Wait. One more thing. 

Dance Gavin Dance released a new video today and it is so fucking weird and perfect. 

I won’t be eating donuts for a while – thanks for the diet strategy, guys!

Day one is over and yes, we’re goddamn exhausted but I’m still going to make Henry give his signature half a sentence review of the bands we saw today. Please note this Henry’s opinion is not a reflection of my own. 

• Tigers Jaw: “Nothing Special.”
• Citizen: “They’re good…? That’s it right this second.”
• Touché Amore: “They weren’t too bad.” (WOW, this one shocked me because he hates this type of music and anytime I played their records st home he gets irritated.)
• Jule Vera: “Good. It wasn’t bad. I would go see her again….but not by myself.” (FYI it’s a band not a girl.)
• Set Your Goals (or as Henry calls them “Is this the big guy and little guy?): “Eh. I don’t like them live.”
• Somos: “Uh, didn’t like them.”
• Glassjaw: “Mmm. no.”
• Jimmy Eat World: “Yeah. I did like them but also I like them anyway so…” (?????)
• Basement: “Hold on, I’m eating. I would see them again. They were good.”
• Pierce the Veil: “They’re the same every time. Though they’re getting a little….showy. I like them, but….I don’t know.”

Food: “I had salt & vinegar fries which were not that bad. Oh I had paella from Man with a Pan. Vegetable paella.”

(Guys Henry is a vegetarian now I think.)

Uber drivers: “The first one I don’t think has ever driven anyway, apparently. And the second one, he was a nice guy.”

(If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Henry over the years, it’s that he hates being a passenger and nothing exacerbates that more than using Uber and Lyft.)

Day One summary: “It was very tiring and I don’t want to do it again.”

Me: Well, I guess I’m going to live blog now. 

Henry: …..oh boy. 

***

8:59am: HI EVERYBODY! GOOD MORNING! Henry and I are on our way to Chicago for Riot Fest. It’s not until tomorrow but he made me take an extra day off work so we didn’t have to drive through the night like we usually do, he’s so selfish. (I’m so frugal with my PTO.) So far, we’ve only accomplished stopping at Dunkin’ Donuts for coffee and breakfast, but at least we’re not fighting yet. (He is in a mood though.)

I miss Chooch a lot already. I made him give me an extra hug before he went to school this morning and you know how much I hate hugs. :( Then I was dreamily telling Henry about the one episode of Inpractical Jokers that Chooch and I were watching last night and now I miss him even more because that’s our show. Henry just told me I’m so weird because I’m cry-laughing at the memory of Sal’s punishment last night. 

I GUESS HE HAD TO BE THERE. 

9:25am: Apparently I don’t open bags of pretzels properly so now I’m being lectured. “You and Chooch,” he just sighed. Oh so I guess it’s my fault that Chooch doesn’t open bags of snacks properly, too. 

(Lol it probably is.)

Jesus, I don’t tie my shoes right (except that I do, the rest of you are the ones who do it wrong), I don’t open bags of snacks right. Why are you even with me, Henry?!

I just opened a bag of Chex Mix and he’s side-eying me. 

10:00am: “I bought three waters. They were three for $2.” Why does he bother telling me these things? Like I care? Is that a good deal, I don’t know?!

It’s like last weekend when we were with Tommy & Jessy, and Jessy was telling us about how she went to some farmers market and got a big brown bag full of cucumbers for $6 and I was like “……….”

10:07am: the new driver at Henry’s job just called him to ask him a question about FAYGO delivering things that you and I wouldn’t understand, so Henry adopted his Professional Driver voice which is basically just his voice was super amplified because all of the people he works with are deaf? Anyway, Henry’s solution to Tony’s problem was to “go ask Kevin.” 

10:22am: Henry’s been struggling to open a 5 Hour Energy with one hand while he’s driving for a solid 7 minutes now because he knows better than to ask me for help. 

11:30am: Listening to Deftones’ “Adrenaline” album super loud and having intense flashbacks of driving around in my ’95 Eagle Talon with Heather the Ken, in the middle of the night, getting pulled over like 87 times during the summer of ’98 (and NO TICKETS until that fall when I dyed my blond hair brown).

Henry is never amused by my stories of yore. 

12:09pm: Henry, trying to make conversation, just pointed out my window and said, “Look, that guy just got pulled over in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah but, we’re on a major highway that goes right past that road, so it’s not really the middle of nowhere,” I argued. 

“Well, this highway doesn’t go down there, so it is like the middle of nowhere…” #defensive

“Henry, literally three cars just drove past that road while he was getting pulled over.”

NICE TRY, HENRY. 

12:30pm: Leaving a rest area in Milan, OH, I tried to do my signature “pull the door shut on Henry” and he hoarsely whispered, “STOP THERE ARE PPL BEHIND ME!” and then attempted to run me into a garbage can, making us look like the most bumbling, slapstick domestic abuse reenactors. 

Then in the parking lot, he said, “That guy looks like Will from Emarosa” and he really didn’t at all so I made sure to convey that sentiment to Henry as inconsiderately and obnoxiously as possible so now he’s bitching about how he forgot that I know everything. 

Le duh. 

1:16pm: Juat rolled up to Cosmos Diner in Dover, OH. We’ll see how this goes. 

There is an extremely gravely-voiced waitress here and some older truck driver said hello to her as she passed his table. 

“you don’t know who I am, do you?” He asked. 

“sure do, you’re Tom Servos. I see you on Facebook all the time!” she said. 

“then why don’t you just friend me?” he asked. 

OH SHIT, Tom Servos: Creeper Shamer Extraodinaire. 

Shovel that coleslaw in, Henry. 

Tom’s paying now and the waitress said, “Next time I see you on Facebook, I’m gonna ADD YA and ya better say YES!” and his wife mumbled, “He accepts everyone.”

2:25pm: well guys it happened. I FOUND TOM ON FACEBOOK. 

First, I wasn’t so sure if it was him because his profile picture is just a picture of an 18-wheeler but then I found his MOM and yeah, it’s definitely him. So satisfying. 

Henry is horrified. 

3:19pm: At a rest stop in Indiana and Henry is about to write a letter to Congress regarding the astronomical price of bottles water and I’m like “Maybe that’s to purposely deter people from buying bottled water?!” And then he was going to get a milkshake but changed his mind. 

“Ew why would you get a milkshake from there though?” I asked, totally looking down my judgy nose. 

“Because last time I checked, I can do what I want!” He cried. “I’m an adult!”

Whoa. 

2:54pm: Just ranting as per uge about the NFL guy who knelt during the national anthem. “You know how much I hate football,” I yelled emphatically. “But I would BUY HIS JERSEY, HENRY. I would PROUDLY wear that guy’s name on my back. That POOR FUCKING GUY.”

“Well, he’s not ‘poor’….” Henry mumbled, tryna ruin my moment. 

3:18pm: Still in Indiana. One of these days, we’ll just do the unthinkable and FLY to Chicago and it’ll be great! Except for the part where I’m scared to death of airplanes, post 9/11. 

3:31pm: We’re near Gary, IN and Chooch used to be obsessed with that place because of something to do with school or whatever, blah blah, but now it’s making me MISS HIM even more. I’m going to really miss him tomorrow night during Pierce the Veil. :(

3:50pm (TIME CHANGE): you guys just missed the most exciting moment of this drive: we were paying at a toll thing and Henry was like “what the—” and realized after we drove off that he was OVERCHARGED. 

“I was charged for a 5 AXLE!” he yelled, trying to brag with his TRUCKING LINGO. Apparently the truck in front of us went thru with an Easy Pass and we somehow picked up his toll. 

So then Henry had me call the number on the receipt for him and then acted all put out, like I should be the one doing the talking, but hello they were asking him questions like “what direction are you headed” and “what highway are you on” and “what exit did you take?” and “what is the make of your car?”

BITCH, YOU TELL ME. 

Anyway, Henry came at Nancy the Operator with extreme politeness, as if this is the way to get shit done now suddenly? He even killed her with some of his patented “hyuk hyuk hyuk”s and I was dying, especially when he was struggling to remove my phone from the gigantic Unicorn Tears case. 

So now Happy Hank is getting his $3 refund! And he didn’t even have to call Nancy a cunt–not even once under his breath!

5:06pm: we’ve arrived at that same piece of shit “hotel” we stay at every Riot Fest on Mannheim Rd (what’s up with Camryn Mannheim these days?), except now it’s changed to a Motel 6. “It looks like they got rid of the riffraff, though,” Henry said when he came back with our room key. “I don’t think anyone lives here anymore, at least.”

The room is just one step up from a cinderblock cell, but for as much time we’ll be spending here, who the hell cares. 

5:54pm: We were talking about going to some nearby tiki bar that’s like famous I guess but someone left her license at home in Pittsburgh. 

6:07pm: Henry flew into O’Hare once when HE WAS IN THE SERVICE. 

Henry just yelled,”We’re here for one reason only and it’s not sightseeing in Chicago!!!” WHOA. 

6:18pm: At Giordano’s acting like it’s our first time in a restaurant, ever. Passed some girl on the way in and she was excited about my Pierce the Veil shirt. She was like 13. 

Maybe younger. 

Me: OMGGGGGG!

Henry: What?!

Me: Never mind. You won’t care. OK I THOUGHT THAT WAS TOM SERVOS OVER THERE BUT IT’S NOT. 

6:43pm: one of the busboys here looks just like Kris Letang! Until he turns around and is Mexican. 

7:14pm: OMG OMG OMG – I was struggling  to cut my pizza into bite-sized pieces (have you seen me use utensils? Not pretty) when I accidentally sent a chunk of pizza soaring through the air. It landed on the floor next to our booth and it was like time stood still; I was hoping to kick it back under the table before anyone saw but Kris Letang was walking by and, in a faux-chide, pointed to it and asked, “What is this?!”  I was like “uhhhhh” and he started laughing and cleaned it up for me. “I’m still learning how to cut things,” I said, my face getting all hot because that guy was SO CUTE. He just laughed and said, “it’s ok!” Like I was joking but I wasn’t. 

“You’re so dumb,” Henry sighed. 

#pizzapartysansPhilCollins

7:45pm: Obligatory trip to Target to buy all the things we forgot to pack. :/ #hemorrhagingmoney

8:10pm: Tried to entice Henry with a trip to the World’s Largest Laundromat which is 6 miles away and relevant to his domestic interests, but this apparently falls under the “sightseeing” category and my suggestion has been rejected. 

9:48pm: Watching Blair Witch in our no-frills hotel room. 

Me: “Do you think the Blair Witch is real?”

Henry: “Nope.”

DISAGREE. I’m the Blair Witch, motherfucker. 

Maybe I should have asked Mexican Kris Letang when he was getting off work and gone out with him. LE SIGH. 

Or…EL SIGH. 

[ETA: Next morning: i passed out immediately after Blair Witch was over, which leads me to believe that Henry drugged me so I’d stop bitching about him not wanting to do anything touristy.]

Saturday:

Henry had to work on Saturday, so Chooch and I were left to our own devices. We spun some records and I curled his hair. I can’t believe he let me curl his hair.

Then he made fun of me because I sent Al from Basement a birthday snap and HE REPLIED and I was all goo goo-ga ga over this because I’m 16.

Maybe younger.

And then I found my favorite Cure t-shirt that I thought was gone forever, eaten by the trolls that live in the deep depths of my dresser drawers. Turns out I’m just really bad at looking for things.

Then Chooch and I were loose around Brookline for a while when we went for a walk. He was supposed to meet his friend at some lame gaming place but when you let two 5th graders make their own plans….

Let’s just say that our walk was all for naught and they ended up hanging out much later in the afternoon.

Surprisingly, we didn’t fight about it.

Oh!!! And I made him scrambled eggs too! I’m getting better at faking this mom act.

We had an early dinner at Frank & Shirleys. You can tell it was early because check out that table of Olds behind Henry!

The lady in the green kept staring at Chooch the whole time we were there, and not in an amicable, cuddly grandma way, either.

Major Burnt Offering vibes. 

Shocker: Chooch and I both had grilled cheese. It was mildly satisfying.

Came home and watched The Forest. It was only OK but I still cried. 

Sunday:

The day started with a Beatles song on the radio reminding me of the critically-acclaimed Tony Danza/Amy Dolenz movie “She’s Out of Control,” which I saw with my friend Spring at the Maxi-Saver theater, when it was like brand new, probably. This then reminded me of the era of my childhood where I used to pull a chair from the kitchen table over to the counter in order to watch my shows because the rest of my family monopolized the good TV. One of those shows was DARK SHADOWS, the short-lived early 90s remake, with MICHAEL T WEISS. 

From here, I learned that Henry doesn’t remember when MICHAEL T WEISS played DR MIKE HORTON on DAYS OF OUR LIVES so I got (some might say irrationally) angry at him. 

#POWERHOUSE

You should know that Henry just loves when I drag him along on these nostalgic drives through my childhood. 

Especially when I can also tell him exactly what I was wearing during certain events. 

(I don’t remember what I wore to see “She’s Out of Control,” though, but I remember it gave me hope that someday I too would get my braces off and suddenly not be an ugly duckling anymore. Eh….that never really happened. I got my braces off eventually, at least, but that didn’t bring all the boys to my yard.)

(Maybe a few.)

I found the Cure shirt I bought at their Maryland show in June, which I’ve only worn ONCE, and I was excited to wear it today especially once I realized my idiot nail polish matched it. 

Then I started tearing up on the couch and Henry asked why I was crying. 

“I was just thinking about how much I love Jennifer Aniston,” I answered wistfully, and he was mad. 

Around 11, we drove to Valencia, wherever that is, for some long overdue hangs with Tommy & Jessy! I read the Pretty Little Liars wiki the whole way there, specifically the one about TOBY CAVANAUGH and was surprised at how much I forgot. 

At one point, Henry asked me what I was reading and then mumbled, “oh my god” when I told him. He’s just salty because I watched the last season without him. 

We met at the Bloom Cafe, part of Quality Gardens, where we all had lunch but Henry, who had feasted on a bag of soft pretzels en route to Valencia, opted for a scoop of ice cream instead. 

Because Henry is an adult and he does what he wants. Be like Henry, eat ice cream for lunch. 

Bromance rekindled!

Matching mouths. 

Chooch has ice cream too, but only after he finished his lunch. 

BECAUSE CHOOCH IS RESPONSIBLE. 

After overstaying our welcome inside the Bloom Cafe, we moseyed around inside the greenhouse and I lamented the fact that I couldn’t buy any plant beauties because my cats are dicks. 

Tommy, Jessy, and I all wanted ice cream after that so we drove down the road to Hammer’s and I was excited because I’ve never been there and you know me and ice cream joints. GOTTA TRY ‘EM ALL. 

The flavor of the day was butterscotch! I love butterscotch! I bet those old broads at Frank & Shirley’s do too!

Fucking Henry decided to severely abuse his power as an adult and had ANOTHER ICE CREAM. 

Unbelievable. 

And the worst part was that he ordered the same fucking thing as me so I couldn’t swap with him if I didn’t like mine. 

Well played, asshole. 

Chooch was like, “uh….no, I’m good” when Henry asked him if he wanted anything because Chooch is not foolish enough to eat Second Ice Cream. 

Chooch is nutritionally responsible. 

(God, that’s such a joke but in this case he really was.)

It was a really nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon, for sure. Beautiful company, beautiful weather!

Plus I got to take pictures of my ice cream cone and you know how much I love that, basic blogger that I am. 

This is going to be surprising, but Henry did not have ice cream for dinner. I don’t think he had anything for dinner, actually. But I did and that’s all that matters!

Originally, I planned on bookending the weekend with another horror movie, but instead, I’ve spent the whole evening watching 9/11 news specials, which is scarier than any horror movie I could be watching. I will never not cry over 9/11 and as horrific and tragic as it was, it feels so necessary to me to face it every year and mourn all over again. It’s the true American Horror Story. I will never forget where I was, and who I immediately wanted to be with when news broke: I wanted to be with Henry. 

The same Henry who just shook his head and asked, “Why do you torture yourself with this?”

BECAUSE IT HAPPENED AND WE SHOULD NEVER FORGET. 

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

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

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

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

Chooch loved it because he got to play I Spy. 

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

An educational experience!

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

I LOVE COLLECTIONS. 

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

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

God yes! That’s the one!

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

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

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

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

I was on the phone with everyone’s favorite frowner this morning, waiting to cross the street, when I heard from behind me, “Excuse me. Excuse me! Cat girl!”

At first I thought this person was calling me a fat girl, and I was ready to swing my purse at him, but then I remembered I’m wearing my cat blouse today. 

I sighed, took the phone away from my mouth, and gave him the attention he so desperately craved. 

“What time is it?”

The man was probably in his mid-to-late 40s, looked a bit like a disheveled, moderately slow David Letterman. Dressed in a t-shirt, cargo shorts, and sandals. 

I told him it was 7:49. 

“Ugh, really? Because they’re supposed to open at 7:30,” he said in a vague whine, gesturing over his shoulder to the R-Bar. 

Let me just say that while I enjoy getting grimey in the occasional dive bar, this is one bar I would probably never patronize. Even though it’s conveniently located a mere block from my house. 

(I think. I always get confused when it comes to blocks.)

I shrugged and said I was sorry, I couldn’t tell him why they weren’t rolling out the cigarette ash and peanut shell-encrusted red carpet for him when it was already 7:49 in the motherfucking AM. 

Hoping this would satisfy his urge for human contact, I began to pivot back toward the road. 

“Where are you going dressed like that, anyway?”

STOP. DO NOT ENGAGE. YOU KNOW BETTER, ERIN KELLY. 

Still, the words rolled out of my mouth like an unraveling Fruit By the Foot. It was too late to stuff them back in. 

“Work,” I answered in a cheerful voice I didn’t recognize me because now I was clearly possessed by the Demon of Small Talk. 

“Wow! Where do you work?!”

Guys, I’m wearing a freaking blouse thing with cats on it, and jeans because it’s Jeans Day. I’m not wearing hot pants and nipple tassels so I’m not sure why my attire was so fascinating to him other than the fact that he was probably already drunk. 

So now I’m second-guessing every decision I made since waking up that morning. Was I dressed inappropriately for work?! DID I LOOK LIKE A FOOL?! I mean, these are questions that you could probably answer yes to on any given day but this guy just made me feel like I was under a spotlight and should I go home and change into a cardigan??!! 

Well, I couldn’t go home because guess who doesn’t currently have a house key, so I guess the Law Firm people will just have to suffer through a day of seeing me in a CAT SHIRT. 

In spite of my better judgment, I mumbled, “A law firm” and then I turned and JAY-WALKED across West Liberty Avenue and you all know how much I hate jay-walking and how terrified I am of crossing the street when when the “ITS OK TO CROSS NOW, CHILD” light is flashing. He was just beginning to lean in too close to me and my paranoia was turning my mind into a flip book of crime scene photos. I guess if I was going to die today, I’d rather get hit by a car than sodomized and stuffed in a suitcase by some early rising wino. 

When I resumed my conversation with Henry, he was already laughing. “What was that all about, were you getting hit on?”

Yep, by all the best locals. 

I walk-ran to the shuttle stop, which is another story for another time (there’s an Old Broad that I’m at war with). A few minutes later, just as the shuttle pulled away from the curb, I saw Drunk Letterman shambling toward the sidewalk I had been standing on 45 seconds prior. He stopped right in front of Albert’s Bar, also not open yet. 

By the time I made it to work, I was fucking exhausted. Talking to strangers is so hard. 

I wonder where that guy is drinking right now?

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Why is everything so terrible. This whole year has been rife with death and bad news, and today a friend got realllllllly terrible news and I’m just so sick of this year! Enough is enough! We’re all crying Uncle!

So here, watch my dumb cat Drew listening to The Lost Boys for 60 seconds because cats are good. 

Hug someone. Tell someone something good. Tell me something good—please!

First day of fifth grade, how did it come to this? I literally have to do nothing now in terms of getting him ready for school. Like, I wake him up. That’s it. No more micromanaging.

His friend Dimajio arrived early so they could play Xbox, just like last year, so at least some things are the same.

Omg I’m going to start crying on the trolley.

“Let’s try to go the whole year without the school calling,” I said to Chooch, hugging him goodbye on the sidewalk.

Dimajio laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen!”

Ugh, me either.

This concludes the obligatory “how did my kid get so old/where did the time go/lets go back five years” post. :(

Today was decidedly much better than yesterday even though I woke up on the exact same side of the bed so who even knows.

It started with good Anthony Green coffee, which Henry didn’t serve me in the intended cup it came with but don’t worry because I yelled at him to get back into the kitchen and make that right.
 

While I drank my Anthony Green coffee, Henry and I watched a documentary about Missy Franklin and Kara Lynn Joyce and I cried all my makeup off. (I’m not over the Olympics, wah.)

Then, after fixing my makeup, I had a reunion-type lunch with my friend Spring, who was a great friend of mine growing up but we lost touch after high school. Catching up with her gave me life!

Later in the afternoon, I collected Henry and Chooch and we went TO THE MALL which is always depressing because this is 2016 and I’m in a mall, but also because it looks like the zombie apocalypse every time we go there: more weeds sprouting through the cracks in the unused parking lot, more stores closed – scratch that, ENTIRE WINGS closed, and obviously barely any other human beings in sight.

But, there’s a Journeys there and we needed to get Chooch new shoes for school (tomorrow is the first day!).

“I hope SAM is there,” I said obsessively, which would have sounded more appropriate if I had braces too.

“Who’s Sam?” Henry asked, and I got really angry that he didn’t know.

“THE MANAGER AT JOURNEYS WHO LIKES DANCE GAVIN DANCE!” I cried. Ugh, try to keep up, Henry.

Anyway, Sam was there! I tried to play it cool and decided to just go my standard route of trying to blend into Henry’s non-descript shirt and not say a word.

“I like your shoes,” Sam said of my pink TOMS.

“THANKS YOU SOLD THEM TO ME,” I said, robotically probably. (BRB, It’s Britney Bitch is performing on the VMAs right now and I already sat through 79898 Beyoncé songs waiting for this.)

“I remember…Dance Gavin Dance, right?”

Henry’s eyes had rolled so far into his head that he was looking back into his SERVICE DAYS.

I was fanning my heart though because MUSIC CONNECTIONS are the best connections for me.

Meanwhile, Chooch’s wide ass cinder block Barney Rubble feet couldn’t find anything to squeeze into. I had suddenly become Cinderella’s stepmother and was trying to force him into being OK with the Vans hightops currently making him wince, but Henry stepped in and declared it a miserable fail and said we would have to go somewhere else that had a bigger kid selection, so we didn’t get to give Sam a sale and I was SO ANGRY.

I should have just bought myself a pair of shoes. I’m so dumb.

And then came ice cream, and my fat ass DGAF that it was twice in one weekend because it was so fucking hot out and I NEEDED IT.

Henry’s akimbo for that ice cream bimbo.

Came home and painted a ham sandwich because bitch I said I would.

“Mama Cass Vibes.” I told Henry to hang it up but it’s mysteriously still sitting on the coffee table so I’m not sure if he’s leaving me a message or what.

I’ve been drinking this Clown Shoes beer for literally three hours while watching the VMAs. I can’t chug that shit like I can chug wine, y’all.

These VMAs are such a fucking parody, I can’t stand it.

This whole day was soundtracked by the new Carly Rae Jepsen “Side B” bonus record that was released on Friday. My god, it’s pastel-tinged 1980s vibes.

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I honestly don’t know how she is, but she makes the most perfect 80s pop and there are days when I think back to seeing her last winter and I just start crying because I love her so much — don’t ever change, CRJ!

And now Sunday is nearly over, and I have way less brain cells thanks to the VMAs. Thanks, MTV! At least I got to see Michael Phelps!

ETA: the VMAs managed to end on a high note. I love Rihanna so much and Drake made it through traffic in time to present her with the Vanguard award and I really thought he was going to PROPOSE. C’MON DRAKE!!

Boy, guys, was this Friday OFF THE CHAIN!

I mean, OFF THE HOOK!

I mean…it was really OFF ITS ROCKER.

First, the work day was shaping up to be preettttty fucking dull. But suddenly! Sue sent an email to the whole office:

Something about PEPPERS, REALLY HOT PEPPERS being up for grabs on the table by the kitchen.

At that moment, I caught a glimpse of Glenn in my periphery, rising from his desk and disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.

I turned around and asked Todd, “OMG do you think Glenn is going to get pepper?! He got up awfully fast!”

“I thought so too at first,” Todd said, “but then I realized that the timing wasn’t right. He was already standing up whenever the email came in.” And then, “He doesn’t even get up that fast for cake.”

“Dammit, that’s true” I said, really hoping that Glenn was really in a huge rush to have first dibs on the HOT, REALLY HOT PEPPERS, imagining him body checking Terry out of the way, reigniting their feud from last summer.

“Did Glenn go to get some of those peppers?” Lauren asked from her desk in front of me.

“Apparently not, but we’re trying to cause speculation,” I admitted.

And then word finally traveled down to Amber2, who rose from her seat and called out to us, “Did Glenn get up for the peppers?”

This was A HUGE DEAL. WILL GLENN PEPPER OR NOT PEPPER?! Only time will tell.

Talk about scintillating ‘zine fodder!

“You guys, what an exciting Friday!” I laughed, and then we all giddily waited to see if Glenn would, in fact, come back with peppers.

AND OH LORD ALMIGHTY, HE DID!

He had one small red pepper in hand and we all fucking DIED.

He looked confused at first but then quickly wrote it off because he’s used to this hootenanny by now.

Then he put the pepper on my desk and everyone was starting to gather around and I was like, “Guys, I’m not eating this.”

And then that was that.

***

After work, Henry, Chooch, Judy and I met my mom and Corey at Bob Evans for dinner where we had a waitress who said “thank you” constantly and Chooch basked in the fact that his novelty has not yet worn off for my mom and she giggles at every idiotic thing he does.

HIS SCHTICK WILL GET OLD EVENTUALLY. TRUST.

Anyway, I put on the new Carly Rae Jepsen “B-Side” release and Judy screamed from the front seat, “WHO IS THIS, ERIN. OH. WELL, SHE CAN SING.”

CRJ, you’ve got Jude’s official seal of approval.

Meanwhile, at Bob Evan’s, they were out of chicken pot pie and Corey was SO SAD and Chooch acted like he never buttered a biscuit before and before he even ate the bitchin’ thing, the table looked like a biscuit battlefield and Henry frowned, wondering where he went wrong, living in a house with not one but TWO people who don’t understand how to properly use a butterknife.

Halfway through dinner, we all became aware of a fly that was buzzing around our table. When the waitress brought us the check, Judy gruffly asked, “You gonna give us a discount for that fly?!” The waitress just nervously laughed and apologized, but Judy wasn’t done talking about this.

“This place ain’t open 24 hours, so they should, you know, what d’ya call it….fumigate? They should do that when they close.”

“Yeah, maybe hang some fly strips,” Corey said and we all started cracking up but Judy seemed on board with that idea.

I’m pretty sure Henry has taken me to “restaurants” with fly strips hanging around, all appetizing and sanitary.

During one of our waitress’s last visits to our table, Judy suggested, “And you should tell them to do something about this broccoli. Terrible.”

If I hadn’t been so giddy to begin with, I might have tried to climb inside Henry’s frown and hide.

After dinner, we went to Target, where Judy screamed across an aisle, “WILL YOU BUY ME BENGAY??” and then held up a sheer blouse I was buying and asked, “Will you wear something under this or no?”

Well, I’m not wearing it to the Moulin Rouge, so….

And then Mat Kerekes solo album was released today, and it’s a real gift of sound: 

Anyway, today was pretty good when you add up all the moments.

2 comments

This week has been whack like crack* so let’s unwind with a video.

*(Except for Tuesday! Tuesday was the shit because Chooch and I went to Kennywood but today’s not the day for that because I’m lucky I can spell my name correctly right now.)

What you’re about to see (or hear, rather) happened last month and I think it’s safe to say that it was the highlight of the summer as far as Neighborhood Happenings go. Maybe tied with that lame church festival across the street.

Let me set the scene: I was home alone on a Saturday when I heard a loud, gutteral barking. It was a man’s angry voice, one that I had never heard before – it wasn’t Tourette’s, and it wasn’t Larry bitching about having Pokemon cards stolen.

And then it dawned on me – it was HOT NAYBOR CHRIS. I couldn’t believe it. In the too-many-years we have lived next door, I have not once heard that poor man raise his voice.

Then I heard another gutteral barking, which I recognized immediately as his wife-thing’s loud Yinzer throat-scrape. Look, I have heard her gone berserk plenty of times over the years, but this one sounded so sinister that my legs were actually shaking, kind of, and I didn’t want to get busted, so please enjoy the view of the few succulents my asshole cats have not killed yet, on account of them being too afraid of the kitchen sink.

Some things to note:

• The other male voice (the one accusing her of sexual harassment) belongs to the guy who lives on the other side of them, He was in the garage working on his car which is evidently another thing that Wife Thing hates.
• I think the catalyst to this argument was that HNC was washing his car and “oil was draining down the sidewalk” and DON’T YOU KNOW THE GRANDKIDS PLAY OUT HERE.
• I can’t figure out what she’s saying about the car parked in the driveway and “your little wifey….”
• SERIOUSLY HOW MANY TIMES DOES SHE SAY BULLSHIT?! I’ll send a prize to the first person who gives me the correct amount.
  • It probably won’t be a great prize though.
• This is the first time I’ve heard HNC fight back. Usually she goes off on her daughters and he just sits in the basement, huge headphones over his ears, solemnly playing his electric drums.
• Henry’s mom is scared of HNC for some reason and won’t talk to him unless Wife Thing is there too which is strange to me because I never got any rapey vibes from him.
• At one point, I considered calling the police.
• This was literally days after she had been screaming at Chooch over the sidewalk lights, and I was terrified of him coming home from the  neighbor kid’s house and encountering her after this, so when he finally came back home, I pulled him in the house, led him upstairs away from all the windows and hoarsely whispered, “STAY OUT OF THEIR YARD TODAY BC SHE MIGHT ACTUALLY CAPTURE YOU AND STUFF YOU INTO AN OVEN. THIS IS NOT A GOOD DAY. IF YOU WANT TO GO TO MARKIE’S, DO NOT WALK THROUGH HER YARD, CROSS THE STREET AND GO AROUND THE BLOCK IF YOU HAVE TO, I DON’T EVEN KNOW.”
• After the fight fizzled out, HNC and the neighbor guy went back to quietly working on their cars. Every once in a while, I’d hear the metallic sound of a tool hitting the cement, but it was clear that they were not ever, ever ever ever, never ever going to speak of what they had just endured.
• This is my brother Corey’s favorite video and he listens to it when he’s having a bad day.

I don’t know, it maybe wasn’t as exciting as when that drunk guy got concussed in front of my house two summers ago or the time Henry got to be a HIT&RUN HERO, but it was still pretty lit…fam.

In a bizarre turn of events, I think HENRY has a crush on ME now*?! He randomly showed up downtown to visit me on my lunch break and it felt really scandalous for some reason, like I was part of an illegal beverage deal? I kept tossing shifty glances all around me until finally I cracked and shouted, “OK THIS IS WEIRD GOODBYE” and I went back inside my dumb work-tower. 

Henry was also sending me totally clingy texts all day too so he either took some estrogen up the ass or he’s cheating on me and is overcome with The Guilt. 

Gotta go. Judy is trying to tell me things about America’s Got Talent. “SHE USED TO BE A MAN! I COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. NOW SHE’S A COMEDIAN. SHES FROM FLORIDA” and then some guy sang “In the Air Tonight” and Judy doesn’t understand why all the judges love him. “He just came out of a depression or something, I don’t know what bis story is.”

*(I had a crush on him last week. Our crush cycles never align.)

This last weekend was relatively boring, which I guess is what can happen when you purposely decide to make zero plans. 

Just watched a bunch of Olympics and then straight up cried my eyes out last night during the closing ceremonies. I won the gold medal in denial. (Monica said that’s because I didn’t have to go up against that Linda Lasky and she’s totally on point with that assessment!)

Other than that, we drove around aimlessly through South Park on Saturday looking for decent pavilions for the upcoming pie party because I apparently chose a really popular day and both of our go-to pavilions were already rented, along with 85% of the other ones. 

Don’t worry, we found one. 

Then later we went to Loving Hut for some meatless buffet action and Henry is now suddenly an expert at soy-based foodstuffs. 

Sunday was YARD WORK day at the Gillcrest which really only affects Henry. Don’t worry – he likes it. He gets to talk to deer and turkey and look up into the sky at random birds. 

I feel like we also ate a lot of cookies all weekend too and then I wonder why I gained a pound. 

Anyway, here are some pictures. 

Chooch had this shirt screenprinted at Warped Tour. Don’t worry – he knows he can’t wear it to school, God. 

The theme of this year’s pie party is “exotic.” One of my old high school friends asked if it’s family friendly and I was like “Pffft why wouldn’t it be” and then remembered the Facebook event page’s cover picture is a pie that says whore, so….

I ate one of these because fuck the patriarchy. Henry was so smug when he bought them, too. 

I’ve had snapchat since its inception and never bothered with it until one day when it occurred to me that waaaaaait a minute, this is just another platform on which to harrass Henry. Duh. 

Chooch is coming around to the idea that there is a new Corgi puppy where Maverick used to be. :(

This fucker. 

Chooch got a free cat cookie over the weekend and still cried about life. Biggest whiner ever. 

On that note, it’s Monday morning and I’ve got my own shit to whine about to all of the lucky people here at work so ciao for now!

Watching Olympic rhythmic gymnastics this morning and it will never not remind me of Get In Shape, Girl, the pastel “fitness” kits for girl-kids in the 80s. I had several of them but the ribbon one was by far my favorite. 

If I had known back then that this was an actual Olympic sport, maybe I would have kept it up. I was so good at twirling that shit! All I needed to learn was rhythm, grace, teamwork, and you know, actual gymnastics. Instead I just got fat. Oh well. 

Gilbert was adopted yesterday afternoon after years of living in my art orphanage. His story is below. (This was back when I used to sell monster paintings as a way of tricking people into buying my short stories, HAHAHA-ugh.)

************

There was something about the way the sunset ensconced Gilbert’s head in a fiery halo that made Maryannsuellen think of the stained glass in her church, and how she was always afraid that the colored panes would come crashing down around her; the crudely created depiction of The Crucifixion vivisecting her, unfurling her skin into flesh ribbons which the paramedics would likely chuck out the back of the ambulance for sport as they barrelled past Feck Farm, leaving the local pigs to feed on skin suey. 
Maryannsuellen gave a little chest pop to ping the paranoia pressure away and hugged Gilbert a little tighter, a bit more desperate than she tended to embrace someone. Just in case.
Gilbert scraped her from himself and laughed nervously. “Maryannsuellen, please.” With one last uncomfortable chuckle, Gilbert saw himself out of Maryannsuellen’s brownstone and began his walk home.

A Newport hanging from his bottom lip, and a cowlick in his bangs, Gilbert rummaged in his slacks for his lighter. Realizing he must have left it on Maryannsuellen’s night stand after their post-coital smoke (which he mostly partook in to combat the awful glaze of funk she left on his tongue), Gilbert made an impromptu stop at Calvin’s Corner Club for Cheap Crap. He didn’t typically patronize this particular store of convenience, as it was located at a crossroads known for amateur ninja violence. He saw it on the news nearly every night. But he really wanted a cigarette, and also to possibly see what kind of naughty rags they had behind the counter.

So Gilbert really shouldn’t have been surprised when, getting no further than the threshhold of the store, his carotid artery was stabbed by a Kohga ninja throwing star.

The next morning, Maryannsuellen read about Gilbert’s murder in the paper. She was still sobbing in her grits hours later when her cat began rubbing against her ankles, a hint that he would like to be eating his lunch now, please.

Snapping out of it, Maryannsuellen’s gaze lifted from her now-congealed grits to the scratched Zippo laying on the crest of piled porno rags from Calvin’s and the bills for her oxygen tank.

She picked it up, twirled it around between her thumb and forefinger and ran a ragged fingernail along the etchings left by too many meetings with the asphalt. “At least I’ll always have this small part of him,” Maryannsuellen said fondly of the stranger she brought home the previous afternoon from the furry convention. And the impatient beckoning of her 3 o’clock john distracted her from any more thoughts about Gilbert.