Chooch started nosin’ through some of my old stuff in the bedroom while I was focusing on ruining Henry’s nap, when suddenly he laughed behind me and exclaimed, “What IS this?!”

Oh god, please don’t let it be some archaic vibrator or drug paraphernalia, I thought.

But it was just an old Bobby Brown cassette single, probably purchased at my favorite record store, Waves.

“Oh shit, we have to play this!” I screamed, while Henry was trying to convince Chooch we don’t have a tape player because he didnt want to deal with it. (You know, trying to nap and all.)

So then I spent the next 15 minutes struggling to mend an old tape player while Henry begged us both to just go downstairs. Finally, I achieved success! (And also a large quotient of dust in my nostrils.)

Finally, my bedroom was pregnant with the tinny tones of Bobby Brown crooning about humpin’ around while Henry rolled his weary eyes.

“Mommy, what’s this?” Chooch asked innocently, handing me a holographic bullet-like object, which for a moment I actually did mistake for a lady toy.

“Oh, that’s just a lighter that doesnt work anymore,” I said, but as I absent-mindedly struck it, a flame squirted out. “Oh, shit, it does work!” I laughed, tossing it back at Chooch’s chest.

“Yeah, so give it back to him, that’s great,” Henry mumbled, dragging a hand down his dark eye circles, at which point Chooch chucked the lighter at his face and we died laughing. And by “we,” I of course just mean Chooch and me. Henry has to relearn that function after the accident. And by “accident,” I of course mean out relationship.

There was no point to this, but Andrea is coming to Pittsburgh this week (she arrives after midnight!) and I am hyper! And I have at least three posts to write about my beloved Big Butler Fair but can’t find the time so I’m all stressed out but then I remembered, wait—this isn’t my job and no one cares.

Speaking of my job, I’m off all week!

This will never fail to make me lose it!

Ironically, listening to Drake (the rapper formerly known as Jimmy “Got Shot” Brooks on Degrassi) has been an immense help in getting through the Law Firm Walking Challenge.

As soon as this is over, I need to have a Degrassi marathon. My brother Corey doesn’t know it yet, but he’s bringing the (Canadian) snacks. My house is a pit, but you guys can come too.

Happy Father’s Day! Now go listen to this song and make more babies!

We’re making our annual Father’s Day trek to Kennywood with Blake, Henry’s mom, Laura and Mike. The Handas might be out there too so I’m going to pretend I have the whitest, honkiest hip hop crew today.

And I have a Law Firm Walking Challenge update, so check back! Or not!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

All this pedometer-checking has me tight-roping on the edge of sanity.

But it’s OK. I got this.

(Also? Team Wheelchair Jimmy 4lyfe. Fuck a Chris Brown.)

Back when I had a corporate AmEx card that mommy paid for (my name was spelled ‘Eirin’ on it, and I had grown so accustomed to signing my name that way that, for years, I would have to consciously think about the correct spelling in all other circumstances), I used to buy CDs like they were going out of style. (Oh!) CD Baby was my all-time favorite online shop of music and I would often order CDs based entirely on the site’s recommendation without even listening to a sample. I added some exceptional albums to my collection that way. (And also some exceptionally terrible ones.)

The Flir was one of those CDs. All I needed to see was that it was categorized as trip hop and in the cart it went without a second thought. The first time I listened to it, it was a muggy summer’s night in 2003 and I was on my way back to Pittsburgh from visiting my friend Moira in Greensburg, few cars on the highway, and I was entranced. The only way I can describe this EP is steamy and aphrodisiacal, a baby-making record with subtle, bass-driven hints of Disintegration-era The Cure. (Though Henry could never hear that.) We took a ton of road trips that summer and the Flir came along every single time. (This was back when Henry didn’t abhor the music I listened to. You know, when he was younger and hipper.)

(No wait, that never happened.)

I’m drawn to this kind of music every summer, and even though it’s technically not summer yet (someone would say it if I didn’t!) I’m sharing this on here today because it’s one of those hidden gems that sometimes you never find on your own. (And also because I’m killing time, waiting for Henry to finally finish his kitten story which he has been writing for approximately TEN DAYS now.) If you like it, you can get the whole EP here for FIVE BUCKS just do it.

Sorry guys. Sometimes I just REALLY want to post music videos on here!

First, here is an incredibly awkward video of Jonny Craig freestyling with Kurt Travis at one of his post-rehab I’m Back, Bitches shows that he’s been doing in (stupidly far away from Pittsburgh) California. I’m posting this because it’s basically his “pledge” to his fans that he will stay clean and that he “loves” us, but as Henry said while he was watching this: “Thanks guys! Don’t come talk to me after the show.”

We’ll see, Jonny. We’ll see.

And I think I posted this song two years ago, but every time I listen to it, I imagine fake dancing with Henry at our imaginary never-wedding, so I am posting it again, because I do what I want.

Carry on with yo’ Tuesday.

I was listening to the new Spill Canvas today when I felt this nagging urge to revisit one of my favorite songs by them, even though I knew it was going to make me all pathetic and wistful. (What else is new, am I right Jonny Craig doll?)

My 2007 Warped Tour experience was my least favorite of all the years I’ve gone to it, mostly because I went to the one in Cincinnati and it was kind of a clusterfuck, we missed Chiodos, and I was with people I didn’t really want to be with. (Oh, and my car’s engine blew out on the way home.) But, The Spill Canvas was there, and even though I nearly passed out during their set (it was close to a hundred degrees that day; people were passing out all up in that joint), it was one of the few highlights for me.

“The Tide” is actually my all-time favorite Spill Canvas track, but that song makes me emotionally handicapped. It’s just so fucking depressing.

Goddammit, I just listened to it.

Sometimes I pause the wrist-slitting dirges that I love to play on repeat and give more uplifting songs a chance. The Used has always been of those bands that makes me feel punched in the gut, because they’ve sound-tracked so much that’s happened in my life (including the entire first book of the Christina Chronicles), that they have this strong emotional and psychic pull on me. It has always, my whole life, been easier for me to say, “Here, it’s like this” and then play someone a song by the Cure, etc., than to use words to explain how I feel.

I listen to “Box Full of Sharp Objects” and I’m 23, aborting my first baby. I listen to “Blue and Yellow” and I’m 24, wondering why the faint scent of someone’s lingering perfume in my car is making me so wistful, and then years later nearly breaking my neck to turn it off anytime it randomly played because my heart just wasn’t strong enough. I listen to “I Caught Fire” and I’m 25 again, giddily dyeing Easter eggs and succumbing to spring fever, and then turning up the volume for “Sound Effects and Overdramatics” while Henry’s blood pressure raises in tandem. Let’s not forget being 29, listening to “Liar, Liar” and straight up raging over the realization that I no longer knew my best friend anymore. And then I listen to “Best of Me” and I’m 30, angry and bitter, not understanding how someone could so easily shut the door on me.

Each album is a different chapter of the saga and I eventually had to stop listening altogether. It started to become masochistic.

But they just released a new album and morbid curiosity got the best of me. I posted this song today because “Together Burning Bright” doesn’t make me ache, it actually does make me feel like everything is going to be alright, like everything has come full circle. After these last few months (years, really), that’s exactly the kind of message I need. And perhaps you need something like that this morning too.

(I’ve been very much in my head lately; sorry if I’m not making sense.)

The Used is going to be at Warped Tour this summer. It will be the first time seeing them since I got in a fight with some drunk guy at their 2010 show at the House of the Blues in Cleveland. It will also only be the second time seeing them with Henry – the first was in 2003, I think. Back when Bert still puked on stage and Henry wanted to shoot himself.

I should be writing. But I was up kind of late watching hockey; listening to music and drinking coffee is the only thing I’m motivated to do right now. Although I did finally finish editing the photos from Chooch’s birthday party, so maybe I’ll write about that sometime tonight! “Hooray!” said no one!

Chooch constructed a model of Jonny Craig out of Legos and then what appears to be a stage with an audience.

“I put Daddy under here so he’s stuck and now he has to listen to Jonny Craig forever.”

Fuck, did I derive so much glee from that.

I love the cap of ginger atop Jonny’s broad Lego dome.

In other news, Craig Owens is back with Chiodos, wtf. Even though he is my nemesis now, I’m still beyond stoked and was all overheated at work after I found out. My friends at Alternative Press even had the smarts to check in with me to make sure I was still breathing after the news was twitter-bombed.

In other-other news, Chooch is getting his tonsils out on July 2nd. :(

Fuck. Xiu Xiu has been one of my favorite bands for the last 8 years, and still remains one of the all-time best shows I’ve ever been to, but their new album has totally taken them to a new level in my heart. Jamie’s voice is what the murmuring in my head sounds like, in case you ever wanted to know. I wish he was laying next to me, whispering Urban Dictionary entries and autopsy reports to me every night as I drift off to sleep, I fucking love him so much and maybe I have had too much coffee already today or likely am beginning to ascend the roller coaster hill to Ultra Mania, but I can’t stop laughing all guttural and sinister-like.

Also, I think this is a sign that I need to start eating apples like Jamie Stewart. He obviously wanted me to see this video so that I’ll know I’ve been doing it ALL WRONG.

I make mp3 CDs when I’m feeling this manic and have already been mapping out a springtime track list in my head. If you’d like a copy, say so! I like mailing things. (Read: I like giving things to Henry to mail.)

ETA: Here is a picture of Henry’s reaction when I made him listen to “I Luv Abortion.”

The other day, I asked Henry why he stays with me and he said, “Because of days like this.” Then he told me not to post that on Facebook because he doesn’t want anyone to know he likes me, but I figured most people will just assume “days like this” means days where he barely has to talk to me.

My world has been in some fucked-up, emotional upheaval the last few months, for a multitude of reasons, but Henry has been here, having my back and picking up the pieces through the whole clusterfuck. I know I’m always busting his balls on the Internet, but I really don’t know what I’d do without him. There. I said it. It will always be Henry, marriage or not.

Plus, the first thing he did when he came home from work yesterday was check to see if I used any expired food when I made lunch for Chooch and myself. He always has our safety in mind. (But if he REALLY had our safety in mind, he would make sure there was no expired food in the refrigerator to begin with. What? It’s a valid point!)

****

I have been listening to Armor For Sleep with some fucking urgency lately, like it’s 2005. Oh, 2005.

Sometimes the past really should just stay dead. But, I guess we needed to find that out on our own. One day, I will finish writing that story, and it will be better than any pathetic poem.

Sometimes instead of writing on here, I just really want to share music. Not only does my Twitter friend Richie love to hate the same hockey teams as me, he’s also in a really amazing band called Diamond Dancer. I love them so much and periodically drop him hints about coming to Pittsburgh.

(PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!) Maybe someday Richie will let me conduct one of my lame interviews on him.

You know you love reading the awkwardness that is Erin interviewing someone.

I just want to lay in the cemetery on a beautiful spring day and listen to this song on repeat. Henry may or may not be invited.

[Interested in hearing more? Go here!]

Sometimes I sit here and watch 9767896 videos of live Emarosa and Dance Gavin Dance performances because I’m so afraid I will never get to hear Jonny sing in person ever again. PLEASE STOP SHOOTING UP, JONNY CRAIG.

***

In other news, I got my hair chopped off the other day. It’s not man-short, but the longest layers skim my chin. I asked Chooch the next day if he liked it, and without even looking at me, he said, “No.” Granted, he is very surly in the morning, but he is also HONEST. So I was pretty bummed. Right before I took him to school, I prodded him some more.

“Do you think it’s better or worse than before?” I asked, like my future on America’s Next Top Model is on the line.

Watching the news (he watches the news every morning now and is really interested in what the “traffics” is like), he sighed and said, “Well, did you like your hair before?”

I thought about this for a few seconds. My hair was getting to be too long and the ends were pretty obliterated. The color was bland, too. “No,” I answered him confidently.

“Well, then I guess it’s better,” he said in a tone that implied, “Good job, you just answered your own question.”

Naturally, 80% of the office freaked out over it (except for WENDY WHO DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE!!!) and you all know how much I love to be gang-praised. Which is to say, as much as I like to be gang-raped. I think I had longer conversations about it with the boys though, which was kind of weird. Chris even stopped bouncing his fucking orange ball long enough to put his hands under his chin and call me adorable. BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT EVERY GROWN WOMAN WANTS TO HEAR.

No really, I’m OK with “adorable.” When you have the face of a turtle, you will take whatever complimentary handout you can get.

Probably the fact that I pull unflattering faces should be my main concern of model-rejection, not my hairstyle.

Fantastic song, sick video, brilliant artist. I love me some Captain Midnight.

Haven’t heard of him? Check out the Q&A I did with him last year.

Nothing takes the edge off the impending Hallmark Holiday like some fast-moving zombie action. Get stoked on it!

The sound on this is atrocious, but let’s be real for a minute: I’m not posting this for the song. This is one of my favorite videos to watch on YouTube because Jonny doesn’t look as much like a red neck crackhead for once. (Probably also because it’s from the 2008 Pierce the Veil tour where he was only a quarter of the hot mess he is today.)

Chooch stayed home from school today, and when I showed him this video on my phone, he sighed and half-sang, “It’s peanut butter Jonny time.”

***

Elsewhere in my pathetic existence, I have designed a total of 7 different blog promo cards. Anyone want a stack to help spread the word about some idiot’s mediocre blog? Comment here or email me your address and I’ll send you some: butgavincantdance@gmail.com

On December 17th, Henry and I were Cleveland-bound again, this time for the Craig Owens solo show at the Grog Shop. You might know that I have had a long-standing love affair with Craig Owens’ music ever since he was in Chiodos, even though I feel that I’m starting to out-grow him a little bit at a time. (I love his new band, but there is this braggadocian cloud he’s been riding lately that I’m just not a fan of. It’s really hard to explain, because he acts all Kumbaya at his solo shows, but when he’s on stage with his band D.R.U.G.S., I kind of want to vomit into a hobo boot.) Regardless, Craig still has a way of warming my soul so I thought it would do wonders considering the depressed state I had been floundering in.

Plus, all that time to irritate Henry while he’s trapped in the car with me and the constant rotation of Jonny Craig projects oozing from the speakers, making me fan my face? You can’t get that kind of joy in regular therapy.

Henry’s favorite part of the trip was all the piles and piles of snow that began to appear as we drew nearer to Cleveland. He knew that it was supposed to snow later that night, but didn’t know that it had already previously snowed the night before. I did know this and made the mistake of casually saying that I had seen snow pictures from some Cleveland people on Twitter and Henry was all, “YOU KNEW ABOUT THIS?” like the fallen snow was code for me taking his mom to get a clandestine piercing.

Apparently now on top of sitting around looking pretty, I have to keep tabs on the weather. I’m so overworked in this relationship.

Getting lost, sliding in snow, PISSED.

By the time we made it to Coventry, we were starving and running out of pre-show time. There’s a Winking Lizard near the Grog Shop and we settled on that, because we had eaten there before and I was reaching that point where I was so hungry that I honestly didn’t know what I wanted and we were about to come to blows. Henry ordered a chicken caesar salad and I honestly did a spit-take. I mean, it’s unusual for men to order a salad to begin with, but Henry? HENRY? BLUE-COLLAR HENRY? I have not once in my life seen this man eat a salad unless it was atop a blood-dripping burger.

“What are you suddenly watching your girlish figure?” I asked him.

“No, my stomach is still messed up*,” he mumbled. So what does he do? He orders a salad and a side of wings. He threatened to make me cry if I took a picture of him and his salad.

*(I still think I brought home some kind of Bavarian virus from the music box museum.)

I felt like living large so I ordered some gingerbread cocktail in spite of Henry’s pursed lips and shaking head. It was pretty much the worst thing I have ever imbibed this side of an egg cream, which made Henry go on a tirade about how I just wasted $6 and I was like, “Jesus, I’ll offer to wash the dishes if your piddly Faygo salary can’t afford a $6 cocktail, go cry in your pussy caesar salad.” It’s just a matter of time before one of us tries to stab the other at a restaurant.

We had just enough time to run down to Big Fun after dinner, which is one of my favorite places to shop in Cleveland. I was hoping to grab some last minute Christmas bullshit for Chooch, but the most annoying people in the world were in there (most of them were probably en route to the Craig show, I’m sure) so I got fed up. I was also going to buy a pair of reindeer ears, because Craig had tweeted earlier that he wanted all the boys at the show to wear Santa hats and all the girls to wear reindeer ears, but then you know what? I got this sudden jolt of self-righteousness and said, “Fuck this, I’m too old to be playing sheep.” So I put it back and got some giant rubber mustache for Tommy and Jessy’s dogs. Next time Craig does something I tell him to do in a tweet, we’ll talk.

Besides, I hate being like other people. I enjoy being the plain old lady at the back of the show. Reindeer ears would only distract from that.

We got to the Grog Shop just as the first opening band was starting. I grabbed us a spot at the bar and immediately began chugging Strongbow. It was either get drunk or be emotionally vulnerable and cry through the whole show. It was bad enough there was one acoustic emo band after the next playing all kinds of wrist-cutting melancholy.

I don’t remember much about the opening band. They were local and their name had something do with Wolves. But the second band, Envoi, came out and I was immediately taken by the singer.

“He is so fucking hot and totally my type,” I hissed at Henry. By this point, Henry likely could have achieved a buzz off my breath alone. I like to slam back some Strongbow, ok?

Henry didn’t respond, so I repeated myself.

“He’s not that hot,” he muttered. At first I thought maybe he was just sulking, but he’s typically a pretty decent wingman so I was confused. That didn’t stop me from tweeting things like, “I can’t wait to date rape this singer after the show, just as soon as I chuck my kid’s carseat out of the backseat.” I mean, I had it so bad that I kept latching on to Henry’s bicep and squeezing, while making purring sounds that probably made everyone around me uncomfortable.

After their set, I kept my eyes on him, willing him to come over to the bar. He had huge gauges and was wearing a slouchy beanie and scene glasses – TOTALLY MY TYPE, RIGHT GUYS? Henry was still frowning over my latest conquest.

Finally, he did end up coming over to the bar, and squeezed in right next to where I was sitting. I was so stunned that I swiveled by seat away from him and mouthed to Henry, “WELL IS HE HOT OR WHAT?” Henry was firm in his stance and said, “No, not at all.”

I quickly spun my head around, letting my eyes scan him just long enough to determine that, oh fuck, Henry was right. This guy was so not hot at all. Not even his sex-voice would have been enough to win me over after finally seeing him close up.

“My eyes are really bad,” I said, returning to my can of Strongbow. At least I know I can still trust Henry as my wingman, even when he wears my pink Delia’s scarf.

Then we were totally making fun of this flapper-wannabe with an angel halo head topper and she totally ended up being with Craig’s “band.” I think she just stood there playing the tambourine. I was not impressed. But before I could find that out, we had to get through two more bands, one of which was My Arcadia, a female-fronted band we recently saw at Warped Tour. I liked them better this time, though I did admit to Henry that I wished the singer was just a smidge hotter. She had good stage presence at least.

Sometime before Craig took the stage, our friend Jason arrived and Henry immediately turned into a sycophant. He’s so ridiculous when it comes to bromances. He practically clotheslined himself against the bar, trying to get the bartender to put Jason’s Boylan’s on our tab.

“Can we go now?”

Craig came out and chose to cover Bieber’s “Under the Mistletoe” as his opening song. I thought it was a joke at first; who wouldn’t? He slowed it down and made it all breathy and serious; I kept waiting for him to stop abruptly and say, “Sike, naw!”

But no. He was serious. This was unironic. I seemed to be in the minority, considering that all the kids in the crowd were going ape nuts over this. I kept frowning at Henry and rubbing my chin, like this was going to help me suddenly make sense of things. It just sounded absolutely ridiculous.

At least the next song was “Lindsay Quit Lollygagging”, and I adore that song so much, you guys. It takes me back to a pre-pregnancy time. But for some reason, I kept finding ways to make everything about Speck, so I started crying, and since I was drunk, it was that stupid half-sobbing/half-laughing psychotic meltdown which usually leaves me wanting to punch people and there just happened to be a group of 4 or 5 asshole chicks next to me who I always see at Craig/Chiodos shows and I’m pretty sure they’re from Pittsburgh and I just really hate them. They do all these horrible exaggerated Glee-movements while drunkenly singing along with flipped-back heads, but this is just when they’re not SCREAM-CONVERSING with each other over top all of the songs.

The last time I felt like fighting while drinking Strongbow was at a Chiodos show in Columbus, only this time it was two jocks standing behind me, talking shit on the Penguins (too bad they won the Stanley Cup a month later, motherfuckers).

Anyway, I think I lost some love for Craig that night. He talked too much and there were times when he was borderline cult-leader up there on that stage. And he’s all “OMG I LOVE MY FANS” to such an extreme degree that it’s almost hard to believe his sincerity. I really don’t like feeling this way! But he leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth now. And also, I paid to hear him sing his fucking songs, not all the kids in the audience. I really dislike that he only sings three words and then gives away the mic.

Meanwhile, Henry’s caesar salad began knocking on the exit door, so he took off for the nearest bathroom, after refusing to poop on the prison-like Grog Shop commodes. I didn’t see him for at least four songs. Which ended up being most of the set, since the Grog Shop double-booked and Craig had to be off the stage around 9. Totally fucking weak. I knew this ahead of time, but I guess I assumed all the other bands would have cut their sets short to give Craig more time. And I also feel like Craig wasted so much of his set on stupid songs.

I really wanted to hear “Bibles and Badges” and we all know it’s all about me.

He did a few D.R.U.G.S. songs (none I particularly care for), “Intensity in Ten Cities” (not my favorite but at least it’s Chiodos), a Cinematic Sunrise joint and a song off the mediocre solo EP he put out a few years ago. Pretty disappointing show, but I was still happy to be out of the house, drunk, and having some quality time with Henry. (I know, right?) And it’s always a treat to see Jason.

At one point, he brought his puppy Charlie out so everyone could say hello and all that did was make me sad again. “SHE’S GONNA DIE SOMEDAY!” I was screaming in my head. I miss my fucking cat so bad.

The last song he sang was “Baby, You Wouldn’t Last a Minute on the Creek,” one of my all-time favorite Chiodos songs. He left the stage and had a bunch of guys hold him up which was cool, but that just made it easier for him to give the mic to the crowd. HI CRAIG, CAN YOU SING ONE SONG IN ITS ENTIRETY? At least let me get a quarter of my money’s worth? Cut the summer camp bullshit, please. He kept stopping during every song, putting his hand behind his ear and screaming “WHAT?” while holding the mic out to the crowd. I cringed every time.

I get that he wants it to be all intimate and shit, but then go for more of a Storyteller’s vibe and DON’T STOP SINGING.

Still, when he left the stage, I turned and walked back to Henry and Jason with my lip all protruding like a TV tray. Jason pantomimed straining to lift it up from the floor while Henry gave me that “Please don’t embarrass me by crying” mustache bristle. Afterward, we hung around and talked to Jason for a little bit before heading back to Pittsburgh, where Henry thankfully only needed to stop twice to tend to his explosive diarrhea.

(I also asked Henry some questions about his night at the show, which I will type up here tomorrow! And hey, don’t forget to tell me if you’re Team Poor Henry or Team Blame Henry!)