<3<3<3

While everyone was eating, some Kennywood band started setting up near us and Haley said, “Yep, time to leave.” Thank god! I get so antsy when we sit for too long at amusement parks!

It was about 785 degrees out on this day, so hot and humid that Chooch and I were drenched in sweat just from sitting. Beads of perspiration rolled down my back in 5 second intervals and I internally cried to the gods, “WHY DID YOU MAKE MY SWEAT GLANDS SUCH OVERACHIEVERS?!” It’s just mean.

Our caravan began it’s slow stutter-walk toward Lost Kennywood. There was chatter about which ride we should go on, the Pirate Ship or the Phantom, and I personally didn’t want to go on the Phantom right that second because we had already ridden it, but the Phantom won out and I just had a feeling.

That sickening belly-nag.

The sky was starting to look straight-up foreboding, my friends. I half-expected that Kennywood guy sitting at the entrance of the line to say something about it, something like, “Yinz guys should go ride the Music Express or something because this bitch is getting shut down here rill soon n’ at.”

But nope, he just gave us blank looks and allowed us to pass.

The line was a lot longer than it was when Chooch and I rode it earlier with Henry, but we trudged along until we couldn’t go any further. This put us behind a young couple from one of the high school bands and at first I was like, “Aw, look at these band nerds in love” (I can say that because I was in band, too). Literally, they looked like they were normal people who were dressed up band geeks for Halloween. The girl especially looked like she had a hidden prettiness, like she was dying to star in a real life version of one of those predictable teen makeover movies. She’s All That, or if I want to date myself, SHE’S OUT OF CONTROL which starred Mickey Dolenz’s daughter! I saw that movie in the theater with my friend Spring and I thought it was so great and it gave me hope that someday I would grow out of my ugly duckling phase.

(Spoiler: I never did. Have you seen me?)

So back to the Phantom. These fucking kids went from “aw” to “awful” really fast. Their PDA was so out of control that I was starting to dig my fingernails into my palms. The boy kissed the girl after EVERY SENTENCE. These disgusting little kisses on her nose, lips, cheek, shoulder, neck, head. And then she would do it back and it was like being a fucking farm watching chickens peck at each other.

“I like water rides,” she said. *KISS*

“I like water rides too!” he said. *KISS*

“OMG we should go on a water ride!” *KISS*

“I agree!” *KISSKISSKISSKISSUGHFUCKYOU*

I tried to get Haley to switch spots with me but she was like, “Girl, I will fucking kill them.”

It was so out of control! Their conversation was so banal (because this is real life high school and not Dawson’s Creek where they look at the stars and talk about paradigms) and did not warrant such flagrant, superfluous affection, like each precious peck was some uncomfortable form of punctuation that English teachers omit from their curriculum because it’s gross. 

We moved up enough in line to where it was almost time to pick which car we wanted to sit in and then get in the appropriate line. Blake asked where I wanted to go and I was like FAR AWAY FROM THESE OVERACTIVE LIPSMACKERS OVER HERE.

But as it turns out, we wouldn’t have a chance to go any further because an announcement was made saying that the Phantom was temporarily shutting down due to the approaching storm.

MOTHERFUCKER.

This was after about 30 minutes of already standing in line!

Some people opted to stay and wait it out, but we turned around and went to find Henry and Calvin, who had taken pre-shelter under a pavilion of Pedro’s Tacos, which was closed and now that I think about it, I don’t think I have ever seen that place open.

Henry the Meteorologist kept checking some storm tracker map thing and pointed out that it looked like it was going to be OK once this storm came through, that the rest of the day should be all clear. There were other storms behind the first one that was approaching us but Henry pointed out that it looked like they were going to pass around our location.

All of a sudden, the rain fell and people started screaming like it was acid dropping from buckets. We just laughed because come on, guys. It’s rain. This went on for several minutes, with more and more people squeezing into the pavilion with us. I turned my back for a second and got doused with what felt like a really rough wave, and everyone started SCREAMING and pushing each other further into the pavilion. I had no idea what was going on, but garbage cans had fallen over and were rolling violently along the wet ground, and the rain was coming down in what appeared to be curtains at this point.

We were right across from the Pittsburgh Plunge, which is a water ride, and I very naively thought that some sort of tidal wave had been created in the pool of water at the bottom of it and that’s what had hit us, but Henry was like, “No, stupid, the wind was so strong that it was making the rain fall sideways.”

It was intense! And of course this feels like a string of nonsense in light of Hurricane Harvey.

Some dumb bitch was standing near me, coddling her crying son who looked like he was at least 9, and loudly saying things like, “I KNOW, I KNOW. I HATE CROWDS! PEOPLE ARE SUCH IDIOTS” like excuse me, we’re all trying to stay safe here, and I personally didn’t witness any shoving or general jackassery.  Dumb bitch—your kid is basically an adult at this point, get a grip. Meanwhile, Haley was standing behind her, calmly holding Calvin and not panicking or shouting passive aggressive insults at everyone who wasn’t paying enough attention to her.

That lady was already under my skin before the rain even started falling because her face was a moving billboard of angry expressions.

After the storm, there was nothing to do but eat and play games. I remember back in the day, only certain rides would get shut down when it rained and then they would pretty much fire back up as soon as the storm passed.

“Yeah, but then that microburst blew the roof off the Whip and some lady sued,” Henry said.

“Someone sued for real?” I asked.

“Probably,” Henry shrugged. A logical assessment.

The greatest part though was that it cooled down so beautifully and felt like a brisk fall day. I wanted a maple latte badly though. 

I love/hate when they play games. On one hand, there is always something cute that I want them to win for me, but on the other hand, that’s S. Korea money going right down the shitter.

The fish pond is my favorite game! I love how it smells, and I love the sound the metal hook makes when it connects with one of the chunky plastic fish cruising on by with the “current.” It’s one of the things that hasn’t changed about Kennywood since I was a kid and I appreciate that so hard.

This girl was not amused by Chooch’s uncertainty and indecisiveness when it came to choosing fish to hook and I was waiting for her to reach in with her hand and pick for him. I feel like if you’re working one of those games, that one especially since it’s such a kid-centric game, you should have a more docile, friendly disposition?

I wanted Chooch to pick a plush popsicle, but he chose a cupcake instead. I was really disappointed but when he declared that he was giving it to Calvin, the disappointment was replaced with pride because no one made him do this, and it was basically the first time in three months that he acknowledged Calvin’s existence!

<3

Blake won a small pink poop for Calvin. 

An hour later, it started POURING again while we played the shooting game, which is also where I got angry at Henry because he will never properly teach me how to aim and I never hit any targets!

It was 3:00 by this point and we had basically done fuck-all, when a speaker crackled, followed by, “This is the voice of Kennywood….”

The park was officially closing at 4pm because an entire of fleet of storms was still en route to the area. 

SAD TUBA FOR REAL. 

But the upside is that we got rain tickets for next year! 

We still stayed put under an awning because it was torrentially downpouring and no one wanted to walk through that to the gate. This was how I learned courtesy of Haley that if you run through rain, you get more wet!

IS THAT TRUE?!

The rain slowed down long enough for Henry, Chooch and me to speedwalk to Goldent Nugget to grab ice cream cones for the crew but THEY WERE DONE SERVING ICE CREAM FOR THE DAY. 

WHYYYYY!?

I had to text Janna and tell her to JUST FORGET IT because she was going to meet us there after work. This could have been such a great day! We had the perfect group! But then HENRY made us go left instead of right AND LOOK WHAT HAPPENED. 

I never noticed this fire hydrant before. 

All was not lost though because Chooch ended up winning this plush unicorn on the way out, and Haley (who had craved candy apples during her whole pregnancy) snagged the last candy apple in the candy store by the exit. 

Small victories!

In conclusion, shitty weather but excellent company. 

I bet those fucking band dorks spent the whole afternoon kissing raindrops off each other ugh I’m so glad I never saw them again. 

On the last Saturday of August, I met Jeannie, Wendy, and Summer at Pamela’s for breakfast.

This is how I learned through casual conversation that Barb is taking a creative writing class! I was really excited when Jeannie mentioned this but then I blurted out, “She better not plagiarize me!”

Then Jeannie found out that I’m no longer on Facebook and she was shocked, but also happy. “Now we can finally be friends!” she said, since we’re basically the only two people in the world who aren’t on Facebook now.

I started gushing about how great it’s been being off it, no politcal drama, no constant disappointment when you realize how many racists you went to high school with, no more mindless scrolling through the same posts over and over in your feed instead of living life. Yes, I’m still on other social media, but those platforms have never threatened to consume me the way Facebook did.

“It’s really refreshing when you run into a friend and when you ask them what they’ve been up to, you REALLG MEAN IT because you no longer know every single thought and movement of your friends,” I explained. “It’s like, going back to basics.”

Wendy nodded and said, “Yeah I hate it when you’re talking to someone and they’re like ‘didn’t you see my post?'”

I started laughing and admitted that I used to be like that with my blog. “‘Didn’t you read my blog???’ I’d say whenever someone  didn’t know what was going on with me.”

“I only read Barb’s blog,” Jeannie said dryly and I almost spit up my Lyonnaise potatoes all over Summer. I WISH BARB HAD A BLOG! (Hint hint Barb!)

You’ll never believe this but the rest of Saturday was spent at home! Henry finally started getting some work done in the kitchen, I went for a million walks, we went and got coffee at one point at Cafe Noir and Henry dropped a chocolate chip cookie on the sidewalk and THEN ATE IT.

OFF THE GROUND IN BROOKLINE. Lord knows how many junkies puked on that square inch of sidewalk. Good one, Henry.

Oh and Chooch also got his hair cut – all of these were accomplished by walking to Brookline Boulevard and when I complain about Brookline, I always have to check myself and remember how motherfucking convenient everything is.

(Just wish they would get a Korean restaurant.)

Off topic: I fucking hate that Sam Hunt “Body Like A Backroad” song so much. Every time I hear it on the radio, I am instantly filled with rage and lunge to turn it off (we had to listen to the radio A LOT when we were trying to win those Shawn Mendes tickets ugh).  I was ranting about it to Henry and said that if anyone told me I had a body like a backroad, I would be so offended because what–my body is dusty and bumpy?!

“I think he’s trying to say that he knows her body like he knows a backroad, like the back of his hand. Like, the curves in a backroad,” Henry calmly explained.

DONT BE A COUNTRY MUSIC APOLOGIST, YEE-HAW HANK.

Henry: FML

Mannequin Henry: Same. 

Saturday night, we watched an episode of Goblin and then I probably went for another walk. I’m training to be the next Crazy Lady of Brookline. I know what you’re thinking and you’re right, I probably don’t need much training.

*******

Sunday morning, I was still lounging around in bed when the DJ on the Korean radio station I listen to started saying words that sounded familiar and then I realized that the other day she asked people to write in and tell her how Kpop changed their lives so I did (natch) and SHE WAS READING MY STORY! I was actually in the middle of talking about how tall Lee Gwang Soo is because of course I was talking g about a Korean TV personality while listening to Korean radio, when I interrupted myself to blurt out, “HEY THATS ME!!” Henry murmured, “Oh my god,” Bob’s Burger-style

It was a really special moment for me!

Then we dropped Chooch off at his piano lesson and hit up the Asian markets. Right away, I saw these curious things on branches in the produce section and immediately wanted to buy them. The thing you should know about Asian markets is that sometimes you will see things labeled in English, but mostly the produce is hand-written in Chinese. I can read Korean, but Chinese characters are waaaaay out of my wheelhouse. These particularly fruit-balls were not marked in English, but while we were gawking at them, a Chinese man reached in front of us and grabbed two red bags of the things. Henry asked him what they were and the man just laughed and said, “I don’t know but they taste good!”

That was a ringing enough of an endorsement for me so I grabbed a sack and then Henry found our favorite grocer who informed us that they’re yellow dates. I googled and it said you could eat them just as they are, even though they hadn’t yet turned soft, brown and wrinkly. (There’s an old man ball joke in there somewhere but I’m all out of humor after doing kpop workouts for like two hours tonight.)

We sat in the car and dared each other to take the first bite. Eventually we both went for it and holy shit, new favorite fruit. It had the crunch of an apple, a slight astringent bite of a persimmon, and a wonderfully sweet aftertaste of date.

They are so delicious and addicting!

The moral is: don’t be afraid to ask someone what things are when you’re at some type of ethnic grocery store. This is also how Henry and I discovered that baby taro is the BOMB.

I was just at one of the other Asian markets last week on my lunch break (there’s one that’s close enough for me to walk to, but my favorite one is several blocks farther away and I’d never make it back in time, so sad). I wanted to grab some more candy for the pumpkin at work, but there were some white people there acting like typical American assholes, loudly making fun of the candy and I just didn’t want to be associated with them. Just imagine all the delicious things they’re missing out on.

After Chooch’s lesson, we went to Spirit for their Sunday brunch. I’m not a fan of brunch or buffets (I know, what kind of anomaly am I), but we settled on Spirit because their veg options seemed tight. I was worried that the vibe was going to be off-putting since this place is also a music venue (of the hipster variety) but the atmosphere was dark and on point—exactly the kind of ambiance I like in a restaurant.

Chooch immediately went to check out the bathroom and reported that it was “nothing special, kind of like the ones at the Altar Bar.” Because my 11-year-old knows his music venue bathrooms, guys.

The buffet was pretty lit (Chooch hates it when I say that because I’m apparently not supposed to know that word since I’m A Mom) and there were more meatless options than anything else, really. Three different types of salads, hummus, yogurt, rice pudding, lemon beignets (God yes),- pizza bar, quiche, French toast sticks….just all kinds of wondrous brunch fare.

I think it was the first time I actually ate my money’s worth too. It may not seem like it on the outside, but my stomach is way too small for buffets.

I didn’t eat anything the rest of the day. :/

We had THE WORST service though, considering all our server had to do was bring us our drinks and check. It was ludicrous how neglected we were. Other people were annoyed too, and some broad at a table nearby crumbled up her check and walked out because all she cared about was the sausage and potatoes and it was never refilled or something, I don’t care about other people’s problems.

The bottomline for me is that I enjoyed the ambiance and food enough to give it another try but we better have a different server and my fucking coffee better actually be bottomless like the menu says, considering this is the most important part of a meal for me and I didn’t get my cup until I WAS ALMOST DONE EATING ARE YOU KIDDING YOU HAVE ONE JOB LADY!

(Side note: Chooch thought he was so cool because he ordered a Snakebite, which was some kind of ginger-spiked OJ. We didn’t think he would like it, but he drank the whole damn thing.)

Forever making him stand in front of walls.

After lunch, we went to visit Patty, who gets to come home on September 24th! This is huge news and I’m so stoked for her! She’s been at this particular long-term care facility for nearly a year now and she has made so much progress. (Unfriendly reminder for cancer to go get fucked.)

In the activity room, Patty strong-armed Chooch to play something on the piano for all the elderly women sitting around the table. He finally sat down and plucked out this little ditty from memory like it ain’t no thang:

View this post on Instagram

I sent this to his piano teacher yesterday and she was so thrilled! I love how great the two of them work together. When I went to get him on Sunday, I caught the tail end of her teaching him the drum parts to Yellowcard’s “Ocean Avenue.” She is so fucking cool!

After Chooch entertained the ladies, we went to an empty rec room and played Joking Hazard while Henry sat down and IMMEDIATELY fell asleep. At one point, some man in his nineties came in and rifled through the newspapers on the table near Henry and I started cracking up because that dude looked like he had way more energy than our slumbering hero. I told Henry later that while he was sleeping, one of the orderlies came in and asked us if we wanted her to take him back to his room, and he believed me.

“They could have taken me to a room,” Henry said with a shrug, and then got this far-away look in his eyes as though he was fantasizing about having a secret room in a nursing home where he could sleep as much as he wanted without Chooch and me waking him up because we need fed or burped or whatever.

It took forever to get home because nearly every way out of the city is under construction. Henry kept shouting, “FUCK YOU!!” every time he’d come upon another road closure. He’s usually on his detour game, but not on this day. I was actually starting to feel anxious, like we were in a bad horror movie. Welcome to Pittsburgh, where there’s NO WAY OUT.

We did eventually make it home and I went for a…WAIT FOR IT…walk. This time, I walked around a part of Brookline I don’t generally visit, and on one of the streets, I heard these kids yelling about a hug, but you know me, I ignore the frequency of a child’s voice.

But the yelling persisted, and that’s when I realized that these two little kids in a yard across the street were asking me for a hug.

LOL, PASS.

But their screams were getting louder until finally I stopped and gave them an air-hug from across the street, because that’s the kind of dick I am. They weren’t buying it and demanded that I give them a real hug.

Look. It’s 2017. Even if I enjoyed the act of hugging another human, it gets tricky when that other person is not a kid, but a KID STRANGER. Who knows what someone would think if they happened to look out their window. Sad, right, that we even have to think that way in this day and age.

I decided that we could at least high-five, so I crossed the street and walked over to them. Their yard was bordered by a retaining wall, so I was pretty much eye level with this little brother and sister pair of hug-obsessers, who appeared to be maybe 3 and 4. But after high-fiving, they GANG-HUGGED ME. I had no chance! The little boy was actually hanging off me and I was like, “WHOA HAHA OK DOWN!” and had to actually pry these children off me torso.

IT WAS HORRIFYING.

UGH KIDS!!

The girl happily asked me where I live and I stupidly told her and then stopped myself because WAS I BEING KID-NAPPED?! I had no idea what was going on, but they were so friendly and I think they wanted to keep me and I wasn’t down with that. I told them I had to go home and, in my own awkward way, tried to coax them further back into their yard. “Uh, don’t come out into the street. Try to, like, you know, stay safe,” I mumbled as I turned to walk away. And then the boy started crying, like legit wailing, “No don’t go! Come back!” and my anxiety went through the roof. The voice in my head was all, “FUCKING RUN. RUN RUN FUCKITYFUCKFUCK RUN!” Was that his signal for the rest of the neighborhood kids to fall from boughs and emerge from manholes, pulling their ropes taut and cocking their BB guns?!

Eventually, he stopped screaming and when I risked one last furtive glance over my shoulder they had gone back to calmly playing whatever they were playing before they spotted the naïve-looking girl with the Pusheen wallet hanging off her shorts.

And then my hand instinctively reached for said wallet because WAS THIS A PICKPOCKETING PLOY FROM BROOKLINE GYPSIES? But no, everything was intact.

Super creepy though.

Now I’m wondering IF THEY WERE ACTUALLY GHOSTS???

And then the weekend ended with Game of Thrones, while Chooch diligently and slightly obsessively organized his backpack for the first day of sixth grade. I know summer isn’t technically over yet as far as the calendar is concerned, but it might as well be. :(

I know, I know: parents do this every year. “Wah, my kid is growing up” blah blah blah. It’s still a little bit of a shock to the system though when you send your kid off to the first day of school and then think to yourself, “Fuck, I’m a mom of a MIDDLESCHOOLER” and then you feel all self-pitying and pathetic and cry a lot but take consolation in the fact that now that he wears a boys’ large, you can actually fit into some of his clothes and that denim vest is LOOKING MIGHTY FINE.  

I mean, this isn’t about me, this about my BEAUTIFUL GROWING BOY. 

I can’t wait to fill this vest with pins—oooh I can make a patch that says MOMMY & CHOOCH 4L!

Um, anyway. Here’s hoping that sixth grade goes as smoothly as fifth grade did. (Of course he got the teacher that requires about $150 in supplies when all the other ones just have “pencils and paper” listed. 

Ugh middle school. 

With Erin & Chooch

I volunteered to work the last three Friday late shifts for August because we get to work those from home and I thought to myself, “Golly wouldn’t it be swell to spend some of these last summer Fridays with my little baby boy?!” 

Lol. 

On every one of these Fridays, we went out for breakfast. And that is what this blog post is about, ok?

On the first Friday, we walked to Orbis Cafe in Mt. Lebanon. It took about 25-30 minutes to get there but it was a beautiful, mild summer morning so we didn’t show up sopping with sweat or anything. Don’t worry. 

Hilariously, we had just been joking around at work about someone who listed “third wave coffee” as an interest on their resume, and now here I was, at a cafe that totally promoted that movement, what with their multiple, confusing brewing options. 

I panicked and just got a pour over,  because I was only familiar with that and French press. Then I had to choose a coffee blend and it was a real high-anxiety experience, almost as bad as waiting for public transportation or being randomly called on in class. 

I’m easily rattled ok?!

I’m conflicted with this place. The two women working that day were pleasant but the service was…..

Just not that wonderful. For starters, I stood at the counter the entire time the one barista was making my pourover because I noticed other people standing around too. I had Chooch grab us a table while I continued waiting. 

I stood there for at least 8 minutes before one of the girls walked out from behind the counter and brought Chooch’s breakfast to him (fruit and nut yogurt, and a bagel which he could have had at home but whatever). 

Apparently the people standing around were waiting for their to-go drinks. I didn’t have to be standing there at all, yet neither of the two baristas said anything to me, or even asked me if I needed something! THEY JUST LET ME STAND THERE LIKE A LOST SHEEP. 

So I went and sat down with Chooch, feeling stupid and completely spotlighted. It was about 15 minutes later when I had finished my coffee and he had finished his breakfast, when I started to hard-core wonder where the hell my breakfast wrap was. I kept looking over shoulder at the counter and couldn’t tell if it was still being heated up or what. 

“I mean, I DID order it right?” And of course Chooch made me doubt that my order had gone any further than just being a thought in my head. But then I started doing the math and confirmed that I definitely paid for it. 

I was about to go up to the counter and just ask for a refund (or possibly a CHEMEX) when one of the baristas started asking, “Breakfast wrap?” to every table she walked past. Then she met my eyes and suddenly realized that it was mine and she had FORGOTTEN ABOUT IT. 

“I’m so sorry!” she said, setting down the lukewarm wrap in front of me. It had obviously been abandoned on the counter for quite some time. 

I’d give them a free pass if the joint had been exceptionally busy but it was boasting a basic hustle and bustle that morning. 

They’re lucky I’m a sell-out and all up on the Third Wave Coffee train now because their pourover was EXCEPTIONAL and just delicious enough to not only drink black, but to forgive them for their wrap-dementia. 

I’ll be back for coffee but not breakfast. (Although their display of baked goods looked pretty good.)

For our second Friday, we were treated with a very heavy downpour. We tried to wait it out as long as possible but we were both swinging from hunger’s lunacy fringe so we left the house with our one shared umbrella and dealt with it. 

Everything was mostly fine. We walked past our old neighbor who didn’t go very far—just down the street—and a split second after cutely saying hello (she loves us and thinks we look like twins so take that everyone who always says that they see no resemblance) we were puddle-splashed in the most dramatic fashion by some FUCKSTICK in a truck.

Even if we had been double-umbrella’d, there was no protection from that one. 

So that was swell!

We reluctantly opted for Dorstop this time. I say reluctantly for two reasons:

• Dorstop is majorly over-rated and their figurative head is entirely too enlarged from That One Time they were featured on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives like 10 years ago. 
• We’ve been anxiously awaiting this one place called Parker’s to open. They used to be across the sreeet from Dorstop in Dormont, but they moved to a great spot on Brookline Blvd — basically still the same walking disgance for us but we spend more time walking on Brookline Blvd than we do on the street where they used to be located, plus this new spot is bigger! We always chide Henry because he’s never been to Parker’s so we treat it like it’s a club he doesn’t belong to. “You act like you guys were regulars there but you only ate there like theee times.” Twice, and both times were memorable because PARKER HIMSELF talked to us and he is AWESOME and no I DONT HAVE A CRUSH ON HIM OK I DO.

I mean. 

So we begrudgingly went to Dorstop and I was just really happy to get away from the rain. Of course it was packed, even on a weekday morning, because Guy Fieri ate there once, y’all. 

:|

Of course everyone turned to look at us when the bells on the door jingled and I hadn’t even told them Large Marge sent us yet. 

 Right off the bat, a synthetic ginger broad asked us how many in a disgruntled grumble, coupled with a very surly, “Follow me.”

I was ready to walk the fuck out because what a rude twat. But…rain. 

Luckily we had a nice young waitress who gave me coffee immediately and our food was fine. (I had potato pancakes; Chooch had an omelette which wasn’t nearly as good as the one he had at The Twist, the one that had him throwing down glitter on “Honk If You Love Artichokes” signs.)

It was fine but I would never recommend it nor would I take any out-of-town guests there. 

Which brings us to today…

Our last Friday Breakfast Club meeting for the foreseeable future. :(

Me: I’m sad that this is our last day of Friday Breakfast Club.

Chooch: We literally only went to breakfast three times, though—how is that a club?!

Ugh shut up Chooch. 

This time we went to Tom’s. We could have went there last week instead of Dorstop but we had eaten at Tom’s for dinner (WITH BARB, UGH BARB) two nights before. 

I originally suggested Cain’s Saloon which is open early on Fridays for breakfast (allegedly) but Chooch was all, “Um I feel like that’s a place that daddy would want to go to with us so we should just go to Tom’s” and I’m not a fool I know it’s because Cain’s is a longer walk and he was itchin’ to get home and play with his dumb friends. 

NO ONE IS BETTER THAN MOMMY, CHOOCH—NO ONE!!! I WONT LET THEM TAKE U AWAY FROM ME!

But yeah! Anyway! You know! Can’t go wrong with Tom’s! I had the Greek eggs Benedict and Chooch had eggs and home fries I guess. All I remember is him complaining about the nerve of restaurants that serve jelly packets with their toast, assuming that everyone uses jelly. 

Turns out Chooch is not a fan of jelly on his toast. 

“It just belongs on PB&J and nothing else,” he shared with me and I BET HIS DUMB FRIENDS ALREADY KNOW ABOUT THAT DONT THEY? I AM SO OUT OF TOUCH. 

I’m not having feelings about him starting sixth grade on Monday. Pfft. That’s you,  not me. 

UGH JUST GO AWAY. 

Henry had to work on Saturday so Chooch and I were on our own.

Well I guess we’re gonna have to take control

(On our own)

If it’s up to us, we’ve got to take it home

(On our own)

We went for a walk first thing in the morning, trampling down Brookline alleys and stumbling upon ANARCHIST GRAFITTI! We decided to try and figure out who the culprit was and then suddenly, Chooch spotted an aerosol can discarded over to the side of the alley. “Maybe that’s the cam of spraypaint!!! NO DONT TOUCH IT, YOULL GET YOUR FINGERPRINTS ON IT!” I screamed. 

“It’s just hairspray,” Chooch said, failing miserably at pronouncing Tresemme (ooh la la).

And then we moved on to other things, like judging peoples’ backyards. (Like ours is so great. Oh wait we don’t have one lol.)

We walked past CVS and as the automatic doors opened, Chooch yelled, “Do you love Bambi!?” Because that’s what he calls his dumb cat Drew these days. 

“No, and stop yelling at me!” I cried. 

“I wasn’t asking you, I was asking the people in CVS.”

Whhhyyy did this make me crack up so bad? I think we’ve been spending too much time together. 

Wait! I’m getting my walks mixed up! I think this was from our second walk, around noon, when we went to Cafe Noir for our traditional Saturday beverage. (I usually get a latte, Chooch gets hot chocolate. Look at how much I tell you!)

This is me, half-woke and makeupless, and Chooch, struggling to see without a YouTube video in front of his face. We were walking down the sidewalk on our block and one of the neighbors shouted, “Here come the Bobsy Twins!” So freaking accurate. 

Idiot Henry came home around 2 so we went to a late lunch at Nak Won Garden. Pittsburgh doesn’t have many Korean restaurants and this is the only one I’ve been to so far that has ttkeokbokki on the menu! It’s specifically a Korean streetfood but most of the restaurants in Toronto’s Koreatown had it on their menu. If I had a Korean restaurant it would for sure be on the menu, with a glorious photo of it on the front, skewers and all. 

This particular place has it listed as an appetizer and it was perfect to share between us. I derived great pleasure from watching Henry struggle with metal chopsticks. He can barely use cheap wooden ones, let alone the Korean variety! He was getting so irritated because I kept swiping things from him and then trying to feed him. 

Oh Henry. So put-upon. Ho ho ho. 

I don’t know what he ordered but I got soondubu jjigae with mushrooms and basically wanted to place my whole fucking face in that bubbling cauldron of Korean stew. 

View this post on Instagram

And don’t get me started on the banchan. I ate all the kimchi before Henry even realized it was there. 

Eating lunch was exhausting so Henry fell asleep immediately upon returning home and I took lovely, sentimental pictures of us together. 

Then I hoped he wasn’t actually dead,  because these pictures would take on a completely new meaning. 

I made this birthday card for my noncomposcards shop and Chooch was like, “Get away from me with that. You are so cringey.” 

THAT’S JUST WHO I AM. 

Chooch’s queen on her throne. After I posted this on Instagram, several wheelchair accounts started falling me. I’m moving up in the world! This was almost as good as the time I was contacted by this poet who wanted to use one of my photos of a unicorn masked-Chooch sitting in that very wheelchair, as the cover of his next chapbook. I said sure as long as he credited me and he promised to send me a copy of it in the mail. He did, eventually, and boy was it interesting. It was basically a collection of sex poems written by a paraplegic. Chooch’s first cover!

Saturday night ended with me watching the livestream of KCON LA and throwing a fit when the feed froze THE EXACT MOMENT Vixx started to perform “Shangri-la.” OF COURSE IT WOULD. That was the main thing I was looking forward to!

By the time I woke up Sunday morning, it was already on YouTube, so….

IN CONCLUSION, MY SATURDAY WAS PRETTY FULFILLING. 

I have so much that I want to preserve up here on thee ol’ memory website, and even though I blog every single ding dong day, I still can’t keep up. AND HOW, when my life is not really that exciting AT ALL. Also, my subscription feature is all jacked, so no one is getting notifications and for once it doesn’t seem to be Henry’s fault because he looked into it and other people have been complaining (where?) about the same problem, so even though I am straight-up pouring out my heart on here, barely anyone is reading it!

It’s always something.

But back to last Saturday! We went to Blake & Haley’s house in Monessen so Chooch and Blake could play Fundapop (the new Thingieball), and so Henry could agitate Calvin. That baby is so cute but I’m still just admiring from a distance. However, we’re all going to Kennywood on Tuesday and I intend on taking a million pictures of him not riding anything other than his stroller.

Lol, babies.

Anyway, I was super clenched watching Chooch, Haley, and Blake play Fundapop because they kept losing the ball in this super overgrown area and I kept saying things like YOU BETTER NOT LOSE ANY OF THOSE BALLS and YOU BETTER FIND THAT FUCKING BALL! and OK LET’S PUT THE GAME AWAY NOW WHILE ALL 4 BALLS ARE STILL INTACT!

I am 100% OCD over missing pieces.

Afterward, we left to get lunch before a war broke out (you know me and my hanger). We were originally going to go to Blue Flame because it was on our route home, but then we drove past The Twist in Monongahela and I casually looked it up on Yelp and was surprised to see that it was more than just an ice cream joint — I knew it had food but I figured, you know, hot dogs and nachos.

But no! The menu looked legit, so Henry turned around reluctantly—I think he was prepared for false advertisement resulting in me flipping tables. The last time we were here was when we did the Ice Cream Cannibal photoshoot with Chooch and the place seemed like it was closed forever then.

These pictures never get old!

You know how sometimes you walk into a restaurant and you just know it was meant to be? That’s how I felt on this day. I loved everything about it! LOOK AT HOW FUCKING CUTE IT IS!!! And shabby chic or whatever they’re calling this aesthetic these days is not even normally my style!

And the menu had numerous veg-friendly options, so I actually had a hard time ordering for positive reasons.

Chooch got the Greek omelet, and then after the waitress walked away, he asked us, “Do I like artichokes?” causing Henry and me to suck in our breath through our teeth  because that kid is so goddamn picky.

We figured FOR SURE he was going to just move around the omelet a lot on his plate, which is what he does when he wants us to mistake the motions for him actually eating. But no, his omelet arrived and he was like, “THIS is what artichokes taste like? HOLY SHIT, artichokes are GOOD” and then proceeded to demolish the whole thing, and it was one giant, motherwhompin’ omelet too! He ate every last bite and is now obsessed with artichokes. I hope this means that his palate (lol, I type palette at first, someone take my English degree off of me, oh wait, I never got the degree) is finally maturing a bit.

Meanwhile, I got this bitchin’ breakfast tamale thing and it was everything. So much better than the grilled cheese I would have ordered at Blue Flame because what else would I get at Blue Flame? It’s not often I walk into some small hick-town restaurant and have the opportunity to stuff my face with a tamale.

Henry ordered meat.

The service was a delight as well — what an unusual experience for us!

We ordered ice cream to go afterward and I was mad because Henry chose the same flavor as me which meant I couldn’t decide that I wanted his instead.

I forget what we got—something amaretto.

Chooch and his fancy palate got cannoli.

I don’t even remember else we did on Saturday but who cares because we managed to have lunch without fighting, and that my friends, WOULD NOT BE THE CASE THE NEXT DAY.

I’ll leave you with this wonderful song and video from AKMU which I have been meaning to post for awhile but you know, I just can’t get my shit together.

Today is Kwon Jiyong’s birthday (technically, it was yesterday since it’s already the 19th now in Seoul). I declared yesterday that I would buy a cake in his honor today, and it worked out perfectly since I’m working from home and also late shift, because that meant I could walk to Potomac Bakery and then decorate the damn thing on my break.

(Chooch declined my invitation but I dragged his dumb ass with me anyway, in a veritable monsoon. We got hardcore splashed by a truck on the way there and it was so humiliating but we perservered. ITS THE LIBERAL WAY!)

Chooch and I carefully, and after much deliberation, settled on a mildly festive cake with enough blank space on the white frosting to allow me to stick my decorations in it.

“Do you want it to say anything?” the lady at the bakery asked. Here is where I either say too little or too much, never just enough. On this day, I went with TOO MUCH.

“Well…” I hesitated, wondering if they would scrawl Happy Birthday in Hangeul for me. “Ok so this is weird but this cake is actually for our favorite Kpop singer—-”

“Ours?” Chooch screeched in a “don’t bring me into this!” tone.

“What?! You like him too!” I cried defensively, and then noticed the lady was totally confused and still waiting for an answer. “Oh, so I wanted it to say happy birthday in Korean, but I figured I would just do that myself—”

“Do you have your own icing? Because I can’t give you any,” she said, completely and utterly shutting down any further explanation about my deviant Korean cake decorating.

I quietly said yes and then started to say I was just going to print stuff out and stick them in the cake but any fucks she had left to give had practically clawed their way into her ass to escape any more of my crazy cake talk.

I came home and yelled at the computer for an hour because I couldn’t find a good Hangeul font to download for Photoshop and then I found one but all the actions are in Korean so I was just blindly clicking things and now I probably have a Kim Jung Un missile virus ugh.

*****

A few hours later, I realized that I should have bought a G and a D letter candles for the cake. I told Henry this just as he was leaving work and he was all WHY COULDNT YOU HAVE TOLD ME THIS EARLIER WHEN I WAS AT TWO PARTY CITY STORES?! (And that was completely unrelated to G-Dragon’s birthday. Don’t you know that I’m tacky AF and get my regular home decor from party stores?)

So he said he’d stop at Pat Catan’s and then I texted, “ooh see if they have Korean balloons too.”

Odds are in favor of us not speaking by the time we cut this cake. Especially after I referred to G-Dragon as my king and Henry whispered “oh my god.”

On the upside I can sing Happy Birthday in Korean now! (Well, the short version. There’s also some long-ass version that’s like the length of an actual song and my memory can’t handle that today.)

***

It’s 7:30. I’m still working. Henry printed out my cake decorations, and I have my GD crown adorning my warped pate.

JANNA IS NOT HERE YET.

Every time I open the door to look for her, passersby do a double take and then I remember that my crown flashes valiantly.

It’s now 8:00 and Janna still isn’t here. I have the cake all decorated and I told Henry that we don’t have to wait for Janna.

“She’s basically just coming for cake, so we can start without her. She doesn’t have to be here for the actual ceremony.”

“She’s so lucky,” Henry just mumbled.

***

OK! Janna got here so after I was done working, the celebrations got underway! I made Chooch invite his friend Jaden so it looked more like a party. Jaden seemed extremely confused and not amused.

Wow, we had MAJOR issues with the candles and Henry was like THATS ENOUGH! PLEASE STOP LIGHTING THE CANDLES BEFORE THE HOUSE BURNS DOWN.

The candles were melting so quickly that we didn’t even have a chance to sing Happy Birthday in Korean after I PRACTICED ALL FREAKING DAY.

Happy birthday, my King. I hope you had the most amazing 30th birthday of all time. <3

Heyo! Lori scheduled a belated birthday lunch for me last week, at a place of my choosing, and described the event as an opportunity for me to talk about all things G-Dragon. 

I accepted immediately, even though Wendy was invited too, ughhh. 

(J/K for anyone who takes my words literally.)

I’m awful at choosing places to eat downtown because I don’t eat out for lunch very often (habitual oatmeal/Cream of Wheat nosher here). But at the eleventh hour, I remembered that there was some ramen joint opening up down the street and a quick Google search of “ramen Pittsburgh” let me know that it opened a few weeks ago. 

Luckily, my suggestion was met with happy acceptance because Lori was under the weather and wanted something soup-y, and Wendy was just happy to not have to make decisions, probably. 

Obviously, I picked this place because it jives with my new Eastern palate. 

We got there around 12:30 and it was pretty empty, which was concerning. But…there’s construction happening right outside and past of their entrance is blocked by scaffolding, so we figured that was why. 

Hoped, anyway. 

Lack of diners aside, the decor was on point!

And I immediately bonded with the waitress, who came over to get our drink orders and said to me, “I love everything you have going on here,” while waving her hands over my teenaged accoutrements. 

TELL ME MORE. 

BUT WAIT FOR WENDY TO COME BACK FROM THE BATHROOM FIRST. 

You know who else would have hated this? Chooch. He despises that my teenage accessories garner attention. He’s always like, “Why can’t you just carry a normal purse like other moms? Like a beige one or something? Why are all of your purses like cartoons?”

Because I’m all about that animated life, boiiii. Step off. 

While we perished the menu, I was going on about how I’m not that annoying vegetarian who goes to restaurants and makes annoying requests and meatless demands. Meanwhile, I spotted something on the menu that had KOREAN PICKLED DAIKON in it and did you know I fucking love daikon? Well I do. Send me a basket of it for Christmas. 

But that dish had pork in it. 

There was another dish that was similar, but vegetarian. That should have been enough but it came with rice and it ramen like the pork dish, and I wanted the ramen because we were in a ramen joint. So I asked the waitress if I could either get the ramen version without the pork or the veg  one with ramen and I could almost feel Lori’s and Wendy’s joining forces in Eyeroll Unity while I could hear my voice being a few octaves higher as if that would make me sound friendlier in my Vegetarian Princess demands. 

We couldn’t do the first option because the sauce was pork-based (I appreciated that she knew that!) but she confirmed with the kitchen that the second option could be done with no problem. I thanked her profusely and prayed that she didn’t think I was some cranky asshole with an imaginary food allergy. 

Wendy did mention that it was my birthday though, so maybe she just assumed I was one of those douches who expect the world to spin at their own speed on their birthday. 

Meanwhile, Wendy and Lori ordered a simple, standard, house ramen. Oh those low-maintenance carnivores!

Their ramen really did look delightful though. I wanted to steal those eggs. 

I was so pleased with my lunch! Honestly, it tasted like something Henry would make me at home, which is a true testament to his Asian cooking skills. It was such a comforting, delicious lunch. It was daebak! 

That daikon though. 

Anyway, 45 minutes into the lunch I realized that we hadn’t talked about G-Dragon at all because Wendy was talking about gross smells and Lori was trying to determine if she had a cold or allergies and I was struggling to eat my noodles like they were live tentacles. 

Ugh. 

Lunch was so good though, and the waitstaff was so friendly and accommodating! I want to go back and drink all the sake. 

Thanks, Lori & Wendy!

Spent all night seething over that racist piece of shit leading our country straight back to 1944, but I woke up to not one, but TWO new Taeyang videos. 

So happy that I get to see him in a few weeks. So happy for a few moments of bliss this morning before reality sets back in. 

On the offchance you’re tired of the sickening displays of racism in our collapsing country, here’s a blog post with just pictures of my cats. 

Because I don’t have the energy for anything else. I’ve spent all weekend ranting to Henry about Charlottesville and our “president” and I just feel like some stupidly hopeless white girl who can’t make a difference aside from the one motherfucking “White Lives Matter” sticker I angrily peeled off a door in an alley in Dormont last week. I wish racists could be peeled off the face of the earth that easily. 

America could be the most progressive country in the world, but instead…..this. 

Can we get a real leader yet? Like some Marvel motherfucker? How much longer? SOS please send help, Canada. 

Me: I haven’t written about G-Dragon yet. I don’t even know how to start it!

Chooch: Just start by saying “OMG YOU GUYS.”

Me: That’s pretty much how I start all my posts — DONT YOU READ MY BLOG?!

***

OMG YOU GUYS. July 30, 2017 was the best day of my life (even though I still cried & threw a fit).

Let me back up.

Gotta get that clotheline ready for all the dirty laundry I’m about to hang up like a cheap, tacky outsider art show.

2016 was the worst year of my life. All this tragic shit went down with my family, the great America tragedy known as the 2016 Presidential Election happened, and these things combined to form the perfect storm inside my head. I can’t remember the last time I felt so low, had so many suicidal thoughts, and basically fought with myself on the downlow everyday to stay alive.

I didn’t talk about it with anyone. That was my first mistake. I kept saying I was fine. The shit with my family was fine. The repressed memories swelling up inside of me were fine. The uncontrollable sobbing over TV commercial was fine.

Nothing to worry about!

I was going to a lot of concerts by myself that year too, seeing lots of sad boy bands, crying by myself in a crowd of strangers and feeling more alone than I ever have in my life.

But I didn’t talk about it. Because when I do, it’s always like… a joke. Silly Erin. Dramatic Erin. Because when you can’t put your finger on one solid, tangible problem, people don’t understand. That’s the awesome thing about mental illness — if you don’t “have” it, you can’t possibly comprehend so it sounds like a complete flight of fancy when someone tries to explain to you that they see their emotions in color and cry when they step on a leaf BECAUSE THAT POOR LEAF.  Everything is anthropomorphic. Everything is fragile. There is so much sourceless pain.

I decided to have a Christmas party. I wanted to try to end the year on a happy note. When you have been suffering with bipolar since you were a kid, you find ways to bandage it. And for me, it was always having parties. Trying to fill my house with as many friends in hopes it would do the same to the void in my heart.

I was making a party playlist which stopped Henry in his tracks on his way to the kitchen.

“Oh my god, do you want people to leave your party feeling suicidal?!” Henry explained at the funeral dirge-like goth renditions of Christmas songs I was adding left and right.

“FINE THEN ILL PUT SOME KPOP IN THERE TOO,” I cried. And then, “Aw, I forgot how much I liked these Kpop songs!”

It inspired me to start doing my KpopX workouts again. I had been gaining weight again after years of steadily losing it and that’s always a tell-tale sign that I’m in a rut.

And then it just spiraled from there, the Kpop stuff. I started watching music videos, YouTube videos about Korean food, Seoul travel vlogs….it was replacing my constant CNN watching. I actually stopped watching regular cable altogether. I became obsessed with the way the Korean language sounded, how the dialect slowed down my racing thoughts.

Learning about the culture gave me a healthy outlet. I threw myself into it headfirst. And for the first time in decades, I wasn’t listening to music that made me cry. Kpop was making me so happy. It was helping me lose weight. It was filling that void and giving me something to be excited about it.

Oh, I get so much shit for it. Lots of rolled eyes, lots of being told that it’s cheesy or stupid and that’s fine, because I know that this cheesy stupid thing has saved my life.

But there was one thing that came out of this that stood out among the k-Dramas, the variety shows, and my need to squirt gochujang on every foodstuff—and that thing was a Korean powerhouse named G-Dragon. At first, I didn’t get it. I knew that he was the biggest Kpop star in the world, had high-profile friends even here in America, and was bacisally Korea’s national treasure. But then the more BIGBANG videos I watched, the more live performances I YouTubed, the more variety show appearances I sat trough, the more I understood.

G-Dragon is fucking everything.

For the first time probably since I discovered Jonny Craig in 2007, I felt really excited about music again. I wanted to open my front door and scream BUT DO YOU KNOW G-DRAGON? to every asshole walking past my house.

I had it bad. I dragged Henry down with me. Soon he became a BIGBANG fan too and honestly acknowledged G-Dragon’s greatness. This was something we could enjoy together. It was bringing us closer, even, this whole Korea thing. I was suddenly less irritable, less panicked, less morose.

I was giddy again. Laughing again. Excited to come home from work and dive deeper into this new area of my life.

The bad thing about coming into BIGBANG so late into the game is that all five members are gearing up for their mandatory military enlistment soon (one has already enlisted), so I figured I might never be able to see them live — who knows if they will resume things as a band once they’re all out again.

So when G-Dragon announced his solo world tour and I saw that North America was on the list, Henry didn’t even bother dragging his feet. We got VIP tickets to the Toronto show which fell on my birthday—and now you know, maybe, why this concert was so special—-no, so important to me.

****

We got to the Air Canada Center around 2:45 that afternoon. My VIP itinerary said that check-in was beginning at 3:45, and anyone who got there after 6 would miss the soundcheck. I have never done anything like this before and very rarely even go to big concerts in arenas (I’m used to shows in small clubs where tickets are $15!) so I wanted to get there kind of early, especially since we saw that there was already a line when we passed by earlier that day.

There were a good bit of people in line when we arrived but not so much that I felt overwhelmed. There were two lines, what we figured were gold and silver,  so we got in the end of the longer line after asking if it was silver. No one seemed to know for sure but everyone I asked said they were silver VIP, so….blind faith.

This was when I noticed that the demographics here were not as diverse as KCON – it was mostly Asian people in line with us and I loved it because Korean was being spoken around all sides of me! There was a really cute young Chinese couple behind me that I was obsessed with.

After about an hour of standing in line, the girl in front of us started to wonder why the other line was so short. She suspected that we could stand in both lines, and that’s exactly what she was told when she went and asked one of the staff members. She came back and pulled her friend with her into the much shorter line, but I was hesistant to follow. Several other people eventually followed suit and then Henry went over and asked someone for himself. He too was told that the first line was for silver VIPs so when he came back and told me, I in turn told the cute couple behind me  because they didn’t speak English well and I didn’t want to leave them behind. (The girl part of the couple was wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt and Henry thought this was the oddest thing.)

And wouldn’t you know it, as soon as we got to the other line, another LiveNation guy came over and started yelling about how that was not the line for silver VIPS and he made us all turn around, which meant we had to go all the way to the back of the original line, which was so long and I wanted to cry. I felt doubly terrible because I dragged those poor Chinese kids down with me.

(Well, they’re prpbably not “poor” per se, because those fucking VIP tickets were pretty exorbitant.)

On our walk of shame, another guy started shouting, “If you DO NOT have an orange wristband, get in the left line!”

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDIDNG?? That was the line we were just kicked out of 20 seconds ago! Luckily, we hadn’t made it too far on our walk of shame, so we were able to turn around and still get pretty far up in the good line, maybe about 40 heads back.

Turns out, the people with the orange wristbands were the ones who gotten there extra early and got pre-wristbanded for their efforts. So they got to check in first. There weren’t too many of them, but we still had to stand in line for nearly another hour and I wanted to cry. Meanwhile, the girls who were in front of us originally, the ones who started this whole line fiasco (even though they WERE right) had sidled up next to me and pleaded for me to pretend like they were with me so that they could stand in line with us, because what happened wasn’t fair and they had ended up nearly at the back of the line.

I did feel bad because they weren’t at any fault! They were given the correct info and ended up being punished because some dickhead didn’t understand his job. So I said fine, and we introduced ourselves to each other (the one was Yolanda, but I can’t remember the other girl’s name). We commiserated for awhile about how unorganized the set-up was and then went back to standing in silence because standing around is exhausting you guys. I kept yawning for absolutely no reason.

By 5:00, we had made it past security, picked up our tickets, got a wristband and our Act III: Motte gift bag which included our VIP soundcheck lanyards and bullclips from G-Dragon’s peaceminusone clothing line. I was so happy!

A LiveNation lady jovially explained to us that we were free to mill about because our wristbands were pre-numbered so we didn’t need to worry about losing our spots in line. I was really happy about that because that meant we were going to be allowed into soundcheck in the same order we checked in.

HOWEVER, I noticed that my number was one greater than Henry’s which I found odd since I was given my wristband first. I also thought our number was pretty high in relation to how many people were ahead of us in the original line.

And that’s when some terribly annoying and incompetent, pigeon-toed Live Nation girl came over to us and demanded to see our numbers.

“OK YOU’RE BASICALLY AT THE END OF THE LINE BECAUSE IT STOPS AT 400,” she vocal-fried in our faces. She led us to the back of a line, and I noticed that we passed the girls who I left get in line behind us. And then we just kept walking further and further back.

“What the hell?” I said to Henry, pointing out all the people we passed who checked in after us. And then the dumb bitch kept putting people behind us who should have been in front of us, and when she would realize we were out of place, she would freaking call us out in front of everyone like we were fucking derelicts who couldn’t count.

Henry wanted to ignore her, but I was worried about causing a scene on a day that was supposed to be the best day of my life (sorry Chooch), so I kept sighing and stepping out of line to get to the back, until finally I had enough, looked her dead in the eyes and snapped, “THEN STOP PUTTING PEOPLE BEHIND US, YOU KNOW BY NOW WHAT OUR NUMBERS ARE.”

And she literally never bothered us again.

However, another girl in charge of counting walked by, so I snagged her and asked her exactly how this numbering system worked. She assured me that the numbers on the wristbands were chronological and asked, “Then why are people who were behind me in line out there now waaaaay head of me in this line?”

She swore that was impossible, and I was like, “Well, I’m not making this up. I think that wristbands got mixed up at some point. I figured out that girls who I let get in line behind me were numbers 322 and 323, but Henry and I were 395 and 396.

How is that possible?!

The writsbands were in sheets, and we think that sheets got out of order. It’s the only way.

This girl seemed like she genuinely wanted to help, and she went to talk to two other people who were in charge, but short of making up two imaginary numbers for us, I knew nothing was going to be done. They would have to actually admit that they fucked up. NO WAY LiveNation is ever going to do that.

We ended up so far back in line and I was devastated. All that waiting we did, and now we were probably going to be pushed all the way to the back once we got onto the floor. Then I noticed that my Chinese buddies were in front of us! And there were three young Korean girls behind me who were definitely in front of me when we were in the other line, so we bonded over the fact that someone in charge didn’t know how to count and then I felt better that it wasn’t just me and Henry. I bet there were about 20 of us at least who got numerically fucked.

But then one of the girls behind me was talking about how something similar happened to one of her friends at a BTS show, and how her friend started crying about it. “I mean, I was like ‘Girl, cry about it if that will make you feel better, but it’s not going to change anything’,” and she went back to playing some game on her phone, leaving me to digest this. And she was right. I could stand there and be salty, I could get loud and demand justice, but for what? Nothing was going to change. This was the hand I was dealt, I was cheated, but at the end of the day, I was still there, in line to see G-Dragon, and wasn’t that what really mattered?

And just like that, I was OK. Especially once the band started soundchecking and we realized the back of the stage was literally right through a door next to us. My Chinese friends were giddily trying to sneak through to get a closer look and it was so funny to watch. Everything was good again! We all giggled and people-watched (there were so many guys trying to be like GD) and before we knew it, the line started to move—we were finally being let onto the floor for the soundcheck!

The floor was separated in the middle by a barricade and a line of security. We got to pass right through to the area closest to the stage and each staff member we passed very firmly warned that absolutely no cameras or phones were permitted during soundcheck. Believe me, after my hi-touch experience at KCON, I wasn’t about to test this. I shoved my phone in my purse and didn’t touch it once—I paid a lot of money for this and I was going to be a perfect little girl with good posture and hands behind my back. 

Surprisingly, we were about 6 heads back the stage, after that whole numbering fiasco. There was just so much room available in the VIP area that it really didn’t matter after it was all said and done. 

GD came out around 7:30 for soundcheck and everyone went ballistic. I had imagined this moment in my head for months, a plethora of scenarios were possible…but my reaction was one of semi-paralysis. I sincerely couldn’t move, and my throats felt like it was swollen shut — I was in a state of absolute awe, the highest level of starstruck unlocked. 

There he was, on that stage in front of me, dressed casually, all in black: black bucket hat, black face mask, and what appeared to be a pair of jeans slung across one shoulder in a fashion statement only GD could pull off.  

I WAS SHOOK. 

Never did I think I would get the opportunity to see this brilliant diamond shine in front of me, yet there he was: sparkling even in black, shining even with his face half-hidden beneath a mask. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t talk. 

All I could do was straight cry. 

This person, this idol—he is everything.  His charisma and energy has managed to pick me up from 3000+ away.  There are just no words to explain it, but I am captivated by him—his words, his voice, his movements. I can’t believe I wasted so many years on Jonny Craig when Kwon Jiyong was there the whole time!

And even in spite of the incessant NO RECORDING warnings, people were still doing it blatantly, causing security to push and shove their way through the crowd to issue warnings and remove the offenders from the soundcheck if necessary. Some of them didn’t learn and their arms would shoot straight back into the air with their phones. 

Someone was able to get this much footage, somehow:

His soundcheck was chill, a bit lethargic even, but gave us a taste of what was to come and by the time he walked off stage 20 minutes later, people were desperately screaming for him to come back. 

I put my head into Henry’s chest and wailed, “I CANT BELIEVE HE WAS JUST RUGHT THERE.”

We had about about another hour to wait for the show to start after that. Regular ticket holders were now being allowed in, and everyone was just milling about at that point, getting food and talking. 

It was right around then that Henry realized there was a great open space at the right side of the of the stage so we usurped that prime real estate—this put me three heads back from the barricade! The view was perfect and no one was crowding up on us. All that stressing we did over wristband numbers and look – we still got the most comfortable spot. I felt so lucky. 

Lol, Henry the groupie. 

We were entertained by G-Dragon videos playing on the large screens to the sides of the stage. Henry enjoyed watching some of the people bust out GD’s signature moves. I mildly hated the blond haired white girl in front of us who acted as an authority of Kpop and would pause after each of her cocky statements to see if anyone was listening. When she haughtily said that Taeyang can’t carry a solo tour because he’s too boring, I pretty much blocked her out. 

However, no one bugged me all night. Kpop fans are so chill! I can get used to this. (My bank account won’t ever get used to it, though….)

That title makes it sound like my birthday was super terrible but it actually wasn’t, for once.

Here are some photos of my day, before the MAIN EVENT which obviously was the G-Dragon concert which yes, I am still crying about. In fact, earlier tonight, Chooch and I were on a walk when I wistfully said, “I still can’t believe how close I was to G-Dragon” at which point Chooch said, “Help me” to some lady sitting on the porch of a house we were strolling past.

I might have a problem.

LOL I do. For sure.

But back to my birthday! Henry and I woke up all bright & early because I was rearin’ to go. Our pre-concert plans involved “going to see the water” because if we’re near water I like to look at it while keeping a healthy distance. Henry looked at a map and realized that the Air Canada Center is actually very close to the lake.

But first, coffee.

I hatethat phrase. I wanted to see what it would feel like to actually type it out and I’m here to tell you that it felt super douchey and if you ever see me wearing a shirt with some trendy slogan on it like that, please feel free to knock over my $8 cup of Chemex-brewed designer beans.

But yeah, we went to Boxcar Social for morning beverage, and then walked to to the Purple Penguin for breakfast sandwiches and I was super difficult with my meatless requests but the friendly guy at the counter was super happy to help me get the breakfast sandwich of my dreams and I made sure to go back to thank him before we left for being so accommodating. I try not to be That Veg-Head but sometimes I just gotta speak up and ask for something without meat.

God, Toronto is such a chill city. Please adopt me, Canada. I can’t take it here anymore!

Took the street car thingie downtown. I was really getting used to public transportation by then and it’s a good thing because we used it A LOT on that day.

The water. ^^^

Chris recommended that we take the ferry to Toronto Island but Henry looked it up and it said it was “closed” until the following day.

Ok.

I wouldn’t have believed him but he showed me the website and it did say “closed until 7/31” on it, so no island adventures for us.

We saw these cute Corgis and then immediately missed Chooch because he is OBSESSED with Corgis lately which is cute but also annoying because he does some weird excited arm flap thing when he sees one.

I just can’t be associated with him when he does that weird derpy shit.

Henry made me go inside this Purina Pet thing which had a Rainbow Bridge area where people could write messages to their deceased pets and tack them up on a board. I write one for March and then immediately felt depressed because I’m just not “over” it and probably never will be, nor do I want to be. She is so special to me.

Meanwhile, there was the whole section of walls with pictures of pets and accompanying stories of their acts of heroics and sacrifice, which I made the mistake of reading some and then promptly started sobbing. I caught up with Henry who had wandered ahead and wailed, “Why did you bring me in here???”

I had to sit on a bench until I was able to be seen by the public eye again. Wouldn’t be my birthday unless tears were shed, so here’s to keeping tradition alive.

We decided it was time to start walking back away from the water and into the city to find somewhere to eat for lunch. In hindsight, I’m not sure why we hadn’t solidified lunch plans before leaving the airbnb, but whatever–I guess it wouldn’t be my birthday without my blood sugar dropping and my dormant homicidal side awakening.

We got caught in a horde of Blue Jay fans converging on the Rogers Centre, and then we came upon the front of the Air Canada Centre, where I needed to stand for an unlimited amount of time, waiting for the huge video screen on the front of the arena to flash something for G-Dragon’s show because I wanted to take a picture. We had to endure ads for Katy Perry and other dumb things, but finally, the Act III: Motte ad came up and I quickly snapped a picture. That’s when I noticed two girls nearby doing the same thing, so we laughed about it together and my heart felt so full because I was already connecting with other G-Dragon fans! Other people who get it, finally!

We walked through the inside of the Air Canada Centre, because it seemed like a very common thoroughfare for pedestrians. This is how we learned where we would need to go when we came back later, because there were already VIPs lining up inside, maybe about 75 to 100 of them. It was a little after 11am at this point, and check-in for the VIP tickets wasn’t until 3:45. I could tell Henry was briefly worried that I was going to decide to forego food and get in line with everyone else, but I just don’t think I have that endurance at this age! So we left the Air Canada Centre and continued our walk to the nearest subway station.

Everything was fine at first. We decided on some vegetarian place, so we got on a subway and then a streetcar, but while on the streetcar, Henry realized that he must have gotten “turned around” map-wise when we came out of the subway station, because he had us on a streetcar going the opposite direction.

This was phase one of preparing for my fire-breathing dragon act.

I did some mild berating of his weakened manhood {“Isn’t that like the #1 thing you fucking MEN love to brag about, your inherent ruling over maps? Your built-in navigational systems? Your compass-like dicks pointing the way?”) while we waited for another streetcar to take us back the way we came, thanks for wasting valuable time, Henry.

He kept apologizing and trying to laugh it off because hahahaha even men make mistakes once in a decade, hahhahaha. STFU and feed me you son of a bitch.

We get on a streetcar and a few minutes in, the driver makes an announcement that some road is closed and now the streetcar wasn’t going the way we needed it to go so Henry was like, “LET’S JUST GET OFF HERE AND FIGURE IT OUT” and by this point, I had reached full-blown hanger and didn’t care about going to whatever vegetarian place we had chosen anymore, I just wanted food in my fucking mouth, or an iced latte, so whatever came first was FINE BY ME.

But Henry insisted that this damn restaurant wasn’t too far away so he had his nose glued to his phone maps while I stomped along like a petulant child and I didn’t care who witnessed it at this point because the zipper ties on my true bipolar self only hold for so long and then the real Erin is devouring the fake smiles and sweet voice of Fake Erin because SHE HAS BEEN LOCKED UP FOR A WHILE NOW AND IS FUCKING FAMISHED, MOTHERFUCKERS. YOU’RE NEXT, HENRY.

Henry kept trying to make jokes but I was purposely walking several feet ahead of him because that’s what I do to punish him and I don’t think he ever really notices. We eventually did come across the restaurant he chose but it turned out to be inside some mall-like building so I spat, “Oh I’m not eating inside a mall, just no” like this was some terribly offensive thing for whatever reason and Henry had this, “Are you fucking serious?” look on his face but then remembered who he was dealing with, the girl who constantly adds to “Do Not Like” list on the fly but then tries to act like it’s always been that way, like how could you not know that, Henry? After 16 years you’re just now learning I won’t eat in a restaurant in a mall-like thing? UGH. DON’T YOU EVEN KNOW ME.

[Sidenote: I had declined a Fitbit weekend competition with Octavia because I figured Sunday would be such a bust, full of standing around at a concert all night and how would I get in any steps? But thanks to all this madness, I’d still wind up having over 22,000 steps by the end of the night, and that was even with all the standing in pre-concert lines that we would end up doing from 2:45-7:00.]

“Well, there’s another vegetarian restaurant a few minutes down this way,” Henry calmly said, consulting his phone. We crossed a street and he said it was literally a few 100 feet away, but out of spite, I chose this restaurant called Sin & Redemption instead because that’s just the kind of fucking asshole I am.

“But the other place is literally right—-” Henry started to say, but I had already walked inside this regular-people-food establishment after glancing the menu posted outside and seeing that they had a veggie wrap.

The host told us to choose somewhere to sit in the awkwardly-spaced out dining room, which only had one other table occupied, but Henry was being so indecisive over where to sit because he was worried about upsetting the Queen, so finally I yelled in an angry sing-song voice, “OMG JUST PICK SOMEWHERE” while flashing a sweet smile at the host.

Jesus Christ!!!

This place was awful, literally the only bad choice of the whole trip but that’s what happens when you listen to the hateful voice in your head and choose a place out of spite.

Our waiter was too busy having a clandestine relationship with the waitress, my wrap had no taste, Henry’s omelette was the size of an orphan’s fist, and the waiter took my plate away from me before I was finished eating my frittes, which was the only good part of the meal.

But this is what I do on my birthday — I throw tantrums and self-sabotage, so happy 38th birthday to me, to me, to me!

Henry and I barely spoke on the subway and streetcar ride back to Leslieville. By this point, it was nearly 2:00pm and I was past due for my second coffee refueling, so I demanded that Henry go back out somewhere and get me an iced latte while I laid on the bed and pouted. Before he left, I yelled after him, “And you’re not going to G-Dragon with me!”

He came back with an iced latte and a butter tart, my first and only butter tart in Canada. It was delicious and I didn’t give him one single bite, but I did allow him to go to the G-Dragon concert with me. Which is where we went as soon as I finished my butter tart! And if I’m being honest, I think a lot of the day’s badness was directly related to my mounting stress and anxiety over the concert—I was a nervous fucking wreck up until the moment we were finally inside that arena, in front of the stage. 

The rest of the day was so much better (I had one more moment of anger but that was directed toward LiveNation so Henry got to be on the same side as me for once because now we had a common enemy) but in the grand scheme of things, it was so good that it completely negated every single “bad” hunger-related moment that happened earlier and I can easily say that this was the best birthday of my life, terrible lunch, bad directions, and all.

The dumb church across the street from my house had their idiot festival all last week. I honestly couldn’t be bothered with this shit because it’s full of things I hate: church people and charity.

lol j/k some charities are ok.

Chooch, however, loves this gig. It doesn’t even have rides so I don’t quite understand what his fascination is but every night last week, Henry gave him a few bucks, told him to look both ways before crossing the street, then we went back to watching Running Man while Chooch swam in a sea of Bengay-stinkin’ elders.

At one point, he came barging in the house, eyes all bugged out, hands running through his hair, and cried, “I won $10 and then lost it! I think I have a gambling problem at age eleven! Can I have more money?!?”

“No!” we shouted in perfect parental unison.

But then he found $3 and took off.

He is a fucking nutcase.

(What if this is how people grow up to be gamblers for real, though??)

This went on every evening. Sometimes he went over alone, sometimes with the neighbor kids, and once with his school buddy Demajio. He brought home several stuffed animals in the midst of all the money he was essentially throwing into the wind.

Somewhere along the way, he mentioned the raffles.

“I entered to win a bike!” Chooch panted in excitement during one of his nightly check-ins which was less to appease our paranoia of his whereabouts and more to con more cash from our pockets. “I also entered to win you a new coffee maker! It’s a KEURIG!”

He was so excited about it that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I graduated from Keurigs long ago.

Saturday was the big day. The winning raffle tickets were going to be drawn! Chooch was so concerned when I told him we were going to Vegfest that day, but then was super relieved when he realized we’d be home before the shitty festival started.

Meanwhile, I went out for one of my many walks around the neighborhood because I am having the hardest time sitting still these days. It’s like my feet are desperate to catch up to my racing mind. Anyway, I had only made it a block away before being accosted by the weird lady who lives in the big, creepy white house on the corner with who we think is possibly her brother?! I always try to avoid her because sometimes I feel like I’m looking at my future as the town eccentric.

I was walking past her sidewalk when I saw her coming toward me.

“You been to the fair yet?” she asked, skipping over any customary salutations.

“No, I don’t care about that fair,” I said over my shoulder, hoping that my snotty tone would deter her.

But no, she kept talking, and for whatever reason, I turned with a groan and walked back to the end of her sidewalk, where she had stpped to lean against her old shitty pick-up truck. “Yeah, but it’s not the kind of the fair that has RIDES and all that crap,” she said. Um excuse me, but the fact that it doesn’t have rides is exactly WHY I don’t care about it! “They got all kinds of games, and a BAKE SALE in the basement!” And then she proceeded to explain to me how to enter the basement even though I said I already knew because hello, that’s where I go to have Russia fuck with my vote.

“You know Potomac Bakery?” she asked, waiting for my nod. “OK, and you know how they sell their day-old stuff for cheap?” I didn’t know that, but I said yes anyway because WHY OH WHY OH DID I EVER LEAVE OHIO.

Sorry. Quoting Back to the Beach is my nervous tic.

“Well at the church, they’re doing that too. They had boxes of old stuff they were giving away for free. Like donuts, I don’t care for donuts, but there was other stuff too, like bread. Anyway, I’m going to go back there today and say something, because I asked how much I could take and they were like ‘well, it’s free….’ so I took it all! And when I was leaving, one of those ladies said to me, ‘I hope you’re going to make a donation!’ Excuse me? Then they shouldn’t have said it was FREE!” she cried. “Yeah, I’m going to go back and say something to them tonight.”

“Yeah, that’s misleading,” I muttered, trying to blink the glaze away from my eyes.

“You know all these churches are going under, right? A bunch of them are closing. It’s a shame. But you know, maybe if their PRIESTS would stop molesting people, this wouldn’t be happening! And now we have all these gays and…what do you call them…those, you know, ‘genders.’ Maybe if the church would let the priests get MARRIED, they wouldn’t have to go around ruining so many lives!”

“Yeah….” I whispered, looking around to make sure no one was hearing this.

“I went to Catholic school, back in the days when the nuns would whack you on the wrists with rulers!” she exclaimed. “But yeah, you should go over to the fair tonight! Fifty cent baked goods, can’t beat that!” And with that, she turned and started rummaging though her truck and I hot-stepped it the fuck out of there.

Later that night, Chooch was in his glory, spinning wheels and filling Bingo cards. He dramatically entered the house early on in the evening, hoisting a Trader Joe’s bag.

“Look what I won!” he cried, pulling out a roll of paper towels, White Rain shower gel, powdered sugar, green beans, two cans of soup neither of us can eat because meat, and a huge generic jar of peanut butter.

Henry and I just stared at this random array of food bank loot, while Chooch looked at us expectantly, waiting for praise. Finally, I just cracked the fuck up.

“What the hell kind of wheel are you spinning over there??”

Am I missing something? Was this like a Chopped challenge for a greater prize? I’M SO CONFUSED.

I told him that crazy lady was talking about the bake sale, and he knowingly said, “Oh yeah, it’s in the basement.”

“Well go buy me some stuff!” I cried, and he seemed excited to have a mission. He came back with several plates of so-so treats.

“And these cookies were 4 for a dollar. I thought that was a pretty good deal,” he said, and boy can you tell he’s been hanging out with old people.

Not pictured are the two buckeyes that Chooch and I devoured before he even had a chance to put all  the plates down on the table. LOVE US SOME BUCKEYES, BITCHES.

Meanwhile, Henry was across the street trying to win shit too. He also put some more raffle tickets in the basket for the bike Chooch wanted, a steak dinner at Capital Grill (ew), and a lottery tree.  When he came back, he said Chooch’s nemesis Larry’s wife was so drunk over there that two people had to practically carry her back to her house across the street. And that Jackie the Witch was over there with some guy who was equally-as-hammered as Larry’s wife. He threw down a hundred dollar bill on some game and of course he lost, so he started yelling about the game being fixed. Our neighbors, keepin’ Brookline classy as always.

When henry came back in the house, he was inspecting the goods Chooch purchased at the bake sale.

“Fifty cent baked goods, can’t beat that!” I said with faux-enthusiasm. “Oh, and Chooch also got buckeyes but we ate them without you,” I blurted out on a bed of needling laughter.

“The buckeyes were actually $1 though,” Henry said.

“How would you know?” I asked all haughtily.

“Because I bought some too, and ate them without you!” Henry laughed. That motherfucker! Ugh, well-played.

By 10:30 that night, the fair was winding down. The DJ played his last dumb doowop track and the prize wheels went for one last clickety spin. I actually felt a little sad because I sort of enjoyed the sounds of that crappy fair wafting in through my windows every night. A little action is nice every now and then.

Chooch and Henry were over there until nearly 11 waiting on the raffle drawings. They finally came back after realizing that there were 100+ prize baskets and the church said they would just call each winner the next day since they had so many to go through.

This wasn’t what Chooch wanted to hear, but he dealt with it and went to sleep.

The next morning, chooch and I were walking to Cafe Noir for our weekend coffee/hot chocolate ritual. Chooch was rambling on and on about the raffle, about the Giant mountain bike, how the Keurig came with a mug that says I Love Jesus—we both lost it at the thought of me drinking coffee from a mug like that.

I asked him whose number he put on his tickets, mine or Henry’s.

“Jaden’s mom,” he said nonchalantly.

I stopped in my tracks. “What? Why??” I asked, thoroughly confused.

“Because I was over there with her and Jaden when I first entered the raffle. Just my first three tickets have her number on it. I didn’t have a chance to change it.”

This made zero sense to me.

“So if they draw your ticket and call her, do you think she is going to give you that bike?” I said, less of a question and more of a THINK ABOUT IT statement.

Chooch paused. With forced confidence, he slowly said yes. But the realization of what he had done was starting to blow up the blood vessels in his PRECIOUS LITTLE ANGEL CHEEKS – seriously I want Chooch to always have those cute pinchable cheeks haha.

I reminded Chooch that he still had the tickets that Henry bought him, so all hope was not lost, but in the back of my mind, I already knew how this would play out. The writing was on Chooch’s cheeks.

Hours passed with no call from the church.

Later that afternoon, we saw Jaden’s mom walking across the street.

Walking through the church parking lot.

Walking into the church gymnasium.

Walking out with one Giant mountain bike.

KNEW IT.

I held back from screaming TOLD YOU SO. Chooch was crushed. Totally ripped apart.

“There’s a 50/50 chance that it really was Jaden’s ticket though,” I pointed out, because Chooch said they had split a strip of tickets.

What I didn’t know was that Jaden’s mom paid for all of them. I thought chooch had given her money for his half. So technically….regardless whose name was on that ticket….

Jaden’s mom bought it.

“All you can do is just make yourself believe it was Jaden’s ticket and move on,” Henry-Knows-Best said like it was a fortune pulled straight from a cookie.

“Or!!!! I can go ask to see the ticket!!!!” Chooch cried in a really scary, BOY ON THE EDGE warble.

He was reaching for the front door when I stopped him because hello that’s our neighbor and the last thing I care to have is drama. Asking to see the ticket is basically accusing her of being a liar. I don’t even know this woman, but I want to believe that she was going the right thing and I have no reason to think otherwise.

Chooch was straight up pacing. “I will wait until tonight AND DIG THRU HER GARBAGE IF I HAVE TO!”

Oh for Gods sake.

I suggested that we go get ice cream as a distraction.

“Pfft! I don’t need ice cream,” Chooch scoffed. “….I need a gallon.”

“Wow. Did you just break up with a girl?” Henry laughed.

We ended up going to Target so he could pick out something small to fill the void left by the Bike of Betrayal. As usual, he couldn’t decide on anything, but I bought this AMAZING GAME called Fündopop which is basically Thingie Ball 2.0 and I’m so excited about it because I have been looking for a Thingie Ball replacement for years. 

We went across the street to play in the church parking lot (ironically) and Chooch was like, “I’m really glad we bought this. It’s taking my mind off the bike. Oh god now I’m thinking about the bike again!”

He is wrecked.

Meanwhile, we made Henry come over to watch us play because after two minutes we became experts and were getting all cocky and arrogant about how amazing we are at Fündopop and demanded an audience.

While we were playing, some old bitch was in the parking lot, stuffing into her car a large, inflatable tree dripping with scratch off tickets.

“LOL, there goes your lottery tree, Henry,”I laughed.

“Son of a bitch!” Henry spat.

Chooch spent the next day avoiding Jaden,  but by Tuesday he was ready to “face his fears,” as he put it. He said Jaden told him it honestly was his own ticket that was drawn, and Chooch said he believes him and has made peace with the whole situation, friendship intact.

He is way more mature than I am, that’s for sure. I’d have held an unrealistic grudge for years and probably would have signed the subject of my hatred up for Scientology or advertised their kidneys on Craigslist.

You don’t know what I’m capable of.

If there’s one thing Chooch learned through all of this, it’s NEVER SPLIT A STRIP OF RAFFLE TICKETS. And also, two buckeyes for $1 seems like a rip-off.