[I wrote this 5 years ago. Read or don’t read. Exercise your right! Wooo!]

“Please don’t butter my bread.”

Jimmy was going to play baseball that day. He liked playing baseball because his parents weren’t there with him on the field, arguing about taxes and Mother’s affair with the milkmaid and his sister Janie who got knocked up by the Hispanic pool boy at the Y. When the girls were watching from the fence, he would make sure to run real fast, heels clipping the backs of his thighs as he manuevered between the bases. If the girls weren’t there, and it was just Orvil and Petey, the two retarded kids who wore back braces and were not allowed on the field, he would jog lazily around the outfield, pretending like the low-hanging sun was blinding him if he tried to catch fly balls.

Sometimes he would write cuss words like fuck and cooze in the dust, coating the toe of his shoe with a camel-colored powder. If Alastair came too close, Jimmy could erase the evidence with one swift movement.

Alastair was a snitch. He told school bully Sam that Jake stole a piece of bubblegum from Sam’s cubby during recess, and Sam punished Jake with a black eye and made him choke on his own tongue as a final piece of retribution.

Jake had a problem with swallowing his tongue.

“Please don’t butter my bread!”

Jimmy hoped it didn’t rain today, like the weatherman said it would. He wanted to go down to the creek after everyone tired of baseball (usually after two innings) and fish for guppies. That’s what he would tell Mother, anyhow, but once he got down to the woods, he would climb into a tree and pull out Father’s dirty magazines from his satchel.

That’s how he got the best vocabulary in his class.

“Mother, please don’t butter my bread!” Jimmy begged one last time, watching her collect the freshly browned slices of bread from the toaster.

Jimmy liked playing baseball, and he liked sneakily etching swear words on the field and he liked the excitement of watching Jake swallow his tongue. He liked clandestinely pouring over his Father’s dirty magazines and learning words like “pulsating” and “cocktease” and “titty fucking.” Jimmy wanted to continue doing all of these things, but he wouldn’t be able to if his bread was buttered.

“Jimmy, what’s gotten in to you?” Mother yelled, as he wrestled the tub of butter from her hands.

“I watched Father sprinkle rat poison in the butter last night,” Jimmy said, grabbing his dry toast and running off for the baseball field.

Mother silently dropped the tub into the garbage can.

Alternately Titled: How Erin & Henry Almost Broke Up at the Fair Because of the Law Firm Walking Challenge

Oh, the fair at night. Time to smile dreamily at the lights, cuddle up close to your meatslab, look at your pedometer and realized JESUS FUCK IT’S 10:48PM AND I’M ONLY AT 17,000 STEPS AND THE FAIR CLOSES AT 11PM AND IT TAKES AN HOUR TO GET HOME HOW WILL I EVER REACH 20,000 BY MIDNIGHT?!

At the moment of my discovery (and subsequent high-voltage freak out), Henry was already walking toward the exit.

“Wait!” I exclaimed. “Everyone should go on the ferris wheel one last time.” (This made the kids cheer and who wants to say no to cheering kids? I mean, besides me?)

“Aaaaand, while that’s happening,” I added in my creepy salesman tone, “I’ll just go ahead and walk around the fairgrounds in a quick pace.”

Seri volunteered to accompany me on my walking race against time, with the stipulation that her flip flops were very thin and she would prefer to walk upon grassy surfaces only. I pretended to be sympathetic to her podiatric handicap, for about FIVE MINUTES. And then I was back to yanking her all around the grounds, atop gravel paths and Skoal cans and the discarded spirits of rookie carnies.

Most of the vendors had packed up for the night; the lights were off inside the game tents; and all the food slingers were milling about their snack trucks, smiling at the thought of single-handedly progressing the American obesity epidemic. It was a side of the fair I’ve never seen because we never stay that late, and now I’m kicking myself as I realize I probably missed some prime carny antics. Carnies After Dark, can you image the debachery that goes on inside their moist, beefy underpants?

Someday, I’m going to go behind the scenes.

Seri and I made it back to the ferris wheel right before 11PM. Henry was trying to hide his irritation since we were among new people, but he had that strained,  simulated smile on his lips – the kinds that serial killers apply before they ask that hot co-ed if she needs help crossing the road to her sudden death. So I knew he was trying to appear jovial despite a burgeoning need to garrote me with piano wire when I pointed out that I still hadn’t accumulated 20,000 and hey here’s nother great idea — perhaps I could walk back with Seri, Pete and Corey who all parked in a very faraway lot, and then Henry and Chooch could just drive over there to meet me. That way I would certainly meet my goal in spite of the fairgrounds closing.

“Whatever,” Henry huffed, exiting the fairgrounds with Chooch.

Corey, Seri and I walked ahead of Single Dad Pete, who was busy trying to placate two exhausted mini-Chooches. It was hilarious to me (but not to Pete, I’m sure) because they sounded JUST LIKE CHOOCH with their “This was the worst day ever!” complaints because HENRY had lied to them and told them all the games were shut down before they actually were. Way to go Henry, you dick.

However, for all the vocal vitriol they had going on, they were actually presenting very little of a struggle. I even turned around and commented on the fact that despite all the whining, they somehow looked calm. Seri was all upset about it and I pointed that the scene would look pretty casual to a deaf person.

Seri and Pete had parked a good distance away from the fairgrounds, and Corey was even further away. It was well past 11pm by the time we reached Seri and Pete’s car, and most of the grass lot was dark and empty. As we were all saying goodbye, Henry called me to see what was going on. All I was able to get out before we got disconnected was, “I’m saying goodbye and then I’m going to walk back.”

And by “back,” I meant “back to that particular lot’s entrance,” which was what we had agreed on before splitting up. However, when I reached the entrance, Henry wasn’t there waiting like a good puppy. I called him and he said, “Well, you said you were walking back, so I turned around and went back!”

He had gone all the way back to the other lot.

Let me tell you something about the Big Butler Fair – it’s the largest fair in Western Pennsylvania. I don’t know anything about square miles or acreage or anything that might help a person understand just how great an expanse these grounds really are, so just let me say that they are really fucking large and pretend like you understand.

The grounds are really fucking large.

At first, I exclaimed, “No! That’s even better actually. Just stay there and I’ll come to you.” I was practically licking my lips like those pedometer numbers were a big bloody steak and I was someone who might actually get turned on by big bloody steaks.

Everything was going great! I was pumping my arms and powerwalking toward the direction of my estranged love when suddenly my path was obstructed by a large fence.

I do not climb fences.

There was no other way to get back to the other parking lot.

“Walk down the road!” Henry barked when I called him and hysterically filled him in.

“I am not walking down the HIGHWAY AT NIGHT!” I screamed, not like it mattered because there was NO ONE ELSE IN THE PARKING LOT BY THAT POINT. NO ONE ELSE YOU GUYS I WAS ALL ALONE.

YOU CAN TELL I’M STILL UNDER DURESS BECAUSE I CAN’T STOP TYPING IN CAPSLOCK.

Meanwhile, Henry is doing that thing where vignettes of fantastical murder scenes dance through his head like blood-lusting Sugar Plum fairies, and then snaps, “Well, what the fuck do you want me to do, Erin!?”

What a stupid question. Call Punjab and have him helicopter over to me and hoist me over the fence with the sheer strength of his unraveled turban, Henry you cocksucker.

“I don’t know, maybe COME BACK AND GET ME!?” I yelled, marching back to the parking lot entrance, fighting that awful sting of angry tears that Henry is so good at conjuring. He should be next year’s magic act at the fair.

Henry kept saying he didn’t know where I was, and every time I would have to yell, “I am right across from the motherfucking general store where you tried to buy sunscreen a few hours ago, dickhead!!” over again, it felt like my eyes were going to squirt out of their sockets. Oh, rage!

By now, I’m at the entrance. There is a cop parked nearby which makes me feel a sick combination of safety and anger. ENJOYING THE SHOW, ASSHOLE? And then I see Henry pull into the parking lot of the general store and proceed to sit there. I called him and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Walk across the street,” he barked, as 56 motorcycles and 87 big rigs went roaring by. Oh, I see what you’re doing there, Henry. Nice try. I refused, but he couldn’t turn into the parking lot to get me because there were barrels and cones all over the road, so he had to keep driving away from me in order to find an exit and turn around so he’d be on the correct side of the road to pull in.

Needless to say, when he finally came back, I huffed over to the car, threw myself into the passenger seat, slammed the door and tersely said, “Do no talk to me.”

“Yeah, like I even want to,” he mumbled.

But our silence only lasted for about 10 minutes because I always end up laughing and how could anyone stay mad at my adorable face?!

The next day, Chooch randomly mused, “Wait, weren’t you guys fighting last night?” He was half asleep in the car when everything went down.

Henry pointed at me with his big dumb thumb and Chooch said, “Ooooh. Because of Mommy’s walking.”

You’ll be happy to know that I got my 20,000 steps that night though! The last 1,000 of which came coated with Ju-on.

[Side Note: The Law Firm Walking Challenge concluded on July 8. Team Apple wound up in 15th place overall, and as an individual I placed 7th out of 249 or something. I am not pleased. My last week of walking was totally pathetic. There were obstacles that not even someone with the steeliest of wills could overcome, 100 degree heat being one of them. But good news, guys! We were instructed to keep our pedometers BECAUSE THERE MIGHT BE ANOTHER CHALLENGE BY THE END OF SUMMER! I’m totally picking my own team this time.]

I. Watching grown men have their innards minced on spinny rides

Oh, Pete and Corey look ecstatic in these photos, sure; but the truth is that they were both trying not to give innocent bystanders a puke-wash. The fact that they kept everything down is a miracle, considering Pete is no stranger to losing his lunch on a carnival ride, according to Seri. Maybe he’ll let me interview him about that experience someday.

I was just happy that I didn’t have to ride the Sizzler again, after Chooch dragged me on once immediately upon arrival and then I needed to visit a witch doctor to get my brain to stop rattling to the beat of Call Me Maybe. But cold sweats sure feel great on a ninety degree day, even if they do bring on waking nightmares of child birth, except instead of a child, you’re birthing a nine pound fecal log of fear, anxiety and complete disregard for your own life.

II. Birthing a nine pound fecal log of fear, anxiety and complete disregard for your own life.

A/k/a riding the Zipper! My favorite ride of all time! The above picture is Corey after riding the Zipper! He hates it! AHHHHHH THE ZIPPER&*(&(*^&(*^%%$$##@#$!!

If only Henry could get me that excited.

Anyway, Corey reluctantly agreed to ride the Zipper even though he’s approximately 5 inches too tall and his feet bend backward every time the carny slams the cage shut on us. And then the ride starts and we’re in a state of perpetual tailspin and suddenly I’m strangulated by SHEER TERROR and I can no longer laugh at Corey’s anguish because OMG I’M IN ANGUISH!

BUT IT FEELS SO GOOD!

Have you ever ridden the Zipper? If so, you know that it’s a deceiving little sonofabitch, like a miniature ferris wheel flattened into the shape of an oval, and instead of offering a picturesque view of the lands below, you get a frontseat upside down glimpse of DANGER DANGER while being blinded by flashes of impending death, which may or may not include montages of Carrot Top going down on your granny while you’re scrambling around collecting your blown-off appendages like a warzone Easter egg hunt.

Meanwhile, Corey was muttering things like “Oh fuck” and “Why???” in a disgusted monotone that sounded uncannily like our father, who is perpetually displeased about most everything in life except The Bourne series and Caramel Caribou ice cream.

Some of the Zipper’s greatest hits include:

1. Bolts Popping in D Minor
2. I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight (When Our Zipper Cage Crashed To The Ground)
3. Somebody That I Used To Know (Puked On The Zipper)
4. What Makes You Beautiful (Is The Plastic Surgery You Had To Get After Your Face Was Cheese-Grated In That Zipper Disaster)
5. Part of Me (Got Amputated When the Carny Slammed The Zipper Cage Shut)
6. (The Zipper Launched Me Into the Atmosphere & Now I’m Up Here With the) Starships

III. Having other children there to entertain my child.

Having other children there to entertain my child. Highly recommended.

IV. CLOWNS!

A clown named Popcorn! Who couldn’t love a clown named POPCORN?! Other than people who have seen Killer Klowns From Outer Space and/or lost a loved one to a popcorn accident.

There was another clown there who was totally enamored by Seri. All the poor pasty-faced man wanted to do was twist her a heart from a balloon and she was being so standoffish! Damn, if he had shown me even an ounce of that attention, I’d have taken him back behind the 4H tent and twisted his balloon. IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

V. Not Being Hogtied & Devoured By Children!

Seri was brave/dumb and left me (and Corey!) responsible for her children, who had only just met us, and you might know that I was born without the ability to properly interact with/control children. (Maybe there’s also a rap sheet out there somewhere that could tell you that.) Anyway, they were mostly OK! Until they tried to converse with me and I met all their social exercises with twitches, shrugs and “Huh?”s. Then they got bored with me and wandered off. Don’t worry, I knew where they were. (Mostly.)

I think they were with my kid? I wasn’t sure where he was though.

VI. Oh Shit, MAGIC SHOW!

Seri, Pete and Henry rescued Corey and me from the children just in time for us to enjoy a real life magic show with real life magic and illusionary mysticism! Thank god it started right after I finished eating, else I can’t promise I would have paid it much attention.

I kept turning around to mouth exaggerated “Ooooh”s at Corey and Henry. Henry was totally unimpressed by the whole thing, especially after he did a quick scour on Facebook and discovered that this guy was not friends with our magician friends, therefore exposing him as a FRAUD.

After the show, Josh Knotts the Illusionist announced that if anyone wanted his autograph, they could have just that for $2. OH DID I! Except that I didn’t have $2, and Henry — who hadn’t heard the announcement — was sceptical from the get-go and said, “I only have $1 and I’m not breaking a $20.” Then he did that moustache bristle and old man squint. So I asked Pete and he gave me a dollar, because I’m still a novelty item.

Anyway, I put on my best fake fan impression and then Josh complimented me on my Anthem Made shirt (it’s the Kellin Quinn collection, ya’ll!) which made me smug because Henry was annoyed when I bought it (It says “We Are The Scene” and Henry thinks it’s dumb). Then Josh made me have my picture taken with him and his assistant, which I immediately made Seri delete from her phone.

VII: JANICE!

At first glance, Janice was just your average fanny pack-wearing county fair attendee who randomly volunteered to help out during one of the magic acts. But it quickly came to our attention that she is a HOG for attention, oh my god. She did everything in her power to steal the show, including but not limited to flossing Josh Knott’s ass with a straight jacket strap.

She sure made all the hicks in the audience howl!

Corey and I became obsessed with her.

“I have a feeling Janice knows her way around a stage,” Corey observed.

God love her.

VIII. The Magic Maze Controversy

The boys basically spent all night running through the maze (and repeatedly slamming their heads against the plexi glass), but this turned out to be fortuitous because it enabled Corey and me to witness something amazing when we rejoined our pack after riding the Freak Out (during which some beefy carny said, “You might want to remove those” while practically dunking his head inside my cleavage; he was only talking about the sunglasses hooked onto my shirt collar though). I missed the initial conflict, which happened when some girl ran into the maze, causing the old man carny to legit hollar at her. Corey said he really screamed at her good and couldn’t believe that I didn’t hear. By the time he alerted me to the drama, I was able to watch as the girl came back out of the maze, exchange words with the carny, and run over to her mom in tears. Apparently, she had found someone’s discarded ride-all-day wristband and attempted to dupe the carny by holding it on to her wrist.

YOU CAN’T TRICK A CARNY. They’re the original tricksters. That’s how women wind up impregnated with gingers. Everyone knows that. So anyway, Old Carny was livid about this and sent that bitch packing.

“That was so mean,” Corey said sadly, wearing his pity for poor people like a Boy Scout badge.

“I know, and so late in the evening? He should have just let her go through,” I added. But then I got a good look at her, crying into her mom’s bosom, and I said, “But, isn’t she a little old to be crying about that?”

Corey studied the scene for a few seconds, and said, “No, you’re totally right,” and then started cracking up. So then I started cracking up too, and Henry was all, “What is so funny? I am old and lack mirth, please explain in laymen’s terms what has made you laugh.”

A few minutes later, Seri, Pete and the boys were on the bumper cars, so Corey, Henry and I were standing around in everyone’s way as usual. Actually, I think Henry was cranking up our debt by playing more games. The poor girl and her mom walked by us and I blurted out, “Oh my god, she’s STILL crying!” and we just died. Seriously, go home and have Pa make you a maze in one of his almanac and cat litter hoarding rooms.

IX: Corey Is Still Color Blind!

Sometime earlier in the evening, Corey pointed to the Skydiver and said, “Oh boy, there’s that orange and green ride again.”

I was able to contain my erupting laughter for a few seconds before blurting out, “OMG THAT RIDE HAS NEITHER COLOR!” and then frantically texting his girlfriend the good word.

God, I love when his color blindness comes into play.

Quite possibly the only lowlight was when Corey and I were standing in line for the Freak Out and he realized that horrible fun. song was playing on two different rides, on each side of us, and both songs were at different parts. I was so angry at him for pointing that out because then I couldn’t stop noticing it and it was sonic warfare on my poor ears. The brightside was that we had a brief bonding moment over a mutual dislike of one of the most obnoxiously commercial songs of 2012.

(Music snob footnote: The Format was so much better than Fun. and I have been preaching that since 2009.)

OK, that’s not true. There was another lowlight.

Me: Next year, can we please try to go to two Warped Tour dates?

Henry: Sure.

Me: Really?

Henry: Yeah.

Me: FOR REAL?!?!

Henry: No.

Everything I wanted to write about (more county fair stuff, walking challenge closure, Warped Tour) has been piling up because I am so emotionally overwhelmed currently.

Distract me, guys. BRING ME BACK!

;

;

;

;

And it’s good enough to make me wanna fall in love
So now you’d better think close
And hear the sound of your voice
We’re screaming, “why can’t we just be friends?”
It’s not that easy, but it’s half of the fun
To see you throw the first punch now

This is relevant to current situations in my life and I am guilty of listening to it approximately 87 times a day for the last month because Pierce the Veil provides therapy for me that laying on a couch in a cold office will never come close to achieving. There is so much more I could say about that, but I know no one reads this shit for music lessons.

So I will just keep beating Henry’s ear with my emo dissertations which includes the line, “THIS SONG MAKES ME WANT TO DIEEEEE” while crying behind my Mary Kate sunglasses.

Their new album comes out today. This coincides with the July Birthday celebration at work, so when I eat my cake today I’m going to be celebrating the growth of one of my favorite bands instead of my birthday.

  I already told Barb this yesterday and her non-commital “Whatever” made me feel like she’s OK with that.

(Ew, and apparently GLENN and LEE are also July babies and Barb threatened to make me stand in between them when the cake thing happens.)

I’m not depressed, but I feel kind of like I’m in a bubble. Needs more Warped Tour. :(

I’m giving myself fifteen minutes to write this bitch. Aaaand, go.

The last time we went to Laurel Caverns, Chooch was 4 and peed in his pants. Somewhere in there, we also thought Henry had perished, got a flat tire, and I hated Gene and Boots candy store. It was a pretty action-packed day.

Considering I promised Henry he could have a relaxing weekend doing whatever he wanted since he went to Warped Tour with me two days prior, I kind of hoped that we could just go to the caverns and act like a normal loving family.

But Chooch and I were really hyper and literally kept fake-beating each other up. He was trying to climb up my torso at one point, in the bowels of the caverns  and I kept flicking him in the head when he wasn’t looking, or shaking him by the shoulders. Henry didn’t seem charmed by any this.

The tour hadn’t even started yet and look at that grimace. You’d think he would be excited since he knows so much shit about rocks and stone, but I guess it  must suck for a hotdogging SERVICE man to have to listen to a FEMALE tour guide talk about everything he already knows.

Chooch didn’t swear once and that’s all I can ask for, really. Stifling himself for 55 minutes beneath the earth made him shoot off obscenities like a cannon on the car ride home, though. Good job for teaching him that shit, Henry.

 This isn’t just because of the flash. He almost always looks at me like this. I wasn’t allowed to walk behind him during the tour because I was being too “immature.” WHATEVER THAT MEANS.

Our tour guide HATED THE WHOLE GROUP and we actually really weren’t that bad of a group, just overpopulated. She was so joyless and bland, and kept making idle threats when people wouldn’t stop chatting with each other.

“I am NOT going to lose my voice today,” she said 11 different times. (I counted.)

I still thanked her when the tour was over though, because I’m a suck up.

This picture might not look like much, but it’s really special to me because I MADE THAT LIGHT COME ON. There is an entire passage filled with sound-activated lights, I guess to break up the monotony of being constantly told to shut up by the tour guide, and allowing us to actually exercise our vocal rights. Everyone was yelling and clapping, some people were woofing and making me roll me eyes, but Chooch of all people was doing nothing.

NOTHING.

He picked THAT MOMENT to be silent.

“Chooch, yell ‘Jonny Craig,'” I coaxed.

“NO,” Henry refuted.

So I did it, nice and loud, shouted, “JONNY CRAIG!” with all this passion and jubilation. I thought Henry was going to push me over a ravine.

There was no one hot in our tour group. This made me feel bored at times. I wanted Chooch to ask if we were going to get to see the basement, but he didn’t get it and kept shouting to me, “WHAT!? WHAT ABOUT THE BASEMENT?! WHERE IS THE BASEMENT!?” and I was just like, “God, nevermind, you suck.”

The first thing Henry did when we got home yesterday was Google what the guide was telling us about the bats just to prove that she was wrong about what’s forcing them into extinction.  Maybe he’ll want me to write a letter to Laurel Caverns on his behalf.

Thanks to my thoughtful (and thrifty!) friend Wendy, I have another old wheelchair for the collection that wasn’t a collection until a week ago! The seat is an ungodly 1950’s pea green and I couldn’t be happier! I’m halfway to a full dining room set. My first dinner party at my imaginary house is going to really be something. Maybe you’ll be invited! Bring a side dish and your neck brace!

FML. FML. FMFL.

Was forced to go to Warped Tour again. It was pretty terrible but not as bad as in previous years, mostly because we are only marginally poor now so I was able to buy as many bottles of Coke as I wanted and I even bought FOOD this time instead of sitting under a tree, nibbling on contraband granola bars. (Erin still did this because she is a cheap whore and honestly thought she was going to save money to buy merch; little did she know she was funding my free-flowing supply of COCA COLA.

)

I don’t even like Coke.

It was hot, but not “need to apply Desitin in a bathroom stall” hot.

The first shitty band we saw was Chelsea Grin. They weren’t even on the stage yet and I knew I was going to hate them based on their bleeding eyeball signs. And then they came out and the screamer started screaming and it was like being anally probed by their band name’s font. Then the screamer started to sing and I said, “He should just go back to screaming” and Erin did that thing where she looks at me like I don’t get it. But what is there to get about a band who sound like a satchel of shrieking newborns on steroids. Of course Erin would like that shit because it sounded as schizophrenic as one of her daily temper tantrums.

I got a free beef jerky sample and that was pretty good. Here is a picture of me eating that. I don’t know what stupid band was playing during that though, but I bet there was screaming in it.

Then I ate some wings and fresh potato chips. Here is a picture of me eating that too. Sure, my meal cost about $20, but I didn’t mind so much because that was one less pair of scene kid YOLO booty shorts Erin could buy from some obnoxious merch dick. The fact that some stupid band was shouting on a nearby stage negated the happiness that I felt from the food. At least I got to sit down while I ate, but that was only because Erin was waiting for some other band to start playing so she let me.

And then that band began playing and I got to re-taste my meal.

Everyone depended on me to hold up the barrier during Pierce the Veil. We are all lucky we’re alive. Those kids really act like feral hillbillies when they hear music sometimes. I was hoping one of them would hit me so I could punch them back call my mommy call the cops.

I know, it looks like I am sleeping while standing in this picture. That is because I am.

I’m surprised there was not a terrible band there called Sleeping While Standing.

Ugh, I hate kids and I hate music and I hate kids who love music. And I hate whatever band that is, too.

Sometimes I just walk away because I need to sit down.

Don’t look at the half-naked 16-year-old. Don’t look at the half-naked 16-year-old. Don’t let Erin see me looking at the half-naked 16-year-old.

Oh shit, don’t let the half-naked 16-year-old’s DAD see me looking at the half-naked 16-year-old.

COME AT ME, BRO.

Got to take a nap on the lawn during Breathe Carolina, which was great, but then I dreamt that I was drinking Yoo Hoo out of Jeffree Starr’s mouth with Jonny Craig. Woke up needing a cold shower and pissed that I know who Jeffree Starr is thanks to fucking Warped Tour.

Then the Used screamed some songs and I finally got to leave.

Highlights: beef jerky; avoiding Blood On the Dance Floor; not getting stuck in parking lot traffic on the way out.

Lowlights: Finding Erin after I lost her in the crowd; the existence of Blood On the Dance Floor; everything else.

Music has really gone downhill since I played in that Ted Nugent cover band when I was in THE SERVICE.

(I may have had some or a lot of help writing some or all of this.)

I am in a complete state of comedown today. Yesterday was such a blur: I wait all year for it and then it’s over in a whiplash-inducing flash. I’ve already cried in mourning. But the euphoria definitely outweighs the depression!

Before the gates opened.

Finding out Pierce the Veil’s set time was our (my) main priority.

Henry, dryly before Chelsea Grin even took the stage: I can already tell I’m going to love THEM.

I try to let him sit every couple hours.

Emily’s Army. I had a crush on the boy scout.

Ugh, Funeral Party was so sick. Of course there were only 10 people watching them with me because there were no gimmicks or ridiculous wardrobes or KISS-copying.

Waiting for Pierce the Veil.

;

Took this for Chooch. Missed him so much. :(

On the phone with his sister, fondling a broken pair of sunglasses he found on the ground.

AUSTIN CARLILE MAKES ME HAPPY. He screams the demons right the fuck out of my body.

Seriously, the best Mexicans ever. I love Pierce the Veil so hard and will probably start crying about it in 3….2….

The ever-omnipresent Jeffree Starr.

Our annual “I’m Stoked, Henry’s Not” picture. Henry actually did smile a few times though.

LIKE WHEN KELLIN QUINN SANG WITH PIERCE THE VEIL, ADMIT IT HENRY.

Backne popping during Sleeping with Sirens. Please join me in my repulsion.

Finally succumbed to exhaustion around the 7PM mark and crashed on the lawn during Breathe Carolina.

I still have to take the pictures off the regular camera, and I’ll be back with those and an actual account of Henry’s agony.

Fuck, that was the best day of the summer and I can’t wait to do it all over again 100 more times.

You with me, Henry?

The “Oh, I Can Already Tell I’m Going to Love This Band, & Yes I’ll Be Speaking in Fluent Sarcasm All Day” frown.

This is a conversation we had when standing in line:

Henry: “Taking Back Sunday is here?”
Me: “Yeah. Duh.”
Henry: I thought just Geoff [Rickley] was?”
Me, annoyed: “He’s in THURSDAY!”
Henry: “Oh. Yeah…”

This update is brought to you by TOMS tan lines and Henry’s desire to sit down “for a minute.” Ciao for now!

When my brother Corey graduated college in the spring, I made him a photobook of one of our county fair adventures. Inside the cover, I wrote something to the effect of, “No matter how busy and stressful you are in your adult life, always remember to make time for deep fried pb&j and spinny rides.” I really believe this is the secret to not succumbing to suicide or madness: holding on to some delicate childhood remnant (i.e. your life when you’re riding the Zipper), ogling carnies, drinking overpriced lemonade and forgetting that you’re a parent. (Note: This should only be done if another parent is present to step up and be both parents. In other words: Thank God For Henry.)

Fanny pack? Check. Redneck Beer Belly? Check. Trailer Park Smoker’s Twang amplified to the nth power while hollerin’ at miscreant children? Check. The compulsion to publicly follow Flo Rida’s order when he tells shorties to get low? Check.

(I’m not judging. All these things happened in the span of time it took me to snap her picture. She didn’t get much lower than this though.)

Sometimes I think Life just has a way of knowing when it’s getting to be too much, and it finally gives me a reprieve by inviting the fair to town. The Big Butler Fair is by far my favorite (it’s BIG, just like its name insinuates!) and it was the only thing getting me through my last pre-vacation week of work. It was just a really bad, overwhelming week, the kind that could only make me appreciate the fair that much more. Good god do I need some carnival bullshit in my life!

Chooch’s minions.

Chooch got along really well with Seri’s kids, and I was glad because the poor kid usually always winds up riding stag (or worse: with some random little girl) in kiddie land. However, I discovered that grown-ups are allowed on Quadzilla, which is basically just these big dune buggy things that go along a track, but there is also a HILL and that was enough to entice me. Seri and I squeezed into one of the cars together, after the carny waved us on with something akin to annoyance, but how could anyone possibly be annoyed with me? Anyway, toward the end, our pictures were taken, like this was some giant coaster at Six Flags, but we were totally unprepared. Pete checked it out (there were monitors set up next to the ride in case anyone actually wanted to pay for that shit) and said we looked like Paris and Nicole. All I could think was, “If he’s comparing to me Nicole Richie, I hope it’s Nicole as Emaciated Mom and not Nicole as Chubby Faux-trailer trash.”

Although the latter would be apropos for the fair. I could have probably picked up some filthy hillbilly ass for sure.

Corey was also glad that Seri’s kids were there, but probably because he didn’t realize that he was still going to have to take unlimited spins on the Sizzler and Tilt-a-Whirl since the kids couldn’t ride alone. Come on, Corey – take one for the team.

Words can’t express how nervous this scene made me. Don’t worry — Pete was on there with them.

THEN DON’T DRINK IT!

We all (minus Henry) rode the Wacky Worm a bunch of times and the general consensus was: “Goddamn, Erin was RIGHT. This ride is LEGIT.”

Look how happy Pete was to catch a ride on the Wacky Worm! Henry could have been that happy, too.  I guess he didn’t want to get any fun on his melon shirt.

I learned a lot about Seri that day:

• She says “to the hilt” A LOT
• Her hair is perfect
• not even 90° heat/humidity or the brisk movements of the Wacky Worm fucked it up
• seriously, NOTHING
• She doesn’t sweat
• actually, I think Chooch and I were the only ones drowning in our own summer secretions that day
• She likes a Pitbull song

My favorite part of the day was when she and I quit being parents (I know Henry is reading this wondering, “Wait, when did Erin ever START being a parent?”) and sat Indian-style in the middle of one of the midways with Corey, talking about our dysfunctional families. This was not my pedometer’s favorite part of the day, though. (FORESHADOWING.)

There were so many highlights, but the only lowlight I can think of was when all three kids hounded us about the carnival games ALL DAY LONG. Those fucking carnival games! Oh my god, I’m glad it wasn’t just my kid.

It’s totally OK for Henry to spend my future-wheelchair funds on games though. GAMES THAT HE NEVER WINS. How many of those overstuffed animals do we have in our house? OH, THAT’S RIGHT – NONE. At least not until Henry “dies” and I have him taxidermied, anyway.

Do you know what else the fair has that my house does not? Clean restrooms. They put attendants all up in that piece, and they go all out. You need to fix your curled and backcombed bangs before you meet up with Jeb at the tractor pull? They’ve got Aquanet. You feel the need to bump and grind at your reflection? They’ve got smooth r&b playing up in that joint. I was trying to bond with Pete over this later in the day, but he was not as enthused about the bathroom amenities as I had hoped he would be, but instead he began ranting about how he just wants to get in there and out as fast  as possible with two kids in tow, not remark about how Boyz II Men tracks put him in the mood to pee.

I guess this goes back to that whole “parenting” thing that I don’t really know much about.

Still not done; more later!

When Henry came downstairs on the day of the Big Butler Fair, his torso was modeling a brand new nondescript t-shirt in a garish hue of jack-o-lantern.

“Nice orange shirt,” I exclaimed on a rocking bed of laughter and derision.

“It’s not orange,” Henry snapped. “It’s melon.”

As if that was supposed to make me stop laughing.

There are many facets of Henry’s life that I have my thighs squeezed around in a death grip, but his fashion sense is not one. I have made futile efforts in the past to get him to break free from generic, joyless threads mostly purchased from Wal-Mart but eventually I had to concede, wave the white flag, turn my attention to dressing my kid instead. Henry’s dresser full of boring, plain and Faygo-printed t-shirts is pretty much all he has left to his identity and manhood.

(It probably doesn’t help that I was trying to groom him into a singer from a post-hardcore band, swathed in Drop Dead Clothing sweaters and neck tattoos.)

My new friend Seri met us at the fairgrounds that afternoon with her husband Pete and their two sons, Aldy and Max. Apparently, Pete had originally attempted to wear his own nondescript orange shirt to the fair that day, but Seri made him change. So after the obligatory introductions were over, Pete and Henry had a special moment of “I can relate to you.” Henry’s first impression of Pete was probably a confusing cocktail of empathy and pity garnished with a burgeoning bromance twist.

Being plain.

However, when Pete was talking about his own orange shirt, Henry was quick to interject, “My shirt is melon, not orange.” My blue-collared boyfriend has turned into a color-snob hipster overnight. Next he’ll be insisting I call him my “cerulean-collared boyfriend.”

My brother Corey came out to the fair later that evening and when I texted him our whereabouts, I tacked on, “Just look for Henry’s orange t-shirt. It looks like he’s single-handedly promoting Halloween.”

And Snooki’s skin tone.

And Tang.

And the FLYERS.

No Orange Shirts Allowed on the Wacky Worm.

It was easy to spot Henry each time the rest of us lively non-old humans would go on rides; he would lumber around the fairgrounds, toting my iCarly messenger bag and wasting money on all the nearby games that he never wins and even if he did, no one would be impressed.

DON’T DRIP ICE CREAM ON THE ORANGE SHIRT OMG!

When I was on the ferris wheel with Seri, it was fun to seek him out in the crowds below, like Waldo on fire. But then I noticed that quite a few other men were also wearing bright orange shirts, though theirs were advertising plumbing companies, Harley Davidson, strip clubs and guns.

Seri mistakenly referred to The Shirt as “cantaloupe,” which made Henry snap for the 87th time that day, “MELON!”

I always thought cantaloupe was a melon, but I guess not when applied to the Color Wheel.

It’s surprising he would even let me this close to him after 9 hours of ridiculing his orange shirt.

Some day, I’m going to snatch all of his nondescript shirts (or “blank,” as Pete prefers to call them) and screenprint Jonny Craig’s face all over them.

After a mimosa-friendly brunch at Sonoma Grill, Carey and I went to see “Annie” yesterday at the Benedum. I’m not a big musical fan at all, but I do like “Annie.” In fact, that is the only musical I have ever seen in a theater.

When I was thirteen, I was maniacally entranced by “Annie.” I would watch the movie nearly every night, sing along with the soundtrack, and I even tried to make a reproduction of it, starring various kids in my home room. One of those kids was our beloved Keri. She was not as keen on “Annie” as I was, so she snatched my cast list from me and ripped it to shreds. Bitch.

That year, my mom bought three tickets for the production of “Annie” at the Fulton Theatre. I invited my best friend, Christy. She was my pseudo-sister since age four.

The night rolled along quite smoothly until toward the end of the last act. Christy leaned over and mentioned that she was starting to feel sick. Since I’m known for displaying total compassion for my friends, I laughed in her face.

The play ended and we began to descend the steps along with a million other people who wanted to leave just as fast as us. Christy was in front of me and I was pushing her, because I am was really annoying like that. She turned around and pleaded, “Please stop. I’m going to throw up!” Throwing my head back in laughter, I gave her one final push.

Oh, if you could have seen the faces of the surrounding crowd as Christy projectile vomited in the middle of the Fulton Theatre.

And as a young girl walked by with her mink coated mother, pointing and exclaiming, “Ew, mommy- look!” Christy began an encore round of regurgitation.

Nothing vomitus happened at yesterday’s showing, aside from a mild argument over seats which resulted in the lady in the wrong “accidentally” knocking over the other lady’s small ginger child. Although Sally Struthers got a little over the top with her inebriated Miss Hannigan, and that didn’t mesh well with the mimosas in my belly. But overall, the production was fantastic and I was so happy Carey invited me.

Before the show started, I was sitting in a chair across from the rest rooms when a moderately mentally-challenged man approached me and took the neighboring seat. “Great,” I mumbled internally, mid-text, as he struggled to make small talk with me. Most days, I wake up hating people, and while I wasn’t feeling particularly in love with humanity that day, something about this guy (Brian) really charmed me.

(He had come all the way from New Brighton with his mom to see “Annie.”)

(New Brighton is by Beaver Falls.)

Carey returned from the bathroom in enough time to witness the tail end of this forced study in small talk, and of course made a joke about me having a new boyfriend. I joked about it too, how “people like him” are magnetized to me, but when he found me again during the intermission, I felt, for lack of a signature-OH,E sleazy way to put it — touched. I guess I’ve just been so disconnected lately, so unwilling to pull down my walls, and so inside my head, and here comes this guy out of nowhere who, in a few short minutes and with so few words, makes me feel compassion.

I cried through most of the second half of the show, but I don’t think it was entirely because Annie finally found a family.

Chooch was so pissed that he wasn’t invited to be a part of this photo shoot, so he kept devising ways to photobomb Andrea. At one point, he even threw a tantrum and cried, “You took a million pictures of Andrea and only TWO OF ME!

” Jesus Christ, someone’s in the spotlight way too much for his own good.

Sweet ride to the prom.

This is how she watches TV at home, too.

I would like to point out that it was nearly 100 degrees that day, and Andrea did not bitch once.

I did enough bitching and sweating for the both of us though.

Frondescent fairy. Finally, the weeds in my backyard have a purpose.