YOU GUYS! I LOVE WARPED TOUR SO MUCH OMG!! But I was pretty stressed when I woke up Wednesday morning. I mean, sure I was stoked as fuck, but this year’s Warped Tour came with a wildcard and its name was Chooch. He was kind of like, “Sure, I guess I’m excited, whatever” every time I would be like, “Boy, get stoked!” So I worried that we were going to get there and he would be like, “This is hell and totally not for me. Take me somewhere quiet and air-conditioned, Henry” and then Henry would be all, “YES THANK YOU! We’ll be back to get you tonight, Erin. Try not to get date-raped.”

Because date-raping is something that happens a lot at Warped Tour.

(Sike. I really don’t think it is. I mean, Nickelback and Papa Roach aren’t in the line up. Ever.)

We arrived at First Niagara Pavilion bright and early (another reason I was worried—Chooch abhors early starts to the day) and trudged along through the parking lot under the blistering sun with hordes of scene kids whose excitement Henry certainly did not mirror. I usually try to keep conversation to a minimum until we get inside the gates, because he is so busy grouchily presiding over the Land of FML. We split up at the entrance so Henry could go get his Parent Pass* and I could donate our bags of canned goods in order to get the “jump the line” wristbands.” This means our kitchen is now empty, haha. But we only had to stand in line for like, 10 minutes as opposed to an hour!

*(I don’t know if that’s what it was really called. Parents got in free this year as long as they had a ticket-holding child under the age of 18; THIS is why I love Warped Tour and Kevin Lyman—he is always thinking of ways to make it a safer experience for the kids. I did not opt for the free pass. I bought my ticket in December, and even if I hadn’t, I love Warped Tour so much that I want them to have my money. It’s worth it to me.)

When I met back up with Henry and Chooch, I noticed that Chooch had that faux-surly look that I know so well plastered on his face. Turns out, his cougar 8th grade girlfriend Courtney was in line in front of them with her friend and dad. OF ALL THE PEOPLE.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Courtney with her rolled-up Sleeping With Sirens poster. Her friend offered Chooch a Pop Tart and I thought he was going to die, reanimate, and then die again. AHHH, GIRLS ARE TALKING TO ME, OMG!!

We breezed right through security, a perk of having a small child in tow—makes us look less like hooligans. They did make Henry dump out Chooch’s water bottle though. You know, in case Chooch had gin up in there.

And then we were in! Henry went off to purchase a $2 schedule while Chooch and I ran for the Vans tent, because the first 200 people who get there and say the magic words (which you would know if you follow Warped Tour on Twitter and Instagram, god!) get free swag. Other merch tents also do shit like this throughout the day, but I never usually participate because I’m too cool.

(See also: too backward, shy, A SHRINKING VIOLET)

While we were standing in line, an old couple cozied up behind us and we became fast friends. (Not hardly.) This wasn’t their first Warped Tour, but they only come for their kids and they actually enjoy hanging out in the Reverse Daycare tent—an air-conditioned area where old folk can rest their weary bones while their kids flail in circle pits and cry over Kellin Quinn’s pretty hair. Once they found out I’m a grown-up, they thought it was weird that I:

• paid for my ticket on purpose
• actually wanted to be there

Still, they seemed like pretty fun people, and by that I mean they were probably drunk by 11AM and I bet they have fucking fantastic BBQs.

Chooch wound up getting a Warped Tour license plate frame thingie, but as he was walking away, the grizzled guy behind the tent called, out, “HEY KID!” and then hurled a black-and-white checkered Vans wallet at his head. Chooch’s face lit up like a goddamn Best Day Ever billboard at night.

Insidious 2 was being heavily promoted at Warped Tour for some reason (a huge advertisement of it was even hanging up at the back of one of the smaller stages). We swung by their tent and all I had to was tag the above picture on Instagram to get free sunglasses. MORE FREE SHIT YAY!! Fuck I love me some Warped Tour action.

I did a quick once-over of the schedule to determine an impromptu game plan. That’s one of the really awesome things about Warped Tour—-they shuffle the line-up daily in order to avoid headlining bands. So, for instance, just because the Used was one of the more mainstream bands, it didn’t necessarily mean that they were going to play last. Or longer. All bands get the same limited stage time. No room for rockstars, y’all.

The first band we stumbled upon was Architects (UK) and I was really feeling it but Chooch had that Heavy Sigh expression on his face. At first, my natural huffiness began to come out, but then I checked myself. It was still the first hour. I didn’t want to either force him to stand there with me or send him off with Henry so soon. My strategy for this day was to not pressure him or make him feel obligated to “enjoy” something that he wasn’t feeling.

I only do that to Henry.

So we walked around and checked out merch and then migrated under the ampitheater where Stick To Your Guns were playing. I LOVED THEM! HENRY HATED THEM! “They’re too political,” he spat. “They should just shut up and play their stupid music.” So Henry stared at his phone while Chooch and I enjoyed the music for a little while before getting up to see what else was going on.

This is worth watching for Henry’s grimace at the end.

I was thinking about it, and even though there are always bands there that I want to see because I’m a scene kid, I feel like even if there wasn’t that one band that made me scream giddily when the line-up is revealed, I would still go. Because Warped Tour is just about the atmosphere and experience as it is the music. There is so much music to discover there! It’s almost overwhelming, really. No matter where you’re standing, you can hear music. And it is the greatest fucking feeling to be buffeted by music ALL DAY LONG. Chooch, smiling, put his hand on his belly at one point and said, “I can feel [the bass] right here!” He gets it, you guys.

In fact, we had paused for a bit in the shade on a hillside, because it was a scorcher that day and Chooch needed to rest. A solo perfomer from the UK called Itch was on the Spotify Stage at the foot of the hill, and Chooch wound up LOVING HIM. I was pretty stoked on him because he was in a wheelchair and from where I was sitting, I kept imagining that he was Artie from Glee. I found out later that he was only temporarily in the wheelchair due to a leg injury. But he was still pretty good and it was like a party on the stage. Some broad even came out to rap and I kept hoping it was Aneesa from the Real World, because I clearly have bad eyes and watch too much stupid TV.

Bottomline, it was really awesome for me to watch Chooch’s own musical tastes blossoming! I HAVE NEVER LOVED BEING A MOM MORE! Man, if you’ve been reading this blog for awhile, or know me IRL, then you know how much music means to me, and to be able to share that with my kid is just the best fucking feeling in the world.

But still, we were only in the first hour of the day, it was fucking hot as Snooki’s temperature during another chlamydia outbreak, and there was the strong possibility of Chooch becoming overstimulated. So, you know…I definitely didn’t want to assume the whole day was going to be a breeze.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Henry is unamused, you guys. Oh, god that frown. His shirt is basically a Litmus test for how fucking incredibly skin-blisteringly, obscenely hot and moist the air was that day.

Henry could have used his Parent Pass to chill in the Reverse Daycare tent at any given moment, but he didn’t. You know why? Because he secretly loves Warped Tour. (And probably also because he didn’t want Chooch and me to get taken.)

Be back later!

Chooch and I bought Henry a rainbow-sprinkled donut on our walk this morning because our new thing is forcing him to eat it while we take pictures. (Perhaps swap out “our” and “we” with “my” and “I.”)

That sonofabitch didn’t even thank us.

In other news, I think all of the walking and exercising is finally wearing me down. I don’t feel very well. :( (But I’m down another pant size! So at least I can wear smaller jeans while feeling like shit. #smart)

P.S. I have a crush on Henry. Again. Ugh! It’s disgusting, I know.

In line for the Yankee Cannonball, I noticed the sign on the ride operator’s podium and started imagining Henry as the ride operator and a line full of Erin Rachelle Kellys distracting him. And with that, I am going to turn this over to Henry and let him tell the tale of what he was feeling in each photo, as I’m sure his thoughts and feelings are riveting. And I’m sure he’ll need some coaxing so this will probably turn into a Q&A session.

Me = italics

Henry = not italics

Asian Man Moustache Ornament.

Waiting in another line to feed the kids again.

Erin: “How much does it annoy you when Chooch and I scream our food orders at you and then leave you to carry everything on your own?”

Henry, muttering: “Oh Jesus Christ. It’s like having two 10-year-olds.”

I believe everyone else was done by the time I got my food.

Erin: “When you were in the SERVICE, did you go to any amusement parks?”

Henry: “Magic Mountain. I don’t recall being anywhere else.”

Erin: “Did you have fun?”

Henry, seriously thinking about it: “Yeah.”

Erin: “What did you wear?”

Henry, appalled: “WHAT? I don’t KNOW. It was like 20* years ago! I’m going to guess jeans and a t-shirt.”

*(Try THIRTY years, buddy.)

Erin: “A TED NUGENT shirt??”

Henry: “No I don’t know what it was.”

Erin: “DID YOU RIDE STUFF?!”

Henry: “Yeah, whatever rides they had back in 1984.”

Erin: “So, you rode rides and had FUN. What happened since then  to make you hate amusement parks then?!”

Henry: “I don’t HATE amusement parks. I just can’t ride rides without getting sick now.”

[Finally. The truth comes out. Henry was molested by another SERVICEMAN on a ride at Magic Mountain and now gets sick every time he goes to an amusement park. How did it take me so long to uncover this?!

I bet it happened on the Tilt-a-Whirl.]

Getting ready to finish Chooch’s food, and also the rest of Erin’s.

Thanks for winning me a Strawberry Shortcake, assholes.

Chooch and I wasting another $5 on rings.

Contemplating finding a bar to go to.

Best time of the day!

Erin: “Did you try to fuck that lady in front of you?”

Henry: “Yes.”

He learned this fancy hand-clasp in PANAMA.

All my minions follow behind.

Erin: “Did the Sky Ride bring back memories of BASIC TRAINING EXERCISES in the SERVICE? Like JUMPING OUT OF A PLANE?!?!”

Henry: “I didn’t jump out of airplanes.”

Erin: “What would it take to get you to ride the Tea Cups? Fill them with FAYGO?”

Henry: You’re so dumb.”

“I have an idea: let’s leave.”

Erin: “Did you have any fun at all? Like on a scale of Sitting in Your Underwear Watching Criminal Minds to Remarrying Your Ex-Wife, how terrible was your day?”

Henry: “I never said I didn’t have fun. Just because I don’t ride anything, doesn’t mean I don’t have fun.”

Erin: “Wow. What an Old Person response.”

Here you will find a series of photos (and one 15-second video) illustrating one Henry J. Robbins indulging in a Twin Kiss twist cone.

In this particular photograph, our hirsute subject is telling this writer that he will not eat his ice cream cone if photographs are going to be taken.

Moments later,  our irascible subject lets his guard down and indulges in a quick, hearty, sexual lick; lives to regret it.

Subject’s son eats his ice cream with wild abandon; ice cream lands on shoulder.

Surly subject squats alone at a table with a seafoam background.

Mustachioed Subject attempts to block his ice cream sucking with one lone blue collar working hand, but everyone knows what’s going on behind the meat-fist.

Temper flaring, subject tries to ruin this writer’s camera with an ice cream cone sucker punch; fails.

Subject gives silent treatment for next 30 minutes, refuses to watch ice cream cone cinematic masterpiece:

Here are six pictures.

Six pictures of Henry.

Six pictures of Henry cutting the grass.

I had to stop because I was afraid he was going to mow over my foot and hello, I’m wearing white crochet TOMS.

It’s tradition for us to go to Kennywood on Father’s Day. I can’t remember how it started. I think Henry randomly heard someone say that it’s one of the least crowded days of the years (all those deadbeat dads don’t wanna leave their couch and beer cases, I guess?) so we went when Chooch was a baby and it was pretty awesome. But for an amusement park like Kennywood, even the supposed “least crowded day” is going to have some lines in which  to wait and count prison tattoos.

Unless you go during a rainstorm!

But we almost didn’t go. It was raining so terribly hard when we woke up on Sunday morning that I almost made the decision to not go (because it is ALWAYS my decision). But deep down, I had a really good feeling that it would turn out to be OK. One of the best Kennywood experiences of my life was back in the late 90s when my friend Lisa and I went on a day that called for thunderstorms — everyone thought we were nuts, but we sure showed THEM. (I think?)

It stopped raining for about two hours before we got to the park, so we were all smug on our drive out there. Of course, rain began to drop in torrents right when Chooch got off the first ride of the day….

 …which was promptly shut down as soon as the ride ended.

I wasn’t about to let the rain get us down, so I led Henry and Chooch toward rides that are under cover, like the Musik Express and the Exterminator, which is kind of like an indoor Crazy Mouse but a million times better and usually has a long wait time.

But once we walked inside the building that houses the Exterminator, we discovered that there were only about 10 people in line in front of us. Smugness reactivated! I have NEVER been able to get on the Exterminator that fast before ever! The downside is that it eliminated the opportunity to get the inherent need for humanity mocking out of my system. But another upside was that we didn’t have to stand in an endless queue under a roof amid sweating Yinzers for an hour – like being in Hell with a lid on and having to endure the otherworldly stench of rotten underpits and nicotine breath.

Speaking of nicotine, the rain took a long enough smoke break to enable Chooch and I to ride the Jack Rabbit — another 0 minute wait in line — but then it started up right after Laura arrived so we took shelter in the arcade, which was coincidentally the first time in my 33 years of visiting Kennywood to ever give a shit about the arcade.

It was still pouring — the kind of rainstorm that comes down so hard it actually hurts — so we figured that would be a good time to eat….under a roof.

“I just spent $30 on food and all I got was a lousy soft pretzel and my dirty kid’s germ-fingered leftovers. And also, this sick Tom Selleck ‘stache. So…priceless, I guess.”

Chooch kept going on and on about wanting to on “God’s Boat Ride,” which was what he was calling Noah’s Ark all day long, without a single pelvic thrust of irony given. It was still raining kookas and albinos by  the time we finished our lunch that rivaled the price of park admission, so for once I was on Team Chooch and agreed that we should run for our lives to the nearest Noah’s Ark post haste. We were halfway there when I finally bothered to notice that Henry wasn’t with us.

“He was still eating,” Laura said in a sad tone, like she couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t notice something so significant as my life partner mid-lunch. But clearly the rain was affecting her tone, because duh — of course I wouldn’t care to notice something like that. Hahahaha. Hahaha. Hahahahah, oh god.

(I have residual Kennywood giddiness and it is ALL I CAN DO NOT TO WRITE THIS ENTIRE THING IN CAPSLOCK OK OMG.)

Noah’s Ark ended up being one of the only rides we stood in line for all day long, I guess because it was still raining at that point and Noah’s Ark screams SHELTER to all of us wet fucks at Kennywood. God, I’m so good at sleuthing.

My favorite part of Noah’s Ark was when they completely changed it from its original glory and made it into one of the crappiest, pointless rides in the park. J/K. My actual favorite part was when I hid behind a corner and scared the hemorrhoided SHIT out of Henry, he was looking in  the opposite direction at the time, making him even more startled, which he will deny but I saw the way his eyes bulged out behind his dumb black-rimmed glasses. That motherfucker be scared.

The best part of Noah’s Ark is the bouncing floor that makes everyone involuntarily twerk, two-by-two. Suck on that, Noah.

Even Henry’s hemorrhoids be twerkin’.

Too bad Chooch isn’t still in CATHOLIC SCHOOL. Maybe they’d let him wear street clothes for a day if he told them he twerked on down in God’s Boat Ride. Until they wiki’d “twerk” and find 40 ways to connect it to the Devil.

There was an old man in our group who only had a stump for a right hand and I prayed a little right there in God’s Floating Church that Chooch wouldn’t notice.

(He thankfully did not notice.)

(I really wish that guy would have been creative with his stump. If you’re not going to strap a bayonette on it, at least draw it a fucking Sharpie face, for Christ’s sake.)

(Christ’s face?)

And then I got REALLY giddy, you guys. We decided to go on the Racer….

OK, I know this going to be really hard to understand, but the Racer is a RACING rollercoaster with TWO TRAINS that RACE EACH OTHER OMG.

Chooch and I ran to the backseat of the red one, and Laura, fearing the outcome of being our opponent, opted to sit in the same train as us. She’s smart.

Henry, however, chose to sit ALONE in the blue train, which made Chooch and me die with evil laughter. You would have thought this was the funniest thing ever, the motherfucking Kings of Comedy tour on the goddamn Racer at Kennywood, with the extent of our Level 10 belly laughs. Everyone around us had undulating “STFU” thought bubbles above their rain-frizzed heads. Henry kept turning around to glare at us.

Then one of the guys working the ride made the mistake of getting on his microphone thingie to ask everyone if they were having fun, and of course Chooch and I were the only motherfuckers who responded obnoxiously.

RIDING ALONE AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Oh shit, we heckled the motherfuck out of Henry the entire way up the inaugural hill. It was the FUNNIEST THING IN THE WORLD to Chooch and me, you guys. HENRY! RIDING ALONE! ON FATHER’S DAY!

DON’T STAND UP, MOTHERFUCKERS.

From the very first hill and on, I proceeded to fake-scream as obnoxiously and blood-curdling as possible.

“My God! You sound like you’re being murdered!” Laura shouted over her shoulder, which of course made me channel my inner Janet Leigh/Jamie Lee Curtis Scream Queen until even the people on the other train were looking around for the source of the nails on chalkboard. Most notably was the older man in the backseat of the blue train. He was riding with his young granddaughter and straight up SCOWLED AT ME when our train whizzed by at the very end, bringing us to sweet, sexy victory.

“YEAH! WE WON! YOU’RE ALL LOSERS!!!” Chooch shouted across me at the assholes on the blue train. We continued our asshole parade all the way off the ride until we met up with Henry near the exit for his side.

“WE EVEN BEAT YOU OFF OF THE RIDE!!!” I screamed, laughing so hard I had to squat to keep from peeing. (This is my signature move. I perform it at work at least thrice weekly. However, I’ve already met my quota today alone.)

Loser Train.

Henry acting like he doesn’t care that he lost, because with family like me and Chooch, he’s clearly a winner.

Walking backward to mock Henry some more.

Then I came across the old man who was scowling at me and realized it was the librarian from my high school and I totally fucking lost it. Oh my god, I was laughing so hard that my breath was caught in my throat. I was such a pain in that man’s ass when I was a teenager, so it was only fitting that I put a aural blemish on three minutes of his Father’s Day all these years later.

Then we rode the Jack Rabbit, another wooden coaster, on which I proceeded to scream like an elderly lady from the 1920’s getting a sexual tickle from a feather.

Henry, as much as it must have pained him, actually cracked a smile during that one, though, if you can try to imagine.

So today is Henry’s birthday! He is 48, which is waaaaay older than me, lest ye forget.  I went the super-personal route and sent him a present via Facebook, which was supposed to be private but instead posted openly for all of his friends to see and the message I included was mildly suggestive about how I still have another present for him IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN so now everyone knows that I bring him fresh corpses to eat.

I mean, now everyone knows that we have sex. 

Anyway! I got him a molecular gastronomy kit, which is sure to collect dust in the kitchen with the unopened cheese-making kit I got him for Christmas. Facebook alerted me the minute he “opened” his present and when he didn’t rejoice immediately, I texted him a sarcastic “You’re welcome.

He responded an hour later with, “Thank you….but what is it?”

DEEP HEAVY SIGHS IN PITTSBURGH.

So I had to explain to him that now he can make the brine of feta cheese into foam dollops, or whip beets into jellied cubes, maybe morph sardines into candied cupcake toppers, perhaps turn castor oil into chocolate, or—I don’t know, what would motherfucking Willy Wonka do!? Jesus Christ, Henry, the item description says that the possibilities are endless if you use the imagination that I know you apparently once had because how else were you able to get into bed with any of your ex-lovers without vomiting into their hairy chest-butts.

The best presents to give are ones that you yourself benefit from. This is why I tend to gift people with frosted humps of birthday joy, because 99%* of people are definitely going to twist my arm into partaking along with them.
I’m really looking forward to getting violently ill from the test tube cheese he concocts in the kitchen.

*(The other 1% are stingy assholes like me who don’t believe in sharing their treats.)

Meanwhile, everyone is leaving him birthday wishes that includes some version of hoping me and Chooch leave him alone. I mean, shit you guys. How insulting! Warranted, but insulting.

I don’t know. You guys are right. Maybe I will just let him sleep tonight instead.

Sike!

Just wait until his 50th. I’m going to make sure this is reenacted, but with a real transvestite:

OMG I was 16, likely “loafing” at the mall (A/K/A stalking Scott Dambaugh) while Henry was getting juicy scabies smeared on his jeans. So sleazy. (I wonder if one of those books on the mantel is his SERVICE YEARBOOK OMG!?)

Maybe I should end this while I’m ahead.

I wanted to visit Speck and Don’s graves on Sunday, but first we had to stop and buy some flowers. The grocery store we went to is right across the street from a mini golf course, so I told Henry to stop there afterward.

And we all know when I tell Henry to do something, he does it.

The best part was that we didn’t tell Chooch we were going to play mini golf, so he was all surprised and doubly-excited when he realized that we were OMG going to do something fun without him having to beg for a fortnight.

Begrudgingly writing in all of my fantastic scores.

Reflections in Scorekeeping.

It’s a wonder I excel at mini golf considering Chooch and I are usually doing pee-squats the whole time from laughing so hard.

Ugh, grossest photo bomb EVER, Henry!!

Henry tried to teach Chooch how to hit a golfball at the driving range, but Chooch kept shrugging him off and doing it his own way. This made Henry throw his arms up.

“You can’t teach him anything! He knows everything!” Henry cried.

“Well, that’s what happens when you’re birthed by a genius,” I said and then I blew on my fingertips in real life.

(I won at mini golf, FYI.)

The next stop was Fallen Timber Pet Cemetery. Visiting Speck and Don, though it still makes me cry, brings me a little bit of peace each time. The gesture of picking out flowers and placing them across their graves heals my heart a little more with every visit and I’m really so glad that we decided to bury them there. I know that Marcy’s days are waning, and I live every day like it’s going to be her last. (In fact, she is going to the vet today and I have been trying every thing in my power to keep myself distracted so I don’t douse the department with the saddest tears to ever fall.)

Chooch picked out Speck’s flowers. They were glittery! I think she would have loved them.

Ouch. :(

Thank god I have a weirdo kid who makes ridiculous faces to cheer me up and says shit like this:

Chooch randomly started talking about the stuffed penguin he “won” at Kennywood.

“You didn’t win it,” I corrected. “You made Janna buy it for you.”

Chooch shrugged. “Same thing.”

On the way home, Henry decided that he wanted to have taco night, so we invited Janna over because tacos taste better when shared. Isn’t that Mexico’s motto? Too bad Henry didn’t even have beans or rice in his taco cafeteria.

“I mean, there’s Chooch’s leftover fried rice,” Henry joked. Motherfucker, don’t joke with me. I’ll eat that shit on my taco.

Fried Rice Taco, DGAF.

It actually wasn’t all that bad, sour cream and all. But I did get a pretty bad stomachache later. I think Henry may have tried to warn me about that but why listen?

Chooch, mocking Henry eating a taco. This made me lose my mind in laughter, which exacerbated Chooch’s dickishness, culminating in him kicking a ball in the house. It landed right in the middle of Lunch Lady Henry’s Taco Buffet, causing Henry’s head to explode. He sent Chooch to his room which is a farce because hello, it’s Henry sending Chooch to his room — ain’t no one shaking in their boots over Henry. When I was still writhing around on the couch in hysterical laughter after this, Henry got all tough guy and tried to send me to my room, too.

So I laughed harder.

Meanwhile, Janna was sitting there with an exasperated expression on her face. She’s just trying to eat a fucking taco, you know?

Being a dickhead.

Then we watched some hockey and I was thinking to myself, “Fuck, Self. This was a really entertaining weekend” and I started to get all sad until I remembered that there was STILL ONE MORE DAY. Thank you, Henry, for being a SERVICE person.

Life is actually pretty great when you quit driving yourself crazy with the whole “WHAT AM I GONNA DO WITH MY LIFE?!!?” panic sessions and just realize, “Wait, why isn’t ‘living it’ a good enough answer?” I don’t know when exactly that clicked, but once I let go of money and “career” obsessions, I suddenly had a lot more room for having fun and enjoying each day that I have with these two weirdos I live with*. I only wish every weekend had three days!

*(Don’t worry, I still cry and whine a lot; I’m not a complete Pollyanna. Something will probably piss me off real soon and then I’ll go back to channeling Hell’s typewriter with my fingertips.

)

Douchebag in Blue

So it seems again I have been asked to recap an event that Erin deems blog worthy. Me, I feel it’s just another day in the life. Chooch decided he wanted a funnel cake ,while Erin and him rode the scrambler I was instructed to get. It seemed easy enough since there was no line, just run up order it and sit down and wait. Ordered it,sat down waited, noticed the tall gentleman in blue at the order window above. He placed his order after me while I was taken the picture ( as instructed to by Erin) waiting for my funnel cake to fry up. I said gentleman in blue, which now is going to turn into tall douchebag in blue as he turned from the order window and went directly to the pickup window and proceeded to grab my just finished funnelcake. My mother who was sitting behind me ,just got the words ” he’s gonna take your funnel……” out of her mouth when he grabbed it turned and almost ran past me before I had a chance to get a word out of my mouth. He was actually walking very briskly almost like he knew what he had done. No big deal, by this time his had come up and was ready for pickup. All I had to do was wait for Chooch to get done, so I set ti down on the bench next to my mother not thinking that it might fall off , it was quite windy that day. Well of course right before Erin and Chooch returned the wind had proceeded to pick it up and throw it on the ground, and blow the plate clean across the park. Didn’t want it to go to waste, I mean it fell behind the bench and just hit the ground for a sec so no harm in eating it and Chooch would have eaten it. So by the time they got the I had devoured almost all of it except for the powdered sugar that was still on the ground. Well of course I had to explain what happened and after all the

” eww how could you eat that off the ground”

and the tears from Chooch , I went and replaced the first funnelcake. Got this one wrapped to go so there would be no accidents. We were now leaving and as always the wacky worm is always rode on the way out. As always I had to use the bathroom and walked right past the wacky worm. When I returned I noticed Erin frantically waving her arms at me. Like I’m supposed to know what that means, it also comes with the

” you asshole can’t you tell what I want”

looks. I noticed too late the douchbag was on the wacky worm directly in front of her.

[EDIT NOTE: I did not edit this for Henry. It’s time for him to spread his wings and fly. Also, the title of this is mine.

Some other things: now I know the TRUE story. Henry made it sound like he was loafing by the pick up window when Tall Douchebag in the Blue Jacket swooped in and snatched it right from under Henry’s nose. I feel less bad now!

Henry was taking a picture of the funnel cake place because I asked him to since Dutch things appeal to me. My phone was dead or I’d have done it myself.

Also, I was gesticulating wildly on the Wacky Worm because I wanted Henry to take a picture of the Douchebag (again, my phone was dead). But since Henry and I fail at Charades, the ball was dropped. Actually, I think he knew exactly what I wanted and just didn’t care. This sounds more accurate.]

Janna took Chooch to Kennywood on Saturday, leaving Henry and me with the ENTIRE DAY TO OURSELVES. This is rare. Sure, we sometimes get a few hours here and there but never an entire day. Don’t get me wrong, I love my kid, but I was SO EXCITED all last week thinking about this day. I had tons of things lined up for us to do! Like going to eight cemeteries and making Henry finally write about the Jonny Craig show from march! It was going to be such a great day!

Except that we did none of those things. Well, that’s not true: I went to my favorite cemetery really early that morning. And that was just as well, because Henry walks too slow.

We dropped Chooch off at Janna’s around 11am and went to Best Buy because I wanted the new Bring Me the Horizon album. “We’re just going in there for that, and nothing else. SO DON’T WANDER OFF!” I barked to Henry as we crossed the parking lot.

“Oh, so this is really Erin’s Day,” he mumbled. After I bought my CD, he started complaining about how all he wanted to do that day was clean out the car so we could go and buy a new one. You know, “grown-up” activities. So then I started pouting and conveniently purse-dialed poor Kaitlin at the exact moment I started arguing with him about how he never wants to do anything and does he ever have fun? Does he even know what fun is?

I can’t tell if he became more accommodating after my bitchy rant because he knew I was right or because he wanted me to STFU.

Don’t answer that.

Then we were going to go to Zenith for lunch but they were closed for a private party. What motherfuckers!! I was transforming into Hunger Hulk by this point, and we continued to drive around aimlessly, listening to BMTH, and finding nowhere to eat even though there are approximately 87 million restaurants in Pittsburgh. And I was having a fight with Yelp on my phone and kept saying, “LET’S JUST FORGET IT!” It was really looking like it was going to be a shitty day. The first hour of it was, anyway.

But then we settled on Pusadee’s Garden, and had a wonderful Thai lunch outside while quietly mocking the pompous asshole at the table next to us who was with a party of 8 but he was the only one talking, like it was Douchebag Monologue Hour, and at one point even stood up and started singing scales. He kind of looked like John Krasinski, which is unfortunate because I like John Krasinski. But his arrogance brought Henry and I together!

Until the d-bag declared loudly his love for his girlfriend for all to hear. Then I quickly went back to hating Henry.

And posted on Facebook that I was hoping Henry choked on curry.

In an effort to get him to participate in talking about my favorite topic—Warped Tour—I let him look at the list of bands that will be there this summer.

“Are you stoked for any of those?” I asked hungrily.

“Nope,” he said, pushing his glasses up and handing me back my phone.

“Not even Chiodos?!” I cried.

“I’ve already seen them,” he explained. I forgot — for Henry, seeing a band once was enough. Unless it’s Judas Priest or Ted Nugent.

Frown it up, Henry.

During lunch, I half-jokingly suggested that we get tattoos next. We’ve been talking for the last couple of years about getting each other’s initials on our ring fingers, but of course something comes up every time we have some extra money. I thought for sure Henry would have started mouthing off a King’s scroll of reasons why we shouldn’t do it that day, but you know what he said?

FINE.

HE SAID FINE.

That’s practically an 8 on Henry’s Enthusiasm Scale!

So we went home and I let him play Candy Crush for a little bit and then I said, “Seriously, are we going to do this?” and then we walked down to the street to a local tattoo shop and on the way there I said, “You know we’re going to get there and they’re going to say no walk-ins” because that is just the sort of luck Henry and I have with pretty much everything in life.

But we got there and told them what we wanted and at first we were going to have come back later but then one of their artists got there early and had time before his next appointment to take us so THERE WAS NO TURNING BACK, HENRY.

“So are you guys getting married or something?” Chris, the tattoo artist, asked as he placed the stencil on my finger.

“Oh please!” I scoffed. “We’ve been together for 12 years and we’re still not married. I even gave him a child!”

Chris was probably thinking, “This is weird because they didn’t even seem like they’re in love” and then Henry made some horrible joke about punching me and I was like, “Don’t worry, this is normal.”

Marriage or not, I can’t imagine not being “Erin & Henry.” Even when I suffer my bipolar lows and tell all of my friends that OMG I’M DUMPING THAT MOTHERFUCKER, everyone just kind of goes along with it because they know I’m full of shit. So I didn’t even hesitate to get his stupid letter permanently etched onto my finger. Even though he’s already thinking of other letters to add to his knuckles in case we break up.

I like that if you put them together, they spell “eh,” which is the definition of our relationship. I opted to get mine shaded in pink, but Henry just went with your basic Caucasian mid-tone skin color.

“Is that Henry’s first tattoo?” Andrea texted me while we were still in the shop.

“No,” I replied. “He has a couple stupid ones from when he was in THE SERVICE” and then we text-laughed together.

I asked Henry if his mom was going to be pissed and he gave me that WTF Are You Talking About smirk. I felt it was a legit question because he’s such a mama’s boy! And then I couldn’t stop picture her yelling at him about it and it was making me laugh so hard. Unfortunately, she saw us the next day and approved. Foiled!

“You know this means we’re engaged now,” I said as we walked home with froyo. (A froyo shop opened up within walking distance of our house! AND THEY HAD LYCHEE FLAVORED YOGURT! I’m so fucked.)

“That’s fine,” Henry said, and then I scrambled to take it back because, hello, I’m not screwing myself out of all the fanfare of a real life proposal! I still want a fucking ring!

What a great day it turned out to be though, for real. It was fun acting like a couple of teenagers. Wait, let me rephrase that: It was fun acting like I always act while Henry actually seemed to maybe have a little bit of the f-word.

(FUN, you guys!)

My favorite part was when Chris told me I have skinny fingers. I was like, “THANK YOU!” because nothing about me has been skinny since I was 22, so even if it’s just a finger, I’ll take it.

Man, I can’t wait for our first fight where I get to shake my finger in his face and scream, “I CAN’T BELIEVE I PAID FOR THIS, YOU ASSHOLE!” and then cut my finger off. That’ll show him!

Henry’s review of the weekend, written entirely in facial expression.

*[This works as alliteration because the k in Knoebel’s is not silent. BAM.]

“STOP IT!”
“PLEASE DON’T GET A TICKET!”
“I DON’T WANT TO DANCE!”
“I FEEL LIKE I’M TEACHING A KID HOW TO DRIVE!”
“TURN IT DOWN!”
“NO I DON’T WANT TO SEE HOW U DRIVE WHEN YOU’RE ALONE!”
“SETTLE DOWN!”
-Things Henry said while I drove us home from dropping off the rental car.

It’s not often that I get to drive the Great Professional Driver anywhere, so I really lived it up. Unfortunately, he doesn’t believe that dancing belongs in moving vehicles. Granted, my dancing is more like a walk through a mental institution, but still. I guess I’ll just have my Pierce the Veil dance party at home with Marcy, then.

—————

We listened to EVERY SINGLE PIERCE THE VEIL album on the 4 hour drive to Knoebel’s and Henry actually didn’t complain (that changed once I did a clandestine disc-change and he realized we were then listening to Dance Gavin Dance) until I started comparing him to Vic Fuentes.

“I wish you were more like Vic,” I sighed. “I bet he’s such a great boyfriend.”

“He’d never be around!” Henry pointed out.

“Yeah, but he would be writing pretty songs about me so it wouldn’t matter,” I reasoned.

But then Henry and I looked at each other and laughed because we both know that if I was Vic’s girlfriend, his darkly romantic songs would take a quick turn to “IFUCKINGHATETHATBITCH” death metal territory.

At Knoebel’s, there is a pavilion that has a roof shaped like a giant cake. One side of it says “Congratulations!”

“Ugh, that makes me think of [“Currents Convulsive*”],” I said dramatically to Henry, kicking at the gravel. “I wish I was listening to it RIGHTNOW.” And then I devoted a few moments to acting like a moody teenager and even said, “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” to Henry, further perpetuating my stereotype. (“Scene kid” in case you forgot.)

*[In real life, I actually just said “That one PTV song” because Henry is too old to know song titles.]

This song has officially gone from making me cry over 2008 to making me reminding how much fun this past weekend was. Another finger removed from its death grip on the past.

What Henry does when he rides the Haunted Mansion alone.

Friends: If you were at a restaurant with Chooch and me, and you realized our waitress was someone with whom you went to high school, would you tell us?

I DIDN’T THINK SO.

(It’s funny when I ask people this in person, their eyes get all big and they say, “Um, NO. God, no.”)

But Henry did just the opposite last Saturday night when we went to Eat n Park after the Pierce the Veil show. Now to be fair, I was hyper because I had just come from a concert and had a few glasses of wine earlier; Chooch was hyper because it was almost 11pm and he was delirious from an evening at his grandma’s cable-free apartment.

“I used to go to high school with her,” Henry said in a hushed tone. “We rode the bus together.” He was referring to our waitress Dawn, who definitely seemed like someone Henry would have “loafed” with (that’s what my dad always says, and I imagine Henry’s generation probably used the same term): super skinny, stringy dishwater blond hair, sunken cheeks, probably a meth addict. She had a really rough voice and called us all “hon,” and stood sideways, looking over her shoulder at us while taking our order. Also, and this is kind of hard to explain, but she had the swagger of a drag king, the way she moved her hips while talking. IT WAS BIZARRE.

So, you know, totally in Henry’s wheelhouse.

I snorted as soon as he told me. I LOVE IT WHEN HENRY BRINGS UP HIS PRE-ERIN LIFE! He gets so pissed when I laugh about his past and he recently yelled, “You act like I didn’t exist before you met me!” But come, did he really exist? Am I not basically his sole purpose for living? He basically won’t tell me anything at all anymore, so it’s surprising that he let this particular little nugget of blackmail slip out.

Then he went up to the salad bar* and I reiterated this to Chooch.

*(“Ew, he went to the salad bar at 11 o’clock at night?!” my co-worker A-ron exclaimed when I was telling him this story last night. Yes, Henry is disgusting and eats old, congealed food from the Eat n Park salad bar after hours. Henry does disgusting things.)

“Chooch, did you hear that? DADDY WENT TO HIGH SCHOOL WITH OUR WAITRESS!!”

“With DAWN!?” Chooch, for whatever reason, had immediately taken to mocking her from the get-go, saying things like, “OK, Dawn” and “Dawn doesn’t know anything!” every time she would walk away from us. He had zero respect for this lady. (Pro Tip: Don’t ever wear a name tag around Chooch.)

“You totally have to tell her!” I encouraged him, and we both started laughing so hard that Chooch literally almost threw up at the table. People were turning around and gawking at us. An entire table of elderly black women in particular gave us very disapproving Church lady scowls.  Henry returned to two children completely turned inside out with giddiness and looked utterly apprehensive.

“What?” he asked. “WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

“Nothing!” I squealed, tears streaming down my face from all of the laughs.

“I’m telling Dawn that you went to school with her!” Chooch blurted out, cracking up all over again.

“I don’t care!” Henry spat defiantly, digging into his nasty Saturday night salad to mask the nervous twitch his moustache had acquired.

But you know he totally cared. He REALLY did not want this conversation to happen. Too bad Chooch was chomping at the bit to unleash this cannon of intel. Dawn came back with our check (I mean, at least this happened toward the end of dinner, right Henry?) and Chooch nearly gave up the ghost in his attempt to scream out, “YOU USED TO RIDE THE KIDDIE BUS WITH HIM!!!” while lunging across the table and pointing furiously at Henry.

Dawn seemed confused. Nay — Dawn seemed perplexed. She laughed nervously and asked, “What?”

Chooch was laughing so hard, the same deep-throated giggles that I too employ, that I had to explain to her what was going on.

She gave Henry a scrutinizing once-over and then said, “I’m so sorry hon, but I don’t remember….”

HAHAHA SHE DIDN’T EVEN REMEMBER HIM, BEST FUCKING NIGHT EVER!

So then Henry had to explain to her who he was and I’m pretty sure she was just pretending to recognize him at that point to get us out of her section.

“I mean, it was 30 years ago,” Henry rationalized for Dawn’s inability to remember the forgettable doof in the bitchin’ Adidas shirt and tinted glasses, which only made it better for me — THIRTY YEARS, HAHAHA!

“Have a nice night, DAWN,” Chooch seethed in faux-annoyance as we were getting ready to leave (Henry had already left us at the table, that’s how embarrassed we were apparently making him) and I had to SQUAT DOWN to keep from peeing.

“You two are fucking idiots,” Henry sighed tersely, shrugging away from us when we caught up with him at the register while he waited to pay.

And then this happened before we even left the parking lot:

My favorite part is when Chooch calls Dawn an asshole and it sounds like Henry is about to get all TOUGH PAPA on him, but then all he says is “Shut the door” for the third time. He was REALLY all about having the door shut.

(Side note: I rarely post videos of myself because when I get giddy—and I am often giddy—I wind up sounding like Bobcat Goldthwait and ain’t nobody got time for that.)

Shit, Chooch and I rode the Dawn horse all day Sunday (“Remember DAWN!?” we would ask Henry and then collapse in happy laughter); I came to work yesterday and told the story to anyone who would listen to me (some people walked away). Glenn asked me if Henry drinks a lot and I have NO IDEA what kind of question that is.

So, I think it’s safe to say that we will probably never go back to that Eat n Park.

I was pretty annoyed about Saturday night’s Pierce the Veil concert for several reasons:

• it was at an outside concert venue and somewhere around 35 degrees that night (fahrenheit!)
• there was a PIRATES game happening at the same time so every single bar we tried to go to was full of drunk sports fans — my least favorite type of drunks. (And no, I don’t even hate the Pirates.)
• they were co-headlining with All Time Low, so there were HORDES of scene kids wrapped entirely around the building, waiting to get in. PTV can sell-out their own shows, but All Time Low has a massive following, so this really made it more of a mob scene than usual and Henry was all, “OH HELL NO I AIN’T STANDING IN THAT.”

I was so angry that I had a momentary rage-out on the sidewalk across from Stage AE where I declared, “WE SHOULD JUST SELL THESE TICKETS BECAUSE I AM SO PISSED OFF RIGHT NOW!” and then I proceeded to lament the days where I could go watch PTV play at a fucking skate park with 100 other kids and no one fucked with me and I didn’t have to stand in a line. Henry’s eyes lit up — that motherfucker would have had no problem scalping those tickets and then I’d have had to scalp HIM.  So I quickly changed my tune and protectively patted the tickets in my purse.

We roamed around for about 45 minutes before finally snagging seats at the cigar bar inside Pittsburgh Sports Bar (what an inventive name).  It ended up being super awesome though because some other (slightly) elder PTV fans were in there killing time, too (I think I called them my brethren and Henry made fun of me), and our bartender was awesome and let me gush about how much I love PTV.

Yes, I realize she was just doing her job, but hello — it was nice to gush about it without getting a patronizing smirk in response!

I know you’re thinking that the main point of this post is the actual concert but you are wrong.

It was around 7PM and the line into the venue had dwindled down to a bare minimum so we paid our tab and went outside. We reached the crosswalk at the same time as two scene girls also en route to the show, but traffic was NOT halting for us. I stood closer to the two girls because that is usually what I do when in a crowd so people don’t immediately think I’m there with my father.  The three of us kept gingerly toeing the street and then fearfully jumping back on the curb when it became clear that the cars were not going to brake for us even though we had the right of way.

Finally, Henry threw his hands up in  the air  and, with a  “Fuck this” he stepped RIGHT INTO ONCOMING TRAFFIC and made those motherfuckers stop for him. Literally, moving vehicles came screeching to a halt just because some asshole in a blue flannel had the audacity to step out in front of them like motherfucking Moses.

“HOL-Y SHIT!” one of the scene girls cried as we scrambled to catch up to him before the cars started moving again. “THAT MAN IS HARDCORE!”

“LOOK AT THAT GUY! ZERO FUCKS GIVEN!” the other girl yelled in awe.

“THAT MAN DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK! HE JUST WALKED RIGHT IN FRONT OF THOSE CARS!”

You guys. This was Henry they were talking about. MY Henry. I fucking lost it and almost peed my pants right in the middle of the crosswalk.

I mean, it still wasn’t enough for me to publicly hold his hand, but it was pretty fucking hilarious to hear these young girls gush about his supposed bravery. He was so close to becoming an Internet meme.

That was definitely the greatest one minute of Henry’s life. Or would have been, if he had any idea this was going on behind him.

————

And here are some photos from the show, yay!

You Me At Six is from England and SO FUCKING HOT. That is all. I pointed out that the singer reminded me of some guy I know in real life that I have a crush on and Henry said, “Yeah but [blah blah] doesn’t have a British accent.”

“He doesn’t need to!” I snapped. God, you’d think Henry would have figured out my crush-criteria by now.

Henry actually loves PTV shows.

No one got on my nerves. Well, there was this one instance where some mom in front of me kept yammering on about how she was the best mom ever for bringing her teenage daughter, and I was like, “OMFG WE GET IT, GO GET ANOTHER DOLPHIN TATTOO” and then finally her daughter looked at her and said, “SHHHHH. VIC’S SINGING!” Yeah, fuck you, Mom! God, it was during an acoustic song, even.

What a fucking dummy.

It was winter-temps and I did not wear socks with my TOMS, but I had legwarmers on at least. (Did not help.)

Yawning during Mayday Parade, who covered that horrid Gotye song but actually made it sound good, and then VIC CAME OUT AND SANG THE KIMBRA PART so I was super happy — I would listen to THAT version, anyday. Thank you.

When the Pierce the Veil banner dropped, I squealed along with all of the other kids. Henry did too but his was a little bit sarcastic, I guess.

Um, I won’t go into detail because it’s the same as always and you don’t want to read the pages of my teenager diary anyway, but: Pierce the Veil came out, they played, I cried. Thank god for night’s like these.