Sometime back in May, my friend Kristy needed someone to go see Jenny Lewis with her on July 27th. I volunteered right away, not because I particularly love Jenny Lewis, but because sometimes it’s nice to go to a show as a casual fan and experience things from a different perspective.

That makes sense to me.

My familiarity with Jenny Lewis is definitely way more than the average person, but I haven’t really followed her solo career much after the first album. There was a time in my life (early 20s) when I REALLY liked her band, Rilo Kiley. The Execution of All Things got a lot of rotation in my house, but that was also back when I was really into indie rock, hipster folk, twee, and basically anything that Barsuk, Saddle Creek, Kill Rock Stars and Matador Records was releasing. If it was something that the Pitchfork critics splooged onto their polyester shirts over, I would listen to it. It was a sonically confusing and cold time in my life where I wasn’t really listening to music that I was emotionally connecting with. But Rilo Kiley was the exception because they made me feel happy, and I will always associate good things with them because this was back when I still had a decent relationship with my family, I hadn’t met Christina yet, and my job at the Meat Place hadn’t yet fractured my psyche. OMG, 2002, I miss you. Sometimes.

I’d never gotten the chance to see them though, so seeing Jenny Lewis was the obvious next best thing.

Jenny is to Kristy what Jonny Craig was to me. Jenny is her ginger crush, the one who makes her swoon and fan-girl and I REALLY WANTED TO SEE THIS HAPPEN.

We started off the night at Grist House Brewing down the street from Mr. Small’s. Luckily, I am starting to be OK with some beers, so I was able to order a wheat beer thing without looking like frightened lamb. I think. Kristy likes to drink those really dark beers. I don’t think I will ever be on her level. It doesn’t matter how many times she says, “Bitch, get on my level.” I’m on Basic Beer Bitch levels forever, I think.

Finally, it was time to get in line at Mr. Small’s, where this majestic moment happened:

ADORABLE.

There were lots of older people in line with us, so I made sure to take pictures of them to text to Henry, who was probably like, “Figures. The one show I don’t go to, my People are there.”

Once we got inside, there was a really scary, tense moment where Kristy thought she lost her ticket, which would have been pretty crazy considering I actually DID lose my ticket. (Luckily, I realized this the night before, and Kristy had an extra one for me.)

We were one of the first people inside, so we got a good spot right in front of the stage, which almost never happens because the shows I typically go to are too dangerous for little old ladies like me. But mostly because Henry is always with me and he is like FUCK TO THE NO when it comes to getting up close. I remember one of the first festivals I went to with Henry, I pulled him up really close to the stage for Sugarcult and he tried to assault some teenage boy.

“What?!” Henry shouted in defense. “He pushed me!”

“Because that’s what people do near the stage! You can’t push him back, he’s a kid!” I yelled. Fuck, it was hilarious. Now I feel like Henry would let a body drop on my neck just out of spite.

“What? This is just what people do near the stage,” I can hear him saying smugly.

Anyway, I’m much less afraid of the stage at outdoor shows than ones in small venues.

The opening band was the Apache Relay. I was really into half of their set, but the other half had my mind drifting off into the ethers. This is not to say that I didn’t enjoy them! I liked the heavier songs. The singer reminded me of my friend Wonka and I appreciated that he punctuated certain words with hand motions. And the guitarist in front of me reminded me of Janna with a beard, so that was entertaining in and of itself.

After their set, Kristy and I were entertained by two guys behind us who embroiled in some heavy MIT-caliber discourse which evolved into the possibility of attaching babies to remote-controlled helicopters and how they’re surprised it hasn’t already happened yet and maybe I’m just really that dumb, but I was like WTF would be the scientific purpose of that?! Maybe I missed a key component of the conversation because you know me and the drifting off into aforementioned ethers.

Shortly after 9:20, Jenny came out with a glass of red wine in her hand, and how can you not love that!?

FUN FACT: When Chooch was born, I gave him Henry’s last name instead of mine because I thought Riley Kelly sounded too much like Rilo Kiley and I’ve always kind of had a hard time saying it because my tongue turns lame, so I couldn’t imagine a lifetime of having to announce “Here is my son, Riley Kelly!” I just said it in my head and it took me two tries because I kept wanting to say Riley Kiley.

Literally no one has ever understood this except for Kristy and my other Jenny Lewis-loving friend, Gina (WHO WAS THERE THAT NIGHT BUT I DIDN’T SEE HER!!). Because I almost always have to say, “You know. The band. Rilo Kiley. RILO KILEY? The girl from Troop Beverly Hills? Her band? Also, one of the kids from Salute Your Shorts? HAVE YOU BEEN IN A COMA!?”

Friends, this is what happens when you only listen to the radio. You don’t understand 85% of my dumb music references. (Maybe that’s a good thing?)

This crowd was calm as FUCK. Aside from the one lesbian to my right who would periodically hemorrhage “JENNY, YOU’RE HAAAAAWT!” and then resume swing-dancing with her girlfriend, there was no pushing, shoving, no circle pits, no walls of death. It was a nice change of pace for me! And even standing three heads back from the stage, I wasn’t sweating because people were actually giving each other personal space, and this was unfathomable to me. It has clearly been a LONG time since I’d gone to an “adult” concert.

Even from just a casual fan’s perspective, Jenny Lewis killed it. How refreshing to see a female performer who doesn’t have to rely on twerking, costume changes or being suspended in the air to hold people’s attention. Jenny kept everyone captivated with just her presence and flawless voice.

Literally, this drunk couple was the only bad part of the whole night. Thankfully, they waited until the last two songs before shoving and trampling their way to the front, where they proceeded to chug their cans of cheap beer, block everyone’s view with their Wall of Douche, and CHAT LOUDLY. That is my BIGGEST PET PEEVE at shows. OK, I get that everyone wants to be close, everyone wants the best view, everyone is the #1 fan. Whatever. That’s normal. I get it. But if you’re just at a show to get drunk and talk with your friends, stay the fuck at the bar. Everyone around us was visibly annoyed and bristled at these assholes, who honest-to-god kept looking around and smirking at everyone. Like, “Oh, are we in the way? HAHAHAHAHA.”

Fucking assholes.

But, they didn’t deter Kristy from having her heart pumped full of ginger beauty. These are important moments in life, and I was so honored to get to be there while Kristy experienced pure music nirvana. And Jenny played some songs that I knew in spite of me not following her solo career, so it was a win for all!

Now I’m going to make her see Emarosa with me. <3

******

Did I mention that Kristy made me a motivational poster with adjustable lips for Henry? SHE IS AWESOME.

For your consideration: a 5×7 acrylic homage to the therapeutic role music plays in our lives. (If you don’t relate to this, then I’m sorry.)

This series of mixtape paintings has been really fun. Get one before my attention drifts and I go back to painting ugly things.

“Music Heals” listing on Etsy. I can also make you a custom one if you hate the colors.

Now go! Enjoy your Sunday!

I’ve written the words a million times on here, but Alternative Press is my favorite magazine in the entire world and I attribute SO MUCH of the breadth of my music tastes to it. They saved me from a stagnant wasteland of 90s R&B (which I still have room in my heart for, but thank god I branched out, you know?).

I even became friends with one of my music critic idols and was fortunate enough to get to visit the AP office twice. It was just as magnificent for me the second time! And through AP, I became friends with Terri and Christian, who are visiting me next week and we’re going to talk and talk and talk about music until Henry is like CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT TED NUGENT NOW, OMG.

Anyway. Monday night, Alt Press hosted their very first ever music awards show at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. I wanted to go in the worst way, but couldn’t make it out. Luckily, it was televised. But we don’t get the channel airing it! I was just about to admit defeat when, FIVE MINUTES before it started, I happened to find some random Panic! At the Disco fan site on Twitter who tweeted a link to a livestream they had set up. Literally, it was a webcam propped up across from their TV, and I laid in my bedroom on my stomach watching the entire four hours on my fucking iPhone, because that is how much it meant to me. This is what it looked like:

But it didn’t matter to me, because I was just so stoked that MY SCENE was getting red carpet treatment for once. MY BANDS were nominated for awards. THE FANS got to vote. And it was legit! Like a beautiful marriage between Alt Press and Warped Tour (Kevin Lyman was one of the producers, even) and then Ice T came out and taught all the kids that if they talk shit, they get shot. It was glorious.

There were so many moments when I cheered and wept openly (Pierce the Veil won Best Live Band, you guys) and the only low-lights for me was the fact that Falling In Reverse* and Attila got to show their disgusting pig-faces on TV at all.

*(Ronnie Radke makes Jonny Craig look like a wholesome potato farmer.)

But the best moment for me, and the entire reason for this post, was when Billy Corgan accepted the Vanguard Award with this speech:

“I know you’ve been out here a long time because you’ve been out here a long time and you want to hear the bands play, as you should. The kids rule, the kids always rule, the kids win, and they should. The kids should always kick motherfuckers like me out of the way, and I mean that. I’m no legend, your favorite song is legend, your favorite band is legend, your favorite concert is legend. That’s what makes it work, you make it work. Every generation deserves its dream, its bands, its artists, its voices, and I’m glad to see you have those bands here tonight, that’s awesome. Let me say one last thing, if you don’t mind, if you’ll indulge me. And by the way let me thank Miss Joan Jett for being here. Incredible artist, incredible career, and yes it’s a career, it’s called a career, it’s okay. It’s okay to make money, it’s okay to sell things, it’s okay to sell t-shirts, nobody gets hurts. Let me say this last thing to you. There’s two paths you take when you first put on that guitar or sing that song: do I want to please this audience, or do I want to push this audience’s buttons?”

“In alternative music, which Alternative Press has been putting across for how many years now, you have to be able to push those buttons. You understand what pushing those buttons means, but most of the world doesn’t, they just see angry people screaming about God knows what. So over 25 years ago I made the decision that I was going to push your buttons, or the people that came before you, or the people that came before you. I like to think that I’m receiving this in humility because I’m willing to push your buttons, because I’m willing to tell you to go fuck yourself. I didn’t start a band to be anybody’s bitch, I started a band to kick your fucking head in. What I love about the bands that are coming up here tonight, is that they’re trying to kick your head in, and they should. You deserve it, you deserve your bands, you deserve your bands to push you, to make you question everything about you, because if they don’t do it, nobody else will, and you do understand that. So God bless you, thank you very much.”

(Thanks to the fine people at Alternative Nation for the transcript!)

Billy fucking Corgan, you guys. Such truth. I know a lot of you can relate to this, and that is why we’re friends.

I am so ridiculously proud of Alternative Press and my friend Jason and every last person involved in putting together such an epic production for a scene that is so often shat upon. I really, really hope this was the first of many more AP Awards. Because if there’s one next year, I’m fucking going.

You know how sometimes things just feel wrong from the moment you wake up? That’s how I felt Tuesday morning when I sprung (seriously) out of bed and did my IT’S WARPED TOUR, MOTHERFUCKAS feet-stomp on my bedroom floor. I felt so excited but also kind of disjointed, like something just wasn’t right. And on paper, it had all of the components of being the perfect day, because for the first time in years, the temperature was only going to be 79 degrees! Usually it’s almost 100 and we have sweat rolling down our backs before we even get through the gates.

My plan was to be out of the house by 8am so we could stop somewhere and have a real breakfast along the way, something better than the McDonald’s shit Henry usually plies me with on Warped Tour morn. I wanted pancakes or something, I don’t know. Something that would get me through the day.

But Henry ruined my plans as usual by being woefully unprepared so it was 9 by the time we pulled away from the house. Chooch was so tired that he brought a pillow from the couch and slept on it the whole way to First Niagra Pavilion, which is about 40 minutes outside of Pittsburgh, I guess. We hit all kinds of construction and had dumb Subway for breakfast which I didn’t want and then Henry got me HOT COFFEE from Starbucks instead of ICED COFFEE and the day was ALREADY RUINED, I COULD JUST TELL.

AND THEN, AFTER WAITING IN TRAFFIC FOR UNLIMITED MINUTES, HE PASSED UP THE ENTRANCE TO THE VENUE AND HAD TO TURN AROUND AND WAIT IN MORE TRAFFIC COMING FROM THE OTHER DIRECTION AND I WAS CRYING BY THEN.

But we finally parked, and gates still hadn’t opened yet so I was starting to calm down. Then Henry and Chooch had to go to guest services so Henry could get his complimentary Parent Ticket, so I stayed back and saved their spot in line. But then they never came back! They got in a different line! And Henry was texting me about how they walked past a camera crew that was potentially filming the next season of Warped Roadies and then he sent me a picture of Warped founder KEVIN LYMAN who happened to be standing near them and I was like “WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO MURDER MY FEELINGS!?”

But standing in that line alone for 40 minutes was about to prepare me for the rest of the day….so, thanks?

The best part, though, was that my line moved faster and I got inside way before they did. If you’ve never been to Warped Tour, the one thing you need to know is that the very first thing you’re going to want to do is run to the Inflatable, which has the day’s schedule on display. You can also buy a paper schedule for $2, which we always do, but the Inflatable will tell me much faster which bands are playing like RIGHTNOW which is important because shit starts as soon as those gates open. The one band I was looking for, The Marmozets, wasn’t listed on either the Inflatable or the paper schedule and I was like WHAT. #WarpedTourProblems.

I met up with Chooch and Henry in time to take Chooch’s picture with the Chunk! No, Captain Chunk! panda. (Pretty good band, too, if you’re into French pop punk and Goonies references.)

(Which I am, so…)

(And true to form, this was the second time in a row that I missed their goddamn set because of scheduling conflicts. #WARPEDTOURPROBLEMS.)

One of the smartest things bands do before the gates open is send someone around all of the lines with a sign that has what stage they’re playing on and when. That’s how I knew without even needing to consult with the Inflatable that To the Wind was playing at 11:15. I excitedly texted my friend Terri to tell her, because she likes them too and I told her I would report back.

I mean, if my WRONG COFFEE hadn’t already woken me up, I could have for sure counted on To the Wind’s set to have me thoroughly caffeinated. Nothing better some gritty hardcore for breakfast.

This was around the time that we started to realize Chooch wasn’t just tired, but possibly ill. He started out standing during To the Wind’s set, but then ended up sitting down Indian-style, right next to a bunch of guys who were hardcore dancing so I had to be Chooch’s human barricade. I thought he was just being a lazy jerk at first, but then as we were walking to another stage, he was like, “My head, throat and stomach hurt really bad” and I’m no nurse, but I was able to piece those clues together and hypothesize that perhaps my son was sick.

Weird, hunched-over gait. Not asking for every single shirt he saw in Merch Alley. Only taking a few timid licks of an ice cream cone and refusing pizza, chicken strips and a cheeseburger. Yep, my kid was sick.

I at least got him to take one selfie with me, but this was during the first hour and he hadn’t yet reached the pinnacle of his plague. Henry was actually going to just take him home and then come back that night to get me, but then we saw that the Summer Set was doing a meet and greet later than afternoon and asked Chooch if he wanted to do it. That sprung him to life a little bit, so we bought a Summer Set shirt and got a skip the line ticket. Then Henry took Chooch to the hillside and let him sleep under the shade of the trees while I ran off and did my own shit.

This was Henry’s view while he sat next to Sleeping Chooch:

I really wish Henry would take some fashion risks like that. But NO: non-descript t-shirts until the motherfucking day he dies.

Obligatory Warped Tour photo of me being blissed-out and Henry hating his life.

I miss this scene already.

A lot of the bands I follow on Instagram were like SERIOUSLY, CHECK OUT K. FLAY AT WARPED TOUR! so I did and she was alright. Kind of like if God changed his mind and made it possible for two men to conceive a child together and Mike Posner and Bizzie Bone decided to give it a whirl and next thing you know, we’re welcoming K. Flay into the world. She had a very laid-back California hip hop vibe going on and it was mildly entertaining, but not enough that I was like, “HOLY SHIT I MUST BUY HER SHIT RIGHT NOW.” Still, it’s always cool to see a girl killing it on any stage at Warped Tour.

Speaking of, some low-tier music journalist wrote a piece about how Kevin Lyman hates women because he doesn’t have enough female bands at Warped Tour and usually I’m all for girl power, but I had to strongly disagree with her in this case. I don’t go to shows based on the gender of bands. I go based on if they sound good or not. Kevin Lyman should definitely NOT pick female bands just for the sake of meeting some imaginary, unspoken quota. Um, remember when he had Katy Perry there in 2008? God, that was just terrible.

The bottom-line is that this is just a male-dominated scene. Not on purpose. I just think that there aren’t a ton of girls who get into playing music and decide that they want to be in a hardcore or metalcore band, and that’s the genre that makes up most of Warped Tour. I think Kevin does a good job seeking out girl bands that he feels sound good and fit the criteria. It’s not his fault that there aren’t a ton to choose from.

In all the years I’ve been going to Warped Tour, the lack of girl bands has never crossed my mind.

THAT BEING SAID, I was really looking forward to seeing the Marmozets, which my pal Jason described to me as “Hayley Williams fronting Dillinger Escape Plan.” I’ve had hearts in my eyes ever since. Anyway, Jason told me yesterday that the Marmozets missed two weeks of Warped Tour because of goddamn Visa issues, so it wasn’t that they were playing on some invisible stage that I couldn’t find; they just weren’t there at all. Super sigh. Another day, Marmozets. #WarpedTourProblems

At one point, I came back from my rounds (which included having one of the YOUNG boys at the Clean Water refill station flirt with me, yessss) to find Henry and Chooch in this state:

That’s how we knew Chooch was definitely sick-sick: he kept saying he couldn’t feel the heat of the sun even though it was beating down on him. He had goosebumps, even. But every time he saw me, he would murmur, “Where’s my Summer Set shirt!?” and I would say, “In my bag” and then he would go back to sleep. He really did get a lot of rest there. I didn’t drag him around and make him do shit.

Surprisingly.

Soon, it was almost 2pm and I was faced with a terribly difficult decision: SAVES THE DAY OR BEARTOOTH?!?! UGHHH! In the end, I went with Beartooth only because I’ve seen Saves the Day before (god, I love them so much though, and it would have been nice to hear some stuff from their most recent album, UGH #WarpedTourProblems). Turns out though choosing Beartooth was life-changing. No, I’m not being melodramatic. Their set honestly breathed life into me.

Typically, I will stand off to the side because I’m “old,” scared of getting hurt, and Henry is usually with me and we all know Henry ain’t going in no motherfucking pit y’all. But this time I was alone. So I pushed my way further into the crowd, forgetting for the moment that I absolutely hate touching other people, and next thing I knew, I was getting pushed further and further into the pit and it was just what I fucking needed. Not that I generally feel like an old person, but something clicked during Beartooth and I felt like myself. Like the person I used to be a really long time ago before shitty Real Life changed me. I didn’t care what I looked like or who was looking at me or if I looked like a mom or if I was going to get hurt or if I was going to hurt someone. I just went in there and raged and even fought the urge to apologize when I jumped on someone’s foot and then I got to shove someone in a hammerhead shark costume and it was like a fucking awakening, like my own personal version of Cocoon and Caleb Shomo was my Steve Guttenberg. When he screamed, “You guys paid to come to Warped Tour, and it’s up to you to make the most of it, so get the fuck up!” I screamed myself hoarse, because FUCK YES I WANT THIS TO STILL BE THE BEST DAY EVER! Yes, there were some roadblocks, poor Chooch was sick, there weren’t any of my favorite bands there, but goddammit: IT WAS STILL WARPED TOUR. And that was all I needed to have my day saved.

It also didn’t hurt when Davey from Vanna come out to guest-scream. God, he’s fucking hot. Basically, I walked away from that stage wanting 57 different Beartooth tattoos and a membership to their fan club. Do bands still have fan clubs, or am I REALLY being a 35-year-old right now?

Soon after, it was time for me to collect Henry and Chooch so we could get in line for the Summer Set meet and greet, which was a huge cluster and Henry was having a hard time holding himself back from assaulting the throng of fangirls who kept encroaching on us.

I missed Every Time I Die while waiting in this never-ending line with Chooch, so next time he tries to say I’m a horrible mom, I’ll be sure to throw this back in his face. I DID THIS FOR YOU, SON. #WarpedTourProblems

Chooch was able to muster enough energy to stand up and smile with the Summer Set. He adores them so much and knows all the words to their songs. They’re not really my cup of tea, but at the same time, I don’t mind when he puts them on. It could be way worse, you guys. They really pushed people through as fast as possible: you’d get to the front, give some dude your phone, pose, then split. It was like a factory line, but trust me: I’ve seen how long these lines get and they have to do what they can to keep things in control, so it wasn’t like it was overtly rude or anything. However, when it was Chooch’s turn, he went to walk away after the picture was taken, but they called him back over and each one gave him a high-five. I thought that was super sweet, so it made me like them a lot more and I didn’t groan or act put-out when we had to watch their set later. (It was actually pretty fun.)

But first I had to go see my favorites in Of Mice & Men! They were a last minute addition to the Warped roster and I was really happy because they’re always so good.

Here’s an accidental video I took of some dude’s underwear, which I found on my phone the day after and couldn’t stop laughing, so I showed Chooch and he was like “I MISSED OF MICE & MEN?! UGH!” :(

They have played my favorite song by them—“Second & Sebring”—every single time I’ve seen them, but not this time. I was like, “WHAT ARE YOU KIDDING THAT’S IT YOU’RE DONE!?” when they played their last song and said goodbye. *WarpedTourProblems

Chooch was able to hang on long enough to watch The Summer Set, but the poor kid had to sit down in the parking lot through the whole thing.

The struggle is real. #WarpedTourProblems

Here are two different angles of Henry hating his life:

Even though he was feeling like shit, his little lips still moved along to all of the words, and at the beginning of each song, he would look up at me and tell me what song it was. He was especially rejuvenated when they played “Fuck You Over” because OMG a song that enables him to swear freely. We left after their set, around 6:00, which sucked but he wasn’t getting any better. I was torn between Mom and Teenager: I wanted to leave so my kid could get better rest, but the spoiled teenaged brat side of me was like, “I’M NOT DONE HERE!” In all honesty, there was really only one more band that I really wanted to see, so it wasn’t that big of a sacrifice.

The next day, Chooch (feeling much better) was looking at the schedule and lamenting over all the bands we missed. “We missed Crown the Empire!” he cried. If he wasn’t my precious kid, I would have been like, “YEAH AND IT’S YOUR FAULT!” like when Christina’s sister made us leave early in 2007 and I wasn’t done yet and I still complain it 7 years later, clearly. But instead I just felt super bad for him because he really honestly wanted to see some of the bands there. Of all days to get sick.

“I felt so much better during Summer Set,” Chooch said with melancholy. “My throat stopped hurting and everything. But then when they were done, my throat started to hurt again and I wanted to leave.”

And then he asked, “What was that first band we saw?”

“To the Wind,” I replied. “You hated them, didn’t you?”

“No!” Chooch yelled incredulously. “I was really enjoying them! I just had to sit down because my legs were hurting. BECAUSE I WAS SICK.” We’re going to be hearing about that for quite some time, I think. But then we started talking about how one of the guys in To the Wind has a prosthetic leg, so that distracted him from filing his emancipation paperwork.

Chooch wore his Summer Set shirt for the next two days until I finally made him change because have you seen how heavily my kid sweats? Also, I love that he’s not deterred by a shirt with flowers on it.

I still have post-Warped Tour sadness, even though it didn’t go off without a hitch, it was still my Christmas in July and I made sure it was a beautiful day. Like Beartooth preached: Warped Tour is all in what you make of it. I could have sat around and pouted, but I didn’t. I waited all year for that day and fucking hell, I was going to make the most of it. Besides, I know that next year will be better. So let the countdown begin!

(This was probably the best Warped Tour Henry has ever been to because he literally got to sit the whole time and not have his dumb beard bristled by banshee-like bands.)

On July 12th, 2005, I was in the car with Henry on the way home from Cleveland, crying because I had just met Anthony Green of Circa Survive. I didn’t know how to tell him how much his band meant to me, and how it had helped to calm down the madness in my head, so instead I mumbled, “You guys were great tonight, will you sign my CD.” So goddamn lame.

I still remember that I was wearing my brother Ryan’s old blue soccer t-shirt that had the name of my Pappap’s drywall company on it. It’s weird what we remember during moments of emotional agony. Oh, haha.

I met a guy at that night at the Grog Shop who told me that Anthony actually gave him his phone number after the guy told him he was suicidal. “I called him one night and he talked me through it,” he told me. “He saved my life.” And if it weren’t for that guy taking me over to meet Anthony after the show that night, I probably would be telling you the story about how I’ve loved Circa Survive since 2005 but have never met Anthony Green.

2005 was a shit year for me: mentally, emotionally, and financially. That May, I experienced what I still to this day believe was a nervous breakdown. Things were just bad. I had nagging thoughts of driving my car off the road. I would go so psycho on Henry that I wouldn’t be surprised if he considered calling in a priest at some point. I actually called a church at one point to seek help, because I didn’t have health insurance and had no idea where else to turn. Janna even had to come and babysit one day after I bit myself, so be thankful if we weren’t friends in 2005, I guess.

But one of the shining points for me, as always, was music. Circa Survive’s debut album, Juturna, came out that June. I had been eagerly awaiting it, after having already been a fan of Saosin, the band that Anthony left to start Circa Survive.

Something about Anthony’s unconventional voice over top the most beautiful music that I had heard in quite some time just really did it for me. It sounded different from everything else that I was listening to back then. It was obsession, and I drove Henry crazy with it, making mix CDs of every single bootleg demo, live recording, B-side I could find of Saosin, Circa Survive, and Anthony’s solo work. It was the Year of Anthony Green and Henry wanted to slit his throat.

That music calmed me down. It helped me think straight. I would take it to the cemetery with me and cry, but they were good tears. And, after three months of not writing due to my nervous breakdown thing, I decided to start writing again.

Juturna reminds me of the beginning of my pregnancy. (Because, yes, let’s cap off one of the most tumultuous, bipolar summers of my life by having a planned pregnancy. Good old inpulsives.) Being so excited to have this child and play “Great Golden Baby” for him. That was my favorite Circa song for a really long time. There are still times when, out of the blue, I hear the line “This changes everything” in my head. If I’ve ever made you a mix CD anytime after 2005, there is a really good chance that there is at least one Circa Survive song on it. I wanted everyone to know them and to love them.

I know, I seem so melodramatic when it comes to this stuff, but this is Truth. This is honestly how I experience music. And I cry every time I write these blog posts, haha!

When Henry and I went to see The Sound of Animals Fighting last March in Philly, that was the first time I had seen Anthony since 2008. I still liked Circa Survive, and I kept up with all their subsequent releases, but if I’m being honest, none of their other albums ever fisted my heart the way Juturna had. But when I saw they were coming to Pittsburgh in July, something inside me said, “You need to go see them again.” So I bought a ticket without hesitating. This show was announced back when I still had my old evening shift at work, and normally I would always ask to work half-day or just take the whole day off before even buying the ticket, but this time, I was like, “I don’t care, I’ll deal with that part later.” Because this was important to me. I’ve been trying to find ways to let go of my 20s, because that was a really bad decade for me, for the most part. And I thought, maybe seeing them again after all this time will help me heal.

It just felt like more than just going to a show. It was something I needed.

Originally, I was going to go alone, but then Henry ended up going with me too because I panicked and didn’t want to be alone. I knew that I was going to cry and I didn’t want to be That Person standing alone and sobbing. So Henry went too and held my hand through most of it. And thank god for that because I felt like my heart was exploding from the moment Circa walked on stage all the way up to when we were in the car leaving.

The opening band was Ume, by the way, and if you love female-fronted bands that are actually fantastic, I suggest that you check them out. It was like the 90s all over again, in a good way. And then while we were waiting for Circa, I noticed a guy standing in front of me, and because I’m obsessed with the Dupree family (please see: Eisley), I thought to myself, “That looks like the back of Garron Dupree’s head.” And then I looked to the left and thought, “Huh.

That looks like Reed Murray. And that looks like Fred Maraschino.” And it turned out it WAS all of them, because they’re all currently in the band Say Anything, who was actually in town the night before, playing at the same venue. So I had a total fangirl moment and thank god Henry was there because he actually knows all of these names by default so I was able to squeal about it and have him understand what was going on.

Interestingly, Say Anything was supposed to be the headliner when I saw Circa Survive for the first time in 2005, but they dropped off the tour after their singer Max Bemis had a mental breakdown. (I can relate.) So it was kind of like this surreal full circle moment for me, knowing that Say Anything was there at Mr. Small’s that night, watching. It’s so awesome when bands support each other.

Then Henry pointed out that Anthony Green had walked right past me during Ume’s set but as usual, I had no idea. This happened like 57 times in Philly too. It’s hilarious to me that Henry, Mr.

I Don’t Give a Shit About These Bands, is always the first one to spot band members.

I don’t really know what words can do justice to the show itself, other than saying it was like a religious experience for me. Anthony Green is one of the great voices of my generation, and it always feels like an honor to be in his presence. And unlike Jonny Craig, he is a NICE GUY. Here’s a singer who kicked an addition, married a great girl and made two beautiful sons. He’s an inspiration, and an example that some singers can be charismatic without also having God complexes.

(Ahem, Craig Owens.)

All Anthony has to do is whisper “Come” into the mic while making a beckoning motion with his hands, and the room literally lurches toward the stage like a horde of Palestinians throwing themselves at Jesus’s feet.

I used to try to hold back tears at concerts, but then I finally realized that it feels so much better to just let it go. So…my face was pretty wet that night.

^^^This song. Me = gutted. The “Don’t stop talking to me, I haven’t been listening” part used to be what I used for my mom’s ringtone. You know, back when I had her number in my phone. When they played that part last week, my legs turned to Jello.

They played for about 2 hours and totally satisfied my Juturna cravings.

It was the perfect set list, the perfect night, and the perfect way to say goodbye to the ghosts of 2005.

I love this fucking band so much.

Saturday night’s Artifex Pereo show was at Mahall’s, a vintage-y bowling alley in Lakewood, OH. Henry and I have never been to this particular venue before, so we utilized our typical “walk in and stop abruptly, looking confused and lost” method of entering a building. So goddamn awkward. Merch was set up right by the door, so we at least felt confident that we were in the right place. Then we figured out where Will Call was set up, used the bathroom, and then proceeded to pick up right where we left off: standing in the way and looking like yokels.

I was so stoked on the bathroom that I had to take a picture for my friend Alyson, who LOVES LOOS. In fact, when were checking out places to have my baby shower back in 2006, I sent her a picture of the bathroom at the place we chose, because I knew she would down with it. And she was!

After lurking like creeps, we made our way into the room where the show was going to happen. It was small, with limited seating, and all of the bands’ gear was strewn about along the back walls. No matter where we stood, I felt totally in the way, but then Henry put a can of cider in my hand and I quickly quit caring.

Henry with his second mason jar beverage of the day. Look at his dumb mouth. Hyuk, hyuk.

There were two local bands that opened: A Work of Fiction and Slow To Speak. I liked them both, but I totally fell in love with Slow To Speak and found myself openly weeping several times. They moved me. And I promise you it wasn’t the cider talking. (Or weeping.) They played honest, beautiful music that I kept getting lost in. For real, one second I was standing in the back of Mahall’s, the next, I was floating somewhere far away from Henry and his stupid mason jar. I love when a band doesn’t need gimmicks and can rely solely on their gorgeous song-writing. Simple, uncluttered and raw. I implore you to check them out. Don’t be a bitch:

And hey, if you liked that—PASS IT ON! Like them on Facebook! Go see them if they come to your town! These guys deserve the recognition.

Henry didn’t mind them (that’s considered a “good” review in the Henry Music Magazine) and the only opinion he really contributed was that their drummer resembled our friend Lisa’s husband Matt. At least I know he was vaguely paying attention.

The next band was Icarus the Owl. I was stoked that they were on this tour because they’re my kind of band: that perfect combination of frenetic, poppy and melodic pandemonium. There are times when the singer reminds of me of another band that I used to FUCKING LOVE: Armsbendback (RIP, great band). And, like Armsbendback (shout out to Twin Peaks!), it was their name that originally made me want to check them out awhile back. Icarus the Owl is a great interest-sparking band name.

I’m surprised I didn’t beat myself black and blue with all the hard thigh-slapping they were subconsciously making me do.

Meanwhile, the room was filling up with more and more people in Envoi shirts, and that’s when it occurred to me that, in spite of the band order on the tour poster, Envoi was going to headline that night’s show since it was a homecoming for them. And judging by the amount of older people in attendance, it was pretty clear that there were a lot of family members, which I thought was kind of adorable, and of course this made me start daydreaming of Chooch being in a band someday. Sigh. My luck, it’ll be a Kenny Chesney cover band.

You have no idea how bad I want him to be in a band. But, you know, a good one.

It was finally time for Artifex Pereo and Henry made fun of me for not knowing that basically the whole band was standing next to me throughout the night (one of them was right behind me, and I only found out after I checked Instagram real quick between sets and saw that the Artifex Pereo account posted a picture of the stage from the back of the room and the back of my dumb head was RIGHT THERE). I’m sorry, but I don’t always know what bands look like! I’m not that type of groupie, I mean, person.

I made Henry move up closer to the stage right before they started and one thing you should know about Henry is that he HATES being close to stages, but he silently obliged because he knows to pick his battles wisely. (I would have just moved up without him, but you know how I like to be his puppeteer.)

And then they started. You guys, I was stunned. I don’t know why I was surprised, because their album is aural perfection to me, but seeing them up there on that stage and hearing the beautiful music they were making together, it honestly took my breath away. I’m going to just go ahead and say that from my perspective, they were utterly flawless. Every syllable that fluttered out of Lucas’s throat was pitch perfect and grabbed me by the proverbial balls. I could not take my eyes off that stage. I didn’t take any pictures or video because I absolutely felt frozen in place.

When they played “Hands of Penance?” Don’t even get me started. I think it was the first time that tranquil crowd showed any signs of life all night. It was like everyone was ignited and recognizing that they were witnessing a Really Great Band before them. Lucas’s vocal gymnastics is like a perfectly blended compound butter melting atop a rich, instrumental Wagyu steak. (I watch a lot of Master Chef, Ok?) Their sound translates flawlessly from album to stage.

It felt like the shortest goddamn set ever, and I wanted a pitch fork to raise up to the ceiling while chanting “BRING ME MORE MUSIC, SON!”

I need to see them again, immediately. Please, please, please: GO SEE THIS BAND. And do it soon, while they’re still playing intimate venues, because I’m pretty sure they’re going to explode.

Usually Henry says noncommittal things like “They weren’t bad” or “Eh” when I ask him if he liked a show, but after Artifex Pereo, he said, “They were good. I liked them.”

They earned the Henry Seal of Approval! Usually it takes a band 8 years for that accomplishment. (See: The Used, Dance Gavin Dance, Chiodos, Circa Survive.)

I’ve already posted Artifex Pereo songs on this blog before so now it’s time for everyone to just go out and buy their album.

My family and I used to go to Wildwood, NJ every summer and there was this one dark ride-type attraction that had a recording of a ringmaster yelling enticing things to get people to come over, and then he would command, “Run, don’t walk!” My dad would mock that recording endlessly, and then for weeks after vacation he would bust out with a theatrical “Run! Don’t walk!” for every last mundane thing. Like, dinner time: “Run! Don’t walk!” And that’s what I want you guys to do to buy this album: “RUN! DON’T WALK!” But considering you’re probably going to buy it online and are already in front of a computer, then pretend your fingers are your legs. Run those fingers across the keyboard to iTunes, Amazon, Tooth & Nail, wherever you buy your music.

The headliner of the tour was The Orphan, The Poet, whom we have seen a year ago when they opened for Dance Gavin Dance and I drunkenly shadow-danced with the singer on the way to the bathroom and then obviously imprinted with him. Anyway, I like their music but for some reason they don’t hold my attention. Henry doesn’t like them at all, but please see the part where I imprinted with the singer.

And as I mentioned earlier, Envoi got to close out the night with their set, which I guess is because they’re from Cleveland and a pretty big deal there. Since it was already 11pm and we had a two hour drive ahead of us, Henry and I decided to leave before they started and I was pretty bummed about it because even though I’ve seen them before, they have a new singer now (a girl, and she’s actually good!) and are essentially an entirely different band from when I saw them open for Craig Owens in 2011 (also in Cleveland). I have a feeling we’re going to be hearing a lot more from Envoi though, so I’m sure I’ll get to see them again soon.

I bought an Artifex Pereo shirt and wristband on the way out and even while Henry was swearing loudly because he took the wrong road out of Cleveland (happens EVERY time), I was in such a happy place. It might sound dumb, but I felt really incredibly lucky to have had the chance to see such a memorable show in that perfect little room. I hope it never stops feeling like that.

Henry and I are going to Cleveland for the Artifex Pereo show today. They’ve been around since 2009 but parted ways with their singer after their first release, so they never got to tour. Now they have a new singer, a new album, and finally: a tour!  I have been really looking forward to this because Artifex Pereo has bowled me over with their latest release and I predict big things happening for them in the future. So yes, Henry, I need to go see them now while they’re playing at a bowling alley in Cleveland. Thank you for understanding.

(FYI: Those other bands on the bill are no slouches, either.)

Chooch is staying at his aunt Kelly’s and Henry and I are planning on leaving around noon so we can, OMG, walk around Cleveland and pretend like we’re a real life couple, doing couple-y things like driving around aimlessly for parking spots and arguing over where to eat.

And then on Monday, I’m going to see Circa Survive here in Pittsburgh (and I didn’t have to request a half day of PTO at work since I work DAYLIGHT HOURS NOW, what!)  so my soul is basically fucking engorged with joy. I know it seems like no big deal, but I haven’t been to a show since that fucking Jonny Craig shit fest in Allentown last May and I am like, dying over here. Bring me the music and put it in my goddamn ears.

Please enjoy an Artifex Pereo jam, and if it makes your heart feel pretty things like it does mine, considering purchasing their album. Here is a handy link!

At one of my old jobs, I worked 4pm to midnight and listened to music there constantly. Sometimes, because of the nature of my job, I would get into a zone and even though the music was always playing, I wasn’t necessarily hearing it. But I will never forget this one night in 2008 when this particular Further Seems Forever song came on, and even though I had heard it a million times, I REALLY HEARD it that night and started crying immediately. (I cry a lot, I guess.)

I heard it for the first time in years last week at work and honestly felt like I had been bitch-slapped by feelings. I love it but I hate it!

I know it’s blasphemous to speak/type such words, but this was my favorite Further Seems Forever line-up. Yes, I liked Jason Gleason better than Chris Carrabba, OMG. Anyway, this is a really pretty song, with no screaming or Jonny Craig, so perhaps you might like it. LISTEN TO IT, WON’T YOU?

So once again I’m being forced to “guest post” (I’m not correcting any spelling errors either). It all began months ago, I think, I tend to block out Erin anytime the word concert or johny Craig come up in a conversation. This time it was 5 hours away, which means an overnight trip, which makes it even more agonizing, having to drive 5 hours then stand in a venue I don’t want to be at seeing a band that I have no interest in. It took until almost a week before the concert for me to agree to go, even after I was promised anything if I would go, actually hoping it would sell out and I would win. No chance.

Let me make the rest of this short and sweet, Venue sucked, no beer ,no water, no anything.

What venue does that, the one in Allentown does. So that made the night off to a great start, the one chance I have to go to a concert and drink , foiled by the venue this time and not Erin. So on to the bands

Cedar Green: Not bad for a local band, set was short.

Alive Like Me: Don’t care to see them again, add them to the list.

Miss Fortune: Liked them , would see them again which means they will never be anywhere I have to go and see other bands I don’t want to see.

Slaves: Did they even play? The band was ok they just need a new singer.

Hands Like Houses: Apparently I have seen them many times before and don’t remember any of them. That doesn’t mean I didn’t like them, just don’t remember them. I can say I do like their music, there Erin now that’s 2 bands I like.

After the show we had blue cheese and pear pizza and it was weird but good.

That’s it for this episode of henry gets forced to do something he hates again for promises of things that will never be.

( I hope she has fun correcting all the grammar mistakes and spelling errors, I know how she hates that.)

In 2009, I wrote a blog post that I had no idea would become the most-viewed thing I had written. It was called “Jonny Craig is a Piece of Shit.” Back then, I thought I was the only one who had shitty experiences with him in person. But it is consistently viewed to this day, do you know why? Because “why is Jonny Craig an asshole?” is a popular search term. Occasionally, someone will leave a comment on that post, too. Most of those comments are from ex-fans who want to share their own horror stories with me, but there are also the scathing ones from rabid supporters, telling me I’m pathetic, that he doesn’t owe me anything as a fan, and that I’m clearly butt-hurt.

Look. I’ve only been butt-hurt once in my entire life, and that was when I lost my footing on a pile of pumpkins at Trax Farm and wound up sitting on a stem. True fucking story for all of you pumpkin porn fanatics out there.

Anyway, the catalyst of that post was meeting him for the second time during the Dance Gavin Dance/Emarosa Squash the Beef tour. He was standing behind me at the bar in Mr. Small’s and literally all I wanted to do was tell him how much I enjoyed Emarosa and what an impact their music had on me emotionally, how it stimulated my creativity (back then, I had based some of my paintings off their lyrics), and how interwoven it had become with my life. I wasn’t trying to sit on his lap (let’s face it, I’m too fat, much ugly for him anyway) or make him sign shit. I wasn’t trying to pull him away from his alcohol for a photo session. I just wanted to say nice things to him for < 30 seconds, God forbid. It took every ounce of courage I could muster just to even say hello to him, after years of allowing his voice to be the personification of my dysfunctional friendship with my ex-BFF Christina.

But he just stood there and stared at me, making it clear that I was boring the shit out of him, so I mumbled, “Enjoy your stay in Pittsburgh” and walked away with my head down. It was humiliating and I know that he was making fun of me as soon as I walked away.

Because that’s what douchebags do.

When you put so much stock in a person like that, raising them up on some shaky pedestal, creating images of them in your mind, and then the reality of their personality shatters everything you had built up, it’s devastating. Maybe that sounds pathetic, but music has always been how I have coped with things. It enhances all of the good times and softens the bad. So now when the singer of a band that had made me feel so good has single-handedly made me feel AWFUL, well, it was a little emotionally traumatic.

It’s amazing how we deify these underserving people in the name of fandom.

He sounded like shit that night too. Drunk, stumbling, forgetting lyrics. It was my friend Alisha’s first time seeing Emarosa and her succinct review was: “They’re terrible!”

No, Jonny Craig is terrible.

I vowed to be done with him after that, and I was doing well until Emarosa released their next album in 2010 and I couldn’t resist. I still hated him. But I felt if I could separate my personal feelings for him from the music, I would be fine. Besides, wasn’t that what all of my detractors were telling me to do in certain harsh terms on my blog?

The problem is that as soon as I hear his dumb voice, I melt. It has nothing to do with him. I forget what a douchebag he is and all I can remember is how good it feels to be that into music. And it somehow kept me psychically connected to Christina, even when we were no longer speaking. It always goes back to that anyway.

Meanwhile, Henry was totally annoyed. He doesn’t get the whole “OMG JONNY CRAIG SINGS LIKE AN ANGEL!” argument, and it drove him nuts how I would turn into a 30-year-old fan girl at the mere mention of his stupid name. You know how I have pretty much based this entire blog on hassling Henry, right? I mean, unless this is your first time reading it. So if he hates Jonny Craig, then I am going to FUCKING BE OBSESSED with Jonny Craig.

My obsession can be broken down like this:

5% immaturity // 10% mental illness // 10% sincere love of his voice // 75% desire to drive Henry into an early grave.

(I triple-checked to make sure that added up, btw.)

And let’s face it: I thrive on being obnoxious.

I ran with it. Jonny Craig became my shtick. I made a Jonny Craig Christmas tree topper. I had my friend Maya make me a Jonny Craig doll. I hung up pictures of him around my office at work (if you go to the Law Firm and start questioning people on my floor who Jonny Craig is and they don’t know, then obviously I must never talk to that person, ever). This whole time, it was helping me cope with issues that Christina had left me with. I know, some people would just get therapy. But I’ll just sit over here and hug my Jonny Craig doll. Because projection is normal. Right?

The MacBook scam happened. The detox. The rehab. I was prepared for this to be the end of the Jonny Craig story, but then he started dating a girl who seemed to really change him, or at least, she was trying. And the crazy part was that she didn’t seem like a basic groupie. She seemed pretty intelligent, which one might argue about since she got involved with JC in the first place, but love is blind, you guys. I’m with Henry, aren’t I? Of course, I had to keep up my Crazy Jonny Craig Fangirl Persona and act like a nutcase when they got engaged (I think I might have even referred to her as Jonny’s penis-cozy in one of my faux-fits, what the fuck is wrong with me), but really–I hoped that she would save him.

Because as much of a loose cannon as he is, he really is a bright spot in a scene overflowing with generic, formulaic background noise.

All of these things I was willing to overlook because the music meant that much to me. I was so excited when Henry reluctantly agreed to drive five hours to Allentown last weekend so that I could see Jonny’s new band, Slaves. But then when I was going through his twitter feed to get screen shots of the nasty things he was saying about Emarosa (I wanted to have those as visual aids for my Emarosa blog post; can you stand how thorough I am?), I ended up seeing some terrible things.

Really awful things.

Jonny and his fiancée are currently going through a messy breakup, and he had a tweet that said if he saw her being raped, he wouldn’t stop to help.

He had another tweet saying that he never beat her when they were together but now he wishes he had. He deleted the original tweet but his retweet of this smart girl’s response still existed on Twitter:

This asshole seriously needs to have someone monitoring his social media accounts. Like, I don’t know, maybe his MOTHER?

“Really fucking nice guy, Erin,” Henry spat when I showed him.

(Even worse is that these asinine girls were tweeting things like, “Jonny Craig could have his hands around my neck and I would still love him.” Which of course he was retweeting because these are the things that make King Shit’s ego swell. Keep encouraging him, girls. Make your mamas proud.)

At this point, it was too late. We had already bought the tickets. Rented the car. Booked the hotel room. Whether we went to this show in Allentown or not, I had already inadvertently supported a misogynistic douchepig and it made me sick to my stomach. So sick that I had a mild panic attack standing outside of the venue that night and we almost didn’t go in. Henry had to take me back to the car so I could calm down.

Look, I don’t know his ex-fiancée, but as a woman, I can’t stand for shit like that and I will automatically have her back. This is the reason men run the fucking world, because they say shit like this and no one does anything. They’ll have tons of men cheering them on in between disgusting chugs of beer, wiping Hooters wing sauce off their lips with their unwashed football jerseys of rapist athletes.

There could be actual video footage of Jonny Craig beating a woman, and he will still have fans. I mean, Chris Brown still gets played on the radio, doesn’t he?

“I just feel like if I see him, I’m going to fucking punch him!” I kept saying over and over. I was so disgusted. I kind of wished that I had worn my Emarosa t-shirt, like I had joked about last week. I brought it with me and at the last minute, Henry agreed it was a bad idea because it wouldn’t be Jonny who noticed, it would be his legion of scantily-clad side broad hopefuls and I wasn’t trying to get clawed at by their nasty acrylics. Talk about a petri dish of I Don’t Wanna Know.

We went inside. I scowled at all of the meatheads in their Jonny Craig is My Homeboy shirts. I cringed at all the girls wearing barely nothing, knowing exactly why they left 89% of their clothes at home. I suddenly felt so protective of all these little girls.

Slaves took the stage and as expected, the crowd went nuts for Jonny. But for the first time ever, I felt nothing. I just stood there with my arms crossed, refusing to clap, refusing to do a single thing Jonny demanded. And then he dedicated the last song to his ex, Amanda. “Til death do us part, bitch!” he spat and everyone was like “Yay!” because that’s cool, right?

I looked at Henry and my eyes started to well up. I felt like such a traitor to women everywhere just by being there.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I said to Henry afterward. “I can’t keep supporting this asshole.” And I think that was the happiest I have ever seen Henry in the thirteen years we’ve been together.

Meanwhile, King Shit was standing a few feet away from us, going through the motions of showing his fans what a “changed person” he is by posing for pictures with them. Two moms (like, I know I’m a mom, but these were MOMS wearing mom jeans with their mom purses slung across their mom boobs) ran over to him, took his picture, and then ran back giggling to show their respective daughters, who didn’t look more than 15-years-old. The daughters predictably squealed and were dragged back over to him by their moms.

“I guess these old broads don’t know he loves demoralizing under-aged scene girls,” I yelled to Henry. Oh, it was sickening to watch. And then afterward, I saw someone’s picture with him on Instagram and the caption said something about how Jonny was rushing everyone along because there was “quite a horde” of fans waiting. I didn’t know “roughly fifteen people” constituted a “horde,” but OK.

I’m not going to lie: I’ve always looked at fans of Ronnie Radke and wondered, “How could these kids love a guy who is such an asshole?” And duh, hello. Look at me. Blindly supporting a dreg of society since 2008.

More than anything, I feel like I owe it to my 8-year-old son to wash my hands of this guy. What kind of an example would I be setting for him if not? He already knows the guy is a drug addict (but the piss test! it was clean! blah blah!) and just a flat out mean person, but I definitely don’t want him to think that it’s OK to make those kinds of violent comments about women, publicly no less, and still have girls falling over you. “Hey, this guy acts like a douchebag and my mom loves him, so…..”

So maybe, if you’re a Jonny Craig avenger reading this, some girl with low self-esteem anxiously awaiting your chance with him, some bro who thinks it’s cool to treat people like dirt, then you might think this is a lame reason to throw in the towel. And that’s fine. Because one person writing a blog post like this is not in any way going to hurt his career, don’t worry JC afficionados. But I have too much respect for myself and at the end of the day, it’s all about girl power. I won’t stand for comments glorifying domestic violence, whether they were empty threats or not—-doesn’t matter. This guy clearly needs help, and I wish his new bandmembers luck with all of the future statements they’re going to need to release, swearing that their singer “has changed” and “is clean.” Seriously, good luck with that, and I hope he doesn’t destroy your careers.

I think I’m going to tell my kid, when in doubt, to ask himself “What would Jonny Craig do?” And then do the opposite.

The spring and summer of 2008 was one of the best times of my life. I had a job, so Henry and I weren’t fighting about money (basically the only thing we ever fight about). Chooch was an adorable 2-year-old with a penchant for blurting out “Asshole!” in public. Christina and I were at the pinnacle of our BBFdom, and she was visiting a lot from Cincinnati so hijinks were prevalent.

This was also around the time that she and I began our unhealthy obsession with all things Jonny Craig. We first fell in love with his angelic pipes when he was in Dance Gavin Dance, but then they kicked him out so we were sad. Fortunately, that spring we started hearing things about a new band who had snagged him while he was in band limbo. They were called Emarosa and even though they have previously put out an album with another singer, Christina and I had never heard of them. But they were about to become our new favorite band.

When “Relativity” was released that July, it suddenly seemed like DGD kicking out Jonny was the best idea ever. Emarosa had stolen our hearts and our creepy Jonny Craig infatuation grew exponentially. When music becomes so entwined with your life, it’s euphoric. It becomes more than just music.

It becomes a soundtrack.

Christina and I ended up meeting him in Buffalo later that year and it was emotionally traumatic for me. He was completely disinterested in anything I had to say but took an immediate liking to her. Drug users unite, I guess. That night ended with me sitting in the car of Xtreme Wheels, crying to Henry on the phone about how Jonny Craig ruined my life and I was going to just drive the 5 hours home in a snow storm because I couldn’t stand to be around Christina over night.

I ended up calming down after Christina bought me pie at a Greek diner, but our friendship went downhill that fall and never found its footing again. We were no longer speaking at all when Emarosa released their next album in 2010. I listened to it on repeat that whole summer, like a leper jumping into a silo of salt. It was my way of coping, because my friends were sick of hearing about Christina.

They probably still are, honestly, even though I try to stick a cork in it.

Because trust me, there’s not a day that goes by.

The winter of 2011, Henry and I were on our way to see Emarosa at the Rex Theater. They were co-headlining with “new” Chiodos (i.e. the short-lived Brandon Bolmer-era). I was casually scrolling through my Twitter feed when I came across a tweet from Absolute Punk. “Jonny Craig forced into detox.” Apparently, Emarosa and the record label had had enough and actually made him leave the tour that morning, and sent him to a detox facility in California. This was right after he got caught scamming his fans by selling a Mac Book that didn’t exist for drug money.

(Rise Records had to pay back all of the fans who blindly Western Union’d him money.)

At the last minute, Tilian Pearson from Tides of Man was asked to fill in for Jonny’s vocals. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t Jonny.

I was really upset that night. An Emarosa without Jonny, followed by a Chiodos without Craig Owens. It was really confusing and stressful on my heart.

Meanwhile, Jonny was also back in Dance Gavin Dance, and jumped on a tour with them right after he got out of detox, so I got to see him a month later anyway. Seeing him live is hard to explain, because I love him as a singer so much, and he embodies all of the best things of 2008. I project a lot of emotion and bottled-up feelings on to him, which is why to the casual observer, I act like a 14-year-old reading a Kirk Cameron issue of Tiger Beat in 1987. He’s my best friend proxy, in a way. Especially considering he’s let me down almost as much as she has. But I still listen to his music, no matter what band he’s in, because it’s the only thing I have to keep the memories of 2008 alive.

Not long after the detox incident, Emarosa released a statement saying that they had parted ways with Jonny. Inevitable, but still my heart was broken. I loved Emarosa so much and the general consensus in the scene was that they were done. Without Jonny, what were they? Just another band fading into the background. With Jonny, they should have realistically enjoyed great levels of success, but because of his unprofessionalism, douchebaggery and drug addiction, it was a case of having the golden ticket to nowhere. They didn’t even record their last album together. Jonny did his vocals from the other side of the country.

What a piece of shit, right? God, I hate him but I love him so much, all at once.

Not too long after the Emarosa divorce, DGD also gave him the boot for the second time, but unlike Emarosa, they found a replacement pretty quickly: Tilian Pearson, the same guy who filled in for Jonny on the last Emarosa tour. Jonny hooked up with Kyle Lucas and Captain Midnite, recorded a new solo album, and went on a few tours. But Emarosa stayed pretty silent. I still followed them on Twitter and Facebook, but there were very few updates from 2011 to 2013. They opened up to Alternative Press and promised that this wasn’t the end for them.

But it really felt like the end.

Finally, last summer, Jonny conveniently let it slip on Twitter that Emarosa had found his replacement: Bradley Walden from Squid the Whale. I guess Jonny just wanted to put it out there and ruin whatever Emarosa was planning to do as an announcement. Because that’s the kind of awesome guy he is.

I didn’t know much about Squid the Whale previously but a quick listen made me a believer in Emarosa’s choice. Bradley could SANG, y’all. Still, I was nervous about what he could bring to the table, and how well he would be able to perform the Jonny songs.

After officially announcing their new singer, Emarosa went quiet again. Rise Records was posting all kinds of teasers on Facebook, like, “Hey guys, just heard the new Emarosa album. You guys are going to love it!” and we were all like, “STOP BEING DICKS! GIVE US A SINGLE!”

And they finally did:

And my heart burst into a million pieces of blood-coated stained glass. Ah, that voice, are you kidding me!? Backed by those five guys that I refused to give up on. It felt so good to be an Emarosa fan. Especially after the way they very professionally took much warranted pot shots at Jonny Craig in a promo video they released a few months ago. (No sarcasm here: considering the Hell Jonny put them through, I think they were within their right to talk about it and I’m really impressed at how they were able to keep it classy at the same time.)

While at the same time, Jonny was doing this:

With Jonny’s new band Slaves about to release their album in June too, the drama has been popcorn-worthy. And I have to say, I was nervous about seeing Emarosa live last Monday, because it’s hard to tell based on the shitty YouTube videos people have been uploading. I didn’t want Jonny to be right. It’s not easy loving a band and then hearing another voice singing those songs that have become your Bible.

I asked Chooch who he likes better and he said, “Bradley, obviously. Jonny Craig does drugs.”

I can tell you that it was only sound check, and hearing a five-second sample of Bradley’s voice made my heart feel like it was dropping out of my kooka. I had to grip Henry’s knee and he was like, “Stop it.” When the lights went out, they weren’t even fully on the stage yet and I was in tears. Then they went right into “The Past Should Stay Dead” and I was a sniveling mess. Bradley killed it. He sang those songs like they were written for him, and I know that’s driving Jonny nuts because he’s been whining on Twitter about how it’s terrible to hear HIS SONGS being destroyed. “His songs.” He did nothing to help Emarosa write those songs.

When Bradley sang the line “We know who does it best” I almost died, because POIGNANT.

He was all up in the crowd, being gracious, talking about how honored he is to be singing with a band that he has been a fan of for years. He didn’t try to sing like Jonny; he sang like Bradley. And he brought charisma by the boatload. How could something feel so familiar yet so new?

You know those fountains that move along to music? That was me Monday night at the House of Blues: music played and my tear ducts were engaged. Throw some fucking pennies in me.

And then this happened:

BRADLEY LEFT ME A HEART ON INSTAGRAM! Jonny probably would have just called me fat. I love that Bradley gives a shit.

The best part for me was seeing the rest of the guys SMILING while they played.

The worst part for me was when some asshole behind me started shouting, “WHERE’S JONNY CRAIG? YOU SUCK!” I was getting really upset and I think Henry was afraid I was going to open my mouth (I was) but some other girl beat me to it and shouted back to him, “HE’S A DOUCHE!”

“I hope Bradley didn’t hear him,” I cried to Henry afterward, and then proceeded to spend the next 72 hours being emotionally wrecked.

“Are you still crying?” Robbie asked incredulously while we were waiting for Chiodos to come on. YES, YES I WAS.

Bradley was standing by the merch booth after the show and Henry kept urging me to go talk to him because Henry likes to psychologically abuse me. I did a few stutter steps and while saying, “OK fine. No. OK I will. No I can’t” before finally just crying, “LET’S JUST GO!” I didn’t want to snot the guy’s shirt, you guys. I was just feeling way too raw to try and form words with my mouth without choking on tears and having yet another singer in a band think I’m special needs.

Honestly, I didn’t think I would ever get to see Emarosa again, one more memento of 2008 buried into the ground. It was a really confusing, emotional night for me. I wished that I could just crawl inside their music and lay there for awhile, like a bed full of all the best memories and softest feelings. SO CORNY BUT I DON’T CARE. STEP THE FUCK OFF. I’m having a moment.

I think they have the chance to become a true post-hardcore powerhouse and I can’t wait for their album to come out next month. Here’s to starting over.

************
I’m going to see Jonny’s new band tomorrow in Allentown, which I’m really stoked for because this is their first tour and I NEED TO KNOW, but after the Emarosa jabs, my love meter for Jonny is really waning. Maybe this will be my closure.

Seriously considering wearing my Emarosa shirt tomorrow night. #teambradley #emarosavseveryone

Standing in line for the House of Blues doors to open might have been the most scared I’ve been in quite some time. Henry, Robbie and I wanted to kill some time first, and that was when we went to the cupcake place down the street from the House of Blues. On our way in, we passed an older man, dressed all in black and wearing a backpack and what appeared to be some sort of vest. He was shouting all kinds of religious things to everyone and no one; there was just something about him that terrified me. Like, we all kind of laughed about it, but I had this annoying spot of dread percolating in my gut as we dipped into the cupcake shop.

Ate cupcake. Forgot dread.

Immediately after leaving the cupcake shop, we passed him again, and this time he was shouting something about “Lord, please give me the strength not to kill every motherfucker” or something equally as terrifying.

“What if the Lord doesn’t give him strength??!” I cried to Henry and Robbie.

“Then I guess we’re dead,” Henry said matter-of-factly as we staked our spot in the Chiodos line.

“He’s just some crazy homeless guy,” Robbie reassured me. “He’s not going to do anything.”

HE DID NOT LOOK HOMELESS TO ME. He looked like some kind of revolutionary socialist who may have been piggybacking a bag full of Glocks and bombs on his pissed off back. Henry said he was also berating the government in his Tourette’s-like outbursts, so that made me feel even more scared.

He just kept walking back and forth, shouting these horrible “prayers” into the sky, never making eye contact with anyone. My heart was pounding. I DID NOT WANT TO DIE. Not before finally seeing Emarosa again, you guys, ugh.

(Spoiler alert: I survived.)

“Can we please call the police?” I pleaded.

“For what? He’s not doing anything,” Henry scoffed.

“He’s making people feel threatened!” I cried.

“Only you!” Henry countered, while Robbie just stood there and laughed because valuing your life isn’t cool anymore I guess. And then Henry started laughing too!

“That’s fine, but I’m using your stupid body as a shield if he starts firing at us,” I said bitterly.

I can’t remember the last time I felt so exposed but it might have been that time I was fully exposed in front of people.

Meanwhile, Robbie was more concerned about the fact that the scene boys in front of us weren’t actually inhaling their cigarettes.  That kept me distracted for a minute, as well as when a security guard came over and told us to not stand in front of the doors of the Tourist Center. Yes, that’s what you should be concerned with, Security Tard. Not the scary, one-man-militia roaming around the streets of Cleveland. I’m sorry, but I’m pretty much afraid of every last motherfucker I see on the streets these days, OK?

The doors finally opened around 6:30 and I was about to start bum-rushing scene kids in order to slip inside the safe House of Blues womb.

The House of Blues is one of my favorite venues. It’s fancy and I want to steal all of the art work. Plus, I just have really great memories of seeing shows there. Henry loves it because there’s balcony seating, which I am usually OK with at House of Blues because it’s not just old people up there—and the view is killer.

We thought Robbie would be like, “SEEYA” right away. And he was….but only because he wanted to go to the bar and get a beer. But then he came back! He actually stayed with us the whole time! Unlike when me, Henry, Christina, Blake and Robbie all went to see Chiodos together in 2008 and Blake and Robbie did the whole “cartoon run” in an effort to get away from the Lame Adults as soon as we were inside the venue. Well, I think it was probably mostly Lame Henry they were trying to avoid.

God, that was an incredible night. Also, that was back when Henry hated Chiodos and it was his first time seeing them live; he hated his life so hard that night and stood next to the exit the whole time. That obviously made it even more fun for me. You should click on that link I posted up there if you want to see Henry in a bandanna looking like there is a pine cone up his asshole.

I like 23-year-old Robbie better than teenager Robbie, though, because he bought me a hard cider! Thanks, Robbie!

So the first band to play was The ’68 and I was stoked for them. I had managed to not hear any of their stuff beforehand, but I love the singer Josh’s old band, The Chariot, so I knew in my heart that I would love his new band. And they came out like two fucking hornet nests, you guys. Can you imagine how hard it must be as a two-person band to keep the crowd entertained? I know that the White Stripes are like OMG DARLINGS of music snobs worldwide, but man, when I saw them in…2002? 2003? I was bored to motherfucking tears. We only went because I had been reading about them in NME and obviously I had to like them because all of the indie rags were telling me to. Wrong. I still don’t like their music to this day.

But The ’68 fucking killed it. They were loud and grungey and grimy with short intervals of Josh Scogin being a fucking charmer in between songs and a drummer who paused to eat a taco. Fucking old school rock and I felt like I was back in 1995. Occasionally, I would glance over at Henry and found him SMILING. I know he liked it because the other night, we found a full set they played in Vero Beach, FL on this tour and he actually sat there and watched it and made comments. Henry is finally starting to like music, you guys! I’m going to buy him some ’68 merch for his birthday.

Hopefully they have booty shorts.

(Not from the Cleveland show, but whatev.)

Second band was Our Last Night. They didn’t do it for me, which is nuts because I loooooove post-hardcore so much that isn’t much in that genre that I don’t like (which is actually pretty embarrassing because there a ton of shitty bands in the post-hardcore parade). I didn’t hate OLN, but there’s always that one band at a show that makes me eyes glaze over, and they were it this time. However, they did a cover of that asshole Katy Perry’s “Dark Horse” and actually made it listenable! Major points for that.

And they were energenic, so yay cardio!

Third band: Hands Like Houses, woo!

This was my third time seeing them and they started off strong, but Trenton lost his voice by the third song because he wasn’t feeling well. And I mean, he LOST his voice. He was so frustrated, that he turned around and punched a cymbal and then thought people in the crowd were saying shit so he called them cockbags and then apologized. It was really weird and I felt super embarrassed for him. The rest of the band just kept playing and smiling, especially the one who reminds me so much of Tim Curry and has an awkward ponytail. I’m obsessed with that one.

“Poor Trenton,” I said to Henry after their set was done. “I want to give him a hug!”

“Maybe Jason will,” Henry laughed, pointing to the side of the stage where our friend Jason was talking to Trenton. Somehow I feel like that isn’t in Jason’s job description.

“Oh well, at least we’re seeing them again next week in Allentown,” I hinted around, hoping that I could trick Henry into thinking he had agreed to take me four hours away to their show with Slaves the following Sunday.

“Yeah, or maybe he’ll still be so sick, the tour will be canceled,” Henry said hopefully.

Fuck you, Henry.

Next was Emarosa and I’m sorry guys, but that has to be its own entry because I am going to squeeze my hormonal emo tears all over those motherfucking words and you will ask yourself, “WHY do I keep reading this bitch’s shit?”

While I was crying after their set, Henry excused himself and went downstairs to buy me an Emarosa shirt because he is A Good Boyfriend. I pretty much spent the rest of the night hugging it.

And then, Chiodos. My beloved Chiodos.

What can I say about them that I haven’t already on this blog? They are my fucking jam. The bread and butter of the post-hardcore scene. Forever a part of me. (Literally: I have their lyrics tattooed on my arm.) I have seen them in my city, in other cities, in large arenas, in small venues, outside in 100 degree heat, with Craig Owens, without Craig Owens, in a room marginally larger than the first floor of my duplex, acoustically, at a record store signing, and several times with just Craig.

And it’s perfection every time.

(Well, except for the last Craig Owens’ solo show which was mediocre and my blog post about it started a Twitter feud with him. Fond memories!)

When it was announced in 2009 that Craig had been kicked out of Chiodos, I never thought they would reunite. There was lots of animosity, jealousy, competition. It seemed that Craig was doing well with his new band D.R.U.G.S. and while Chiodos seemed to have lost a good bit of their fan base, I thought their album with Brandon Bolmer was brilliant.

I honestly never thought that Craig would ever be back in Chiodos. But it happened, and when I first got to see the newly reunited band last summer at Warped Tour, I was in audio Heaven. Personal feelings aside, Craig is a fucking SHOWMAN. That guy gets on stage and, doing nothing more than a simple God-stance, he has an entire crowd lapping from his hand.

I really miss guitarist Jason Hale. but I love what Thomas Erak (ex-Fall of Troy) has brought to the table, on the new album and on stage. He’s been providing background vocals on some songs and it really breathes new life into them. Plus, he’s just overall fun to watch.

They played a good mix from three of their albums (not surpisingly, nothing was played from Illuminaudio, the album they did without Craig), with the addition of “Thermacare,” which is fucking mindblowing to hear them play together. (There was a lot of controversary over this song, which you can read about here if you give a shit about band drama. Which I do so that makes me assume everyone else does too when I know that they don’t.) It felt so wonderful, like a fucking massage, to hear Craig’s screams again. The screaming parts & heaviest songs are my favorites. Sometimes I wish there was more screaming.

MORE SCREAMING.

Bottom line: Craig Owens belongs in Chiodos. And when, toward the end of the evening, he turned toward the audience and said simply, “Chiodos is back,” I started to cry. But…that’s nothing new.

The greatest thing happened on Mother’s Day. No, Henry didn’t propose. But we were on our way to the cemetery and Chooch piped up from the backseat, “Put on ‘Strawberry Swisher Part 3’.”

THAT IS A DANCE GAVIN DANCE SONG IN CASE YOU DIDN’T KNOW. And my kid was requesting it of his own volition. My heart swelled past the size of his mysterious bee sting. So of course I tweeted about it and said it was the best mother’s day present ever, and Dance Gavin Dance retweeted me! Like any other 16-year-old, I freaked out because OMG A BAND ACKNOWLEDGED ME ON SOCIAL MEDIA. Seriously, that’s the best thing ever about twitter and Instagram. I have a collection of screenshots for every time this happens because it excites me, OK? I’m just some dumb mom from Pittsburgh but then Craig Owens likes a picture I posted of him on Instagram and I feel special for 5 seconds. Let me have my moment.

Tiniest bit of donut icing on his lip. I have eight year’s worth of photos of Chooch’s dirty face. No sense in starting to wash it now.

But even better than that was that other people were retweeting it because DGD did and I wound up having a nice exchange with this teenaged girl who told me that I need to know I win the Mom of the Year award for the rest of eternity and that she wishes her mom was cool like me and she hopes she will be that kind of mom to her own kids someday and I was like, “BABE, DON’T LOSE YOUR LOVE OF MUSIC AND YOU’LL BE FINE.” Because really, I can’t imagine how stale my life would be without that.

I don’t really consider myself a “cool” mom because this is just me being myself.

I’m just an awkward girl determined to find balance between being a mom and staying true to who I am, and that meant not putting music in the background, but keeping it a prominent fixture in my life where Chooch can experience and love it too. He asked me to put Spotify on his phone and now he finds himself falling into those magical wormholes and it makes me so excited for him because we all have those songs that we vividly remember discovering for the first time. Anytime I hear songs that I loved when I was his age, it’s like I’m suddenly sitting in my mom’s old Pontiac Grand Am with the McDonald’s sweet and sour sauce stain on the backseat. I wonder if it will be like that for Chooch, too.

God knows our car has enough stains in it.

Music is even more fun when you get to share it with someone. And it’s even better when that someone is your kid. But you can swap that out with so many different things: sports, movies, art. I think it’s so important to have that one thing to bond over where your kid is seeing you not as a parent, but as a PERSON WITH INTERESTS.

We don’t always have to be in parent-mode. See? Being a parent is not always lame, you guys! Except for when it’s VIP day at school. Which it was today. I have a feeling there will be several bullet points devoted to that later on.

OK, you’re dismissed. Now go listen to music with someone you love today!

Special? Not really. But I thought it would be fun to do a Dance Gavin Dance show edition of the bullet point posts which have somehow turned into a weekly thing. My apologies, Internet colleagues. But yes, it really does make more sense to write about the show in bullet points because my mind and emotions were all over the map Wednesday night. But I woke up the next day feeling more refreshed than I would have after a day at the spa, sorry I’m not sorry but I actually am sorry that I typed out “sorry I’m not sorry.” OK, onward, fat girl. (Points if you know that.)

Henry being unhappy standing in line to get in.

• This show was May 7th at Mr. Small’s, which is my favorite venue in Pittsburgh and I haven’t seen DGD play there since 2009 when Kurt Travis was their singer (I’ve seen them numerous times since then, but just in different places), so I was really excited. Henry? Not so much. See above picture again if you need a visual.

• I remembered my ID this time so once we got inside, we went right for the 21+ area. The bartender informed us that the balcony was open for the night and Henry was like YES and I was like NO. Old people sit in the balcony. :(
• Henry whined a lot about being up since 3AM while I giggled and smiled at all of my DGD brethren.

Frowns for DGD.

• I was trying to remind Henry of the time we saw DGD last year because these shows all blend together for him. “Were they with these same bands?” he asked. “No, they were with A Lot Like Birds, remember? You hated them.” “There’s a lot of bands I hate,” Henry said dryly. “And I have to go see all of them.”
• I randomly got angry at Henry for not being a sound guy.
• Something came over me and I decided we could sit in the dumb balcony since Henry was tired and there was a lot of shit I needed him to do over the next few days for Chooch’s upcoming birthday party. It was kind of cool though because we essentially had the whole balcony to ourselves and there were no moms up there writing out shopping lists or reading Better Homes & Garden. Plus, I could actually see now, yay!

SOME LOCAL BAND

• Some local band that wasn’t on the bill ended up coming out first and I’m not going to say that they sucked because, you know, kudos to them for getting up there and doing their thing, but my god the singer NEVER STOPPED TALKING. They might as well just be a spoken word band. I got the impression that this was the first time they played somewhere other than Aunt Jackie’s garage, because during sound check, they were taking pictures and filming the crowd, and their enthusiasm was kind of embarrassing. But then the mom in me came out and I remembered that these are someone’s kids so then I felt bad.
  • “It sounds like they’re all playing all different songs. Why did they come out like they’re the headlining band?” Henry asked with concern.
  • One of their choruses sounded like “Make a crump mess.”
  • During one of the singer’s many monologues, he asked the crowd if any of us have parents who (indecipherable hoo-haa), to clap. I did not clap because I had a feeling  that the indecipherable hoo-haa had something to do with parents being supportive, and…no.
  • UGH TALKSOMUCH!
  • I started clapping and cheering REALLY LOUD at one point, but it was only because I was following along with the Pens/Rangers game on my phone and MALKIN SCORED, MOTHERFUCKERS. (Got to see the replay later and holy shit, Geno.)
  • They dedicated the last song to the Pens so I love them now.

Here is a picture of Henry sleeping during the local band, something Project.

• Henry realized that he hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before. NOT MY PROBLEM.
• The crowd would sporadically bust out into “Let’s Go Pens!” cheers between bands and it made my heart swell. I don’t often love that community feeling, but when I do it usually has something to do with hockey. (NEVER THE STEELERS THOUGH.)
• Even after I let Henry sit in the balcony, he had the audacity to complain that the seats were uncomfortable. I posted this on Facebook, because I wanted the 25/450 people who haven’t hidden me yet from their newsfeed to see that Henry is an ungrateful cockface. Sandy commented and said that she has a portable seat cushion he could borrow for next time. “There won’t be a next time,” Henry muttered.
• Bleach Blonde was the next band. They were good. The singer reminded me of Adam Lazarra. Henry fell asleep again.
• But then Palisades came on and WOKE HENRY THE FUCK UP. I got really excited because I started putting two and two together and I realized that I watched one of their videos a few months ago and loved them immediately but then forgot about them, probably because I got distracted by Jonny Craig again. Anyway, I’m in love.
  • By the second song, I had totally lost my fucking mind and kept beating on Henry’s arm and screaming.
  • “I FEEL LIKE TAKING MY SHIRT OFF!” I screamed in Henry’s face, which turned into the perfect expression of horror, disgust and “Grow the fuck up.”
  • OMG DID I INGEST MOLLY?! THIS BAND IS SO FUCKING GOOD I WANT TO SCREAM!
  • Made a note to add 30 minutes of Palisades-inspired cardio to my fitness challenge total for the day.
  • AND THE SUTTER GOT A SHORTY SO I THOUGHT I THREW MY ARM OUT SOCKET WHEN I SHOT IT UP WITH ALL OF THE FORCE.
  • The singer Lou (WHO I AM NOW IN LOVE WITH OK) yelled, “Have you ever been judged for the clothes you wear (etc etc)? Then put your motherfucking hands up!” I kept trying to get Henry to put his hands up but he wouldn’t budge. “Put your fucking hands up, Henry, I fucking judge you all the time!” I screamed.
  • I posted a video of them on Instagram and THE SINGER LIKED IT OMGGGGGG SOCIAL MEDIA MAKING ME FEEL IMPORTANT AGAIN.
  • Yesterday at work, Barb said she watched my Instagram video of Palisades and it made her feel stressed out, LOLOLOL.

• Capture the Crown was next and Henry was like “Y SO MANY BANDS UGH” and then immediately hated his life once the singer started screaming. And it was my favorite kind of screaming too! Th ekind that gets real high like a screaming eagle and then super low and guttural like SATAN. So, I loved the screaming parts of this band, but I was otherwise bored and besides, it was the third period by then so I was pretty much 100% invested in my phone.
• PENS WIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
• Henry went to the bathroom so I decided to hide from him under a table. I waited until I saw him down below, getting ready to come back up to the balcony, before taking my place. As soon as I saw legs enter our empty section of the balcony, I jumped out only to see that it was some broad instead. OF COURSE someone would pick that moment to come to our area after it had been empty all night. Henry was right behind her and was like, “Good. Good for you.”
• Motherfucking DANCE GAVIN DANCE YOU GUYS UGHHHHH!!!! Henry was like “PLEASE STOP!” because I was losing my shit and doing these weird screams that I have no idea where they were coming from and I was just going completely spastic while he sat very calm and still next to me.
  • They opened with The Jiggler which was perfect. I love this song so much because it reminds me of a circus:
  • Obsessed with Jon Mess. (If anyone wants to buy me one of his paintings for absolutely no reason at all, I wouldn’t be mad about it.)
  • Several other people came up the balcony at this point and some drunk hippie dropped his beer bottle on Henry which I totally missed and didn’t find out about until later.
  • TILIAN WAS ON POINT. He was even singing the Jonny Craig-era DGD songs so much better than the last time, but he totally killed it on the songs from the new album.
  • LEMON MERINGUE TIE!!!!!!!! UNEASY HEARTS!!!! CARVE!!!!
  • Honey Revenge is a song from the perspective of a stalker and Tilian made it even creepier live by making these precious faces when he would sing the lines “Oh, can’t wait to get you all alone.” He can stalk me any fucking day, dear god.
  • Crying right now. This band is so entangled with memories and emotions from 2008 that sometimes it feels like my heart is on fire when I listen to them.
  • I have stuck with DGD through three singers, the departure and return of Jon Mess, and various other line-up changes. But after that night, I have decided that this current DGD is my new favorite DGD. They just sound so cohesive and smooth together now. They will always be in my Top 5. I’m just sorry that more people don’t get how talented they are. Matt Mingus and Will Swan are extraordinarily underrated musicians.
  • On the way home that night, Henry said the next best thing to a marriage proposal: THAT HE LIKES DANCE GAVIN DANCE AND HAD A GOOD TIME. What world am I living in!? After 9 years, he has finally accepted that he has to share my heart with a bunch of dudes from Sacramento, I guess.
  • HASHTAG BLESSED ALL THE WAY HOME.

Anyway, last night Henry and I stayed up late watching DGD videos (he willingly did this!). “You can tell Tilian is a lot more comfortable now. He isn’t trying to sing like Jonny Craig anymore, he’s singing all of those old songs like himself,” Henry said in full seriousness and I almost died. Henry is making Dance Gavin Dance observations? I am so in love.

“I don’t like how Tilian dances, though,” he went on to say, killing the mood.

STFU, Henry.

TONIGHT!!! I requested off work for this show  the minute it was announced several months ago.

So stoked the day is finally here. DGD 4L*, y’all, Jonny Craig or no Jonny Craig. Meanwhile, Henry is walking around today sucking on an imaginary shotgun. Fuck your life, right Henhen?

(I have honestly never called him “Henhen” before but I think it’s going to be my New Thing.

)

If they play this song, I’ll cry. And if they don’t play this song, I’ll cry.

In other news but not-really-news, I still have to write about the ghost tour of Pittsburgh I went on last Saturday with Wendy, Evonne and Jeannie but all I really want to do right now is stare at a wall.

*(It’s only a matter of time before I get that tattooed inside my bottom lip.)