this was my first warped tour. I saw Itch which was the best band ever! I met chiodos for the second time—it was awesome! we gave them the picture of me when I was two and now I’m seven and Derick said two to seven crazy!

there was a lot of free shit meow meow meow. we passed the Vans tent and the guy said Hey Kid here and he gave me this band dana. I loved going on the water slide I said DADDY CAN I GO ON THE WATER SLIDE :(

I went in the wtf tent which tells about a bunny that they tested make-up on ”it was sad” there was a jacket with baby dolls mommy said it was creepy. I found a doll foot later from the wtf tent!

I said to mommy “f*** the nonsense of your healthcare”

[Ed.Note: I don’t know where he heard that, but he said it ALL DAY LONG & his middle finger was also part of this new routine. One day at Warped Tour and he already has punk ethics.]

look how mad dumb dumb daddy is he’s so mad he had to hold my stuff the whole day muh ha ha ha ha and spend money just for shirts :( he was sad because ted nugget wasn’t there

at the band Handguns they said circle pit! And I called it the psycho hole. I felt sad when warped tour was over I had the best day ever ha ha ha my cat shirt say’s that!

Obligatory List of Bands We (I) Saw:

• Itch — Chooch’s new favorite.
• Stick To Your Guns — “too political, STFU,” per Henry, but I really liked them a lot.
• Architects (UK) — Chooch only let me stick around for 1.5 songs.
• Hawthorne Heights — only about 5 minutes’ worth, but at least “Ohio Is For Lovers” was covered in that.
• The Wonder Years
• letlive.
• Craig Owens — so on point.
• We Came As Romans
• The Used — definitely unplugged the hole in my heart.
• Chiodos!!!
• Forever Came Calling — only got to see their last song.
• Hands Like Houses — SO FUCKING GOOD. Even better than when I saw them last November with Pierce the Veil. They’re the only band that has come even close to filling the void that Emarosa left in my heart, even though one of the guys looks like if Tim Curry was in A Flock of Seagulls.  I could (and probably will) fill an entire blog post with my detailed feelings about them, but I’m trying to be succinct and wrap this shit up, OK?! No wait, not without saying that I want to stick my tongue down the singer’s Australian throat.
• Bring Me the Horizon — Oli made us all sit down at one point and that’s how I wound up walking around the rest of the day with motherfucking GUM ON MY ASS, thanks Oli.
• Big Chocolate
• Never Shout Never — this one was Chooch’s pick. But the thing with Chooch is that when he says, “I want to see [this band], he literally means, “I want to walk over there until I can see them and then we can go somewhere else.” Chiodos and Hands Like Houses I think were the only full sets he endured. But he’s 7, what can you do.
• Silverstein
• August Burns Red
• Anarbor
• Handguns — REALLY enjoyed this band a lot. I had only heard one of their songs before, but I’m definitely a fan now.
• Run DMT
• Sleeping With Sirens — Henry really dislikes them live. He pretty much scowled and rolled his eyes through their whole set, and I couldn’t even get him to admit that “Roger Rabbit” was pretty good. He thinks Kellin is an awful live singer. (I agree with this at times, but Kellin Quinn is OMGSOCUTE so they don’t have to worry about not having thousands of screaming and crying girls in front of their stage. To be fair, the rest of the band is fucking fantastic.)

The best/worst thing about Warped Tour is that there are so many bands, in such an array of genres, that the possibilities are endless! It’s a Ritalin kid’s wet dream—you canNOT get bored at Warped Tour unless you absolutely hate music. The downside to this is that it’s impossible to see everything. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to fall to my knees and scream in anguish because two bands I really love were scheduled to play at the same time on two different stages. But, that’s the nature of Warped Tour and the only way to change it would be to have less bands. And I vote no on that.

The Wonder Years & a rainstorm.

We saw a shit ton of bands on this day, but there were a few standouts, and letlive. was definitely the brightest highlight. Henry had taken Chooch to get food while this was going on, and I am still, a week later, trying to explain to Henry exactly what he missed. He of course does not give a shit.

letlive. is a band that might not be easily swallowed for some people. When I was friends with Alisha, she was actually extremely tolerant and open-minded of the music I listened to, but she just couldn’t get behind letlive. And I can understand that—they’re not for everyone. But their live show, my fucking Christ. Jason Aalon Butler is like a tightly wound snake on stage, recoiling for .002 seconds only to spring and lurch back up in a different direction; it was like watching someone have a psychotic episode—scary and fucking fascinating. I don’t know how photographers are able to snap any decent photos of him because he does.not.stop. We saw them in Lancaster last March, opening for Pierce the Veil, and to be perfectly honest, they are the reason I was so insistent on driving the 4 hours to that show rather than wait for Pierce the Veil to come back to Pittsburgh on a different tour a month later: I wanted to see letlive,, and I wanted to see Jason sing with Vic from Pierce the Veil (he has a guest appearance on the new PTV album). Unfortunately, since we had Chooch with us, we were standing back too far in the club for me to really get to see much.

He left the stage at one point and everyone looked really concerned. I couldn’t see where he went from where I was standing, but when he came back on stage, he was covered in paint.

They ended the set with Jason intertwining himself around the drum set, which is sometimes what I do to Henry when I’m feeling especially clingy and don’t want him to leave for work. Not that that happens often!!

Please come back to Pittsburgh soon, letlive. PLEASE.

The Used—I have seen them countless times and they have never put on a bad show. They ended with Pretty Handsome Awkward and I cried.

When am I not crying, though.

WET HENRY! RUNNNN!!!

Can we just stop for a second and really look at this picture? No, I mean—REALLY LOOK. That is a smile, you guys. A smile at WARPED TOUR. It’s a motherfucking Christmas miracle. Orphans are gon’ feed tonight!

Chooch with more free shit. He didn’t even care that it was pink, because it was free.

We climbed this hill a million times. Warped Tour is good exercise. Also—look at the rainbow furry tail up there on the right!!!

 Shirtless Chooch during Never Shout Never, whom he has taken a liking to just because he heard one of their songs on a mix CD I made awhile back, and liked how Christopher Drew said the word “question.” When I found out NSN was going to be at this year’s Warped Tour and I told Chooch, he said super-dramatically, “Thank god.” Then he bought one of their CDs at the Exchange on Monday and I have my fingers crossed that this is just the beginning of what will one day be a Hoarder’s episode of a music collection.

Crowd-rafting for Bring Me the Horizon. 

Oh man, Bring Me the Horizon was fantastic!! Earlier in the day when we were in line to meet Chiodos, we saw Oli Sykes milling about and I almost died because he is even more Britishly handsome up close OMG. Henry just rolled his eyes, but the important part of this is that not only did Henry know who he was, he also pointed out Kellin Quinn later on, too. Henry is such a secret scene girl.

But really, he just reads Alternative Press a lot in the bathroom.

Chooch’s wristband collection. He got the Fuck Yeah, I <3 Animals wristband from the Peta2 tent, but he’s supposed to be guest-posting later so I’ll let him write about the horrors he encountered inside. Suffice to say, when we were walking back to the car that night and he was leafing through more Peta2 literature, he said to be very earnestly, “I should stop eating meat. I really want to…but I just REALLY like hamburgers. I’m not sure I’m ready to join your team yet, Mommy.”

It was so cute! But for the record: I have never tried to brainwash the kid into going meatless. (I myself haven’t even been a full-veg for several years now after discovering that I REALLY LOVE SUSHI.) But what’s cool about Chooch is that he eats tofu on his own and loves it.  I would never push him into being a vegetarian. Just like I would never push him to like or dislike a certain band. (Again, I only do that to Henry. Haha.)

Meanwhile, Henry was making a new friend while Chooch and I were in PETA’s WTF Tent:

Yes, that was my reaction too.

Anyway, this guy was running the merch booth for some clothing company that benefits the homeless, so Henry asked me if I wanted a t-shirt.

RECORD SCRATCH.

Henry NEVER asks me if I want merch at a show! So here we are, once again, back to my theory that he’s either cheating on me or selling drugs.

I mean, I didn’t actually even want one of these t-shirts, but it was for a cause and Henry seemed so eager to please his new friend In the Universal Studios tank (perhaps that’s his mistress), so I let him buy me a shirt. And then I also let him buy me a Warped Tour 2013 t-shirt and a Hands Like Houses tank.

New Henry rules!!

 So fucking hardcore. This is my new favorite  shot of Chooch!

The Spotify Stage had all the dancing.

Somehow I forgot to mention that when we were standing in line that morning to get in, Henry pointed to a small hill on the other side of the fence and said, “Look who it is.”

It was KEVIN LYMAN, the Warped Tour godfather himself. In all of the years I have been going, I have never seen him, even though I know that he walks around a lot. And there he was, standing at the top of this hill, on the phone, assessing the crowd. You guys, he is such an inspiration to me. If I ever got to meet him…it would be Waterwork City.

At the end of the day, Chooch is still just a kid who wants to eat a fucking ice cream cone. Only, he’s a kid who eats a fucking ice cream cone with a band behind him screaming bloody murder.

Motherfucking juxtaposition.

I really hope this is Saint Eminem on her calf.

Chooch already has the ambivalent scene armcross going on here, but let’s address Parenting Fail No. 66976: Check out his fucking sunburn. When we arrived at First Niagara that morning, I assumed Henry sprayed Chooch with sunscreen because I could smell it on him. Apparently, Henry assumed that I had covered that parental task. Turns out, CHOOCH applied HIMSELF with sunscreen and did a pisspoor job of it—look at the weird amoeba-outline!

Oh, to be a Perfect Parent. I hear they’re out there. I think they’re called Mommy Bloggers?

This is the Handguns crowd. There was so much energy, it was palpable! (Henry still yawned through their set though.)

So, remember in my Warped Tour preface, where I ranted and bitched about people judging those of us who choose to bring our kids to Warped Tour and how it’s not like I had Chooch in any circle pits or anything?

Well…

Funny thing…

Handguns played on one of the smaller stages, so the crowd wasn’t very big. This meant that we were extremely close to the stage and just happened to be standing in the line of fire when a circle pit broke out. I mean, it’s not like Chooch got swept up in it or anything, but I suppose that if Henry and I had been too busy lighting our joints at that moment (A JOKE), perhaps this would have had a different outcome.

Instead, Chooch soaked this all in, his first glimpse at a real life circle pit, and then this happened:

Sleeping With Sirens was the last band of the night and even though Henry had his laundry list of gripes, I really enjoyed their set but was sad at the same time because I knew that as soon as they were done, it was going to be time to leave. I swear, this is the shortest day of the year. (Unless you’re Henry.)

In conclusion, do I regret my decision to bring Chooch with us this year? NO. It was the best idea ever, and I’m positive that it’s something he will never forget. And do you want to know the number of times he threw a fit? Zero. Number of times we had to yell at him? Zero. Number of times he got hurt? Zero. Number of times he wanted to leave? Zero. Number of times he smiled/jumped/laughed/danced/threw metal horns into the sky? LIKE A THOUSAND! In fact, Chooch was looking at the back of one of the Warped Tour shirts that had a list of cities and he cried, “IT’S GOING TO BE IN CLEVELAND TOMORROW?! CAN WE GO!?”

This of course prompted me to spin and scream into Henry’s face, “YEAH CAN WE GO, HENRY!?” He just frowned and trudged away into the metalcore-soundtracked sunset.

Fuck, I really wish I was still there. I have got to find a way to land myself a spot inside a merch tent or something.

Sometime around noon, Craig Owens and Bradley Bell of Chiodos did a little acoustic show in the Acoustic Basement tent. Craig is a hot commodity in this scene, so the crowd was spilling like hot and sweaty guts out of the tent. Chooch couldn’t actually see Craig from where we were standing, plus we were all smashed together with a throng of sweaty kids and lost interest, so Henry opted to take Chooch to the inflatable slip n’ slide while I quietly dropped tears from my eyeballs as Craig strummed some of my favorite Chiodos/D.R.U.G.S./his own solo songs on his guitar while Bradley accompanied him on keyboard. It was, in spite of the face-melting heat, one of the most sublime performances I’ve experienced at Warped Tour. Absolute perfection, and I noticed that Craig had made subtle tweaks to his vocals on certain parts of songs that just really gave it a whole new feel.

Attention all of my worst critics, who were once the best of friends…

I got this from someone’s YouTube, and while the quality is what you’d expect from an iPhone recording, I wanted to post it anyway so that I can go back and remember the moments that made the hairs stand up on my arms.

Later in the afternoon, Chiodos did a signing at their merch tent. I was anticipating this, so I came prepared with a copy of a picture we took of Chooch with Chiodos back in 2008 when they did an in-store signing at a record store in Columbus, OH. They weren’t even performing, just doing a meet and greet, and I still made Henry drive the 3+ hours because OMFG CHIODOS!!

Anyway, I thought it would be cool to give them a copy of it and have Chooch re-meet them now that he’s at an age where he can remember it.  While we were standing in line, one of the kids behind me tapped me on the shoulder and, pointing to Chooch, asked, “Excuse me, but is that him in the picture?” I said it was and he and his friend were all, “Oh, that is so cool. He’s so lucky!” And Chooch smiled all proudly because HELLO HE HAS A COOL MOM, THANK YOU. Maybe now he’s starting to recognize that shit.

When we were next, Derrick Frost, their drummer, took the picture from me after I explained that Chooch had met them when he was almost two-years-old. He looked at it and said, “I remember this!” And I don’t think he was bullshitting me! “Is this for us? Can we have this?” he asked, and when I said yes, he said, “This is getting hung up on our bus!” We bought Chooch a shirt earlier from their merch tent, so Derrick signed it and then passed it down the table to Matt.

“Do you want a poster too?” he asked Chooch. So Derrick signed the poster too and then wrote “2 to 7 — crazy!”

Derrick has actually been my favorite member of Chiodos ever since that day in Columbus, and I was so so so happy to see him again! He re-joined the band around the same time Craig came back, which was like the cherry on top, really. He’s just such a good, decent dude. (And, just like in 2008, basically the only one of them who spoke to us, haha.)

We weren’t allowed to take pictures, but I made Henry stand off to the side, which probably didn’t look too out of place because he has that “Creepy Corner Dweller” image anyway, to try to take some covert photos.

Classy bra straps, FTW, Erin.

“You’re not going to like this picture,” Henry warned. “Because your hair’s wet.” (There was a brief rainstorm that was so fucking appreciated because it cut the humidity down and the rest of the day was so much more tolerable. Plus, it made jumping to the Wonder Years even more fun!)

Right, Henry. THAT’S the reason I don’t like this picture of me. It’s not at all because of my hunchback (which I don’t really have, I swear! I would be honest if I did), awkward stance or stupidly huge nose.

But I know, I know. It’s not about me, it’s about Chooch’s big moment, blah blah blah. And wouldya look at him cheesin’ up there!

Meanwhile, Chooch was a repeat customer at the misting station and inflatable slip n’ slide, which ended up being our saviors of the day and totally prevented a Big Butler Fair Psycho Heat Stroke relapse.

After one of their slip ‘n’ slide field trips, Henry brought Chooch back to me shirtless, which is how he remained for the rest of the day all because some dudes told him to take his shirt off. (Not in a gross, sleazy way, but in a “You’ll be able to slide better” way.” Chooch was really well-received by the older bros all day! I can’t tell you how many random high-fives were requested of him.)

The guy in the weird straw hat was the Warped-appointed slip ‘n’ slide regulator all day, so he and Chooch became pretty chummy (according to Henry, anyway; I was only there with him three of the 87 gabillion times he slid across a slide commingled with scene-sweat and water). Also, the guy behind Chooch was giving him some kind of tip. He must be a seasoned veteran, because the only tip I know to give someone is “run! now…slide.”

Also, the guy behind Chooch is hot.

Warped Tour is for making franz before Chiodos’ set.

Waiting for Chiodos dangerously close to crotch-sweat.

Henry’s serious, non-smiling review of Chiodos: “They were good. They are always good.” This is also what Henry looks like when he’s enjoying ice cream, sex, and being tickled.

I can’t wait until Chooch is older so I can ask, “Hey Chooch, remember that time you were sitting on the edge of a garbage can during a Chiodos show while some kid was puking in it?” And he’ll say, “What? No!” And then I’ll pretend that it didn’t happen.

I don’t even know how to explain what these guys do to my heart. But I will tell you that during the summer of 2007, Henry and I came sickeningly close to breaking up. He was even looking for an apartment. I spent a lot of time during the month of August listening to the All’s Well That Ends Well album and furiously painting; that summer, the song “Baby, You Wouldn’t Last a Minute On the Creek” became kind of my anthem.

SPOILER ALERT: We sorted things out. Ever since then, Chiodos is one of the few bands that we both like and Henry doesn’t bitch about having to go see. Even though Craig Owens got shitty with me on Twitter because he didn’t like what I wrote in my blog about his solo show in 2011, I still fucking love this band and cheered when I found out that the rest of the guys made amends with him and invited him back as their singer after giving him the boot in 2009.

And now Chooch likes them even more, after meeting them again and getting to watch them perform live for the first time ever, and has been singing Thermacare ever since. It’s this really special thing, you guys, to be able to share this with Henry and Chooch, because it’s normally me, all by myself, obsessively loving music and it gets kind of lonely sometimes in my world.

How can I explain this to normal people…it’s kind of like when you go to church as a family, I suppose. That’s what this day felt like to me: the two people I love the most (ugh, shut up, Henry) with me at my favorite place ever, worshiping at the altar of life-saving music.

I hope Chiodos stay together for a super long time.

******

Here’s Chooch with his framed poster. Henry’s mom was talking to him about it yesterday and she asked him what he said to the band.

“Nothing,” he said. “I was shy.”

And it’s true, he really was! For the first time ever, Chooch was rendered speechless. He really is just like me. I’m about to be 34 and I still get all flustered and weepy when I meet bands and then end up not saying anything and regretting it forever.

Warped Tour in general might have been the Best Day Ever, but the Chiodos parts were the best moments ever.

(This is probably the best, not to mention the worst idea that I have ever had >>> basically everything in my life, ever!)

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!

Even more than amusement parks, county fairs, road trips and cemetery heat waves, my favorite thing about summer is WARPED TOUR. (Which you already know if you’ve known me for at least 15 days. I have framed pictures of the damn thing on my desk at work for fuck’s sake.)

The tour officially kicked off a few days ago and I have been salivating over all of the pictures they’ve been throwing up on Instagram. One more month until it’s here in Pittsburgh and I can hardly wait! Chiodos! Sleeping With Sirens! Hands Like Houses! The Wonder Years! letlive.! The Used! Man Overboard! BRING ME THE HORIZON! Plus all the bands I don’t even know that I like yet!  I can’t even. An entire day to be amongst my own people!

What’s notable about this year’s Warped Tour is that it will be Chooch’s first ever time attending!

We almost took him last year, but decided against it at the last minute. But ever since he went to the Pierce the Veil show (and found out his 8th grade cougar-girlfriend will be there), he has been expressing interest in going with us this summer and it’s not like I would ever try to discourage that! I really think he’s going to fucking love it. There’s so much going on there that if he needs a break from the music, he’ll be covered. And I’m sure Henry will be using him as his scapegoat.

“Oh, boy….uh, it looks like Chooch needs to….sit down. Under a tree. And take a nap. BBL KBYE.”

Maybe I’ll try to get them both to guest post about it afterward.

Anyway, I’m posting this not just because I’m excited but also because I needed a break from writing about Kennywood because the residual giggles are apt to get me fired from my job that is how obnoxious I’ve been here this week. Sorry, co-workers! I’m trying to get my psychotic, worrisome laughing fits confined to my desk but sometimes they slip out in the bathroom and the kitchen and every single hallway I’ve tread on today.

No Jonny Craig at Warped Tour this year, too bad so sad.

OK, I need to get back to penning my Kennywood prose so that my detractors can get ready to tell me how grammatically incorrect my “writing” is, at which point I will pause to remind everyone that all I do is post iPhone photos and YouTube videos of my favorite songs, so like…what writing?

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.

“And her boob was THISBIG.”

Pet doom & gloom aside, I still have to write about Memorial Day, which didn’t feel like Memorial Day because it was only in the 50s and there was no cooking out. There was, however, the shitty parade that limps past our house every Memorial Day, so that was the only real tell-tale sign that there were soldier-things to be recognizing and appreciating.

So we did that, but not without making fun of the terrible small-child dance troupes doing crippled cartwheels in front of our yard. I really don’t know why they bother.

The Shriners are the only good part of the parade because they drive stupid miniature trucks and tricycle-like things. I’m down with that. Even though I have no idea what the fuck the Shriners do aside from wear* dumb hats.

*(Totally spelled that as “where.” Proof that I’ve been spending too much time with Henry.)

Then we got to see some of the Catholic School Cunt-Moms oozing down the road cuntastically with their stupid Girl Scout daughters. God, I hate those bitches. See? That was me talking to God. I don’t have to send my kid to a stupid Catholic school to share a God with those Bible sluts. In fact, I think I might start believing in God just so they DO have to share him with an asshole like me.

Chooch saw a bunch of girls he knows from school and also ate a bunch of candy that was chucked at him by people who have no real purpose being in a parade, so he was already pretty hyper. But then this happened:

So, Courtney is in 8th grade at Chooch’s school and she apparently helps out is his classroom. His teacher was telling me about how Courtney and the other helper are always so excited to come in and see what Chooch is wearing that day, and they like the same bands he does so now he is SUPERINTERESTEDOMG in going to Warped Tour. The other girl even made Chooch’s teacher tell Henry to have Chooch wear his Pierce the Veil shirt on Twin Day so that he could be her twin.

It’s pretty ridiculous, but it gets even more ridiculous.

Last week, Henry was picking Chooch up from school and overheard him telling Courtney to call him. She of course laughed and said no, but Henry was like, “WTF, why are you telling her to call you!?” and that is how he found out that Chooch gave her Henry’s cell phone number. I think it would have been even better if she actually called Henry. As my friend Rob said, “It’s all fun and games until Henry goes to jail.”

Anyway, Courtney was in the parade for whatever reason. It’s apparently not very hard to earn a spot in a parade as pathetic as this one. So when she was walking past, she happened to casually glance over at our house and did a double take when she saw Henry. (She wouldn’t recognize me because I very rarely am able to get Chooch from school because of work.) Once she saw Henry, she started craning her head all around until she spotted Chooch. She pointed at him and yelled his name, causing him to turn beet red and fall to the ground.

Ah, young love. Chooch likes ’em old, just like I do I guess.

Later, we went to Sheetz and got food for a Memorial Day picnic in some park where Henry started preaching about how you can drink your own pee if you really needed to so that became our new Mocking Henry subject matter.

We don’t even let the man swing in peace.

This was right after he pointed out some nature thing, which made Chooch and me double over in laughter.  Henry tried to make some sort of threat about how sorry we’ll be when he doesn’t warn us that Big Foot is running out of the forest toward us.

Then Chooch and I raced Henry to the bathroom but he cheated and I was REALLY MAD about it. What a douchebag!

On the way home, I made Henry stop at a roadside produce stand that we had just bought fruit from the day before, because I really wanted a Gerber daisy. And you better believe that bitch bought me one, too. But then Chooch started whining about wanting one too because god forbid I have something that he doesn’t, so Henry bought him one too, which he immediately dumped over in the backseat of the car and I laughed, which he did not appreciate.

So yeah, it was a good Memorial Day Weekend, even though I had Marcy’s upcoming vet appointment on my mind.

*********

The next night, Chooch was doing his homework, which included this:

This totally set Henry off.

“Too bad you didn’t pay attention to me when we went for a walk yesterday. Now what are you going to write? ‘I went for a walk and made fun of my dad’?”

No, he made shit up. Because he’s my kid.

Mother’s Day used to suck for me (mostly because nothing is ever good enough and I will find a reason to be an entitled asshole) until last year when I learned that DelGrosso’s Amusement Park in Tipton, PA has FREE ADMISSION for mothers on Mother’s Day and you don’t even have to provide DNA samples.

Granted, it’s a two-hour drive and a ride-all-day pass is only like $12 normally, but it’s the principle of the fact that I am being rewarded for those nine suicidal months where a fetal Chooch abused me internally and ballooned my stomach out to the point where people thought I was having twins.

Of all the horrors of pregnancy, THAT is the one thing that sticks with me. Vanity wins.

Plus, I was hoping that maybe the Douchebag Doppelganger would be back. You never know – maybe it’s Mother’s Day tradition for his potato sack wife. (“You have problems,” Lee said when I giddily mentioned this possibility to him at work.)

Henry invited his mom Judy to join us, which initially I thought was super sweet until I realized his motive was to hope her presence tamed me. I always try to curb my obnoxious streak when she’s around because I’m afraid she will yell at me. She has never yelled at me before, but there’s always a first time for everything and I don’t know if she keeps a wooden spoon in her purse or not.

I mean, even CHOOCH checks himself around her.

After two hours of me progressively turning up the radio over Judy talking about people I don’t know while admiring the countryside and pondering how people could live out there (“Do they have electricity?” she wondered as we passed a house that had a DirectTV satellite, a swimming pool, at least 4 quads and an SUV in the driveway. “They’re not AMISH,” I answered.), we finally made it to DelGrosso’s.

And it was COLD. Only around 50 degrees, I think.

Since I’m a mom, I didn’t have to get the ride-all-day wristband. But Chooch did, and now he’s winning our weird wristband competition. We keep our fair/amusement park/special event wristbands on until they fall off on their own, which drives Henry absolutely nuts. I wore my Jonny Craig concert wristband for over a month before it finally disintegrated on my arm. My co-worker Pam noticed it one day and thought I had been in the hospital. When I explained it to her, she shook her head and said, “I’d make you take a nap and then cut that off in your sleep!”

We both still have our Knoebels wristbands on (they’re plastic, so these bitches ain’t budging, much to Henry’s chagrin — he takes his wristbands off before we even get to the car), but now Chooch has a DelGrosso’s wristband on his other wrist and I hate it.

Anyway, wristband woes aside, it was a great day to ride shit! It wasn’t crowded at all, not that I have ever seen DelGrosso’s especially packed, so Chooch and I of course ran right onto the Wacky Worm. We asked Judy if she wanted to ride it too since it’s so mild, and she just laughed and said, “Yeah, no.”

Which is weird, because minutes later, Chooch and I were standing in line for the Crazy Mouse (the only ride there that ever really has a line because it’s the motherfucking Crazy Mouse), when Judy sidled on up behind us. I thought she just wanted to chat since Henry had wandered off on his first of 870 bathroom pilgrimages.

“I’m going to ride this,” she said all nonchalantly, causing Chooch and I to laugh. Good one, Judy! “No really, I was watching it from over there and it doesn’t look so bad,” she continued.

Meanwhile, Henry had returned from counting his hemorrhoids and was all, “What is the meaning of this?” At least, that’s what I assume his facial expression meant, but it could have been gas.

“She’s riding this with us,” I said in a “duh” tone with a shrug. So a 70+ year old lady is going to ride the Crazy Mouse, there’s nothing to see here. Go sit down, Henry.

The kids running the ride were stoked that Judy was riding and took extra care with getting her strapped in, which is good because I was like, “I don’t know. Maybe put your seatbelt on?” I’m not the best when it comes to being helpful. And absolutely no one is surprised.

“This is what you do for your grandkids,” Judy said as our car ascended the inaugural hill. Quick, someone tell my mom that!

Immediately after, Judy went on the merry-go-round with Chooch.

A little while later, after we had eaten (Chooch’s least favorite part because god forbid he has to sit down at a table, and I can relate to that but I have officially reached that age where eating is imperative to help temper some of the impending motion sickness that I am inevitably going to face), Judy said, “I want to ride those airplanes.”

We couldn’t imagine what she was talking about. I thought maybe she had seen some ride in Kiddie Land that she wanted to try, but then as we continued to walk, she pointed and said, “There! The airplanes!”

It wasn’t “airplanes,” it was the fucking Yo-Yo.

Let me tell you something about the Yo-Yo: these aren’t your ordinary amusement park swings. These sons of bitches are SCARY. County fairs usually have the Yo-Yo in their arsenal of death traps. I always feel incredibly unsafe and especially white-knuckled on the Yo-Yo.

But Judy wanted to ride it so I obediently followed suit.

There is this one point during the ride where it waits to pick up a good, semi-whiplash speed before this sickening “whoosh” is sounded and all of the bucket seats TILT BACK to the point where I always feel like I’m going to slide out backward. And I don’t know if it was because it was so windy that day, but we were all literally banging and crashing into each other.

I prayed for the most painless death possible. Please god, fling me into that tree and not one of the 785912 metal spikes around the Yo Yo’s perimeter that are suddenly so apparent to me that I know I AM GOING TO PERISH.

But Judy loved it! Look at her go! I hope I’m as cool as she is when/if I’m a grandma (and I better be a grandma someday because I already have tomes upon mental tomes of incriminating Chooch tales to share with his future spawn).

“I rode the Yo Yo better than you!” is what I imagine Chooch is saying in this photo because he makes everything a competition. He must get that from Henry.

I thought about asking Judy some questions about her day at DelGrosso’s, but if she’s anything like her son, I’m sure it would have been a bunch of monosyllabic answers. I’ll have to get some wine in her.

Party Chick, officially.

Since we took Chooch to Knoebels on the other side of the state for his birthday, we toned down the actual party this time around and just had it at Games n’At, a retro alternative to Chuck E. Cheese with tons of Pittsburgh-flavor. It was a big hit with the kids, and awesome for Henry and me because literally all we had to do was drop off party hats, plates, etc the day before and they had everything set up for us. NO DECORATING! And each kid got to choose from a list of snack bar options, so NO PROVIDING OUR OWN FOOD!

Holy shit, it was a parental dream come true. With everything we’ve been doing lately, planning a party just wasn’t something that either of us had the energy for. And Chooch still had fun,which is all that matters.

“You’re only picking Ugli Doll stuff because you like it,” Henry accused me the day before at Party City. Well…I didn’t see any Minecraft stuff there! And Chooch likes Ugli Dolls too, God!

I secretly had Kaitlin make Chooch a “creeper” cake. It is my reluctant understanding that creepers are some sort of Minecraft villain and Chooch really likes them. When I met Kaitlin in an empty strip mall parking lot 9AM that morning, like some creepy—but delicious—drug deal, I was floored when she removed the top of the cake box to reveal this edible work of pixelated art. I mean, if it had been left up to me, I’d have just slathered green frosting on a rectangle and then finger-painted the face with black stuff.

Maybe the black stuff would be non-toxic. Maybe not.

But when you’re the presiding Queen of Zia’s Desserts, you go above and beyond and make that fondant pixels because THAT is what a true Minecraft player wants to eat.  When Chooch saw it, he gasped, “Kaitlin knows what creepers are!?!?”

When we first got to the arcade, I plopped my ass down on a couch across from some dad and watched the Penguins game for as long as I could until guests started to arrive. Fuck! I’m sorry, I know I’m the birthday boy’s mom, but theses are some important times in the NHL, OK? Step off

So then I tried to be actively involved for awhile. I even spoke with a parent! And heckled Janna mercilessly!

We all wanted something magical to be inside that armoire. But it was just a folded-up table. No Narnia.

But then something glorious happened: While I was in the party room talking to one of the parents (I did OK at that, you guys!), one of the arcade workers who looked uncannily like the dude from Ridiculousness approached me with a concerned expression and asked, “Do you want me to put the game on this TV here?” and then pointed to a TV in the corner that I hadn’t even noticed.

UM FUCK YES.

But then he couldn’t get it to turn on and kept leaving and returning with tools and various wires until finally he figured out that it wasn’t plugged in.

“Oh you have to pay for this,” Janna said, pulling her finger out of the Kiss-O-Meter and walking away.

You know who is really smart? Laura. She brought a present for me because she KNOWS. I was so excited and wanted to wear it right away but for some stupid reason, no one brought a switchblade to the Kid’s Birthday Party, so I couldn’t unleash it from the backing.

Ridiculousness serving up the food.

Chooch was so goddamn sweaty. No one else was. Just Chooch. God only knows.

Of course the kids were relatively uninterested in eating and decided to have an impromptu dance party instead. That might be because I said, “Hey you guys should have a dance party” and the Chooch’s cousin Zac started doing some frantic Gangnam Style seizure thing on the floor, which was a cattle call for the rest of the kids to get up and LOSE THEIR SHIT.

But hey. It’s not my house. Spaz it up, small people.

Blurry or not, you get the idea.

After the raucous cacophony of birthday serenading, Chooch started opening his presents. He was halfway through when he turned around and stopped mid-sentence.

“Where the heck did everyone go?” he cried when he realized he had been performing his gift-unwrapping in front of a roomful of adults.

“Dude, the kids went back out to the arcade a looooong time ago,” I said. Everyone cracked up but he just shrugged and went back to collecting his loot.

Meanwhile, I had made friends with the mom of one of the girls. But one thing to know about me is that I shit the bed when it comes to introductions. (Unless you’re in a band. Then I miraculously will remember your name right away.) So my memory proceeded to fuck her name into oblivion and I spent the rest of the party paralyzed every time someone came over that I wanted to introduce her to because I didn’t want to say, “Hey Laura, this is Astaria’s mom” because fuck if someone refers to ME as “Chooch’s mom.”

(Actually, this happens a lot and I’m OK with it. I think it happened 3x at Crafts from the Crypt in March. “Oh, you’re Chooch’s mom!” Castle Blood denizens would exclaim. Because everyone knows Chooch.)

So at one point, we were all sitting around a large table watching Game 3 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, which had  gone into over time, and I was struggling to replay the scene when we introduced ourselves, but all I could hear was pinball machines and this one Pierce the Veil song that has been in my head for 5 years. So, I covertly texted Janna and ordered her to ask the mom what her name is.

Janna did my dirty work, and I saved the text so I will never forget, you guys.

I win at friend-making.

Chooch’s girlfriend of the week made him a card that stressed in no uncertain terms how awesome and cool he is.

Laura, arcade seductress.

I would probably look like that too if I had to work kids parties every weekend.

This is not true. You’re only a winner if you win. I hope all the kids there knew that.

Blake showed up right before the party ended and asked Henry for an envelope. Henry didn’t have an envelope, so I suggested that he just MAKE one, because isn’t that the kind of bullshit nonsense they learn to do in THE SERVICE?

(Or at the very least by watching “She’s Crafty.”)

I took pictures with my real camera but we have a new computer and the version of Photoshop I’m used to doesn’t work on it anymore and I’m too bull-headed to let Henry show me how to use something new so all of my pictures are just festering in a folder, unedited.

I know there comes a time when the big extravaganzas need to come to an end, and Chooch still had a blast even though this party was waaaaay scaled down, but I can’t help but feel the itch to have one more big party next year. Maybe in the park again, and CREEPY CARNIVAL-THEMED. I could use my papier mache clown head again! Chooch seems down with this idea.

Which is good, because I already started planning it.

I gave Chooch some of his presents before school, one of which was a Creeper shirt (some character from that Minecraft game he games, I guess).

“Do you know why they’re called Creepers?” he asked me as we walked to school.

“….because they creep?” I wagered.

“Dammit,” he whispered, dismayed that I was right.

His teacher calls him Swaggy because he has so much swag.

She’s pretty cool for a 1st grade teacher, obvi.

Henry’s mom and Janna came over in the evening and we had cake when I came home from work, which was awesome but hello—THERE WAS A HOCKEY GAME ON. Chooch tried to change it at one point and I swiped the remote back.

“I don’t care if it’s your birthday! You don’t ever turn off the hockey game!” I yelled.

Henry’s mom looked scared, but come on guys. It’s me. And it’s hockey.

Just, no.

Henry bought Chooch a shit-ton of scratch offs. “Grandma-in-training,” Andrea texted me after seeing this picture of his loot. “He just needs some Pall Malls and a Bingo dauber!”

Which is funny because one of his lottery tickets was some Bingo thing which Janna scrutinzed for 20 minutes to see if he won anything, and then Henry double-checked for another 20 minutes. Janna was apparently way off.

And then Chooch turned intoa cranky son of a bitch because it was late and he all of my drama genes.

Tomorrow, we’re taking Chooch and my incision to Knoebel’s, where we will be meeting up with the Darkride and Funhouse Enthusiasts Group and having cake in celebration of the Haunted Mansion’s 40th birthday.(Some of my co-workers have been giving me weird looks when I tell them about this which I have been translating into: JELIS.) AND THEN RIDING RIDES ALL THE LIVELONG DAY.

I’m so excited! So is Chooch! Henry is not!

 (Yes, I got my way!)

———–

I just wanted to thank everyone who reached out yesterday and wished Chooch a happy birthday. I was kind of bummed at one point when I realized that my mother has missed all but THREE of his birthdays (I mean, if she didn’t care that he was born, she sure as shit isn’t going to care that he turned 7) but we’re lucky to have  Henry’s family, my extended family and also a ton of really kind friends who stepped up and reminded me that he is loved. I’m not going to let one rotten apple spoil the day.

 So, thank you all very much!

Today is Chooch’s (and my phantom C-section incision pain’s) 7th birthday and I can hardly believe it. SEVEN! I hope that things continue to go up, because six was a not-so-bad age (as opposed to every single year that came before it). His little bitch ass temper tantrums have all but died out (probably because he’s moved on to more sophisticated ways to make us miserable) and his interests have certainly broadened. Six was the age he could finally start riding some of the bigger rides at amusement parks (obviously a very big deal for me and me alone), he went to his first wedding and his first concert (Pierce the Veil, whaddup!) and also started to really get The Walking Dead — before he was only interested in the zombie parts, but now we have these long, meaningful conversations about the characters and what we think will happen, and it’s really awesome because it’s something we do without Henry so then we get to say things like, “Ha-ha, Henry doesn’t know what we’re talking about because he sucks and doesn’t watch The Walking Dead. He probably wouldn’t understand it anyway.” And then Henry frowns.

Six was the year of “Call Me Maybe” dance parties and crossbows. Of starting a new school with normal people where he flourishes and is able to be himself with no judgment from all the prudent Catholic moms. Of making secret friends and going to haunted houses.

Six was a sweet age and I’m really looking forward to see what entertainment seven will bring!

And now here is a gratuitous photo montage of Chooch as a 6-year-old for you to enjoy while I go lay in bed and cry because if he is seven then that means I am OLD OMG CRISIS.

(This was technically a week before his 6th birthday, sue me.)

Zombie party!

Photobombing Andrea’s photoshoot.

At Conneaut.

Annoyed with me.

Oh Jesus Christ, our first attempt at a photoshoot without Henry there to supervise. Disastrous.

Pissed off at me at Lakemont Park.

First day of 1st grade!

Another disastrous photoshoot.

Everyone and their creepy dentist says that Chooch LOOKS JUST LIKE HENRY OMG and that’s fine, I’ve come to terms with that because Chooch has brought home 100%s on every single spelling test he’s had this year and he sure as shit doesn’t get THAT from Henry. That’s a tradeoff I’ll take, thanks.

One of the biggest things I’ve learned since becoming a parent is to just let the kid be himself. I’m sure there are people frowning down on me for letting him watch horror movies and speak freely (to this day he still NEVER swears in school and in public, or around his grandma, but we let him get away with it at home because after all, they’re just words & it’s not like it’s a Tarentino screenplay up in here), but I think it’s important to not have a super tight grasp on him. He is his own person and I’m proud of that. He might be a little smart ass, but he has a big heart. For example, when Henry took him to get cookies to take to school for his birthday, he got chocolate chip but then made sure to get butterfly ones for the girls. HE IS SUCH A LADIES MAN.

Happy birthday, Chooch! Here’s to another year full of photoshoots that increase your resentment for me! And also hopefully your first WARPED TOUR HOLY FUCK GET STOKED!

“Who is Jesus Christ, anyway?” Chooch asked me one day last week.

“Um, he’s Jesus,” I said, totally astonished at the stupid question.

“Well, I didn’t know that was his last name!” Chooch cried defensively. So I guess the whole time I had been planning my Pizza Party for Jesus Christ, Chooch thought a real life person named Jesus Christ was coming over to eat pizza with us.

Let me start at the beginning.

Holidays give me anxiety because I don’t want to be alone. I spent most holidays in my 20s alone and even though I have Henry and Chooch now, I need those days to still feel like a holiday, like a celebration. Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and Christmas are fine because we have things to do, but Easter is different. Easter is the holiday my family gave up on after my Pappap died. I think over the years, my mom might have had two or three Easter dinners, but it will always be That First Holiday After Pappap Died. The awkward holiday that no one knows what do with because it’s so soon after The Death and no one really wants to go through the motions.

Last year, Henry, Chooch and I ate at a Chinese restaurant. I couldn’t do that again. I needed to have company over, I needed a reason to decorate and have fun. So I invited some friends over who don’t have family here in Pittsburgh, plus Janna who was free after having Easter brunch with her parents. My brother Corey went with his girlfriend, and Henry’s sons also went with their girlfriends, because having pizza in the name of Jesus Christ wasn’t important enough for them, I guess. Pizza heathens.

Jesus doesn’t save pizza for heathens on the other side. Remember that, boys.

Everyone else I invited seemed stoked to have something to do on Easter, and that was all I hoped to achieve. Laura and Mike were on board, as well as my friends Natasha and Bill, whom I don’t get to see nearly enough! I used to work with Bill at one of my old jobs, so I was looking forward to hearing current tales about Eleanor and the job itself, which I still don’t really understand and I worked there for almost two years.

Two years of having no idea what I was doing — it’s a wonder I lasted as long as I did without getting fired, wtf.

(Don’t worry — I understand my current job, I promise.)

Chooch and I had a dance party while Henry cleaned the house.

Without consulting with Henry, I sent out a Facebook event.

“This is the day after the craft show!” Henry bitched. “When am I supposed to clean!?”

I tried to reason that he didn’t have to really go all out because it was, and I quote, “just a relaxing evening eating pizza in the name of Jesus Christ.”

Kind of like a “Welcome home!” and going away party in one.

“And furthermore, where am I going to get pizza on EASTER? There won’t be any pizza places open!” his rant continued.

“Um, maybe a Chinese pizza parlor?” I suggested smugly which only proved to anger him more.

While Henry ran off to the grocery store Easter afternoon, I did my part: setting out some religious candles and Jesus’s head. Happy Easter!

And Easter candy in bat bowls! I even walked to CVS all on my own (OK, with Chooch) to get the candy! Then I realized I forgot balloons (for Jesus) so Henry ended up having to go back out to the store anyway.

I blew up a bag of balloons and then let them float in disarray in our fake fireplace. So yes, clearly it was imperative for Henry to make that special trip to the store to get balloons. (And also crescent rolls and marshmallows for EMPTY TOMBS because what’s a pizza party for Jesus Christ without EMPTY TOMBS for dessert!?)

Michonne was one of the things in Chooch’s Easter basket because we are one of those asshole families that treat Easter like a springtime Christmas and I don’t really care if you judge me for giving the economy a boost. (Chooch and I both got new Pierce the Veil t-shirts from Hot Topic, too! THANK YOU EASTER BUNNY.)

During one of Henry’s trips to the store, he came back with some meat product you people call “pork tenderloin.”

OK. Here is a list of clues I collected during the day, proving that Henry actually enjoyed himself:

• He could have just bought pre-made frozen pizza and been done with it, but instead he came home with some kind of artisan pizza crusts and fancy ingredients.
• He took great pride in serving a variety of pizza, including: mozzarella/basil/tomato, shrimp pesto, chorizo, the aforementioned pork tenderloin, and some kind of fancy cheese thing. Who does that? A man who is having a fun time at a pizza party for Jesus Christ, that’s who.
• I caught him with a pizza hard-on a few times in the kitchen.
• He even stated for the record,”If I’m going to make pizza, it’s going to be good pizza.”

Great hair.

“What a shocker, I got a movie about a cat!”

Laura and Mike. Praying, obviously. (Look at that yellow balloon! I blew that up!)

Chooch and I were dressed like we had just tumbled out of a Crayola box.

Freaking Natasha magically turned away every time I tried to take her picture! God, she’s good.

I let Bill sit in my wheelchair because it was Easter and I felt like being a little nice to my guests.

This pizza’s for you J.C.! (And for once, that’s not a Jonny Craig reference.)

Henry cut all the pizza into awkward hors d’oeuvres shapes but then didn’t walk around serving them along with champagne flutes, which I found to be just plain rude. Henry sucks at hosting.

Right when Henry was finally about to sit down, I yelled, “WHAT ABOUT THE EMPTY TOMBS!?” so he sighed and retreated back to the kitchen.

“OMG so wait! The marshmallow was supposed to be Jesus, and then it melted so that’s what makes it an empty tomb!?” I shouted in my best A-ha! voice.

Chooch during one of his temper tantrums. Sometimes he gets SO MAD when he realizes that people mght actually come to our house to hang out with ME TOO. It’s not always just about him!

Chooch made us play Pictionary Junior which only led to tears. If he’d just accept the fact that I’m the best, maybe we could play games together in harmony someday.

And then we watched the Walking Dead season finale and cried together.

This was hands down the best Easter I had in a long time. Thanks to my friends who came over and spent the evening in our crazy house. Mad respect for pizza and you too, Jesus Christ!

———

The next day at work, Cheryl asked me, “How was your Easter? Do you guys do something weird for that, too?”

I love that my co-workers know me.

I wondered why Henry was being so weird about me buying tickets to the upcoming Jonny Craig show in March. Every time I’d say, “I’m buying those tickets tomorrow,” he would snap, “No!!” I thought it was because he was writing checks behind my back again and we actually had no money.

But then he forwarded me the email ticket confirmation because I guess he was afraid I was going to start putting myself up for auction on fetishist websites again in order to buy the tickets myself.

So I guess I’m supposed to consider this my Valentine’s Day present (“I bought the tickets and I’M GOING WITH YOU, TOO. That says a lot!” Henry fought for his cause), and that’s sweet and all, but we all know I was getting these tickets one way or another.

Therefore, he still has to do something for me for Valentine’s Day. Maybe I’ll have him clean out the car or chase down a Mexican fruit cart. We shall see.

(What the fuck is up with that sinister Johan up there, anyway?)

———-

In other V-day news, I passed out my serial killer cards (and some of Chooch’s zombie ones as a safe bet for the people I wasn’t sure about). They were mostly well-received! However, I gave an Albert Fish to one of my co-workers, even though I don’t know her very well. Later, she came over to my office and, with a horrified look on her face, said, “I wiki’d the guy on the card you gave me and that was the most disturbing Wikipedia page I’ve ever seen!” And then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “Thanks for the Valentine.” I think she liked it!

I was telling Barb about it later and she was all, “OMG you gave her one of those cards? She’s so sweet and innocent! Good job, Erin!”

You know me, making friends wherever I go!

(Speaking of the serial killer Valentines, they got a little shout out on the FEARnet website!)

OK, OK, this is the last one, I swear! I just couldn’t rest over the weekend until I had an even number of sheets and I had all these ideas and then realized, “Wait, do I seriously not have ANY Green River Killer cards?!” So I made one and that is how I justified needing to make 5 more different designs. When I’m on a kick, I can get pretty out of control. I mean, you should see the fruit in my kitchen.

So here is the final sheet of the Serial Killer Valentine series (although, I might potentially be making zombie versions).

(I’m sorry for the enthusiasm, but I’m just really excited and proud of these! I’ve wanted to make them for a long time now and I worked extra-hard on them.)

Richard Ramirez, Harry Powers, The Ken & Barbie Killers, Green River Killer, HH Holmes, David Berkowitz/Son of Sam.

Each one has their name printed on the back, so if you give one to someone and they don’t know who it is, they can ask Google. Sick AND educational, see!?

In case you missed the post about this last week (which can be found here), each sheet is $6 but there are different bundles you can get to save money. All the details are on Etsy: non compos cards. If you prefer to not go through Etsy, leave a comment or email me directly: noncomposcards@gmail.com

You won’t find anything like this anywhere else, I promise. Henry and I have been making these cards since 2007 and put a lot of love and effort into them. They’re not cheaply or sloppily made. Check my feedback on Etsy, you’ll see!

The sheets are sold in protective cellophane sleeves. I just shipped a bunch to Warriors 3 Comics in Michigan, so if you live near the Wayne/Detroit, go check ’em out!

(And by that I mean go buy some!)