Akroning.

Good evening. I’m going to apologize in advance to those who read this because there will probably be several posts this week about The Cure and I know it can be annoying AF when I drag shit out but…this is just how it is. Go to your room if you don’t like it.

I know I mentioned at the bare minimum twice that I got Henry and myself tickets to see The Cure for their current US tour and while I have been very excited for the day to arrive, I have also been extremely anxious because I know the effect their concerts have on me AND IT AIN’T ALWAYS PRETTY. I get emotional at concerts as it is but it’s next level with The Cure, man. Some people are able to go, drink a bunch of fucking beer, carry on like assholes and then forget about it the next day, but I will usually wallow in sadness, grief, and other emotions that the Germans probably have words for, but we do not here in America.

That being said, I woke up early on Sunday morning and found my temper COILED TIGHTLY, READY TO SPRING. Nerves, people. Nerves. I started a fight with Henry I M M E D I A T E L Y because he slept an entire hour longer than I did (I have no logic). He had to sit me down on the couch and say TAKE IT EASY but in a nicer way because he is an Erin-whisperer.

Cool story, girl.

We left for the Blossom Music Center-ish area around 10AM that day because (1) we wanted to get lunch and (2) we wanted to do the early parking option that the venue was offering because I was being an utter spaz about merch. (SPOILER: this is a thing that actually worked in our favor, thank the lord.)

We had chosen a place to eat in Akron called NOMZ because it had options for both of us even though it had quite an unfortunate name that was reminiscent of this weird ass girl (not in a good way, because we all know weird is often good!) that I knew from LJ who I would invite to my parties because I was convinced that she would someday grow on me even though she was like a smashburger of Daria and I Can Haz Cheezburger and all of my friends begged me to give it up.

Then it turned out she was racist so, bye bye.

This was inside an industrial-ish shared space on the ground floor of an apartment building. The whole place was called The Market I think, which, wow, how long did it take them to think that one up in the boardroom, right? We placed our order with a really nice young guy working the counter and let me tell you – he was one of the few things this establishment had going for it. First of all, Henry ordered the roast beef but they were out of Horsie sauce. He mulled it over but ultimately stuck with his choice and just got it with mayo instead. I  ordered the chipotle fake chicken sandwich and added fake bacon to it.

Then we sat down and waited. And waited. And waited. I’m not exaggerating when I say it took at least 30-45 minutes for our food to arrive, and this was after watching table after table get the wrong stuff sent to them. So my confidence was at grim levels. Not only that, but the barista / bartender at the bar behind Henry was consistently fucking up drinks and losing orders.

When our food did arrive, delivered by the recipient of The Market’s 2023 Employee with the Most Non-Existent Personality Award, I knew STRAIGHT AWAY mine was wrong. I mean, at the very least, it was still fake chicken, which was good because HELLO, but it was 120% not the chipotle sandwich. First of all, there was zero chipotle taste. Then it had cheese which mine wasn’t supposed to. Rounded out by the fact that it was on Texas toast (EXTREMELY GREASY TEXAS TOAST, at that – the napkins I went through was absurd) when it was supposed to be on a ciabatta roll. OH, AND WHERE WAS MY $4 UPCHARGE HOUSEMADE VEGAN BACON?!

First, because the world revolves around Henry, he had to take care of his own lunch mishap, which was the fact that the bland server delivered his potato salad side with no utensils. She mumbled something about getting him a fork and spoon, but when she dropped them on the table, the spoon had something on it! UGH.

Then he went back and told the NICE GUY about my order blunder and the guy came over and was like I AM SO SORRY but I don’t think it was his fault! He wasn’t the one making the food and our receipt had the correct shit on it. I had already started eating my fake-chipotle sandwich and decided it was a keeper mostly because I didn’t want to wait another 30 minutes for the right one to be made, but I did want the bacon.

#NotChipotle

OMG though, that vegan bacon was actually to die for. It tasted so good that I started to panic that it was real. Henry tried it and determined that it definitely wasn’t real bacon but “pretty close.” So, that definitely got them back some points.

I don’t know, that place was just weird. I was having regertz about not ordering an iced latte but after seeing how many people kept going back to the bar and asking for their orders to be corrected (or, you know, made in the first place since she seemed to be flat out misplacing entire drink orders), it was probably for the best.

Also? None of the 5 TV screens were unmuted, and no house music was playing so all we could hear the whole time was other diners mercilessly scraping their stools off the concrete floor. SHIVERS. I got to watch Novak win the French Open on mute, but at least there were captions.

I really hate how good my sandwich was though because I wanted to another reason to be mad at NOMZ.

God, I hate that name so much.

Bathroom selfie because I asked Henry to take a picture of me at the table because I liked my top and he of course made me look like a mongoloid.

We strolled around the shops inside the Market and bought cookies from various vendors. I was excited to get a large funfetti cookie which we ate as we took a walk around the parking lot and it was very dry/stale. But then I think I ended up really liking it after all? The other one was like a peanut butter cup cookie and it was fat and MOIST but also kind of unsatisfying. I think maybe that was just me in general, MAYBE I’M JUST LIKE PRINCE’S MOTHER.

Idiot Dumbo Man.

I legit cannot pose, I don’t even know why I try.

Anyway, right behind us was a train station for some Cuyahoga Railroad thing and Henry excitedly talked to the guy in the ticket booth who was kind of creepy but also charming somehow? Sure, I walked away mid-conversation because I lost interest but at the same time I kind of want to go back and come on ride the train and ride it.

And that was Akron.