I haven’t really been doing much during my week off from work, but I gotta say it’s been pretty fucking delightful to not have to stop what I’m doing to fuss with my hair and fling half of my wardrobe out of my closet while screaming “I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR TO WOOOOOOOORK!”

Today for instance, it has been raining nonstop and I didn’t have to walk to the trolley! (I still have to walk and get Chooch from school though, but at least “going to work” doesn’t happen after!)

However, that nagging countdown is definitely ticking in the back of my head. I’m going to be one unhappy broad next Monday. :(

We went to Bill’s for a post-Castle Blood ice cream hook-up Saturday night. Henry gets so mad when Chooch and I ditch him with all of our ice cream cones, haha.

Pumpkin soft serve, boyyyyy.

Me & Willie, Marcy’s daughter. She hates people, so getting this close to her was a pretty big fucking deal. Also, what the hell is happening to my eyes up there?

I have been trying to get Henry to learn how to do fishtail braids for the last 87 years. But then over the weekend, I watched a tutorial that actually made sense to my rock-filled head and voila, I had fishtail braids! Too bad I didn’t spend more time making sure the part in the back looked OK, so I wound up having to wear a beanie to the haunted house that night, and I do not look cute in beanies so NO MONSTER hit on me. FML.

Henry made a red velvet version of the Cupcake Pie, using the best red velvet cupcakes that Pittsburgh has to offer (Vanilla Pastry Studio, holla!). I took it with me Monday night when I went to hang out with Corey and Danielle, along with Halloween II and April Fool’s Day.

Corey dug into it immediately. We were both kind of fucked since there was no adult figure there to cut a slice for us, but we persevered — a pie made of cupcakes has a knack for making even the most helpless sad-sack find their inner knife-wielding strength.

Our initial response was the same: it was good but we liked the cupcake pie from the pie party better. The custard didn’t mesh right with the red velvet, and Henry ended up having to use extra to make sure the whole pie was coated evenly, so it had kind of an eggy taste. Still, it was a pie constructed of a red velvet foundation with a generous roof of Henry’s homemade cream cheese frosting, which is the best cream cheese frosting I’ve ever tasted IF I CAN BE CANDID HERE FOR A SECOND.

45 minutes later, Corey went back for seconds.

I took a piece home for Henry so that he could taste his errors, and he thinks he found a less eggy custard so he will be conquering this pie yet again very soon. And he will receive no objections from this cupcake ho-bag.

We had a really rough evening with Chooch yesterday. Henry kept looking at me, arms akimbo, and saying, “Little Erin. That’s exactly what he is and it’s SCARY. You both are so lucky that I have a cool head.” I guess it all started when we were at Target and Chooch was hungry and just totally lost it even though he knew that we were taking him to McDonald’s afterward. He caused a slight scene so I just pretended that I didn’t belong to him and Henry. So then we fed him and he was quiet for awhile, but then when we got home, he decided he was still hungry and pretty much tried to blow down the house with his ire. It was pretty fucking intense, and then I started being an asshole too because I realized that I was also hungry, so Henry had to make me dinner while trying to get Chooch to calm down before the neighbors called the cops. (He was in his room, slamming the door and SCREAMING about how Henry wants him to starve, so I’m sure that sounded not at all curious.) Anyway. Chooch ate a chicken sandwich and then put himself to bed and woke up completely normal (well, by Chooch-standards) and happy. I joked that he must have been having an existential crisis related to the fact that he just learned yesterday that it’s the Chicago Blackhawks, not Black Cops.

The highlight for me was when Henry called Chooch “master” but Chooch thought he said “bastard” and well, you can imagine how that went over. Henry’s lucky Chooch didn’t make a meal out of his face, at that point.

This vacation week couldn’t have been any more perfectly-timed, that’s for sure. A lot has been going on in my head and I’ve been pretty up and down emotionally. It’s mostly family-related, and I will just leave it at that. So when my favorite pastel-haired girl singer, Sherri Dupree-Bemis of the band Eisley, posted a sweet photo of herself, her daughter and her sister on Instagram along with some really sweet words about her family, I got all wistful and left her a comment about how nice it is, as an outsider from a completely broken family, to be allowed a glimpse into her life and how inspiring it is to see how close her family is with each other. She replied with a kiss-blowing emoticon and it totally made my day, you guys. Totally. Even Henry, who usually makes fun of me for being so obsessed with this family, smiled BECAUSE HE KNOWS THAT NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO CROSS ME.

People always want to remind me that family is an earned title, and I get that. Thanks! But it doesn’t really make it any easier to know that your mom could be in the same room as you and completely pretend that you don’t exist. But hey, that’s my cross to bear, right?

Whatever. I’m going to Rich’s Fright Farm tonight with Janna, so fuck everything else! Woo, October! (Hopefully Chooch & Henry don’t kill each other in my absence.)

Corey’s senior picture. Janna comes with the package.

After we toured the Palace and the grounds, I was super adamant about eating at the cafeteria. I am obsessed with the cafeteria!! All cafeterias!!

The cafeteria (Govinda’s) is located about a quarter of a mile down the street from the Palace, where the Temple and Hare Krishna lodging can be found. Right across from Govinda’s is a courtyard and it was teeming with Sunday worshipers who all stared at us because, short of flashing fanny packs, everything about us screamed NOT ONE OF YOU.

Inside Govinda’s, we became immediately confused. First of all, we were the only non-Krishna people. Second, there was no clear instruction on what we were supposed to do, so we all kind of stopped and slammed into each other as soon as we entered the door. Then we did what all socially adjusted people do and whispered uneasily to each other like we had just been kicked out of the back of the Scooby Doo Mystery Van and landed on the threshold of a haunted house.

“Ask if they have the buffet,” I hissed at Janna, who sighed and asked the young Indian girl at the register by the door.

“Oh, no,” the girl answered with a laugh and WHY DO I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE PEE WEE AT THE ALAMO EVERYWHERE I GO. I know I reference that all of the fucking time, but it’s because it’s true. “You may choose from our limited menu,” she said, Vanna White’ing her hand toward a black dry-erase board next to the counter. The undulating question marks in our eyeballs must have been pretty clear, because she added, “Would you like me to explain everything to you?”

We all sighed and shook our heads eagerly as she slowly explained in her best dumb white folk words what everything was. I still couldn’t understand half of it because I’m dumb with ingredients and wound up just picking something at random. Corey ordered something similar to what I got, I think our breads were the only difference, and Janna went with the safe bet of samosas because even dumb city folk know what samosas are. You can buy them in the freezer section!

Since Janna drove us there that day, and it’s kind of a long haul, I paid for her lunch. (And Corey paid for her Palace of Gold tour.) I wonder if she wrote about it that night in her diary, because Corey and I don’t generally do nice things for her.

We chose a booth far away from the other people already eating, and waited for our food over a soundtrack of our own nervous giggles.

A waitress (maybe the same person as the cashier? I wasn’t paying attention) set down Janna’s samosas and a tray that looked remarkably like hog slop and baby vomit, so I knew it was going to be good Indian cuisine, but Corey and I were unsure whose it was supposed to be. I thought she said something that started with a “d,” which is what my choice started with, so I dramatically stopped Corey right before he started eating.

“I THINK THAT MIGHT BE MINE!” my inner fat girl beast cried. So then we had the daunting task of waiting for the waitress to return with the final meal so that we could finally put this minutes-long mystery to bed.

I was right! It was whatever I ordered. But Corey’s ended up being tastier than mine, so who’s laughing now.

We didn’t have silverware, not that Janna needed any for her samosas, but it was kind of difficult for Corey and me to dig in to our lunches.

“I think maybe they don’t believe in forks,” I said honestly, trying to fashion my naan into a serving apparatus, but only succeeding in staining my fingertips orange like I had just smoked fifteen year’s worth of unfiltered Pall Malls. This went on for awhile, Corey and I alternating quiet exclamations of “ouch” every time we burnt ourselves on curry. Meanwhile, we kept darting our eyeballs around the cafeteria, craning our necks to see if any of the seasoned Indians at the nearby tables were also eating with their hands, but everyone seemed to be finished eating at the moment.

“You know,” I said, shaking the pain off my fingers, “maybe I’m confused. I think it’s the Ethiopians that eat with their hands.” And just then, another Govinda’s patron walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a plastic fork out of a bucket; Corey and I totally lost it. Eating lunch became a lot easier after that.

Even though I was too stuffed to finish my meal, I kept harping on Janna to go up and buy me dessert. She totally didn’t want to, but I can be very persuasive. There were these golden balls of wonder that I was dead-set on devouring, so Janna returned with a container of those and a regular old push-pop for herself, which made me laugh because how much more Caucasian can one look in an Indian restaurant than by licking on an American summer delight? And then I found out that the golden balls of wonder cost about as much as Janna’s lunch, totally negating the fact that I treated her, so then I was performing the simultaneous trick of laughing and choking on balls, which is something I mastered my junior year of high school.

Anyway, these balls were made of chick peas, cashews and honey. They were an oral treasure, in my opinion. Corey kind of liked them, but not enough to finish the one I gave him, and Janna took one bite and then handed it back to me. MORE FOR ME.

After lunch, we crossed through the courtyard, which was now suspiciously empty, and walked into the temple. There were shoes splayed all over the floor and on the shelves in the shoe room, but only three people were in the temple itself. One was an old white man who looked like he definitely has been foraging in the mountains his whole life. I wanted desperately to take his picture, but that motherfucker never took his eyes off me.

The shoe:person ratio is all the evidence I need to know for fact that these deity statues are feeding on human flesh. You’re not fooling this girl, New Vrindaban society. I’m on to you.

There was an Indian couple in the temple with us, and from a short distance away, I spied the man ladle some sort of liquid into his woman’s palm, which she then brought to her mouth and DRANK. I needed to do this too, so I lingered casually in front of a eerily realistic statue of Swami Prabhupada and waited for them to leave. Then I pulled Janna over to the bowl of hopefully-not-poison and made her try it first.

“It’s just like, rose water,” was her official Yelp review. So I allowed her to dump some of it into my palm, and then I immediately gagged and thought for sure I was perishing as the intense floral notes clogged my windpipe.

“Oh my god, what did you do?” asked Corey, who had just re-joined us after selling his soul to the Cult of Krishna by making accidental eye contact with one of the manga-like deity statues. Janna explained to him that I saw other people doing it and I’m sure she rolled her eyes too but I couldn’t tell since I was pretty much blacking out at that point.

Corey started laughing. “You were peer-pressured into drinking weird flower water?!” YES, PRETTY MUCH, OK?!

Janna had to use the bathroom in the temple before we left, so Corey and I stood outside and talked about her, obviously. Suddenly, a peacock trotted over from god only knows where, and it looked like it was going to start to head into the temple. I suggested that we try to usher it into the bathroom with Janna, and Corey thought this was the best idea since the Nintendo Power Glove, but there were two Hare Krishna people standing nearby so we thought maybe it wouldn’t be the hottest idea to disrespect their token animal while standing in front of the temple, no less. Even us Kelly kids know when to draw the line.

After the temple, we walked off some of our curry-heavy lunch while paying our giddy-yet-horrified respects to the Dancing Acolyte statues on the other side of the creepy (one lone) swan-infested man-made lake. Hidden by trees behind the statues sat a cabin which had eerie Krishna tunes wafting out through the screened windows. I wanted to climb up the hill and peek into the windows, but Janna was like, “No. Don’t.”

The last stop on the agenda was the gift shop back up on the Palace of Gold grounds. I bought a religious ring and a pretty blue bracelet that everyone at work has been admiring and I say, “Thanks it was like $5 at the Palace of Gold!” and then I think that might kind of mar their opinion. But anyway, on the way back to the car, Janna was crossing the street at the same time a car* was coming. I shoved her out of the way while screaming, “JANNNNNNNA!! LOOOOOOK OUTTTTT!” I mean, I SCREAMED it. Corey had already crossed the street and was standing next to Janna’s car, so he whirled around to see what the fuck was happening, and then he started laughing really hard, because what I didn’t know yet was that the doors to the minivan parked next to Janna were open and about 10 Indian people were standing there looking horrified.

*(It might be conducive to the story to explain here that the car was like, a lot of yards away and going 15mph.)

Of course, they were standing on the side of Janna’s car that I had to get into, so it was extremely embarrassing and I was literally squealing from trying to hold back my laughter. At that point, I was also crying. So I opened the backdoor of Janna’s car and pretty much dove in, nearly spilling my container of golden balls of wonder on the floor of her car. Corey and Janna got in and once all the doors were shut, we collectively lost it. Well, maybe Janna wasn’t laughing that hard, but Corey and I were doubled over. I think Janna was probably just more exhausted from having spent so many hours with the Kelly siblings.

****

Once Janna dropped us off, I came into the house and tried to recall the day’s events to Henry, while choking on another golden honey ball of wonder and having to squat down to keep from peeing; I was a hot, giddy mess. Chooch took one look at me and then went back on the computer.

Henry didn’t think any of it was funny, nor did he think I was a hero for saving Janna from vehicular manslaughter. I guess he had to be there.

Walked to McDonald’s to try their new pumpkin spice latte (nothing to text home about, obvi), but it’s mostly because I’m on vacation this week and had nothing better to do*. Maybe tomorrow I’ll walk to Starbucks. Envy my life.

*(I mean, besides cleaning, which just makes me want to cry every time I consider it.

You do it, Henry.)

We are outside of castle blood and my face is green for some reason like the green man in a tunnel. are quest  today was to find a scull,st0ne and a scroll I got the scull henry got the death scroll and Mommy got the stone. my favorite room was the science room and there was some crazy person in it. i don’t want to say anything about when i saw Katelyn.

Terror Town was not scary I told mommy to go in the back she was scared. Laura was in the FRONT I was in the middle. My ears were covered the whole time because there was screaming and the lady that opened the door for when we go in told us that there was real ghost haunting the place that’s what scared me  and this guy called me a chicken nugget and then a pig came over and said ohh a child ghh ghh. HI THIS IS ERIN. I guess it’s my turn to write about  my favorite part of Terror Town, which was definitely when the pushy woman in line behind us didn’t get to go in at the same time as us, because we probably would have been giving her and her kids piggy back rides through the whole thing judging by the way they stood so close to our backs when we were in line. I WAS NOT GOING TO LET THEM GET IN FRONT OF US. I HATE LINE JUMPERS!!!!

now it’s back to me at the end of the haunted house there was this guy in a grave yard and he looked like Freddy Kruger

because his shadow had a hat and was crouched down. When it was over I got a lollypop from this guy.

At the haunted trail at haunted hills hayride .com  OH MOMMY REMINDED ME ABOUT GOD FOR BID JANNA MET US THERE AND MOMMY AND LOURA TOLD ME TO HIDE FROM GOD FOR BID JANNA. the picture shows a sad clown in my FACE. personal space, NOT. when we were in line we  were the first ones in line the lady told us to get in a single file line when we were in the hut there was a cut off real head and told us the rules he said use kind words but I put up the middle finger and he saw what I did. But I was like “oh s**t he saw what I did” And the dumbness begins.

there was a grandma actor she said to me eat this rat tail num num num. And she told everyone else to lick grandfather’s heart but the good thing is that it was in a jar. And she said that she liked ERINS PURSE :tip: everyone says that.

I was so mad because I was wearing my new shoes and it was muddy I was pissed. THEY WERE NEW!!!

These photos are of my brother Corey in 2009. I think we need to do another photo shoot, like, super soon. No masks this time.

***

I’m off from work all this week so maybe I will be inspired to actually write something at some point. Any requests? Haha.

Today I was going through old Flickr sets and came across the one from when Janna, Blake and I toiled over a batch of STD cookies. (While Henry frowned from a distance.) That was such a fun night. I miss those days! Let’s have a reprise, Blake and Janna!

Here’s a snippet from that September night in 2008:

So while Henry slaved away on the kitchen, Blake performed serious Google image searches on various STDs while I bossed around Janna and basically sat around being cute. Then Henry realized he didn’t have corn syrup or some shit for the frosting, so while he was out we had a tea party and it was awesome because it was yet another thing that Henry wasn’t invited to. During our tea party, Blake ridiculed Janna’s selection of Earl Grey by saying that, “Earl Grey is for assholes.” My selective hearing heard, “Let’s race for abstinance” which had me squatting on the floor, squeezing back pee drops. Of course, no one else thought it was that hilarious, which only made it harder for me to not need to slip into a fresh pair of Depends. At some point, we were talking about egg harvesting and I tried to convince Blake that it was as easy as lounging in a tubful of ice, wielding a melon baller, and then creating a Craiglist post. Hopefully, he will teach all the girls at school this method.

Click here for more gnarly STD cookie photos, k bye!

This last week, I’ve been thinking a lot about my family, and how grateful I am that my brother Corey and I have managed to maintain a good relationship through all the bullshit and drama. My hope is for Chooch & Blake to stay tight in spite of their great age difference.

That being said, I think it’s time for a new brotherly photo shoot! These photos are from last November. It was a good day.

Alternately titled: Henry & Erin’s Many Pie-related Break-Ups

I’m pretty laid back in a lot of different scenarios—well, mostly the ones that involve sleeping or watching TV—but when it comes to hosting parties, I am TYPE FUCKING A. I’ve always really enjoyed having parties, and one of the reasons I love the pie party is that it gives me a reason to have a party in the park instead of my shack-house. At the pie party, I don’t have to worry about my cat Willie pissing on someone’s purse, which some people might consider a party foul. (Ha-ha, do people even say that anymore? I didn’t think so.)

The first pie party was pretty simple. Henry baked one pie. We threw some fake leaves and paper tablecloths down on the tables. I had name tag stickers to label the pies. Only four of my work friends came, 10-15 of my outside-of-work friends, and Henry’s entire family. But every year, it’s gotten bigger. I wasn’t even going to have one this year, but people started asking me “When is the pie party going to happen?” a few months ago, and apparently Henry wanted to have another one, too, so I conceded. At first, I wasn’t into it AT ALL. But then, I suddenly got inspired to have the BEST PIE PARTY EVER because maybe this would be the last one.

So I started scribbling down ideas during downtime at work and on the trolley. I scoured the Internet for weird pie recipes while pretending to listen to Henry talk about his day. And then I decided that since it was the fourth pie party, I wanted to do pie four ways. I kept trying to tell people about it because I was so excited, but no one really seemed too stoked on the idea, especially when I got to the “pie-flavored popcorn” part. But I don’t care. Henry carried out all of my ideas and we had pie four ways after breaking up four ways. (Don’t worry—we’re together again. Barely.)

The main pies were Salted Honey Lavender (Henry’s pick):

And the Cupcake Pie, of which I can say for sure that I am a fan. Basically, after Henry broke up all of the mini cupcakes, he poured some sort of custard mixture on it and when it baked, the custard bound everything together and kept the cupcakes moist, while the frosting melted and hardened into these perfectly-crunchy pockets of SUGAR OMG SUGAR. And then it was topped with more frosting. I liked it, but trust me–no one was banging down our door for the recipe, haha.

(I put the sprinkles on it!!!)

Then there was the neglected caramel apple pie popcorn made with homemade Mexican caramel! Oh shit, that caramel was amazing, you guys. I think it’s called cajeta and it is made with GOAT MILK. I don’t know why I was so excited about this fucking caramel. It was actually on my list of things that I was going to attempt to make myself, but that plan was met with some skepticism from people who know me a little too well, so I moved that to Henry’s To Do list. Which consisted of basically everything and the poor man was literally in the kitchen all weekend up until it was time to go to the pavilion to set up, which was supposed to be my job, but it’s hard to do when Henry forgets to bring 75% of the things I need and ends up having to drive to the nearest craft store (FORESHADOWING) and my helper (JANNA!!!) doesn’t get there until literally 5 minutes before the party starts, and it’s 82 degrees and humid in OCTOBER and I’m already sweating my makeup off and I can’t wait for people to arrive and start hugging me.

Um, anyway. The popcorn had pieces of leftover pie pop pie crust in it and I thought it was really good but I eventually had to walk around with the pie pan and force people to eat it. No love for pie-flavored popcorn.

The third type of pie Henry churned out was an array of mini pies in pumpkin, cherry bourbon and Gorgonzola fig which were my favorites but he ran out of fig after only making about eight of them, ugh. I was super excited to use the three-tiered pedestal for those.

I’m totally obsessed with these fucking pie pedestals, you guys. “We” worked so hard on them! I know I will find a billion different things to use them for during the Pie Party Off Season.

And then there were the pie pops, which honest to god were nearly the demise of Henry and me. After my failed attempt at baking a few weeks ago, I bought a pie pop maker on eBay thinking that if I had a machine, I could do it. Because my track record at operating machines is so stellar?

Guess what? Totally not any easier. I tried to help Henry make some Friday night when I came home from work but it was complete bullshit and, to cut out about 45 minutes of obscenities from the story, I threw a total fit and then sulked on the couch. So then I was convinced that the pie pops weren’t going to happen but my puppy dog Henry diligently churned them out the next night while Chooch and I were busy gallivanting around town with Janna and Laura.

Henry knows what’s up. (But then I came home and was mad that he made some without the pie pop maker so we had a huge fight and broke up.)

Sunday morning, Henry made glazes for the pie pops because I thought the crust wasn’t flavorful enough and then he taught me how to drizzle it on. And I succeeded!

I DID THAT DRIZZLE, YOU GUYS.

The pumpkins got all banged up en route to the park, so I was pissed about that, and then I was pissed that the free-form pie pops that Henry made were too top-heavy and barely stayed propped up in their pumpkin-display. They probably tasted like shit, but they sure looked pretty. So whatever.

If you were at the Pie Party on Sunday, you may not recognize the child in the above picture. But that is indeed a shirted-version of my son, Chooch, before he abandoned half his clothes in favor of wilderness chic. His only task was to fill my gold glitter mason jars with crayons, which he took very seriously by turning into this OCD crazy person who had to make sure each jar held the exact same number of crayons and then when he lost count at one point, he dumped all of them out and started over.

The idea was to use craft paper as tablecloths and put crayons on all of the tables, but HENRY only bought one roll which covered like, three tables. And then he brought a staple gun that only had ONE STAPLE in it, so we had no way to keep the paper on the tables. He already had to go back to the craft store anyway, because months ago, I bought several pieces of burlap to lay down on the pie table, and he swore that they were in the car, but only three pieces were there!!! THAT WAS NOT ENOUGH BURLAP! I NEEDED MORE PIECES OF BURLAP EVEN THOUGH NO ONE WAS GOING TO NOTICE BUT ME!!!!!

Another break-up in the books.

Anyway, Henry left to go to the craft store for burlap and tacks and also pick up some cases of water and ice, so Chooch and I pretty much just sat there, swinging our legs and being super bored with nothing to do. And then Henry came back and I said, “Oh good, give me the burlap” and he shouted, “DAMMIT” because of course he forgot the burlap. I was going to make him leave again but then people started showing up and that’s when we realized we didn’t have FORKS. So that took my mind off the burlap. Luckily, Kara had just arrived in time to save Henry from being disemboweled by my simmering glare because she had a bag of plastic utensils leftover in her car from Harland’s birthday party a few weeks ago, bless her goddamn party supply-hoarding heart.

And then Elizabeth came bearing thingies of coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts (and also her husband Mike and daughter Rachel) and I was like, “If I weren’t so socially awkward I would hug you” but instead I mumbled something about being stressed out and wanting to kill Henry. Elizabeth asked if I needed help and I kind of remember saying yes but not giving her anything to do. But god, that coffee was very appreciated. Thank you, Elizabeth!

It’s a fucking pie party. Nothing is happening other than people eating pie. I’m not walking down any fucking aisles, last time I checked, but I still get so stressed out that I’m almost (almost!) unable to enjoy myself. Luckily, I get distracted once people start showing up and eventually stop caring that half of the last pie table is un-burlapped.

A small crowd had assembled within a half hour and it finally occurred to me that no one was eating pie. “You didn’t tell them to,” Henry pointed out. So I stood up and said, “You can eat pie now” and then everyone did. I was unhappy with the plates Henry bought, but then too many people were there by the time I noticed so I guess that’s a fight we’ll have to save for another time.

At one point, I saw Henry flinch but I couldn’t tell if it was from my icy glare or the cupcake pie against his teeth.

I think I delegated too many pies to Henry, but he seems to be managing. So far, he has the two main pies baked and cooling. I tried to help him by assembling the chalkboard tags for the pies, but even that was too extreme for me. I hate crafting so bad, I can barely even muster the words to explain it. Even gluing is too much for me.

At one point, I walked in the kitchen to get something and Henry straight growled at me. Pie Baking Henry is scary. And also negligent. Chooch and I have literally been left to our own devices all day. We realized eventually that Henry hadn’t fed us yet!!!! So I had to order pizza all on my own, but thank god for online ordering. However, it’s still delivered by a human being, so I screamed like I always do when anyone knocks on the door and ran upstairs. Chooch, who has been dancing to Never Shout Never all day in his tightie whities, followed suit, so Henry had to drop the oven mitts and open the door. He was so angry about it too and pretty much dropped the pizza down on the dining room table and stalked back into the kitchen. It was like watching a horror movie that wasn’t supposed to be funny but totally made us laugh anyway.

So Chooch and I were quietly eating our pizza when I caught him smearing pizza grease all over his nude torso. “Ew! Why are you doing that?” I cried.

“Because Daddy didn’t give me a napkin,” Chooch replied with a shrug.

We are so doomed.

And then a few minutes later, Chooch said, “Remember when Daddy called us retards?”

Yes, son. Mommy remembers and wishes Daddy hadn’t used that word!

Meanwhile, Henry made a cupcake pie, which is either going to be fucking disgusting or a tongue orgasm. Basically, he poured some kind of custard concoction over this and then baked it. I mean, it smells wonderful! So we’ll see if anyone tries to discreetly upchuck their inaugural bite into a napkin.

Now Henry is popping popcorn for the pie-flavored popcorn that we’re making. HAHAHA don’t you love my insistence on plural pronouns. It was my idea at least.

Chooch and I are going to a haunted hayride tonight with Janna and Laura so Henry will be able to continue his baking marathon in peace. Maybe he can crank some Nugent on Spotify and bake in his underroos. If it gets the job done, what do I care?

Hope you’re having an exceptional Saturday, pie-eaters! And if you’re a Pittsburgh person, hope to see you at the pie party tomorrow! FOURTH ANNUAL, HOLLA.

This was originally posted in LiveJournal, March 4th, 2006 back when cell phones were less smart and more quaint. I was obsessed with pink Razrs thanks to being brainwashed by Us Weekly. I wanted to be like Paris Hilton, OK?! Don’t hate.

*****

Most of Wednesday afternoon was spent with me perched on the chair, leaning over the back and peering through the curtains of the front window, waiting for the UPS man to deliver my pink Razr. When it finally arrived, I barely held the door open long enough to thank the delivery man before slamming it shut in his face and tearing open the box with one of Henry’s off-limits box cutters. My hands shook with the anticipation of a teenage girl giving her first hand job as I plugged the charger into the wall and watched as the screen of my sparkling Razr lit up with a “Charging” notification. And then I sat there on the couch, phone cradled in my lap, glancing at the screen every three seconds with more fervor than I expended on that damn pregnancy test last August.

When it was finally charged, I turned it on and began adding pertinent info, like five of my 37 AIM screen names. I then sent out emails to my friends, announcing the arrival of my phone, spawning an onslaught of questions about battery life and other technical logistics, but the only answer I had to offer was that my ring tone was “All Cats Are Grey” by the Cure. Then I sat there with my phone in my hands and waited for it to ring. And it never did.

Henry and I went out to dinner when he came home from work, and I promptly turned off the phone. But once we were leaving, I hurriedly dug for it in my purse and flipped it open. I want to know if anyone called, I filled in Henry. “Did anyone call?” he asked. “No,” I said dejectedly. As we left Denny’s, I walked with my phone held out at arm’s length.

“What are you doing?” Henry asked.

“I want people to see that I have a pink Razr,” I said. Duh.

That night, Henry decided that he wanted to go out and get himself a cell phone, too. We went to Radio Shack where the cheap bastard scooped up an LG phone for $19.99. I kept holding my Razr up to his phone and snorting. This made him mad, and probably made his dick shrink a little out of inadequacy. Then we sat in the parking lot and acted like two people who had never seen cell phones before, pressing buttons and taking pictures of each other. I kept sending him pictures and connecting to the internet, causing Henry to freak out. “We got cell phones to save money, asshole! Your first bill is going to be $300 and I’m not helping you pay for it!”

Now he has me such a nervous wreck that when anyone calls me I freak out because I’m afraid to use any of my minutes. But I’ll throw down cash on ring and answer tones. Those things are important.

I programmed in Henry’s new number, with a voice command of “Ass boobie,” but every time I’d try and use it, I’d laugh too hard and it would say that the voice command couldn’t be found. With practice, I was able to use my serious voice and I can now bark out “Ass boobie” with the stone-faced austerity of a newscaster broadcasting live from the scene of a drive-by shooting.

Yesterday, when I was walking home from getting my hair done, I remembered that hey! I have a cell phone now and I think I’ll call my loving boyfriend. So we chatted for a lively two minutes until it came time for to cross the street and I remembered that I still can’t do much of anything while talking on a cell phone and yelled, “I HAVE TO GO OH MY GOD!” and then waved the phone wildly at my side while running across the busy street.

It was also unfortunate to have to say “Ass boobie” in public, because it was the only way I knew how to make the phone call him. I had to duck into the stoop of a store front, face the brick wall and pull my jacket up over the side of my face to give myself privacy. I was put in an awkward position again yesterday while on the phone with a Cingular representative. I was trying to get help with an answer tone that I downloaded but wasn’t working. I was using my regular phone for the call and the man I was speaking with told me to go ahead and call someone with the cell, just to establish a connection. I don’t know anyone’s phone number off by heart because I’m so used to having it programmed into whatever phone I’m using. The only programmed number in my cell phone was Henry’s. The only way I knew how to call him was to say “Ass boobie.” I didn’t want to say “ass boobie” with this dude on the other phone, so I began struggling, leaving streaks of perspiration all over the phone. I lied and said, “Haha, I can’t seem to get any of my friends to answer!” and the man was all, “Oh they don’t have to answer. As long as someone’s voice mail picks up, we’re fine.”

I felt so pressured and began to tell myself Think, Erin, think!. All I needed was one fucking phone number to call and naturally I couldn’t think of any. This went on for what felt like the entirety of a pap smear followed by the insertion of a catheter by the hands of an ill-tempered nurse with an alcohol problem complete with a grand finale of a “7th Heaven” marathon; I would mumble things like “Sorry I don’t have my address book programmed yet” (and even if I had, I wouldn’t have known how to call anyone from it!) among other flimsy excuses when the Cingular guy knew full well that the girl who was talking to was a friendless loser and probably wondered why she had even bothered getting a cell phone in the first place.

Finally, the Cingular man (probably overcome with pity) interrupted my witch hunt for a number to call and said, “OK here, call this number. It’s a restaurant down the street from me and it’ll be a free call for you. Just hang up once someone answers.” Then while he and I were both waiting for tech support to do their thing, I attempted to make jokes but he wasn’t laughing. There was no saving this conversation, so I kept quiet for the rest of the call.

I’ve since learned myself other ways to place calls with my phone. I guess it’s like how they say if you push a kid in water, he’ll learn to swim.

Today in the car, I was trying to figure out how to access my voice mail and Henry was like, “Um, it’s the same as any cell phone,” and he reached over to show me. Then he paused thoughtfully and asked, rather accusingly, “Don’t you know how to do anything with your phone?” Sure I do, I assured him, as I sent him a text message. I could see the dollar signs spinning in his eyes.

I give it two more days before the novelty wears off.

Marcy not caring about my Razr

You know how when you have a lot on your mind, and then you try to write/type and it just comes out a total mess? That’s what it’s been like for me all week (some may argue that it’s been years longer than just a week though), so I really have no business even writing in this thing today, but at the same time, I need to hear that methodical tap-tapping on the keyboard.

So you know what that means? Bulletpoints, bitches. Because I don’t have the mental stamina to finish the Palace of Gold story or start anything else that requires cohesive thought, really.

• Henry went against everything he believes in by publicly admitting that he loves me last week on Facebook. It was sweet at first because I had had a series of really bad days at work and he was trying to cheer me up, but then all these people were like, “Did you hack into Henry’s account?” and it made me realize that our relationship must honestly appear loveless to outsiders. Oh well, haha.
• Speaking of Henry, pie party enthusiasm finally kicked in for him Monday night and he actually started searching for a second pie to bake. (I already picked the first one for him.) I’m not going to say what either pie is because I’m a firm believer in the science of jinxing, and I really don’t want these pies to fail! In addition to that, he finished assembling the pie pedestals and he made little chalkboard tags so all of the pies will be identifiable. (I should mention that while I think Pinterest is dumb, Henry LOVES Pinterest. Literally every time I look at his phone, if he’s not playing Candy Crush, he’s scrolling through Pinterest.)
• Tonight is the Penguins’ home opener! Barb asked me if I wanted to go with her tonight, but of course I have the most inconvenient shift in the history of the Law Firm, and I didn’t want to call off or request a half day with no notice. Look at me, actually giving a shit about a job that doesn’t give a shit about me. (Do you know how many times I’ve called off work in the 3.5 years I’ve worked here? Twice.)
• Speaking of work, some secretary basically told me last week that I don’t know how to do my job, which, you know, is basically something that I think to myself 99% of my time here, but thanks for driving that insecurity home, Honest Secretary.
• Maybe I will live-blog a few hockey games this season, if Sandy nags me enough. ;)
• I am so thankful that I have a job, I really am, but there are some days when I’m sitting here telling the same secretary for the 87th time how to fix the same user error that she’s had 87 times, and I just want to cry because what am I doing? I feel like my brain is going to atrophy. Why can’t my days be filled with music (listening to and talking about and laying in the middle of Warped Tour everyday all summer forever) and designing weird shit on Photoshop and having people HEAR my ideas. Maybe even some writing if I have to.
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  And then I remind myself that it’s OK, I will just keep on keeping on so that I can go to concerts and Warped Tour and amusement parks and feel alive, and all of these days of feeling listless and dull will just make my heart feel that much brighter when these things happens. It’s OK. Just smile through it. Fucking smile, motherfuckers. Even when it feels impossible.

• At least I have Simpsons: Tapped Out.
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  Thanks, Brandy! I made Janna and Corey download it too because I needed more donuts. Janna’s Springfield looks super dumb though.

• I would like to thank Chooch for making me a fan of Never Shout Never. I’ve listened to them every morning this week on my own accord! Even the older songs that I used to think were dumb just sound better to me. Maybe because I’m not as jaded? (You’d never know that though based on the negative tone of this post, OMG I just went back and skimmed it and I sound like a brat.) I sing all of the songs really loud while skipping in circles around Marcy. Which she loves, you know. At least it’s uplifting, you guys:

• Gayle randomly gave me a Smokey the Bear pin which I will now proceed to wear every day, watch me. It’s going to be my new signature…thing. “Yeah, you know…Erin Rachelle Kelly. The girl with the Jay Leno chin and the Smokey the Bear pin.”
• Earlier today, I made coffee at work and then afterward the “Add water” alert came on the Keurig and you know what? I DID NOT ADD WATER. I was like “Fuck you, I’m always adding water! I want to be the lazy motherfucker for once!” And then I took my Goonies mug and LEFT THE KITCHEN. Take that, whoever made coffee after me. Which was probably me, now that I think about it. Fuck.
• Hey, the Pittsburgh Pirates are doing things. And the STEELERS aren’t, which fills me with glee because I hate them so much. Although Henry always reminds me how wonderful football season is because it means most of the city is either at the game, at home watching the game, at a bar watching the game, so we are able to go out in public without suffering the crowds. And I do appreciate that.
• Remember last year when Gayle brought me that chocolate meteor with an apple center? Actually, it would be kind of weird if you remembered something like that.
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  But anyway, she brought in two different kinds the other day and told me to choose one. TWO DIFFERENT KINDS! And I chose neither. Can you believe it? Weight Watchers is teaching me self-control, I guess.

• Here, let me just take care of Throwback Thursday while I’m at it. I found an old wallet/pocketbook thingie from high school and I mean, who doesn’t carry around photos of their 4-year-old self? I also had a photo of an inmate pen pal, a folded-up magazine page featuring an interview with Layzie Bone from Bone Thugs n Harmony, and a shit ton of pager numbers written on receipts and tattoo parlor business cards.

• I’ve been trying to go back and edit some old posts, because when I say I don’t proofread before publishing these things, I mean it. Call it laziness, call it your basic blasé mindset, but most of the time when I write on here, I’m just trying to get DONE. The only time I pause to proofread is when I’m writing something for someone else. Funny, right? That I would care less about the stuff on my own site. I wish I still had some of that zeal like I used to, where I was almost militant about triple-reading every single paragraph. But now, I do it when I get around to it (which is oftentimes not at all), or if Henry actually reads something for once and catches a typo. Anyway, my point is that some (OK, most) of these blog posts I’ve been editing are so embarrassing. You’d never know I went to college for this bullshit.
• Tomorrow is going to be a scary day for two people that I love very dearly and that pisses me off. Bad things/good people. You know the story. I predict that I’m going to be doing the hare krishna chant a lot tomorrow morning. Get stoked, Marcy.
• It’s supposed to be 81 degrees with RAIN ALL DAY on Sunday. If this happens, it will go down in history as the first pie party with poor weather. I keep checking the forcast every hour and I’m so stressed about it, you would think it was my wedding day. I mean, I might as well treat it as such SINCE I AM PROBABLY NEVER GOING TO HAVE A REAL WEDDING DAY.
• I fucking promise you that I’m not even in a bad mood today. My fingers are possessed. These are not my words.
• But….since I’m being such a brat, I might as well end with a bratty visual that I texted Henry earlier today with a super sweet “hate you” attached:

• My distractions aren’t working. Tell me things.

Ever since I went to the Palace of Gold, a Hare Krishna compound in the hills of West Virginia, I’ve been promising my brother Corey that I would take him there. And then Janna wanted to go too, and I had all of these wonderfully dark visions of her getting “taken” by the Hare Krishnas and spending the next eternity singing and selling books at some tiny county airport in Idaho. Spoiler alert: That didn’t happen. :(

But goddamn if we didn’t have the best day ever anyway!

NO SHOES IN THE PALACE.

Janna was asking me about the peacock stained glass before the tour started, and I was like, “Oh, you will learn about the significance of the peacock during the tour.”

The tour was much shorter this time around, mostly because we had the most apathetic, exhausted tour guide in the joint, and all she said about the peacocks was that there four stained glass windows in their likeness. Thanks, we can count.  Corey and I could have been more blatant with our clandestine photo-taking and she probably wouldn’t have cared.

I’m not going to reiterate facts, but if you’re interested, perhaps my post from last year’s tour will enlighten you. Although it is likely mostly just full of smack-talk for the other people in the tour group. You know how I do.

Luckily, there were three middle-aged Indian men on the tour with us, and the one would occasional offer me extra information about the things that the guide was glossing over. They were really kind and I was relieved because when we first walked in, I thought for sure they were going to write us off as ignorant crackers. I mean, not that we aren’t. But it was nice of them to give us a chance.

I mostly tried to not make eye contact with Corey because I knew he’d make me lose it and then we would end up doing our weird gang-laughter in the middle of the echo-y marbled halls of the palace.

I noticed the grounds seemed to be in the same state of disarray as they were last year, so I guess they don’t get as many post-tour donations as they’d like to. I feel like organizing a 5K for them. What? Everyone else has a 5K! Why not the Palace of Gold?!

Let’s run for Krishna, you guys! Or from. Maybe that will be more fun. Running from Krishna and chubby little Butter Thieves in the backwoods of West Virginia. I’m going to organize this. I’ll let you know when you can sign up.

The rose garden is so fucking creepy to me. I’m sure it’s something that is universally considered to be beautiful (it’s won awards, after all!), but it just seems like a really bad scene to me.

I took this picture just for Chooch, who hates butterflies. Always thinking of my son. What a great mom I am.

I got stuck on rose thorns right after this and Janna had to rescue me. Also, if I look drunk, it’s because I was DRUNK ON LIFE. (Seriously, I really look that dopey most of the time, though.)

We laughed like total hyenas for like 10 straight minutes because of this picture.

Corey took this when I wasn’t paying attention and I’m not sure what was going on, other than I was fixing my shoe and probably being eaten by rose bushes, but I love it. Also, I was wearing two different sets of stripes and polka-dot pants because I can. It enhances the fun.

Krishna kat.

OMG here’s Swami Jannamanama emerging from the Hare Krishna bathroom stall! She didn’t appreciate that I immediately posted this on Instagram but I was like, “What? It’s not like you’re nude.”

Up next: Awkward cafeteria dining, peer pressure rose water, and those giant statue things again. Meanwhile, I’m going to try and get Corey to guest post about his experience!

Henry: “Where are the car keys?”

Me, in my patented teenaged ‘duh’ tone: “Um, in the new car key dish! God.”

Henry: “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know we had a ‘new car key dish’.”

Bitch, better get learnt then.

Before the show on Saturday, we ate at Jioio’s in Latrobe. According to Henry, he and I were going to eat there one time during the Dark Years, which was a time pre-Chooch where Henry and I fought 24:7 and I have it mostly blacked out. (I should specify that when I say “Henry and I fought,” I obviously mean “I fought.” I don’t know what I was so belligerent about back then! I guess it was just a matter of me being waaay less self-regulated, mentally and emotionally. I hadn’t yet learned about “control,” I guess. Anyway, if you go by Henry’s story, we apparently walked into Jioio’s for dinner and I threw a fit so we left.

So this was my first time eating there! And aside from my baked cod being way overcooked, everything else was great. The pizza almost reminded me of real pizza I’ve had in Italy, and I wished that I had ordered my own instead of sneaking small bites of Chooch’s. Our waitress was wonderful, but the best part was hands down the CUTE BUSBOYS WHOA LORDY.

Chooch said he hated his pizza because it tasted like there was honey in it, yet he ate half of it with barely a breath in between. Kids are so fucking weird. I don’t remember picky when I was a kid. Which is probably why I was so fat.

Speaking of being a fat kid, somehow the topic of Slim Fast came up the other night when Henry and I were getting ready for bed, and I mentioned that I got bags of their popcorn in my Easter basket when I was eleven.

“That’s fucked up,” Henry said, honestly disgusted.

“What? I was happy about it!” I laughed. And people wonder why my defense mechanism is self-deprecation.

I wonder what the last 25 years of my life would have been like if I hadn’t spent every single day obsessing over my weight.

Hey, speaking of being fat! We went out for our weekend ice cream Sunday night and it was wildly disappointing. First of all, I wanted to go back to Tasty Creme because the last time we were there, Henry waited until after I got my ice cream cone to point out that they had a toasted coconut topping, which sounded fucking precious. I HAD TO HAVE THIS SUNDAY NIGHT. It was all I could think about.

Except that dumb Henry read the sign wrong and it was actually a toasted coconut dip. Like the chocolate dips they do, but coconut. I was immediately dismayed but ordered it anyway because I felt pressured. Then I was like, “UGH I SHOULD HAVE GOT STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE” because I wanted to get that the night before at Jioio’s but our waitress brought our check over without asking if we wanted dessert, which I ALWAYS interpret as “YOU DON’T NEED DESSERT, CHUNKS.” So Henry ordered that instead of what he actually wanted, and then we swapped, because that coconut dip was actually disgusting.

I’m not just saying that because I’m still pouting about it either. It was gross. It even LOOKED gross. So Henry had to eat that and he was so annoyed about it and I was like, “What’s your problem and why aren’t you used to this by now? Be a fucking man and take one for the team.”

Sometimes I just don’t know about him.

And he had to eat most of my strawberry shortcake too, because I started to get sick about the fifth bite. And there was a super annoying family sitting at the other picnic table and something about them was just screaming, “WE ARE ON THE LAM!!!” to me.

The end.

Well, you guys. Saturday night had the potential to go down as the biggest fail since I tried to make cookies out of bread. We arrived at the Saint Vincent campus in Latrobe around 6:00. Henry made us wait in the car while he asked two college girls where the Carey Center was because we didn’t want Chooch to hear. “Look, Daddy’s talking to GIRLS!” Chooch squealed, and we laughed about that during the entire walk to the Carey Center, which I guess is their basketball court thingie. Chooch kept asking, “Is this a college? What are we doing here?” so for awhile I was like, “We’re enrolling you early, Doogie Howser.” There was a small gathering of kids outside of the building, waiting for doors to open, so I figured that was as good a time as any to reveal his surprise.

So I gave him his ticket and he just stared at it.

“Is this my surprise?” he asked, not even TRYING to mask his disappointment. (He was being a total jerkface to me a few weeks ago so I snapped and told him that I had a surprise for him but I was going to give it to an orphan instead. So he knew something was cooking.) I said yes, and he was like, “I want a new surprise.”

“You don’t want to see Never Shout Never?!” I asked, trying not to scream because I have a “cool mom” façade to uphold and there were too many kids around.

“Yeah, but I want something from Amazon,” Chooch sighed. WHAT THE FUCK. Henry was in the will call line (he waited until three days ago to buy his ticket) so I texted him and it went something like I DON’T WANT TO BE A MOM ANYMORE THIS SUCKS LET’S JUST GO HOME WHAT A FUCKING SPOILED BRAT HE IS.

Henry turned around in his line and just laughed at me. “It’ll be fine,” he texted back.

And you know what? It really was fine. It was better than fine. It was a fucking fantastic night and Chooch and I really bonded! We had a ton of inside jokes that would make us double over in laughter (Man Boobs and bubblegum) and Henry would laugh too but then he would say, “Haha, what?” and we would just say, “You wouldn’t understand.” And then he would frown and bristle his mustache and we would laugh harder.

The venue was perfect for a seven-year-old. It was literally a college gym, so there were bleachers adjacent to the stage, and the view was unobstructed. Before the show started, Chooch acted like he owned the place, catching the eye of various blond college girls and then shrugging it off like it was no big thing. And then someone near the front of the stage started batting around a red balloon, and everyone acted like they had never batted around a balloon before, while the rest of us acted like we had never watched anyone bat around a balloon before, and somehow it became wildly entertaining. Especially when someone accidentally made the balloon waft out of reach on the stage, and there was a frantic outcry. They kept trying to get various roadies to grab it for them, but their cries were unheard. Finally, someone on stage noticed and returned the balloon to the crowd amid ear drum-perforating cheers.

Chooch then decided he wanted is own balloon to bat around on the bleachers and wanted Henry to take him to find one. Grumpy Henry grumped, “No! There aren’t any balloons out there! THOSE KIDS BROUGHT THAT ONE!” Because he didn’t want to irritate his hemorrhoids by standing up and walking, I guess. But then two, um, “white balloons” appeared in the mix and Chooch lost his mind. “SERIOUSLY?! WHERE ARE THEY GETTING THESE BALLOONS!?” he cried. But luckily, the lights went out soon after and the show commenced before anyone needed to make up an explanation for the “pocket balloons.”

Maps & Atlases opened, and all three of us really liked them. Unfortunately, the slovenly middle-aged couple behind us who kept kicking us in the back did not like them and were very vocal about it. After the Podunk wife complained for the fifth time about how “boring” the band was, her hick husband drawled, “Well shit, they ain’t Iron Maiden” which made her cachinnate a mouthful of phlegm and poor English onto the back of my head. Turns out they were there were Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, who I can’t remember being so terrible, but they were pretty terrible and provided the only lowlight of the night.

During Maps & Atlases set, Henry nudged me and pointed to the side of the stage, where Christofer Drew was watching the band. I in turn nudged Chooch and that kid fucking FLIPPED HIS SHIT. He sat there and straight stared at him until Christofer eventually walked back behind the stage.

“I want one of their albums,” Chooch shouted to me, gesturing over his shoulder to Maps & Atlases. What a wonderful thing to hear from a kid!

Red Jumpsuit Apparatus came on next. I know of them, I remember when they had that One Real Big Hit a handful of years ago, but I have never really paid attention to them. And that Saturday night, I was assured that I hadn’t been missing much. I’m sure to a lot of people, this is a great band. And that’s fine. They seemed like they knew what they were doing up there, but it wasn’t my thang, you guys. It was boring and loud for the sake of being loud. It was cheesy guitar solos. It was Southern rock with boring vocals. It was a guitarist that looked like Taylor Lautner (Henry’s observation, and I laughed that he knew Taylor Lautner’s name) even though Chooch kept arguing that he looked like Justin Bieber.

Chooch was anti-Red Jumpsuit from the get go.

“Ain’t no one got time for that!” he screamed into my ear. And, “Oh, the horror! Kill me now!”

But the jerk-slobs behind us were stoked, that’s for sure!

After playing entirely too long, Red Jumpsuit finally left the stage and we all exhaled in relief. They totally threw off the vibe of the night, and Chooch was acting downright offended by them. He kept forgetting “Apparatus” and started calling them Red Jumpsuit Pfffffft, spraying me with spit every time.

But then Never Shout Never came on and my lord, I knew Chooch had a big-ass mouth, but I never thought a scream so 1989 NKOTB GIRLY could come barreling out of it like it did at the moment. That kid was going NUTS. He inadvertently punched me in the face a few times while overzealously waving his arms in the air.

The second song they played was “Trouble,” which is Chooch’s all-time favorite. He sang along to every word and his eyes were GLISTENING WITH TEARS. I thought maybe I was seeing things, but Henry and I discussed this on the ride home while Chooch was sleeping in the backseat, and Henry confirmed that he witnessed Chooch crying several times throughout the night. HE IS MY SON FOR REAL, YOU GUYS! I officially don’t care how much everyone thinks he looks like just Henry and 0% like me! He has all of my emotions!

God help us all.

I feel like a real douchebag. I used to make fun of Never Shout Never when Christofer Drew hit the scene six years ago (when he was only 16!). I thought he was so stupid-looking, like this weird emo-hippie hybrid who could pass as the second-coming of Jimmy from H.R. Pufnstuf.

And I never really gave his music a chance because it was too “happy-sounding” and we all know how doom n’ gloom I am. I skipped over him every time he was at Warped Tour, I was disgusted when I saw his parts in the Warped Tour documentary that came out last year because he was so negative about the scene. But somehow, one of his songs (“What Is Love?”) made it onto a mixed CD I made for one of our road trips last spring. I don’t know if I had the track on the computer from a compilation or what, but I put it on this CD (yes, I still make mixed CDs in this day and age OMG) and while it didn’t nauseate me, someone in the backseat REALLY latched on to it. I didn’t think it was really going to amount to much, but when I found out that NSN was playing Warped Tour this time around, Chooch said, “Thank god.”

But then he didn’t even really care! We stood near that stage for maybe a song or two, and then Chooch was ready to move on. But a few weeks later, he and I walked down to the Exchange because I wanted to buy the new Hands Like Houses and sometimes they get new releases there. They didn’t, and the girl who was working kept trying to look in the electronica section when I told her it was post-hardcore; way to know your stuff, dumbass. But they had a Never Shout Never EP there, and Chooch said he wanted it. It was $5 so I was like, “Whatever,” figuring that he would listen to it once and it would get thrown to the wayside in favor of Minecraft videos on his phone. But he played the FUCK out of that EP, and then I bought him the “What Is Love?” album and he played the FUCK out of that, memorized all the words almost immediately, proceeded to watch 259451259745 NSN videos on YouTube, and then found Christopher Drew on Instagram.

I can’t stress enough how important I believe music is. Yeah, I get: everyone thinks forcing young children to play some form of organized team sport is like THE FOUNDATION for a healthy childhood, but to me, music is just as important. Chooch is a really emotional kid, some of those emotions seem really advanced to me—this isn’t me bragging. This is me being legitimately concerned that my kid is suddenly not going to have an outlet for those emotions because some days he reminds me of Erin Rachelle Kelly at Fifteen. But seeing how connected he’s become to music is somewhat of a relief to me. I mean, this isn’t like a kid hearing an LMFAO song on the radio and singing along. This is a kid devouring everything he can find about an artist, poring over lyrics, asking me what certain parts of the songs mean. Music heals, you guys.

I thought Chooch’s NSN-mania was cute, and I was thankful that it wasn’t something really terrible like Fresh Beat Band or Katy Perry, but I still didn’t really get the appeal. After Saturday night, I think I can officially say that my mind has been effectively changed. That kid is a fucking PERFORMER. His banter with his bassist and drummer, and the crowd, was entertaining and not at all annoying. You know how sometimes it’s like, “OK STFU AND SING, YOU MOTHERFUCKER? I DIDN’T PAY TO HEAR YOU TALK?!” It wasn’t like that. The between-song hijinks were just as entertaining as the actual music and I even caught Henry smiling. HENRY—SMILING! I wish it wasn’t so dark in there so I could have photographed that, as well as captured video of Chooch going nuts.

They played for about 90 minutes, so we didn’t get out of there until around 11:30. Chooch started losing steam around 10:30; I put my arm around him (look at me, being a mom!!), but every time he’d start to fall asleep on my shoulder, they would play a song that he loved, so he snap his head up and start singing and clapping. Before one song, Christofer started to talk about how he used to smoke a lot of cigarettes. Chooch cupped a hand around his mouth and yelled to me, “‘Coffee and Cigarettes’! I know that’s what he’s going to sing next!” (Except that Chooch calls them “cigarats.”) And then when the band played the first few notes, Chooch smirked and yelled, “See? ‘Coffee and Cigarats’. I knew it!” And when he played “Can’t Stand It,” kids started breaking away from the crowd to dance with each other. And I gotta say, it was a refreshing change from the circle pits and walls of death that are prevalent at the shows I normally attend.

And now I kind of think that Christofer Drew is adorable. I guess I always assumed he was trying too hard, what with the warpaint he used to wear on his face and the wolf hat-wearing and the acting like he just stepped out of Henry’s wardrobe circa 1972. But this is who he is, for real. A walking, talking, no-shoe-wearing Woodstock representative in this scary 21st Century Land who just wants everyone to love each other. I get it now, Christofer Drew. I get it. I’m a fan. And I’m happy that I get to share this with Chooch now before he becomes a surly teenager who doesn’t want his lame mom to like the same music as him.

When we got back to the car, I turned to Chooch and asked, “So, now do you think this was a good surprise?

And in this earnest, sincere voice, he shook his head and quietly answered yes. He then proceeded to excitedly talk a mile a minute about the show before passing out for the hour drive home to Pittsburgh. Totally worth it. But I’m still not posting the video of when I gave Chooch his ticket because it pisses me off so bad! Even though Henry tried to explain to me that a concert ticket doesn’t mean the same thing to a 7-year-old as it would to a teenager, and I guess I understand that. Thankfully, the actual concert was another story!

I have a feeling someone is going to be asking for a ukulele for Christmas.

This was very necessary, though neither Marcy nor Henry seemed to think so.