My Pappap’s death defined me for YEARS. It happened so abruptly, a few short hours after I had just left his house where he had been sitting on his worn spot of the couch, watching TV and making work calls. Business as usual.

Then BAM – he was gone. Aneurysm. Didn’t even make it to the hospital.

I don’t want to say I’m over it but you know, almost 30 years later and I think it’s safe to say that I can look at photos of him and feel joy rather than grief. Because he was the greatest man I have known and loved. The father I didn’t have. My safe space.

These things are being rehashed in therapy. I didn’t realize how much unprocessed trauma I have in relation to his death. The residual grief that rears its head in odd places and times. Drew’s death over the summer was so similar to his and it opened something inside of me and now I have been grieving them both this whole time, trying to make sense of it. My Pappap’s untimely death was the #1 worst thing that ever happened to me, hands down, no contest. And Drew’s death is a close second. Maybe that will help illustrate why I have been such a shell of myself this last months. The triggers have been so real.

He was the only one in my family who ever showed me true unconditional love. He’s the reason why when I think of my childhood, I feel like I’m bursting with happiness and not dwelling on the bad things that were happening at my own house where I felt like an intruder, like I didn’t belong. I never felt like that at my Pappap’s. Which is why his house is my “happy place” that I think of to calm down when we’re doing EMDR in therapy. Except that after he died, my grandma and Sharon slowly ruined that for me.

If there is one thing I wish, it’s that he and Chooch would have had a chance to know each other. “If you think I was spoiled, I guarantee it would have been next level with Chooch and my Pappap,” I said to Henry, who mono-grunted in response.

He did everything for me, and gave everything to me.

When he died, NO ONE WOULD TALK ABOUT IT. I was dying on the inside. I needed my family more than anything then and everyone just shut down. Nothing was ever the same again and I am not being dramatic. You want to talk about an empire falling. This was exactly that. My family never bounced back. I have like, no relationship with any of them except for my brother Corey. It is so fucking sad.

While today is the anniversary of his death, I’m not sad per se. I mean, I shed a few quiet tears, but I think I am just more….introspective today. Just thinking about everything he taught me, how he was actually my saving grace, my role model, and the type of selfless and giving person that I still aspire to me. I hope that one day, I can be that for someone. (CHOOCH PLEASE GIVE ME GRANDKIDS SOME DAY, I WANT TO HAVE THAT CHANCE.)

This guy was literally the glue that held us together. He gave me such a strong love for travel, too and the desire to do everything possible to give Chooch experiences as he was growing up.

He wasn’t even ashamed of me when I got fat, braces, and fugly-ass bangs!

You know, another thing is that my Pappap was a very wealthy business owner so I had a very comfortable childhood and we all enjoyed a rich lifestyle up until he died, when money was mishandled, the business ran into the ground. But because of how he raised me, I was able to go my own way and live my own life without handouts. Henry and I struggled financially for YEARS but we worked hard, paid off debts, tried (still trying) to be smart(er) with our finances and while we aren’t rich and will likely never be higher than middle class, I appreciate everything that we have earned over the years and I get those values from my Pappap. I bounced back when the only other option was to do nothing and sink. I have been really sitting with these thoughts a lot lately, I guess it’s that season of life, and more than ever do I appreciate everything I learned from my Pappap. I don’t take things for granted, I didn’t stay spoiled (well….lol), and I don’t expect ANYONE to do anything for me. I have strong work ethics and I take pride in my work.

Because of my Pappap. The greatest man I have ever known.

The other day in group chat, I had a long-dormant memory unlocked when the subject of Girl Scout Cookie sales came up, and then Navanny shared with us that he funded his high school trip to NY by selling $1500 worth of full-sized candy bars.

It was at this moment that pea-brain sprung to life and began churning. Now, I don’t remember exact details and I think I actually gave false info to group chat when I was first regaling them with my triggered memory, but when I was in 1oth grade, I had lofty entrepreneurial aspirations and when a building down the street went up for sale, my immediate thought as a 15-year-old high school student was to buy it and turn it into a cafe.

I told group chat that it was a pizza place that had closed and went up for sale, but now that I’m thinking of this, it can’t be true because I’m pretty sure that pizza place didn’t close until much later, so it must have been something attached to it, or next to it. I think it’s a salon now, actually.

ANYWAY-V, all I remember next is finding a local candy shop that had agreed to give (???) me a bunch of chocolate roses for me to sell as a fundraiser. GOD ONLY KNOWS WHAT I TOLD THESE PEOPLE I WAS RAISING MONEY FOR.

So many questions.

Like, did I just cold call these people? Or were they advertising that their edible wares were available for fundraisers? How did I get them? Did Lisa drive me to pick it up?? I vaguely remember this being on the South Side and, being “edgy kids,” Lisa and I did hang out there quite often so maybe I saw a sign in their window?!

But still, did they just GIVE THIS TO ME?

Hilarious also that I thought, thanks to my slippery grasp* on the American dollar, that I would be able to sell like 100 pieces of chocolate and then suddenly have enough money to buy/rent a commercial building.

*(Henry wants to point out that my grasp is still just as lubricated in the present day.)

Some other spotty pieces to this story include me getting “in trouble” for soliciting my non-school sanctioned fundraising wares on school grounds. I feel like my friend Shawn Steele bought one for sure because he always did what I told him, and maybe my other friend V who did not grow up to become a member of BTS, sorry. But other than that, who knows who was buying these from me. Apparently, not enough people because the other spotty bits coming back to me involve the candy place being like HELLO KNOCK KNOCK OUR CUT IS WHERE? and my Pappap having to pay them the difference.

You would think that this would be the part of the story where I got grounded or had a “value of the dollar” lesson, but no. I never suffered the consequences back then and just went back to my old tried-and-true: inflating the cost of school lunch and then only buying a Zebra Cake and iced tea, and pocketing the rest of my Pappap’s change.

(When I told Henry this, he was like, “Do you really think your Pappap thought school lunch was that much money and wasn’t, you know, just GIVING YOU the extra money??” But I mean, when he puts it like that, it makes me look less lucrative and savvy.)

Obviously I never opened my own cafe at the tender age of 15 but I will tell you that that area is still, to this day, severely lacking in cafes!!! There is a Starbucks, a Coffee Tree Roasters, and several Dunkins. No Erin-branded cafes. I probably spent all that money on CDs, lol.

What would I even have called my cafe, back then, I wonder? In 10th grade, I was super into gangsta rap and Bone Thugs n Harmony. Mo’ Murda, Mo Mocha? Puttin’ the CAP in Cappucino? Cafe Crossroads?

Ugh, I don’t have the energy for this.

One of my best childhood friends was named Spring and one of our middle school teachers called her “Vern” as a cutesy little nod to Vernal Equinox and now I always think of that every time, in addition to a picture I have of him faux-wrestling her / trying to get her to smile for the camera and he has his hands clamped over her face?!!? LITERALLY THAT PICTURE JUST POPPED INTO MY MIND AND I AM GOING TO LOOK FOR IT RIGHT NOW AND INCLUDE IT HERE BECAUSE OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE ANYONE THOUGHT THIS WAS “OK” LIKE HE IS AN ADULT MAN FULLY MAN-HANDLING A CHILD?!

Deep breaths, Erin.

But no seriously, does Spring ever think about this, I wonder?!!? Like, “Wow, I was a child and being blatantly groped by a teacher, cool cool cool.”

Anyway, it’s spring and true to Pgh form, there is snow on the ground, lol.

Anyway, hey Marsha. What’s up Peg. I see you over there, Jimbo. Welcome to a Tuesday dumping of thoughts and feelings, I guess. I have been wickedly mean to Henry the last few days, totally annoyed by pretty much everyone in general. I know it’s stress, but c’mon Erin. Go sit in a corner, etc.

Oh, here’s one thing that REALLY irritated me last night!

My brother texted the below and then it took a solid minute before the image was also sent so I was sitting here stewing in wet anxiety, wondering who in my family died or had a surprise surgery scheduled.

But no, just a restaurant closing:

Granted, it’s the most special restaurant to me personally, having literally grown up there and spent so much time with my Pappap and his friends there, but Corey’s lead definitely took some of the sadness away, that’s for sure. Because instead, I just felt relief that no one was dying or had died or was about die on an operating table.

And then I was just pissed off because that was a long minute of worrying about what he had to tell me! Then a bunch of texts from other friends followed too so by then I was like, “yeah I know, oh well.”

This place was so special for a time, but really went downhill.

I was just texting with my friend Lisa about it because there was this one night – I want to say the summer before senior year so probably 1996 – where there was a shitload of us that took over the back room there. It was honestly one of the best nights of my life, but probably the same could not be said for the servers and other patrons, haha. I have video footage of this somewhere and hopefully someday I will get it transferred to the computer so I can relive it because it was seriously such a blast!

And all the after-church dinners Christy and I would have there with my Pappap. The servers (who were pals with my Pappap) called Christy and me the Bobbsy Twins because we always ordered the same thing, but it was just a cheeseburger and fries which, you know for an elementary school-aged kid, isn’t really wild and unusual??

It’s nuts because aside from the luncheon we had there after my Pappap’s funeral, I can’t think of any times that I was there with my immediate family growing up. It was always me and my Pappap. Always.

My mom texted me last night and said it was the first restaurant they took me to as a baby, so I guess I was there with my mom at least once back then, lol.

And now I’ll interrupt this I’M ANNOYED ABOUT EVERTHING shit show to post a clip of my faves, Pam and Kevin, riding the train at Farup Somerland.

In other ANNOYED WITH EVERYTHING news, I had asked a costume-making friend for help fancying up a basic tulle skirt that I want to wear for pictures in Korea. Their response was not excited as I had hoped, but more pragmatic and left me feeling discouraged with my ideas. So, I kind of just dropped it and bought the skirt anyway, figuring “oh well, this is nothing special, just me finally getting married after waiting for 23 years, who cares how plain I look.”

Look, I’m being a pill about this, I know, and guess what I don’t care.

Anyway, the skirt arrived and I thought it was so cute, it’s so comfortable and “my style” which is to say: not a wedding dress. So, I was feeling good about it staying the way it is, but then I remembered that we have a bunch of wood stars left over from the wall (not really wood, but like a chipboard material?) and I had this moment of empowerment where I rose up and said, “You know what, fuck this. I don’t need anyone’s help. I’m going to fucking embellish this skirt myself!”

And then I immediately delegated the task to Henry:

I mean, the skirt has a tulle overlay, so it seemed like a no-brainer to just glue some tie tacks to the backs of the stars, and they’re light-weight so I don’t imagine they will pull the fabric very much. Boom, done. And for the price of glitter, tie tacks, and whatever those stars cost last year. And I don’t even have to pay for the labor!

Also, last night, I was KaTalking with my friend Jiyong about next week and she has calmed my nerves down A LOT. I’m so happy to see her after 3 years, in her hometown no less! At the end of our chat, she told me to let her know if she can help with anything and I said, “Maybe you can help me with the locations of kpop idol birthday billboards??” and she was like “haha ok ok I’ll try” and was then probably instantly reminded that she’s friends with a grown-ass Kpop stan. ;D

But yeah, this time next week….who knows.

Every so often*, I go through some boxes of old photos, always on the hunt for ones that I want to frame, post on here, share with family, rub in Chooch’s face (he hate hate hates my storied childhood, lol). I recently found this one of my aunt Sharon, me, and my Pappap posing in front of the Leaning Tower of Pisa back in 1989 and I knew I had to keep it out of the box because Henry and I were recently watching someone’s travel vlog in Pisa and I was questioning whether or not I ever went INSIDE the tower because when I googled, it appears that it’s been closed to the public for quiet some time.

*(Approx. 3x a week, honestly lol.)

So today I was inspired to dig out the ol’ vacation journal and see what 10-year-old me wrote (IN YELLOW INK, APPARENTLY) about this moment of my life, and it appears that YES, I did go inside the tower, phew, now I have something else to rub in Chooch’s face.

Anyway, here’s a little transcription of the super informative words I wrote on August 30, 1989. :/

TODAY IS GRANDMA’S BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and a google more. We went to breakfast and now we’re on the bus going to Pisa. We saw the Leaning Tower of Pisa after lunch. Me and Sharon walked up to the top. Well, not the very top. (Sharon was afraid to.) Then we finally ate lunch! Thank goodness (for Chef Boyardee). We ate at the turnpike.  Then we went to the hotel. It’s called the Hotel Cavalieri. Then we ate dinner with the tour. It was like a buffet. It was very good. I didn’t like desert [sic]. Then we went to Pappap’s room & sang happy birthday to grandma and had a mixed fruit strudel (fig newton almost). Then we went to bed.

WOW. I FEEL LIKE I WAS THERE ALL OVER AGAIN, DON’T YOU?? Drowning in detail over here.

Some thoughts:

1. I prob thought I was tres cool for using the word “google.” I wonder if I had just learned it from Highlights.
2. All of those exclamations were done in BUBBLE-STYLE, thank you very much.
3. So…did we eat two lunches?
4. I think by “turnpike” I meant that we ate at one of the really cool truck stop restaurants but I can’t think of the name now. Sharon used to love those places because if you bought whatever the “special” was, it came with a collectors plate.
   • LIKE THIS ONE.
     • According to that post, the highway restaurants were called AUTOGRILL
5. Can you imagine Little Orphan Chunkie up there in that photo not liking a dessert?? What was it, dirty prunes?
6. The Chef Boyardee shoutout, I probably was cracking up writing that. OK calm down Erin.
   • as if I don’t still crack myself up when I’m blogging, once a loser…etc.
7. August 30th and I wasn’t in school?? This must have been back in the good ol’ days when school didn’t start until after Labor Day.
8. WHAT ELSE DID WE DO IN PISA, ERIN?? I feel like we were there for a few hours. I have a vague memory of walking down a road full of locals shilling their wares and trying desperately (and succeeding a lot) to swindle tourists. I think I bought a coin purse?! Who the fuck knows, ugh.
9. All joking aside, revisiting these days of my youth seriously brings me so much joy. I really miss my Pappap, and my grandma and Sharon even though they were often, um, pretty cruel and emotionally damaging to me. Ha ha haaaaaaaa. Ha. :/

I want to try and do this more often: post an old travel picture, find the corresponding vacation journal entry, and then see if I can remember anything else to add. Obsessed with documenting memories? Join my support group. It’s currently just me sitting in pile of journals and photos, wet with tears. If you bring donuts, I’ll brew the coffee.

In my NOSTLAGIA BOX rummaging (I used RIFLING in my last post, so gotta mix it up because once upon a time I was a kinda-writer, remember), I unearthed this old picture of me from 1986 (love that my mom had a camera that lasered the dates on the photos – I bet that was super high-tech back then) doing my favorite thing ever: reading a book. This was taken when we lived in our old house on Sylvania Drive in South Park, and here are some facts about that house:

• This is the house my mom was living in with my birth dad back when I was born. Then my dad died, my mom started dating who I consider my actual dad, things got serious so we moved into his house in Castle Shannon. I actually hated that time in my life, every memory is bad (it’s where the neighbor kids abandoned me in their tree house and I was too scared to come down on my own and I just sat up there and cried until my mom realized I was missing, to name ONE of the bad memories). Anyway, after those two married, we moved back to the house on Sylvania Drive! I should probably ask my mom about this because I have no idea if she put the house up for sale originally and no one bought it so we moved back? Or if we moved out with the intention of eventually moving back? Was anyone living there while we were gone!? I feel like we were gone for at least a year.
• I met my childhood BFF Christy on this street – she and her family on the cul-de-sac. We were BFFs up until the end of high school when I became a huge disappointment by dropping out of school and not going to college, opting to slum it with Psycho Mike instead. Christy was probably the only one who cared enough about me to actually try to stop this and get really fucking pissed and then we eventually grew apart. I was salty about it for years but being so far removed from that and actually in a good place in my life now, I can’t blame her one bit. I was so stupid. Everything happens for a reason, etc, but I can’t help but wonder if I still would have eventually ended up with Henry even if I had opted to NOT throw away those formative years of my life. For years I said I didn’t regret those idiotic decisions, but hoo boy, ask me again now. Anyway, Christy and I are still friends and she’s also Chooch’s godmother. We just don’t really hang out that much which is sad.
• Little did I know then that a girl I would meet almost – omg this kills me – forty years later was probably not yet born BUT her family was also living on this same street!
• After my brother Ryan was born, my parents started building a house on a plot of land on the street my Pappap lived on – it was actually my Pappap’s plot of land and I was so fucking sad to leave Sylvania Drive when I was in 2nd grade, but the house that was being built on Gillcrest is still to this day the house that I consider my childhood home. My mom still lives there but I honestly can’t remember the last time I was inside it. Probably not since Chooch was like, in preschool??
• There was a huge ass maple tree in the front yard and I have no idea the origin of this game, but Christy and me, and sometimes this other girl Michelle who was kind of an auxiliary member of our friend group would sit in my yard and wait for cars to drive past. Then we would glare at them and point the leaves at them, funneling all of our wicked petulance through the stems and then – what? – killing them? I can’t remember what we thought the outcome would be but I will say that I drove past this house not too long ago with Chooch and the tree was still  there! I told him the story and he was like, “That’s a stupid game.” WELL, WE HAD TO USE OUR IMAGINATIONS BACK IN THE 80s OK!?

Oh well, I was also going to drop the names of 5 books I loved as a kid but then I got sidetracked and now I’m bored with that idea and also today was terrible. Bye.

While Chooch was at his Pitt game creation class on Saturday, Henry and I had our Blue Flame re-do. I don’t think I have been here since 2021 when Corey and I closed the place down with our incessant talking. This was when we first discovered that they were advertising HERSHEY ICE CREAM all over the outside of the restaurant, but we never really bothered to investigate.

I rarely come here anymore because it seems like every time I get the urge, they’re not open. Their hours have been fucked, and I feel like that was even before the pandemic and now it’s even worse. They’re not open for dinner AT ALL and even though the website says they’re open until 2PM, it can be a crapshoot. For instance, we made sure to leave the house around noon just in case on Saturday and it’s a good thing we did because once we got here, Henry overheard one of the servers saying they were closing early.

Well, I can now report that it’s a legit ice cream counter and I am simultaneously impressed and also disgusted by this. Let me explain. Before it was this ice cream thing, it was the location of the breakfast buffet – another thing that I did not care for because THAT replaced the best section of Blue Flame. There used to be a semi-enclosed area here with two large wrap-around booths. With the exception of an doorway, it was surrounded by a wooden wall and if my memory serves, I want to say there were also stained glass windows in the official colors of the 70s – orange/yellow/browns.

I wish there were photos of this in the mad stacks I inherited when we were cleaning out my grandparents house. It was where my Pappap always sat with me when we went there on weekdays for lunch. I would have been LITTLE, pre-school age, and he would always be meeting up with his buddies. I loved those days so much that my nose is starting to burn right now as my impending tears announce their arrival. I’d have my prized stuffed dog, Purple, with me. My Pappap would be drinking coffee, bullshitting with his other business-owner buddies, whacking on his water glass with a knife with purposeful obnoxiousness in order to get the attention of one of the waitresses who LOVED to dish it right back to him — my favorite was Monica and I can picture her like it was yesterday and she was telling me not to let those guys bother me as she slid my grilled cheese* onto the table.

*(Except that back then, I called it “girl cheese” because I seriously thought that was what they were called and that they were only for girls.)

And now, it’s just a stupid counter slinging basic-ass Hershey’s ice cream. Cool cool cool.

Change is for the fucking birds.

The grilled cheese was way more satisfying than the limp one I got last week at Deer Creek Diner but the fries were not good, another thing that’s changed because Blue Flame was the origin of my obsession with the “good ones,” those elusive perfectly crisp fries that Henry still doesn’t understand to pick them out of a line up.

Now they’re just…dry and ordinary.

And there are only young high school girls who work there now it seems, no Monica. (There was another OG who I can picture vividly but I can’t remember her name, although I think she was still there up until my adult years because I swear I had the “You probably don’t remember me…” conversation with her and she flipped out when I name-dropped my Pappap. Goddamn, it’s been a while since I cried about him, yet here we are, lol ugh.)

The bathroom has looked like this for as long as I can remember, and Blue Flame in general has a very distinct smell that has persevered throughout. Not a bad smell, but an old, nostalgic stench of, I dunno, grease, potpourri, and whatever cleaner they use.

And then after you leave, you have to walk to the edge of the parking lot and look at the creek. It’s, as my friend Alyson would say, part of the process. Henry of course went straight to the car because he’s not a member of the Blue Flame Club so these things aren’t important to him. Henry also has exactly zero amounts of sentimentality.

So yeah, that was my decent-but-sad lunch at Blue Flame on Saturday. I should go there more often because if they ever close, you know I will be the first to bitch about it while having done nothing to contribute to their business over the last decade. So, anyone want to hit up Blue Flame some weekend for breakfast, you just let me know. The earlier we get there, the less chance we have of them closing early on us.

:(

P.S. While we were there, I had a flashback to junior year when I took my whole entire friend group there for dinner and there were so many of us that we had to go to the backroom and pull several tables together. I have video of this somewhere which I would share but I need to digitize my entire home video collection and this makes me tired thinking about it so I keep telling Henry to handle it and he’s procrastinating as always. But damn, I’d really love to see that. There were so many of us that night and, as I told Henry through a mouthful of masticated grilled cheese on Saturday, it was one of the best nights of my life. *tear*

Today is the anniversary of…that day, and my new thing these last several years has been to celebrate my Pappap instead of moping / feeling sad / being depressed. He was only part of my life for 16 years, so it’s really nuts for me to grasp the idea that I’ve been living life without him longer than with him now. Damn. I can only hope that I have even half that much of an impact on someone’s life one day!

Anyway, here are three photos featuring my Pappap over the years!

This had to be us at Kennywood. I wonder what ride it was?! Henry suggested Jack Rabbit at first but I honestly can’t imagine being game to ride a rollercoaster at that age – maybe, though?? The station looks too open though, so then Henry suggested the Little Dipper. It was open until 1984 and this photo was probably from 1983 so maybe! But…I doubt it.

This may have been pre-Erin Pappap! That’s him and my MOMMY in their Gillcrest pool, which was one of my favorite places of all time. My Pappap’s pool in the summer, absolutely nothing was better. I would give anything to go back to the mid-80s for one sunny July afternoon, honestly. My Pappap didn’t go in the pool much by the time I was born, but he could ALWAYS be found sawing logs in a lawn chair.

In fact, he had his own lawn chair that no one else dared use, and I will never ever ever ever forget us attempting to normalize a Pappap-less world by celebrating someone’s birthday or some summer holiday by having a cookout/pool party like we used to, and my dad laying back in The Lawn Chair and BREAKING IT, causing my aunt Sharon to completely melt down. It was baaaaad. She wouldn’t let anyone touch the chair, it just pretty much stayed out there like a wrecked relic, making us all miss better times.

When I say my family collectively handled my Pappap’s death poorly, with handsome amounts of dysfunction and enough trauma to last several lifetimes, I’m actually downplaying it. None of us mourned his death like healthy people. I was (am??) scarred for years and years afterward to the point where I used to not even be able to THINK of him without bursting into tears, let alone talk about him like a functioning human with normal emotional health.

It was really hard when Chooch was a baby too, because I spent so much time bobbing around in my feelings, wondering if my Pappap knew that Chooch was here, wishing that Chooch could know him, needing his stability in our life.

But…I think I reached a point where I feel that he would be proud of me, and that he would approve of how I have been living my life (well, maybe starting within the last 10 years, lol). And that makes it easier for me to think about him and smile at the memories instead of sob uncontrollably.

OK enough for the heavy hoo-haw, here’s a totally groovy shot of my grandparents and people I don’t know (actually, both of those men bookending the shot looked very familiar to me though and their names are on the tip of my tongue). Is this the 60s? Early 70s? Not sure, but grandma, your hair! Woof! My grandma had some AMAZING hairstyles over this years and this was not one of them. Nope.  Anyway, I feel like this was from a group vacation. Bahamas, perhaps. I think they used to go there a lot. I could ask my mom but I think she still gets upset when he comes up so I try not to talk about him too much with her. I don’t know. His death really fucked us up. You wanna talk about the glue holding a family together. We felt that.

Sorry, I didn’t intend this to get heavy! I am not sad or depressed today. I’m fine, and just wanted to share these but then the thoughts started and now here I am analyzing an irreparable situation that shouldn’t have went down the way it did, but here we are!

I took a casual dive in the photo vault again the other night and this time landed in the Wildwood stash!

Always stoked to share pictures from the best time of my life, sigh.

My grandma looks like she actually loves me here! Probably because it was before I got fat, ugly, permed and braces.

(You think I’m kidding – lol.)

Dude. I have the most vivid memories of this boardwalk ball pit. I looked at this picture last night and literally felt like I was in the balls again. IN THE BALLS.

Being the most cute. Can you tell that Gizmo is in my lap!? Super quick back story: My aunt Sharon (mom’s oldest sister) never came to Wildwood with us. It was always just my immediate fam (ugh when RYAN was born and started tagging along) and my grandparents. But on the morning we were leaving for this particular summer’s trip to Wildwood, she presented me with a white box that had holes poked in it the top. She told me not to open it until we got there, and I was DYING, YO. Every time we hit a bump, whatever was inside would squeak and I was so certain it was alive.

This was the year that Gremlins had come out and Sharon had taken me to the theater to see it.

I was 4 and it was SCARY to me so we had to leave once the gremlin action started. But then I was like, “Never mind I want to go back” so she took me back to see it again and this time I made it through the whole thing and never walked out on another movie again until Dolores Claiborne in the 90s. (I was with my then-friend Keri and we were like, “Why isn’t this movie ending? How long is this movie?”)

I had Gremlins on the brain for a GOOD while that year and was 100% positive that Sharon had found me a motherfucking mogwai. I mean, it had to be that, right?

Well, technically it was, but man was I disappointed when we got to Wildwood and I ripped the lid off the box only to discover that it was not actually a living, breathing mogwai but a stuffed Gizmo that squeaked when shaken.

I clearly loved it though, considering he’s in like every picture of me on the piers, lol.

My mom looks very excited to be co-holding Gizmo.

LOL this would have been my dad’s first time at Wildwood with us. ALSO OMG BED BUGS! I have no recollection of ever playing that but certainly remember that it existed.

Happier times, haha.

This picture must have been the next year’s visit because that baby is RYAN UGH (j/k I like hm now) but I’m including it here because of my dad’s interesting early 80s attire. I can promise you that if we were able to pan out right now, you’d see that his shorts were essentially hot pants. And he probably had socks up to his knees.

Well, happy Friday! I’m about to go and erase this past week from my brain – it was long and annoying.

Today is my Pappap’s birthday. He passed away in 1996 and while I miss the HELL out of him every single day, I did eventually reach a point where I was able to stop crying about it at a pin drop and actually enjoy the memories I have.

I acquired a shit ton of photos from whenever we were cleaning out my grandparents house in 2016. I still haven’t hone through everything but I like to rummage through the boxes every now and then. I decided to do that tonight to get some photos of him to post on here and I ended up pulling out a stack from one of our vacations in 1990. I was so wrecked-looking for a long time as a kid and these pictures of me are awfully cringey but it’s time for me to stop caring about that because – well, who cares!

I’m glad this is the stack I drew because I have been thinking a lot lately as we plan our family trip for next summer about how my Pappap (and Aunt Sharon, also featured prominently in the upcoming photos) instilled a strong love of travel into my life. I think he would be happy to know that Chooch is here now and is exactly the same way. I think my Pappap would have been wild about Chooch, honestly.

Anyway, please enjoy this random collection of my brace-faced, knotty-maned, chubby-cheeked adolescent self; my Pappap and Sharon’s disdain for posing for the camera; and a lot of European locations, some that I can’t exactly pinpoint all these years later – sorry!

Get ready for some signature Sharon scowls…

On this trip, we did London, parts of France, Italy, Switzerland, and Germany, I believe. Maybe Amsterdam, too. I would have to consult my old vacation journals and they are in a large trunk which is a pain to open. So we’ll just have to pretend that my memory is tight.

To this day, when I think of the Spanish Steps, I think of the fanciest McD’s I’ve ever visited. I wonder if it’s still there/as nice?

!

I look like I’m crying but this was one of my favorite places when I was a kid, except that there were GIANT spiderwebs inside that bridge and that always scared me. I hope that I can go to Switzerland with Chooch (and Henry, I guess, lol) one day!

I guess Sharon must have taken this picture; I love it a lot.

That green was a choice.

I mean, I hate that I’m about to say this, but Shron really should have smiled more. She was so pretty. Also, seeing those coach buses in the background have me stoked for our summer 2023 trip that better fucking happen because we’ve already paid for some of it and I fucking swear to god there better not be another lockdown. It will be our first time as a family traveling with a group and I’m so excited because I love group tours!!

My pappap was probably ranting about how we had to pay for each pat of butter.

My grandma was a difficult person to travel with.

We’re probably walking off yet another ear-beating from my grandma here in Venice.

I wonder what he was talking about! That one lady is like, “NO FUCKING WAY, YA GOTTA BE SHITTIN’ ME!” in response to whatever tale had him gesticulating like so. You know how kids are always like SO BORED to be sitting with a bunch of adults at a dinner table? I was the opposite – I fucking loved sitting with my pappap because he always had interesting things to say, he always ended up being one of the most popular people on all of our trips, and I felt like A FUCKING GROWN-UP sitting there drinking my hot chocolate (which was usually disgusting Ovaltine in these hotel restaurants) with my plump pinky finger extended.

HNNNNGGGG.

Anyway, I’m glad I never burned these pictures in a hobo fire of shame and I think it’s time that some more of these old shots see the light of day. I was lucky to have had the opportunity to make these memories, even though they weren’t always as idyllic as you’d think. At the end of the day, it was time spent with my pappap and I will always treasure, today especially. Happy birthday, Pappap!!

If you’re reading this, would you like to see more vintage photo dumps like this? LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTS. Lol.

I’ve been so excited to finally get to the Wildwood portion of this trip (in real life, and also in blog life too) because it was hands down the most magical time. I am sure anyone reading this is sick of reading about HOW SENTIMENTAL this place is to me but this place is SO SENTIMENTAL TO ME. Some of my earliest memories are from Wildwood because my family (including my grandparents) used to vacation here every summer. I’m not sure why we stopped, but the last time I was here was in 1991, and it makes me sad because my youngest brother Corey would have only been a bit over a year old and has said that he doesn’t really have any memories of this place.

Henry and I had tossed around the idea of vacationing here in the past but then it never panned out for one reason or another, and honestly, as much as I love this place, I was worried that a full week would be overkill. WE.ARE.NOT.BEACH.PEOPLE. I guess I was as a kid, but the thought of spending all day laying on a beach, for multiple days, just sounds horrific to me. I need action and scenery changes. So we decided for my birthday trip that we would spend two nights there and plan everything else around it.

We left our dumb hotel in Baltimore early Wednesday morning (after I pissed around trying to feed a local Mr. Gray Guy* a peanut and didn’t realize that there was a man sitting next to me in his car the whole time spectating me waving a peanut at a tree) and grabbed breakfast at a nearby Sheetz then proceeded to Wildwood!

*(We keep peanuts in the car now for when we run into squirrels away from home, oh my god, we all need help don’t we?)

Ugh but first we had to stop and get Chooch new shoes because he’s an idiot.

But then suddenly we started seeing signs for Wildwood and I was bugging out bad.

Literally started crying when I saw this.

OK I’m not going to get into this because it’s just me being a negative asshole but I got really angry about the place Henry booked and let’s face it, it’s 100% only because it wasn’t one of the places we used to stay when I was a kid and I was FIXATED on that, as I live boldly with one foot constantly in the past. Can’t change, won’t change! So this resulted in me bluffing about how I just wanted to go home and Henry (allegedly *not* bluffing) saying “FINE” and us getting in the car and starting to drive home. We had An Argument about how he is Not My Papppap and cannot afford to give me the Wildwood Trip of My Childhood but that he is Doing the Best That He Can and then after I spat out some torrent of obscenities, the car spoke back to me, “I’m sorry, I cannot find Fuck you Henry you ruin everything you dumb cunt” and then I started laughing so hard that I was crying and Henry turned the car around and we went back to Wildwood and proceeded to have the BEST TIME EVER.

LITERALLY.

THE BEST.

WE ALL GOT ALONG. NO ARGUING. HENRY BOUGHT ME EVERYTHING I WANTED. CHOOCH GOT TO BLOW MONEY IN THE ARCADES.

The Gold Crest 100% wasn’t even bad at all, and Henry if you’re reading this, I’m sorry that I let my emotions control me as usual. It was a struggle for me at first being back there because my Pappap was the greatest person in my whole entire life and I am so totally not over his death and still cry about him often (like right now as I type this) and I low key will admit that this is part of the reason I haven’t been back to Wildwood in over 30 years. I was so worried it wouldn’t hold up, that it was only as Babylonian as it was because my Pappap was there with me, that I had it built up too much in my head and would be disappointed returning there as an adult.

The Gold Crest ended up being perfect for us. It was actually across the street from my beloved Olympic, which, to be honest, might have actually been a let down had we stayed there because shortly after our last time there, they rebranded from the Olympic Motor Inn to the Olympic Island Beach Resort or something and that might have fucked with my brain. I think it’s better that we stayed somewhere different and now we can have a “new” traditional place to stay if we ever go back (LOL we are going back ASAP, bitch try and stop me).

I mean, part of the novelty of Wildwood is staying in a room with Golden Girls vibes and this place provided.

Chooch was happy because he got his own room and TV.

Dude. That 80s hotel art. Perfection.

After we got settled in (we were able to check-in early, thank god), we set off for THE BOARDWALK which was a walkable distance from the Gold Crest and the amount of times we’d walk and forth between the boardwalk and our hotel was staggering and is what helped push me past 40,000 steps on our second day in Wildwood!

Here are some pictures of Chooch grudgingly posing in front of the Boardwalk sign with me. He, at this point, still had no idea the fantastical things, sounds, and smells that were about to greet him once we walked up those steps!

In an effort to keep this post from being a novel, I’m just going to post pictures of the boardwalk and do a separate post about the rides at Morey’s Pier. OK, also it’s because I want to drag this out for as long as possible because this is the most happy and excited I’ve been since Korea. So sue me.

That moment when the RIDES BECAME VISIBLE.

Oh shit, you guys, my family was obsessed with “Hot Spot B” when we used to visit, and I have vague memories of sitting on a stool and eating a hotdog while being super anxious to get back to the rides. Hot Spot B isn’t there anymore but the original Hot Spot is, as well as two others. I was so excited to eat here!!

Chooch wasn’t impressed, he never is.

I mean you can’t really go wrong with boardwalk pizza!

I was just sad because they didn’t have any SHIRTS for sale.

Then Chooch got sucked into an arcade like a…Chooch to a Claw Machine.

This carpet gave me slight Gillcrest Gameroom vibes. </3

Chooch reminded me of Corey Haim’s character Sam from The Lost Boys, except that instead of a comic book store on the boardwalk, it was multiple arcades. He’d just text us when he needed more money. LOOK AT HIM IN THERE. Where did my little BABY GO.

Kohr Bros! I 100% do not remember this from my childhood but it must have been there because it says SINCE 1919??

I couldn’t spend a week on the beach, but I could probably spend a week cruising this boardwalk. Everything about it made me so happy.

A rare sighting of Chooch outside of his arcade habitat.

We left the boardwalk around 7:00pm, went back to the room and rested for a bit, and then came back around 9:00pm for some night ride action, which we will get to in the next post!

Literally, every time we walked past the Olympic, I made sure to make some asshole-y comment about how we COULD HAVE been staying there but Henry just blocked me out. There was a hotel nearby that was gutted and I said to Chooch, “I’m surprised he didn’t just have us squatting there for two nights” and then the next day, Henry tried to make a similar joke when we walked past it but Chooch and I both cut him off and said, “YEAH WE ALREADY SAID THAT TRY TO KEEP UP.” It’s amazing that Henry didn’t attempt to dump our bodies in the Atlantic.

I did really like the red door / turquoise curtains aesthetic that the Gold Crest had going for it though.

Morey’s Pier and boardwalk-after-dark recap coming next. Ciao for now!

We usually have a small clock-radio playing lightly in our bedroom at all times, dialed in on some inoffensive station that plays more “classic” Top 40 with the occasional current hit sprinkled in for good measure. Basically, it’s dentist office tunes, where one minute you might be blessed with some deeply nostalgic Depeche Mode track, and then just as quickly annoyed by some Miley Cyrus shit-song. I just like not knowing what I’m going to walk into each time I enter throughout the day (and sometimes I can even hear what’s playing from downstairs, prompting me to scream over the TV “ooh it’s my jam!” to which Henry scowls, “How can you HEAR that?!”).

All of this is to say that I was awoken one morning last week by the opening acapella pining of Tonic’s “If You Could Only See” and with tears spurting out of my eyes, I was suddenly drop-kicked back to 1997, the autumn after senior year, sitting in a lobby of the McKeesport YWCA waiting to take my GED test because yes, I was a high school drop out. There was only a month or so left of senior year, I was in a shitty relationship with a psychopath, I had zero support or understanding from my family, I had been grieving my grandfather’s death for over a year with no reprieve, and my mental state was largely ignored. Back then, as a 17-year-old brat, I chocked my decision up to rebelling, trying to get a rise from parents who didn’t pay attention to me. It wasn’t drugs, I wasn’t a teen mom, I wasn’t failing (I was on the fucking honor roll lol) – I just made a stupid, knee-jerk, stubborn decision to not get out of bed anymore because being in those halls made me feel like I was going to scream.  I would realize later on that I had a sort of mental breakdown and my ability to make “normal people” decisions had taken a back seat. I was literally lost.

Choices were made, amigos and chingus.

Fast forward a few months: my friend Christy, who knew that I was better than that, urged me to get my GED so that I could at least get a job. I had nothing else to do – all of my friends had gone away to college and I was just toiling around with Psycho Mike, on the verge of making the leap from rich suburban girl to legit white trash. So, why not? Let’s GED this bitch up.

And that’s how I wound up in the McKeesport YWCA, striking up conversation with a super cute and hilarious guy whom I felt SO STRONGLY was The One but now I can’t even remember his name. Dante? Damien?  All I remember is that he was super into computers (“I like taking them apart and putting them back together,” he said and I thought this was dumbest yet most interesting thing ever, like OMG can I watch?) and planned on going to school for that, and he lived in the nearby town of Dravosburg.

The GED test was spread out over two evenings, and we both arrived too early on each evening, hanging out in the lobby and talking before the doors to the testing room opened up. On both nights, we were the first to finish (I might have giddily rushed through it so that I would have more time to talk to him) and I remember distinctly sitting in this alcove/balcony area during the breaks we were allotted each night, and he even chivalrously sat with me while I waited for my ride after the testing was over, talking like we had known each other forever. He gave me his number, and when Psycho Mike picked me up after the second night of the testing was over, Mike was of course enraged to find me talking to another guy. I remember stopping at Firehouse Videos that night on the way home m to rent Dario Argento movies, and then having a huge argument in the basement of my parent’s house. I didn’t even care because meeting the new guy was a sign: I had incentive to dump Psycho Mike. Because in my stupid high school drop-out brain, having a rebound guy was better incentive than, I dunno, protecting myself from further abuse?! Teenagers are so FUCKING DUMB.

But then I couldn’t find GED dude’s number! And I hadn’t given him mine! I even called my friend Justin who also lived in Dravsoburg and asked him if he knew him, told him the whole Shakespearean dilemma, and could he locate this guy? Could he give him my number? Dravosburg is small, right?!

Justin said he would see what he could do, which was nothing because at the end of the day, we may have been “friends” but we were also “exes” and he wasn’t on board with pimping me out I guess.

So I never talked to that guy again, but I thought about him occasionally for the next several years, particularly anytime I would hear that Tonic song, which was popular at that time and for whatever reason, I associated it with him.

I did end up, obviously, dumping Psycho Mike but it wouldn’t be until another 6 months or so. And what would have happened if I hadn’t lost that guy’s number? How would that have changed the trajectory of my life? Would I have still met Henry? SO MANY QUESTIONS!

Hilariously (but not), several years later, now with Henry as my boyfriend, I had decided to go to college. In order to enroll at Pitt, I needed my high school transcript which made me so fucking nervous because I had never seen them and wasn’t really looking forward to taking that awkward and painful stroll down memory lane. I had to pick up the transcripts in person and I can remember bursting into tears in the parking lot afterward – I had actually graduated high school. After all of that, all of the passive-aggressive shaming my dad put me through, the childish bullying I endured any time I ran into enemies from high school*, the hassle of going to McKeesport and taking the GED exam, I had been a high school graduate that whole time. I remember back then, a friend telling me that there was a seat saved for me at commencements but I didn’t believe it then. I guess it was true.

*[Notably, the time I was at Denny’s with my friend Brian and that broad Cinn I mentioned recently, and two dumb bitches I hated more than anyone (I didn’t know about Trump yet) stood next to my booth in order and plunked quarters into the Claw Machine. “I’m really good at this,” Mindy said theatrically and extra-loud, as though her cunt friend Christine wasn’t standing RIGHT NEXT TO HER. “I went to college.” At this, they both collapsed into red neck chortles. OH BURN. So you went to college to learn a skill that requires you spend $1.00 on a 5 cent plushie? COOL!]

Anyway, both of those bitches are miserable and basic.

I was a mess in 1997: I was suicidal, directionless, hopeless, I saw no future for myself. So I chose some controversial paths, but those paths miraculously spilled me out into a pretty good spot in life. I made my own awesome family, I have a handful of loyal and amazing friends, and I have a decent job which maybe I’m not passionate about but that decent job affords me to focus my free time on things I AM passionate about. I dunno, I think I’ve done ok for myself in spite of some abysmal choices.

If I could only see all of that back in 1997.

LOL, see also: deep thoughts inspired by an ok song.

Remember the other day when I posted a sob story? I know, all my stories are of the sob genre, but specifically the post about how fucking cold it’s been here in Pittsburgh. Well, Saturday was still fucking cold.

I started the day with several walking workouts on YouTube since it’s just been too much to walk around the neighborhood in this weather (my Mexican taco cart boyfriend has probably forgotten me by now, ugh). And then I watched Goblin – it has taken me nearly a year to get through this drama because IT IS SO FUCKING SAD. It makes me ugly-cry so hard, it’s repulsive. Even more than This Is Us. But it is so, so, so good.

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And then Henry made me this bubbling ramyun for lunch because HAVE I MENTIONED IT’S GODDAMN COLD OUT? Every year I swear that I won’t be that person who complains about the weather or points out the obvious but man, I will just never be OK with winter. Sorry all you winter stans.

After lunch, Henry had to go to the eye doctor and originally I was just going to stay home. But then I remembered that the eye place is very close to Century III Mall, and since Chooch and I haven’t been able to get in our nightly walks, I thought it would be fun to pose as elderly mall walkers. Because, if you’re from this area you already know — there ain’t much else to do at the near-defunct Century III Mall.

Henry dropped us off and I was shocked to see that since I was last there (less than a year ago), nearly every store had closed. I’m not being hyperbolic here, either. We walked through almost an entire wing before we finally came across something that was open — freaking Things Remembered, ugh that store is so lame.

One of my friends posted a few months ago that Italian Village Pizza, the last remaining joint in the food court, had closed. Chooch and I walked over to that side of the mall and it was actually really cold, obvious that it wasn’t even being heated anymore. And my favorite wing of the mall is now entirely off-limits: the steps and escalators are all blocked off.

I know I’m a super sentimental person, but I was shocked at how much this hurt. There was a pet store down there that my friend Rachael worked at and I would visit her there in high school. And then off to the right down there was Champ’s, where I would buy all of my Champion and Starter hoodies and coats (I was a yo-girl and dressed almost exclusively in JNCO & Karl Kani jeans and college sports sweatshirts, lol — I really liked Michigan for some reason?!). When I was in 9th grade, I befriended the cutest salesguy in that joint — Will. Ugh, he was so dreamy, and like probably in college. I remember my friends Jameelah & Erika also really liked him and would get so mad because he paid the most attention to me, and after I started dating my “first love” Justin, Will would always tell me that he wasn’t good enough for me. We used to talk on the phone sometimes too (my mom WAS NOT A FAN OF THIS) but I realized later that he probably just liked me as a little sister and truly did look out for me, which was pretty awesome now that I’m old enough to see it for what it was.

I tried to regale Chooch with some of my memories, like how the dark, cobblestoned portion of the bottom floor had a shop called the Pittsburgh Store and it’s where I would get all of my stickers. “I collected stickers and had like 87 sticker books,” I told Chooch.

“Of course you did,” he sighed.

And how there was a Dairy Queen back there too, where Keri and I would always stop for refreshments on one of our ritual Friday night mall lurks. (I would always get the tropical flavored one.) And how one time we were accused of shoplifting at the Claire’s in the now-closed wing of the mall, and of course we proved that we didn’t do it but I couldn’t get the bitch manager to apologize so Keri’s mom called the mall and flipped her shit on them.

There was actually only one time in my whole life that I shoplifted, and it was when I was like 4 or 5 years ago. My mom and I were in some kitchen store on the second floor of that mall and I walked out with two magnets made out of peanut shells, and then felt so terrible when I realized what I did that I cried all night and never did that again.

But honestly, I practically lived at that mall from 7th to 10th grade. In 8th grade, I’d get dropped off every Friday night with the hopes of seeing SCOTT DAMBAUGH, who I was desperately crushing on. Even Henry knows the Dambaugh lore.

To be honest, that mall started going downhill back in the 90s when it was first sold and renovated. It was “modernized,” which basically just means they took out all of the cool parts, like the stage area that was outside of Kaufmann’s (Richard Simmons performed there once!). And the smaller third floor area was pretty much just left to die, and that has always pained me because that’s where my favorite music shop was (Waves — I bought what feels like a million dollars-worth of cassingles from that place), where my friend Liz and I “accidentally” lost the French foreign exchange student who was staying with my family during the summer of ’92, and where the best arcade was (the mall had two back then). It was also where one of my first memories originates, it’s super unclear, but I remember my Pappap and me walking around the mall a lot when I was really young, like pre-school age. And there was a…OK bear with me because I just tried to tell Henry this story and he looked at me with question marks undulating around his furry brows. How to even start this. There was a department store on that side of the mall – I thought it was Gimbles but Henry was all THAT WAS ON THE SIDE WHERE THE MEXICAN RESTAURANT IS NOW. Maybe it was Hornes then? It doesn’t matter. All that matters was that on the wall outside of it, next to the entrance, there were buttons. I never knew what they were for, but it was like a ritual for me to push them every time. And the one was brown so I would pretend that every time I pushed it, coffee was being made.

I started to remember this when I was an older kid, and when I brought it up to my Pappap he was like, “Bitch you cray” and when I started hanging out at the mall later in life with friends, I actively tried to find those buttons and no one ever knew what the hell I was talking about.

Also, the third floor used to have this super cute It’a A Small World-esque Christmas display AND NO ONE REMEMBERS THAT EITHER. Please, dear god, if you’re from Pittsburgh and have any clue what I’m going on about, PLEASE COMMENT AND VALIDATE ME.

Oh man, I just now had a recollection of buying Billy Ocean’s greatest hits for myself at Waves, and as the cashier rang me up, I turned to my friend Christy and shouted, “SUSIE IS REALLY GOING TO LIKE THIS CD” because I didn’t want the guy to know it was for me, and it’s hilarious to me that I even once cared about what someone would think about my musical persuasions!

Or going to National Record Mart when I was in third grade because I wanted to buy the T’Pau record but all I knew was that I liked the song “Heart & Soul.” When the clerk asked me who the artist was, all I could say was, “I don’t know. She looks like Tracey Ullman.” OMG AND GOING TO KAUFMANN’S TO BUY CONCERT TICKETS!

UGH AND POGS!!!!!!

Other memories I have of the mall are, pre-vegetarianism, skulking around Hickory Farms for the free kielbasi samples; eating at Alby’s Big Boy as a kid and falling into the dark hole of penpalling thanks to the penpal section of the kids menu (I WAS EVEN FEATURED ONCE!!!!!); getting all of my film developed, with doubles!, at Ritz Camera; meeting some of the Penguins at an event there after they won their first Stanley Cup (Phil Bourque and Peter Taglianetti were definitely two of them, but I’d have to find my old pictures to remember who else was there); playing the Simpsons arcade game with my brother Ryan; GETTING THE WORST HAIR CUT OF MY LIFE AT SOME SALON THAT’S NOT THERE ANYMORE THANKS MOM; Taco Tina’s.

I’ve still been going to that mall a handful of times a year, because it still has Hot Topic and Journeys. But now Journeys is gone too! I hope that my Dance Gavin Dance friend Sam got to relocate to a different Journeys. :(

On this particular afternoon, it was pretty much just me, Chooch, some elderly people, and a kid pretending to be a zombie. Chooch wanted new shoes and that was a struggle considering 90% of the stores are closed and JC Penney is the only department store left. But we eventually found a cool pair of red ADIDAS at Champs (in a new location). And they were majorly on sale too because the mall was sold to UPMC and all the remaining stores are just waiting for their leases to run out, I guess. I mean, even Spencer’s is gone. Does a mall even exist without a Spencer’s?

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Inexplicably, what the mall DOES have is a beautiful double-decker carousel that’s managed to last for several years now. Chooch and I naturally wanted to ride it but my credit card wasn’t swiping properly so the ride operator graciously let us ride for free!

“ARE WE GOING UPSTAIRS?!” I cried, and of course Chooch answered yes so we clobbered up the steps and picked our animals.

The ride operator waved to us every time we rotated past her, and I waved back the first few times but then just pretended like I didn’t notice after that because it was getting to be too much.

After this, we went to Penney’s, because we still hadn’t reached 10,000 steps (we got Chooch a Fitbit for Christmas and he and I are “healthy” competitors). I was about to try on some slutty jeans when Henry texted and said, “Don’t buy anything.”

Um, OK, control freak.

“Especially not stupid, overpriced red shoes.”

I showed Chooch and we both looked at each other like, “WHAT HOW WHY.” I figured he probably got a text notification that I purchased something from Champs because ever since we had our account hacked several years ago, Henry gets notified for every last purchase just in case.

“Or merry-go-round rides.”

OK, for sure I figured he probably just saw our picture on Instagram, but I wasn’t sure how he knew that we bought red shoes. Then he asked where we were and after I said “Penneys” he appeared behind us LIKE A FUCKING CREEPER. Turns out, he had been in the mall for a minute because he had to go to the Verizon store, and on his way there, he walked past us just as we were getting on the carousel. He even mimicked me saying, “ARE WE GOING UPSTAIRS?!” Lol! I was like, “OMG were you so proud to know us?!” and he said no, that he hung his head in shame and hurried past us before we saw him.

WOW, RUDE.

Henry said the first thing he noticed was that Chooch was wearing brand new bright red shoes hahaha.

So that took up pretty much the whole afternoon.

I spent some time in the evening making some new Kpop cards, and then later we had family KpopX night! THIS IS MY FAVORITE NIGHT! HENRY DOESN’T EVEN TRY!

We finished the night by watching an old Running Man episode featuring IU, so I had my tea in an IU cup. It was a good day. I mean, it was cold as fuck. But it was good.

Picture it:

The year was 1999.

A hot July evening.

I was 19.

It had been about 6 months since I quit my job at stupid EchoStar, and my old co-worker Roniece wanted to catch up. The problem was that Roniece was over 21 and she didn’t want to go to Eat n Park for a motherfucking milkshake, you know? Her plan was to go to a strip club. Some male strip club in Braddock, one of the less savory neighborhoods of Pittsburgh.

This sounded like A Great Idea to me. I mean, this was back when I used to spray paint my feet gold, so most ideas sounded like great ideas to me.

My friend Keri wanted to join us, and now it was really starting to feel like a legit party. So on this hot summer evening in 1999, Keri and I drove to Roniece’s house in McKeesport, where Keri got stung by a bee and that’s how I found out that my friend of approx. 10 years was allergic to bees. Roniece’s grandma performed some old housewives’ miracle and Keri was healed, but that’s a story for another time because I only want to talk about myself right now.

THIS STORY IS ABOUT ME.

Before we left Roniece’s, she pulled out a fat blunt and this back when I was dumb and did stupid things like pop pills full of Ephedrine and starve myself for days because So Fat, Such Chunk. So Keri was all, “JUST SO NO” but I was all, “GIMME DAT” and thus started the night out on a high note.

OH….!

Now we were ready. Roniece wanted to go to a bar beforehand and I pulled my pockets inside out, like “Hello, no fake ID.” But Roniece just laughed and promised me that Keri and I wouldn’t get carded where she was taking us….

…which was the diviest bar that ever dove on some pot-hole ridden side street in Duquesne. We had to park in an alley, and go in through a suspiciously plain door on the side of a building that had no name, no windows.

“Just be cool. Don’t draw attention to us and ya’ll will be fine,” Roniece prepped our underage asses before entering The Bar.

Motown wafted out as soon as we pulled back the door; the bar inside was small and non-descript, not even the tiniest hint of saloon aesthetic. It was all over-flowing ashtrays and varying shades of brown. The patrons were older, urban, and all-around unenthused at the prospect of sharing their sacred space with a bunch of youngins. Keri and I got a few quick side-eyes as we sat down at the bar, but everyone quickly went back to staring into their beers while we giddily shared a pitcher of Long Island iced teas with Roniece.

Thank god I can’t remember how cool we must have thought we were, sitting at some sticky bar, drinking amateur cocktails in the company of legit sad sacks hiding from their wives.

I started digging around in my purse.

“What are you doing?” Keri asked suspiciously. Homegirl had been my friend since elementary school and was well-versed in my shady ways. My every movement was a cause for concern in her eyes.

“Just looking for some change so I can request a song on the jukebox,” I answered happily, because Long Island iced teas.

Armed with quarters, I went over to the jukebox and assessed the situation. Clinked in a quarter, punched in the numbers, went back to the bar.

“What did you play,” Roniece asked, right as the SEXY SAX INTRO of “Careless Whisper” cut through the thick swirls of cigarette smoke and regret.

You know that scene in Adventures in Babysitting where the suburban kids infiltrate a blues club? And everyone immediately stops talking because disgusted glares work better in a quiet room? That’s what happened on this night, in this bar, in this dilapidated part of town.

Every last bloodshot eyeball was focused on me, the giddy white bitch who skipped-to-her-lou into their bar and polluted their nicotine-curtained air with George Michael’s oozing sex appeal.

Keri covered her face.

“What? It’s Careless Whisper,” I said.

“Yeah, I know what it is!” Keri snapped and went back to shielding her face from the scowls attacking us from every angle. 

Roniece threw her head back and let out a huge laugh. “Girl! I told you to be cool!”

And I’m like, “But this is fucking George Michael, man!” Literally I had no idea what I did wrong, because anytime I hear that song, it always felt so right.

SO VERY RIGHT.

We left after a second pitcher of Long Island iced tea, and before I had a chance to request any other tracks from the Carlton Banks Greatest Hits mixtape.

This next part has nothing to do with George Michael, but it does have to do with the moment I died.

We arrived at whatever that goddamn strip club was called in Braddock, but it wasn’t open yet. I remember standing inside the vestibule while Roniece spoke with someone inside, and suddenly I wasn’t feeling right. I stepped back outside to get some air, and the next thing I knew, I was going down, but Ke$ha wasn’t around yet to yell timber.

This next part happened while I was dead.

(Because I swear to you, I was dead. I had done DIED on that sidewalk outside of Sleazy Braddock Stripperie.)

It was Christmas and I was little again! My Pappap was there. We were on the big porch, which is where most of the Christmases were celebrated throughout my childhood. I remember being overcome by extreme happiness and warmth (and most importantly – toys). I was engulfed in one of my greatest childhood memories!

SO THIS WAS HEAVEN.

And then I heard my aunt Sharon calling my name.

Erin Erin Erin.

Over and over.

And then I saw A BRIGHT WHITE LIGHT.

It doesn’t get any more textbook than that.

I was dead.

But the sound of my aunt’s voice brought me back.

Granted, it was Keri and Roniece who were screaming my name into my face, and the bright white light was the streetlight above me. BUT STILL.

Friend has near-death experience on street in a dangerous part town: that’s a pretty big party foul. Keri grabbed my car keys and dropped Roniece off at home. Then we stopped at a gas station in McKeesport where she bought a loaf of bread through a bullet-proof window, the bread was to soak up the poison in my stomach. And then she took me home where three more of our friends came over and babysat me in shifts.

And this is one of the reasons why Keri’s mom absolutely hated me. I was “too much drama” apparently. Like, who? Me!? No, not me.

A few days later, Roniece called to check in on me, and she admitted that maybe, perhaps, possibly there was a slight chance that the blunt she gave me was laced. That in addition to my so chic eating disorder, diet pill addiction and Long Island iced tea dinner was probably enough to stop my fucking heart. But what do I know!? I turned into a walking billboard for Just Say No after that.

Every time we go to Kennywood, I love to point out the little turn-around on the side of a road in West Mifflin where Keri had to swerve the car so I could puke up all my regrets on the way home.

***

“And so that’s what I think of whenever I hear George Michael,” I said in conclusion to this very personal tale at work on the Tuesday after George Michael’s death.

“What, your poor judgment?” Glenn mumbled.

WHATEVER GLENN, I LOVE THIS STORY.

https://instagram.com/p/BHIFWtDghpQ/
The Phil Collins vibes are strong AF at Gillcrest. Every time I turn on the kitchen stereo, there he is. And twice on Sunday!

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It’s all at once comforting and haunting. Absolutely impossible for me to hear any Genesis or Phil jam and not think of my childhood in that house.

I guess that’s why when I couldn’t fall asleep Friday night, I found myself painting a picture of Phil.

When Chooch saw it the next day, he happily said, “Oh, Phil Collins!

I was just thinking about him, too…” Can’t imagine why.

Speaking of my fake stustudio, I finally got this bad boy up on the wall. It was originally hanging in my grandma’s clown room and she always said I could have it. And now I have it, so…

This post is brought to you by late night iced coffee, kettlebell fatigue, and MTV’s Are You the One*.

Coming up later this week: an emotionally disjointed recap of last week’s Cure show, maybe another music video no one will watch, an essay on my political stance (lol no), HOPEFULLY HENRY’S WARPED TOUR VIDEO, and probably some furry love because Anthrocon is this week and I have a date with a walrus!

*(I tried so hard to resist, but it finally sucked me in. I’M WEAK, OK??!!)

(Also, I wonder if Henry and I would be a match if we were on Are You The One. Omg lol that’s a hilarious thought.

I just woke him up to tell him that and his response was muffled on account of his dumb face being buried in his pillow.)

I come home from work, eat dinner, and go over my Pappap’s house. This is my current normal and I’m not complaining.

My mom was polishing one of the porch light, this wrought iron lantern thing, and I said, “Wow, I never noticed that there’s a dragon on this.”

“There’s lots of things about this house I’ve never noticed before,” my mom said. It’s crazy, all the time spent in that house, how many tiny details slipped away unnoticed. Like the above face on the frame of the dining room mirror!

Never-ending Story vibes.

“I never realized what gothic tastes they had,” my mom said the other day about my Pappap and Grandma. Their interior design aesthetic was definitely niche, that’s for sure.

But again, I grew up around it and it never seemed unusual. So much time has passed since the days when I used to visit regularly that it’s like seeing the house with brand new eyes.

Like a tourist.

Like it’s not a home anymore and I’m just visiting.

Not sure how that makes me feel.

We focused on the various game rooms on Sunday, and I stumbled across this owl in the bathroom that I completely forgot about but the sight of it was so familiar and entirely welcomed. My mom told me to take it but I didn’t.

You never know.

Henry fiddled with one of the jukeboxes and thinks it should be an easy fix….for a professional. Yes, Henry actually admitted that he couldn’t fix something himself!

My mom attempted to teach Chooch how to play pool. Better her than me. I gave up after 6 seconds of him thinking that he knew it all.

He gets that from Henry.

The relics at the bar are so much fun to look at. It brings back memories of sneaking in during high school and drinking root beer Schnapps. Corey told me that he used to do the same thing, but he would break in through one of the game room windows. I was like “Why wouldn’t you just use the hidden key above the garage door and break in like a civilized burglar?”

So many steins up in this house.

HOTTER THAN HELL.

There are so many lessons that I’ve been taking away from this sitch, like learning that it’s OK to ask for help and some people will definitely not be there when you need it and that’s OK because there are plenty of dicks in this world for them to go suck. It’s also made me appreciate Henry even more for sticking by me, helping with all the dirty work, and having my back constantly. (Except when he’s playing Devil’s Advocate, which is like THE WORST and hello STOP MAKING EXCUSES FOR PEOPLE, you know? Tell him that.)

I can’t tell you how many shows I’ve skipped out on, but the progress we’ve been making has been completely worth it. TEAM WORK.

One more thing: where all my plumber/super fucking rich investor friends at?

LOL.