One of the greatest things ever about the Internet is meeting new people, especially if those people aren’t psychopathic torture warriors greasing up the Iron Maiden for your visit.

Before I had this blog, I used this awesome blogging platform called LiveJournal and met some really incredible people, most of whom I have kept in touch with even after abandoning LJ in 2007 (I still miss it every day, though!). So on day 3 of our road trip, we had plans to meet two girls I have known for what seems like my entire adult life at this point, thanks to LJ.

After Indiana, we had plans to go to Michigan to hang out with Bill, Jessi and Tammy for the weekend. They were coming back from Tennesee that Friday night, so we had the whole day to make our pilgrimages to meet Michelle and Sarah, who thankfully all live within an hour’s drive from Bill and Jessi. And they were both available that day! All the stars were aligned, for once.

(Coincidentally, LJ is also how I know Bill! All hail, LJ. Some of my best friendships were forged from something that I had no idea what I was doing when I signed up.)

First up was Michelle in Royal Oak. I can’t even remember when she and I became friends, but it was definitely pre-Chooch, so probably around 2004/2005, would be my guess. I have wanted to meet her for quite some time and we even had plans to meet up last year at this Pee Wee’s Big Adventure festival that was supposed to happen in Louisville, KY, but then Pee Wee found out about the festival and pulled the whole cease and desist thing, so there went that.

Michelle and I both really like Pee Wee, obviously.

It was raining in Royal Oak when we pulled onto Michelle’s street. Henry passed her house and had to turn around but that was a good thing because it meant that I got to see her Little Free Library! Henry was like, “Oh she’s the one with the library thing?” TRY TO FOLLOW ALONG, HENRY.

Ugh.

Anyway, we finally parked in front of her house and Henry said hello to her mailman which cracked me up for unknown reasons. He just loves men in costumes, you guys.

Michelle opened the door and I immediately went into “dur dur dur now what??” mode because my social skills are missing a chromosome. My first impressions: her hair is awesome. She has purple walls! And some of my art is on them! OMG CUTE KIDS! OMG CUTE DOGS! Chooch pretended to be totally annoyed but then immediately ran off with her little girls, Delia and Kira, so Henry and I got to sit down and have grown-up conversations with someone which rarely happens!

It’s always surreal to meet someone in the flesh after they start out just being a user name (mshecubus!) but then advance to real pictures on Facebook and sending real life mail to each other. Michelle sent me my coveted blood-splattered coffee cup with the brass knuckle-shaped handle that made everyone at work shake their heads! I love that damn mug!

We passed a signed for 8 Mile on the way to Royal Oak, so of course I had to ask Michelle questions about Eminem. She wasn’t sure if he still lives in Michigan, but she said his daughter recently graduated from a high school close by and that he had to watch it from a TV somewhere inside the school so he wouldn’t get mobbed, which is kind of sad but then I remembered that I don’t like Eminem so what do I care.

Every once in awhile, Chooch would run back into the house to tattle on the girls, not one of his finer traits, and to cry about getting sand in his damn ankle wound. God, try to be a little more self-sufficient, kid.

As usual, we were behind schedule and had to leave after about an hour, plus we didn’t want to impose since it was such a poorly-planned meet-up because Henry sucks at mapping things out. Professional driver my ass.

The only good thing about leaving was watching Chooch writhe in horror and pain as Delia and Kira gang-hugged him, hahaha.

PROOF!

Then it was back in the car for more stupid driving, this time to meet Sarah. It took about 45 minutes to get to Flint and we were too stupid to find Sarah’s salon, so she took a picture of us standing on a street corner, looking lost, and texted it to me. And this is why we’re friends!

Sarah was one of my very first friends on LiveJournal, back when I didn’t believe in capitalization and the only punctuation I used were ellipses and groups of 18 exclamation points. We were pregnant at the same time (her daughter Alpha is two months older than Chooch) and she was one of the only people who knew the truth of my fucked up friendship with Christina; I still feel so grateful that she was there for me.

And now we were finally meeting! More surreal feelings.

Sarah had recently finished working at the salon for the day, but if I didn’t work at a Law Firm, I would have totally asked her to give me lavender hair. I dream of lavender hair. But instead she took us around the corner to the Flint Crepe Company, which was like walking into the 1920s.

A man in a suit said, “Hi Sarah!” and after greeting him, Sarah was like, “Oh that was the mayor of Flint.”

THE MAYOR KNOWS SARAH! She is so cool. (This made me really giddy too, for some reason. Mailmen and mayors just do it for me, I guess.)

OMG I got the Lemon Drop and it was just the right combination of lemon and drop. So good.

Who cares what Henry got, but he was actually kind of smiling!

Chooch got some chocolate strawberry special and ate it like we hadn’t been feeding him at all on this trip. Then he proceeded to lap his water out of the glass like a cat, because that was his new thing, as of that moment, pretending to be a cat who speaks like a toddler.

“Me a cat, meowmeowmeow,” he kept saying and I was kicking him under the table because it was creeping me out. I mean, it’s one thing if this was just his nervous tic, something that he does every now and then because he thinks he’s being cute, but aside from a casual and ironic “meow” here and there, he has never regressed like this before. I was kind of alarmed, like my kid was breaking.

I ended up chalking it up to the fact that he was acting stupid because he was crushing on Sarah.

After crepes, Sarah took us on a walking tour around Flint. Some of my friends were like, “Really? Flint?” because vacations are supposed to have beaches I guess, but it was really fun! I love exploring places and Flint had that gritty feel to it that I love.

Of course we had to ask Sarah about Eminem too. She told us this story about how she was at Warped Tour in 1998 (Chooch perked up at this part, because WARPED TOUR) and accidentally kicked a rock at the guy in front of her. He turned around and called her a fucking bitch and then later she heard all of this booing coming from one of the stages and the guy who called her a fucking bitch was on the stage and turned out to be Eminem, haha.

This is when Chooch was excited to trespass.

Sarah taught us about these berries, the most important fact being that we could eat them, so then Chooch and I had to stand there, pulling down branches and getting stains on ourselves. “I don’t even like these!” Chooch said, popping another into his mouth. Henry just sighed and kept walking.

I bet they sell Faygo in there!

Then Sarah took us to the river to see if there were any dead bodies and causally mentioned that there was a 1-in-45 chance that something violent would happen to us just by being in Flint. That was exciting!

I thought we saw a dead body for sure but Henry was like, “THAT IS A RUG AND BESIDES IT’S TOO SMALL FOR A BODY.”

Oh OK. Midgets or babies can’t be wrapped up and discarded in a rug? Appendages or severed heads? I forgot we live in a perfect world where midgets don’t get murdered and babies aren’t thrown away and not everyone eats their kill. That’s so 1990 Jeffrey Dahmer.

THIS POST JUST GOT TOO DARK. Or not dark enough, if you’re my kind of people.

We did see homeless people with a George Forman Grill, and that was the one thing that Henry  took away from him. When we met up later with Bill and Jessi, he couldn’t wait to tell them about that.

“A George Forman Grill! Where were they going to plug it in!?” he laughed. Oh, Henry.

Henry Crapo, HAHAHAHA!

Trying not to laugh at Henry Crapo.

Alleyway Photo Op.

Henry and Chooch had to stay outside while Sarah and I went inside Paul’s Pipe Hospital, which immediately made me think of my dad. I’m not sure if he still smokes pipes, but he did when I was growing up and I always loved that smell. One of my high school teachers owned a pipe shop in the mall called the Tinder Box and I used to love walking in there for the same reason.

Paul’s Pipe Hospital taught me that there are actual trophies to be won if you can continuously smoke the same pipe longer than anyone else in Pipe Competitions. Now I kind of want to acquire a taste for pipe tobacco so that I too can win a trophy. How popular would Chooch be at school once everyone finds out his mom is a competitive pipe smoking CHAMPION? And how long will it take before someone in his school realizes there are ways to make this into a euphemism for fellatio.

“OH YEAH, I HEARD SHE SMOKED YOUR DAD’S PIPE REAL COMPETIVELY.”

God, this is a fantastic idea. How do I get started? I want one of the pipes I saw there that come in a far-out array of 1970s afghan colors.

Look at what you’ve done to me, Sarah.

My outfit matched Sarah’s hair perfectly.

After about 2 hours, it was time to say goodbye and head back to Wayne so we could check into our hotel and grab a quick dinner before meeting up with Bill and Jessi.

Sarah and Michelle, thank you both so much for making  time for us and getting the awkward “first meet” out of the way. I already can’t wait to see you both again! Come to Pittsburgh!!

I read some reviews online (because that’s what I do: read amusement park reviews all day long; I don’t have any friends to occupy my time, remember?) that complained about the employees were terrible. This was definitely not the case on my visit, because they clearly know I have a blog and want all of the glowing words written about them. I will say that I didn’t have a single run-in with surly orange-shirts all day. And I even left the park with two favorites: the dude from the Lost Coaster ride and this sweet Russian broad from the Hoosier Hurricane.

The Lost Coaster guy reminded me of the Salute Your Shorts camp counselor, Ug, in that he thought he was way cooler than he was and tried to act tough by yelling things like, “LIKE DON’T SIT ON THE RAILING!” But I guess he was still more intimidating than me because Chooch never listens when I tell him to get off the rail but when Ug hollered it, Chooch hopped off with a quickness.

I accidentally left my phone on the ride and realized it about 3 minutes afterward. When I ran back up the exit ramp to the ride platform, he was checking the next riders’ seat belts and casually holding my pink cell phone and it just made me crack up so bad.

“Hey, that’s my phone,” I said in faux-outrage and he put his hands up.

“I tried to chase you down but you were already gone!” he explained, handing it back over and we both had a good laugh. Why, I’m not sure. But I think I probably was definitely in the beginning stages of heat stroke by then so everything was funny to me except for things that Henry said/did/didn’t do because those things just made me inexplicably ANGRY.

OK, now let’s talk about the Russian. (I mean, after I type out hundreds of words that seem totally unrelated to a Russian broad, of course.)

A few days before we left for our road trip, Chooch acquired some sort of cut/scrape thing on the top of his ankle. Something about he went to kick a soccer ball, missed, tripped over it, bent his foot all the back and scraped it against the sidewalk. Then he proceeded to wear Converse high-tops, which ended up rubbing his scrape raw while forming a blister all at the same time.

So now he had a mutant cut/blister injury in addition to his foot hurting in general from being bent all the way back. He would be fine in the morning, but once he started walking too much, it would aggravate the wound and make his ankle get all red and slightly swollen.

The humidity that day, and also the OINTMENT (I love that people hate that word) that Henry slathered on the wound, made Chooch’s ankle too MOIST (hahaha) for Band-Aids to stay adhered for very long. So when were walking up the metal-grated steps of the Hoosier Hurricane coaster, Chooch forgot how to walk and fell, banging his ankle against the metal edge of the step below him, knocking off the Band-Aid and making him wince in pain.

Henry wasn’t with us, since he wasn’t RIDING anything that day, so I had to try to be a mom and tell Chooch things like, “It’s probably going to be fine” and “You’ll probably still have a foot after all of this is over” and “PLEASE START WALKING, I REALLY WANT TO GO ON THIS ROLLER COASTER.” As soon as we made it into the station, a super sweet Russian girl took down the chain for us and said to Chooch, “Oh no! What is happened to you?” But Chooch was still blinking back tears so I had to do my best to make it look like I hadn’t abused my child.

“There is first aid down there,” she said, pointing over her shoulder. She was really concerned about Chooch’s ankle, which was really endearing. But then we got stuck standing awkwardly next to her while we waited for the coaster to come back, so she made broken-English small talk about the weather.

“It is hot,” she said in a staccato.

“Yeah,” I agreed, struggling for words. And then after a stretch of about 30 million acres of silence, I thought of something else to say. “That, uh, humidity makes it worse.”

“Oh yah! The humidity is worst!” she agreed, and I thanked the arrival of the coaster for interrupting our cliche weather discourse.

She made sure Chooch and I were safely buckled into our seats and then said, “Enjoy ride!” and I secretly hoped it was meant just for us and not any of the other sweaty bastards behind us.

After we got off the ride, Chooch ran ahead of Henry and me because he knows everything, including the way to the first aid trailer. Eight-year-olds don’t need parents, you guys. By the time we caught up and walked into the first aid trailer, Chooch and the park medic were just sitting there silently, Chooch on the edge of the bed and the medic at his desk.

“He just came in and sat down,” the medic explained. “Said he was waiting for some people.”

And then Chooch relayed the entire, sordid saga of the Origin of the Wound.

He loves to talk about it. Last night, as soon as we got to his piano lesson, he sighed and mumbled something about his foot hurting. (Side note: that fucker is pretty much healed by now, so I guess he’s experiencing fantasy pains similar to Henry’s imaginary war wounds that don’t exist because Henry was never in an actual war when he was in the SERVICE.) “Oh no, what did you do to it?” his piano teacher Cheryl asked.

“Ugh, why does everyone ask me about it?” Chooch cried and I was like, “OH OK, MY LEFT FOOT, MAYBE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T STOP BRINGING IT UP.”

Here’s Henry re-doing Chooch’s Band-Aid 3 minutes later.

There was another Russian girl working the Cornball Express, another roller coaster, but she wasn’t as nice. I mean, she wasn’t a dick head or anything, but she didn’t go out of her way to smother us with attention like Hoosier Hurricane did. The other Cornball Express girl routinely helped me unbuckle my seatbelt all 137 times we rode that coaster (honestly, there were no lines to wait in). Chooch, who had quickly mastered the secret of the Houdini-approved seatbelts, kept crying out, “Oh for Christ’s sake, mommy!” Before eventually just not waiting for me anymore.

I seriously have never struggled so hard with a seatbelt in my life. It was almost embarrassing. Ok it was embarrassing.

After hours of stalking Frankenstein’s Castle, those fucking garage doors were finally a’lift and we had the confusing task of trying to add dolla dolla bills to the Indiana Beach cash card thing. I forget to mention that this is one of those amusement parks where, if you don’t want to plan on riding much, you can load money onto credit cards and then scan it before you get on the rides. Even the ride-all-day wristbands have barcodes on them and everyone is required to stick their wrist under a scanner at the front of all of the lines. Waldameer Park in Erie does this, too. It’s annoying, but whatever.

Anyway, Frank’s Place wasn’t included in the ride-all-day admission price. Some dark rides are like that and while I’m not exactly sure of the reason (Chris? Can you help here?), I have a few theories, mostly that it’s a restoration thing. It was an additional $3.50 per person and BE STILL MY HEART, Henry actually paid for THREE. At first, I thought maybe there was some sad albino kid in line behind us, tugging on Henry’s bland heart strings and making him do charitable thangs. (I didn’t want to end on a rhyme. You understand.)

But no, he was paying for himself! Henry was finally going to not sit on a bench with his nose pressed against his phone, looking at Pinterest! (Honestly, Chooch and I made fun of him from every line in which we stood. Because why not.)

As soon as the ticket booth broad granted us admission, our nostrils were slammed with the unmistakable vintage bouquet of moth balls and Aunt Edith’s cedar closet of muumuus. It’s a smell that I love because it means old school amusement park. Fuck those flashy sterile, steel concrete jungles known as Six Flags.

I want that fancy dark ride musk.

If they bottled it as perfume/cologne, that’d be a surefire way to get me into your backseat.

(Oh come on, don’t pretend like you thought I was classy.)

“I just paid $3.50 to walk through a fake castle with two screaming d-bags. I bet that taco would have also cost $3.50 and have been way less annoying.” – Henry, if he ever thought about anything.

After sitting on a bench and listening to a crackling recording about what scares we were about to encounter, a disinterested young Indiana Beach employee opened a door and ushered us in for the “OMG crashing elevator” segment. At first I thought this was going to be totally lame, and that part was, but then she opened another door and set us free, on our own, to shuffle through the guts of a mostly pitch-black haunted house.

Here is Henry’s review:

It was fun. I got pushed through by two scared little people. That’s about it.

Wow. Titillating as always.

There were no scare actors, just the effective non-use of light bulbs, enclosed animatronic displays that managed to pop on when I was always the most unsuspecting, moving floors and enough enclosed spaces to make a claustrophobe fake their way through the rosary.

THIS IS A CLASSIC DARK ATTRACTION. One that keeps it real and doesn’t rely on modern, high-tech scare tactics. Let me put it this way: there are chicken doors located throughout the length of the castle and if Henry hadn’t gone in with us, I guarantee the first one would have a chunk taken out of it in the exact outline of my body.

This is the type of haunt you want to walk through with the person you’re obsessively crushing on or maybe the hipster you just met IRL on Tinder and want to terrorize in the dark with rusty hedge clippers while wearing your mom’s skin on your face. Butterflies!

I’d go back to Indiana Beach every summer just for another 10 minutes inside Frankenstein.

YEAH, YOU READ THAT RIGHT.

*****

Overall, I would rate Indiana Beach 3/5. The coasters and dark rides were its main redeeming qualities. I didn’t like how it took so long for a lot of the rides to open, instead of just opening everything when the park itself opened. And I also didn’t like the actual park grounds. The layout was weird, sloppy like the parks I used to create on Roller Coaster Tycoon because I apparently lack aesthetic. I’m not saying I expect every park to be Disney-levels of beautiful, but I don’t know, maybe try planting some more flowers or something.

We didn’t eat enough of the food for this to be a factor in my rating, although they had something called Redneck Biscuits which sounded hideous but I still wanted to eat one and Henry wouldn’t buy me one because NO TACO.

My brain needs to reset itself so here, have a filler post.  There are also no pictures of Henry in this one, because as he said earlier, “Haven’t you word-raped me enough over the last two days?” TOUCHÉ, MOTHERFUCKER.

Honestly was about to scratch a Will on my leg with a paint chip from this sad, downtrodden Paratrooper—it was such a janky ride! On one hand, I was like, “At least if we’re flung from this shoddy piece of mechanics, we have a 50/50 chance of hitting the lake and surviving” and then on the other hand I was like, “EW I DON’T WANT TO TOUCH THAT GROSS WATER!”

I’ve only ridden on one set of Paratroopers more run down looking than this one, and that was at the Washington County Fair.

A fresh coat of paint goes a long way, Indiana Beach. Just pretend like each umbrella is one of Tammy Faye Bakker’s eyelids. Go wild!

Faces of Paratrooper survivors.

That guy has what we call 1950s Indiana Swag.

I love the Tilt-a-Whirl so much but not on days where elves are spooning viscous scoops of oil from my facial pores to use as liliputian love-stick lubricant. Let me spell it out for it: IT WAS HOT AND HUMID. I can’t ride spinny rides when I’m in the throes of heat stroke. But Chooch rode this three times in a row. God, good for you, Chooch. Why don’t you just write a song about it on your dumb keyboard, ugh.

Obligatory ice cream cone shot. Can I get any more predictable.

Seriously, these guys. I was obsessed. Also note: this was pretty much how crowded it was all day until late afternoon when the water park mysteriously closed down and a horde of Indiana’s finest invaded the park like beached whales.

Pale, so pale, very pale beached whales.

This is not where I got my ice cream.

I haven’t even finished writing about this park yet and I’m already trying to con Henry into taking us to another one. I’M NEVER SATISFIED. Just ask the doves when they cry.

My criteria for planning a road trip is pretty simple:

• Are there friends along the way that I can impose upon?
• Does my Roadside America app approve of this route?
• Are there amusement parks in the vicinity?

I’ve wanted to go to Indiana Beach (fun fact: not actually a beach) for awhile now, and it seemed logical to combine this with a long overdue visit to Michigan to hang out with Bill, Jessi and Tammy and also meet up with some other ladies I have been Internet friends with for YEARS. (More on that later!)

We had to drive through actual farmlands to get to Monticello, Indiana, at which point a man of about 100 years of age collected $7 from us and told us where to park.

Which was “anywhere in the wide open, empty parking lot.”

We got there right when the park opened, and not only was it a ghost town, but none of the rides were running. We roamed around for awhile, getting turned away from the Hoosier Hurricane and wasting time at the shooting gallery. Also, the humidity was so bad that it felt like Hell with the lid on; my face took on the sebaceous sheen of a glazed Christmas ham in no time. It was disgusting. But not so disgusting that I would consider visiting the dilapidated water park portion of Indiana Beach, which was included in regular admission because the lazy river wasn’t running. God only knows why not.

No thanks, dirty pastel water slides. God only knows what kind of fungi you’re getting ready to launch into my vagina. (I have phobias, OK?)

Chooch killed some time at the shooting gallery, while I paced around, waiting for the adjacent Frankenstein’s Castle to open their dumb doors already. I refuse to partake in the shooting galleries at amusement parks because HENRY won’t teach me how to aim. So I almost never hit anything. And then I pout, which morphs into an inevitable Hulk Rage later on.

Fuck you, Henry.

Lame Henry didn’t get the ride-all-day wristband because he’s too old to have fun at amusement parks now. But he sure does enjoy the ones with free general admission so that he can walk around and complain for nothing. I promise you, we broke up at least 87 times that day.

The main (OK, the only) reason Indiana Beach made my list is their staggering collection of THREE dark rides. Two of them, The Den of Lost Thieves and the most-anticipated House of Frankenstein were basically the last rides to open that day. But oh, were they worth the wait.

The Den of Lost Thieves is a shooting ride, which I generally do not enjoy. Kennywood took out a great dark ride, the Goldrusher, and replaced it with a modern shooter-type dark ride and the only thing remarkable about it is how incredibly boring it is. I would gladly bypass this one every time we visit Kennywood, but Chooch always drags me on it. I hate waiting in line for it too! You wait and wait and wait only to get put in this holding room, like a foyer, where they force you to watch some animated portrait on a wall telling you the story of Ghostwood Estate and then the door opens and it’s a fucking free-for-all. Everyone pushes their way through so even if you were the first one in line before entering that room, chances are you’ll take a fanny pack to the groin and wind up 17 people back.

So when I realized that the Den of Lost Thieves was also a shooting ride, I was like, “Damn, we drive 8 hours for this?” But it turned out to be FANTASTIC! Old, musty and full of old-school scares. I loved the shit out of this ride. Especially since I got more points than Chooch.

Another dark ride in the park doubled as a coaster! It was called the Lost Coaster of Something I Forget Who Knows. There was no one in line when Chooch and I walked past, so I shoved all of my belongings into Henry’s chest and bolted for it.

“Um…it’s gonna take a few minutes,” the older, orange-shirted ride operator said. “It got stuck, and I’m waiting for someone to push it back out.” Oh OK, no big deal, you guys. Rides get stuck like all of the time, right? And probably not back-to-back times, right?

He said something about the cars not being “properly weighted” and I was like, “Oh well if you’re looking for all of the weight, you’ve come to the right thunder thighs.” Four more people joined us right as a mechanic came grunting out of the fake cave, pushing the double mine cars in front of him.

The ride operator seemed confident that we had enough bodies to successfully propel the mine cars from start to finish, so we loaded up with me and Chooch and some lady and little girl in one car, and a guy and kid in the one behind us.

Awkward thing about this ride: four people fit in a car, but the seats face each other, so unless you’re with three of your homies, you get to stare at strangers for the next two minutes and I hate that you guys. Looking at people who are looking at me, it’s just…ew. Not for me.

This ride was pretty thrilling and volatile, just like a relationship with me! All of the ups and downs and whiplash and violent shoves.

Will you need a PFA? Maybe! And then…nothing. It just stopped, right in the middle of the dark cave.

“Is it supposed to do this?” I asked the people in the car with us.

“I DON’T THINK SO BUT THE STEEL HAWG GETS STUCK ALL THE TIME,” answered the little girl in an octave only little girls can manage.

****Mental note to be wary of the Steel Hawg. (Which never opened that day anyway, so moot point.)

Anyway, guess what guys? We were stuck! I think this may have been my first time ever getting stuck on a ride, too, so thanks Indiana Beach! That’s a cherry I sure needed popped.

As if it wasn’t hot enough that day, now we were stuck inside some muggy faux-cavern, in a near-enclosed car, with no rescue in sight. I had sweat rolling into my eyes and mouth, I could feel it dripping from the backs of my knees, my whole person was slick with the moist essence of PANIC.

And I had these strangers staring at me and I had nothing to say other than nervous laughter and then the kid in the car behind us started to cry and his dad was mouthing off about how this was such BULLshit and Chooch kept meowing and I was like, “WHY IS NO ONE TRYING TO COMMUNICATE WITH US OVER AN INTERCOM OR MORSE CODE OR CROP CIRCLE?!” And then finally, after a good FIVE MINUTES OF NOTHING, that same disgruntled mechanic came trudging up the track behind us, shouted an answer to a garbled voice over his walkie talkie, fumbled with some switches in the breaker box next to us, and then said “Enjoy your ride” just as the motor kicked in and we went STRAIGHT DOWN A HILL. Oh that’s right, we were stuck on the zenith of a hill and had no idea because it was so dark in there. So…that was definitely a thrill.

Meanwhile, Henry had been dreaming of buying a taco all day. That’s what he’s thinking about in this picture, as a matter of fact. Indiana Beach has a taco stand that was apparently featured on the Food Network for some reason. I love me a good taco, but I knew that Indiana Beach was for sure not going to have a meatless option. So Chooch and I decided to get pizza and then Henry was going to get his coveted taco afterward.

Except that Chooch only ate one slice of his personal pizza and Henry acted like a motherfucking martyr and ate the rest of it. Like, who cares? Sometimes I think he does this shit on purpose, like he’s some Leftover Scraps Hero. OK, you ate three small slices of crappy pizza, good for you.

Oh, you ate the rest of Chooch’s waffle for breakfast? Well, FUCK Henry. Thanks for taking one for the team. Shit.

I knew all of his moaning and groaning over this would eventually paint a bigger picture, and I was right: Now that he had eaten Chooch’s pizza, he was “too full” to get a taco, and that was ALL THAT HE WANTED, you guys. A fucking taco, but now Chooch and I had ruined his life by having the audacity to get pizza for our own lunches. Last time I checked, no one was forcing pizza down Henry’s enlarged hatch.

I kept coaxing him to get a taco, but he was being such a bitch about it. He was acting offended almost, like he was on a porn diet and I was trying to get him to succumb to peer pressure by showing photos of naked broads going to town on tacos.

So bizarre. Maybe he’s trying to fit back into his SERVICE costume?

Wistful thoughts over the taco stain on his shirt that could have been.

Dreaming of brushing a taco with his moustache bristles to the tune of a Selena song.

He had his chance right here! Going, going….

Gone. This was right after he said, “I DON’T WANT ONE NOW. JUST FORGET IT.” Oh wow, someone’s come down with a case of the Erins.

Imagining a lake where all the sailboats are tacos and he’s a great, venerable taco sailor.

Not buying a taco.

Yeah Henry. Don’t forget. Bitchbaby motherfucker.

(I think Mexico might find it hard to believe that the world’s best tacos are in Indiana.)

OMG one of my favorite parts of our road trip was when we got to drive through the boarded-up hole where Henry used to live while he was in the SERVICE OMG CAN YOU STAND IT.

I wondered out loud if perhaps Henry had grown children running around Bunker Hill, but he assured me that was impossible, which means that Henry didn’t have sex for like THREE YEARS from 1984-1987.

I was in elementary school then, roller skating and being awesome.

Henry is sitting next to me right now, against his will, and I’m asking him for information to include with these pictures since he has refused to write anything on his own because he hates thinking of the years of his life that didn’t include me.

Obviously.

He was an aircraft CREW CHIEF. Whatever that means.

Here is a street that Henry may have walked on! He probably at least drove on it in his GREEN GRAND PRIX. (He just corrected me and said it was blue but last night he told me it was green. Now he’s saying he had both. God, brag much?) He doesn’t recall Brown’s Game Room being there when he lived there in the EIGHTIES. I asked him if there were any whore houses there and he got really impatient and said, “Not in BUNKER HILL. Those were in KOKOMO.” Oh. Sorry.

Henry never want to Indiana Beach while he lived there because he didn’t know it existed. He did, however, go to the fair. Once. He can’t remember if he rode anything, but he knows for certain he didn’t kiss any girls there because kissing leads to SEX and he wasn’t having that in Bunker Hill. That would have ruined his reputation as the Base Eunuch.

This is the neighborhood where Henry’s trailer was but he claims the trailer isn’t there anymore, but he wouldn’t drive back to where it used to be so I couldn’t get any pictures of the empty pit that remains. He wouldn’t even get out of the car while I was taking these pictures. (Admittedly, there wasn’t much there to photograph and I didn’t want anyone to come running out of their home, spitting Skoal at me, so I was pretty quick to wrap this up.)

Also, Henry has no pictures of his trailer, because he wasn’t in the habit of taking pictures of his non-descript living quarters. He had a variety of roommates, including Les, Tim (WHO HE IS FRIENDS WITH ON FACEBOOK! I’m going to message him soon), and John. He thinks John only lived there for a little while but he doesn’t remember because it’s hard to remember things that happened in the 80s, you guys. He claims that they never brought home any local women and this is just so weird to me. They had lots of porn on VHS though. He mumbled “no” when I asked him if they all watched it together, which means that he wanted them to all watch it together but they were like, “Ew get out of here, Eunuch.”

HENRY HAS BEEN TO THIS BAR!!! Apparently, he mostly drank at the bar on BASE. What a snob. He told me that he used to drink LONG ISLAND ICED TEAS at the bar on base. You guys, Henry used to drink LONG ISLAND ICED TEAS. Now I know what I’m serving at his 50th birthday party next year, complete with cocktail parasols and fruit on swords. And obviously they will be served in mason jars with paper straws, as an homage to Henry’s Pinterest addiction.

Henry made me get in the car after this for fear of the homeowners mistaking me for someone casing their house.

Henry used to cook his own food when he lived there and he just said, “I don’t understand why this is such a big deal to you, I cook my own food now, too.” Oh yeah. But for some reason, I keep imagining him in velour lounge pants and a wife-beater, stirring succotash on top of a hot plate. He just told me he cooked Thanksgiving dinner once!! For like 4 or 5 people, he doesn’t remember!

(I AM SO GIDDY AS I WRITE THIS! The notion of Henry having a life prior to me is hilarious and mythical to me all at once. I need to know all of it.)

I was excited to talk about this picture but Henry yelled, “THAT IS A WHOLE DIFFERENT THING. THAT IS NOT EVEN BUNKER HILL. THAT IS TEXAS.” He didn’t do cool things like this in Indiana. Probably because he didn’t know how.

This was when Henry first saw the thing and then realized it wasn’t the thing anymore. (You know, that base thing.) It’s a prison now! He said he doesn’t have many feelings about this since it was so long ago. There was a reunion last year that he didn’t attend. He said it was because all of the people who went were people who were there for like a million years and not an early-discharge pussy like himself. I asked him if he had one of those dishonorable discharges and he got really irritated so that means yes. Probably because he was a Eunuch. And back then, that was probably worse than being gay.

He’s laughing right now but it’s not the “I’m having a good time!” kind of laugh, but more of a “Can I please go to bed now because my sanity is starting to come out of my nose” kind of scary laugh.

Doing this thing again. As usual, keep checking back for updates if you’re bedridden and have nothing else to do but watch 700 Club reruns.

1:13pm: Just said our sad goodbyes to Bill & Jessi and are headed back home to Pittsburgh. Right before we left their house, I noted that this was the first time we hung out with them without Bill maiming Chooch in some way. Three minutes later, Bill was like “I’ll give you ONE PUSH on the swing but then you have to go, buddy” and then just like that, Chooch fell off the swing. It was perfect timing.

1:50pm: Chooch is already sleeping. We are breakfast with Bill & Jessi this morning at Rocky’s Diner and had an awesome waitress also named Jessi who told us she once went to Pittsburgh for a baseball game. Then there was this old white man at the table next to us, ranting to his female breakfast companions about how it’s ridiculous that women can have their own women-only clubs but god forbid men should try to do that and how unfair it is that if a woman wants in a boys-only club, the boys have to let her in or else it turns into a Thing and it’s just BULLSHIT how much the world has changed to accommodate WOMEN, you guys. Secretly, Henry was probably strongly identifying with this d-bag’s plight.

1:56pm: Chex Mix.

2:33pm: We just drove over a bridge near what Chooch calls “Toll-do.” (Aka Toledo.) I am desperately bored. Chooch is sleeping, Henry and I quit talking to each on Day One, and I have nothing going on my Simpsons: Tapped Out. Help.

3:46pm: Henry is trying to be affectionate and keeps trying to touch me like we’re old flames or something and I’m like “Bro you ignored me for three days! I’ve moved on!” In other news, Soul 4 Real’s “Candy Rain” was on the radio a few minutes ago so that was a nice flashback to when I identified as an urban black girl in high school.

4:07pm: Wow. Daddy Henbucks just treated Chooch and me to Hershey’s ice cream & Starbucks at some crappy rest stop outside of Cleveland. WHAT DID WE DO TO GET SO LUCKY. We walked in and exited behind the same family. I don’t know, that’s all I got. This drive is really mind-numbing and lacks the anticipation and excitement of YAY ROAD TRIP! like we (I) had on Wednesday. The only upside is getting to see Marcy in a few hours! And getting to edit my photos!

5:04pm: Chooch is taking the “What Kind of Cat Are You?” quiz on Buzzfeed for the fifth time.

5:20pm: “It doesn’t matter how much you bitch, it’s still going to take an hour and 13 minutes to get home” – Henry.

5:55pm: Just remembered the rest area we stopped at Friday in Michigan that had so many bugs adhered to the sides of it that they had to post a sign inside with “facts” on what they are. Fish flies, apparently. I’m dry-heaving at the memory of them, holy fuck.

6:18pm: Chooch just caught a glimpse of the Pittsburgh skyline and began to weep.

6:22pm: HOME!! Chooch just said, “Haha, you and Daddy have to work tomorrow.” Ugh, home. :(

So, in conclusion: the ride home is waaaaay less exciting and this post was pretty pointless.

Hi guys, it’s Friday and we’re en route to Michigan. Here’s a brief run-down of our Thursday:

After a night of really intense thunderstorms that had Chooch totally panicked, we ate crappy hotel breakfast with Miserable Henry.

“I wonder how long it will take before he quits talking to us altogether,” I mused out loud.

“I think that’s already happened,” Chooch answered, shoveling disgusting scrambled eggs into his mouth. Henry said they were made from a powder. So fucking disgusting.

Drove through “downtown” Logansport on our way to Monticello and I saw at least four men wearing overalls which made me miss the days when I used to wear overalls constantly so the first thing on my agenda when I get home is to buy some motherfucking overalls from the farmer store.

I made Henry take us to this donut shop because clearly small donut joints like this one have really good donuts and we would be remiss not to see for ourselves.

Except that they only had approximately five donuts left and a girl was standing there staring at us so Henry felt obligated at that point to buy two donuts even though he didn’t like any of the ones available. And then it was all, “Mommy HAD to stop here” for the next half hour.

Passed a tractor parade on the way to Indiana Beach in Monticello.

Spent most of the day melting our faces off at Indiana Beach, which is a pretty sad amusement park with some really great dark rides, wooden coasters and other assorted rides prone to getting stuck. We were only there for an hour before getting stuck on some mine ride, so that was wonderful.

I have a ton more to say about this but that will have to wait until I get home. You know me + words + amusement parks. No one ever wins when those blog posts roll out.

Left Indiana Beach and drove to Fort Wayne, where we ended up staying for the night in a Best Western “Executive Suite,” which made Chooch say, “Well done, Daddy. I’m impressed.” Poor kid.

Ate at Cebolli’s Mexican Restaurant or something and had a delightful young waiter who called me “miss.”

Afterward, we drove through “downtown” Fort Wayne because there was some moving bread billboard that my Roadside America app kept insisting that I needed to see. As soon as we got into town, there were people RUNNING to some shared destination and we were like WTF, why is this dumb city so excited right now? And then we drive past their little baseball stadium which had music blaring from within so Henry googled and discovered that a Florida Georgia Line “concert” was happening, which explained why all the dorky-looking white people were racing in droves toward the music.

“That’s not nice,” Henry chastised me when I was in the middle of a roll making fun of country music. And then I remembered that he was a country music fan before I saved him.

(Just kidding, y’all. I don’t even really hate country music. NOT AS MUCH AS I HATE SKA, anyway.)

Then we were at a traffic light behind some car who was sitting through a green light. Some stoner kid was crossing the street and calmly shouted, “That’s a green light, bro” and then nodded a “You’re welcome” to us. I was really excited about this but Henry was like, “It wasn’t that funny” because if it’s not on Comedy Central, it’s not funny.

Found the billboard and Henry was like, “Really? This?”

And now we’re on our way to meet my friends Michelle and Sarah for the first time ever and I’m nervously excited! And Henry just had a bitch-fit because he hasn’t been able to find his stupid jugs of iced tea anywhere in Ohio or Indiana. #bluecollarproblems

HAVE A GOOD FRIDAY, FRIENDS!

I’m live blogging our drive to Indiana. Keep checking back for updates throughout the day, please and thanks.

8:41am: We’re just about to finally leave the house for our dysfunctional, poorly-planned road trip to Michigan. First though, we’re going to Indiana for an AMUSEMENT PARK because the sun rises and sets on amusement parks. I wanted to have been on the road an hour ago but Henry is an asshole.

9:03am: I hope Henry knows that I’m going to keep being a bitch until he stops and gets me FUCKING COFFEE. THIS IS RIDICULOUS.

9:19am: Chooch was awake long enough to get dressed and whine about having to put shoes on.

9:27am: We have to drive through Bunker Hill, IN which is one of the places Henry lived while IN THE SERVICE OMG. I’m so excited about this. I asked him if we could stop & take pictures and then he can blog about it later and he said MAYBE!

Me: “Do you think we can buy post cards there?”

Henry: “Doubt it.”

10:09am: You guys. I just realized we have to drive through Ohio, ugh. Ohio is boring to drive through and Henry is telling me about his dream from last night and that’s boring too. Everything is boring.

10:17am: THOUGHT: What if Henry has CHILDREN in Bunker Hill?!?!?!

11:00am: Suddenly not bitching about being stuck in accident traffic now that I know two people died. :(

11:23am: Still in traffic (and Chooch finally woke up for a minute) so here’s a story for you. Janna came over Saturday night and Chooch downloaded some Guess the Emoji game on her phone. We were all stuck on this one that had a Henry-ish emoji and a book, so my guess was:

News flash, that wasn’t the answer. Chooch told me I’m immature and then did his signature “laugh so hard then puke” maneuver. Unable to figure it out, I had the bright idea to use the “ask Facebook” option, which posted the picture onto JANNA’S profile with the caption “GUYS HELP ME I’M TOO DUMBBBBB” before she had a chance to grab her phone off me. Immediately, two of her friends commented to tell her the answer was, ironically, Facebook. I guess we’re all TOO DUMBBBB.

11:46am: Just stopped at a disgusting rest area in Boring, Ohio and I discovered that there was melted chocolate in the car seat from my Kashi bar and it was all over my shorts so Henry had to clean me up while muttering, “THIS IS WHAT I EXPECT FROM CHOOCH! DO I HAVE TO PUT A SEAT COVER ON THE FRONT SEAT TOO?!” God. Just do your job and STFU.

12:40pm: Here is a convo that just happened as we drove past Columbus:

Henry: I’d like to go to the Columbus zoo someday.
Me: Why.
Henry: Because they have a nice zoo.
Me: How do you know?
Henry: Because they have a nice zoo, OK?
Me: Yeah but how do you know if you’ve never been there?
Henry: Because…THEY JUST HAVE A NICE ZOO.
Me: BUT HOW DO YOU KNOW?????
Henry: *mumbled something about Jack Hanna*

God!!! I’m not doubting him, I just want to know if some “tellyvision program” gave him these ideas or if some derelict from the gutter gave him a pamphlet one day.

12:54pm: Setting good examples for my kid:

Me: Don’t touch my fat arm.
Henry: Maybe you have that body dysmorphic thing. (He just learned about that from Catfish.)
Me: Oh I’ve always known that I have that and it’s just amplified by the fact that I actually am really fat & ugly.”

1:04pm: Here’s a “Henry Left Us in the Car While He Buys Himself Beverage” selfie/groupie.

And then some asshole walked by and stared at us so I yelled “WHY DON’T YOU TAKE A PICTURE IT’LL LAST LONGER” because I have to fulfill my Pee Wee’s Big Adventure quote quota. Meanwhile, Chooch’s retort to Staring Guy was a much more succinct “Bitch!”

1:49pm: Henry finally fed us. We had a rest area picnic. It was OK. There was fruit salad. We are wasting so much time.

2:13pm: Isles & Glaciers came on just as we passed an exit sign for Cincinnati. Thumbs up, universe. You’re cute.

2:50pm: Chooch saw a billboard for Tom Raper RVs and is fixating on the fact that obviously Tom’s parents wanted him to grow up to be a raper and Henry was like “HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS” and Chooch said “Mommy told me” and I was like “I certainly did not!” and Chooch said “Yes you did, when you made me watch the ‘He’s climbing in yo’ window’ video!” and I said “I never made you watch that!” and he said “What, do you think I just tumbled down the steps, watching it on my phone?” and then we both cracked up and I choked on a fruit snack and Henry said “Thanks, Erin.”

4:28pm: Just was struck with the crippling desire to listen to Howard Hewett’s “This Love Is Forever,” which comes with the story about the time in 10th grade when my friend Christy and I were dog-sitting for my aunt Susie on New Year’s Eve. I had recently been dumped my OMGTRULUV Justin Kail, so aside from accidentally knocking over Susie’s Christmas tree, all I remember happening that night was the house being papered with instructional Post-It notes from Susie and my then-uncle Mark and me listening to this song on repeat while crying and Christy being utterly annoyed. I just told Henry this story and he was like “Yes, I know. Pretttttttty sure I’ve heard this one” but sorry, it’s mandatory. Then I performed a full-body lip synch of the song’s crescendo which Henry really enjoys while he’s trying to drive.

Oh and about the Christmas tree. Don’t worry, Christy and I left a Post-It note that said “We knocked over your Xmas tree” before we left the next day.

CHRISTY DO YOU REMEMBER THIS.

5:00pm: In Kokomo now, Henry is lost. Listening to a yacht rock Spotify station to drown out my incessantly chirping kid from the backseat.

5:34pm: AHHH IT HAPPENED! We just drove through Bunker Hill! I asked Henry how it made him feel and he said, “With you with me? Angry.”

This will be its own blog post!

6:37pm: We almost walked into some diner in Logansport, IN (that’s where we’re staying tonight) but I said, “No. I have a bad feeling about this place. Lets go to that Mr. Happy Burger joint we just passed.” Henry was all bothered but BY GEORGE it was the best decision ever because Mr. Happy Burger is practically a make believe fast food restaurant created for a bad 80s comedy. I am OBSESSED.

And they had grilled cheese! And Henry didn’t smile once!

7:40pm: We’re in our hotel room in Logansport and Chooch has been reading out loud from the bible for the last fifteen minutes, pausing to offer his own personal asides, like after the part that said “and there will be no more pain,” he said, “YEAH RIGHT. OW!” Because he’s been complaining all day about a cut on his foot. He said the word “profitable” like a pro and then pronounced “testimonies” as “tes-TIM-onies.” He ended by saying, “That’s all for today. Stay tuned.” And then burst into flames.

I’ll post a video later. I unfortunately wasn’t able to capture him doing his “fabulous angel” voice, though.

8:03pm: Mr. Happy Burger has another location near our hotel that has a sundae parlor! Obviously, I’m sitting inside of it right now.

9:16pm: Back from a tour of dilapidated Logansport and Chooch lost our room key. Sweating in the stinky Quality Inn hallway while Mad Henry goes to the front desk. He is so over us.

9:26pm: Henry just paid $10 for a new room key.

Earlier, we went for a short walk in Riverview Park and I dryheaved over the stagnant river as we walked across a bridge. Then a bunch of preteens in bathing suits ran past us, screaming about going swimming. “Wait—are they swimming in THAT?” I asked Henry, pointing to the bug invested water.

“I mean, probably. This is a pretty backwoods area.”

“DISGUSTING THINGS ARE GOING TO SWIM UP THEIR KOOKAS! UGH, THEY ARE SO FUCKED!” —literally!!!!

Oh well. Thank god for Mr.Happy Burger. Or Hap’s, for those in the know.

11:04pm: OMG it’s thunderstorming so bad and Chooch and I are convinced that we’re going to die in a tornado. Henry is so exasperated and keeps yelling, “THIS IS JUST A NORMAL STORM CLOSE THE CURTAINS GO TO BED SHUT UP” and I’m like “WHAT IF THE LIGHTNING COMES THRU THE WINDOWWWW?” This is probably my last update since a giant lightning hand is going to pick me up and carry me off into the Stormlands. OMG I’m so scared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8:00am: I asked Henry if I should live blog on the way home
and he said no, that’s dumb. So I’m going to do it, obviously,
because fuck Henry.

8:10am: Hotel breakfast stresses me out because
I hate doing things!! I saw Henry had scrambled eggs and I was
like, “There are eggs?! I don’t know how to get them” so Henry got
me some scrambled eggs. It’s a miracle I was able to operate the
cereal dispenser.

8:43am: Henry tripped on the way out of the
breakfast room and then tried to deny it.

9:18am: OMGOMG I forgot
to mention that last night when we were at that stupid brewery
place that didn’t have apricot coriander beer or anything else I
wanted to I had to get a cucumber basil martini and I hated our
waitress, Henry very quietly said, “I liked the third band that
played.” OMG HENRY LIKES MISS FORTUNE PASS IT ON!! “Why didn’t you
tell them?!” I cried. “The singer was standing right in front of
you during Slaves!” But he just made up some excuse about how he
can’t talk to guys that cool.

10:21am: Kill me.

10:38am: I guess I’m not allowed to go into Sheetz
with Henry. That’s OK, I’ll just sit in the car like the dog that I
am. :( Could have at least rolled down a window for me though.

11:02am: FINALLY MY QUEST TO HAVE A BOSOM FRIEND IS OVER!!

11:13am: Just talked to Chooch! It went like this:
Me: Guess what I don’t like Jonny Craig anymore.
Chooch: Good. He’s stupid, obviously.
Me: I didn’t even clap for him.
Chooch: OK great.
He’s not much of a phone talker. Or a believer in enthusiasm.

12:23pm: I’ve had to pee for the last hour but my controlling boyfriend won’t stop anywhere. Also, pissed that the fucking spider died in Charlotte’s Web. Still dwelling after 30 years.

12:26pm: Just passed a billboard for a window company and it reminded me of this one time when Christina and I weren’t friends, maybe the 7th time, and she was obsessed with her job at Gilkey Windows, so I would tweet about how Pella Windows were the bomb and even tweeted a picture of a Pella window display at Home Depot because I KNEW IT WOULD UPSET HER. DUMB WINDOW WHORE.

12:35pm: Henry just yelled KEEP IT UP, FUCKER to me and no, it was not in a hot, porn-y context.

1:49pm: Drove around Altoona looking for somewhere to eat lunch which of course culminated into a huge fight & break-up so finally Henry stopped at a Sheetz to get snacks after I berated him for being a joke of a man who doesn’t think to buy SNACKS WHEN GOING ON A ROAD TRIP, and then I made the blah blah motion with my hand to him as he walked past the car, which really endeared me to him, surely. We made eye contact when he came back out of Sheetz and he started laughing because who can stay mad at my adorable face other than my mom, Henry’s ex, Christine Haney, Christina, that vapid cow Seri, Gay Ryan, those two cockbags from Canada? (I’m sure I’m forgetting at least a dozen assholes here.) Then I bit into the Lara bar he bought me and my jaw actually ached since it had been HOURS since it had to chew anything. Fuck you, Henry.

2:30pm: Henry finally decided to stop and feed me, when we’re like an hour away from home. Not even hungry anymore.

2:44pm: Henry just spilled coleslaw on his shirt and he knew exactly why I picked my phone up (to blog about it, obv) and said, “Really?” YEAH REALLY. ASSHOLE WITH A COLESLAW STAIN.

2:55pm: I ate this without making a mess.

Dean’s Diner. Horrible waitress. Dean, check yo’ staff.

4:33pm: Dear blog, we got home about 30 minutes ago and Marcy was pretty ambivalent about our return. Then we remembered we have a child so Henry left again to go retrieve him. I want an ice cream cone with sprinkles. Thanks for reading this nonsense. Fuck you, Jonny Craig.

It’s 10:32am and we just dropped Chooch off at his Aunt Kelly’s and are officially en route to Allentown for the Hands Like Houses/Slaves show. Except that I threw about 18 fits this morning because I didn’t have anything to wear so then Henry was trying to pick things out for me and by that I mean he was trying to make me wear things that make me feel fat because he’s a motherfucker!! Who does that?! And then he was like here wear this purple shirt, you wear this purple shirt a lot. NO I DON’T! But whatever, I put it on. I’m live blogging this because probably we’re going to fight again soon and I’ll have no one to talk to. Just you, Blog.

10:35: SHEETZ. Henry is finally going to feed me.

10:46: Sheetz is the worst on Memorial Day weekend, UGH!! It was so crowded and I panicked because I’m wearing a fatsuit that Henry picked out for me and I just wanted to be done in there so I grabbed a PB&J from the cooler even though that’s not what I wanted and I’m mad!! I hope Henry chokes on his Slim Jims. Motherfucker.

Before we dropped Chooch off, we drove past a church and Chooch decided to make up a prayer that started with “For the love of kittens in London and Taiwan.”

11:10am: After great deliberation (with himself), Henry has decided to just go ahead and use the EZ Pass that comes with the rental car. Wow. What a monumental occasion. I’m so glad it happened on a day I decided to live blog. LIVE IT UP, HENHEN.

11:17am: Just passed a truck crashed into the barrier on the opposite side of the road so Henry was all, “I HAVE TO WARN ONCOMING TRAFFIC!” so he started flashing his lights and then he saw an eighteen wheeler and said, “OH I WILL DEFINITELY HAVE TO WARN THIS TRUCK! HE WILL NEED TIME TO SLOW DOWN!” He’s so proud of himself. Get this motherfucker a badge.

OH, HE WENT FOR IT:

12:19pm: Stopped to pee a few minutes ago and Henry tried to hold my hand (when we were walking into the rest area, not while I was peeing). Then I had to go and accidentally look at myself in the bathroom mirrors and just ugh, thanks for ruining my life Henry!! Came back out after some ginger bitch kept being in my way and Henry had a bag of Auntie Anne’s pretzel bites as if I’m not already engorged enough! UGH!!

12:21pm: OK I feel a little better but I need more coffee ASAP. And Henry keeps pointing at dumb things out the window. GO FUCK YOURSELF AND YOUR STUPID SCENERY!!! Maybe I’m not actually feeling any better, n/m.

12:38pm: Just screamed at Henry to not hit the hawk flying up ahead of us and he yelled, “It’s flying 15 feet above us! I’d have to make the car jump to hit it!” UGH STFU HENRY GO CONFUSE A DICK FOR AN AUNTIE ANNE’S PRETZEL BITE WHY DON’T YOU!!!

12:44pm: According to Henry, I’m “lucky” to have him because “any other guy” would have left me at home after I threw my “tantrum.” OH OK.

1:19pm:

Fun fact! I had to buy this album three times because I kept playing it to the point of no return. Also, we stopped several minutes ago so I could get an iced macchiato at Starbucks but Henry loudly said, “I’m going to a real store to get a drink” and then walked defiantly across the rest stop to the A-Plus convenience store. You sure showed all of us coffee drinkers, Henry.

1:52pm: UGHHHHHH!!!!

2:10pm: We’re at this diner in Carlisle, PA. They only like me here, not Henry.

2:14pm: HENRY JUST SCRATCHED HIS ‘STACHE:

2:34pm: Henry had to reorganize my veggie burger and then cut it for me because feeding myself is hard. :( I had ketchup everywhere and I was so scared.

3:40pm: How are we not there yet, ugh. I only have so many things to say to Henry, and it’s mostly “shut up” in a variety of tones and volumes.

4:04pm: Oh look there’s our hotel but Dum-Dum Henry can’t figure out how to get there. Also, Allentown is a shit hole. (Actually, I haven’t seen any of it but I’m really good at prejudging.)

4:24pm: At the Ramada Inn. I asked Henry for a quote and he mumbled, “glad to be here. Stoked” but for some reason I think he’s being sarcastic.

4:38: Aaaaaaand, panic attack.

5:00: Going to die now. BBL as a ghost.

5:53pm: After talking me down from a cliff, we’re inside the Croc Rock which is a total dump & full of disgusting women-hating bros and underaged girls thirsty for Jonny Craig. Also, the ceiling is leaking and it smells like piss. Fuck you, Allentown. At least Hands Like Houses are here.

We just saw the guy from Hands Like Houses who looks like a young Tim Curry to me, ughhhh. Even Henry just calls him “Tim Curry” now. “Look here comes Tim Curry,” Henry said the first time we got here right before I cried, “I CAN’T DO THIS LETS JUST GO WAHHH” so we sat in the car and he patted my knee until I was OK. But you guys knew I had issues.

6:25pm: Girl next to me just said, “Is it just me or does it smell like cat piss in here?” And I’m like YES but then WAIT WHAT IF IT’S ME?

6:45pm: Alive Like Me asked who’s excited for Slaves and I did not cheer. Because fuck you JC no I love you NO I HATE YOU! AHHHHHHGGGHHH. Someone give me a mallet.

6:52pm: I’m always waiting for bands to say PUT YOUR MEAT CLEAVERS IN THE AIR, MOTHERFUCKERS! because I’m READY. But they never do. It’s always just “hands” :(

7:33pm: King Shit must be about ready to take the stage because every thirsty chick in this room just spontaneously released pheromone. I just want to puke though.

8:02pm: I HATE YOU I LOVE YOU I HATE YOU I LOVE YOU UGHHHH.

8:33pm: Shucks y’all that was a pretty big mistake.

9:35pm: I’m glad that was an early show because I’m starving and want alcohol (no bar at that venue, WTFFFF??). Totally stressed out and Henry is driving in circles looking for a secret bar that has apricot coriander beer. When we left, we walked past a pizza place where King Shit was eating with his rebound girl, ugh it made me sick. I just can’t with him anymore.

9:45pm: Professional Driver HenHen found the Allentown Brew Works but lied about the apricot beer. At least the hockey game is on.

10:03pm: Henry doesn’t like champagne.

10:30pm: I hate our waitress so much and Henry is like in love with her. And no that’s not even why I hate her. I just had a martini because this asshole place didn’t have that stupid apricot beer and that’s all I wanted I hate my life today was SO DUMB. FUCK YOU.

10:34pm: so I guess me (Henry) has to post . As of now I have nothing to say, except its been a helluva day.

11:02pm: Me: “I’m taking down all of my Jonny Craig pictures in my office on Tuesday.” Henry: “OK.”

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

Ate cupcake. Forgot dread.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Spoiler alert: I survived.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopefully they have booty shorts.

(Not from the Cleveland show, but whatev.)

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

And they were energenic, so yay cardio!

Third band: Hands Like Houses, woo!

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck you, Henry.

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

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

And then, Chiodos. My beloved Chiodos.

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

And it’s perfection every time.

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

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

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

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

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

MORE SCREAMING.

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

Plans to go to Cleveland on May 19th had been in the works for several months; basically, as soon as Chiodos announced the dates of their Devils Dance Tour. You guys know that I love Chiodos A LOT but when I saw there was no Pittsburgh date, I likely would have held off and waited for another tour. (Maybe.) BUT! When I saw that not only Hands Like Houses but also Emarosa were supporting them, I was all in. I mean, Emarosa. I’ve waited years for them to rise from the ginger ashes that Jonny Craig left them buried under. But this is blubbering that’s better left for a different blog post. And you know there will be one!

Henry’s oldest son Robbie is also a big Chiodos fan, and we had been fanboying over the new album together on Facebook. So it was no-brainer to bring him along with us. We left early enough on Monday to murder our stomachs at Melt, which is basically a grilled cheese porn shop. You will see grilled cheeses in such greasy, compromising positions at this joint that you’ll be leaving a puddle in your wake.

God, of DROOL! A puddle of drool. What did you sick fucks think I meant?

On the way there, I tried to tag Henry in a post about Jonny Craig’s new band on Facebook, but I forgot that I had unfriended him the night before,.

I love playing games on Facebook. And not the dumb ones like Candy Crush, but the ones that hurt people in real life! Psychological games FTW!

Gratuitous bathroom photo for Alyson Hell, Queen of Loo Shots.

Meanwhile, Henry had been stalking our friend Jason to see if he wanted to meet up. First, he was sending him direct messages on Twitter, but when that didn’t garner him a response, he started texting him, too.

“Oh my god, stop being so embarrassing!” I cried as we walked into Melt. Jason is super fucking busy and I figured that since all of these bands were in town, he probably had a lot of obligations and interviews to knock out at the Magazine Office. Which is why I wasn’t bugging him. But Henry is just so excited to have a friend in his own age bracket, that he gets a little aggressive. Plus, Jason likes bottled beverages so sometimes they talk about that, which is weird, but that’s what I get for being in a domestic partnership with a Faygo warehouse manager. People talk to him about beverage.

Wondering why Jason doesn’t love him as much as he loves Jason. My friend Kate referred to Henry as the Patron Saint of Frowning the other day and now I want to make screen prints of it.

Puppy Kisses, party of 3.

There was a short wait for a table since it was prime lunch time hours, and I busied myself by ogling one of the waitresses who only had a stump of a left arm and still managed to bustle with the best of them. I was thoroughly impressed. But then I was afraid she was going to think I was being rude so I tried to not ever look at her again. Awkward.

I was excited though because for some reason I recently referenced the Jesus Lizard and Henry didn’t get my joke because he had never heard of them, and there happened to be a framed Jesus Lizard poster on the wall. I jabbed Henry in the gut and said, “LOOK!” but he was like, “Ok?” and acted like he didn’t care which is what he always does when I know more than he does.

We were seated in one of those tables where one side has a chair and the other side is one long wooden bench, but the way our corner table was set up, the bench curved at the end so a third person could squeeze into a two-person table. I sat down first so Henry was stuck sitting in the awkward bench-corner and proceeded to whine about it because that’s what bitches do.

“It’s like, sharp sitting here. No really, it’s sharp and it hurts my leg!” Henry cried when I told him to pipe down, we’re in public. “I don’t know how I’m going to be able to eat once the food gets here. Where are they going to put my food?” I patted the corner of the table in front of him. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. “Move down some,” he pleaded with me. So I did but then I immediately moved right back because I only care about myself.

For the last several weeks, I had my eyes on the May special, The Sanchez, which is basically an enchilada inside a grilled cheese. This sounds like it would have a horrific impact on my already thunderous thighs, but WHEN IN CLEVELAND, am I right?

Ugh, but then the Ghosts of Upset Stomachs Past held a summit and encouraged me to go a different route so that I wouldn’t spend most of the show in the bathroom.

So I ordered the Big Popper, which is literally a jalapeno popper between fat-assed slices of Texas toast, DEEP FRIED, covered with powdered sugar and served with a mixed berry dipping sauce. Yeah, that makes sense, Erin. Your stomach thanks you.

All the best parts of the county fair stuffed into one XXXXXL carb-pocket. Only thing missing was a ride on the Zipper. Although, the zipper on my jeans was probably in danger of going on a ride once I was done eating.

I actually missed the shout out on the menu about it being deep fried. Maybe that would have deterred me, because I was trying to be gentle on my stomach, but that’s a ridiculous statement to even make if you’re dining at Melt in the first place. I mean, go drink some chicken noodle soup if you’re trying to knit yourself a gastrointestinal Snuggie. Because I guarantee you won’t be feeling digestively sound ten minutes into a Melt meal.

Henry and Robbie ordered something with meat in it.

I managed to eat a third of my Big Popper. ONE THIRD and my waistline was already engorged. Belly, distended. Forehead, sweaty. The fact that they even serve this shit with fries is hilarious. Oh, you want to know how it tasted? Fucking divine, you guys. All those flavors somehow beat the odds, celebrated their diversity and united to form one cohesive taste unit on a plate. It was like a sweet and savory Pride Parade in my mouth.

Meanwhile, Henry begged the waiter for sugar and also for permission to move the now-empty table next to us over so that he could move out from the corner.

“I have to check and make sure this table isn’t on the waiting list,” he said with hesitation.

“Well, we do have another person joining us, so we’re going to need the extra seat anyway,” Henry said haughtily and I was SO EMBARRASSED because our waiter was cool and now he was going to think Henry had an imaginary friend, because who waits until they’re halfway through eating to be all, “Oh yeah, and we’re actually going to have FOUR in our party”?

Ugh, Henry is the worst when we’re in restaurants. I said that out loud and he huffed, “Oh really? Me asking for more room is worse than all of the times we’ve had to LEAVE RESTAURANTS after sitting down because of YOU?”

I’m sorry, but sometimes I just get sinking feelings and need to leave immediately!

Anyway, Henry got his stupid second table and was able to free his ass from his woefully tight bench compartment. At least we got to quit hearing him bitch about it.

And then miraculously, Jason showed up for a quick visit so the fourth seat wasn’t all for naught after all, and believe me, Henry made sure to be all INYERFACE about it too. And he wonders why I unfriended him!

We hadn’t seen Jason since the Never Shout Never show last December (the one in which he made all of Chooch’s dreams come true!) so it was good to catch up and get some scene chatter in. Music is my favorite topic of all time, so Jason makes a pretty good (OK, fucking fantastic) conversational team mate. OF COURSE Jonny Craig came up, which made Jason (and Henry) groan, but that makes it even more fun for me!

Jason had to get back to work and we desperately needed to walk off our lunch, so after puking a little bit when the waiter asked us if we wanted dessert, Henry paid the bill and then took us on an accidental tour of the ghetto, which was actually pretty exciting.

With nothing else to do (this is what happens when I leave shit up to Henry; he wanted to leave sooooo early to get there but then had nothing besides Melt lined up for us to do! What a cock!), we headed downtown and killed time by walking through some of the arcades near the House of Blues. Really, all I wanted to do was go to Collossal Cupcakes, but Henry was all, “No, we must walk through the entire arcade and look at all of the closed shops and gag on the stench of curry and feet.” So that is what we did and the only good thing is that when we were on our way into another arcade, ONE OF THE GUYS FROM HANDS LIKE HOUSES WAS WALKING OUT AND HELD THE DOOR OPEN FOR US! So then I was like OMG OMG OMG OMG and Henry was like, “Who cares” and Robbie was like, “Ok.” And then every two minutes I was like, “Remember when…!!!”

Collossal Cupcakes ended up being a collossal waste, but at least Robbie got to bond with cupcake dispenser about their shared dislike of sweets.

It was worth it at least to make them sit in princess-y seats.

Henry and I shared a snickerdoodle cupcake and while he complained about it being that type of frosting he hates, motherfucker still ended up eating three fourths of it himself. Fuck him.

Remember when one of the guys from Hands Like Houses held the door open for us? THAT WAS SO NICE OF HIM.

And then some douchebag came in to get a cupcake milkshake for his girlfriend, who for some refused to come in and waited outside on the sidewalk, while TOTALLY flirting with the cupcake worker girl who clearly had already imprinted with Robbie over their mutual adversity to dessert.

Now I want a fucking cupcake milkshake.

Henry and I checked out of the airport Sheraton early Saturday morning; as soon as we walked out into the parking lot, Henry inhaled deeply and said, “Mmmm, the smell of jet fuel in the morning. Reminds me of THE SERVICE.” I lost another one of my lives laughing so hard at him. God, I love it when he slips up and mentions his SERVICE days.

Our plans for the morning were to finally get to see our friends Terri and Christian after two failed attempts the previous two years. It’s funny, because in this day and age, most of the new friends I meet are online; but in this case, we actually met Terri and Christian in person first, back in the fall of 2011 when we were all in Cleveland for the AP Tour (and to eat at Melt, obviously). And since then, we have gotten to know each other better through Facebook and Twitter and I have been dying to hang out with them again!

Henry and I don’t need to be entertained, so when Terri suggested that we just eat breakfast at their place and hang out, I was all for it and Henry seemed relieved because he’s always tired and doesn’t like walking around looking at things. Terri even made three different kinds of breakfast casseroles! One had fake bacon in it and I was so happy! (They’re vegetarians too! I can call myself that again because I have re-eradicated seafood from my diet, so come at me bro.)

I was a little nervous on the way there because we had only ever spent that one day together three years ago and what if it was going to be totally awkward? Well, it wasn’t, so you can stop holding your breath. I mean, I was still at my usual level of awkward, of course, but at least Henry was there to ease my food-cutting anxiety. We hung out for three hours, talking about music, music, music and more music and I can’t tell you how fucking awesome that was! And we learned that Terri and Christian met while working at Tower Records, how apropros! We even had civil hockey discussions, even though our teams are huge rivals! And I found out that Christian was at the aforementioned Type O Negative show in 1998 that I couldn’t attend because some bitch named Your Druidess didn’t show up with the tickets! It’s funny how many times that memory was recalled last weekend.

I wish we could have spent more time with them, but Henry and I had plans to attend the Hollywood Theater’s “Twin Peaks” party that night, so we had to hit the road around noon. As soon as their door shut behind us, I said to Henry, “If we lived closer, I would hang out with them so much, they would get so sick of me.” (So basically, two times.) And Henry said, “Yes, I like them. They’re nice people.” THAT IS A BIG DEAL FOR HENRY TO HAVE AN OPINION! He is usually so neutral about everything. But I think what he was really thinking was, “I wish we did live closer because then Erin can just go to shows with them while I sit at home watcing NCIS in my underwear.” Seriously though, thank you for opening up your home to us and stuffing us with delicious breakfast foods! We owe you one next time you’re in our city! (Don’t worry, Henry will do the cooking.)

“I hate you,” I sighed as Henry drove around looking for a gas station.

“Why?” he mumbled with very little emotion.

“Because you weren’t working at a record store when we met!” I cried.

“Either were you!” he shot back. THAT’S NOT THE POINT, HENRY.

***

OMG, the ride home was so boring. There was a hockey game on, so that entertained us for a little while. We stopped at a rest area so Henry could finally get his stupid Auntie Em pretzel bites, but I threw a fit because he didn’t get mustard so I stormed out into the parking lot, because this is how you get what you want when you’re 34. (And also 3 and 4.)

Henry went back and got mustard.

Later, we stopped at another rest area for a late lunch/dinner situation, and he accidentally pulled into the “Trucks/RV” side of the parking lot which caused me to scream, “OMG YOU FUCKED UP NOW, HENRY ROBBINS!” while making all kinds of dramatic gasps. Naturally, he was annoyed. Especially when every hour after that, I would casually say, “Hey remember when you broke the law by USING THE TRUCKS AND RV ENTRANCE? God, you’re such a moron. You could have gotten us killed.”

“We would NOT have gotten killed,” he sighed.

***

We made it home with about 45 minutes to spare before we had to leave again. While I was upstairs changing clothes, I found out that Henry never told his mom about our Saturday night plans so she thought she was done babysitting Chooch as soon as we got home. Oh sorry, Judy, didn’t your son tell you? You’re stuck here for three more hours. Possibly even forever.

God Henry, you’re such an asshole.

Luckily, she’s a good grandma and didn’t give a shit about a few more hours with Chooch. (Who, by the way, didn’t even miss us.)

***

The Hollywood Theater is only a few blocks away from our house, but Henry has never been there because he is so lame. I’m actually surprised I was even able to get him to go Saturday night, but we do both equally love Twin Peaks, so there’s that. He refused to dress up, though. I tried to get him to go as Mike, the One-Armed Man, because literally all he would have to do was wear a black t-shirt and not put his stupid left arm through the sleeve, but even THAT was too costume-y for him. So he went as Henry.

The theater was playing a marathon of all the episodes starting that Thursday, culminating in a party Saturday night, which entailed a costume contest, raffles and the big draw: a live performance by Silencio, a local Pittsburgh band that plays music from Twin Peaks and other David Lynch movies. I can’t tell you how much I love that music, especially the music from Twin Peaks.

Also, we were promised damn good cherry pie, and if I told you I wasn’t thinking about it all last week, I would be lying. Cherry pie is actually my favorite kind of pie and it pisses me off that restaurants around here usually have every other kind of fucking fruit pie but cherry. Maybe it looks too menstrual?

Anyway, I’m a lousy dresser-upper. It’s very hard for me to commit to a costume and I usually wind up half-assing it in the end because I’m lazy and unmotivated. (See: Fatal Attraction.) I didn’t want to go the obvious plactic-wrapped-Laura Palmer route, so I opted instead for one of my favorite characters, the Sheriff’s secretary Lucy Moran. I picked her because she’s awesome, but also because all I had to do was get a 90s’ish sweater from Goodwill, pair it with a skirt and tights, and put my hair in a half-pony. Henry kept trying to cut my bangs to make it look more authentic but, no. I’m not ready to rejoin the bangs-having society*. (However, I did order a pair of clip-on bangs from eBay for $5 but they sent me a bleached blond pair instead of the ones that would actually match my shitty hair color, so thanks for ruining my already-destined-to-fail costume, stupid Taiwanese seller.)

*However, if and when I’m ready, Henry could probably give me good bangs. (BANGS, NOT BANG.) When I did have bangs, he was always super good at trimming them and my hair stylist would always be so impressed that his meat-hands could pull off such precise scissor-y. (SCISSOR-Y NOT SCISSORING.) Of course he could. Henry excels at girly things.

So 90s. So sweater-y. So wow.

When I looked at this picture of myself last weekend, I thought, “Hmm, I look familiar….” and then after awhile it occurred to me that I looked like 15-year-old Erin. So, what I learned from this is that I spent my entire 10th grade year accidentally emulating the Lucy Moran hairstyle. Also, I still have the same dopey smile.

We got to the Hollywood right around 7 and proceeded to stand around like social pariahs because god forbid we should make new friends, ever. Henry bought a can of PBR (lol) and I got some coffee from the place I made Janna walk to last October, because they had a table set up and the two guys behind it kept wanting to talk to me but I think I was in the middle of one of those social strokes I sometimes succumb to? Honestly, I just stood there and kept saying, “Oh, really?” I HATE MYSELF.

We grabbed seats near the front of the theater and I got comfortable with my damn fine cup of coffee and cherry pie, and yes, it was damn fine. (Homemade!)

Silencio came on around 8:00 and Henry promptly fell alseep. Not because they were boring, but their music is so smooth and those seats are really comfortble. (Not to mention Professional Driver had been driving for 6+ hours that day, and the day before.)

Scenes from various David Lynch works played on the screen behind them, complementing the sounds with a bit of creepiness.

In between sets, the Hollywood Theater people came out to do the raffle drawing and I REALLY wanted to win the log. Yes, it was just a log, but I wanted it. There was also a set of these amazing David Lynch movie posters that an artist donated, but I didn’t win those either. I HATE NOT WINNING.

I went through a brief stint senior year of high school where I was obsessed with Angelo Badalamenti because of the Lost Highway soundtrack. I keep telling Chooch that he was only 8 when he started piano lessons, but Chooch as usual does not give a fuck. BE THE NEXT BADALAMENTI, SON.

Anyway, if you have never seen Twin Peaks, both seasons are on Netflix and you should go and do that. Go get mono or something and then lay there and watch it all. It’s worth it.

On our way out, we snagged a “The Owls Are Not What They Seem” cupcake for Chooch as a consolation for leaving him parentless for two days. Again though, he honestly didn’t give a shit that we were gone. He’s at that age, I guess.

Silencio was pretty fantastic and even though I hated being in a rush all day, I was glad that we were able to work this into our itinerary. It was a fun way to cap off three nights of three very different bands. That should tide me over for awhile. (It won’t. But at least there’s Eisley on April 10th!)

P.S. That sweater is totally now a part of my regular wardrobe.

The closest I’d ever been to the Trocadero in Philadelphia was October of 1999, when my friend Cinn and I were stood up by some goth bitch who had our tickets for the Type O Negative show. Fourteen years later, I finally got to go inside.

****

When I saw in December that The Sound of Animals Fighting were reuniting for a very small, intimate tour and had added an extra Philly date (the first one had sold out lightning quick), I was stoked. But first I had to beg Henry. “It can be my Christmas present!” I pleaded. “You don’t have to get me anything else!” (Of course he got me other shit too because he knows better.) The thing with this band is that they’re a sort of supergroup, so touring is hard for them to pull off, logistically. They played like 4 shows I think, in 2006. 4 shows, ever. And they were in California and Las Vegas, so…while I played the FUCK out of the live DVD they released, I never got to see them live.

Until now!!

I remember when I first heard about them, and it was all still a mystery then. OMG who are these guys wearing animal masks?! But then it was pretty obvious, once I heard it, that one of the “Skunk” was definitely Anthony Green, because oh dear lord, do I love that man. Circa Survive pretty much got me through one extremely suicidal summer, and to be honest, it’s a miracle that Henry and I are even still together. I often wonder how much worse off I would have been through times like those if I didn’t have music to stave off a portion of the mania. I know that sometimes people will hear “screamo” (we’ll just call it that, even though it’s not what TSOAF is), they don’t understand the appeal. “How can you listen to something when you can’t understand the words?” Or “this music doesn’t make sense to me.” Right? I can’t speak for everyone who likes this sort of music, but for me, it’s always been about the way it makes me feel emotionally and mentally. The screaming mimics what I sometimes feel in my head, like a mental gang-banging, and it is extremely cathartic and exhilarating for me. And then the music itself is so chaotic and janky, it’s like it understands me. And I understand it. And really, that’s the best way I can explain it.

But then with a band like TSOAF, you get the beautiful, clean vocals as well, from Matthew Kelly, Rich Balling and Matt Embree, and it just ties the whole thing together into a pretty bi-polar package.

BUT I DIGRESS. You probably aren’t here from some boring post-hardcore lesson, so I will save the rest for my Dear Diary and just tell you about how miserable Henry was all night. Yay!

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The drive there was very uneventful. It started snowing literally the moment we pulled out of our driveway, so the first hour or so of the trip was terrible.

I made Henry listen to all kinds of music that he hates, like Gem Club. He kept being totally dramatic about it, pretending to nod off. “Please make me more depressed than I already am,” he mumbled, so I tweeted all of this and then Gem Club favorited it. This is how I make connections on Twitter, you guys.

We ate lunch at a shitty rest area where Henry bitched about having to buy me Starbucks and the fact that Auntie Em’s was out of pretzel bites.

We were one of the first 10 people in line before the doors opened because I was in A Mad Hurry. Equal Vision announced on Instagram last week that each TSOAF show was going to get its own t-shirt design, but only 100 each would be printed. My TSOAF hoodie is one of my favorite pieces of merch ever, so I was determined to get one of these fucking shirts. So we stood in line with all the other die-hards, and I realized that I hadn’t been that close to the front of a concert line since 2001 when my friend Shawn and I got to Nick’s Fat City 3 hours early for a Cold show. When I told Henry this, he just rolled his eyes. Because he’s too old to give a fuck about these things. Don’t ever get old, you guys.

“There’s Anthony,” Henry said, elbowing me as Anthony Green and his wife Meredith walked down the sidewalk. HE IS SUCH A GOOD WINGMAN! Also, LOL forever at Henry unwittingly knowing so much about the scene.

The doors eventually opened a little after 7 and I made a beeline for the merch booth, where, for the first time in pretty much ever, I got to tell the merch girl that I needed a size small. (Only because it was boy sizes, though; don’t worry–I’m still semi-chubby.) Anyway, thank you Henry for not ruining my night by being a total tightwad! I love this shirt so much!

I’m learning how to smile naturally.

Perhaps at this time I should talk about how, in Henry’s eyes, I fucked up. In my haste to get the hell out of the house Friday morning and embark on our road trip, I left my wallet on the coffee table. I knew that I had the tickets, and that’s all that mattered to me. Forgot the hairbrush? Pfft, I’ll just send Henry out to buy a new one in the morning. Forgot the gift I was planning to give our Philly friends Terri and Christian the next day? That sucks, but I can just mail it when we get back. Forgot my wallet? NO OVER-21 ENTRY FOR ME.

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This isn’t something that I give a shit about, but the thing is, that’s the trade-off for Henry going to these shows with me: I (sometimes) will abandon all of the action in an effort to make Mister Miserable a little more comfortable in the grown-up area. Like the one time we went to see Pierce the Veil at Mr. Small’s and Henry’s stupid stomach hurt him so I was like FINE WE CAN GO TO THE BALCONY and literally it was me and a bunch of motherfucking PARENTS. So lame.

The Trocadero has a beautiful balcony, but it’s off limits without an ID. I told Henry he was welcome to go up there once the show started, but he was all, “NO JUST FORGET IT” which tells me he was secretly having a nice time. Or just wanted something to bitch about later.

The opening band was Unwed Sailor. Henry hated them because god forbid, there is no singer, OMG. I thought they were nice and soothing, an appropriate precursor for what was to come.

We were standing near the door to the backstage area, so Anthony walked by us a few times and THEN HE AND HENRY EXCHANGED PLEASANTRIES AND I COULDN’T STOP LAUGHING. It is endlessly funny to me when Henry makes contact with people in bands that I like, because:

1. it’s Henry
2. it’s Henry saying hello to people way cooler than Henry
3. it’s Henry

And then he gets all embarrassed when I make a big deal about it and that just fuels the laughter.

After Unwed Sailor played, I said to Henry, “You know, I’m not saying I’m going to be one of those pushy moms, but if Chooch ever decided to be in a band, holy shit I would be the proudest mom of all time.” I paused for a second, mulling it over, and then added, “But just to spite me, he’ll probably be something dumb. Like a doctor.”

“I would be happy if he became a car mechanic,” Henry weighed in. “Something that’s useful to me.” Seriously? By the time Chooch is an adult, Henry’s not going to be driving anything but a Hoveround.

Around 9:30, the lights went out and the intro started playing while silhouettes of orange and yellow people were ushered onto the stage and place in various positions of worship around Matthew Kelly, who then sang one of my favorite TSOAF songs of all time, The Heretic. And here is where I began to openly weep. And I didn’t give a single fuck either because I knew every single person standing near me understood.

(I AM STARTING TO CRY ALL OVER AGAIN AS I TYPE THIS IN MY OFFICE-THING.)

So here is a video that some guy took from the sold-out show the night before. He recorded the entire intro, so it doesn’t really start until about the 3:30 mark, IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN WATCHING IT. (I do highly recommend that you do though, because it’s beautiful. However, be warned that it fades right into the next song which is scream-y. This was the point in the night where the crowd fucking EXPLODED and Henry was probably like, “Oh, how I love these shows.”)

Thank you for recording this, Guy at the March 20th Show.

After the final note of The Heretic, the rest of the band came out and Anthony Green vomited screams all over our faces and I wept even harder, because ANTHONY GREEN. I have a framed picture of him on my fucking wall, for Christ’s sake.

Please excuse my terrible pictures. I am not a concert photographer and was way too busy freaking the fuck out to worry about getting the perfect shot.

I didn’t get a chance to look at Henry’s melting face at all because we weren’t standing near each other by the time TSOAF came out. Some tall douchebag had planted himself right in front of me so I moved up some. I don’t think Henry gave a shit; for all I know, he had gone up to the balcony. THAT’S COOL, BRO.

It felt so good to hear Anthony scream, made me feel warm and safe like being hugged by a fat grandma. His stage presence is incredible. When I asked Henry later on if he agreed, he reluctantly said yes.

I’ll tell you one thing, there was some mad respect radiating from the crowd that night in the Trocadero. We all knew we were seeing something special.

The older I get, the more grateful I feel after I get to experience things, and this was definitely one for the “grateful” column. I appreciate so many bands on such a grand level that it is awe-inspiring at times to be so close to them. It means so much, but I will never be able to put it in words, not even if I made up my own language. I think I stopped making sense a long time ago.

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Afterward, Professional Driver Henry didn’t know how to get out of the parking garage and a security guard had to come to his rescue. Listen to him hyuk’ing it up it this video, totally playing the “dumb blonde card” so a security guard can feel all strong and manly.

While Henry blindly navigated around downtown Philly and swore at the GPS, I cheerfully cried out things like, “THE REAL WORLD PEOPLE USED TO GO THERE!” to which he would spit, “I don’t give a FUCK about the Real World people!” Lost Driver Henry is mean.

We (eventually) checked into the Sheraton Four Points and crashed after a good hour of me relentlessly asking Henry what his favorite part of the show was. (No answer.) I can’t believe I got to see them, The Sound of Animals Fighting, right there in front of me. Oh my god, oh my god. What a great fucking night!