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?

2016 has not been kind to musicians, man. Yesterday, when Glenn mumbled that Prince had died, it kind of felt like time had stopped for a minute, like I was hearing him say those words while drowning in the deep end of a pool.

 The only silver lining to these major celebrity deaths is the brief “coming together” stage of grief. Even if it’s just reading people’s posts on Facebook about the first Prince song they ever heard, or the time they went to one of his concerts—I like knowing these things about people.

So while everyone was sharing their favorite Prince songs on Twitter and Facebook, I’m kind of shocked that my mind didn’t go straight to When Doves Cry, because DAMN, THAT SONG. However, the first Prince-related memory that popped into my head was actually not from my beloved 80s, but the 90s. It was the first album he released after changing his name to the love symbol. I was in middle school and listened to the ever-loving fuck out of that CD on my bad-ass Aiwa stereo.

But most of all, I listened to “The Morning Papers.” It wasn’t a super successful single from what I remember, but there was something about it that resonated with me. Look, I love 80s-era Prince, but his early-90s work was just bananas to my ears and it soundtracked a very pivotal time in my life when I was starting to really piece together my own identity, culminating in my inevitable entrance into the Yo Girl Years. (Junior high was rough, you guys.)

And don’t even get me started on “Love Sign,” his jam with Nona Gaye. So many memories of begging my mom for Karl Kani boots while that song played on the radio.

But of course, I can’t find either of those songs on YouTube so just go buy the albums or make it up in your head if you’ve never heard of them.

Wait! Here’s a live performance of The Morning Papers from Arsenio Hall, lol:

This sucks. Another piece of my childhood shattered. SOMEONE PLEASE WATCH OVER PHIL COLLINS.

I asked Chooch last night what makes him happy. Without so much as a pause to consider, he said, “Going to concerts.”

Good thing I snagged us two tickets to see Pierce the Veil perform their soon-to-be-released new album in its entirety at the House of Blues in Cleveland!

It’s the best feeling in the world to be able to go to shows with my kid. I hope that one day when he’s older, these will be some of the best memories for him, the things he loves to tell his friends about. How his first concert was Pierce the Veil when he was 6. How he started going to Warped Tour when he was 7. How he met his musical idol Christofer Drew backstage at the Grog Shop in Cleveland. His Emarosa connection. His obsession with The Summer Set’s lyrics. And I hope that when things get rough for him, music will help soothe him like it helps me. I keep telling Henry, “Bled Fest and Warped Tour will help me. I just need to get through this, and then Bled Fest and Warped Tour. BLED FEST AND WARPED TOUR, HENRY.”

And because I’m in a very TREAT YO’SELF state of mind, I also got myself a ticket to see John Carpenter in July because the Halloween theme, you guys. The fucking Halloween theme.

I DO WHAT I WANT AND I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK.

And now it’s time for Daily Cry. Bled Fest and Warped Tour need to get here quick.

My music obsession was definitely sculpted and honed in my grandparents’ house. I made my first mixtape there using a Fisher Price tape recorder; it had a lot of family conversations that I captured without permission and Rockwell’s “Somebody’s Watching Me” which I recorded off the music video that was playing on the TV. I’d eat my grilled cheese at the kitchen counter to a soft rock soundtrack wafting out of a stereo kept tucked away in a cabinet behind me. My friend Amy and I played on the enclosed porch a lot, where I would often play a BRUCE WILLIS cassette that had his cover of “Under the Boardwalk” on it and my god was that song THE FUCKING SHIT.

But when I think about my romance with music in the 80s, the distinct memory of sitting on the floor of the game room, playing song after song on the jukebox,  always comes to mind.

SHE BOP!

LUCKY STAR!

SAY SAY SAY!

But the one that stands out the most is Phil Collins and Genesis. My love for Phil is unabashed. I’ve always been open about it too, even in high school when I went to see him at the Civic Arena and I gave no fucks about everyone knowing. I decided to torture myself the other night, so on my drive home I put on “Tonight, Tonight, Tonight” and just fucking lost it, but it felt really good to get it all out. I was a little girl again, sitting on that game room floor, playing my favorite songs over and over again.

Seriously, this song is everything. Whatever that means.

There was also a jukebox in the other game room at their house, but that one played “old people” music and I didn’t like it.

Music is the best damn time capsule. Sometimes I find myself getting a little too dead on the inside and all it takes is one song to bring back the feels. My dad had a jukebox too, in his garage, but that one had of 90s jams on it. I used to play Toad the Wet Sprocket over and over while hitting a tennis ball off the garage door. But it never felt the same as that jukebox in the game room.

The good jukebox. Not the old people jukebox.

My mom is all, “Why don’t you guys take the jukebox?” and I’m like, “ARE YOU TRYING TO MURDER ME WITH MEMORIES?”

There’s no real point to this other than I love jukeboxes, I’m so goddamn tired, and I really fucking miss my Pappap.

Anyway. This song is relevant to my life right now because GET ME OUT OF HERE.

In an effort to do something normal, I went to Journeys yesterday to buy some new TOMS. Henry and I weren’t even all the way into the store yet before a young salesguy was firing off apathetic scene kid salutations at us. I was annoyed at first, because everything annoys me anymore, but then he came over while I was examining the TOMS situation, and I mumbled something about not wanting a white pair because I planned to wearing them outside a lot, like to Warped Tour.

“You know we sponsor Warped,” he casually said as we rooted through the TOMS table together. I actually did know this but I still quietly stood there and listened as he told me that he’s actually in a competition right now to get sent to Warped and run the tent.

“What’s it based on, sales?”  I asked.

“Well, right now it’s socks actually. We’re being challenged to sell the most socks.”

This is when I noticed that he kind of resembled Tilian Pearson from Dance Gavin Dance and that made me want him to win. So I picked out of a pair of pink TOMS and told him to throw in some low-cut socks too because Chooch’s current sock stash have the texture of paper mache. I mean, these fucking foot swathes can stand up on their own, even when washed.

And the stench is forever.

While he was ringing me up, he asked for my email address.

“But Gavin Can’t Dance,” I started to say, and he interrupted me.

“Is that a Dance Gavin Dance reference?

They’re my favorite band!” He gushed, his bored vocal cadence getting a small shot of life.

“It is,” sighed his co-worker who had just emerged from the back.

“SAME!” I cried happily because THIS NEVER HAPPENS. “Did you go to their 10-Year Anniversary tour?”

“No,” he said sadly. “My girlfriend at the time had a dance competition and I had to go to that, but Dane next door at Game Stop went to the Columbus show.” I looked at Henry and tried to imagine choosing something he was doing over seeing Dance Gavin Dance, and I just laughed a lot on the inside.

I told him that Henry and I went to the Cleveland show and he was all, “WAS IT AMAZING?! DID JONNY AND KURT SING TOO?!” And then we expressed mutual sadness over Kurt Travis leaving A Lot Like Birds and I told him and his co-worker who was still standing there about the Kurt Travis house show I went to in Oakland last summer and how I had an easy 15 years on everyone there and the co-worker guy was like, “Hey, music has no age limits” and I seriously considered quitting my job and applying at Journeys.

MY PEOPLE.

I tentatively asked my new bro (Sam, in case you care) his thoughts on Emarosa, because oftentimes DGD fans are still rabid supporters of Jonny Craig.

“I LOVE THEM! And Bradley is just amazing as their singer. I actually really like Versus a lot. Have you heard their Reimagined album?”

I mean, DUH. So we talked about how fantastic Bradley is and my heart felt like it was beating again for the first time since Wednesday morning.

“Honestly, I used to really like Jonny Craig, but if you ask me, he can only sing in the key of A, and he tries way too hard anymore. I honestly do not like Slaves at all,” Sam said, handing me my bag while his co-worker and I both vehemently agreed with his assessment. (I was still a fan of Jonny when he started Slaves and even then I was like, “Ew, this is not good at all.” It makes it easier to not support him anymore, that’s for sure.)

“I was a huge Jonny Craig fan-girl for years and years, but I finally divorced that whole scene,” I said, and we all laughed about that together and I gave Henry this frantic look that screamed, “DO WE HAVE TO LEAVE SO SOON? CAN’T YOU PRETEND LIKE YOU WANT TO TRY ON 18 PAIRS OF VANS?!”

As we turned to leave, Sam said it was always great to meet another Dance Gavin Dance fan and that if I needed anything, come back and ask for him. I thanked him and as we walked back out to the car, I was like, “WAIT WHAT DID HE MEAN BY ANYTHING?!”

His favorite DGD songs are Carl Barker and Tree Village, in case you were wondering.

Leaving work on Friday, I could barely contain myself inside the elevator. My co-worker Mitch was kind of side-eying me so I blurted out: I’M GOING TO SEE CARLY RAE JEPSEN TONIGHT!!!”

Pregnant pause.

“Wow,” Mitch laughed. “Was not expecting that!”

Even though I like a wide array of music, and am constantly dipping in and out of genres and decades, I don’t think it’s a surprise that most people likely associate me with heavier, “screamy” bands. And that’s fine, because I love that stuff. But I’m not one of those music snobs who thimbs her nose Top 40. (Although there are several artists, and I use that title very loosely, who I really honestly can’t stand and truly believe are ruining the face of pop music. COUGHMEGHANTRAINORCOUGH)

I have always unabashedly loved Britney Spears and have supported Lady Gaga from the beginning. I don’t even hate Justin Bieber. ANS I LOVE THAT FUCKING CAKE BY THE OCEAN SONG, OK??

However, pop music doesn’t usually tug on my heartstrings like my main bands do. It’s just something nice to listen to every now and then when I just need something on in the background.

And then came CRJ.

You guys. I wish I could put my finger on what it is about her that turns my heart into a clump of sweet sweet gummi bears.  Particularly her most recent album which I’m sorry to tell you, it is a motherfucking pop masterpiece. It makes me feel like I have roller skaters right the fuck back into my charmed childhood, before everything got shitty, when all that mattered was puffy-painted sweatshirts and side-ponies. She makes me feel pure, unadulterated happiness, and that right there brings real, genuine tears to my eyes.

You can make fun of me all you want. Constantly remind me that you “don’t get it.” Smirk at my excitement. I don’t really give a fuck. She’s not my guilty pleasure, because I feel zero ounces of guilt when I listen to her music. She is my PROUD pleasure.

Interestingly, she has some major crossover appeal with others in my scene. Anytime there is a news post about her on Absolute Punk, the fan-girling is strong. She is a breath of fresh maple-scented air in a pop scene over-saturated with twerking and vulgar schticks and sexually explicit lyrics that you pray your nine-year-old doesn’t understand.

She is wholesome without being lame or cheesy.

She is a goddamn Canadian princess.

And I couldn’t get to Mr. Smalls fast enough!

Chooch and I have had our tickets since the moment they went on sale. I had a feeling it would sell out since Mr. Smalls isn’t very big, and it did.

After feeding us, Henry dropped Chooch and me off down the street so no one would see us getting out of Daddy’s car. We had about 20 minutes to kill before the doors opened, but the line kept growing so even though I was shivering in my too-light jacket, I was glad I didn’t have Henry drive around the block one more time.

Originally, I figured Chooch and I would snag a spot in the back, right where the bar is separated from the main floor, so that GOD FORBID Chooch could sit down on the floor between bands since his limbs are SO WEAK from being A NINE-YEAR-OLD. But then I saw that there was some prime real estate along the front of the stage, but over to the side a bit, so I dragged him over to there and at first he was like, “WHAT WHY” but then he saw that at least he could lean against the stage to take some of the weight off his WEARY BONES.

For fuck’s sake, Chooch.

We made small-talk with the burly security guy who was guarding the emergency exit/staff only door which leads back stage. Apparently, I was the cut-off for that side of the stage, because when some broad came over later and leaned past me to look toward the center of the stage, the guy was like, “You can’t stand there.” She explained that she was trying to see her two daughters that she left alone in front of the stage and he was like, “UNLESS YOU’RE GONNA BE WORKING HERE, MOVE.” Yeah boy!

Before the show even started, Chooch went to the bathroom twice. He’s obsessed with public restrooms. The first time was legit, he honestly had to pee, but the second time was because his gum made him sick and he supposedly went to the bathroom to puke.

Guys, I don’t know how much truth there is to this. Mostly because I tell Henry all the time that I was “SO SICK THAT I PUKED” and 99.99999% of the time, this might be a slight exaggeration.

Fairground Saints started promptly at 7:10. I would have guessed they were from Nashville—two guys, a girl, three acoustic guitars, and an alt-twang sound. They were pleasant-sounding, and the girl had one hell of a fucking voice, but it wasn’t really my thing. Chooch loved them because they covered Justin Bieber and he was so relieved that he had enough battery life left on his phone to get a video of it.

He’s clearly my kid.

The second band was Cardiknox and I definitely liked them a lot more because SYNTH. I love most anything involving synth. And the singer, Chooch’s new lady love, was really entertaining and high energy. She kept singling out one of the guys standing near us and it was adorable.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BDYFrooFZhS/?taken-by=ohhonestlyconcerts

I thought Chooch for sure would have liked Cardiknox more but he was blinded by his love of Fairground Saints, especially after they not only liked his Instavid, but also went back and liked a picture of his cat, Drew. They have his heart now, probably forever.

Also, Chooch was starting to get super ornery by this point because it was getting more crowded and he claims the guy next to him kept pushing him into the stage but I was standing right there and I swear to god this never happened. That guy and his girlfriend were pretty mindful of the fact that a kid was standing behind them, and the girlfriend even slapped her hand over her mouth when she said “fuck,” and I was just like, “Please, if you knew the words that came out of this child’s mouth, you’d blush.”

Sometime during Cardiknox, two younger girls (they were definitely under 21 based on the Xs on their hands, and at first I thought they were middle-school aged but then I found them on Instagram afterward (NOT INTENTIONALLY! They came up when I was perusing the #gimmielovetour hashtag the next day) so now I guess they might be around 17 or 18…either way, the one girl who was right behind—I guess the security dude made a concession for her–and she was SO FUCKING IDIOTIC. Like, I get it — we’re all excited. We’re all screaming. I was screaming my fucking face off. But her scream was RIDICULOUS. Like one step down from a dog whistle. And right against my skull.

Then she would do these death metal growls and I kept slowly turning around to get a glimpse of her because for a while, I honestly couldn’t figure out exactly what was behind me.

Other than that, though, the show was AMAZE. When CRJ came out, I shed actual tears and started pushing Chooch excitedly. He was really excited too and had his phone out, ready to record her entrance.

She came out and immediately started singing “Run Away With Me” which is one of my favorites and oh, if only she had been performing at a roller rink — that’s the only way the night could have been any better. She sounded amazing, you guys, and she was such a joy to watch that I don’t think my eyes were dry for even a second of that show.

I’ve never really fan-girled over a pop star before, so this was new territory for me. But I was right there with all of the teen girls and gay guys, shrieking and thrusting out my arm in hopes that my fingers could even just slightly graze CRJ, even if it was just the sleeve of her shirt. AT LEAST IT WOULD BE SOMETHING. And also proof that she’s not a holograph.

BAE!

During “Tonight I’m Getting Over You,” I noticed that she had tears streaming down her face, and she continued silently crying for the next two songs. It was extremely intimate and touching so then this made me cry even harder because crying is like yawning for me: if I see someone crying in real life, I will start crying too without being able to stop it. IT’S MY BIGGEST CHARACTER FLAW. Seriously, it’s hard to maintain my misanthropic asshole persona when I’m fucking crying all of the time, ugh.

I’m crying again.

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There were grown men who looked dangerously close to flinging themselves off the balcony in sheer ecstasy during “Call Me Maybe.”

Chooch and I were desperate to get her to touch us! Before the show started, one of the stage guys came over and told the people next to us that they had to move their stuff off the stage. We were like, right on the side, where the stage winged out a little, and he said, “Carly walks out here and I don’t want her to slip.”

So of course we were all like OMG SHE’S GOING TO WALK OVER HERE AND BE STANDING LITERALLY RIGHT IN FRONT OF US?!?!

But that guy was a goddamn shit-sucking liar because she never came over that far. She never got any further than the guys who were two heads down from us, we were SO CLOSE yet SO FAR AWAY. But I swear to god there were multiple times when she came over and smiled RIGHT AT me and Chooch. Right at our dumb idiot faces.

I was goo. A pathetic wad of goo.

Meanwhile, Screamy behind me kept death-growling, “I LOVE YOU” which ricocheted off the back of my head, along with her phone which she kept shoving past my face in order to record CRJ’s every last movement. I mean, OK—so was I, but I had my phone at chest level so it wasn’t blocking anyone’s view!

That girl was seriously the only blemish on the whole entire night. Not even Chooch’s supposed “mental breakdown” toward the end of the show managed to put a damper on my spirits. (He was oddly preoccupied with the fact that he had a knot in his shoelace and it wasn’t until he finally untied it on the sidewalk after the show that he was finally able to exhale and go back to being normal. It’s always something with him.)

After the show, we went straight to the merch booth so I could buy a shirt and my record-snob son wanted E.MO.TION on vinyl. I’ve created a monster. It was after 11 by the time we made it outside of Mr. Smalls, and we were originally just going to leave, but then a group of older men started talking to us, asking Chooch if he got his record signed, etc. We said no, and they pointed out that there was a line forming outside of CRJ’s bus, which pretty much ended right where we were standing. It didn’t seem very long, and even though there was no guarantee that she would come out, I told Chooch I would absolutely die if I missed a chance to meet her. He wasn’t very pleased because he was cold and cranky and I like CRJ more than he does (seriously, if this was Christofer Drew’s bus, though…). I think he was also getting pissed that these guys kept talking to us while waiting for their Uber. The one man told us that he had literally flown in just for the show last minute and got there right as she started singing the second song. Then he showed us pictures of his twin grandkids and Chooch was like, “OK WOW GR8 BYE” but I thought these guys were very nice and I appreciated their flamboyance. It was a refreshing change from the usual too cool for school crowd I usually find myself immersed in at shows.

After about 20 minutes, Chooch pointed out that people at the front of the line were taking pictures. I asked the tall guy behind me if Carly was out of her bus and he said, “Yep, she’s up there now” and I started fucking sweating and hyperventilating.

The line moved up quickly and smoothly; everyone was very respectful of her time and space, no one asked for more than they were entitled, and she wasn’t straight-up mobbed. There apparently was already a VIP meet-and-greet before the show, so she totally didn’t have to be available for us, but she still came out and that made me evict a few people from my heart so she could have some cozier real estate.

By the time it was our turn, I was a nervous wreck and thoroughly coated her with my word-vomit.

“OMG I JUST LOVE YOU YOU WERE SO GREAT TONIGHT I CRIED SO MUCH!!!” and she just smiled graciously and said “Thank you” after each of my psycho declarations. Then Chooch very calmly and nonchalantly asked, “Can you sign my record?” like it wasn’t CARLY RAE JEPSEN standing before us all petite and perfect with her little hat on and OMG I WAS STANDING NEXT TO CARLY RAE JEPSEN ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME SHE WAS JUST IN THE LIVE TV PRODUCTION OF GREASE SINGING WITH BOYZ II MEN!??!?!

I really hate having my picture taken but there was no way I was missing this chance, because who knows if it will ever happen again, so I whispered, “Will you take a picture with us…?” and she was all, “Sure!” and I gave my phone to the tall guy behind us and only vaguely remember CRJ draping her arm over my shoulder because I was pretty much experiencing a blinding out-of-body moment and by the time we found Henry and scrambled into the car, my hands were shaking so bad that I almost dropped my phone while trying to show him our picture and he just mumbled, “You’re sad,” but then he was trying not to smile so I think on the inside he was like, “Holy shit my kids met CRJ!”

Not to be That Person, but I really did lose my fucking shit when she sang “Call Me Maybe.” I am overcome with beautiful memories and happy feelings every single time I hear this song. I’m reminded of the Summer Olympics, extreme laughing fits, ROSS’S BLACKBERRY…it’s just pure, unadulterated summer joy. So, try to belittle me for liking a “one hit wonder,” but it won’t work. My love for CRJ is real and I’ll own it forever. No shame, no guilt, no regrets.

On Friday, we went to the Mr. Smalls Theatre for Carly Rae Jepsen’s Gimmie Love tour. So First, when we got in line and waited, mommy complained it was freezing. She had a coat on and I had a T-Shirt on, I didn’t complain. When it was finally 7:30, the doors opened and we got to go in.  The first band was Fairground Saints. They played “Love Yourself” by Justin Bieber. They’re kind of country singers. They do covers mostly. But the songs they did at the concert was mostly their songs.

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My Instagram is butt_jam, if you didn’t already know. You would see this video on my Instagram. It’s a video of them singing “Love Yourself” by JB. I also have many more videos on Instagram.

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Such as this one: Carly Rae singing “Run Away With Me”. It was epic and could cause seizure, so warning if you are able to get seizures by strobe light don’t watch. 8-) While she was playing, I had many problems, such as: Being claustrophobic was one. This guy behind me had so much room but he chose to push me into the stage, I had about a foot of room. I threw up, because I chewed too much gum. My phone was at 1% and I couldn’t record anything or else my phone would die. There was a knot in my shoe and it bothered me. I hate everything!

At the end of the concert, we went to the merch table and I got a record, mommy got a shirt. We left and outside there was a line at the side of Carly’s tour bus. We waited and waited. During our wait we met a lot of gay guys.  This one guy was so nice he showed mommy a picture of his grandkids. I tried to get the knot out of my shoe and it worked, all of a sudden I felt better.

When Carly came out of her tour bus, nobody screamed. I told mommy she came out, but she said everyone would’ve screamed. But I said people were taking pictures. She said they were probably taking pictures of each other. Then mommy heard Carly’s vice and got excited. We got up to the front and I got my record signed and got a picture. Mommy almost cried and fainted but I was calm. Carly was really nice. Daddy parked righted in front of her tour bus so when we got our picture, we walked to the car and left.

As you can see, I had a lot of fun. The concert was good, Carly has a good voice, and Fairground Saints is very good as well.