By this point of the summer, even I was a little burnt out on amusement parks and fairs, but I couldn’t open the door for September without one last hurrah at the Westmoreland County Fair, which is my second favorite of the summer. It’s much smaller than the juggernaut of the summer fairs, Big Butler, but it gets it done. And it’s a different company that puts it on, so while the rides are fewer, they’re also ones that we don’t get anywhere else.

Like the High Roller, which sadly has not made a reappearance in the last two years and I’m pretty sad about this. That ride is one of my favorites due to its complete ridiculousness.

Seri and Pete joined us with their kids. Seri’s frown of the day is brought to you by the color brown and the letters FML:

• she had lost a high-stakes fight with Pete over what color Henry’s shirt was. (Black, not brown like she had vehemently insisted. Looks like my brother Corey will have company at the Color Blind table!)
  • Although in her defense, her sunglasses made her do it. What excuse have you got, Corey?!
• our kids had staged 4 coups and formed 23 mutinies in the first hour.

Plotting.

There was no High Roller this time around, but the Aladdin was back! I wanted to ride this so badly last year, but it was all sorts of broken. I kept doing random walk-bys during the day last year to get a status update on it, but Henry was like, “Do you seriously want to ride that after it’s been dead all day?” I guess he was sort of right. But no sputtering motor or freak death was stopping us this time around, so Chooch, Seri and I rode and I wanted to mock her children for being too short to have all of the fun with us, but they had departed for the award-winning chicken barn and didn’t seem to be bothered at all by the fact that we were getting our stomachs churned like buttermilk in an Amish cottage.

Colored chickens were the big draw, I guess. Don’t worry, there was a big sign swearing that the chickens were dyed with non-toxic shampoo. It still made me feel sad, though.

The Aladdin is similar to the Music Express, only with less cars and roofless. The platform tilts  when the ride starts and the cars swing like sleighs, or miniature flying carpets, which I guess is the point of calling it Aladdin. Thank god I blew all that money on college else I might not have been able to make that connection. It was relatively mild for a carnival ride, which is how I conned Henry into riding it with me later. That, and that there were small icicles beginning to form in Hell.  The first time I rode it, all the kids were making their cars sway wildly before the ride started, and because I take all of my cues from pre-teens, I started throwing myself into Henry’s side, rocking our car against his wish.

“Stop doing that! You’re going to get us in trouble!” Henry hissed, worried that the carny was going to turn him into their brethren at the Blue Collar Bureau.

“Everyone does it!” I shot back, pummeling my body against his shoulder like a skin-suited battering ram.

Just then, the carny barked, “HEY! STOP ROCKING THE CAR!” which made Henry drag his hand over his face in embarrassment. We were literally the only adults on the ride, and of course we’d be the ones getting chastised.

“Why do you have to do stupid shit?” Henry yelled as the ride finally started, but I was too busy trying to prevent my urine from escaping because I was laughing so hard.

I went on the swings with Pete and Seri, leaving Henry alone with all three kids. I was already irritated in line, because no one was standing in an orderly fashion and the queue snaked out into the middle of the walkway instead of against the ride, so we were smack in the middle of foot traffic. And then some little bitch in front of us started crying because she was too short to go on, and instead of finding a ditch to throw herself in, she just stood there blocking the entrance with her height deficient body so no one could get around her. My patience ran out faster than Snooki’s Vagisil.

Hey girl, sorry you’re too short to ride the Swings at the fair & that you’re crying to your mama about it, but kindly get the fuck outta my 42″+ way so I can enjoy the ride.

My heightism would come back to bite me in the ass in approximately 5 seconds.

I was unaware that the seats were raised at different levels, and I wound up on the Tall People side, which meant my squat chubby ass couldn’t get up into the seat. It was incredibly awkward, and Pete finally had to help me. No, he did not present me with a toadstool to step upon like I had hoped, but he did hold the swing steady for me so I could raise my midget body up into the seat without kickboxing the air like I had been on my solo attempts.

It was a beautiful moment of people of opposing heights coming together, though I am really glad no one has it on video.

Then we enjoyed a block of Destiny’s Child songs and pretended like that never happened.

Thank god Pete stepped in before the carny got to me and hoisted me up with calloused hands dangerously close to my boobs. You can’t see it in this picture, but this particular carny had a humungous goiter-like growth perched on the side of his face, like it was preparing to jettison off into the ether at any minute. I’m sure it plays some part in his molestation games, serves as a decoy and before you realize how long you’ve been staring at it, he’s already led into you into the back of his tinted windowed carny trailer.

More later.

Knock, knock Toboggan. Mama’s home.

Henry and I took the day off work two weeks ago with the intent of going to Idlewild. I was unnaturally stoked about this, even going so far as to make Chooch sit here with me and watch YouTube videos of various Idlewild rides. But then, the Monday before this was supposed to happen, Henry happened to go to their website and saw that it was closed on the day we were going.

What the fuck kind of amusement park closes on a Thursday in August.

I was devastated. Of course, this became Henry’s problem.  I’m not the kind of person who is going to sit at home doing fuck-all on her day off.  It was Blame Henry all week long, until I finally got him to agree to just take us to crappy old Lakemont instead. Didn’t want to go to Kennywood again, having already been there once this summer, same with DelGrosso’s. Lakemont just seemed logical.

(And I always forget that two hours is a long way to drive for a park that small, but I digress.)

God, I’m on a ride for two minutes and Henry is already practically sticking his dick in some other broad. Yeah, Henry. I KNOW you were ogling White Tank Top tits out of your side eyes.

Going up the Toboggan tube.

Half-senile guy who sells tickets for the OLDEST ROLLER COASTER IN THE WORLD, YOU GUYS. It costs an extra $2 to ride Leap the Dips, but that money goes to keeping it restored so I’m OK with paying it. It’s worth it to ride it at least once….

…even though I totally broke my back on one of the dips, when I was tossed into the air and landed with a sickening crunch as my spine was accordianed.

Chooch and I had a pretty choleric argument on the bumper cars, because he kept turning the wheel the wrong way which made us go in reverse. I kept trying to rench it out of his hands to properly right us, which made him extremely cross.

“Stop doing that!” he cried.

“Then stop turning it the wrong way! You’re making everyone slam into us!”

“THAT’S THE POINT! THAT’S WHY IT’S CALLED BUMPER CARS! OH MY GOD!” he snarled.

“Yeah, but not by GOING IN REVERSE!

” I countered, yanking the wheel from his hands once more.

By the time the ride was over, Henry walked toward the exit looking like he just had the best hand job of his life while Chooch and I continued to shove each other and bicker the entire way off the ride. Totally frustrating and embarrassing. The whole point was that we were supposed to gang up on Henry, NOT EACH OTHER.

Henry was absolutely miserable all day until this became his view.

It was super-crowded that day.

We took a break from the sun beneath a pavilion for a few minutes, which happened to be just long enough for us to witness the  meltdown of a little boy. Chooch was watching this with wide-eyes, and then said, “WOW.” Yeah, like he’s never done anything like that before.

Chooch is finally tall enough to ride the Round-Up. He kept balking in its presence, but I finally wheedled his masculinity enough for him to finally snap and say, “FINE I’LL RIDE IT! GOD!” Of course, he absolutely loved it and giggled uncontrollably as centrifugal force plastered him against the cage. So then we had to ride it two more times.

I mostly didn’t mind because I was exchanging flirty banter with the ride operator like I was still a slutty 18-year-old at the goddamn fair and not in fact there with my 6-year-old son while our old man sat his hemorrhoids down on a bench and waited.

We left after three hours, which is more than enough time to ride the whopping eight rides that Lakemont houses. The whole way back to the car, Chooch had one of those temper tantrums that he seemed to think was so ridiculous coming from some other kid. Thank god he slept nearly the whole way home so Henry and I got to listen to all of my music in peace.

This sums it all up. Goddamn am I going to miss summer.

Until October. Then it’s all “Summer who? Fuck that ho.”

Can you believe I went to an amusement park and have very little to say about it? It’s not even that I didn’t enjoy myself at Waldameer last weekend, but I think it’s because I tried to be “smart” by taking some preventative Dramamine even though I have never really had a need for such measures. Sure, as I get older, I have to space the spinny rides; no more jumping off and getting right back on the Tilt-a-Whirl. And sometimes I might have to have an extended stay on a bench while I try to kick the cold sweats. But my motion sickness has never been so bad that I couldn’t ride something.

But still, I took some fucking Dramamine and it proceeded to completely ruin my day. I was so tired and irritable, it was unbelievable. And when I went on the Ali Baba, after harassing Chooch until he finally broke down and rode it with me, I spent the whole ride swallowing bile. Chooch, on the other hand, ended up loving it.

The main reason I wanted to go to Waldameer was to ride through the Whacky Shack. I love dark rides more than roller coasters, and this one didn’t disappoint. It was like being transported back to the ’60s with all the psychedelia and old school drug store Halloween props. I loved it so much. And I should note that the line for this ride, by mid-afternoon, was longer than the lines for the two wooden coasters. Erie peeps know what’s up.

I think this was my favorite part. As we rode through each door, the sound of a beating heart played above us.

I wanted to live there! Look how stupid Henry looks.

Stupid Henry looks stupid.

Across from the Whacky Shack was another dark ride called Pirate’s Cove. It was a walk-thru and had the unmistakable dank stench of your Aunt Martha’s basement. Oh, it was like getting a whiff of my childhood and I loved it! During one part that had us walking through a serpentined queue in a black-lit slanted room, I said that I thought it felt familiar to me.

“Yeah, because the Noah’s Ark at Kennywood used to have a room like this,” Henry said ruefully. I can’t believe that it’s been so long since stupid Kennywood desecrated the best dark ride in the world that I couldn’t even remember that. In fact, so many parts of the Pirate’s Cove seemed similar after that realization, that we wondered if the two were made by the same company.

(Here is an article not written by this hack about Noah’s Ark .)

Oh God, don’t I wish.

I kept seeing signs for French waffles, which sounded absolutely delightful, because I like waffles and I also like French.

French vanilla.

French kissing.

French prosthetics.

French porn.

French dressing.

French furries.

French furries filming salad dressing porn.

Then I did that thing where I get all pouty and spoiled-bratty when I say I’m hungry and Henry has the nerve to ask me what I want when he should KNOW WHAT I WANT since I’ve done nothing but say things like, “I wonder what the fuck a French waffle is?” all goddamn day. Fuck!

So I finally got my damn French waffle with a generous coating of powdered sugar.

“Go sit down and eat that,” Henry said patronizingly, and just to be a walking Fuck You! montage, I thrust the waffle to my mouth and bit down faster than I could realize that the waffle wasn’t actually as soft and doughy as I imagined, but crisp and thin and the pressure of my aggressive mastication presented quite a pickle when it caused the other end of the fake breakfast staple to flip up and smack me in the mouth, sending puffs of powdered sugar ALL OVER MY FACE, HAIR AND CLOTHING.

There was that incredibly awkward moment where it felt like everyone inside Waldameer had stopped dead in their tracks and were mocking me along with the entire country of France.

“I told you to sit the fuck down before eating that,” Henry sighed. “Good for you.”

It totally wasn’t even worth it and I started whining about how I should have just stuck with funnel cake and no, I can’t just go ahead and get some funnel cake because I’m too fat, how dare you, Henry.

If you happen to walk past my house and hear me mercilessly heckling all of the French athletes in every Olympic event, know it’s perpetuated by a waffle.

Henry broke his “no spinny rides” policy to ride the Tilt-a-Whirl and acted like a goddamn hero about it for the rest of the day. OK, Henry. We get it. You were in the SERVICE and can withstand a slight brain scrambling. Jesus Christ.

(Speaking of Henry being in the SERVICE, I was watching the Olympics the other night which is basically all I do now—be thankful if you don’t follow me on Twitter—and it taught me that the invasion of Grenada was real & not just some SERVICE story that Henry made up to look cool.)

(Speaking some more of Henry being in the SERVICE, I’m trying to get him to find his dog tags so I can wear them ironically.)

Chooch rode the bumper cars with Henry, so he had a successful experience this time and will probably never ever want to ride with his asshole mom again.

Oh, yeah! Speaking of not wanting to ride with his asshole mom, when we were in line for the most boring wooden roller coaster of all time (the Comet), Chooch was very vocal about how he wanted to ride with DADDY, not MOMMY and he kept saying it over and over again to the point where I was sure all the people around us were beginning to interpret that as, “I don’t want to ride with Mommy because her heroin needle always pokes me when I sit too close.”

Just utterly embarrassing.

So when it was our turn, I ran all the way to the front seat figuring that if Chooch really wanted to ride in the front like he kept saying, he would have no choice but to sit with Dreaded MOMMY. But that little shit was like, “Oh. No thanks then. I guess I’ll just sit in the SECOND SEAT with Daddy.”

What a jerk. AND ON MY BIRTHDAY WEEKEND! (Don’t worry, I said that at least 87 times that day.)

There was another coaster there called Ravine Flyer which was made from some of the most active ingredients in evil. I rode it alone because Chooch wasn’t tall enough, and I was super anxious because there was a sign there that said something about all single riders congregating to the middle and finding other lone riders to pair up with, like some strange roller coaster singles mixer, and what if I couldn’t find some other pathetic single rider? As luck would have it, there was some older man a few people behind me, so we ended up standing together in one of the queues.

But then, when the next coaster pulled up, I got into the far right seat and he didn’t get on after me! I was so offended that this piece of shit stranger didn’t want to ride with me. I know I’m Chubs City, but I don’t have fucking lesions, for Christ’s sake.

What a fucker.

And that roller coaster ended up being a major son of a bitch, so it would have been nice to have had a warm, fat body next to me to hold on to, that’s all I’m saying, asshole.

Really, that coaster was terrible. It might have been the roughest, fastest ride I took on wood, and yes I meant it that way. I didn’t even scream or put my arms up — I just sat there in my seat, completely stunned.

When Henry and Chooch were in line for the Whacky Shack, I got a text from Henry that said, “Jonny’s strung out near the entrance.” I almost died when I saw this guy, because he does kind of look like The Jonny Craig DelGrosso’s Doppelganger. Oh Jonny Craig, how you haunt me everywhere I go.

Then we stood in line to get lemonade behind some dumb bitch who apparently ordered an extra-colossal lemonade for an entire Girl Scout Troop, I don’t fucking know, but it seemed like the poor apathetic Waldameer kids in the little refreshment oven just kept churning out one giant cup after another, like Groundhog Day Part 2: Perpetual Refreshments. I kept thinking, “Why are we still standing in this line?” but I was too Dramamined to do anything about it.

Well, would you look at that. I guess I had things to write about Waldameer after all.

For Andrea.

I wonder how many souls of children this “joyful clown” has stolen over the years.

This guy has been the same age since 1805.

Waiting for the Blue Streak attendant to finish his cigarette. No, seriously. Every other time we walked past, he was hanging out across the walkway at the hot dog stand. I mean, what else was he going to do? Perform safety inspections?

The gift shop sold everything but Conneaut souvenirs (OK, there was a small table of glassware). In search of Abraham’s bust? They got you covered. Creepy half-ceramic / half-plush clown dolls for $3? There’s a whole stash! (Henry Warbucks totally bought me one, albeit grudgingly.) Mementos for being a hick? Racks and racks of fishing t-shirts to peruse at your leisure.

It stunk in there so bad like old people and moth balls, but it provided refuge from the rain.

My favorite part of these little amusement parks is finding all of the strange and old rides that you just wouldn’t ever come across at Six Flags. Conneaut’s claim is the Witch’s Stew. Holy fuck, as if it weren’t enough that there are creepy depictions of Hansel & Gretel, gingerbread men and wicked witches, this ride is pretty much the reason some pharamist whipped up the first batch of Dramamine in his mortar and pestle.

Whiplash and Motion Sickness city! And only some of the seats have seat belts, which I discovered AFTER the ride started the first time Chooch and I went on.

Of course, we were sitting in the seat beltless seats. I for sure thought Chooch was going to perish, and he was getting so mad that I had my arm around him but oh my god, my Mom Vision was going haywire and I swear I was seeing flashes of 87 different versions of Chooch being expunged from this creepy ass tea cups-on-acid suicide mission.

And then as soon as the ride ended, we pushed and shoved each other toward the exit and ran to Henry, screaming, “OMG THAT WAS THE BEST RIDE EVARRRRR!!”

The second time we went on it was even better because it started STORMING and the lacksadaiscal ride attendant just let us whip around beneath pregnant storm clouds. Since the ride is on a tilted platform, spates of rain water were sluicing off the top of the cars straight onto our backs. It wasn’t uncomfortable at all.

As I stalked toward the exit, frozen in a jumping jack-stance to allow the water to drip from my clothing, the ride attendant gave me a once-over and said with a smirk, “I hope you enjoyed the extended wet ride.”

I think that means he wanted to have sex with me, but I’m not sure.

“Holy shit! We’re still alive!”

The “famous” wall of gum in the Devil’s Den.

Find the Frown!

I think there were only about 20 other people in the park with us that day. The only time we waited in line was for the bumper cars.

Honestly? I can’t wait to go back. With props and models. And the unicorn head mask I just bought.

Growing up, my family only ever went to the big amusement parks: Cedar Point, Busch Gardens, King’s Dominion, Disney, and of course my beloved Morey’s Piers in Wildwood. (And by “big,” I mean “bigger than Pittsburgh’s own Kennywood Park.”) So naturally, I always had a taste for the roller coaster juggernauts; I never went to any of the little dinky parks when they were in their heyday, and it wasn’t until I became an adult that I developed an appreciation for these little, half-abandoned slabs of amusement history.

Erie, PA seemed like the perfect birthday getaway because it’s really close to Pittsburgh and there are two small parks in the area: Conneaut Lake Park and Waldameer. Anytime I would tell people where we were going, most of them would nod knowingly at the mention of Waldameer, because even though it’s small, it’s thriving; but when I would throw Conneaut’s name into the mix, most people were like, “Why? There’s nothing there anymore.”

But I had to see it for myself.

Even the balloons were wilted.

We didn’t have to get very close to the park to see that it was pretty desolate and dejected.

For as much as I love amusement parks, I am actually plagued by recurring nightmares where I’m in a flooding park at night, or I’m on a roller coaster with unfinished tracks, or there is actually nothing fatal occuring at all but the atmosphere is so decidedly sinister that I wake up feeling unsettled and scared.

I’ve never been to Conneaut but I’m pretty sure this was once the setting for one of those nightmares.

The Devil’s Den was one of the main reasons why I wanted to stop there, because I always see it listed on all of the dark ride enthusiast websites and it just seems fitting that some heathen hussy like myself should take a jaunt through the den of the devil. Sure, it was a small building filled with dangling K-Mart Halloween masks and a blaring horn, but it was charming and had that old, musty stench of The Way Things Were before all the roller coasters went steel and general park admission was eradicated. Hokey decorations or not, it made me feel like a kid again and Chooch deemed it his favorite ride.

Henry refused to buy a wristband so he didn’t get to relive his childhood by soiling himself. He did, however, purchase tickets to ride the lone coaster there, the Blue Streak. There’s some controversy over this old wooden coaster, which the ride attendant attempted to tell us about in a strange hillbilly telemarketer monotone.

I guess it was shut down for a few years, and then some company that this guy worked for out in California came here to do some repairs on it, but then Conneaut ended up unable to pay, so this company seized the park* and that is how we got so lucky to have this state certified mechanic supervising our totally harrowing, white-knuckle journey on the world’s most rickety wooden tracks.

(*I wasn’t really paying attention.)

“That was awesome!” Chooch screamed afterward as Henry and I reached for our imaginary walkers.

“Yeah, that’s because you couldn’t SEE anything!” Henry muttered, rubbing his thick neck. Unlike Chooch, Henry and I were tall enough to see what sorts of certain death lay below each time we crested a hill.

From the road, the Blue Streak actually looks broken down and overtaken by weeds. So, you know—totally inviting.

I really want the entrance to Kiddieland to be the archway into my future house. I think it’s fantastic, but I’m sure there are a ton of people (and almost all of my friends) who might be a little unnerved by it. But I guess I wouldn’t want my house to start attracting Megan’s Law candidates.

This is what restrooms look like after a tango with arson.

I got so incredibly ill on this ride.

There was an organ rally going on that day, which made the experience even better. Everywhere we turned in that park, we saw broken windows, pot-holed asphalt, rusted rides and carnival games that were chintzier than the ones we had at our fifth grade fair, but all these maudlin images were offset by cheerful calliope music grinding out of box trucks set up at every juncture, like canned happiness.

It was one hell of a mind fuck.

Walking down the main stretch of the park, there were gaping lots from where rides once stood.

I’m kind of glad that I never got to see it when it was flourishing, because I think I would have been too depressed to enjoy myself. But as it were, I was able to appreciate it for what remains.

You know an amusement park is dead when you’re the ONLY PERSON in the rest room. Not a single stall was occupied by a Croc-wearing mom screaming at her little unbathed ragamuffin.

(“WTF kind of Appalachian amusement parks are you going to, Erin??”)

Hotel Conneaut is right across from the park and is supposedly haunted, but when we walked through the lobby, I didn’t feel anything. And we all know I’m kind of an expert at ghost-detecting. It looks abandoned from the exterior, but it’s actually still up and running. It was probably fancier than our room at the Travel Lodge.

“Why can’t we just go to Disneyworld like normal families?”

Dreaming of dancehall days.

The midway had a boarded-up arcade and four sad games with really rad dollar store relics from the 80s to win. This was the first time in history that Chooch didn’t beg us for money to play games. Even he knew that the prizes weren’t worth the effort.

;

;

The rain did wonders for the cheerful and inviting ambiance.

I’ve got some more pictures to post tomorrow!

The “I Can’t Believe I’m In Line for the Tilt-a-Whirl Oh Well It’s Better Than Listening to Jonny Craig” Frown.

July 12th, 2012: Warped Tour, a/k/a Erin R. Kelly’s Christmas.

Oh you guys, I can’t even begin to explain how badly I need this day every year. It’s that one day where I don’t give a shit what I look like, how much I weigh, that my finger is engagement ringless. Mama don’t care! On this day, I’m not a mom, not a girlfriend, not a Law Firm grunt, not a blogger or a serial annoyer; I am just a music fan. I wake up with butterflies in my stomach – that awesome feeling of being on a roller coaster going up a hill? I’ve got that the whole way up until the gates of the venue are opened, and then it’s just an all-day, unrelenting rush of emotiblahblahblah blah blahhhh Erin is a scene ladykid who probably has a drawerful of YOLO tanks.

No one comes here to read this emo shit. Bring on the dramzzz, right?

There was definitely a big scoop of pre-Warped drama, stemming from when Henry nearly couldn’t be my date, CAN YOU IMAGINE? He almost had to work that day (actually, he was supposed to work that day but pulled some strings, moved some shit around, did what he had to do to keep his big bitchbaby girlfriend placated) and even tried to PAY Christina to go with me, which would have been a disaster so thank god she’s too wishywashy to say yes. (Worst Warped Tour ever was 2007 when I went with her and her sister; just awful.) My alternate date was Chooch. This seemed like a swell idea at first, probably because I was drunk when I thought of it. But can you imagine? Maybe all three of us together (with a SWAT team behind us) would be OK, but Chooch and me alone? No.

(He was actually on board to go once he saw pictures of Warped Tour that included girls in bikinis. Scandelous.)

I cried. I stamped my feet. I slammed doors. I didn’t talk to Henry for an entire day* because of this and made sure everyone at work knew that my boyfriend was a horrible human being.

*(That’s a long time for a couple who barely fight! No seriously, that wasn’t a joke.)

But then two nights before the day of Warped Tour, Henry came through and said that he would indeed be able to go. The next day at work, I was called a “crybaby” and “spoiled brat” by unnamed co-workers.

(Lee.)

I would have gone by myself if I had to, but I sure was happy that my official Warped Tour partner was able to come along for yet another year.  And I don’t care what he says, we both had a good time. I think Henry’s favorite part was when we were up front during Of Mice & Men and got to see the conveyor belt of injured fans being carried away by security staff and medics, such as:

• girl with busted nose so bloody, it almost appeared that it had been ripped entirely off
• guy who landed supine on the asphalt
• guy who was 100% unconscious
• girl who was crying hysterically to the chief security guy; Henry postulated that she had something in her eye (I have no idea where he got that idea) but I’m pretty sure she was telling him that she was touched inappropriately by another security guy.

The downside to Of Mice & Men was that Blood on the Dance Floor was playing after them and one of their members TOUCHED ME when he was cutting through the crowd to get back behind the stage.

 I apparently thought this was worth capturing for posterity.

The band I most wanted to see this year was Warped Tour darlings Pierce the Veil, because it’s the only band that Henry and I both mutually love. They just released a new album last week, and their first single features Kellin Quinn on guest vocals. It is so fucking sick, you guys. So fucking sick. What makes me like them so much is definitely the lyrics. Their songs are morbid, romantic (in a the truest Romeo & Juliet sense), heart-wrenching and violent all at once, without sounding like a funeral dirge. They make you want to dance while Vic is singing about post-mortem kissing.  Lyrically, I can’t help but compare them to the Cure and I think if Robert Smith ever read some of their lyrics, he’d be hard-pressed not to crack at least half of a red-lipsticked smile.

Basically, they write the songs I would write if I could write songs. I think Vic Fuentes is fucking brilliant.

For some reason, Pierce the Veil gets lumped in under the Bands That Little Girls Love OMG category, I guess because they’re a bunch of super cute Mexicans? But really, these guys BRING IT and the crowd can get pretty violent.  When bands play on the stage under the ampitheater, it makes it hard for those of us overprotective of our bones to get as close to the stage as we want. Everyone jams in this tiny pit between the front row of seats and the stage and it just looks completely unsavory to me and my old lady joints.

I grabbed two seats in the first row after the barricade, which Henry was totally not thrilled about. (He even “pretended” to “not see” where I went, so I had to sit alone for a few mintes before the set started. I had to stop myself from squealing to the teenage girls next to me, “OMG DO YOU THINK KELLIN WILL COME OUT AND SING WITH THEM!?” I mean, duh, of course that was going to happen considering Kellin’s band Sleeping With Sirens is also on Warped Tour this year. DUH, YOU GUYS.

A circle pit erupted almost immediately, causing a wall of bodies to press back against the barricade, which in turn pressed back against the row of empty seats in front of us.

“Um, I hope they used good bolts,” Henry yelled in my ear, pointing at the green plastic seats which were now being angrily thrusted against our thighs. And then the lady in front of Henry turned around and they shared some HAHAHAHAHA FUNNY REMARK about the peril we’d be sure to find ourselves in if those bolts gave out. That’s OK, lady, I’m sure Henry will save you first when the avalanche of bodies comes crashes through the barricade and I’m left vivisected and needing a wheelchair for real.

 And then I couldn’t stop fixating on it. I started looking up at the rafters, imagining other things that could go wrong; but despite all the Final Destination paranoia, I was still able to enjoy the show. (And cry a lot. God, I love them.)

Fucker put his arm up and blocked Kellin Quinn (OMG KELLIN QUINN CAME OUT AND SANG!) right when I took this picture.

I really loved Henry for about fifteen minutes after Pierce the Veil’s set. Residual ephoria, I guess. I don’t know. But that all ended later on during Sleeping With Sirens. He was behind me the whole time, as far as I knew anyway, and when I leaned back during the last song (our never-wedding song!!), it was not Henry’s nondescript shirt-covered Mountain Dew belly that I found myself lovingly resting against, but the SUNKEN IN CHEST OF SOME ACNE-RIDDEN SWEATY TEENAGE BOY, WTF HENRY?! Oh, I wanted to die.

And that’s when I saw Henry HUNDREDS OF YARDS (I don’t even know what yards are) away from me. I stormed over to him after the set was over and he said, “What? I was hot. I didn’t want to stand in the crowd anymore.”

HE COMPLETELY MISSED OUR (MY) SONG!!!

I stormed off quickly toward the stage where Taking Back Sunday had just started playing, purposely losing him in the process. This happens once every Warped Tour. It’s OK, you guys.

Then this text exchange panned out:

When he found me, I tried to psychically knee him in the balls, but my pissed-off act never lasts around him anymore. I guess I’m just too downtrodden at this point. We made eye contact and then both started laughing and lived happily ever after until I started bugging him about buying me merch. (Finally bought me a Vans tanktop near the end of the night when most of the other tents had already been taken down.)

The brightside is that Henry was already at that particular stage, because he actaully paid attention earlier and knew that Taking Back Sunday was on the day’s itinerary. D’aw, Henry loves me!

 Bands We Saw:

• Chelsea Grin
• Four Year Strong
• Vanna
• Emily’s Army
• Funeral Party
• We Are the Ocean
• Title Fight
• You Me At Six
• Of Mice & Men
• Pierce the Veil
• Sleeping with Sirens
• Miss May I
• LoveBite
• Chunk! No, Captain Chunk!
• Anthony Ranieri (acoustic)
• Bayside
• Taking Back Sunday
• Breathe Carolina
• I Fight Dragons
• The Used

 I don’t know what else to say. It was a wonderful day, but if I write anymore, it’s going to start sounding like the shit I write in my diary, with bubble letters in pink ink SMEARED BY MY ERRANT TEARS.  In a nutshell: we saw some incredible bands, ran into Blake who immediately panhandled on Henry, I got to release a ton of built-up angst and rage,  Henry got to take a short nap in the grass and for the first time since 2004, I was able to hear The Used without getting upset. I don’t even think I hated anyone that day.

Until next year, my fair Warped Tour. :(

Oh man, I was so excited for Bayside!

They had already started by the time I dragged Henry over to the Tilly’s Stage (Taking Back Sunday’s set overlapped with their’s) so a decent-sized crowd had already formed. We had just staked out our spots over to the left of the stage when I noticed it.

On the ground in front of me was some kid’s school portrait, just laying there on the dirty ground, God only knows how many nasty scene feet had trampled it. I became determined to snatch it up for my collection.

(Honestly, I’m like the world’s worst magpie ever.)

The guy next to me elbowed his buddy and pointed down to the ground. POINTED DOWN TO MY PICTURE. But before he had a chance to say, “Look at that picture, let’s take it for our own,” he was interrupted and shifted just so that his back was now toward my targeted bounty.

I turned around and made eye contact with Henry, who knew exactly what was going on without needing an explanation. I started to open my mouth and he just shook his head and mouthed the word “Don’t.”

Bayside is now just background noise for a much greater scene. I sized up the woman standing next to the picture (her fat foot at one point had been flattening it against the asphalt): she didn’t seem very threatening, smelled slightly of patchouli; I determined with ease that I could take her down if she noticed my picture and decided to take it for herself.

I kept inching myself forward, forcing her to shuffle in slight incements to the right, until I was exactly next to her, flush against her side like we were old school friends whose Ma had dropped us off at Warped Tour; I’ve seen her Pa in his underwear; and she’d let me borrow a tampon if I suddenly needed one, but not without first giving my bleeding vag an introduction to all the boys in the crowd.

In other words, we were standing intimately close.

• Which wouldn’t necessarily be weird at a show except that we were on the outskirts of the crowd and no one else around us were smearing their flesh against one another.
• Even weirder is that she didn’t move.

   

I stamped my foot upon the picture, pinning it down with a fervor. I turned to give Henry the thumbs up and he just closed his eyes and shook his head again.

But instead of just bending down and picking it up like a normal person who collects sentimental trash off the ground at concert venues, I opted to keep my foot pressed against it, which seemed like a great idea until my foot started to cramp and the only solution aside from picking it up or walking away from it with some tiny vittle of diginity was to cross my legs so that my left foot could get a chance.

This not only made me look like I had to pee, but it was also hard to retain my balance. So I went back to standing normally (i.e. with the mannerisms of a strung-out bitch looking around for cops and rapists while trying not to urinate).

I stood this way until the very last note of the very last song, until almost everyone around me had vacated the premises, and then I lunged down and with one swift swipe….I missed and had to grab it again.

Having it finally in my possession, I fanned it in Henry’s face and made exaggerated o’s of jubilance with my mouth. “What are you going to do with that?” Henry asked wearily, as he was past due for his scheduled Old Man at Warped Tour Sit Down.

“Probably take it work?” I answered with a question. I couldn’t just leave him and his jacked up lip out there to disintegrate and parish to a place where no one looks at him anymore!

Johann is currently hanging up at my desk by a magnet. I keep putting off buying a frame, because I’m a shitty adoptive portrait mom.

Thank god you didn’t come here to read a review on Bayside’s set.

Alternately Titled: How Erin & Henry Almost Broke Up at the Fair Because of the Law Firm Walking Challenge

Oh, the fair at night. Time to smile dreamily at the lights, cuddle up close to your meatslab, look at your pedometer and realized JESUS FUCK IT’S 10:48PM AND I’M ONLY AT 17,000 STEPS AND THE FAIR CLOSES AT 11PM AND IT TAKES AN HOUR TO GET HOME HOW WILL I EVER REACH 20,000 BY MIDNIGHT?!

At the moment of my discovery (and subsequent high-voltage freak out), Henry was already walking toward the exit.

“Wait!” I exclaimed. “Everyone should go on the ferris wheel one last time.” (This made the kids cheer and who wants to say no to cheering kids? I mean, besides me?)

“Aaaaand, while that’s happening,” I added in my creepy salesman tone, “I’ll just go ahead and walk around the fairgrounds in a quick pace.”

Seri volunteered to accompany me on my walking race against time, with the stipulation that her flip flops were very thin and she would prefer to walk upon grassy surfaces only. I pretended to be sympathetic to her podiatric handicap, for about FIVE MINUTES. And then I was back to yanking her all around the grounds, atop gravel paths and Skoal cans and the discarded spirits of rookie carnies.

Most of the vendors had packed up for the night; the lights were off inside the game tents; and all the food slingers were milling about their snack trucks, smiling at the thought of single-handedly progressing the American obesity epidemic. It was a side of the fair I’ve never seen because we never stay that late, and now I’m kicking myself as I realize I probably missed some prime carny antics. Carnies After Dark, can you image the debachery that goes on inside their moist, beefy underpants?

Someday, I’m going to go behind the scenes.

Seri and I made it back to the ferris wheel right before 11PM. Henry was trying to hide his irritation since we were among new people, but he had that strained,  simulated smile on his lips – the kinds that serial killers apply before they ask that hot co-ed if she needs help crossing the road to her sudden death. So I knew he was trying to appear jovial despite a burgeoning need to garrote me with piano wire when I pointed out that I still hadn’t accumulated 20,000 and hey here’s nother great idea — perhaps I could walk back with Seri, Pete and Corey who all parked in a very faraway lot, and then Henry and Chooch could just drive over there to meet me. That way I would certainly meet my goal in spite of the fairgrounds closing.

“Whatever,” Henry huffed, exiting the fairgrounds with Chooch.

Corey, Seri and I walked ahead of Single Dad Pete, who was busy trying to placate two exhausted mini-Chooches. It was hilarious to me (but not to Pete, I’m sure) because they sounded JUST LIKE CHOOCH with their “This was the worst day ever!” complaints because HENRY had lied to them and told them all the games were shut down before they actually were. Way to go Henry, you dick.

However, for all the vocal vitriol they had going on, they were actually presenting very little of a struggle. I even turned around and commented on the fact that despite all the whining, they somehow looked calm. Seri was all upset about it and I pointed that the scene would look pretty casual to a deaf person.

Seri and Pete had parked a good distance away from the fairgrounds, and Corey was even further away. It was well past 11pm by the time we reached Seri and Pete’s car, and most of the grass lot was dark and empty. As we were all saying goodbye, Henry called me to see what was going on. All I was able to get out before we got disconnected was, “I’m saying goodbye and then I’m going to walk back.”

And by “back,” I meant “back to that particular lot’s entrance,” which was what we had agreed on before splitting up. However, when I reached the entrance, Henry wasn’t there waiting like a good puppy. I called him and he said, “Well, you said you were walking back, so I turned around and went back!”

He had gone all the way back to the other lot.

Let me tell you something about the Big Butler Fair – it’s the largest fair in Western Pennsylvania. I don’t know anything about square miles or acreage or anything that might help a person understand just how great an expanse these grounds really are, so just let me say that they are really fucking large and pretend like you understand.

The grounds are really fucking large.

At first, I exclaimed, “No! That’s even better actually. Just stay there and I’ll come to you.” I was practically licking my lips like those pedometer numbers were a big bloody steak and I was someone who might actually get turned on by big bloody steaks.

Everything was going great! I was pumping my arms and powerwalking toward the direction of my estranged love when suddenly my path was obstructed by a large fence.

I do not climb fences.

There was no other way to get back to the other parking lot.

“Walk down the road!” Henry barked when I called him and hysterically filled him in.

“I am not walking down the HIGHWAY AT NIGHT!” I screamed, not like it mattered because there was NO ONE ELSE IN THE PARKING LOT BY THAT POINT. NO ONE ELSE YOU GUYS I WAS ALL ALONE.

YOU CAN TELL I’M STILL UNDER DURESS BECAUSE I CAN’T STOP TYPING IN CAPSLOCK.

Meanwhile, Henry is doing that thing where vignettes of fantastical murder scenes dance through his head like blood-lusting Sugar Plum fairies, and then snaps, “Well, what the fuck do you want me to do, Erin!?”

What a stupid question. Call Punjab and have him helicopter over to me and hoist me over the fence with the sheer strength of his unraveled turban, Henry you cocksucker.

“I don’t know, maybe COME BACK AND GET ME!?” I yelled, marching back to the parking lot entrance, fighting that awful sting of angry tears that Henry is so good at conjuring. He should be next year’s magic act at the fair.

Henry kept saying he didn’t know where I was, and every time I would have to yell, “I am right across from the motherfucking general store where you tried to buy sunscreen a few hours ago, dickhead!!” over again, it felt like my eyes were going to squirt out of their sockets. Oh, rage!

By now, I’m at the entrance. There is a cop parked nearby which makes me feel a sick combination of safety and anger. ENJOYING THE SHOW, ASSHOLE? And then I see Henry pull into the parking lot of the general store and proceed to sit there. I called him and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Walk across the street,” he barked, as 56 motorcycles and 87 big rigs went roaring by. Oh, I see what you’re doing there, Henry. Nice try. I refused, but he couldn’t turn into the parking lot to get me because there were barrels and cones all over the road, so he had to keep driving away from me in order to find an exit and turn around so he’d be on the correct side of the road to pull in.

Needless to say, when he finally came back, I huffed over to the car, threw myself into the passenger seat, slammed the door and tersely said, “Do no talk to me.”

“Yeah, like I even want to,” he mumbled.

But our silence only lasted for about 10 minutes because I always end up laughing and how could anyone stay mad at my adorable face?!

The next day, Chooch randomly mused, “Wait, weren’t you guys fighting last night?” He was half asleep in the car when everything went down.

Henry pointed at me with his big dumb thumb and Chooch said, “Ooooh. Because of Mommy’s walking.”

You’ll be happy to know that I got my 20,000 steps that night though! The last 1,000 of which came coated with Ju-on.

[Side Note: The Law Firm Walking Challenge concluded on July 8. Team Apple wound up in 15th place overall, and as an individual I placed 7th out of 249 or something. I am not pleased. My last week of walking was totally pathetic. There were obstacles that not even someone with the steeliest of wills could overcome, 100 degree heat being one of them. But good news, guys! We were instructed to keep our pedometers BECAUSE THERE MIGHT BE ANOTHER CHALLENGE BY THE END OF SUMMER! I’m totally picking my own team this time.]

I. Watching grown men have their innards minced on spinny rides

Oh, Pete and Corey look ecstatic in these photos, sure; but the truth is that they were both trying not to give innocent bystanders a puke-wash. The fact that they kept everything down is a miracle, considering Pete is no stranger to losing his lunch on a carnival ride, according to Seri. Maybe he’ll let me interview him about that experience someday.

I was just happy that I didn’t have to ride the Sizzler again, after Chooch dragged me on once immediately upon arrival and then I needed to visit a witch doctor to get my brain to stop rattling to the beat of Call Me Maybe. But cold sweats sure feel great on a ninety degree day, even if they do bring on waking nightmares of child birth, except instead of a child, you’re birthing a nine pound fecal log of fear, anxiety and complete disregard for your own life.

II. Birthing a nine pound fecal log of fear, anxiety and complete disregard for your own life.

A/k/a riding the Zipper! My favorite ride of all time! The above picture is Corey after riding the Zipper! He hates it! AHHHHHH THE ZIPPER&*(&(*^&(*^%%$$##@#$!!

If only Henry could get me that excited.

Anyway, Corey reluctantly agreed to ride the Zipper even though he’s approximately 5 inches too tall and his feet bend backward every time the carny slams the cage shut on us. And then the ride starts and we’re in a state of perpetual tailspin and suddenly I’m strangulated by SHEER TERROR and I can no longer laugh at Corey’s anguish because OMG I’M IN ANGUISH!

BUT IT FEELS SO GOOD!

Have you ever ridden the Zipper? If so, you know that it’s a deceiving little sonofabitch, like a miniature ferris wheel flattened into the shape of an oval, and instead of offering a picturesque view of the lands below, you get a frontseat upside down glimpse of DANGER DANGER while being blinded by flashes of impending death, which may or may not include montages of Carrot Top going down on your granny while you’re scrambling around collecting your blown-off appendages like a warzone Easter egg hunt.

Meanwhile, Corey was muttering things like “Oh fuck” and “Why???” in a disgusted monotone that sounded uncannily like our father, who is perpetually displeased about most everything in life except The Bourne series and Caramel Caribou ice cream.

Some of the Zipper’s greatest hits include:

1. Bolts Popping in D Minor
2. I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight (When Our Zipper Cage Crashed To The Ground)
3. Somebody That I Used To Know (Puked On The Zipper)
4. What Makes You Beautiful (Is The Plastic Surgery You Had To Get After Your Face Was Cheese-Grated In That Zipper Disaster)
5. Part of Me (Got Amputated When the Carny Slammed The Zipper Cage Shut)
6. (The Zipper Launched Me Into the Atmosphere & Now I’m Up Here With the) Starships

III. Having other children there to entertain my child.

Having other children there to entertain my child. Highly recommended.

IV. CLOWNS!

A clown named Popcorn! Who couldn’t love a clown named POPCORN?! Other than people who have seen Killer Klowns From Outer Space and/or lost a loved one to a popcorn accident.

There was another clown there who was totally enamored by Seri. All the poor pasty-faced man wanted to do was twist her a heart from a balloon and she was being so standoffish! Damn, if he had shown me even an ounce of that attention, I’d have taken him back behind the 4H tent and twisted his balloon. IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

V. Not Being Hogtied & Devoured By Children!

Seri was brave/dumb and left me (and Corey!) responsible for her children, who had only just met us, and you might know that I was born without the ability to properly interact with/control children. (Maybe there’s also a rap sheet out there somewhere that could tell you that.) Anyway, they were mostly OK! Until they tried to converse with me and I met all their social exercises with twitches, shrugs and “Huh?”s. Then they got bored with me and wandered off. Don’t worry, I knew where they were. (Mostly.)

I think they were with my kid? I wasn’t sure where he was though.

VI. Oh Shit, MAGIC SHOW!

Seri, Pete and Henry rescued Corey and me from the children just in time for us to enjoy a real life magic show with real life magic and illusionary mysticism! Thank god it started right after I finished eating, else I can’t promise I would have paid it much attention.

I kept turning around to mouth exaggerated “Ooooh”s at Corey and Henry. Henry was totally unimpressed by the whole thing, especially after he did a quick scour on Facebook and discovered that this guy was not friends with our magician friends, therefore exposing him as a FRAUD.

After the show, Josh Knotts the Illusionist announced that if anyone wanted his autograph, they could have just that for $2. OH DID I! Except that I didn’t have $2, and Henry — who hadn’t heard the announcement — was sceptical from the get-go and said, “I only have $1 and I’m not breaking a $20.” Then he did that moustache bristle and old man squint. So I asked Pete and he gave me a dollar, because I’m still a novelty item.

Anyway, I put on my best fake fan impression and then Josh complimented me on my Anthem Made shirt (it’s the Kellin Quinn collection, ya’ll!) which made me smug because Henry was annoyed when I bought it (It says “We Are The Scene” and Henry thinks it’s dumb). Then Josh made me have my picture taken with him and his assistant, which I immediately made Seri delete from her phone.

VII: JANICE!

At first glance, Janice was just your average fanny pack-wearing county fair attendee who randomly volunteered to help out during one of the magic acts. But it quickly came to our attention that she is a HOG for attention, oh my god. She did everything in her power to steal the show, including but not limited to flossing Josh Knott’s ass with a straight jacket strap.

She sure made all the hicks in the audience howl!

Corey and I became obsessed with her.

“I have a feeling Janice knows her way around a stage,” Corey observed.

God love her.

VIII. The Magic Maze Controversy

The boys basically spent all night running through the maze (and repeatedly slamming their heads against the plexi glass), but this turned out to be fortuitous because it enabled Corey and me to witness something amazing when we rejoined our pack after riding the Freak Out (during which some beefy carny said, “You might want to remove those” while practically dunking his head inside my cleavage; he was only talking about the sunglasses hooked onto my shirt collar though). I missed the initial conflict, which happened when some girl ran into the maze, causing the old man carny to legit hollar at her. Corey said he really screamed at her good and couldn’t believe that I didn’t hear. By the time he alerted me to the drama, I was able to watch as the girl came back out of the maze, exchange words with the carny, and run over to her mom in tears. Apparently, she had found someone’s discarded ride-all-day wristband and attempted to dupe the carny by holding it on to her wrist.

YOU CAN’T TRICK A CARNY. They’re the original tricksters. That’s how women wind up impregnated with gingers. Everyone knows that. So anyway, Old Carny was livid about this and sent that bitch packing.

“That was so mean,” Corey said sadly, wearing his pity for poor people like a Boy Scout badge.

“I know, and so late in the evening? He should have just let her go through,” I added. But then I got a good look at her, crying into her mom’s bosom, and I said, “But, isn’t she a little old to be crying about that?”

Corey studied the scene for a few seconds, and said, “No, you’re totally right,” and then started cracking up. So then I started cracking up too, and Henry was all, “What is so funny? I am old and lack mirth, please explain in laymen’s terms what has made you laugh.”

A few minutes later, Seri, Pete and the boys were on the bumper cars, so Corey, Henry and I were standing around in everyone’s way as usual. Actually, I think Henry was cranking up our debt by playing more games. The poor girl and her mom walked by us and I blurted out, “Oh my god, she’s STILL crying!” and we just died. Seriously, go home and have Pa make you a maze in one of his almanac and cat litter hoarding rooms.

IX: Corey Is Still Color Blind!

Sometime earlier in the evening, Corey pointed to the Skydiver and said, “Oh boy, there’s that orange and green ride again.”

I was able to contain my erupting laughter for a few seconds before blurting out, “OMG THAT RIDE HAS NEITHER COLOR!” and then frantically texting his girlfriend the good word.

God, I love when his color blindness comes into play.

Quite possibly the only lowlight was when Corey and I were standing in line for the Freak Out and he realized that horrible fun. song was playing on two different rides, on each side of us, and both songs were at different parts. I was so angry at him for pointing that out because then I couldn’t stop noticing it and it was sonic warfare on my poor ears. The brightside was that we had a brief bonding moment over a mutual dislike of one of the most obnoxiously commercial songs of 2012.

(Music snob footnote: The Format was so much better than Fun. and I have been preaching that since 2009.)

OK, that’s not true. There was another lowlight.

;

;

;

;

FML. FML. FMFL.

Was forced to go to Warped Tour again. It was pretty terrible but not as bad as in previous years, mostly because we are only marginally poor now so I was able to buy as many bottles of Coke as I wanted and I even bought FOOD this time instead of sitting under a tree, nibbling on contraband granola bars. (Erin still did this because she is a cheap whore and honestly thought she was going to save money to buy merch; little did she know she was funding my free-flowing supply of COCA COLA.

)

I don’t even like Coke.

It was hot, but not “need to apply Desitin in a bathroom stall” hot.

The first shitty band we saw was Chelsea Grin. They weren’t even on the stage yet and I knew I was going to hate them based on their bleeding eyeball signs. And then they came out and the screamer started screaming and it was like being anally probed by their band name’s font. Then the screamer started to sing and I said, “He should just go back to screaming” and Erin did that thing where she looks at me like I don’t get it. But what is there to get about a band who sound like a satchel of shrieking newborns on steroids. Of course Erin would like that shit because it sounded as schizophrenic as one of her daily temper tantrums.

I got a free beef jerky sample and that was pretty good. Here is a picture of me eating that. I don’t know what stupid band was playing during that though, but I bet there was screaming in it.

Then I ate some wings and fresh potato chips. Here is a picture of me eating that too. Sure, my meal cost about $20, but I didn’t mind so much because that was one less pair of scene kid YOLO booty shorts Erin could buy from some obnoxious merch dick. The fact that some stupid band was shouting on a nearby stage negated the happiness that I felt from the food. At least I got to sit down while I ate, but that was only because Erin was waiting for some other band to start playing so she let me.

And then that band began playing and I got to re-taste my meal.

Everyone depended on me to hold up the barrier during Pierce the Veil. We are all lucky we’re alive. Those kids really act like feral hillbillies when they hear music sometimes. I was hoping one of them would hit me so I could punch them back call my mommy call the cops.

I know, it looks like I am sleeping while standing in this picture. That is because I am.

I’m surprised there was not a terrible band there called Sleeping While Standing.

Ugh, I hate kids and I hate music and I hate kids who love music. And I hate whatever band that is, too.

Sometimes I just walk away because I need to sit down.

Don’t look at the half-naked 16-year-old. Don’t look at the half-naked 16-year-old. Don’t let Erin see me looking at the half-naked 16-year-old.

Oh shit, don’t let the half-naked 16-year-old’s DAD see me looking at the half-naked 16-year-old.

COME AT ME, BRO.

Got to take a nap on the lawn during Breathe Carolina, which was great, but then I dreamt that I was drinking Yoo Hoo out of Jeffree Starr’s mouth with Jonny Craig. Woke up needing a cold shower and pissed that I know who Jeffree Starr is thanks to fucking Warped Tour.

Then the Used screamed some songs and I finally got to leave.

Highlights: beef jerky; avoiding Blood On the Dance Floor; not getting stuck in parking lot traffic on the way out.

Lowlights: Finding Erin after I lost her in the crowd; the existence of Blood On the Dance Floor; everything else.

Music has really gone downhill since I played in that Ted Nugent cover band when I was in THE SERVICE.

(I may have had some or a lot of help writing some or all of this.)

I am in a complete state of comedown today. Yesterday was such a blur: I wait all year for it and then it’s over in a whiplash-inducing flash. I’ve already cried in mourning. But the euphoria definitely outweighs the depression!

Before the gates opened.

Finding out Pierce the Veil’s set time was our (my) main priority.

Henry, dryly before Chelsea Grin even took the stage: I can already tell I’m going to love THEM.

I try to let him sit every couple hours.

Emily’s Army. I had a crush on the boy scout.

Ugh, Funeral Party was so sick. Of course there were only 10 people watching them with me because there were no gimmicks or ridiculous wardrobes or KISS-copying.

Waiting for Pierce the Veil.

;

Took this for Chooch. Missed him so much. :(

On the phone with his sister, fondling a broken pair of sunglasses he found on the ground.

AUSTIN CARLILE MAKES ME HAPPY. He screams the demons right the fuck out of my body.

Seriously, the best Mexicans ever. I love Pierce the Veil so hard and will probably start crying about it in 3….2….

The ever-omnipresent Jeffree Starr.

Our annual “I’m Stoked, Henry’s Not” picture. Henry actually did smile a few times though.

LIKE WHEN KELLIN QUINN SANG WITH PIERCE THE VEIL, ADMIT IT HENRY.

Backne popping during Sleeping with Sirens. Please join me in my repulsion.

Finally succumbed to exhaustion around the 7PM mark and crashed on the lawn during Breathe Carolina.

I still have to take the pictures off the regular camera, and I’ll be back with those and an actual account of Henry’s agony.

Fuck, that was the best day of the summer and I can’t wait to do it all over again 100 more times.

You with me, Henry?

The “Oh, I Can Already Tell I’m Going to Love This Band, & Yes I’ll Be Speaking in Fluent Sarcasm All Day” frown.

This is a conversation we had when standing in line:

Henry: “Taking Back Sunday is here?”
Me: “Yeah. Duh.”
Henry: I thought just Geoff [Rickley] was?”
Me, annoyed: “He’s in THURSDAY!”
Henry: “Oh. Yeah…”

This update is brought to you by TOMS tan lines and Henry’s desire to sit down “for a minute.” Ciao for now!