It was after 2pm by the time we were done being dummies at Vent Haven, which means we were precariously close to The Witching Bitching Hour, otherwise known as the hunger twilight, where Chooch and I morph from adorably angelic sweethearts into Regan and Damian in Warped Tour shirts.

Henry had approximately 37 minutes to find us a place to eat before the transformation was complete.

Back when Christina and I were friends, I used to visit her pretty frequently in Hamilton, OH, which is a few miles outside of Cincinnati. Since it was kind of on our way home, I suggested that we eat at Hyde’s, a family restaurant she took me to several times. I remembered liking the aesthetic and the pie, and was prepared to throw a fit if Henry said no, but then something miraculous happened:

Henry’s old SERVICE roommate Tim contacted him because he saw on Facebook that we were in the area! This put Henry in a great mood and he said YES to Hyde’s because now we needed to kill time in order for Tim to come out to meet us from wherever he lived in Indiana which is apparently close to Hamilton, who knew? (People who look at maps, I guess.)

Tim called Henry shortly after we arrived at Hyde’s. Henry jumped out of the booth and went outside to answer it; I’ve never seen Henry run out of a restaurant that fast in my life, not even the time he dined and dashed at HOOTERS in 1992.

(Probably true?)

So then Mr. WE GOTTA GET HOME, NO MORE STOPPING! decided that after lunch, we would be meeting TIM at Jungle Jim’s!

Holy shit, I was so so excited, I could barely eat. Just kidding, I almost accidentally ate my hand while shoving my grilled cheese into my gnashing maw.

We had a really colorful waitress too who made sure she told us how busy she was every time she swung by our table, and I really liked that Real Talk aspect. I want to believe that we were the only table she confided in. I kept hoping she would talk shit on her other tables to us but she never did.

She probably made fun of me to her other tables though after I was a total tourist and asked WTF “sarasotas” are.

Turns out they’re just homemade potato chips served with BBQ sauce.

“That Yinzer bitch over there asked what them sarasotas is, can you imagine,” she probably said to the table of old bitches who came in for pie.

Chooch of course substituted a basket of sarasotas for his fries and Henry was very perplexed by this.

“Why don’t they just call them homemade chips with BBQ sauce, I don’t understand,” he said.

SO GIDDY.

One thing to note is that I honestly don’t recognize any of the scenery in Hamilton, for as many times as I have been there. Like, if you set me loose and said, “Find Christina’s old house or die” well I guess I’m dead. I don’t even remember the name of the street, and I used to mail her shit all of the time!

I think this is my mind’s way of protecting me, lol.

On the way there, Henry and Chooch argued over the fact that meth and methane aren’t the same.

So nothing about Jungle Jim’s was familiar to me but who cares because a REAL LIFE PIECE OF HENRY’S SERVICE PAST WAS THERE.

OMG you guys. My mind almost melted.

Chooch took these pictures because he’s my little spy in training.

Unfortunately, Tim and Henry talked about kind of boring things, mostly just catching each other up on their current lives. So Chooch and I were like, “Eh, screw this” and walked ahead of them, looking for the Romania aisle.

I never grocery shop, but Jungle Jim’s is huge and full of weird international goods and animatronics. It’s like Chuck E. Cheese for grocery shoppers. This is where I bought my first and only durian in 2004!

NEVER AGAIN!

The last time I was here was August of 2005, when I was about 65% sure I might be pregnant. There was a fortune teller thing there, so I inserted my quarter and asked, “Hey, am I pregnant? Because I mean, I just turned down ice cream in favor of mustard, so….”

I don’t remember when her prediction was, which shot out of a slot at me, but GUESS WHAT I was definitely pregnant. Technically, this was Chooch’s second time at Jungle Jim’s, I guess.

My favorite thing about Tim is that he chided Henry about not marrying me so TIM, YOU CAN STAY.

****

Here’s a quick Henry Interview!

What did you & Tim used to talk about at night when you were roommates? GIRL STUFF?

Henry: I don’t remember. It was 30 years ago. Literally, 30 years ago.

So, you and Tim lived together in that place in Indiana?

Henry: In the trailer? Yeah.

Did he know you were the town Eunuch?

Henry, sarcastically I think: Hahaha, oh my god, you’re hilarious.

Did he know you were obsessed with being Erik Estrada back then?

Henry: Just answer it yourself. I’m not answering that. You’re making shit up as always.

Hmm, I don’t know Henry. That picture tells a different story. Speaking of stories, I heard you and Tim talking about the time you drove some guy’s car into a ditch. Talk about that.

Henry: It was 1986 maybe? We had just gotten off work at 7:30 that morning and went to the bar. We (guys I worked with, there was maybe 4 or 5 of us) pretty much drank all day. I had to run home to get something* so I borrowed Joe’s car and when I got close to my house I turned the corner too sharp and went into a small ditch on the side of the road. I blew out the tire and bent the rim and then I parked it at my house, took my car back to the bar without telling him I did anything to his. He didn’t find out until the next day when he came to pick it up and he found out it was damaged so I had to pay for it.

*(Probz porn to trade.)

Good, that’s what happens WHEN YOU DRIVE DRUNK, ASSHOLE. Anyway, that was a boring story. Did you ever take a bullet for Tim?!

Henry, in an annoyed/laughing tone: No. Psh, take a bullet for Tim….

What is your most vivid memory of Tim? Was he in Panama with you?

Henry: He was always working on his car because it seemed to always be broken. I don’t remember [if he was in Panama], I don’t think so but I can’t be sure. It’s possible.

(WOW. SOME FRIENDSHIP.)

Was Tim with you when you went to see CHEAP TRICK in Texas?!

Henry, appalled at this question for some reason: No! That was when I was in training, when I just got out of basic. Tim didn’t come in until my last year maybe…

(So, right before he went AWOL.)

Henry just said he’s not going to divulge the contents of their Jungle Jim’s convo, so basically this was a huge waste of time.

****

Somewhere outside of Columbus, I was imitating Henry so intensely, that Chooch laughed so hard he pissed his pants, which just made Henry even angrier because now he was going to have to stop somewhere so Chooch could change.

“We’re never going to fucking get home. Thanks a lot, assholes,” Henry barked, which just made Chooch and me bust out our sides from all the laughter.

****

When Henry set the GPS that morning as we left our hotel in Louisville, it told us we’d be getting home sometime around 4.

We got home just shy of midnight.

Good god, that was a fun whirlwind trip to Kentucky.

If you ask Henry, our drive home from Louisville last Sunday was: long, annoying, awful, terrible, headache-inducing, frustrating, expensive.

If you ask me, it was: SO MUCH FUN OMG WE DID ALL THE THINGS!

Before saying goodbye to Louisville, we stopped for breakfast at For Goodness Crepes. Chooch had been craving crepes recently, god only knows why, so we figured we would be nice parents and find a creperie since we usually force him to eat at places that make him miserable.

LOL j/k I wanted crepes too and thought this place had a cute name and that’s all that matters.

As soon as we walked in, I knew I was going to love it because it wasn’t stuffed with people. Crowded breakfast spots make me so anxious – the AM is way too early for me to voluntarily deal with crowds. No breakfast is worth that, sorry not even Pamela’s and I LOVE PAMELA’S.

(Seriously though, come visit me in Pittsburgh and we will go to Pamela’s during an off-hour and you can have the greatest pancakes of your life. AND LYONAISSE POTATOES.)

But anyway, this is about Louisville, not Pittsburgh. I’m not sure what the “best place” for breakfast is considered because I never research those things beforehand, but I was extremely pleased with our experience at this crepe place. I ordered from the savory menu, something called I Dream of Veggies; it was Asian-inspired and had this glorious ginger mayo-type sauce that I would honestly do a shot of right now if placed in front of me, no fucks given. OMG and edamame. I love edamame. This crepe was the limit.

Chooch got the cinnamon roll crepe and of course I stole several bites — it was like a carnival on my tongue. An actual cinnamon roll was deconstructed inside there, I think, and the cream cheese sauce was so sweet and tangy….take me back. Take me back right now.

Who cares what Henry got. Meat crepe.

Oh also! After we ordered at the counter, I got to pick my own coffee cup! I chose one shaped like a vintage Santa Claus and was stupdily excited about it.

We played Hangman while we waited for our crepes and it was Big Fun – I love when restaurants provide games. I literally only looked at my phone when I was using it to take pictures, and that’s how it should be when you’re eating with your family!

(I’m sorry, I know a lot of people lump in “taking pictures” as well, but I honetsly take pictures constantly. I love taking pictures, and I love having picture mementos of each day. It’s important to me, as a chronic memory hoarder. I love collecting snaps!)

During Hangman, one of my words was “hyperbole.”

“What even is that?” Chooch asked after no one guessed it.

“Um,” I started, trying to think of the best way to explaing it. “…my blog.”

“Your mom’s whole life,” Henry muttered.

Chooch’s message to Louisville.

At first, I thought Chooch made this one up too and I was like, “OMG MY SON IS A PRODIGY! WHAT A GODDAMN GENIUS! THE NEXT GREAT AMERICAN POET!” But then he was like, “No it was already there, I was just showing it to you.”

Great. Back to having a basic 5th grader.

It was sad leaving Louisville without really getting a chance to see it (although we did accidentally go over the same bridge to Indiana like 8x during our stage, so that’s one thing we became pretty acquainted with) so now I want to go back again for a full weekend, when there isn’t a show to go to, because on our way out I saw A LOT of antique stores. In spite of Henry’s valiant efforts to distract me.

Originally, we were going to go to some cavern (Lost Caves, I think? Too lazy to look it up, thorough and informative blogger that I am) but Henry was like, ‘THIS IS IN THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE DIRECTION OF WHERE WE NEED TO GO. WHY CAN’T YOU LEARN TO READ A MAP, I DON’T UNDERSTAND.” God, sorry to be such a navigational piece of shit, Henry. Go fuck a compass.

I had a back-up plan though, but I was sure he wasn’t going to go for it.

My back-up plan was a VENTRILOQUIST MUSEUM in Fort Mitchell, KY, right outside of Cincinnati.

I kind of just mumbled it.

Henry got real tense behind the wheel and sighed.

“Never mind. You won’t want to go there,” I said in my soft, sad voice, just one whimper shy of reaching full-blown Sally Struthers level.

“It’s probably not even open on Sundays,” Henry said in a tone that sounded to me like he was trying to will it not to be open.

I checked Roadside America.

“It says it’s open on Sundays from May through September!” I squealed. And then, “Oh. ‘By appointment only.'”

So Henry was all, “Yeah sure whatever, go on and call.” Probably because he thought there was no way in hell that someone was going to answer.

But someone did! A woman! I asked her how far in advance appointments needed to be made and she said usually 2 days, but then she paused and said, “Although….how many do you have in your party? I might be able to squeeze you in with my 1:00pm group.”

I told her three and she said that would be no problem! And she took my name! And said she would see me at 1!!

I was so stoked! But then I hung up and noticed that Henry was staring at me in the way that he does when he’s ready to burst into Flames of Madness and wants to take me down into the ashes with him. 

“So….we have an appointment for today! But….it’s not until 1…..”

It was only a little after 11:00am and we were mere minutes away from Fort Mitchell. Henry had plans on us being home that day by 4 and now this was definitely not going to happen if we were still going to be in Kentucky until at least 2pm at this point. 

So I started doing that thing I do where I get real pouty and repeatedly wail, “JUST FORGET IT!” and make him feel like he’s the worst person in the world when he hasn’t even said no yet.

“DO YOU WANT TO GO THERE OR NOT?!” he yelled, yanking the steering wheel and driving the car onto the exit for Fort Mitchell without even waiting for me to answer because after 15 years, he knows how these games end: with probably some crocodile tears and definitely me getting my way.

So now we had an hour + to kill in some small town in Kentucky.

Obviously, we went to a cemetery, where at first I was still being a baby and said I was just “GOING TO SIT IN THE CAR AND DIE” while they were like, “K have fun” and left me there with the windows up.

And then when I finally got out of the car, I set the car alarm off because our car is dumb so then Henry and Chooch knew that I wasn’t wallowing anymore, ugh.

OUR LITTLE ANGEL.

Oh, I just remembered why I was pouting in the car! I wanted to take a picture of Chooch holding the Artifex Pereo screenprint that he had signed at the show, but his posing and posture wasn’t up to my standards so I shrieked, “JUST FORGET IT!” and if I die first, is that what Henry will use for my epitaph?

DEEP THOUGHTS.

Henry found one of those things he used to smoke when he was a kid and I tried to act like I didn’t care because I was still in Miserable Bitch mode, but then I broke down and took a picture.

Sometimes you just gotta let my mood swings play out, guys. I’ll come back around eventually.

(And then I wonder why barely anyone is close to me, lol.)

We still had time to kill, plus Chooch and I had to pee, so we went to Krogers across the street and walked around like we have never been to a grocery store before and then I flipped out because some girl was handing out samples of cheese TOOTHPICKED ONTO MEAT so of course I gave her a huffy “No!” when she offered one to me. 

“Maybe it’s because it’s the meat they’re trying to get you to buy,” Henry suggested around a mouthful of THE ENEMY’S CHEESE SAMPLE, always the Devil’s advocate.

“NO, IT WAS THE CHEESE. SHE CLEARLY SAID DO YOU WANT TO TRY BLAHBLAH CHEESE?!” I barked, so mad that my rage had erased the memory of what kind of cheese was causing me to launch missiles of protest in the first place. 

“Well, you could ask for a sample of just the cheese,” Henry said. Like, oh OK, let me do this broad’s job for her.

“She should have samples of JUST CHEESE already available, because guess what, NOT EVERYONE LIKES MEAT, god forbid!” I cried, deep in the throes of my scheduled Sunday Shit Fit. There was no turning back now. I hated Kroger’s.

I then proceeded to spend the next twenty minutes bitching about it in a passive aggressive manner, as I’m prone to do, hoping that the right Kroger employee would hear me and publicly flog the cheese-sample meater-upper.

Instead, I just loudly said, “I GUESS I WILL JUST HAVE TO WRITE A LETTER!”

“Literally no one is going to care,” Henry sighed. “And also, that girl wasn’t even a Kroger employee, probably.”

This could be true. Janna had a short-lived job handing out samples of peppers or condoms or pepper condoms at Giant Eagle, and it was some temp agency that got her the gig.

Then Kroger’s can just forward my complaint on to her true employer!

Dumb bitch!

OK, that’s enough for this installment. Tune in later to read all about the most amazing museum, Vent Haven. That place still feels like a dream to me.

Dreamy sighs and eyelash bats,

Erin Rachelle, Dummy Lover.

Maybe some people think roadside attractions (a/k/a TOURIST TRAPS) are super tacky, but I just think that road trips would be remiss without stopping to see at least one giant rubberband ball. Henry is one of those people who finds limited, if any, joy in anything off the beaten path, so our travel days are usually full of lots of yelling, pouting, tires squealing, and hands punching the steering wheel.

I almost always get my way, though! And Henry will usually admit later that it “wasn’t bad.” Except for the cuckoo clock cluster. He was 100% not a fan of that side trip.

Loveland Castle has been on my radar for some time now and our travel day on Saturday was actually planned around a stop at its hallowed grounds.  This joint is nearly in the middle of nowhere, right outside of Cincinnati, down a concerning road that seems like it’s going to drop you straight into a river, until it suddenly turns and THERE IS THE CASTLE.

It’s much smaller than I anticipated, though I’m not sure what I was actually expecting — Neuschwanstein Castle? I mean, it’s just Ohio, after all. It was at least bigger than White Castle, so there’s that.

[Though, speaking of Germany — I kept seeing this shit called goetta on menus while we were in the area and it turns out it’s some kind of gross German breakfast meat product that’s a Cincinnati staple and  I’m like, how did I have a best friend from that area for like 6 years and she never mentioned goetta (not that I’d be interested in it because meat, but still) or took me to Loveland Castle?! Probably because she was too busy keeping me hidden in her bedroom like a DEAD BUTTERFLY NAILED TO A BOARD. You know what I mean. If not, just skip ahead.]

My initial thought was: this place is a clusterfuck. There was no order whatsoever! You walk in to some glorified gift shop and bump into people and then when the young guy at the counter fails to acknowledge you, you stand there with money in your hand until he finally asks, “How many adults and kids?” No ticket was administered, no hands were stamped — we could have probably just walked in and not even paid.

He didn’t even tell us where to start!! People were literally stumbling about like drunk lemmings.

The tour is self-guided. I hate self-guided tours. I need someone beating information into me. I can’t be trusted to stop and read plaques on walls, although at one point, we were passing back through the gift shop when some man in Loveland t-shirt stood up and gave those of us in the room a brief, yet wildly entertaining, history of the Castle. His name was Sir Dave and he had a great local flavor about him, if you know what I mean (do you know what I mean) and I wished so badly that he would just escort us through the whole damn Castle – it wasn’t that big!

He even managed to charm Henry, but I might just be mixing it up with the fact that he mentioned the SERVICE, at which point Henry adopted an “I’m listening” visage.

Sir Dave told us about the Castle’s builder, Sir Harry Delos Andrews, and how he became enamored with architecture when he was in Europe DURING THE WAR (he was a MEDIC). And so in the 1950-something, he started to build his own damn castle on the banks of the Little Miami River, using milk cartons filled with clay or something that I can’t be expected to remember, to make bricks. There are like over a million of them that make up the Castle. I think that’s what I heard somewhere.

Or dreamt.

Sir Harry was like a Boy Scout leader too or something and they helped him build the Castle. He called them the Knights of the Golden Trail.

I literally can’t imagine Chooch being a Boy Scout.

I almost fell down a stone staircase at one point and Chooch thought this was the funniest thing ever and then wanted me to reenact it later and I was like, “Who taught you to be such an assho—-oh. Never mind.”

YOU SHOULD KNOW WHAT KOGT STANDS FOR SINCE I WRITE SUCH INFORMATIVE TRAVEL GUIDES.

A bedroom cell.

There is something on this wall that I HATE. Bonus points if you can find it.

You can’t expect me to read all of these artifacts. I paid $5 and I wanted someone to tell me The Facts!

Queens of Roadside Attractions.

Chooch’s review: I thought Loveland Castle was cool and scary (not really) but it was scary that 2 drunk men came in and attacked Sir Harry and stole some weapons. Also I saw a white box with a Bee’s Nest inside so, YAY!!!

I want that lantern.

Sir Harry had an IQ of 189!

Here’s a picture of Henry learning how to build me a castle.

Sir Dave gave us a riddle, something about Sir Harry being pronounced dead in 1918 (I think?) and then died in 1981, and said we would have to watch the short documentary playing upstairs in one of the towers. So we watched it and it wasn’t really a riddle, but like….something that seriously happened? They thought he had died of spinal meningitis when he was IN THE SERVICE and declared him dead but then realized three days later that he wasn’t dead and had to give a shot of adrenaline to the heart, at which point he awoke and it turned out he had some kind of rare antibody in him or something, I quit paying attention once we got the answer.

These two assholes I travel with always act like every roadside attraction we stop at is the worst thing since I introduced Jonny Craig into their lives, but they later admitted that Loveland Castle was “pretty cool.”

Patriotic party hat!

Overall, I was glad that we made the detour. It only took about an hour to see it all (and that’s because we looped around it twice and then watched that 20 minute documentary too) and the history was juicy enough to make it worthwhile.  Anyway, if you’re into Boy Scouts; medieval things; and the possibility of tumbling down narrow, uneven, spiral stone staircases, then you should visit Loveland Castle.

(If you collect magnets like I do, prepare to be disappointed though. Their souvenir selection is sparse.)

(I think Henry secretly joined the KOGT when I wasn’t looking.)

(Also, I think I have a crush on Sir Dave?!)

****

Afterward, we ate lunch at Sugar & Spice, another place my ex-BFF never took me!

“Maybe it wasn’t around when you were friends,” Henry said, ALWAYS DEFENDING HER.

“It was established in 1942!” I cried, jabbing my finger at my Sugar & Spice coffee cup that said “EST. 1942.”

Ugh.

I mentioned in the Liveblog yesterday that we visited some Roadside America sight called Jerry’s Junk before the show last night. 

At a quick glance, it’s basically some dude’s private collection of lawn jockeys and old bikes, you know the type of junk. And while it seems like it’s all strewn about in arbitrary assortment, you start to notice that everything is in its place, and Jerry probably for sure knows where to find every last horseshoe.

We peeked in some of the windows and each room was stuffed with old shit. Mannequins. Disco balls. Yard flamingos. A suit of armor. From the various accounts I’ve read online, Jery also owns four other houses in the neighborhood, and they’re all stuffed to the gills with more rusted oddities. 

Henry was annoyed that I made him take us here, but I noticed he was strolling about at a leisurely pace, one hand behind his back like he does when he’s feeing peaceful, stopping here and there to get a closer look at things. (Probably airplane shit.)

Chooch loved it because he got to play I Spy. 

And then I explained to him about how those lawn jockey statues are racist so then he became angrily obsessed with them. 

An educational experience!

Jerry didn’t appear to be home. Various Roadside America tips said that speaking to him makes the experience even better, and I don’t doubt it. I love eccentrics! And if we’re being honest with each other here, I kind of saw my future in this place. 

I LOVE COLLECTIONS. 

Later that night, we were at the Artifex Pereo, talking to the drummer Cory. He asked if we had gotten a chance to see much of Louisville and I excitedly blurted out, “Just Jerry’s Junk!”

He waited a few beats and then said, “Oh…is that the guy who lives on Frankfort? With all the shit in his yard?”

God yes! That’s the one!

And on the way back to the hotel after he show, our Lyft driver Nicholas asked us the same question, at which point I enthusiastically shot forward from the backseat (well Henry internally groaned) to tell him “WE SAW JERRY’S JUNK!!!” 

Again, this was met with a few seconds of silence as he processed this information. Once it dawned on him what Jerry’s Junk is (maybe the locals call it something different? That Jerkoff Who’s Distracting from the Trendy Gentrification of the Neighborhood With All His Rusty Relics?

“Oh that guy! My girlfriend and I were there once and he came out to show us an Indian doll he had just got, that still had all its bits–he pulled down its pants to show us!”

Ugh, why couldn’t that have happened to me?!

7:47am: We just pulled out of the driveway. “I need coffee” I immediately said. “Yeah, I’m well aware of what everyone needs,” Henry snapped. Whoa. CRAPPY PANTS IS HERE, EVERYONE.

7:49am: Chooch is mad because Henry got a new phone (he’s been using an old person flip phone for the last few mths because his real one broke) and he wants to hold it so badly but Henry is like DONT START WITH THIS PHONE SHIT!! Kids and phones, amirite.

8:16am: I can’t believe I’m about to admit this but I succumbed to the basic bitch pressure and got a….pumpkin macchiato. I know! I’m the worst! I’m so predictable! But at least it wasn’t from Starbucks. In other news, I’m not being a bitch anymore because I got a pumpkin macchiato.

8:42am: I had planned on swinging by the Cincinnati area because I have always wanted to go to the Loveland Castle (and by always I mean for the 4 years I’ve known of its existence). Henry just had me look up the directions on Google maps so I clicked on the map thing in my Roadside America app and started crying because it said it was nearly 7 hours away and HOW WILL WE HAVE TIME so Henry got all huffy and said, “send me the directions!” So I did and he was like, “because these directions have us starting in MARYLAND, that’s why it says it’s so far away!”

While I was giggling, Henry said in a very weary voice, “How do you survive?”

8:59am: Chooch just came back with cheese curls from Sheetz and you would have thought I was asking him for a kidney, I hate him.

Oh for fucks sake, Henry couldn’t find the lemon packet things for his signature unsweetened iced tea, and some Sheetz lady JUST BROUGHT THEM OUT TO THE CAR FOR HIM BEFORE WE LEFT and Henry is SO FUCKING EXCITED ABOUT THIS and wants to write to Sheetz now except he doesn’t know the broad’s name.

He can just send them this picture of her then, I guess.

9:18am: I wonder how many hours of mocking Henry in a hick farmer accent before I finally pierce the barrier he mentally puts up between us. YOU CAN’T BLOCK ME OUT FOREVER, SWEET PEA.

9:51am: I hate when I start to like something Top 40ish and Chooch pops up from the backseat to tell me that they used to be a YouTuber, ugh.

10:42am: Stopped at rest area in some Ohio place and a man in a suit asked Chooch if his name was LESTER and then was crippled with disbelief when Chooch said no because HE LOOKS JUST LIKE SOME BOY HE KNOWS and as we left him in our dust, I could still hear him back there wow’ing in shock.

Obligatory rest stop bathroom selfie. If I look haggard that’s because I stayed up all night watching Danity Kane videos/Making the Band recaps on YouTube.

Meanwhile, I almost forgot that Chooch’s name was Lester back when we kidnapped him 10 years ago.

11:57am: Reminsicing about the time I listened to this Perfidious Words song on repeat for approx. 5 hours when I worked the late shift at my last job, and then accidentally became suicidal because of it. Henry is not enjoying this stroll down memory lane.

12:12pm: Henry is in another rest area, doing whatever he does in there, so Lester and I are talking behind his back. “He’s in such a bad mood today.” “I know.”

Just wait until we get to the castle! That’ll be sure to turn his frown upside down and back around into a greater frown.

1:38pm: well we just finished touring Loveland Castle and Henry is in an even worse mood, as predicted! The only time he smiled was when the guide mentioned THE SERVICE.

ASSHOLE ALERT.

Whatever. Lester had a good time in the castle.

1:43pm: Some broad in a car next to us at a red light sneezed so I said bless you and Lester is like SO EMBARRASSED.

2:13pm: we’re at Sugar & Spice for lunch and this place is a WONDERLAND.

Our waitress was this old lady who seemed concerned that no one had brought me my coffee 30 seconds after I ordered it.

“You had a coffee right?” she asked. “And no one brought it yet???”

I shook my head no, slowly, because I didn’t understand how anyone would know I ordered it when she was still standing there taking our order?

“Wait—did you just tell me that now?” She asked. “Oh, ha! I saw it there and forgot that I had just written it down.”

O.o

The restrooms were DOWNSTAIRS. I love when the restrooms are downstairs! This place was EVERYTHING!

I read about it on Roadside America and literally the only reason we went is because they give out FREE RUBBER DUCKIES. Chooch and I were so nervous that we weren’t going to get one and neither of us wanted to ask and Henry was like THIS IS ALL YOU DONT LOOK AT ME so finally I cleared my throat and asked the lady at the register if the duck thing was still a go, and she silently reached for a bucket on a shelf and told us to go on and take a rubber duck and Chooch nearly clotheslined himself against the counter in his overzealous rummaging.

4:58pm: Nothing noteworthy has happened in hours but we just made it to the hotel – some generic Radisson. Three hours until Artifex Pereo!!

6:51pm: just saw Jerry’s Junk and it was mildly cool but also pretty anticlimactic.

However, I bet that man has a TON OF SHIT that I would buy if he was selling. Meanwhile, Chooch casually asked me to put on Danity Kane, lol.

And Henry is having a blast telling Louisville drivers that they’re doing it wrong. “YOU CANT TURN LEFT ON RED!”

7:24pm: Benjamin the Lyft driver is taking us to the venue now and listening to him and Henry attempt to make small talk with each other is simultaneously killing me and giving me life. Also I couldn’t get my seatbelt to fasten so I’m just sitting here with my arm thru it like a sling.

8:52pm: Huge difference between me and Chooch: when I need to pee in a public place, I freak out and spend 25 minutes trying to build up the courage to look for the bathroom and then I hoarsely whisper to Henry WHERE DO YOU THINK THE BATHROOM IS OMG HELP. Chooch gets right up and sets out to find it himself.

10:32pm: This night is so excelsior. Every band has been wonderful, the venue is great, Henry is actually in a good mood and said that he liked the last band that played (Funeral Portrait) and now Artifex Pereo is about to go on and I’m so sweaty and Chooch is half asleep in a chair and all the Artifex guys keep asking him if he’s going to make it and it’s just good fucking vibes all over, can I stay in Louisville forever.

12:02am: Waiting for our Lyft driver, Nicholas, to pick our exhausted, sweaty asses up. I hope I lost weight. I SWEAT SO MUCH.

“There’s so much wrong with my body,” Chooch just randomly said.

12:23am: Nicholas returned us safely to our hotel (he was an A+ Lyft driver and gave us non-stressful conversation) and then we had cheerful banter with the ladies at the front desk because we’re all delirious from the hotbox that is New Vintage, and now I’m ready to get my Savasana on in this stiff-as-fuck bed.

PEACE OUT, GIRL SCOUT.

For a brief period of time, way back in the day, I was talking to some guy I used to work with. You know. “Talking.” He was supposed to come over one night, and I had recently scored a new Cure bootleg video (literally on VHS, this was a while ago), so I suggested that we could watch this damn thing together. He made a slew of disparaging comments about the Cure, about how he would rather watch dogs eat their own shit, about how much that band sucked, about how “faggy” they were, and I could actually hear my heart breaking in my ears.

Followed quickly by the sound of the door slamming on this asshole’s opportunity. I just couldn’t imagine being with someone who didn’t like The Cure, or who could at least respect my staunch devotion to them. (Not to mention someone who calls things “faggy”? Ew no.)

And thank god I didn’t give that guy a second chance, because then I met Henry (at the same job! I was such an office ho!) and do you know what the first thing is that Henry ever did for me, way before we even started dating? He made me a screensaver of all of the Cure’s album covers.

That is a fucking good man.

Back then I probably said he was wife material, too, but clearly that material is full of holes.

What is: Cheese cloth.

What is: A handkerchief in some person’s pocket in a coffin underground.

All of this is to say that when The Cure announced their hugely anticipated North American tour last fall, Henry didn’t even question it when I said, “Well, there’s no Pittsburgh date as usual, but we could go to the Columbia, Maryland one…?”

“Buy the tickets when they go on sale,” he said with NO HESITATION.

BECAUSE IT’S THE CURE. And Henry loves me, you guys. Duh.

I sat at the computer and waited for the clock to tick down and then I bought two tickets on the ASAP. Of course with all the presales and ticket reselling schemes out there, every last spot under the pavilion was taken, so I had to be satisfied with lawn seats. And honestly, this being my 6th Cure show, I was content that we were even going at all. Traveling for shows is expensive and we are not rich people. SHOCKER. Plus, we were pretty close to the front two years ago when they headlined Riot Fest so it was fine.

We left Chooch at home with Judy and set off for Maryland around 9:30am. I was acutely aware that my left contact was jacked up, but you have to understand the tolerance I have built over the years to eye woes.  I figured the discomfort would eventually just fade into the background, and then I proceeded to just up my blinking quota during the car ride.

The drive down there was pretty uneventful and quick, by the way. I didn’t even live blog because I was too busy listening to the same Pierce the Veil song over and over, psychoanalyzing it, and feeling depressed. That’s just what I do. Also, I bought a ticket to see PVRIS the moment they went on sale, which was a lot less stressful since it’s just general admission at the Altar Bar. And then we ate at some shitty country cookin’ diner thing on the side of the road, because I was off my game and let Henry choose the lunch spot.

I went in the bathroom there and jiggled my contact around a bit, because sometimes that helps. In this case though, it still felt like someone was applying slight pressure to my eyeball with the tip of the long-nailed finger.  So, normal.

We arrived at our Extended Stay hotel thing around 4 and I got angry because GPS said something about taking the third right at the traffic circle. “IT’S A ROUNDABOUT!” I cried petulantly. “EVERYONE IN AUSTRALIA KNOWS THAT!”

Henry muttered something about this being America and in America, “we” call them traffic circles and I’m like, how about not lumping me in there with all you “we”s, thanks. And then I loudly counted down the rights so that Henry would know which one to turn off on, thereby fulfilling my co-pilot duties.

If I had liveblogged that day, it would be a lot of “AND THEN”s because I was pretty fucking happy.

After sufficiently complaining about our hotel room (because that’s my other duty – reminding Henry that nothing he does is good enough for me), Henry fed me a candy bar (Hershey with almonds if you need this for the case study), and then it was finally time to leave for the Merriweather Ampitheater.

One good thing about Henry is that he booked our room months and months in advance. It was the closest hotel to the venue and completely sold out. The lady at the desk even asked if we were there for the Cure concert, because duh. This happened right before Henry denied ogling some yuppie bitch who was walking two Pomeranian dogs.

It didn’t take us long to get to the venue at all, maybe 15 minutes tops. I was too busy hyperventilating and saying, “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod” incessantly to properly keep an eye on the time. Sorry for the inaccurate journalism!

Henry and I had a brief feud before getting out of the car because he didn’t bring a blanket from home and had to buy a blanket from a Target near our hotel and it was sooooo ugly (brown plaid and fuzzy, ew) so first I was like, “I WILL NOT BE SEEN WITH THAT ATROCITY, LEAVE IT IN THE CAR!” I mean, plus it stunk of plastic because he had just unzipped it from the stupid vinyl package it was all cubed-up in.

Not surprising, Henry didn’t bother to fight with me. He knows not to fuck with me when I’m in an emotional fragile Cure-related state. So we left the blanket in the backseat and wove our way through the gravel parking lot to the end of the line. We got there about 45 minutes before the gates open, I would say, and in no time, the line behind us had grown so long that we could no longer see the end.

I spotted someone in line nearby carrying a blanket in the same bracket of ugliness as the one that Henry had purchased. So I succumbed to the Ugly Blanket Squad and told him he could go back to the car and get the motherfucking poop-colored blanket. Whatever. This isn’t the blanket prom, is what my dad would have said if he had been there.

Ugh.

I could only see the first 30 or so people in front of us, because then the line snaked down and around into a forested area. It was making me nervous not knowing how far back we were.

People-watching was splendid and helped pass the time. There were OG Goths, neo-goths, yuppies, hippies, hipsters, Henrys — people of all walks of life had converged upon Merriweather all for the same reason: to bow down before the Cure. Two guys behind me did nothing but quote from Pitchfork the whole time, while the two dads and their respective young-teen sons talked dryly about sports.

Hockey came up.

I inched in closer.

“Yeah, his mom is a huge hockey fan,” the one dad said to the other. “Her favorite team is the Flyers, and then the Penguins.”

I was bouncing on my toes by this point while Henry was giving me the “KEEP IT ZIPPED” look.

“Oh, well she must be happy. The Penguins won the whole thing,” the other dad said and I was SQUEALING now, about to raise my hand and do the whole, “OOOH! OOOOH!” thing that I do when I’m desperate to add to a conversation that does not belong to me.

Henry, that motherfucker, actually grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me back!

I hate small talk EXCEPT when it’s about music or hockey, or if I overhear incorrect information and feel like I could die if I don’t set the universe straight with my infinite wisdom.

But apparently this is “annoying” and Henry doesn’t like to be a witness…or an associate.

The opening of the gates was pretty prompt and we were inside in no time at all. There are several entrances and parking lots and there were less people in front of us than I guessed. We were able to snag a prime piece of real estate very close to where the pavilion seats ended and the lawn started, and I let go of all my high expectations of having the perfect, unobstructed view and instead just enjoyed being there. Sometimes you really gotta just let go.

Henry bought me some kind of beer that he figured I would be able to drink without wasting — Shocktop maybe? I’m still trying to become a beer person but I’m just unapologetically picky. Don’t fuck with my palate. I managed to drink two whole beers! Each one cost less than my $10 pizza, which was actually pretty good but NOT ENOUGH.

“For $10, it’s gonna have to be,” Henry frowned before going off to buy some gross sausage in a bun atrocity for himself.

The fact that you can barely see my left eye in this photo is FORESHADOWING.

The lawn was really starting to fill up and so far, I didn’t find a single person I hated. I wasn’t too startled by this revelation though because Cure crowds have historically been some of the kindest and most fun I’ve ever been in the middle of.

EXCEPT: Coachella 2004. Worst crowd ever. A bunch of rich frat boys screaming “FAT BOB!” and booing when anything other than a radio single was performed. Welcome to America, Robert. Welcome to America, indeed.

Just then, two middle-aged men tossed down two seat cushions in the small section of lawn available between the two couples in front of me.

“And DOWN!” the one announced loudly and jovially as he plopped himself onto the cushion, beer sloshing all around. He looked at us and laughed, but I gave Henry the “I hate this guy” look. When the two women whose blanket they sat down next to came back from getting beer, I thought for sure they were going to be all, “OH HELL NO” but instead, the one lady was like, “LET’S BE FRIENDS” and then everything was happening so fast before my eyes.

Henry went to get more beer, leaving me alone to stew in my depressing solitude while everyone around me was carrying on with each other and making friends with new people, and ugh just ugh.  Never was there a more apropos moment for Robert to come on stage and sing, “Why Can’t I Be You.”

(He didn’t.)

(But he should have.)

So now the people in front of me were introducing themselves. The one who had yelled, “DOWN!” told the two ladies that they were from Pittsburgh.

PITTSBURGH? I’M FROM PITTSBURGH!

I tapped him on the back and was all, “Hey guy, I couldn’t help but overhear you say you’re from Pittsburgh. We’re from Pittsburgh too,” I said in that weird 1920s radio DJ syncopated voice I get when I’m no longer Erin but some weird caricature of a person with a sturdy societal footing.

And that’s when Henry returned to his ugly blanket and found that his girlfriend had made new friends with the boisterous men in front of them. (I never talked to the broads though. Once I heard the one lady say that she was heartbroken that the Penguins won the Stanley Cup, I knew I had nothing left to say to her, except for SUCK IT.)

(J/K, she and her sister seemed like fine ladies.)

Randy was my favorite of the two guys. I can’t remember his friend’s name. He was nice too, but not as hilarious as Randy. I can’t explain it, you guys would have had to have been there.

You know how it is.

The Twilight Sad came out sometime around 7:00. I was already familiar with them and interested to hear them live for the first time. And I mean, they were wonderful, but it’s hard to give a shit about an opening band when you know, and they know, and everyone knows that The Cure is back there somewhere, pretending to jump rope, touching up that blood red lipstick, sipping a spot of tea.

So I can’t say anything other than, “The Twilight Sad seemed good.”

I ran to the bathroom afterward, while there was still a bit of sunshine left. I was immediately cold-cocked by the essence of patchouli and clove.

And it just felt right.

As I washed my hands, I inspected my eye in the mirror. There didn’t appear to be a dagger or any such spiny specimen jutting from it, contrary to how it felt. So I gave it one good, aggressive rub (What Not To Do To Your Eye 101) and stumbled my way back to our blanket, which was now one of many in a sea of throws.

Sold out show, y’all.

As soon as the opening notes of Tape wafted into the air, my face was wet with tears. It doesn’t matter how many times I have seen this band, they make my heart feel so full and I even if I tried, I couldn’t hold back my emotions. I get all snively and trembly and the tears just flow freely – this who I am.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Erin Appledale (@ohhonestlyerin)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Erin Appledale (@ohhonestlyerin)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Erin Appledale (@ohhonestlyerin)

Aside from the three Instavids above and few Snaps that my brother requested, I didn’t fuck around with recording or taking pictures, because it’s the Cure and I needed to let every last second get into my pores, you know what I mean? Henry even gave me some “there-there” pats a few times.

He gets it.

He didn’t need to see my face to know it was slick with tears, mascara, and whatever poison was seeping out of my left eyeball.

You’d think that all the crying would have washed out whatever was in there, scraping my cornea, but instead it just started burning even more. The joy and amazement of standing before The Cure made it easier to shrug off, though. It was going to take a lot more than an eyeball malady to get me to leave this show early.

SET LIST:

Tape / Open, High, Pictures of You, Closedown, Kyoto Song, A Night Like This, The Walk, The End of the World, Lovesong, If Only Tonight We Could Sleep, All I Want, Push, In Between Days, Just Like Heaven, Bananafishbones, Never Enough, From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea, End

1st encore: Sinking, It Can Never Be The Same

2nd encore: Shake Dog Shake, Burn, A Forest

3rd encore: Dressing Up, Lullaby, Fascination Street, Wrong Number

4th encore: Hot Hot Hot, Let’s Go To Bed, Close To Me, Why Can’t I Be You?, Boys Don’t Cry

I have never heard “Burn” live before so I was freaking the fuck out for sure. FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

It’s unreal to me how solid this band sounds after all of these years. How they can get out there night after night, play for three hours with just as much if not more energy as bands 30 years younger. These guys are living legends, and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame can keep snubbing them all they want because there are millions of screaming fans who know just how brilliant and incomparable they are.

When you can get even someone unmoved and unaffected as Henry J. Robbins to stand for the entirety of your show and also APPLAUD after every song? That’s how you know you’re frizzled hair, shoegazing perfection.

Little Cure fan. <3

Robert seemed to be in very good spirits too, chattier than I have ever seen him, and still breaking out his adorable little goth moves during “Lullaby.” However, he did get choked up during a new song, “It Can Never Be the Same,” which rumor has it is about his mother who passed away last year. When the song ended, he said something along the lines of, “The last song is a new one…. haven’t quite… haven’t learned how to hold back….so…”

</3

He is a motherfucking god. No one will ever replace him in my heart.

NO ONE.

***

As soon as we got back to the hotel, I raced to the bathroom and plucked the contact off my eye, which exacerbated the pain. Now it was like my eyeball was in labor with a hatchet-coated fireball. A thicket of natty homeless person pubes. A briar patch of all the human bones found in Jeffrey Dahmer’s apartment.

My eye was so red that it looked like it was bleeding, like it had been CHEESE GRATED. Tears were squirting out left and right, like some completely crude, X-rated, optic money shot.

“I CAN’T KEEP MY EYE OPEN!” I wailed, flapping my hands and hopping from one foot to the other.

I was panic-stricken, screaming about having to go to the hospital; but instead, Henry calmly went out and got me eye drops. I had cried myself to sleep while he was gone, but don’t worry! I woke up in the middle of the night and as soon as I realized that it wasn’t just a nightmare and that there were still flames licking the inside of my eyelid, I started screaming. Henry woke up and secretly pretended he was killing me when he held my head down against the pillow and put the drops in my eye.

In the morning, it still hurt and I felt like a vampire, screaming about the sunlight. As the day wore on, I was mostly OK again, though my eyelid was slightly puffy and I wasn’t even about to try to put my contact back in for the next two days. So I went about life squinting and walking with my arms outstretched. One-contact-wearin’ Erin.

But none of that was enough to tarnish the beautiful memories of the night before. Le sigh.

On Wednesday, I ate a grilled cheese in a shitty diner in Maryland with Henry.

The diner was super sketch and the extent of its decor was cheap I Love Lucy memorabilia.

Coffee was weak.

Henry got a thimbleful of cole slaw with his burger. Man, what a tease.

It was just us and two ladies behind us, until a group of three men came in on their lunch break from digging ditches or whatever people do for work in rural Maryland, and the one guy said he didn’t like to sit with his back toward the door; at first I thought he said it was from all those years he was in prison and I thought maybe things were going to get interesting, but it turns out he used to WORK in a prison.

Grilled cheese tasted like I made it. (That means it tasted less than basic and probably was made in a toaster then microwaved.) I wonder if it was better or worse than prison grilled cheese. Shoulda asked that guy on my way out.

But I didn’t give a shit about any of this because I was with my one true love, Henry. LOL JK: because I was on my way to see The Cure.

My people and I had a really lovely pre-Pierce the Veil afternoon in Cleveland last Sunday. I just love that city so much, and it’s OK for me to love it because I have zero affinity to our lame football team so I don’t feel like I’m breaking any rules of loyalty or solidarity, like when you keep being friends with someone who treated your other friend like absolute horse shit.

I mean…

I like when we’re blessed with weekend shows because then we have all the time to tool around, stuff our faces, hang with local friends…it’s just PLEASANT. A very PLEASANT feeling all around.

It only takes around 2 hours or so to get there from Cleveland, but Chooch acts like it’s a cross country hike and then winds up sleeping for most of the drive which is fine because sometimes I just want to listen to music and not his psychotically motorized voice warbling incessantly from the backseat.

(He said we have high expectations if we want him to stop talking so much. He’s so strong-willed! God help us.)

Our go-to food place is usually Melt, but the last time we were in Cleveland, we went to Happy Dog and I fucking fell in lust so hard and I’ll tell you why: Froot Loops on a veggie dog and like 50 different condiments for my tater tots!? Is this real life?! I have been dreaming of this place since we were last there in November for the Dance Gavin Dance 10 Year Anniversary show.

This was Chooch’s first time there and he was so overwhelmed with his options, 99.9% of which he didn’t agree with anyway so I’m not sure where the struggle even came from. He shocked us all though by actually sticking a toe out of his basic box and ordering Spaghetti-Os and a fried egg on his dog.

I just now asked him if he liked it and he shrugged while sadly smiling. This kid is the worst when it comes to eating. It’s cereal or GTFO with him. Too bad there are only two Cereality locations left in the world and none are anywhere near Pittsburgh.

When I was pregnant, I went through a really intense condiment phase. I was a few weeks along, unbeknownst at the time, when Henry and I were visiting Christina in Cincinnati. I knew something was awry when we went to Jungle Jim’s and I bypassed the chocolate aisle in favor of MUSTARDS OF THE WORLD. (Don’t worry — there was a fortune teller machine at the store’s entrance so on the way out, I asked her if I was pregnant. I don’t remember specifically what she said, but it was probably something about how even mild-mannered men have a threshold.

Or: “He’s not going to marry you. Move on.”

Then we went to get ice cream and after making both Henry and Christina trade with me, I eventually pushed all of the dishes away and pouted. “I don’t want any of these,” I mumbled.

“Well, what DO you want?” Henry asked exasperatedly while Christina frantically prepared to book a flight to Iran to procure me some faloodeh.

“Horseradish,” I answered without even a second thought.

I even had two hermit crabs named after condiments: Tabasco and Dijon. If Happy Dog had been around then, Chooch likely would have come out of me weighing 15 pounds (as opposed to the 10lbs2oz he wound up being without the aid of Happy Dog’s fatty sauce enabling.)

Chooch at the bar getting change for pinball, knowing I was taking his picture because when am I not taking his dumb picture.

And then there was a weird menstrual interlude, where Henry had to go to Rite Aid to get me tampons because I’m the worst woman, as he always says. It makes him so mad that my purses are full of concert ticket stubs and lip gloss, and not things that a woman/mother should have. Like Kleenex and bandaids? Who knows.

“Get used to this, Chooch,” Henry sighed as he got out of the car to make his lady product transaction. “This will be your life someday.”

“What, buying TAMPAX PEARL? Chooch said from the backseat. And then that became the joke of the day, and he said it every time I took his picture.

(He knows I hate when he makes that stupid chipmunk face so he does it ALL THE TIME. I complain about it now, but he’s going to end up being the next motherfucking Jim Carey with all the idiotic face-pulling he does. His face is like rubber!!)

After sufficiently putting a plug in the menstrual interlude, we met up with our pal Jason at Sweet Moses. Chooch brought his dumb Loom thing with him and was really insulted when Jason asked him if he was making a robot when it’s clearly a PANDA. Also, I only took this picture because Chooch was acutely aware of those girls behind him and he always shuts down when there are girls around.

Henry’s ice cream date.

It’s always nice getting to chat it up with Jason. And finally, over dark chocolate vegan ice cream, I was able to blab on and on about Bled Fest with someone who actually gave a shit and even asked, “What bands did you see?” and as I rattled them off I knew that Jason had heard of all of them and for once it didn’t feel like I was speaking a language no one else understands.

It’s really frustrating not getting to talk about your biggest passion!

Jason had work obligations to attend Taste of Chaos, so we parted ways with lots of hugs (hugging is OK sometimes) and then we went to see THE WATER. Chooch was just happy that we weren’t taking another boat tour.

The whole time we sat by the lake, I kept screaming, “DON’T GET TOO CLOSE! OMG HENRY TELL HIM TO NOT GET TOO CLOSE!” I am way too tightly-wound and paranoid to be a mom sometimes. My mind automatically imagines 87 fatal outcomes for every scenario.

12 years ago, Henry and I sat in this very spot, and Chooch wasn’t even so much of a thought yet. It’s crazy to think about sometimes. But being there with these two idiots made me feel super lucky and content with life. It was a great day, and it was only about to get even better.

(And no—not because Henry proposed to me. Because he didn’t.)

Getting to hang out with Bill & Jessi was like the cherry on top of a decadent Bled Fest sundae, you guys. We really missed them, as evidenced by the gusto Chooch put into his hug for Bill as soon as the front door opened. I’ve never seen Chooch hug with such feeling before!

I wanted to talk about Bled Fest forever but BILL kept interrupting and asking questions about our Disney trip like we were the first people to ever go to Disney World, UGH BILL.

(J/K — it was just as fun talking about that too!)

The original plan was to go to this place called Greenfield Village, which is a part of the Henry Ford museum. I saw “train” and “Carousel” on the website and was on board, but once we arrived, there was quite literally nowhere to park. It was probably a combination of it being a holiday weekend in addition to CIVIL WAR REENACTORS setting up shop. As soon as I heard “Civil War reenactors” I felt kind of sick to my stomach because I used to know a super huge asshole who did that shit with her husband and she was honestly one of the most sociopathic people I ever met.

So I wasn’t very broken up when we decided to fuck that idea and instead go to Dearborn Music. I could tell Henry did not approve of this idea, as evidenced by the sobbing I heard coming from the wallet in his pocket, plus he kept screaming things like:

• “I THINK THAT RED CAR IS LEAVING!!
• “JUST KEEP FOLLOWING THOSE PEOPLE AROUND UNTIL YOU SCARE THEM INTO GETTING INTO THEIR CAR!”
• “YOU CAN TOTALLY SQUEEZE INTO THAT SPOT MADE FOR A MOTORCYCLE, FOR FUCK’S SAKE BILL!”
•  “WHY DON’T YOU GUYS JUST GO AHEAD IN AND I’LL SIT OUT HERE IN THE CAR AND WAIT FOR A SPOT TO OPEN UP KTHXBYE.”
• FUCK THE HANDICAPPED, JUST TAKE THIS SPOT AND I’LL PAY THE FINE BECAUSE IT WILL BE LESS THAN WHAT I SPEND AT A FUCKING RECORD SHOP, PROBABLY UGH.”

In the end, we decided we would visit Greenfield Village next time because they have a membership, and instead we went to the glorious, heavenly Babylon known as Dearborn Music and I died and was resurrected as a girl with a bunch of new records in her collection (would have been one more if my idiot son didn’t have to buy Panic! At the Disco).

Then we went to Taylor Town, an indoor flea market in a strip mall with surprisingly clean restrooms. Henry breathed a sigh of relief after we walked the whole perimeter and determined that there were no wheelchairs for sale. (There were birds though! I kind of wanted one.)

It’s funny how all places like that have the same stench. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s like a mothball and knockoff perfume marinade.

But then the best part happened! We went to the Red Apple! Jessi suggested this place the last time we were there and it was on my MUST DO list for this time around. It’s not even about the food — the atmosphere of this joint is SO GOOD. It’s the best kind of outdated — there’s so much character and good vibes, I can’t contain myself!

Look! I’m smiling! Henry is smiling! Because we’re with Bill & Jessi at the motherfucking Red Apple!! Jessi and I both got grilled cheese with cheese sticks inside, because when in Wayne, MI, you know what I’m saying? And coleslaw!!

HERE IS HENRY EATING COLESLAW.

Jessi told us that she has very high standards when it comes to coleslaw because she used to have to make it at one of her old high school jobs. So then we talked about coleslaw forever because it’s the best. The Red Apple has  pretty good coleslaw, in case you were wondering.

There was a very large party taking up an entire room of the Red Apple so it took a long time for us to get our food. I normally would have been storming the place with torches but when you’re with excellent company, long waits don’t suck as much. Even Chooch was fine.

Well, until he brought up the subject of our dead cat Speck and started bawling at the table for a good five minutes — it was so sad! I was like, “There there” in my very stiff, uncomfortable way, but Bill & Jessi were totally amazing and consoled him.

My kneejerk reaction is to say, “Aw don’t cry” but I know that telling someone not to cry is basically the shittiest thing you can do!

Then our food came and everyone stopped crying.

I ran into the bathroom real quick while Henry and Bill were at the register paying. When I came out, I had to side-step one of the cashiers, who was busy sweeping up a shit-ton of toothpicks on the floor.

“Pfft, that sucks,” I thought. “Some asshole probably knocked those over and ran.”

When I met everyone outside, Henry made some offhand remark about Chooch knocking over “some toothpicks.”

Some!

Hopefully that cashier didn’t know I was with Chooch!

Back at Jessi & Bill’s house, Bill taught us how to play ladder ball. I was really horrible at first, because I couldn’t get my depth perception in check. And Henry was like some secret ladder ball champion, like he’s been sneaking out early in the morning and playing at the old folks’ home down the street.

Jessi kept calling him a ringer. Henry just shrugged. “I used to play horseshoes a lot,” he said.

“LIKE COMPETITIVELY?!” I cried from my post across the lawn.

“I don’t know, I guess,” he mumbled. “I had it at my house.” And it was almost in a bragging tone he said this, like he was talking about a fucking tennis court and not a spike hammered into the dirt.

But you guys, something incredible happened. After a few rounds, Henry somehow got worse and I kept getting better and better until Bill was like, “Holy fuck, are you sure you haven’t played before? Like is this game actually called Erin Ball?” and maybe that’s just me visualizing the script from my upcoming docu-drama, but he probably said something along those lines in real life.

People were calling me She with the Golden Arm after that. All of the people. The whole crowd.

Just trust me.

Like, when do I ever lie on here? THE WORD “HONEST” IS IN THE TITLE.

PRACTICALLY.

Later, I quoted the Arrested Development song “Tennessee” (“A game of horseshoes? A game of HORSESHOES!”) and Henry was like “……” so then I had to play it on my face while reminding Jessi that this was probably during his hardcore country phase.

“Actually, I think that was during my blues phase,” he corrected me.

TOUCHE BIG GUY.

Did I mention that Henry and I were on the same ladder ball team? I’m still competitive with him even when he’s on my team. Our relationship is healthy, like being on a diet and only eating ketchup packets.

[ETA: Bill just cried on Facebook because I didn’t mention his and Chooch’s ladder ball team. Fine: Bill & Chooch had a ladder ball team. Henry and I beat them most of the time.]

Later, we went to Marv’s Dairy Dan because it’s not truly the weekend without ice cream.

Still smartin’ from being upstaged at ladder ball, I see.

The ice cream was soooo good (I had a strawberry shortcake because Jessi said that anything with strawberries was the way to go at Dairy Dan’s and she was not wrong!) but I think we all ended up getting ice cream stomach aches!

Bill & Jessi have the best games ever, which is good considering they own a comic book/gaming shop. This time we played some game that I forget and was really bad at, but I got to point a gun numerous times at Henry and that’s all that mattered.

Chooch and Bill were going to do a duet of C.R.E.A.M. on Musically, but Chooch wussed out at the last minute and by then it was around 11pm and time to let Bill & Jessi have some peace and quiet so we set off for our hotel in ROMULUS.

ROMULUS!

Next time I want to stay in Remus.

#ancientromehumor

We had some time to kill Sunday morning before we were due to arrive at Bill & Jessi’s but don’t cry for us, Michigan-a — Roadside America had our back.

Imagine my sheer delight and giddiness when I discovered that Howell (where we had stayed Saturday night) was only several miles away from Hell, MI! A tourist trap, to be sure, but one that even Henry was quietly on board with.

First though, we stopped at the Pinckney Diner in, omg, Pinckney. I was wearing my Bled Fest shirt in hopes that some of my Bled Fest peeps would be there, but no. Just basic breakfasting locals.

I ordered some type of “healthy” scrambled egg and fruit cup bullshit, and Chooch thought it was hilarious that it came with a small orange juice and I try not to let him bully me, but man did I feel self-conscious drinking it, like I needed to create a curtain with my napkin.

It was a nice place but nothing to write home about so don’t be expecting a post card.

After a slight directional snafu (in which Henry was reminded that I do not understand how to read a map even when Google is practically reading it for me), we whizzed past a short stretch of road that housed a Hell-themed diner called Hell in a Handbasket and a gift shop called Screams, and a bar called the Hell Hole.

“Oh well, everything is closed,” Henry said in a sing-song voice because I had angered him enough on the way there that he was now ready to forgo the idea and find the nearest gorge to drive into.

But before he had a chance to get very far, I had the proprietor of Screams on the phone confirming that they were set to open in a few minutes, so downtrodden Hank had to turn the car around and head back to Hell, which probably just felt like Groundhog Day to him because when is he not heading back to Hell.

I appreciated that the man at Screams answered the phone with a robust, “How the hell are ya?” I was even more stoked at this point to make it rain in this kitschy souvenir shop.

And it was pretty much exactly as expected – a fun-loving, tongue-in-cheek tourist trap. It provided just enough of a time suck for us to arrive at Bill & Jessi’s right on time and didn’t stress out Henry too terribly much so we showed up in a collectively fine mood.

Without even faking it!

I bought a Hell, MI coffee cup to use as a future succulent vessel and hopefully my asshole cats don’t shatter it. And of course I also bought a magnet because that’s my thing. My closet-thingy at work is covered with magnetic tokens of all my Americana travels, I give it a once-over every morning and it fills me with early-morning joy!

(I mean, my morning coffee also helps with that joy-filling.)

We chatted for a bit with the elder manning the register and it turned out he’s the mayor of Hell! What a piping hot honor! I asked him how much these really cool postcards were that depicted a Hell homage by some local artist, and he was like, “Aw hell, you can just have it.”

HELL FUCKING RULES.

We said goodbye to Mayor of Hell and went outside to mill about the property. Mini golf was not open yet, but there was a mini lock-covered bridge to stomp across, a DAM to look at, and a CHAPEL.

No joke, if the chapel had been open,  I totally would have come home to Pittsburgh a married woman. I’m not sure who my husband would be, but at least I could tell people I got married in Hell.

Henry doing his favorite thing: looking at nature and trying desperately to tune out our cries of “I WANT I WANT I WANT!!”

And then it was time to get back in the car and embark on our 45 minute drive to the Wayne-ish area of Michigan, while I yapped on and on about Bled Fest the entire way because I had the time of my life.

No, I never felt this way before.

Yes I swear.

Blah blah blah.

Today we head back home to Pittsburgh so you know what that means — live blogarama. Sadly, this one won’t have as many big asses in it.

10:25am: We’re with Bill & Jessi waiting to be seated at Scrambler Marie’s and Bill is ready to file a formal complaint because they told us the wait is 25 minutes when we can clearly see NUMEROUS open booths and tables?! ITS DISPROPORTIONATE.

Henry’s mommy just called him to thank him for serving our country!!

10:35am: Now I’m standing inside and Bill just RECOUNTED the empty tables. Some waitress came over to see if our name was on the list and Jessi reiterated that we preferred to sit outside and that we saw there “SEVERAL EMPTY TABLES OUT THERE.” The waitress was like “OK let me check with the hostess because I don’t want to screw her up.” SHE IS ALREADY SCREWED UP.

10:41:

WE’VE ARRIVED.

11:00am: INTENSE KIDS MENU ACTIVITIES.

Also, still talking about the wait time / empty table ratio.

12:02pm: Ugh we said goodbye which is the worst and now we’re back on the road. The breakfast was worth the wait, and also observing the bizarre manner in which Chooch eats his pancakes: he scrapes some off with a knife and then scoops it up with the knife and fork and two-hands it into his mouth? Like who taught this kid how to eat? Also, Henry usually has to cut his food because he can’t stand watching him struggle with butterknives because apparently Chooch has inherited his inability to cut food from his mother. That’s what Henry says, but if you ask me, Chooch would just prefer someone else to do it for him, and that is something he definitely inherited from his mother.

So there.

12:10pm: Henry Appreciation Shout-Out. Homeboy hooked me up this weekend! He bought some of these without me knowing at Bled Fest, and the rest came from Dearborn Music where the guy at the register said, “These are actually some really good records” like he was surprised but then it was probably because he thought they were Henry’s since Henry was paying, and we all know Henry has I’M A TED NUGENT NUGGET practically branded across his furrowed forehead.

That P!ATD is Chooch’s but still. We’re already fighting about who gets to listen to what first, ugh. It’s really hard having a kid who’s exactly like me. I’m sure our bickering was beginning to wear on Bill & Jessi!

1:02pm: Absolutely nothing interesting has been happening since I last checked in. Just been annoying Henry with an emo revival Spotify playlist (I like to flail and flop around in the passenger seat to this stuff which adds to Henry’s annoyance) and now all of a sudden Chooch has decided to remove his nose from Goblet of Fire* in order to poke his head between the seats and bitch about something.

*We stopped at a Walmart (UGHHH) in Monaca, PA on our way to Michigan on Friday to buy Chooch the 4th Harry Potter book because Henry claims he couldn’t find my copy on the third floor (otherwise known as The Computer Burial Ground) which he was supposed to clean out weeks ago in order to turn it into a guest room. Anyway, I GOT LOST in Walmart because I hung back in the makeup section a tad too long and then BOOM. THEY WERE GONE. So I wandered around with my hand on my chest, trying to build a dam for the tears that were about to spring forth from my eyes, and then some way young Walmart worker boy flirtily said hello to me and I was giddy for a split second until I remembered that HELLO IM LOST.

I had to ask some Walmart broad for directions to the book aisle but then I saw them walking by and I ran toward them and cried, “I’VE BEEN FOUND.” Chooch literally threw his arms around me because he knows how fragile I am. Henry just rolled his eyes though.

All that and they didn’t even have the dumb book so they had to go to Target which is where I said they should have gone to in the first place. This in addition to the really slow service at the Monaca King’s completely negated the fact that I left work an hour and a half early because we still arrived in Howell at the same time we would have had I left work at 5:30 so thanks for sucking, Monaca.

1:16pm: Chooch said he saw some guy wearing a La Dispute shirt at Bled Fest. I asked him if he said “cool shirt, bro” and Chooch said, “No, because I hate them.” UGH MY KID IS THE WORST.

1:24pm: Chooch just farted and I had to put down the windows to fumigate. So for that, here is a LA DISPUTE VIDEO, WOOOO.

1:49pm: AND NOW WE ALL HATE EACH OTHER AFTER A REST STOP WENT SOUTH DOWN THE TOILET. All I fucking want (nay, NEED) is coffee and Chooch started running his mouth because Henry wouldn’t give him money for some dumb arcade game and now they’re fighting and I was like FUCK EVERYONE and stormed off. Then I put on a SMOOTH JAZZ station in the car because I have a headache (see also: NEED COFFEE) and Henry had the audacity to try and change the station like this was an accident!? And apparently he stole money out of Chooch’s wallet for “tolls” so this is a brand new fight.

2:49pm: Well everything was fine, Chooch resumed his book-reading, I was happily dissecting my Bled Fest experience, but then HENRY made me look up the nearest Sheetz on google maps and now the car is full of angry snipes and raised voices again because FUCK YOUR MAP.

2:57: I CAN SEE SHEETZ AND I WANT IT.

3:18pm: Iced lattes must be super hard to make because I have had a shit ton of really fucking terrible ones, two in a row today. I guess Crazy Mocha just has me spoiled. Henry’s pissed because I apparently “wasted money” but he’s not a coffee drinker so he doesn’t understand the devastation and ensuing pout-session when one is served a poor excuse for a latte. Go drink a Faygo, Hank.

3:46pm: Henry stopped at a rest area to get me a latte from Starbucks (I dislike Starbucks but whatever – third latte’s a charm) and Chooch and I had a huge fight in the car because he nearly ruined my Bled Fest poster by being CARELESS and then he accused me of knowing where his dumb wallet is but not telling him?! So by the time Henry got back to the car, Chooch was in full-blown TAKE ME TO THE ORPHANAGE I DONT CARE mode. What a little jerkfuck, seriously. Now he’s back to breathing heavily while reading and I’m nursing my mediocre Starbucks iced latte and Henry is enjoying the silence after I gre tired of yelling about how I disagree with the Cincinatti Zoo’s decision to MURDER their gorilla, but whatever — I know enough people from that area to understand that it’s not exactly known for its high IQ.

This whole bit prompted Henry to say, “When I used to go to the zoo in the 70s” and then something about animals in cages but I quit paying attention when I realized that there wasn’t going to be a pregnancy scandal or TED NUGENT concert involved.

4:40pm: Henry just gave me a hard time for apparently listening to too much Cardboard Swords. “How many times are you going to listen to this?” he asked in a needling fashion. AS MANY TIMES AS I WANT, CUNT. Jesus. Nag much?!

Also, he made me count change for tolls at the last minute and then talked while I was trying to count?! I can’t stand him.

4:59pm:

YEAH BOIIIIIII THAT’S MY CITY. 10 minutes until we’re in good Ol’ Brookline. And Chooch just assaulted me with the sight of his bare feet.

6:02pm: Been home for an hour. Cleaned up succulent carnage (of which there was enough to require a plant cemetery, le sigh) and reminded the cats who I am. They seemed stressed out and then we realized that they had to endure their very first Memorial Day parade which oozes past our house every year and is chockful of sirens, muskets, and the screeching sound of children. Sorry, cats. :( Glad to be home but I’m already missing my Michigan friends and without the distractions, some pretty significant post-show depression is beginning to eke its way in. And then Chooch cut himself while playing with Marky and Henry’s not here so I started to panic but don’t worry, Chooch dressed his own wound while I was laying in the fetal position. Ugh. Back to dumb reality I guess.

But hoooooo boy, I’ll be back with a myriad of Bled Fest posts for everyone to scroll past! Stay stoked.

I promise this is it. The last post about Universal. I’ll stick a fork in it when I’m done. But man, this was the best vacation and it came at the perfect time, almost just fell into our lap and you have to know that shit like that never happens to us. It was like being rewarded for making it 36 years without committing homicide or heading a drug cartel.

The third day was chill as fuck. We had already ridden everything by then so we just basically ran amok and re-rode all of our favorites like all of the Harry Potter stuff and that motherloving Mummy Returns ride — seriously, that joint was bomb.

I would say the highlight of day 3 for me was definitely revisiting Seuss Landing even though Son of the Year started a fight with me right before we got there and then I got super sensitive about it and decided that we were just going to LEAVE so I stormed off in a huff and heard Henry hiss, “APOLOGIZE TO HER” because he didn’t want some ungodly scene to play out in the middle of the most adorable place in Universal, so then Chooch begrudgingly said he was sorry and I wasn’t satisfied with it but I also didn’t want to actually leave so then Henry rang the lunch bell and I snapped out of it because YAY IT WAS TIME TO EAT INSIDE THE SEUSSIAN CIRCUS TENT YOU GUYS!

Henry was so annoyed because the train travels through and everyone waves and of course I too was waving as obnoxiously as possible just to piss off Henry even more. He is sooooo out of touch with Childlike Wonder. It baffles me.

Here’s a pretty well-known fact about me: I hate SpongeBob. Always have, always will. I honestly just can’t with that piece of shit cartoon, so when Henry rudely pointed out to Chooch that there was a SpongeBob photo op, I wanted to Mexican Necktie him on the spot. Of course the line closed off as soon as we walked over but their liar of a handler said, “two minutes!”

Last time I checked, two minutes wasn’t a synonym for half an hour, but what do I know. #highschooldropout

HOPE IT WAS WORTH IT, SONNY BOY.

(Apparently it was because he got two key chains made with the stupid picture. So gross.)

I was totally on board with Sideshow Bob & Krusty though.

Guys this payphone rings every minute or so and if answer it, a random Springfield resident will be on the other line, yelling at you, and it’s awesome. Even Henry partook in some payphonage.

In conclusion (I’ve been reading too many of Chooch’s school papers), Universal is made of pixie dust and literal win. It is my current favorite theme park of all time and I already decided that I’m going to get a job there. I think it kind of brought us closer as a family because Henry actually rode everything once. Also, I already mentioned this in my Liveblog from the drive home, but we rode the Hollywood Rip Ride Rockit (what a horrible name for a coaster though am I right?) and there’s an option to select a song to listen to from a  personal built-in stereo and of course it’s extremely mainstream and limited; Henry and I found out afterward that we both picked Finger Eleven without knowing the other chose it! (We weren’t even sitting together.) Tru luv, I guess.

Tru something.

This place was absolutely mesmerizing and exciting. I just wanted to lay down on the hot pavement and make melted-flesh Angels while giggling maniacally — it was just a crazy euphoria that I can’t wait to experience again.

I’m sure I could forcefully stuff another several paragraphs into this pointless piñata of words, but truth be told, I’m in the car on the way to Michigan and I really just want to dance like I have Tourette’s to my Bled Fest play list which clearly is what Henry wants too in lieu of me quietly blogging in the passenger seat.

I’m feeling really psychotic but in the totally feel-good kind of way.

It’s officially been a month since our Orlando trip and I’m still not back to normal yet. Rather than stretch out my thoughts like taffy (because you know I can keep pulling that shit out of brain until someone makes me stop, usually Henry), I’m going to wrap up the Harry Potter portion of the vacation with some photos from the last two days.

The character actors were amazing. They would hold lengthy conversations with anyone who made eye contact with them, and sometimes they would just blindside you with conversation, like one particular witch who crouched down and started talking to Chooch while he was sitting on the ground looking at his map. I mean, she asked him all sorts of questions, and she was kind of cute so his responses were mostly unintelligible. It really added to the experience.

Henry, trying not to smile. Bitch loved him some Harry Potter World.

By the second day, he had pretty much stopped riding things, and said that he was fine hanging out by himself “watching all the people run around making things happen with their wands.

”

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Erin Appledale (@ohhonestlyerin)

There were a lot of things that made me squeal with happiness, but this mirror that made it look like everyone really was walking through the brick wall totally made me lose my mind.

The last two times we rode Hogwarts Express, I had major coughing fits. Like the ones that come out of left field, everything is fine, and then suddenly you have A Tickle it feels like your throat is folding in on itself and there is no other option but to conjure up a magical knife to scratch that itch by COUGHING AS VIOLENTLY AS POSSIBLE so that everyone around you starts feeling paranoid about CONTAGION and PANDEMICS.

Twice this happened on two separate days!! I was so upset the second time because I had planned ahead by making sure that there was beverage available and then my asshole son drank it all while we were in line and had the audacity to get annoyed when I frantically pantomimed for him to give me a fucking ice cube while I was literally wretching in the train compartment and looking like I was Patient X in the zombie apocalypse.

Then I brought the cough home with me and drove my co-workers crazy for a week.

Weird ice cream flavors in an amusement park—thank you, Lord Florean Fortescue. I had a scoop of clotted cream and Earl Grey lavender and might I tell you that it was DIVINE? I mean, I might if that was how I talked.

It was rull gud, guyz.

And the ice cream scooper guy was so awesome and pleasant to talk to and you know how much I hate small talk! Not with this guy!

Chooch got one scoop of Plain and one of Safe.

Otherwise known as vanilla and strawberry. Probably. I can’t remember, but I know I was disappointed that he didn’t get anything I wanted to try,

(Henry got butter beer soft serve, which I already wrote about the other day so you should go back and read that if you want. Or don’t. Do what you want. I’m not your fucking mother.)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Erin Appledale (@ohhonestlyerin)

I can’t remember if I already posted this video, but oh well! My blog, my rules! Lol(ing alone forever).

Henry spent so much time waiting for me and Chooch to be done riding Escape from Gringott’s that he found himself on the same firebreathing schedule as Gringott’s Dragon.

(Seriously, watching the fire breath never got less exciting!)

Do you know what the best part is? (Sorry, but this is about to turn into a Mommy Blog mo’ right here) For as much as my kid loves to read (his Dibels score thingie is like off the chain, or whatever) he has never really expressed much interest in Harry Potter. But being there was like opening up a whole new world to him and he has been obsessed ever since. He asked me lots of questions while we were there (I mean, he already knew the basics, but there were so many nuances that a casual fan could have missed), and then when I suggested that he just start reading the books, he agreed and there was a scary hunger to his voice. Even though I have the books at home, we bought him the first one on the day we left Florida and he immediately started reading it in the car. He’s currently nearly done with the third book and it’s literally all he talks about. He’s smug because the smartest girl in his class is only on the first book so now it’s like a race I guess, who knows where he gets that from.

See? I knew we could pull off the whole “educational vacation” guise.

Meanwhie: The Penguins won the Conference Finals and are going to the Stanley Cup Finals!!!!

TODAY IS THE BEST DAY! I LOVE EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE!

Every morning, we woke up early and were on our way out the door by 8am, which might seem like a horror movie to some people, but we’re very go-go-go when vacationing, and if an amusement park opens at 9, then best believe we’re gonna be there at 8:45. I was fucking stoked every morning and sure, I was still a mega-bitch until Henry slammed a coffee into my palm, but I’m happy to report that we mostly got along all day, every day.

Except for me and Chooch.

We bicker a lot.

That’s what happens when you’re basically THE SAME PERSON. It’s pretty scary. Imagine being Henry.

Chooch and I started fighting Thursday morning right after we pulled out of the resort’s parking lot because “When Doves Cry” came on the radio and he piped up from the backseat, “I don’t like this song.”

I wanted to throw him out onto the highway but Henry said we couldn’t do that just because he didn’t like a song I like and I’m sorry, but since when?

Inside the park, Henry got his map on. He loves pointing the way. Fucking directional nerd.

We spent a good portion of the morning in Springfield, soaking up the Groening vibes. I haven’t actually watched The Simpsons in a super long time for no real reason other than I really just don’t watch much TV I guess, but if you know me IRL, you might know that I have been playing Simpson Tapped Out on my phone for THREE YEARS now. I have never played a game that long! I have no attention span for games! But this one is such a stress reliever for me that I literally cannot quit playing it.

The other day, I was outside on my break and Henry was calling me. I declined his call twice and then when I called him back, I started out with, “Sorry, something terrible happened.” He of course was all, “OMG WHAT?!” and I cried, “I just got an update on Simpsons and it said this is the last level!!! They’re not going to have any new levels!!!”

“That’s fucked up,” Henry said.

“I know!” I whined.

“No, I mean it’s fucked up that you’re still playing that game,” he sighed.

Hey, I have money invested in this game! I like to treat myself by buying donuts on days when I’m feeling particularly down. (Donuts can be used to buy premium shit in the game!!)

Speaking of donuts! Treated myself to a Lard Lad. I feel like it’s obligatory, you know? How are you going to walk through Springfield and not glut yourself on a pink frosted, am I right or am I right?!

Of course, I only took two bites and then gave the rest to Henry because that’s all I can usually stomach when it comes to donuts. (Unless it’s sugar or glazed, then gimme a dozen and back away slowly.)

Then Chooch and I went on the Twirl n Hurl alone because Henry’s stomach is too elderly to handle such extreme spins through the air. Universal has a pretty staunch NO SELFIE policy on the rides which is completely understandable but am I under arrest for taking a picture of Henry standing alone?

Too bad, so sad, Henry has no friends.

I loved this ride so much, but not as much as One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish in Seuss Landing, which SQUIRTS WATER AT YOU. Chooch and I rode it twice while Henry sat on a bench with other parents, staring at his phone and pointedly ignoring us every time we screamed, “HENRY!! LOOK AT US!! HENRY!!” That’s cool. Ignore our bliss. We don’t need your acknowledgement.

At some point, we were on our way to finally ride the Revenge of the Mummy for the first time when we were sidetracked by some pop-up show full of acrobatics and a super hot man-bunned boy named JOEY.

I imprinted on him almost immediately and while I’m sure the other boys were wonderfully spry, I couldn’t take my eyes off of JOEY and I only applauded for JOEY.

Ugh, he reminded me of Scott Speedman, Felicity-era.

Ugh, why can’t Henry look that good in a man bun?

Ugh, why can’t Henry be Scott Speedman?

UGH, THANKS A LOT, HENRY.

Henry bought these shorts for Chooch right before we left for Florida and of course I wasn’t there so wow, I was surprised when Chooch put these on that day. Like, what even is the point? These are basically just billowy pants.

Not shorts.

Henry is so dumb.

More importantly though, this Mummy ride was the absolute shit. And the wait time was non-existent! AND THERE WAS REAL LIFE FIRE INSIDE! Super thrilling, my review is raving. This ride was excelsior!

For lunch on Day 2, we at the Monster Café! I was so excited about this even though it was literally just a standard Universal cafeteria, but the décor was enough to lure me in! We sat in the Crypt area and ate pizza and shared a gigantic cupcake.

All was well, all was right.

It’s all about making sure I’m fed at an appropriate hour. This is how you will make or break the day.

Back in the kiddieland portion of Universal, Chooch and I discovered yet another coaster to rival the Wacky Worm’s claim on my heart: Woody Woodpecker’s Nuthouse Coaster! I asked Henry to take a picture of Chooch and me enjoying life but no, he couldn’t even do that much because that might have meant he actually cared about our happiness!

Also because then people would have known we belonged to him, god forbid.

Had to go back to Seuss Landing later that day too because it’s the best! There’s an interactive called If I Ran the Zoo where Chooch and I got to twist knobs and crank levers to make things pop out of the ground and I almost stuck in a slide and burnt my knees crawling through a tunnel and it was just the best fucking place ever!

SEUSS LANDING IS THE PLACE FOR ME.

I don’t even know who this, and there was an Australian family next to us who also didn’t know who he was and still didn’t know even after Henry told them but they got in line anyway. I was obsessed with that family, btw. THE PARENTS WERE SO COOL and I feel like the dad was 100% probably maybe more than likely in a band, and definitely a band I would like.

For the first time ever, Henry and Chooch rode something while I sat on a bench and waited. I thought Doctor Doom’s Fear Fall was one of those stupid free fall rides that I just can’t handle because I get so goddamn scared that it will honestly ruin the rest of my day. So I sat down and then this huge group infiltrated my area and I felt like such a loser, sitting there sadly by myself, pretending to be super interested in whatever was on my phone, while this huge group was laughing and having so much fun, waiting for the rest of their peeps to join them, and when they finally left, I was partially relieved because I was really feeling like a voyeur there for a hot minute, but then I also felt sad that they had left without taking me with them.

And I was back to sitting there alone and silent, waiting for Henry and Chooch to come back from riding something that only had a 15 minute wait time.

After 30 minutes had passed, I really started to panic. I mean, I get nervous anytime I’m waiting for something or someone, but I was really starting to take this to the extreme because I was holding all of their stuff which included Henry’s phone, so I couldn’t send any irate, nagging texts demanding to know his whereabouts like I normally would because I’m a controlling man.

“Where’s the exit for this ride?” I asked some broad sitting nearby, thinking that maybe the exit was on the other side and that perhaps they stopped to play some games or ride something else that was in the general proximity, but she pointed to the gift shop that was literally right in front of us.

I gulped and said, “Oh. I think I was ditched.”

And she laughed, probably thinking I was being cute, but really my mind was spinning and my ears were starting to ring because holy shit, Panic Town here I come.

I got up and went inside the gift shop to see if they were in there, because there were some arcade games so I thought, maybe, just maybe, Chooch strong-armed Henry into letting him play some shit and they lost track of time.

YEAH, THAT’S IT.

LOST TRACK OF TIME.

Except that I knew deep down the truth was that Henry met some old hag who looked like she would be more capable in the housework department and so he decided to leave me and Chooch was like, “Will this bitch bake cookies and actually take care of me? OK cool, I’m in.”

My heart was beating so fast that I was starting to see stars. I went back outside. I paced back and forth. I spun in circles looking for the nearest Lost Erin station. Looking for a cop. Looking for a new family to adopt me. The lady who laughed at me had reunited with her people; they were walking off into the horizon, holding hands, ready for their next adventure.

And I was still alone. ABANDONED.

It was the worst moment of our entire vacation.

How would I get home!? Never mind that I had the car keys and a cell phone and the credit cards.

I DIDN’T HAVE HENRY TO DO ALL OF THE THINGS FOR ME.

I guess I was just going to have to live inside of Universal Studios.

I was going to live inside of Universal Studios!

Just when I was starting to like where this was going, those two assholes emerged from the gift shop/ride exit and I remembered how scared I was, which immediately turned into ANGER. Their lame excuse was that the wait time ended up being “way longer” and that they had actually just been standing in line that whole time while I was slowly melting into a pool of pity out there on the pavement.

I started screaming about how worried I was and Henry just scoffed and said, “Now you know how I feel when you two wander off.”

OH OK LIKE HE ACTUALLY GETS SCARED, SURE.

Hey guess what, we fought on this ride because he purposely flung himself into my and made me bang my arm or something, I can’t remember now but I know there was pain involved and he was so smug about it.

Chooch just glanced at this picture and asked dryly, “Oh, is that the ride you almost ‘died’ on?”

UGH FUCK OFF!!

I think my new life goal is to become super famous somehow and have Universal build an entire section in my honor, where you can literally take a ride through my stupid life which I guess by then won’t be so stupid if I’m that famous that Universal made a whole area for me. Maybe one of the rides can be a boat ride through various music festivals and the water will actually be my tears. And the vessels will be logs in the shape of Henry lying on his back.

A 4D multi-sensory darkride called BROOKLINE BOUND, where you are latched onto the coattails of Purple Pants as she pulls you through the bowels of Brookline; you will fight off hipsters for Las Palmas tacos, dodge errantly-strewn syringes, and cruise through a concert of Yinzers screaming about the Steelers.

Maybe a roller coaster called GET ERIN TO THE ALTAR? And don’t forget to snatch the engagement ring on the motherfucking carousel which is going to be full of Henry-headed horses and soundtracked with music box versions of Pierce the Veil and Emarosa songs.

And the food will be grilled cheese and more grilled cheese and 12 different ice cream shops with all the weird flavors! LAVENDER EVERYWHERE.

Oh man, I’m getting so excited for the grand opening of my future amusement park! It’ll probably just be called GET STOKED.

Don’t worry – we got butter beer on our first day at Universal. I’m not a n00b. It was exactly how I imagined it would be: butterscotch-y, creamy, a motherfucking delightful river of magic coursing down my gullet. It was so sweet that I had to share it with Henry, though.

Ugh, sharing.

At first, Henry was like, “IT’S BASICALLY JUST CREAM SODA, BIG DEAL.” Because he’s the Beverage Overlord, he thinks he can make these types of radical declarations amongst rabid Harry Potter fans. I was like, “OK Papa H, slow your roll. You’re about to get us flogged by all these newly-purchased Ollivander’s wands.”

Like, way to sour a magical moment, you know?! My first butter beer and Henry is trying to write it off as some basic A&W bullshit.

But this post is not about me and the way each sip of butter beer danced the Swan Lake upon my palate.

It’s about how not even an old miser like Henry could escape the pure joy and whimsy of the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. The butter beer alone made me him SMILE IN THE SHADOWS!

And by the second day, he was sneaking off to buy his own butter beer.

He wasn’t interested in sampling my fishy green ale. (Which was amazing, btw. Not as great as butter beer, but really fun because it had exploding blueberry fish eggs at the bottom and I love those damn things. Shout out to my homies at the Asian froyo establishments.)

The way he drank it was slow and methodical; he was totally savoring every last drop while probably imagining himself going head to head with DRACO MALFOY (I was going to say Voldemort but I think Henry knows that’s out of his wheelhouse even as far as imagination goes.)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Erin Appledale (@ohhonestlyerin)

I tried so hard (so hard!!) to get him to let loose a little and rock a butter beer froth-stache but he refused and then walked away and stood alone when I tried to smash his cup against his mouth. Ugh. LIVE A LITTLE, HENRY.

And on the third day, we visited Florean Flortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, and guess what Henry ordered? BUTTER BEER SOFT SERVE, YOU GUYS.

If you look really close at Henry’s face (I know, it hurts my eyes too*), you might denote that his lips are struggling to remain down-turned in that omnipresent frown of his.

*(JOKING, HENRY!)

(Gotta stay on his good side. He’s been showering me with music festivals lately and vague promises of Romania lately.)

We popped into the Hogs Head so I could get a butter beer in a souvenir glass (which I will honestly probably use as a succulent planter, no fucks given). I ordered a frozen one from the bar maid.

“Will that be all?” she asked, and I started to say yes, but then Henry cut me off and said, “And one regular butter beer.”

OH SHIT SON, someone’s caught feelings.

I just asked Henry for a review of butter beer in his own words and his reply was a very Henry-esque: “Butter beer good.” I’m sure he had a lot more to say in his butter beer porn script.

“And as the frothy butter beer sluiced down Hagrid’s bare navel…”

What about Chooch? He had one sip and shrugged, mirroring my face when I try actual beer and remember that I don’t like 97% of the beer that ekes past my lips. Chooch only likes milk and lemonade. He’s a fucking weirdo.

If Henry starts bringing home pallets of Faygo cream soda and bags of those yellow-wrapped butterscotches that me and old people love so much, we’ll know why:  BUTTERBEER KNOCK-OFF. Maybe he’ll start competing with the asshole kids in the neighborhood who sell watered-down lemonade in the summer. Maybe he can call it…Hank’s Margarine Ale. Or nah?

Nah.