For a brief period of time, way back in the day, I was talking to some guy I used to work with. You know. “Talking.” He was supposed to come over one night, and I had recently scored a new Cure bootleg video (literally on VHS, this was a while ago), so I suggested that we could watch this damn thing together. He made a slew of disparaging comments about the Cure, about how he would rather watch dogs eat their own shit, about how much that band sucked, about how “faggy” they were, and I could actually hear my heart breaking in my ears.

Followed quickly by the sound of the door slamming on this asshole’s opportunity. I just couldn’t imagine being with someone who didn’t like The Cure, or who could at least respect my staunch devotion to them. (Not to mention someone who calls things “faggy”? Ew no.)

And thank god I didn’t give that guy a second chance, because then I met Henry (at the same job! I was such an office ho!) and do you know what the first thing is that Henry ever did for me, way before we even started dating? He made me a screensaver of all of the Cure’s album covers.

That is a fucking good man.

Back then I probably said he was wife material, too, but clearly that material is full of holes.

What is: Cheese cloth.

What is: A handkerchief in some person’s pocket in a coffin underground.

All of this is to say that when The Cure announced their hugely anticipated North American tour last fall, Henry didn’t even question it when I said, “Well, there’s no Pittsburgh date as usual, but we could go to the Columbia, Maryland one…?”

“Buy the tickets when they go on sale,” he said with NO HESITATION.

BECAUSE IT’S THE CURE. And Henry loves me, you guys. Duh.

I sat at the computer and waited for the clock to tick down and then I bought two tickets on the ASAP. Of course with all the presales and ticket reselling schemes out there, every last spot under the pavilion was taken, so I had to be satisfied with lawn seats. And honestly, this being my 6th Cure show, I was content that we were even going at all. Traveling for shows is expensive and we are not rich people. SHOCKER. Plus, we were pretty close to the front two years ago when they headlined Riot Fest so it was fine.

We left Chooch at home with Judy and set off for Maryland around 9:30am. I was acutely aware that my left contact was jacked up, but you have to understand the tolerance I have built over the years to eye woes.  I figured the discomfort would eventually just fade into the background, and then I proceeded to just up my blinking quota during the car ride.

The drive down there was pretty uneventful and quick, by the way. I didn’t even live blog because I was too busy listening to the same Pierce the Veil song over and over, psychoanalyzing it, and feeling depressed. That’s just what I do. Also, I bought a ticket to see PVRIS the moment they went on sale, which was a lot less stressful since it’s just general admission at the Altar Bar. And then we ate at some shitty country cookin’ diner thing on the side of the road, because I was off my game and let Henry choose the lunch spot.

I went in the bathroom there and jiggled my contact around a bit, because sometimes that helps. In this case though, it still felt like someone was applying slight pressure to my eyeball with the tip of the long-nailed finger.  So, normal.

We arrived at our Extended Stay hotel thing around 4 and I got angry because GPS said something about taking the third right at the traffic circle. “IT’S A ROUNDABOUT!” I cried petulantly. “EVERYONE IN AUSTRALIA KNOWS THAT!”

Henry muttered something about this being America and in America, “we” call them traffic circles and I’m like, how about not lumping me in there with all you “we”s, thanks. And then I loudly counted down the rights so that Henry would know which one to turn off on, thereby fulfilling my co-pilot duties.

If I had liveblogged that day, it would be a lot of “AND THEN”s because I was pretty fucking happy.

After sufficiently complaining about our hotel room (because that’s my other duty – reminding Henry that nothing he does is good enough for me), Henry fed me a candy bar (Hershey with almonds if you need this for the case study), and then it was finally time to leave for the Merriweather Ampitheater.

One good thing about Henry is that he booked our room months and months in advance. It was the closest hotel to the venue and completely sold out. The lady at the desk even asked if we were there for the Cure concert, because duh. This happened right before Henry denied ogling some yuppie bitch who was walking two Pomeranian dogs.

It didn’t take us long to get to the venue at all, maybe 15 minutes tops. I was too busy hyperventilating and saying, “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod” incessantly to properly keep an eye on the time. Sorry for the inaccurate journalism!

Henry and I had a brief feud before getting out of the car because he didn’t bring a blanket from home and had to buy a blanket from a Target near our hotel and it was sooooo ugly (brown plaid and fuzzy, ew) so first I was like, “I WILL NOT BE SEEN WITH THAT ATROCITY, LEAVE IT IN THE CAR!” I mean, plus it stunk of plastic because he had just unzipped it from the stupid vinyl package it was all cubed-up in.

Not surprising, Henry didn’t bother to fight with me. He knows not to fuck with me when I’m in an emotional fragile Cure-related state. So we left the blanket in the backseat and wove our way through the gravel parking lot to the end of the line. We got there about 45 minutes before the gates open, I would say, and in no time, the line behind us had grown so long that we could no longer see the end.

I spotted someone in line nearby carrying a blanket in the same bracket of ugliness as the one that Henry had purchased. So I succumbed to the Ugly Blanket Squad and told him he could go back to the car and get the motherfucking poop-colored blanket. Whatever. This isn’t the blanket prom, is what my dad would have said if he had been there.

Ugh.

I could only see the first 30 or so people in front of us, because then the line snaked down and around into a forested area. It was making me nervous not knowing how far back we were.

People-watching was splendid and helped pass the time. There were OG Goths, neo-goths, yuppies, hippies, hipsters, Henrys — people of all walks of life had converged upon Merriweather all for the same reason: to bow down before the Cure. Two guys behind me did nothing but quote from Pitchfork the whole time, while the two dads and their respective young-teen sons talked dryly about sports.

Hockey came up.

I inched in closer.

“Yeah, his mom is a huge hockey fan,” the one dad said to the other. “Her favorite team is the Flyers, and then the Penguins.”

I was bouncing on my toes by this point while Henry was giving me the “KEEP IT ZIPPED” look.

“Oh, well she must be happy. The Penguins won the whole thing,” the other dad said and I was SQUEALING now, about to raise my hand and do the whole, “OOOH! OOOOH!” thing that I do when I’m desperate to add to a conversation that does not belong to me.

Henry, that motherfucker, actually grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me back!

I hate small talk EXCEPT when it’s about music or hockey, or if I overhear incorrect information and feel like I could die if I don’t set the universe straight with my infinite wisdom.

But apparently this is “annoying” and Henry doesn’t like to be a witness…or an associate.

The opening of the gates was pretty prompt and we were inside in no time at all. There are several entrances and parking lots and there were less people in front of us than I guessed. We were able to snag a prime piece of real estate very close to where the pavilion seats ended and the lawn started, and I let go of all my high expectations of having the perfect, unobstructed view and instead just enjoyed being there. Sometimes you really gotta just let go.

Henry bought me some kind of beer that he figured I would be able to drink without wasting — Shocktop maybe? I’m still trying to become a beer person but I’m just unapologetically picky. Don’t fuck with my palate. I managed to drink two whole beers! Each one cost less than my $10 pizza, which was actually pretty good but NOT ENOUGH.

“For $10, it’s gonna have to be,” Henry frowned before going off to buy some gross sausage in a bun atrocity for himself.

The fact that you can barely see my left eye in this photo is FORESHADOWING.

The lawn was really starting to fill up and so far, I didn’t find a single person I hated. I wasn’t too startled by this revelation though because Cure crowds have historically been some of the kindest and most fun I’ve ever been in the middle of.

EXCEPT: Coachella 2004. Worst crowd ever. A bunch of rich frat boys screaming “FAT BOB!” and booing when anything other than a radio single was performed. Welcome to America, Robert. Welcome to America, indeed.

Just then, two middle-aged men tossed down two seat cushions in the small section of lawn available between the two couples in front of me.

“And DOWN!” the one announced loudly and jovially as he plopped himself onto the cushion, beer sloshing all around. He looked at us and laughed, but I gave Henry the “I hate this guy” look. When the two women whose blanket they sat down next to came back from getting beer, I thought for sure they were going to be all, “OH HELL NO” but instead, the one lady was like, “LET’S BE FRIENDS” and then everything was happening so fast before my eyes.

Henry went to get more beer, leaving me alone to stew in my depressing solitude while everyone around me was carrying on with each other and making friends with new people, and ugh just ugh.  Never was there a more apropos moment for Robert to come on stage and sing, “Why Can’t I Be You.”

(He didn’t.)

(But he should have.)

So now the people in front of me were introducing themselves. The one who had yelled, “DOWN!” told the two ladies that they were from Pittsburgh.

PITTSBURGH? I’M FROM PITTSBURGH!

I tapped him on the back and was all, “Hey guy, I couldn’t help but overhear you say you’re from Pittsburgh. We’re from Pittsburgh too,” I said in that weird 1920s radio DJ syncopated voice I get when I’m no longer Erin but some weird caricature of a person with a sturdy societal footing.

And that’s when Henry returned to his ugly blanket and found that his girlfriend had made new friends with the boisterous men in front of them. (I never talked to the broads though. Once I heard the one lady say that she was heartbroken that the Penguins won the Stanley Cup, I knew I had nothing left to say to her, except for SUCK IT.)

(J/K, she and her sister seemed like fine ladies.)

Randy was my favorite of the two guys. I can’t remember his friend’s name. He was nice too, but not as hilarious as Randy. I can’t explain it, you guys would have had to have been there.

You know how it is.

The Twilight Sad came out sometime around 7:00. I was already familiar with them and interested to hear them live for the first time. And I mean, they were wonderful, but it’s hard to give a shit about an opening band when you know, and they know, and everyone knows that The Cure is back there somewhere, pretending to jump rope, touching up that blood red lipstick, sipping a spot of tea.

So I can’t say anything other than, “The Twilight Sad seemed good.”

I ran to the bathroom afterward, while there was still a bit of sunshine left. I was immediately cold-cocked by the essence of patchouli and clove.

And it just felt right.

As I washed my hands, I inspected my eye in the mirror. There didn’t appear to be a dagger or any such spiny specimen jutting from it, contrary to how it felt. So I gave it one good, aggressive rub (What Not To Do To Your Eye 101) and stumbled my way back to our blanket, which was now one of many in a sea of throws.

Sold out show, y’all.

As soon as the opening notes of Tape wafted into the air, my face was wet with tears. It doesn’t matter how many times I have seen this band, they make my heart feel so full and I even if I tried, I couldn’t hold back my emotions. I get all snively and trembly and the tears just flow freely – this who I am.

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A post shared by Erin Appledale (@ohhonestlyerin)

Aside from the three Instavids above and few Snaps that my brother requested, I didn’t fuck around with recording or taking pictures, because it’s the Cure and I needed to let every last second get into my pores, you know what I mean? Henry even gave me some “there-there” pats a few times.

He gets it.

He didn’t need to see my face to know it was slick with tears, mascara, and whatever poison was seeping out of my left eyeball.

You’d think that all the crying would have washed out whatever was in there, scraping my cornea, but instead it just started burning even more. The joy and amazement of standing before The Cure made it easier to shrug off, though. It was going to take a lot more than an eyeball malady to get me to leave this show early.

SET LIST:

Tape / Open, High, Pictures of You, Closedown, Kyoto Song, A Night Like This, The Walk, The End of the World, Lovesong, If Only Tonight We Could Sleep, All I Want, Push, In Between Days, Just Like Heaven, Bananafishbones, Never Enough, From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea, End

1st encore: Sinking, It Can Never Be The Same

2nd encore: Shake Dog Shake, Burn, A Forest

3rd encore: Dressing Up, Lullaby, Fascination Street, Wrong Number

4th encore: Hot Hot Hot, Let’s Go To Bed, Close To Me, Why Can’t I Be You?, Boys Don’t Cry

I have never heard “Burn” live before so I was freaking the fuck out for sure. FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

It’s unreal to me how solid this band sounds after all of these years. How they can get out there night after night, play for three hours with just as much if not more energy as bands 30 years younger. These guys are living legends, and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame can keep snubbing them all they want because there are millions of screaming fans who know just how brilliant and incomparable they are.

When you can get even someone unmoved and unaffected as Henry J. Robbins to stand for the entirety of your show and also APPLAUD after every song? That’s how you know you’re frizzled hair, shoegazing perfection.

Little Cure fan. <3

Robert seemed to be in very good spirits too, chattier than I have ever seen him, and still breaking out his adorable little goth moves during “Lullaby.” However, he did get choked up during a new song, “It Can Never Be the Same,” which rumor has it is about his mother who passed away last year. When the song ended, he said something along the lines of, “The last song is a new one…. haven’t quite… haven’t learned how to hold back….so…”

</3

He is a motherfucking god. No one will ever replace him in my heart.

NO ONE.

***

As soon as we got back to the hotel, I raced to the bathroom and plucked the contact off my eye, which exacerbated the pain. Now it was like my eyeball was in labor with a hatchet-coated fireball. A thicket of natty homeless person pubes. A briar patch of all the human bones found in Jeffrey Dahmer’s apartment.

My eye was so red that it looked like it was bleeding, like it had been CHEESE GRATED. Tears were squirting out left and right, like some completely crude, X-rated, optic money shot.

“I CAN’T KEEP MY EYE OPEN!” I wailed, flapping my hands and hopping from one foot to the other.

I was panic-stricken, screaming about having to go to the hospital; but instead, Henry calmly went out and got me eye drops. I had cried myself to sleep while he was gone, but don’t worry! I woke up in the middle of the night and as soon as I realized that it wasn’t just a nightmare and that there were still flames licking the inside of my eyelid, I started screaming. Henry woke up and secretly pretended he was killing me when he held my head down against the pillow and put the drops in my eye.

In the morning, it still hurt and I felt like a vampire, screaming about the sunlight. As the day wore on, I was mostly OK again, though my eyelid was slightly puffy and I wasn’t even about to try to put my contact back in for the next two days. So I went about life squinting and walking with my arms outstretched. One-contact-wearin’ Erin.

But none of that was enough to tarnish the beautiful memories of the night before. Le sigh.

https://instagram.com/p/BHIFWtDghpQ/
The Phil Collins vibes are strong AF at Gillcrest. Every time I turn on the kitchen stereo, there he is. And twice on Sunday!

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It’s all at once comforting and haunting. Absolutely impossible for me to hear any Genesis or Phil jam and not think of my childhood in that house.

I guess that’s why when I couldn’t fall asleep Friday night, I found myself painting a picture of Phil.

When Chooch saw it the next day, he happily said, “Oh, Phil Collins!

I was just thinking about him, too…” Can’t imagine why.

Speaking of my fake stustudio, I finally got this bad boy up on the wall. It was originally hanging in my grandma’s clown room and she always said I could have it. And now I have it, so…

This post is brought to you by late night iced coffee, kettlebell fatigue, and MTV’s Are You the One*.

Coming up later this week: an emotionally disjointed recap of last week’s Cure show, maybe another music video no one will watch, an essay on my political stance (lol no), HOPEFULLY HENRY’S WARPED TOUR VIDEO, and probably some furry love because Anthrocon is this week and I have a date with a walrus!

*(I tried so hard to resist, but it finally sucked me in. I’M WEAK, OK??!!)

(Also, I wonder if Henry and I would be a match if we were on Are You The One. Omg lol that’s a hilarious thought.

I just woke him up to tell him that and his response was muffled on account of his dumb face being buried in his pillow.)

Last Sunday, Chooch and I went to the Pierce the Veil “Misadventures” show at the House of Blues in Cleveland. When they announced that they’d be performing their new album Misadventures in its entirety for this tour, I was all in. I bought tickets for Chooch and myself the second they went on sale (balcony seats because I’m not taking a 10-year-old into the pit for PTV — those girls are aggressive!) and then Henry agreed to be our chauffeur.

Henry likes Pierce the Veil, but what he likes even more is that our kid also likes them enough to be my concert partner and Henry can go off and be an old man somewhere.

Since we had actual seats, I didn’t feel the need to get there hours before the doors opened, but even 45 minutes before-doors, the line wrapped all the way down the block. I just asked Henry how many people he thought were in line when he dropped us off and he said, “Everybody.” It was the longest line I have even stood in for PTV and while it was mildly annoying, I was also really happy for them. They have come so far since the time I saw them playing for 150 kids at an indoor skate park in Buffalo, NY!

Some old man walked by and said, “Wow, this is a really long line. What band is playing?”

“Pierce the Veil,” I said proudly, like I’m their fucking mom.

“Never heard of them. Where are they from?”

I was acutely aware of all the people in line who had turned around to look at me at this point, and I ALMOST blanked! So much pressure! But then at the last second, before any of the dumb kids could steal my thunder, I answered, “San Diego” in a voice quaking with uncertainty.

“I hope everyone fits inside!” he laughed, and as he walked away, I wiped the sweat from my brow. I hate when strangers ask me questions!

However, if I overhear strangers passing around incorrect information to each other, I have NO QUALMS with inserting myself into their conversation. For instance, when the people in front of us where talking about the Stanley Cup Finals and the girl was all, “I think tonight might be game 6 but I don’t know” and her boyfriend was all, “No, I think it’s game 5. The Pens are up 3 games to 1” but I knew the correct answer.

“Excuse me,” I said, holding up a finger. “We’re from Pittsburgh. Tonight is definitely game 6. AND IF THE PENS WIN, THEY WIN THE STANLEY CUP.”

They both mumbled thanks and then turned their backs on the crazed Pittsburgher who couldn’t mind her own business. HENRY HATES WHEN I DO THIS.

It happened later on too, before the show started. We were in our seats (which Chooch found on his own and then an usher came rushing over ready to yell at us for taking seats that weren’t assigned to us and then felt stupid when he checked our tickets and muttered, “Oh, you found your seats”) when the kid next to me said to his girlfriend, “Oh man, I love this song, but I can’t remember who sings it!”

“Do you want me to tell you?!” I leaned over and asked him in this super weird husky voice I get when I’m excited. He was kind of caught of guard, I think, but he humored me by saying, “OK sure.”

“THE USED!” I cried, and he and his girlfriend were basically like, “Cool story, psycho.”

And then I ask myself where my kid gets his know-it-all-ism from.

You wouldn’t know it, but Chooch was saying, “Tampax Pearl!” in lieu of “Cheese.”

There were only two opening bands for this show and while I’m certainly no hater of opening acts, I was secretly happy that this wouldn’t be a super long show. I was way too hyped for PTV and also I was hoping that the show would over early enough that I’d get to hear the final minutes of the Stanley Cup final in the car.

What a conflict to have, you know?

The first opener was Movements. At first, they sounded like your standard Warped Tour-caliber band, but then the SPOKEN WORD happened. Chooch gave me a knowing look because this genre is my motherfucking jam and he knows it.

“Let me guess — you’re going to buy their album?” he said. FUCK YEAH I AM. AND I DID. On vinyl, son. And it sounds glorious.

I the Mighty was next and somehow I have never seen them live. I have no idea how they’ve escaped me this long since they literally roll with some of my scene faves. In fact, they’re touring with Artifex Pereo this fall!

“He looks like Chris Kunitz,” I yelled in Chooch’s ear, pointing to the bassist. And right after that, I got an alert that the Penguins scored the first goal of the game, AND CHRIS KUNITZ HAD THE ASSIST.

“They’re going to win,” Chooch said in a very calm and wise tone. “This is their year.”

And you know what? I felt really reassured and peaceful in that moment, because Chooch knows everything.

Not as much as me. But he’s getting there.

So I will now always associate I the Mighty with the Penguins winning the Stanley Cup.

Chooch made me buy him a soft pretzel with cheese before PTV’s set started. I’m pretty opposed to eating during concerts—it just feels weird to me—but Chooch was in a very good position to ruin my night if I let his hunger get out of hand. A soft pretzel in his pie hole seemed to really do the trick and we were able to coexist peacefully for the rest of the show.

This album is kind of a big deal for PTV fans because it took 4 years to create and it seemed like maybe they had lost a lot of the momentum they had built up coming off their last album.

And for as much as I love PTV (and I’ve stuck with them from the beginning), I didn’t love their last album. I still had fun at their shows but it kind of made me wonder if I was growing out of the PTV scene. Time to move out and buy a Coldplay CD…?

Thank god Misadventures was released and saved me from bland Mom Rock.  I’m back in love, people! This album somehow feels like such a throwback to their first album (my favorite) without making them sound young, regressed, or un-evolved. (You know, un-evolved. That’s a word. You must have been absent the day it was on the spelling test.) I can’t put my finger on it exactly, and I’m not even sure if they did it intentionally, but there are nuances and subtle nods to their past work, almost like secret part 2s or reprises. A “getaway” reference that just can’t be an accident. There were a lot of skippable songs for me on their last album, but Misadventures is fucking solid and I have already come close to wearing out the record.

And hearing them perform it in its entirety was fucking priceless. And for their encore, as the Penguins were watching the clock tick down in the final moments of the third period, PTV came out and played “Bulls in the Bronx” and “King For a Day” — the two songs Chooch was screaming for them to play so of course now he thinks he made that happen, and that’s OK, because I MADE THE PENGUINS WIN THE STANLEY CUP.

PANT PANT PANT.

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This might have been the best PTV show I’ve ever seen. Obviously they sounded fantastic, but that combined with Chooch and me singing our faces off together and the Penguins winning the Stanley Cup—it was a priceless trifecta. So many stars aligned, mood swings remained unswung, not a single douchebag sat near us.

I want to do it all again.

But my favorite part? That Chooch and I got along so magically! Anyone who has ever hung out with us knows this is like some rare familial occurrence. It was really choice quality time, and I’ll tell you, sharing moments like this with my kid is my favorite part of being a parent. He was just a little babe back when I started listening to PTV and now we’re both fans — that’s kind of an amazing thing. The kind of amazing thing that really makes your life feel super rich.

****

Henry was waiting for us in the car across the street from House of Blues when we came charging at him after the show, screaming “PENS!!!!! PENS!!!!!” like drunks. Henry just frowned and yelled at us to get in the car. He apparently spent his time tooling around Target and various grocery stores, which is probably what the other moms did after they dropped their kids off at the PTV show. His frown fluttered into a slight smile when he showed us the limited edition Blueberry Pie Oreos he found. Henry’s life is super rich, too.

i like your starry eyes

they yell SURPRISE SURPRISE

i’m in love but not for long

Just gonna leave this here. #relevant

The key to my survival is to continuously have concerts lined up on the horizon. Tonight Pierce the Veil will be performing their new album in its entirety in Cleveland and Chooch and I will be there for it. Ya gotta break up the doom & gloom every so often, you know? And if you don’t know, now you know don’t worry because that will be a chapter in my upcoming self-help pamphlet available on every corner in your nearest slum.

I’m also excited to eat at Happy Dog. I’ve been dreaming of the Fruit Loop-dog ever since last November. Small things matter.

AND HOPEFULLY THE PENGUINS WILL WIN THE CUP TONIGHT TOO?! I’ll be following along via NHL alerts.

I’m going to cry so hard tonight and it’s going to feel wonderful. #masochist

Meanwhile, my cats are acting like they ingested peyote so god only knows what condition we’ll find the house in when we get back from Cleveland.

And I’ll put my fingers in the door, so when I close it on you, I’ll hurt a little bit too.

Chooch and I are watching music videos and I’m swooning while he says things like, “I just don’t understand what these songs are supposed to be about…?” YOU WILL SOMEDAY, SON.

Being this emotional is a fucking full-time job.

During the first band of the day at Bled Fest, some guy ran up to me, slipped a note into my hand, and whispered, “Don’t tell the principal.” I practically ripped it open, hoping it was going to be an invitation to a party under the bleachers, but instead it was the set time for the band Forever Losing Sleep.

Joke’s on you, Guy! I already had them on my schedule after hearing one of their songs on the Bled Fest Spotify playlist. But now I was even more intrigued, so never mind. I guess it was effective.

Stage D was a narrow classroom with a wall of mirrors on one side. The sound in this room was so tight that I now I want to see all of my favorite bands perform inside of it.

From the second FLS started playing, I was INVESTED. They had my attention, my vote, the promise of my first born son
(see ya, Chooch; we had a good run).

Henry thought they were “too loud.” Because this is what happens when you’re an old person. You either “don’t get it,” “it’s too loud,” or “I voted for him on American Idol!”

But you guys. I have a fond memory of standing in that classroom, closing my eyes, and thinking, “Yes, this is where I belong. I’m so happy to be here.” And of course, because I’m Erin Rachelle Kelly, I began to cry. I can’t remember the last show I went to where I didn’t cry.

It’s kind of just what I do.

I already can’t wait to see Forever Losing Sleep again. #donttelltheprincipal

*****

Back when I was trying to get Chooch hyped to attend Bled Fest, I got really hopeful when I came across The Beautiful Gorgeous because they’re female-fronted and Chooch is about that life, you know? Show him a girl singer and you’ll have his attention on lock.

I’m notoriously picky when it comes to girl singers, but then I watched the only YouTube video I could find on them and I was like, “Aw.” It just felt like there was something special there. And then I found out that they’re like, only 17!

So I added them to my list of must-sees and kept them there even after I saw that they were playing at the same time as Knuckle Puck. My reasoning was that I would most likely be able to see Knuckle Puck again sooner than I would get to see the Beautiful Gorgeous because they’re a much smaller band and being from Detroit, this was essentially a local show for them.

This ended up being the right choice, because right after they finished the first song, the singer—Brooklyn—announced that this was going to be their very last, final show.

They were performing in the smallest of all the rooms, and there were only about 25 people there, so I felt like we had a certain duty to be there to support them.

Even though I could hear Knuckle Puck popping off across the hall…

“We usually end the show with that song, so playing it first….well, it kind of feels like this set is already over,” Brooklyn dead-panned. The vibe just continued to get more tense and weird from there. She said something to the bassist about taking his shirt off and he told her to shut the fuck up, and it didn’t feel like there was any playfulness to it whatsoever. There was even reference of this being a funeral for the Beautiful Gorgeous.

I guess you could say this was a low point of Bled Fest, witnessing the dissolution of a band, the last few notes that they will ever perform together, the awkwardness and unease having nowhere to go in such a small room. It felt almost dirty to witness, but I didn’t want to leave because I didn’t want them to think that they sounded bad, because in spite of the unraveling drama, they still sounded pretty fucking incredible. It makes me sad because it seemed like they maybe could have something there, that lightning in a bottle that rarely happens for female-fronted bands. The scene is so lopsided that I always want to root for the bands that have at least one girl in them, out of principle alone, but it’s a bonus when that band is actually good.

Anyway, even with palpable tension, they still sounded beautiful and gorgeous (oh snap) but Chooch’s attention span was the size of gnat’s wing by this point of the night, so he kept leaving the room.

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

“I’m going to the water fountain.”

“I’m going to look for new parents.”

So when one of the guys in the band declared that we should all do celebratory dabs in honor of their last show, it was me who had the last laugh because Chooch, my child of the YouTube/Vibe/Snapchat generation, fucking loves doing dabs (which I always thought was drug-related, but apparently it’s just some really lame dance move that basically pantomimes the sniffing of your own armpit? So when he came back into the room, Henry and I derived great pleasure telling him what he missed.

“Was it just me, or was that really awkward?” I asked Henry later that night.

“You mean like when the one kid hit the singer in the mouth with his bass during soundcheck and didn’t even apologize? Yeah, a little,” Henry laughed.

I’m really glad that I got to see them once, but man, I really hope that they still make music in their respective futures.

****

One last thought: I’m really sorry that I missed CityCop. Otherwise, everything else about Bled Fest was something to get stoked about. I want to say that I’ll be back next year, but I’m not sure I can convince Henry now that he knows fully what it’s like. But there’s always Broken World Fest here in Pittsburgh…..

It’s been a week now since Bled Fest and I still haven’t been able to magically extract the words that have been coagulating inside my sludgy brain. When I’m super emotional about something, the ensuing posts tend resemble road kill in written word form. At least I recognize it!

A quick summary for anyone who hadn’t had the misfortune of hearing me ramble about Bled Fest and my building excitement over that last few months: it’s a smaller-scale music festival held inside a preforming arts high school in Howell, Michigan. I usually eyeball the lineup every year and quietly lament the distance between me and Michigan, and for some reason it never actually occurred to me to just say, “Hey yo, Henry — we’re going to this thing.”

What helped though was discovering how geographically close Howell is to where our pals Bill and Jessi live, and since Bled Fest takes place every Memorial Day weekend, visiting them afterward was just the perk necessary to get Henry on board.

The bands that play Bled Fest are typically punk, screamo, emo, and hardcore with some alt-rock and metal thrown in; usually a ton of my favorites are in the lineup. I knew even before this year’s lineup was announced that I was going to want to go, especially after torturing myself by watching YouTube videos of recent Bled Fests.

We arrived early enough to secure a parking spot because that’s a legitimate concern of Henry’s, whereas my only concern was OMG I HOPE NONE OF THE BANDS I LIKE ARE PLAYING AT THE SAME TIME!!!

We sat in the car for a little bit and witnessed the most heart-warming group hug ever. Girl in the floral tank rolled up and it quickly became clear that her homies hadn’t seen her in a long ass time, because she was nearly tackled. It was the most joyous way to start out this festival! But then I became sad because I was there with Henry and not a solid crew.

Sigh.

This is what happens when you’re an old broad who’s still immersed in the scene. And that being said, I admit that I had a certain blend of reservations — would I be stared at? Would it be uncomfortable? Would it be too rough on my brittle bones?

SO MANY UNKNOWNS!

But then we walked up to the school entrance and immediately because usurped by all the good vibes. The staff was so friendly and helpful, directing us to the wristband table before we even had a chance to look lost and confused! And then the wristband staffers were also completely wonderful! And then we got in line and no one made us feel like we didn’t belong or made rude gesticulations in our general direction!

And then the doors opened and the day just steadily climbed uphill from there! EVERYTHING WAS PERFECT! EVERYTHING WAS AMAZING!

Except for the 87 times Henry and Chooch attempted to ruin my day. But the solution was easy: they spent most of the day outside away from the music and I was free to enjoy every last band that I had traveled 6 hours to see.

• All Is Well
• Forever Losing Sleep
• Watermedown (almost had a vague Xiu Xiu-meets-pop punk vibe and I can’t decide if I liked that)
• Artifex Pereo
• The Cardboard Swords
• Sorority Noise
• Somos
• Adventurer
• The Saddest Landscape
• Amateur Eyes
• Citizen (I feel confident to say that they have very quickly climbed to the top rungs of my Favorite Bands ladder)
• Old Gray (fucking real screamo, please and thank you – I try not to be a genre Nazi but man I hate when people think that bands like Falling In Reverse are screamo)
• Tiny Moving Parts
• The World Is a Beautiful Place…
• The Beautiful Gorgeous
• Superheaven

By the time the very first started, I was absolutely overcome with sheer happiness and thought to myself giddily, “THIS IS FOR ME. THIS IS DEFINITELY THE PLACE FOR ME.” All the uncertainties and fears evaporated because I was where I belonged and I just knew the day was going to be magic.

You guys, I was at Bled Fest. Finally.

All Chooch cared about was: being VIP, when the VIP lounge opened, what was going to be available to eat in the VIP lounge, talking about the VIP lounge when he wasn’t already inside of the VIP lounge.

Guys, it was nothing glamourous. We paid extra just for one VIP ticket because it came with a Bled Fest t-shirt, screen print and tote bag (all things I was interested in) and all-day snacks and drinks (all things Chooch was interested in). Win/win.

Chooch was so tunnel vision about his VIP status that he actually had an alert set on his phone for when the VIP lounge opened, and at exactly 1pm he said “SEE YA” and off he went to slip behind the mysterious VIP screen into the land of cafeteria tables and a catered taco buffet.

This was a huge deal for him, and thank god for it because aside from Artifex Pereo, he was pretty much uninterested I everything there music-wise. I was disappointed that we weren’t making beautiful family memories together, but I had a lot to distract me.

Caught a few minutes of Copneconic because Chooch out of nowhere ran of into the room housing Stage F.

Sorority Noise was fantastic as usual.

They were playing on one of the main stages and that room (I think it was the cafeteria?

) was super hard to squeeze into because crowds gathered pretty quickly around the door. There was a slight surge though and I put my hands out in prayer-position and rode the wave into the middle of the room. I’m usually scared, as an older lady with brittle bones (honestly, I get hurt so easily!), being in the middle of crowds, but I felt really safe there. I had faith that if I got knocked out, someone would drag me out to the hallway for Henry to claim my clammy, haggard body.

I just saw Sorority Noise with Citizen in February, but both of their sets at Bled Fest were so much better. Because BLED FEST.

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I have been trying to see The Saddest Landscape for years now—my Facebook bio is “My face is the saddest landscape” as an homage to them; if you don’t know, now you know—and it was totally worth the wait. They played on a stage in the front lobby area of the school and introduced themselves as, “We’re the Saddest Landscape and we’re going to punch you in the heart.”

BY GEORGE, they did.

I have this conversation a lot, particularly at work, where I have to try to devise a sensible strategy to assist people in understanding why exactly I like “screaming” music. With the Saddest Landscape in particular, the music is actually quiet beautiful. Yes, there is singing/barking/shouting/screaming in lieu of traditional singing; but it’s the manner in which those words are conveyed that honestly break my heart. There is an aching to Andy Maddox’s vocals that makes it impossible not to feel something.

Unless you’re Henry.

He remained completely unaffected.

And Chooch was outside.

Amateur Eyes! John dyed his hair blue and I became convinced that this wasn’t actually Amateur Eyes after all, even though Chooch kept yelling, “YES IT IS, MOMMY, UGH!” So I didn’t ever say hello to him because I honestly didn’t believe it was him. I really need to get a second opinion on my eyes, I think. I GUESS YOU COULD SAY MY EYES ARE AMATEUR.

There were only two times during the entire day that I had any spare time to actually sit down and let me tell you, it was like my body had forgotten how to fold into a seated position. I sat outside in the grass with Henry and Chooch while my entire head rang and couldn’t wait to get back inside. Henry and I had very different opinions on the day, obviously.

The World Is…was playing on one of the main stages and it was my first time finally seeing them, and it was long overdue. I was actually washing my hands in the bathroom with their keyboardist and didn’t even realize it was her until I saw her on stage. So glad I didn’t say anything stupid which is usually what I tend to do at shows.

I’m at least not to the phase in my life where I tell dad jokes or say mom things like, “Your shoe is untied, dear.”

This song just slays toward the end.

Completely unimpressed.

Henry actually got to talk to Nate, the organizer of this whole thing! And I missed it! Of course I missed it! But I guess Nate came out of the VIP area and told Henry that it was totally cool if he wanted to go in there with Chooch instead of standing on the other side of the divider like a creeper.  He also told Henry to help himself to any of the food but Henry declined because we only paid for one VIP pass and WE ARE HONEST PEOPLE.

Although Chooch did bring me a mini Twix later that day and I totally inhaled it because I thought I was going to pass out.

(I was very irresponsible and only drank one bottle of water all day and then ate one piece of pizza around 5pm. And then I wondered why I almost collapsed during Citizen.)

I was going to see Tiny Moving Parts a few days before Bled Fest but their show fell on garbage night, and if you know anything that’s been currently going on in my life, then you know why garbage night is kind of “can’t miss” for me. So I passed on the Smiling Moose show and now I’m wondering what kind of turn out they had, since almost every show of that genre I’ve attended at the Smiling Moose has had less than 20 people there.

Their turnout at Bled Fest was nutz0rz though! So instead of standing around with a bunch of ambivalent Pittsburghers, I got to be stuffed into  a roomful of people going absolute ham.

And I made a friend! Some guy kept cutting out of the thicker part of the crowd to stand near me, but don’t get it twisted — it had nothing to do with attraction. I was standing near a giant fan and it was literally the best spot in the room. Every time he would come over, it was the same thing: a sheepish grin and some explanation of which I could only make out the word “fan.”

It’s OK, kid. I understood. I’ll share my fan with you.

During one of his visits, he offered Skittles to me and the two guys next to me. We all politely declined, but I sure did appreciate the offer.

Then he came back toward the end of Tiny Moving Parts because one of the straps of his backpack broke and he wanted me to help him fix it. I tied the most mentally-challenged knot in the world and we both shrugged and laughed about it.

BLED FEST IS THE BEST.

Henry’s official Bled Fest visage. He didn’t seem too angry by the time the night was over though, because there were plenty of tranquil places for him and Chooch to sneak away to. It’s a good thing that I’m so accustomed to going to shows alone or else my experience would have been a lot different.

I kept telling him that if he wasn’t going to stand around and watch the bands with me, then he could at least go to the merch village in the gym and buy me shit.

As it turned out though, the alone time was actually preferable. It was comforting knowing that I had people there somewhere, waiting in the wings, but I did enjoy the fact that I was free to be wherever I wanted to be, watching whatever band I wanted to watch, sweating profusely with all of my Bled Fest brethren. The Citizen set especially was euphoric, absolutely full of scene camaraderie and fist-thrusting sing-alongs.

You guys, a tall guy stood in front of me and then when he noticed the shrinking violet behind him, he actually apologized and moved back so that he was next to me instead. This never happens. My heart was bursting. My throat was burning from screaming to “The Night I Drove Alone.” My eyes were stinging with tears. My shirt was suctioned to my moist flesh and as I staggered down the hallway toward Chooch and Henry after the set, it made a sexual slurping noise as I peeled the fabric away from my skin.

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“You guys, it was so fucking sick!” I said breathlessly to the only two people in the hallway who blatantly looked like they gave no shits.

In fact, Chooch bragged that he fell asleep, right there on the floor of the hallway.

Fallujah was playing on the other stage right before Citizen and went over their set time. They kept saying things like, “We have time for more songs!” and everyone on the Citizen side of the stage started booing and chanting “Citizen” and a few people threw empty water bottles, but other than that, I didn’t experience any drama all day. (Except maybe during the Beautiful Gorgoeous’s set, but I’ll save that for another post.)

The very last band that I had had had to see was Superheaven. I saw them last September for the first time at Riot Fest and just couldn’t stop thinking about them, because you know how I get. You could say I have an obsessive personality. Anyway, they recently announced that this will be their last tour for awhile; not sure exactly if that means they’re done forever, or if this is a hiatus, but I wasn’t about to press my luck.

It was so good to see them again. Tay is a fucking pistol. His banter with the crowd in between songs is so entertaining but it makes me intimidated of him, like he might make fun of me if we make eye contact or something. Granted, that’s how I feel about humans in general though.

For as much as Henry acts like he doesn’t pay attention to what I like, he sure was excited to tell me that he and Chooch saw Tay earlier in the parking lot.

“He cut his hair,” said Henry, president of the scene hair census bureau.

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I woke up the next morning feeling like I could explode with happiness. All I wanted to do was talk and talk and talk about the day before and all the fucking amazing bands that we (I) saw and that at one point I was adamant about moving to Michigan, because their scene is just flat out AMAZE.

I’m still reeling at how wonderful and different Bled Fest was in comparison to other festivals I’ve been to. I have never felt so comfortable in a scenario like this before. Being around people like me, and having my day filled with the most cathartic music….It might not seem like much, but brother it meant the world to me.

***

Before you walk away from this thinking I’m such a sweet little princess, I should be completely up front here and tell you that after we left, I completely did a 180 in the car because I was exhausted and fucking STARVING, so I started berating Henry for not buying me anything from the merch village, because I’m a spoiled materialistic bitch. He never said a word either, just kept driving straight to Taco Bell and breathed a sigh of relief when it got quiet in the car on account of Chooch and I having our late night feeding.

Then I woke up the next morning and found a stack of records on the hotel table, which Henry bought for me at Bled Fest and didn’t even say anything to get me to shut my face the night before! I was really nice to him for the rest of the day.

Man, sometimes he’s pretty OK.

For an old guy.

Alternately-titled: How Many Times Can One Woman Say “Ugh”?

I try not to be too pageant-mommy, but I like for my kid to represent the scene whenever possible, even if it means being accused by shitty, catty 8th graders for “not even knowing who Pierce the Veil is.” (I CANNOT LET THIS GO.)

So the day before we left for Bled Fest, I made sure that it was clear to all exactly which shirt Chooch would be wearing: an Abstruse Apparel tee that prominently featured lyrics to an Artifex Pereo song.

I bought it a few years ago when Artifex posted about it on Facebook. It was limited edition, and my size was already sold out. I wanted to support the band and their designer friend, so I bought a size smaller and figured as long as someone in this house was wearing it, that’s all that mattered.

Anyway, Artifex was going to be at Bled Fest so I thought it would be fun to represent, you know? Technically, it wasn’t breaking the whole “wearing a bands shirt to their show” law, god forbid, since it didn’t actually say Artifex Pereo anywhere on it.

I didn’t really think much of it, but very early into the day, a guy walked past us and called out, “I like your shirt!” to Chooch.

“I think that was one of the guys from Artifex,” I said to Henry and Chooch, laughing.

It happened again, about an hour later, as we walked out of the merch area. This time I knew for sure it was one of the guys from Artifex.

****

I first fell in love with this band two years ago when my record producer crush, Kris Crummet, posted about their album on Instagram, how he had just finished it and was so proud of it. I had definitely never heard of them before, so I decided to start following them on Instagram and Twitter because that’s what thirst music fans like me do. By the time they released their first single, I was hooked faster than a bloated river trout.

Totally became obsessed. Up until Bled Fest last week, I had only had the opportunity to see them one time, at Mahall’s in Cleveland. Seeing them live made me fall in love even more. The whole way home that night, I couldn’t stop gushing about them to Henry.

“DIDN’T THEY SOUND SOOOO GOOD? LIKE, FLAWLESS?” and “I THINK THEY MIGHT BE ONE OF MY FAVORITE BANDS NOW.”

I even got my brother Corey into them! And they gave Emarosa a ride home from the So What festival in Texas last winter! Because they’re both from Kentucky! MY DREAM IS FOR THEM TO TOUR! AND ALSO ICARUS THE OWL!

Oh man, I’m panting over here. Wet dream a’gogo.

But they have never come to Pittsburgh, and all their other Cleveland shows have been impossible for me to make. So Bled Fest was even more special to me!

And they did not disappoint in that narrow, mirrored-wall classroom known for the day as Stage D.  So much energy! And new songs! I was in tears, finally getting to see them again after two years. If music is super important to you, then you understand how long two years can feel without seeing one of your favorite bands!

When they played Hands of Penance, the room just absolutely exploded with energy and ricocheting bodies. It was so healing! I was in the best mood ever! Nothing could bring me down!

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I was so fucking stoked after their set. I felt like I could take on A LARGE OPPONENT. Like maybe a gas man with a shut-off notice. YOU DON’T KNOW MY STRENTH, OK??

Henry and Chooch were like, “OK we saw like one and a half bands so now we’re going to fuck right off, byyeeeeee” and off they went to sit outside under a tree while I ran to see Sorority Noise on one of the main stages.

About 90 minutes later, I was staggering down the hall after catching Adventurer play on the smallest of all the stages, a tiny room comparable in size to the literal Pittsburgh basement I saw them play in last summer. Just much less dank.

I spotted Henry and Chooch up ahead, walking toward me with a smugness that was palpable and my stomach instantly began to turn. WHAT HAD THEY DONE.

“Guess who I met?” Chooch said in a chiding tone, holding up his phone to show me a photo of him with motherfucking Artifex Pereo?!

A gas man with a shut-off notice, or HENRY AND CHOOCH.

Henry said that they were so excited about his shirt (MY SHIRT, TECHNICALLY) that they had Henry take a picture for them to send the guy who designed it. And then Henry was all, “Yeah, they’re coming to Pittsburgh in September with I the Mighty.”

“YOU TALKED TO THEM?!” I cried.

“Well, yeah. I’m not weird like you,” he said with an attitude that I could have done without.

And then they apparently went back inside to the merch area to get a picture with Lucas, the vocalist, to further ram the extreme, blinding envy down my throat.

Ugh, my kid is the literal worst.

IT GETS EVEN WORSER THOUGH.

Later that day, my brother Corey sent me a screenshot of this from Instagram:

UGH!!! “He brought his dad with him.” NO MENTION OF THE MOM WHO IS THE BIGGEST FAN IN OUR LAME HOUSEHOLD. They probably think MOMMY is home sweeping the dirt floors and darning socks and not somewhere inside Bled Fest having her face melted off. I don’t know how Henry and Chooch were able to sleep that night knowing that they deceived me so.

AND THEN THIS!?!?!? “Why is this dude not my best friend?” REALLY. Ugh, fuck my life!!

And then the next day, Abstruse Apparel posted the damn picture AGAIN and I was cooking rage balls in my pot of boiling envy by this point.

“This is out of hand!” I cried, incredulous that he was getting so much attention out of this. “Keep taking good care of your shirts? HE HAS A HOLE IN THAT SHIRT!!!” Chooch was nearly gagging on his tongue from all of his shitty laughter.

Two days later, we were having breakfast with Bill and Jessi and I was still on a tear.

“I CURATED THIS!” I yelled, swirling my hand around Chooch. “Where’s my shout out?! Ugh! You don’t even LIKE them!”

“I do now,” he shrugged.

And everyone just laughed because what else can you do when crazy girl goes crazy.

In all seriousness, HAPPY FOR YOU CHOOCH. But when I just happen to get a picture with Ansley from Jule Vera at Riot Fest, YOU’LL UNDERSTAND HOW IT FEELS.

Probably not. He’s not quite as ridiculous as me.

*****

When I went back to work on Tuesday, the first thing Amber2 asked me was, “Still jealous of your kid?”

Why, as a matter of fact—YES. YES I AM.

My friend Octavia texted me yesterday and asked me what was the best and worst part about Bled Fest. The worst was easy for me to answer – CHOOCH AND HENRY CRAMPING MY STYLE. But my favorite part changes depending on when I’m asked, because there was so much to choose from!

For instance, all day today, all I could think about was how beautiful and inspiring the Cardboard Swords were. I only started listening to them last winter when they were announced for Bled Fest and I was smitten from the beginning. Their Facebook bio describes them as sad pop from Grand Rapids, but they’ve got that spoken word/emo revival sound that I’m such a sucker for.

So they went on my Bled Fest “must see” list immediately.

I was really bummed because they actually just played at a coffee shop here in Pittsburgh two weeks ago, but I had other obligations, so I skipped it, knowing that I would get to see them in Michigan a few weeks later.

It was nearly time for their set on Saturday; I made my way to Stage D, which was essentially a long, narrow classroom (Bled Fest is in a school — we’ll get to that in my official Bled Fest chronicles) and quickly realized that a ton of other kids had the same idea and the classroom was positively stuffed to capacity. This was my fault for not considering that hello, the Cardboard Swords is a local fucking band and Michigan’s scene is thriving. So while they probably had 10 people at their show in Pittsburgh, they were straight celebs in Howell, MI.

As they should be. This band is SO FUCKING WONDERFUL. I was able to stand right outside the room in the hall and had a perfect view through the open door; but within a few minutes, I finagled way inside and it was so worth being covered in sweat, my own and everyone else’s, because once it was time for “Flannel,” the whole room erupted into a passionate sing-along and I just cried and cried because that’s just what I do, you know?

I cry and I cry and I cry.

Sometimes it just really feels good.

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Ugh, sad boy music. Fuck with my heart at your leisure.

****

Chooch was sitting across the room from me just now as this video was playing in the background. He asked, “Is that ‘Flannel’?” and then made a “thought so” head nod when I confirmed.

“WHY — DO YOU LIKE IT??” I cried, because god, please someone like this music with me.

“It’s not bad,” he said in the most noncommittal way possible. And then he said he wished that room hadn’t been so crowded. “I would have stayed if I knew they were going to be that good.” But instead, he and Henry went to lay down outside in the grass.

Henry said he still would have went outside to lay down in the grass even if there only had been 6 people in Stage D. WOW JUST WOW.

They’re going to be the first band I let crash at my house once Henry finishes the guest room. And by finishes I mean starts.

Technically Henry still says he’s not doing this. LOL. Yeah right. Take it away, big guy! (This may or may not be ghost-written by a 10-year-old version of Henry.)

11:11am: it’s 11:11 and I wished that a sweet big assed girl would walk past the car, and she did! Best short vacation ever! Also I stared till she walked away, she looked at me and I raised my eyebrows up and down!

11:26am: standing in this bitchin’ line and I fucking hate concerts. I dunno if my son’s mother told you that, but If not I did. Anyway there’s a lot of sexy big assed girls Here people keep looking at me like I’m a pervert. I wonder if people think I’m a dilf!

11:52: Just exited the stupid school to finally plan my escape. Some stupid people from Artifex Pereo said “nice shirt to my son. There are some sexy big boob broads in the school. I think they winked at me! Mission Accoplished! Also I can’t follow directions my son’s mother yelled at me to keep the v.

i.p bag but I threw it into our Lamborghini.

12:34pm: listening to shitty music while staring at big asses. Man, I wish I had a big ass I could squeeze it all day! mMmMmMm! Well I think my life is going a different direction! Pay 10$ for me to squeeze your ass as a massage!

12:55pm:

IM STARING AT SOME BAND ASSES LIKE A PERV AND AN OLD PERSON! Also “enjoying” music at “Bleeding from my ears fest”

1:15: I went to the V.I.P Lounge so I can escape Artifex Pereo. There were some Staff members with gigantic asses! More to squeeze. My new store is PERVs Ass Massages!

Hopefully the cop that comes to arrest me has a nice ass!

2:45pm: We met Artifex Pereo. And more asses! My store will be in Moon Township! Some sexy ass broad girl be havin dat nice ass yelled at my son’s mother’s son. I watched a band by myself! I was away from small ass girlfriend!

5:00pm:  I’m tired and I want to go home to mummy and my nipples. Everybody knows I can’t rub them here. I got meatballs on my shirt and my small ass girlfriend tried to take a picture of it for tinder.

6:05pm:

Dreaming about dem asses at Bled Fest. There was someone tea bagging their car in my dream. I thought the car was a big ass broad. There is a water tower as big as an ass I saw today in the merch room.

6:20pm: big kick ball hit me while I was sleeping. I thought I was getting accepted by the big ass girls! My company is getting customers!

8:00pm: Today I saw some hot broads twerking their fat big juicy asses off while I ordered a pizza. Man life’s good! My small ass girlfriend was watching The World Is a Beautiful Big Ass Place! To teach how to twerk her ass off.

******

9:31am: I forgot to write about the FINAL MINUTES! But my son’s mother found out and said that she will tell the police but I didn’t care I wanted that big ass cop to arrest me! Anyway small ass girlfriend was watching Superheavenhell with all the big ass girls. But it was hot in there and I didn’t want to get sweat all over dat girls big ass.

…but you can’t find it and Henry says, “It’s in the basement. I’ll get it tomorrow” and you’re like “WHY TOMORROW?! BECAUSE YOU’RE SCARED TO GO DOWN IN THE BASEMENT AT NEAR DARK??” 

And he doesn’t answer. 

And you’re too scared to go down in the basement at near dark. 

So then you play Flashbeagle on YouTube and beat him the fuck up with your epileptic dance moves while intermittently scream-singing because Flashbeagle is fucking epic. 

JOEY SCARBURY. And some broad. 

My Saturday evening, you guys. 

But also, there was ice cream!

Ice Cream Sandwich with Twinkie underneath. Ice cream tastes so much better when it’s Weight Watchers cheat day!

Churn might be my new favorite ice cream spot. Thank god it’s kind of a hike because this could be dangerous. 

Even more now that I’m an old broad, I can say that music is like one big ass band-aid for my dumb, stupid heart.

I’ve been in this depressing limbo what with everything going on in my strange life, and it’s getting to the point where I have been feeling so upset about things for long enough now that my brain is being conditioned into thinking that this is the new norm for me and that I’m actually feeling OK. At some point in my life, I stopped making sense, I think. I guess what I’m trying to say is that after spending the first two weeks sobbing uncontrollably, I’m now so numb that I had started to forget that I was upset about anything in the first place, because I had become used to feeling this way (I guess?

). But then Emarosa released another new song and well, I HAVE FEELINGS AGAIN. I hadn’t realized how dead I was becoming inside. Broken record alert, but it’s been so amazing to watch these guys completely redefine the band.

After they parted ways with Jonny Craig, I was admittedly in the “OMG THEY’RE FUCKED” camp. I still supported them and continued to have hope that they’d rise from the ashes, but I never expected that it would be as such a bad-ass beast. They’re full of surprises, and these first two singles off the upcoming album could not scream “don’t call us post-hardcore” any fucking louder. I mean, they need us to keep our ear drums. And don’t get me wrong! I still love my post-hardcore, but it seems like they were beyond ready to break out of that pigeon hole. I never could have predicted their new sound, and thank god because I love surprises. My favorite thing about this new Emarosa is that they’re making such smart music—it’s a ton of fun catching the little nuances and recognizing the nods to other music, like musical Easter eggs.

SEE IF YOU CAN PICK IT OUT IN THIS SONG, OMG IT’S LIKE A GAME. This album is going to be my summer soundtrack. Get stoked, Henry!

Apologies. I was just really excited to share this song with my imaginary friends!

Life got all messed up and as such, I had to miss a lot of shows I wanted to see in April. But the one that was non-negotiable, can’t-miss, had-my-ticket-since-January was Basement, a totally underrated, recently-reunited band from the UK. Even though this completely threw a wrench in our vacation travel plans because Henry wanted to leave that morning and now was going to have to wait until the show was over and DRIVE THROUGH THE NIGHT, hahaha.

I’ve never seen Basement before. I think that by the time I had started to like them about 3 years ago, they had already broken up. Turns out though that this was their first time playing in Pittsburgh anyway! I really started liking them even more once I became obsessed with Tuesdays with Tay, which was a weekly Q&A thing on YouTube set around one of the guys at Run For Cover Records, but it was Basement’s guitarist, Alex Henery, who filmed it and often appeared in the episodes too. HE IS SO CUTE AND FUNNY.

“Should I wear my Tuesdays with Tay shirt tonight?!” I screamed into Henry’s slumbering face. He was trying to sleep all day on Saturday so that he’d be ready to drive all night, but of course Chooch and I kept waking him up to involve him in our constant revolving door of issues and drama.

Henry mumbled something that sounded like, “God, you’re so fucking lame” and I couldn’t find my Tuesdays with Tay shirt anyway because Chooch and I share each others merch (the family that merches together…?) so god only knows what crevice of the house it’s been stuffed into.

Obviously, this was another Goin’ Solo show for me, which I’ve begun to accept is the new normal for me until I start making friends.

Or get a cooler boyfriend.

This show was at Altar Bar which for some reason always stresses me out because I always find myself surrounded by assholes. But as soon as I got in line outside the venue, some girl yelled over to me that my purse was cool as shit and I was like, “INORITE” because hello, it’s shaped like a ray gun. That set the tone of the night for me and I later found myself surrounded by pleasant people on the balcony.

Specifically, a couple from Cleveland who chatted with me in between Colleen Green’s and Defeater’s sets. Sometimes I welcome small talk at shows when I’m alone because it’s easy for me to fall into a self-loathing pit of sadness otherwise, as I look around and see all of the people enjoying music with their friends, like normal people are wont to do, I guess.

I’ll save the whining for my DIARY. BIG SIGH.

The opener was Colleen Green, who I was actually expecting to be a band because I’m always fooled by docile-sounding female names and then they end up being fucking viking metal or some shit. But this was actually a girl named Colleen Green, alone on the stage with her guitar and laptop band. She was OK, but I found myself drifting off numerous times because you know how picky I am with chicks.

But then Defeater came on, followed immediately by an onslaught of windmilling on the floor below. This is why I stand upstairs for these shows! My old lady bones are too brittle. I wasn’t trying to spend five days walking around theme parks with a broken nose, you know?

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It looks like there is barely anyone there, but that’s just because everyone moved the fuck out of the way to let the hardcore dancers have the floor.

This was my first time finally seeing Defeater. I stood on the balcony with my eyes closed and let the healing happen. I’ve always been a huge believer in the “music heals” belief, but actually going to a show while being in the throes of trauma or suffering any sort of loss really reinforces this notion. For the first time since 3/30, I felt normal for a moment.

And then I opened my eyes and watched the people on the floor below experiencing this same phenomenon, screaming back the words, trying to climb onto the backs of the people in front of them, and I thought, “THANK GOD for this outlet.” The best way I can explain it is by telling you that it is literally akin to plugging myself into a wall outlet and recharging my heart and brain. It’s like having a good, hard cry.

LET IT ALL OUT, YOU KNOW!?

Turnstile was next and I was bracing myself for the worst, knowing what I know about them. I love a lot of hardcore bands, but not enough to put myself in the crosshairs, so again, I was happy in my safe spot on the balcony. One of the guys next to me yelled to his girlfriend, “I’ll be right back” and then ran downstairs to throw himself in the mix and we all just stood up there laughing at him and also kind of hoping that he wouldn’t die.

Maybe that’s just the mom in me.

The singer was pissed that there was a barricade so he kept coming off the stage and throwing his mic into the crowd, letting everyone else do the screaming for him, sometimes for almost the entire length of a song, while he windmilled his face off on stage, nearly taking out the rest of the band several times. It was full-blown pandemonium down there, and actually kind of hilarious to watch the horror on the faces of the girls in the front who were just there to see Basement and likely had no idea that there were two hardcore bands in the line up. They were getting fucking obliterated down there.

It got really bad at one point when some asshole decided to jump off the balcony straight onto the crowd below. He was taken down almost immediately by security and the girl he landed on was guided away from the stage by her girlfriend—the girl who liked my purse!!!—but luckily she came back after that and seemed to be OK. It was pretty scary though. Why can’t people just be chill?!

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Aside from watching people nearly die in random stampedes, I thought Turnstile was fantastic, would watch again. Preferably from home, on YouTube. I’m a delicate flower.

Finally, it was time for Basement. My heart started fluttering when I saw Al!!!

I texted Henry this picture and all he said was “lol.” Fuck you, Henry. Don’t act like you don’t love him on Tuesdays with Tay!

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ROTTEN TO THE CORE. My apple tattoo tickled a little bit during this jam.

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All the girls along the barricade seemed to have moved past the trauma of being trampled and punched by hardcore bros. Basement was clearly worth the abuse. I was absolutely giddy during their set, so fucking happy to finally being seeing them. I want to just scoop up their perfect British accents and eat it like clotted cream. DO YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN?  They really were just what I needed.

Everyone should at this point pause their life for a few minutes and watch this video for Aquasun. I promise you, it’s just beautiful rock music and no screaming. (BARB!)

Afterward, Henry came to pick me up, at which point we embarked on our billion mile drive to Orlando, while my whole body was buzzing with Basement adrenaline. I kept trying to tell him about what a fabulous show he missed, which he answered by glaring directly into my soul.

So good. Go buy their latest record. I DARE YOU.

 I might need a Pod for all the photos I’ve brought home from my Pappap’s house. A lot of the photos are familiar to me but Corey and I have unearthed a ton that are new to us. It’s funny because in my mind, the heyday of that house was obviously the early 80s because hello, HERE’S ERIN. But then we found several photo albums full of evidence of some totally bitchin’ parties that were had in the 60s and 70s it’s like nope, THAT was the heyday. 

“They had a freaking band playing in the game room!” Corey said, thrusting a photo album in my rubber gloved-hands.

You know this intrigued me because BANDS ARE BASICALLY MY WHOLE LIFE. I posted this on Facebook immediately and my Aunt Susie (my mom’s younger sister)  commented and said “Oh, that’s Hausen. Dad had them play at the house every year.” 

#nbd

So for the hell of it, I googled their name and found the bio of one of the members, who still plays in bands with some legit Pittsburgh musicians, but my favorite part of his bio was when he casually mentions that he briefly played in the Urge with TRENT REZNOR. 

I’m so obsessed with this now and want to go to see them and cry TELL ME ABOUT THE TIMES YOU PLAYED AT MY PAPPAP’S HOUSE because I’m sure they’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. It was only 40 years ago. 
   

Meanwhile, my grandma was rocking some COUTURE COIFS. So in addition to hiring Hausen to play at my imaginary wedding, I’m flat out obsessing over how stylish my grandma’s freaking hair was, decade to decade. Seeing all of these old pictures makes me appreciate her so much more, because damn you guys, my grandma was a babe!

I’m also a bit surly that my mom and her sisters were so pretty in their formative years and the universe clearly stepped in after I was born and said, “OK this fam has seen enough beauty so now I present to you this baby who will have 5-6 good years before blimping out and ruining her pretty golden locks with a perm while also having a brief (as in 3 years) battle with facial eczema.”

That happened. 

On top of all this, my mom stuffed my frumpy body UGLY PLAID SKIRTS, KNEE HIGHS AND MOCASSINS. 

Anyway. My grandma’s hair. Let’s look at more of it. 

That’s my mom on the left! I got zero of her looks. :( I apparently look like my birth dad. 
  

The 80s <3

I can’t stand how pretty she was!   

This was her Bahamas look.    

In one of the stack of photos I found, there were no less than 8 photos of the TV, because my grandma wanted the same hair as some broad from “Dallas” and that’s what she would do so she could have a picture to take to the salon. She taught me well, so in the 90s I snapped an entire roll of film during one of Carrie Brady’s scenes on Days of Our Lives and took it to the salon and wound up with nothing like it because I’m not my grandma and spent all of the 90: crying post-salon trips. 

Hashtag Grandma Goals, for real. I need to step up my game in a BIG WAY so my future grandkids’ response to old photos of me won’t be “hnnnnnggggg.” 

Beehive, maybe?