going through the hassle of bleaching his hair just for him to change his mind.” I love that Henry just knows this would be his responsibility.





Contrary to popular belief, this is not actually our house in front of which Chooch is posing.

Ours is a little smaller.


Still collecting my thoughts on the two shows I went to this past week. Hopefully tomorrow I will slap together a muzik post. Maybe you’ll read it. Maybe you won’t. I probably won’t find out. (BUT MAYBE I WILL.)

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Jul 092014



You guys, I’m so excited to tell you about my friend Kendahl‘s brand new line of nail polish: Firecracker Lacquer! It was just officially launched for public consumption on July 1, but I have smugly been modeling a select few colors for a couple months now because I got it like that. And let me just tell you, I have squealed every time more arrived in the mail!

Ah, the benefits of having talented friends, you know?

And because Kendahl is so generous, she has offered to give away two bottles of the winner’s choice, right here on this old blog!

DISCLAIMER: I’m not exactly world-renown for my polish swatching skills. The below pictures are casual examples of how you can work various shades, but if you would like to see better representations, please check out Firecracker Lacquer on Etsy! The swatches there are gorgeous and professional-looking and not like someone let their club-handed, blind milkmaid paint their nails for them. (I’m just always in a hurry, OK!?)


So here you will find PINK! over top of some random Sephora brand green. I love PINK! as a topper because it works over pretty much anything and it’s so PINK and sparkly, like Barbie’s hopes and dreams all ground-up and paper-shredded and crammed into a bottle. Every time I wear it, I feel like I’m going to a birthday party but then I remember I don’t have any friends. :(

Just kidding. I have a few that I found on Craigslist.


Oh man, this one is my favorite. A planetary homage, it’s called Your Mom I Thought I Was Big Enough, a beautiful shimmery mauve exploding with multi-colored glitter. Here I have it over top of a Sephora brand black and the dimensions on this polish is staggering. It has a different look depending on which why the light hits it and sometimes I get distracted and will catch myself sitting there, tilting my hand from one side to the other, watching the color shift. Over black, it’s like a ready-to-go galaxy mani.

Here’s the official description, because I don’t know all that fancy polish lingo:

Your Mom Thought I Was Big Enough is a multi-chrome lacquer, shifting through blue, purple, orange, and red. It’s also got a smattering of linear holographic as well as some holographic glitter.

It does shift! I really does do that and it’s so incredible to watch. I hear that this is a dream over top navy blue, also.


Here it is with no base color, alongside Punked on my accent nail. It reminds me of a chiffon dress that someone might wear to a Golden Girls-themed dance. That color just screams BLANCHE DEVEREAUX to me for some reason.



And here we have Frosting over top of a Sephora brand pink. It works best as a topper, but I wore a couple coats of it with no base and it was just as glorious. It’s like wearing crushed diamonds on my fingertips! Flashy enough for Rihanna to wear to Barbados, yet still classy to wear to a funeral. (I guess?) Jesus says so.

I tried to get Henry to let me paint his nails last night, but he was like, “Seriously? I think I do enough for you.” So I gave him a reprieve for this go-around. Then I spent all morning at work hounding Glenn to be my hand model but he doesn’t like having fun. He did seem mildly interested in the polishes though and even picked one up for closer examination on one of his walks past my desk. Just give in to it, Glenn.

(If this is your first time visiting the garbage dump of words that is Oh Honestly, Erin, Glenn is my work frenemy and I’m constantly on the prowl for new ways to make his days suck. I’m a good person.)



My work friend Nate was much more agreeable and offered up a fingernail to be slathered with Crawlin’ Queen. Nail polish remover was provided, but he decided to leave it on so he could show it off in an afternoon meeting. THAT IS A REAL MAN. Take some notes, Glenn.

I really think Crawlin’ Queen is a great polish for a man: the gray is just masculine enough to complement the lovely blue and pink speckles. It’s so CREAMY. I’m sure Nate will agree.

OK, now for the part where WINNING is involved. If you would like to try your hand at winning two bottles of this brand new line of nail polish, just fill out the form below.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The giveaway starts NOW and will run until Monday, July 14th, where I will pick a winner at the arbitrary hour of 7PM EST. Please make sure you include a valid email address when you enter, so that I won’t accidentally be emailing some Appalachian manure packager to see what two polishes he would like. But hey, your loss, his gain!

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Jul 082014


This is my “Going on a Date-Thing” face, I guess. Fake smile? Check. Vacant eyes? Double check. DON’T LOOK TOO EXCITED, ERIN.

When I asked Henry to go to Cleveland with me to see a show on July 5th, I figured we would do our usual routine of leaving home with just enough time to maybe grab some quick food before the show. But instead, Henry planned all on his own to leave Pittsburgh at noon so we could have a full day of “quality” time together.

Haha, quality time.

Of course, everything was fine until we parked the car downtown Cleveland and realized that every restaurant we had considered eating at was closed until 5pm. So that set off my internal hunger time bomb and I got real attitudinal with Henry, but he’s used to that, so it’s not like we broke up or anything. (Except we did. But not on Facebook this time, so it’s cool.)


Henry, searching for our wandering waiter.

We ended up at this new-ish soul food joint downtown called Stonetown. I was unimpressed with the name, but it was the colorful chalkboard sign outside alerting us to the home cookin’ desserts they were offering that drew me in. The menu on the door said FRIED GREEN TOMATOES and CANDIED YAMS so I turned to Henry and said, “This. This is the place. I can feel it in my heart.”

But Henry wanted to keep looking, which made me panic because it was already 3pm and I wanted to have time to go and look at the lake. (“For what?” Henry sighed, and I was like, “YOU KNOW HOW I LIKE TO SIT BY WATER.” I mean, do I, though? Not really. But I thought it could be romantic-like and lord knows we need some of that shit up in our lives.)

Anyway, I threw a micro fit and we turned around after a block and went back to Stonetown. Right before we walked inside, some man said to me, “Hey I saw you guys looking at the menu before and I just want you to know that I just ate there and it was really good.”

Oh OK, thanks guy.

And then his two friends were like, “THE CHICKEN WAS GOOD, YALL” and then the first guy was like, “The service is…kind of slow…but the food is worth it.”

So we went in and the hostess immediately hated us, except that I think she just hates everyone because she never smiled at anyone. I watched.

The table we were seated at was wobbly and Henry was 100% fixated on it. At one point, he got down on the ground under the table and I shit you not, I thought he was going to whip out a screwdriver, but it turned out he was just picking up his napkin.

But still, what a typical white person thing to complain about.

Anyway, my whole intention of going there in the first place was for CANDIED YAMS and SWEET POTATO PIE but they were fucking out of CANDIED YAMS and then I got too filled up on fried green tomatoes, Hoppin’ Johns (that’s black eyed peas for all you dumb white people out there), collard greens (which turns out I don’t like) and FRIED OKRA to have any room left for SWEET POTATO PIE.

Sorry, my inner soul girl is making me use all caps. We likes our food soulful, y’all.

And for fuck’s sake, service was slow as…what do they say in the south, molasses, right? Yeah, service was as slow as that shit. It took us so long to get our check that my skin was starting to twitch. Hi, we had shit to do, not go home and lay in a hammock while drinking sweet tea from another fucking mason jar.

Meanwhile, the couple behind threw a fit because the broad didn’t know how to read the menu right and her fried chicken came with grits (which Henry also got and had some alarming sexual experience with them right there at the table) and she didn’t want grits, she wanted something else, and the waitress tried to explain that there was a $1.50 upcharge for side subsitutions in that situation and the bitch lady was all, “BITCH THEN I DON’T WANT THIS” and shoved her plate back at the waitress, who was about half a second away from losing her shit, god bless her.

So the waitress sighed and said, “Fine, just pay for your drinks then,” and it was really depressing watching the waitress take these two plates of untouched food and scrape everything into a garbage can. People are such wasteful assholes sometimes and it makes me so angry. Perfectly good food, in the garbage, because some bitch ass pig wanted to argue over a dollar and fucking fifty cents.


But at least I wasn’t HANGRY anymore. Regular angry is more tolerable for those around me.

Anway, it’s a good thing I didn’t have room for dessert because we probably would have missed the show. Fucking molasses-ass service. The food was decent enough that I would maybe go back if I had absolutely nothing else to do and nowhere else to be. But only because I want that damn SWEET POTATO PIE, ugh.


Naturally, I had room for ice cream after approximately 3 minutes of leaving Stonetown, but Henry was being a twatbucket and wouldn’t stop at any of the ice cream places in the vicinity, and then had the audacity to say we didn’t have time to walk to the lake, so instead we had to DRIVE to a different part of the lake a little ways out of the city. It was this little park area that had a snack booth offering the most basic softserve of all time, so I complained about that too. No, I wasn’t hangry again, I was just being my normal brat-self.


Things improved about 20 minutes later when we arrived at the venue in Lakewood (Mahall’s) and still had about an hour to kill. So we walked around and discovered that we were a block away from the Museum of Divine Statues that we visited last summer! For as many times as I have been to Cleveland and its surrounding neighborhoods, I still have no directional bearings. It was a real “connect the dots” moment for me.

We ended up discovering this no-name junk store, which I had seen from the car and felt pretty confident that it was going to end up being a bust, but I still wanted to at least check it out for a minute. The proprietor and his helper were sitting on the front stoop, painting a chair.

“Are you open?” Henry asked.

“Yeah, you can go on in,” the man said, flashing one of those avuncular “You can trust me little girl, get into my car” smiles that always make me nervous. Because I’ve been kidnapped so many times.  “Maybe you can find something in that mess,” he laughed as we stepped inside. Literally, there were just piles of things and stuff and furniture and mismatched earrings. I felt claustrophobic and panicked and nothing was really catching my eye (I am terrible at thrifting—one cursory glance and I’m done) so we started to trip and stumble our way back to the door just as the owner came in and leaned in front of it.

“Did you guys get to watch any of the fireworks last night?” he asked casually.

And in my best deer-in-headlights, please-don’t-kill-us voice, I said, “NO WE’RE FROM PITTSBURGH.”

“OK,” he laughed. “Do they have fireworks in Pittsburgh?” he asked, slightly patronizing me. And then, thanks to my big mouth telling him where we live, he proceeded to spend the next 45 minutes talking to us, starting with the fact that he was a driver for an envelope company and his route for 27 years was in Pittsburgh because no  one else wanted it since it’s so hard to drive there. (Is it? I guess I wouldn’t know since HENRY is always driving.)

“You had to tell him we’re from Pittsburgh,” Henry whispered. I was starting to feel like I was in captivity at this point, like it was some fucked up junk store version of Wolf Creek and I was about to be impaled by an antique bicycle spoke so that someday my dried out hide can reupholster a 1964 bar stool. I just got that feeling from him, that’s all.

After hearing about how Ed (he’d tell us later this was his name) is a part-time pastor and how refridgerators just aren’t built as well as they used to be, Henry interrupted him to ask about an amber swag lamp hanging in the corner.

I HADN’T EVEN SEEN IT. See what I mean? Thrifting is not my forte.

Ed told us we could have it for $40, totally an easy sale. I love midcentury things so much!


As Ed was writing up our receipt, I asked him if he ever comes across any old wheelchairs.

He snapped his head up and looked at me. “Nah,” he said, shaking his head and laughing.


But then he started thinking about it and decided that I should give him my number and he’ll call me if he ever comes across any. (Henry thinks he just wanted my number in general and has asked me chidingly every day since then if my new boyfriend Ed has called yet.)

(No. No, he has not.)


I thought we had escaped, but Ed followed us out of the store and continued to talk to us for another fifteen minutes and my skin started doing that twitching thing again. Maybe he should get a job at Stonetown.

And then his sidekick, this Amish-y looking man who spoke only in grunts, I’m not joking, slowly approached me, pointed at my purse and started to grunt. I looked down and realized that my purse wasn’t zipped up all of the way, so thank you, Wolf Creek Sidekick.


We finally broke free and walked super fast back to the car before any vintage weapons were flung at us. Just kidding, Ed was a gem and I’ll definitely stop back next time I’m in town. Especially now that he knows the shit I collect.


Seriously though, totally worth the 45 minutes of small talk in a dusty junk store. And so was our date day. Sometimes you need to get away from the back-talkin’ children, you know? Bonus points if a concert is included. We even held hands for maybe a second.

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