As if you don’t know by now what Henry looks like at his most irritated and put-upon, here are a series of Henry bombs (I lied—some are straight-on shots that he knew about and was probably saying STOP as I was taking them). I haven’t done a Henry Bombs post in awhile because like everything else in my life, I lost interest.   

The “Day One, Band One, WTF am I Watching Right Now?” shot. This was during Into It. Over It. I thought they were lovely. Henry thought, well, his face says it all. 
  

The “Maybe If I Look For Ted Nugent on the Band Lineup For The 3rd Time, He’ll Show Up” shot. 

The “Professionally Giving Some French Broad Directions In The Fancy Econo Lodge Parking Lot & Then Spent the Rest of the Day Imagining Her French Kissing Me As Payment” shot. 

   
 The “I’ve Had A Lot Of Beers, Can’t Maintain The Frown, Whatever Band This Is Sucks But I Can’t Get My Face To Reflect That Sentiment! FROWWWWWN COMMMMMME BAAAAACK!” shot. 

The “Just Chillin’ With The Homie Yelawolf; He Probably Hates Manchester Orchestra, Too” shot. 
  

The “When Manchester Orchestra Is So Boring, I Make Origami With My Empty Beer Cup & That’s When I Know It’s Time For Another” shot. 

The “Hey I’m Gonna Get Another Beer Before I Finish This One So I Can Doublefist My Way To Oblivion While You Watch This Shitty Band That Sounds Like That Last Shitty Band On That Other Stage We Just Walked A Mile From & Then Maybe I’ll Buy a Beanie From the Stheart Booth So That I’ll Look More Like One Of Those Post Hardcore Boys You Like So Much” shot. 
  

The “Calculating How Much Beer Money Will I Have Left If I Pay Someone From the Hellzapoppin’ Circus to Set My Ears On Fire So I Don’t Have To Listen To Snoop Dogg Tonight” shot. 

The “Quick Gimme a Mirror, ‘Bloody Nugent, Bloody Nugent, Bloody Nugent'” shot. 
  

The “Nope, Nothing Sounds Better While Sitting” shot. 

The “Having My Head Adjusted After Going Hard In the Thrice Pit; Just Kidding, It’s Only My Afternoon Grooming” shot. 
 

The “Do We Really Need To Stand So Close For Every Time I Die? I Feel Very Unsafe” shot. 

  The “I Bet If I Had a Car This Bitchin’ IRL, I Could Bag a Woman More My Speed, Someone Who’d Be Content With Watching a Cheap Trick Cover Band At The Corner Bar Once a Year” shot. 

The “Thinking Of All the NCIS Marathoning I Could Be Doing This Weekend, But Instead I Had To Put On Pants Just to Have My Ears and Wallet Violated” shot. 

The “Shoulda Stayed in THE SERVICE” shot. 

The “I Hope She Spills That Fucking Coffee, McDonald’s-style” shot. 

The “FIRST IN LINE FOR MORNING BEER!!!!” shot. 
 The “Oh Ho, We’re Not Friends, Please Find A New Boyfriend Before We Go Home Today—Wait, WE STILL HAVE ANOTHER DAY?!” shot. 

Well, we just went to get breakfast at the FANTASTIC Econo Lodge ($69 a night, friends!) only to see some girl in her early 20s, wearing unstrapped overalls and a tube top thing (are we still calling them tube tops in 2015, or has Urban Outfitters given them a more hipster-approved title? Like Uberband? Post-tube? Totesbandeau? Rackshizz? Lena Dunham’s Boob Thong?), standing near the food with some older lady who was saying, “This is not right, this is a food area” and then the girl said, “I need help” and the lady said, “THEN I WILL CALL THE POLICE” and I noticed the younger girl was holding a clump of hair and looked like she was probably high on meth.

I mumbled, “Oh. Nope,” and Henry and I spun on our heels in tandem and came back to the room.

That being said, IT’S LIVEBLOGGING TIME. Just a warning: my phone LOVES to autocorrect my blog posts when I’m not looking so I can’t be held responsible for any ludicrous typos. Just the normal ones. You know how bad I am at GRAMMAR. (Seriously. I forgot the “at” in that last sentence at first. I am so good.)

8:00am: Henry just came back in from taking HIS stuff (and not mine?!) out to the car and said now the girl is sitting out there, eating a muffin, and all of her stuff is in garbage bags.

8:05am: We just checked out and that girl was sitting in the lobby going round and round with the front desk clerk, who I think now might be her SISTER?! She was like DONT WALK AWAY FROM ME! and the older lady was like I HAVE CUSTOMERS! (OMG me and Henry are now a part of this story because WE WERE THE CUSTOMERS so now, years from now, when they tell this story around the fire on Christmas Eve, when they get to the CUSTOMERS part, I hope they describe me as “That young Jennifer Anoston-looking sweetheart” and Henry will probably be “and her old, grizzled captor.”

That girl totally lives there though.

8:41am: We’re on the road now and I’m nostalgically playing Riot Fest music for Henry who is unenthused and just yelled at me for not helping him get change for the toll booth, to which I countered, “Yeah well, I don’t have my sunglasses!” (?) Henry said, “That’s not my fault. I can’t be in charge of your sunglasses when I’m already in chafe of everything else. Like, your tampons.” Haha it’s true.

But really: Alexisonfire and Beach Slang up in here right now.

9:36am: Henry just flipped out because the toll booth lane we were in had a malfunctioning ticket thing and he pulled over and left me in the car (DANGEROUS) so he could be a good professional driver by skipping off to the highway office thing and reporting the broken machine. Also, because he needed to get a ticket, I guess. He just came back to the car and exhaled deeply, like he’s so winded from being a turnpike kiss ass.

10:13am: Welp. Just took a detour to LaPorte, Indiana’s historical society because they have the wheelbarrow that a mass husband killer used to cart away their bodies. But…they’re closed on Mondays. Henry just threw a royal bitch fit as I quietly whispered “sorry” and then proceeded to crack up. But hey, LaPorte is kind of pretty, isn’t it Henry? Kind of? No?

 LAPORTE, represent.

10:46am: twenty minutes into Set Your Goals, Henry casually asked, “Is this the little guy and the big guy?” AW HE REMEMBERED! And the big guy was actually just regular-sized, but the little guy was so little that he made the other guy look big. I forgot how much I loved this band! I went nuts over them during the summer of 2009 and made Alisha go to their sold out show at Mr.Small’s on my birthday. It was a total sausage party and some fat guy shook his sweat all over Alisha and she did that thing where she tries to murder me with her Fairuza Balk eyes.

11:52am: PS I think we crossed the time change line thing.

12:13pm: At a rest stop near South Bend and a bunch of Riot Fest travelers were there too and now I feel homesick for Douglas Park. (THAT IS WHERE RIOT FEST WAS, OK?!)

12:43pm: I just had a huge epiphany.   I was just telling Henry stories from when I had to take Home Ec in middle school, and how much of a disaster I was. “I’m not surprised,” he mumbled. It was because we were talking about buying a sewing machine for a project we want to do (“we” lol) and it made me think about when I had to make these boxer-type shorts and mine should have been so cute because I had CANDY CORN fabric but instead they just came out looking wrecked. As I was telling Henry this story, I was overcome with a sense of doom and these repressed memories of home ec misery came flooding back to me. I forgot how much I disliked the teacher and how panicked she made me feel, especially during the cooking portions of the classes. I would get sick to my stomach on home ec days. Is it any wonder I rejected domesticity?!

1:55pm: just left the Four Season family restaurant in Montpelier, Ohio and I was so happy to finally sit down for a meal after three days of eating while standing in the middle of thousands of people. Henry ordered lemon rice soup because the hipsters on Yelp told him to. He said it was great but it was made with chicken broth so I couldn’t form my own opinion on this matter.

 I ordered the Four Seasons omelette which was basically a Greek omelette and HUGE — I was so excited until I took a gigantic bite because I’m so fat and IT WAS LOADED WITH CHICKEN. I don’t know how I missed that on the menu. Luckily the pieces were giant and easily pick-outtable. I could only eat about a third anyway and then Papa Pig swooped in and ate the rest. I messaged a picture to Chooch and he was like “haha figures.” Now Henry is ranting about how he’s fat because Chooch and I never finish our food and apparently we hold a gun to his head and force him to eat it for us.

Meanwhile, I paid 50 cents for a copy of Frank Talk to read at the table so I wouldn’t have to talk to Henry. My new life goal is to get something printed in a future issue.  

WHAT IF HENRY AND I HAD OUR OWN MAGAZINE? Wait….I guess that’s just my blog. Maybe I should start charging for subscriptions! Jim & Pat seem to have a real racket going on.

(Just kidding-I’d never charge anyone to read my typo-laden bullshit!)

3:24pm: IM BACK. I was getting car sick SUE ME. I spent the last hour regaling Henry with stories of Erin the Yo Girl because seeing SNOOP DOGG last night really reactivated that dormant gene. I was telling him about seeing Bone and Biggie back in the day and he’s sneering at me in a way that makes me feel like he’s maybe relieved he didn’t know me then. Especially when I got to the part about lining my lips and wearing almost-brown lipstick. That’s how we did it back in the mid-90s OK?!

4:26pm: You know I’m in a hurry to get home to Chooch when I eschew the Roadside America temptation. CHOOCH I MISS YOUUUUUU. We’ve been messaging and video-chatting via Facebook all weekend so that’s been super helpful. We’re never away from each other for more than a day because we’re REALLY ATTACHED TO EACH OTHER OK. Also I just pretended to shoot Henry in the face at the end of Mr. Bill Collector and he was not pleased. YOUR RENT’S DUE MOTHERFUCKER.

5:12pm: Chooch just facetimed me and I got to watch him eating pierogies so there’s that.

6:40pm: Well, Most Boring Liveblog Ever, I’m about to be home in 5 minutes! Would have updated more but my WordPress app is lagging big time and all I have been doing anyway is talking with Henry about music for 8 hours and you guys don’t care about that shit. HENRY sure doesnt! KBYE!

****

EDITED TO ADD: So on the way home, Henry was like ” I dunno why you keep whining about missing Chooch because you know you guys will be fighting within 2 minutes, so….”

Came home and Chooch came prancing across the street to meet us in the parking lot (yes, he looked both ways—Henry taught him how to cross the street unjackassedly) and after hugging each other and squealing, we immediately started arguing about whether it was a stick or dog poop that Chooch nearly stepped on in the grass.

“Thirty seconds,” Henry mumbled.

Seriously though it was fossilized poop!

(OMFG I missed Chooch so much. He was so excited to see us and even gave us weird nose nuzzles before he went to bed, what the fuck world am I even in anymore?)

Today was the last day of Riot Fest and I decided to take some Hipstamatic pics because how goddamn cliché and basic.  
“Why does this feel like Day 16….”

 We accidentally got there today too early and walked right in, because our Lyft driver (Venus, she was THE BOMB) dropped us off at an alternate gate that apparently no one uses. We had like an hour to roam around and finally get our shopping done (I wanted to buy Chooch every single cat shirt we saw but Henry was like I AM A WAREHOUSE MANAGER AND YOU ARE AN OFFICE LACKEY, WE DO NOT HAVE MUCH $$$ LEFT, HELLO.  Then we went to the area where the two smallest stages are and waited for Signals Midwest and Foxtrott to start our day off.

Yesterday, after I was joyfully jumping through mud puddles with wanton abandon, Henry asked me if my boots were waterproof.

“Yeah, duh,” I said. And then I stomped through another filth swamp and said, “Ew wait….no.”

The weather today was gorgeous (low 70s and sun all day) but there was still mud everywhere. Henry was such a bitch about it too. Like “OMG EW MUD” and he would jerk me another direction.
What a man.  
During Hum’s set. I was late getting there because I fell in love with Souvenirs.

 I was really fond of the sound that my boots made every time I pulled them out of the muddy quicksands, even after I realized they weren’t waterproof, I figured, what did I care. I’m not the one who does laundry.  

“THE RIDES ARE $5 A TICKET, ERIN. AND EACH RIDE IS MORE THAN ONE TICKET!” – when I asked Henry why we never ride anything.

  
New Politics.

 These were some MOIST MOTHERFUCKERS. The chili cinnamon ones were A+. I wish I had some right now.   I took so many sips of Henry beer all weekend that I think I like it now. (I’m not a big drinker at shows so for all three days, I actually only had two Strongbows.)

  
Looking at his phone and doing the math: 2 more hours until Riot Fest ends.

 If you hate when I write about music and shows, then probably avoid my blog for the next week because it’s going to be Riot Fest word diarrhea all up in this blog commode. SO MUCH HAPPENED! I love this weekend!!

    On our way back to the hotel after a beautiful, chill first day of Riot Fest. The weather was awful when we were waiting in line (of course the gates didn’t open until 90 minutes after they were supposed to) but it was gorgeous for the rest of the day. No repeats of last year!

The drive to Chicago was super uneventful. We left after work yesterday and drove as far as South Bend, IN and crashed at the Waterford, which is my favorite hotel in South Bend. (Also the only one I’ve ever stayed at, but Henry was going to book a different hotel and I flipped out because WATERFORD.) Got to Chicago around 9:30 and then Bobby from Lyft carted our asses to Douglas Park. So many beautiful bands were seen today. 

Here’s a picture of Henry giving some French Canadian broad directions in a city he doesn’t even live in. Professional driver 4 lyfe.  
I’m really looking forward to taking my boots off and hounding Henry about what parts of today were his favorite. I feel so heart-eyed right now. 

Not even the dump Henry has us staying in can ruin that. (But it comes close. Hilariously, Golden Girls is on right now and Rose, talking about Miles, just said, “He’s not just frugal, he’s frickenfrugal! What, it’s a Scandinavian term.” #apropos.)

Henry, walking past the computer: “You’re still writing about Kennywood? What the fuck.”
Me: “It was our first time going there alone! It was kind of a big deal.”

I have a lot to say. Sue me.

***

Even at the ripe old stinky age of 36, there are very few rides I won’t go on. Even at county fairs, I’m all about the crazy death traps that fling a bitch all about, upside down, and inside out. (Well, until this happened.) Sure, there are some spinny rides that make me sick now when I ride them, so that sucks. But there are very few that I flat out refuse to ride.

And if I do, it’s because of heights.

I’m afraid of heights, big time. Even on steel roller coasters, the only thing that scares me is that initial climb. After that, I’m fine, but I can’t stand the suspense of slowly creeping up that steep hill. Ew. I think I can trace this back to the fall of 1983 when my bitch neighbor BECKY left me stranded in her tree house, and I just sat there and whimpered for hours (HOURS) until her dad realized that there was a human perishing alone in a tree in his backyard and came to rescue me. I was afraid to climb down the ladder, OK?

To this day, I am not friends with a single Becky. (Rebeccas and Beccas are cool, though.)

During the summer of 2005, I was at King’s Island in Cincinnati with Henry, ex-BFF and her sister. There was this ride there called Delirium, one of those pendulum-type rides, but larger than I had ever seen. I desperately wanted to ride it but all three of my riding partners bitched out. We walked past it before leaving the park that day, and I’m going to tell you a secret: I WAS REALLY GLAD THAT NO ONE WOULD RIDE IT WITH ME. That mother was frightening to watch;  it flung people so high into the sky that just watching it from the ground made my legs quake like Aunt Fran’s mystery Jell-o salad.

Last year, Kennywood replaced their Pitfall ride (one of those free-fall bitches that I hate and only rode once during its entire tenure at the park) with their own version of Delirium: The Black Widow. This one is actually larger than its King Island sister, tossing idiots 146 feet into the air as opposed to Delirium’s wussy 137. It is this disgusting behemoth that just sits there like a fat ass, looming in the distance, laying in wait, and I shudder every single time I’m in its vicinity. Chooch and I made excuses last year to not ride it.

“Maybe next year, when I’m 9,” Chooch promised no one in particular.

“Yeah, maybe it’ll have fallen into the river by then,” I said. “I mean, yeah, next year. We’ll ride it next year.”

So….when we were at Kennywood this summer, that was technically “next year.” And Chooch is 9 now.

And It hadn’t fallen into the river.

I asked him, after we rode the nearby Exterminator, if he wanted to ride it.

“Uh, sure….” he slurred with hesitation and uncertainty. “But um, how about later? Like, when it’s dark.”

But then Stanley happened, and I thought, “If an 80-year-old man can ride the Black Widow and live to tell the tale, then I certainly can ride it too and (hopefully) live to blog the tale.”

So we did it. Chooch and I got in line, which didn’t seem very long, but we ended up standing in it for a good 30 minutes; Stanley was right—the load-time for the Black Widow is really long. And that’s OK — I’d rather the ride attendants take their time checking each individual safety harness than just shrug and shout to the operator, “Eh, looks good from over here. Go ‘head and fire her up.”

You know, like they do at the county fairs.

Shudder.

Not only was the wait kind of long, but it was probably the most somber line I’ve ever stood in at an amusement park. If people weren’t outright voicing their fears and anxiety, they were standing with long, serious faces. Personally, I fidgeted a lot, bounced from one foot to the other and then even pulled out my third foot to bounce on that one too and that’s how you  know I was anxious. I tugged on my hair, I compulsively checked my phone, I asked Chooch if he was sure he didn’t want to just do this next year or never.

And then I stood there and watched, agog, every time the Black Widow took a new batch of 40 idiot fucks for a perilous swing.

During this, Janna texted that she was on her way. I told her we were in line for the Black Widow. Her response was “Why?” or “You’re idiots” or “OMG NO” or “Do you have a Will?” or something like that. That time of my life was a real blur.

Finally, the line started moving again. It was cut off right at me and Chooch. I fingered my imaginary rosary and blew a discreet kiss to the heavens.

But then one of the ride attendants told people to move down and I realized it was because he was making two seats available for us.

Noooooooo.

Chooch, suddenly brave, bolted over to one of the empty seats while I walked with knocking-knees over to one of the cubbies to stash my bag. I considered trying to stash myself in one of the cubes too. But Chooch needed me. Must be strong for Chooch. Such brave. Very courage. Strength. Valium. Self-administered cold-cocking.

I climbed up into the seat next to Chooch and together we struggled with the seat belt. Always a great start. Eventually, the attendants finished their rounds and, assured that we were all safely harnessed, gave the thumbs up to the ride operator. The platform slowly sank, taking my stomach with it.

There was a young girl to my left, and her mom was on the other side of her. As the arm of the Widow started swaying us back and forth, gently to start, the mom said, “OK, time to go to my place of Zen.”

“Can you take me with you?” I called over top of her daughter. The mom laughed and said, “I hate this ride too! I only ride it because of my daughter, she’s autistic and can’t ride it alone.”

By this point, we were being swung higher into the sky, and also, to ass-fuck us even harder, the part we were sitting on had started to spin.

I immediately started speaking in trucker-tongue. I expelled from my mouth the ghosts of hundreds of dead sailors, their nasty lexicon came with them. My words were so filthy that literal crumbs of soil began falling from my lips.

But that damn girl was sitting next to me, and her mom was so sweet and kept talking to me during the whole ride, trying to calm me down, so I began to make a conscious effort to swap out “motherfucking cunt of Satan’s mom!” with a more sterile “oh man!” or “hoooo boy, this is a real doozy!”

I tried to distract myself by seeing how much of the Jabberwocky I remembered after being forced to memorize it in seventh grade. (None.)

I asked myself what I wanted to do if I made it off the ride. (Cower in a corner. Hug someone. Buy new underwear. Go to church.)

And then, suddenly, I felt OK! I had acclimated! “This isn’t so bad!” I yelled to the mom just as someone to my right shouted joyously, “WE AREN’T EVEN HALFWAY THERE YET, WOOOOOO!!!!” I opened my eyes and he was right. We were still so close to the ground, with so much more height to gain.

So then I started saying things like:

• THIS IS THE WORST!
• NEVER AGAIN!
• CHOOCH, I HATE YOU!
• THIS IS NOT OK!
• I’M READY TO COME DOWN NOW, GUY! STOP THE RIDE!
• WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY?! in the Key of Kerrigan
• MY BOWELS JUST FELL OUT, MORTAL COMBAT-STYLE, DID YOU SEE THAT? THEY FUCKING FROZE MID-AIR AND THEN RE-ENTERED ME! THIS RIDE MADE MY BOWELS TRY TO RUN AWAY!

And by “saying” I mean that I was wailing these things so loudly, that I had accumulated an audience down below and by the time the Black Widow showed mercy and brought up back to the ground, there were people in line who were laughing at me.

But let’s back it up.

When we eventually reached the 146 feet that the Black Widow brags about on Kennywood’s website, I had no choice but to just let my muscles loosen, accept my fate, and allow the air to penetrate me. I just hung there like a rag doll and took it like a bitch. I felt Barbara Hershey in the Entity.

I’m not sure which part was worse: grimacing at the clouds or flinching at the cement below.

As the ride came to a complete stop, Chooch was like, “Yeah bitches! That was awesome! Woo! Mommy, you look awful, lol.”

And it wasn’t motion sickness, either. Don’t get it twisted. I was sick from pure, unadulterated FEAR. I felt poisoned by panic-induced adrenaline; one of those final, desperate shrieks had all but taken my voice (and my spirit) from me for the rest of the day.

I almost fell out of the seat after my harness was lifted, just dripped right onto the platform into an oozing puddle of flesh and piss. My legs were quaking and I was having trouble steadying my eyeballs in their sockets. It felt like the first time I tried to get out of the hospital bed after having a C-section but without the INCISION.

Weak, confused, like a fragile baby deer learning to walk.

A FRAGILE BABY DEER WITH A HUNTER HOT ON HER TAIL.

I don’t even remember gathering up my bag and walking out of the exit.

But I do remember standing across from the Black Widow afterward and feeling a sudden surge of empowerment! I’m not sure I could say that I “conquered” the Black Widow, but I made it through the whole thing without crying! I mean, I felt some drops on my face at one point, but it was probably just the wind making my eyes water. Or, you know, bird pee.

Definitely not tears.

Would I ride it again?

Probably!

I make stupid choices.

Maybe I’ll wait a few years, though.

By the time we washed our hands of the Black Widow, it was time to go to the entrance and meet that other black widow, Janna. We passed by the Swingshot en route, and Stanley was still going strong. Chooch and I screamed his name real loud and then smiled smugly, like, “Yeah, we know him” when people turned around to stare at us.

The day was already fun, but once Janna got there, it was like OFF THE CHAIN fun. Whatever that means. I always thought being on the chain was supposed to be fun?

Janna just really brings out the maniacal douchiness in Chooch and me. It’s not any certain thing that she does, but she is kind of an enabler. Like, she’ll try to make us do the right thing, but quickly realizes that we’re lost causes, so she’s just like, “Fuck it. Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

She’s been saddled with one form of me or another since the 90s. She’s pretty good at shrugging it off.

We waited all day for Janna to get there before partaking in my favorite tradition: GOLDEN NUGGET ICE CREAM CONES. They’re just the best.

And holy shit, EXPENSIVE!

“Everything here is so expensive!” I texted Henry, who replied, “No shit.” I don’t like knowing these things. It’s better when Henry handles the food and beverage and ticket department while I twirl around like Julie Andrews on a goddamn hill.

Seriously, these cones are the best. I’m not certain that these are exclusive to Kennywood, but I can say that I have never seen these types of ice cream cones anywhere else.

I feel like this was my standard mask for the day.

Chooch lost the race, in case you wondered. I LOVE IT WHEN I BEAT HIM!

This was one of my favorite moments of the day. Chooch and I had reconvened with Janna at the Potato Patch, after we finished riding the Thunderbolt. Janna asked us if we wanted any of her fries, and Chooch disgustedly snipped, “Uh, no. I just saw that one fall out of your mouth and land on the other fries!”

“It did not fall out of my mouth!” Janna cried defensively. “It fell off my fork, Chooch!”

“No, it fell from your mouth. I saw it. I don’t want your germy fries.”

Janna was so offended and pissed off about this, and I just sat there and laughed while eating her germy fries. I don’t care if it fell out of her mouth, Potato Patch fries are amazing, and even better when I didn’t have to stand in line and pay for them myself.

They continued to bicker about this and I smiled to myself, happy that Chooch was adeptly carrying the torch. Just a few weeks ago, Corey and Chooch went to see Minions. Janna was meeting them there; apparently, on the way to the theater, they passed a car that had been pulled over by a cop. It was a car similar to Janna’s, so by the time they got to the theater and bought their tickets, they had convinced themselves that it actually was Janna. When she arrived at the theater (“Late!” Corey told me), they started mocking her endlessly about getting pulled over and from what they excitedly told me afterward, she was getting really irritated and defensive.

I love this. It’s like a brand new generation of Janna Torturers.

The quote of the night was born as we stood in line for the Skyrocket. Completely out of the blue, Chooch turned to us and said, “Japanese horror really takes it past the limit.”

I mean, he’s not wrong.
  

Fucking lemonade. DRINK THAT SLOWLY, SON.

The Kangaroo is a ride that I often overlook, but this time, we made sure to mount that bitch. I love kiddie rides because it makes overzealous cheering and frenzied screaming effortlessly fall from my body. Chooch likes to get in on this exaggerated enthusiasm as well, so we’re on the Kangaroo, flailing about and wooting like frat boys when I suddenly noticed that the people in the car in front of us kept turning around and looking. Even Janna was like, “This is fun. Whee.”

“What are they looking at?” I shouted.

“Us,” Janna pointed out, and that’s when I noticed that we were the only idiots expressing any joy whatsoever, so that just made me ramp it up to “Go home, you’re drunk” levels. Nothing comes more naturally to me than the simple act of obnoxious behavior. (This just in: Janna has confirmed that this was her favorite moment of the day!)

Near the end of the night, Janna wanted to ride the Whip, which is conveniently located right next to the Exterminator. And I really wanted to ride the Exterminator again, even though Chooch and I had already ridden it twice earlier that day.

“I hate the Exterminator,” Janna complained. “It always gives me a headache!” But Chooch and I looked at each other like, “Aw shit, this bitch isn’t actually trying to say no to us, is she?” So then we bullied into her agreeing to ride it. We’re skilled in the art of persuasion.

On the way there, my phone rang and it was Henry facetiming us! I screamed, “HENRY!” and Chooch snapped his head back and cried, “DADDY?!” and then we fought over the phone. I was so happy to see his stupid face! Janna watched on in amused horror with an expression of “Jesus Christ, you idiots haven’t even been away from him for a whole day!” on her face. Don’t judge us. We’re very attached to our caregiver.

Then we hung up on Henry because we had reached the entrance to the Exterminator. After a short wait in line, we  screamed and laughed our way through the ride’s duration while Janna sat there in a static state of “Ugh.” When we exited the Exterminator a few moments later, I started laughing riotously.

A Kennywood employee was in the process of covering each car on the Whip with a black tarp.

The Whip had closed for the night while we were riding a ride that Janna didn’t want to ride! OH THE SWEET STENCH OF SCHADENFREUDE.

“Sorry, Janna,” I said with faux-sincerity and a mouthful of giggles. She was just rolled her eyes and acted like she hadn’t had her heart set on it.

Chooch and I wanted to ride the Swingshot again after that, so we made Janna stand there and attempt to photograph us screaming our skulls out of our heads. We hoarsely shouted, “JANNNNNNA!!!!” during the whole ride like it was some foreign word for “wheeeee!” Sometimes I wonder what we look like to outsiders.

Fucking awesome and cool as shit, I bet.

This was a stellar way to close out the summer. Kennywood4lyfe!

OK

Chooch was all smiles and giggles all day long, but every time I would go to take a picture, he would put on his Sad Boy persona because he wanted Henry to see how sad we were without him. Which is great, but he didn’t tell me why he was doing this until the day was almost over, so I look like I’m forcing my child to spend time with me, like oh wow look at that lady, trying to be a loving mom all of a sudden. I look like my cheesy smile is about to engulf him whole.

I always forget how abusive the Musik Express is. Why can’t they line those bars with pillows?! I had bruises for the next week. Henry would find a new one and ask, “What’s that fr—–” and I would cut him off with, “Musik Express, OK? GOD, LAY OFF WITH THE QUESTIONS.”

Maybe I should let him think my bruises are from trolley-trauma—I bet then he’ll start driving me to work again!

In line for the Jack Rabbit, one of the most hilarious wooden coasters of all time. Please, People of the Internet, come visit me so we can ride the Jack Rabbit together! When I was in middle school, my best friend Christy and I would sing the “It’s beyond me, help me Mommy” part from the Rocky Horror Picture Show song “Don’t Dream It” as we ascended the first hill, the one right before the double dip. I think about this every single time I ride the Jack Rabbit; it might be time to teach Chooch so we can dust off that old tradition.

Or maybe CHRISTY and her kids can just come to Kennywood with us next summer!?

I was trying to get a picture of that Historic National District sign, don’t flatter yourself, Kid.

Second lunch at Johnny Rockets. Should have just taken him here to begin with, because finishing off chicken strips is always a guarantee with him. I got to have coffee while he ate and it was fantastic. I always forget that I’m an addict until I haven’t had any for four hours and start to get snippy with people and everything around me seems amplified and blown out of proportion. So when the waitress told me that they don’t serve iced coffee, I all but cried, “I DON’T CARE, BRING ME REGULAR THEN.” And so she did and I sat there nursing my steaming cup of coffee with a drunk smile on my pudding face.

Our Johnny Rockets visit was nice because we got to slow down our pace and talk about things, like Minecraft (snooze alert) and MUSIC and the derpy people around us.

Chooch didn’t like his fries because they were “American fries” and not “French fries.”

Chooch wanted to pretend like we were drunk, so…
 

During one of our line-waits for the Racer, I noticed a little girl further ahead of us in the queue. She kept making eyes at Chooch every time we passed each other. Finally, when the line stopped moving and she found herself across from him, she blurted out, “I like your hair!”

He made this annoyed smirk and rolled his eyes! “Thanks,” he muttered.

I felt so bad that he snubbed her, so I told her I liked her shirt (I did! It had ice cream cones and hot dogs on it) and that seemed to brighten her up a little. Then when the line started moving again, I made sure to tell Chooch that he was rude as fuck back there.

“WHAT DID I DO?!” he yelled, and I was like, “JUST BE NICE TO GIRLS, OMG.”

Actually, now that I think about it, this happened after Janna joined us and that little girl’s rejection was probably a major trigger for her. Lol supreme!

I used to love this ride, but it’s currently on my puke-a-rama black list ever since I almost puked after riding one of these at Waldameer last summer. Or the summer before that. Who knows anymore. THE DAYS ARE ALL A BLUR. I used to ride it alone because Chooch was too short but now he rides it alone while I sit on a bench like a basic mom.

Thunderbolt! I’m suspicious of amusement parks that don’t have wooden coasters.

  

Chooch will only drink lemonade and milk because he’s a freak and a huge disgrace to his father who slings FAYGO for a living, so we had to bounce from one refreshment stand to the next in search of something non-carbonated to coat his precious throat. I was getting so pissed! Just drink water! WWHD in a situation like this? Probably go straight to the correct beverage stand on his first try because he has done it so many times before while I’m not paying attention/standing in line for a ride/looking for a new boyfriend/crying about something.

Also, lemonade is expensive!

I mean, how great are amusement parks once the lights come on? It almost makes me forget how much it costs to get in. ALMOST.

Chooch was supposed to help me caption these but he’s a punk ass bitch who all of a sudden “has to do homework.” OH OK.

One more Kennywood post to go! It’s the one where Janna makes her grand entrance and I almost lost consciousness on a ride.

After a series of post-lunch gentle rides, Chooch and I got in the short line for the Swingshot, a ride that used to terrify me and I boycotted it for a good five years after the first time I rode it. I felt ready to give it a second chance two years ago, and it’s been heart-eyes, death-trap edition ever since. It’s basically like being on a giant swingset, but the only thing that really freaks me out is that the safety bar only goes over your lap and not over your shoulders, so there isn’t anything to hold on to. And the scared little four-year-old girl in me desperately needs something to cling to!

A girl and her younger brother were in line behind us and the brother was very calmly stating over and over that he really did not want to ride this. She was very firm with him.

“Too bad, you’re riding it,” she said bossily, her youthful visage already in the beginning stages of memory-foaming her future resting bitch face. I mean, she was probably only 10 or 11 and already had a semi-perma-scowl dripping off her jowls. We made eye contact and I smiled nervously at her because I’ve seen Village of the Damned and it’s better not to anger the children, but my smile was met with unspoken haughtiness.

Again, people who are not amused at amusement parks can GTFO.

“Oh my god, look at that old man!” Chooch cried, pointing at the Swingshot, currently in motion. “He’s like as old as grandma!”

“I was just noticing him too,” I said, meaning to imply that hey, look at us! Always on the same wavelength, this mom-and-son duo! But of course, Chooch took this opportunity to make it into a competition and sneered, “OH OK. I SAW HIM FIRST.”

So then we argued about who saw the old man first and somehow during this we missed the girl’s brother escaping her grasp and leaving her to stand in line alone.

There was only one side of the Swingshot running that day, so the line moved a little slower than normal. We ended up just missing getting on the next round, but the ride operator said we could ride that one if we wanted, we just wouldn’t be able to sit together.

“No way, I can’t sit by myself,” I laughed nervously.

“But you can sit next to our VIP!” the ride operator continued, trying her best to fill the ride to capacity. “He’s 80-years-old and trying to ride this 80 times in a row today.”

“What?!” I cried, ogling the Elder sitting patiently at the end of the ride. “That’s amazing.”

“Earlier in the season, he rode the Jack Rabbit 80 times, too,” she said, before sliding the gate closed and giving the “all clear” to the ride operator behind the controls. I watched in awe as the Elder maintained his relaxed composure while being catapulted into the air. I forgot about hating on the girl behind me and focused all of my attention on this new subject.

“That man is a bad ass,” I said to Chooch.”I’m going to sit next to him when it’s our turn. Will you save me a seat while I put my bag in the cubby thing?” I was already tossing furtive glances over my shoulder at the people behind us, trying to determine if any of them seemed like a threat. I felt compelled to cry out “I CLAIM SEAT 3!” but everyone knows you never announce to a crowd what you want! That’s a sure way of handing some motherfucker the ammunition to give your dreams a head shot. Chooch did that once at another park, I can’t remember where we were, but we were in line and he opened his big mouth and said, “I WANT TO GET THE BLUE CAR” or something, and no fucking shit, I watched the boy’s ears in front of us as they perked up and he side-eyed Chooch, and I knew it was over. Chooch just gave this asshole his idea and sure enough, once the entrance gate was unlocked, that little fuckboy bolted straight to the car that Chooch had his heart set on. (Because these are big issues, you guys.)

I mean, not gonna lie, I would probably do the same thing.

So, I was really getting anxious, feeling like I was going to pee my pants, nervously doing the standing-in-line jig. Even though we were going to be the first ones on, I had this fucking bag that I had to stash away first. GODDAMN YOU HENRY FOR NOT BEING THERE. He always holds my stuff for me when I’m on rides. :(

I whispered one more to Chooch, begging him to make sure no one took that seat.

“No, because I’m going to sit next to him,” Chooch said defiantly. So then we fought about who was going to sit next to the old man for the next minute until the ride was over and the entrance gate slid open for us.

I ran over to toss my bag into one of the cubbies while Chooch ran to claim a seat. I was pretty much ready to accept defeat because Chooch is the worst, but when I turned around, I saw that Chooch was climbing into a seat two down from the old man, leaving the seat next to him open for me! I COULDN’T BELIEVE MY GOOD FORTUNE.

“I don’t feel like talking to him, so you can just have that seat,” Chooch mumbled, which is his way of saying I LOVE YOU MOMMY AND I WANT NOTHING MORE THAN FOR YOU TO BE HAPPY.

I happily stuffed my ass into the spare seat and immediately turned to the old man and yelled, “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU ARE RIDING THIS 80 TIMES.” There is this weird dichotomy with me in that I am often pretty reserved and introverted because I just don’t have the energy for small talk. But the other side of me is a blown-out Leo, almost a caricature where I am TURN ALL THE WAY UP. A few years ago, for example, I was having lunch with an acquaintance. This person doesn’t really know me very well outside of my blog, so when we would meet up, he would get the sweet, polite, intense listener version of myself. One time he said to me, “You know, I love your blog. I love how you developed yourself into a character. But I gotta tell you, if Blog Erin was who you were in real life, I wouldn’t be friends with you.”

This really took me by surprise, because “Blog Erin” is very much who I am. This isn’t an act. I am actually at times even more full-blown “in real life” than I am “on the blog,” and it was just incredibly frustrating to sit there and listen to someone act like they know me, when they had only been given the opportunity to see one facet of my personality—ya gotta earn the rest. I feel like most everyone is like this! But, what do I know. I’m halfway to recluse when it comes to interacting with people these days.

That being said, as I sat there on the Swingshot, waiting for the ride attendants to finish their safety checks, I was Full Force Blog Erin with this guy. I was eager to meet him, to talk to him, to give him the chance to touch my life. I just felt drawn to him, I don’t know. Any 80-year-old who is attempting to ride something 80 more times than my dumb boyfriend, who is practically a spring chicken by comparison, is worth talking to.

“This ain’t nothing more than a giant swing,” the man, whose name I had learned was Stanley, answered my maniacal statement.

“True,” I agreed, thinking about it. “I love this ride, but it still scares me.”

“Pffft,” Stanley swatted at the air with his hand. “This ride is safe. I like the Black Widow too, but it takes too long to load that ride, so I chose the Swingshot instead.”

Whoa. If Stanley rides the Black Widow, then I should definitely stop being a bitch baby about it. I asked him what number he was currently on and he held up a metal counter in his hand. Ride #16. What a goddamn bad ass.

“What are those on your fingers?!”

I held up my hands and curved my fingers into air quotes so he could see my quotation tattoos.

“Are those real?” he asked skeptically. I nodded and he did a little eye roll and shook his head in a “kids these days” fashion. I asked him what made him want to ride this for 80 times that day, and he said, “Because it gives me the chance to sit with pretty young girls like yourself!”

OH STANLEY, STOP! No, don’t really stop.

And he continued to talk to me as the Swingshot fired up, sounding like a dragon swooping down from the sky, and I began to scream because it gets me every single time. You are literally staring face-first at the cement below!

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Stanley yelled against the rushing wind. “We go soaring over those trees!” he laughed.

YEAH, AND THEN LAND WITH A WET SPLAT AGAINST THE ROAD!

After the Swingshot returned us to terra firma, Stanley agreed to take a selfie with me.

“You make sure you show that to your boyfriend!” he said in that sleazy way that only men his age can get away with. I laughed and said I would, and then after retrieving my bag and walking passed him to the exit, he yelled over his shoulder, “You keep that picture forever! Don’t you forget me!”

Honestly, how could I? We may have only spent 5 minutes in each others’ lives, but it was really inspirational—don’t laugh! Stanley had me so stoked on life! I walked away feeling giddy as fuck, like I could do anything, perhaps maybe even tackle my knee-buckling fear of the Black Widow later on.

Stanley, you are the motherfucking man.

It didn’t feel right closing out summer without a trip to Kennywood. We normally go earlier in the season, but skipped it this time in favor of another park, so I decided that I would take a day off work so we could go before Chooch had to return to school. Unfortunately, because they were short a person at Henry’s job, he was unable to take any time off work and enjoy life like a regular person with a job that doesn’t suck.

I didn’t care. My day off was approved and Chooch and I were going. The End.

Except that we do EVERYTHING as a family. Going to Kennywood without Henry seemed unnatural. Dirty, even. Also, horrifying.

Henry still did everything he could to ensure that our day went off without a hitch, including PRE-BUYING OUR TICKETS FOR US. Some people at work were concerned about me having to drive there but I was like bitch please. I know how to drive! Getting there was pretty much the only thing I wasn’t worried about. It was more of, “What’s going to happen if we need an adult?” Before I left work the day before, Wendy even asked me if she should be on stand-by.

You guys have no idea how good we have it with Henry. Or maybe you do. But sometimes Chooch and I forget. Not on this day, though. Oh shoot, not on this day.

Even with all of these murky unknowns, I woke up that Tuesday morning feeling positively giddy. Kennywood has always had that effect on me! I threw on my favorite Cure t-shirt, checked the weather (I’m growing up!) and when I saw that it was going to be in the low-70s all day and even cooler at night, I had the good sense to actually stuff two long-sleeved shirts for me and Chooch into my Draven drawstring bag. I even remembered my portable charger for my phone!

And then Chooch and I had a huge fight (he was wearing a Minecraft shirt and I told him to change because I didn’t want to look at that all day—-ha-ha, I love it when I get to confuse being a mom with being a QUEEN) and I screamed “THEN WE’RE NOT GOING TODAY!” and he was like “FINE!” and then we both indulged in a big pout in separate rooms of the house, during which I texted Henry in CAPSLOCK and he was like “Calm down, what happened” while probably rolling his eyes and feeling even more stressed out than usual.

I stomped downstairs to heat up my coffee and made accidental eye contact with Chooch, who was sitting on the couch in a different shirt, putting on his shoes.

“WE’RE STILL GOING, YOU KNOW,” he snarled brattily, and I tried to snarl back at him but then we both started cracking up.

“I hate you,” I said to him lovingly. Because I show my affection in opposites.

And so we left the house around 10:00 because the park opens at 10:30. As we walked to the car, Chooch groaned, “Why do you always have to look like a teenager?” to which I yelled, “OMG THANKS!”

We had no trouble getting there. I parked without any sort of tragedy. We remembered to take the tickets out of the glove compartment. Made it through the gates without becoming part of a hostage situation.

I don’t think I have ever been to Kennywood this early in the morning! It was wonderful. Not too many assholes were there yet, but also most of the rides were not yet running so we just kind of walked around, looking like n00bs. We decided to head over to the Exterminator, because that’s our favorite ride and the line for that one can get pretty long, and most of the wait time is inside the stuffy building, where there is always at least one motherfucker who feels compelled to fart. Mmm, the stench of flatulence in a crowded room on a humid summer day.

There was already a pre-line that had formed, but only about 10-15 people. At 11:00, some song started playing around the park and everyone was smiling knowingly at each other, and that’s when I definitely realized for sure that in all of my 36 years of visiting Kennywood, I have never been there when it opened and this “good morning” song was new to me. Definitely a n00b.

Right after, a Kennywood kid came out to officially open the line, and we walked right in and started our day off in a good way. The Exterminator is like a wild mouse-type of coaster inside a dark building and it makes me crack the fuck up so bad every time. One time, I rode it with Blake and Alisha and came sickeningly close to peeing my pants from laughing so hard. Or maybe I did. Just a little!

After the Exterminator, I was feeling really amped because we just successfully partook in our first ride of the day. But then when we exited the building, I remembered that Henry wasn’t standing off to the side by a garbage can somewhere, nose-in-phone, waiting for us. Chooch and I exchanged looks, but then I cried, “LET’S GO ON THE THUNDERBOLT NOW!” and he was like “FUCK YEAH, THUNDERBOLT!” On the way, we passed the Black Widow, which is Kennywood’s newest ride. It’s this gigantic pendulum-type thing that swings sorry souls to wicked heights. Chooch and I made 87 excuses last summer to not ride it.

“Should we ride this today?” I whispered.

“Uh….yeah sure. But later. Like, when it’s dark,” Chooch waved it off nervously and then we ran away.

On the way to the Thunderbolt, we were sidetracked by the Turtles! The Turtles is one of those great old-fashioned rides that has persevered for ages and is a historical landmark at this point. (It seriously is. It has a plaque.) It’s one of only two tumble-bug rides that remain in the world, and while it’s “just a kids ride,” it still evokes so many obnoxious laughs. Partially because ha-ha we’re on a kids ride, and partially because I always forget how rough of a ride it is. And when you pass by the beginning part of the track, there’s a recording of a slow, drugged-out sounding voice that says, “Tuuuuuuuurtle.” So Chooch and I pretty much walked around the rest of the day, randomly shouting “tuuuuuuuuurtle” to each other.

LOOK AT US, making memories without Henry. Oh, what a concept.
  

Chooch ended up changing into a Dixon Brothers (The Walking Dead) shirt so that we could spend the day together without my eyes crossing in sheer boredom every time they fell upon his idiotic Minecraft shirt.

I mean, I get that Minecraft is supposedly some great learning tool for children, somehow, but I just hate everything about it and I’m not ashamed to say so. Get fucked, Minecraft.

Basically no line for the Thunderbolt! We could have walked right on, but we decided to wait an extra couple of minutes in order to snag the front seat.

The second of approximately 87 selfies that we would take throughout the day. SELFIE ON EVERY RIDE!

Kennywood is built on a hill next to a gross river and across from one of the sad, industrial sections of Pittsburgh. It helps keep it real, you know? It’s definitely changed a lot since I was a kid, and a lot of beloved rides were replaced with flashier, more modern ones, and the admission prices have skyrocketed, but deep down in the heart of it all, Kennywood still has that quaint, blue-collar working class essence about it. Aside from Alisha and the foreign exchange student who lived with my family in 1995, I just realized that I have had very few opportunities to pop anyone’s Kennywood cherry, so if you want to come visit me next summer and go to Kennywood, you should. That’s pretty much the only tourist destination here that I will actually be able to fill your head with facts about.

Everything else, I’m like, “I don’t know. There are three rivers there but fuck if I know the names.”  And, “Oh I don’t know, some Carnegie guy.” But, Heinz ketchup and Kennywood! Those are topics I can yammer on about.

(Truthfully, my Heinz ketchup facts only extend as far telling people to slam the heel of their hand against the 57 if they need to get the ketchup flowing out of the glass bottle.)

Kennywood has some great wooden coasters. Last year was Chooch’s first time on the Thunderbolt because it has one of the highest height restrictions. Being able to ride everything together now is the best!

Hairband collection.

Racer selfie!

Jackrabbit!

There still wasn’t much of a crowd around 12:30, so we had been ride-riding for a good 90 minutes with very little wait time. This made us get hungry earlier than normal, so we decided it was time to take a break and eat. Also, Kennywood isn’t a huge park, and I didn’t want us to get burnt out too early, because Janna was going to be meeting us later in the evening after work. (Kennywood has a cheaper “Night Rider” admission option.)

“Hi Janna! Sorry you just paid $22 for a ticket, but we’re sick of Kennywood now. K, bye!”

Honestly though, I’m sure she wouldn’t be too surprised if that actually happened, coming from Flake 1 and Flake 2.

Our food tradition at Kennywood for years has always been to get pizza at this food place that’s next to Kiddieland.  It’s not that the pizza is like OMG ITALY! or totally gourmand, but it’s familiar, decent, and fast. Also, Henry always deals the pizza procurement while the rest of us sit down and bang our fisted forks and knives against the table. This was my first time even walking into the pizza shack!

THE HORROR!

“Do they take credit cards?” I asked Chooch and he was like “The fuck if I know, I’m 9.”

And of course, as soon as we started walking toward the entrance, a family of about 10 swooped in from the left and beat us. Literally, the longest line we had to wait in all fucking day. I was PISSED and texted Henry to let him know this. He was just like “lol” and then probably miumbled, “Better you than me.”

It took these assholes so long to place a simple pizza order that I had plenty of time to familiarize myself with the shoddy, prison tattoos that the mom had on her arms. One was the outline of Tweety (obviously), but the line was really thick and fuzzy and didn’t CONNECT. She had the angry mom-bark to go along with it. The musk of Newport halo’ing her jowled face. The Yinzer-attitude after a Steelers loss.

I couldn’t stand this broad. Especially when she was rude to the old man who handed her the pizza box and kindly suggested that she hold it with two hands. “I GOT IT” she snapped in that angry mom-bark, rolling her eyes at him. As she walked away, pizza box balanced precariously on one forearm while her hands were full of plates and beverage, I silently willed her to trip in her Crocs. I hate when people are assholes to old people! This guy was probably someone’s grandfather and I decided that I was going to be obsessed with him.

I think his name was Roy. I knew at the time, but later I would meet another old man (no, Henry didn’t surprise us with a visit) and quickly booted Pizza Server out of my heart.

Sorry, Roy.

“There’s nothing to make fun of without daddy here,” Chooch said sadly. I agreed, and we had a moment of silence for Henry. Then I made Chooch get a napkin and wipe the pizza off his face, because that’s the only maternal instinct I have: to shudder at the sight of food-faces.

Mr. “I’m so hungry, order me two pieces please” only ate half of one. Normally, Henry’s role is to finish our food for us because WASTE NOT WANT NOT or whatever it was that the Pilgrims said.  But he wasn’t there, so I had to stuff down my own slice, plus Chooch’s leftovers, and I felt like I was going to die.

“Well, at least I don’t have to buy myself dinner now,” I muttered and Chooch was like, “I SAID I’M SORRY, GOD! SO FAT, SO SAD!”

After pizza, we had a costume change because the day had turned overcast and it was chilly as fuck for August. I loved it. I made Chooch ride the train and he was pissed, but after homeboy turned me into a pizza compactor, he was going to have to suffer through a mild ride with me so that my stomach could settle. I’m not a big eater at amusement parks! Afterward, Chooch said that he wanted to wait for Janna to get there before riding the train so that she could slam her head off of it again. Seriously, one of our favorite Kennywood Memories!

It looked like rain almost all day and yet not a single drop fell. These are the best days! The weather plus it being the last weekday that Kennywood was open for the season really kept the crowds at bay.

On Noah’s Ark, this lady in front of Chooch was such a miserable bitch who complained about every single thing and at one point, when we were still in line, she miserably cried about how she just wished she was drunk right then, at which point we made accidental eye contact and I was scared that she was going to start yelling at me. Maybe she had bigger issues that she was dealing with, but it’s really hard for me to understand how you could be at an amusement park, literally a park created to amuse people, and be a miserable cooze.

And then her kids were warning her of the moving floors and precarious staircases inside the Ark and I was like, “Just let the bitch fall!”

Usually during a Noah’s Ark walk-thru, I will violently shove Henry along and he will mumble, “Stop. Stop it. Stop. STOP!!!!” I was tempted to use that miserable bitch as my Henry stand-in but also didn’t want to get ejected from the park so early on in the day. It was fun to imagine, though.

I’m ending this installment here because I have other things to do, but don’t worry — I have so much more to say.  SHOCKING!

Anyone who even casually knows me would probably say “obvi duh” upon hearing me declare that Warped Tour is my favorite day of every summer. And probably punctuate it with an eye roll. But it really is the one day a year that helps me relate a little bit to religious zealots, because being around so many of “my people” at once is a really powerful, exciting feeling. Much like being at one of those colossal mega-churches with people passing out and screaming.

A few weeks ago, I made a poster of all of my pictures from this year’s Warped Tour, which was one of my favorites.

And I feel weird saying that, because this year’s was rife was drama and controversy, starting with the allegations against Front Porch Step earlier in the year. This has been written about ad nauseum on the Internet, so I’ll keep it short: Jack Mcelfresh, the singer behind the Front Porch Step moniker, was using his scene status to lure underage girls via social media. Several of them finally spoke out about it via Tumblr, complete with screen shots of text messages and gross pictures he was sending them. I had never heard of him until we took Chooch to see Never Shout Never in Cleveland in 2013. We were hanging out by his merch table most of the night and he gave Chooch a free poster, which I thought was so nice, but also — we were there with the editor in chief of Alternative Press, so I’m not stupid. If I wanted my music to be acknowledged by the biggest publication supporting my scene, I’d give out free shit to a kid, too.

Now I just feel gross about it.

FPS ultimately was removed from Warped Tour; literally no one wanted to see his face after all of this. But then he made a surprise one-off appearance at the Nashville date which inspired massive outcry and widespread disappointment from those who had the misfortune of stumbling across him that day and everyone following along from home. This really put Warped Tour and its founder, Kevin Lyman, under a lot of fire and public scrutiny. Kevin defended his choice to allow Jake play in the Acoustic Basement that day by stating that he was working with Jake’s counselors and that this was part of his recovery process. While I have mad respect for Kevin Lyman for organizing my favorite music festival year after year, I will be the first to admit that this guy just shouldn’t even give statements to the media and he definitely should think harder before tweeting his opinions, because he is a master word-mincer. Every time he opens his mouth, he makes it worse! So he basically made himself look like a misogynist (and I truly don’t believe that he actually is) while essentially minimizing the issue at hand. Jake Mcelfresh is not the victim in this situation and he should not have been given a platform, even if it was only for one Warped Tour date.

That shouldn’t have even been an option. I will hand it to Kevin though, he made himself available every morning and invited any concerned fan to come and speak to him directly about this before the show.

So that was one big issue, and it was enough to start the #boycottwarped hashtag.

The second involved my old buddy, Jonny Craig! It’s never a dull moment with him. Quick backstory: the last time he played Warped Tour was in 2010, back when he was still in Emarosa. He caused a lot of drama and Kevin Lyman had to get Jonny’s mom to come out so they could attempt an intervention. Ultimately, he was told he’d never be allowed to play Warped again. But for whatever reason, Kevin decided to give Jonny a second chance, so five years later his new band Slaves was invited to play the second leg of Warped. (Emarosa played the first half.) Of course, Jonny started off by being super cocky about it, because everything Emarosa does, he thinks his idiot band can do better.

They managed to play…three dates, I think? Then people started commented on Jonny’s Instagram asking things like, “Hey, why didn’t you guys play today?” and of course, no one would respond. Well, Jonny sexually harassed their merch girl; it’s believed that he shoved his crotch in her face and made her touch him. I know, so uncharacteristic of him! He never even denied it, but still managed to make it worse by choosing douchey ways to express that what he did wasn’t “wrong.” He flat out replied “lol” to the merch girl’s vague tweet about how upsetting it is when alcohol turns decent people into monsters, which turned out to be her discreet way of alluding to what happened to her. Girl was traumatized, and rightfully so — she had only just met the band days earlier.

Some girl named Shelby who has known Jonny for some time and has also worked as his merch girl in the past, posted this ridiculous defense of Slaves online, about how women need to have thick skins to work in the music industry and that you have to expect things like this to happen, and how she can attest, without even being there, that Jonny was just joking around and that if you can’t “be one of the guys,” you should find a different job.

WHAT A WONDERFUL WOMAN! Teaching all these girls out there that they should just expect to be groped and humiliated by men, and if they can’t handle it, they’re clearly weak Lesser-Thans, right? So fucking sickening. Way to leave your own dirty finger print on rape culture, lady! The last line — really? So this girl should just go home and then Slaves can just carry on the rest of the tour like nothing happened? She should be punished but not them? I just…I can’t.

The bottom line is that being a merch person is still a job. Do you go to work expecting to be sexually harassed? Me either. So why should Slaves’ merch girl? She was just trying to make a living like everyone else.

All of this culminated into a huge divide behind the scenes at Warped Tour. First, Kevin kicked them off the tour, but then decided, for whatever reason, to let everyone involved in Warped Tour decide the fate of Slaves. They had a town hall meeting one Saturday night after all the fans were gone, where everyone was invited to say their piece, and then vote on whether Slaves should be kicked off or not. I have become Twitter friends with Jonny’s ex-fiancee, Amanda, over the last year, and she had a friend who was at the town hall meeting that night. She and I DM’d each other for hours that evening, on pins and needles waiting for the outcome.

Can I just pause for a second to say that this is a band full of dickhead members who tweet things like this?

Alex Lyman is the Slaves guitarist, and I honestly think he’s worse than Jonny Craig. People get fired from their jobs for saying things much less bad than this on the Internet. But it’s OK because he’s in band, right guys?

According to Amanda’s friend, about 300 people showed up that night to vote. It started with Kevin telling Jonny that he’s done with him, and he’s done with his band, but now it’s up to his peers to decide his fate. It was, obviously, a landslide vote to have them removed from the tour. Jonny was incredulous, and during all of it, he still wasn’t owning up to what he did to tip over that first domino. He kept accusing everyone of judging him based on his past, when sadly, it sounds like a lot of the bands that voted him off were doing so because they were worried that the Warped Tour environment was reversing his recovery process, while also trying to reason with him that getting drunk every night was not something that he should be doing. The rest of his band got real defensive about that and kept saying things like, “he’s an adult, he can handle it” which is hilarious because Jonny Craig is one of the most emotionally-stunted people I have ever encountered. He is the true definition of Man Child, which is why deep down, I honestly feel really sorry for him.

Billboard interviewed Kevin Lyman about the decision to remove Slaves from Warped Tour; yay — more face/palm Warped Tour media spotlights.

My favorite part of this latest Jonny Blows It Again episode is that a bunch of bands started wearing “Bring Back Emarosa” shirts. <3

Meanwhile, Fronz from Attila was having a major feud with The Wonder Years and Buddy from Senses Fail, who went on to tweet a virtual manifest of the state of the scene and how shit needs to change and Kevin Lyman needs to quit giving stages to these immature brat-bands. And Coop from Hands Like Houses posted a picture of himself flipping off the YouTubers tent and saying that he wishes the kids at Warped Tour would stop paying so much attention to the people who have nothing beneficial to say (truth), which incited an Instagram riot with all the teenage girls who are obsessed with the Warped YouTubers.

I know shit like this happens every year, but it seemed especially bad this time around, resulting in Kevin Lyman to give another cringe-worthy interview in which he seemingly chose his words in haste, leaving them open to easy misinterpretation. (Warped Tour will never be a 21+ event, guys. That’s not what he meant. Kevin knows his Warped Tour bread-and-butter demographic is the teen girls!)

It’s depressing to see that most of the people defending Jonny Craig are GIRLS. The victim-shaming on Twitter alone is enough to make me want to cry for all womankind and scream at them to get off Twitter and go burn a fucking bra. And then I read comments about how bands have been doing shit like this forever and how come it was OK back then, it was brushed off as “Oh, that’s so rock n’ roll,” but now all of these bands suddenly are expected to be held accountable, and the scene is becoming so “pussified” and “sensitive.” How about, no—it wasn’t OK back then. But I think it was easier for bands to get away with bad behavior in past decades because their lives were more secretive and more protected. With social media, everything is out there. It’s easier for smarmy musicians to bait underage girls, and it’s also easier for them to get exposed for doing so. It’s better, and it’s worse.

This is why I’m relieved that Robert Smith of the Cure has barely any Internet presence at all. He still ensconced in beautiful mystery. And how rare!

The one silver-lining I took from all this drama is seeing how many bands I respect speak up about the state of Warped Tour, offering solutions, begging the ones who are giving the scene a bad name to hear them out, trying to resolve beef without violence, and just ultimately coming together in an effort to make this community stronger. Also? There are a lot of men out there in this scene who give a fuck about women’s rights and are willing to go to bat for us. Misogyny and rape culture is rampant at most music festivals—not just Warped—and in many music scenes, but it is refreshing to see that this is something that my scene is being vocal about and recognizing that shit needs to change. The discussions that have been going on all summer long over at Absolute Punk have been smart, intelligent, and a sign that there are people out there who are open to change and willing to fight to make this scene good again. Also? Asshole behavior and sexual misconduct will not be tolerated or brushed off as “it’s just rock n’ roll, bruh.”

It’s a lot to think about, and something that we’ve been talking about a lot in my house, Chooch included. As a music-lover, I don’t want to ever stop going to Warped Tour. But as a self-respecting woman? Things need to change, and soon.

There comes a point where it’s not actually just about the music anymore.

I wrote some drivel a few months ago about how I was thankful that my family took so many pictures every time we’d go to an amusement park, because not only did it help preserve some of the happiest moments of my childhood, but it also served as a time capsule since so many of those rides are no longer around. (Darkrides get no love, yo.)

My mom and grandma were chronic shutterbugs. After my grandma died in 2011, I told my aunt that all I wanted was photos. ALL OF THEM. My grandma kept tomes of photographical evidence of my youth and I want it all. Even the stuff pre-Erin. I’m obsessed with family photos, and maybe I’m grasping at straws here, but I really feel like I NEED these photos to help me hold on to a little piece of the family whom I have barely been able to identify with since 1996. I feel like an outsider in so many aspects of my life, but never as much as I have with my own family.

(Spoiler alert: I did not get a single photo from that house. Thanks, guys.)

Photos of my mom smiling are rare (you saw her wedding photos, right?), so I think this might have been an accident. FUN BEHIND-THE-SCENES FACT: Chooch was looking at this and said, “Wow,  no wonder everyone always says I look just like you. I would have thought that was me in that picture right there.”

“No one ever says that,” I snapped. “It’s always, ‘OMG HE LOOKS JUST LIKE HENRY!'”

“Really? I think I look just like you. People are dumb,” Chooch shrugged.

I love him.

KEYSTONE KOPS! I would give anything to ride this again. I haven’t been to Wildwood since 1992 and even though I want to go back so badly, it pains me to think of how different it must be now. It was hopping back in the 80s and I’m not exaggerating when I say that those summer vacations comprise the majority of my best childhood memories. It was magic. Pure magic. It makes me wonder if anything will be like that for Chooch, what memories will he turn to as an adult when he needs to think happy thoughts. I hope he has an arsenal of them to choose from.

I have absolutely no recollection of this ride, but it was definitely Wildwood, and it looks like a boat ride? Hopefully one of my dark ride enthusiast friends will see this and enlighten me.

This is one of the few photos I have of my step-dad, mom, and me all together. My mom hated having her picture taken, and I’m the same way now. Selfies are fine, but someone standing before me with a camera makes me clench.

This picture is forever one of my favorites! What you can’t see is that the Sea Serpent, Wildwood’s corkscrew coaster, BROKE DOWN with the coaster ON THE LOOP. So that’s what everyone is looking at, except for my Pappap and me, who were too scared to not look at my grandma when she commanded us to LOOK AT THE CAMERA. This is one of the memories that probably most people that day never thought about again, unless they were one of the people on the Sea Serpent, but it always stuck with me for some reason. Like I was A PART OF HISTORY. It reminds me a little bit of the time my aunt Susie and Pappap were trying to get a piece of mail out of the gutter when I was 4 or so, and it was THE BIGGEST DEAL IN THE WORLD TO ME. (That’s honestly one of my favorite childhood memories and no one in my family could ever understand why I thought it was such a big deal!)

Me and some broad on some car ride somewhere.

The Whip at Kennywood. My birth dad was there that day, too.
  

I’m not sure what ride this was at Wildwood, but OUR FACES THO. I can only imagine how much my Pappap hated going on rides but he still did it because I was his FAVORITE. And don’t you ever forget that.

I think was the first time I ever rode the Wildmouse at Wildwood!

This was definitely at Kennywood.

Back when my mom kind of loved me.

The impetus to this post was my friend Liz commenting on my recent Busch Gardens post on Facebook, saying that she still has a souvenir photo of us from Kennywood when we were in middle school, and it inspired me to dig out the above picture of us on the Music Express with my brother Ryan and the FOREIGN EXCHANGE STUDENT * who lived with us that summer. His name was Laurent and he comes up in conversation more often than you’d think for a kid who only lived with us for three weeks one summer. He is also the reason I’m wearing such stank face in this photo, because I did not like him and just knowing he was behind me made me seethe.

*(This link will take you to my old, embarrassing LiveJournal. Apologies in advance.)

So thank you Liz, for inspiring me to get up off my butt this morning and force everyone to jog with me down memory lane. AMUSEMENT PARK MEMORIES FTW.

Remember when you were younger, how exciting it was to wear matching outfits to the school picnic at the local theme park with your BFF? Well, I don’t. I mean I wasn’t a total loser back then to where I was going to amusement parks alone, but my friends and I never wore matching Lycra bike shorts and BUM Equipment tshirts, is what I’m saying. Lots of other kids played the matching game though, and more power to them, you know? As long as they weren’t line-jumping (that’s cause for rival from the park), I didn’t care who wore what.

All of that is to prepare you for when I tell you that 20 years later, I put some thought into my amusement park game and arranged for Chooch and myself to both wear Emarosa tanks.

 Henry felt left out as usual. #lifegoalsonlock
It’s been over two weeks now since we were at Busch Gardens, but sometimes when I’m sitting at my desk at work, I get flashbacks of the BEST RIDE I HAVE EVER BEEN ON.

THE VERBOLTEN.

I knew nothing about this ride when Chooch declared it was next on our route. The three of us mindlessly wound our way along the empty queues and chose our spots in the station. Chooch and I waited for the second seat, leaving Henry to ride alone behind us. A recording of a German broad speaking in cheery lilt played over and over while we waited for one of the coasters to make its way back to the station. There were four running that day, so the wait was quick and painless.

As our coaster departed, I was under the impression that this was more of a tame, “for the younger kids” ride. But then we approached the entrance to a building, and our coaster fucking shot off and went barreling into the pitch black vortex and I just screamed and screamed and screamed. I LOVE WHEN ROLLER COASTERS TURN INTO DARK RIDES! The idea was that we were careening perilously through the Black Forest and there was this one part where the coaster slowed to a halt and THEN DROPPED several feet to another track.

Fucking fantastic!

Then you shoot back out of the Black Forest, and the rest of the ride is outdoors.

“You know I’ve been to the Black Forest, right?” I asked Chooch because I love to brag to him about how much richer (literally) my childhood was than his.

“Oh, of COURSE you have!” he cried angrily. And then, “….was it just like the Verbolten?”

YES IT WAS JUST LIKE THAT, OMG. Here, look at the battle wounds on my back from that time a TROLL grabbed our Trafalgar bus right off the road when we were trying to go to a goddamn cuckoo clock store to buy really expensive souvenirs.

We rode that sonabitch three times that day, and it still wasn’t enough. The scariest was the time we were in the front seat and I had seemingly lost all memory of what to expect and proceeded to scrape the lining off my throat with my forceful screams.

“Huh. Beer is pretty cheap here.” -one of the few things Henry said all day.

Omg the Lochness Monster was a pleasant surprise! I thought it was just going to be your standard steel upside down coaster, but there was an entire part where we shot into a cave and just kept spiraling and spiraling down. I LOVE WHEN COASTERS GO INTO TUNNELS, ETC!

While I made a quick pee-stop at some point that day, Henry did this really charming thing where he buys himself and Chooch a cold beverage but conveniently forgets that I too am a human being, at risk of dehydration on a summer scorcher. So I came out of the bathroom and see those two assholes chugging their way to pale yellow pee while my kidneys felt like they were being used as bongos.

When I opened my mouth to bitch, Henry slapped a five into my hand and told me to “be a big girl” and get my own beverage.

This was one of the many times I called up my favorite image: Henry’s balls wrapped in acid-dunked barbed wire while being crushed in a vice.

That motherfucker.

So I’m standing in line to pay for my water and the man in front of me asks the cashier where she’s from, because he detects an accent.

And she says Romania.

“And I wasn’t going to  say anything, but then it was my turn to pay and the next thing I know, I’m blurting out, ‘so….I’m obsessed with Romania and I think I was born there in a past life and it’s my dream to visit, hopefully sometime in the next few years!'” I hysterically brayed when I rejoined Henry and Chooch with my independently-purchased cold beverage.

“Oh. Wow. And did you say it just like that?” Henry asked, with that idiotic smirk of his.

“Yes!” I answered triumphantly.

“You’re a creep,” he mumbled, and we set off for France.

He’s just jealous that I made a friend at Busch Gardens and that I might have a place to stay when I move to Romania, the country that gave us Bela Karolyi.

THE BEST GYMNASTIC COACH IN THE WORLD.

I have to remember to pack my homemade Bela t-shirt. 

Henry won Chooch this dumb Pokemon stuffed thing. (Bulbasaur? I can’t tell what Chooch is calling it mostly because I’m not listening.) This plush fucker became the bane of my existence for the rest of vacation. I kept hoping he would forget it at a hotel along the way but no dice.

I was adamant about taking a boat ride and the other two were very against this.

It turned out to be 15 minutes of dumbness plus the “lake” is man-made and fake bodies of water make me feel uncomfortable, like it was put there to hide something.

Several of the coasters at Busch Gardens have been on Coaster Wars, or whatever that roller coaster show is that I sometimes catch  on whatever cable channel (probably the Travel Channel, let’s not act a fool here). The Griffin is one of them, and I was honestly scared as fuuuuuck to ride this beast. It’s one of those really wide coasters that seat something like 15 people across. I could look it up but I’m writing this on my phone while laying on my bed, listening to “Dreamweaver” (IT JUST CAME ON, OK) and not actually in a smoke-filled office with a typewriter while wearing a visor and dinging a bell for no reason. So basically, I’m half-assing it again.

When it was our turn to load in, some Busch Gardens broad came over and made us all move down a seat and she totally caught me off guard and made me nervous to the point where I couldn’t remember how to sit in a seat and I ended up SLIPPING ONTO THE FLOOR OF THE COASTER in front of all the people who were in line! Chooch shot me a disgusted “Drunk much?” scowl as I did my best Pee Wee Herman & brushed myself off.

Seriously though, a stepping stool would have been helpful.

Or a toadstool.

Speaking of stools… that ride was one mother whomping shit softener. When it gets to the top of the hill, it STOPS so you’re just casually chilling a million feet in the air (again—research, what’s that) and staring straight down at the ground while your life flashes before your eyes and you wish you had known you were going to die that day so you could have told everyone to FUCK RIGHT OFF on Facebook. And somehow, over top of the screaming, you hear a quiet, metallic click. And then BUHBYE.

God that ride was everything. Henry didn’t go on it because he too scared.

There is a sick dark ride there, something about a DarKastle. The walk to the loading area for this one is really long so I suspect it must be popular on a busy day for it to need a queue that long, but on THIS day, the day of Erin Rachelle, Chooch and I walked all the way through to the front and then immediately boarded a car with a scene couple. IT WAS BAD ASS. I wasn’t sure what to expect and I prayed that it wasn’t going to be like all of those boring shooter dark rides that are all the rage lately, but it turned out to be more of a 3D simulation type of ride and we LOVED IT. I should also note that all of the best rides were in the German area.

The Alpengeist was awesome! It’s supposed to to be like you’re on an out-of-control ski lift and it has the distinction of being the last ride Henry rode that day because it knocked him out of commission.

It was right around then that it occurred to me that beer was cheap there because ANHEUSER-BUSCH.

BUSCH GARDENS.

I was excited to tell Henry of my revelation and he just gave me a NO SHIT sneer.

Although it appears that douchey SeaWorld owns it now.

Alpengeist, Loch Ness Monster, and the dumb boats.

“I wonder what DONNA is doing right now,” I mused while eating the messiest, wettest waffle cone of my life. “Probably being the best at whatever it is.” Henry actually kind of laughed.

“Yeah, if she was here, she’d have the Quick Queue,” Chooch piggybacked.

And we all laughed into our fast-melting ice cream. Donna, bringing our family together since one day before.

And then around 7:00, we tired of each other’s company and had exhausted all the coasters. So we left and on the way back to King’s Creek, Chooch and I verbally eviscerated Henry because we were hungry so he locked us in our cottage thing and went to get Subway.

UNTIL NEXT TIME, B.Gard!

Suggested soundtrack for this post:

Is it really all that surprising that Busch Gardens is the only reason why I bought a Williamsburg vacation package two years ago at the Big Butler Fair? I have only been there once, and I was probably 4 or 5 years old. But the more I think about it, it could have been the one in Florida…Or maybe I just think I was there because there’s a photo of my mom and dad on the rapids ride and I assumed that I was there, too, standing next to the person who took the photo.

I feel so confused now.

It’s like when you hear a story so many times that you begin to delude yourself into thinking you were there. Like when Amber² was pregnant and sent a smoke signal for a larger, more comfortable chair and wound up with some enormous, old green monstrosity, and then every time someone walked by and commented on it, she would tell them the story of how she acquired it and since I sit behind her, I had to hear this story over and over until I was able to tell it on my own, whenever someone would ask about it when she wasn’t at her desk, because I had the story so many times that it was like I WAS THERE.

EXCEPT THAT I WAS THERE.

So, never mind. Bad example.

Anyway, we got free tickets to the park as a “gift” for enduring the timeshare presentation.

You know how I love Bavarian shit? THIS PLACE HAS IT. And French crap, and Italian stuff, and British bullshit, and Irish hullabaloo. IT IS A EUROPEAN WONDER. (There was some American decorations too to appease all of the freedom fighters.)

Shiny patriotic shit to make people like Henry happy.

The parks we typically go to range from small to medium-sized, but now that Chooch meets the height requirement for basically every coaster, we’ve been anxious to hit up the bigger parks. (And obviously Henry is not included in that “we.”) It just didn’t make sense to do that before. Anyway, this is the type of amusement park that has shuttles to get you from the parking lot to the park entrance, and judging by the crowds just in our section of the lot (Italy, holla), we anticipated that we would be doing a fair amount of waiting most of the day.

WRONG. It was unbelievable how uncrowded it was! Thank you, 93 degree random Tuesday in July! The first thing we did was walk right onto Apollo’s Chariot, a coaster located in the “Italy” section. I don’t get sick on coasters like I do on most spinny rides nowadays, but sometime over the last 10 years, I have developed a near-crippling fear of that initial ascent and spaghetti-legged paranoia over the security of the safety harnesses. When we were waiting for the parking lot shuttle, we watched Apollo’s Chariot going up the hill on its test run and I started to feel woozy even then.

Henry was being a bitch because he apparently wanted to go on the Tempesto first, which is right next to Apollo’s Chariot, but Chooch and I veered off in the direction of Apollo’s Chariot instead, a silent reminder that Henry does not get to make choices at amusement parks.

I was whimpering the whole time we slowly climbed that hill, and Henry was not sensitive to my fears AT ALL. “It’s not that high!” he kept saying in his native douche-tongue. And then I was fine once we crested, but it’s in my nature to shriek things like, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING I HATE THIS OMG THIS IS THE WORST NEVER AGAIN FUUUUUCK YOUUUU!” because I strive to set a good example for my son.

Once the coaster returned to the station and the safety harnesses deactivated, Chooch frantically lunged down and snatched something off the floor of the coaster. It was a black twist tie, and he seemed very relieved to have found it. He tucked it away in his pocket and I forgot about it….

…until Tempesto. Henry was being a whiny bitch and decided that BOO HOO he didn’t want to ride it now because the moment had passed. For fuck’s sake, go call mommy then, you little bitchbaby. Get over yourself. Anyway, Tempesto I guess is the new attraction for 2015, but even still, we only waited for about 15 minutes. And you guys, they give you a FANNY PACK at the entrance so that you can keep your possessions safely strapped to your person. What a fucking novel idea! I didn’t need one though, because I had already packed Henry’s fanny with my cell phone.

I mean…not to be confused with that techporn you watched last week with your downstairs neighbor.

Tempesto is a sick son of a bitch. Basically, I thought I was going to fall out the entire time, either my entire person or just my bowels. Maybe my boobs from my bra. It just really felt like something was going to fall out. And so I made sure that the cries erupting from my lungs accurately reflected my concerns.

Chooch LOVES that his mom is a beautiful banshee at the amusement park. He proudly Vannas his hands toward me and declares, “Ladies and gentlemen: my mother!”

Lol. No.

He gets so pissed. It’s all, “Mommy, stahhhhhhp!” and “Oh my god, you’re so annoying!”

Mommy’s little motherfucking 4th grader.

  
The above picture illustrates the exact point in the ride during which I died of Fear and then was resuscitated by the Even More Fear that occurred 2 seconds later.

So all in all, I would give this ride a 5 out of 5. You really missed out, Henry. You fucking pussy.

After we exited the ride, Chooch triumphantly pulled that black twist tie from his pocket. “Frederick survived!” he cried joyfully.

“Is that the thing you found on Apollo’s Chariot?” I asked.

“Oh no, I’ve had this since yesterday,” he casually responded. “It’s from that rifle gun I bought before the ghost tour.”

“Wait, did you bring that with you?” I pressed for details.

“Uh, yeah…?” he replied in a “so what?” tone.

I was just about to tell him he’s a fucking weirdo, but….my god he is so much like me.

There was only one moment during the whole day where Henry ALMOST ruined my life and that was when he tried to thwart my dreams of lunching at the Festhaus. “There isn’t going to be anything for you to eat there!” he grumped, to which I slowly leaned back and gave him the “Since when do YOU care?” hairy eyeball. I’d be happy with a lone slice of bayern-y bread as long as I’m surrounded by beer steins, lederhosen, and upbeat volksmusik.

Leave it to Henry to be a douche about the deutsche.

I ended up having a perfectly fine meatless German lunch of salad and strudel, so go choke on some schnitzel, Henry. YOU RACIST.

Chooch and I claimed a spot at one of the long wooden tables. Henry strode over with all the confidence of a Professional Driver and said, “I don’t want to sit here” and so he kept walking further to the back of the haus of fest, plumping his rump down at the end of an empty table. I suppose he expected Chooch and me to waddle after him like lost, frightened ducklings, but we were just like, “L-O-L motherfucker” and kept right on eating.

Henry, realizing that he either stay there and eat alone like when he was a Eunuch in Indiana, or admit defeat and join us at the cool table, angrily stood up with his tray and squeezed his way past all of the people sitting at our table. Apparently, that was why he didn’t want to sit there to begin with, because the seat across from Chooch and me wasn’t easily accessible. That didn’t affect us, so….

If you wish to see pictures of Henry looking unhappy at the Festhaus, please click here.

After my ears slowly tuned back into the white noise that is the Incessant Bitch Fest of Henry J. Robbins, I calmly explained that I chose to sit there because I wanted to be close to the stage.

“For the show,” I added, strudel falling from my mouth.

HILARIOUSLY, we were finished eating before the show started and I didn’t feel like wasting any more ride-time, so we left. But not before Henry had to use the bathroom, which is when Chooch’s trained eye spotted this gem:

More later this week. The Pretty Little Liars season finale is on tonight and I’m not gonna lie (not pretty or little enough to be a liar): I AM TOO DISTRACTED.

But first, here’s a picture of the Kinder Karussell. KINDER MEANS “KID” IN GERMAN, you guys.  My German game is on point.

It seems that people associate Warped Tour with metalcore these days, and I get that it definitely caters to that part of the scene, but Warped’s pop-punk, indie, and alternative rock game is just as strong. Contrary to popular belief, Warped Tour isn’t just one giant breakdown. I was really stoked when Hands Like Houses were announced, because they’re definitely one of my favorites. Henry is pretty whatever about them though; he thinks Trenton looks like he’d be a dick, but I have never heard of him having a reputation nor have I ever tried to meet him, so I’m not sure where this judgment stems from. (He also feels the same way about Austin Carlile from Of Mice & Men and that man seems so genuine to me!)

I’m obsessed withi their guitarist, Alexander Pearson, because he reminds me of a young Tim Curry. So I just call him “The Tim Curry Guy” and Henry just shakes his head because he doesn’t get it. BUT YOU GUYS, LOOK! TIM CURRY GUY! I was so giddy watching him set up!

TIM CURRY GUY!!

I would like to see more bands from the Blue Swan scene on Warped Tour, though. Eidola, Stolas, Hail the Sun, Icarus the Owl, Adventurer, and also Artifex Pereo and A Lot Like Birds who aren’t on Blue Swan but should be. I love the sub-scene that those guys have been cultivating and wish there was more of that type of post-hardcore sound on Warped Tour.

I got to hear “Lion Skin” and then it was time to sadly say goodbye to HLH and run back to the Unicorn Stage for PVRIS! They started out on one of the smaller stages, and wound up getting bumped up to the main stage once Kevin Lyman saw the crowds they were drawing. I’m so proud of these guys! It’s always exciting to see such a young band bust their asses and be rewarded for it. It’s also nice when a female-fronted band comes onto the stage and doesn’t try to sound like Paramore. Sorry, but I had to say it!

This was my second time seeing them, and I was pissed that it had to be under that damn amphitheater. There was no way I was going to try to push my way into the pit, not with Chooch there. And even standing where the seats start on the floor is dangerous. I remember a few Warped Tours again, Pierce the Veil was playing on one of the stages under there and Henry and I were standing up in one of the first rows of seats, and I seriously thought we were going to get crushed because people still try to mosh and crowd surf even with the seats in the way and it’s just bad news all around for less-resilient adults. So Chooch and I had to find seats back where it was safer, and it was fine I guess. I don’t know where Henry was. We lost him again because we were running too fast.

I actually cried several times during PVRIS’s set. Lynn Gunn’s voice just kills me. Terri sent me an article yesterday about how music can give people “skin orgasms” and that’s definitely what was happening to me under the First Niagara pavilion. PVRIS is going to be huge.

And the best part is that when Chooch met Lynn later on that day, she was so sweet and had no rock star ego. It was refreshing. She also got excited when she saw that Chooch was wearing the Emarosa “For Fox Sake” shirt and told us that she designed it, which makes her infinitely more awesome in my eyes. Chooch almost didn’t get to meet her at all. I misheard the time she was going to be at her tent, so we casually walked over after Pierce the Veil’s set later that day and there were only about 10 people in line.

“Yeah, realllly long line,” Chooch said sarcastically, because I told him that there were probably going to be hoards of people trying to meet her. Well, it turns out the line was so short because it was cut off a long time ago, and the end of the line was like THE END of the line. But the guy in charge of it was like, “I’m not supposed to let anyone else in line, but….you’re a kid so go head.” Relish this time in your life, Chooch. You’re still a novelty to the scene but pretty soon, you’ll just be one of the masses.

UNLESS YOU’RE IN A BAND.

I think Chooch already posted this in his guest post, but oh well:

He was like STARSTRUCK after this. He kept murmuring, “I can’t believe I just met Lynn Gunn….”

I had no idea he liked PVRIS this much! Warped Tour is so much more fun now that this kid goes with me. I know this is like the 6976th time I’ve stated that, but I really mean it. I never thought it was possible, but it means even more to me now.

Some of my favorite Warped Tour moments over the last 7 years involve Pierce the Veil. They’re one of those quintessential scene bands and always put on a great show at Warped Tour. They’re so much bigger now than they were the first time I saw them there in 2008 though! So even though they were playing under the pavilion on the main stage and we had to stand back really far, it was still exciting for me. (And Henry, too. Admit it, Henry.)

We ended the day with Set It Off, and Chooch the hustler managed to get $10 from Henry in order to chase down the merch guy who was walking around selling the new SIO acoustic ep, which was only $5 and Chooch slyly pocketed the change.

So while Henry was all annoyed about getting ripped off, I was bloated with pride over the fact that my kid is doing his small part in supporting bands by caring enough to buy their CDs when he knows that he could just YouTube it or play it on Spotify.

Henry doesn’t like Set It Off, so this made it even better.

As usual, I was dragging my feet toward the exit. I hate saying goodbye to Warped Tour every year and with everything that’s been going on with it this summer, I worry about its future. How much longer will it go on? I hate thinking about that. And to be honest, I’ve been dragging out these posts because I don’t want it to end. :( I have to find a way to get a job in the music industry or suddenly develop  enough talent to start a band or marry the owner of Rise Records, because this is fucking ridiculous.

On the way out, we saw a magical rainbow. Perfection.

Normal people might consider relaxing at a spa, or on a wine tour in Napa, or laying on the beach in Hilton Head, and I get it; but for me, Warped Tour is my place of Zen. It’s where I recharge and heal and feel whole again. I can’t imagine ever losing this feeling.

Warped Tour has been under some heavy scrutiny this summer, lots of controversy and drama with some of the bands exacerbated by social media. I’m not sure what state that’s going to leave the tour in by the end of the summer, but right now I want to focus on the most important aspect of Warped Tour: the music. This summer’s lineup was stacked. I don’t give a fuck what all those aging punks on music forums have to say about this topic: the mix of bands was diverse. The unfortunate downside is that there are going to be bands I have to miss in favor of other bands, and that is what heart-break feels like, my friends. As soon as the gates opened, Chooch and I sprinted to the Vans inflatable while Henry stood in line to buy a paper schedule. When we met back up, he handed me the schedule and said, “I don’t think you’re going to have a problem with scheduling conflicts this year!”

I bore holes through him with my furious eyes and spat, “Really? Then you don’t know me at all!” Because the inflatable had already broken my stupid heart. I knew I was going to have to forfeit ’68 (I have been dying to see them again ever since last year’s Chiodos tour) in favor of Never Shout Never for Chooch, and there could be no Beartooth, August Burns Red, or Moose Blood because I was 100% unwilling to miss even one second of Emarosa’s set. And don’t even get me started about how bummed I am that I missed Matchbook Romance. I really need to plan on going two Warped Tours next year. I always say that though. #musicfestivalproblems

Bands we managed to catch, whole sets and partial:

• Palisades
• Koo Koo Kangaroo
• Our Last Night
• We Came As Romans
• New Year’s Day
• Man Overboard
• Never Shout Never
• Night Riots
• Transit
• Hands Like Houses
• Silverstein
• PVRIS
• Emarosa
• Pierce the Veil
• Set It Off

Bands I am not sad about missing out on at all:

• Black Veil Brides
• Attila <—fuck them, seriously

Even weeks later, as I’m looking at this schedule, my heart feels so heavy looking at all the amazing bands I couldn’t squeeze in without cloning myself. Bands like Citizen, Pup, The Wonder Years (I’ve seen them several times, but still), Lee Corey Oswald, Alvarez Kings…ugh. Heartbreak.

We started the day off with Palisades, which was actually Henry’s idea. We saw them once with Dance Gavin Dance and I guess he must have secretly liked them enough to want them to be his Warped Tour breakfast. I thought Chooch would like them because they’re pretty fun and energetic, but he just shrugged and said, “I don’t know. They’re too loud.” I really only like one of their songs, which they played so I felt fulfilled.

Next up we had to run to the Beatport stage to see Koo Koo Kanga Roo. This is not something I ever would have given a second thought, or even half of a first thought, but when we were waiting in line before gates opened, one of the singers was walking by carrying a stick with a huge picture of his head on it, trying to spread the word about the band. (I’m thankful for these distractions every year. It makes waiting in line way less excruciating.) He targeted Chooch right away and they had an adorable conversation.

“You must be in a band,” he said to Chooch, and in my head, I was screaming, “I WISH! HOPEFULLY SOMEDAY! I MEAN, I’M NOT GOING TO FORCE HIM OR ANYTHING BUT I PROBABLY WON’T TALK TO HIM MUCH IF HE’S NOT!” Then he asked Chooch what bands he was excited to see, and Chooch thoughtfully said, “All of them.”

“That’s a lot of bands!” said whichever one of the Koos this was.

And then out of nowhere, Chooch said he was most excited to see PVRIS, which kind of surprised me because while I knew he liked them, he hadn’t really mentioned that to me before and WE ARE SUPPOSED TO TELL EACH OTHER EVERYTHING ABOUT OUR FEELINGS FOR MUSIC.

The group of kids in front of us were listening to this and when he said “PVRIS,” they expressed their approval at his taste in music and I was like, “Well, he only likes them because I do, so….”

God I hate myself.

The Koo Koo Kanga Roo guy went on to totally sell on us on his set. “You gotta come by! It’s a dance party! We sing songs about fanny packs and cats….” Welp, someone said the magic word.

Their merch guy was dancing like a crazy person to Walk the Moon’s “Shut Up and Dance” which entertained us while waiting for Koo Koo Kanga Roo, who eventually come out wearing gold fanny packs.

And a hilarious dance party ensued.

This is why I love Warped Tour! Where else could you sing songs about everybody pooping with two crazy guys who play shows at elementary schools and then have your face melted off by Beartooth? But no, there’s no diversity. You’re right, jaded music forum posters.

Their set was fun and hilarious. I’m so glad we went!

Afterward, we went to their merch tent so Chooch could get a CD. Henry Warbucks was like, “Buy them all.” Chooch and I exchanged a “wtf got into HIM look?!” because Henry hates spending money at Warped Tour so now I’m convinced he has a side job as a gigolo. (Oh come on! Everyone has a type. I bet there’s tons of octogenarians out there who want a surly-faced man in a striped shirt, naming Faygo flavors in a husky voice.)

He also got a Koo Koo Kanga Roo comic book and stickers that smell like gross things. Not a bad way to start the day.

“You made it!” the moustacioed-Koo exclaimed happily when he saw Chooch.  “Do you know what time PVRIS plays?”

“3:50,” Chooch answered, and I had no idea that he had even checked the schedule for that. I guess he likes them more than I thought.

From here, we headed to the amphitheater, where the two main stages were held since there were storms in the forecast. I hate, hate, hate the stages under the amphitheater, and it was even worse this year since it was the main stages, but I understood that it was something that had to happen. It’s just so hard to enjoy any of the bands when they’re playing those stages, because it’s hard to get close. We ended up sitting and it always feels weird to me to be sitting at Warped Tour. I felt like a true Old Person. While we were under there, the first of many waves of heavy rain started, which drove so many people under the amphitheater, it made me wonder if anyone was left at the other stages. I felt bad for all of those bands who were playing at that time.

Oh, also, we purposely lost Henry during this time, and it made Chooch and I ridiculously giddy. We could see his idiot cabbage-head bobbing up and down in the crowd, searching desperately for us. Oh, how we laughed.

Our Last Night was still playing on the left side of the stage, so Chooch and I listened to them while waiting for We Came As Romans. I saw OLN last year with Chiodos in Cleveland and my impression was “meh.” But I really liked them this time around and I’m glad I was forced to give them a second chance. Then WCAR came on and I was just like, “………..” I don’t dislike them or anything, but they don’t really make me feel any type of way. Chooch likes them a lot though and that’s all that matters. He wrote about seeing them here.

We were going to walk around after their set ended, but then it started storming again, so we fetched Henry and found seats closer to the other side of the stage, where New Year’s Day was playing. I feel like they’re at Warped Tour every year.

“Wait, their singer is a girl!?” Chooch asked in disbelief. He kept making fun of them, and I was like, “Dude, they’re really not that bad!” and he gave me this horrified look and said, “I can’t believe you just said that!” I found out later that the whole time they were playing, he thought it was Black Veil Brides, and we have a huge mutual dislike for that band, so I guess he thought he was losing me as an ally or something.

We made Henry feed us around this time. Henry’s favorite thing! Spending money while praying that whatever food he’s ordering will satisfy us and quell the bipolar-demons within for a few hours more.

Henry trying to block out Transit playing behind him. He had to call work around this time, so he left us at the Journeys stage while we waited for Hands Like Houses, and walked around trying to find a halfway-quiet area to make his call. He was so excited when he came back because while he was on the phone, some guy moved him out of the way, and when Henry turned around, he realized it was a security guard escorting Vic and Jaime from Pierce the Veil through the crowd. Henry, the ultimate scene dad.  You guys know he secretly enjoys this shit. He can name at least one person in most band that I like, even some of the ones I don’t like. I really think he likes going to Warped Tour!

This concludes the first half of the day.

If you’ve ever hoped to celebrate the existence of pickles on a bridge, then Pittsburgh is your Wishmaster. The city closed down one of the bridges for two days in order to fulfill the desires of local gherkin jerks. I do really love pickles, but I probably wouldn’t have braved the crowds if not for the fact that Balloon Ride Fantasy was playing on a stage at the end of a bridge on Friday.

I worked late shift that day, but Gayle dismissed me a little early since it was a slow night. Henry dropped Chooch off downtown and the two of us walked over to the Rachel Carson Bridge, which was gridlocked with pickle junkies. It’s not that I always hate crowds. I’m (mostly) fine with crowds at concerts but if I’m trying to get from Point A to Point B and there are hordes of lollygaggers slowing my normal fast pace down to a sluggish shuffle, I get very upset. And of course it was humid as fuck and I was wearing the goddamn blouse I wore to work because I’m always so ill-prepared.

Did I mention I’m terrified of bridges? And I live in the City of Bridges. (Literally. Pittsburgh has more bridges than any city in the world. DON’T LET ANYONE FROM HAMBURG, GERMANY OR VENICE TELL YOU OTHERWISE, because God forbid should my blog ever not be factual.) Sometimes on my lunch break at work, I’ll force myself to walk across one of the bridges. I’m getting better, but these bridge parties put me on the precipice of pants-crapping.

It was 8pm by the time we started to elbow our way onto the bridge and everyone was so happy and stoked on pickles. It was absolute insanity, all of these Smilers happily sipping their beers from pickle-green plastic cups while shoving large rounds of the guest of honor into their mouths. I wanted to shove large rounds of pickles into my dumb mouth too, but there were so many people that I couldn’t even find where they were being sold!

Ideally, we should have just walked along the actual pedestrian part of the bridge in order to get to the stage faster, but what’s the point of going to a pickle festival if you’re missing out on all of the pickle propaganda?

And then we saw my work friend Allison! So I got to introduce her to Chooch, but it was impossible to stand there and chat any longer because we were being jostled along by the wall of people behind us.

And then Chooch inexplicably fell, but it wouldn’t have been a normal outing otherwise.

There were so many people that it was hard to separate the slow-moving crowd from people standing in actual lines for vendors. And not to be Judgey Judy, but there were A LOT of dicks out there on that bridge Friday night. Foodie events seem to bring out some of the worst people, and I can’t tell you how many times someone pushed me out of the way and then gave ME a shitty look, like sorry I’m in your way of taking a perfect photo of a plastic cup full of kimchi to post on your Yelp review, but go stand off to the side and do that shit. My favorite was the yuppie bitch who almost knocked me over because she was in “such a big hurry, hurry up!” only to stop dead in her tracks right in front of us to take a selfie with her friends and the giant inflatable pickle.

Find your chill, bitch. Can’t we all just share the pickle love gently and politely?

Sometimes I think I confuse my social anxiety with just a general and overwhelming disdain for the human population.

When I saw that we were approaching the Pittsburgh Ice Cream Company’s booth, I went into Fighter Mode, grabbed Chooch’s hand, and elbowed my way through the undulating mass of hipsters and yuppies and probably ended up cutting in line, and I hate line-jumpers, but…eyes of the prize, right?

They were out of the two pickle flavors that were on the sign, so I settled for Bread & Butter Jalapeno, because #yolo, and Chooch got the Honey Nutter even though he didn’t seem so sure of his choice. Of course, he ended up loving it and kept making these uncomfortable moans while eating it, pausing long enough in between tastes to cry, “THIS IS REALLY GOOD” while it dripped all over his shirt. Goddammit.

Mine was really good too, but he was just like, “It’s….alright,” with a shrug.

We stopped for some samples of pickled vegetables. I apparently don’t like pickled things as much as I thought I did previous to attending a festival based on the art of pickling.

But we each got a free Heinz pickle pin, and coupons for vinegar, so that was cool!

It took us nearly 30 minutes to get to the other side of the bridge, and I was a hot, pickled mess by then. Summer, I love you, but your friend Humidity can choke on a fucking pickled dick.

Luckily, we made it to the stage in time to catch Balloon Ride Fantasy! I met one of the singers, Bethany, back in October when she and I were both part of my friend Kristy’s “Golden Ghouls” costume at Zombiefest. 

Mem’ries.

Bethany and I became Facebook friends after that, and that’s how I found out about Balloon Ride Fantasy. Ever since, I’ve been wanting to see them perform, and braving the bridge madness was definitely worth it. They’re a perfect blend of indie pop and 80s synthpop that serves as the perfect cleanse after a post-hardcore overload. (I know, I know, there can never bee too much post-hardcore! But sometimes it’s good to mix it up.) Also, I love bands that have alternating guy and girl singers.

Those lyrics, though! So smart, so good.

“He sounds like the guy from Smashing Pumpkins,” Chooch yelled into my ear. I love that he knows enough music to be able to make comparisons! I only slightly agreed with that though, and felt that if we were going to play that game, then his voice was more along the lines of Brian Aubert from Silversun Pickups. And that is to say: fantastic. And so is Bethany! She sounded so beautiful and it was wonderful seeing her not only in her element, but without a pound of zombie makeup on. If I wasn’t friends with her on Facebook, I wouldn’t have recognized her!

Chooch and I were both super into it, until that sonofabitch had to PEE because his irresponsible father didn’t make sure he went before they left the house. Henry, you are the literal worst.

We left halfway through their set (ugh) and walked back to my work, where I called Henry to see what his ETA was. Just as the phone started calling him, a woman approached us and my BAD NEWS BEARS radar started going off. I knew right away she was going to ask for money and possibly try to shank me/kidnap Chooch/inject us with heroin and sell us to a vendor in the Casbah.

Immediately, she starts crying. Good lead-in.

“I know you’ll understand because you have a kid,” she began, hugging herself and being generally shifty. “I need to get home to my kids in New Castle and I only have $2 and bus fare is $22, please can you help me?”

I was still holding my phone and I promised her that I had no cash on me. She was persistent and I finally just had to grab Chooch’s hand and start walking away.

Then I remembered I was calling Henry, who had answered just in time to witness the whole exchange.

“It’s always great when I answer my phone and hear someone crying,” he said. He thought it was me crying at first and panicked, because MAYBE DON’T LEAVE ME AND YOUR SON ALONE ON A FRIDAY NIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BIG, SCARY CITY, HENRY. I’m glad he felt panicked!

He picked us up moments later and Chooch excitedly relayed the panhandling story to him.

“What did she look like?” Henry asked.

“White, in her thirties…” I began, while Chooch said over top of me, “Face wet with tears.”

Then we bragged about our ice cream and Henry was sad.

And that’s the story of how I went to a pickle fest and ate not a single pickle.