Me: This song makes me feel so sad. Like cripplingly sad. Like full-body sadness. 

Henry: Then why do you listen to it?

Me: Because I love it…?

God he asks stupid fucking questions. 

Anyway, I’m certain I’ve posted this video before but oh well it’s too good not to share again. It wasn’t really feeling like October to me (maybe the 80 degree weather?) but then I put this on the other day and yeah, there’s October. I was ready to pumpkin the FUCK out of this month after that. 

I’ve been home all week, maybe I mentioned it earlier but I can’t remember. It’s been a long week you guys. I don’t do the whole “relaxing” thing. I can’t binge-watch shows in my PJs. Instead I’ve just been acting like I’m on speed all week yet I feel like I’ve accomplished NOTHING. It’s been a weird week. I can’t explain it but I feel disoriented and not myself at all. 

Also, this week has taught me that I really don’t like being alone. Here are two pictures of me forcing Peenlop to hang out with me. Ugh. 

I’m going to a haunted house now. Bye. 

September was a decent month. I really can’t complain. We went to Chicago; I saw Taeyang and Emarosa; BTS released a new album and it’s jam-packed with, well, jams. And Blake and Haley moved super close to us!

We took Blake and Calvin to Parker’s for breakfast last Saturday. There was a nice morning bustle happening there and it pleased me greatly to see this place getting some action. Blake was impressed by the aesthetics. It’s something that Brookline was in desperate need of, you guys. Something cool.

Chooch was stoked because he finally found someone to play games with (Parker’s has several shelves of games) and this is also how we learned that Chooch sucks at Guess Who. Like, maybe he’s trying to abolish gender norms but he never asks, “Is it a boy or girl?” which is like the standard #1 question to ask when playing this game. But he’s like, “Is it a ginger?” “Does it have brown eyes?” “Is it kind of fat but not?”

My favorite part was when one of the moms from Chooch’s old school rolled in and was going to sit next to us until she saw me and then awkwardly said, “OK let’s sit over here,” and moved to a different table. LOL ALL THE WAY TO HELL.

Ooh, then I found this great comforter just when we were in need of a new one! Henry only said no because “it’s too expensive” and not because it’s Bigbang. I can only imagine the bitchfest this would cause from some people. “OMG she doesn’t let him sleep ever, but when she does, it’s under a bunch of Asian boys!” Yes, Henry’s life clearly sucks so hard.

My favorite part about this is that G-Dragon is in the middle and that’s pretty much where I sleep.

We went to the first haunt of the season! You can read Chooch’s review here. (He really put a lot of effort into it because he knew he was earning $5 worth of Robux whatever that even is, I don’t ask.) I’m worried that we won’t get very many haunted houses in this season because our weekends are jacked but I’m off all next week so I’m going to try to squeeze some in during the week! Some of them are open on Wednesdays and Thursdays, which benefits me and we all know it’s all about me. My co-workers remind themselves about this all the time.

Obligatory truck stop bathroom selfie. You guys, we originally stopped at a Sheetz and it was the first time ever that I encountered a filthy, unusable restroom in a Sheetz. Every toilet was packed with poop and there were wads of wet, soiled toilet paper everywhere (hold on…..I’m burping up vomit). I WAS SO ANGRY. It was out in a rural area too so as we left the store, I loudly said, “FUCKING REDNECKS PROBABLY SIT ON THE TOILET, CHEERING FOR TRUMP WHILE SHITTING OUT THEIR BEEF JERKY EVERYWHERE” and Chooch started choking because he was laughing so hard, and Henry was like, “Please don’t make these truckers and hunters converge on us, thanks.” We drove for a little bit and I used the bathroom at an actual truck stop and it was so clean and wonderful. SHEETZ, YOU’RE GETTING A LETTER FROM ME. HOW YOU DARE. 

What else…Henry and I watched “Lavender” Sunday night, some horror movie with Abbie Cornish and my takeaway from that is that she’s a pretty terrible actor. The movie was more sad than anything, but there were some creepy parts. I’m not sure that I would go out of my way to recommend it though.

I also spent some time trying to teach Henry all the members of BTS because previously he just thought everyone was Jimin, because that’s a 52-year-old white American man for you I guess. Like, he came home one day last week and said, “I saw Jimin’s dog died” because he gets notifications from AllKpop and complains about it YET DOES NOTHING ABOUT IT. And I was like “Ok but it was actually Jin’s dog, nice try.” Anyway, now my friend Lizz (the only other kpop-loving friend I have!) and I are certain this means Jimin is Henry’s secret bias. 

And now I’m going to go and get ready to show my friends Maya and Scott around Pittsburgh because they’re visiting for the first time from Tennessee! And tomorrow is the pie party! #stress

One evening last week, Blake was like, “Hey can you guys watch Calvin while I do laundry” and of course we were like um fuck yes. These are things that happen now that Blake and Haley live literally a five-minute walk away. It’s pretty awesome, if we’re being frank up in here.

BUT. When Blake got here, he set down Calvin in his carrier and said, “OK, I’m taking this guy with me to help with laundry” and there was this split second when I thought he meant he was taking Henry and my heart almost jettisoned out of my chest because DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE WITH A BABY, OMG HELP SOS.

Thank god he was talking about taking Chooch with him, not Henry. Then I was all, “Oh ha ha ha, I knew that’s what you meant, lol.”

But I mean, fucking phew, amirite.

These pictures are really terrible quality. I think my phone is dying or something.

Henry was in the middle of making dinner when Blake dropped off Calvin, so I got to chill with him a bit and make sure he didn’t stick his fingers in any sockets or whatnot. We got along pretty well! He seemed interested in my dumb face, and we watched kpop videos together and he smiled a lot, but you know, could have just been gas.

I even held him for approximately one minute!

That was when I finally found a name for Calvin to call me: NOONA! In Korean, it’s what boys call their big sisters and older girls in general. Blake and Haley approved it, so there.

Penelope is scared to death of strangers but she was super interested in the small babe, surprisingly.

Henry is a pretty good grandfather, I guess. He makes dumb baby noises though and I’m just like, “Please stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Calvin’s new friends, Leatherface and Pennywise.

Calvin doesn’t stay still long enough to not be a blur. It’s like taking a picture of someone who’s just watched that video in “The Ring.”

And this was after our breakfast at Parker’s on Saturday! I love this. And Chooch loves having Blake within walking distance. (Not sure how Haley feels about that though. J/K, I have a pretty good idea!

)

I went from “I’m not decorating at work this year” to “I just spent an hour on the floor cutting out branches.” 

Please enjoy this video while I soak my arthritic hands in… whatever you soak arthritic hands in.  I kind of want henry to break up with me briefly so I can sing to him. 

Some snaps were snatched last weekend and here they are. 

Blake and Haley moved down the street from us so Chooch has waved the white flag, cried uncle, “if you can’t beat ’em join ’em”d and finally acknowledged his nephew Calvin. It was pretty adorable. I think they’re going to get along just fine. <3

(Also, Chooch, Blake and Haley went outside & Calvin started crying so while Henry was holding him I showed him the BTS “Go Go” comeback stage and he was ENRAPTURED. Haley came back in and sighed, “Are you showing him kpop?” Just called me Mary Kpoppins. OMG DID I JUST COME UP WITH MY KOREAN ROLLER DERBY NAME?)

The cats did cat things. 

And Amber1 had a bridal shower! 

Summer and Wendy were also in attendance. I am trying desperately to win Summer’s affection (or just plain attention at this point).

We made slight progress. She’s fine as long as I don’t look at her or talk to her. 

The table settings were so pretty and perfectly Amber!

There was a quiz to see who knows the bride best; I didn’t win but I had a higher score than Wendy so that’s all that matters. 

All parties should have a mimosa bar, you know? 

I’m really excited for Amber and Brian! Thy deserve all the happiness in the world!

“Stand there and pretend like I didn’t tell you to stand there.” We stopped at some healthy beverage establishment right before the Emarosa show and this is Chooch drinking some plant-based chocolate smoothie that I thought he was going to hate because it cost like $8 but he loved it and said he wants to drink one everyday and I was like “NOT AT THAT PRICE.”

Oh, you saw I mentioned Emarosa? Yeah we saw them. It was OK. SIKE IT WAS FUCKING FANTASTIC. I will write a full recap in a minute but probably tomorrow. Or Sunday. I’m the worst. 

Not pictured: the woman who made the sign of the cross on herself and the man so fucked up that he fell over as soon he walked inside CVS. I was standing outside with them waiting for the store to open last Saturday morning and we all walked in together. After the man fell, the manager turned around and looked at us like we were a family and I had to make an urgent IM NOT WITH THEM face at him. 

https://open.spotify.com/user/spotify/playlist/37i9dQZF1E4TSmVnbeHE4z?si=XGyRbVGw

Spotify’s time capsule feature is so accurate, I’m actually scared a little. Every song (the exception being only Warrant because no) either has special meaning or was just a jam that I liked at some point as a kid. How, Spotify, how? They even threw in a track from the Bram Stoker’s Dracula soundtrack and you KNOW I had that soundtrack. 

AND MICK SMILEY’S MAGIC. 

I’m shook. 

OMG now I need to see Henry’s. 

I’m not over here blowing on my fingertips or anything, but I am basically the (un)official Pittsburgh haunted house tip line, OK? Of all the things to be an expert of….Anyway, I decided to repost this thing I wrote a few years ago since it’s the beginning of the haunted house season and people* are already asking me questions about which places to take their kids to, etc. Even though some of the things in this are dated (some of the referenced haunts aren’t around anymore), it’s still PRETTY HELPFUL — so read it, don’t read it, print it out and send me your heavily red-lined copy of it — it’s a free country. Also, if you live in Pittsburgh and want to go to a haunted house with me and Chooch, WHY YES WE WOULD LOVE TO.

*(Real ones, too! Not imaginary ones like usually.)

****

Every Halloween season, I get pretty nostalgic about the “old days.” Way back in the age of flowing flannels and Contempo Casuals (where I would buy all of my slutty “I’m a slut who has money” slut uniforms), it was possible to go to two, sometimes even THREE haunted houses in one night for under $20. True story! It seemed like every last VFW, YMCA and Boy Scout Troop had hoarded enough black garbage bags over the course of a year and used their dues to stock up on slipshod Halloween masks from K-Mart to pull off a “haunted house.” And it may have been hokey and rudimentary, full of blacklit Jason Voorhees masks and “accidental” boob-brushes, but fuck if it wasn’t fun.

In high school, I would scour the newspaper for haunted house ads and then my friend Lisa and I would stuff her parents minivan with our ragamuffin group of friends and proceeded to exercise our god-given vocal prowess. We were Those Kids that everyone else hated standing in line with. And I was That Girl who flirted obnoxiously with Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers, hoping to make my crush Evan jealous. (HE NEVER EVEN NOTICED.) There was the Bethel Park Haunted Yard, Clairton’s Haunted Pool, the Glassport Haunted Fire Station, and then all of the Haunted Schools: Castle Shannon, Victory, the Tri-City Jaycees one that I lost my keys in and then it burnt down (no correlation to my keys). Before there was Hundred Acres Manor, there was Phantoms in the Park and Terrors By the Lake. Before Kennywood had their Fright Nights, Station Square transformed into Station Scare and offered carnival rides just in case all of the fog machines, hyper-jealous boyfriends and diet pills* didn’t get you nauseated enough.

*(What? My weight issues go waaaay back.)

But then the behemoth, corporate haunted houses started popping up and taking over. The ones that pay to have haunted house listings and the Travel Channel call them the #1 Haunted Attraction. The ones that make you wait in line for upwards of 3 hours because OMG WE ARE THE BEST IN THE BIZ SO STAND AND WAIT, JAGOFFS. They pour loads of money into their advertising, production and animatronics, but they lack the true Halloween spirit and moxie that the smaller haunted joints have. Money can’t buy moxie, you guys. I’d rather walk through a haunted trail lit by flaming jugs of moonshine in some hick’s backyard than give those corporate bastards my money, if we’re being totally frank here.

People are usually shocked when I start waxing contrary about the city’s most popular haunted attractions, so I have compiled a list to offer some insight into what makes a “good” haunted house.

Here is the official Oh Honestly Erin Haunted House Criteria:

1. Will There Be Chainsaws?

It doesn’t matter how many times Henry exasperatedly assures me that there are no chains on the chainsaws, the moment I hear that whirring, no matter how far away it is, I am suddenly in booty shorts at Camp Crystal Lake and Jason Voorhees is mad as fuck because I just had sex on a hammock, and where the hell did this adrenaline come from? I don’t know, but look! I can scale the backs of the people in front of me!

Even when I’m standing in line chanting, “I hope there are no chainsaws. I hope there are no chainsaws” the truth is that there better be at least one fucking chainsaw guy who takes his position really fucking seriously because I just gave you $15 to scare the shit out of me, so please, do just that. Henry does my laundry, so what do I care.

*THIS SEASON’S UNOFFICIAL WINNER*: Chainsaw Guy at Cheeseman Fright Farm. It was really cold that night on that bale of hay, and your persistent wielding provided warmth to my shivering extremities. Also, you didn’t give up even when I used my 7-year-old son as a shield. Good for you, Ambitious Non-Hockey Mask-Wearing Chainsaw Guy. You were way better than the apathetic Voorhees-wannabe at Freddy’s Haunts who whir-whir-whirred for approximately 10 seconds before walking away.

2. Will There Be the Possibility of Simulated Horror Porn by Michael Myers?

So, maybe it’s just me, but when I’m singled out in a crowd by some dude who looks like his face got violently bear-hugged by bologna slices and green olives, maybe even corners me and snorts and snarls in my ear, I am REALLY FUCKING EXCITED to be there at that haunted attraction. Especially if it’s a particularly sexy-savage Michael Myers. And for those 30 seconds you’re towering over me with your fake machete and vacant eyes, I promise to pretend that you’re not actually some pizza-faced 17-year-old band nerd. NO, YOU ARE A FUCKING HOT PSYCHOPATH WHOSE EVERY PRIMAL INSTINCT IS TELLING YOU TO KILL ME, BUT WAIT! WHAT’S THAT!? YOU ARE FALLING IN LOVE WITH THIS CHUBBY MOM-BROAD WHO IS SCREAMING HER FACE OFF!

And then I’ll go home and write about it in my haunted house journal and it goes something like this: Holy fuck, I am so hot for Michael Myers! I bet he doesn’t pay that much attention to anyone else in that wing of the haunted maze! When we made eye contact, I think he winked at me but it was hard to see over the strobe lights. AND SPEAKING OF HARD! I’m not sure if that was Michael’s tumescent cock-machete or the Pizza-Faced-Kid-Dressed-As-Him’s satchel of dork dice, but I’m totally probably maybe pregnant now, you guys, right?

Just to really illustrate my alarming Michael Myers crush, my kid wouldn’t exist today if I hadn’t thought his dumb dad looked like Michael Myers when he would wear his stupid blue Weiss Meats coveralls back when we were co-workers in 2001. THAT IS WHAT MADE ME WANT TO SLEEP WITH HIM, OK?

Anyway…

*THIS SEASON’S UNOFFICIAL WINNER*: Rich’s Fright Farm Michael Myers. You smashed your fist into the wall in front of me every time I tried to escape and at one point BROUGHT ME TO MY KNEES while Janna stood off to the side, staring at her imaginary watch. I could feel your hot murderous breath on my neck and it was, well, fucking hot. Now your demon seed is sprouting inside my womb. Womb, womb, womb.

3. Will Someone Please Entertain the Fuck Out of Me?

Hi. I just dropped the cost of a concert ticket* down on your haunted establishment, so please prove to me that I didn’t make a mistake. *(What? I like underground bands, you guys.) If you’re charging me approx. $18 for 30 minutes, then I better come out the other end feeling like I just came. I mean, feeling entertained. Ridicule my blondness with your biting wit! Tickle my eyeballs with your macabre decor! Make me follow directions! Engage me! (No really—do you want to get engaged? Because Henry apparently doesn’t.) Pay attention to me, to me, to me!

*THIS SEASON’S UNOFFICIAL WINNER*: Castle Blood, duh. You still never fail to call me out for being a dum-dum. (Remembering three talisman is trying. IT’S HARD FOR ME TO PAY ATTENTION, OK!?) You still make me believe I’m going to be poisoned in Professor Scrye’s lab and turned into mortal mana pua by some convincingly realistic witch. (I don’t know why I picked a Hawaiian food that I have never eaten.)

But let me tell you something about this sanguine estate—if you came looking for chainsaws and robotic corpses hemorrhaging on toilets, queue the Sad Tuba soundbite. This is half past Saw, more toward Nosferatu. Castle Blood’s tagline is “Halloween the way it oughta be” and they mean it. It’s elegant and unique, it’s intelligent and interactive, it’s humble and passionate about the season. I’ve been going to Castle Blood since the late 90s and it’s still just as refreshing and inspiring as it was when I was a teenager. We’ve been taking Chooch since he was a baby (first to the no-scare matinees; he’s since graduated to the nighttime tours) and he loves it because it’s magical while still maintaining a high creep-factor—-plus, sometimes Henry gets presented with a death certificate.

4. Will You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman Teenager Again?

As previously mentioned, I long for the old-school haunts of yore. The ones in vacant buildings that charge $12 and under and probably meet the safety standards of a treehouse in 1954. The ones that aren’t mentioned in the obligatory WHAT TO DO THIS OCTOBER newspaper write-up or any of the haunted house listings online. The small haunted house put together by members of a local community and advertise by tacking up flyers in Spirit Halloween stores or sticking bright orange signs in the ground next to the highway. I like giving these people my monies! They know how to crack me up while also making me pee my pants. (I had a longstanding reputation at the now-defunct Victory Haunted School, and every year, from the moment I set foot inside, the “monsters” would start chanting, “Erin’s here! Erin peed her pants!” So fucking obnoxious but I loved every second of it.

If I’m in such pitch-blackness that I need to walk with outstretched arms while simultaneously screaming to no one and everyone that I AM SO FUCKING SCARED OMG WAS THAT A BREAST I JUST TOUCHED, then this haunted house rules. If I’m told, “GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES AND CRAWL THROUGH THE TUNNEL OF LOVE…OR DEATH!” and I literally find myself scrambling on my hands and knees over top of what I really really really hope are pieces of a CLEAN mattress and I start screaming about how I CAN’T BELIEVE I HAVE TO DO THIS! I AM SO SCARED! OW I JUST HURT MYSELF! then this haunted house rules. If the volunteers are so over-the-top with their theatrical lines and fake gunfire that I am literally doing pee-squats from laughing so hard, then this haunted house rules. If I tell the guide that my name is Erin and he decides that “Smellvin” is a better name even though that would only make sense if my name was Melvin, but everyone else thinks it’s hilarious, then this haunted house rules. If some kid pops out of nowhere and freaking feeds me a mouthful of Silly String and even HENRY laughs, then this haunted house rules.

*THIS SEASON’S UNOFFICIAL WINNER*: Ohmygod it’s a tie! Teen Quest’s Scaremare in Mon City and the haunted basement of the Sewickley United Methodist Church. Can we please admire the irony here, that two of this heathen’s favorite haunted houses are Christian-based? IDGAF, these two haunts made me laugh until I almost peed. (ALMOST, I swear!) It was like being in high school again, faced with the threat of falling down a staircase and inhaling asbestos. And the volunteers at these two places had way more enthusiasm than any of the ones anywhere else, especially Terror Town, who apparently pays their actors and that is just ridiculous because for the last two years, their “employees” were relatively ineffective and I’m officially done giving them Henry’s hard-earned Faygo money. Especially after seeing one of those “actors” on Facebook turn her nose up at people who, god forbid, volunteer their time to play zombies. The people at Scaremare and the church in Sewickley had HEART. The church even had a babydoll displayed in a very horrific, decidedly un-Christian way! I applaud them for that, for being able to recognize that it’s OK to be outrageous and controversial in the name of Halloween, and for being so balls-to-the-wall. I actually wish I had the time to revisit both of these places this month. Even if it’s just essentially dropping money into a collection plate. I’m OK with that.

5. Do You Have a Worthy Haunted House Companion?

Chances are, during this season you are going to sometimes be driving great distances and are probably going to get lost at least twice (are you going to a hayride on some jackass’s farm? Yeah, good luck trusting your GPS with that), so you better make sure you don’t bring some douchebag along with you who is going to drive you so insane that you need to buy your first pack of Camel Wides in 7 years at some sketchy gas station in the middle of downtown Sharon, PA. (True story.) And then once you’ve arrived at the haunt, you might be standing in line for an hour at least. DON’T BRING A DUD OR YOU ARE FU-HAHAHAHA-UCKED. I was lucky this year and have gone to haunted houses with quality peeps (and Henry), but I have been pretty unfortunate in the past. Your company can make or break the haunted house experience, especially if you are so fucking over-the-top annoyed at who’s ripping your shirt in faux-fear that you forget about the actual haunted house itself. Did you like it? WHO EVEN FUCKING KNOWS?!

*THIS SEASON’S UNOFFICIAL WINNER*: And the award goes to my good friend Janna. No one handles being pushed and shoved into chainsaw guys with quite the panache as she, nor can anyone tolerate my extreme giddiness with such a steely veil of patience. Except Henry, but he hates going to haunted houses. I like to believe that every time I scream, and I mean SCREAM, “JANNNNNNAAAA LOOOOOOK OUTTTTT!” that I’m actually saving her life for real. And she just kind of chuckles a little at first, but by the end of the night, I sometimes detect some eye-rolling and sighing.

________________________

Those are my unofficial winners because I still have at least four more haunts to attend before Christmas starts shitting all over my fun. And remember, all of this is subjective. The things that I look for in a haunted house might not be the same things that make you scream like Laurie Strode or make popular local radio DJs jack off into each others’ cupped hands. If your haunt isn’t going to be gonzo enough to scare the FUCK out of me, at least entertain me. Make me laugh, make me push Janna into a chainsaw guy, have a hot Michael Myers, make me have some F-U-N if I’m giving you twenty goddamn dollars out of Poor Henry’s wallet.

(And let me just tell you, now that Chooch is brave enough to go to every haunted house with me, October is officially waaaaay more costly than December.)

Some extra tips:

• Look for coupons! Sometimes haunted houses will offer them on their website. Hundred Acres Manor usually offers $3 off coupons at Eat n Park or Burger King. (They’re only good on Sunday, Wednesday and Thursday nights, I believe.) And you know, check Groupon and Living Social or have a boss that forwards every single haunted house deal to you like I do. Maybe stop in your local corner pub and gather up enough barflies to qualify for a group rate. Just trying to save you some bucks, OK?
• Go on off-nights! If a haunted house is open on a Sunday or Wednesday night—GO THEN! You will beat the crowds and probably have a better victim:monster ratio. Have you ever gone through a haunted house with just the one person you arrived with? SCARY AS FUCK. Real talk.
• Try to remember that no haunt is perfect and “bad nights” can be expected. Maybe I went to Cheeseman’s Fright Farm last weekend and had a blast, but you went earlier in the month on a night where they happened to have a lot of volunteer no-shows. Shit happens, ya’ll, and most of it is behind the scenes. This is why I try not to do too much bashing. (And believe me, I’ve been to a few duds this year.)
• If you go to a haunted trail after it’s been raining all day, you’re PROBABLY GOING TO GET MUDDY. Don’t be that dickhead who complains about it. Maybe you should have stayed home and watched a Duck Dynasty marathon instead.
• Bitching about standing in line isn’t going to make the line move any faster and pro tip: NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR YOUR STUPID YINZER MONOLOGUE ABOUT IT, EITHER.
• Pretend that you are actually running for your life. BECAUSE YOU JUST NEVER KNOW.

Hey! Why don’t you leave me a comment and tell me about your best (or…worst) haunted house experience?

You know how some people love doing nothing on their days off? I’m not one of them BUT HENRY IS.

Shocking, I know.

We kept our Riot Fest days off (Thursday-Monday) and figured we’d just use the time to get stuff done around the house.

NOTHING GOT DONE AROUND THE HOUSE.

Here are some bulletpoints to illustrate just how boring my time off of work was. (I even threatened to go back to work on Monday because Henry was just flat out entertaining me.)

• I renewed my drivers license! Yeah, staycation was off to a great start. Usually I’m alone when this occurs but this time Henry had the pleasure of accompanying me to AAA and watching in mild disdain as I sat, holding my #10 ticket, feet tapping maniacally out of rampant nerves. Every time the next number would get called, I’d moan, “OH MY GOD, IT’S SO CLOSE TO MY TURN. OH, MY STOMACH HURTS. OH, I’M GOING TO PUKE. OH, I’M GOING TO PASS OUT.” Henry was like, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW, WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?” I just hate having my picture taken, especially a state-mandated photo. It just feels so mug-shottish to me (not that I would know what that feels like—I’ve never gone to jail. Yet, anyway.) And the guy who was calling the numbers just seemed so mean and official. Yet, when #10 was called and I walked over with my head down, like I was walking to stand before the firing squad, I blurted out, “I AM SO NERVOUS YOU GUYS LIKE I AM AT THE DENTIST” to the man and the women sitting at the desks behind him. They looked at me with these twisted faces of confusion and then just the man asked, “What, why?” My anxiety sometimes trumps my social filter and I suddenly become giddily & inexplicably chatty. I explained that I just hate having my picture taken, and then I tried to get the guy and one of the photo-takers to feel my clammy hands, but they declined. Then when my license was printed and laminated or whatever it is they do back there in secret, the guy who I thought was going to be super stern and impenetrable poked his head out and in a sweetly chiding sing-song tone called out, “Oh, Erin!” and everyone around us chuckled because, well, oh Erin.
  • I hate my new picture. I have never really hated any of my licenses, but I hate this one because they changed the format and now it’s even more of a close-up so now my license is like ALL ERIN. SO MUCH ERIN. And also I was bullied by the photo lady to pick the second picture she took because my smile looked “more real” in that one which just means I look like a fucking doof because my smile is terrible! (And not because of my teeth—because of my stupidly crooked/chubby face.
• Hey, speaking of dentists and teeth! Guess what else I did? I made an appointment with a new dentist. Wait, let me back up. A few weeks ago, I called my dentist to make a long overdue appointment. So what happened was, my dentist moved into an office with some other dentist and severely cut back her hours, and on top of that the other dentist’s receptionist is like, the worst. She was so hard to work with that all of my calls would end up with me frustrated and saying I would just call back. So three years went by and in the meantime, I started to feel like my teeth were shifting and then I was having nightmares about losing teeth (YES I KNOW THAT MEANS A THING, SHUT IT) and finally I reasoned with myself that my mom had spent a shit ton of money on my teeth (I’m not kidding — I had braces for like 8 years and my orthodontists actually tried something new on me which was a success and then got to use my x-rays, etc at Orthodontics conventions for years after that) so I should probably get myself in that chair before it was all done in vain. And when I called, that awful receptionist said to me in her nasally whine, “Oh, the doctor is actually retiring in two weeks.” So this is the point in the phone call where my voice started to escalate in volume and my heart was beating rapidly and the whole script I had mentally prepared flew out the window along with 30 years of (mostly fond) dental memories. SHE WAS THE BEST DENTIST EVER. And she was practically the only dentist I had ever known too: I started going to her in 5th grade after my original dentist DR. LEDONNE THE SADIST completely fucked up my teeth (hence the 8 years of braces I endured, god bless the Good Brothers for fixing that asshole’s mess). Anyway, the only appointment she had available did not work for me at all so I screeched, “I WILL HAVE TO CALL BACK” and what I did instead was call Henry and continue screeching, “DR AMMONS IS RETIRED WHAT THE FUCK” and Henry was all, “Are you fucking kidding me” and I was like “I KNOW RIGHT” and he was like, “No, I’m talking about your reaction. You need to calm down. We’ll find you a new dentist.” I cried about how she is the only dentist I’ve ever known and Henry snidely said, “Well, you better get to know a new one.” But you don’t understand. Dr. Ammons was patient with me. She pandered to my neuroses. Her hygenists loved to kid around with me and when I would walk into the hallway of exam rooms they would jokingly say, “Erin’s here!” And before you even SUGGEST that I just start going to the dentist whose office Dr. Ammons was sharing, let me just say that I went to him once out of desperation and he had entirely too much football memorabilia in his exam room and I shouldn’t have to look at that shit while I’m already enduring so much trauma.
  • I hadn’t even set my purse down yet at my desk before I was practically wailing about my latest dilemma to everyone at work. Glenn was just like, “So find a new dentist.” OH WOW WHAT A GREAT SOLUTION, GENIUS. I mean, my hysterics even drove people out of their offices to see what the hell was going on and by people I just mean Lori because really no one else in the offices on our side of the floor give a shit about my tragedies because apparently they’re not “tragedy”-y enough I guess. But thankfully Lori and Lauren cared and were trying to stroke my nervous breakdown back to sleep. “I just went to the dentist yesterday,” Glenn said. OK GREAT JOB GOOD FOR YOU GLENN! God! So I asked him where his dentist is and he casually said “North Hills” and I live in the South Hills! If you’re not from Pittsburgh, you wouldn’t understand, but residents of the two Hills hate when they have to to go to the other Hills. So this was not helpful to me at all!! In the middle of all this, Amber had been quietly listening to this play out from her desk a few rows back, and she sent me an email that simply said “Dentist Recommendation” in the subject line. Amber to the rescue as always! Some of you might remember that she is also the one who found me an eye doctor two years ago when my eyes were hurting me so bad that I was basically crying at my desk and walking into walls, and then she MADE ME CALL AND MAKE AN APPOINTMENT. Amber could be a life coach, you guys. She really could.
    • So back to my original bullet up there: I called Amber’s dentist and made an appointment and then I called my soon-to-be old dentist and suffered through the last conversation I’ll ever have with that awful receptionist and within an hour, I was picking up my records and now I’m all set for my appointment in two weeks and OMG I JUST REMEMBERED THAT I HAVE A DENTIST APPOINTMENT AND NOW MY STOMACH HURTS.

There were some nice moments too which I’ll write about later, but mostly it was just all of the above and a lot of me saying, “I’M SO BORED LET’S DO SOMETHING” and then Henry would say, “We are doing something, it’s called ‘not working.'” Wow, I never realized how much I depend on my job for socialization and entertainment. I’ll have to remind myself of that the next time I fantasize of being a housewife. (And also probably remind myself of the cooking and cleaning that comes along with being a housewife.)

I need six people to come to my house STAT and learn this dance with me. (I’ll be J-Hope.)

Jimin’s part at the 1:22 mark reminds me of Gene Loves Jezebel. I told Henry and he was like *MOTHER OF ALL FROWNS*. He hates when I make vague and obscure music connections. 

I keep trying to brainwash Janna into liking them so she can see them with me next time they have a US tour because Henry the  k-hipster doesn’t care for them because they’re “too popular.” OK Henry. Go back to your secret Ted Nugent playlist. 

Anyway, I figure a few more kpop fitness nights at my house and Janna will be sufficiently fan-girled. 

UPDATE: Janna’s bias is either Suga or V, she can’t decide yet but this is what you call PROGRESS. 

Henry and I were going to take a break this year and hope that the season would slip by quietly without anyone noticing we didn’t have a pie party…

…but then friends started asking me as early as July if we were having one this year. I held firm on my decision but after the eighth person asked, Henry and I had an emergency meeting, which means I paused Running Man and said, “People want a pie party, do you want to have one?”

He was like “whatever you want to do” because duh. So I guess we’re having one!

The one downside to not being on Facebook anymore is that it makes party-planning a bit tricky. What did we do we before Facebook events??

Oh yeah: Evites.

I don’t know hardly anyone’s email address though.

Most of my pals are on Instagram so I hoped that posting this rough Photoshopped invitation would suffice but I’ve still been approaching people directly too because I have no way of knowing if anyone has seen it if they don’t heart it or flat out tell me they’re coming. So I have a feeling this pavilion is going to be super-empty.

If you’ve never been to the pie party before, it goes like this: you either bake or buy a pie, bring it to the designated pavilion, put it down with the other pies, grab a plate and go to pie-town. You don’t need to worry about bringing enough pie to feed everyone, because people come and go all day — we have yet to run out of pie!

It’s literally an all-you-can-eat pie buffet. Bring some beverages and enjoy the (hopefully brisk & sunny) autumn day! I won’t make you play weird social ice-breaker games or anything. I’m too busy keeping tabs on THE PIE.

What else can I tell you…oh! Themes. My friend Maggie just asked me the other day if there will be a theme. I never enforce themes because most people seem to ignore me and go rogue, so it’s a basic creative free-for-all. Although, I did jokingly respond with, “I don’t know….pies that Trump hates?” which got us excitedly throwing options out there like a varying flesh-toned Equality Pie and one that’s rainbow-filled, a glass ceiling creme brulee pie, perhaps a delicious dotard custard? Barb is bringing a Covfefe Pie, so that one’s off-limits.

I mean, I GUESS if you swing the other way, you could bring a pie with a popsicle stick wall around it, or a KFC chicken pot pie with a dusting of Cheetos on top. Can’t promise anyone will eat it though.

I’m pushing Henry to bake some Korean pies. We’ll see what he comes up with. I have an idea for Korean pie-pops but after our tense foray into mini pies at the 2015 pie party, I think Henry may have thrown out the little pie-mold maker thing.

Above, please find a sampling of pies we’ve had in the past. Everything from savory to exotic to mini to tarts. Personally, I loved the cupcake pie that Henry made a few years back but it was critiques harshly by some.

So, if you’re reading this, we’re friends (whether IRL or through The Computer), you live in/near Pittsburgh, and you love pie, please consider coming to this thing! It’s also dog and kid friendly. There’s a playground next to the pavilion and my kid is like KIND OF ok at watching younger kids now, and he also doesn’t run around with sticks anymore so it’ll be safe. 

Probably. 

Here is a very basic and not flashy or pretty map that Henry made to help people get to the pavilion but it probably won’t help because most people get lost no matter what – South Park has that effect on people. 

Way back when I was live-blogging our boring-ass drive home from Chicago, I mentioned that we stopped at a religious-y place and that it would get its own blog post…and then of course it got put on the back-burner. But tonight I finally sorted through the pictures and I AM READY TO GET THIS CHURCHY BLOG POST PARTY STARTED, BOI.

Let’s start with a quick backstory: the first time Henry and I went to Chicago in 2014, I stumbled upon this place on Roadside America unofficially dubbed “Ultraviolet Apocalypse” in Munster, Indiana. I begged Henry to take me here on the way home, but then I saw that it’s only open on SUNDAYS. Ugh, leave it to a church to only be open on Sundays.

What it actually is: the Our Lady of Mount Carmel Monastery founded by Polish friars who emigrated to the US in 1950. But the big ticket item is the man-made grotto on the grounds, which is three-stories tall and fashioned from 250 tons of sponge rock–I had to look this up because I actually thought it was made from geodes. From what I read online, parts of the grotto are illuminated by black light and the photos I saw looked like the holy version of black light posters sold at Spencer’s.

This place was MADE FOR ME. Religious AND tacky? Take me there.

I looked it up again during this last trip and noticed that it said you could call ahead to schedule a tour. So while we were in the Lincoln Park Zoo that Sunday, I made Henry call (begrudgingly so) and he confirmed that the broad in the office said that the grotto would be open, especially since Monday was a holiday (Labor Day).

HOT HOLY FISH FRY, I WAS GOING TO THE GROTTO!

I couldn’t wait to finish breakfast the next morning and set off to Munster, Indiana, which thankfully wasn’t very far out of the way. We rolled up into the mostly empty lot but I did notice the occasional parishioner moving to and fro.

I wanted to save the grotto for last, obv., so we casually strode around the grounds, looking at the Stations of the Cross like we were knew what we doing, and oohing and awing at the statues. I know the general consensus is that I must be a fucking asshole at places like this, but actually, I’m very respectful and truly enjoy being around these things, even though I don’t have a lick of faith left in my Hell-charred bones.

And surprisingly, Chooch is also very interested in these types of places too, and we get a lot of joy out of reading plaques and running our fingers across the cold marble faces of saints we’ve never heard of.

The grounds were so lovely, and it was still early enough in the morning that it felt like fall, so Chooch and I happily wore hoodies.

I love the woodwork of this shrine!

OH SHIT SON, CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

Except that those steps were so hard and cold, covered in puddles and razor-edged pine needles. I was in pain (which was the point, I guess, because Jesus died on the cross, etc.) and at one point took my hoodie off and tried to use it as knee pads but that proved futile and I only ended up sopping up the puddles with it.

Meanwhile, Chooch scrambled up to the top like he was being chased by Jason Voorhees and then gloated for the next hour because it took me an extra five minutes to pull my fat body up to the top.

But I did it.

For Christ.

Henry, on the other hand, was like, “Nope” and walked around tp the other side where reverence wasn’t required.

My fucked-up knees.

The steps Henry took didn’t go all the way to the top, so he asked us what was up there.

“Um, I don’t know. Jesus on the cross, I guess,” I mumbled, pulling pine needles out of my busted knees.

Beneath this was an underground level which featured Jesus’s tomb, but the door to it was locked. I was half-expecting that though from reading the tips on Roadside America. And it was time to check out the Grotto anyway, so I wasn’t crying too much about it.

EXCEPT THAT THE GROTTO WASN’T OPEN EITHER!!!!!

HENRY!!!!! YOU SAID!!!!

Helpless, we walked back to the parking lot. “Maybe we should look for someone,” I said, and we walked over to the church, which had a few old people inside praying.

“That one guy looks like a priest or something but I AM NOT INTERRUPTING HIM WHILE HE’S PRAYING,” Henry rushed to finish before I could even ask. And the office had a “closed” sign on it.

THE FUCK, HENRY?!

So we hung around in our car like total fucking creeps for the next 30 minutes, deliberating. I didn’t want to leave, not after coming this close after three years of attempts. At some point, an older broad rolled up with a young kid, and we watched them waltz right on into the closed office! So then I got it in my head that she worked there and she became my new target.

So we went into the office too and it was completely dark. We noticed the lady and the boy went into the chapel, which was connected. They were just chilling on a pew and again, Henry was like, “I AM NOT INTERRUPTING PRAYING PEOPLE.”

Back to the car we went. We were just about to leave when another car pulled in and a lady in a pink shirt got out. She also had a small kid with her. The other lady came out of the chapel and was talking to her, so then we deduced that it was actually Pink Shirt who was in charge around there. She was pulling bins out of the back of her minivan, which made us feel like she worked there. Like maybe they were filled with Bible Study props or something.

It became clear that Henry wasn’t going to be proactive about this situation, so Chooch and I got out of the car and approached Pink Shirt.

“Let me guess, you’re here for the Polish school, too!” she asked happily. Immediately, something about her reminded me of Clea Duvall and I felt instantly at ease.

“No, the Grotto actually!” and I dove right into my sob story about how we came from Pittsburgh—-

“—Not just for this, I hope!” she interrupted with a laugh. “I mean, it’s great, but….”

I explained that we were coming home from Chicago, that I had been trying to see this place for years, and that someone in the office told us that it would be open that day but it wasn’t.

“Hmm, you’ll need to see Father [John*]. He’ll be able to help you,” she said.

*(I can’t remember his name, one of the perils in waiting a million weeks to blog about these things. #amateur)

I asked her what he looked like, and she laughed and said, “Polish!” but then she set down her huge plastic bin of Polish school supplies (maybe??) and brought Chooch and me into the office just as Father was emerging from the chapel. 

He was a robust older man in shorts and a tshirt and I 100% never would have thought he was the guy I was looking for. 

Pink Shirt explained to him our predicament and in a thick, beautiful Polish accent, he exclaimed, “Oh I don’t know who would have told you the grotto was open today!”

I shrugged and said, “My….husband spoke to a woman when he called the office yesterday.” Chooch shot me a sneer when I said ‘husband’ and later I explained that I didn’t to say BOYFRIEND. Husband sounded more legit since we were in a church, and not “Hi we are a couple of heathens and this here is our child born out of wedlock. Toss us them there keys to the grotto.”

“SO YOU LIED,” Chooch pointed out. 

CAN IT, CHOOCH. 

Father was super harried. Turns out he was the only one there that day, which meant he was getting pulled in a million directions. “Oh boy, let me see,” he sighed, blowing frustrated air up into his face. “Give me five minutes. Uh, go look at the church or something,” and he spun around to see about getting the key. 

I LOVED THIS MAN. I loved his earthy accent, I loved his utter refusal to hide the fact that he was seriously annoyed by me and my ill-timed request, I loved that even though he was busy he was willing to pause his actual church work to help some dumb broad from Pittsburgh see a roadside attraction.

Long story still long, Father John found a dude to open the grotto for us! Which was fortuitous to the handful of people who had arrived in the interim and now got to reap the rewards of my relentless puppy dog-eying the Polish father. (He was a friar maybe? I’m not sure.)

No pictures, no words, can do this place justice. Walking into the grotto, I expected to be disappointed. Ok, not disappointed….but maybe the sense that this wasn’t worth the trouble. 

Nope. Did not feel this way at all. It was an operatic “ahhhhhhhhhhh!” moment and I immediately began to touch EVERYTHING (later Chooch would point out a sign that said “do not touch the walls.” Oops. 

This grandfather/grandson power duo happened to be there as the doors were unlocked, so Chooch and I went in with them and let the little boy be our tour guide. He kept yelling, “GUYS, COME ON!” and his grandfather would just chuckle and say, “Let them go at their own pace.” But we humored the kid and let him tug us through all three levels of the beautiful grotto. 

Yessssssssss.  I need my basement to look like this. 

There were various pieces of quartz and crystal* encrusted in some spots of the walls, which was why I originally thought the walls were made from split open geodes. 

* (?? I’m not up on my geology—I did so terribly in my geology class at Pitt because it was during the last trimester of my pregnancy and I didn’t fit in the desk because it had an attached chair so a janitor had to find me another desk and I was having hot flashes constantly so that’s what I think of when I see things like this) 

Henry wasn’t with us, and it turns out he was stopped by another guy from the church who didn’t speak English, and that guy went into the closed gift shop and brought out a guide for Henry to borrow. So Henry got to walk through on his own with a book of info. Like he even cared!

After being mesmerized by the grotto, we walked back over to the holy steps to see if the tomb was opened now too and it was! 

It was bigger than I imagined, with several alcoves, one of which had the next ultraviolet spot of the whole joint:

It was breathtaking, honestly. Even Henry said he was glad we stopped and things worked out, because it was worth seeing. It made my heart feel so big and swollen for a little bit (probably until around noon when I started to get hungry).

If you ever in the Chicago area, I highly recommend taking the detour to Munster, Indiana. Just make sure if it’s not a Sunday, you’re prepared to hunt down some Polish Fathers for assistance. 

I’m glad this dropped on my last day of staycation so that I can watch it all day long, sorry Henry. 

Speaking of DNA, that lovely son of mine had an All About Me project due today so of course we (WE!!!) were working on it at 10:30 last night. Surprisingly, we are not now known as the Brookline Axe Murder House, but tensions were definitely running high. 

The boiling point was when Chooch started writing the word for “R” and left off the h in Rhymical. I told him he was spelling it wrong and YOU CANT TELL HIM ANYTHING BC HE KNOWS EVERYTHING (see also: his word for “E”) so he shouted, “The website I got it from had it spelled this way!” And I was like “What website was it, the Trump-approved Betsy DeVos Dictionary?!” Luckily he was able to squeeze that “h” in there. 

We couldn’t find any good “y” words (he wouldn’t use “yucky” even though its accurate) so I was like “My great-grandma was from Yugoslavia so just use that” and I know his teacher is going to be all YUGOSLAVIA ISNT A COUNTRY ANYMORE so we had to have a quick geography briefing in case she tries to call him out on that, he’ll be prepared. Bring it!!

There are other things about this poster board that make my OCD twerk, such as the placement of the photos which no one consulted me on, but whatever. Not my project. (THE FUN FUR BORDER WAS TOTES MY IDEA THO YR WELCOME 6TH GRADE CLASSROOM THAT WILL BE COUGHING UP FUR CHUNKS FOR THE NEXT SEMESTER.)

(Speaking of fun fur, when henry was diligently hot-gluing strips of it around the borders and motherfucking it up and down, he paused and asked, “Where did this come from, anyway?!” He must have blocked out the fun fur blazer DIY out of his mind I guess.)

Hey let’s check in with Drew and Penelope and see what those furry brats have been up to. 

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When I woke up Saturday morning, Henry was GONE. “Oh great, probably out with a hooker or something,” I thought, but it turns out he was cleaning out my car! (Probably after the hooker stuff though.) I was so happy, and also a little paranoid because the night before that, I was sitting on a bench in South Park with Chris, drinking a PSL and bitching about how dirty Henry and Chooch have made my car.

The weekend started out great and stayed that way the whole time, praise god, praise the lord.

Saturday afternoon, I drove my freshly vacuumed car out to Wexford, where I met Gayle for a pierogie lunch at Forgotten Taste. I haven’t seen her since the end of July because she left the Law Firm, so it was nice to catch up! AND SHE HAD BELATED BIRTHDAY PRESENTS FOR ME! One of them was the Descendants of the Sun series on DVD and I legit squealed SONG JOONG-KI when I unwrapped it because I love him so much!

“I was watching BigBang videos one day on YouTube, so then later when I went to Amazon, Korean stuff came up as recommended for me, and this was the first thing I saw,” Gayle said, and explained that she bought it in hopes that it would help me with my Korean. It was so freaking thoughtful!

She also bought me a big, fluffy plaid blanket because I’m perpetually cold, and sure enough Chooch has claimed it as his own, ugh.

Then I came home to this!!!!!

Remember last year when all I wanted for my birthday was for my friends to draw me a picture of a clown? My friend Michelle painted this for me! She was so sorry that it took a year for her to make it but if you ask me, it was more than worth the wait. It’s perfect because I love Jack-in-the-Boxes too! This sexy beast is already hanging in my bedroom, right by the door so anyone walking by to use the bathroom will see it, which brings me such glee.

Thank you again, Michelle! I love clowns to much, and this one really speaks to my twisted carnival soul.

Drew’s Saturday afternoon nap spot was pretty dangerous. My fat ass came so close to crushing the life out of her.

Later that night, Janna came over and we moved the coffee table and couch out of the living room and had a KPOPX PARTY! Henry conveniently chose this time to take about 87 loads of laundry to the laundromat, but Chooch stayed behind and Kpopped with us. I had a YouTube playlist all ready to go, which I sent to Janna earlier in the week so she could familiarize herself with the routines. She said she watched them all and in her head thought they would be easy, but was surprised at how hard they actually were. I was proud of her (and Chooch) for sticking with me through the whole entire hour though! Kpop workouts are no joke.

Then Henry came home and served us this bitchin’ bevy of healthy snaxxxxx:

PRAISE!!!!!

Janna ended up staying pretty late and I brainwashed her with Korean variety shows. By the end, she was asking all kinds of questions and I was so happy because HENRY ANSWERED SOME OF THEM. This might be the first time in 16 years that Henry and I have found a mutual interest. I laugh when my friends are like, “poor Henry” when I’m going on and on about kpop stuff, because he’s into it too! (OK, maybe not as much as I am, since he still doesn’t have a bias. I just asked him again, real time, and he smirked and said “No one” which I think means Rap Monster from BTS.)

The next day was SUNDAY and I know this because that is the day that generally comes after Saturday. We did the whole PARKER’S thing for breakfast (friendly reminder to eat at Parker’s if you’re in Pgh). Later, we took Chooch to his piano lesson and then went to Constellation Coffee where I had a so-so iced soy latte (the girl working there was very pleasant, but I felt EXTREMELY UNCOMFORTABLE from the moment we walked in, like I was clearly not cool enough to be there), but then we walked down the street to Gluten Free Goat for some sugary shit. It was like a date, but not. Then I tricked Henry into posing in front of a mural by yelling HENRY! and then quickly snapping this picture when he turned back to look. It’s the only way nowadays, especially after I made him pose so much in Toronto.

After we picked up Chooch, we went to H&M and I bought a pair of overalls, which I have been pining for, so now I’m a third of a way to my old seventeen-year-old self. Now I just need a fuzzy cropped sweater and Pumas.

Later, I ate pancake & waffles Halo Top and I feel strongly that it was a good way to end the weekend. Wee woo!

Chooch let me do the stupid wavy eyebrow challenge thing in him because we’re bored and Henry isn’t paying attention to us. But then I had to let him do it on me too & it was horrifying, having his grubby hand so close to my eyes with a pencil. 

Henry didn’t even notice at first. He was too busy looking at computer auctions or mold rants on Reddit, or whatever it is he does on his phone. 

Now I feel like we should do this at work tomorrow in our weekly meeting, kind of like TRUST FALLS.