Today’s earlier post was way more bitter than I originally intended (I feel much better now though!), so here is a festive photo of Chooch wearing a slightly-too-large sweatshirt Henry bought him at the Never Shout Never show last week.

I don’t think he’s fully recovered yet, by the way. Saturday night, Janna was hanging out with us and he was telling her about how Christofer Drew took the wolf hat from him and wore it. Flipping the hat in his hands, Chooch murmured to Janna, “And now Christofer Drew’s ghost is in my hat.” It was fucking adorable. Sometimes he says sweet shit like that and I’m like, “Who are you?”

Last night, after Henry and I sent Chooch to bed, we could hear him in his room singing songs from the “Indigo” album, a cappella. Again, it was fucking adorable.

But then this morning he was a total asshole and a complete jerk to be around, so all is balanced again.

Saturday afternoon was gross and snowy, but Henry PROMISED us all week that we could go to the Kickback Cafe, so I held him to it. (Which is a nice way of saying I nagged him all fucking morning until he threw his hands up in defeat and we all paraded to the car.)

Kickback Café is a place where you can eat a sandwich, drink a latte and PLAY MOTHERFUCKING PINBALL. Props to my brother Corey for the pro tip about this place! I guess it hasn’t been there very long, but it’s in Lawrenceville and I am waaaaay out of the loop when it comes to knowing about the cool shit popping up in this flourishing section of Pittsburgh. Back in MY day, it was the Southside that had all the cool shit, but now most everything that was awesome about that town has been turned into some generic meat-head bar so fuck the Southside amirite. (Except for Zenith!!)

I had a grilled cheese, because what else is new. Chooch also had a grilled cheese and who cares what Henry had. Something with copious slabs of meat on it, I’m sure.

I hated this pinball machine. First, I couldn’t get it to start because I’m too dumb to read the instructions, so Angry Henry had to help me, and then every last one of my stupid balls went right down the drain thing. I suck.

You know who else is phenomenally bad at pinball? MY SON:

Henry didn’t smile once. God Henry, what will make you happy?! Besides sleeping, Ted Nugent and doing crafts?! What else does he even like, I don’t even know! Maybe we need to send the guy to a strip club. Henry, do you like strippers? Oh wait—yes. Yes, you do.

I don’t ever look at prices, but according to Henry, this was an expensive “casual lunch at a pinball café.” He was none too pleased about it, but Chooch and I were happy! And that’s all that matters, remember Henry?

The tables downstairs are made to look like pinball bumpers! HOW GODDAMN ADORABLE IS THAT.

I just remembered that I hate pinball. But it was still fun! And the guy and girl working there were super nice and not mean at all like you would think people with TATTOOS AND PIERCINGS would be, OMGGG.

(^^^a joke.)

So to conclude, if you like any combination of sandwiches, hot beverages and pinball, then you would like this place. If you hate those things or Lawrenceville has a PFA against you, then you probably shouldn’t go there. Maybe find a slot machine sushi place instead.

I never in a million years would have thought that one day I would be taking my seven-year-old son to a show at the motherfucking Grog Shop. Yet, there we were, 7:30 on a Wednesday night, with our kid at the Grog Shop.

I guess it must seem weird, or maybe even like shitty parenting, to some people. But you have to understand, he doesn’t have a mild affection for this band’s music. He has devoured every last song by Never Shout Never that he has gotten his hands on ever since this obsession started. He knows song names, what album they’re on, every last word in the lyrics. So I didn’t really have a problem with the occassional double-take we’d get from other fans at the venue. Are we letting him do shots of Jack at the bar? No. So STFU.

However, he still is only 7, after all, and his attention span reflects that quite clearly. So for the two openers (Front Porch Step and Nick Santino—both were wonderful, btw), Chooch was super ornery and whiny until Henry scouted an area by the merch tables where Chooch could sit. There was kind of like this long black wooden booth up against the window, and Chooch laid on his stomach back there and read his Simpsons book until Never Shout Never came on. It was kind of nice, because I was able to enjoy the first two singers in peace.

Around 8:30, manic outburts of “CHRIS, I LOVE YOU!!!” reverberated around the Grog Shop and Chooch snapped to attention. (He gets so annoyed at those girls though, and kept yelling, “NO YOU DON’T!!!”) They played until around 10:00, I guess, this intimate acoustic set full of quick banter and I realized that I really do like these guys. Thanks, Chooch! They’re entertaining as fuck.

Our friend Jason was at the show as well, and in lieu of a polite “hello,” Chooch opted to march up to him and demand, “I WANT TO MEET CHRISTOFER DREW!” He knows that Jason is the editor of a certain Cleveland-based music magazine, so for a second there, I was left wondering when I became the mom of Veruca Salt. Chooch is usually pretty good about not being a spoiled brat. USUALLY.

“Yeah, well I want to meet Christina Hendricks, but that’s not going to happen,” Jason countered. I was so embarrassed. I don’t like asking people for favors, ever, because it makes me feel like a user. So I gave Chooch a good rap on the head for that one.

So Chooch went back to standing on his seat (it was the only way he could see the stage) and trying to guess what each song was going to be based on the background stories Christofer would preface them with. He was so smug when he guessed “Piggy Bank” and I guessed “Sell Out” but he was right. So for the next 15,000 days, it’s going to be, “Remember when you guessed ‘Sell Out’ and were WRONG?!” Ugh.

At the time, I thought the highlight of the night for me was going to be when Chooch sang along loudly to Lost At Sea. I love listening to Chooch sing, and I wish I had recorded him that night, but I was too in the moment.

We cheered when they played “On the Brightside” and “California,” and Chooch got big ideas when Christofer hung upside down from the rafters. (And I instinctively slapped my hand over my chest and panicked, because I’m a mom now and that is what moms do.)

And then Chooch kept screaming, “PLAY ‘TRAMPOLINE‘!!!!” and everyone in front of us would turn around to see who was screaming but Chooch would promptly duck and I’d be the only asshole left standing, so after the fourth time, these kids were probably thinking, “Dang, that old lady REALLY wants to hear ‘Trampoline’!”

(They never did play it. And this old lady really did want them to!)

“If I ever meet them, I’m going to ask them how to buy Sunflower!” Chooch spat, because he is very angry that their last album was released as a digital download. He likes to buys CDs and have the full, tangible experience of pulling out the liner notes and poring over the lyrics. In other words, he is certainly my kid.

Anyway, after the show, we milled about and chatted with Jason for a little while, and the guy behind the Front Porch Step moniker gave Chooch a free poster, which was totally sweet. I really wanted his album but asshole Henry didn’t have any cash left on him, SO HE SAYS.

Meanwhile, Jason excused himself, saying he would be right back. Because I’m super naive, I didn’t think much of it. Chooch wasn’t in any  hurry to leave anyway, because once the crowd cleared out, the floor of the Grog Shop opened up into an open-spaced paradise, so he ran around doing round-offs and other scary parkour-y things, and we became Those Parents who bring their kid into a bar and let him do gymnastics. (In my defense, no one seemed to fucking care!)

So then Jason came back and asked me how old Chooch was. Still, my naivete prevailed. Until Henry was like, “He’s trying to get Chooch back there to meet the band, dummy.” So then I got all sweaty-palmed and panicky.

“Well, we’re going to have to try and get past all these girls,” Jason sighed, nodding toward the throng of salivating Christofer Drew groupies congregating in the tiny hallway outside of the backstage room door. This also happens to be the way to get to the restrooms, which Chooch had already visited once that night, so he was like, “Why are we following Jason to the bathroom?” I told him to just keep walking, and his mouth was going non-stop as usual. Seven-year-olds, right? They never fucking shut up!

So all these girls are like “WTF!?” when the guy guarding the door steps to the side to let us through, and Chooch is still clueless. Jason knocks on the door, and Chooch is still rambling away as we all walk into this small room. I stepped out of the way to give Chooch an unobstructed view, and that was when he realized that he was about 3 feet away from Christofer Drew. He looked like he was going to melt into the floor.

We all moved aside so that Chooch could step into the middle of the room and everyone stood up to greet him and shake his hand. Aside from Christofer, there are just two other guys in the band, Taylor and Hayden, and they were all so kind and sweet to us. But when Christofer was standing in front of Chooch, shaking his hand and asking him questions, Chooch absolutely clammed up. I think he literally lost the ability to speak, you guys, and I have never, not once, seen my kid that speechless. Not in 7 years. And then he started doing this thing with his hands, placing them on his face and pulling them in opposite directions, like he was actually trying to rip his skin open and step out of it.

There was a moment when he quickly turned his head away from Christofer and closed his eyes shut real tight and his face became flushed. I could tell he was fighting tears, and my heart broke in a million shards. This kid was in some fucking state of agony, and suddenly I began to recount all the times I got to meet bands that meant so much to me and lost my voice while standing in their presence. It’s beautiful torture. And somehow, my son is experiencing this at a very young age. I don’t know if I should be happy about this or pity him.

So with Chooch being speechless, I had to do the talking but I was nervous as fuck too! I could hear my voice shaking but I powered on for Chooch, and told them all how much of an inspiration they’ve been to him, how I have never seen him with such a vested interest in music before them. I mean, he likes other bands, sure. He likes Pierce the Veil and Chiodos, the Summer Set and We Came As Romans, but not anything that even comes close to matching this. Their music makes him thoughtful. We talk to each other about the lyrics and what they mean. They’ve opened up this emotional outlet in him that most kids probably don’t discover until they’re teenagers, I’m sure.

But he’s seven, and he doesn’t know how to tell them that. So he stood there in stunned silence. And then he held his wolf hat out to Christofer who took it from him and said, “This is a good style” before swapping out his own hat with it, and then placing his mini-top hat on Chooch’s head.

I’m pretty sure Chooch might have pissed himself. Just a little. Christofer pulled two guitar picks out of his pocket and gave them to Chooch, and definitely he pissed himself then.

Then Taylor said he likes his shoes Christofer said his Never Shout Never shirt was trippy, and Chooch was so overwhelmed by this that he had squeezed himself into a corner in between my back and the door. Taylor set out a folding chair for him in case he changed his mind and wanted to come out of hiding. And then he offered him a bottle of water, which Chooch was surprisingly able to activate enough of his motor skills to take from him.

“I’ve literally never seen him so quiet,” I told everyone.

“Oh, I know!” Jason remarked. “He was talking non-stop out there!”

Chooch kept whispering to me, “Mommy, I’m so shy. I’M.SO.SHY.” But he’s not shy. He was starstruck. I think the closest I ever came to that feeling as a kid was when I wrote a letter to Melissa Brennan, who played Jenn Horton on Days of Our Lives (I have been referencing this damn show so much lately, what the fuck) and she sent me back an autographed headshot with a hand-written letter thanking me for my support. I thought she was the fucking Queen of England after that. But I can tell you for a fact that my awe back in 1988 was nothing in comparison to what Chooch was feeling in that precise moment on 12/11/13.

I wonder what would have happened if I had told him beforehand that he was going to get to meet them. Henry thinks Chooch wouldn’t have been able to go through with it.  I kind of think it was fun to go the sneak-attack approach.

We got to hang out with them for about 20 minutes and I can’t stress enough how incredibly generous they were to make time to meet with Chooch. Between them and Jason, they gave Chooch such a great gift and I will never be able to thank them enough. Jason didn’t have to go out on a limb like this for us, and those guys certainly didn’t have to say yes. This may have been the best moment for me as a parent, to date, and I just want to start sending everyone fruit baskets or something. What the fuck is wrong with me!?

This is what matters. This is the shit I want to give my kid. Not Xbox and whatever the “in” toy is this year. I want to give him memories and experiences, things that he’ll look back on as an adult, things that will shape who he becomes. I promise you that nothing he could unwrap on Christmas morning could take his words away like that.

***

After promising them all that we would be careful driving back to Pittsburgh, they all shook our hands again (mine was SO HOT OMG, I’m sorry Never Shout Never) and we had to re-brave the horde of girls outside the door.

We parted ways with Jason outside the Grog Shop after thanking him profusely for literally making our kid’s dream come true. After we walked about a block away, Chooch totally lost it and started SOBBING.

Kid, I know the feeling.

In the car, I jokingly said to Henry, “We should have told Christofer about how Chooch screams that he wishes he was his dad every time he gets mad at you.”

“Yeah,” Henry laughed. “That wouldn’t have been awkward.”

It turned out to be A Really Good Thing that Henry was able to go to Cleveland with us after all, otherwise you’d have to address our Christmas card to:

Erin & Chooch

A Snowdrift

Cleveland, OH

Whatever Zip Code

In other words, it started snowing almost as soon as we crossed the Ohio state line, but what else is new when we go to Ohio between the months of November and April? And then of course we hit rush hour, so by the time we made it Cleveland Heights, we didn’t have as much time as I had hoped before the Never Shout Never show started.

Henry had to deal with aquiring quarters for the parking garage meter and told us to just go on without him. Literally, all Chooch and I had to do was cross the street and walk straight into Big Fun. It seemed like for sure something we could without Henry’s supervision, and there was even a handy crosswalk right there too.

But for some reason, right as we stepped onto the curb after a victorious street-crossing session, Chooch was figeting with his coat and said, “Help me.” He didn’t cry it out, he wasn’t waving a white flag, he just simply said the words, “help me.” At that precise moment, a middle-aged woman was walking by and before I had a chance to ask Chooch what he needed help with, the woman stopped dead in her tracks and in a voice rife with concern, she asked Chooch if he was OK.

He just looked at her without saying anything, because, ew, stranger. So I answered for him and said he was fine.

“ARE YOU SURE?” she persisted, searching his face for some sign of an amber alert.

We both nervously mumbled “yes” and started to walk past her.

“Are you going in there?” she asked, gesturing toward the awesome Cleveland toy store, Big Fun.

I nodded and she said, “Here, let me get that” and cut us off so that she could open the door for us, which I guess was nice, but I was really paranoid at this point. And then she followed us inside far enough to make sure we safe, I guess, before retreating.

I still have no idea what Chooch needed help with, and he was too distracted by Simpsons memorabilia at that point to tell me. Then it occurred to me that Chooch and I probably look like lost, shivering foreigners when we’re out in the cold on our own, so props to that lady for her concern, I guess.

After buying some Secret Santa goods at Big Fun, we walked down the street to Tommy’s for dinner. I can’t believe how many times I’ve been on that street in Cleveland, killing time before shows at the Grog Shop, and have never once bothered to step inside this seemingly unassuming restaurant. But then one day awhile back, Henry was all, “Hey did you know that there’s a vegetarian place right by the Grog Shop?” They serve meat-things there too, but the vegetarian selections are staggering. There aren’t many places where I can eat a grilled tempeh sandwich while Chooch and Henry nosh on cow.

A few minutes after I ordered a sandwich named after my Catholic School Mom-Nemesis’s daughter and vowed to savor every last bite, I casually looked over  to me left and saw the Concerned Passerby, sitting alone at a table against a wall, totally staring me down. I quickly whipped my head back around and tried to avoid ever looking that direction again for the rest of my life, but of course my eyes kept accidentally roaming, because that’s what they do, accidentally make creepy eye contact with strangers. And without fail, my roaming eyes were rewarded with reciprocal stares every fucking time, why was she staring at me-he-he-he!?!?!?!??!

But then my Catholic School Mom Nemesis’s Daughter was placed before me and my eyes were too busy staring at that loaded motherfucker each time it was rhythmically raised up to my gnashing maw, so I forgot about Concerned Passerby for awhile.

“This is definitely in the top 5 sandwiches I’ve ever eaten,” I moaned to Henry.

“What are the other 4?” he asked.

“Nothing you made,” I retorted.

And then Concerned Passerby slammed her hand down on the table and cried out urgently, “YOU DROPPED SOMETHING!” My heart began to race, thinking I was being set up for a mugging, but her heads-up was directed toward the family at the table next to us. I watched the dad jump up in panic and retrieve something from the floor, but it must have been something not very great because he didn’t seem very concerned at all when he plunked the mystery object back down on the table. I’m going to go out on a limb here and wager that it was a crayon.

But then it made sense. She was just an aggressive good samaritan who thought she was doing good things, not raising blood pressures. And she was also clearly a little mentally-challenged, so that explains why she was so drawn to me and Chooch.

I won’t lie though, I did check my coat pockets after that to make sure her outburst wasn’t a diversion to pickpocket the Icebreaker Sours in my pocket. They were still there.

My compact is missing though.

Currently on our way to Cleveland for the Never Shout Never show AND HENRY IS WITH US! Yay! He had me thinking for like a month that Chooch & I were on our own for this.

K bye!

The weather in Pittsburgh took a turn for the worse late Friday afternoon and it was starting to look like we weren’t going to be able to make the Goblin show. The fact that I was dismissed from work around 4:00 because it was starting to SLEET was a pretty good indication that the roads might not be OK. (I could even hear the ice pelting my office window.)

I took the trolley home and it didn’t seem too bad. But Henry the Weatherman was all, “LET’S JUST WAIT AND SEE OK IT’S SUPPOSED TO GET WORSE.” That is definitely not what I was trying to hear, you guys.

Finally around 5:30 I started to cry so he huffily stuffed his blue collar feet into his boots and left to pick up his mom so that she could babysit for us. It took them a really long time to come back so I admittedly felt pangs of guilt, like maybe the roads really were super terrible and they had skidded off into a ditch and were being devoured by wolves. Because that happens a LOT in Pittsburgh. But they made it back and I was all, “HOORAY LET’S GO NOW OK BYE CHOOCH!”

And we experienced approximately zero problems getting to Homestead, so take that, Pittsburgh metereologists.

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to snow really hard tonight, so it will probably be a mess by the time we leave,” Henry warned wisely. God, he always has to be so negative.

We had about 45 minutes to kill before the doors officially opened, and since we had never been to this particular venue for a show before, we basically roamed around with question marks over our heads. When we’re lost, we’re obviously lost. But then a staff member informed us that we could go to “the bar,” which was basically a cold, cafeteria-esque room with a bunch of bottles of Barefoot wine and some guy slinging slices of pizza out of a box.

As usual, I wasn’t paying attention and failed to notice that there was a wine list taped to the counter in front of my face, and thought my only choice of wine was merlot, which is not my favorite wine at all, but that’s OK. I was too excited to be a bitch about it. (For once.)

Henry bought a slice of pizza and a plate of weird, frozen mini cheesecake thingies for me. Definitely the most interesting food I’ve ever eaten at a concert. But then, I don’t usually eat at concerts so there’s that.

We had fun sitting there and guessing who was going to go home and murder someone after the show. But mostly everyone there was pretty chill. And old! For once, Henry was at a show for his own demographic! I think I was the youngest person there. One of the youngest, anyway, which was a nice change.

We made our way back to the music hall entrance around 7:30 and lingered around the merch table where I chanted, “Can I please get a poster? Can I please get a poster? Buy me something. Buy me something,” until Henry walked away and hid in the mens room. Of course I’m going to gravitate toward a $30 poster and not a $5 patch.

Henry was mad that his genuine smile in this picture got so much attention on Facebook, so he tried to force-frown for this one. Look at him, wearing a non-Faygo t-shirt!

The Carnegie Music Hall is super beautiful! When I ordered our tickets last October, I chose two seats in the balcony because I fucking love balconies.

And then I proceeded to spend two months panicking that the seats were going to suck.

They did not, in fact, suck. Well, view-wise, anyway. My friend Sandy had warned me earlier that day at work that the seats are really uncomfortable and that we should bring something to sit on. Of course, I ignored her sage advice and almost immediately upon sitting, I found myself wishing that my ass actually had MORE padding.

I texted Sandy immediately to verify that her assessment of the seats was painfully accurate. “We saw Kevin Smith there last year and I thought I was going to be paralyzed,” she swore. Luckily, the opening band—Zombi—took the stage precisely at 8 so we were slightly distracted from our tailbones’ misery…for a few minutes, anyway.

Henry and I saw Zombi back in 2004 when they opened for Q and Not U at the World (better known to most Pittsburghers as Rosebud). They’re actually from Pittsburgh, so it was really cool to see that they snagged the opening spot for the second  leg of Goblin’s North American tour.

Zombi is just two guys, one on synthesizers and bass,  and one on drums. I don’t remember very much from when I saw them nine years ago,  but I was definitely on board Friday night. Their music is very atmospheric and spacey, with just enough eeriness to leave you feeling unsettled. It made me think of the music I tried to play on my shitty Casio keyboard when I was in elementary and REALLY INTO recording myself telling horror stories that I made up on the fly. (They were as great as you probably imagine them to be, with lots of abrupt cries of anguish when I would fuck up for the millionth time and have to rewind and re-record.) They also did the score for the horror movie Murder, Set, Pieces, so that automatically makes them cool in my book. Not that my book matters for much, but you know.

I appreciated that the stage lights changed color every time a new song started. That was probably extremely helpful for those not able to keep up.

Henry was honestly asleep in his awful wooden seat before the first song was over.

Zombi finished their set before 9:00PM and I was overjoyed to stand up. Henry and I had the last two seats in our row, so we mostly lingered in the small space next to our row for the entire duration of intermission. That’s not true; Henry went to buy contraband M&Ms at one point and smuggled them back in. I thought for sure he was going to come back with the fucking poster I wanted but he was clearly staying true to his cheap ass ways.

My lumbar was on fire from that seat. I literally put my back against the wall and slid all the way down into a crouch, like I was attempting to birth a child in the wild, and not caring about what it must have looked like to all of the middle-aged geeks in their various Dario Argento t-shirts. I’m certain that Elizabeth Bathory had furniture akin to those seats in her torture chamber. Totally barbaric.

Goblin came on right around 9:00 though and I mostly sat lurched forward the entire time in excitement, which simultaneously kept me nice and stretched, so that was nice!

Sometimes I get bored really easily when bands don’t sing, and I was honestly afraid that this would be the case that night. I didn’t know what to expect, and I’m kind of glad I went into this without ever YouTube’ing their live performances. From the moment they took the stage, it was motherfucking electric. They killed it on every song and it was pretty difficult to lose interest when there were so many talented musicians on that stage to ogle.  And they brought this creepy (in a good way) interpretive dancer with them who totally made my skin crawl every time she came out. She really added that extra punch of Scary to the songs she performed on.

Goblin performing the “Suspiria” theme!! The dancer came out in full-blown Susie Banyon-mode and I almost peed my dumb pants. Goblin more than likely never would have been on my radar had it not been for my love of “Suspiria.” When Janna and I were walking to Gina and Elissa’s Christmas party on Saturday, I asked Janna if she remembered how obsessively I looked for a copy of that movie in high school (this was back when you had to get out the phone book and start calling around to video rental stores, you guys. Oh, the horror!) and how I made her and Lisa come over to watch it when I finally found a Blockbuster that carried it, and as if that wasn’t adequate, I also had one of them take my picture standing next to the TV after pausing it on the title screen. And Janna was like, “Um, yes. And fuck you for making me walk to a Christmas party in 18 degree weather when I’m a Jew with poor circulation.”

When I like something, I REALLY LIKE IT.

I really can’t describe how special this night was for me. All of it was great, I was 100% enrapt for each song and I loved that they incorporated film snippets on a screen at the back of the stage, but when Massimo Morante (who. from where I sat, looked exactly like Henry’s mom in a black wig) was handed a bouzouki*, I just knew it was time for “Suspiria” AND I WAS RIGHT, GODDAMMIT.

*(I originally thought this was a mandolin, but figured maybe for once in my life I could actually fact-check a thing before writing it.)

It was the most incredible feeling, to sit there and literally be enveloped in the notes of that song that has stuck with me for so many years. Goosebump City, is what I’m trying to say here.

The dancer came back during the “Zombi” theme and danced as a, wait for it, zombie. Duh. She was scaring me!

God, aging Italian prog rock musicians are just so fucking adorable! Especially when they can just barely speak English. It was a really special evening and I am so glad that the snow didn’t stop us from hearing this music that manages to be beautiful yet so spine-tingling all at once. And did I mention that our very own Henry Robbins APPLAUDED after every single song? Because he did. I couldn’t believe it. I thought he only applauded for Judas Priest!

The whole night was really incredible and we walked out of there knowing without a doubt that we had just witnessed something special. If you have never heard of Goblin before, I seriously urge you to turn off all of your lights and YouTube them. And then go buy their albums!

Here, let me help you with that:

Oh, and guess who got that poster?

I can’t wait to find  a majestic frame for it!

****

The next morning, I made Henry’s mom listen to Goblin.

“This isn’t bad!” she exclaimed with what sounded like shock in her voice. “I could honestly listen to this!”

It was probably the most bonding moment I’ve ever had with her, until she started talking about her neighbor’s band.

“He plays that real hard rock stuff,” she spat. “You know, like that Rod Stewart stuff.” And then I ruined our bonding moment by laughing.

Cemeteries, Chooch stewing in a wheelchair, me & an uncharacteristically (god that word seems way longer than I remember) smiley Henry, Marcy with an American Horror Story backdrop, my big fat ring, Henry craning his neck to see what’s going on with Vampire Diaries even though he pretends to think it’s stupid. (And it is stupid anymore.)

Aside from that, I’m just eating pizza, listening to 80s music (Chooch learned that you NEVER EVER TALK DURING TOTO’S AFRICA, GOD!!), and waiting for Janna to come over so we can go over Gina and Elissa’s and stare at their Christmas tree. I’m making Janna walk there so we can both drink, but it’s like 18 degrees out so I’m sure she just can’t fucking wait. I actually wasn’t going to tell her we are going to walk there but then Henry had to butt in and say, “YOU BETTER TELL HER SO SHE CAN WEAR BOOTS SINCE THERE IS SNOW EVERYWHERE.” Christ, he’s such a Father.

Being friends with me isn’t a cake walk, you guy.

I don’t fucking know what a cake walk is.

Have a good weekend! OR ELSE.

Let’s pretend for a moment that Henry goes by “Hank” so that I can call this year’s autumnal feast “Hanksgiving” without anyone asking me why.

There was only one reason I wanted to host Hanksgiving this year, and no, it wasn’t because I wanted to drive Henry to a stress-induced heart attack. I just wanted to put together a nice, memorable evening for Chooch, Corey, Janna, Laura and Mike because let’s face it: holidays just aren’t what they used to be. Especially if you don’t have any or much family in town. But that’s no reason to surrender to seasonal misery!

I have such a love/hate relationship with Thanksgiving. I loved it as a kid because hello: time off from school! Food! Parades! But what I didn’t like was suffering through whatever family feud was playing out at the moment, someone was always giving someone the silent treatment, my grandma was always taking passive aggressive jabs at me. And then some years we would go to my dad’s parents’ house and that was always uncomfortable. I wasn’t really close with any of them, and my dad was always losing his patience with his mom. It was just awkward.

But they did have that electric organ I loved to play…and Grandma Kelly’s homemade buckeyes….OK, maybe those Thanksgivings weren’t too bad.

And then as an adult, after my parents divorced, my mom would kind of try to put together nice Thanksgivings for us, but there was always that underlying bitterness and creepy facade of normalcy. Like you just expected the walls to crumble in. I would typically end up leaving in tears and then going home to drink Maniscevitz “wine” alone. That’s not what I want for Chooch! I want him to grow up with good feelings associated with holidays.

And even though I told everyone it would be a casual affair, I still wanted to make it pretty. We even used real plates as opposed to the paper fare we slopped food upon the last time we hosted Hanksgiving (back when we were still calling it THANKSgiving like the rest of you weirdos).

Corey was even surprised when he found out I used real flowers on the table, and not fake ones, haha.

REAL.

Chooch was clearly stoked! He gets really hyper and excited when he knows people are coming over, and he unfortunately got too crazy and ended up pissing off Laura immediately after she arrived. I’m still not sure what happened, but hey, what’s a holiday without tears? Made it seem that much more “down home.”

He just wants to entertain, you guys. That’s all.

We ran out of chairs so I conveniently used my wheelchair to sit at the head of the table. “Are you sitting in a wheelchair?!” Corey asked in disgust as he sat down to eat. “I hate you. In the best possible way.” My dream, in case you’re new here, is to buy a house and then have Henry build a dining room table out of pallets or old disgusting doors and then have all old wheelchairs as the seats.

REAL FLOWERS, OMG. This is what I did while Henry slaved away over various food-things in the kitchen: made things look nice to distract from the rest of our shitty shanty. Although, to be honest, we’ve been slowly sprucing things up as best as we can muster in a place we don’t own. And it’s been nearly a week and the house is still clean! At least the rooms that we can’t hide behind closed doors, anyway. My bedroom still looks like a dorm room.

I sliced that cheese!! And placed the deviled eggs accordingly! I was really excited for Hanksgiving, obviously. I used to love hosting parties when I was younger and the house was nicer and I WAS SINGLE. But you know, things change.

Henry made this cheese! I bought him a DIY cheese kit because I buy him things that I will benefit from. That cheese was some good shit, too. Even though Laura looked horrified when I told her it was homemade. :( Whatever, it made me feel like a legit hostess.

Speaking of Laura and homemade and cheese, Mike brought some sort of amazing creamed corn side dish that was loaded, and I mean LOADED, with cheese. I wanted to swim in it while “accidentally” forgetting to close my mouth.

 This is normal at our house.

Here is Janna, probably scolding me for something. Speaking of Janna, she brought these sweet potatoes that were absolutely drunk off bourbon. Holy shit, were they good.

I wish I had some right now.

Mike’s first tofurky! He was already sliding some onto his plate before he found out what it was. You can see how excited he was! EAT IT! EAT IT!

Corey gives hanks for tofurky. Can I also just say that this is only the third time in my life I have been BLESSED enough to have tofurky on (T)hanksgiving?? Henry usually “forgets” to buy it, and one year he bought it but then “forgot” to cook it. One of the only Thanksgivings I had it was at my mom’s house. Henry made it at home and we brought it with us and I was ridiculed mercilessly by my aunts to the point that I almost didn’t eat it. It was traumatizing! My mom kept making puking noises everytime I cut into it.

Even from a non-vegetarian standpoint, I genuinely like tofurky! That shit they stuff it with is the bomb.

I think that might have been the first time I called something the bomb. Better than “all that and a bag of chips,” I guess.

Not pictured: persimmon pudding. Oh for Christ’s sake, who has four desserts for eight people? So ridiculous. Shout out to Sandy for the cake hook-up!

Chooch ate approximately nothing. Sadly, his older brothers were unable to make it, because they could have shown him how to eat a Hanksgiving dinner.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I would consider the first official Hanksgiving a success. THANK YOU, HENRY. Maybe next year he will finally let me invite some vagabonds. Perhaps by then we’ll have more wheelchairs.

Pee Wee’s ass wants to wish you all a Happy Hanksgiving.

My big contribution for Thanksgiving was making punch(es). I took this extremely seriously because alcohol is such an important component to holidays, especially for people who are prone to stress-cries. Plus, Henry FINALLY finished that desk/cabinet thingie I found in the garage over the summer (apparently painting chevron stripes takes time) and I definitely wanted to build everything else around that. Because that’s how my mind works.

Also, because I’m obsessed with it.

(Note that it’s missing the hardware. Henry had temporarily lost all of it.

Now that he’s found it, though, I have decided that I want new knobs and handles. So I guess this project isn’t quite finished yet.)

I wish you could see how sparkly this thing is in person!! The blinds look like that because I literally have the pom-poms clothespinned to them. I even got tangled up in it at one point: the perils of decorating while home alone, I guess.

It was a painstaking process, but I finally narrowed it down to two punches days before Thanksgiving. Finding the perfect seasonal spiked beverage is serious business, you guys.

I went with a pumpkin spice punch, which was primarily apple cider, two bottles of pinot grigio, bourbon and pumpkin spice, all of which I capably dumped into a bowl all by myself. But then Henry had to slice the apples and oranges for me. I can only do so much.

Next up was a delicious (and potent) cranberry sangria. This is where I learned that fresh cranberries are disgusting.

So this was basically just cranberry juice, brandy and a bottle of red. I forget what I used now. Also: cranberries (I measured a whole cup on my own!!), persimmons (how could I not choose a sangria that calls for PERSIMMONS??), and an orange which I managed to cut without help.

I helped myself to a glass of this before anyone arrived on Thanksgiving and my edge was nice and soft by the time dinner started. Thank you, Beverage Buffet.

Not pictured: wine from NARCISI WINERY, holla! And Henry’s dumb beer.

After telling us a story about some Spanish winemaker who passed out and drowned in a vat of his own wine, Roberto led us back into the gift shop and upstairs into a small, empty dining room for the anticipated wine-tasting portion of the tour. I was relieved to see that tables were set up based on our respective parties, so we wouldn’t have to bump elbows with unsavory strangers. Roberto led Corey and me to a table next to the Bangs Party, but there was enough space in between us to keep us happy.

Roberto disappeared to fetch the wine, leaving enough silence for us to focus on the music.

“Is this the symphony version of ‘Titanium’?

” Corey asked in bewilderment. I agreed and this opened the door for us to savagely criticize the Narcisi sound system. “Oh my god, that Michael Bublé soundtrack during the tour made me want to shoot myself,” Corey laughed, and I started cracking up too at the thought of us both internally fixating on the same thing during the tour.

(Ironically, Corey and I both watch X Factor and OF ALL PEOPLE, Michael Bublé performed live last week.)

On the heels of “Titanium (Old Folks Home remix)”, that over-played Philip Phillips song queued up and I thought Corey was seriously going to skyrocket out of the Narcisi Winery. “I hate this song so bad!” he groaned through clenched teeth. “It seriously ruined the Olympics for me last summer!” Now I know what song to play if I ever need to smoke Corey out of my house!

Roberto returned with five bottles of wine right before everyone started to riot. I noticed he had a bucket of some sort on the table with him and I wondered if he was going to walk around and have us all take turns spitting out our wine like mouthwash, but thank god “Spit” wasn’t part of the 4 S’s of wine tasting that Roberto was about to teach us. Actually, I can’t remember what they are now. I forgot pretty much right after he taught us on the first glass, because after that we had to do it ourselves and I pretty much just went right for (S)chug.

It was something like this:

SEE THE BEAUTIFUL COLOR!!

SWIRL WITHOUT SPILLING!

SNIFF THAT SHIT!

SAVOR THE FUCK OUT OF IT!

I was pretty bad at swirling.

Having only eaten a yogurt for breakfast, and being a light-weight to begin with, I started to feel PRETTY GOOD (read: pretty stupid) right after the second tasting. And sadly, these weren’t even anywhere close to full glasses. I am THAT intolerant of alcohol these days. So naturally, Corey and I sat there trying not to choke on mouthfuls of Stella and Granato while stifling giddy laughter because EVERYTHING WAS FUNNY at that point. And then Roberto would come over to give us more wine and we would sweetly say, “Thank you!” in our fake sibling voices, only to start cracking up again as soon as he moved to the Bangs Party.

Corey said that one of the members of the Bangs Party tried to share a moment of laughter with me but I totally missed it. Apparently, she leaned over toward me and made some sort of flapping arm-motion to emphasize her laughter.

Corey took this of me when I was unaware and I’m glad because it is a good reflection of my undying devotion to every single syllable that Roberto uttered (even though I promptly forgot it all).

Roberto has a WIFE :(

I snagged this one from Corey’s Instagram–he got a great shot of Roberto’s expert pouring prowess. Ugh, Roberto’s wife is so lucky. I bet he pours so good for her.

(?)

Anyway, Corey and I enjoyed all five wines, and we were both pleasantly surprised at the Stella especially, because neither of us are particularly fond of dry reds. But for me, that could be because I mostly drink hobo wine, and not the good stuff.

(J/K. I physically can’t drink cheap wine because it makes me super sick. I went to a gay bar one time and made the mistake of drinking two glasses of their “house white” and had the nastiest hangover of my life. Oh, and a word of advice: don’t go to a bar in Brookline and order wine. Ever.)

And just like that, the last glass was imbibed and Roberto said goodbye. Those all too familiar pangs of “There Goes My Inexplicable Crush” sadness enveloped me as I watched him descend the staircase. OH ROBERTO, WILL WE EVER MEET AGAIN?

I got over it quickly though when I realized that it was time for our lunch reservation! AND THAT MEANT: TUSCAN SUNDAE!! We left the Bangs Party to roost at their table and went back downstairs to be seated in the main dining room, which was a big, open space with high ceilings and Italian tapestries hanging from the walls. We were seated next to a birthday party, but it wasn’t too rowdy considering all of the kids had their noses buried in their parents’ phones.

And that’s when Corey was able to check his sources before confirming to me that he did, in fact, know one of the younger members of the Bangs Party because he’s FRIENDS WITH HER ON INSTAGRAM.

How incredibly awkward. I hoped that she didn’t find me through his Instagram, because literally the first picture I posted that day had a caption of “WE HATE EVERYONE ON THIS TOUR WITH US.”

As you can see, I’m really awesome at learning my lesson.

And then of course the Bangs Party was seated at a table behind us, but poor Corey was facing all of them. But thanks to Instagram, we learned that it was Sarah Conner’s birthday, haha. Happy birthday to you and your dumb bangs.

We waited for our food while sipping glasses of Niagara and ravaging a basket of bread and murdering it with delicious dipping oil like we hadn’t eaten in days. I went with a grilled salmon salad since I knew I was going to be eating A TUSCAN SUNDAE. Corey got some kind of Narcisi pasta stuff. The food was really great and our waitress was wonderful but she tried to give us our check without asking if we wanted to order A TUSCAN SUNDAE. Usually when this happens at restaurants, I take this as a sign from the Fat Gods to mean that I don’t need dessert and I should leave while I can still get up from the table without the assistance of Strongmen.

But no. Not today. I NEEDED that sundae. I really can’t explain why, but I just did. I snagged her before she had a chance to retreat and said, “Actually, we wanted to order the TUSCAN SUNDAE.” She apologized and came back with the dessert menu which I pretended to look at before saying again that we wanted THE TUSCAN SUNDAE. Corey had already agreed to share it with me so I didn’t feel too gluttonous. (Don’t worry, I ate grass and twigs for dinner that day.)

When our waitress returned with Corey’s to-go container, she also set down a plate with two spoons and a fucking steak knife, so we were really intrigued at that point. WTF was a Tuscan sundae, anyway?!

Meanwhile, Corey’s to-go container wouldn’t close properly due to a disfigurement so he had to ask for another one, but then that was also malformed so he had to operate on it with a butter knife. It was probably the most stressful moment of the day, second to DO WE HAVE TO SPIT?!

And then our waitress, whom I’m fairly certain called me babe at one point and she was definitely younger than me so that left me with confusing feelings, placed the most magnificent piece of edible architecture down before us and I was like, “OK now please leave so I can fuck this shit up.” LOOK AT IT! Homemade scoops of ice cream resting peacefully in a boat of sweet dough, like Moses sailing down the stream, crisscrossed with streaks of chocolate and caramel sauce and crowned with a splooge of airy whipped cream. OMFG I need to come back for seconds and fifths, TUSCAN SUNDAE. I definitely need to bring a sharing partner with me though because not even Corey and I together could polish off that beast.

Even Corey was like, “Good call on the TUSCAN SUNDAE, sister. You are the best at everything! Thank god you exist!”

After lunch, we made our way back to the front of the winery, hoping to see the Broad, but she wasn’t at her station. So we went to the gift shop and bought some souvenir wines. The man next to me walked away with an entire case and I fucking hated him.

We were prepared to leave after that, but then we saw that Broad was back behind the wine-tasting counter! I actually was pretty bloated at that pointed, maybe even burping bubbles, but there was no way we could leave the winery without SOME modicum of interaction with the beacon that led us there in the first place.

So we set down our bags and approached the counter tentatively, where Broad disinterestedly told us that we could have three complimentary tastings. Corey and I stood there, pouring over the list in a very “doo-do-doo” manner, until I finally asked Broad what her favorites were. She sighed and pointed to the list: “The Cab Sauv and Stella.”

We totally weren’t charming her at all. Every time she’d finish pouring us a glass, she’d shuffle back against the wall and stand there like a bored statue in age-inappropriate boots. I was almost scared to make her refill my glass two more times!

I can’t even remember what we tried now, except for a sangria that I was pissed I didn’t taste before buying the wine because I totally would have bought that too. Which I guess is the whole point of tasting wine BEFORE purchasing, but you know how I love to do things backward.

We finished our last tasting and thanked Broad profusely, swearing we would be back, which prompted her to reiterate the winery’s hours in a very business-like tone.

Overall, it was a really great experience and the wine was fantastic. But if I ever go back, I’m printing out a list of wine questions to ask Roberto that will require answers so lengthy, he will say, “Come see me after the tour and we will discuss this further” and then you know, what happens in the winery’s private room stays on this blog forever for the entire Internet to read at their leisure. (And it will hopefully be NSFW.)

This just happened.

That is all.

It figures. I’m having a super good hair day & my supervisor texted to tell me to just work from home today because the roads are supposed to get icy. So since I had some time to kill before I start working at 1:30, I decided to walk to the Wines & Spirits in Brookline to get the stuff I need for the two Thanksgiving punches I’m making. (That’s my big contribution! I’m taking it REAAAAALLLLY seriously, too. Finally picked my two punches last night and I’m so stoked! I guarantee Henry will have to take over at some point though. The one recipe I found required BOILING THINGS and SIMPLE SYRUP, wtf. That sounded way too involved for me so I had to keep looking.)

Anyway, it seemed like a great idea at the time, so I stuffed one of Henry’s stupid hats on my pretty hair and set off down the road to good old Brookline Boulevard. I even said hello to some old man who was shoveling in front of a barber shop.

Got to the liquor store and rounded up my ingredients without having to call Henry because the liquor store is pretty much the one store where I’m able to get shit done on my own, but then when the cashier asked me if I wanted my three wines and one Brandy double-bagged, and I said yes because I’m walking, I realized, “OH FUCK, I’M WALKING.”

Back on my street, some man stopped me and asked how much snow we were supposed to get, I guess because that perma-dumb look on my face just SCREAMS, “Ask me questions, for I am an almanac!”

“I don’t know, like 100?” I said with a shrug.

“Wow, that’s a lot,” Michael said. And I know his name is Michael not because I’m also a census registrar, but because just then some guy drove by and rolled down the window to literally bellow, “MICHAEL!!!!!” like he was trying to save him from being fucking murdered, and then Michael waved his rolled-up umbrella in response and I took that as my cue to resume walking.

So I continued to lug this heavy bag of breakables back home while being pelted by perpetual snowfall and suddenly, I’m not having such a hot hair day anymore.

As Thanksgiving gets closer, I’ve been feeling a little less depressed and MAYBE even slightly excited. We spent most of the week getting some things together for our version of Thanksgiving (Hanksgiving) and keeping busy has been extremely helpful. We’ve only ever hosted one holiday dinner at our house (with the exception of the Xmas Eve soiree we did last year) and that was all the way back in 2008! I can’t believe we waited so long to try it again. I couldn’t remember if it was a success or not, so I went searching through my blog archives the other night and after reading it, I still can’t tell if it was a success. But Henry apparently burnt himself, so I’ll take that as a win.

It’s not Throwback Thursday or anything, but we can just pretend that Memory Monday is a thing so that I can repost this 2008 Thanksgiving tale. The format of the original post is all wonky and I can’t fix it. So sorry. Mayeb after you read it, you can leave a comment and tell me what your favorite Thanksgiving side dish is, because we haven’t finalized our menu yet and that’s just what Henry needs is MORE OPTIONS.

******

The night before Thanksgiving, Henry stayed up until 2:00am, rifling through his grandma’s recipes like a normal man rifles through porn. I don’t know what he was looking for, considering that I procured an entire feast worth of gourmet recipes from this little thing I just heard about recently called the Internet.

Of course Henry found something wrong with every selection: Too-expensive-ingredients (“That will cost more than the turkey!”). Lack of industrial kitchen. Not enough education completed to comprehend recipe wording.

In the end, he settled on:

Smashed rutabaga with gingered pears

Turnips gratin (hello new edible husband)

Scalloped corn

Meatless stuffing

Mustard mashed potatoes (“OMG Tyler from the Food Network made them!”)

Sweet potato pie

Oh, and that over-hyped turkey bullshit that everyone is always buzzing about.

My contribution to the day was taking Chooch to my dad’s house so that Henry could cook in the highest, most divine level of tranquility. Now, you should know that I only see my dad on holidays. Shame on me, sure, I know. But it’s awkward because our relationship was once more strained than the ab muscles of a man attempting to suck his own dick. Technically my step-dad, he legally adopted me when I was in the fourth grade. We engaged in non-stop battles of wits and psychological warfare for the entire duration of my teenaged years. Then he and my mom divorced and ironically, we now get along famously; and in an incredible twist, he was the only family member who talked to me while I was pregnant.

Corey, who was staying there while home from college, failed to tell him that Chooch and I were coming over, so my dad was genuinely shocked when he saw us on his doorstep. It was probably 75% of an act, but he seemed happy to see us and proceeded to dole out peanuts, JuJu Bees and cans of pop. He even gave me some Bagelfuls to take home, complete with single-serving packets of cream cheese. A trip to his house is always like a mini-grocery trip.

While he cooked, I made sure Chooch didn’t fall down the basement steps, eat paint chips, or break any of my dad’s classic car memorabilia, while Corey acted disinterested in our presence and my other brother Ryan napped on the couch. I got roped into sitting down for dinner with them, wherein my dad immediately picked a fight with Ryan, who evidently didn’t load his plate with enough food. “I told you not to eat all day!” my dad steamed, to which Ryan grunted, “Jesus Christ, Dad, I only ate some cashews!” My dad countered with a surly, “I saw the cheese you opened up in the fridge!” at which point Ryan hunkered down lower over his plate which seemed plenty decorated to me.

In an effort to break the ice, I chirped, “These mashed potatoes are really good, daddy!” He muttered that they were too runny, but really, anything tastes delicious when the butter ratio is 50/50.

Corey and Ryan didn’t speak at all throughout the painful meal, and I’m sure they were just thrilled at how kind our dad was being to me. He even noticed my hair and enthused about its aesthetic merits for just a note longer than natural.

 I love my dad, but I was glad that I had a legitimate reason to shirk my way out the front door. Tension, it just doesn’t sit well with me.

Dinner at my house was supposed to be at 7, so that those who had other dinners to attend (Janna, Corey and Blake) would be newly starved by the time they came over for seconds. However, Henry’s tardy ass didn’t serve shit up until EIGHT O’CLOCK and everyone was bored, angry, hungry. Look at those mugs on Janna and Corey. You’d think they were watching a slide presentation of Henry’s mom dusting her ceramic kitten collection, that’s how glazed with ennui they are.

Sensing that a revolt was on the rise, Henry served up deviled eggs for us to stuff our mouths with while he frantically finished cooking.

For some reason, Henry was really impressed with himself. He kept boasting that the eggs were deviled with STONE GROUND MUSTARD. I’m not even sure what that means. They tasted regular to me, like he could have squirted in a quick fart of French’s for all I know. Something weird clearly went on in my house while Chooch and I were at my dad’s, because no one gets THAT excited over deviled eggs.

Finally, the moment for feasting was upon us, and we all loaded our fancy paper plates with mounds of seasonal slop. Blake pretty much questioned everything aside from the turkey, which was easily recognizable (good job, Henry). I explained to him that I wanted to eschew the expected and serve new twists on tradition. “You mean, you wanted my dad to make things that even YOU can eat,” Blake corrected. And oh how we laughed. (As I silently wished for Blake to choke on a turkey bone.) (Just kidding, Blake.) (No really.)

As I tore into my plate, I realized Corey didn’t have a fork. “It’s OK,” he promised. “I don’t mind waiting. I’ll just have a roll.” He paused, considering that statement, before holding up his broken hand and adding with the slight hint of chagrin, “Though, even THAT is a challenge.” He should have been giving less lip and more thanks for the fact that he has a hand AT ALL.

It would sppear that Henry is in the middle of saying an intense delivery of grace, but really he’s just acclimating to his newfound seated position after standing in the kitchen all day long.

Later, he momentarily lost his appetite when he mistook the really expensive paper napkins to say “Joyous Fetus” instead of the much less interesting “Joyous Fetes.” We all laughed, but I don’t think Henry understood what was going on because he probably doesn’t even know what “fetes” means.

We’re so classy that we used our best plastic serving bowls. Not even TUPPERWEAR. Just generic, microwave-ravaged plastic. And there’s the gravy that burnt Henry’s hand and thank God it did because I really enjoyed hearing him cry about it all night long. I thought his mom was going to rush him to the Veteran’s hospital. I could almost see Henry’s mind churning: “Remember what they taught you in the SERVICE, big guy. You will pull through this! YOU WERE IN THE AIR FORCE, GODDAMMIT.”

And then Henry’s mom called Janna a myriad of other J-names (Janet, Janice, Joanne) but never Janna, and swore she hated sweet potato pie before admitting that she had never had it. Now she’s had it and likes it, though I maintain that Henry’s version (apparently it was EMERIL’S RECIPE, what a fucking carving knife to my heart) tasted unlike any sweet potato pie I’ve ever had. Ever. Like, no semblance at all.

Overall, I thought it was pretty good for our first time hosting a holiday in my ridiculously small dining room.

I know I had fun, and Blake and Henry’s mom seemed content. Janna basically looked like she had just finished watching a double feature of “Benji” and “Old Yeller,” and Corey just looked bored as usual. The shit Henry made was good, and even the gravy was vegetarian. I learned later that my mother translated Corey’s spot at my table into meaning that –oh my god — he’s on MY SIDE. And this is exactly why I was happy to do my own thing this Thanksgiving.

Last night, I yelled, “I can’t wait to have Christmas here too!” but Henry remained curiously silent.

Even though I keep a paper journal for this stuff, I still like to have a list here on my blog for easy access in case I forget just how much I absolutely hated a certain haunt or which one had the hot Michael Myers. You know how it is. I realize this is way late, but you know…I do what I can, OK?!

• Freddy’s Haunts in Aliquippa: I’ve had a lot of fun at this one in the past, but my last several trips out there have basically ended with one loud Sad Tuba. This past go-around, my friend Jess and I got stuck going through with a horrible group of middle school-aged girls (there were at least 15 of them and they were total fuckerbrats). We went on a Saturday night and it was absolutely dead, no pun intended. Even the chainsaw guy was apathetic and no one bothered to scare me and Jess at all because the few volunteers who actually showed up that night were too busy fucking with the teenagers. It was a total let-down and I’m officially writing Freddy’s off for the rest of forever. That’s $12 I can spend somewhere else. When I was telling Henry about how annoying those teenaged girls were, I realized, mid-sentence, that “Holy shit, I just walked through a haunted house with 15 mini-Erins.”
• Haunted Hills Hayride in N. Versailles: This one is so fucking hit-or-miss. I went last year and it was ridiculously fun. This year, we went on a night where it had been raining, so the trail was closed and only some of the hayride “exhibits” were in play. Laura, Janna, Chooch and I went back a week later to cash in our trail raincheck and it was just downright lousy. Just like the hayride, there were a bunch of stations along the trail that we just walked right on past because no one was there. And then some Yinzer bitch in the group with us started a fight over FLIP FLOPS with our equally-as-Yinzerish guide and it was just a real white trash display of awkwardness. So awful, and then Laura was all, “THIS IS THE WORST EVER THANKS FOR BRINGING US HERE, ERIN.” No, thank YOU, Haunted Hills Hayride, for making me look like an asshole in front of my friends!
• Hundred Acres Manor: Granted, this is one of the haunts that every Pittsburgh publication collectively jizzes on themselves over, but it’s mostly worth it. They do load up on a lot of the cop-out animatronics that I hate so much, and there is also a lot of dead space, but it is mostly super entertaining and LONG. You get your money’s worth for sure in this one. The first part (it’s split up into several themes) has always been my favorite. The actors in that section are incredibly made-up and take their characters to the extreme, and the décor is like fucking eye candy for weirdos like me. (They have a doll room, you guys. And I want to live in it.) This one gets super crowded so I always always always go on a Sunday, and I have even gone on Wednesday nights after work in the past. This one could easily suck if you end up going through on a busy night with a group of 20.
• Castle Blood: Still one of the most intelligent and entertaining haunted houses ever. It’s like a show and a haunted house for the price of one! We always have so much fun here, and I credit it as the haunt that immersed Chooch into the whole Halloween scene. I love that some place I’ve been going to since I was 16 has become a family tradition.
• Terror Town: Total waste of that prime for-real-haunted real estate. This joint was so fantastic in its inaugural year (2011) but then they quit caring about the theatrics I guess and resorted to lots of dead space and a few mediocre volunteers. Maybe I just went on an off-night….two years in a row. And then one of their “actors” posted a shitty, classless comment on a mutual friend’s Facebook status about how “volunteering”  and that pretty much drove the nail into the coffin for me. I wipe my hands of thee, Terror Town. At least now I’ll have more room in my schedule now for an out-of-town haunted house.
• Rich’s Fright Farm: OMG OMG OMG I hadn’t been here since I was in high school and it was on a seriously awkward date so I have blocked this place out of my mind since 1996. But since I had some weeknights off in October, Janna and I decided to check this one out on a Wednesday night. I know for a fact that Rich’s get PACKED on the weekends, so we really made a wise choice because the line was super short and we were on the hayride within 30 minutes or so, after Janna spent 10 of those minutes attempting to take a group photo of the two couples in front of us.  (Not like, from behind a bush or anything. They asked her to take their picture.) Long story short, this was the most expensive haunt I went to this year but it was entirely worth it. I screamed so loud a few times that I HURT MY BACK. I think that means I’m officially old. It took about an hour to do the hayride (which was on a wagon-thingie that didn’t have any sides so our legs were dangling and I was so scared that Janna was going to roll me over a cliff for all of the horrible blog posts I’ve written about her), and then all of the walk-thrus, which included maybe the most frustrating maze ever where I lost my fake-boyfriend du jour. Oh and we got to go down a huge tunnel slide which deposited us right smack in a courtyard of dead Victorian women waltzing with each other. This was definitely in my top 5 of the season and now I’m really excited to go back next year, only I won’t wear boots that are meant to be slippers.
• Scaremare: Shit you guys, this one hit really close to my heart because it was so fucking OLD SCHOOL. Chooch, Henry and I went through with a group of 4 people and they were extremely pleasant as far as strangers in a haunted house go. Some of the actors were kind of (hilariously) off their game, but to me that’s all part of the experience! I love laughing in a haunted house. And we were ALL in a very WTF state from the get-go. There were even several moments where I found myself wondering for real if I was going to get hurt, and there was one part where we all had to crawl through a padded pitch-dark tunnel. It had a loose “Depression-era gangster” theme and was even housed in an old bank building, so I really enjoyed that aspect of it too, plus the fact that our 1920’s-dressed guide was totally cute. The very last part was a pitch-black maze that everyone was supposed to walk through alone (Henry literally cut in front of everyone while we hemmed and hawed and proceeded to disappear through the doorway, thanks for the support Henry). The guide let Chooch and me go together, probably because he didn’t want to be responsible for psychologically damaging a 7-year-old. We were the last in line, so it gave me a chance to totally schmooze him by telling him how much I enjoyed Scaremare. I HOPE HE DREAMT OF ME THAT NIGHT. Anyway, after Chooch and I emerged from the darkness, we walked into a small room with blinding white light and an angel, and that’s when it dawned on me that this was a fucking religious haunted house. Everyone else from our group was in there too, and the angel told us to choose either the lightness or darkness, and literally every single one of us went out the “darkness” door. She seemed really disappointed. I liked this one so much that I actually kind of wanted to go back, but there were still too many others that I needed to visit.
• Sewickley United Methodist Haunted Basement: Chooch’s review pretty much covered it all, but I still wanted to give them a shout-out. It’s so much fun! Total pandemonium and there was definitely a man dressed as a dead Vanna White in one of the rooms, and a babydoll hanging from a tree. I also got Silly String’d in the mouth, since my mouth is ALWAYS OPEN! Even Henry showed some sign of life by LAUGHING. We tried to get Janna to go with us but she was all, “Blah blah blah I just got a new kitten and can’t leave him alone!” Lame Janna’s lame.
• Cheeseman’s Fright Farm: I thought this one was just so/so. I’ve had a lot of fun there in the past, but the actually walk-through seemed kind of rushed and lackluster. Chooch and Laura really liked it though. The scariest part for me was when I was the ONLY ONE who walked through the stupid birth canal thing and I slipped when I was halfway through and almost fell and would have happened then!!? WHO KNOWS?! I had a mild panic attack because I hate those things so much but they’re even worse when no one else is in there with you helping to push through. I wouldn’t mind axing this one from my list.
• Ghost Lake: OMG this night was so much fun. So it was me, Chooch, Henry and Janna; luckily we got our tickets through a local BOGO site because they were $25, which was actually worth it considering it took us about 3 hours of my non-stop screaming to get through all of the attractions. Our local amusement park, Kennywood, converts to a haunted attraction every fall, but I would gladly eschew that one and drive two hours to the half-defunct Conneaut Lake Park. There were 13 different haunted attractions!! And they were mostly all set-up in abandoned houses around the premises, and the actors were allowed to touch us! IT WAS SO EROTIC. I thought the park employees did a bang-up job keeping the lines moving at a good pace and the whole thing was pretty organized. You had to go through each attraction in order, so there wasn’t too much mass confusion going on. Again, Chooch’s review was pretty spot-on, but I just wanted to add that my favorite part was trying to close Janna inside one of those stupid inflatable birthing tunnel things that I hate so much. (Is there even an official term for those bullshit props?) And when she tripped when we were walking to the next attraction and I mocked her, as usual, and then proceeded to twist my ankle. One of the attractions had FOAM IN IT YOU GUYS! So that was novel. The only one I thought was lame was the Vampire’s Lair, which one of my friends pointed out was spelled “Liar” on the ticket and I didn’t even notice at the time so that’s a good sign that we were having lots of fun. We skipped out on the 13th attraction, whcih was actually just a ride on Conneaut’s rickety-as-fuck wooden coaster. Good thing too because apparently several people sustained facial injuries on it that night. Anyway, I can’t wait to go back again next year oh my goddddddd. Even stone-faced Henry was like, “That was fun.”
• Grimm Manor: You know how we’re members of the Dark Ride and Funhouse Enthusiasts Club? (THAT NEVER GETS OLD!!) Well, our fearless DAFE prez, Rick Davis, has a home haunt in Vienna, Ohio. It’s only an hour or so away, so we decided to pair that one up with Ghoul Mansion in Sharon, PA. Rick turned his entire front yard into a cemetery, complete with movable figures straight out of dark rides! It was so vintage-y and wonderful that we lingered alongside the fence for a few minutes just admiring it all. The haunt itself was free, short and sweet. Very entertaining, though! It impresses me so much when people literally turn their home into a haunt. (I mean, look at Castle Blood!)
• Ghoul Mansion: Chooch and I already wrote about this here and here. This was only my second time visiting GM, but it was in my Top 5 for the season, seriously. They’re such assholes, but in the best possible scare-actor way.
• Demon House: I don’t know why I thought this would be a fine haunted house to take Chooch to. It’s fucking scary! Especially the upstairs of the house—I kept looking over at Chooch, expecting him to be in tears, but he held it together way better than I did. I just kept nervously laughing because I didn’t want him to start mimicking my own fear. There was one part where some asshole guy told us we had to play hide and seek and then yelled for us to run and if I had grown up with an alcoholic dad, that PROBABLY would have given me terrible flashbacks of repressed memories. Anyway, we ran straight into a hallway that had all those old, heavy clothes hanging in it—I couldn’t breathe in there and all these bloody people were screaming at us to run and I wanted to cry especially because JANNA was in front and she was literally moseying along like we weren’t potentially about to get slaughtered. Thanks, Janna. The last part of the house was a day-glo Alice in Wonderland theme and I really loved it but it wasn’t scary. Then we hung out for a little bit afterward and watched some of “Ghostbusters” on the movie screen outside while Chooch and Janna drank their hot beverages like elderly people and Chooch almost left behind his stupid stuffed dog, which miraculously made it through the entire haunted house under Chooch’s jacket, and then the dumbass sets it down on a picnic table afterward and walks away. Then I missed a turn on the way home and we ended up on some un-lit backroad with a truck tailgating us and Chooch almost started to cry. The end.
• Cavern of the Dead: Henry and I were going to go to the Trundle Manor halloween party on this night, but I was feeling grumpy and VERY anti-social, also totally lazy in regards to putting together a costume. So instead we decided to go to dinner and a haunted house, but since it was November 2, our options were limited. Then I saw that Cavern of the Dead in Wampum, PA was still open and I thought Henry was going to be all, “THAT IS TOO FAR AWAY AND ALSO TOO EXPENSIVE. YOU AREN’T WORTH THAT.” But instead he was like, “Whatever you want to do” which I’ve learned over the years is his canned response when he’s losing all will to live. Since it was kind of far away though, I decided that we should just go to Sheetz and get sandwiches to go, so Henry started driving down all of these scary, dark roads and god forbid I had the nerve to ask him a question and this is how that panned out: Me: “WHERE ARE WE?!”
  Henry: “DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT. JUST SIT IN THE CAR & SHUT UP.” Thank god he actually was just taking me to Sheetz though and then he pouted because he apparently wanted to go to a real restaurant but didn’t say anything so he ended up not eating dinner that night, boo hoo. Anyway, Cavern of the Dead was amazing. I even accidentally found something online that said if I liked their Facebook page, I could get a FREE ticket for that night, so it only cost us $20 instead of food for the week! And there was only one other couple there, so we waited in approximately zero lines. Cavern of the Dead is literally in a mine, and it was really wet and muddy in there from all the rain we’d been getting, thank god I was wearing my WHITE TOMS. Anyway, I feel like this one wouldn’t have been scary at all if it had been a busy night, but since we were alone, I screamed like a bitch through the whole thing. Then a zombie made me hug him. We got to ride on some kind of mine bus thing that took us even further into the mine AND THEN SHUT THE LIGHTS OFF OMG even Henry was whimpering. Blah blah blah, there was a really frustrating hallway of doors that were all dead ends and some girl kept singing, “No, over here! You’re going the wrong way!” and Henry was all, “I hope she wasn’t 13 because I bumped into her boobs a lot of times.” Then Henry asked me to marry him on the way home and I said sure.

And that sums up the 2013 Haunted House Experience. Ciao for now.

GHOUL MANSION:

when we were in line a bloody nurse tried to lick us not daddy though. When we were inside we had to go down in the basement we got separated from henrys beard we had to stand in the dark which we didn’t have to it was all erin’s idea. erin was too scared to move and leave daddy alone I thought she hated daddy!

this dude came and scared us and we said “where is henry?!” and the dude said “I ate him” and we were like “no seriously” he was like “HENNNRRRY!!!!!” Then when we went around the corner after henry finally came back a clown had one of those little horn things and it was like BEEEEEP.

then we had to go up steps and a kid was down there and was like “Can I eat you” and then we finally got up the steps. and then like four rooms later we were walking down this hall then the same kid that was under the steps saying can I eat you and I was like “aw crap” in my mind. and he was like “remember me? I was under the steps! I wanted to eat you! can I eat you alive? can I eat you alive” and then finally we got through that hall and had to go through another hall and that kid was still following us. henry was in front of us and I was like “i’m gonna push you” I said that to the kid, so I pushed him and still I couldn’t get past him.

“I gave a high five to a clown it was awesome I really liked the haunted house”.(:

DEMON HOUSE

Erin got off work at nine picked up JANNA “GOD FORBID” Erin got lost because Henry gave us bad directions mommy scared me bad. Mommy lied to me and said that demon house wasn’t scary. when we finally got there, well we didn’t get to the haunted house yet, we had to drive on a bus because mommy crashed into a tree, just kidding. there was no one there so we didn’t have to stand in line. I brought Murder Victim with me, a stuffed dog.

when we got to the demon house for real we sat by a fire and a dude called our number so we had to go up and he talked to us about something and made janna knock on the door. it wasn’t scary though. it was just a cave. like a fake cave made out of fake stone. it was like a mine. Murder Victim was scared.

Once we got out of the cave we had to walk through a forest and then this clown said “follow me!” Then we heard vrrrrooooooooom three chainsaw guys came out of the forest we pushed Janna into one. Me and mommy went the wrong way one chainsaw guy said “that way.” Then we got to the real haunted house.

I hate writing.

My favorite part inside the house was going upstairs and playing hide and seek when these two people wanted to play hide and seek and they said “if you find ME, you’ll be dead!! If you find HER you’ll be safe!” So we found her. In the second room this guy said IS THIS YOUR MOMMY I was like “yeah who the eff would she be??” He was like “well she’s a terrible mom for bringing you here!!!”

Oh yeah at the end of the haunted house Dr Who was there! He was like ready for time travel? Scream YAY TIME TRAVEL! Louder! YAY TIME TRAVEL! I can’t hear you, louder! So we had to go through this maze thing that wasn’t really a maze he was like GO THAT WAY!

I like Dr Who.

At the end, Janna god forbid wanted APPLE CIDER but I wanted hot chocolate.

What a good day for hot chocolate.

I got to have a glow stick and we sat and watched Ghostbusters first then when that was over we say by the fire. It was really warm. I put Murder Victim on Janna’s lap and Erin was like “where’s Murder Victim?” I was like on Janna’s lap you dumbass! But before that I lost him for real but I got him back.

I liked Demon house I was not scared. Erin and Janna were.