Preshow: We left early so we could stop and eat and drink before the show. It was early enough that when we got to Rivertown restaurant it was still happy hour, only I happened to be in the bathroom when the waitress explained the specials to Erin, and when I got back of course she didn’t listen to them or she did and chose not to tell me, then she made us leave early, because ” show starts at 6″ she said, only the doors opened at 6. So I lost a half an hour of cheap drafts, damn her already! So all I got was 2 wheat beers and a pizza, no time to try anything else.

Standing in line: Got to stand in line for the next hour behind the most annoying “rocker mom”, who at the old age of 39 had done everything possible when it comes to concerts, at least thats what she was telling the little 16 year olds that were around her, fawning over her every word. Thanks again Erin.

PVRIS: Needs work on singing live.Good on their CD.

[Ed. Note: Strongly disagree with this assessment. Lynn had me at hello. Or whatever her first word was. But apparently Henry the Voice Coach knows all.]

Mallory Knox: Didn’t really do anything for me. Was too busy wishing I could sit up in the balcony with the other parents, Erin said I could if I wanted to, that really means do it and Ill never let you live it down, ever. So I grabbed another beer and stuck it out.

Sleeping with Sirens: Kellin Quinn still cant sing live, they just play the music louder to drown him out.Opening of the show was cool. I believe it was after this set that Erin had a can that she wanted to throw away in the garbage can that was over the railing right in front of her, maybe a foot way. She waited for the guy that was in front of it to move, shot and missed, making the girl on the steps to walk down and pick it up, shooting Erin the evil eye the whole time, way to go.

[Ed.Note: Untrue. That girl was looking at me with utter veneration and reverence, because she recognized that I am a PTV Elder-Fan. We are a rare breed, few and far between, practically Scene Unicorns. Kids stutter in our presence.]

Pierce the Veil: Seen them many times good as always!

Favorite PTV song: Not sure , Don’t know the names of any of them. Since the names have nothing to do with the songs, I’m too old to memorize that shit.

This song inspired so many paintings and stories in stupid 2008. I still have moments where I crave those days so hard, but mostly I ignore because what’s done is done, it is what it is, what happens in 2008 stays in 2008. Pick an obnoxious idiomatic expression and call it a day.

Today, however, the cravings were practically waiting for me at the foot of the bed when I woke up. And I will feed them, because I’m a moron. Time to bring back my emo side-sweep and brood in a corner with a canvas.

Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess.

It all started with an innocent trip to Eat n Park after work last week. I worked late shift that night, so it was already well past 8 by the time Henry, Chooch and I got there. I couldn’t help but notice that the room we were seated in was full of older couples on dates. I could tell it was a date, and not just a casual “I don’t feel like cooking, let’s go out to eat” because every older person seemed smitten with their older person companion. In fact, one of the older person couples even sat on the same side of the booth and shared a plate from the salad bar. Every so often, male older person would lean over and kiss female older person on her temple. It was all at once endearing and nauseating, and I struggled to take a picture of them, eventually managing a slick under-the-table shot.

Another older couple arrived right before we left, and thank god because otherwise I might have died not knowing the precise way the female older person orders her side of broccoli (a double serving, extra-steamed so the florets are on the threshold of disintegration).

I couldn’t stop giggling about this, all these old people hitting the town (well, Dormont anyway) after hours on a Thursday night.

“It’s like a Boz Scaggs concert just let out!” I texted to some friends, along with the pictures. The responses varied from “I don’t know who that is” to “Is that some old singer, I guess?” to “*radio silence*”.

Was my inner old person showing? Or WAS I JUST IMAGINING THAT BOZ SCAGGS EXISTS? I could hear myself saying his name. Boz Scaggs. Boz Scaggs. Bozzzzzz SCAGGsssss. It was sounding more and more foreign until eventually it just sounded like a frog ribbitting under water.

I tried to defend myself, plead my case by insisting that “if you’ve ever been in a grocery store, you’ve probably heard a Boz Scaggs tune at least once in your life” while willing myself to conjure up in my mind my mom’s Boz Scaggs record that I know I used to play in the basement of my parent’s house, didn’t I? DIDN’T I?! JOJO?!

I mean come on: “Lido Shuffle”? “Lowdown”? “LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO ME”!??!?! That was a staple on all of my soft rock mix tapes when I was in high school! BOZ SCAGGS IS REAL.

And then my music-loving friend Terri rescued me from my self-doubt, because she too, has a space in her heart for his smooth yacht rock tracks. Then after Janna and I went to see Birdman on Friday, I made her listen to Boz Scaggs songs on my phone until she finally exclaimed, “Oh, OK! Yeah, that guy. He’s real.” And then she wouldn’t stop singing “Lido Shuffle” which made Chooch irritable.

***

Sunday morning, I awoke to “Lowdown” playing on my bedroom radio. No joke, there it was, wafting out of the dusty speakers like it was no big deal, just another Boz Scaggs Top 40 hit to stuff a Taylor Swift and Bruno Mars sandwich. I’ve been listening to a variety-type station in my room lately because of my penchant for nostalgic earworms and soft rock’s natural ability to ease me into a sweet slumber, even if it means having to tolerate the occasional current pop hit. How else do you guys think I get to hear Laura Branigan’s “Gloria” approximately twice a week? (Seriously, that station LOVES to play that song for some reason.)

Anyway, I excitedly texted Janna and Terri that “Lowdown”  was on. And laying there in bed, taking in the jazzy trumpets and silky background vocals, I started to draw some comparisons to Steely Dan, another band I loved so much when I was growing up thanks to my step-dad, and even got to see them once about 15 years ago and it was amazing. (I had to choose between them and Yes! It was a hard choice.) So I spent a good chunk of my afternoon listening to Steely Dan, and then Emerson Lake and Palmer, and I really started to feel like I needed to grow a beard, put on a white leisure suit, and steal away into the night in my Chevy Van.

Somewhere during this time, Terri texted me and said that “Lido Shuffle” was on in the grocery store she was in! I started freaking out about this, and Henry was like, “Calm down. It’s not that exciting.” BUT IT FELT LIKE I WAS PSYCHICALLY WILLING BOZ SCAGGS TO SURFACE!

And then, this is the weirdest part, that evening Henry and I put on Breaking Bad. We’re way behind and only on season two so DON’T TELL ME ANYTHING. But in this particular episode, Walt is having breakfast with his family, and he starts talking about music with his son, and is appalled that his son has never heard of Steely Dan. I started laughing, since I had been revisiting Steely Dan earlier that day. Henry was like, “Whatever, not that big of a deal.” OK, just watch this:

 MY HEAD NEARLY SHORT-CIRCUITED. I literally jumped off the couch and was shouting, “REALLY? REALLY?!” and Henry mumbled, “OK that’s kind of weird.”

Anyway, this is all a really long-winded way to tell you that after looking through Boz Scaggs albums all weekend, my new Glenn Defacing Project involves Glennifying RECORD ALBUMS!

IT’S ALMOST LIKE BOZ SCAGGS POSED FOR THIS PICTURE PURPOSELY KNOWING THAT GLENN’S HEAD WOULD ONE DAY SO PERFECTLY REPLACE HIS OWN!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have the day off work, which I am now going to fill with more dreamy yacht rock until later tonight when Pierce the Veil blows my heart out of my chest. Don’t judge.

I listen to the alternative R&B playlist on Spotify a lot when I’m doing write-y things at home and every time this song comes on, I’m like SHHHH SHUSH STFU GODDAMMIT mama’s in a movie right now.

Usually I’m home alone when this happens, but STFU imaginary hostage in the basement of my mind, you know?

This is the jam. I’m going to stare at my reflection in a puddle now. I’ll send you a post card.

In collecting old photos of my Pappap’s house, I found several that reminded me of how much music has always been a part of my life, and why so much of it naturally reminds me of that house.

I got my first damn cassette player from my grandparents for my third (fourth?) birthday. A year or two later, I upgraded to a Fisher Price tape recorder—it was taupe in color like all electronics were in the early 80s and came with a microphone, which I would hold up to TV speakers in my Pappap’s den, in order to record shit from Friday Night Videos. Rockwell’s “Somebody’s Watching Me” was on my very first mixtape. That song came on in the car a few weeks ago and I tried to get Chooch stoked on it but he only thought it was just ok.

The above picture was taken on the porch of my Pappap’s house, and anytime I hear the song “Under the Boardwalk,” my mind automatically beams me back to that porch, sitting at the glass table, playing Monopoly and listening to the Bruce Willis version of that song over and over while my grandma babysat me and my brother Ryan in the late 80s. AND THAT WAS MY FUCKING JAM.

Here we have my grandma holding me in the kitchen, and you can just barely see a stereo system on a shelf to the left.

This is how I grew to love Phil Collins, Kenny Rogers, and Gino Vanelli and also grilled cheese sandwiches. SOFT ROCK 4 LYFE. NO SHAME.

(I made my Pappap order me the Time Life “Body Talk” CD collection, and literally every song reminds me of either sitting in that kitchen or my favorite childhood restaurant–the Blue Flame.)

This is my aunt Susie and me in the clown room. Inside the desk behind us was a record player, and this is how I heard Frank Zappa for the first time ever.

There was always music playing in that house back then. And today, there is always music playing in my house. Sometimes different music is playing in multiple rooms at once (soft rock radio in the bedroom, Spotify on the computer downstairs, music videos on TV); this drives Henry nuts. Especially if we’re watching something on TV and then I scream something unintelligible and clamber up the steps because some cherished song is playing on the bedroom radio and I want to pretend like this is a serendipitous moment, like I can’t just queue it up on my phone, and so I’ll flip down on the bed and listen to “In the Air Tonight” or “Eye in the Sky” like I haven’t heard it in 20 years, while Henry is downstairs mumbling, “How did you even HEAR that from down here?”

And now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some soft rock to Spotify.

On the way home from Chooch’s piano lesson on Saturday, some Queen song came on the radio (it was probably “Another One Bites the Dust,” but I can’t remember exactly right now).

Chooch is oddly interested in Queen. Not in a “LET’S BUY THEIR WHOLE DISCOGRAPHY!

” sense. But, he does like to ask questions about them. Once, I played him the “Radio Gaga” video, because I was OBSESSED with that song when I was around his age (there’s even a video of me dancing to with curlers in my hair years later—I think jerk Lisa filmed it in my mom’s family room when I wasn’t paying attention) and he was fascinated.

This time, he started asking us questions about Queen’s popularity and seemed kind of surprised when Henry and I told him that they had lots of big radio hits. We started naming some of them and I had a quick audio flashback of senior year of high school. I had never been a super big Queen fan, so I never really sunk into their deep cuts. But then I started dating Psycho Mike, and the one good quality about Psycho Mike among the layers of shitty attitude, rage disorders, and fiery jealousy was that he really loved music. None of my prior boyfriends really seemed to give a shit about music, let alone that all-important relationship token: The Mixtape. I would make them for people all the time: friends, penpals, unworthy boyfriends—but it wasn’t until I started dating Mike that I ever got one back from a boy.

And it was fucking legit.

It was through Mike that I learned about Billy Bragg (whom I finally got to see live at Riot Fest last September!), Neutral Milk Hotel, Syd Barrett, and Radiohead (Mike was going to see them back when they were opening for bands at tiny Pittsburgh clubs like Metropol), some of which were included on the mixtape he made for me during the winter of 1997. I spent so many nights laying on the beanbag in my bedroom, lit only by a ridiculous collection of neon water sculptures and Christmas lights bouncing off of my foiled wallpaper…it was just a few nudie posters short of being a home-version of Spencer’s, a headshop without the bongs and nose-pinching stench of patchouli. And this is how Mike’s mixtape was best experienced: half-devoured by a giant bag of beans, awash in psychedelic lights, absolutely nothing distracting from the words and music seeping into the system like some supreme cocktail of opiates.

During our Queen conversation on Saturday, I pulled up “You Don’t Fool Me” on my phone and, before it started playing, I explained that it was my favorite Queen song of all time.

“It was on this mixtape that Psycho Mike made me,” I mumbled.

I hadn’t listened to this song in at least 15 years, and as soon as I heard those opening notes, I was back in my old bedroom again, and I felt so calm and peaceful, even with Chooch’s mouth chattering away in the backseat of the car. Over the weekend, I listened to some more songs that I remembered from that tape, “Marooned” by Pink Floyd, “Bad As They Seem” by Hayden, even Pachelbel’s “Canon” was on there. Side B ended with a 10-second recording of one of our phone calls, unbeknownst to me at the time; I thought was incredibly adorable and romantic back then, me sounding all sleepy and him teasing me with a deranged lilt to his voice.

Listening to these songs made me feel warm, safe, comfortable: none of the things Psycho Mike ever made me feel.

There were numerous reasons why I HAD to go to Philly to see Circa Survive:

• They just released a new album
• This was the first tour they were doing in support of that album, and it wasn’t coming to Pittsburgh
• The guys in Circa Survive are from Philly (or nearby), so this would a hometown show and everyone knows hometown shows are the best shows
• It’s Circa fucking Survive
• I would get to go with Terri and  Christian!

So I did that thing that I do when I really want something, which is tell Henry that it’s all I want for “x holiday.” This time, Christmas was the next holiday coming up, which is good because Christmas works better than Flag Day. So I was like, “OH PLEASE, PRETTY PLEASE, HENRY CLAUS, I’LL DO ANYTHING!” I think he liked the idea that all he had to do was get me to Philly, and not have to go to the show.

Plus, we all got to hang out beforehand and the next morning, so it just made sense for us to all go and make a weekend of it. At least, that’s how I tried to sell my case. “We can have group hangs! Then you and Chooch can dick around town doing fuck all while I go to the show with Christian and Terri!” I cried excitedly, and Henry didn’t really say anything, which is better than when he gets all huffy and starts yelling at me about money. Not that that happens a lot.

The show was at Union Transfer, and it was a fantastic venue even before the show started. The line to get in was super quick, the staff was friendly, and there were numerous ciders to choose from at the bar. This is really all I ask for. Terri and I each got some cider and hung out at a table near the window,  and I know this is cheesy, but we text pretty much every day so it was super nice to actually talk like real people. Eventually, we could hear the opening notes of Pianos Become the Teeth so we ditched the bar and made our way to the stage. Christian was already in there with one of his friends, but I needed to be closer for Pianos so we were like, “Peace out” and wormed our way through the crowd.

Meanwhile, Henry and Chooch were going to hit up some diner down the street from the hotel and then go get ice cream.

Pianos Become the Teeth is a hard band for me to describe, for some reason. I had a moderate affinity for them for awhile, but when I saw United Nations last summer, my appreciation for them grew (two of them are in United Nations: the drummer and bassist) and I knew I had to see Pianos live sooner rather than later. Luckily, they were at Riot Fest and their short set in the rain on one of the smallest stages in Humboldt Park turned out to be one of the highlights for me, which probably doesn’t mean much since that entire weekend was one big, obese highlight.

Their music is akin to post-rock, think Mogwai. But with anguished vocals that aren’t quite a scream so you can’t call this screamo, but more like a cry: a gravel-throated anguished cry over top of beautiful music that ebbs and flows with intensity.

Henry dislikes them because he’s a moron.

But OK, OK, this isn’t a music blog. So I’ll just say that when they played “Repine,” my eyeballs burned with tears. Jesus, that song.

Next up was Title Fight, which was exciting because the first time I ever saw them was the first time I met Terri and Christian at the AP Show in Cleveland almost exactly three years ago! We were all there as guests of our mutual friend Jason from Alternative Press, and spent the whole day together, record shopping, grilled cheese eating, and AP back issue rummaging. Jason had to do some obligatory networking during the after party that night and was so afraid to leave us alone together, for fear of one of us instigating a fistfight (we are hockey fan rivals—Pens vs. Flyers). I had a feeling that night that we were going to stay in touch and likely become good friends. You can just sometimes tell these things! It didn’t feel awkward hanging out with them and we had a lot to talk about, too.

Title Fight is one of those bands that I am a casual fan of, but seeing them live is a whole new ballgame. Terri has definitely gotten me way more into this genre, and I’m so thankful for that because I need all the help I can get to keep me away from stupid Jonny Craig and his stupid music. Ugh.

And then finally, it was time for Circa Survive. This time, Terri and I secured a prime spot near the side of the stage and, with the exception of the couple behind us who talked the whole time (GO STAND IN THE BACK IF ALL YOU’RE GOING TO DO IS TALK), it was a nearly flawless show, crowd-wise. Although Terri had some weird experience with some guy’s butt that I might try and talk her into guest-posting about.

Over the weekend, I went back in my blog and read about other Circa Survive shows I’ve gone to and really….what more can I say other than they are really something special. Even Henry, who doesn’t necessarily like their music, has admitted that they are entertaining. I’ve seen them in several different cities now: Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Chicago, Cincinnati….but I have to say that this Philly show was hands down the best Circa show I’ve seen to date. There was so much energy in the room that it was impossible to stand still, especially during “Child of the Desert,” when Anthony ordered everyone to stand as still as they could, holding all their wiggles in. “I’ll let you know when it’s time to let the wiggles out,” he promised. And when that time came, I grabbed Terri’s arm and we started jumping around like idiots because WHO CARES, WE’RE AT A CIRCA SHOW!? No offense to Henry, but it was like, next level amazingness. You have to understand that I don’t often go to shows with other people who love it as much as me! With Terri, it was like, “Fuck yes, let’s sing, high five our neighbors, and let our fucking wiggles out!”

THANK YOU, ANTHONY GREEN.

They played The Difference Between Medicine and Poison is the Dose, which ends with Anthony yelling, “Did you ever wish you were somebody else?!” After which, Anthony said to the crowd, “I used to wish I was somebody else. You know who I wished I was? James Brown! James motherfucking Brown!” and we all screamed of course because, James Brown. But the girl I hated behind me yelled to her boyfriend, “WHO’S JAMES BROWN?”

Kids!

Later, I would find out that while we were having religious experiences at Union Transfer, Henry and Chooch ended up just going to McDonald’s (Chooch’s choice) and Chooch spilled his drink in the car (“Daddy was pissed off,” Chooch wants me to  tell you) and then they went back to the hotel because the ice cream place apparently sells Christmas trees in December instead of frozen treats. So essentially, a pretty typical Henry and Chooch evening.

I’ve said this before, but there is something about Anthony Green that reminds me of Chooch. I honestly think that if Chooch was the frontman of a band, he’d have that same cult-like charisma and charm, and I was really excited when, after the show, Christian said that he was thinking the same thing. And again, I just know that Chooch is going to grow up and become something stupid just to spite me. Something stupid like a doctor. Ugh!

I bought this sick limited edition show poster (only 100 were made for this show!!) and treated it like a fucking Faberge egg until I finally got it home the next night. Still waiting for dumb Henry to frame it.

After we left the venue, I chimed in from the backseat to point out how happy I was to leave a show and have friends with me to completely analyze and dissect the night. I love Henry and I appreciated that he accompanies me to pretty much every single show I want to go to, but he doesn’t give a shit. And I wouldn’t want him to change. It’s our thing: I’m all hyper and wistful at once, and he’s just….”deep sigh.” It was just really fun and game-changing to be at this one, of all shows, with two people who are just as passionate about Circa Survive and music in general. It was such a great night and you know I don’t ever take these experiences for granted, but this one really made me extra appreciative.

Before taking me back to the hotel, Christian drove around the city for a little bit while we talked excitedly about the show and how on point all three bands were, and Terri pointed out noteworthy things and we saw a sick fight that briefly spilled out into the street. And, and, and! Even two weeks later, my mind is churning with minutiae that I don’t want to let go of.  I’ve watched YouTube videos of this show countless times since that night and Henry is like, “HOW MANY TIMES CAN YOU WATCH THESE.”

*****

Chooch was wide awake when I got back to the hotel after midnight, watching trashy TV and filling out MadLibs, but Henry was mostly asleep.  I shook him violently and, in my teenager vocal cadence, rapidly recounted all of the highlights for him and then shoved my phone in his face so he could see my Instagram videos.

“I know what Anthony looks like,” he mumbled, rolling over in bed and going back to sleep.

Ugh, shows like these make me feel better than a day at the spa.

We listened to Circa Survive for a good portion of the drive back to Pittsburgh the next day, and I cried a little while revisiting old memories and talking for the thousandth time about the first time we saw them at the Grog Shop over the summer of 2005, mostly because I like to tell that story. Henry of course knows that story well because he was there with me, so he just sighed a lot.

From: First Feet Productions

*If you’ve stumbled across this blog and aren’t familiar with Circa Survive, please please please do yourself a favor and check them out. They’re really something special.*

Today as I was getting ready for work, I had a craving for Howard Jones so I put on his YouTube channel. I loved this man so much as a kid growing up in the 80s and he has been on my concert bucket list forever. I decided to check his upcoming tour dates and he’s coming to Cleveland in March! Usually, I find out about these things way after they happen, like when I’m scrolling through Instagram and I see one of my friends posting pictures of a Howard Jones show in Cleveland last year, so I’m taking this as a sign that I have to go. Plus, it’s on a Saturday, which makes the 2 hour drive there from Pittsburgh so much easier.

Howard must really like Cleveland if he was just there and is coming back less than a year later and it’s one of only 4 US cities listed on his tour. Thank god Cleveland is practically my neighbor.

I was about to call Henry 87 times in a row and then text him “911!!!! 187!!!!” but then Janna said she would go with me so Henry is like THANK GOD! I’m going to be in a good mood today, so everyone can thank Howard Jones, Cleveland, and Janna.

(Mike + the Mechanics is playing here in March too and if Henry doesn’t buy me tickets for Christmas, he is fucking dead to me.)

Who’s on YOUR concert bucket list? Tell me!

I have some kind of terrible restless brain syndrome, where if I’m not already doing something, then I’m thinking of 87 different things that I want to be doing / could be doing / should be doing. Usually it’s just small tasks, like “ATTEMPT TO MAKE SHIT WITH SCULPEY AND CRY!” or “TRANSCRIBE THAT CLEVELAND TRIP FROM ’04 ONTO THE BLOG*!” or “TAKE CHOOCH TO EXORCIST.”

*(I think I really am going to do this though because there are some choice Henry anecdotes up in that piece. EVEN A SERVICE STORY.)

But then last Thursday, I was sitting here at work and texted Henry, “LET’S PAINT THAT ONE WALL IN THE LIVING ROOM GRAY!” which turned into “AND ALSO LET’S PAINT THE INSIDE OF THE ARCHWAY AND SHELVING UNIT YELLOW!” and then by the time Friday rolled around, it had morphed into “FUCK IT LET’S KNOCK DOWN THE ENTIRE HOUSE AND REBUILD!!”

It is imperative that I stay busy during this time of the year. It’s my top survival tactic.

I worked from home on Friday while Henry diligently moved all of the furniture into the center of the room and then when I was on my break, I helped him take everything out of that shelving unit, which is super cute and built into the wall, but it admittedly is like a catch-all for shit that we shouldn’t even be keeping and by we I mean me and my ridiculous bottle collection.

“Really?” Henry asked, holding up a dusty, unopened Fiji water bottle.

“I didn’t know they were going to become so readily available!” I cried in defense, chucking it into the “GOODBYE CRAP” pile. Ugh. He tried to pitch a dusty, plastic bottle of Coke but I screeched, “THAT’S FROM GREECE, YOU ASSHOLE!” I’ll probably dust it off here at some point.

I also found one of my journals and the first page I flipped to was from June of 2006 where I was writing about a fight (pick one) that Henry and I were having and he stopped and said, “ANSWER THIS FOR ME: DO YOU EVEN STILL WANT TO BE IN THIS RELATIONSHIP” and I wrote all this self-absorbed shit about how I didn’t really care either way but how would I be able to pay my bills if we broke up?

(For the record, my answer today would be OMG HENRY DON’T LEAVE ME.)

And then Henry found a bunch of my old address labels from when I was HEAVY into penpalling.

“‘Ace‘?” Henry asked, holding them up for me to see.

“Yeah, that’s when I was a tennis player. Duh Henry.”

“‘No preps or posers‘?” he continued, ending with a mumbled “Oh my god.”

He’s just upset that he didn’t know me then, that’s all. And then he found a picture of a couple and read the back.

“Oksana and Bob? Who are they?” And before he even showed me the picture, I knew that it was my much-older pen pal Bob  (a 40-something-year-old man writing to a 13-year-old girl, nothing to see here) and his Russian mail order bride, Oksana. Bob was kind of dull so we didn’t write to each for very long. (He was no Eddy, that’s for sure.)

********

On Sunday, I was sitting on the couch pretending to rest because I was sick, when I started staring at one of the smaller walls that has always, almost for as long as I have lived here (since 1999, omg), held a large portrait of Robert Smith. It’s always bothered me because it’s so plain, but I didn’t want to paint it another color, because it’s adjacent to the gray accent wall that Henry just slaved over.

I chose gray because there are approximately 702374028375489023456 different colors in our living room alone. Sometimes Henry will mutter about all of the colors and have you been to my house? Someone once said it looked like a Crayola box had exploded in it. Thanks for the compliment, friend.

This is me in my bedroom in 1996. I have always loved to be surrounded by color! That room was like sleeping inside of a Spencer’s. I had strands of novelty lights and lava lamps everywhere, and my wallpaper was foiled. FOILED! 

Then it hit me: lyrics. I would paint lyrics to a Cure song on the wall and then hang Robert up like the God that he is, so his words would surround him.

“I’m going to paint lyrics on the wall,” I said casually to Henry.

“OK,” he hesitantly answered. “Which ones?”

“Same Deep Water As You,” I said in my DUH voice. Because DUH, Henry. That’s only like my favorite Cure song ever.

He shrugged and said OK and then went back to what he was doing. I forget what it was, other than it was something I told him to do.

“Well, you have to draw the lines for me!” I cried. Because I need lines. Otherwise, those words are going to slant right on up to the ceiling.

I guess he thought I meant, “Take your time, we don’t need to do this right now” but then he saw me standing there, tapping my foot and holding a pencil, so he sighed and came over with his level.

I wrote the lyrics, freehand, with a pencil and then went over with black paint and a brush. My hand felt AMAZING the next day, you guys. Like the hand of someone who just learned how to masturbate, ugh.

The lyrics start right below the ceiling and run all the way down to the floor. It’s all finished except for the last two lines, which I plan on doing tonight after work. (My right hand just spasmed as I typed that.) I will post again when it’s complete.

After that’s finished, we have approximately 58 other things to tackle and did I mention that I started all of these projects one week before people are coming over for a post-Thanksgiving game night? We are literally stepping over piles of furniture, paint cans and stuff. I DO LOVE A GOOD HUSTLE.

*******

Here is the song that’s on my wall, IN CASE YOU ARE INTERESTED.

Last night, right as I was falling asleep, “Jackie Blue” came on the radio. Do you know this song? It’s old, like from the SEVENTIES OMG, and it’s by the Ozark Mountain Daredevils. I have been obsessed with this song since high school so as soon as it started playing, I cried, “JACKIE BLUE FUCK YEAH!” and started dancing in bed which is something that Henry totally LOVES when he’s already sleeping, but who cares.

“This song makes me think of when I was 17 and went through a phase where I wore shoelaces as headbands!” I laughed, but Henry just mumbled some sleep-stifled sentiment into his pillow, so since he didn’t care to listen to my stories, I am ready to shoot them from my fingertips like smoking words from a phalanges-cannon. His loss is your gain, Blog a/k/a My One True Friend.

• Back when I was 17 and wearing shoelaces in my hair, Lisa and I used to frequent a pool hall called Cue and Cushion. I’m really not sure how this all began, and for as much time as we spent there, we never really got good. Every time I would ever get a ball in the pocket, I would make an obnoxious gesture toward the pocket and say, “Skilllllllls” while every one else would groan, “Shit shot.” There was this one guy we befriended and I can’t remember his name but I can see him very clearly in my mind, especially how his face went from friendly to “You are dead to me” when he expressed interest and I was like, “I am dating a psychopathic fire-starter whom I love very much and will never betray!” Which was actually true. I never cheated on Mike once, yet he would constantly accuse me of. Also, I remember him being in his 20s and I was saving my cradle for Henry to rob at a later date, obviously. BUT I DIGRESS. I would ask Lisa if she remembers his name, but I’m lucky that she even remembers being friends with me back then, let alone some random pool shark’s name.
  • I have a photo of myself with this guy and I’m wearing a striped velour shirt that I bought from Contempo after it changed from Contempo Casuals but before it became Wet Seal. I’m wearing that shirt under overalls because that’s how I did it back in 1997, holla.
    • Speaking of photos, Lisa and I hung out at Cue and Cushion so often (and were probably the youngest people there on most nights), that we became friends with the proprietor, Lou, who hung our senior pictures up on her bulletin board.
• Thinking of Lou got me remembering all of the other mom-types that loved me and Lisa back in the day, like Maryann from Denny’s, who kept a picture of me on her key chain (Henry rolled his eyes at this) and then there was a broad who worked at a diner that we called Home Cookin’ because that’s the generic name that was on the outside of it (it was in a shopping center) but really it was called Russitano’s. We NEVER called it that but then when I met Henry, it turned out his mom knew a bunch of the waitresses there and he would correct me every time I called it Home Cookin’. Probably because he couldn’t stand that he wasn’t included in my antics back then and hearing me calling it Home Cookin’ forced him to think about me having a life that GOD FORBID didn’t include him. Anyway, I can’t remember that lady’s name, but she used to let us go behind the counter and get our own drink refills. God, I miss that. I think it eventually changed to the Plaza Cafe, back when I was 19 and getting grilled blueberry muffins and coleslaw with the aforementioned Psycho Mike and then it moved down the street and now it’s something else but it seems to rarely be open so why bother.
  • And then all of this made me think of the disgusting amount of time my friends and I spent at various diners but mostly Denny’s and how the hell did they never kick us out when all we were ordering was coffee and essentially loitering.
    • One of my favorite Denny’s memories was going there for dinner with Brian, Chooch’s godfather, when we were…20? 21? He saw someone he knew sitting at a booth across the restaurant, so he told our waitress to send that table the sampler platter and to put it on Brian’s check. Because that’s the Denny’s equivalent of sending over a bottle of champagne at a classy restaurant, I guess. Brian spent the rest of our time there waiting and waiting for some acknowledgement from his friend, but then later, some kid that we knew from high school stopped by on his way out and thanked Brian for the nice gesture. The waitress had delivered it to the wrong table and Brian was SO PISSED but I was dying. Then, when we were walking through the parking lot of my apartment complex afterward, Brian tripped over a speed bump and I cried, “THIS IS THE BEST NIGHT OF ALL TIME!” Probably we went inside and sent Janna fake emails from a fictional man named Tyree, because that’s what we did for funtimes back then. I mean, I would never anything like that now.
    • Speaking of coffee, it’s funny to think about how we would go to actual diners and restaurants (like Denny’s and Eat n Park) when we wanted to hang out and have coffee with friends. There were no Starbucks or really any other coffee houses in the suburbs where I grew up that I can think of, aside from Gloria Jean’s in the mall. Which leads me to my next topic…
• Ever since I had Dark Matter coffee at Riot Fest, I have been straight feenin’ for it. I finally buckled and bought a bag of the Mastodon-collaborated coffee, Black Blood. It’s a limited release and aged in Basil Hayden’s Bourbon Whiskey barrels. I’ve been in a Keurig rut for YEARS so this inspired me (Henry) to get off my (his) ass and buy a french press. My first cup of that steaming Black Blood reminded me that Keurig’s K-Cups are essentially the mp3s of the coffee scene, and I’ve gone back to vinyl, you guys. I’m just sorry that I was led astray for so long. Convenience, etc.
• Long-time readers might remember Eleanore, an older broad I used to work with at another job. I found her on Facebook about a year ago, but then I forget all about it until over the weekend, when I fell down the Old Job rabbit hole on Facebook. You know what I’m talking about: you find one person on FB that you used to work and then suddenly you’re scouring their friend list for other co-workers and then you accidentally send friend requests and it’s a whole big thing. Anyhow, I was reminded of Eleanore’s Facebook presence so I was scrolling through her shit and hearing her voice in my head reading all of her status updates out loud and then DYING at the amount of times TINA (OMG TINA HAHAHAHAHA) has posted to her wall saying “Hello dear friend, I miss” but in Tina-type, it’s more like “Hekjllo Dar friend i mis u.” Anyway…it turns out, and this is not funny at all, that Eleanore had a stroke two years and is no longer working. She seems to have bounced back, but that is still really sad and scary. I ended up having a dream last night that I went to visit her under the pretense of caring about her but in reality, I knew that she had three wheelchairs in her house and I wanted to buy one from her. OK, fine, I’ll tell you the truth: at first in my dream, my intent was to STEAL ONE. I have only stolen something once in my life and it was magnet made out of peanut shells that I took from Lechter’s, a home goods store that used to be in the mall. I was around 4 or 5 and I fucking swear to god, I was so racked with guilt after that, that I don’t even take pennies from Take a Penny trays at gas stations, even if I need one. OK, back to my dream. So I was going to steal one of these beautiful wheelchairs similar to the blue one I already have, but then I woke up in real life and forced myself to go back to sleep so that I could finish the dream by offering to buy one. I don’t know if I was successful, because then I was eating an ice cream cone that I didn’t like so my friend Jeannie let me have her ice cream cone, which was PEACH MELBA, so when I woke up this morning, my first thought was, “Wow, I forgot how much I used to love peach melba ice cream when I was a kid.”

And I will end this with a picture of me and Lisa at Denny’s (of which I have many).

(Pictures. Not Denny’s.)

Or: I’m not feeling like typing words today.

Brief summary, tho: the new Punk Goes Pop compilation just came out and while I’m not super into these comps, there are actually a few tracks I like a lot this time around. (And then you have the jumbled mess that Slaves made of Sweater Weather. What a great song for that merry band of misogynists to shit all over. That’s awful even by Kidz Bop standards.)

(I wish Dance Gavin Dance had covered Sweater Weather instead. With Tilian.)

The standout track for me is State Champs’ cover of Zedd’s “Stay the Night.” I love the original so much (full disclosure: I can’t listen to that song without crying, every.damn.time) and State Champs added their own sound to it while STILL making me get choked up at the gasoline part.

“Stay the Night” can stay on my radio.

I know that Circa Survive and I go, like, way back and all, but this morning I was listening to their new single on repeat while getting ready for work something happened; a haze was lifted and it was like hearing them with virgin ears. I found myself holding my breath and almost dragged the mascara wand past my lashes and down my cheek.

All I could think was, “WHY ARE THEY NOT SELLING OUT ARENAS?” Don’t get me wrong: I selfishly love that I get to see them in intimate venues, but goddamn, this world is clearly being deprived of sweet, sweet music.

Every time I wanted to throat-punch a bitch today, I closed my eyes and thought of the second shelf of my curio cabinet, where I gently lay my concert tickets when they arrive in the mail, and how one of those tickets is for an upcoming Circa show in Philly this December which I am attending with my friends Terri and Christian and I could honestly just cry tears of joy right now. This is what has been saving bitches’ throats today.

(Also, Pianos Become the Teeth is opening that show and I am nearly equally as stoked to see them too because they blew my mind at Riot Fest and their new album is like WHAAAAT ARE YOU KIDDING ME so good. “Repine” honestly makes tears spring to the forefront of my eyeballs and I don’t even bother to fight it. Weeping feels so good sometimes.

)

Henry and I had a date on September 27th. Of course, it was doing something that only I wanted to do, but he surprisingly didn’t try even once to get out of it. I think he’s losing his will, you guys.

He’s got no fight left in him.

Our date was a night of music that Henry only has a marginal dislike for at the Smiling Moose. I think he was OK with it because the Smiling Moose has a lot of beer that he likes, plus we were eating there too — something for him, something for me. After 13 years, I’m finally learning about compromise.

Yeah right! I love the Smiling Moose just as much. They typically have more than one variety of cider and their food menu always has veg options. That night, I got an amazing grilled cheese with apples and caramelized onions and Havarti…just the most perfect pre-show food. So good. I had candied onion sauce dripping down my wrist and my second glass of cider had me convinced that it was OK to lick it right off myself like I’m some fucking wild animal, post-kill in Africa.

Henry had a panini, maybe? No, that doesn’t sound like Henry. Probably just a burger. And he was mad because I ordered a beer for him that he knew he wasn’t going to like but was too weird to tell the bartender that.

Also, my favorite bartender was working.

By the time we ventured upstairs for the show, the first band was nearly done. They were local and I never caught their name, but I liked them a lot. The singer/guitarist had gingery Coheed and Cambria hair and was just a complete a psychopath up there, crashing into the wall and engaging the small crowd.

(Best/worst thing about Smiling Moose shows: always a small crowd. This is great for me because I can get super close without worrying about dying, but it’s sad in the respect that these amazing bands are here playing for next to no one. Sometimes I forget that some of the music I like is just not really popular at all.)

Their bassist was a girl that never moved or smiled. I kept seeing her walking around throughout the night and she was blanker than Henry’s shirts. I think the crazy singer might have been her boyfriend, and if so, wow what a strange coupling.

The second band that played was Save Us From the Archon, also local. I’ve followed them for quite some time on Facebook, so I was stoked to finally see them. Henry was like, “Oh great, one of those non-singing bands.”

So the three main bands on the Blue Swan Tour were Hail the Sun, Stolas, and Icarus the Owl. There’s this whole sub-genre/movement of post-hardcore that has been growing over the last few years, and I really believe that Dance Gavin Dance spearheaded it. And actually, the Blue Swan record label belongs to Will Swan of DGD. So now there’s like this entire family of bands that share a similar sound and they’re all friends and they’re all awesome. And that’s really all you need to know about that.

The reason I was there that night was Icarus the Owl. I’ve had a mild interest in them for awhile, but after seeing them last July with Artifex Pereo, it was all heart-eyes for days. They were just so good and fun to watch! So when i saw that they were coming here, I told Henry we were going and he just bowed his head because he has no argument anymore. Man, they opened with “Blackfish” and I was like FUCK YES and Henry was like IDGAF and the singer from that first band rushed the stage in a very THAT’S MY JAM!!! fashion. If anyone in that room had been nodding off prior to this, they were wide awake now.

These guys have quickly moved their way into my Top 10.

I was forced to talk to the singer, Joey, later on when I went over to buy a t-shirt. I get so fucking weird about meeting bands. Even when I was a super slut and majorly outgoing, I would still clam up around certain bands because I hold so many of them on such a high level. So I get a little awe-struck around them, OK? Sue me. Anyway, first I was like, “Hi I would like that shirt there in a medium” and then while he rummaged around for it in a big Tupperware bin, I rehearsed something substantial to say, and when he turned back around with my second choice t-shirt, I faked enough confidence to say, “You guys are the main reason we’re here tonight.” He put his hand across his chest and said, “Aw, thank you so much!” and it was super genuine, I could tell. There was good eye contact. Not like when I would try to tell Jonny Craig how much his music touched me and he would stare off over my shoulder and make no attempt to even pretend to smile or be grateful.

“We saw you guys a few months ago in Cleveland with Artifex Pereo,” I said without stuttering—what a feat! “You guys should tour with them forever!”

“Oh, we just love them so much!” Joey gushed. “They’re really good friends of ours! They’re actually on tour right now with Emery and—–” Joey paused, trying to remember.

“Norma Jean,” I offered. “That tour sadly isn’t coming here,” and then I made some stupid exaggerated sad-face which I wish I could go back in time and take back.

After Joey asked for our names and shook our hands (like Henry even deserved the acknowledgment!), he gave me some wristbands and then I pretty much ran away.

“What did you say to him?” Henry asked when we reclaimed our spots near the stage.

“NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!” I cried. But then I told him because I wanted to know how lame I sounded. Henry just shrugged and said it was fine. I’m learning how to talk to people, OK GUYS?! Step off.

All of this happened after Stolas played. Stolas was the only band that I didn’t know too much about, other than Jonny Craig was featured on one of their older songs. They were GOOD, you guys. I liked the faces the singer made every time he screamed; it was like twisted anguish. So emotive and raw, just like their music. I think my favorite part was when Donovan from Hail the Sun jumped up on stage (after he was standing right next to me!) and sang with them and everyone’s heads exploded, except for Henry who was just like, “OK.”

And then Hail the Sun. This was the third time we’ve seen them (and apparently the third time they’ve been to Pittsburgh so we’re like accidental super-fans, I guess). Once was with Dance Gavin Dance and the second time was on one of Jonny Craig’s solo tours. The first time I saw them was also the first time I had heard them, and while I liked their sound, they never really became a band that carved its way into my playlist. But lately, I had been listening to them, REALLY LISTENING TO THEM, and even though Henry was like, “We’re leaving after Icarus the Owl, right?” I was finding myself getting increasingly more stoked for them to start playing.

Their singer Donovan is also their drummer, JUST LIKE PHIL COLLINS AND GENESIS OMG. But Donovan occasionally will abandon his set to take center stage and really fucking sing and I like when that happens because he makes Crazy Eyes while he’s up there and that is also how I noted that he resembles Breakfast Club-era Judd Nelson, an observation with which Henry vehemently disagreed.

I will leave you with this video of snippets. (Unfortunately, I forgot to get a sample of Stolas. I really don’t like being That Person who is holding up her phone all night!)

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

The next day, some guys started hearting all of my Instagram pictures and videos from the show, and then he started following me. “I was there too!” he commented on one of my videos and Henry was like, “THANK GOD MAYBE YOU HAVE A FRIEND TO GO TO SHOWS WITH NOW.”

But then the guy’s profile said he’s only 14 and I don’t know guys, that might be too young. LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE IT, HENRY.

The truth is, I have purposely been putting off writing the last installment of Riot Fest, because it feels like once I write it, then that’s it: Riot Fest is truly over. The whole weekend was so perfect to me, especially coming off the tail end of a summer that was emotionally draining, just a total black spot on the year. Maybe it seems like I’m being overly-dramatic, god knows that’s basically my default, but I’m serious when I say that my three days at Humboldt Park felt like a religious retreat, in the same way that some people climb mountains to escape their past, cast out their demons in sweat lodges, or rail a quadstack off a hooker’s ass in the back of a 1984 Pinto.

This is how I heal.

The whole weekend was a collection of experiences and heart-clutching moments, stepping stones that paved the way to the culmination of my catharsis: The Cure.

As I mentioned in my last Riot Fest post, The Cure was scheduled to play the main stage at 7:45, so we made our way over there during Patti Smith’s 5:45 set in hopes of getting a decent spot.

My expectations were low. I even told Henry that I didn’t care if we ended up across the park by the food trucks. As long as I could hear The Cure (and not shitty Weezer who were going to be playing at the same time on a smaller stage), I was fine. Besides, I had been dragging Henry around like a rag doll all weekend, and I knew he probably wouldn’t want to be standing stock-still in the middle of 50,000 people at the end of the day.

Except that Henry grabbed my hand and pulled me further into the crowd during Patti’s set. Every time even the smallest gap would open ahead of us, he would continue to squeeze us in. And he kept doing this until we finally hit a wall of unbudging people. Still, I was impressed with his determination and how far it got us, so I wasn’t complaining!

After Patti was over at 6:45, people began leaving the Riot Stage, which opened up more spots, so Henry once again tgook  my hand and started weaving us closer to the stage. He got us to a really great spot, about 50 heads back from the stage. This was pretty remarkable, considering most people had been standing there all day in order to get a close spot.

Don’t tell him this, but Henry was kind of my hero that night.

Social Distortion began playing on the stage adjacent to us and I was so thankful that we got to listen a decent band for the next hour, because I was so full of anxiety waiting for The Cure, that I couldn’t imagine adding shitty music on top of that. Also during this time, we made friends with the people around us, like an older couple (Henry’s age, probably, haha) from St. Louis. The wife was really kind to me and even offered to take the above picture of me and Henry, which is why he’s smiling — because a stranger is taking the picture. She reminded me a little bit of my friend Natasha, who is also a rabid Cure fan, and I think that’s why I liked her so much.

The view behind me. 

The only downside while waiting was the two middle-aged assholes in front of me, who spent the whole wait loudly talking about how they’re such seasoned music festival attendees, and how they saw The Cure last year at ACL and then the one guy, the one who was wearing a huge professional backpack that jutted so far from his back that it kept hitting me in the face, extracted a video camera with an extension stick thing and I was just like, “Oh great. And he’s a rock documentarian, too.”

I don’t think that’s a word.

Then they started making a big deal about passing a joint back and forth, like LOOK AT US, WE’RE OLD AND STILL SMOKE POT! and I honestly had to cup my hands in front of face in case I needed to catch my eyeballs when they rolled out of my head.

When I heard of one them mention Weezer’s upcoming set, it all made sense to me. Weezer fans. Of course.

My new friend from St. Louis pulled me closer to her so that dildo’s backpack wouldn’t hit me in the face anymore, and I thanked her profusely.

She was also extremely good at blocking people from getting in front of us once The Cure started. We worked hard for our spots way before The Cure came on! You can’t expect to wait until after they start playing and just steamroll your way  through. Bitch, you gotta work for that shit.

I like Social D just fine, but when they were still playing “Ring of Fire” at 7:45, I was like, “I FUCKING HATE YOU SOCIAL D! STFU! GO HOME!” And then Mike Ness kept screaming, “ONE MORE TIME!” and the crowd over at that stage would sing the fucking chorus ONE MORE TIME and it was so obnoxious and we were all getting super agitated.

So they went a few minutes over. It wasn’t the worst thing ever, but that was like an entire extra song that The Cure have played at the end of the night!

But as soon as the last note of “Ring of Fire” petered off into the air, the lights on the Riot Stage came on and the most beautiful sounds to ever have been crafted enveloped us all in such warm beauty. And then Robert walked on the stage and my hands flung up to my chest and basically stayed there for the next two hours, along with the burning lump in my throat and the stinging tears in my eyes.

The Cure, you guys. The motherfucking Cure. This was my fifth time, but it might as well have been my first. Seeing them will never lose its value to me.

I have never been the type of person who could separate herself from the show unfurling in front of her long enough to keep track of the set list. Luckily, I knew that Chain of Flowers (the best Cure fansite in the world) would have me covered.

• Open
• Fascination Street
• Sleep When I’m Dead
• Push
• Inbetween Days
• Play For Today
• A Forest
• Before Three
• Lovesong
• Just Like Heaven
• From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea
• alt.end
• Pictures of You
• Lullaby
• Close To Me
• Hot Hot Hot
• Wrong Number
• The Caterpillar
• The Walk
• Mint Car
• Friday I’m In Love
• Doing the Unstuck
• Bananafishbones
• Want
• Hungry Ghost
• One Hundred Years
• End.

We were this close! Not bad for waiting until 6PM to stake out a spot!

Around 8:30, the idiots in front of me (who acted all smug as  they recounted all the times they’ve seen The Cure and the proceeded to just stand there like lumps once the show started…some fans they are) got their Riot Fest alert on their phones that OMG WEEZER was about to start over on the Revolt Stage, so they turned around and began pushing their way out of the crowd. I cheered and then moved up into their vacated spots, which came with a better view of my beloved Robert Smith.

Aside from those Weezer dorks, we were surrounded by true Cure fans. Those who knew all the words, knew to thrust their hands upward when Robert sang, “Put your hands in the sky” during From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea, and who didn’t engage in banal discourse with their friends. I know that if we had stayed in the back, I would have been miserable and forced to listen to drunk assholes scream to each other about sports and god knows what else. Just like the miserable time I saw them at miserable Coachella, where drunk frat boys screamed out, “Play Just Like Heaven, Fat Bob!

” and then booed every time deeper cuts were played instead. Fucking Americans. The Cure graces our country with their presence and this is how they’re treated. Coachella will always have such a sour connotation to me. The hipsters can have it.

I can’t think of a better way this weekend could have ended. My favorite band in the whole entire world with my favorite person in the whole entire world (ugh fine, I’m referring to Henry and not Robert Smith). There’s no one else I would have rather experienced this with, no one else who understands how much this band and this music means to me.

When we first started to get to know each other back in 2000/2001, before we were dating, Henry made me a Cure screensaver. Totally out of the blue. I was like, “OK. You have my attention.” I know that The Cure headlining this festival is without a doubt the reason Henry didn’t say no to me.

And he actually said that this was his favorite part of Riot Fest and not because it signified that the end was near.

He even displayed moderate levels of PDA throughout the night by placing his hands on my back!

From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea – Chicago, Riot Fest 14-Sep-2014 from itsaperfectday on Vimeo.

Thank you to this person ^^^ for recording this because my heart felt like it was about to combust inside my rib cage during this one. One of my all-time favorites, ow ow ow. 

There was supposed to have been an encore, but they ran out of time. Thanks, Social Distortion.

Even though I think this was the shortest of the 5 Cure concerts I’ve been to (clocked in at just over 2 hours), I have to say this one ranks #2 on my list. Right under Canberra, Australia for the Bloodflowers tour. It was the perfect crowd, the perfect ambiance, the perfect company and the perfect weekend. What else can I really say about it, short of copy/pasting every synonym for “heaven” and “perfect” and “emo” and “STFU Erin, we get it.”

****

“You know what would have made that weekend even more perfect?” I asked Henry on the way back to Pittsburgh the next day. “If you had proposed to me during The Cure. Way to go, you blew it.”

Because even during moments of extreme, euphoric perfection, I still manage to find the flaws. But I wouldn’t be me otherwise. Right?

RIGHT?!

And here are some pumpkin spice bullet points!

• Hey, speaking of pumpkin spice, I’ve divorced that shit for maple. I mean, I still love savory pumpkin things (Henry just made an amazing pumpkin soup last week), but I’m kind of like, “Get the fuck over yourself, pumpkin spice.” Especially latte-wise. It’s maple or nothing for me these days. I see that Starbucks has jumped on the maple latte train, but they can GTFO because their maple latte is an embarrassment to the hot tree-nectar I had in New Hampshire last year.
  • I’m still trying to find a pumpkin beer that I can drink without cringing though.
• I cut my hair the other night. Not drastically, but about a good inch. (Just my longer layers.) I was just sitting there alone, the only one still awake in the house, and I started to feel an anxiety attack coming on and when that happens, there are a few things that help: ripping up papers, breaking glass, or cutting hair. I opted for the hair, because I didn’t have any papers on hand that weren’t Chooch’s and I didn’t feel like cleaning up glass.
  • God, there is something so cathartic about hearing scissors crunch and slice a chunk of dry hair.
  • The next day, I texted Henry and told him I cut my hair. “I know,” he replied. “I unclogged the sink.”
    • Nothing toes the line between bohemian bourgeois and mental patient quite like cutting your own hair.
  • The only people who have noticed have been all boys.

• It was picture day for Chooch yesterday and he was mad that I made him wear his cat bowtie, which he’s worn before but I guess picture day is a different story. I’ll know for certain when we get the pictures back if that little jerk kept it on or not!
  • Speaking of Chooch, he joined chorus. The first song they’re learning is America the Beautiful, but when he sang it to us, it was to the tune of O, Christmas Tree. Because that is his default tune, apparently. (Honestly, he uses that tune anytime he doesn’t know what else to do.)
• Sometimes in the morning when I take the trolley to work, there is this guy on there who is DISGUSTINGLY SICK. I mean, this has been going on for weeks now, like maybe he should be in an infirmary somewhere, I don’t know. He’s just a regular-looking thirty-something businessman who just happens to be drowning and choking on his snot every single day of his life, I guess. The days that we’re on the same trolley together, I usually spend the whole trip texting Henry in all capital letters because I am so repulsed and this is ALL HENRY’S FAULT and this is also totally why I ended up getting sick last week too! Anyway, this guy does the same thing in a cycle, for the whole trip: really moist, mucous-y cough followed by what sounds identical to snorting wet gravel and then noisily SWALLOWING IT. Oh you guys, it makes me so angry and yes, I have shot him dirty looks because MAYBE STAY HOME IF YOU’RE THAT SICK. Or learn how to blow your disgusting nose, you fucking cockpig.
• On Monday, I had to pee really bad but when I got to the bathroom, my zipper was stuck so I had to go into Wendy’s office and have her unzip me. And then I was like “DON’T LOOK!” and she was like, “I’m not looking, you idiot!”

• Kara met me downtown after work on Tuesday and we went to Butcher and the Rye for dinner and drinks but really just drinks. I am suddenly really into beets and they have a beet salad there so Kara got stoked about that too and we both ordered it but were pretty disappointed at the ironic lack of beets. I mean, there were SOME but definitely not $10 worth. The drinks made up for it, even though my first one had scotch in it and Kara said, “I have never been able to like scotch” and then I said out loud, “You know, I have no idea if I like scotch either.” Turns out, no. No, I don’t really like it. “This tastes like meat,” I said. And then Kara, who has known me for quite some time now, understood that to mean that my drink tasted smoky.
  • My second drink was a ramos gin fizz and basically this is all I want to drink now. Maple latte, who?
  • Kara had a crush on the bartender and was sad that he didn’t talk to us more. Not even when she was half-slung across the bar, staring at him with googly eyes. :(
• I cried so much while watching Gracepoint and the Red Band Society that I actually wondered if I was pregnant.
  • (I’m not.)
• This morning while getting ready for work, I heard on the radio that Mike + the Mechanics are doing a 30th anniversary tour and I got abnormally excited about this. I called Henry 8934897263 times to tell him but he ignored my call 8934897263 times so then I texted him in all capital letters and then he FINALLY called me back and when I told him, he calmly asked, “When is it?” and I yelled, “MARCH 13TH CAN WE GO!?!??” He was like, “I don’t know! It’s only Oct—-” and then I hung up.
  • My Pappap had the Living Years cassette in his car and several times, he mentioned to me that that song reminded him of his father. After my Pappap died in ’96, I would sometimes listen to “The Living Years” just to make myself feel even more pain. I still can’t hear that song without getting a burning lump in my throat and doing an ugly-cry.
  • “Silent Running,” tho.

• A few months ago, I had a strong desire to play Clue but then I bitched about how badly I hate the new version of it. I hate board game updates! Good thing I ended up not spending $25 on one that I hate, because I found this old ass version at the flea market last weekend! For $3!! It smells like mad men!
  • Also at the flea market, in the span of about 5 seconds, Chooch asked for a cat figurine and shot gun. And we all know he’s not going to be shooting the cat figurine.
• OMGOMGOMG the freakiest thing happened to me last night! So a few months ago, my friend Kristy asked for volunteers to be a part of her costume for this year’s Zombie Fest. I said yes before I even knew what the costume was, because Kristy is awesome. Turns out, it’s the Golden Girls! I get to be Rose (the only non-zombie one, so let’s pray that this doesn’t jinx the universe and if it does, BLAME KRISTY!) and of course I waited until a week before to go out and look for a Rose Nylund-esque dress. Last night at Goodwill, I snapped a picture of one that seemed acceptable and texted it to Kristy who said, yes, it was very Rose-worthy. So right when I was taking it up to the register, this happened:

Seriously, Henry and I just stopped and stared at each other like WTFFFF and then I was fumbling for my phone because I knew there’d be at least one INSTAVID OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN. I’m not kidding though, my hands were shaking. What are the odds?!!? I think this was only the second time in my life that I heard any version of this song outside of a television set.

• When Henry texts “inside the grocery store” I assumed he really means “inside the greasy whore” BECAUSE HE’S CHEATING ON ME ISN’T HE.
• Last night, I saw previews for a new MTV reality show called Slednecks about ASSHOLES WHO LIVE IN ALASKA. Et tu, MTV?! All this Alaskan shit on the TV is killing me.

• Marcy is still my BFF, in case you were wondering.
• That time I couldn’t remember the spider’s name in Charlotte’s Web.
• Glenn fans: I made Glenn laugh 4 times today. Like, really laugh and not that annoyed scoff that he typically does! Having a newborn in the house is clearly making him delirious. I mean, we even googled “urns” together today. That’s a lot of interaction for us.
  • One of the times he laughed really hard was when he asked me if I go to a certain Pat Catan’s (craft store) and I said “No, I don’t like that one” and he was like, “What, why? It’s new and so big.” “I just get bad vibes there,” I shrugged, which is actually a pretty serious thing but he LAUGHED like it was was the quirkiest thing he had ever heard.

• Started putting up some of Halloween decorations at work today! Mean Amber and Glenn are thrilled. Amber said that Champion Materia Morticia book smells really bad SO DON’T SMELL IT if you come over here.
  • I have so much more work to do.
• Tell me something about yourself!