“What kind of bands are these, now?” Henry deigned to ask when we were on our way to Mr. Roboto for that night’s Casa San Jose fundraiser show. It’s almost like he’s  afraid to ask so he just waits until the last possible minute.

I was only able to find stuff from 90 Seconds til Midnight and The Give & Take online, but I liked what I heard and knew that Henry wouldn’t object to any of it once it started. But, Brenda…when we got there, one of the bands was sound-checking to an empty room. It was 7:30 at that point.

And it was just us and the sound guy in there. We sat down on a bench against the wall and I immediately felt so awkward. But then another person arrived!

And it turns out he was the friend/photographer of the first performer and would end up leaving right after that. But it was still nice to have someone sitting next to us so we looked less fish out of water.

Eventually, 4 girls and a guy came from the back of the venue so I was like, “Oh thank god, people were just chilling out there until now,” and felt less cooked. UNTIL I QUICKLY REALIZED THAT THEY WERE ALL FRIENDS / GIRLFRIENDS OF 90 SECONDS TIL MIDNIGHT.

It was almost 8pm at this point and nothing was happening except for the band fucking around on stage and getting photos taken. So I joined in with the photo taking session.

“Where are the other people?” Henry hissed uncomfortably.

This was around the point where I admitted to Henry that when the ticket guy was checking us off the list, I glanced at what appeared to be only 4 names on it but I didn’t want to say anything because THIS HAD JUST HAPPENED TO US earlier that week at another event — why do I keep choosing these random events that no one knows about?!

Really definitely 100% positively not fitting in at all but still being so happy to be there LOL. (Well, one of us was happy to be there. Henry is wearing his, “Why do you keep doing this to me?” face.)

Henry being like, “WHAT EXACTLY IS THIS THAT WE’RE HERE FOR AGAIN?”

Soundcheck photoshoot.

My aunt Susie also loves shelties and had two of them when I was a teenage: Coco and Pebbles! She had Coco first and when she got the second one and asked for name suggestions, I said, “Pebbles!” and was only moderately joking, but she liked it and kept it! And that has been the story about my aunt and her Shelties.

Eventually, The Give and Take arrived and mentioned something about car issues. I really enjoyed their set, but it was just me, 90 Seconds + their entourage, and the Give and Take’s photographer that were standing in front of the stage. Henry was like, “I’mma stay sat for this” and there were two youngish girls also sitting down as well. Plus some tall random guy who was giving me The Crow vibes kind of but in a 2026 sense. I can’t explain it.

After The Give & Take, the Crow guy got on stage!!! I had no idea he was one of the performers.

Um…

I don’t know what to say about his set aside from that it was pretty uncomfortable to watch. He rode the backing track like a life boat through the entirety of the first song and then afterward said his live vocals don’t do it justice. I was fighting for my life to hold it together, Steve. There was no one blocking me from his sight—it was still just me, the other band and their small entourage.

I was trying not to film or take pictures of him because I could feel the girlfriends of the other band side-eying me, not in a catty way, but like they were genuinely wondering why I was there. Like, “someone bought tickets to this show, holy shit?!” and I didn’t want it to look like I was making fun of this guy who they were all clearly bros with. He seemed troubled, to say the least, and after the first song, he launched into a 4 minute monologue about how he suddenly fell ill last summer out of nowhere, flu-like symptoms, bad headaches, no one could figure it out.

Eventually, he found out he had Lyme disease and now part of his face is partially paralyzed.

Afterward, Henry was like, “Who was that story for, if everyone else there knew him? Was that story just for us?!”

Maybe?!

Then he said he has been compared to MGK but that he doesn’t need to copy him or anyone else because he’s 24 and has “lived a life.”

Oh Francis, I was screaming on the inside. I had to grab my sides with curled fingers because sometimes inflicting pain upon myself is the only way to curb the chuckles. It was like being in church again.

I just filmed a short snippet but honestly, props for this guy for having it in him to get up there on a stage and he did have some good beats. It just wasn’t for me, no hate.

Henry remained seated during this set and was actually hunched forward with his head in his hands for most of it but he sat up as soon as I snapped this. There was one teenage girl remaining and she was also sitting in the same position. I think she left before it was over though.

The one nice thing about the evening was that each band got on stage immediately after the last one so there was little to no down time. Whoever the next band was on the flyer, they weren’t there that night, so after Skyrah was done doing the mashed potato on stage, 90 Seconds Til Midnight came on. You guys, I liked them! They were energetic and fun. They had some covers but their original songs were what I liked the most.

Henry actually stood with me for this, amazing, what energy, give this guy a participation trophy.

In between songs, the singer goes, “I know pretty much everyone in this room. I know you, and you, and you….I don’t know YOU guys though, nice to meet you.”

So I WAVED TO HIM AND YELLED, “Hello!” like a FUCKING SOCCER MOM WAVING TO HER KID ON THE FIELD I AM SUCH A FUCKING DORK.

And when that happened, EVERYONE TURNED AND LOOKED AT US. It was so embarrassing but also one of the funniest things that has ever happened to me at a show and I was squealing, trying to keep it together. It was all I could do not to immediately text Chooch and tell him. (Don’t worry, I spammed the fuck out him afterward and he was like WTF WHERE EVEN WERE YOU.

Like, “why can’t you just stay home and knit like other moms!?” Lol!

I sincerely can’t remember the last time I felt this much of a DORK ALERT at a show or anywhere in public for that matter. I mean, I was wearing jeans and an old t-shirt from my brother Ryan’s pee wee soccer team (yes, I stuff myself into Youth t-shirts, is that a crime) yet somehow I felt like I looked to them like I had just popped in on the way to go grocery shopping. I could have been the mom to pretty much anyone there that night except for the first singer who said he was in his 40s (BRO, WHAT’S UP!) and the soundguy.

“I COULD HAVE BEEN THEIR GRANDFATHER!” Henry cried, but honestly I don’t think these people were that much older than Chooch, calm down, Henry.

“Go to local shows,” they said. “Support local music,” they said.

I genuinely enjoyed them, though, and would like to come out and support them again but maybe I will try to bring like 10 people with me!?

Also, I was glad to be supporting Casa San Jose because FUCK ICE FOREVER. FUCK DONALD TRUMP AND HIS REGIME. FUCK FASCISM TIL THE END OF TIME.

Anyway. We bolted out of there as soon as it was over. Part of me wanted to stick around and say hello or whatever, but I was so giddy and also suffocating from the awkwardness of it all, that I think we both wanted to just get the fuck outside. And once we were on the sidewalk, we started cracking up.

“Jesus Christ, Erin!” Henry laughed. “Why do you keep putting us in these situations??”

I’ll tell you, I hate a crowd as much as the next antisocial person, but there is something even worse about being one of the ONLY people in a crowd at a performance, because it’s almost like YOU are the one being observed. When there are only like 5 or 8 people standing there, the eyes are going to land on you at some point, ESPECIALLY when you’re the only one that the people on stage DON’T KNOW.

I actually felt like I was under a spotlight and it was exhausting. Like, I was hyper aware of my facial muscles – was I doing resting bitch face? Did I look critical? Were they worried I wasn’t enjoying it? So instead, I overcorrected and I think I looked like I was auditioning for the next installment of SMILE.

What’s even funnier to me is that usually when something like this happens, you’re not noticed at all, you know? You’re just a blurry face in the crowd so you might walk away with some funny memory of something that the rest of the people there had no idea was happening. But in our case, while we might reminisce about this years later, like, “Remember that one time we looked like NARCs at that Roboto show?” the band might also have their own side of it that comes up someday, like, “Remember when those random parents showed up at our show for no reason and no one knew who they were?!”

I don’t know, it feels less funny now that I’m typing it out but Henry and I fucking laughed about it for days afterward. I never thought I would find myself in a more awkward concert situation than the Kurt Travis house show but this one was EXCRUCIATING. Hilarious (and with mostly good music) but so painful. If it hadn’t been for the the pre-show beer lubricating my nerves, I think I might have left. Glad I didn’t though! Even when Henry was shooting, “I hate you” daggers at me from his eyes, lol.

The next one is this Saturday and hopefully there are more people there, pray for us.

Hey you guys, allow me to be incredibly out of touch for a minute! When I saw that Pierce the Veil was headlining one of the days of Four Chord, I really tried to talk myself out of caring. But I love PTV so so so much and regret the several times over the last few years that I didn’t go to any of their concerts because I was too busy taking out loans for Kpop concerts. But, 2026 has been awful for Kpop concerts here in the US. There hasn’t been anything I’ve been been interested in going to, especially when even the smaller groups require traveling. So, in an effort to fill the void, I have been trying to go to just ANY concert, things I used to like, things I sort of know a little about but am interested enough to stand in a dark room with sweat people, things that I have recently become obsessed with…it’s been a lot of fun, no regrets!

So I was like FUCK IT I will get tickets for just the day that PTV is headlining. I mean, a music festival that’s in the same city, no travel, no hotel? Can’t beat that. We don’t even have to drive there & bother with parking!

I missed out on the early bird tickets because Henry wouldn’t commit, so I had to wait until tickets went on sale yesterday. I was not happy with the cost – $263 for two tickets for just one day. IMMEDIATELY upon completing the purchase, I happened to glance down and realize…

I bought tickets for the wrong motherfucking day.

I started texting Henry in hysterics. I mean, I wouldn’t MIND going both days because I like most of the bands, but I DO MIND opening that much money on some little music festival. These are practically Riot Fest prices, I feel like. (OK not that much but almost!!)

That’s when I realized that the day I wanted was also MORE EXPENSIVE because there are several more bands than the day before. Fuuuuuuhahahahahahahauck.

I found a customer service number and was on hold for quite some time, to the point where I was about to hang up and go have a stroke in the quiet darkness of my bedroom closet, when a woman answered. Woman, MORE LIKE ANGEL. You guys, she was fucking wonderful. I explained to her, in tears, my snafu and she was like, “OK, we can fix this. Don’t worry, let me see….” while my heart rate matched the sound of her fingers tap-dancing across a keyboard. Basically, she had me purchase two tickets for the correct day while we were on the phone (thank fucking GOD for PayPal credit, yo, I could NOT justify paying for 4 tickets up front even when 2 of them were going to be eventually be refunded), give her the new order # to verify that I did it, and then she swiftly canceled my first order.

JUST LIKE THAT.

AND DO YOU KNOW WHY THIS WAS SO EASY?

BECAUSE IT WAS NOT TICKETMASTER.

So, just what to give a hearty shout out to Front Gate Tickets in Austin, you saved my ass.

I called Henry with the great news afterward and he seemed very relieved that I was able to get my money back from the wrong order, but then remembered that this still means he has to go to Four Chord, lol.

I’m super stoked to be going to this but here is where I need to be an out-of-touch Gen X crybaby:

$345 for two tickets to a music festival in Pittsburgh that only has 15 bands in the lineup, when THREE OF US used to go to Warped Tour every summer for half of that price with 3x as many bands. What the fuck is this Kpop economy crossover into the American midtier band world?? ET TU, POP PUNK??? There is no reason for these prices to be so high!

Here’s a great example: the other day, I saw that Turnover is coming to Spirit (small local venue). Turnover is not a big band (at least, they weren’t when I was super into them!) and I thought, “Ooh, I’d go see Turnover, it’s been a minute!” so I clicked on the ticket link, and first of all, it went to TICKETMASTER and tickets start at $50 before fees.

$50?? To see Turnover at SPIRIT? No. Hard pass on that one.

My friend Wendi and I were chatting about this at work yesterday and she said that this makes it impossible to casually go to shows just to go to shows, like the old days, and I 100% agree. Basically, the cheapest way to see live music these days is to randomly walk into a walk that has bluegrass bands playing and cough up the $10 cover.

I’m really anguished over this! Time to start researching local bands, I guess

One other thing before I go, it pisses me off doubly that the last time I went to the Four Chord festival was in 2016 when my work friend Debby called in a favor and had me put on the guest list because her niece’s boyfriend’s band was playing! Ugh, I wish he was playing this one too so I could be all, “HEY DEBBYYYYYYY….”

I was IN A MOOD on Saturday. You know how they say babies throw fits because they literally aren’t capable of using their words and understanding exactly what emotion they’re feeling? Tell me how I am 46 years old and still LIKE THIS.

The bottom line is, and unkindly fuck right off if you’re about to minimize my feelings, I am going through something weird following the departure of Mark from NCT. It’s not that I am some crazy-ass fan, but I am relating this to my own life and it is reminding me in a shitty way that people age out of things and need to move on. Nothing lasts forever.

Nothing.

Lasts.

Forever.

That is what I am hung up on right now, flipping through memories of the golden era in my Kpop Phase of Life. Remembering how it felt, and how happy I looked, to be at my first NCT Dream concert. Remembering how I had the all-consuming impulse to run to the nearest tattoo shop and get sprouts and YO DREAM etched on my body permanently.

It all came to a head late Saturday morning when Henry and I drove to Freeport to get some treats from Vivian’s Bakery, and then the plan was to continue to KITTANNING for some reason to go for a walk. But when we got to the bakery, I short-circuited and lost my mind  when it was time to order and ended up not getting what I wanted, blamed Henry, acted like the reigning Douchey of Cuntswold, and proceeded to derail the next 2 hours by yelling for no reason, playing mind games, and then curling up in a ball facing out the passenger side window, crying with NCT Dream on blast.

How old am I.

We ended up coming back to Pittsburgh and Henry, without a word to me prior, went to Yinz Coffee on the Northside, got me their seasonal iced cherry blossom chai and two cookies. Then we went to Uniondale Cemetery where I stormed off ahead of him and walked most of it by myself until he took a different path and stepped out from behind a tree like fucking Michael Myers, I guess to try and remind me why I got a crush on him in the first place way back in 2000.

Jesus. 26 years ago. I hate time.

So, then everything was OK. We came home and I had my afternoon feeding which helped a lot. The cookies did too.

I suggested that we go to Firewhistle Brewing in Elizabeth later that day. Initially, I was going to suggest that we do this earlier in the day and then walk the bike trail thingie that’s out that way because we haven’t walked it in a few years now. But then Henry had his KITTANNING plan –  like wtf even is in KITTANNING, I hate it there now after Saturday morning – so I let him run with that since he rarely cooks up an itinerary of his own. Anyway, he was down with this plan (like he would ever say no) and on the way there, I got an alert that the Pens game was starting.

“Oh, maybe we will actually be able to watch a hockey game for fucking once!” I cried happily, the Erin of Morn’ nothing but a ghost now.

You guys, I ALWAYS HAVE THE BEST IDEAS. This place was such a cozy local establishment. EVERYONE AT THE BAR KNEW EACH OTHER but NO ONE gave us suspicious once-overs. The bartender was down-to-earth and patient while Henry decided what he wanted. (I already knew I wanted the RED ALE – that’s my current go-to, further adding to the misconception that I am Irish.)

(I guess technically this is listed as an AMERICAN red, but whatever.)

I loved the vibe. The owner is also a firefighter and fun fact: my baby shower was actually held in the basement of the fire hall nearby. Don’t ask.

OMG this beer was really good too. It was called Ritterweisse and we heard the bartender tell someone that he’s been calling it the Kyle Rittenhouse but it wasn’t going over too well!! This was some kind of dark German beer that reminded us of the Golden Age Christmas ale we got for Xmas Eve, just without the spice. It was so good. I only just got the red ale and then “helped” Henry drink the ones he got, lol. Not the wheat beer though – I was too busy writing tongue-tip love poems on the roof of my mouth about my beloved red ale while Henry was slamming the wheat.

And we got to watch the Pens cream the Panthers 9-4! FUCK YOU TKACHUK!

I was having so much fun listening to everyone talk about the Pens (only complaint is that the game was on mute because the bartender had a playlist going) and engaging in small town small talk. Don’t get me wrong, I prefer to keep to myself here in Brookline but sometimes I do wish I was part of the community. Sort of. OK, no I don’t. I can barely stand to talk to my actual neighbors, let alone expanding the borders to….other streets. Gulp.

Granted, every so often I would think about Mark and get morose all over again, but at least I wasn’t alone.

After leaving Bran on an empty stomach, I was starting to feel weird. Instead of going back to Brasov, the plan was to head over to a small village called Viscri which was close to a 2 hour drive. Viscri is an off-the-beaten path village known for its local artisans, farm-to-table meals at small restaurants, and for being a quiet place to stay in a guest house and experience slow living. It’s claim to fame is being the object of affection of King Charles, who owns a cottage there and advocates for the preservation of Viscri’s heritage and architecture by serving as a cultural ambassador. I was really looking forward to seeing this place especially because it doesn’t seem to be a known tourist attraction (yet). I was really excited to come here, stroll around and look at nature, buy some Romanian pottery and WHAT HAVE YOU. We were originally going to make reservations at one of the guest house restaurants but then decided against it, and well, good thing….

Since we weren’t going to be eating lunch there and I wasn’t sure if there would be snacks readily available, I had Henry buy me a pastry at a gas station.

It was cheese and raisins. It seemed fine.

But then I started to get SICK. I don’t get car sick very often at all – I’m the type of person who can read books and write in vacation journals in moving vehicles with no issue, so when I started to feel green, I immediately blamed it on the 3++++ servings of espresso I had early that morning. Maybe it was starting to hit me since I hadn’t eaten anything substantial in the meantime?

By the time we arrived to Viscri and parked, I was cooked. I didn’t even think I had it in me to get out of the car, but I pushed myself and then we had to walk quite a ways through the woods in order to get to the area where all the shops and houses are. It was here that I started shaking uncontrollably because I was freezing.

It wasn’t cold.

This was THE SICK SHIVERS.

I was basically panting too, all worn out from the slow stroll when I am basically a profesh ambler so you tell me – was I sick or nah.

All of the guest houses and shops are numbered.

Eventually, the path spilled us out in between some houses, one of which was a shop full of local wares. Thank god, because I wasn’t sure how long I was going to last and I at least wanted to buy a thing.

I could barely even stand up at this point and felt so miserable in this shop. I can promise you that had I felt like myself that day, I’d have spent $$$ in that bitch because it was full of exactly the type of rustic Romanian pieces I had been gunning for. But instead, I feebly pointed to a coffee mug and whispered faintly to Henry, “Get me this one, I have to go outside and die now.”

It was pathetic. I could barely even hold my head up and felt like I was going to spew my guts all over this precious pottery. There was a bench outside and I parked my sick ass down immediately and put my head in my hands.

Henry came out with my mug and I said, “I’m not going to make it, Henry. We have to go. NOW.”

I was still trying to take pictures though! Even though I had double-vision and had to do weird lamaze-type breathing except instead of trying to expel a human, I was trying to plug in the vomit.

DOG! A bright spot in my “AM I GOING TO FUCKING DIE IN ROMANIA???” freakout.

The color palette of Viscri, though.

This was truly such a long walk back to the car.

I took this while popping an emergency squat on the way back to the car because I really thought I was about to barf.

But don’t worry! I saved that for when we were about 5 minutes out of Viscri and Henry had to veer off onto the side of the road and frantically fish for a plastic gas station bag in the backseat, into which I violently vomited for what felt like a solid 10 minutes but I don’t think it was that long in succession lol.

The bag was red, btw. And actually very small. I will never forget that bag.

Unfortunately.

This was also the first time I even puked in the car that I can remember at least! There was a time when Janna was driving me home from a bar after I quit Weiss’s the first time, and I was so trashed that she had to pull over so I could puke in someone’s yard.

But this! This was some kind of bug. I thought maybe at first it was food poisoning, but it took me out for the entire rest of the day, part of the next day, and I wasn’t able to actually start eating without puking / feeling immediately nauseous until two days later. Our last day in Romania, LOL. Yay me!

I remembered watching this one travel couple on YouTube and the wife got super sick in Romania so I googled it and it’s actually quite common I guess? It’s one of the places where you’re not supposed to drink the water and I definitely didn’t, so I have no idea what I ended up having but you’ll be thrilled to know that Henry remained 100% unaffected. Because of course.

I ended up passing out in the car for most of the drive back to Brasov, puking again when we got back to the room, and then sleeping for pretty much all afternoon into the early evening.

I was too fucked to even be upset that I was missing out on doing Romania things. Like hiking to the top of the Brasov sign, which is what we were planning on doing when we got back from Viscri. :(

Oh well, here’s my mug!

I started to wake up from a fairly deep sleep around 1:30AM when I heard Chooch talking loudly on the phone and barreling down the steps. I assumed he was on a call with his friends and possibly leaving the house? But then he texted me this:

Apparently, he was on the phone with 911!!! I don’t know how Henry and I didn’t wake up when this happened, but Chooch was still awake and heard it as soon as it happened and, being the SON OF HENRY, he jumped to action. He said the 911 person was very unhelpful but it was OK because there were people down the street who had also called 911. Chooch said when he peered into the car, the driver was just sitting there staring into space – YEAH, I BET?! That looks like a CRAZY accident!

We think what happened was that the driver (it turned out to be a young woman) was speeding DOWN our street (these things usually happen the other direction) and hit the front of the Jeep parked on the side of the street, spun out and the car flipped over on its side facing back UP the street??

The only good news here is that there did not appear to be any injuries, somehow. The owner of the Jeep is a woman who works at that behavioral health house up the street from us, so she was out there too. We missed the part where they got the driver out, but we did see her spectacularly fail the “walk the line” test and into the cop car she went.

I was watching all of this from the bedroom window and here’s way – she was a lone woman out there with a bunch of male cops. Someone needed to keep an eye on things. Isn’t that sad? That we can’t trust the people who take a pledge to protect us? What a world.

During my vigil at the window, I watched THIS COP CIRCLED UP THERE toss something into the yard of the church across the street and walk off toward his cop mobile that was parked in front of my house.

“THAT PIG JUST LITTERED!” I cried to Henry, blood pressure rising. “I’M GOING OUT THERE TO SAY SOMETHING!” Henry didn’t even try to stop me. I’m sorry, but littering is one of my all-time biggest pet peeves and I cannot fucking stand to see it. Most of my confrontations in life have been me calling someone out for littering (this was my 4th confrontation, where the fuck is my GIRL SCOUTS badge for this shit??).

So, there I went, flying out my front door like the Kool-Aid Man in their Aunt Sharon’s oversized Bon Jovi tour shirt from the 80s, no bra, joggers, and no socks, arms protectively covering their chest. That was me. That’s what I’m trying to say,

“Excuse me, excuse me!” I yelled, as the littering cop was now getting back out of his copmobile, having moved it off the road and into my driveway (OH OK, BE MY GUEST). Now I need to preface this real quick by saying that I would not have went out there if anyone was transported away in the ambulance. No one was. The only carnage out there was the car on its side.

First of all, the cop – a big white bald-headed gap-toothed white man who probably is also a wife beater – called me ma’am but I sensed a SARCASTIC tone.

“Did you just litter back there?” I asked sternly.

He just started at me like he needed me to define the word “litter.” So, I told him I SAW him throw something into the church’s yard. I won’t lie, in my head I was like, “This is stupid, you’re going to end up in that backseat with the drunk girl, Erin” but now there was no turning back. I’ll just make a donation to a charity today to counteract my Hulking out over litter last night.

He took a step toward me, AN INTIMIDATION TACTIC, and oh Yolanda, if you could have heard the SHIT EATING TONE he applied to his voice when he said, “You mean THE HEAT PACK from when I was assisting in the blabblahblah procedure?”

UM, SO HEAT PACKS AREN’T LITTER? Are heat packs BIODEGRADABLE?

Also, “assisting” in what now, sir? Because from my post at the Bedroom Watch Tower, all I saw him doing was meander about like an NPC, doing fuck all.

“I don’t care what it was, I hate litter,” I said, and I know my face was BEYOND resting bitch face. I was now Real Fugly Karen Just Rolled Out of Bed in the Middle of the Night.

“I hate litter too,” he said. OK THEN WHY DID YOU LITTER WHEN YOU WERE LITERALLY WALKING BACK TO YOUR CAR, YOU COULD HAVE JUST BROUGHT THAT SHIT WITH YOU???

I honestly can’t remember what happened after this but he was seriously getting too close to me and my anger was making metallic crashes in my ears so I just shittily said, “HAPPY THANKSGIVING” and then stomped back into the house, yelling FUCKING DICK as I slammed the door shut. Then I noticed Chooch was there watching the whole thing with his patented, “Ladies and gentlemen, my SOCIAL JUSTICE WARRIOR mother” smirk on his face.

“Feel better?” he asked sardonically.

NO ACTUALLY I DIDN’T because now the adrenaline was cruising through my nervous system.

“I did it,” I said to Henry, who was still watching from the bedroom. He said he knew, and played back our security camera footage where you can hear me yelling EXCUSE ME lol.

The last words I said before I fell back asleep was, “I bet he’s also an ICE sympathizer.”

I GUESS THIS ONLY APPLIES TO CIVILIANS.

ETA: I just replied to Janna’s comment about how I can have the shittiest service at a restaurant and I will be like, “Eh, the server might be having a bad day” but a man in authority DARES TO EVEN GLANCE AT ME and I am like OH BUDDY, CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

“So I’m not a Karen,” I defended myself to Henry. “What does that make me though?”

“A psycho,” Henry said WITH NO HESITATION, WOW.

Also, “welcome home, Chooch!” He must seriously miss this action sometimes. Henry said he came out of his room when he heard me fly out the front door and asked, “Where did she go?”

“To jail,” Henry sighed.

We spent my birthday evening at Arnold’s Park on Lake Okoboj, as previously reported. I bought this magnet and the old white man I purchased it from held it up to his face, squinted, and said, “This is missing something. Ahh! It’s missing TRUMP sitting there!”

Pal, only if he was buried head first in the sand would I want that. Gimme my fucking magnet.

We had just been observing that day too how nice it was that we weren’t bombarded with TRUMP paraphernalia throughout Iowa like we had been in Missouri. Not even a single Trump yard sign or billboard – it was so cleansing on the eyeballs.

And then that happened. I actually wasn’t even sure if that was what he said initially because I had let my guard down the whole time we were in Iowa. Branson? Would not have been fazed. But I was very taken aback and actually wish I had walked out without the magnet but I already paid for the fucking thing. Of course, this morning we went back to the Okoboji Welcome Center and I found a much better magnet so maybe I’ll “write a picture” of an expired Trump on this one, cankles jutting out of the sand.

Well, in case anyone is wondering, we’re well over 24 hours of no power here in my part of Pittsburgh. It is what it is as the wise whoever say. I had to take a PTO day for today and I guess I’ll be going into the office tomorrow (which by the way had some windows blow out during yesterday’s storm so that is also not great, but I guess it’s still open). The dumb electric co says it could be 5-7 DAYS before everything is fully restored and uh, excuse me what? I know there are far worse problems out there than this but you gotta be kidding me. I was not built for this type of pioneer lifestyle lol.

I took a shower tonight and then had to take my hairdryer to Henry’s work to dry my hair. Most of our food is now in a cooler, and the things we don’t need right away are in the fridge at Henry’s work.

Today I was so bored that I went on four walks and listened to an entire audio book. I spent most of the day on the backporch with Penelope and she was so confused like, “bitch why are you staring at me.”

We passed a Duquesne Light truck on our thwarted walk to Potomac Station and I was like “FIX US! OR TEACH ME HOW TO DO IT! GIVE ME RUBBER GLOVES AND A BOOST!

I think the part that pissed me off the most was when, ok wait two parts:

1. we walked to Potomac Station to get a treat only to see that they closed EARLY TODAY even though they had POWER and taped up some pisspoor sign apologizing for the inconvenience. Well yeah, they DID inconvenience me, actually and a Sharpie-scrawled “apology” is NOT good enough. Boycotting them, effective immediately.
2. my neighbor (on the other side of HNC) who is also THE LANDLORDS SON and I truly hate them both, came home with a GENERATOR so now we have to sit here and listen to his generator generating knowing that his trashy NRA-shirt-wearing ass has power while we’re over here having to actually converse with each other because there is NO YOUTUBE TO MUTE EACH OTHER.

(OMG Henry is walking around with a headlamp on lol.)

Oh and speaking of HNC, I got a very Yinzer check-in from him:

“Not!” seriously cracked me up but also the Dancin Girl he’s referencing is that pinball glass sign we have in our kitchen which he can see from HIS kitchen window, and has brought it up numerous times like, bro how often are you peering into our house n’at (sorry I was trying to feel out Yinzer lingo and it is definitely not for me, just like pioneer womanhood).

Then he immediately followed it up with “call me if u can.” Ugh, I did too because I’m a sucker and I think there may have been a point to the call but it seemed like he mostly just wanted to chat?? I will say though that he is a very nice and concerned neighbor, and even offered to lend us some of the coolers he went and cleaned out for makeshift refrigeration purposes. He is also wanting to help out in a pinch and even though his wife hates squirrels, you gotta appreciate the humanity and good neighboring there.

Anyway, it is now 9pm, my hair is office-ready, Henry put a new battery in the transistor radio* (LOL) and I am drinking a BEER (it’s a VOODOO IPA, one of my faves!). I know I said no more drinking at home BUT I feel like I have two reasons:

• Getting thru this mini-doomsday
• Celebrating a promotion that I got that officially starts tomorrow

Chooch-in-Philly thinks it’s so wild and entertaining that we’re over here roughing it. Ugh and sigh.

*(ugh the first song that came on with the new battery is the Eagles’ “Take it Easy.” I cannot take it easy right now don’t tell me what to do, DON HENLEY OR WHATEVER EAGLE SINGS THIS ONE GLENN FREY WHO CARES.)

….straight from my head to here.

We’re in the middle of a cold nap here in Pittsburgh and my motivation and drive are both definitely frozen along with our pipes. It’s days like these when I am extra grateful to be working from home but I am so lonely and feel on the verge of cabin fever.

I had a therapy sesh yesterday and we were technically supposed to be gathering more information for our next EMDR session which is going to focus on my childhood and growing up as the stepkid in our household, not feeling like I belong, etc. You know, typical shit. But then I started ranting about how I’m 45 and still in a sick cycle with dieting and food phobia and weight obsession and it all can be pinned on ONE PERSON in my life – my fucking grandmother. It’s so much a part of me that sometimes I don’t even realize how much it controls my life, how many times I have canceled lunch plans with friends because my food-fear and obsession with weighing myself is unhinged. I told my therapist that, unless we’re away, I legit weigh myself every morning and that stupid number can and does set the tone for the day. It can be the difference between having a pleasant day with Henry or blaming everything on him (accusing him of sabotaging me, not caring how I feel, not holding me accountable, etc.). I can be a downright monster. I have ruined entire days, road trips, holidays, you name it – all because I’m afraid of just letting myself live my life and eat the things I want to eat and not care about how I look or, god forbid, admit that NO ONE ELSE FUCKING CARES EITHER. LITERALLY NO ONE IS GAPING AT ME WHEN I WALK INTO A ROOM AND EVEN IF THEY WERE, THAT’S ON THEM NOT ME, RIGHT.

Yeah, easier said than done.

You guys, I can vividly recount numerous times, too many to detail individually, where Henry and I (I have tried not to do this anytime Chooch was with us, he already knows I’m psycho) would get as far as being seated in a restaurant, maybe even putting in our drink order, when I suddenly cannot stand being in there for one second longer, I’m panicking over the menu and what fits into my diet, everything is closing in around me, that one person might have glanced at me I’m not sure, and next thing Henry knows, I’m abruptly absconding from the establishment. Except maybe less “absconding” and more “causing a scene in my chaotic haste to get outside.”

Also, I have spent almost my whole existence feeling like the ugliest girl in the world thanks to my grandma, please refer to this post for background and actual handwritten evidence from my vacation journal:

Some Things Sunday

Also, when my therapist asked me if I have specific memories to use during EMDR, I was shouted, “OH BOY DO IT!” Again, I refer you to the above (I did tell my therapist and she made a face which I knew to mean, “Jesus Christ”) and also the times my grandma would make my underarm fat swing while making disappointed clucks.

Oh and also when she had my mom put me on Slim Fast when I was in, wait for it, 6th grade so that I wouldn’t ruin my aunt Susie’s upcoming wedding by being a fugly blimp in a junior bridesmaid dress and boy did I have news for her when I did end up losing weight but still had BAD HAIR AND BRACES.

Boo hoo, Erin. Right? Get over it.

You don’t think I have been trying!? It has nearly ruined my relationship with Henry and sometimes I feel like I have been holding myself back so much in life because of this stupid control my grandma has over me even from the grave.

(Yes, I was sad when my grandma died. No, I did not cry nor did I mourn.  I even tried to reject bereavement leave when my manager at the time tried to get me to take time off. I truly didn’t want it.)

Life is so weird. My childhood had way more joy in it than not (mostly thanks to my pappap) but these are some of the bad things that stand out more in my mind sometimes. When people are like, “You’re lucky that you grew up rich”* and I’m like, “Yeah but was I really lucky though?” Lol look at the neuroses I inherited!

*(Literally no one has ever said that except for Chooch, lol.)

Anyway, I’m going to end this here, eat some low-calorie soup and then do Kpop cardio later in an effort to burn it all off because I am still fully stuck in the cycle!

I hated 2024 A LOT a lot. It was full of death, stress, college tuition hardships, mental and emotional breakdowns that had me wishing death upon myself more times than I can count most vividly in a parking garage outside of Chicago where I had the scariest fleeting thoughts of “what if I just jumped?”, all while trying to get comfortable in this new chapter of life where Chooch doesn’t live here anymore. I haven’t felt this out of control since my early 20s. This past year made me lose myself in ways that are terrifying and I have spent the second half of 2024 working through that in therapy but so far I still feel the same.

Yeah, there were good moments but the bad / tragic / traumatic really do overshadow what looks like it could have been one of the best years of my life. I don’t even have the energy to recap those moments so instead here is a picture of me casually blending into a rug and wishing it would just completely engulf me forever. C H E E R S.

I hope 2025 is gentle on all of us.

Ugh, I had an eye appointment after work yesterday. I used to go to one of those shopping center eye chains and I swear the doctor I had there was 18, it was so concerning. Like she got her license from the back of matchbook. I hated the broad in the front of the place though, the one in charge of upselling frames, etc. She reminded me so much of this drag of human being named Brenna that I used to know from LiveJournal. So then I tried going to one of their other locations and was called “kelly” the entire time even after pointing out that my name was “Erin” and receiving an empty apology.

So, then Henry was like, “I found a real eye doctor that we can all go to as a family” (see Monday’s post re: Chooch going to the eye doctor alone and blaming me for his forgetting the insurance and HSA cards). I’ve only been there once so far, in 2023, and it was fine but I’m positive my prescription was wrong. So, there’s that.

The appointment was scheduled for 6pm and they tell you to get there 15 minutes early SO I DID because if people remember one thing about me when I die, let it be that I was punctual to a compulsion. (OK, let it be something cooler and more impressive than that, but still.)

Henry drove me because I had taken my contacts out at home so I wouldn’t have to fuck around with that there, and I literally cannot drive in glasses. I can barely walk down the steps in them. In fact, it had been so long that I wore my glasses (probably April when we were flying home from Korea!?) that I was screaming, “DO MY LEGS ALWAYS LOOK THIS SHORT AND SQUAT???” while Henry was holding my hand as I slowly descended the steps in the house.

I hate hate hate the eye doctor. I get performance anxiety so bad! What is the right answer?! Better or worse?! Or the same?! I legit cannot tell!! It’s nearly 2025 – why do I have to tell THEM?? Can’t a compute just show them how my eyes are seeing the stupid farmhouse in the picture?! I can’t handle it. And as such, my prescription is never correct. I can see but not well. I always have to ask Henry, “What does that say?” when we’re watching TV and it shows like, I dunno, the texts on someone’s phone.

(Luckily, I can still handle the size of subtitles.)

Arriving 15 minutes early like the good, clock-abiding citizen that I am, I walked inside on trembling fawn legs, filled out the required paperwork, and then sat with my legs crossed ultra-tight to suppress the nervous pee sensation.

It was freezing in there and I made sure to text Henry about this numerous times. There was a space heater but some old man was hogging it. He got called back soon after so I moved over to his seat and realized that maybe it wasn’t a space heater after all but an air purifier? I don’t know, but it emitted no heat whatsoever.

I was alone in the drab waiting room (it is like a free clinic in there, if you know what I mean) and no music was playing, even. WHERE IS THE SOFT ROCK, BITTEL VISION FAMILY??

“They still haven’t called me back yet,” I texted Henry with frozen fingers.

“It literally just turned 6:00,” was Henry’s response, and I could already sense that he was changing into his knight’s armor in the car.

Then it was 6:o6 so I made sure to let Henry know that they were officially late.

In all of my eye doctor appointed-spare time, I watched some IG reels with the volume off.

Then, thanks to targeted ads, I started thinking of all the things that I needed Henry to buy for me. Like vitamins.

“Order my vitamins.”
“I can feel myself declining.”
“Since you have been depriving me of them.”

After what seemed like a fortnight, it was now 6:15. I had been sitting there for 30 minutes at this point, with no one popping by to say, “Sorry we’re running a bit behind! Be with you soon!” Had they had the courtesy to check in with me, I wouldn’t have been silently turning into a time bomb in their dirty, ugly waiting room. I started to get the shakes, like I was ready to tear off my skin and show the world my inner Karenwolf, baying at the manager.

I texted Henry: “I’m going to leave.”

Even I didn’t know at the time if I was bluffing or not, but the longer I stewed in the BITTEL VISION inefficiency, the more my blood was boiling and I was starting to picture myself with a “Plus Eight” coif. Could I pull it off?

I could hear the raucous laughter of men down the hall, behind closed doors. Presumably THE BITTELS. This made me even angrier. These assholes were back there yukking it up while I was being robbed of my VERY IMPORTANT TIME.

So I did it. I wasn’t a Karen about it. I didn’t stomp my feet and yell about the unfairness of it all. I didn’t shove the door open angrily on my way out. I just simply got up and quietly left.

Then RAN TO THE CAR.

“Are you fucking serious?” Henry asked as I threw myself in the car like I was being tackled from behind by the eye doctor himself.

Henry, who by this point had finished polishing his feather-topped helmet, white-knighted them the whole way home.

“You have to wait at all doctors! It’s not just them!” he cried.

“It’s the fact that no one came out and apologized for the delay!” I countered. “If the receptionist had bothered to open her stupid privacy window and acknowledge that I had been LEFT TO DIE OUT THERE, I would have gladly continued to wait! BY THE WAY, I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE WE ARE!”

Also, this was DURING PRIME DINNER TIME. I HAD DELAYED MY EVENING FEEDING FOR THESE PEOPLE TO DICK ME AROUND.

(We were at a red light at an intersection and since I had glasses on, all I could see was BOKEH and my eyes were crossing.)

“And I don’t know why you’re such a Bittel stan, they fucked your glasses up last time!” I cried, unwillingly to move on.

“Yeah, and then they fixed it,” Henry said calmly.

“A GOOD EYE DOCTOR WOULDN’T HAVE MESSED IT UP IN THE FIRST PLACE!” I wheezed while clutching my chest.

We drove a bit in silence and then I started reading their reviews on Yelp. “They got shitty reviews, by the way,” I said in my patented, “JUST SO YOU KNOW” teenage lilt.

Then I said I was just going to go back to my old-old eye doctor down the street.

“You stopped going to him because he called you a crackhead!” Henry said.

“Yeah, but that was a long time ago. I’ve moved on from that, and he was really old then so maybe someone has succeeded him by this point.” You never know.

(He called me a crackhead because I was being neurotic as usual and self-diagnosing myself with obscure eye conditions.)

We came home and I immediately started chewing Chooch’s ear off about my mistreatment while Henry stood there with a smirk-frown on his face, waiting for his chance to white knight some more.

“OMG! Go take a bullet for the Bittels, for Christ’s sake!” I screamed. Chooch just shook his head and retreated to his room while CHUCKLING. Great, laugh at your mother’s trauma.

Eventually, Henry apologized to me for taking the side of the BITTELS.

I accepted his apology, but a few minutes later, I started giggling to myself. “Wanna know something funny?” I asked Henry, whose face immediately drained of color.

“WHAT. WHAT DID YOU DO.”

“Well, as I was walking out the door of the eye doctors—-”

“They fucking called your name, didn’t they?” Henry sighed in disappointment.

“Yeah, someone was totally walking down the hall calling my name,” I laughed. “But it was too late! I couldn’t turn around at that point! I had to stay committed to the cause.”

“omg,” Henry muttered.

———————

Later that night,  Henry and I were sharing a beer.  “That’s pretty good, I like it,” Henry said innocently.

“It’s no BITTEL VISION though!” I shouted mockingly and he floated out of the room on the pillowy bed of his deep sigh.

Wow what a fucked up week. I have so much anger inside of me that I feel like I could power…a small appliance at the very least. Maybe a toaster or a power drill.

Anyway, I am TRYNA relax tonight but Henry already pissed me off because I went to put away a mixing bowl from the strainer and he has the whole set COMPLETELY FUCKED UP and not in PROPER FORM like how I keep them (they are like the Russian nesting dolls of mixing bowls, you know?) which is LARGEST AND THEN ANOTHER ALMOST AS LARGE AND THEN A LARGE AND THEN SMALL ETC. And then the rubber lids go beneath the stack ALSO BIGGEST TO SMALLEST.

WHY IS THAT SO FUCKING HARD. I DON’T EVEN USE THE FUCKING THINGS BUT EVEN I KNOW HOW TO PUT THEM AWAY.

Then I sat down with a small glass of LANCASTER BREWING CO Milk Stout and it is OK but it’s also a STOUT and I am still not quite to having a stout palate yet –  I think I need to grow hairs on my tongue first.

Or does that come AFTER growing a test for that shit?

I don’t know.

This one tastes like coffee and then I remember that the last stout I tried also tasted like coffee and I think that is probably why I keep coming back even though I don’t LOVE these – it’s like sipping cold, syrupy coffee somehow. I asked Henry if all stouts taste like coffee and he said, “I don’t know.”

(Ew, I just took another sip and now it has a vegetable taste, I don’t know.)

Anyway, then I was perusing Untapped and I kept seeing “IMPERIAL” so I asked Henry if that was a type of a beer and he said, “I don’t know.”

TWO “I DON’T KNOWS” IN A ROW. I snapped.

“WHY DON’T YOU KNOW?? ISN’T THIS WHAT YOU FUCKING WHITE MEN ARE SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT??? BEER, AND HOW TO BE BIGOTS AND MISOGYNISTS???” and then I lunged at him with my teeth snapping and he had to hold me back with his hand pushed against my forehead.

I can’t help it, I have always been a biter ever since I got in trouble for biting some bitch on the face when I like 3 or 4 but she fucking deserved it because she left me stranded in her tree house!? BUT ALL TEH ADULTS TOOK HER SIDE AND I WAS THE BAD SEED?!?

I have other things to recap on here but SHOOOOOO, I just can’t stop to collect my thoughts at all yet. I am so disgusted and side-eyeing EVERYONE now.

LOL Henry just came back in the room after I kicked him out and quietly said, “The difference between stouts and porters is that stouts are stronger” – LOL I forgot that I asked him that and he told me, “You have your phone in your hand, Google it” and I SCREAMED, “MY PHONE IS IN MY HAND BECAUSE I AM BLOGGING YOU DIP SHIT – GO SOMEWHERE!!!”

I’m going to make Henry drink the rest of this and unwind with YouTube videos of Seventeen’s encores because they are literal joy and we need all of that we can get right now. I hope everyone is being kind to themselves. Do something nice for yourself this weekend!!

I was in the office today and sweating through some “trying to love my city” exercises during my lunch break. This time I walked over by PNC Park and I guess a baseball game was about to be happening because it was v. lively over there and I was almost swept up in swathes of black and gold numerous time, but I survived and was able to take refuge a block away by the Warhol Museum where I saw this huge-ass KAWS statue which, since I do not follow the current events and haps of the Burgh, had no idea was being ERECTED here, in celebration of a full-blown KAWS exhibition at the Warhol starting later this month! It’s actually been a bit since I was last year so maybe I should fulfill this year’s culture quota this way.

Or, I’ll forget. We’ll see how it pans out!

Just….gonna leave this picture of KAWS with G-dragon here:

Anyway, so that was a nice thing that happened today, a day that started out mildly stressful and here’s why:

Last week, Wendy asked if I was available to come into the office today and I said sure thing because I literally have nothing going on in my life. But then I got a text reminder about am 8am dentist appointment for that same day, an appointment that I made like 6 mths ago, so UGH what dumb timing. I told Wendy that I would probably just end up being a few minutes late and she was like ‘no one cares’ except that she actually said, “OK!” BUT THE FORMER WAS IMPLIED.

I ended up not being able to go back to sleep about my 5:45AM Chooch’s safety net alarm went off, then I had A WAR with the new shower curtain liner – the SECOND new one in less than a week because Chooch and I both agreed that we hated the first new one because it wasn’t weighted and attacked us, so Henry was like “ya buncha bitches” and tried to blame it on the showerhead setting that Chooch and I use, but still dutifully went to Target and bought a new one that has “extra suctioncups” but THEY DON’T WORK. I got so pissed that I punched the curtain in such a way that it folded back into itself while JUST BARELY staying under the lip of tub so that it kept it from billowing out and wrapping me in a wet vinyl embrace. I got out of the shower and just LAID INTO HENRY via text, like the shower curtain was from Henry’s Home Goods But More Like OKs, like Henry’s stretched and hanging flesh itself was what was failing to keep the water from turning the bathroom floor into an electrocutioner’s literal wet dream.

Henry brought up the shower head setting again and I was like OH NO YOU ARE NOT GOING TO INSINUATE THAT I NEED TO CHANGE MY PREFERRED STREAM SETTING BECAUSE YOU CAN’T BE TRUSTED TO BUY A SHOWER CURTAIN THAT HAS MORE DENSITY THAN TISSE PAPER?!

So that was a very annoying start to the morning. I was just a mess trying to get ready. I was HUNGRY too but didn’t want to eat and then brush my teeth again, so I just threw a banana and cream of wheat into my bag for later UGH.

Then! The dentist was FINE but there was a new hygienist. First, she came to the door of the waiting room and called, “Erin?” I started to get up but the old lady next to me was like, “Welp that’s me” and started to leave the waiting room with her?! I was like, “OK maybe we’re both named Erin, what a funny coincidence” so I lowered myself back down but then the receptionist made eye contact with the new lady and shook her head, so then the hygienist looked at her chart, looked at the old lady, looked at her chart, and then asked, “Are you Erin?” and the old lady was all, “OH HO HO HO HO HO! No. No, I’m not” and I was like, “Hi, it’s me, I’m Erin” so that was a real hee-haw moment at the dentist office, I guess.

The hygienist kept apologizing to me like I gave a shit. “Oh it’s fine! I just wanted to see how it was going to play out.”

There was a small pause, and then she started cracking up, so I guess this was the ice breaker that made her think I was OK with talking literally during my whole cleaning with her gloved hands in my mouth, that latex even being a sturdier sheath than the FUCKING SHOWER CURTAIN, by the way.

So that was frustrating because I just wanted to get to work, I wanted coffee, I wanted to eat my breakfast, I didn’t want to talk about how she turned her AC on but then forgot to shut her bathroom window but that’s OK because her son will probably stop by later and she will tell him to shut—

—-THE FUCK UP.

Then of course it was the type of appt where the dentist had to also come in and check and make me feel like I’m lying in a confessional when I say that I floss regularly, and then the hygienist goes, “You’re also due for new X-rays, you wanna get that out of the way tod—”

“Actually, not really?” I interrupted. “Next time?”

Like please get me out of here. Also, SHE DIDN’T GIVE ME AN OPTION OF FLAVORED POLISH LIKE THE OTHER PEOPLE THERE DO??? She just goes, “Oh, I pulled out mint for you today, btw” and then got to work before I could say, “ACTUALLY I WAS THINKING OF TRYING OUT COOKIE DOUGH FINALLY??”

Then back at the office, I had her trying to schedule my next appointment while the receptionist was processing my payment (I have to go THREE TIMES A YEAR so they can keep an eye on my gums and the third appointment isn’t covered by insurance but now I have one of those HSA things because Henry did it for me without my consent, I had no idea what he was doing but now I had an HSA credit card so I used that and it worked! Like grown-up magic!) and it was just chaos, like I was rooted to the spot while everyone else was swirling around me, performing their activities in sped-up movement.

UGH.

Thank god Henry was waiting to give me a ride to work because if I had to take the T after all (ALL THAT! *falls back on fainting couch*),  I would have been like “sorry not sorry Wendy” and just walked my ass straight home and logged on to work from here.

Then what….work itself was normal. It was just the usual suspects: me, Margie, Jeannie, Wendy, Sue. I do like going in occasionally. I don’t think I get more or less done there, probably a comparable amount to home, but it’s nice to have some “Old Times” normalcy.

I got a matcha latte from Rock n Joe’s on my break. It was OK. The barista guy was pleasant. I started to have a rando’ coughing fit come on while I was waiting for it though so I just croaked THANKS and ran out without making eye contact and then started coughing furiously in an alley. Literally felt like I swallowed a bug.

Then!! NCT Dream announced their US tour dates and I was FA-REAKING out to Henry via KaTalk and he was like, “SLOW DOWN.” I didn’t like that, being told to slow down, so I left my office and complained to Margie and Sue that ever since I married him, I don’t like how he’s been talking to me, and Sue just made “eyes” and went back to her office, lol. This was after I told Margie and Jeannie about how Henry ruined Chooch’s and my life with those bogus shower curtains.

“Can’t you just buy a new one?” Jeannie asked.

“JEANNIE, THIS IS THE SECOND ONE IN A WEEK THAT I’M TALKING ABOUT HERE” and she was like, “OK never mind, Henry sucks, I agree.” That might be me flexing my poetic license there but I am SURE Jeannie said something disparaging about Henry.

Then when I was leaving the office, I saw Monty!!! I was already outside of the lobby, and he was inside, but we made eye contact and I waved happily to him. He held up a finger and came jogging over to the door.

“You ever find that ring??” he asked.

“No,” I said with a frown. “But! I’m married now so I got a NEW ring!” and I held out my hand to show him.

“Aw, that’s awesome! That’s all that matters then!” and we fist-bumped. I love that guy!!

Henry parked kind of far away so I texted him that I was on my way. “Sorry, I was talking to Monty.”

“Monty?” he replied.

OK WOW. He totally doesn’t listen to my stories!!!

Then I came home and ate an Everything bagel and a bowl of roasted peppers because I just can’t be bothered.

Also, Henry ordered weights for the bottom of the shower curtain. TO BE CONTINUED.

PART 1: Just a Quiet Day in the Office

I went into the office to work on Wednesday because I had dinner plans that evening in Market Square with some work pals, current and past. It was storming and raining and windy – a perfect Just Stay Home weather cocktail – but Wendy was going in too, so I put on my big girl pants and sucked it up. It was nice going through my jewelry though, and choosing what to wear since I haven’t been accessorizing much since 2020. The little things. I even popped on my engagement ring that I rarely wear because I still haven’t gotten it resized, since I was going to dinner with THE LADIES that night.

As usual, it was empty there. Just Wendy, Lucas, Terry, and me. With the occasional interloper from other floors, like Beth, who walked by and merrily said, “Hey Erin!” to me. I don’t know why this stopped me dead, but for some reason I didn’t think she actually knew my name?! So, I giddily Jabbered Amber, who was like, “But you’re the girl she gave her mother’s wig to!” OK, this is true. You probably don’t forget someone’s name after that.

This was apropos of nothing. Back to the story.

The day was slow and quiet. Finally, around 6:oo, Wendy popped over and said, “Hey, come with me to the parking garage so I can get my car keys before it’s too late, and then we’ll start walking over.” I was kind of excited about this because I haven’t been in the parking garage in probably 10 years, and again – the little things! As we took the elevator down to the lobby, Wendy was struggling with her multitude of bags and accidentally hit the emergency call button, sounding off an alarm and the crackle of the disembodied, tinny voice of a security guard asking, Hello, hello, is there an emergency? Wendy was all flustered, yelling back, “NO I DON’T KNOW HOW THAT HAPPENED I DIDN’T PRESS THE BUTTON”

“One of your six bags pressed it, Wendy,” I said, and she was like NO, MY BAG WOULD NEVER.  Anyway, it gave the security people a good laugh when we got down to the lobby. I had my hands up saying IT WASN’T ME! and Wendy’s bag is also still not owning up to it, but then it turned out that one of the security people was being trained so it was a “good learning moment.”

Next, we had to take a different elevator down to the garage. Wendy finally realized she needed help with her bag situation and asked me to hold one for her, so now I looked like a mini-Wendy with my own giant crossbody body; one of her monster bags on my right shoulder; and, in my left hand, a bag of Girl Scout cookies that I bought from Wendy’s daughter. I was sweating from the exertion. After Wendy got her key on one level of the garage, we walked down a stairwell to where her car was parked and she finally dumped at least 75% of the bags in her car and then we were finally free to walk to Pizzaiolo Primo in Market Square.

It’s a short walk, but holy shit had the temperature dropped since that morning, Larry! I at least had the foresight to bring a jacket but I was still shivering. We arrived 20 minutes before our reservation, so we sat at the bar. I was already very uncomfortable because it was a tight space and I had my huge bag with my work laptop and everything else in it, plus this bag of cookies!! and there was just nowhere to set everything. So, with my bag on my lap, I was trying to rummage through the pockets of it for my wallet when I immediately noticed that…

MY ENGAGEMENT RING WAS NO LONGER ON MY FINGER.

You want to talk about when a cold sweat might immediately spring forth? Apparently, this is one of those times.

PART 2: “I LOST MY FUCKING RING”

“So I just LOST MY ENGAGEMENT RING,” I croaked, hysterics boosting my voice higher with every word.

“What??” Wendy cried, and then swooped into my purse, pulling everything out and placing it on the bar while I am now standing up, fully in the way of all the servers coming in and out of the kitchen, acutely aware of how close all of the tables of diners are to me in my time of panic, patting myself down, rummaging through the empty pockets of my jacket, looking on the floor. Now I can feel my eye twitching and for some STUPID reason, I am SO CONCERNED about “how this looks,” “making a scene,” “having the contents of my purse on the bar for all to see.” WOW, WHERE DO I GET THAT FROM, GRANDMA. I’m on the edge at this point, the room is closing in on me, I feel like I’m going to be sick, I need to bolt.

“I’m going back to the office to look,” I whispered hoarsely in someone else’s voice.

“I’ll come with you,” Wendy said, starting to gather her stuff but I stopped her.

“I don’t want to ruin dinner for you!” I said, and thankfully at that moment, Jill arrived so I didn’t feel guilty leaving Wendy alone. So, I used this as my opportunity to escape and run back to the office, having a near-miss with a questionable man raving about something in the middle of Market Square. I don’t remember the jog back except for being pissed that the back doors to the building were already locked and I had to walk around to the front. I DID NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS.

PART 3: THE LAMONT INTERLUDE

First I searched the floor of the elevator Wendy and I had used, then I went to our floor where I dumped everything out of my bag in the office space I was using that day. I was SO ANGRY AND FRANTIC, ripping everything out and slamming it on the table and then shaking my empty bag out but the only small, loose item that dropped out with a “tink” was an errant salmakki-flavored FISHERMAN’S FRIEND cough drop from Finland.

“FFFFFUUUUUCK!!!!!” I screamed, squeezing my hands into muscle-quaking fists. It was nearly 6:30 at this point so I assumed I was alone on the floor and just let it alllll out.

Catching my breath after whatever number freak-out that was, I had lost count, I left my office and retraced my steps around the floor. I hadn’t gone anywhere during work hours except to the bathroom and kitchen, but there was no trace of a ring. I got so fucking angry in the kitchen though, thinking of how every goddamn  time I used the sink that day, I was so careful to take ALL of my rings off and set them far aside on the counter. The sink at work is one of those “inSINKerator” deals and at one point during the day, I was washing my coffee cup and imagined having to stick my hand down there to search for a lost ring and then having to live the rest of my life with a hook-hand. This was a real life thought I had that day!! My mind was trying to subconsciously tell me, “Take that ring off now and lock it up somewhere because you’re slated to lose it later.”

AND I IGNORED IT.

When I circled back to my office,  the cleaning guy was in there.

“Oh!” he said, startled. “Someone is here! I was wondering where all that stuff came from!” he laughed.

“I LOST MY RING,” I said to him frantically.

“Oh man, and I just emptied your garbage!” he said. “Here, let me sift through….” and he started to dig through his garbage receptacle but I was like, “Look, I didn’t throw that much away today, I know it’s not there. I know I lost it outside,” and then the hopeless overtook me again and the tears sprung up and he’s all, “Oh, no, look, I’m gonna help you! I lost my class ring here once and I know how shitty—excuse my language—that feels!”

So we searched the small, mostly empty office because no one works there full time in person anymore so there wasn’t much to overturn. But still, his presence was very calming to me, and it was a connection I didn’t know I needed at that time.

“Hey, I’m Erin by the way.”

“Monty! Lamont!” he said and then fist-bumped me.

AND THEN HERE COMES TERRY.

“Hey, Erin,” he said, startled to see that I was still here.

“I LOST MY RING!!!” I cried, back to needing a fainting sofa.

“Oh,” Terry stuttered uncomfortably. “Do you want a box of Girl Scout cookies?” He held up a bag of no less than 10 boxes that he had bought from Wendy.

NO I DON’T WANT A FUCKING BOX OF GIRL SCOUT COOKIES, I WANT MY FUCKING RING!!!

But instead, I just quietly said, “No thank you.”

“You got any pecan in there?” Lamont asked.

“Um….let me see,” Terry said, and then proceeded to take all of the boxes out and display them on a counter.

Lamont chose a box of Thin Mints.

PART 4. HERE COMES WENDY

After Lamont promised to keep looking and turn it in if he found it, we said goodbye and I made my way to the parking garage, where I called Henry and screamed, “I LOST MY RING COME PICK ME UP.” Because there was no fucking way I was going to dinner at this point. You on a diet and want something to help you curb your appetite? LOSE YOUR ENGAGEMENT RING!

I walked all around the garage. In the stairwell that seemed like forever and a day ago when I was commented on how freshly painted it appeared. All around Wendy’s car. By the door to the office where Wendy picked up her keys.

Nothing but dirt and gravel and things I don’t want to think about.

Now Wendy is calling me. “I’m on my way back to the office to help you!” she said, sounds of traffic and the same man in Market Square screaming in the background.

I tried to get her to go back to the dinner. This wasn’t her problem and I didn’t want dinner to be ruined for her. I told her it was fine, Henry was on his way and I was just going to go home. “It’s gone,” I said in defeat. “I know I lost it outside somewhere and there is no chance in hell it’s going to turn up now.” That cold air probably helped it slide right off and I never even felt it.

“I’m almost there,” Wendy said. “I’m by McCormicks—” and I looked up from where I was standing on the sidewalk and saw her walking toward me, so this was happening. I walked over to meet her, and as we continued to walk back toward our office, she tripped and fell hard! It was just like a stumble-to-the-knees but a face-down sprawl and now I’m REALLY feeling like the biggest asshole ever, and I’m crying, “OMG ARE YOU OK THIS IS ALL MY FAULT!”

Two women passing by also stopped to help but Wendy was like “I’M FINE” and got up on her own and then some black gentleman across the street was yelling, “ARE YOU OK??” and I called back, “She’s fine!” because he wouldn’t stop yelling, and then he goes, “OK BECAUSE I HAVE A PHD IN—-” but then I couldn’t hear what he said over the traffic, which is probably good because I have a feeling it was something crude, but also I really do want to know, a PhD in what?!!?

I was so worried that she was injured and all she cared about was helping me find a ring that doesn’t even have that much monetary value so at this point I’m just like, “Fuck this ring, it’s causing more harm than good at this point” but she was already marching toward the building’s entrance where we ran into Megan who had just arrived to town from the trolley.

She took one look at me and had a *yikes* look on her face before I even had a chance to wail, “I LOST MY ENGAGEMENT RING!!!!”

“We’ll meet you back at the restaurant,” Wendy calmly said to Megan and I was like, “YOU WILL, I WON’T. I AM GOING HOME TO DIE. HENRY IS ALREADY ON HIS WAY.” But Wendy was like, “OK I am going to continue to ignore that” and led me back up to the 10th floor where she STUCK HER HAND DOWN THE KITCHEN SINK DRAIN WHILE I STOOD THERE BEGGING HER NOT TO. Don’t worry, she’s a trained professional (a/k/a adult) so she knew what was she doing which is how this remained a tale of only one person losing something.

After searching the garage again, we went back up the street where Wendy continued to hound me to come back to the restaurant. “Let’s just go back and have a nice dinner, it’ll take your mind off it.” I was still resisting when….

PART 5. IN ROLLS HENRY

Henry pulled up to the curb and looked alarmed and tentative because I’m not sure he fully knew what was going on still. I opened the passenger door and hurled my bag at him because seeing him reminded me that he was the one who got me a ring in the wrong size in the first place (I had to wear it on my pointer finger and even then it was still too loose!!) nevermind the fact that it was me who kept putting off getting it resized so now I am pissed off and projecting it on Henry.

“WELL ARE YOU GOING TO PARK AND HELP ME LOOK??” I screamed and then he and Wendy had a silent exchange where they communicated many sentiments with just their eyes, and then Wendy closed the passenger door and he drove away, presumably to park, I don’t know, I hated him and never wanted to see him again at that point.

Now Wendy and I are standing alone on the sidewalk and I start CRYING which I hate doing in public but also, it’s downtown Pgh post-pandemic, some white bitch crying on the sidewalk is not worthy of a second glance.

“It’s an omen!” I wailed, channeling my best desperate dating show contestant. “I’m never going to get married!”

Wendy takes me by the shoulders and goes, “LISTEN. YOU ARE GETTING MARRIED WITH OR WITHOUT THIS RING. THE RING DOESN’T MATTER.”

“BUT IT’S A SIGN!!”

Wendy, desperate for all of us to have dinner together,  now lures me back to the restaurant under the pretense of “retracing our steps again and looking around the sidewalk” which turned into “OK let’s just go back inside the restaurant and you can leave your contact info with the bartender in case you lost it in  there and it turns up.” Jesus, she was still in GIRL SCOUT MODE after helping Summer sell cookies, I guess.

We get to Market Square and that same guy is still there, yelling his grievances into the sky.

PART 6. BACK AT THE RESTAURANT, BEGRUDGINGLY

Now I’m inside at the bar, the bartenders are talking to me about the ring but it all sounds like underwater word bubbles, I just want to leave. So after I write down my number, I go to push the open and Wendy is like, “Just come upstairs to the table and say hi to everyone.”

I’m like, Jesus Christ Wendy, no one cares if I miss a dinner, I see or talk to these people regularly! They will be fine! I will not be missed!

I finally give in because she is being relentless. I walk upstairs to “say hi, omg” and everyone at the table is just sitting there, frozen, looking at me with terse smiles because they know I AM IN A MOOD and I feel so stupid and self-conscious, still doing the body shudder / post-cry sniffle and I just feel disheveled, you know? Not really wanting to be in a crowded restaurant, but whatever, here I am, hello now can I go.

But then as I’m looking around the table, it slowly (and I do mean slowly) dawns on me that….this was a bridal shower dinner.

They took our ordinary for-no-reason dinner and centered it around me, managing to keep me completely in the dark.

And of course, I would go and lose my engagement ring 20 minutes before a dinner in honor of my upcoming maybe-nuptials.

CLASSIC ERIN.

ERIN RACHELLE KELLY 101.

I still want to go home though because now on top of everything else, I’m embarrassed and mortified and just feel terrible that I ruined for everyone what should have been a nice night. Gooooo, Erin! At least it wasn’t as bad as when I had a huge blow-out fight with my mom at her house and then drove back here only to find that some of my friends had planned a surprise party for my 21st birthday and I flipped out and couldn’t calm down and they ended up taking me to Mercy Hospital in an attempt to 302 me.

That was an…event alright.

Anyway, Wendy managed to steer me to the guest of honor seat and was like, “Just sit down and we will pack all this stuff up for you and then you can leave,” and Regina flagged down a server for a bag and Marlene was patting my shoulder while I was gulping down ice water. But you know what? In that short amount of time, Marlene had made me start giggling a little and then my shoulders started to lower from my earlobes one centimeter at a time, and the next thing I knew, I was saying in a small voice, “OK, I’ll stay.”

PART 7. I’M STAYING

“She’s staying!” Regina called out in case Jill and Megan didn’t hear from the other end of the table, and then Debby was like, “Yay! Do you want to put on your veil—”

“NO,” I interrupted firmly. LOL.

So instead, Debby snapped her fingers and before I knew it, a glass of wine was being slid in front of me. And after the first glass, you know what? “I’m ready to wear the tiara now,” I said and everyone was like “Yay!”

“And the vei—” Debby started.

“NO.”

I did agree to the “bride-to-be” sash though.

“Oh shit! I forgot about Henry!” I laughed, and then texted him: I’m staying now.

I know, Wendy told me. Thanks.

LOLOLOL.

I wonder what it looked like to the other diners, the table decorated beautifully, gifts, flower petals, and then here comes the guest of honor looking like she just found out her favorite Kpop group is disbanding before being forced to look at Trump’s nudes. Depressed and traumatized.

When we were all getting ready to leave, the bartender walked past and said, “Happy…..birthday? Con…..gratulations? Not sure what you’re celebrating but I hope it’s great!” She looked so concerned about how to approach me though, because I’m sure I looked beaten down and exhausted, but I was also wearing a tiara and had bags of presents like maybe I just reached the End Game of some dark and intense work initiation that had me running around the city on a quest to find a lost object the size of a nickel and the color of the sidewalk while pitting me against random co-workers trying to thwart my progress by pushing Girl Scout cookies on me and ending with the final round of seeing how many temper tantrums I could throw without getting fired by the Final Boss.

I love these ladies. <3 Honestly had no expectation of anything bridal-related happening since this doesn’t even feel real to begin with. Also, I’m so sad that there’s a water glass blocking my HAECHAN photocard in my badge holder (amazing I didn’t lose that as well that night.)

I forget who it was that asked if Henry was mad about the ring and I was like, “Henry? Mad? LOL.” I believe Henry’s low-key response was, “It’s just an object. You still have your finger. We’ll get you a new ring.” He’s already contacted the jewelry on Etsy and she said she does have a similarly-shaped raw diamond on hand so she’s going to make a new one and said there’s no obligation for him to purchase. I’m trying to look on the bright side here, and maybe instead of a bad omen, it’s a good thing. Because that ring had so many bad, traumatic feelings attached to it caused from the BOTCHED PROPOSAL at the Cure concert. So maybe a new ring will be good. And maybe this new one will be even prettier than the first! WHO CAN BE SURE.

Look at this card that Megan made me! The inside said “congratulations” written in Hangul and Marlene was shocked and awed that I could read it. I’m glad my preschool-level Korean impresses someone! I love that Megan gave Henry aka Herbert a backwards cap and his soju flavor is blueberry since he hates blueberries but has spent the last 20+ years suffering through blueberry-flavored desserts that I ask him to share with me. 

Also, Megan got me this “love” LED sign!!

And Wendy’s “something blue”!

Debby got me a series of fabulous framed prints, and Marlene got me this quirky yellow and black paint-splattered tea pot that looks perfect in the kitchen. And Jill and Regina contributed to the Korea fund.  AND during all of this, Henry texted me from home that he secured our appointments with the US Embassy for March 26th in Seoul, so that is one giant hurdle down toward actually “getting married” in Korea. We have been waiting on pins and needles for the Embassy to open up appointments for the week we’ll be there, so this was perfect timing. This and my wonderful friends saved the night. Thanks to Wendy’s persistence too, because I was seriously so close to pulling a runner when she wasn’t looking but she was so freaking vigilant until she finally got me upstairs in that restaurant.

So far, I’m 2 for 2 with miserable, unhappy ugly-crying in public at my marriage-related events. Yep, that tracks.

Looking back, it’s now really funny when I thought that the dumbest thing that was going to happen that day was when I accidentally ingested molten wax because I used a DISPOSABLE WAX CUP in the coffee maker at work. It was already melting as I frantically tried to transport the coffee to a regular coffee cup and then I had this weird wax residue all over my hands.

YOU THOUGHT, ERIN.

The next day, I couldn’t stop thinking about Lamont and how good he was at helping me calm down, and how much he genuinely seemed to care about finding my ring. So, I called the cleaning service company and told the lady who answered about my tragedy (lol) and how kind he was to me and that I just needed someone to know that, because it’s not always common these days. She was so happy that I called and thanked me for letting her know, and that she would pass it on to his supervisor. She was like, “I love this, we need more positivity in the world!” and I said, “Yes, and less Karens!” It was a nice phone call, but then I was reminded of years ago when a cleaning guy from the same company accidentally broke some dumb thing on my desk that I didn’t even care about and had to fill out an INCIDENT REPORT and I kept telling our facilities lady (THE SAME ONE WHO REMEMBERED MY NAME ON WEDNESDAY, THIS POST HAS COME FULL CIRCLE!) that I truly didn’t care and didn’t want him to get in trouble but I don’t know if he did or not!?! I should have called then, too. Ugh.

Hey yo. This past weekend was fine, nothing fabulouso happened really. Henry and I went to Yinz Coffee on Saturday because I was dying for the good chai latte. Raspberry chai was the current special so I slurped that up real quick. We also split a cranberry orange scone and an oatmeal cream pie cookie sandwich. Henry was SO ANNOYING when we were ordering. I just knew that I wanted the cookie sandwich but also something else so I assigned this task onto him which I should have known was a mistake because he was going to order a cookie?? Bitch, why would you get a COOKIE if we are already getting a COOKIE SANDWICH.

The stress. It’s constant.

Plus, he can never read my cues or my mind or my body language so I ask myself – why did I say YES??

Anyway, the scone (which I ordered, btw, because he was being so embarrassing and the barista* was looking at us like we were two complete strangers paired up blindly for a social experiment on cafe ordering compatibility) was the perfect choice. It was so good. I almost never eat scones!! There is a cafe in Seoul called Cafe Layered that specializes in scones and it is on my list 100% after being reminded that I do, in fact, enjoy a scone every now and then.

*(“I’m….just gonna go and make this drink while you decide,” she said, jiggling a cup of ice in the air and slowly backing away after I snapped at Henry for never listening to me. “YEAH, LET’S GET A COOKIE SANDWICH AND MORE COOKIES, DUMBASS” even though the rational non-manic episodic side of me was like, “I mean, can you ever really have ‘too many’ cookies though, Erin?” I was just on the prowl for anger triggers, is all.)

Some young couple came in with their ugly baby in a stroller and stood (stood!!!) at a table next to us and it made me very uncomfortable. Seems they were visiting from somewhere because I heard them asking the barista for things to do and then she recommended that they eat at Bonfire in Southside (on the Southside? Northside and Southside irritate me) and I silently cosigned that suggestion and on mute, I kind of hoped that they would ask for more suggestions so I could panic-punt frantic activities at them (THE WOOD STREET T-STATION WHERE SOMEONE WAS HACKED BY A MACHETE!”) but they were TOO COOL to talk to us. They had tattoos and were SWATHED* in athleisure, you guys. They probably go to Post Malone concerts.

*(Coincidentally, the very next audiobook I picked up after the British one has an American narrator and SHE said the word “swathe” like I always thought it was pronounced so I felt validated! swAWthe.)

Then we strolled around whatever that park is in Northside for as long as we could handle it – it was pretty windy that day and also kind of cold so not really great walking weather but I needed to DIGEST. Also? We had a really crazy and random (well, maybe not to the … weather people? Meteorologists! They probably expected it) snowstorm that morning but then the snow melted within hours. Isn’t it great how nice we’ve treated this planet.

:/

Sunday was a bit warmer so we went to Frick Park for some walking action. I asked King Doof to take my picture here too and does it look like he did?

No, he just got up and lumbered away.

The walk was nice, if not a bit muddy and uneventful. My evening walk would prove to be MUCH DIFFERENT though!!

Henry and Chooch went to Target after dinner so I decided to walk to the library to drop off a book (the one from my last post where I was mad it for the slight to Robert Smith, but then it ended up being a pretty decent book and OK I liked it – is that what you want to hear from me? I FREAKIN’ LIKED IT).

Anyway, picture me, doing some wholesome, one step down from God Tier activity (Levar Burton Tier?) when KAPCHUGI: I am nearly wiped out while crossing the street.

BY A MOTHERFUCKING COP.

OH OF FUCKING COURSE.

Let me paint the scene: I was crossing parallel to the street I live on, which as you know people LOVE to use as a race track, across a residential street. The pig came from behind me, flying along my street and not slowing down as he made the left turn onto the street I was walking across. No turn signal. No siren. No flashing lights. WHAT’S THE EMERGENCY SIR?? Big hurry to get to your buddy’s for a Sunday night brewski? Some IMPRACTICAL JOKESTER viewing? In my head, I slung way worse speculations but you know, I’m trying not to get myself worked up again.

Anyway, I immediately called Henry and started screaming to him about it because he loves to defend cops, but even this time he was like, “Dawwww, that cop did a bad” and I’m like, “NO SHIT, COP-LOVER.”

“I wish I could have run faster, I would have chased his ass down the street!” I screamed into the phone and Henry of course said his favorite comfort command to me: Calm down.

“I’M GOING HOME AND REPORTING HIM!” I cried and jogged the remaining three blocks home, where I flexed my Karen fingers, cracked my MANAGER-SPEAKING-TO knuckles, and brought up whatever city of Pgh website I could find that looked appropriate for LODGING A COMPLAINT.

I will have you know that in order to do this, I had to create an account and I was originally going to make a fake one but then you know what? I did the ADULT thing and used my real info because I have every right to report this.

And you know what else? I didn’t swear. Not once! I didn’t swear, I didn’t make threats, I didn’t call the cop a pig, I actually used the word “officer” and laid out my concerns in a way that illustrated my frustration while also keeping its INTEGRITY. This is the new me: use intelligent words and regular capitalization to have your complaint regarded with seriousness.

Look at your girl!!!

I am acting 44!

I didn’t have the cop’s plate # but I did have the exact time and location of the INCIDENT, and I also stressed that this isn’t the first time their cops have sped through residential streets with seemingly no cause.

Then I texted my brother and told him and he was like “OMG! Did he at least apologize?” WHAT A WHITE MALE THING TO ASK! OF COURSE HE DIDN’T FUCKING APOLOGIZE, THAT COCKER NEVER EVEN SLOWED DOWN OR GLANCED IN MY DIRECTION, JUST SPED OFF DOWN THE BRICK ROAD LIKE A RACIST DOROTHY EN ROUTE TO SEE THE WIZARD.

IYKWIM. 😡

Today I got an email response from some “Sgt” who APOLOGIZED for my terrible experience with one of their officers and urged me to file a report, but apparently I have to go into a building somewhere to do that and I don’t actually care that much after all, it turns out.

Except for the fact that in my anger, I misspelled “abysmal”  in my complaint but then Janna was like, “Eh, those people are dumb, they probably won’t notice.”

Well, that’s all I have. At least you guys can rest easy knowing that I have an account with some city website so that I can lodge future complaints with ease.

Things with the new neighbors are staying interesting, that’s for sure. First of all, can we talk about this AJAPO agency? What a bunch of shady assholes. I may  have mentioned that after the landlord gave us the agency’s name (he must be getting a sweet tax break for renting property to their clients, that’s all I’m saying), I had tried calling numerous times but it doesn’t even ring – it goes straight to voicemail and then I’M SORRY, THIS VOICE MAILBOX IS FULL.

So, I emailed them several times. I started our politely, because I like to believe that I am a nice person deep down and need to be pushed. However, these days, you only have to push me with a feather before I morph into Hulk Erin. After two non-responses, I started using CAPSLOCK and told them that I was prepared to take this to A NEWS OUTLET. Well, that got a response, which started with “Hello Kelly” – are you kidding me. That is my biggest pet peeve! So instead of being happy that I got a response, I went into the reading of the email with great ire and disgust. But yeah, total run-around. “They should be doing things on their own” etc. Interestingly, their website went down right after they emailed me so no, that’s not sus.

Whatever. I have my eyes on them though.

Then, after spending two days trying to help the neighbor mail a package of gifts to her best friend whose surname she doesn’t know (that was fun), I got a WhatsApp message from her last night with a picture of her call log with the same number appearing several times.

“This number called us a lot, we didn’t understand anything, please ask who is this and who gave my number.”

Great! Sure! LOVE talking on the phone, this is the PERFECT task for me…So I call and immediately a very angry and impatient-sounding man says YEAH. Great start!!!

So I’m like, oh boy how to start this convo. “Hi I’m calling for my neighbor who doesn’t speak English…” and he cuts me off to say YEAH I BEEN TRYING TO EXPLAIN TO HER MAYBE YOU CAN BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS, I WORK TWO JOBS, IN FACT I’M ON MY WAY TO ONE OF THEM NOW YOU FEEL ME??

OK, so this will be the tone of the call, hot right out of the gate like one of the partners who loves to call and scream at us at work.

His explanation is that he knew someone with the same number a few years ago – A FEMALE someone in case you were wondering – and the number is still a contact in his phone. IT IS LOCKED IN THERE HE CAN’T DELETE IT OK.

CAN’T or WON’T?

So now suddenly, that number is popping up on his Telegram app. “You feel me?” he goes, and I was like, “Uh, I think so” because I was trying to think if I ever heard of the Telegram app before and he SNAPPED ON ME because I guess I sounded too UNSURE in my response. “OK you’re a female too right and you mean to tell me you don’t know how an APP works??” The pure disgust in his tone, man. Palpable.

That just pissed me off because if there is one thing that would be great to scratch into my grave, it’s “SHE HATED BEING YELLED AT BY MEN.” Matching his level of rudeness and volume, I retorted, “YEAH I KNOW HOW IT WORKS I’M NOT DUMB???” and Henry at this point is turned around in the computer chair watching this with great interest, because I guess since he handled the Mailing of the Package, he was free to sit back and spectate the CALLING BACK THE UNKNOWN NUMBER task. Literally, we are this woman’s personal Task Monkeys. I mean, happy to help, etc. but some of this is really past my comfort limits.

Angry Man with Two Jobs and No Time explains it AGAIN and I go “OK yeah, like the number came up in your app as ‘someone you might know'” and he goes “EXACTLY but like I said, it’s someone I USED TO KNOW” *cue Gotye* at which point he explained the whole “can’t remove the contact from my phone” thing again. It was the most frustrating cyclical conversation, lasted 10 minutes, and he NEVER SAID WHAT INSTIGATED THE PHONE CALLS in the first place. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that seeing THE FEMALE’S number sparked interest and HE CALLED IT but got Tamanna who can’t speak English, and chaos ensued.

He was playing dumb though and made it sound like SHE called HIM but I can’t imagine why she would have done that, unless she saw that she had a missed call and called it back. I can imagine all hell breaking loose at that point because Tamanna doesn’t handle things quietly.

The picture of the call log she sent me shows that they talked for 59 seconds at one point so I’m sure that was lovely and not stressful at all for either party. He told me again that this is what he was trying to tell her, and I interrupted to say, “Well, she doesn’t speak English, she is Afghan and literally JUST moved here from Turkey.”

“Well, people should know English first before they move here you feel me?”

Bro.

He kept me on the for 10 minutes over this dumb issue but he’s the one who doesn’t have time for it, ok. When I hung up, Henry was like, “He’s totally saving your number.”

But wow, what a roller coaster! I went from being polite, to royally pissed off, to sounding like I was on the phone with an old friend and laughing. What a wild ride.

Anyway, I texted her back and said, “It was the wrong number. If he calls again, just ignore it.” She gave me the thumbs up.