We’ll be spending the day driving home from Lancaster and then watching The Walking Dead. I hope whatever you do today, it’s delightful!

Just don’t eat too many jellybeans. It might seem delightful in the moment, but nope. Don’t do it, my little bunnies.  

For a day that’s supposed to be steeped in calendar-dictated synthetic love and bacon-flavored sentiments on beds of rose petals (isn’t that what you young couples do these days? Wrap everything in bacon?), my house was popping off with explosive attitudes and screeching histrionics. I was still half-sick and miserable; Chooch was code orange whiny—and if we’re being frank, probably feeding off of my irritability;  and Henry was just tired of taking the brunt of it.

So, no gluten-free, lavender-infused, edible-gold-sprinkled, heart-shaped Pinterest-approved pancakes for us. :(

It was starting to look like Chooch and I weren’t going to the Never Shout Never shout that night after all. My only saving grace was that he hated me slightly less than Henry.

(Henry committed some heinous slight against him that evening, didn’t make him a King’s banquet for dinner, and then when Chooch whined about wanting more, different food, Henry started yelling about how he’s not a restaurant and he’s tired of making separate meals for everyone and then I got involved by yelling, “Well fuck me for being ethically against eating meat!” and the night just went south from there because it’s all about Henry. Henry Henry Henry!)

The only thing we had in common with Valentines Day was the color red we were all seeing.

But we managed to compose ourselves and push in our devil horns long enough to get in the car and have our chauffeur drive us to Mr. Small’s, where we were magically transformed into MOTHERFUCKING SWEETHEARTS.

This could only mean one thing.

HENRY is the catalyst. Henry, you reactant! Henry, you motherfucker. 

As soon as Chooch and I walked into Mr. Small’s, one of the guys from the opening band, Waterparks, interrupted his conversation with some young fan girl to say to Chooch, “Hey, I like your hair!” Chooch just casually shrugged, like, “Yeah, of course you do.”

Duh.

I wish I was more like Chooch. Instead of cooly brisking past, I was choking on my tongue in an attempt to thank the kind boy on Chooch’s behalf.

We purposely arrived two hours after doors. I rarely miss the opening bands, and I think it’s so important to support them, especially the ones that are local. But I have to consider that my nine-year-old has a low threshold for standing in one room. So, we missed Waterparks and Get the Picture (sorry, guys) but arrived just in time for JuleVera, whom I was really looking forward to after missing them at Warped Tour due to conflicting set times.

Their singer Ansley is only 18 years old. So young! And as soon as she started singing, Chooch looked at me with ruddy cheeks and this big goofy grin that I recognized as his I’M IN LUFFFFFFF AND CANT FIGHT IT HELP I’M DYING face of anguish.

“We have to go to their merch table after they’re done!” he hissed.

Guys, I didn’t expect to like them as much as I did, but they sounded great, and any young band that can spend three minutes between songs doing a drum and guitar solo without coming off as douchey or losing the interest of the crowd has genuine talent.

Chooch declared that this is his new favorite band and I’ll co-sign that.

As soon as their last song ended, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me over to their merch table, quickly, before the line gets too long!

Sadly, most people there were more interested in the dregs of the music scene, namely Metro Station who were up next. So not many people rushed to the merch tables.

I was super proud when Chooch passed up the row of CDs and pointed to the vinyl, which I happily purchased for him. CHOOCH IS AMAZING. THE NIGHT IS AMAZING. EVERYTHING IS AMAZING WHEN HENRY ISNT THERE!

Lol sike. But seriously, Chooch and I generally get along much better when. Henry isn’t in the temperament equation.

Right after I paid the top-knotted merch girl for the record, Ansley walked over. Begin obligatory awkward transmission of the night.

She seemed shy, he was definitely shy, and I was shoe-horned into an uncomfortable position of being Son’s Mouthpiece. So I quickly said it was our first time seeing them.

“Oh cool! Did you like it?” she asked Chooch directly.

“#^*^^+£[#^@&$” he gurgled with a nod. Then I quickly took their picture and whisked him away before we could fall any further into social peril.

LOOK HOW RED HIS CHEEKS ARE!

We went back into the main area afterward and scored a decent spot in a sparsely populated area by the bar barrier, and I was thankful to sit down on the floor with my back against a wall, because I had the day-after-food-poisoning weakness. Chooch smiled deliriously at his record for awhile and then eventually, Metro Station came on.

I try really hard not to flat out hate a band, but my feelings for Metro Station come very close to simulating bricks of ultra-negativity being hurled through glass walls. OK I hate them. They were pretty popular in what, 2007 or something? Because Miley Cyrus’s brother is in it? And they had one catchy song called “Shake” that made all the Radio Disney kids feel like rebels for listening to what they were told was “punk” music?

Then they went away and it was wonderful! Five Metro Stationless years!

And now they’re back. And disgusting. Honestly, they sound like mediocre karaoke at the corner bar. But they have BRIGHT STAGE LIGHTS  and TRACE CYRUS!

That’s MILEY’S BROTHER Y’ALL.

He took his shirt off at one point and all the girls screamed their panties right off their bodies and onto the stage, and I was just left standing there in a stupor, like “Ew, why?”

And when they lovingly name-dropped their homeboys in Attila and Falling In Reverse, I was ready to go home and start my own Pittsburgh chapter of Girls Against Misogynistic Bands.

Get the fuck out of my face with your Ronnie Radke shout-outs.

Total lowpoint of the night. And they didn’t really match the vibe of Never Shout Never anyway, so why. Even Chooch was cringing.

Turnover playing over the sound system while Metro Station’s fecal residue was being scrubbed off the stage. I actually cried out, “Ooh, it’s Turnover!” and I doubt anyone cared.  Chooch definitely didn’t.

The singer of dumb Metro Station walked past us and I was really angry to note that he had a CURE PATCH on the back of his dumb black denim shirt. Robert Smith’s face does not belong on such filth.

Never Shout Never took the stage at 10 and the night vastly improved. Chooch’s excitement was contagious. Every time Christofer would describe the next song, Chooch would quickly shout out what it was going to be and he was so happy the one time that I got it wrong, because he’s Mini Erin, and that’s something I too would gloat about.

At one point, Chris mentioned that he had been eating “marijuana-infused honey from Denver” all day, and what he really needed right then was a cup of red wine, half wine half gingerale, and someone should be awesome and get that for him. Chooch was like, “MOMMY! DO IT!!!” I mean, we were standing right on the other side of the bar so I could have easily turned around and snapped my fingers, but I figured 20 other broads were well on their way back to the stage with his wine…

Also, I’m such a great mom for exposing my 4th grader to this shit.

After another song, Chris said, “So…where’s that wine?” because no one had actually gone through with it so then I was like OMG SHOULD I BE THE ONE!? SHOULD I DO IT!? but by the time my mind worked out 87 different variations of how this scene could play out, some dude had climbed onto the stage and handed him a cup, courtesy of some chick who is probably still Snapchatting about her 10 seconds of recognition.

It would have been pretty hilarious to send Chooch up with it, though.

Ugh. Missed opportunity!

Anyway, they played one of my favorites, “On the Brightside” and I was so glad!

And Chooch kept screaming “Red Balloon!” and then when they finally played it, he smirked at me, like “See what I did?” Sure Chooch, whatever. He was stoked when a menagerie of balloons was released from a net in the balcony. Kids and balloons, amirite?

We moved closer toward the end of the show, once I was confident that I could stand without leaning back on something sturdy and we realized that there was an empty pocket near the left side of the stage.

Being there made me think of all the shows I’ve seen in that place, and how fucking fantastic it is that now Chooch is seeing shows at this exact same venue. This night was pure magic. (With the exception of Metro Station, ugh! That part was fucking voodoo.)

I left Chooch alone during the encore so I could buy him a shirt before the merch table was swarmed with people. The merch guy told me that Chris wasn’t going to be coming out after, and that he already had done a meet and greet before the show, so part of me was sad for Chooch, but super stoked for myself because all I could think about was RESTING MY WEARY BONES IN MY BED.

“Oh well, at least I’ve already met him once,” Chooch shrugged, content with his JuleVera experience and just an overall night of beautiful music (and 30 minutes of garbage cacophony).
  

***

On the way home from the show, I was angrily retelling the horror story of Metro Station to Henry.

“One of their songs was literally just them yelling ‘she likes girls girls girls,'” I seethed.

“Oh, I thought they were saying ghosts. ‘She likes ghosts ghosts ghosts….'” Chooch piped up from the backseat.

You’re giving them way too much credit, buddy.

You know how some people can be together for a decade+ and still want to swathe themselves in sequins and put on matching UNDERGARMENTS for Valentines Day? Henry and I are not that couple. In fact, I can’t remember the last time Henry wore sequins. :( So I don’t even stress over February 14th anymore. Especially after I baked him a cake one year and painted him an adorable ode to our polarizing feelings on music festivals, and he never does anything for me. NOT BITTER. Not even a little bit.

This year, my Valentine is Chooch, and we’re spending it with Never Shout Never at Mr. Small’s.

But then yesterday, Chooch ended up having his own pre-Valentines play date, so Henry was like, “Well, do you want to go to dinner or something?” SUCH ROMANCE!!

I decided that since this was the best he was going to do in the Valentine department, that we should go to Zenith since it’s my favorite and he never wants to go because he has it in his head that it’s a breeding ground for “pale, peaked* vegan hipsters.”

*(Pee-kid, not peeked—don’t get it twisted!)

His exact words. I have rarely encountered this human subset at Zenith, but full disclosure — I’ve never been there for their Sunday brunch so for all I know, that’s when all the vampire-complected Bon Iver fans come out to play, half-decapitated on their infinity scarves.

It’s almost as though I majored in Stereotyping.

We got there sometime after 5 because we’re nearly at earl-bird status, and I was smug to point out that there were only three other tables of patrons there, and none of them were boasting any offensive air of pretension about them.

One Man, Four Cups.

I’m not a big tea-drinker, but one of the things I always have to do at Zenith is order from their extensive tea menu. It’s part of the process! Kara will tell you. She knows. If I had spent half the time studying textbooks as I do that fucking tea menu…well, I’d still be in the same position I’m in now. Never mind. I forgot that I didn’t get far in life because of a different kind of stupidity. Hahahaha. Oh god.

I was torn between the Earl Grey Lavender and Maple Vanilla, so I asked the waitress for her opinion. She got all stressed out and called over to the proprietor, Elaine, for help.

“I don’t do anything lavender,” Elaine brusquely called over, scrunching up her nose. “So yeah, Maple Vanilla.” Elaine is my homegirl so I went with her choice, and it was a smart one because I’m currently chugging my Sunday morning coffee and crying that there’s no maple.

Elaine brought the pot over to our table. “Now, don’t pour this right away,” she said. “I mean it! I tell people all the time that it’s not ready, and then I go back in the kitchen and I can SEE them pouring it! I’m like, it’s gonna taste like crap!” God, I fucking love her.

OMG it’s a salad. You’ve never seen a salad before. Henry had to finish mine because I’m really picky with salads.

“Look at those lamps back there,” Henry casually pointed out, and I gave myself whiplash in my attempt to beat all of the invisible people around us in a race to see it first. Up in the corner, there were two majestic holy lamps dangling like carrots, begging me to buy them.

“YOU HAVE TO ASK HOW MUCH THEY ARE!” I cried, to which Henry responded with his patented “get real” smirk. I mean, why else would he point these out to me if he didn’t secretly desire to furnish our home with them!?

“I bet they’re $100 a piece,” he quietly guessed, before stabbing the rest of my salad with his fork.

“Well, you could be wrong!” I frantically said. “I thought that our wheelchair was going to be $500 and it was only $40!”

“Why would you think that wheelchair was FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS?” Henry asked in disbelief. Because I’m an idiot, OK? Is that what you want to hear?! The value of the dollar confuses me.

Meanwhile, on Facebook, Kara was 100% encouraging this purchase. It’s a wonder that Henry hasn’t tried to get me to stop being friends with Kara yet. (Jokes: No man controls my life.)

Our waitress reported back that the lamps were $80 for one, $150 for the pair. Henry thanked her and kept shoveling food in his mouth without giving me a definitive answer and I was losing my mind.

I was annoyed that Henry ordered the Moroccan stew, because that’s what I ordered and I wanted him to get the seitan so we could share. He’s so fucking selfish. He apparently didn’t “feel like seitan and asparagus” on this night. At least he ordered a different kind of vegan cake though, so we could share the chocolate blueberry and strawberry almond. Seriously, there are times when I consider stopping by just for tea and cake. Their actual food is always good, but those cakes. Those goddamn cakes.

Maybe I should have my birthday party there this year.

Meanwhile, guess whose puppy-dog eyes won the war of the majestic holy lamps!? I think once I cried, “IT CAN BE THE FIRST FUCKING VALENTINES DAY PRESENT YOU’VE GIVEN ME IN 10 YEARS,” he was overcome with guilt and decided that $80 was a small price to pay for an evening free of me pouting, slamming doors, and breaking glass objects.

So this guy came out with his ladder and Henry was all upset  because he didn’t want the man to have to do this during dinner hours and kept saying, “I’ll just tell him we can come back for it” but I was like, “You shut your face, he looks very happy to be shoving tables out of the way and untangling wires.”

(He kind of didn’t.)

But I needed to leave with that lamp that night. I had already imprinted with it.

“Where the fuck are we even going to put this?” Henry asked, the regret of pointing the lamps out in the first place rising up in his eyes like mercury in a thermometer.

“In our bedroom, duh.” It’ll be the perfect complement to the crucifix collection I’m starting on the wall behind our bed. Sometimes he just doesn’t think.

Here’s Henry acting like a Big Help by doing nothing more than standing with arms akimbo.

“Now you screwed us all up!” Elaine joked, standing by the kitchen door as Henry walked back to the table with one of the lamps. Now they had to find another lamp for that corner. But that’s what happens when everything in your restaurant is for sale, I guess! Anyway, they said it’s from Woolslayer in Bloomfield, whatever that means.

My favorite part of Zenith has always been the post-meal store perusing. This was way less fun with Henry. He wouldn’t try any of the vintage dresses on for me like Kara does. :(

On again, off again.

I don’t think there has ever been a time I visited Zenith and left without taking a picture in this bathroom.

There were other things that I wanted to buy but Henry had that steely look of DON’T EVEN etched all along his weathered face, so I just figured that I’ll wait for the next time I’m there with Kara.

“You should have bought them both,” I said on the way home, knowing as soon as the words came out of my mouth that it was going to stir the pot in a big way.

“You’re never happy!” Henry cried. “You get one, you want two. If you got two, you’d want three!”

He’s not wrong.

****

I started writing this post last night, but then I was interrupted by an evening of violent vomiting. Henry thinks it was food poisoning since I woke up feeling fine; not food poisoning from Zenith though, because we both ate the same things. “It’s probably whatever you had for lunch,” he suggested with a tinge of accusation in his tone. This is a strong possibility, considering I made my own lunch and god only knows what goes on when I step into a kitchen.

However, what I think actually happened is that I brought something home with that lamp, some type of holy spirit, and it literally was exorcising me last night. Thank you, lamp. I feel less demonic than usual today.

HELLO FROM 2016! I hope everyone had a wonderful and safe New Year’s Eve! Ours was low-key because I just can’t care about this particular holiday and usually I wind up with some awful end-of-the-year stomach bug so I associate NYE with toilet-hugging along with pretty much everyone else, except that I don’t have any amazing party stories to tell afterward.  Luckily, I wasn’t sick for this one, so Janna came over. The night before, she asked me what she could bring and I said “Your sports bra, because we’re going to be kpopping.” She was like “Lol OK” and I was like BUT I’M SERIOUS?!

Anyway, we watched the Pens game (we won!) and then, true to my word, I made her and Chooch do some of my favorite KpopX routines.

Henry yelling at Chooch.

Chooch making the face I hate.

Um…then we watched our least favorite YouTuber Gracie (of #cookiepizza fame) open her Christmas presents, which she would then fling to the side because she is a fucking spoiled brat. Seriously, I just can’t with that family. I mean, I’m sure I would have a gigantic head too if toy companies were just sending me boxes of things for no reason other than I somehow have amassed 500,000 YouTube subscribers for WHAT?

I’m not sure I would ever be comfortable with that.

Then we had animal mask fun!
  

I had to make Henry disinfect all of the masks first because Chooch and some of the neighbor kids have been wearing them and no just no.

It was a nice, casual, stress-free way to end a year that I didn’t hate. In fact, if Marcy hadn’t died in 2015, I might have actually been able to say that it was an almost-perfect year. But, as it is, 2015 will forever be branded in my mind as The Year We Lost Marcy. I’ll never get over it, and that’s OK.

Let’s focus on the good!

• Wendy had a baby!!
• SO.MANY.SHOWS. I promised myself that if I ever got to go back to working normal, daylight hours, I would make up for lost time by going to as many shows as possible. There were a lot that I went to this past year that I was only moderately interested in, but I still went because I COULD. What a liberating feeling. And there were many that I went to alone, which an older version of me never would have considered. But let me share with you a story of DELUXE REGRET that forever changed how I feel about saying, “I’ll just go see them next time.” It was the year 2012 and there was a little singer known as THE WEEKND who I was apeshit crazy for. He was playing a show at Mr. Small’s on a Monday night, but it was a late show and Henry didn’t want to go. The idea of going alone never occurred to me, so I passed on it, figuring I would catch him the next time he was in town. You probably know that The Weeknd practically blew up sometime after that and never again will I have the chance to see him perform in a small venue like Mr. Small’s. I blew it. So yeah, out of all the shows I went to in 2015, I think about 7 of them I went to alone. No regrets.
  • Off the top of my head, my favorites were the Kurt Travis house show, Emarosa acoustic, RIOT FEST.
    • Seriously, I will never be able to explain how many feels I have for Riot Fest. MY HEART IS IN CHICAGO.
• Our summer vacation and finally meeting Octavia!
• CHRONICA2015!!!
• Taking these pictures of Henry & Chooch. <3
• Reconnecting with my old friend Alisha, even though she lives in Arkansas now. :(
• Memorializing Marcy with friends and in ink. I’ll miss her forever, but these two things helped a lot.
• Oh my god, this whole entire thing with Bradley of Emarosa. I still think about it and get all flustered. This band is my everything.

I don’t really have any resolutions for 2016, but I do know that I would like things to continue moving along as they have been. I plan to fill 2016 with more music, more parties, and more poorly-planned vacations with my BAES, Henry and Chooch. I just want to have fun, become a KpopX instructor, and be happy. AND I HOPE THAT YOU WILL HAVE FUN AND BE HAPPY TOO! (Becoming a KpopX instructor is optional.)

Oh, and I want to go to Bledfest. Henry promised. That was my Xmas present: a promise for Bledfest.

Chooch got his main present before Christmas (that bed thing), and while he was over the moon* about it, I was still worried about actual Christmas Day, in terms of “shit for him to open.”

*(Oh my god, what an old lady thing to say.)

He still had one more decent present left (a TV for his room), and several little things like CDs, a Five Nights At Freddy’s backpack from Hot Topic, and a Bluetooth speaker so that he can listen to Spotify in his room. So like, not super junky presents by any means, but I would have been breaking the good China over my mom’s face if there were any less than 30 gifts under the tree for me when I was a kid.

I WAS SPOILED, OK? I’m (mostly) reformed now so I have no problem admitting this.

Creepy-ass face, ugh.

But shit, you guys. Turns out my kid is actually pretty grateful. He seemed extremely appreciative of all the stuff, even the lame crap Henry picked out, and didn’t once peer under Trudy’s sweater and spit, “IS THAT ALL!?”

Not that I ever did that.

My family’s Christmas tree didn’t wear a sweater.

I’m not going to lie, I was really excited for him to open one present in particular:

I couldn’t resist wrapping up Doll! However, children are now born with a firm grasp on Reverse Psychology, so he has been acting like he and Doll are BFFs lately, but that will not deter me. I know deep down, he is still sickened by her charred face.

As evidenced when he tossed his backpack on top of her a few minutes later and mumbled, “I can’t look at your face anymore, Doll.” So the new plan is to stall my mission for a little bit until he starts to forget, and then BAM.

DOLL STRIKES AGAIN.

Thank god he has a good sense of humor, because he was just as excited to read the gift tags as he was opening the actual present. Since he doesn’t believe in Santa anymore, I get great joy out of making up random people for the “from” part of the gift tags.

It’s always an inside joke, too, and he thinks it’s so hilarious.

(OK SO DO I.)

For example, his TV was from Paul Eugene, the gospel aerobics instructor. And Donna gifted him Doll. He even got something from NHL player Shane Doan, an inside joke we share from the first hockey game I took Chooch to last year. Henry kept saying he didn’t get it and Chooch and I were like, “NO SHIT BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T THERE.” God, go back to ‘Nam, Henry.

Circa Survive, ya’ll. My kid has good taste in music.

In his stocking, he got a ticket for the Never Shout Never show on Valentine’s Day and several scratch offs, on which he won $30 — I never win on scratch offs!  Chooch is a huge lottery fanatic, so he was definitely not hating this Christmas.

Then Henry set up his TV, which comes with Roku, so basically we never see him anymore.

I honestly didn’t even know what else to get him, anyway. He’s at that weird age where he doesn’t play with toys anymore (RIP Imaginex sets) and I didn’t even see any board games that looked exciting when we were at Target. (And by “exciting” I mean “something that I could play without losing my temper”.)

“All I need is love,” Chooch said in a perfect Shirley Temple, and we all started cracking the fuck up.

Later on in the evening, we went to my dad’s house. Henry brought a carrot pecan pie he had baked that day and I brought a bottle of spiced wine. My dad and brothers had already eaten, so Henry and I just kind of sat there with growling stomachs, uncomfortably watching an Impractical Jokers marathon with my dad and brother Ryan.

Until Corey came barreling down the steps and asked, “IS THIS THE PIE!?” And then thankfully declared he was having a piece so then I had a piece too and it was better than any pumpkin or sweet potato pie I’ve ever had, tell that to that guy who thinks Patti Labelle’s shitty Walmart sweet potato pie is the greatest.

Because it ain’t got SHIT on Henry’s carrot pie, bitches.

Go cry to your mama about it.

Anyway, yes, that is how awkward and not-belonging I feel in my own dad’s house, that I don’t even feel like I can help myself to my own pie without Corey doing it first.

I guess when you only see your dad once or twice a year, that’s just how it goes.

Some visits are way better than others though, and we’ll tell stories and crack up. But this time, it just felt off and only reenforced my stigma of not being welcome anywhere.

It was hard not to think that this was the fifth anniversary of the last fight I had with my mom, the fight on Christmas that turned into 5 years of not speaking.

Five years and counting.

I try to be positive and enjoy the time I have with Henry and Chooch, but sometimes I just can’t help but wish I had a family that wanted to see me on Christmas.

Meanwhile, my dad had just noticed for the first time that I have tattoos on my fingers (five years later) and made some almost silent grunt of disapproval, but don’t worry — I caught it! About the time he started talking politics is when I started gathering my stuff to leave.

“What do you think about Trump? Oh, don’t tell me you’re voting for HILLARY!?”

NOPE, NOT DOING THIS ON XMAS.

Man, I love my dad but sometimes the vibe in his house is just really tense. I had a feeling he was stressed out about other things, and maybe OPENING THAT BOTTLE OF WINE would have helped, but I figured our 90-minute visit was toeing the line of overstaying our welcome, so we peaced out and went to Denny’s for dinner.

On the way inside, we passed a man leaving with an armful of take-out bags.

“Thank god for Denny’s!” he laughed merrily JUST LIKE SANTA.

Thank god for Denny’s indeed!

The vibe in Denny’s was less depressing than I anticipated. The waitstaff was exceptionally giddy and there was a decent crowd of wanderers, just like us. So, in a way, we finally found somewhere we belonged on Christmas.

Afterward, Henry mentioned that when he was at the nearby Toys R Us a few days ago, he saw a kitten behind it.

“TAKE US THERE!” I battle-cried, to which Henry started wording about how “there’s no way it’s still there” and “it’s getting late” and “I want to go home and dream about my days in the SERVICE.” But of course, Chooch and I got our way and Henry drove the whole 10 yards to Toys R Us, where I seriously immediately saw the glow of the cat’s eyes from under a pine tree as soon as the headlights hit it.

So we made Henry park the car and then Chooch and I spent a good 25 minutes on our hands and knees, meowing and bargaining with this feral cat to come to us, which turned into another 20 minutes of us climbing through bramble as the cat backed away onto a hillside.

We determined that what we needed was CAT FOOD, so we made Henry drive us down the street to Walgreens, where he then bought three cans of it to appease the queen and prince of cats. (That’s me and Chooch in case you’re struggling to keep up, Barb.) But by the time we made it back to the Toys R Us parking lot, the cat was gone. That didn’t stop Chooch and me from spending an additional 25 minutes clucking our tongues, whispering “here kittykittykitty,” and looking up cat summoning spells on a Black Magick for Dummies website.

“JUST LEAVE THE CAT FOOD AND WE WILL COME BACK TOMORROW AND CHECK!” Henry yelled from his post inside the idling car. “For Christ’s sake.”

This could have been our Christmas miracle. Thanks a lot, feral cat.

Maybe next year, we’ll just go away for Christmas.

Ooooh, or have a cat PJ party!

(That carrot pie, tho. Good lord.)

Mouth lined with crumbs? Check.

Later that night, my dad asked if Chooch’s neck tattoo was real. Yes, I had a guy I met in prison come over and do it at the house, dad.

Chooch is down to one good pair of jeans because he trashes them so quickly. This is not that pair.

That pair was home in a laundry basket, caked with mud.

Yes, we fought about this on Christmas. You know how tightly-wound I get when it comes to my dumb pictures!

We had a fight about his hair, too.

We all felt this way.

Throwback to 2011.

Practicing his freestyle.

Who knows how many more years Chooch is going to exasperatedly give me. Gotta milk the “Because I’m your mom and it’s all I want for Xmas!” canned response as much as I can

   
It occurred to me yesterday as we were in the middle of eating that this was the 10th Cemetery Xmas Picnic for us! It started in 2005, when I was pregnant with Chooch and my family was being a bag of dicks and not speaking to me. Henry and I had nowhere else to go for Xmas so I yelled LET’S JUST EAT WITH DEAD PEOPLE THEN since no one living gave a shit about us.

So that’s what we did. 

I specifically remember buying Moonpies at CoGos on the way. Really fucking festive. 

And even when we do have a place to go on Xmas, we always hit up the good old cem first. It’s definitely been met with a lot of weird reactions over the years, but it’s our norm, you know? I mean, we’re just eating sandwiches and potato salad, not roasting babies over open graves and drinking goats blood. 

Just so you know. 

We keep it clean. 

 This year, we were able to sit for more than 5 minutes without the threat of hemorrhoids or frost bite!  Except it started to drizzle a little bit. 
    
It’s funny how traditions start. I wonder if Chooch will continue it when he has his own family…

 Sorry, Chooch’s Future Wife. 
Lol. 

  
We didn’t have time to make cards this year, so you get this charming photo of Trudy and Henry’s mom Judy, who is way more welcoming of our mannequin roommate than probably my own mom would be.   

Currently, Henry is ranting about batteries and now he and Chooch are arguing over PINs because they’re trying to set up Chooch’s new TV and I’m just over here blocking it all out with Real Friends playing loudly. Also, I sarcastically was like, “Hey where’s MY present?” And Chooch defensively sputtered, “Well, DADDY—” which made Henry cry, “Yeah it’s always MY fault!”

Oh, Xmas. 

I hope everyone has a beautiful day, whether you’re participating in Christmas frivolity or this is just your average December 25th. 

Henry, Chooch, and I will salute you from our annual cemetery picnic!

When I was little, there was some broad named Maureen who was the local notary public, and as a kid, I had no fucking clue what that even meant, but that my dad would openly call her a dish.

I didn’t know what that meant that either. I mean, my mom explained it, sure. “It means he thinks she’s hot,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. I always thought it was a stupid way of saying that someone is hot.

It wasn’t until we got Trudy that I truly understood the sentiment behind the term. Because good Lord, my friends, my fucking Xmas mannequin is a goddamn dish.

Especially now that she’s all metallic green and draped in glowing lights and glittering garland. She is a fucking BABE SUPREME.

Finally, after nearly 20 years of pining for a mannequin to pile Christmas presents beneath, I finally had one in my house, my dream was being realized after all this time. No more Christmas trees, real or artificial, that made me feel like I was being untrue to myself. It might seem like a joke to you, but I’m sure there are psychotherapists out there who could draw some conclusions, connect from metaphorical dots, and give my addiction a name.

But for now, let’s just call what it is: my time to finally get down with a holiday like the rest of you.

And finally, Saturday evening was trimming time. I invited Janna and Corey because who better to celebrate the unveiling of Douglas Fir’s hot sister than the two people who are like, “No, this is normal. I mean, there will be wine though, right?”

Corey was already wound up before he even got here. Sadly, Janna saw this on Instagram (I THOUGHT SHE RARELY CHECKED IT!) so she was on to Corey’s plan. Oh well. There will be other times to lace her ‘Tussin.

I happily set out Angie’s cookie dough truffles, and Corey mistakenly thought that I cared enough to get them specifically for him and Janna.

“Pfffft, no!” I laughed. “Angie had extras and gave them to me after breakfast today.” Corey didn’t seem to care either way, because they were delicious and he kept making me text her to tell her.

And then it was, “TELL ANGIE I’M EATING ANOTHER ONE! HERE, SEND HER A PICTURE!”

Meanwhile, Corey’s contributions to the night was a pack of Toasty peanut butter crackers. He shared, at least.

Henry didn’t even have the boxes of decoration ready to go! So I had to berate him in front of our guests while he flared his nostrils before disappearing into the basement to fetch our whopping two whole boxes of Christmas decor.

We’re really into holidays.

While Henry untangled lights, I reminisced over the first time we bought a tree for the house, when Chooch was 4. I had never bothered previously because for me, it was No Mannequin, Why Bother? But then this awful thing called SOCIETAL PRESSURE happened and I though it was The Right Thing To Do now that I had a kid in preschool.  My mom actually bought a live tree for us from Home Dept and brought over some of my old baby ornaments and a shit ton of tinsel and then peaced out before Henry had a chance to complain. It’s hard to remember back to a time when my mom was still a mom, and that was definitely one of the last happy memories she gave me.

My friend Alisha came over to help decorate that year, and when I realized that we didn’t have a tree topper, I cut a star out of a disposable baking tin and then taped it to a McDonald’s straw.

I’ve been using it every year (except for the one year when I swapped it out for a Jonny Craig Angel topper, ugh) but I had to replace the McDonald’s straw two years ago.

I sent Alisha a picture of the tree topper (she lives in Arkansas now) and she was like, “Gee, you know that you can get an actual tree topper at Walmart, right?” But even though I’m not poor anymore, I will never throw this away! It has too much sentimental value.

Anyway, After Henry strung up the lights, I strangled her with one strand of garland and then basically pawned the rest off on everyone else because decorating shit makes me tired and the hockey game was on and I wanted to drink more wine.

The phalanges came in handy.

HANDY.

Earlier in the day, she was in the dining room. I forgot she was there, turned too fast, and got slapped by a hard green hand right in the face. It hurt so bad but I was like, “Trudy, I can’t hate you” so I tried to just laugh along with Henry, who unfortunately witnessed the abuse.

I put a Henry ornament right up in the crotch.

Speaking of crotch, I considered dressing her in a pair of granny panties, but laziness overruled the idea, so bottom-nude it is.

My dream is to get Henry’s mom JUDY to pose with TRUDY for this year’s Xmas card.

“Is grandma going to have her pants off, too?” Chooch asked.

“Oh god, no!” Henry cried.
  

And then Henry reluctantly took our picture. Chooch couldn’t decide if he was happy or not.

FATHER XMAS.

Corey and Chooch both aspire to be Vine famous. Chooch made this Vine without any of us paying attention and then Corey saw it and was like YOU TOTALLY HAVE THE VINE HUMOR DOWN! and now I think he’s trying to be his agent or coach or something. I don’t know.

Making another Vine.

Meanwhile, Chooch taught himself how to play the Tetris music on his keyboard, so it was the perfect lunacy soundtrack for Corey’s incessant gushing over the truffles. Over and over, faster and faster.  Our house is literally onomatopoeia for “pandemonium.”

You guys know he secretly loves this shit.  
Trudy from a stalker’s POV.

You can hear Henry gruffly bitching at Chooch in the background. Something about crackers.

Henry in his typical state.

Everything feels more homey now that Trudy’s around.

I struggle every year when the holiday season rolls around. Some years are easier than others. This past Thanksgiving, even though I chose not to do anything, was just another reminder of how abnormal things became after the passing of my grandfather. Most years, I try to fight back by going out of my way to celebrate with friends and the few family I have in my life.  But now that Trudy is here, I finally feel excited again. It’s like a new beginning! A new tradition born! THE MANNEQUIN THAT SAVED CHRISTMAS!

I woke up the next day more hungover than I was that time we dyed Easter eggs in 2011. So…total success.

In related news, I couldn’t stop thinking about Notary Publics last night in bed.

“What are they even?” I asked Henry, who was about 85% asleep by then. “All they do is like stamp shit right?”

And then: “Do you think I could be one?”

“Sure. Be whatever,” Henry murmured into his pillow.

Last night, Wendy-and-Summer, Debbie, and I met up with BARB at Villa Reale for her BIRTHDAY. Don’t worry, though–I didn’t go too far out of my way. I can walk there from work in like 3 minutes now that I accidentally know my way around town. (It’s right down the street from the library that I just discovered a few weeks ago!)

Wendy was late because she has a baby now so we just sat around and talked about her for a while and it was really therapeutic for all of us, I think.

(Seriously, though, Wendy’s baby is the sweetest and I almost want another but then Henry reminds me that I’m only capable of loving one person at a time, and I’m not sure how Chooch would feel when he suddenly wasn’t that person anymore.

)

Anyway, then Wendy and Summer arrived and everyone decided to get pizza except for me, because I’m the difficult one, so I got spaghetti while they all scratched their heads and started scribbling out pie charts to determine how they were going to split up their pizzas while I just sat over there with my own personal meal and a fork.

I don’t like sharing!

Barb talked about how one of her dreams was to be an over-the-road truck driver, and I think it was Debbie who said she would be scared to sleep in the truck though because what if a serial killer came after her but I reasoned that sleeping in the cab would probably be safe because serial killers aren’t going to mess with truck drivers since they could possibly be brethren, unless you’re some Aileen Wuornos-wannabe. DISCUSS.

God, I missed having these pointless conversations at work. Because now that I sit near Todd, Glenn, and Amber hadababy, our conversations are Mensa-quality; we discuss the Pythagorean Theorem and its many proofs at least 3 times a week for no reason other than we’re fucking geniuses.

My favorite part about the Villa is that you have to go down a creepy staircase to the basement in order to reach the bathroom, which is decorated in 1980s shades of peach, and the Designing Women probably would have felt very comfortable stepping inside to powder their noses.

I always think of my friend Alyson when I’m in public restrooms. When I was pregnant and we were scoping out places to have my baby shower, I sent her a picture of the loo in the Elizabeth Fire Hall party room (also in the basement!!) and it was a really big deal at the time because that was back when I had my pink Motorola Razr and Henry was an absolute tyrant about my data usage.

I thought of her last night too, when I had to climb a step in order to board the elevated stall. I think she would have appreciated the regal privacy of it all, like literally being on a throne.

Barb’s gift from me was one of my succulent propagations. This is the first one from my nursery that I’ve given away! It’s a Black Prince, and I gave it to her unnamed, so let’s see what she decides on. The tea cup is from Wendy’s baby shower!

There was a big debate yesterday over whether or not I should get a gift bag for the succulent. Actually, the debate was basically just Glenn telling me it was bad idea and that it wasn’t going to fit, because in his monotone, monochromatic, monosyllabic world, gift bags are monosized, and that monosize only fits thimbles, I guess.  So I said, “You’re wrong” and went out to CVS where not only did I buy an adequate-sized giftbag, I USED THE SELF CHECK-OUT.

Barb, I did all of these things for you! And here you thought you were only getting a stupid plant, but this gift had LAYERS: an argument with Glenn, a flagrant display of my newfound independence at a store I knew how to find on my own, memorabilia from Wendy’s shower…

what else? Dirt that Henry bought, I guess. So much went into this!

In addition to placing bets on how long it will take Barb to murder this baby succulent, let’s add the phrase “pics or it didn’t happen!” to her repertoire of “Things That Were Popular to Say in 2010 But Barb’s Just Learned How To Use Them.”

Man, it was so nice to see these ladies. I mean, whatever, Wendy will be back to work in a few weeks and I’ll be over it after the second day, probably (kidding!).  I miss Barb fucking up the Roll call emails and enabling my Diva mentality, and I miss Debbie’s spot-on snark sessions and her ability to fall while standing perfectly still. I’m just glad that we’re doing an OK job at keeping in touch, although Barb needs to step it up!

Barb drove me home, not narrating the drive nearly as much as I hoped she would, although she did offhandedly say, “We’re gonna take this Liberty exit here…” while trying to exit the parking garage.

After she dropped me off, I was walking up to my house and a big fat gray cat was licking itself on my sidewalk! He ran off down my driveway, so I followed him.

“What are you doing?” Barb shouted from her car across the street, waiting to pull out of the parking lot.

I’M CHASING A CAT BARB, WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE.

(Look, I don’t see her every day anymore, so when I do, I have to milk it for every last drop of blog fodder. I LOVE YOU BARB!)

Kind of random, but The Lost Boys was one of the first movies that Chooch became obsessed with when he was real little. It happened kind of as a joke: I had just brought the DVD home after lending it to Bob from my old job and I asked Chooch if he wanted to watch it. I mean, he was 2 so he basically just responded with a Maggie-esque suck of his pacifier. Then Henry came home and saw that we were sitting on the couch, all up to our necks in glorious 1987 vamp action, and he was just like, “Why are you letting him watch this? What is wrong with you?!”

Chooch has always been down with horror movies. There have only been two times in his 9 years where he was legit upset:

• once when he was about 4 and watching The Eye (the real version, not the crappy American remake),
• once when he was about 7 and watching Children of the Corn and made me turn it off after the dog dies at the gas station (spoiler but not?)

And The Lost Boys was his freaking JAM when he was a toddler! I can’t tell you how amazing it was to watch a vampire movie 99 times a week instead of some Disney bullshit. So then I bought him the Michael and David figurines, and he would make David say, “Maggots, Michael!” in his cute little baby voice full of impediments.

And then he had a Lost Boys cake at his third birthday party.

The older Chooch gets, the more of the movie he gets, as well. Like, the milk carton close-up. The grandfather’s famous last line of the movie. HOW AMAZING COREY HAIM IS. He was really excited a few weeks ago when he slept over his cousin Zac’s house and The Lost Boys was on TV, so he got to watch it with everyone there. We were talking about it the next night, standing in line for a haunted house of course, when he started acting out the Death By Stereo scene. And then it was, “That’s what I should be for Halloween.”

***

That said, I had officially retired from any and all involvement of Halloween costume planning and prepping. I felt like last year’s Kevin Bacon costume was a solid way to go out, you know? It was a strong costume, and also extremely easy to pull off. The best.

But man, I loved his idea. It was a CHALLENGE. Plus, how could I say no when it involved one of my all-time favorite movies, ever? So I turned to Henry and said, “Well, Chooch finally decided on a costume.

  Good luck!”

I mean, I at least sketched it out for him so he had an idea of what to do, OK? But every last person who knew about this plan was like, “How in the hell….?” I was only 45% confident that we were going to pull it off, and 100% confident that barely no one would get it. But, it’s what Chooch wanted and I thought it was really fucking awesome. This was definitely a costume I could get behind and I was on Henry’s back about it. Which is unusual for me, that whole nagging thing.

The sparks were the hardest things to visualize, but I liked Henry’s interpretation.

This was the first year that we had our shit together in enough time to participate in the neighborhood’s Halloween parade. Seriously, after nine years! Usually we’re still slathering makeup on his face or stuffing him in a box right as the first batch of trick-or-treaters are clambering up our front steps. We were only a block away from our house when Chooch tripped on absolutely nothing, fell, and chipped one corner of his styrofoam speaker. Luckily, we had  to walk right past a CVS on our way to the boulevard, so Henry ran in and bought some duct tape for a quick repair.

On the walk down to the parade’s start line, Chooch got lots of compliments, but you could tell that no one was really getting it. But then, during the parade, I overheard a man with a burlap sack on his head say to his friend, “The Lost Boys! Ha!” and I did a quick fist pump at my side.

Later, a lady turned around and asked, “Is he from the Lost Boys?” YES YES YES HE IS. THANKS!

Meanwhile, some broads were walking around during the parade and handing out papers to some of the kids. One walked over to me and said, “Write his name on the back on this and then have him come over to the stage after the parade and turn it in.” Then she looked at Chooch and started cracking up. I looked at the paper and it said “Funniest Costume.” I wanted to argue her on this, because he wasn’t FUNNY, but I just shrugged, wrote his name, and handed her the pencil back.

We went light on the blood because he was going trick-or-treating with his cousin Zac and I didn’t want him getting that shit in my car. Also, we forgot to buy fangs because it would be weird if we actually had everything right. But then I had a rare moment of brilliance and started stuffing my fists into the pockets of all of my jackets before I was finally rewarded with an unopened package of fangs from Castle Blood. THANK YOU, CASTLE BLOOD! How poetic!

During the parade, Chooch saw some of his friends from school who were just like, “WHAT THE HECK?!” and “I thought you were cotton candy?!”

No matter where we stood in the parade, my nemesis Candy Cane kept appearing right in front of me. She is just the worst. At one point, she was walking toward me with such purpose, I actually considered the possibility that she limp-storming over to slap me in the face, but then she changed directions right before walking into me and crossed the street. Henry saw this happen and thought it was hilarious but it put me in a bad mood, and really, I don’t need much help being put into a bad mood.

The whole parade was kind of pointless and I kept getting stuck behind broads pulling wagons stuffed with children behind them and I was just not built for walking at a parade pace. Luckily, it didn’t last very long and then it was award time. Funniest category was first, thank the lord! My threshold for rubbing elbows with neighbors is pretty non-existent and my head was starting to hurt from clenching my jaw.

Chooch was up against two kids that didn’t have shit on him, and a baby. Henry and I looked at other and cringed because we fucking hate each other, and also because we knew that the baby was going to win.

Because it’s a baby. Babies beat everyone.

So yeah, the baby dressed as a turnip won, but Chooch came in second! The idiot announcing the winners said, “And coming in second place, for $40,000….” and Chooch whipped his head toward us and mouthed, “OMG!” We were like, “No. No! Not $40,000. It was a JOKE.” Ugh.

But man, we’re still hearing about how he was defeated by a BABY.

“And how is a TURNIP funny?!” he cried the next day. I mean, I know. I get it.  People like us never win, my friend.

Maybe he should save this and wear it to the next horror convention.

I don’t know.

De-wigged, winnings in hand.

Sucks that this part was covered by Chooch, but Henry even had lights in the stereo so it looked real. TGFH*.

*(Thank God For Henry. Maybe that will be my next series of Henry pins!)

Chooch couldn’t even tie his shoes on his own with the stereo strapped to his back.  But between his cousin whacking at it with a machete and Chooch’s own natural clumsiness, one of the speakers broke again so he decided to just take it off after about an hour of trick-or-treating.  And then Henry tied Chooch’s wig back because it kept falling into his face, so at that point, he just looked like a vampire Michael Jackson.  But he had fun, and just enough people knew what he was to make it worth it.  And now I’m going back into retirement.

I’m so glad that I don’t have to put this in the “epic fail” category.

I’m sure if you have children, you share my pain and frustration when it comes to Halloween. I’m thankful that Chooch goes to a school that at least acknowledges that Halloween exists, but then they go and take all the fun out of it because there are so many rules and restrictions when it comes to what they’re allowed to wear and bring in for snacks. 

Anyway, Chooch’s main costume for trick or treating breaks the “NO WEAPONS” rule because it involves half a homemade arrow god forbid. So at the last minute, I decided that we might as well make use of his pink hair and build a cheap l, bare bones costume around it because  the school’s sad excuse for a Halloween party is not worth much more effort than this. 

Stupid cotton candy. 

Henry came home from work early enough to walk to the school and watch the parade with me, so he was there to witness the moment when Chooch broke my HEART by waking out with the cotton all unfluffed AND NO SIGN. 

“He looks like a half-assed clown going to a birthday party! This is STUPID. I HATE TODAY,” I cried to Henry who gave me his canned response of “Take it easy.”

And that little jerk knew he fucked up because he gave me that shit-eating grin/shrug combo and I mouthed “YOU ARE DEAD TO ME” at which point he turned back to his dumb friends and giggled his way on down the parade route while my feelings hung out to dry on a clothesline fashioned from my fragile ego. 

I stormed off with Henry casually following me like this wasn’t the worst thing in the world and he wasn’t bothered by it AT ALL. 

I’ll spare you the details, but there was also a complete tantrum thrown in the middle of an alley on the way to Cannon Coffee and then I was like IM JUST GOING HOME and got even more mad when Henry didn’t try to stop me but then we ended up going to Cannon Coffee anyway because I knew there was no coffee at home and I NEEDED IT. 

I was mostly ok after that. Although Henry just now begged me to please try to calm down for the rest of the day because apparently I’m being a bitch.

I hate Halloween. 

J/K! I still love Halloween. 

My sister Amy texted me this Michael Myers picture today and I was like, “FUCK YEAH OCTOBER.” I’ve been in the best mood all day! (Henry is like, “FALSE.”) Look, I know I’m not alone in this October love-fest. We all have that basic white girl in us that comes out extra strong in October so let’s just embrace that shit and sprinkle ourselves with pumpkin pie spice. It’s OK–I put some in my cream of wheat today and I am not even the slightest bit ashamed.

You can have the Starbucks PSLs though, and if we’re being honest, just typing out those letters made me feel like a sleazy contributor to the cause. I like eating actual pumpkins, but if we’re talking flavoring, I gotta take my best girl Maple to homecoming.

Here are more obvious October thangs I fan-girl for:

1. THIS SONG:

It’s been my October anthem since 2004. I highly encourage you to listen to it!

2. MY NEW DESK SUCCULENT, BOZ SCAGGS:

Those tombstones are always up on my desk. I have officially decided to not do a Halloween desk theme this year because I have some other things I need to focus on, but who needs to decorate anyway when YOUR SOUL IS ALREADY DECORATED WITH BATS AND CANDY CORN?!

3. TAKING ROMANTIC FALL FOLIAGE STROLLS WITH MY #MCM, HENRY.

Lol, Just kidding.

4. ALL OF THE HORROR MOVIES + WRITING IN MY HAUNTED HOUSE JOURNAL!

Even though I was savagely mocked for it at work yesterday!

SORRY I’M LAME, GUYS.

Horror movies are pretty much the only movies I watch, ever, but they just feel so much better in October. WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE HORROR MOVIES?!

5. THINKING OF AUTUMNAL PHOTO SHOOTS!

Below are my favorite ones ever that Blake graciously modeled for back in 2009. Those were the days.

I’m the type of broad who gets super sensitive and sad on her birthday. It’s all that emo I listen to, I know, I know. But my 36th birthday was a very pleasant one, aside from a fight that Chooch and I had that night over dinner because we are literally the same person and turn into psychopaths when we’re hungry and the restaurant I picked (Tortuga’s in Thunderbolt, if you’re curious) ended up not having the same menu I saw on Yelp and the waitress was annoyed when I whimpered, “But I’m a vegetarian” and then I started CRYING AT THE TABLE and Chooch was all OH NICE ONE, MOMMY and then Henry was like, “Um, why don’t you go wait in the car and I’ll get this food to go?” 

This all went down in about 30 minutes and then everything was fine. Henry defused yet another bomb. The waitress got the cook to make me a fried green tomato panini and Henry drove to some parking lot and then Chooch and I walked on the beach for a little bit after we ate and it was nice. (Henry hung back in the parking lot shadows like the Salem Strangler.) And some teenaged girl enthusiastically told me that she thought my outfit was cute, like I wasn’t some 36-year-old out-of-touch hag! In my head I was like CAN I HUG U but in real life, I mumbled, “Thx.”

  
Before things went awry. 

Other than the Dinner Disaster, every thing else was wonderful. On the eve of my birthday, we checked into our hotel in Savannah and I was greeted by this:

The sweetest birthday basket from my sweet friend Octavia, which also included a small toy fox, because Emarosa. <3 Such a thoughtful touch! Octavia would go on to spend the next day showing us around Savannah and making our first time in her city totally fun and unforgettable. (All of that gets its own post, coming soon!)

Meanwhile, friends and family were sending me birthday wishes, photos of cabbage & Robert Smith & clowns, and proof that they listened to Emarosa in my honor. 

My favorite, from Allison: 
:):):):):)

We arrived home from our vacation around 1:09AM this morning and a package containing THREE LITHOPS FROM KENDAHL was waiting on my porch!! Talk about getting a second wind! I left Henry on the sidewalk to deal with our luggage (lol, like I’d have helped him otherwise) and promptly potted my new succulents instead of going to bed like I had spent the last hour(s) in the car whining about wanting to do.  

The Kendahl Family! Bradley, Robert, and Barbara (named after three of my favorite singers, Bradley Walden, Robert Smith, and Barbara Streisand):
  

This morning, Hot Naybor Chris gave Chooch a bag of our mail, which included a package from Brandy. LOOK AT THIS MASTERPIECE:

I cried real tears. It means so much to me and I can’t wait to put it on my desk at work, where I can look at it everyday!  I’m surrounded by caring, thoughtful, GOOD people and that makes me feel less alone and a little less jaded, too. I try not to let my birthdays get to me, but I always lose that battle. So thank you to everyone who reached out and made my birthday less painful. 36 is a big number! 

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

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

Bands we managed to catch, whole sets and partial:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God I hate myself.

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

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

And a hilarious dance party ensued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This concludes the first half of the day.