Alternately titled: I need a hobby. 

Wow. Another dumb photo series birthed from my perpetual boredom. I have so much Cure memorabilia laying around the house that I sometimes joke it’s like Robert is my guardian angel—HE IS ALWAYS WATCHING ME. 

I c u, Robert. 
    
This painting was seriously some kid’s art project and then she sold it on eBay afterward. I was at King’s Island on the last day of the auction and wrote a reminder ON MY WRIST to make sure that I checked eBay that night, because this was in 2005 and I didn’t have a cellphone, and even if I did, it probably would have been some  prehistoric flip phone. AND YOU CANT CHECK EBAY ON THOSE. 

By now, you’ve probably guessed the ending: I WON THE PAINTING.  

 Here’s a Robert Smith doll that I begged my mom to buy me back in 1999 or 2000 even though it barely resembles him, but the eBay listing said RARE, you guys. (I was way too into eBay back then.)   

I can’t remember where I got this Cure print. Lol, j/k. eBay. 

 My friend Anastacia just sent me this Cure comic book, which I have always wanted but never got around to adding to the collection, so THANK YOU Anastacia for contributing to my shrine!

I have so many posters and prints rolled up in tubes because I never got around to framing them. Someday….

I do this thing where, as I’m writing blog posts, I’m actually hearing myself talking in my head to a group of imaginary friends, kind of like when you’re preparing to take the stand in a murder trial by staring at yourself in a mirror and clearing your throat a lot. So while I was thinking of all the things I wanted to say in this post about Emarosa, my brain-voice was machine-gunning the words at such an alarming pace that I gave myself a headache.

In other words, I am fucking stoked as hell to tell you, imaginary friends, about how it felt to see Emarosa at Warped Tour last Thursday, a/k/a THE BEST DAY OF 2015 THUS FAR.

If you’re a new figment of my fake readership, let me give you a brief run-down of my love affair with Emarosa and why I didn’t give a shit who else was playing at the same time as them that day because this day trumps all. I fell in love with them in 2008 after Jonny Craig got kicked out of Dance Gavin Dance and picked up by Emarosa, currently in need a new singer. Jonny Craig was It for me back then so naturally Emarosa became my favorite band.

Jonny fucked them over big time in 2011, and so the rest of the band really had no choice but to part ways with him. Jonny was all, “Good luck Emarosa, you guys are nothing without me” and for awhile it was starting to look like he was right; they all but fell off the face of the earth, popping up sporadically to let Facebook and Twitter know that they weren’t done, they were still writing music and looking for a singer.

It took them three years, but they found Bradley Walden and proceeded to record their best album to date; it has never felt better being an Emarosa fan. My pride for them is so ridiculously over-the-top that you’d think Chooch was in the band.

Thinking of the shitty position that Jonny put Emarosa in (remember the MacBook scandal?) always leaves me with the bitter taste of chopped cabbage in my mouth.

(It’s worth noting that Emarosa only played the first leg of Warped Tour, and then a day after their last date, Jonny’s new band Slaves jumps on for the last leg. There was absolutely no overlap. #soblessed that the Pittsburgh date got Emarosa and not misogynistic, drama-perpetuating Slaves!)

I always get real on edge right before seeing a band that I’m super into, so around 4:30 (35 minutes before their set time), I started to feel pretty barfy, coupled with some intense pants-peeing giddiness. I mean that in all of the best ways, like back in high school when you would hide behind a corner, waiting to take a clandestine photo of Scott Dambaugh with your 35MM camera; or when you would have your mom drive you past his house; or when you and your best friend would walk “casual” laps around the mall while you hoped to spot him slinking about lazily in his billowing Stüssy pants, OMG IT WAS JUST LIKE THAT.

It had been raining, and I mean RA-HAY-NING, intermittently all day long, and it conveniently started up again right before 5:00. I was bummed, because Emarosa has been making huge waves this summer on Warped Tour, and were even bumped up to the main stage for one of the dates, thanks to their incredibly energetic performances. They’ve been growing more and more popular, and the pictures I had been seeing online showed that they were drawing really big crowds for a band playing on one of the smaller stages.

Unfortunately, the rain drove a ton of people clear to the other side of the venue, beneath the amphitheater’s sheltering roof, leaving very few of us to brave it out before the Kevin Says stage. By the time Emarosa came on, the rain was coming down in bullet-like sheets, and there were times I had to shut my eyes because it felt like my contacts were being knocked off my eyeballs.

But it was worth it. Fuck the rain! Bradley gave zero fucks about the weather and spent 95% of their set immersed in the audience. (The few times he was actually on stage, he was busy busting out basic gymnastics stunts and spinning Will upside down. He has done nothing short of busting his ass to win over the old Jonny Craig fans, and in the process, he has garnered a ton of new recruits as well. If I wasn’t such a blathering mess in these situations, I would like to hug him and thank him for breathing new life into Emarosa. And then I’d like to grovel in the faces of Will and Jordan about how grateful I am that they didn’t stop trying and how I never gave up, and how proud I am of them and most of all, fuck Jonny Craig! He was nothing but poison. I wasted so much time defending him when all he gave back was slurred performances and humiliating encounters. I’m too old to fuck around with that.

Moments after the above picture was taken, Bradley had crowd-surfed his way over to where I was standing and I got to touch him and was like OMFG about it for the rest of the day. Chooch likes to tell everyone that I cried, but I promise you I didn’t actually cry. I only cried once all day, and that was during PVRIS’s set. (MORE ON THAT IN ANOTHER POST.)

This was actually only my seventh time: 3x with Jonny as the singer, once with Tilian Pearson who was filling in when Jonny was forced to go to a detox facility, and 3x with Bradley. I am here to report that this was the best performance of them all. I was so excited that this was Chooch’s first time getting to see them live! He seemed really into it, and we were right in front of the barrier so he could see perfectly (not like Bradley was ever on the stage!) but there was a moment when I looked over my shoulder at Chooch and he was making this anguished face, so I thought to myself, “Oh boy, here we go. The Brat is surfacing.” Because he has a pretty low threshold when it comes to doing things he doesn’t want to be doing, so I thought maybe he had grown tired of Emarosa so quickly and was about to start whining about wanting to go home.

Boy, sit yo’ ass down. We ain’t leaving when Pierce the Veil is on next!

Anyway, I found out later that his contorted face was out of repulsion because there was a couple behind me who were making out, God forbid.

Just, wow. Bradley proves over and over that Jonny isn’t the only golden-throated angel in this scene. It makes me laugh that after Bradley had joined the band, Jonny was tweeting about how Emarosa wasn’t “allowed” to ever play “his” songs again, but they are. And Bradley is KILLING IT. “Set It Off Like Napalm” coming out of his mouth is almost too much for me to handle.

If we’re being honest here, I don’t think Emarosa is going to be this scene’s best kept secret much longer. They are too good and deserve mainstream success. I’m rooting for them so fucking hard.

***

Right after the last song ended (1996 On Bevard!), Bradley said he was going to be at their merch tent meeting everyone; after dropping the mic, he ran straight up that soggy, muddy hill, true to his word. We quickly followed, and thanks to the still-heavy rain, only about 20 people beat us there. There was a little bit of time to spare before Pierce the Veil, so I asked Chooch if he would be my proxy and meet Bradley and Chooch was like, “Yeah, duh.”

He’s clearly a pro at rubbing elbows with bands now, you guys.

“I dare you to tell him that he’s better than Jonny,” I said, laughing as we stood in line.

“What will you give me if I do?” he immediately asked, his wagering cap securely fastened under his chin. It’s never free with him! What happened to the days when the mere act of accepting and completing a dare was all the glory needed?

So I promised him a dollar. That little crook.

I know Chooch already posted this picture in his own blog post, but it is too glorious not to repost over and over again.

God I can’t even remember what happened now when it was Chooch’s turn, I was shaking so bad. But I will tell you that right after I took this picture, Chooch started to walk away but then turned back and said, “You’re better than Jonny.”

“Thanks, man!  I agree,” Bradley said, propelling me into a tailspin of IS THIS REAL LIFE.

I shot myself with a horse tranquilizer just in time to chime in with, “We’re Team Emarosa!” Bradley probably said “thanks” or something, but I couldn’t hear past the psychotic ringing in my ears.

“You’re so goddamn awkward,” Henry said after we walked away. WTF I felt like I was being pretty OK and normal for once? I dwelled on it on for the rest of the day, trying to recreate in my head what I must have sounded like. Probably Bullwinkle. So, thanks, Henry. I’m glad you fucking fell down the hill!

***

I’ve been going through serious withdrawals like I always do after a show, particularly Warped Tour. But the good news is that I’M GOING TO SEE EMAROSA AGAIN TOMORROW NIGHT IN CLEVELAND, WOO!

Please get your back thrown on this Thursday to a repost of my interview with Henry regarding his day at Warped Tour in 2011 because Warped Tour is exactly two weeks away and I honestly can’t focus on anything else right now, good lord.

Ahhhhhh! Old Folk approaching! Hide your hard candy!

Have you ever wondered what Warped Tour is like for a super old man who shuns fun and is the Poster Elder for “surly”? You’re in luck because my very own, personal Old Man let me ask him some questions about his day spent outside in 95+ degree heat surrounded by machine-gun drumming and exploding-node screaming.

But he had this girl by his side, so how terrible could it have been, right?

(RIGHT!?)

Erin, pen in hand: Why do you wear a bandanna to Warped Tour? Is it because you think it makes you look hard? (Because it doesn’t.)

Henry, sitting next to me on the couch and glaring: Because it was hot. [Thinks deeper.] And it keeps the hair out of my eyes.

Erin: So does a hair cut.

I really believe he wears a bandanna because he feels like it will repel scene kids. Like if they see some dildo approaching them with a cotton condom fastened around his head, they’ll think he’s security or a member of a biker gang, when meanwhile he drives a Ford Focus and looks like the treasurer of a washed-up Village People fan club.

Erin, pressing the issue because I know people care about Henry’s head toppings: And how do you decide what color to wear?

Henry, mumbling as he works the TV remote: Whatever matches what shirt I’m wearing.

Erin: Now did you learn that on the “Blue-Collared Beverage Warehouse Manager” episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?

Henry, actually looking away from the TV for the first time since this writer has been asking questions: What? What the fuck are you talking about? [One corner of his mouth tugged up a bit, which constitutes as a SMILE in the world of bearded douchebags.]

Erin: Is it true you bought a graphic tee at Target specifically for Warped Tour so you’d fit in better and joke-block me of non-descript t-shirt fodder?

Henry: No. I didn’t buy ANYTHING for Warped Tour. [Scrunches up face in irritation, which most people would take as the universal visage for constipation.]

This is a complete lie. He bought sun screen and individually-wrapped prunes.

Henry, reaching in his Old Man Cargo Shorts for an individually-wrapped prune. Note his expression: It never changed.

Erin: What was your favorite band of the day.

Henry: [LONG PAUSE. I thought he was thinking but really was watching Good Eats.]

Erin: [Stabbed him in the ribs with elbow.]

Henry: What?! [Notices me scribbling down my own answer on his behalf.] What are you writing? Don’t write Dance Gavin Dance, because it wasn’t.

This means it was Blood on the Dance Floor. Scantily-clad scene posers get him every time. Jeffree Star and all that.

Erin: Speaking of Dance Gavin Dance, what are your thoughts on them?

Henry: I don’t HAVE any thoughts on Dance Gavin Dance.

Maybe not, but he definitely dreams about them considering their last album is on constant repeat in the bedroom.

Erin: Not even on Jonny Craig?

Henry: Jonny Craig is a douchebag.

Erin: If you had to spend money at one merch booth, which would it be?

Henry: [Seriously considering for entirely too long.]

Me, noticing the small puff-shapes his lips are making: Hello! You’re falling asleep!

Henry, jolting at my shrill voice: No, I was thinking. And the thinking is putting me to sleep. [I have to repeat the question.] It would probably be what you want since I get no say in anything.

What he meant to say was, “The first merch booth we come across that has booty shorts in my size. I hope it’s Blood on the Dance Floor or Black Veil Brides!”

Henry’s “I ain’t got my dentures in & I just spent the last of your money on a Powerade” face.

Erin: How disappointed were you that Craig Owens (singer for D.R.U.G.S.) darkened his hair?

Henry: A little disappointed.

It was the FIRST THING he noticed when Craig came out on stage.

Erin: Does that make him less attractive to you?

Henry: No.

OMG that means he’s attracted to him in the first place.

Erin: Why wouldn’t you stand near me during Of Mice & Men? Was it because you didn’t want to get your face melted off?

Henry: Too many kids around me.

Lies. Here are my top 3 reasons why Henry took 87 giant steps back away from the crowd:

1. He didn’t want his pedophilia to be that transparent.
2. He doesn’t love me enough/have enough upper body strength to keep bodies from falling on my head, which won’t matter if he’s a million feet away from me.
   
3. He’s embarrassed to be seen too close to me. (Because I cry during shows, but mostly because I’m ugly.)

Erin: When you saw that girl pass out right before Set Your Goals, why didn’t you spring into action? Isn’t that what they taught you in THE SERVICE or were you too busy trying to look like Erik Estrada instead of attending all the Be a Hero seminars?

Henry: [For real sleeping.]

Erin: [Repeats question, and by that I mean I kneed him in the nuts.]

Henry: [Started to “think,” then fell back asleep.]

Erin: HENRY, PLEASE!

Henry, waking up abruptly: I don’t know! Because there were already people “springing into action!”

Or! Because he left his balls with his ex-wife.

Someone for Henry to share his prunes with!

Erin: Any tips for other elders attending Warped Tour? And don’t say, “Don’t go.”

Henry, about to say “don’t go.”: Damn. Bring plenty of money so you don’t have to drink tap water. Leave your girlfriend at home.

Erin: And don’t forget your joint cream.

Henry, forgetting that he’s like 80 years old: What do I need my joint cream for?

Erin: What was your favorite part of Warped Tour and don’t say leaving.

Henry: But that was my favorite part. Probably watching all the people run when it started to rain even though they were in bathing suits.

Translation: Watching all the wet under-age girls run in bathing suits. See? Warped Tour’s not all that bad!

Erin: Least favorite?

Henry, with no hesitation: The heat.

Erin: What heat? Don’t men of your blue-collared ilk spend their childhood summers working in my rich relative’s yards for milk money? You should be acclimated to the heat by now.

Henry: Whatever, asshole.

Erin: If (Warped Tour founder) Kevin Lyman named a stage after you, what bands would you demand be on the lineup? And don’t say Judas Priest.

Henry: I don’t know.

Ew, I hate when he says that. Especially when his voice cracks in irritation like he’s some pissed off Peter fucking Brady.

Erin: Henry, I will kick you in the nuts.

Henry, clearly peaced out from the interview process like a little prissy Girl Scout: I don’t know what bands I would have!

This means he’s too embarrassed to admit to the Internet that it would be Creed, Nickelback, whatever nü-metal bands are still together, and a Carpenters cover band.

Erin: Are you looking forward to next year’s Warped Tour?

Henry: I never look forward.

****

Thank you for reading this lame interview. Clearly I need to find more interesting subjects. You suck, Henry. Learn some words!

You know how I’m always mentioning that I keep the radio on in my bedroom at all times because I need to keep tabs on current music even if I don’t like it because I’m obsessed with knowing shit about all music? Well, every now and then I’m rewarded for enduring the occasional Meghan Trainor ear-slaughter and one of those times was last April when there was an ad for a short-run, acoustic-electro Smashing Pumpkins tour. When I heard the bodiless voice-over man say that it was at the Carnegie Music Hall in Homestead, I thought I heard wrong. So I googled and sure enough, it was Trufax up in that radio piece.

“I need to go to this,” I said to Henry in the urgent whisper I adopt when things are Urgent and need to be Whispered.

Henry was basically like, “Godspeed” and went to bed.

Tickets went on sale ta few days later and I was kind of hemming and hawing because we had Chooch’s birthday party coming up and I didn’t want to be spending too much money, but then I was like FUCK IT I WILL JUST GO ALONE. And since I waited an entire 2 hours after tickets went on sale (due to the Hemming and the Hawing), I wound up with the last seat in the last row in the balcony. I WILL TAKE IT, I shouted to the universe and then yelled for Henry to fetch me my wallet.

I never heard or saw anything advertising this show again after that. To the point where I was actually concerned that it was some kind of hoax. Like maybe it was actually a Smashing Pumpkins cover band? But I guess that’s kind of what the Pumpkins are these days: a cover band fronted by Billy Corgan. But still, I was willing to pay to see this, no matter who was standing up there on that stage with him.

The show was Tuesday, June 16 and people at work were excited that for once they actually knew a band that I was going to see! It was pretty adorable.

I was kind of bummed that I was going alone, but at the same time, I needed this night. Going alone was probably the best thing for me, in all honesty. Plus, I was happy to have a seat. I’m not usually down with seated events, but it had been A Day.

As soon as I entered the Music Hall, I made a beeline for the makeshift wine bar and ordered a double grigio and then headed up to the balcony, where the usher asked me if I was with the man behind me and I haughtily responded, “Nope. I’m alone.” Now show me to my fucking seat!

I was actually pretty content with my seat. This wasn’t something that I felt the urge to be right up front for, and I was happy that I was, as previously stated, the last seat in the last row, next to a wall, and the broad who sat next to me was older and extremely inoffensive (and she disappeared after the first few songs and never returned). As were just about everyone else in the chunk of seats below me. And even when the seat in front of me was claimed, I could still see just fine.

Katie Nash was already playing when I got to my seat, and once her set ended, the next band, Yoon Do Hyun, started within 10 minutes. I love a flawless transition!

Yoon Do Hyun is a Korean rock band, and their English was adorably shaky. I didn’t really know what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t the singer opening his mouth and letting out an Elvis-esque croon. Fuck, his voice was huge and unexpected. I really enjoyed these guys, and their set was a very appropriate length.

Right around 8:30, Billy walked onto the stage alone and the whole room just lost their fucking shit. It was really intimate, being in this small venue with what I would honestly consider one of the greatest singers of my generation. He sat down at a piano and began to play “Tonight, Tonight” and again — everyone lost their shit.

And then like clockwork, the Fashionably Late squad all showed up, causing the ushers to have to run around with their flashlights; people having to stand up to let these tardy assholes get to their seats; and the obligatory angry murmurings that arise when the rest of us, who got there ON TIME, had to have our views obstructed.  I guess when you’re old and rarely attending shows anymore, all manners and couth go out the car window on the wings of the latest Taylor Swift song playing from your radio. But, that was the only lowlight of the whole show, so I can’t complain too much. The lady two rows in front of me was doing enough of that for the both us, and I loved her for shouting, “WOULD YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!?” to the older people conversing loudly across the aisle, like they were having breakfast at Denny’s and not listening to Billy Corgan perform some of his best songs.

WHY!? Why pay $50+ for a concert ticket if you’re just going to TALK during it? I will never understand what it’s like to be someone who only attends shows for the novelty of it all.

Anyway, Billy performed the first handful of songs alone, and then his current guitarist joined him for most of the rest of the show. Katie Cole filled in on bass and guest vocals here and there, and because of this, a rumor started that she was officially the new Smashing Pumpkins, but according to her Facebook page, this is untrue. I’m not sure the Pumpkins even have an official bass player right now and to be honest, I quit keeping up with the ever-revolving door of band members a long time ago. It’s too much!

Parts of the set were electro, and while I noticed that people were bitching about that online (OMG he used a drum machine!), I enjoyed that aspect of the night as well. Especially “Ava Adore.” That is my fucking jam. And anytime I hear “Today,” I am back in middle school, listening to mixed tapes sent to me by pen pals way cooler than me and telling my mom that I need to go to Waves and buy Siamese Dream on the ASAP.

“1979,” and I’m back in Lisa’s parents’ minivan.

Really though, who doesn’t at least love ONE Smashing Pumpkins song? (If more than 5 people read this blog, I could anticipate an influx of comments informing me of people who don’t like at least one Smashing Pumpkins song. “The lunch lady at my junior high.” “My neighbor’s drug dealer, Kemo.” “Probably all of Billy Corgan’s ex-lovers.” “Your butt.”  OK I GET IT.)

There was only ONE SONG in the entire set that I was like, “Nope. Nopenopenope. LALALALALALALALALA. *fingers in my ears*” and that was motherfucking “Landslide.” I hate that song with such a passion. I hate the original Fleetwood Mac version (and no, I don’t hate Fleetwood Mac, typically). I obviously hate the Dixie Chick’s cover. I would wager that I would even hate a rendition by The Cure. And I’m sorry, Billy, but I hated your take on it too. I just HATE THAT EFFING SONG.

My mother may or may not have something or a lot to do with that.

Here is the set list for anyone who cares:

• Tonight, Tonight
  (piano solo)
• 99 Floors
•  Today
• My Poor Troubled Heart
  (traditional)
• Freedom Ain’t What It Used to Be
  (Zwan cover)
• For Your Love
  (Zwan cover)
• Drum + Fife
• A Stitch in Time
• Mayonaise
• Prairie Song
  (Billy Corgan song)
• Jersey Shore
• Sparrow
• Perfect
• To Sheila
• Behold! The Night Mare
• For Martha
• Blissed and Gone
• Ava Adore
• Now (And Then)
  (Billy Corgan song)
• The Crying Tree of Mercury
• 1979
• Run2Me
• Pinwheels
• Stand Inside Your Love
  (duet with Katie Cole)
• Landslide
  (Fleetwood Mac cover)
• A New Poetry
  (Zwan cover)
• Encore:
• Spaceboy
• I Am One
  (tease)
• Siva
  (tease)
• Rhinoceros
  (tease)
• Bury Me
  (tease)
• Snail
  (tease)
• Crush
  (tease)
• Suffer
  (tease)
• Snail
  (tease)
• Tristessa
  (tease)
• Window Paine
  (tease)
• Daydream
  (tease)
• Geek U.S.A.
  (tease)
• El-A-Noy

So that whole Gish teaser during the encore was allegedly spawned because some guy down on the floor was being an asshole and pissed Billy off so he was like, ” I am only going to play 10 seconds of all these songs, fuck you.” There were several times during the night when he would sarcastically answer someone’s heckle-like demand with a sardonic, “Whatever you want, buddy. I’m here to serve you.”

What an odd, beautiful creature Billy Corgan is. I was really happy, and—-dare I say it?—-#blessed to get to hear these old familiar songs performed this way. The evening, those 2 and a half hours of gorgeous music, relaxed me in ways that a day at the beach never could. I’m getting pretty good at doing things alone. Between this and seeing the Kurt Cobain “Soaked In Bleach” docudrama the night before, I have been feeling super nostalgic for my teen years lately, bouncing back and forth between gangsta rap and then, anytime I was in Lisa’s car (which was A LOT), alternative. I guess all I need to do now is revisit some old Scarface tracks.

***

The best part about all of this is that, after hearing me, all hyper and buzzing from the latest concert-high, spasmodically recounting the show to Henry, Chooch expressed interest in hearing their music. I YouTubed some of their videos for him and he asked me a lot of questions, like, “So, what? Is he like a vampire or something?” because I guess Billy is just too pale for Chooch’s comprehension. And then I brought out my Mellon Collie double CD and The Aeroplane Flies High boxed set and he started pulling out liner notes and basically devouring as much as he could. The next night, I walked past him while he was playing whatever stupid game he’s into at the moment on the computer, and I realized that he was listening to “Bullet With Butterfly Wings” on Spotify and softly singing along.

THE BEST.

I bought tons of new plants yesterday and I have so much to tell you about them, B(otany)log! But it’s hot in my house and I don’t have much time today, so instead let’s spotlight my favorite one of the lot: CARLY.

My brother Corey wanted me to name one of my plants Carly, after two Carlys: Carly Simon (because of that famed game night where we were playing Catchphrase and all Henry said was, “I don’t know….she’s a singer” and I jokingly screamed, and I mean SCREAMED “CARLY SIMON!” totally randomly and it ended up being right, wtf) and also Carly Rae Jepsen, based on the obsession Chooch and I had with Call Me Maybe during the summer of 2012. (Remember Ross’s Blackberry?!) But that particular plant didn’t look Carly-esque, and that plant became known as Stefano DiMera.

But then I saw this Pink Vygie (heh heh heh vygie) at some nursery yesterday, and I was like, “That’s the one! That’s Carly!” because it’s got the thorny parts to represent Carly Simon bad-assery and unconventional beauty, and the pink stem-things reflect CRJ’s bubblegum pop. (I AM DEEP IN THE PLANT GAME, PEOPLE.)

I didn’t realize that Carly was going to have FLOWERS on her until we got home (because I don’t read the informational tags that come with the plants after that part that states their species) and Henry was like, “Oh wow look the plant bloomed” in his typical “who cares” tone and I was like, “SHE HAS FLOWERS ON HER!?” Even more apropos! WHAT A POP STAR!

I adopted Carly at the perfect time too, because my CRJ obsession has been reactivated with the buzz of her upcoming album release. I AM OBSESSED WITH THE TITLE TRACK “EMOTION”! It reminds me of rollerskating parties at Spinning Wheels in the late 80s and I just feel so happy and excited for summer.

I can’t even say she’s a guilty pleasure, because I feel no guilt. MY LOVE IS UNABASHED.

And then this joint is the perfect couple skate jam and why am I sitting in my dining room writing this and not gliding gracefully around a roller rink RIGHT NOW?! Ugh. Everything I’ve heard from this album gives me those dreamy late-80s pop feels. I am really anxious to hear the tracks she wrote with Tegan and Sara and Sia.

Ugh, I love you, CRJ.

And in case you read the Ross’ Blackberry post and wondered “WELL?! DID HE GET HIS PHONE BACK?!” the shocking conclusion can be read here.

I fell down the music rabbit hole with my friend Terri again tonight, which is definitely one of my favorite stress-relievers. It’s so much fun to piggyback off each other’s texts, like when she mentions The Dear Hunter and I’m like, “OMG do you remember Dear and the Headlights?!” and then it’s Paper Rivals to Paper Chase, and we both find ourselves remembering bands we haven’t thought about in years while learning about new ones at the same time. I am so thankful for this!

When she mentioned This Day & Age, it was like blinking and being back in 2004. Kind of painful, but familiar and comfortable, making mix CDs and titling them with disparaging phrases about Henry (of course). He would get so pissed too, because his kids (who were still pre-teens back then) would inevitably read the titles and then we would all be sitting in the car, laughing maniacally and ridiculing Henry; god, we were so good at that.

“Were” — lol forever!

(This is actually from 2003, but this expression was accurate for 2004, too. And 2005. And 2006. And…YOU CAN COUNT ON YOUR OWN.)

The whole point of this is that my mind started to spiral out of control with memories of all those old mix CD songs and Orange Island popped into my head and now I can’t stop hearing this song. It also goes to show just how long Rise Records has had me under their spell.

How is this song eleven years old, my god.

In other news, the heat has melted my brain. I spent my whole lunch break today speed-walking around Pittsburgh, looking for plants because this is my life now, scavenging for house plants like it’s the new crack, and I wound up getting slightly sunburnt in the process and I definitely have a strong case of the sun-stupids. HOPE YOU ARE WELL. WRITE BACK SOON. (This is where you fold this up and put it in your pocket.)

One day last week, Timehop was all, “Hey crazy lady, here’s a round-up of all the cat-related things you posted about on the Internet on this date in the past.” Look, they’re not ALWAYS cat-related, OK? But this particular Timehop day was prolific with Marcy shout-outs:

For instance, one year ago when she was street-teaming for the new Emarosa release, and two years ago when I was trying to create a real-life Vampire Diaries story-arc to help keep Marcy alive forever.

Real talk: I have been a hot mess since putting Marcy to sleep on 3/31. For some reason, I have been bottling it up this time around. OK, not for “some reason.” I know it’s because part of me is like, “If I pretend like I’m OK, I’ll be OK!” Which is so stupid and I’m normally such a huge advocate for crying it out. Nothing has felt right since she died, and getting that tribute tattoo opened the floodgates. I have cried every day since then and…it has felt pretty good. Even Henry was like, “It’s OK. Just let yourself cry.” AND HE IS A HERO SO HE WOULD KNOW. I really do feel a sense of peace now that I have her furry face permanently etched upon my arm, but man—-I fucking miss her so hard. 17 years is a long time to be around someone every day and then have them taken away, so I know that feeling this way is normal, but I guess I also didn’t want to get to that point where I was making everyone around me feel uncomfortable, because “fuck, she’s crying about her cat again, maybe we should call HR.” I have pretty much stopped painting since her death, too. It’s like, why bother.

I was so nervous, like stomach-churning nervous, all day long prior to my tattoo session, mostly because I hadn’t seen the design yet but also because I knew that I was going to be struggling to hold it all together. As soon as I arrived at Kyklops, Erin pulled the sketch out of a folder and my eyes started to well up so fast because it was like being face-to-face with Marcy again; literally love at first sight. There wasn’t one single thing that I wanted changed. Then, while Erin was prepping, I noticed that she had the most perfect portrait of Mike Patton not only hanging on her wall, but also tattooed on her inner arm. So we talked about Faith No More and that made me start to calm down.

I had over three hours to sit in a chair and think. We talked here and there, but I’m not a big talker while getting tattooed, and we were both in the zone. So I sat quietly and thought a lot about how everything has changed. For the first time in my whole entire life, I am without a pet. It is devastating, but I just don’t feel ready to bring a new one in. I still have guilt. And it feels so raw that as I’m typing this, tears are burning my eyes and my heart seems like it’s actually sighing. So I started thinking of plants, succulents to be specific. I have been wanting to bring some into the house for some time now, mostly because the idea of finding/making/repurposing containers in which to hold them is super appealing to me. Second, they are supposed to be easy. Part C, because they’re pretty weird-looking and I love weird-looking things (see: Henry, jewelry made of teeth, Asian fruit). And most importantly, because I need something to take care of and take my mind off things.

No, plants aren’t replacing my pets, but they’re an adequate fill-in for the time being and they make my house look prettier. (Kind of.)

(Side note: this tattoo has healed almost magically; it’s kind of bizarre. But several people at work even commented on how it already looked healed and I really feel like it’s because Erin is just seriously amazing. Of course, I threw in the fact that it’s because she’s a girl and Glenn was like, “OH PLZ” and made some disgusted noise.)

The very next day, Henry took me to Lowe’s and we bought three succulents: some jade-plant thingie and two cacti.

I am smitten. IS THAT WEIRD? That me, Erin Rachelle Kelly, after 35 years of not giving a basic shit about vegetation, is suddenly O to the Bsessed with these creepy earth-growths? I spend most of my free time Googling about them and perusing succulent shops on Etsy and YES EVEN WATCHING YOUTUBE VIDEOS, which caused Chooch to walk by, stop, roll his eyes and mumble, “Oh Jesus Christ” as some d-bag urban gardener taught me how to propagate*.

*(That means MULTIPLY my succulents, you guys! THEY MAKE BABIES!)

I happily potted the jade thing in a nudie mug that I bought at the flea market over 10 years ago and have always been too afraid to drink from so it’s been sorely underused all this time. So of course he’s aptly named Ted Nudegent.

Chooch planted his in some old coconut thing that I drank booze from at some Italian festival in West Virginia one year. (Ha-ha, just kidding. Henry planted it.)

I spent all week pining for more succulents. And then, Henry took me to buy more on his birthday! I guess Henry enjoys garden-y stuff. I asked him if he used to have a garden and he said yes and then I asked him if we could talk about it and he quickly snapped NO because he’s always trying to keep secrets. So we bought some new plants at Home Depot, where an older man came up behind me, said “Excuse me, dear” and then PUT HIS HANDS ON MY WAIST AS HE SQUEEZED PAST ME and I seriously couldn’t stop reliving the moment for the rest of the weekend because it WAS SO INTIMATE and I really dislike human contact. Henry witnessed this whole horrifying scene and actually laughed out loud in public, which he hardly ever does in private, even. And then I was all excited because we were listening to Pet Shop Boys in the car on the way there and then it was also playing at Home Depot! I couldn’t believe it and was just about to mention something about kismet or serendipity to Henry when I realized that Pet Shop Boys was actually PLAYING LOUDLY FROM INSIDE MY PURSE because Spotify had switched over from the car stereo to my phone.

Maybe that older man was actually trying to dance with me?!

Ugh.

After Home Depot, we went to an actual nursery which was a HUGE LET DOWN and I made lots of angry and disappointed noises every time we walked past an employee so that they would know how worthless their dumb plant store was. Thank god we wrapped up Saturday’s succulent spree with a stop at Goodwill, where I found some 1970s-esque mugs and then lost Chooch but he was just in the bathroom so it’s OK.

I named this guy Phil Angie because he looks like alien finger (a/k/a phalanges, WATCH AN EPISODE OF FRIENDS NOW AND THEN, WHY DON’T YOU).

Haunting.

This one is Chooch’s, obviously.

The mug on the right is from Taormina, Sicily and had been collecting dust on my shelf for the last 15 years. WELL, NOT NO MO’.

Some of my new adopted friends are still Jane and John Does. These things take time. I don’t give hasty names.

These photos are horrible. Don’t worry—I plan on doing a legit photo shoot with my real camera. I need to make hats for them first.

Not really a secret, but this one is my favorite so naturally I have to call him Bae. (Also, I had to explain to Glenn this morning what Bae means and he looked sorry that he asked.)

Panne, for pannekoek, because he’s obviously Dutch.

And then yesterday, Henry took me to another Home Depot while Chooch was at piano lessons and I got even more ahhhh can you stand it?! When we picked Chooch up, I was like, “GUESS WHAT I GOT?! MORE SUCCULENTS!” and he made a really disappointed, tired sigh. But whatev—Pearl and Aloysius are such babes!

I have even more than this windowsill illustrates now. Last night, I bought RARE SUCCULENT SEEDS from some Etsy seller in CYPRUS! Wendy said that I probably invited some deadly disease into the States but who cares once my bunny-eared succulents sprout!

This morning, I was still getting ready for work when Chooch started to leave for school.

“Say goodbye to the succulents!” I shouted down the stairs.

“No!” he shouted back with disgust. But then I heard him quietly sigh, “Goodbye, succulents. Goodbye, Bae.”

I couldn’t wait to come to work and share pictures of my new acquisitions with everyone! Glenn was thoroughly impressed and has added “I hope your succulents die” to his malicious repertoire of retorts.

I couldn’t even make it through our weekly meeting today without blurting out that I’m collecting plants now. This conversation carried on as we all walked back to our desks after the meeting and I told Todd that some people even pack a bunch of succulents into a picture frame and hang them on the wall.

“Wait…so they just like grow, in the air?” Todd questioned me in a tone that me feel like I was being accused of something.

“No, but there are plants that grow in just air! They’re called—-” and here I paused to curtail a giddy laugh “—tillandsias! I learned that because I was watching YouTube videos yesterday.”

I sat back down at my desk (because during this conversation, I was excitedly pacing back and forth between Todd’s and Glenn’s desk) and then said, “Wow. Hearing myself say that just now made me realize I don’t know who I am anymore.”

***

I will eventually get another pet someday, I swear. But right now, it’s comforting to know that if I try to hug most of my succulents, I’ll get injured. Just like when I would hug Marcy.

Henry turns 50 in three days! How exciting(ly horrifying). In honor of his big numerical accomplishment, I am going to reshare some of the times Henry got to be A HERO. Maybe I can pump his mom and sister for some untold tales, as well! First up, please enjoy the time when Henry got to call 911 twice on his birthday last year!

It was a relatively low-key Saturday night here at the Oh Honestly Household. Chooch had already gone up to bed (which means he went upstairs to watch YouTube videos on his phone for another 2 hours) and Henry and I were watching the Stanley Cup finals (GO KINGS!). Around 11:00PM, there was a hideous crash/boom/squeal right outside of our house.

Right away, we knew it was a car accident.

The street we live on is a pretty busy one and a lot of the houses here don’t have driveways (luckily, ours does). When I moved here back in 1999, one of the first things my then-neighbor said to me was, “Never park your car in front of the house.” Shit, was she ever right. I learned that this was especially sound advice to observe on weekends. There are a ton of drunks that drive on this street. I have seen so many accidents from my living room window, it’s insane. Recently, someone hit a parked car down the street from us so hard that they pushed it all the way into our front yard. I always tell my friends to park across the street in the church parking lot, because you just never know. I mean, we had the mirror ripped off of our car two days after we bought it because we stupidly left the car parked on the street for “just a second.”

Anyway, back to Saturday night. We heard that sickening crunch of car-against-car and Henry flew out the front door, forgetting that he was in his underwear, to see what had happened. Then other neighbors (i.e. The Hot Naybor Chris Family) began to emerge from their houses as well, so Henry ran back inside to put on his pants, but don’t worry, he was back out in time to take total control of the situation.

We quickly deduced that a car had been speeding down the street and plowed into a parked Lexus (sucks to be that car owner) next door and then tried to keep driving even though the entire wheel and tire of his car had broken. So he made it an additional two houses up the street before putting on his flashers and getting out of the car. He was drunkenly staggering around his car, running his hands through his hair, in total panic-mode.

Meanwhile, Tourette’s happened to be moseying along the sidewalk, coming back from wherever it is that people like him go to (poker night with Purple Pants in a pizza parlor basement?), and he totally paused to become a spectator! I was so excited, you have no idea!!! But oddly, of all the times where it would be appropriate for him to shake his fist and cry, “You motherfucker!” he blurted out no such obscenities and instead stood calmly at the end of our sidewalk, contributing to the community powwow.

Just then, the Perp began drunkenly pacing up and down the sidewalk and at one point, it looked like he was going to run before turning around, crouching on the sidewalk for a moment, and then getting back into his car.

“He’s going to run,” I observed, but one of the neighbor girls said, “He ain’t going nowhere with his wheel broken off!”

“No,” I argued. “He’s going to literally run. I can tell.”

So then Henry got to be a HERO and call the POLICE, who are basically his favorite people in the whole entire world second to those Air Force fellas and broads. And just as Henry was hanging up with the 911 dispatch person, the perp got out of his car and started to walk/run up the sidewalk, away from all of us. So Henry got to CALL THE POLICE AGAIN!

“Yeah, I just called,” he said, quickly reiterating the pertinent details. “Well, it’s a hit and run now,” Henry said excitedly, flashing his imaginary war medallions. “YES, HE’S ON FOOT AND FLEEING THE SCENE!” So then one of the neighbor girls decided she was going to follow him, barefoot, in spite of her mom’s protests. That was stupidly exciting, too.

It was at this point that I realized Henry and Tourette’s were hanging out with a bunch of pajama-clad, braless broads. I quickly crossed my arms over my chest.

“Where are the cops!?” Tourette’s cried. “I know for a fact that there are four of them down the street at the gas station parking lot right now, drinking coffee!” And then he made a series of unhappy grunts. Finally, a cop rolled up with the lights on and Henry practically shoved everyone out of the way to lean into the window and scream, “HE WENT THATTA WAY!” and then he completely gave an inaccurate description of the Perp. So the cop sped off in the direction of Henry’s finger and we all cheered because it was exciting, OK?

Soon, we were joined by my deceased cat Don’s grandma (her cat Teddy knocked Marcy up back in 2000 and that’s where Don and Willie came from) from four houses down. We compared horror stories of all the accidents we’ve collectively witnessed on this street, and then she decided to walk up to the Perp’s abandoned car and start rooting through it.

Logical.

“You drink and you drive and you drive and you drink and you drink and you drive,” Tourette’s began rambling to no one in particular.

I took this opportunity to fetch Chooch, who of course was still wide awake and watching lame videos in his room.

“I thought that noise was just Daddy breaking something in the kitchen as usual,” Chooch mumbled, hastily stepping into a pair of jeans so that he could join the growing throng of Nebby Debbies* outside in the lawn.

*(This is Pittsburghese for nosy motherfuckers.)

“Who owns that car?” our neighbor Ruth asked.

“It’s the guy visiting the blond lady who lives in that house down there,” Henry said with his chest sticking out. “He’s from Virginia.”

“How do you know?” I asked him, furrowing my eyebrows.

“I don’t know,” he stuttered. “I saw the guy pull up when I was cutting the grass. He’s Asian. And he has Virginia plates.”

“Cutting the grass,” you guys. I’M SO SURE. And not from the binoculars in the attic window.

“It could be a rental,” Neighbor Daughter said, recently returned from her citizen’s arrest mission. But Henry argued that it wasn’t a rental and told her all of the reasons he knows this, the number one reason being we’re basically Budget Rental’s best customers because our car is a piece of a shit. This was like the best night ever for Henry because he got to brag about knowing things that no one would typically give a shit about.

(And I still don’t.)

Just then, the cops came back and they had the Perp! I cheered with an overdose of faux-enthusiasm.

“He wasn’t going nowhere,” the main cop laughed. Even his laughter had a Yinzer-accent. “He’s piss ass drunk!”

Henry told the cop that he knocked on the car owner’s front door several times to no avail and then explained again that the car belongs to her visiting friend and we’re all like, “OK we get it, just put it in next month’s Brookline ‘zine, why don’t you.” Fuck, Henry. Maybe you should just move to Wisteria Lane.

“Maybe they’re busy,” the cop said with a sleazy wink and then laughed so hard, donut crumbs shot out of his mouth. And then he took Henry’s official statement! Talk about the best belated birthday gift of all time: Henry got to be a motherfucking witness to a hit and run. HOT DAMN.

Oh, you want to know what I was doing this whole time? Just the usual: getting in the way and giddily laughing alone the whole time. I even jumped and clapped a few times because sometimes living on this street rules. LOOK AT US ALL COMING TOGETHER IN THE NAME OF JUSTICE!

And then the tow truck arrived! OH WHAT A NIGHT! Henry loves talking to men of these sorts of vocations! While the cop went back to his vehicle to write up the report—-or Instagram his Styrofoam coffee cup, who knows—Henry and the tow truck driver got to stand around and make idle conversation about the damage done to the Lexus. I kept hearing Henry “hyuk hyuk hyuk’ing” so they must have been getting along pretty well. I just asked Henry what else they were talking about and he claims the tow truck driver was telling Henry about how busy of a night he had the night before. OK HENRY, SURE, WE BELIEVE YOU. You weren’t talking about car crash porn AT ALL.

The cop thanked us all and I over-zealously said you’re welcome! because standing around outside doing nothing other than not wearing a bra deserves appreciation, but no one could hear me over Henry’s bristling moustache and rippling ego; it was clear that no more excitement was going to evolve from this particular episode, so everyone started to wander off back to their homes and Tourette’s lumbered off into the horizon with whatever mysterious bag he had been clutching the whole time.

“Yinz have a good night!” the tow truck driver called out to us. I have never been called “yinz” so much in one night. God love Pittsburgh.

“True or false,” I demanded later when we were getting ready for bed. “This is the most excitement you’ve had since THE SERVICE.”

“It wasn’t that exciting,” Henry sighed.

Oh, but his weener told a different story.

I didn’t want to wait until #mcm (MAN CRUSH MONDAY) to post this, so let’s pretend like today is #fgf (FAVORITE GUY FRIDAY).

When I first started dating Henry, I was 21 and he was 35. A LOT of people were like, “Ha-ha, say goodbye to your life. Have fun listening to country music and drinking IC Light.” Because that’s what all 35-year-old men do? And I guess I was a little worried at first, because I loved road-tripping for concerts back then. My friend Wonka and I would drive all over to see our favorite band at the time, Cold. In the first few months we were together, Cold was playing in Hershey, PA and Wonka wanted to go. I was worried that Henry would be like, “YOU ARE NOT DRIVING THAT FAR AWAY WITH ANOTHER MAN.” But Henry understood even then how much these things meant to me, and he was OK with me going.

(I mean, I totally would have still went anyway because that’s the kind of selfish, arrogant, solipsistic fucking bitch that I am!)

But then Wonka started dating the future mother of his children, and our roadtrips came to an end. I had no idea that Henry would ever want to do these things with me, because I was so used to having completely separate lives from every boyfriend I ever had. But by that May, there we were, driving to Wisconsin to see Cold. And there have been many, many more concert-spurned road trips since then, whether he liked it or not!

Wednesday night, I was watching music videos on YouTube, because that’s just what I do, when Henry said, “Look.” He was holding up his phone to show me that this year’s Riot Fest line up was finally announced. I ran over and snatched his phone from him and immediately started freaking out because FAITH NO MORE. I had a feeling that they were going to be there so my eyes were blind to everything else on the list but that for the first ten minutes. And then the more I looked at the lineup, the more I freaked out. THE NOSTALGIA FACTOR IS OFF THE FUCKING CHARTS.

I started freaking the fuck out and chanting PLEASE CAN WE GO PLEASE CAN WE GO PLEASE CAN WE GO CAN WE CAN WE CANWECANWECANWE over and over but I was pretty sure the answer was going to be no because we kind of broke the bank when we went last year. But you know, I’m immature, head-in-the-clouds Erin and I don’t think about things like RENT and GROCERIES and BILLS. I was just about reaching Veruca Salt levels of brattiness when Henry got up from the couch in a huff and said, “Don’t start!” So I sat there, staring at the lineup and crying because these are things I cry about, when I got a text from Henry, who was in the kitchen. IT WAS A SCREENSHOT OF THE TICKET CONFIRMATION OMG CAN I KEEP THIS MAN FOREVER?! I guess he knew for awhile that going again was inevitable, so he was prepared.

And it’s a good thing, because I’ve had the days requested off from work since January.

I know I bitch about him being a killjoy a lot, but even though he really doesn’t like these things at all, he still does them because he is an A+ kind of guy. And I am super lucky to be with someone who maybe doesn’t  share the same passion for music as I do, but he understands that it is a necessity for me, like food and water. I crave this stuff! I can’t tell you how many times I have gone back and looked at pictures from last year’s Riot Fest because it puts me in a good mood. That weekend was so close to perfection, and I can’t wait to do it all over again with my frowning sidekick! #blessed

(Snoop Dogg is performing Doggystyle in its entirety. My 1994-self is FUCKING FANNING HERSELF with her Snoop lyric-doodled science folder.)

I am going to be so nice to him for the next several days months. Take all the naps you want, Big Guy!

***

I can’t wait for another 3-days’ worth of frowns! 

So yeah, naysayers: 14 years later and I’m having fun listening to whatever music I want while Henry drinks craft beer.  

Disclaimer: I can’t write objectively about Dance Gavin Dance and this post is all over the place because I’m like a little kid who just ate three meals of candy.

Before I get into the juicy details of last week’s Dance Gavin Dance show, please indulge me while I explain the sordid history of this band and what it has been like to be a fan: I go through a lot of phases, musically, but my love for Dance Gavin Dance has only gotten stronger over the years. From the moment I first heard them in my car, driving home from Cincinnati in the winter of 2008, I was entranced. I had just randomly downloaded a bunch of their stuff based on their band name and the fact that they were listed on PureVolume as post-hardcore and that is MY FAVORITE GENRE. (The amount of times I have struggled to explain what ‘post-hardcore” means to people at work is hilarious; it’s kind of like the new “wtf is emo?” in that it’s almost impossible for me to put into layman’s terms. Wiki it, I guess? Good luck!) Downtown Battle Mountain is right up there on my Stranded on an Island album list.

This was also, sadly, the start of a 7-year relationship-threatening obsession with their original clean vocalist, Jonny Craig. Thankfully, he’s no longer in DGD, which is great because I hate him now and he could have easily destroyed DGD.

Jonny era:

To this day, I have yet to hear another band that sounds even remotely like them and, in my opinion, they have only gotten better with age. The only time my love for them was strained was after they kicked out Jonny for the first time and replaced him with Kurt Travis for two albums. Look, I LOVE Kurt Travis. But during that time, their screamer Jon Mess had also left the band and his role has always been one of my favorite parts of DGD. (In fact, I think I actually fangirl over Jon more than anyone else in the band.) I only saw them live twice during the Kurt Travis-era, and ironically once was a tour where past, present and future DGD vocalists were all on: Jonny Craig was there with Emarosa, Kurt with DGD, and Tilian was there with Tides of Man. (This was in 2009, and it was also the first time I ever saw Of Mice & Men and then fell in love with Of Machines, who are sadly no longer together.) It just didn’t click with me, though I have much more appreciation for the Kurt albums now than I did then.

Kurt era:

The summer of 2010, they brought Jonny back for a new album and a tour and this was supposed to be their swan song; Jon Mess came back too and it was like the biggest music orgasm for me. I got to see Jonny perform with DGD twice after that and it was like a dream come true, and then they announced that they were going to write another new album with Jonny and it seemed like their future was so bright. Except that Jonny is a forever fuck-up and they ended up having to kick him out again, in the middle of a tour. It seemed like this was it for them for sure. Maybe Jon, Will, and Matt would just make their side project, Secret Band, their priority.

But then they announced that Tilian Pearson, formerly of Tides of Man, would be their new singer. I was on the fence. In 2011, I saw Emarosa with Tilian as an interim singer; Jonny, who was trying to be in Emarosa and DGD at the same time that year, was forced off the Emarosa tour and into detox on the same day as the Pittsburgh show. Tilian’s brother’s band at the time was also on that tour, so I guess that’s how Tilian came into play. Tilian did fine…but he wasn’t Jonny. And this is how I felt the first time I saw him with DGD at the Altar Bar. It felt wrong to me. But you guys, when they eventually recorded new music with Tilian, everything fell into place and I made a statement that I never thought I would say: Tilian is my favorite DGD singer. They just sound so cohesive with him, and he has really gotten more comfortable with performing the old stuff too. All of that said, it has been a really rewarding time to be a DGD fan. I’m Team Tilian, and DGD remains one of my favorite bands of all time.

(Henry is probably reading this and thinking, “Trust me, this is the short version.”)

Tilian era:

ANYWAY! I’m so excited because their second album with Tilian just came out in April and they were here in Pittsburgh last Sunday! I had butterflies in my stomach all weekend and kept shouting, “AREN’T YOU SO EXCITED?!?” in Henry’s face. Surprisingly, he doesn’t hate them like you would expect him to. He admitted a few years ago that he kind of liked them and I just knew it. The Robot With Human Hair Pt 2 was his ringtone for me for awhile, for Christ’s sake! He just doesn’t like being the token Old Man at all of their shows, is all.

• Henry was annoyed because instead of sitting in the car and waiting for doors to open, he had to stand in line with all of the kids. To be fair, the average age was probably about 24, but I guess when you’re as old as Henry, even that constitutes as a “kid.” There was this one teenage boy in front of us, though. His name was Collin and I know this because his mom pulled up alongside the line in her mom-wagon and started shouting, “Collin! Collin! COLLIN!” until he dejectedly left the line and walked over to her car with his head down. “I can’t wait to do that shit to Chooch,” I laughed. “Yeah, except you’ll be calling from another part of the line,” Henry mumbled. And this is probably true. Unless he starts listening to crappy bands when he’s older.
• I had a tiny container of miniature Altoids, and I tried to get Henry to pretend like they were Grown-Up drugs with me, but he was like, “Don’t be stupid.”
• As soon as we got inside Mr. Small’s, I saw Christopher Kim at the Polyphia merch booth and I got so excited! He recently made waves for leaving Jonny Craig’s current band, Slaves, and has been pretty candid on Twitter about how fucked that band is so of course I love him because Team Anyone But Slaves. I was too shy to say anything to him so I took the creepy way out and tweeted about seeing him and then he favorited it so basically, we met.
• Henry plied me with Angry Orchard in an attempt to get me to stop talking a mile a minute. I WAS SO EXCITED!!!!
• Stolas was the opening band. We saw them last September with Hail the Sun and Icarus the Owl and I loved them immediately. They’re on Will Swan’s label, Blue Swan, and are part of this intricate, technical post-hardcore sub genre that I feel like DGD should take full credit for; they’re the godfathers of this style at this point. I’ve never been a fan of prog-rock in the traditional sense, but when elements of this style is car-crashed with a post-hardcore foundation, it makes me want to start punching faces. Stolas was the perfect way to start this night. My favorite part about them is that some parts of their songs downright sound like incantations. Henry’s review: “No.”
• I like to call Henry “bae” sometimes, ironically of course, just to annoy him. But when I’m really giddy, and I was Really Giddy, I apparently called him my ride or die. “Can I choose ‘or die’?” he mumbled, while continuing to look at whatever uninteresting info his phone was showing him.
• A band I used to love was playing whilePolyphia was setting up and I played Henry’s favorite game with him, which is “Trying to Get Henry to Guess the Band & Making Him Feel Like Shit When He Fails.” Here are the clues I gave him:
  • This album is called The Ugly Organ.
  • Henry hates them.
  • Tim Kasher is their singer.
  • His other band is The Good Life.
  • We saw them at Coachella in 2004.
  • Saddlecreek.
  • “My ego’s like my stomach– it keeps shitting what I feed it.”
    • If you guessed Cursive, then you have one more point than Henry does.
• Hail the Sun is amazing. That’s literally the note I wrote myself in my phone. This was my fourth time seeing them and they just keep getting better. We saw their drummer/singer Donovan outside of the venue when we were in line and even Henry knew who he was because HE CAN’T ESCAPE THIS SCENE. Imagine how boring his life would be if he was with a girl who only listened to the radio. Boring, but probably a lot happier and with less headaches, haha. Henry’s review: “*shrugged* It’s too early in the morning for this. You should have been a news reporter.”
• The crowd was so much better than at the Circa Survive show earlier in the week. I was basically in love with every one there. Maybe those really were Grown-Up Drugs in my Altoids tin….
  • The cider also helped.
• Polyphia, holy shit. This was my first time seeing them and they blew my fucking mind. Like CHON, they’re also 100% instrumental. The crowd went apeshit over them and I think it says a lot about the talent of a band when they can capture the attention of young people without gimmicks or, you know, a vocalist. Henry did not like them, but that means nothing.

And then……..DGD!

Here are the notes I had in my phone:

• THUG CITY
• EVERYTHING IS AMAZING
• PERFECT CROWD
• JONNY WHO
• TILIAN IS THE BEST

Oh no, tangent: What I love the most about DGD fans is that most of them are music geeks in that they understand and appreciate the technicality involved in DGD’s music. These are the kinds of people who want to meet Will Swan after the show to talk about time signatures and ask him about his pedals. This is why I think that DGD is so fucking underrated. They’ve been unfairly marginalized and stuffed into a generic scene pigeonhole, which is why I think that their fan base remains young. Young people keep their minds open when it comes to music. Granted, there were some people at the show around my age, but it made me wonder: why hasn’t their fan base grown with them? Why do people hit a certain age in their 20s and just abandon what they used to love? I hope that doesn’t happen to me, ever.

DON’T PANIC, I’VE GOT A PLAN:

Tilian can sing any of the Jonny-era songs with motherfucking panache.

I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT ELSE TO SAY! This post is all over the place, just like their music, and just like my brain. One of the things that I miss most about Barb not working at The Law Firm anymore is that I wasn’t able to go to work the next day and vomit all of my feelings onto her desk. She was always so good about patiently listening to me jaw off about DGD! I remember telling her a long time ago that I liked this music because it panders to the dysfunction in my head; it’s what my brain would play if you plopped it on a turntable and put the needle down.

“I just love Jon Mess so much!” I shouted to Henry. “Did you know he’s a genius?” I LOVE REMINDING HENRY OF THAT! I have never loved a screamer so much before.

I didn’t stop moving the entire night and my body spent the next two days reminding me of Sunday’s perfection. I think I smiled all day long on Monday. MONDAY! Come at me, work week; I just saw DGD.

I’m so proud of this band for powering through all of the shit and turmoil and managing to create two beautiful works of art with Tilian. It feels so good to be a DGD fan. One of these days, I’m going to finally get that Robot with Human Hair tattoo. He might be holding a sword-speared strawberry.

Henry’s review: “I’ve heard all of these songs. Many times.”

HAHA SIKE. This is just another post about Warped Tour and not actually the maniacal manifesto/illegible murder confession that I think some people (Henry) have been nervously expecting.

Every time I look at the Warped Tour lineup for 2015, I feel like I might have immaculately conceived. The only downside is that there is no way I’m going to be able to see every single band on my list; there are just too many and some are bound to overlap. #musicfestivalproblems

In all of my obsessive Warped Tour thinking/planning/daydreaming, I uncovered some photos of Chooch that I never posted from his first time at Warped Tour in 2013. They were lost in some random desktop folder, probably Henry’s fault.

Christofer Drew is offering 45-minute songwriting classes this summer and Chooch and I have been talking about whether he wants me to sign him up for that or not. It costs extra, and if he’s going to get all starstruck like the last time he met Christofer, then that’s kind of a waste.

Chooch was all pissed off a few weeks ago because he was waiting for the bus that takes him to the after school program, when some middle school girl walked past him, saw that he was wearing a Pierce the Veil shirt, and said, “You probably don’t even listen to Pierce the Veil.” Bitch, he was singing Isles and Glaciers songs when he was still sitting in a CAR SEAT, so shut your dumb face.

If she only knew that he was practically born into this scene! Last night, I was YouTubing live Dance Gavin Dance videos while Chooch was putting together some Minecraft Lego thing, when he said, “Put on something from when Kurt Travis was the singer.” And then we watched an entire A Lot Like Birds show.

Because clearly, Chooch is a poser.

I hope we see that girl at the Sleeping With Sirens show next month. You know, if she was able to get tickets before they sold out in less than 5 days.

I posted a picture of my Warped Tour ticket (it’s the special 3D collectors ticket with Choonimals artwork, duh) on Instagram and WARPED TOUR REGRAMMED ME!

^^^^ Totally the apogee of my Instagram tenure.

TWO MORE MONTHS. TWO MORE MONTHS. TWO MORE MOTHERFUCKING MONTHS!!!

I came home from work and started going through old pictures to re-edit, because it has been A Week, and playing with photos calms my nerves almost as much as wine. Obviously, I’ve been going through Chooch pictures because it’s his birthday on Saturday and I get so fucking weepy and nostalgic every year around this time. He’s almost old enough to be a latchkey kid! SOON HE WILL BE A TEENAGER AND THAT WILL MEAN I’M OLD TOO.

Haha, no it won’t. Peter Pan Syndrome 4 lyfe.

I don’t know. Enjoy some random photos of my kid.

2008 – I WONDER IF BLAKE STILL HAS THAT SHIRT. God, we used to drive Henry nuts with our constant need to listen to DGD in the car. I guess not much has changed, at least on my end.

2012

2006 – Cemeteries have always been his playground.

2011

2012 again.

Bonus: When Henry exhibited lightning-quick reflexes to catch Chooch before he pancaked across the ground, circa 2007.

Ugh, I can’t wait for the weeeeeeeekend.

Ugh, Chooch is going to be nine on Saturday. How does time go by so fast? I hate it! We’re not doing a big party this year. He wanted to have a small party at the laser tag place for his friends, and then we’re having some people over on Saturday for cake.Nice and simple, which will be a nice reprieve for my bulging nerves.

I don’t know what dumb Henry is getting him, but I bought him a ticket to the Sleeping With Sirens acoustic show in June, because The Summer Set is opening and they’re one of his favorite bands. I’m pretty meh about both bands, but I took one for the team and made sure I was on the SWS website at the exact moment tickets went on sale. It did eventually sell out too, and it’s at one of the smaller venues in Pittsburgh, so I really anticipate a night in a small room with hundreds of screaming teenage girls!

But, it’s worth it. Especially when he found out I bought tickets and then proceeded to scream like one of the aforementioned teenage girls.

(From last summer’s Warped Tour.)

I ordered his birthday cake last night (oh boy, it’s a good one) and wanted to order one for my C-section incision too (9 years of phantom pains!) but I took Henry’s frown as a no.

Can I just state for the record that I have amazing friends and family (I mean, the family I still associate with!)? When I asked a select few of them if they would come to a memorial dinner for Marcy, and would that be weird, they all said yes and no, in that order.

Lisa reminded me that anyone who knows me also knew Marcy, and it made sense that I would want to celebrate her life with my closest peeps. When I say that she touched a lot of lives, I am not joking. And that’s actually just a nicer way of saying she pierced a lot of flesh, anyway.

I knew right away that this had to happen at Blue Flame. I spent so much of my childhood there with my Pappap, had so many high school hangouts there with Lisa and our crew, and still gravitate toward it to this day when I need some comfort and a dose of familiarity.

But don’t get it twisted—this was no somber event! We laughed so much and told stories about Marcy, and this was really what I needed. I woke up on Saturday excited that I was going to see some of my favorite people later on, and that felt so much better than wallowing around in a quiet house. The bottom line is that I wanted to be around awesome people and celebrate Marcy’s legacy.

I made prayer cards to pass out and brought two framed photos of her to display on the tables. Judy of course knew the waitresses and owners of the Blue Flame, so after she got the obligatory hugs out of the way, she made sure to tell everyone that she was there for a cat’s memorial dinner. Even Wonka came, after the trauma Marcy put him through 15 years ago! (His note in the sympathy card he gave me started with “Though the world is now a safer place…”)

Barb at one point was talking about my favorite subject – me. I love listening to her go on and on about how amazing and incredible and perfect and goddess-like I am, how I should have won the Pulitzer by now and why haven’t I run for President yet and how come MTV hasn’t given me a show where I teach the world to be their best versions of Erin Rachelle Kelly; Lisa’s eyes were practically rolling out the door and across the parking lot.

“I am just fascinated by what goes on in Erin’s head!” Barb gushed, to which Lisa replied, “Let me explain it for you. Erin takes something thisbig and turns it into something THIS BIG,” Lisa frowned, making her fingers spread far away from the imaginary object she was holding. “Except the one thing she actually never exaggerated was her Marcy stories.” And Janna emphatically co-signed that sentiment from across the table.

Speaking of Janna! I got to tell the story about Janna getting in trouble for taking her mom’s car when we went to Nemacolin Castle last December, and Corey, who was sitting at another table, perked up and yelled, “Are you telling them about the silhouette?!” IT NEVER GETS OLD!

Barb and Kara were moderately chuckling at the story, Judy looked confused, and Lisa disappointingly sighed, “Poor Janna.” 

Meanwhile, Janna www mumbling about how it really wasn’t that funny and she wasn’t even “in trouble” with her mom like Corey and I keep insisting. We basically have Janna halfway to Flowers in the Attic. 

Judy told everyone the story about how whenever she would put her shoes on, Marcy would know that meant Judy was about to go outside, so she would race to the door and wait. They sat on the porch together every day last summer when she was here babysitting Chooch.

“I loved her, but I wouldn’t touch her. I never touched her ONCE,” Judy bragged. “She scared me too much.” She told us that one time when they were on the porch, Judy started to get up because she was ready to go in the house, and Marcy started swatting at her legs because she wasn’t ready yet. Marcy was like that.   

 Then I was pissed because Janna ordered stuffed French toast and I wished I had ordered it. Lisa was like, “JANNA DON’T YOU DARE GIVE HER YOUR FOOD!” Lisa is very much against people coddling me. I ended up getting raisin French toast, which is odd because I usually always get grilled cheese. I don’t know what I was thinking.

And then Barb purposely commented on my eyeball purse, which made Chooch whip around in his seat and glower at her.

“Why do you hate your mom’s purse so much, Chooch?” she asked him.

“Because! Every time we’re out, people are always like ‘Oh I love your purse’ and they pass me right up!” Chooch cried.

“Wow. Who does that remind me of?” Lisa deadpanned.

After dinner, everyone minus Barb and Lisa came back to my house for cake, wine, and hockey. Chooch and Harland drove Janna nuts with Minecraft questions, and maybe Wonka too but he was a better sport about it than Janna, who kept sighing angrily and stomping over to the computer to yell, “WHAT CHOOCH I DON’T KNOW!?” And then she had me and Corey laughing like hyenas on top of that, so it’s really a wonder she hangs out over here at all! We seriously talked about The Silhouette 87 times that night, to mixed reactions. Corey has also recently taken to sending me pictures of shadowy raised hands behind curtains, so god only knows what he’s googling to find those!

LEMON CAKE. It was OK. I wanted Henry to make this carrot cake that I found in a raw dessert cookbook online but apparently the ingredients were too “expensive.” OK, lazy ass.

Wonka’s girlfriend Jess said that my house was very stimulating and I was like, “Thank you for noticing!” There really is a lot to look at, which I think drives Henry nuts at times. And then Jess got pulled into a super intense “over-share” with Judy, where Henry overheard Judy mention something about a time she was engaged to some dude that Henry didn’t know about. Henry was like, “Well, I just learned something new about my mom.” Then I made her tell the Brick Alley story because that story rules.

We spent the rest of the evening hanging out, telling stories, looking through photo albums (it’s been a hot minute since Wonka and I used to hang out regularly, so that was a fun jog!), reminding Kara every 30 seconds of how adorable Theo is (and Harland!), and planning our next ridiculous trip to the Palace of Gold. It was just what I needed, even though I inadvertently drank too much wine and spent the early hours of Sunday full of regret. I like to imagine that Marcy was glaring down from wherever she is, pissed that so many people were in her house, but also kind of secretly enjoying it. Because for a cat who hated people, she sure was social.

Grief is such a fucked up emotion. My first taste of it was when my Pappap died in 1996 and I honestly felt like there was an icy fist squeezing my heart—for months. It was this sickening, cold sensation inside my ribs, a constant reminder of loss. But even though I was grieving, and crying, and puking, and wallowing…I wanted to talk about it. I needed to, really. But my family isn’t like that. No one wanted to talk about it, but luckily I had friends…and the high school social worker.

It always made me wonder how I turned out differently. Talking about it has always been how I process, make sense, cope, and heal. I will talk about the same thing over and over until I’m blue in the face, and maybe it’s annoying for everyone else (i.e. Henry), but it helps me understand and heal so that I can go back to living my life.

On my 21st birthday, I went to visit my grandma. It had been 5 and a half years since my Pappap’s death at that point, and this particular birthday was difficult for me. I sat with my grandma on her bed and tried to talk about it. She shot me down immediately and became visibly upset at my audacity to speak of such verboten subjects. I explained that I really needed to talk about it, though, that his death had really affected me too.

She looked at me and said, “You were just the granddaughter.”

I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. Those people are just absolutely allergic to feelings, and here I am, the emo black sheep.

Am I completely over my Pappap’s death? FUCK NO. Maybe I’m not curled up in the fetal position, sobbing about it every night, but I do have those moments every now and then, on my birthday, on his birthday, at a damn Mike + the Mechanics show. But mostly, I smile when I see pictures of him, or hear songs that remind me of pool parties at his house, or post-church grilled cheese at Blue Flame. I like to talk about him and write about him because it keeps his memory alive. I try to honor him any chance I get, because he was the greatest man I have ever known. There is not a single day that goes by that I don’t think of him.

I have been grieving Marcy in this same fashion. It fucking hurts. I cry a lot when I’m alone, because that’s when her absence feels the heaviest. But…I am also able to tell stories about her at work (Glenn and Todd* are thrilled about this) while SMILING. I’m not 100% ready to let go yet. There are still some things I need to do, like the dinner we’re having with some of our friends tonight in her memory, the actual burial next month (the pet cemetery doesn’t start burying pets until May), and the tattoo that is already being drawn up. And then on Monday, Amber¹ 

*(Yesterday, I thrust my phone in Todd’s face and said LOOK AT THIS PICTURE OF MARCY FROM ONE DAY LAST SUMMER WHEN I WAS LOCKED OUT OF THE HOUSE AND SHE DIDN’T CARE. Todd was like, “OK. Wow.” Also, Todd is terrified of cats, so my Marcy stories don’t really do much for him.)

****

Completely befitting of Marcy’s volatile nature, it was thunder storming pretty savagely on Thursday evening when we arrived at Animal Friends. I half-expected to be struck down by lightning, one last act of Marcy-controlled physical infliction.

We were a little bit early, so we spent some time looking at the shelter animals. Mistake, mistake, mistake. I was crying before the vigil even started.

At 7, we gathered in a small room with seven others. Two were the volunteers in charge of the vigil, and one was a Methodist minister who was there to provide the spiritual portion of the evening. There was an older woman who lost her dog, an older couple who lost their dog, and an old lady who lost her rabbit. (And when I say “older,” I mean “older than Henry.”) To start off the vigil, one of the volunteers stood up and read the Rainbow Bridge poem, and I just sat there, box of Kleenex on my lap, openly weeping. It was OK — the older woman who lost her dog was sobbing too so that was comforting. Kind of.

The minister told us a story about her childhood dog, and I briefly considered converting to Methodist and joining her church, because she was pretty awesome. I started to feel better listening to her homily. She talked a lot about grief and how losing a pet hurts just as much as losing a person, and the worst thing that anyone can say to us during this time is, “Get over it” or “It’s just an animal.” She made me feel less crazy.

After the homily, the main volunteer—Jannie—read each story that we were asked to submit ahead of time, and as she read for each pet, the other volunteer lit a candle and presented us with a rose, a copy of the Rainbow Bridge rolled up like a scroll and tied with ribbon. Attached to the ribbon was a paper heart with a seed inside of it, for us to plant in our pet’s honor. I cried so hard listening to the story’s of the other pets being read. Everyone else there wrote about their pet’s death, but I didn’t include that part in Marcy’s story. I just wrote about what she was like, and Jannie interrupted herself when reading it to say, “Geez, she sounds like Grumpy Cat!” It was nice to laugh with everyone. But at the end of the story, Speck was mentioned and Chooch started crying when he heard her name. He is still so upset about her death, three years later, and it breaks my heart. When we came home from putting Marcy to sleep, Chooch took a picture of Speck off the wall and carried it around with him the rest of the day. Totally heartbreaking.

After the vigil, Jannie invited everyone to stick around and share more stories about their pets. “You know who I’m dying to hear from? Riley!”

I kind of thought he was going to pass, but he sat up straight and said thoughtfully, “Well…Marcy only ever scratched me twice, but she didn’t have her claws out so it didn’t hurt. I guess she was just warning me. Um…every time Mommy’s friend Janna came over, Marcy would attack her and then Mommy would laugh and post about it on her blog.” Everyone was laughing, and I thought that was all he was going to say, but then he burst into tears and, a la Chunk being interrogated by the Fratellis, went on to say, “I liked Marcy, but I was the most upset when Speck died. She was my favorite cat.” And you guys, he was crying so hard that he was shuddering in his seat. I felt so terrible and kept squeezing his knee and patting his back, and the volunteers and the minister were so quick to offer wisdom and words of comfort to him.

But it was good for him to cry and important for him to know that it was OK to cry. It was good for all of us to cry together, with strangers who are going through the same thing, rather than keep it all bottled up and act  like nothing happened, like my family always does. I honestly believe that not properly dealing with their father’s death is what made my mom and aunt crazy.

My favorite part though was when I got to show everyone a picture of Marcy. Everyone was like, “Oh wow! Those eyes! What a beauty!” and I was like, “Yeah, that’s how she got you! She lured you in with her looks and then attacked.” That was the funniest thing about her: for as much as she “hated” humans, she was ALWAYS FRONT AND CENTER. Any time I had a party, and I used to have a lot of crazy parties back in the day, she was always present, stalking around the floors or glaring down from tabletops, just waiting for some idiot to stick their hand out. She was fucking smart as shit. Scary smart, really.

Before we left, one of the volunteers said, “I just want to  tell Riley that I think it’s awesome he loves cats. Men who love cats are so rare and special. One day, you’re going to meet a girl, and she’s going to say, ‘Here, meet my cat!’ and when she sees that you’re a cat lover, she’s never going to want to let you go!” Chooch was still quietly crying, but this made him smile (and blush) a little.

I felt OK when we left. A little less heart-achey. Not completely “cured,” but I think that was a really helpful and important part in the process for me. I’m the type of person who needs to DO SOMETHING about it. I can only lay in bed and cry for so long. I need to talk and be with people and laugh and remember. (If Barb was there, she would have for sure quoted the “laughter through tears” line from Steel Magnolias*. I think it’s her favorite thing to quote.) And this night of grieving with strangers helped put some light back into me.

And, I think it helped Chooch even more than any of us imagined.

*(It really does feel good, though.)