One of the things I hated about Chooch’s old school was that Halloween was treated like Satan’s bachelor party — to the point where it was called the “H-word.” The preschool classes were miraculously permitted to celebrate it. I remember, being a party helper, following the kids on their parade route through the school and hearing the other teachers saying, “No, don’t say the H-word! Don’t let [the principal] hear that!”

Give me a fucking break.

But apparently, some public schools are following suit. A letter was sent home a few weeks ago stating that in lieu of Halloween parties, the classes would be having “Fall Celebrations.” No costumes, no parade.

Shit, I was on a warpath, talking about spearheading a movement, writing letters, homeschooling my child (ha-ha, yeah right — that was just my angry estrogen levels doing their psycho pelvic thrust on that last part). Apparently, other parents must have complained because an amended letter was sent home saying that the parade was going to happen after all, and that all the kids could bring their costumes to school, but please no: weapons, masks, makeup and/or accessories.

OK, the weapons part I get. Especially being the city. But what’s left after you strip a a kids costume of makeup, accessories, masks?

This actually didn’t affect the first graders, because they had a pumpkin patch field trip that day. But thanks to Hurricane Sandy, the field trip was canceled, so I was left scrambling  to throw together a school-approved costume for Chooch.

[His actual costume is Daryl from The Walking Dead, but without a crossbow (weapon), dirt/blood on face (makeup), zombie ear necklace (accessory), and squirrel (accessory) hanging from his side, what’s the point?]

(I should also note that his Nerf crossbow — which I won with THREE SECONDS LEFT on eBay — isn’t scheduled to be delivered until tomorrow. Thankfully, trick-or-treating has been postponed until Saturday due to the horrible weather. So that’s one thing I can thank Hurricane Sandy for. She’s still a cunt, though.)

Short of sending Chooch to school with a sheet over his head*, he took a trench coat-type thing, his pin-striped vest and a fedora for the most half-assed, unrecognizable gangster of all-time. He must have asked me 17 times on the walk to school to remind him what he’s supposed to be.

(* The school probably would have considered this a tripping hazard, anyway.)

So, I guess no Halloween pictures until the weekend.  Here’s last year’s, in case you were really pining for some Oh Honestly Halloween bullshit (which I doubt):

************

Barb was nice enough to fill in for me at work so I could have the evening off to fulfill my quota of motherly obligations. And thank god, because Henry did absolute FUCK ALL as far as the costume went. In fact, he napped until about 20 minutes before it was time to trick or treat, I was so goddamn irritated.

“But my job is so hard! I don’t get very much sleep!”

Go cry to your mommy about it, OK Henry? Come back when you’re ready to be a real man and help put makeup on your son.

Thankfully, Chooch’s costume — zombie Justin Bieber — cost nothing. And thank god for that because Henry’s membership dues for the local Bronie chapter are late.

Thank you, Bieber, for being so easy to emulate.

I thought the lipstick prints were a nice touch, but unfortunately once the sun went down and it began to RAIN, I doubt anyone really noticed. Or bothered to wager a guess.

“You know what we need?” Henry asked, actually trying to get involved FIVE MINUTES before trick-or-treating started.

“A black kid to go with him as Usher?” I offered immediately, kicking myself for not asking our neighbor Toya’s son.

That was not what Henry had in mind, and I can’t remember what it was because it wasn’t very ingenious or memorable.

Chooch actually was using a much smaller treat bucket thing which Henry periodically dumped out in the Ugly Doll bag. We’re not that cruel to make him carry a tote bag half his size.

As soon as we walked out of the house, Chooch’s school buddy Nate and his older brother just happened to be at the house next to us, so they got to trick-or-treat together for awhile, but I feel like their aunt and uncle kept trying to ditch us.

I can’t imagine why.

At one of the houses, some guy who was maybe in his late teens/early 20s asked Chooch what his shirt said.Then to me, he said in this condescending tone of superiority, “I mean, I could see if he was a girl.”

Really? Is it seriously that common for a girl to dress as Justin Bieber?

So of course, I fixated on this for another block and a half, totally psycho-analyzing this fucker’s statement and questioning the obscurity of my kid’s costume.

“Let it go,” Henry kept mumbling around mouthfuls of pick-pocketed candy.

BUT I COULD NOT LET IT GO.

I was so happy when I put the pictures on Facebook later that night and one of my guy friends commented with a simple “Bieber?” YES. YES, THANK YOU FOR GETTING IT.

Henry reminded me that the rain was preventing people from stopping to actually look at what the kids were dressed right as some home owner exclaimed, “OMG BOB THE BUILDER! HOW CUTE!” as the little fucker behind Chooch toddled up to punch his hand in the candy bowl.

If I really wanted to reach new heights as a Halloween pageant mom, I could have arranged for some of the girls in Chooch’s class to dress as his squealing entourage. This wouldn’t be hard to accomplish considering how much they fawn over him anyway. I could have just set them loose and they’d have chased him down the street like they do on any normal day.

(I have to take my vitamin now. Henry bought me an apple corer thing like Barb has, so now I am eating all of the apples and choking back vitamins. This is a New Erin.)

There was one (1) Baby Ruth in Chooch’s bag that night and I said, “All I want is that Baby Ruth. Please, no one eat it.” But then I guess I was too distracted by my new apple fetish so by the time I went back for it, Henry had already shat it out in the toilet.

;

Finally, we got the approval to decorate for Halloween again this year! I’ve known since last October what I was going to do this year.

Last year’s was so graphic and murder-y, so I decided to go a different route: clowns. It seems like most of the department are coulrophobic! And it just so happens I have a few clowns in my collection.

Henry and I had a huge fight about the fabric. I’m sorry but fabric stores are gross! I didn’t want to be there at all, and I threw a massive fit about how ridiculous it was that I couldn’t find striped fabric.

“You only looked in one rack!” Henry cried, whic prompted me to scathe, “Oh, don’t you talk to me that way!

” and storm out of the store. Sunday was a fabulous day!

(Obviously, I sent him back out for the fabric.)

(The randomly jutting clown shoe scares Brad.)

So, one of the first components I began working on last week was defacing pictures of Glenn.

Watching me turn Glenn into a Juggalo, Lee asked, “What started your beef with Glenn, anyway?”

This gave me pause. You know, I can’t be certain exactly what happened, but I know that he sassed me one time. And for that, he will forever be my joke-pony.

Anyway, the seedling of my idea was to get a bunch of those prize machine capsules and fill it with candy and a picture of Glenn (collect them all!).

Crooked Cop Glenn!

Stripper Glenn!

I also made a bunch of department-centric fortunes. My favorite is: Never underestimate the power of a Barb Riley Nastygram.

So I did all of these things, ordered those plastic vending capsules in bulk, and then thought to myself, “WTF am I putting these in?” Certainly not just a random bowl. So I made a beachball-sized paper mache clown head (with Henry’s help—I’m not allowed to use the hand mixer). It took all weekend and was one of the most frustrating projects of my life (hi, I hate crafts, remember?), but I am so in love with him now! My babe!

It’s surprising to me how many people either hesitated or flat out refused to put their hand in his mouth, like I am so untrustworthy! Barb is so thrilled she gets to stare at the back of his bald head all day.

And what goes along with carnivals and circuses? Side show freaks!

Carey as the Tattooed Lady! A Fiji Mermaid!

Midget pacifier-sucking Brad! Bloody circus peanuts!

Ringmaster A-ron!

Chris and Lee, Ultimate Law Firm Bromance! (Lee is so angry and traumatized about this.)

;

Moustache and beard lollipops!

Fiji Mermaid up close!

Barb the Contortionist!

Random babies in a bottle!

So, this is why I haven’t been writing much on here lately: I’ve got a one-track mind!

Mostly, it’s been received very positively. I mean, it’s fun! It’s interactive! It’s mean-spirited toward Glenn (who secretly loves it)! Even some people who don’t usually talk to me have stopped to appreciate it. I just hope that the few anti-fun people here don’t get upset and complain.

But if last year’s Murder Desk was allowed to carry on throughout the entire month, I don’t see why this one can’t, too.

I still have some more things to do, but one thing’s for sure: all the clown haters sure do love me right now.

It’s no secret that I hate my house with every fibre of my being and it is probably the main cause of my unhappiness. Everything else in my life is either really great or good enough. But this house. Ugh, this house. I’ve lived here for 13 years now — renting. And this place has housing leprosy – the ceiling is falling down, the tiles are coming up, etc etc.

This house hasn’t felt like a home in a LONG time.

But it’s not our house. Hopefully we will own our own house someday, but until then I decided that instead of being a big crybaby about hating my house, I’m just going to deal with it and start decorating again like I used to.

I started with the fireplace mantel and window sill and I feel better already.

Now if only I can get rid of Henry and all his shit…

Hard to take pictures in the dark, but it loses its effect when lit.

Yay Halloween!

****

I’ve been so overwhelmed with life these days, like if I were a celebutante, now would be the time to check into rehab for “exhaustion.” I even had a small break down at work last week, which was totally embarrassing and it’s all because I’ve been so emotionally sensitive lately.
 

I’ve had to say no to people. I hate saying no. I want to say yes and help out everyone with all the things they’re doing, or want to do, but the reality is that I’m at a buffet with a saucer. The more I take on, the more half-assed everything turns out. And that makes me unhappy. And also physically ill.

My priority has to be this house, and looking for a new house. (And also looking for a new couch: one that isn’t broken and slowly giving us scoliosis. Then maybe I can let people come over again.

Breaking everything down into small projects makes me feel like maybe this is manageable, and maybe one day I won’t feel panicked and miserable every time I walk through my front door. I won’t lie though: I’ve been thinking that maybe blogging needs to either go on the back burner or just go. That might be a hard addiction to break, but sometimes I think I would be happier in the end. Who knows.

We’re having a baby shower for Colleen today at work; Barb knew better than to ask for my help decorating, but I still contributed a little.

I came out of retirement to paint this for the baby’s room. I hope Colleen (and the baby) like it!

When Barb saw the gift bag on my desk, she got seriously disgusted and yelled, “NOW who are you getting gifts from?

! This is getting ridic—” Then she realized it was Colleen’s baby gift and said, “Oh,” in a tiny voice.

Speaking of parties, I had one thrown for me Sunday night. No, I take that back—it wasn’t a party. It was BETTER than a party. It was so good, in fact, that I am still stunned two days later and every time I try to sit down and write about it, I wind up staring off into the distance with a goofy smile on my goofy face.

Soon!

My brother Corey sent me this picture yesterday when I was at work and I just lost it. It’s from Thanksgiving at my grandma’s house in 2002, when we were all still skilled at maintaining a shiny familial veneer in front of company. In fact, I think this may have been Henry’s first holiday with my family so I’m sure everyone was on their best behavior and my grandma probably only referenced me being a literary failure three times over the course of the night. (She used to lie to her friends at our tennis club and tell them I was going to Kent State for journalism because she was embarrassed that I was a lowly office manager in real life.

Oh geez, there goes my shoulder chip again!

Anyway, I love this photo because it captures us so well: Henry, looking exhausted, mildly frightened, and certainly sleazy. Me, looking adorable, mildly pouty, and certainly plotting.

I often find it incredibly surreal and hard to believe that we’re still a couple.

We sit closer together now, though.

I knew that my birthday wasn’t going to go by unnoticed at work yesterday (maybe the fact that I stopped nearly every co-worker on Friday to remind them had something to do with it), but I really wasn’t expecting as much of a to-do as I actually got. I figured there would be some mild decorating, maybe a card or two.

Instead, I walked into a confetti explosion, not one but two Happy Birthday banners flanked by pictures of Jonny Craig, a parade of gift bags and cards, and mini lemonade cupcakes.

What the fuck, you guys, I almost died!

You can tell I was excited because all my pictures are blurry.

Glenn could have at least signed his Post It Note. (I put the confetti there myself; he’s not that creative.) When I asked him if he got me anything, he handed me a piece of candy from my own candy dish. God, he is totally Work Henry.

My card from Gayle!

GAYLE MADE ME A JONNY CRAIG CHARM BRACELET CAN YOU EVEN BELIEVE IT?! I was wearing my prized jeweled elephant bracelet at the time and that sucker was shunned real quick in favor of dangling Jonnys. Barb’s reaction was, “Great. Now she likes Gayle more than me.” I just see this as motivation for everyone else to step it up!

Ruby-hued cocktail ring from Debbie, who had no idea that Ruby is my nickname. This inspired me to tell Barb the story about alter ego after Debbie left for the day (she might be too new to handle some of my over-shares) which was met with Barb’s standard WTF reaction.

Lee was jealous that my birthday caused more hullabaloo (God I love that word) than his did last week, so he confetti-bombed me. And I mean, he confetti-BOMBED me. Every time I moved, clumps of it would cascade down my back all the way into my pants.

It was sharp.

I ended up leaving a trail of it all over the department and brought even more of it home with me. I’m still brushing it out of my hair.

This was taped to the back of Barb’s card. She got me an I Love Being in the Cemetery pendant! And Wendy got me a fairy door locket so I’ll be able to put a picture of Jonny in it.

“Yeah, forget about Henry and your son,” Barb said sarcastically when I excitedly announced my intentions.

Jeannie got me some lip balm and a Shit List notepad (Wendy rolled her eyes and said, “Great, I know my name will be on that a lot”), Catherine got me a Starbucks card because I’m awesome, and Sandy (who hung one of the Happy Birthday banners up on her own!) and Sue got me cards. Everyone else fawned over me with words, which was acceptable.

A few people were like, “It’s your birthday, WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” and I just spread my arms and looked around my desk smugly. Seriously, stay home and miss all of this?! I have the best work friends of all time!

After work, Chooch gave me two cards: one was his signature ridiculous music-playing cards (he loves those things) and I couldn’t stop laughing because he used an Internet smiley face on the envelope. Seriously, he’s six.

The second card was handmade. He’s been obsessed with all of the Ju-On movies of late, so that’s the picture he drew for me, which I guess is better than the mound of shit he drew on Henry’s birthday card in June. He also got me nail polish and the new Used CD.

And Andrea’s mom sent me the most beautiful flowers!

I never get sent flowers! They made me feel so special.

Actually, everyone made me feel so special yesterday. I have had a notoriously long line of disappointing and depressing birthdays. It’s not about “stuff,” it’s about feeling like people care about me.

I always get so sad around my birthday because it makes me miss my Pappap so much, and it brings to the forefront all of the issues I have with my family and I can’t help but wonder if this will be the year my mom actually reaches out. It never is, but both of my brothers, my aunt Susie, and my cousin Danielle remembered my birthday, and aside from Henry and Chooch, that’s all the family I need.

This was the first year I didn’t cry (in a bad way) once on July 30th, and it’s because of all you guys. (There was a good chance that Henry would fuck that up once I came home from work last night, but he was careful with his words. I didn’t even flip out when he said that my present has to be given to me on a certain day which was not yesterday. This obviously means, “Erin, you spent all of my money with your dumb weekend amusement park tour, so now I have to wait until I paid again.” But look at me, being all patient and not spoiled!)

Meanwhile, Seri and Pete have something up their sleeves and it is driving me absolutely crazy. We’re celebrating my birthday in two weeks because they’re going to Delaware this weekend. Seri texted me when we were in Erie over the weekend and said that they bought my birthday gift and it’s so obscure and Erin-esque that she feels confident it’s the most perfect gift ever. They came over Sunday night after we got home and while Seri was inside discussing birthday plans with Henry, I tried to get Pete to tell me what my gift is and all he would say was that he’s not entirely comfortable having it in their house.

I was telling Barb all of this at work yesterday and I said, “Well, whatever it is, Seri was able to carry it into my house to show Henry, so it’ s not a wheelchair.” I paused thoughtfully and then blurted out, “Oh my god, maybe it’s leg braces!”

Barb almost died right there at the absurdity of my exclamation, but I was totally serious. Turns out that wasn’t even my actual present that Seri was showing Henry, but something that “goes along” with everything else they’re planning. WHAT THE FUCK, THIS IS KILLING ME! I’m so not used to this kind of birthday treatment.

Thirty-three already feels pretty spectacular. It’s time to close the crypt door on all of the childhood darkness.

It’s my birthday! I had an action-packed birthday weekend! I just ate a raspberry lemonade cupcake! Now I’m going to let Barb fawn over me at work!

You know what I want for today? I mean, other than a bedside serenade from Jonny Craig? I just want you guys to share my blog with your friends. Having people read this thing would make me happy on my birthday.

I mean, you don’t have to do anything, but IT IS MY BIRTHDAY.

33 is going to be better than 32. It has to be.

July 12th, 2012: Warped Tour, a/k/a Erin R. Kelly’s Christmas.

Oh you guys, I can’t even begin to explain how badly I need this day every year. It’s that one day where I don’t give a shit what I look like, how much I weigh, that my finger is engagement ringless. Mama don’t care! On this day, I’m not a mom, not a girlfriend, not a Law Firm grunt, not a blogger or a serial annoyer; I am just a music fan. I wake up with butterflies in my stomach – that awesome feeling of being on a roller coaster going up a hill? I’ve got that the whole way up until the gates of the venue are opened, and then it’s just an all-day, unrelenting rush of emotiblahblahblah blah blahhhh Erin is a scene ladykid who probably has a drawerful of YOLO tanks.

No one comes here to read this emo shit. Bring on the dramzzz, right?

There was definitely a big scoop of pre-Warped drama, stemming from when Henry nearly couldn’t be my date, CAN YOU IMAGINE? He almost had to work that day (actually, he was supposed to work that day but pulled some strings, moved some shit around, did what he had to do to keep his big bitchbaby girlfriend placated) and even tried to PAY Christina to go with me, which would have been a disaster so thank god she’s too wishywashy to say yes. (Worst Warped Tour ever was 2007 when I went with her and her sister; just awful.) My alternate date was Chooch. This seemed like a swell idea at first, probably because I was drunk when I thought of it. But can you imagine? Maybe all three of us together (with a SWAT team behind us) would be OK, but Chooch and me alone? No.

(He was actually on board to go once he saw pictures of Warped Tour that included girls in bikinis. Scandelous.)

I cried. I stamped my feet. I slammed doors. I didn’t talk to Henry for an entire day* because of this and made sure everyone at work knew that my boyfriend was a horrible human being.

*(That’s a long time for a couple who barely fight! No seriously, that wasn’t a joke.)

But then two nights before the day of Warped Tour, Henry came through and said that he would indeed be able to go. The next day at work, I was called a “crybaby” and “spoiled brat” by unnamed co-workers.

(Lee.)

I would have gone by myself if I had to, but I sure was happy that my official Warped Tour partner was able to come along for yet another year.  And I don’t care what he says, we both had a good time. I think Henry’s favorite part was when we were up front during Of Mice & Men and got to see the conveyor belt of injured fans being carried away by security staff and medics, such as:

• girl with busted nose so bloody, it almost appeared that it had been ripped entirely off
• guy who landed supine on the asphalt
• guy who was 100% unconscious
• girl who was crying hysterically to the chief security guy; Henry postulated that she had something in her eye (I have no idea where he got that idea) but I’m pretty sure she was telling him that she was touched inappropriately by another security guy.

The downside to Of Mice & Men was that Blood on the Dance Floor was playing after them and one of their members TOUCHED ME when he was cutting through the crowd to get back behind the stage.

 I apparently thought this was worth capturing for posterity.

The band I most wanted to see this year was Warped Tour darlings Pierce the Veil, because it’s the only band that Henry and I both mutually love. They just released a new album last week, and their first single features Kellin Quinn on guest vocals. It is so fucking sick, you guys. So fucking sick. What makes me like them so much is definitely the lyrics. Their songs are morbid, romantic (in a the truest Romeo & Juliet sense), heart-wrenching and violent all at once, without sounding like a funeral dirge. They make you want to dance while Vic is singing about post-mortem kissing.  Lyrically, I can’t help but compare them to the Cure and I think if Robert Smith ever read some of their lyrics, he’d be hard-pressed not to crack at least half of a red-lipsticked smile.

Basically, they write the songs I would write if I could write songs. I think Vic Fuentes is fucking brilliant.

For some reason, Pierce the Veil gets lumped in under the Bands That Little Girls Love OMG category, I guess because they’re a bunch of super cute Mexicans? But really, these guys BRING IT and the crowd can get pretty violent.  When bands play on the stage under the ampitheater, it makes it hard for those of us overprotective of our bones to get as close to the stage as we want. Everyone jams in this tiny pit between the front row of seats and the stage and it just looks completely unsavory to me and my old lady joints.

I grabbed two seats in the first row after the barricade, which Henry was totally not thrilled about. (He even “pretended” to “not see” where I went, so I had to sit alone for a few mintes before the set started. I had to stop myself from squealing to the teenage girls next to me, “OMG DO YOU THINK KELLIN WILL COME OUT AND SING WITH THEM!?” I mean, duh, of course that was going to happen considering Kellin’s band Sleeping With Sirens is also on Warped Tour this year. DUH, YOU GUYS.

A circle pit erupted almost immediately, causing a wall of bodies to press back against the barricade, which in turn pressed back against the row of empty seats in front of us.

“Um, I hope they used good bolts,” Henry yelled in my ear, pointing at the green plastic seats which were now being angrily thrusted against our thighs. And then the lady in front of Henry turned around and they shared some HAHAHAHAHA FUNNY REMARK about the peril we’d be sure to find ourselves in if those bolts gave out. That’s OK, lady, I’m sure Henry will save you first when the avalanche of bodies comes crashes through the barricade and I’m left vivisected and needing a wheelchair for real.

 And then I couldn’t stop fixating on it. I started looking up at the rafters, imagining other things that could go wrong; but despite all the Final Destination paranoia, I was still able to enjoy the show. (And cry a lot. God, I love them.)

Fucker put his arm up and blocked Kellin Quinn (OMG KELLIN QUINN CAME OUT AND SANG!) right when I took this picture.

I really loved Henry for about fifteen minutes after Pierce the Veil’s set. Residual ephoria, I guess. I don’t know. But that all ended later on during Sleeping With Sirens. He was behind me the whole time, as far as I knew anyway, and when I leaned back during the last song (our never-wedding song!!), it was not Henry’s nondescript shirt-covered Mountain Dew belly that I found myself lovingly resting against, but the SUNKEN IN CHEST OF SOME ACNE-RIDDEN SWEATY TEENAGE BOY, WTF HENRY?! Oh, I wanted to die.

And that’s when I saw Henry HUNDREDS OF YARDS (I don’t even know what yards are) away from me. I stormed over to him after the set was over and he said, “What? I was hot. I didn’t want to stand in the crowd anymore.”

HE COMPLETELY MISSED OUR (MY) SONG!!!

I stormed off quickly toward the stage where Taking Back Sunday had just started playing, purposely losing him in the process. This happens once every Warped Tour. It’s OK, you guys.

Then this text exchange panned out:

When he found me, I tried to psychically knee him in the balls, but my pissed-off act never lasts around him anymore. I guess I’m just too downtrodden at this point. We made eye contact and then both started laughing and lived happily ever after until I started bugging him about buying me merch. (Finally bought me a Vans tanktop near the end of the night when most of the other tents had already been taken down.)

The brightside is that Henry was already at that particular stage, because he actaully paid attention earlier and knew that Taking Back Sunday was on the day’s itinerary. D’aw, Henry loves me!

 Bands We Saw:

• Chelsea Grin
• Four Year Strong
• Vanna
• Emily’s Army
• Funeral Party
• We Are the Ocean
• Title Fight
• You Me At Six
• Of Mice & Men
• Pierce the Veil
• Sleeping with Sirens
• Miss May I
• LoveBite
• Chunk! No, Captain Chunk!
• Anthony Ranieri (acoustic)
• Bayside
• Taking Back Sunday
• Breathe Carolina
• I Fight Dragons
• The Used

 I don’t know what else to say. It was a wonderful day, but if I write anymore, it’s going to start sounding like the shit I write in my diary, with bubble letters in pink ink SMEARED BY MY ERRANT TEARS.  In a nutshell: we saw some incredible bands, ran into Blake who immediately panhandled on Henry, I got to release a ton of built-up angst and rage,  Henry got to take a short nap in the grass and for the first time since 2004, I was able to hear The Used without getting upset. I don’t even think I hated anyone that day.

Until next year, my fair Warped Tour. :(

FML. FML. FMFL.

Was forced to go to Warped Tour again. It was pretty terrible but not as bad as in previous years, mostly because we are only marginally poor now so I was able to buy as many bottles of Coke as I wanted and I even bought FOOD this time instead of sitting under a tree, nibbling on contraband granola bars. (Erin still did this because she is a cheap whore and honestly thought she was going to save money to buy merch; little did she know she was funding my free-flowing supply of COCA COLA.

)

I don’t even like Coke.

It was hot, but not “need to apply Desitin in a bathroom stall” hot.

The first shitty band we saw was Chelsea Grin. They weren’t even on the stage yet and I knew I was going to hate them based on their bleeding eyeball signs. And then they came out and the screamer started screaming and it was like being anally probed by their band name’s font. Then the screamer started to sing and I said, “He should just go back to screaming” and Erin did that thing where she looks at me like I don’t get it. But what is there to get about a band who sound like a satchel of shrieking newborns on steroids. Of course Erin would like that shit because it sounded as schizophrenic as one of her daily temper tantrums.

I got a free beef jerky sample and that was pretty good. Here is a picture of me eating that. I don’t know what stupid band was playing during that though, but I bet there was screaming in it.

Then I ate some wings and fresh potato chips. Here is a picture of me eating that too. Sure, my meal cost about $20, but I didn’t mind so much because that was one less pair of scene kid YOLO booty shorts Erin could buy from some obnoxious merch dick. The fact that some stupid band was shouting on a nearby stage negated the happiness that I felt from the food. At least I got to sit down while I ate, but that was only because Erin was waiting for some other band to start playing so she let me.

And then that band began playing and I got to re-taste my meal.

Everyone depended on me to hold up the barrier during Pierce the Veil. We are all lucky we’re alive. Those kids really act like feral hillbillies when they hear music sometimes. I was hoping one of them would hit me so I could punch them back call my mommy call the cops.

I know, it looks like I am sleeping while standing in this picture. That is because I am.

I’m surprised there was not a terrible band there called Sleeping While Standing.

Ugh, I hate kids and I hate music and I hate kids who love music. And I hate whatever band that is, too.

Sometimes I just walk away because I need to sit down.

Don’t look at the half-naked 16-year-old. Don’t look at the half-naked 16-year-old. Don’t let Erin see me looking at the half-naked 16-year-old.

Oh shit, don’t let the half-naked 16-year-old’s DAD see me looking at the half-naked 16-year-old.

COME AT ME, BRO.

Got to take a nap on the lawn during Breathe Carolina, which was great, but then I dreamt that I was drinking Yoo Hoo out of Jeffree Starr’s mouth with Jonny Craig. Woke up needing a cold shower and pissed that I know who Jeffree Starr is thanks to fucking Warped Tour.

Then the Used screamed some songs and I finally got to leave.

Highlights: beef jerky; avoiding Blood On the Dance Floor; not getting stuck in parking lot traffic on the way out.

Lowlights: Finding Erin after I lost her in the crowd; the existence of Blood On the Dance Floor; everything else.

Music has really gone downhill since I played in that Ted Nugent cover band when I was in THE SERVICE.

(I may have had some or a lot of help writing some or all of this.)

I am in a complete state of comedown today. Yesterday was such a blur: I wait all year for it and then it’s over in a whiplash-inducing flash. I’ve already cried in mourning. But the euphoria definitely outweighs the depression!

Before the gates opened.

Finding out Pierce the Veil’s set time was our (my) main priority.

Henry, dryly before Chelsea Grin even took the stage: I can already tell I’m going to love THEM.

I try to let him sit every couple hours.

Emily’s Army. I had a crush on the boy scout.

Ugh, Funeral Party was so sick. Of course there were only 10 people watching them with me because there were no gimmicks or ridiculous wardrobes or KISS-copying.

Waiting for Pierce the Veil.

;

Took this for Chooch. Missed him so much. :(

On the phone with his sister, fondling a broken pair of sunglasses he found on the ground.

AUSTIN CARLILE MAKES ME HAPPY. He screams the demons right the fuck out of my body.

Seriously, the best Mexicans ever. I love Pierce the Veil so hard and will probably start crying about it in 3….2….

The ever-omnipresent Jeffree Starr.

Our annual “I’m Stoked, Henry’s Not” picture. Henry actually did smile a few times though.

LIKE WHEN KELLIN QUINN SANG WITH PIERCE THE VEIL, ADMIT IT HENRY.

Backne popping during Sleeping with Sirens. Please join me in my repulsion.

Finally succumbed to exhaustion around the 7PM mark and crashed on the lawn during Breathe Carolina.

I still have to take the pictures off the regular camera, and I’ll be back with those and an actual account of Henry’s agony.

Fuck, that was the best day of the summer and I can’t wait to do it all over again 100 more times.

You with me, Henry?

I’m so glad that Pittsburgh decided to have a heat wave in tandem with Andrea’s visit from California. We don’t have a/c in our house, so the poor girl suffered all week. At least her hotel room was air-conditioned.

The cemetery wasn’t air-conditioned either, so she had to endure 90 degree heat & humidity for an hour in a wig and wedding dress while I took pictures on the Fourth of July. (More pictures to come once I can sit at the computer and edit them without sweat dripping into my eyes.)

We spent a lot of this week at the hotel pool, which gave Chooch and me short reprieves from the heat. We are like sweaty twins. Everyone else around us complains of the heat yet appears relatively dry; Chooch and I meanwhile have damp hair and faces mimicking glazed hams.

Some lady at the hotel pool let Chooch use one of her innertubes which I’m pretty sure he punctured.

Saw this at the cemetery. The universe is always throwing out Jonny Craig signs for me!

Bought fireworks.

That night, we went to Seri and Pete’s house to watch the Mt. Lebanon fireworks, which were completely underwhelming, but Seri’s Martha Stewart-rivaling hospitality more than made up for that. Their house is so inviting and she provided a handsome spread of finger food to be stuffed into my mouth. LOOK AT THOSE MARSHMALLOW KEBOBS! Even Andrea was delighted and she hates everything.

Andrea being delighted.

I didn’t want to take a cherry out of the narrow receptacle in which Seri had lined them up because it looked so perfect and decorative, but Andrea was all, “Just take one, stupid. That’s what they’re there for.” And then immediately after I plucked one for my plate, Andrea said, “You ruined it.”

Oh my god, and the sangria. So much delicious sangria! Seri was completely spazzed out all night, worrying that we weren’t having fun, but damn – I didn’t want to be anywhere else but on that couch hugging a red ball pillow that I had formed at unhealthy attachment to, eating food, telling stories, and having their two kids entertain Chooch.

It was a good night with new friends and old friends and even Henry smiled a lot. HENRY SMILED A LOT. And I learned that the key to placating Andrea is boxed wine and Latin music. Thank you, Seri and Pete!

(Also, the truth came out about Henry pushing a girl in a wheelchair at a Ted Nugent show. Will provide a separate post for that.)

[In light of recent activity, I have been struggling with whether to keep this blog up or take it down; I ultimately decided to keep it up because I haven’t done anything wrong; but this post, however, is password-protected* since it involves Chooch’s school friends and not these particular parents, but other parents in that class, have beef with me.]

[*Oh, fuck it. I don’t care who reads this shit anymore.]

Chooch decided a few months ago that he wanted to have the same birthday as his awesome mom. I mean, who can blame the kid for wanting to emulate such a loose cannon like myself. Hopefully, he develops a taste for foot and crow soon, because if he’s going to follow my path, he’s going to be dining on a lot of that.

So we rented out the rink for the kid and invited all his friends, most of which just happen to be grown-ups. I have never known a child to have so many grown-up friends. Which to me, that sounds like the opposite of a neglected, unloved child. But what do I know. I’ve only been a mom for six years.

Guest List

• My brother Corey and his girlfriend Danielle
• Henry’s mom Judy
• Henry’s sister Kelly
• Zac
• Steph and Kian, + a green-haired girl whose name I never got
• Danielle and Ean
• Lindsay, Anthony and Tiffany
• Lauren, Randy, Dean and Olivia
• Barb
• Lee
• Amber
• Wendy and Shawn
• Kaitlin
• Kaitlin’s famous cake
• Kristen
• Ricky, Chris, Kari and Katelyn, reppin’ Castle Blood
• Carol
• Laura
• Bill, Jessi and Tammy
• Mikayla, her sister and parents
• Nate, his brother and uncle
• Jacob, his sister and mom
• Emyle, her mom and cousin
• Bria, her sister and parents, who came from a wedding and changed in the bathroom, that’s how all about it they were
• Lisa and Matt
• Shawn, Cosi and Anais
• Peaches and Drake
• Our neighbor D and his friend who wouldn’t talk to me

Pretty sure that’s more people that came to my party. It’s hard being in the shadow of a six-year-old sometimes!

I. The Mix

I slaved over the perfect skating mix all week, staying cognizant of the fact that there would be Catholic school children in attendance, and let me tell you something: Rick Ross radio edits just don’t exist. EVEN IF IT SAYS “RADIO EDIT,” listen to that shit first, because I promise you it will all start to unravel by the end and you’ll find yourself clawing your way out of ramparts and carnage of “pussy” and “fuck.” Unbelievable that I actually rose to the occasion and did my due diligence on this one.

Reminding myself that it wasn’t MY party, I put on Chooch’s favorite Eisley song, which he totally missed because it came on while he was opening his presents. He asked for Frank Turner’s “Photosynthesis” (what 6-year-old requests that song, really), which proved to be horrible to skate to, but whatever – not my party. He threw me a bone and said I could put on “The Past Should Stay Dead” by Emarosa, but then when it came on, he switched directions just to clomp over to me and say, “Really Mommy? Emarosa? Really?” like he was totally disappointed in me WHEN HE GAVE ME PERMISSION! God, he’s always trying to make me look the fool.

But at least it came on after Lee and Amber were already there, so they got to hear what the true honey-tinged voice of a male siren sounds like. Even Lee admitted that he wasn’t that bad, for a drug addict.

That morning at breakfast, “Sussudio” came on, which made me, Tammy and Jessi laugh since we had just listened to an angry Phil Collins singing it the night before at my house.

“Well, this definitely has to go on the mix now, ” I laughed. AND IT DID.

And then after that, I mostly just threw on some 80s synthpop, Skrillex (unashamed dubstep fan in this hizzy), Britney Spears and some current r&b jams. At one point, I skated past Jacob’s mom, who was sitting on a bench talking to Bria’s parents, when I overheard her say, “And this music is so good. It’s really taking me back!”

That gave me the courage I needed to broach conversation with the enemy. Actually, these parents aren’t the enemy. Those parents were too cowardly to bring their children to the Evil Woman’s son’s birthday party. More on that at a later date. (And that is only one of the reasons this post is password-protected. For now, anyway.)

“I made this mix!” I shouted over top of the Breakfast Club’s mostly forgotten track “Right on Track.” And then we all had a really nice conversation about Spinning Wheels, the local rink that was poppin’ back in the 80s, and how much we miss it. It’s a Busy Beaver now. Get fucked, Busy Beaver.

They all gushed (yes, they gushed) about how they were having such a great time and thanked me for inviting them. (We put on the invitations that the entire family was welcome to come, admission was free, and skate rental was comped for the kids. Yeah, I know what that’s called. Sucking up. And I’m not beneath it.)

“Good,” I gloated to myself. “Now go back and tell those other bitch moms.”

II. Henry is the Best Skater

Cue the trumpets! Roll out the red carpet! Henry is about to take his inaugural roll around the rink and HE IS THE BEST SKATER EVER says everyone at the goddamn party. I know this based on the amount of times I skated away from people in a huff. Yeah, he’s the best skater ever, if that means he’s nearly 5o and able to skate to the tune of Peaches and Herb in his head while maintaining absolutely no rhythm, yet not falling. Bravo. Name a rink after this man, already.

I was crying about it to Barb, Lee and Amber, who all said that they were actually just commenting on how good of a skater I am, and then proceeded to stick out their arms to collect high fives from me the next time I passed their side of the bench. This appeased me, though they were probably just sucking up because they knew they would have to hear me cry about it all week at work otherwise.

Seriously, Henry is not all that. Sure, he’s a better cook, aircraft-identifier, moss expert, parent and person than me, but can’t I at least have something that I excel at? Jesus!

I am never skating with him again.

My Color Blind Brother Corey & His Girlfriend Danielle. They Will Never Be Able To Admire Rainbows Together.

III. Ultimate Party Foul

I was in the snack room when I noticed my friend Lauren’s son was crying and holding an icepack against his wrist. She told me they were taking him to the hospital and I totally felt like the biggest asshole ever.

“Why?” Lauren asked. “You didn’t push him!” She was so calm about it too. I would have been puking in my purse. After they left, Wendy’s husband Shawn was like, “His arm is totally broken” which made me feel even worse. Later that night, Lauren posted a picture on Facebook of Dean, sitting in the exam room with his entire arm in a cast. At least he was smiling, though!

First, Dean had to spend two hours with me last fall while I took pictures of him and his sister, and then he breaks his arm at my kid’s birthday party. That kid is probably so adverse to me.

Of course, one of Chooch’s big mouth friends went to school and told everyone about it, so now all the mom’s have new fodder. “Kids get broken around that evil family! This is the work of SATAN!”

IV. Pictures of Children

Some of the moms at Chooch’s school found my blog. This happened in February. The first wave of confrontations came through the day before Valentine’s Day; I took it in stride and still found the will to bake that fucking cake for Henry. The biggest problem was that they saw what I had written about them (in various field trip posts), but they also made a stink about their kids’ pictures being on the Internet. So I took everything down and apologized. Still, this is not the reason this post is password-protected. Yes, something even worse than that happened. A story for a rainy day, though. (Although I will say my favorite part was when one of the moms said, “And I looked at some of the other stuff on your website and I just don’t want my family associated with ANY of…that.” I took that as a compliment.)

Now, none of the parents who came to the party are the ones who create phalange crosses and hiss when I walk into the room. But still, I wanted to show respect for those parents who allowed their kids to attend a heathen’s birthday party, thereby editing out the faces of their children before they even have a chance to cry foul.

It’s a moot point now that I made this post password protected.

(I left my friends’ kids intact, because I think you have to assume that if you attend one of my events, you’re going to have your picture taken. However, if anyone reading this is angry about it, say so and I will Jonny Craig your face, too.)

V. Afro Rink Douche

In lieu of Henry’s man-crush Paul the Rink Ref, two of the younger staff members were out there, flashing their skating prowess in their blue Neville Roller Drome shirts. At first I was like, “Thank god for built-in entertainment, now Bill & Jessi won’t have to pump out balloon animals like at last year’s party.” Except that the one with an afro took his job way too seriously and lambasted Bill for “going too slow” when it was his first time skating EVER. God, way to not only embarrass the guy, but make him not want to ever try skating again.

He also yelled “Keep moving!” to Amber who was leaning against the wall while on the rink and talking to Lee. Hello, I didn’t pay all that money renting a rink to have my friends yelled at by some neon-skated prick with a superiority complex.

(Although, if I were Amber, I would have totally blamed Lee.)

Next time I see that guy, I’ll have his Afro on a plate.

VI. Cake & Presents

Kaitlin went above and beyond as usual and made the most delicious white batter cake with this ambrosial lemon filling. She is just MAGIC. And I asked her to maybe decorate the cake with monsters, but you know what she did? She made RED VELVET CUPCAKE MONSTERS. Of course, this made the children (all the girls, natch) argue over which one they wanted, leaving Poor Henry as the official monster delegate. They were not pleased with him when he began quartering the monsters to ensure they each got a piece. And of course, there was one whole monster left over in the end. GOOD JOB HENRY.

Someone made a lofty remark about how I should be the one cutting the cake. What a fool. I wish I could remember who that was so I could call them a fool to their face.

And then Henry proceeded to cut orphan-portioned slices of cake for all of the guests. We ended up taking home HALF OF THE CAKE. My saddlebags thank you for your stinginess, Henry.

“This wasn’t on my list!” Chooch spat when he opened Barb’s present. This became the “You invited BARB!?” of 2012.

I really enjoyed that she and my cousin Danielle both stepped up to be present helpers, since I was doing other things. What was I doing? Tweeting and spinning on my stool, I think. And taking pictures! That’s important. That is a very important party task.

Corey, learning how to cut curmudgeonly cake slivers from the Master Miser.

My wonderful Michigan buds had to hit the road during Chooch’s snail-paced gift unwrapping session. As I hugged Bill, Jessi and Tammy goodbye, I noted that “Sussudio” was playing out on the rink. I think in Yacht Rock terms, that means we’re bonded for life.

Amber and Lee were competing to see whose gift Chooch liked the most. Apparently, Lee’s Skylanders warranted a “Daddy, look!” so Lee self-claimed the title.

I probably should have been writing down what he got.

Barb was smart and got me a Hot Topic gift card! She learned her lesson from my birthday party, when she was audacious enough to bring CHOOCH a present, making me cry out, “YOu didn’t bring ME a present to HIS party!” Even after I opened it, I set the small red gift bag on the table with all of his presents, just so I could sneer, “HA! That’s MOMMY’S present!” when Chooch reached for it.

And then I wonder why I’m getting accused of being a shit parent.

Chooch also got a card with a monetary gift from Rink Ref Robin, Roller DJ and Doorman Billy, who told me that they wanted to contribute to the party since Chooch always entertains them when we attend afternoon sessions. I wish I was as popular as my son. Actually, no. No, I don’t.

Two hours was totally not long enough. Before I knew it, Roller DJ was announcing that the session was over and Henry was counting out something to the tune of LIFE SAVINGS to pay the rink owners. Sophie, the owner’s wife, refused payment for the skate rentals, so we were at least able to eat dinner the next two days.

(If anyone was at the party and wants to contribute their own highlights and memories (and pictures too!), you should totally comment! It was such a whirlwind and I know I missed a ton. Like Bria sneezing on the cake, pre-Happy Birthday serenade.)

I haven’t finished editing the photos from Chooch’s birthday party yet (a lot of the shots have Chooch’s school friends in them and I don’t want to get bitched out again for posting them on my heretic blog) so here are the ones from my phone (nice & blurry to cover my ass).

Barb learned her lesson.

****
Living Treasures Birthday Field Trip

Chooch kept calling the camels “cannibals” and I didn’t correct him.

It was a nice day, nothing much to complain about. The grounds were surprisingly dick-free and we even got to see some animal mating going down, including a particularly horny peacock who was totally embarrassing himself; finally, I have a benchmark when imagining Henry trying to get laid during his SERVICE years.

However, we went to Perkins afterward, where Chooch had a total meltdown over the restaurant’s lack of wifi and kept talking in angry tones about death and how no one would care if he died, themes that he’s way too young to be touching upon, and of course the two ladies seated in the booth next to ours had just come from Bible study and were giving each other concerned raised-eyebrows. Totally awesome. Can’t wait to see what he’s like as a teenager.

Monster cupcakes decorated by me, Christina and Christina’s sister Cynthia.

Chooch’s 6th birthday party was last night and it was a lot of fun*. However, the mom in me has been all nostalgic today; it seems like just last year we were trhowing him a 1st birthday blowout at my mom’s house, but then I think of how much things have changed since then, how I don’t even talk to my mom anymore, or my aunt Sharon, and how I’m always trying to overcompensate for this loss of family by trying to lure as many people as possible to my kid’s parties.

(*Unless you’re breaking bones, and then it might be a pretty shitty time.)

Not only was my mom at his 1st birthday, but it was at her house and she even helped me plan it. I spent my break at work today looking at pictures from that day and feeling bittersweet, but mostly happy because that was such a good day.

And I had a tutu.

And Christina was there. She has missed his last 4 parties because of our utter inability to iron shit out between us. Even though she wasn’t at his party last night, just knowing she’s back was enough for both me and Chooch. (Plus, she bought him shit when she was visiting last weekend, so that’s definitely good enough for Chooch. He is very easily won over with tangible tokens of love, just like his mother.)

My friend Bill baked Chooch’s personal  cake and then Kara decorated it in the likeness of the party invitations I made, while I breathed down her back and made idle threats.

….M.C.A.?

Chooch has always been kind of a big deal. I love that kid.

Big shout out to everyone else out there who loves him too. Thank you for making him feel special.

I’ve had this vision for Easter portraits in my head for quite awhile now, but getting Henry to go along with it was not that easy, even for me. Well, that’s not true – it was pretty easy. But he still waited until an hour before we left the house to pull some 13th hour divo stunt and tried to text his son Blake to be a fill-in. I completely lost my shit, started crying, screamed JUST FORGET IT! and stormed off to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

As if I wasn’t already stressed enough about the Penguins playoff implosion.

Approximately five minutes later, Henry came upstairs. I forget what exactly he said to me, but it wasn’t a distinct “I am not going to do this” so that gave me hope and I went back downstairs to harp on him some more. I even promised to take the trolley to work all week!

“Look,” Christina whispered to me while Henry was in the kitchen mouthing off about how he hates when I tell him what he’s going to do. “You know he’s going to do it. He just has to put on this little show to keep some of his masculinity.” But then Chooch started crying too because all he knew was that at some point that day, he was going to get to put makeup on, and now suddenly HENRY was going to take that away from him.

“You want me to drive to some abandoned private property, put on makeup and have my picture taken,” Henry barked. “That’s like a trifecta of things I hate.”

“He just learned that word,” I said snidely to Christina.

“You owe me,” he said before he left, and Christina told me later that the part I didn’t hear was him saying, “And I’m not talking about sex, either.” OMG THEN WHAT?!

Did I mention that Henry was also sick all weekend? He had a fever the day before, even.

But because he is the BEST BOYFRIEND EVER, he tucked his tail between his legs and drove us out to Elizabeth, PA (even stopping on his own accord to get an extra pair of bunny ears) where he then stood obediently in front of me while I smeared costume makeup all over his face.

“I’m not laughing,” he snarled as I was doing my signature “laughing til I pee”-squat. But I’m certain I saw the corners of his mouth fighting to curl up.

On Saturday, Christina and I went to Goodwill to grab a dress shirt for Henry. I knew I wanted it to be a certain color, and wasn’t sure yet if I was going to incorporate fake blood, so I didn’t want to run the risk of ruining one of Henry’s TWO WHOLE DRESS SHIRTS.

For once, Goodwill didn’t fail me and I was really pleased with the shirt we found (Henry was of a different opinion), and then on a whim I said, “Let’s see if anything looks good in the boys section.” And holy shit, not only did we find a blazer, but we also found these plaid skinny jeans that happened to be in Chooch’s size. The unfortunate part is that not only are they for girls (who really cares about that though), they’re from that asshole Gwen Stefani’s kids clothing line, and I REALLY CAN’T STAND HER. But at least they were only like, $3.

(They also came with a detachable skirt, which we quickly unbuttoned before Chooch had a chance to notice. Good thing too, because he ended up loving these pants and wanted to wear them all weekend.)

(His tie was also a last minute find, and also for girls; the bottom is encrusted with rhinestones, another thing he didn’t seem to notice.)

I love that he looks like he’s going to a Sex Pistols show.

Fetus came along for the ride. I love him so.

I was angry that there was so much foliage around, so I put Christina to work (she is my slave, after all); she wound up taking all kinds of cuts and scratches back to Ohio with her. She even tried (and failed) to construct a bridge for us to cross over the muddy path that separated us from the small building I wanted to use.

Henry isn’t posing, he’s actually watching for cops because he was so paranoid we were going to get in trouble for trespassing, oh noes.

I can only imagine what goes on his head when I make him do the un-fun parts of the photo shoots. Having Christina there allowed me to get an extra 5 shots out of him, though. Usually he peaces out much sooner.

Did I mention it was over 80 degrees on Sunday? It was.

Afterward, we went to lunch at Blue Flame. I posted one of the bunny pictures of Henry that I had taken with my phone to Instagram and when I showed Henry, he quietly said, “Send that to me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s a picture of me and I have a right to have it!” he said all defensively, because god forbid he should EVER admit that MAYBE he thinks something I did was KIND OF COOL.

Anyway, Henry kind of rules for doing this. And so far, I have not taken the trolley to work this week.