I fell off my Henry Bomb game this time around because I spent most of the weekend pouting. (No actual reason other than I’m Erin Rachelle Kelly.)
The “Falling Asleep While Erin Watches Warped Tour Pit Vlogs On YouTube, This Is Too Exciting For a Friday Night” shot.
The “Forced Hand-Hold On The Way To The Mall, If Only Tiffany Was Performing There To Complete This Picture Of Puppy Love” shot.
The “Whoa, TWO Desserts? Livin’ Large!” shot.
The “Paying For All Of His Desserts” shot.
The “Making A Big Deal Out Of the New Cross-Walk Box & Reminiscing About The Days When Pedestrians Were Less Coddled & Able To Cross A Street Without A Robotic, Disembodied Voice Telling Them When” shot.
The “He’s Been Watching the Wen Segment On QVC For Too Long, Caught Feelings For Chaz Dean” shot.
Henry + Chaz.
The “Pretending To Be Too Cool To Watch Scream With His Family While Still Occasionally Looking Up From His Phone Because He Can’t Remember If There’s Any Nudity In This Classic Film” shot.
The “We Put On The Exorcist And Then Found Henry Pouting In Bed Because He’s ‘Not Interested In Watching That'” shot. Side note: One of the first things I learned about Henry is that he is terrified of any horror movie with religious themes and just absolutely refuses to watch them, especially any of the ones involving exorcisms, which clearly means that he was possessed when he was in the SERVICE and had to be exorcised by a Panamanian priest.
Our Father’s Day tradition is usually to hit up our local amusement park, Kennywood. I just wasn’t feeling it this year though, and since I have a knack for making every day about me, even Father’s Day, I suggested that we take a little road trip to Erie and visit Waldameer because I was having some kind of Ravine Flyer II cravings. I mean, it makes sense to me: let’s make the man who hates amusement take us to a park full of it.
Of course Henry said yes because I rule, but I’m sure he was wishing that I could just have normal cravings, like for pickles or sex, or pickle sex. We already got to do shit that he wanted to do on his birthday a few weeks ago (i.e. nothing), so I didn’t feel too bad about hijacking his holiday.
LOL.
It takes about the same amount of time (two hours-ish) to get to Waldameer as it does Delgrosso’s, but it’s a different direction and for some reason, it just seems like the drive goes so much faster. Plus, there’s more to ride there and Henry can still pay zero dollars to loaf around on every bench he comes across, plus it has THE WACKY SHACK. If only they had the Wacky WORM as well, then we’d never have to go to Delgrosso’s again!
In all honesty (because I usually lie lie lie to you all the other times?), I wasn’t going to write about this recent trip to Waldameer. I’m a little burnt out and really, nothing note-worthy happened this time around.
One of the things my mom did right when I was a kid was always having her camera with her, which is how my memories of our trips to the Wildwood boardwalk have held up. I love that there’s a picture of me and my Pappap on the Keystone Kops ride, and my step-dad and me on the Wildmouse, and the people stuck on the Sea Serpent coaster. My mom was good about that shit, and that’s one of the good qualities I definitely picked up from her—I take pictures of everrrrrryyyyything. I’m sure it’s annoying to Henry and Chooch and they’re like, “No one cares about your picture of the Ravine Flyer, Erin” but someday, when it’s not there anymore, and Chooch is visiting me in the shoddy, state-funded home he’s shipped me off to, he’s going to ask, “Hey Burden, what was that coaster we used to like at that one park that took forever to get to and I would cry about it in the car?” and then I’ll say some kind of technology spell and the Internet will materialize in front of us like a mirage and we can spend quality-time looking through pictures together on my blog.
So, maybe nothing note-worthy happened, but 40 years from now, Chooch might think differently about that.
I want my future house to look like the Wacky Shack.
We were the first ones to ride the Wacky Shack that day! The park was pretty sparsely populated all day, so we mostly just walked right on all of the rides without having to wait anyway, but Chooch still thought this was gloat-worthy.
The second time we rode the Wacky Shack, we were in line behind a family: a mom, her son who was probably 12, her daughter who was maybe 14, and the grandma. Apparently, there was some drama with one of the park performers and the grandson, some big misunderstanding, but the park performer blew it out of proportion and threatened to have this kid reported and kicked out of the park. I couldn’t figure out what had happened, but he had seemingly on accident, done something to really jack her off during her performance. This kid didn’t seem too threatening to me, just your typical white suburban boy in a Nike shirt and cargo shorts. He looked really upset while the mom was filling in the grandma, and if Chooch could just ever stop talking for more than 2 seconds at a time, I might have been able to come home with a much better story for you, Blog!
We saw the family later on, this time the dad was with them too. Now there was some drama with between the boy and his sister. He had evidently walked away from her while she was talking to him, and now the dad was trying to act as a mediator while he was in line for the go-carts with the son who now all of a sudden didn’t seem so innocent. The daughter was on the other side of the line and the dad was like, “Why don’t you just calm down and ride this with us?” and she was like, “I DON’T WANT TO RIDE THAT!” in a “how dare you minimize my feelings!” tone and stormed off to sit on a bench with Grandma. We walked past them later and she was still sitting on the bench, head down, and scowling.
It was like looking at myself.
After this latest episode, now I’m not sure I believe that Boy didn’t do something unlawful to Park Performer. He seems like a real motherfucker, walking away from his sister like that.
Chooch made me ride the Steel Dragon twice in a row: once sitting front-facing, and once rear-facing. That shit fucked me up and I opted to sit down on a bench and put myself in Henry’s shoes while Chooch rode a third time by himself.
I keep seeing some lame article going around about people spending too much time taking pictures of their kids with their kids instead of “actually living in the moment” and while I can see where this would be concerning in extreme cases, I have to roll my eyes at this because how am I not “living in the moment” by taking a picture? To me, I’m living in the moment and also capturing a photographical memory of it because I know it’s going to be something that I will look back on some day when I’m sad, and it’ll make me smile. And that’s what I do on days that I’m sad, for real! I re-read trips to Kennywood and Warped Tour and then I’m OK again. Meanwhile, Chooch was like, “People keep staring at me…?” He forgot he had purple hair.
On the Comet, Chooch and I sat behind this guy, Michael, who was in his late teens/early 20s and seemed to possibly be autistic. He was LOVING LIFE, you guys, and I have to say, his enthusiasm was infectious. We wound up behind him right after this, in line for the Ravine Flyer II. Michael ran out of line because he wanted to hug some country music station mascot (I never could figure out what it was supposed to be); when Michael came back, he started to walk to the back of the line, but Chooch and I stopped him and let him get back in front of us because we were obsessed with him.
“I like this guy,” Chooch whispered, jutting an elbow in Michael’s general vicinity.
This coaster is the shit, you guys. Here are some words that go through my head when I’m riding it:
This was a mistake.
oh god.
OMGDIDWEJUSTJUMPTHETRACK?!
holy fuuuuuck!
This is the train to Hades!!!
MY MOTHERFUCKING BACK!!!!
SUCCURRE MIHI, DEUS
Oh my god, it’s a wild ride. Chooch and I laugh like hyenas on it and for those 2 minutes, we are best friends and not bickering mother and son.
The second time we rode it, I was pissed because some stupid group got to jump the line because they were filming it for Periscope, and they were sooooo smug about it. Their leader was some arrogant ginger and the rest of us people in line scowled as he encouraged his group to scream and act more stoked than they actually were. Turns out it was some lame Drumstick gimmick:
Whatever you say, Drumstick.
I spent a good portion of the day shooting Henry in the face with my forced-adorable expressions in order to soften him up because Chooch and I desperately wanted him to ride the Ravine Flyer II with us! Even if you don’t buy a ride-all-day pass, you can put money on a Wally Card in order to ride things. Waldameer is a cash-free park, so you have put money on one of those cards in order to buy food and play games, anyway, so…..he had no good excuse!
For some reason, Chooch always thinks this is a sign for a ride.
It pains me to admit this, but my motion-sickness tolerance is even more unpredictable than ever this year. Normally, I’m good on the Tilt-a-Whirl, but at Delgrosso’s last month, I almost puked on it. So I smartly avoided the Tilt-a-Whirl at Waldameer. However, I did go on the Swings almost as soon as we arrived, because it was one of the few rides that was already running. I admittedly haven’t been on the Swings in any park in the last several years because I was starting to lose enjoyment for it. But I decided to give it a shot and was pleasantly surprised! I didn’t get sick at all, and I was even able to enjoy the beautiful view of Lake Erie.
So I stupidly allowed myself to believe that I was cured of spinny-ride syndrome, and later rode the Spider with Chooch, upon which the color immediately drained from my face and I limply flopped around in the seat like a dying flounder. The ride operator must have noticed that he had a potential puker on his hands, because even though we were the last ones to board, we were the first ones off. And the ride seemed curiously short, too. Henry was waiting for us on a bench, and just shook his head smugly when he saw me shuffling toward my death bed. I spent the next 15 minutes with a cold bottle of water pressed against my neck, sitting as still as I could on the bench and begging my eyeballs to stop darting around in their sockets. Henry and Chooch went off to play games and when I was finally able to rejoin them, I found myself spending an unusually large amount of time admiring the (safe, still, unmoving) landscape. Statues! Flowerbeds! Topiaries! Things I never gave a shit about before.
Over by the go-carts, Henry overheard a conversation between a white trash mom, her son, and his girlfriend. I guess the son was telling his girlfriend that all of the little kids in line with them were his siblings and he said, “Can you believe all those kids dropped out of my mom’s hole?” and then the mom bragged about not even having any stretch marks and lifted her shirt all of the way up to prove it.
Happy Father’s Day, Henry!
Henry’s favorite part of the day: walking alone.
By the end of the day, we wore Henry down and got him to ride the Ravine Flyer II with us! (Oh, and if you’re wondering what happened to the Ravine Flyer I, apparently some dude died on it a long time ago and it was torn down and II was built in its place. Good to know!)
One of the young ride attendants was super enthusiastic and made us all give him a high-five on the way off the ride, and HENRY ACTUALLY DID IT! Dare I say, Henry might have actually had a little fun that day. I mean, he got to eat a soft pretzel; warm, candied almonds; a snickerdoodle (his favorite cookie!); and he got to waste more of Chooch’s college fund on games. Sounds like a pretty fulfilling Father’s Day, if you ask me.
[PS: Chooch wants me to tell you that he found out the next day via Instagram that his girlfriend Cassie was at KENNYWOOD on Father’s Day. “THE ONE TIME WE DONT GO!” he wailed.]
This past weekend, you might remember, was Father’s Day. So here are some fatherly Henry bombs for your viewing pleasure(ish).
The “Riding the Shuttle to the Lavender Festival, What Is My Life” shot.
The “‘I Turn My Back For One Second To Treat Myself To Lavender Refreshments And You Fuckers Are Off Cutting Fresh Lavender In a Muddy Field And I Can’t Believe Some Woman Gave You Assholes Sharp Scissors, How Much Is This Going to Cost Me Anyway??'”
The “Doo-Do-Do-Dooooo Behold the King of the Lavender Festival” shot.
The “‘Does This Necklace Make Me Look Pretty?'” shot.
The “‘The Lavender Festival’s Portapotty Is Surprisngly Fancy'” shot, followed up with the “‘Cleanliness Makes Me Sad'” shot.
The “Father’s Day, Schmather’s Day—Bitch, Get Us Food” shot.
The “It’s Father’s Day, Treat Yo’self To Pizza and a Soft Pretzel, Henry” shot.
The “Being Father of the Year By Throwing Away Our Trash To Prevent Us From Injuring Ourselves On/Falling Into the Garbage Can” shot.
The “‘Sure, I Promise I Won’t Eat Your Banana Split Dip n’ Dots While You Ride the Spider, Chooch'” corrupt father shot.
The “Wondering What It’s Like To Be the Kind of Father That Gets To Do What He Wants On Father’s Day” shot.
The “Using Henry As a Pillow While He Thinks About All Of the Things* He’d Rather Do On Father’s Day But Instead Had To Drive 2 Hours To Go To An Amusement Park Where He Won’t Ride Anything” shot.
*(Sit at home in his underwear, watching CSI; eating beef jerky under a tree while proficiently identifying overhead aircraft; baking things with lavender; porch-hangs and pepperoni rolls with Hot Naybor Chris.)
The “He’s Only Smiling Because He’s Thinking of Ordering the Father’s Day Ribeye Special” shot. (SPOILER ALERT: He just got a burger.)
The “PORCH HANGS WITH #HNC AFTER ALL, AND HE BROUGHT OVER PEPPERONI ROLLS!? BEST FATHER’S DAY EVER!” shot.
Henry has been in a terrible mood all weekend which is hard to believe considering he spends so much time hanging out with Chooch and me. That just made procuring Henry Bombs even more fun!
The “Dropping Off The Kids At the Sold Out Sleeping With Sirens Show, Speeding Off Into the Sunset For a Night Of Peaceful Grocery Shopping” shot. It was the happiest he’s ever been. If he could have gotten away with grocery shopping in his underwear, he probably would have suffered a hernia of happiness.
(Forever cutting off the top of my head because I’m a selfie dunce.)
The “Professional Driver Henry Doesn’t Need The Rear Camera Thing To Back Out Of a Parking Lot” shot. “I WILL USE THE MIRRORS AS THEY WERE INTENDED!”
The “Henry Will Go Into Any Convenience Store, Even Those Of Ill Repute, In Order To Score Beverage” shot. #beveragerenegade
The “DONT TOUCH MY GLASSES!” shot.
The “Using His Belly As a Plate” shot.
The “Weekend’s Only Just Begun & Henry Already Hates Everything Even Though ‘Broken Wings’ is playing at Valliant Diner” shot.
The “Dutifully Washing Dishes So Chooch & I Will Have More To Dirty” shot.
The “Channeling His Mental Colorwheel In Order To Assemble the Most Aethestically-Pleasing Serial Killer Greeting Card But Always Double-Checking With Me First” shot.
OK that’s all. I have to go finish watching this thing about Ted Bundy because it’s my life and I do what I want.
He’s not a poser: he doesn’t try to dress “cool” when he goes to concerts.
He has an extensive collection of Faygo uniforms. (Sometimes this is even what he wears to concerts because what does he care.)
He’s not afraid of emasculating himself by drinking SHANDY every now and again even though it’s not REAL BEER.
He takes any DIY idea I throw at him and does it better. (LIKE MY GET STOKED SIGN!)
He goes along with all of my photoshoot ideas, even if it means wearing makeup or a tutu.
He makes me lavender-flavored food & makes really great iced coffee for me even though he is NOT a coffee-drinker.
He supports my serial killer greeting card side business.
He pretty much lets me do whatever I want as long as it doesn’t involve drugs or other guys’ weeners.
He is super good at cooking with seitan and tofu even though he enjoys feasting on animals.
He used to like fishing but then we started dating and I was like *PETA!* *TEARS!* *MURDERER!* *BAD MAN!* so now he doesn’t go fishing anymore.
He LOVES when people need directions because he’s a professional driver and knows all the best routes around town.
He always has time to help his mom.
He always has my back, like when the Catholic moms at Chooch’s old school ganged up on me. (“Well, if they don’t want you to write about them being assholes, then they shouldn’t act like assholes!”)
He taught me to like vegetables because he felt that, as a vegetarian, I should be eating more than just pizza and grilled cheese.
He probably knows about more bands than your dad, whether he wants to or not.
He’s really good at cutting bangs. (Should I get bangs again?)
He said hi to Jonny Craig one time, lol.
He is so good at crafts and sewing and basic domestic skills, that you would think his mom was a Home Ec teacher back in the day.
He LOVES when people ask him about the Ted Nugent show in the 1980s.
HE WAS IN THE SERVICE. (I don’t care if Chooch already said it. This is an important thing.)
Now I kind of wish I hadn’t shared this with Chooch because I could have easily gone on for another 25, ugh! Like how he entertains my tradition of having Xmas cemetery picnics, takes me all over for concerts even though he typically hates the bands, and he eats funnel cake off the ground because by golly he PAID for it!
OK, so today’s Hero Henry post has a plethora of examples of heroism, from warning other vehicles of a crash on a highway to cutting my food, to driving em 6 hours to see Jonny Craig and then comforting me later when I decide that I HATE JONNY CRAIG and suffer a subsequent panic attack. He really does it all, ladies and gentlemen.
It’s 10:32am and we just dropped Chooch off at his Aunt Kelly’s and are officially en route to Allentown for the Hands Like Houses/Slaves show. Except that I threw about 18 fits this morning because I didn’t have anything to wear so then Henry was trying to pick things out for me and by that I mean he was trying to make me wear things that make me feel fat because he’s a motherfucker!! Who does that?! And then he was like here wear this purple shirt, you wear this purple shirt a lot. NO I DON’T! But whatever, I put it on. I’m live blogging this because probably we’re going to fight again soon and I’ll have no one to talk to. Just you, Blog.
10:35: SHEETZ. Henry is finally going to feed me.
10:46: Sheetz is the worst on Memorial Day weekend, UGH!! It was so crowded and I panicked because I’m wearing a fatsuit that Henry picked out for me and I just wanted to be done in there so I grabbed a PB&J from the cooler even though that’s not what I wanted and I’m mad!! I hope Henry chokes on his Slim Jims. Motherfucker.
Before we dropped Chooch off, we drove past a church and Chooch decided to make up a prayer that started with “For the love of kittens in London and Taiwan.”
11:10am: After great deliberation (with himself), Henry has decided to just go ahead and use the EZ Pass that comes with the rental car. Wow. What a monumental occasion. I’m so glad it happened on a day I decided to live blog. LIVE IT UP, HENHEN.
11:17am: Just passed a truck crashed into the barrier on the opposite side of the road so Henry was all, “I HAVE TO WARN ONCOMING TRAFFIC!” so he started flashing his lights and then he saw an eighteen wheeler and said, “OH I WILL DEFINITELY HAVE TO WARN THIS TRUCK! HE WILL NEED TIME TO SLOW DOWN!” He’s so proud of himself. Get this motherfucker a badge.
OH, HE WENT FOR IT:
12:19pm: Stopped to pee a few minutes ago and Henry tried to hold my hand (when we were walking into the rest area, not while I was peeing). Then I had to go and accidentally look at myself in the bathroom mirrors and just ugh, thanks for ruining my life Henry!! Came back out after some ginger bitch kept being in my way and Henry had a bag of Auntie Anne’s pretzel bites as if I’m not already engorged enough! UGH!!
12:21pm: OK I feel a little better but I need more coffee ASAP. And Henry keeps pointing at dumb things out the window. GO FUCK YOURSELF AND YOUR STUPID SCENERY!!! Maybe I’m not actually feeling any better, n/m.
12:38pm: Just screamed at Henry to not hit the hawk flying up ahead of us and he yelled, “It’s flying 15 feet above us! I’d have to make the car jump to hit it!” UGH STFU HENRY GO CONFUSE A DICK FOR AN AUNTIE ANNE’S PRETZEL BITE WHY DON’T YOU!!!
12:44pm: According to Henry, I’m “lucky” to have him because “any other guy” would have left me at home after I threw my “tantrum.” OH OK.
1:19pm:
Fun fact! I had to buy this album three times because I kept playing it to the point of no return. Also, we stopped several minutes ago so I could get an iced macchiato at Starbucks but Henry loudly said, “I’m going to a real store to get a drink” and then walked defiantly across the rest stop to the A-Plus convenience store. You sure showed all of us coffee drinkers, Henry.
1:52pm: UGHHHHHH!!!!
2:10pm: We’re at this diner in Carlisle, PA. They only like me here, not Henry.
2:14pm: HENRY JUST SCRATCHED HIS ‘STACHE:
2:34pm: Henry had to reorganize my veggie burger and then cut it for me because feeding myself is hard. :( I had ketchup everywhere and I was so scared.
3:40pm: How are we not there yet, ugh. I only have so many things to say to Henry, and it’s mostly “shut up” in a variety of tones and volumes.
4:04pm: Oh look there’s our hotel but Dum-Dum Henry can’t figure out how to get there. Also, Allentown is a shit hole. (Actually, I haven’t seen any of it but I’m really good at prejudging.)
4:24pm: At the Ramada Inn. I asked Henry for a quote and he mumbled, “glad to be here. Stoked” but for some reason I think he’s being sarcastic.
4:38: Aaaaaaand, panic attack.
5:00: Going to die now. BBL as a ghost.
5:53pm: After talking me down from a cliff, we’re inside the Croc Rock which is a total dump & full of disgusting women-hating bros and underaged girls thirsty for Jonny Craig. Also, the ceiling is leaking and it smells like piss. Fuck you, Allentown. At least Hands Like Houses are here.
We just saw the guy from Hands Like Houses who looks like a young Tim Curry to me, ughhhh. Even Henry just calls him “Tim Curry” now. “Look here comes Tim Curry,” Henry said the first time we got here right before I cried, “I CAN’T DO THIS LETS JUST GO WAHHH” so we sat in the car and he patted my knee until I was OK. But you guys knew I had issues.
6:25pm: Girl next to me just said, “Is it just me or does it smell like cat piss in here?” And I’m like YES but then WAIT WHAT IF IT’S ME?
6:45pm: Alive Like Me asked who’s excited for Slaves and I did not cheer. Because fuck you JC no I love you NO I HATE YOU! AHHHHHHGGGHHH. Someone give me a mallet.
6:52pm: I’m always waiting for bands to say PUT YOUR MEAT CLEAVERS IN THE AIR, MOTHERFUCKERS! because I’m READY. But they never do. It’s always just “hands” :(
7:33pm: King Shit must be about ready to take the stage because every thirsty chick in this room just spontaneously released pheromone. I just want to puke though.
8:02pm: I HATE YOU I LOVE YOU I HATE YOU I LOVE YOU UGHHHH.
8:33pm: Shucks y’all that was a pretty big mistake.
9:35pm: I’m glad that was an early show because I’m starving and want alcohol (no bar at that venue, WTFFFF??). Totally stressed out and Henry is driving in circles looking for a secret bar that has apricot coriander beer. When we left, we walked past a pizza place where King Shit was eating with his rebound girl, ugh it made me sick. I just can’t with him anymore.
9:45pm: Professional Driver HenHen found the Allentown Brew Works but lied about the apricot beer. At least the hockey game is on.
10:03pm: Henry doesn’t like champagne.
10:30pm: I hate our waitress so much and Henry is like in love with her. And no that’s not even why I hate her. I just had a martini because this asshole place didn’t have that stupid apricot beer and that’s all I wanted I hate my life today was SO DUMB. FUCK YOU.
10:34pm: so I guess me (Henry) has to post . As of now I have nothing to say, except its been a helluva day.
11:02pm: Me: “I’m taking down all of my Jonny Craig pictures in my office on Tuesday.” Henry: “OK.”
Oh boy, I wanted to share an example of Henry saving Chooch and me from perishing but there were so many to choose from! But I think the best is the time during the fall of 2011 when Henry heroically broke into our house after he locked us out. Technically, Chooch did all the hard work. But…it’s Henry’s birthday, not Chooch’s. I think I’ve shared this post on Facebook approx. 87 times since then but TOO BAD. It’s one of my favorites!
Goddammit, all I wanted to do was go for a nice, leisurely family stroll around our crappy town, but dum-dum Henry left the keys in the house and started flipping out about how it was my fault because I rushed him out of the house.
I was like, “Why can’t we just go for a walk and worry about this later?” which apparently was not a Great Idea based on the look of utter incredulity Henry flashed at me.
Chooch and I carried on like cackling assholes while Henry tore apart the garage for suitable items to MacGyver a battering ram. I mean, I guess if he hot-glued together all of his old porn VHS tapes from the SERVICE, he might have something to go on.
He ignored my suggestions of calling the landlord or heaving a cinder block through the window and instead considered using a can of gasoline to burn down the front door.
I’m surprised he didn’t go next door to ask Hot Naybor Chris for a breaking and entering consultation, considering those two once helped the gas man break into our neighbor’s house in order to shut off his gas before our house exploded.
Yeah, this has promise.
“What? I coulda done it. If only I had remembered to eat my individually-wrapped prunes today.”
“NOW I HAVE HEDGECLIPPERS! THESE WILL HELP! I WILL MANICURE THE WEEDS INTO SILHOUETTES OF MY REPUBLICAN HEROES WHILE STARING LONGINGLY INTO OUR FRONT WINDOW.”
These are some of the things Henry said while Chooch and I buzzed around him like flies on a bear:
THAT’S ENOUGH!
YOU’RE A LOT OF FUCKING HELP.
GO SOMEWHERE AND PLAY!
THIS IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT. I DIDN’T EVEN WANT TO GO FOR A WALK!
FML FML FML FML FML
YEAH, THIS IS REAL FUCKING FUNNY.
AND I JUST KNOW I’M MISSING “SHE’S CRAFTY.” MOTHER!
YOU ASSHOLES CAN JUST STAY OUT HERE! I’LL FUCKING WALK TO WORK. AT LEAST I HAVE THOSE KEYS.
Oh God, Chooch. DON’T POKE THE BEAR!
…or KICK the bear. Henry almost gave Chooch “orphan” status after this.
Meanwhile, I found this fucker in the garage. WTF kind of creepshow is this!? I wish I had had it for my Murder Desk at work.
I was trying to chronicle this episode from all angles, which did not please the man one bit. He made like he was going to grab my phone off me and beat me with it, enlightening me on what it must be like to work for TMZ.
After fifteen minutes, Henry succeeded in prying open the window with a pair of pliers. Now you know how to break into my house and steal our cats. Seriously, it’s all we’ve got in there. Cats galore.
Just don’t forget to bring a small child to catapult through the window. (I mean, at least he’s going IN a window and not falling OUT of a window, right?)
You know that fucker is going to go to school tomorrow and tell his teacher about how his burglar parents made him shimmy up the side of a skyscraper.
Moments later, the house keys came whaling through the window straight at Henry’s face. Chooch rules.
“ENOUGH ALREADY.”
Reassembling the window.
And he did it all so he could go on a walk he did not want to go on in the first place. In this picture, I think he’s texting his boss: OMG I IS A HEROE. I NEED DAY OFF.
Henry turns 50 in three days! How exciting(ly horrifying). In honor of his big numerical accomplishment, I am going to reshare some of the times Henry got to be A HERO. Maybe I can pump his mom and sister for some untold tales, as well! First up, please enjoy the time when Henry got to call 911 twice on his birthday last year!
It was a relatively low-key Saturday night here at the Oh Honestly Household. Chooch had already gone up to bed (which means he went upstairs to watch YouTube videos on his phone for another 2 hours) and Henry and I were watching the Stanley Cup finals (GO KINGS!). Around 11:00PM, there was a hideous crash/boom/squeal right outside of our house.
Right away, we knew it was a car accident.
The street we live on is a pretty busy one and a lot of the houses here don’t have driveways (luckily, ours does). When I moved here back in 1999, one of the first things my then-neighbor said to me was, “Never park your car in front of the house.” Shit, was she ever right. I learned that this was especially sound advice to observe on weekends. There are a ton of drunks that drive on this street. I have seen so many accidents from my living room window, it’s insane. Recently, someone hit a parked car down the street from us so hard that they pushed it all the way into our front yard. I always tell my friends to park across the street in the church parking lot, because you just never know. I mean, we had the mirror ripped off of our car two days after we bought it because we stupidly left the car parked on the street for “just a second.”
Anyway, back to Saturday night. We heard that sickening crunch of car-against-car and Henry flew out the front door, forgetting that he was in his underwear, to see what had happened. Then other neighbors (i.e. The Hot Naybor Chris Family) began to emerge from their houses as well, so Henry ran back inside to put on his pants, but don’t worry, he was back out in time to take total control of the situation.
We quickly deduced that a car had been speeding down the street and plowed into a parked Lexus (sucks to be that car owner) next door and then tried to keep driving even though the entire wheel and tire of his car had broken. So he made it an additional two houses up the street before putting on his flashers and getting out of the car. He was drunkenly staggering around his car, running his hands through his hair, in total panic-mode.
Meanwhile, Tourette’s happened to be moseying along the sidewalk, coming back from wherever it is that people like him go to (poker night with Purple Pants in a pizza parlor basement?), and he totally paused to become a spectator! I was so excited, you have no idea!!! But oddly, of all the times where it would be appropriate for him to shake his fist and cry, “You motherfucker!” he blurted out no such obscenities and instead stood calmly at the end of our sidewalk, contributing to the community powwow.
Just then, the Perp began drunkenly pacing up and down the sidewalk and at one point, it looked like he was going to run before turning around, crouching on the sidewalk for a moment, and then getting back into his car.
“He’s going to run,” I observed, but one of the neighbor girls said, “He ain’t going nowhere with his wheel broken off!”
“No,” I argued. “He’s going to literally run. I can tell.”
So then Henry got to be a HERO and call the POLICE, who are basically his favorite people in the whole entire world second to those Air Force fellas and broads. And just as Henry was hanging up with the 911 dispatch person, the perp got out of his car and started to walk/run up the sidewalk, away from all of us. So Henry got to CALL THE POLICE AGAIN!
“Yeah, I just called,” he said, quickly reiterating the pertinent details. “Well, it’s a hit and run now,” Henry said excitedly, flashing his imaginary war medallions. “YES, HE’S ON FOOT AND FLEEING THE SCENE!” So then one of the neighbor girls decided she was going to follow him, barefoot, in spite of her mom’s protests. That was stupidly exciting, too.
It was at this point that I realized Henry and Tourette’s were hanging out with a bunch of pajama-clad, braless broads. I quickly crossed my arms over my chest.
“Where are the cops!?” Tourette’s cried. “I know for a fact that there are four of them down the street at the gas station parking lot right now, drinking coffee!” And then he made a series of unhappy grunts. Finally, a cop rolled up with the lights on and Henry practically shoved everyone out of the way to lean into the window and scream, “HE WENT THATTA WAY!” and then he completely gave an inaccurate description of the Perp. So the cop sped off in the direction of Henry’s finger and we all cheered because it was exciting, OK?
Soon, we were joined by my deceased cat Don’s grandma (her cat Teddy knocked Marcy up back in 2000 and that’s where Don and Willie came from) from four houses down. We compared horror stories of all the accidents we’ve collectively witnessed on this street, and then she decided to walk up to the Perp’s abandoned car and start rooting through it.
Logical.
“You drink and you drive and you drive and you drink and you drink and you drive,” Tourette’s began rambling to no one in particular.
I took this opportunity to fetch Chooch, who of course was still wide awake and watching lame videos in his room.
“I thought that noise was just Daddy breaking something in the kitchen as usual,” Chooch mumbled, hastily stepping into a pair of jeans so that he could join the growing throng of Nebby Debbies* outside in the lawn.
*(This is Pittsburghese for nosy motherfuckers.)
“Who owns that car?” our neighbor Ruth asked.
“It’s the guy visiting the blond lady who lives in that house down there,” Henry said with his chest sticking out. “He’s from Virginia.”
“How do you know?” I asked him, furrowing my eyebrows.
“I don’t know,” he stuttered. “I saw the guy pull up when I was cutting the grass. He’s Asian. And he has Virginia plates.”
“Cutting the grass,” you guys. I’M SO SURE. And not from the binoculars in the attic window.
“It could be a rental,” Neighbor Daughter said, recently returned from her citizen’s arrest mission. But Henry argued that it wasn’t a rental and told her all of the reasons he knows this, the number one reason being we’re basically Budget Rental’s best customers because our car is a piece of a shit. This was like the best night ever for Henry because he got to brag about knowing things that no one would typically give a shit about.
(And I still don’t.)
Just then, the cops came back and they had the Perp! I cheered with an overdose of faux-enthusiasm.
“He wasn’t going nowhere,” the main cop laughed. Even his laughter had a Yinzer-accent. “He’s piss ass drunk!”
Henry told the cop that he knocked on the car owner’s front door several times to no avail and then explained again that the car belongs to her visiting friend and we’re all like, “OK we get it, just put it in next month’s Brookline ‘zine, why don’t you.” Fuck, Henry. Maybe you should just move to Wisteria Lane.
“Maybe they’re busy,” the cop said with a sleazy wink and then laughed so hard, donut crumbs shot out of his mouth. And then he took Henry’s official statement! Talk about the best belated birthday gift of all time: Henry got to be a motherfucking witness to a hit and run. HOT DAMN.
Oh, you want to know what I was doing this whole time? Just the usual: getting in the way and giddily laughing alone the whole time. I even jumped and clapped a few times because sometimes living on this street rules. LOOK AT US ALL COMING TOGETHER IN THE NAME OF JUSTICE!
And then the tow truck arrived! OH WHAT A NIGHT! Henry loves talking to men of these sorts of vocations! While the cop went back to his vehicle to write up the report—-or Instagram his Styrofoam coffee cup, who knows—Henry and the tow truck driver got to stand around and make idle conversation about the damage done to the Lexus. I kept hearing Henry “hyuk hyuk hyuk’ing” so they must have been getting along pretty well. I just asked Henry what else they were talking about and he claims the tow truck driver was telling Henry about how busy of a night he had the night before. OK HENRY, SURE, WE BELIEVE YOU. You weren’t talking about car crash porn AT ALL.
The cop thanked us all and I over-zealously said you’re welcome! because standing around outside doing nothing other than not wearing a bra deserves appreciation, but no one could hear me over Henry’s bristling moustache and rippling ego; it was clear that no more excitement was going to evolve from this particular episode, so everyone started to wander off back to their homes and Tourette’s lumbered off into the horizon with whatever mysterious bag he had been clutching the whole time.
“Yinz have a good night!” the tow truck driver called out to us. I have never been called “yinz” so much in one night. God love Pittsburgh.
“True or false,” I demanded later when we were getting ready for bed. “This is the most excitement you’ve had since THE SERVICE.”
Here is another weekend’s worth of Henry Bombs! I wish I had managed to get a “your tattoo cost HOW much?!” shot but I told him via text after I had already paid for it, haha. Sorry, Henry, next time I’ll just get my cell mate to do it for cheaper.
The “Henry With A Mouthful of Pretzels, Yelling At Chooch For God Knows What” shot.
The “Henry Treated Himself to a Snickerdoodle & I’m Going to Steal It” shot.
The “10 Minutes Early Picking Up Chooch From Piano TIME FOR A QUICK NAP” selfie.
The “Hand It Over, Henry Warbucks” shot.
The “Nap #2 With a Bowl & His Phone” shot.
The “Henry Oversees the Jewelry Party” guest shot by Monica! The “Henry Listens To Wendy’s Sales Pitch” shot.
The “Just One of the Girls” shot (Wendy moved at the last minute).
The “Blocking Henry From Getting Stoked” shot.
The “Henry Returns A Thing At Lowe’s” shot.
The “THERE HAS TO BE A SPECIAL MIX FOR SUCCULENTS BUT WHERE IS IT I WILL NOT ASK” shot.
The “Henry Waits For Someone Else To Ask For Succulent Dirt & Then Follows Them To It” shot.
The “Concerned That His Green Tea Froyo Tastes Carbonated” shot. (He later asked the Froyo purveyors if it was supposed to taste like that and they admitted that they have never tried the green tea but that it is supposed to be slightly tart which hello, I am no stranger to the Froyo industry but I know the difference between purposely tart and SPOILED so hopefully we survive the impending digestive backlash and then own our own Sincerely Yogurt franchise.)
(Asian Froyo joints are better.)
The “Henry Is Potting My Plants Because Ew Dirt” shot.
BONUS: #thingsinhenrysbeard
And that was Henry’s weekend. Actually these are all from Sunday.
I didn’t want to wait until #mcm (MAN CRUSH MONDAY) to post this, so let’s pretend like today is #fgf (FAVORITE GUY FRIDAY).
When I first started dating Henry, I was 21 and he was 35. A LOT of people were like, “Ha-ha, say goodbye to your life. Have fun listening to country music and drinking IC Light.” Because that’s what all 35-year-old men do? And I guess I was a little worried at first, because I loved road-tripping for concerts back then. My friend Wonka and I would drive all over to see our favorite band at the time, Cold. In the first few months we were together, Cold was playing in Hershey, PA and Wonka wanted to go. I was worried that Henry would be like, “YOU ARE NOT DRIVING THAT FAR AWAY WITH ANOTHER MAN.” But Henry understood even then how much these things meant to me, and he was OK with me going.
(I mean, I totally would have still went anyway because that’s the kind of selfish, arrogant, solipsistic fucking bitch that I am!)
But then Wonka started dating the future mother of his children, and our roadtrips came to an end. I had no idea that Henry would ever want to do these things with me, because I was so used to having completely separate lives from every boyfriend I ever had. But by that May, there we were, driving to Wisconsin to see Cold. And there have been many, many more concert-spurned road trips since then, whether he liked it or not!
Wednesday night, I was watching music videos on YouTube, because that’s just what I do, when Henry said, “Look.” He was holding up his phone to show me that this year’s Riot Fest line up was finally announced. I ran over and snatched his phone from him and immediately started freaking out because FAITH NO MORE. I had a feeling that they were going to be there so my eyes were blind to everything else on the list but that for the first ten minutes. And then the more I looked at the lineup, the more I freaked out. THE NOSTALGIA FACTOR IS OFF THE FUCKING CHARTS.
I started freaking the fuck out and chanting PLEASE CAN WE GO PLEASE CAN WE GO PLEASE CAN WE GO CAN WE CAN WE CANWECANWECANWE over and over but I was pretty sure the answer was going to be no because we kind of broke the bank when we went last year. But you know, I’m immature, head-in-the-clouds Erin and I don’t think about things like RENT and GROCERIES and BILLS. I was just about reaching Veruca Salt levels of brattiness when Henry got up from the couch in a huff and said, “Don’t start!” So I sat there, staring at the lineup and crying because these are things I cry about, when I got a text from Henry, who was in the kitchen. IT WAS A SCREENSHOT OF THE TICKET CONFIRMATION OMG CAN I KEEP THIS MAN FOREVER?! I guess he knew for awhile that going again was inevitable, so he was prepared.
And it’s a good thing, because I’ve had the days requested off from work since January.
I know I bitch about him being a killjoy a lot, but even though he really doesn’t like these things at all, he still does them because he is an A+ kind of guy. And I am super lucky to be with someone who maybe doesn’t share the same passion for music as I do, but he understands that it is a necessity for me, like food and water. I crave this stuff! I can’t tell you how many times I have gone back and looked at pictures from last year’s Riot Fest because it puts me in a good mood. That weekend was so close to perfection, and I can’t wait to do it all over again with my frowning sidekick! #blessed
(Snoop Dogg is performing Doggystyle in its entirety. My 1994-self is FUCKING FANNING HERSELF with her Snoop lyric-doodled science folder.)
I am going to be so nice to him for the next several days months. Take all the naps you want, Big Guy!
***
I can’t wait for another 3-days’ worth of frowns!
So yeah, naysayers: 14 years later and I’m having fun listening to whatever music I want while Henry drinks craft beer.
Another weekend is in the books, so here is the latest collection of Henry Bombs, followed by the beginnings of a brand new Henry Torture Experiment, yay! Who doesn’t like torturing Henry!?
The “Why Am I Driving You to Work When There’s a Perfectly Good Transit System Within Walking Distance From Our House and Now I’m Going To Get All Stressed Out By the Jaywalkers Downtown” shot.
The “Running Out Of the House For Ice Cream & Leaving Henry Behind To Turn Everything Off In the House & IT LOOKS LIKE HE MISSED A LIGHT” shot.
The “Shit, Henry Busted Us & Thinks He’s Cool By Flipping Off the Camera” shot.
The “My Ice Cream Is Better Than Henry’s” shot.
The “Checking Yelp For Somewhere ‘Weird & Wood-Paneled’ To Eat” shot, per my snippy instructions.
The “We Just Drove 90 Minutes To Eat 10 Minutes From Our House Because Henry Can’t Read My Mind” shot, alternately titled the “Another Chapter In Chooch’s Memoirs” shot.
The “Wearing White Socks and Black Shoes To the Petting Zoo” shot.
The “Feeding A Thing Without Getting Backtalk Is Weird” shot.
The “Quietly Calculating All the $$$ Spent This Weekend” shot.
The “It’s Memorial Day & I’ll Get An Order Of Wings With My Burger If I Want To” shot.
The “Driving Thru the Countryside and Daydreaming About Running Away and Hiding Out On a Farm” shot.
***
YOU GUYS! Here I am to introduce two new Henry series: #ThingsInHenrysBeard and #WhileHenrySleeps
I didn’t want him to feel left out after Chooch and I had our fun with face sprinkles, so I waited for him to go to bed Saturday night before gently dropping pinches of sprinkles onto his wiry beard. This picture actually features my second attempt, because after I initially got his beard suitably sprinkled, he subconsciously swatted at his face, brushing most of them out of his beard and onto his chest. I was trying so hard not to laugh that I had to keep leaving the bedroom and thank god I was so close to the bedroom because I came super close to pissing my pants.
I finally completed my mission, snapped a photo, and then went to sleep. The next morning, he woke up to go to the bathroom. Sadly, all of the sprinkles had fallen off in his sleep, but when he came back into bed, he pulled up the comforter and a shower of sprinkles flew into the air. He somehow didn’t notice this and proceeded to lay down on a bed of candy decor. Then he rolled over and his bare back was speckled with them, so I started cracking up.
“What?” he mumbled. And I just laughed harder and harder until I was choking. Finally, I showed him the picture and you guys, he actually TRIED NOT TO SMILE. You just never which way things are going to go with him!
He fell asleep on the couch yesterday because I guess he just had too much Memorial Day fun. I used this as an opportunity to paint his nails. He was less forgiving about this, though.
This is my new favorite thing & I get so gleeful over it. He busts me 75% of the time now though, even when I think I’m being slick. “Did you get your damn picture?” he’ll mutter.
The “Henry Has to Rest His Glasses On Top of His Head In Order to Look at His Phone” shot.
BONUS VIDEO: The “Ignoring the Pretend Concert I Have Going On In Front of Him” live action shot.
The “Henry Photo-Bombed Our Spoon Selfie” shot.
The “Henry’s Making Me Iced Coffee Because I’m ‘Too Weak'” shot.
The “Henry’s Playing Some Stupid Video Game in a Spoon” shot.
The “Driving Miss Erin to DelGrosso’s Amusement Park” shot.
The “Yeah bitch, buy us that ice cream” shot.
The “Being a Good Boy & Calling His Mama on Mother’s Day” shot.
The “Too Lame to Ride the Wacky Worm” shot.
The “We’re on the Crazy Mouse But Where’s Henry?” shot.
The “Welp, Chooch is Riding the Pirate Ship So I Guess I’ll Have to Eat His Ice Cream Cone” shot.
The “Holding Our Shit While We’re on the Wacky Worm Again” shot.
The “Washing Windows with Vinegar Which Is ‘Just As Good As Windex But Safer'” shot.
Disclaimer: I can’t write objectively about Dance Gavin Dance and this post is all over the place because I’m like a little kid who just ate three meals of candy.
Before I get into the juicy details of last week’s Dance Gavin Dance show, please indulge me while I explain the sordid history of this band and what it has been like to be a fan: I go through a lot of phases, musically, but my love for Dance Gavin Dance has only gotten stronger over the years. From the moment I first heard them in my car, driving home from Cincinnati in the winter of 2008, I was entranced. I had just randomly downloaded a bunch of their stuff based on their band name and the fact that they were listed on PureVolume as post-hardcore and that is MY FAVORITE GENRE. (The amount of times I have struggled to explain what ‘post-hardcore” means to people at work is hilarious; it’s kind of like the new “wtf is emo?” in that it’s almost impossible for me to put into layman’s terms. Wiki it, I guess? Good luck!) Downtown Battle Mountain is right up there on my Stranded on an Island album list.
This was also, sadly, the start of a 7-year relationship-threatening obsession with their original clean vocalist, Jonny Craig. Thankfully, he’s no longer in DGD, which is great because I hate him now and he could have easily destroyed DGD.
Jonny era:
To this day, I have yet to hear another band that sounds even remotely like them and, in my opinion, they have only gotten better with age. The only time my love for them was strained was after they kicked out Jonny for the first time and replaced him with Kurt Travis for two albums. Look, I LOVE Kurt Travis. But during that time, their screamer Jon Mess had also left the band and his role has always been one of my favorite parts of DGD. (In fact, I think I actually fangirl over Jon more than anyone else in the band.) I only saw them live twice during the Kurt Travis-era, and ironically once was a tour where past, present and future DGD vocalists were all on: Jonny Craig was there with Emarosa, Kurt with DGD, and Tilian was there with Tides of Man. (This was in 2009, and it was also the first time I ever saw Of Mice & Men and then fell in love with Of Machines, who are sadly no longer together.) It just didn’t click with me, though I have much more appreciation for the Kurt albums now than I did then.
Kurt era:
The summer of 2010, they brought Jonny back for a new album and a tour and this was supposed to be their swan song; Jon Mess came back too and it was like the biggest music orgasm for me. I got to see Jonny perform with DGD twice after that and it was like a dream come true, and then they announced that they were going to write another new album with Jonny and it seemed like their future was so bright. Except that Jonny is a forever fuck-up and they ended up having to kick him out again, in the middle of a tour. It seemed like this was it for them for sure. Maybe Jon, Will, and Matt would just make their side project, Secret Band, their priority.
But then they announced that Tilian Pearson, formerly of Tides of Man, would be their new singer. I was on the fence. In 2011, I saw Emarosa with Tilian as an interim singer; Jonny, who was trying to be in Emarosa and DGD at the same time that year, was forced off the Emarosa tour and into detox on the same day as the Pittsburgh show. Tilian’s brother’s band at the time was also on that tour, so I guess that’s how Tilian came into play. Tilian did fine…but he wasn’t Jonny. And this is how I felt the first time I saw him with DGD at the Altar Bar. It felt wrong to me. But you guys, when they eventually recorded new music with Tilian, everything fell into place and I made a statement that I never thought I would say: Tilian is my favorite DGD singer. They just sound so cohesive with him, and he has really gotten more comfortable with performing the old stuff too. All of that said, it has been a really rewarding time to be a DGD fan. I’m Team Tilian, and DGD remains one of my favorite bands of all time.
(Henry is probably reading this and thinking, “Trust me, this is the short version.”)
Tilian era:
ANYWAY! I’m so excited because their second album with Tilian just came out in April and they were here in Pittsburgh last Sunday! I had butterflies in my stomach all weekend and kept shouting, “AREN’T YOU SO EXCITED?!?” in Henry’s face. Surprisingly, he doesn’t hate them like you would expect him to. He admitted a few years ago that he kind of liked them and I just knew it. The Robot With Human Hair Pt 2 was his ringtone for me for awhile, for Christ’s sake! He just doesn’t like being the token Old Man at all of their shows, is all.
Henry was annoyed because instead of sitting in the car and waiting for doors to open, he had to stand in line with all of the kids. To be fair, the average age was probably about 24, but I guess when you’re as old as Henry, even that constitutes as a “kid.” There was this one teenage boy in front of us, though. His name was Collin and I know this because his mom pulled up alongside the line in her mom-wagon and started shouting, “Collin! Collin! COLLIN!” until he dejectedly left the line and walked over to her car with his head down. “I can’t wait to do that shit to Chooch,” I laughed. “Yeah, except you’ll be calling from another part of the line,” Henry mumbled. And this is probably true. Unless he starts listening to crappy bands when he’s older.
I had a tiny container of miniature Altoids, and I tried to get Henry to pretend like they were Grown-Up drugs with me, but he was like, “Don’t be stupid.”
As soon as we got inside Mr. Small’s, I saw Christopher Kim at the Polyphia merch booth and I got so excited! He recently made waves for leaving Jonny Craig’s current band, Slaves, and has been pretty candid on Twitter about how fucked that band is so of course I love him because Team Anyone But Slaves. I was too shy to say anything to him so I took the creepy way out and tweeted about seeing him and then he favorited it so basically, we met.
Henry plied me with Angry Orchard in an attempt to get me to stop talking a mile a minute. I WAS SO EXCITED!!!!
Stolas was the opening band. We saw them last September with Hail the Sun and Icarus the Owl and I loved them immediately. They’re on Will Swan’s label, Blue Swan, and are part of this intricate, technical post-hardcore sub genre that I feel like DGD should take full credit for; they’re the godfathers of this style at this point. I’ve never been a fan of prog-rock in the traditional sense, but when elements of this style is car-crashed with a post-hardcore foundation, it makes me want to start punching faces. Stolas was the perfect way to start this night. My favorite part about them is that some parts of their songs downright sound like incantations. Henry’s review: “No.”
I like to call Henry “bae” sometimes, ironically of course, just to annoy him. But when I’m really giddy, and I was Really Giddy, I apparently called him my ride or die. “Can I choose ‘or die’?” he mumbled, while continuing to look at whatever uninteresting info his phone was showing him.
A band I used to love was playing whilePolyphia was setting up and I played Henry’s favorite game with him, which is “Trying to Get Henry to Guess the Band & Making Him Feel Like Shit When He Fails.” Here are the clues I gave him:
This album is called The Ugly Organ.
Henry hates them.
Tim Kasher is their singer.
His other band is The Good Life.
We saw them at Coachella in 2004.
Saddlecreek.
“My ego’s like my stomach– it keeps shitting what I feed it.”
If you guessed Cursive, then you have one more point than Henry does.
Hail the Sun is amazing. That’s literally the note I wrote myself in my phone. This was my fourth time seeing them and they just keep getting better. We saw their drummer/singer Donovan outside of the venue when we were in line and even Henry knew who he was because HE CAN’T ESCAPE THIS SCENE. Imagine how boring his life would be if he was with a girl who only listened to the radio. Boring, but probably a lot happier and with less headaches, haha. Henry’s review: “*shrugged* It’s too early in the morning for this. You should have been a news reporter.”
The crowd was so much better than at the Circa Survive show earlier in the week. I was basically in love with every one there. Maybe those really were Grown-Up Drugs in my Altoids tin….
The cider also helped.
Polyphia, holy shit. This was my first time seeing them and they blew my fucking mind. Like CHON, they’re also 100% instrumental. The crowd went apeshit over them and I think it says a lot about the talent of a band when they can capture the attention of young people without gimmicks or, you know, a vocalist. Henry did not like them, but that means nothing.
Oh no, tangent: What I love the most about DGD fans is that most of them are music geeks in that they understand and appreciate the technicality involved in DGD’s music. These are the kinds of people who want to meet Will Swan after the show to talk about time signatures and ask him about his pedals. This is why I think that DGD is so fucking underrated. They’ve been unfairly marginalized and stuffed into a generic scene pigeonhole, which is why I think that their fan base remains young. Young people keep their minds open when it comes to music. Granted, there were some people at the show around my age, but it made me wonder: why hasn’t their fan base grown with them? Why do people hit a certain age in their 20s and just abandon what they used to love? I hope that doesn’t happen to me, ever.
DON’T PANIC, I’VE GOT A PLAN:
Tilian can sing any of the Jonny-era songs with motherfucking panache.
I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT ELSE TO SAY! This post is all over the place, just like their music, and just like my brain. One of the things that I miss most about Barb not working at The Law Firm anymore is that I wasn’t able to go to work the next day and vomit all of my feelings onto her desk. She was always so good about patiently listening to me jaw off about DGD! I remember telling her a long time ago that I liked this music because it panders to the dysfunction in my head; it’s what my brain would play if you plopped it on a turntable and put the needle down.
“I just love Jon Mess so much!” I shouted to Henry. “Did you know he’s a genius?” I LOVE REMINDING HENRY OF THAT! I have never loved a screamer so much before.
I didn’t stop moving the entire night and my body spent the next two days reminding me of Sunday’s perfection. I think I smiled all day long on Monday. MONDAY! Come at me, work week; I just saw DGD.
I’m so proud of this band for powering through all of the shit and turmoil and managing to create two beautiful works of art with Tilian. It feels so good to be a DGD fan. One of these days, I’m going to finally get that Robot with Human Hair tattoo. He might be holding a sword-speared strawberry.
Henry’s review: “I’ve heard all of these songs. Many times.”
Chooch decided a while back that he wanted to have a laser tag birthday party, even though none of us have played before. Believe me, I was fine with this because it meant SMALL. As in: FEW KIDS. I’m not sure who was more excited the day of his party: Chooch or me.
Once everyone arrived, our personal party coordinator came in and led us to the laser tag holding cell, where she bumbled through the rules of the game and pretty much had us utterly confused. We split into two teams without hesitation: Awesome Adults vs. Dumb Kids. And then Janna “accidentally” gouged the back of my arm with her stupid laser gun and I was like “Bitch, best count your blessings that we’re on the same damn team.”
But then I noticed that after Henry was done helping all of the kids suit up, he stayed over on their side. “C’mon, Erin. They have to have at least one adult or it won’t be fair!”
Yeah, exactly! Why give them a chance!?
I was instantly nervous about this. Henry and I being on opposing teams means that Super Competitive Extreme Asshole Erin comes out. I was hoping that we could be on the same team so that I wouldn’t have to get stressed out and possibly risk eviction from Laser Storm and/or losing a friend. (I really think this is why my friend Stacey hasn’t come to one of my game nights since 2009. I get real ugly.) So look, I’m competitive in general, but as soon as the competition involves Henry as an opponent, I take it to new levels. Any old friends reading this remember the dreaded New Years Eve Trivial Pursuit debacle that resulted in me flipping over the game board (the table was too heavy to flip) and screaming about how everyone hates me all over some question about Yoshi? And then spending the next year constantly bringing up the fact that not a single person there that night cared enough to stop me from driving home drunk and psychotic?
O MEM’RIES.
My mantra is always, “I don’t care if I lose as long as Henry doesn’t win.” And the sad thing is that he genuinely always wants me to win!
I’m sorry, Henry fans, but as soon as our respective team doors opened to the laser tag arena, Henry went from being my loving life partner/father of my child/all-around Jeeves to motherfucking Bin Laden. I COULDN’T WAIT TO SHOOT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM!
One of the twins was smart and chose my team. She said she didn’t want to be on her sister’s team, and I understood. SHE WANTED TO WIN.
Once we were in the darkened room, a strange combination of panic and adrenaline melted over me and I realized I forgot everything we learned, all of the rules, all of the objectives. But then I remembered that I had but one mission: KILL HENRY. So I put my blinders on to everything but Henry’s dumb head and I shot that motherfucker every single chance I got. I even did the whole run-dive-shoot thing at one point and sincerely hurt my hip but I think my shot hit him so it was obviously worth it.
Oh, and no big deal, but my team won.
Because Henry is a cheap-ass, he only paid for ONE ROUND of laser tag. And apparently one round is only like 15 minutes! (Which apparently is long enough for my hair to stick to my neck with war-sweat.) Luckily, we had the party room for an hour and a half though, so we didn’t have to kick anyone out after the game was over.
Back in the party room, Party Warden passed out everyone’s score cards and I was pleased to see that I at least beat Janna. I don’t think any of the kids so much as glanced at their score cards, but us adults studied and compared ours obsessively for a good ten minutes. Monica was extremely disturbed by the inaccuracy of her score card and I think it came close to ruining her whole day. “Apparently, it doesn’t matter how many times you hit base, because it’s worth ZERO POINTS,” she announced bitterly.
Asshole Henry shot me one time more than I shot him, so that sucked. But the real victory was that Henry was NOT the MVP of the whole entire game—Corey was! SUCK IT, HENRY!
But then Corey kept bragging about being MVP and I was like, “UGH SUCK IT, COREY!”
I took picture this shortly after I burst Corey’s MVP bubble by snapping, “Whatever, at least I can see colors.” #mybrotheriscolorblind
In this picture, you will note Henry’s naturally-sour face looking even more acerbic. Apparently, he had taste-tested the Sierra Mist and was appalled. “IT HAS NO TASTE!” he said repeatedly until people eventually started looking around the room and saying, “Do you hear something? Is someone talking to us? Oh, it’s just Henry.”
He ended up sending back the Sierra Mist because it was “just carbonation.” He was a huge dick about it too. The party warden was like, “Shucks sir, I have no idea what you’re bitching about but sure, I’ll bring you another pitcher if it means you’ll stop twitching your molester ‘stach in my general direction.” That broad could not wait for our 90 minutes to expire.
If Henry had a blog, his version of this day would be all about how he saved the children from imbibing defective soft drinks, spent so much money in order to buy his son’s happiness, and probably some boring anecdote about when he was in THE SERVICE not fighting in a war. Laser tag was probably more dangerous and combative than anything he did while “SERVING.”
Included in the party package was a cake, and it was actually not as disgusting as I imagined it would be. We sang the weirdest version of Happy Birthday to Chooch, and I have no idea who set the tone, but it sounded like a fucking funeral dirge. (See also: Nick Cave singing Gregorian chants to a dead person.) I thought maybe it was just me, but afterward, everyone seemed to mutually agree that it was weird and the party warden looked nervous.
In this picture, Monica is using the calculator on her phone to work out what her actual score was since none of her base hits made it on her score card.
All of the kids got tokens for the game room afterward, and there were a bunch left over so the rest of us practically mauled Henry for some.
Monica was obsessed with this old broad with her nose in a Danielle Steele book who had the audacity to make disgusted scowls at all of the children running around making gleeful sounds. She was sitting so close to the skee ball row that it’s surprising that no one tried to roll one of the balls off her surly, disapproving face.
“Seriously? You expect to be able to read your book peacefully in a LASER TAG ARENA?!” Monica scoffed. “Please take a picture of her,” she whispered to me.
I don’t remember being so terrible at skee ball. I gave the rest of my tokens to some child.
Chris texted me before the party and said that one of the gifts she bought him might be a bit girlish, and should she wait until the other kids weren’t around before giving it to him? I said no, because I’m always up for watching my child being humiliated, but it turned out to be a “yummy crochet” kit and he could barely contain all of the stoked feelings. Chooch mentioned not too long, at dinner with Chris and Monica, that he wanted to learn how to crochet (specifically, the Japanese style of crocheting, amigurumi). Of course, this conversation turned weird, with the suggestion that Chris become possessed by the ghost of Henry’s late grandmother in order to teach Chooch how to crochet.
Hey, if you read the post about Chooch’s actual birthday, then you already know the spoon story. But here it is again, anyway, BECAUSE I LOVE TELLING IT! We had a small family party on Chooch’s real birthday, and by the end of the night, he was exhausted and cranky. Some might say his “inner Erin” was coming out. When he walked past Corey on his way to bed, he stopped and in this totally shitty, sarcastic tone, said, “Oh and thanks for much for the present, Corey.”
“Your mom said I could just bring your present to your laser tag party next week!” Corey cried defensively.
“Whatever, it’s probably just going to be a spoon,” Chooch spat in a spoiled tone. And as he began to walk away, he paused and added, “For me to shove up my ass!” He wasn’t even trying to be funny, but Corey, Janna and I all fucking lost it. It was late, we were slap-happy, and then that happened and it turned into A Thing.
Corey made a note in his phone that just said “Get spoon.”
And oh, he got a spoon, alright. Corey had it tucked in the gift bag with the actual presents he bought Chooch, but I suggested that we take the real presents out and hide them, so it looked like literally all he got Chooch was a spoon.
When Chooch pulled it out of the bag, he was so confused. I couldn’t believe he had forgotten in a week! His cousin Zac said, “Is that for your mom to beat you?” and all of his friends were just like, “Your parties are so weird.” It wasn’t until he read the card that he realized it was from Corey and then it all kind of clicked, so he stormed off to “have words” with him. Total highlight of the party.
The Spoon. It has become something of a phenomenon in our house. We take #spoonselfies now and Henry is making a plaque for it so that when Chooch isn’t toting it around, he’ll have a place to hang it for the night.
In this short video, you can see the tail end of Monica saving my face from acquiring a basketball imprint, laser tag sounds (that’s my dumb voice screaming “OH MY G—-” at the end), and the Unwrapping of the Spoon. I wish I had a video of the super-sad Zoloft commercial happy birthday serenade, but COREY deleted it because he didn’t like how his VOICE sounded! Ugh, the worst!
***
Chooch just strutted past in his underwear and I asked him if he had anything to add while I’m writing this. He said, “Yeah, thanks for the spoon, Corey.” And then as he ascended the staircase to his room, he mumbled, “I love it.”
I still have no idea how we managed to not get kicked out.
The “Forced Hand-Hold On The Way To The Mall, If Only Tiffany Was Performing There To Complete This Picture Of Puppy Love” shot.
